Alright, well I have the next part ready, and it appears we've come to a stalemate with the last part. So if @Mathea@Alikir34 or @Tunak23 would like to break the tie, that'd be great The next part is the final to the trilogy of the Manderly parts for now, and that obviously means it's a Wyatt part. The last we saw of him, he had decided to go and discuss a certain merchant ship, which had been sunk by the Bar Emmon's, with Togarion Bar Emmon. When setting up to leave, Syvvek the Skagosi and his blood brothers demanded that they be brought along. You chose to bring them, and this part takes place shortly after.
Well given Liquid's vote change, and that none of the old readers have returned as of yet, I'll close this vote. Wylla will go seek Frenken.
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Mermaid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best to keep the vessel with the light wind drift. Finally by the starboard side stood the blood brothers: Rauval and Steirne, which Wyatt had briefly made himself known to within the duration of their trip. Steirne was a quiet man, with a watchful gaze which Wyatt could safely say made him uncomfortable whenever they landed on him. He could best be describe with a word similar to his name. Stern.
Rauval however was quite the opposite of a man, loud and boastful. He was the skipper of their small charter vessel which brought them from Skagos to the Merling Isles, which was a notable feat on its own. Yet it was clear why he was on deck and not in a bunk. His booming voice echoed over the calm sea, and his words only complained of how slow the ship was moving, and how much faster his own ship could go in the benign conditions.
Wyatt let out a tired sigh, turning his gaze back to the tranquil waters. Had the event not been so undesiring, he might have felt relaxed. Yet instead there was stress, and the weight of a heavy burden on his shoulders. He had allowed this Andal to settle on Massey’s Hook, even going as far as paying the Massey’s to give them refuge. He had not heard from King Josua after that, and now with merchant vessels being sunk in the Blackwater, Wyatt was worried.
“My lord?” The strong words of Captain Laura reached Wyatt’s ears with unease, it was clear something was troubling her. “Laura.” Wyatt greeted tiredly, turning his gaze to the woman behind him. Her mouse brown hair was still tied back, revealing her sea blue eyes, which glimmered in the moonlight. Wyatt gave her a weak smile, which she reciprocated.
“Can we talk, for a moment?” She asked, and Wyatt eyed her suspiciously before nodding. “Of course, you don’t need to ask.” He stated, leaving her seemingly embarrassed, but she pushed on regardless. “It’s about Lady Vera.” She started, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“What about her?” He prompted, and it was clear that Vera seemed uncomfortable with the topic. She bit her lip in conclusion of this, and Wyatt let out a sigh, placing his hand on her forearm. “It’s okay, tell me what you want to say.” He encouraged, and a heavy frown weighed on her expression.
“She’s-” Laura began, but was instantly cut off by a horn sounding from the crow’s nest. Both of them turned their gaze up the mast, where the watcher pointed his torch out to starboard. They followed its fiery gaze, landing on its subject. Another ship. The horn sounded again.
“All crew on deck!” Laura shouted the order, leaving Wyatt for the helm where Maya awaited her. Wyatt watched with an awe fascination as the crew climbed on deck, pikes and ballista bolts being lifted from the hull with haste. Men and women were quickly armed with pikes and bows, and the remaining crew armed the ballistas and catapults. The defence was established within a minute. Highly disciplined. Wyatt noted, impressed, yet still caught in the shock of the moment.
The arrows were lit and drawn, while the three ocean priests and four water maidens arose from the hull with tired eyes, yet strength within them. Laura too was a water maiden, yet it was clear she was not as devoted to the Merling King as those placed on her crew, or at least she did not show it in the standard way.
Anticipation weighed heavy in the air, thickening and suffocating. Wyatt stared at the vessel as it drew closer. One single ship against the Mermaid’s Rage. It was an unfair fight to say the least. The Rage had sunk fleets, mere fishing vessels did not dare cross her path, but this vessel was no fishers’ boat. Wyatt spotted the banners immediately as Maya Sisters called them. House Mooton. The red salmon was vibrant on the gilded white banners, yet what confused Wyatt was why a Mooton ship was out this far at night. We haven’t received trade from Maidenpool in months. A white flag was hoisted up the mast with haste as the ship grew nearer.
“Hold your fire!” Laura sounded, descending down the steps from the helm. The bowstrings were slacked and the arrows doused, but the ballistas and catapults remained armed and on target. An uneasy passing came by as the crews of both vessels stared off as the ships passed each other. Then, it was over. A hushed sigh of relief spread amongst the crew, who started to unload the turrets and retreat back to their bunks. Wyatt ran a sweaty hand through his greasy hair, slicking it back into place. What a night.
-
The sun started to rise as the Mermaid’s Rage gently pulled into Sharp Point harbour, greeted by dock hands and sailors which helped tie the beast down. Wyatt stared at the lackey men with tired eyes, allowing himself a deep yawn as he watched with boredom. What better sparked his interested was the vast amount of Bar Emmon ships, all active with crew and soldiers, as if they were prepping to set sail. Syvvek stood beside him, running his fingers along the edge of his bronze battle axe, his typical bloodthirsty grin was widened thick across his face. Wyatt sighed, his brute companion’s silence tired him further.
“Tell me, Syvvek. What does your ‘Lord of Pebbles’ plan to do once he has control of the Narrow Sea?” Wyatt asked with boredom thick in his tone, not that the brute was likely to pick up on it. The Skagosi paused his fingers a moment, tapping them on the metal. “Make Skagos rich.” He stated with bold pride, and Wyatt nodded. “But what will he do for those he then governs?” Wyatt further pursued, and received a confused look on his black eyes, to which he later shrugged.
“Rockflesh is smart. Smarter than all.” He concluded, and Wyatt was too tired to argue, he had gotten the answer he expected anyway. Before long, a guarded escort approached the Rage, among them stood none other than Lord Togarion Bar Emmon. Wyatt sighed, climbing over the balustrade and descending the makeshift ramp down onto the wooden arm. He was followed by Syvvek and Captain Laura.
Togarion’s escort took halt roughly ten metres or so away from them, setting a blockade along the arm, while Togarion came forth to greet them with open arms. Wyatt eyed the Andal suspiciously, there was little trust he had for this man, if anything, he had regret, but he took his hand as he offered it to him.
“Lord Wyatt.” Togarion greeted with a small smile. “It is an honour for me to welcome you to Sharp Point.” He stated with a nonchalant tone, and Wyatt reciprocated his boring smile. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” He lied, staring him in his light blue eyes.
If anything could be said about the Andal, he was a handsome man for his age. He was on his mid-thirties, but he looked a decade younger, and Wyatt could swear this man had no Manderly blood. His skin was fair, and his pale blonde hair was short and windswept. He left his face cleanly shaved, and cloaked himself with white seal fur, while wearing a blue velvet coat embroidered with silver. His eyes trailed to Laura, who stood honourably by Wyatt’s side.
“Captain Longthorpe. We’ve never been properly introduced, but I’ve heard your reputation all across the east coast, even back in Andalos.” He marvelled, and Laura stared at him with cursing eyes. “I bet.” She mumbled, but he had quickly moved from her gaze to the brute standing on Wyatt’s other side. “And who is this?” Togarion asked with a sparked curiosity. Wyatt took it upon himself to introduce the man.
“This is Syvvek of Skagos. He is an emissary, for…” Wyatt found himself stumbling a moment, not knowing which stupid title to address his lordship by. Thankfully, Syvvek committed the dumb act himself. “I have come here by order of the Rockflesh, the Stoneskin, the Lord of Pebbles!” He announced, and Togarion raised his eyebrows, turning his gaze back to Wyatt, who shrugged.
“Well, gentleman.” He stated, then turning to Laura as well. “My lady.” He added. “The morning is cold, and I’m sure you are hungry after your travels. Will you join me in my Great Hall for a breakfast feast?” He offered, and Wyatt could agree that he was famished. Syvvek didn’t bother to think twice, instantly taking a step forward and placing his arm around Togarion’s shoulder.
“Yes brother! We will feast, then talk more about my Lord’s plans!” He shouted, and the two started back towards the castle of Sharp Point, while Laura watched after them with cautious eyes. “I don’t trust him.” She muttered, and Wyatt concurred with a nod. “Let’s get this over with.”
-
For the age of the newly constructed castle, Sharp Point was magnificent from what Wyatt had seen. Its interior was decorated with fine wood and chiselled stone, and paintings were hung everywhere. The Great Hall was not an exception, and Wyatt could have sworn it was truly an art gallery were it not for the steaming kitchens next door.
They all sat around the long table in the centre of the Hall, the top decorated with silver platters of grapes, pears and other tropical fruits from the east, as well as fire grilled toast with butter and cheese. Of course, sausages and steaks were not far away, as the servants from the kitchens carried out the juicing meats. The only disappointment were the beverages, but Wyatt could not complain, besides, some water would likely be good for him.
“So, Lord Wyatt.” Togarion announced, sitting at the head of the table with his wife on his lap. “What brings you to Sharp Point?” He asked, and for a moment Wyatt paused as he stared at all the food, yet his senses came back to him as he received a sturdy nudge from Laura next to him. “I have grim received reports from Obsidian Isle, reports indicating that one of your ships sunk one of mine as it was on a trading route to Duskendale.” Wyatt informed him, and a distressed frown quickly soured Togarion’s joyful mood.
“I think it would be better spoken with context, don’t you?” He asked, and Wyatt just stared at him, waiting for him to proceed. He lifted the girl from his lap, stroking her hand before starting. “This here is Lady Jemma, she is the daughter of King Josua Massey, and now my wife. Before all this, when you allowed me into Westeros, we tried to settle inland, but were quickly attacked by the Darklyn’s when we did. I was left for dead, until King Josua found me and took me in.”
“I stayed in Stonedance for perhaps a year, those first few months I was attended by the healers, but later on I started to learn the situation that the Massey’s were in. The Kingdom of Darklyn is starving its allies. The Rosby’s tried to rebel before being slammed against the wall, and the Massey’s have been pouring out their hearts just to survive, while the Darklyn’s and Mooton’s squander on their riches.” Togarion stated with disgust, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“We spotted a Mooton vessel on our way here, were they here too?” Wyatt questioned, and Togarion nodded. “I sent a raven to King Florian to arrange an alliance against the Darklyn’s, but being a Mooton, he denied them like the foolish child he is.” Togarion spat, and Wyatt frowned.
“You plan to attack the Darklyn’s.” Wyatt finally realised, and Togarion nodded. “They are starving both their people and ours, and while I do not fall under their reign, my wife’s family does, and I will not let them suffer the way I did. I tried to extend my alliance to Lord Karlack when I had my vessels patrolling the Blackwater, but I received no word in return.” He said with remorse. “I gave the order.” He admitted, grief thick in his voice. Laura and clenched her hands into fists.
“You murdered innocent sailors, among them was Lord Karlack’s son!” She spat, disgracing herself in front of the table. Togarion’s frown was heavy, and Wyatt could see he was at least somewhat suffering for his actions. He placed a hand on Laura’s hand. “Maybe you should go back to the ship.” Wyatt suggested discretely, and Laura cleaned up her attitude before excusing herself, to which Togarion sent his wife after her. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again.
“Wyatt, I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to be this way, I still don’t, but the Darklyn’s are not good for any of us, I’m sure you’ve seen it too.” Togarion stated in an attempt to convince, to which Wyatt had to agree, he knew the Darklyn’s were running them dry, but the Manderly’s were still strong through trade. Some aren’t so lucky. Wyatt let out a sigh, tapping his finger on the table. He was tired.
“So what do you want me to do, Bar Emmon? Forgive you? Forget that you ever sunk one of my ships and murdered Karlack’s son? Togarion, I like you, but my people won’t stand for it.” Wyatt admitted, and Togarion let out a sigh of his own.
“Wyatt, I don’t want you for an enemy. Quite the contradictory actually, but if you stand with the Darklyn’s you will leave me no choice.” He stated with regret. “Today I am going to launch an assault on Maidenpool, and show the Darklyn’s that we will not stand for their condescending nature. You should join us, we could really use the help.” He suggested, and Wyatt shook his head.
“There is no profit in taking Maidenpool. It would cost too much to take and hold it.” Wyatt argued, but Togarion shook his head. “That’s not the point. I was hoping you’d see terms with me, Wyatt.” Togarion said with a hint of disappointment, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“What would you want from me?” Wyatt finally asked, and Togarion’s small smile reappeared. “Support me. Soon I will be King of the Blackwater, and I will need allies. Denounce your loyalty to Waldemar and swear your allegiances to me, and I will name you my Hand. You would have a lot of power and influence over the kingdom, as well as over Westeros.” He stated, and Wyatt frowned. “You know I can’t do that.” He replied sternly, and Togarion frowned. “I’d rather you my ally than my enemy, Wyatt, and trust me, more Andal’s are coming. It’s just a matter of time, and it would be better for you if you served me when they come. I’d hate to see you fall with so much potential.” He spoke with a pity which made Wyatt cringe. There was something off about him, something sly and mischievous. We won’t fall. Wyatt confidently thought to himself, thinking of Vera’s cousin. The only question now was what Wyatt was going to do. He may be right, the Darklyn’s are bad for all of us, but if I choose to side with him then I will be at war with the Darklyn’s. We don’t need a war at two fronts.
[Swear loyalty to Togarion] [Suggest an alliance] [Turn down his offer]
Actually, if neither of them wishes to break the tie by the time you close the next voting, you can consider my vote changed. I sort of prefer Ryman, but I cannot deny that CM3434's argument made a lot of sense. After reading it, I could certainly arrange myself with talking to Frenken as well, so I wouldn't mind if that option wins. So, let's see if we get our tie-breaker, but if not, then I will do it in a couple of days. Just count it as a vote for Frenken then, I wouldn't mind talking to him and that is at the very least better than you having a tie and not getting it resolved
Alright, well I have the next part ready, and it appears we've come to a stalemate with the last part. So if @Mathea @Alikir34 or @Tunak23 w… moreould like to break the tie, that'd be great The next part is the final to the trilogy of the Manderly parts for now, and that obviously means it's a Wyatt part. The last we saw of him, he had decided to go and discuss a certain merchant ship, which had been sunk by the Bar Emmon's, with Togarion Bar Emmon. When setting up to leave, Syvvek the Skagosi and his blood brothers demanded that they be brought along. You chose to bring them, and this part takes place shortly after.
Well given Liquid's vote change, and that none of the old readers have returned as of yet, I'll close this vote. Wylla will go seek Frenken.
That is a choice I had to think about for a bit. The thing is, I don't think Togarion would make for much of a good king, nor do I think his reign would be long. He seems reckless, more concerned with sending a message instead of actually doing thoughtful and rational decisions. I have no doubt that without the Manderly help, the Darklyn's will crush them eventually, even if their allies ally with Togarion. This means, I don't want Wyatt to be caught in this, to turn against the Manderly's and renounce his oath to them, especially not for a cause that I see as doomed to fail. Togarion is biting off a lot more than he can chew in my opinion, at least unless I am not seriously underestimating him here. At the same time, I don't want to turn him down, as I could see him as a stable ally, if supported properly. With the backing of House Manderly, backing Wyatt would lose if he were to renounce his loyalty to them, maybe Togarion could provide stability for this region and become a valuable ally. So, this alliance very much sounds like the best bet here.
On another note, I just noticed the story passed a milestone. Happy 1000 comments! May there be many more to come
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Merma… moreid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best… [view original content]
On another note, I just noticed the story passed a milestone. Happy 1000 comments! May there be many more to come
So it is! Well I'd love to thank you and all the other great readers which have participated in this story over its long and slow duration. I am eager to see this story continue to thrive, and I'll be honoured to have you all along with the grand journey ahead, because I wouldn't be doing this other wise
[Suggest an alliance]
That is a choice I had to think about for a bit. The thing is, I don't think Togarion would make for much of a good… more king, nor do I think his reign would be long. He seems reckless, more concerned with sending a message instead of actually doing thoughtful and rational decisions. I have no doubt that without the Manderly help, the Darklyn's will crush them eventually, even if their allies ally with Togarion. This means, I don't want Wyatt to be caught in this, to turn against the Manderly's and renounce his oath to them, especially not for a cause that I see as doomed to fail. Togarion is biting off a lot more than he can chew in my opinion, at least unless I am not seriously underestimating him here. At the same time, I don't want to turn him down, as I could see him as a stable ally, if supported properly. With the backing of House Manderly, backing Wyatt would lose if he were to renounce his loyalty to them, maybe T… [view original content]
I won't close any votes just yet, but I do have the next part ready. As I cannot write out Samira's next part until I get a conclusive vote from Wyatt's recent part, I'd love for you guys to vote on that one soon I have done the Nathan part finally, which I started over a month ago and just got bored of, hopefully it isn't that bad too read though Anyway, the last we saw him, Nathan had burnt down a sept in the Saltpans and taken Septa Talia captive. When bringing her to Rayvani, she decided to indoctrinate the girl into their faith, and decided that it was time to choose their next path. You chose for Nathan to head to the Riverlands, which Rayvani did not approve of, and this part takes place a few days after then.
While I'm at it, I've written out the next two parts, which go to Samira and Dormund. The last we saw of Samira, she had chosen to head straight to the Japing Kitchens to seek out Dalia's safe haven. Clearly tired, she made herself known in the kitchens when she put a knife to one of the kitchen waitress' throats. She was directed to Dalia, who then led her to the safe haven. When asked to hand over her weapons, you chose only to hand over the visible dagger she had. This part takes place not too long after then.
Last time we saw Dormund, he awoke in his bed and was found by Elena directly after. She promised to answer his questions, before disappearing. Dormund decided he felt like flaying something, and descended down to the dungeons to watch the craftsmen at their work. When he noticed a familiar face being desecrated, Dormund could not help but give his old friend, Ryden, the honour of a Bolton's blade, heavily annoying the previous flayer: Rechar Greenwood. He was later found by Tobas Bolton, who brought him to their father. Rogar informed Dormund of his plans to take Winterfell, and then when the conversation was concluded, Tobas asked if they could hang out before he left for Andalos. You chose Elena over Tobas, and this part takes places closely after.
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arms, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning back to the flames with a bitter gaze. Talia avoided eye contact entirely.
“We start again at dawn.” Nathan announced decisively, receiving no attention from Rayvani, and little from Talia. Nathan sighed, tucking his legs up to his chest and staring at the flames. Nothing. What did he expect? A vision at his wanting? Unlikely. He sighed, running his hand through his dark red hair.
“This is the wrong path, my Ember.” Rayvani said calmly, widening her eyes as she disconnected from the flames. Nathan snorted, rolling his eye. “She finally speaks, and only to criticise my decision. Of course.” Nathan chuckled without amusement, and received a disapproving scowl from the red woman.
“This won’t end well for us. I’ve seen it.” She tried to convince him, and Nathan raised an eyebrow for a moment. “Seen what?” He curiously pursued, and Rayvani frowned. “A bearded figure, wielding a trident in one hand and manipulating water with the other. The duller of my Flame.” She foretold, giving reference to Nathan’s given title. Nathan shook his head in disbelief.
“A bearded man able to wield water? That sounds as believable as you priests and your ability to throw fire. Which, if I may add, I have yet to see.” Nathan stated simply, cutting off her vision. Rayvani bit the inside of her lip, kicking at the fire. “Why are you so stubborn?” She yelled, frustration heavy in her tone. “Why here? A marshy swamp in the middle of nowhere!” Nathan’s lip quivered into a smirk. There was something about the mysterious woman’s temper that was alluring to him, however his lustful thoughts were quick to change as she impatiently stared at him.
“I’ve always had an interest in your god, woman. Ever since I picked up the book from my father’s library, I was captured in your ideology. The other man who shared similar views to mine was murdered by old god fanatics, and I burnt down my home’s weirwood. They wanted to execute me for it, Lord Mayne Bracken personally offered to take my head from my shoulders, but instead my father exiled me. I plan to take the head from that horseman’s shoulders first, and then the rest who opposed me.” Nathan revealed to her, closing his hands into fists. The Red woman looked at him with her cursing green eyes, her face expressionless.
“Then you will die, and I won’t be able to bring you back.” She foreboded, her eyes uncomfortably piercing, weighing down on him. Nathan felt an uncharacteristic chill run down up his spine, he shifted his gaze to the girl, who just stared at the ground with a sullen look. He felt his hands starting to tremble, he gritted his teeth.
“Sleep.” He ordered her with a mutter, and reluctantly she broke eye contact and sunk into her bedroll. The young septa followed her example, avoiding eye contact entirely. Nathan let out a long winded sigh, before turning back to the sunset. His thoughts weighed heavily on him, what if she was right? All of this, for nothing? He shook his head defiantly, setting it aside as another of the Red Woman’s manipulative tricks. We start again in the morning, he reminded himself, sitting himself against a rock. He stared across the field of button grass, bushes and wildflowers, listening to the soft sounds of the rushing Red Fork in the far distance. His eyes drifted off into the darkening sky, until he fell into a deep, restless slumber.
-
The sun was high in the sky by the time Nathan had awoken from what felt like pure exhaustion. The night had been restless, chaotic if anything. Haunted by dreams. Often this was the case, but last night had been something else. He sighed, rubbing his eye as he sat himself up. The fire had extinguished over the night, leaving only a small plume of smoke where the burning coals remained.
He stretched his arms, taking in a deep yawn, before opening his eyes again. Their camp was empty. Nathan widened his eyes, standing himself up and scouring the land. Nothing. Rayvani and Talia were gone. Shit, he cursed, reaching for Lightbringer, which was not there. “Fuck!” He shouted, now searching for the sword. That bitch. Nathan shook his head irritably. That self-prophesising no good bitch. He kicked at the coals, igniting sparks as he did, before falling to his knees.
“Why?” He muttered, to no one in particular, as he stared at the raging coals. There was something beautiful about the element, he could see why the fanatics worshiped it, but he couldn’t care less for them now. “Why.” He repeated, as if hoping an answer would come to him. There was only silence. He muttered some curses, standing himself up.
With that red bitch or not, I will go through with this, he swore, turning to grab what few of his gear remained. He hauled the leather bag over his shoulder while rolling up the bed mat and starting to walk. It wasn’t long until he heard the sounds of thudding hooves and neighing horses. Rayvani? He suddenly thought, a stream of ideas rushing through his mind. Had she found horses? Was she captured? He had to know. He started to run for the sound.
Rushing through the ankle-deep streams, he sprinted across the rivulets and through the tall grass, until he came to an opening, and saw the horses. They were hitched to a rotting lump of wood, while their owners sat around a camp fire. They wore bronze mail, and tabards of brown, gold and red. Bracken’s. He realised, starting to back away. They hadn’t spotted him yet.
Cautiously, he turned around to escape, but was met with a sorry sight which stopped him in his tracks. He stared into the eyes of another Bracken soldier, his flowing stream was the only sound that was shared between their cold shocked and locked eyes. He reached for his sword, but by then it was too late. Nathan threw the man into his puddle of piss, quickly securing a hand around his throat while the other clamped his mouth shut. He squirmed in the dry grass.
“What was that?” Nathan heard briefly as he strangled the life out of the fearful man. “What was what?” Another asked, clearly disinterested, but his partner persisted. “I heard something, over there.” He fretted. “It’s probably Bartel, but if it’s bothering you so much then check it out.” He taunted him, giving him a push. Nathan crushed the windpipe of this ‘Bartel’ in an instant, and stared at the guard who slowly approached his general direction. Fuck. He turned to look for options.
He could stay hidden, maybe hope that the soldier would lose his courage quickly, or he could take his chances and make a run for it. Those horses would outrun him, but perhaps it would be possible if he could make it back to the Red Fork. Nathan turned his gaze to the bronze short sword that rested in the grass by him, which he quickly grabbed. Or he could stay and fight. He counted five more men.
[Suggest an alliance] The thing is, I don't trust or like Togarion enough to kneel to him. However, I think it would still be wise not to become his enemy, as I can very well see him succeed in his campaign.
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Merma… moreid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best… [view original content]
[Fight] I understand if others want to go with a less reckless choice, but I just think a fight would be nice Time for Nathan to prove how much of a badass he is.
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arm… mores, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning b… [view original content]
This choice will put Wyatt on a more equal level with Togarion, than swearing loyalty would. Also, I don't think betraying the Manderly family would be a good idea. Also, I don't think completely turning down his offer is the right choice. Hopefully, an alliance will help to defeat this Darklyn threat.
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Merma… moreid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best… [view original content]
Hm, it seems there is going to be some conflict between Nathan and a Manderly later on, though I have no idea with whom. Maybe Wyatt, considering that he is the one that is geographically the closest right now. All I know is, Rayvani clearly saw a Manderly there. Maybe they will be on opposing sides in the coming Darklyn-Bar Emmon war?
[Fight]
I actually see fighting as the most reasonable choice here even. It's not all that reckless. Running seems hopeless, because they have horses and I doubt he would come far if they find him. Staying hidden could work, but if they spot him, he would basically be fucked, because he wouldn't have the element of surprise. I think fighting first gives him an advantage and probably not a small one. Nathan is pretty badass, as far as I know, so I think he can take these men. Plus, I would like to see him fighting as well, this is likely going to be pretty cool.
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arm… mores, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning b… [view original content]
The cellar was damp and dimly lit, but Samira could hardly complain. I’ve lived through worse, she reminded herself, tucking her legs close to her chest. She jittered her teeth in the cool air, rubbing her arms frantically. At least I had heat. Her gaze flickered around the dark room, it was located under the storage room, and mostly homed empty crates and containers, and another guest.
Samira stared at the unconscious woman by the crate, sleeping soundly on a bed mat with layered blankets. She had not awoken when Samira arrived a few days ago, and she still hadn’t moved still then. Perhaps she’s dead. Samira thought hopefully, feeling the cold bite at her skin. Those blankets would be nice.
She pulled herself off the freezing stone floor, making her way towards the still girl. If she was sleeping, she was hiding it well. Samira studied her body for breathing movement, but it was of little use, she was heavily covered in thick blankets. She sighed, reaching to take hold of the top layer. That’s when her unexpected gaunt friend span around and revealed her threatening blade, and her merciless eyes. Samira backed away instantly, reaching for a bronze dagger on her leg. The two glared at each other in silence.
“Fuck off, bitch.” The woman warned, revealing a skinny frail arm which clutched onto the blankets. Samira’s eyes widened at the sight of her. She was… starved. Her facial features were gaunt and angular, the bones in her body were easily seen through the skin. Her black hair clumped in a mess down to her shoulders. Her eyes were her only saving grace, as green as jade stones. Samira felt a lump build in her throat.
“What happened to you?” She asked, and received an ireful glare. “Mind your own business.” She spited back, rolling back on her side, under the blankets. Samira shook her head, she would try again. Quicker. The cold drove her, even if she felt a sense of pity and regret. She lunged herself at the blankets, pulling at them as she got a hold. The woman screamed, slashing her knife madly, slicing Samira’s wrist. She pulled them free, falling back.
Her eyes widened in shock as she found herself on the ground. She had to get up, she was vulnerable. She quickly tried to crawl back, but to her surprise there was no retaliation. Only the sound of a vicious rattling chain. Samira sat herself up, looking back at the frail woman, a fearful but fiery look in her eyes. Then, Samira saw it.
Her left leg was chained to the floor with irons, and her right leg… Gone. It had been cut off, the blood still oozed through the bandage. Samira’s eyebrows raised in shock. “What the fuck?”
-
Hours passed, and the two sat in silence, apart from the constant shivering that Samira painfully listened to. She was in comfort under the heat of the blankets, but there was an itch at her heart, a touch of remorse on her conscience. She looked over to the girl, who was withered to the floor. Flesh and bones.
“Who are you?” Samira asked with a hushed voice, and the woman just remained dormant. “Why the fuck do you care?” She spat back, and Samira raised an eyebrow. “You want one of these back?” She tempted, and the desperate and broken look returned on her fearful jade eyes.
“Cassy.” She revealed quietly. “Cassy Waters.” She stated, now turning her pleading eyes to the blankets, but Samira shook her head. “That tells me nothing. Who are you really?” Samira investigated, and the girl shook her head with paining eyes. “Please.” She mumbled.
“Who are you?” Samira repeated, her tone growing harsher, beating the girl out of her frail state. “I’m a spy.” She revealed, and Samira felt a painful realisation crawling over her. “You came here for a safe haven?” Samira finally questioned, more stating it to herself than her. Cassy nodded, her ireful glare returning. “Now give me a fucking blanket!” She cursed, and Samira reluctantly tossed her one.
“That’s not enough, I’m going to fucking freeze.” She complained, but Samira shook her head. “You want blankets, I want answers. We can help each other out here.” Samira confidently stated, and received a hesitant look in return, before a doubtful nod. Samira smirked. “Now, where did you come from?” Samira interrogated, and Cassy shook her head.
“By the fucking time I answer all your questions I will have fucking frozen. Just give me another and I’ll tell you my story from start to finish.” She promised, and Samira eyed her suspiciously, before turning her gaze to the blankets. There were only three. Why should she sacrifice herself for a dying sack of rotting meat? She bit her lip, tossing her another. She knew she’d regret it, but there was a thankful look on Cassy’s jade eyes.
“Okay.” She stated, tucking them around her. “I was in service of Togarion Bar Emmon, and an acting medic in the Darklyn army. I was collecting intel for Togs when I was rooted out.” Cassy revealed, and Samira raised an eyebrow.
“Togs?” She asked, and she noticed a shade of embarrassment flash over the girl’s face. “Togarion.” She corrected, and Samira eyed her carefully. “You two are close.” Samira realised, and Cassy shrugged. “He’s my half-brother. Whether that makes us close or not…” Samira sighed, pulling her blanket closer to her.
“The Bar Emmon’s sided with Qarlon in Andalos.” Samira recalled, and Cassy nodded. “The one true king.” She stated with confidence, a weak smile on her face. “I suppose that doesn’t matter now, with the Freehold taking rise.” Samira stated with boredom, the civil crisis of Andalos didn’t particularly bother her. Westeros was her home now, but Cassy begged to disagree with a firm shake of her weak head.
“That’s precisely why it matters. Noriphos is a weak king. Andalos needs a strong ruler with a steady hand, which Noriphos does not have. He can barely run his own city, little own a kingdom. Qarlon can, and unlike Noriphos, he isn’t abandoning his people.” She said with a bitterness in her tone, Samira rolled her eyes, causing Cassy to smile.
“That’s where you came from, isn’t it?” She questioned, and Samira raised her eyebrow. “What?” She said with confusion, but Cassy shook her head. “You worked for Noriphos.” She stated confidently, and Samira found herself eying the girl again, before she nodded. Cassy chuckled. “Now you’re here. Strange that.” Samira felt herself staring at this girl in a different light, she looked at her with suspicious eyes. What else does she know?
“What do you mean?” Samira encouraged, and Cassy smirked. “I mean he’s sold you out, Samira.” Cassy smiled, and Samira’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” She demanded, only amusing the girl further. “Honey, every spy from Dorne to the Wall has heard of the girl who brought a kingdom into ruins. I bet Noriphos wasn’t too happy with that.” She cockily added, and Samira shook her head. “He wouldn’t sell me out.” Samira stated with some confidence, which was only wavered with Cassy’s raised eyebrow.
“Oh really? Did the Courier come for you?” She asked, and Samira nodded. “Whenever the Courier comes, it’s never good. My bet, if I was Noriphos I would have wanted the Northmen to kill each other, then take what remains. You kind of fucked that one up.” Cassy teased, and Samira felt her hands clenching. “We’re going off topic.” Samira stated, in an attempt to return it back to her control. Cassy nodded.
“Of course we are, where were we?” She teased, to which Samira ignored. “How did you end up here?” Samira asked, and there was clearly some unease on the topic for Cass. “I heard there was a safe haven here. I was foolish to believe it.” Her words spoke with a certain tremble to them, invoking some uncomforting vibes. Samira questioned the matter further. “Meaning?” Samira pushed, and Cassy looked at her like she was the dumbest soul to be imprisoned with.
“Look at my fucking leg.” She stated with an obvious irritant. “Dalia is not what she seems. Those grand meals she cooks up…” Cassy’s words started to waver, and Samira came to the realisation of what she meant. She shook her head, a revolted feeling aroused in her stomach. “No.” She said, shaking her head still as she covered her mouth. Cassy stared at the stump with teary eyes.
“The same will happen to you.” Cassy said hopelessly, but Samira shook her head. “I have friends here, I… I can get us out, we can get to Togarion.” Samira suggested, but Cassy shook her head. “I tried the same thing. Denzel? Dallop? All those ferry kids are owned by Dalia. It was a trap the moment we set foot in this cursed city.” Cass stated, resting her head down against the stone floor. “All we can do is wait now.” She said miserably, and Samira wanted to shake her head, to install some hope, but what good was there now? Her plans had just backfired. She should have never came here.
The lock rustled and clinked as a key was inserted, and the cellar trapdoor was opened. Light flooded in, and an arched-back woman stood at the entrance. “Come out, Samira.” She beckoned, her croaky voice was thick and barely unnoticeable that it was an act. Samira cautiously approached the entrance, climbing the steps and meeting Dalia’s gaze.
“Finding your stay bearable?” She asked, and Samira looked back down the hatch before carefully nodding. Dalia smiled, her black mole widening at her as she did. “Good. I have some work for you.” She stated, and Samira raised an eyebrow. “King Florian, the boy king. He returned to Maidenpool today, and is requesting some bed warmers. I figured you would be a good choice, so long as you didn’t kill him.” She added, a smile on her lips. Samira reciprocated it, even if it was fake.
“I hope that your company hasn’t been all that bad. The poor girl came to us with a broken foot. It had infected to a point beyond anything we could do. We had to take it off, I feared she would die otherwise. Has she woken yet?” Dalia asked, and Samira found a lump build in her throat again. Should she tell her the truth? What would she do if she did?
The halls were black and damp with moisture, giving a hauntingly cool appearance, yet something that was oddly comforting for Dormund. The walls were bare, sparing no room for natural light, but only the holstered flames they held. The only addition to this bland hallway, was rooms. A number of dark wooden doors, reframed with heavy red-bronze plating, adding only a bloody colour to an otherwise black corridor.
Dormund wore a loose grey shirt with the Bolton coat of arms displayed on his chest, along with some simple leather pants. His feet were bare, cool and numb. The cold air nipped at his skin, yet he felt nothing, the heatless corridor stood no match for him. He frowned, taking a few steps closer to one of the doors in the corridor.
He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should knock or simply enter. This castle, this kingdom. It was his domain, being its prince. If I even am that, Dormund reluctantly thought, looking at his cold hands before closing them into fists. He raised them to the door, but before he made contact, the door swung open. Eyes as blue as the Narrow Sea stared out from behind the door in shock, clearly startled to see Dormund standing there. Her hair was like dark chocolate, long and wavy, and despite her young appearing age, her body looked to have matured.
“Uhm.” She awkwardly sounded, and another voice picked up from the room which Dormund could not see. “Do not fret, Lady Catlina. You stand before Prince Dormund, heir to the Dreadfort.” The feminine voice announced, and Catlina’s cheeks began to blush. She gave a curtsy and nodded.
“My Prince.” She greeted, and Dormund gave an impatient nod. “Now go.” The woman ordered, and the girl obeyed. “Come in, Red Prince.” The woman ordered, and Dormund reluctantly entered. The room was dim, the only light came from a few melting candles and a lantern on a desk in the far corner. By that desk sat a woman, drowned in grey robes with blood red linings, which opened up into a bloody sleeve. Her bright icy blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkened surroundings, being complimented by her straight straw blonde hair.
“Would you like a seat, Prince Dormund?” The woman, Elena Rivers, offered. Dormund shook his head, shutting the heavy door behind him with ease. She smirked, marvelling at Dormund’s physique with awe. Silence lingered in the damp air for a moment, before Elena eased her tone into it.
“Catlina Glover. A girl of fourteen, with a sour distaste for her controlling mother, looking to marry your brother. To her, I am naught but a mere handmaiden.” Elena explained, and Dormund crossed his arms. “I care not for your ability to fold clothes.” Elena smiled, shaking her head. “Of course not.” She acknowledged, clasping her hands together. “You want answers.” Dormund nodded.
“Why did you bring me back?” Dormund asked, demanding an explanation, and Elena sighed. “I saw potential with you, something which your older brother never had. Your father wanted that pathetic brother of yours back, but the Wraith chooses her own subjects. We chose you.” Elena revealed, and Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“The Wraith?” Dormund further questioned, and Elena stood from her chair, revealing herself in the candlelight. “She is the warden that holds the Great Other north of the Wall. She wars with the creatures in the Winter lands, and her power keeps them from passing the Wall. I am her servanthe had me bring you back for one clear reason.” Elena stated solemnly, and Dormund’s eyebrows furrowed.
“And what reason is that?” He pushed. “Unity.” Elena revealed, nonchalantly. “We must prepare to fight the forces that are growing too strong in the real North. To do that, we need strength in numbers. The North must unite under one flag. A house with strength, and a reputation that will meet those of the Other’s. The flayed man of the Red Kings must fly over all of the North.” She divulged, and Dormund could not help but chuckle.
“You’re mad.” Dormund grinned, turning for the door. Elena let out a small laugh, sitting back at her desk. “Perhaps,” she replied, “but what makes you any different?” She challenged him, and Dormund’s grin mellowed down to something dour. “Vengeance.” He muttered silently under his breath.
“Good.” She smirked, walking after him and taking his forearm. “Then take your vengeance. Take what is rightfully yours, take the flayed crown.” She encouraged him, but Dormund just shook his head. “I don’t know how much you knew of me, but I should have never been born. Now remove your hand before I make you wish you weren’t either.” He threatened, and hesitantly the girl obeyed. Dormund reached the door, exiting the room and slamming it shut behind him. He needed some air.
-
The air was cold and sleet was starting to fall in small clumps. Regardless, soldiers sparred in the courtyard with spears and swords of iron, or shot at straw targets with their new arrows. The Bolton’s had come off well with the Andal invasion, and soon they would come off well with the North. Dormund rolled his eyes, thinking to Elena’s words. Take the crown. The words rolled around in his head, persisting to bother him. He shook his head, walking to the courtyard.
A few men bothered to notice is hideous outlook for long enough to put on a show. “The fuck is that?” One taunted, spinning his sword. One of his comrades piped up. “Dunno Maggot, I bet he bleeds.” He stated with a bloody grin, his teeth yellow. “Just like the Leech you are.” He jested, before turning his gaze to Dormund.
“You reek.” He shouted, a smirk building on his lips. Dormund reached for a sword in the rack, pulling out the first he saw. He unsheathed the blade, now approaching the two sparrers. “That’d be a good name, don’t you think, Leech? What’dya th-” His words were cut off as the hilt of the dulled blade smashed into his jaw. Dormund turned to Leech, his counterpart, encouraging to take a swing. He took the bait.
His attack was pitiful, and he was dragged by the weight of the sword right passed Dormund and into the mud. There was some hostility in his new expression, followed by Maggot’s rise. The two cooperated an attack which caused Dormund to parry the first swing, while countering the second with a kick. He turned to Maggot with a joyful gaze, before hacking his blade again Maggot’s. Clearly stunned, the trainee struggled to keep up with Dormund, who had never been an excellent swordsman. Before long his foe had tired, and Dormund gave him the mercy of his sword butt again.
Leech arose from his stumble to surprise Dormund, landing a well-placed thwack in the back. Dormund gritted his teeth, turning to catch his second swing before he could land it. He held his foe’s arm high in the air, and before Leech could do the same, Dormund brought his sword thundering down onto the man’s wrist. There was a crack, followed by an agonising yell.
Dormund grinned as the man fell to his knees, dropping his sword and nursing his wrist with his free hand. Victorious. “Having fun there?” A raspy voice called from behind him, and Dormund turned to meet the brown eyes of a familiar face, but not one which he could pick. His head was shaved down to near nothing, but it was clear he once had black hair. Dormund glared at him a moment, and the man nodded. “You don’t remember me.” He concluded, and Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“Should I?” The man chuckled, extending a gloved hand in greeting. “Russel.” He introduced himself foolishly, to which Dormund ignored his hand. “What do you want?” Dormund asked, running his hand over the old dry blood on the sword. Russel crossed his arms, leaning against the stone wall they stood beside.
“Your father wanted me to make you something.” He stated nonchalantly, and Dormund eyed him off curiously, to which he sighed. “Come to my forge, I’ll show you.” He beckoned, and cautiously Dormund followed him. The court was on the other side of the court, in easy view of the sparring field. The blacksmith stopped by his workstation, putting away some tools. “What is it?” Dormund inquired, impatient. Russel simply chuckled.
“That was always like you, impatient as ever.” He stated with amusement as he placed some iron tongs over a hook. It was then that he reached under the station, pulling a weapon from underneath and presenting it to him. “Recognise this?” He asked, placing it in Dormund’s hands. It was a war hammer, and well made by the looks of it. Dormund shrugged.
“Should I?” He repeated his question, causing Russel to sigh. “That hammer belonged to Harmond Hornhill, one of the greatest soldiers in the Stark army. A man you killed. It’s only fair that you should have it now.” He stated, looking down to his hand. “Given you can’t shoot without any fingers.” He taunted, but seemed disappointed when he did not evoke a response out of him. “Come on, where’s your humour boy?” He tapped his arm, and Dormund took a firm grip on the shaft.
“Was that all?” Dormund rushed, and Russel eyed him for a moment before shaking his head. “Come inside.” He ordered, and Dormund followed him into the dim room, only lit by a fire pit. Tools hung over the walls, and in the corner was an armour stand, with armour he did recognise. “For you.” He stated, pointing at the flayed armour of the kingsguard. It had been the armour Ryden wore, yet now it was different.
“I reforged it. Still in the same design, of course, but there was an abundance of iron left from the boats. What do you think?” He asked, clearly proud of his work. Dormund took a few steps closer to the armour, examining its details. It was beautiful. Russel did not wait for an answer.
“You should go out and give that hammer a swing.” He suggested, turning to his forge. He put some gloves on and put a lump of metal into the fire pit. Dormund adjusted his grip, approaching the fire pit with slow and cautious steps. “The Hammer of Hornhill they call it. A lovely piece of work, forged by Brodin Cale. Not that I-” His voice fell silent when Dormund took the first swing.
The head of the hammer planted thick into his skull, liquid spewing out the gaps. His neck twitched as Dormund moved the weapon, before he finally fell to his knees. He dislodged the hammer from his skull, pushing him into the fire pit before observing the remnants of Russel’s brain and skull on the end of the hammer. “Yes.” Dormund stated aloud. “I think it will do fine.”
You know, the only thing that is better than having two new parts when waking up is having four parts over the course of the last 2 days. This has to be an absolute record and I applaud you for it. Well done, Sir, well done. And with such outstanding quality as always. I could never do that in such time, I am not even kidding you there
[Lie to her]
Holy shit! That part... just... holy shit! You know this feeling when you realize that literally everything you did has been a huge mistake lately? That is exactly how I feel with Samira right now. It seems we seriously fucked up with the choices for her, but even worse is that she and we were genuinely tricked. Fucking Dalia... hey, I think I won't have a problem with disliking her. Rolls off the tongue nicely But anyways, wether or not we messed up or Dalia was just too good at tricking us all, it doesn't matter, since the situation won't change. Samira is in serious trouble now. And hell, that damn twist. Dalia is not only evil, she is also a cannibal and now she's got Samira in her hands. I doubt this will end well for either of them. But well, I don't think we should rat Cassy out here. Just lie to that bitch, I don't see a good reason to tell her the truth.
Samira
The cellar was damp and dimly lit, but Samira could hardly complain. I’ve lived through worse, she reminded herself, tucking her l… moreegs close to her chest. She jittered her teeth in the cool air, rubbing her arms frantically. At least I had heat. Her gaze flickered around the dark room, it was located under the storage room, and mostly homed empty crates and containers, and another guest.
Samira stared at the unconscious woman by the crate, sleeping soundly on a bed mat with layered blankets. She had not awoken when Samira arrived a few days ago, and she still hadn’t moved still then. Perhaps she’s dead. Samira thought hopefully, feeling the cold bite at her skin. Those blankets would be nice.
She pulled herself off the freezing stone floor, making her way towards the still girl. If she was sleeping, she was hiding it well. Samira studied her body for breathing movement, but it was of little use, she was heavily covered in thick… [view original content]
Ah, another Dormund part and this time we even get answers. I loved that a lot. This Wraith Elena mentioned... it does ring a bell. It's been a while since we got an update for that, but hasn't the Northern Chill featured such a being? I might mix things up here, but it sounded familiar. Surely, this part brought up new questions, but it is nice to get a glimpse of an answer here and there. I feel like the puzzle is slowly making more sense. A question though, I don't exactly remember it. Does Rogar know that Dormund is resurrected? And has he been okay with this? Or was it simply that he has enough respect for Elena and her powers to accept her decision?
Also, do I see it correctly that the crown of House Bolton is called 'the flayed crown'? That... sounds gross. I think it's better not to imagine how it looks or how it smells
Dormund
The halls were black and damp with moisture, giving a hauntingly cool appearance, yet something that was oddly comforting for Dor… moremund. The walls were bare, sparing no room for natural light, but only the holstered flames they held. The only addition to this bland hallway, was rooms. A number of dark wooden doors, reframed with heavy red-bronze plating, adding only a bloody colour to an otherwise black corridor.
Dormund wore a loose grey shirt with the Bolton coat of arms displayed on his chest, along with some simple leather pants. His feet were bare, cool and numb. The cold air nipped at his skin, yet he felt nothing, the heatless corridor stood no match for him. He frowned, taking a few steps closer to one of the doors in the corridor.
He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should knock or simply enter. This castle, this kingdom. It was his domain, being its prince. If I even am that, Dormund reluctantly thought, looki… [view original content]
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Merma… moreid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best… [view original content]
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arm… mores, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning b… [view original content]
Samira
The cellar was damp and dimly lit, but Samira could hardly complain. I’ve lived through worse, she reminded herself, tucking her l… moreegs close to her chest. She jittered her teeth in the cool air, rubbing her arms frantically. At least I had heat. Her gaze flickered around the dark room, it was located under the storage room, and mostly homed empty crates and containers, and another guest.
Samira stared at the unconscious woman by the crate, sleeping soundly on a bed mat with layered blankets. She had not awoken when Samira arrived a few days ago, and she still hadn’t moved still then. Perhaps she’s dead. Samira thought hopefully, feeling the cold bite at her skin. Those blankets would be nice.
She pulled herself off the freezing stone floor, making her way towards the still girl. If she was sleeping, she was hiding it well. Samira studied her body for breathing movement, but it was of little use, she was heavily covered in thick… [view original content]
“You reek.” He shouted, a smirk building on his lips. Dormund reached for a sword in the rack, pulling out the first he saw. He unsheathed the blade, now approaching the two sparrers. “That’d be a good name, don’t you think, Leech?
That's awesome! There is something so cool about seeing little easter eggs from the series thrown in.
This was a pretty neat part and it seems we have indeed gotten some answers. From the sound of things, Theon and the Stark army may not have such a great homecoming once they arrive back from Andalos If what Elena says is true, it seems another Stark-Bolton war will soon be on the horizon and it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Dormund will clearly has a very action packed storyline moving forward and I am obviously hyped to see where it takes him
Dormund
The halls were black and damp with moisture, giving a hauntingly cool appearance, yet something that was oddly comforting for Dor… moremund. The walls were bare, sparing no room for natural light, but only the holstered flames they held. The only addition to this bland hallway, was rooms. A number of dark wooden doors, reframed with heavy red-bronze plating, adding only a bloody colour to an otherwise black corridor.
Dormund wore a loose grey shirt with the Bolton coat of arms displayed on his chest, along with some simple leather pants. His feet were bare, cool and numb. The cold air nipped at his skin, yet he felt nothing, the heatless corridor stood no match for him. He frowned, taking a few steps closer to one of the doors in the corridor.
He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should knock or simply enter. This castle, this kingdom. It was his domain, being its prince. If I even am that, Dormund reluctantly thought, looki… [view original content]
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arm… mores, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning b… [view original content]
Geez.... I think Elena's resurrection must have messed with his personality or something. He seems a lot darker and crueler than he was before his death. He literally just killed that blacksmith for no reason at all.
Dormund
The halls were black and damp with moisture, giving a hauntingly cool appearance, yet something that was oddly comforting for Dor… moremund. The walls were bare, sparing no room for natural light, but only the holstered flames they held. The only addition to this bland hallway, was rooms. A number of dark wooden doors, reframed with heavy red-bronze plating, adding only a bloody colour to an otherwise black corridor.
Dormund wore a loose grey shirt with the Bolton coat of arms displayed on his chest, along with some simple leather pants. His feet were bare, cool and numb. The cold air nipped at his skin, yet he felt nothing, the heatless corridor stood no match for him. He frowned, taking a few steps closer to one of the doors in the corridor.
He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should knock or simply enter. This castle, this kingdom. It was his domain, being its prince. If I even am that, Dormund reluctantly thought, looki… [view original content]
There isn't really any good reason to tell her the truth. Doing that will probably just get Cass killed.
Well Liquid, looks like you have another Dalia to hate. Except this time, this one has done something to warrant it, while the other is just a potential future threat.
Samira
The cellar was damp and dimly lit, but Samira could hardly complain. I’ve lived through worse, she reminded herself, tucking her l… moreegs close to her chest. She jittered her teeth in the cool air, rubbing her arms frantically. At least I had heat. Her gaze flickered around the dark room, it was located under the storage room, and mostly homed empty crates and containers, and another guest.
Samira stared at the unconscious woman by the crate, sleeping soundly on a bed mat with layered blankets. She had not awoken when Samira arrived a few days ago, and she still hadn’t moved still then. Perhaps she’s dead. Samira thought hopefully, feeling the cold bite at her skin. Those blankets would be nice.
She pulled herself off the freezing stone floor, making her way towards the still girl. If she was sleeping, she was hiding it well. Samira studied her body for breathing movement, but it was of little use, she was heavily covered in thick… [view original content]
Ah, another Dormund part and this time we even get answers. I loved that a lot. This Wraith Elena mentioned... it does ring a bell. It's been a while since we got an update for that, but hasn't the Northern Chill featured such a being?
You are correct. From the start I always wanted to keep all my story plans linked, and this was the way to hint TNC's existence in the very far future while in the Invasion. What little we learned there we will pick up from here
A question though, I don't exactly remember it. Does Rogar know that Dormund is resurrected? And has he been okay with this? Or was it simply that he has enough respect for Elena and her powers to accept her decision?
No stress, I barely remembered the last part myself. I did put a recap up with Nathan's, along with a Samira one, but I don't blame you if you missed it. Last part Dormund did indeed reunite with his father, and it made for an interested and conflicted scene between the two. Rogar never wanted Dormund to be resurrected, but due to what he is left with, he's had little choice other to accept it. It makes it difficult both on him and Dormund in this aspect, but as we can see, Dormund is far from the man he used to be.
Also, do I see it correctly that the crown of House Bolton is called 'the flayed crown'? That... sounds gross. I think it's better not to imagine how it looks or how it smells
Well, it may be metaphorical... It may not be either...
Ah, another Dormund part and this time we even get answers. I loved that a lot. This Wraith Elena mentioned... it does ring a bell. It's bee… moren a while since we got an update for that, but hasn't the Northern Chill featured such a being? I might mix things up here, but it sounded familiar. Surely, this part brought up new questions, but it is nice to get a glimpse of an answer here and there. I feel like the puzzle is slowly making more sense. A question though, I don't exactly remember it. Does Rogar know that Dormund is resurrected? And has he been okay with this? Or was it simply that he has enough respect for Elena and her powers to accept her decision?
Also, do I see it correctly that the crown of House Bolton is called 'the flayed crown'? That... sounds gross. I think it's better not to imagine how it looks or how it smells
That's awesome! There is something so cool about seeing little easter eggs from the series thrown in.
Haha, I'm really glad you picked up on this. I saw the opportunity and I thought, why not? This is a GoT based story after all
This was a pretty neat part and it seems we have indeed gotten some answers. From the sound of things, Theon and the Stark army may not have such a great homecoming once they arrive back from Andalos If what Elena says is true, it seems another Stark-Bolton war will soon be on the horizon and it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Dormund will clearly has a very action packed storyline moving forward and I am obviously hyped to see where it takes him
Oh if you thought that the Stark's and Bolton's could be friends after the Battle of the Weeping Water, my friend, you were mistaken There is indeed a war coming, and one which will determine a lot for the North, and for this supposed 'threat' beyond the Wall.
“You reek.” He shouted, a smirk building on his lips. Dormund reached for a sword in the rack, pulling out the first he saw. He unsheathed t… morehe blade, now approaching the two sparrers. “That’d be a good name, don’t you think, Leech?
That's awesome! There is something so cool about seeing little easter eggs from the series thrown in.
This was a pretty neat part and it seems we have indeed gotten some answers. From the sound of things, Theon and the Stark army may not have such a great homecoming once they arrive back from Andalos If what Elena says is true, it seems another Stark-Bolton war will soon be on the horizon and it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Dormund will clearly has a very action packed storyline moving forward and I am obviously hyped to see where it takes him
Geez.... I think Elena's resurrection must have messed with his personality or something. He seems a lot darker and crueler than he was before his death. He literally just killed that blacksmith for no reason at all.
Apart from the sheer thrill of it, yep. There was no reason for him to do it. He's definitely not the man he was prior to his death, and arguably a lot more 'Boltony' now, which his father could potentially approve of.
Geez.... I think Elena's resurrection must have messed with his personality or something. He seems a lot darker and crueler than he was before his death. He literally just killed that blacksmith for no reason at all.
You know, the only thing that is better than having two new parts when waking up is having four parts over the course of the last 2 days. This has to be an absolute record and I applaud you for it. Well done, Sir, well done. And with such outstanding quality as always. I could never do that in such time, I am not even kidding you there
Well I was considering getting the last part done too while I was at it, which would have been a Steffon part, but a couple of things held me back from doing so. It's meant to be a semi-emotional revealing part, and these last few parts have had a pretty harsh and rushed rhythm to them, so I figured I'd only spoil Steffon's part if I did then. Also, I remember a time when I pumped out a fair few TNC parts every day over a couple of weeks until the chapter ended. Well, I also remember a couple of complaints for those who fell seriously behind Anyway, after Steffon's part we have Jaycen, which is something for you to get excited for
You know, the only thing that is better than having two new parts when waking up is having four parts over the course of the last 2 days. Th… moreis has to be an absolute record and I applaud you for it. Well done, Sir, well done. And with such outstanding quality as always. I could never do that in such time, I am not even kidding you there
[Lie to her]
Holy shit! That part... just... holy shit! You know this feeling when you realize that literally everything you did has been a huge mistake lately? That is exactly how I feel with Samira right now. It seems we seriously fucked up with the choices for her, but even worse is that she and we were genuinely tricked. Fucking Dalia... hey, I think I won't have a problem with disliking her. Rolls off the tongue nicely But anyways, wether or not we messed up or Dalia was just too good at tricking us all, it doesn't matter, since the situation won't change. Samira is in serious trouble now. And hell… [view original content]
[Lie to her] Cassy has clearly been put through enough and I figure that if Samira tells Dalia the truth, than things will only get worse fo… morer her.
Edit: Oh yeah I forgot to mention that there is probably now a second Dalia that can contribute to the Dislike Dalia Club
Oh if you thought that the Stark's and Bolton's could be friends after the Battle of the Weeping Water, my friend, you were mistaken There is indeed a war coming, and one which will determine a lot for the North, and for this supposed 'threat' beyond the Wall.
Haha that is a very good point Rogar and Theon certainly won't become buddies anytime soon. By the way, I have really enjoyed their scenes together especially this one scene in the first chapter where Rogar told Theon to remember that "Our Blades are Sharp" and than rode off I had to mention it because it was pretty beast! As for this threat beyond the wall, I suppose this means the White Walkers may be gathering or this could also mean something else entirely which probably means I need to finish up some northern royalty
That's awesome! There is something so cool about seeing little easter eggs from the series thrown in.
Haha, I'm really glad you pick… moreed up on this. I saw the opportunity and I thought, why not? This is a GoT based story after all
This was a pretty neat part and it seems we have indeed gotten some answers. From the sound of things, Theon and the Stark army may not have such a great homecoming once they arrive back from Andalos If what Elena says is true, it seems another Stark-Bolton war will soon be on the horizon and it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Dormund will clearly has a very action packed storyline moving forward and I am obviously hyped to see where it takes him
Oh if you thought that the Stark's and Bolton's could be friends after the Battle of the Weeping Water, my friend, you were mistaken There is indeed a war coming, and one which will determine a lot for the North, and for this supposed 'threat' beyond the Wall.
Hey guys, so I have the next part ready, which goes to Steffon. The last we saw of poor old, and tired, Steffon Cale, he was discussing war matters with the council. They ended up deciding not to request aid from the Barrow Kings, to which Steffon later left the council for some well needed rest. However when encountering his room, he met little Tristram Stark, who informed him of the tragedies of their house, and his worries. As they were talking, they were interrupted by a worried handmaiden, Martena Rivers, who was in charge of the Stark children's well-being. She offered to take Tristram back to his room, and when left with the choice, you decided to have this tired old man accompany them. This part takes place where it left off, enjoy
Edit: The new Jaycen part is also out. Last we saw him, he had decided to allow his son to be acting lord of Nightsong while he was gone. He then gave his farewells and joined Gladys and Keat in marching their army for Storm's End. This part takes place a day or two after.
... And the new PoV, and I believe the last of this chapter, is introduced! Torrhen Blackmont.
The door to Tristram’s room swung open as Martena guided the weary boy into his bed. Steffon watched with envious and tired eyes. He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep. I suppose someone out there just wishes to see me suffer. He thought bitterly to himself, before the face of his daughter and brother flashed in the darkness of the room. He fought hard not to crumble down, not in front of the boy, and not in front of that bastard hand maiden, who was now exiting the room. When the door was closed, she let out a sigh.
“You didn’t have to escort us, although I appreciate your silent company.” She mocked, starting to walk down the hall. Steffon rolled his eyes, walking after her. She possessed beautiful long and wavy red hair, with polar opposite eyes that were a cold icy blue. She was tall, and had a slim build, overall Steffon found her quite attractive for her age.
“So tell me, what is a Riverlands bastard doing so far north?” Steffon investigated, scratching his thick beard. He had not bothered to shave for a while now, not since his daughter passed. Martena shrugged her shoulders. “There was no place for me in the Riverlands.” She stated boldly, making Steffon raise an eyebrow.
“Who is your father?” Steffon asked, and Martena sighed, stopping by a window where she overlooked the dark courtyard. “Edmure Tully. He is a general in King Tristifer Mudd’s army.” Martena stated, staring out the window with boredom. As I am to Theon. Steffon though in contrast, before turning his gaze out the dark window.
“So you lived with the Mudd’s then?” Steffon continued to question, and Martena rubbed her eyes. “General, forgive me, but it’s getting late. Queen Helia is in the Great Hall if you’re looking for a chat, otherwise I wish you a good night.” She bid him, taking a bow and egressing before Steffon could think to chase after her. Instead he just rested his head against the wall. He was exhausted beyond belief, yet the likelihood of getting some rest now felt minimal. Given that the Queen was still up at this hour, it was a pliable option to check on.
-
She sat alone at the council table, a flask of red wine with a stack of cups beside it, one sitting in front of her as she stared into oblivion. Steffon watched her for a moment, unsure whether he should interrupt on her calmed misery, but something told him to go in. His first step into the hall caught her attention, her eyes flickering over to him with a saddened gaze. “General Cale.” She greeted, her voice dignified and courageous, yet there was a sadness deep in her tone, Steffon knew it well.
“Queen Stark.” He reciprocated, taking a seat opposite her. He reached a cup, pouring himself a drink. Wine had never fancied him, but for the occasion, he had a thirst. It wasn’t long until he was reaching for another refill. “What brings you to my hall of misery, Steffon?” Helia muttered quietly, sipping on her wine.
“Misery.” Steffon stated blatantly, downing a second cup. She sighed, placing the cup back on the table. “Theon is a fool.” She said with caution, to which Steffon simply shrugged. “Kings have been made from worse.” He stated, though he did not see Theon for a fool. A warrior perhaps, but not a fool. Helia shrugged, lifting her hands to her hair.
“He’s not a great king.” She expressed bitterly, parting her hairline to reveal a filthy long scar. Steffon studied it before turning his gaze back to her. “Theon did this to you?” He asked carelessly, and she nodded hesitantly, causing Steffon to frown. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, which seemed to displease her.
“I do not want your apologies, General. I want my people to survive, and this road you are leading them on will certainly put an end to them.” She exclaimed, causing Steffon to raise his eyebrows. “Have any better ideas, princess?” He mocked her, but she took no attention to it. “Yes, I do. Request aid from the Barrow’s, I know they will help.” She stated confidently, to which Steffon just sighed, shaking his head.
“You heard the council, showing weakness to them could end badly for us.” He recited, but Helia shook her head furiously. “Fuck the council! Things will already end badly for us, Steffon. Can you not already see that?” She yelled, to which Steffon shrugged it off. She rolled her eyes pathetically. “I’ve never met someone so fucking naive.” She muttered, taking a page out of Steffon’s book and downing her cup in an instant, somewhat impressing him. Still, he chuckled.
“So what, you would just have me ride for Barrowton and demand their assistance in taking back Stark land? You have to be kidding me.” Yet Helia nodded. “They’re of the western lands. We’re not the only ones affected by the Ironborn, Steffon, they’ve got it worse. Much worse now, since their crown was assassinated by Andal spies. My family are the stewards of Barrowton now.” She informed him, which Steffon raised an eyebrow.
“Your family?” He questioned, and she nodded. “House Amber.” She stated with a small smile, there was some pride in it for her. “The rule Barrowton now, and I know they would help, but they do not have the power or influence…” She revealed with disappointment, and Steffon sighed. “So it’s a dead end.” He muttered, but Helia shook her head in disagreement.
“The people are choosing to support a girl called Emma Snow. She is the eldest bastard daughter of the late King Dustin, and proclaimed herself the heir to Barrowton, but due to her bastardy her claim is tested.” Helia stated, and Steffon crossed his arms. “So why would Emma Snow want to help us?” Steffon asked, and Helia sighed. “She wouldn’t.” She admitted, to which Steffon frowned. “Then what good is it?” He stated ignorantly. Helia poured herself another cup of wine.
“Before the Battle of the Weeping Water, Theon called his most trusted soldier to him to forge an alliance with the neighbouring kingdoms. This man was Harmond Hornhill, and he was accompanied by his pupil, Edrick. We know Harmond is dead, but perhaps Edrick survived. Perhaps he headed for Emma, she is his half-sister.” She stated with some hope, but Steffon felt unconvinced.
“Even if he is there, do you think he would help us? Or even be able to convince this Emma to help us?” He asked, to which Helia shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re guaranteed at least some help with the Amber’s, but I don’t know how much they can do. However, the same can be said with Emma Snow, I’ve never met the girl, but if she’s rallied most of the western houses then I can presume she’s tough.” Helia guessed, and Steffon still felt unconvinced by it all. “I don’t know Helia…” He said unconfidently, to which she crossed her arms with frustration.
“What have we got to lose, Steffon? We’re both weakened kingdoms, they don’t have the time to turn on us, we can still overpower them if it comes to that. We could if we didn’t throw what’s left of our forces at ravaging rapists and raiders.” She argued, and Steffon nodded in agreeance. “Please, you know we need this. Wulfgar will lead what we have west, and we know Haymitch is getting help from the Night’s Watch. You could either ride to Barrowton, to my family, or to the Rills, where I hear Emma Snow is building an army with House Ryder and others. What do you say?” She asked, and Steffon needed to think for a moment. His extreme exhaustion did not help with his decision, and he didn’t want to make a bad choice.
Indeed, some threats beyond the Wall may be arriving sooner than we think. Well, maybe Rogar is a bit of a bad ass, and I'm a bit ashamed to admit I haven't been able to show off much of him over these three chapters. However I'll be happy to announce that Chapter 4 should show off a bit more off his beast-ism
Oh if you thought that the Stark's and Bolton's could be friends after the Battle of the Weeping Water, my friend, you were mistaken There … moreis indeed a war coming, and one which will determine a lot for the North, and for this supposed 'threat' beyond the Wall.
Haha that is a very good point Rogar and Theon certainly won't become buddies anytime soon. By the way, I have really enjoyed their scenes together especially this one scene in the first chapter where Rogar told Theon to remember that "Our Blades are Sharp" and than rode off I had to mention it because it was pretty beast! As for this threat beyond the wall, I suppose this means the White Walkers may be gathering or this could also mean something else entirely which probably means I need to finish up some northern royalty
The fork of the Wyl River was drawing near as the Dondarrion and Caron host marched onward. Their armies would need to cross the Stone Bridge in order to continue through the Stone Way, a road which Jaycen was highly hesitant of using. However due to time restriction and distance, they had been left with little other choice.
Jaycen rode with the Dondarrion vanguard, beside General Gladys and Keat Musgood. Gladys’ expression seemed to match Jaycen’s thoughts pretty clearly. She had never held much love for the Wyl’s, with her father in the past, however when she lost her lover to them, it only stretched the already stretched relationship between Blackhaven and Wyl. The track they followed was treacherous, and quarrelsome to say the least. The only member of the van who seemed to have their wits about them was Keat Musgood, who held a solemn expression.
“We will need to move with haste once we’re over the Stone Bridge. The Stone Way is known to be filled with bandits and criminals. While I doubt any will bother us, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Keat suggested, to which Gladys spat. “That’s if they even let us past. What will they think with a combined army heading for Wyl? Those bastards stabbed us in the back once before.” Gladys cursed, to which Jaycen sighed.
“They’ll let us through.” He stated solemnly, but Gladys looked unconfident to say the least. “We’ll take the bridge if it comes to it.” Jaycen reassured her, to which he sparked a small smile on her lips. He didn’t wish for it to come to that. No, I need to lend my forces to die in a pointless war. Jaycen thought bitterly, yet he refused to believe that Qarlton was that stupid, that was not the man that he had once called friend. He didn’t know what had happened to that man, it sure as hell wasn’t him when he was fucking Jaycen’s wife behind his back. Jaycen tightened his grip around the reins.
“We’ll ride ahead.” Keat decided, turning to Gladys. “Have your van come to a halt, we’ll return soon.” He stated, to which Gladys raised an eyebrow. “Since when did a mere cup-bearer order a general?” She asked with annoyance, but Jaycen wasn’t in the mood for quarrels among their own. “Save it for the Dornish if they try anything. Just do as he says for now.” Jaycen muttered, before spurring his horse forward with Keat’s.
The two reached the Stone Bridge after a few minutes of riding, and were met with armed crossbows and aimed spears. The banners of Wyl and Yronwood flew high above the blockade, with the wooden gates firmly shut. Jaycen looked up the stone wall, studying the faces. Lord Nic Wyl stared down at them with cursing eyes, yet another face caught him by surprise.
Prince Benedict Yronwood stood by Nic’s side at the battlement, his features clear even with only one eye. He had short brown hair with a short beard of the same colour, and from Jaycen’s memory, eyes of a similar colour again. While he had an average build, his armour gave the appearance that he was much stockier than actual, with plated bronze over his loose white shirt. He stared down at them with stern eyes, a hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Lord Caron.” He greeted sternly, then turning his gaze to Keat. “And who is this?” He called, to which Keat answered him solemnly. “Keat Musgood, a warrior in service of Lord Connington.” He informed, to which Benedict nodded. “What brings you to the Stone Bridge?” He asked, to which Lord Nic answered in their place.
“A Dondarrion army? I think it’s pretty clear.” He bickered, but Benedict paid him no mind. His eyes stared to Jaycen for answers, which he planned to give him. “We seek passage to the Stone Way.” He informed him, causing Benedict to chuckle. “Obviously, Lord Caron. Why, is the question I want answered.” He stated more clearly, to which Jaycen frowned. He didn’t want to reveal their plans to any of the Dornish, especially the Yronwood’s.
“We are reinforcing Stonehelm from an Andal threat.” Jaycen lied, to which Benedict raised an eyebrow. “Andal’s?” He asked sternly, to which Jaycen nodded, but Nic saw through his lie. “You’re full of shit, Caron. If there were Andal’s, we’d be the first to know about it.” He stated confidently. “Now, last chance.” He said with some sick amusement, ordering his archers to take aim. Jaycen took in a deep breath, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword. Keat did the same.
Tension stared off between the Lord of the Marches and Dornish lord of Wyl, which was eased, or replaced, with the sound of a blasting horn from behind them. That’s no Caron horn, nor Dondarrion. He realised, turning his gaze behind him. It was the banners which appeared first, rising over the hill, flapping aggressively. A black vulture on yellow, the pink infant in its talons. Blackmont’s. Jaycen’s eye widened with surprise, whether it was positive or negative was another thing. Then the flag carriers rode over the hill, followed by familiar faces.
King Hector, a terrible and relieving sight, which Jaycen found himself grinning to. The man had barely changed since their last encounter a little over a year ago, at Ryman’s funeral. He still maintained the physique of a warrior, which was admirable for a man of his age, being only four years younger than Jaycen. He was accompanied by his son, Torrhen, who possessed the dark skin of his foreign mother, and hair which he had seen on no man before him.
With them rode Gladys, who clearly looked eager to join them at the bridge. Before long they were upon them, and Hector replicated his excitement to see Jaycen. “Hector!” Jaycen greeted his old and strange friend, dismounting his steed. Hector dismounted from his moving horse and took his arm in greeting.
“We tried to seek you at Nightsong, but found her empty of all Caron’s.” He revealed with a confused tone, taking a firm grip on Jaycen’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re well.” He added, to which Jaycen nodded. Hector freed his arm, turning to the gates, and then to Benedict. “Do I need to ask?” He called, with a tone that was harsh and raspy. Before long, the gates swung open, and a sulky Lord Nic disappeared behind the battlements. Keat cleared his throat, turning his horse around.
“I will bring the men through.” He informed, and Jaycen gave his nod of approval, sending the man off. Hector and Gladys had already ridden through to the other side as Jaycen was mounting his horse. He found himself looking into the dark blue eyes of Torrhen’s solemn gaze. “Prince Torrhen.” He greeted formally, to which the young man broke his sturdy expression to give him a small smile.
“Lord Jaycen, it’s a pleasure.” He stated, before the two started across the bridge. “How does Bethany fare?” He asked awkwardly, running his hand through his hair, which Jaycen found himself somewhat distracted by. He had inherited the black hair of his father, but apart from that it was completely dissimilar. Shorn bald on the sides, his long hair was tied back into a braid which fell to his upper back. His face was cleanly shaven.
“She fares well.” He stated after a moment, turning his gaze back along the bridge. “And your family? Selena?” Jaycen asked, to which Torrhen nodded. “Safe at Blackmont.” He informed him, which Jaycen approved of. What bothered him was that the Dornish had passed through the Marches without his knowing, even if he did like the Blackmont’s, the thought still bothered him.
“Your father said you passed Nightsong. Why?” Jaycen asked, and Torrhen turned his gaze to Hector, who rode ahead. “I’ll let him explain.” Torrhen decided, increasing the pace of his courser. Jaycen nodded, meeting his pace. The sooner he got answers, the better.
-
The last of the combined host had passed over the Stone Bridge and was slowly led up the Stone Way, while Jaycen found himself standing by the river with Hector Blackmont. Jaycen watched Torrhen converse with Lord Nic and Benedict for a while, before turning his gaze back to Hector.
“He’s grown into an honourable man. You must be proud.” Jaycen managed, he somehow found it hard to say. The boy, he reminded him too much of Ryman, and those two had been friends for a time when Hector and Torrhen visited Nightsong. Still, Hector nodded.
“Not only in appearance, but in mind. He will make for a great king someday.” Hector stated proudly, squatting beside the rushing water and washing his face. “Though I’d rather he focus more on his studies and less on trying to please me.” He added with some arrogance, to which they both chuckled.
“I hear that the Storm King is embarking on a conquest.” Hector mentioned after some time, and Jaycen nodded with a disapproving gaze. “He’s a fool. There are larger problems to be dealt with.” Jaycen stated with frustration, and Hector nodded in agreeance. “Like the Andal’s.” He suggested, and while Jaycen had not thought much on the eastern invaders, he nodded regardless.
“That’s why we’re here.” Hector revealed, standing from the river and turning to Jaycen. “I wasn’t wrong to predict that they wouldn’t stop with the Fingers. It’s only a matter of time until they reach the Stormlands, and Dorne.” Hector foreboded, to which Jaycen raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why, you’re forging an alliance.” Jaycen realised, and Hector nodded. Still, Jaycen was confused. “Why did ride for Nightsong then? Why not cross the Wide Way and ride east?” Jaycen suggested rhetorically, but Hector shook his head.
“Riding east would have taken us too close to the Fowler’s… and the Manwoody’s.” He said with spite, which Jaycen could relate to. The Manwoody’s were responsible for Ryman’s death, just as they were responsible for the death of Hector’s sister. Jaycen nodded. “Gareth will be the Lord of Nightsong while I’m gone. If the Manwoody’s try anything, they’ll be pinned on both sides.” Jaycen said with some reassurance, which Hector was not so confident with.
“Almost.” He muttered, placing his hand on the neck of his horse and stroking her mane. Jaycen eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t trust the Fowler’s?” He asked, to which Hector shook his head as if it was the dumbest question posed. “Not since Rickard’s passing. Now his son, Derrick, has taken his place. I’ve only met the boy on a few occasions, but it’s enough to steer clear of.” Hector stated. “Hence why you rode for Nightsong.” Jaycen added, and Hector nodded.
“I’ve installed a thousand men at Vulture’s Roost. They’ll be the first line of defence if the Marches fall to the Andal’s.” Hector informed him, to which Jaycen crossed his arms. “The Marches will not fall.” He stated confidently, but the Vulture king did not look convinced. “We’ve repelled you Dornish for thousands of years. We can do the same with some foreign invaders.” Jaycen assured him, but Hector just gave it a shrug.
“The Andal’s are different. Just know that if Nightsong falls, the Caron’s can find safe haven at Vulture’s Roost.” Hector offered, and Jaycen expressed his gratitude. “Thank you.” Jaycen extended his open hand, which Hector accepted. He wasn’t sure when he may see this man again. “Until the next unfortunate time.” Hector jested, bidding him farewell. Jaycen rolled his eye, climbing onto his horse and turning it around to join the marching garrison. Before he did, however, he turned back to Hector a final time.
“Hey.” He called, grabbing Hector’s attention. “Don’t attack Nightsong while I’m gone.” He joked in return, causing a grin to widen on Hector’s face. “No promises.” He added, winking at him as he mounted his own horse. Jaycen chuckled to himself, galloping back to the Caron and Dondarrion army. Farewell, Hector Blackmont.
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Merma… moreid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best… [view original content]
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arm… mores, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning b… [view original content]
The sun had started its descent by the time they reached the gates of Yronwood. It hadn’t been long until they were escorted to the great hall of the castle, which proved to be a larger hall than the one at Blackmont. It consisted of a mix of stone and sandstone, held up with stone pillars and consisting of three levels. The hall had been built around a natural rock pool, which Torrhen found himself staring into.
He wore a black leather vest, as thick as gambeson, which he tucked his hands into. His grey shirt was loose but long sleeved, and his trousers an ash grey. Yet these minor details he paid little attention to. He stared into his eyes, a dark blue which was piercing to look at. His braid hung over his shoulder. Another figure joined his side by the pools. He was older, with skin like dried leather, and black hair which fell to his shoulders. His matching dark blue eyes had a stern look in them, which glared at Torrhen’s reflection, causing him to lift his gaze to his father.
“They’re stalling.” Torrhen muttered, turning his gaze back to the reflection. They had been waiting in the hall for close to fifteen minutes now. Hector shrugged his shoulders, following his son’s gaze. “Perhaps.” He said gently, which was highly uncharacteristic of him. Torrhen turned his gaze to him awkwardly, studying his face.
“Are you feeling alright, father?” He asked, to which his father’s dark blue eyes met his own. “I am.” He stated, allowing himself a small smile, and causing Torrhen to raise an eyebrow. “What is it?” He questioned him, and his father raised his eyebrows as if he were confused. “I just met with an old friend which I hadn’t seen in years, am I not allowed to smile?” He challenged, to which Torrhen rolled his eyes.
“Sure.” He stated nonchalantly, his thoughts drifting off to Ryman Caron momentarily before he forced his mind back into solemnity. His father sighed, crossing his arms. “We’ll be home soon.” Hector reassured him, staring back to the water. Torrhen nodded, the thought warmed him in a way the Dornish heat never could. Regardless, there was something still bothering him.
“This is taking too long.” Torrhen expressed with impatience, and Hector nodded, sitting himself on the rocks. “You understand the price that may need to be paid?” Hector asked sternly, and Torrhen nodded. An Yronwood-Blackmont marriage was not to be unexpected. “Once we have the Yronwood’s by our side we will have strong allies to protect the east. As well as the Dayne’s, we will have a good hold on most of Dorne. Controlling the Stone Way holds a strong strategic value.” Hector informed him, to which Torrhen nodded.
“I know, father.” He assured him, to which Hector gave him a weak smile. “I know you know.” He responded with some warmth. The reunion with Jaycen Caron had really rubbed off on him. Perhaps now is a good time. Torrhen thought, freeing his hands from his vest. He rubbed them awkwardly.
“Father. We should stop at Skyreach on our return to Blackmont.” He attempted, which resulted in an instant retaliation. “No.” Hector said with outright refusal. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to add the Fowler’s and fucking Manwoody’s to the alliance.” He stated, to which Torrhen nodded, but Hector firmly shook his head. “Those Manwoody’s can be the first to fall.” Hector snarled, throwing his hand into the water, breaking the clear image.
“Dorne needs unity! We need the Wide Way.” Torrhen tried to argue, but Hector had had enough. The main doors opened as silence began to suffocate the air, extinguishing the cool tension with the outside heat. Two elderly figures entered, which Hector seemed to instantly recognise.
“Prince Eddin.” He hollered, rising from the pools and approaching them. Torrhen followed after him, studying the two folk before him. Eddin was a tall and skinny man, with a few wrinkles on his face and grey eyes. He possessed a white beard, with long white hair, which a pointless silver crown sat atop of. His skin was pale, it was clear he was sick.
“King Hector.” He noticed warmly, taking his hand in greeting. He was accompanied with a woman that Torrhen guessed to be his wife, she was shorter than Eddin, but still tall. She had straight white hair which fell to the arch of her back, and she wore ruby jewellery. “You remember Sofina?” He asked, introducing his wife to him. Hector nodded, taking her hand. “Of course. It is a pleasure, again.” He added kindly, to which she bowed in respect. “And who is this?” Eddin asked, pointing his frail hand towards Torrhen. Hector smiled.
“This is my eldest son, Torrhen.” He beckoned for him to come closer, which Torrhen did. Eddin’s grey eyes looked him up and down before a wide grin formed on his face. “How you have grown. You were only this high when I last saw you.” He marvelled, lowering his hand below his thigh. Torrhen gave a sympathetic smile, and nodded.
“It’s an honour to be here.” He stated with generosity, to which Eddin looked back to Hector with cheerful eyes. “Well-mannered too! He takes after his father.” He complimented, tapping Hector’s shoulder. “Shall we go and talk?” He suggested, and Hector nodded, but Torrhen felt unpleased with this. “I thought we were to talk with King Olyvar.” Torrhen stated with some disappointment, to which Eddin frowned.
“My father is resting.” Eddin informed him, and Sofina piped up. “And you should be too.” She mumbled, rubbing his arm, but Eddin simply shook his head. “I’m not.” He tried to convince her with a warm smile, which clearly didn’t work. “Besides, we have guests, which I’m sure aren’t here to check on my health. Are you?” Eddin jested, evoking a frown from Hector. Torrhen sighed, crossing his arms. “Please, follow me to my office.” He beckoned, linking his arm with Sofina’s and starting his pace. Hector and Torrhen followed, exchanging glances as they did.
-
Eddin sat behind his desk, pouring over the parchment scrolls while his wife stared out the window behind him. Hector sat opposite of the old man, and Torrhen found himself standing beside his father. Eddin sighed sadly, lifting his eyes from the papers.
“I’m sorry, I simply cannot extend anymore Yronwood forces. My father has requirement for them elsewhere.” He stated awkwardly, causing Torrhen to raise an eyebrow, but Hector shook his head with frustration. “Will they be too busy to defend their own shores when the Andal’s come? Eddin, the Dayne’s will not be able to hold the eastern shores alone.” Hector muttered, and before long the door to Eddin’s quarters swung open.
Torrhen turned to meet the old gaze of King Olyvar Yronwood, his brown eyes were stern and piercing, aged with experience and maturity. Torrhen stood down, lowering his gaze, while Eddin’s eyes widened in shock. “Father, you’re awake?” He realised, startled. He nodded, walking into Eddin’s quarters with a snarled expression. “You won’t take my crown yet.” He informed his son with a harsh and raspy tone. Eddin shook his head, lowering his gaze.
“King Hector.” He greeted, then turning his gaze to Torrhen. “Look at me, boy.” He ordered, and Torrhen hesitantly lifted his gaze, staring the man in his hard brown eyes. His age showed, with heavy wrinkles on him. His white hair was short, and heavily receded. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Torrhen Blackmont. Welcome to Yronwood.” He greeted, giving him a firm nod. Torrhen kneeled in respect, to which the old man smirked.
“There’ll be none of that here, Prince. Get up.” He commanded him, and Torrhen arose feeling left without words. His father simply stood, staring at Olyvar with admiring eyes. “Eddin, Sofina, you may leave.” He ordered them, and they quickly took their leave, until it was just them three. Olyvar clasped his hands behind his back, approaching the window, which he stared out to the view of the sea.
“Come take a seat, son.” He ordered, beckoning Torrhen to Eddin’s chair. Torrhen did so with obedience, while Hector watched with stern eyes. Torrhen took a seat in the chair, which he found cold, to his surprise. “I hear you want an alliance with me.” He stated nonchalantly, staring out the window. Torrhen nodded. “You’ll speak when spoken too.” He informed him, to which Torrhen cleared his throat. “Yes, your grace.” He responded. Olyvar smirked, turning his gaze to Torrhen.
“You are to be king someday, and from what I’ve heard, you’re quite an intelligent man for your age.” He noted, studying his facial features. Torrhen remained silent, to which Olyvar turned his gaze to Torrhen’s father. “King Hector, I’ll meet you in the hall momentarily. I’d like to speak to your son in private.” He informed, which Hector clearly showed his dissatisfaction, but nodded regardless. He knew the importance of this alliance was paramount, as did Torrhen. When he left, Olyvar let out a sigh of relief.
“Your father is a hard man. A true warrior. Though I am not interested in conversing with the ideals of a soldier. I’ve heard that you’ve received an education from tutors all across Westeros, and Essos for that matter.” He acknowledged calmly, to which Torrhen nodded. “Yes, your grace.” He remarked again, to which Olyvar mumbled something to himself. Torrhen squinted his eyes, trying to make out the words. “Pardon?” He finally asked, snapping Olyvar out of his trance.
“These titles… For a moment, let’s ignore that I am a king, and you a prince. Let’s simply look at it from the perspective of two men. I, having something you want, and you having something I could want. What is it?” He asked, and Torrhen found himself at a loss. He shook his head.
“I’m not sure.” Torrhen mumbled, to which Olyvar appeared displeased. “A king cannot hesitate in a time of importance.” He instructed, to which Torrhen raised his gaze. “Yet we are not kings or princes. We are men.” Torrhen pointed out, causing Olyvar to smirk. “Good.” He complimented, leaning himself against the wall.
“Tell me, Torrhen. How much do you know about me?” The old man asked, which caused Torrhen to think back to his Dornish history classes. It had been years. “You fought with Erich the Unready.” Torrhen stated from memory, and Olyvar nodded. “I did. Who won that war?” He asked, crossing his arms. Torrhen sighed, turning his gaze to the sea. “The Durrandon’s.” He said with regret, but Olyvar nodded all the same.
“I lost a lot in that war. My brothers, my friends, my men. Tell me, after that, what does a man want? Does he lust for the power he lost? Does he wish to seek wisdom from his mistakes? Or does he wish to take revenge on those which did him wrong? Tell me, Torrhen Blackmont, what do I want?” Olyvar asked, finally revealing his terms. Torrhen’s eyes widened, as he realised the alliance between the Blackmont’s and Yronwood’s rested on his shoulders. He thought carefully on his answer.
Hey guys, so I have the next part ready, which goes to Steffon. The last we saw of poor old, and tired, Steffon Cale, he was discussing war … morematters with the council. They ended up deciding not to request aid from the Barrow Kings, to which Steffon later left the council for some well needed rest. However when encountering his room, he met little Tristram Stark, who informed him of the tragedies of their house, and his worries. As they were talking, they were interrupted by a worried handmaiden, Martena Rivers, who was in charge of the Stark children's well-being. She offered to take Tristram back to his room, and when left with the choice, you decided to have this tired old man accompany them. This part takes place where it left off, enjoy
Edit: The new Jaycen part is also out. Last we saw him, he had decided to allow his son to be acting lord of Nightsong while he was gone. He then gave his farewells and joined Gladys and Keat in marchin… [view original content]
Oh man, I am surely relieved that Alara did not choose to get into an affair with Theon. The scene with Helia showed to me that she likely wouldn't have been save so close to him. At the same time, seeing that he is not afraid of scarring his own queen in a fit of rage, I am more than just a bit afraid of the repercussions Alara might have to face for rejecting him. Still, we made the better decision, because I surely wouldn't want her to actually even fall for Theon before finding out what he truly is like, because that would have undoubtedly ruined her emotionally. Then again, there is the chance he had genuine feelings for her, as unlikely as that is.
[Ride for the Rills]
Hm... This is a bit of a gamble. The thing is, Emma, as a bastard, has little chance of ever actually holding the crown for long. Maybe she can win it, but she sure as hell won't be able to keep it forever, being a woman and a bastard. She has men who support her, men who can help in keeping the lands of her family save, which is what should be her primary concern. I doubt Steffon can risk having her as a potential enemy while he is fighting the Ironborn. An alliance against a common enemy is in everyone's best interest and the best chance I see for him to succeed at his mission. After all, Emma has a personal interest in driving the Ironborn out of the North and if Steffon can make her see this, he has a chance of ending her uprising peacefully and before it even truly begins.
One thing I am a bit confused by though is Helia spelling out the relationship between Edrick and Emma. If she is the bastard daughter of King Dustin and if Edrick is her half-brother, doesn't that mean that he is the trueborn son of the king? Or do they simply have the same mother?
Steffon
The door to Tristram’s room swung open as Martena guided the weary boy into his bed. Steffon watched with envious and tired eyes.… more He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep. I suppose someone out there just wishes to see me suffer. He thought bitterly to himself, before the face of his daughter and brother flashed in the darkness of the room. He fought hard not to crumble down, not in front of the boy, and not in front of that bastard hand maiden, who was now exiting the room. When the door was closed, she let out a sigh.
“You didn’t have to escort us, although I appreciate your silent company.” She mocked, starting to walk down the hall. Steffon rolled his eyes, walking after her. She possessed beautiful long and wavy red hair, with polar opposite eyes that were a cold icy blue. She was tall, and had a slim build, overall Steffon found her quite attractive for her age.
“So tell me, what is a Riverlands bastard d… [view original content]
Ah, this is a part where I would have loved to comment on it before reading the next part. As much as I love the introduction of Hector and Torrhen, it obviously pales before the next part Let me be clear though, that is not a bad thing. I found this to be a wonderful introduction to my newest creations, one that made me super excited to see how you are going to use them in the future. It was especially nice to see the friendship between Jaycen and Hector, as odd as it is, given their backgrounds and surroundings. One thing I found particularly memorable is seeing a more light-hearted side in Jaycen. We naturally don't get to see this while he is around the dysfunctional mess that is his family, where he is more often than not the guy in the wrong. But here, he was far less stern and serious than usual, showing to me that there is another side to him. With how few friends he has, I don't really expect it to come up again anytime soon or ever again, but I found it to be a scene that adds some big depths to him as a character and made me only more happy with the way you write him
Jaycen
The fork of the Wyl River was drawing near as the Dondarrion and Caron host marched onward. Their armies would need to cross the S… moretone Bridge in order to continue through the Stone Way, a road which Jaycen was highly hesitant of using. However due to time restriction and distance, they had been left with little other choice.
Jaycen rode with the Dondarrion vanguard, beside General Gladys and Keat Musgood. Gladys’ expression seemed to match Jaycen’s thoughts pretty clearly. She had never held much love for the Wyl’s, with her father in the past, however when she lost her lover to them, it only stretched the already stretched relationship between Blackhaven and Wyl. The track they followed was treacherous, and quarrelsome to say the least. The only member of the van who seemed to have their wits about them was Keat Musgood, who held a solemn expression.
“We will need to move with haste once we’re over the Stone Bridge. The Stone… [view original content]
You know, there was one moment many months ago which has burned itself into my mind as my favourite Invasion moment of them all and it is a bit of a surprising one, because it is not actually a story moment. It's the moment I saw the first Bethany part and the absolute, nearly speechless surprise I felt there. I never even suspected her to become a PoV in the slightest. This moment here, while not exactly as powerful, due to me knowing that there would be a Torrhen PoV eventually, comes really damn close to that feeling, because the last thing I would have expected is to see his first part right here, immediately after Jaycen's part. Needless to say, this is a surprise I love greatly
Now, as much as I enjoyed the previous part, I consider this to be the true introduction to Torrhen as a character, given how closely these two parts were written after each other. Seriously, three parts while I was asleep and here I am struggling to write one part every three days. You are, without any doubt, the fastest writer in the forums who still manages to give them such wonderful quality. Kudos. And Torrhen, well, seeing him here makes me proud to see how far he has come from a mere concept that was thought of while writing an H&L (and those who don't know it might remember him from Gwendis' H&L in Nymeria's War), who literally was mentioned in one sentence, only to have him expanded and developed here into a full character. That is a first time for me (well, unless you count the entirety of House Caron from Alara's backstory), so certainly a very special moment. Thank you for providing it, thank you for writing and this was an awesome part. An awesome set of parts, to be honest, because I loved all three of them
[Vengeance]
Thing is, I believe Torrhen himself would want wisdom, he's that kind of guy. However, the question is not what he wants, it's what Olyvar wants and he struck me as a stubborn, crabby old man, who might value wisdom, but who values his own urges, such as vengeance, more than that. I might be wrong here, but I could see him to be the kind of person who has nurtured a terrible grudge against House Durrandon for decades now and who absolutely wants vengeance on them. He also mentioned it last, which might be an indicator that he indeed wants it the most. Again, Torrhen would likely answer wisdom if the question is about himself, but vengeance is what I see as most likely for Olyvar.
Torrhen
The sun had started its descent by the time they reached the gates of Yronwood. It hadn’t been long until they were escorted to t… morehe great hall of the castle, which proved to be a larger hall than the one at Blackmont. It consisted of a mix of stone and sandstone, held up with stone pillars and consisting of three levels. The hall had been built around a natural rock pool, which Torrhen found himself staring into.
He wore a black leather vest, as thick as gambeson, which he tucked his hands into. His grey shirt was loose but long sleeved, and his trousers an ash grey. Yet these minor details he paid little attention to. He stared into his eyes, a dark blue which was piercing to look at. His braid hung over his shoulder. Another figure joined his side by the pools. He was older, with skin like dried leather, and black hair which fell to his shoulders. His matching dark blue eyes had a stern look in them, which glared at Torrhen’s … [view original content]
Steffon
The door to Tristram’s room swung open as Martena guided the weary boy into his bed. Steffon watched with envious and tired eyes.… more He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep. I suppose someone out there just wishes to see me suffer. He thought bitterly to himself, before the face of his daughter and brother flashed in the darkness of the room. He fought hard not to crumble down, not in front of the boy, and not in front of that bastard hand maiden, who was now exiting the room. When the door was closed, she let out a sigh.
“You didn’t have to escort us, although I appreciate your silent company.” She mocked, starting to walk down the hall. Steffon rolled his eyes, walking after her. She possessed beautiful long and wavy red hair, with polar opposite eyes that were a cold icy blue. She was tall, and had a slim build, overall Steffon found her quite attractive for her age.
“So tell me, what is a Riverlands bastard d… [view original content]
Comments
Alright, well I have the next part ready, and it appears we've come to a stalemate with the last part. So if @Mathea @Alikir34 or @Tunak23 would like to break the tie, that'd be great
The next part is the final to the trilogy of the Manderly parts for now, and that obviously means it's a Wyatt part. The last we saw of him, he had decided to go and discuss a certain merchant ship, which had been sunk by the Bar Emmon's, with Togarion Bar Emmon. When setting up to leave, Syvvek the Skagosi and his blood brothers demanded that they be brought along. You chose to bring them, and this part takes place shortly after.
Well given Liquid's vote change, and that none of the old readers have returned as of yet, I'll close this vote. Wylla will go seek Frenken.
Wyatt
The night sky was alight with the full moon on the rise. The calm water dancing in the moonlight, Wyatt sat at the bow of the Mermaid’s Rage with his bored expression resting on his palm. The journey was slow, and they had been sailing for hours in windless conditions. The Lord of Skies and Lady of Waves were clearly absent.
Wyatt turned his gaze back to the few members atop the deck. Many had retreated to their bunks, seeing the weather was not going to temper with the vessel anytime soon. The dim lanterns only made out dark figures, but Wyatt could still identify most of the people he saw. Laura Longthorpe’ quartermaster: Maya Sisters, stood at the helm guiding the ship. She was the bastard daughter of Lord Borrell which Laura had taken pity on and adopted her into her crew, to which she had been rewarded with a brilliant spotter.
Below her were some crew working on the mast, tightening and loosening sheets, trying their best to keep the vessel with the light wind drift. Finally by the starboard side stood the blood brothers: Rauval and Steirne, which Wyatt had briefly made himself known to within the duration of their trip. Steirne was a quiet man, with a watchful gaze which Wyatt could safely say made him uncomfortable whenever they landed on him. He could best be describe with a word similar to his name. Stern.
Rauval however was quite the opposite of a man, loud and boastful. He was the skipper of their small charter vessel which brought them from Skagos to the Merling Isles, which was a notable feat on its own. Yet it was clear why he was on deck and not in a bunk. His booming voice echoed over the calm sea, and his words only complained of how slow the ship was moving, and how much faster his own ship could go in the benign conditions.
Wyatt let out a tired sigh, turning his gaze back to the tranquil waters. Had the event not been so undesiring, he might have felt relaxed. Yet instead there was stress, and the weight of a heavy burden on his shoulders. He had allowed this Andal to settle on Massey’s Hook, even going as far as paying the Massey’s to give them refuge. He had not heard from King Josua after that, and now with merchant vessels being sunk in the Blackwater, Wyatt was worried.
“My lord?” The strong words of Captain Laura reached Wyatt’s ears with unease, it was clear something was troubling her. “Laura.” Wyatt greeted tiredly, turning his gaze to the woman behind him. Her mouse brown hair was still tied back, revealing her sea blue eyes, which glimmered in the moonlight. Wyatt gave her a weak smile, which she reciprocated.
“Can we talk, for a moment?” She asked, and Wyatt eyed her suspiciously before nodding. “Of course, you don’t need to ask.” He stated, leaving her seemingly embarrassed, but she pushed on regardless. “It’s about Lady Vera.” She started, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“What about her?” He prompted, and it was clear that Vera seemed uncomfortable with the topic. She bit her lip in conclusion of this, and Wyatt let out a sigh, placing his hand on her forearm. “It’s okay, tell me what you want to say.” He encouraged, and a heavy frown weighed on her expression.
“She’s-” Laura began, but was instantly cut off by a horn sounding from the crow’s nest. Both of them turned their gaze up the mast, where the watcher pointed his torch out to starboard. They followed its fiery gaze, landing on its subject. Another ship. The horn sounded again.
“All crew on deck!” Laura shouted the order, leaving Wyatt for the helm where Maya awaited her. Wyatt watched with an awe fascination as the crew climbed on deck, pikes and ballista bolts being lifted from the hull with haste. Men and women were quickly armed with pikes and bows, and the remaining crew armed the ballistas and catapults. The defence was established within a minute. Highly disciplined. Wyatt noted, impressed, yet still caught in the shock of the moment.
The arrows were lit and drawn, while the three ocean priests and four water maidens arose from the hull with tired eyes, yet strength within them. Laura too was a water maiden, yet it was clear she was not as devoted to the Merling King as those placed on her crew, or at least she did not show it in the standard way.
Anticipation weighed heavy in the air, thickening and suffocating. Wyatt stared at the vessel as it drew closer. One single ship against the Mermaid’s Rage. It was an unfair fight to say the least. The Rage had sunk fleets, mere fishing vessels did not dare cross her path, but this vessel was no fishers’ boat. Wyatt spotted the banners immediately as Maya Sisters called them. House Mooton. The red salmon was vibrant on the gilded white banners, yet what confused Wyatt was why a Mooton ship was out this far at night. We haven’t received trade from Maidenpool in months. A white flag was hoisted up the mast with haste as the ship grew nearer.
“Hold your fire!” Laura sounded, descending down the steps from the helm. The bowstrings were slacked and the arrows doused, but the ballistas and catapults remained armed and on target. An uneasy passing came by as the crews of both vessels stared off as the ships passed each other. Then, it was over. A hushed sigh of relief spread amongst the crew, who started to unload the turrets and retreat back to their bunks. Wyatt ran a sweaty hand through his greasy hair, slicking it back into place. What a night.
-
The sun started to rise as the Mermaid’s Rage gently pulled into Sharp Point harbour, greeted by dock hands and sailors which helped tie the beast down. Wyatt stared at the lackey men with tired eyes, allowing himself a deep yawn as he watched with boredom. What better sparked his interested was the vast amount of Bar Emmon ships, all active with crew and soldiers, as if they were prepping to set sail. Syvvek stood beside him, running his fingers along the edge of his bronze battle axe, his typical bloodthirsty grin was widened thick across his face. Wyatt sighed, his brute companion’s silence tired him further.
“Tell me, Syvvek. What does your ‘Lord of Pebbles’ plan to do once he has control of the Narrow Sea?” Wyatt asked with boredom thick in his tone, not that the brute was likely to pick up on it. The Skagosi paused his fingers a moment, tapping them on the metal. “Make Skagos rich.” He stated with bold pride, and Wyatt nodded. “But what will he do for those he then governs?” Wyatt further pursued, and received a confused look on his black eyes, to which he later shrugged.
“Rockflesh is smart. Smarter than all.” He concluded, and Wyatt was too tired to argue, he had gotten the answer he expected anyway. Before long, a guarded escort approached the Rage, among them stood none other than Lord Togarion Bar Emmon. Wyatt sighed, climbing over the balustrade and descending the makeshift ramp down onto the wooden arm. He was followed by Syvvek and Captain Laura.
Togarion’s escort took halt roughly ten metres or so away from them, setting a blockade along the arm, while Togarion came forth to greet them with open arms. Wyatt eyed the Andal suspiciously, there was little trust he had for this man, if anything, he had regret, but he took his hand as he offered it to him.
“Lord Wyatt.” Togarion greeted with a small smile. “It is an honour for me to welcome you to Sharp Point.” He stated with a nonchalant tone, and Wyatt reciprocated his boring smile. “It’s a pleasure to be here.” He lied, staring him in his light blue eyes.
If anything could be said about the Andal, he was a handsome man for his age. He was on his mid-thirties, but he looked a decade younger, and Wyatt could swear this man had no Manderly blood. His skin was fair, and his pale blonde hair was short and windswept. He left his face cleanly shaved, and cloaked himself with white seal fur, while wearing a blue velvet coat embroidered with silver. His eyes trailed to Laura, who stood honourably by Wyatt’s side.
“Captain Longthorpe. We’ve never been properly introduced, but I’ve heard your reputation all across the east coast, even back in Andalos.” He marvelled, and Laura stared at him with cursing eyes. “I bet.” She mumbled, but he had quickly moved from her gaze to the brute standing on Wyatt’s other side. “And who is this?” Togarion asked with a sparked curiosity. Wyatt took it upon himself to introduce the man.
“This is Syvvek of Skagos. He is an emissary, for…” Wyatt found himself stumbling a moment, not knowing which stupid title to address his lordship by. Thankfully, Syvvek committed the dumb act himself. “I have come here by order of the Rockflesh, the Stoneskin, the Lord of Pebbles!” He announced, and Togarion raised his eyebrows, turning his gaze back to Wyatt, who shrugged.
“Well, gentleman.” He stated, then turning to Laura as well. “My lady.” He added. “The morning is cold, and I’m sure you are hungry after your travels. Will you join me in my Great Hall for a breakfast feast?” He offered, and Wyatt could agree that he was famished. Syvvek didn’t bother to think twice, instantly taking a step forward and placing his arm around Togarion’s shoulder.
“Yes brother! We will feast, then talk more about my Lord’s plans!” He shouted, and the two started back towards the castle of Sharp Point, while Laura watched after them with cautious eyes. “I don’t trust him.” She muttered, and Wyatt concurred with a nod. “Let’s get this over with.”
-
For the age of the newly constructed castle, Sharp Point was magnificent from what Wyatt had seen. Its interior was decorated with fine wood and chiselled stone, and paintings were hung everywhere. The Great Hall was not an exception, and Wyatt could have sworn it was truly an art gallery were it not for the steaming kitchens next door.
They all sat around the long table in the centre of the Hall, the top decorated with silver platters of grapes, pears and other tropical fruits from the east, as well as fire grilled toast with butter and cheese. Of course, sausages and steaks were not far away, as the servants from the kitchens carried out the juicing meats. The only disappointment were the beverages, but Wyatt could not complain, besides, some water would likely be good for him.
“So, Lord Wyatt.” Togarion announced, sitting at the head of the table with his wife on his lap. “What brings you to Sharp Point?” He asked, and for a moment Wyatt paused as he stared at all the food, yet his senses came back to him as he received a sturdy nudge from Laura next to him. “I have grim received reports from Obsidian Isle, reports indicating that one of your ships sunk one of mine as it was on a trading route to Duskendale.” Wyatt informed him, and a distressed frown quickly soured Togarion’s joyful mood.
“I think it would be better spoken with context, don’t you?” He asked, and Wyatt just stared at him, waiting for him to proceed. He lifted the girl from his lap, stroking her hand before starting. “This here is Lady Jemma, she is the daughter of King Josua Massey, and now my wife. Before all this, when you allowed me into Westeros, we tried to settle inland, but were quickly attacked by the Darklyn’s when we did. I was left for dead, until King Josua found me and took me in.”
“I stayed in Stonedance for perhaps a year, those first few months I was attended by the healers, but later on I started to learn the situation that the Massey’s were in. The Kingdom of Darklyn is starving its allies. The Rosby’s tried to rebel before being slammed against the wall, and the Massey’s have been pouring out their hearts just to survive, while the Darklyn’s and Mooton’s squander on their riches.” Togarion stated with disgust, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“We spotted a Mooton vessel on our way here, were they here too?” Wyatt questioned, and Togarion nodded. “I sent a raven to King Florian to arrange an alliance against the Darklyn’s, but being a Mooton, he denied them like the foolish child he is.” Togarion spat, and Wyatt frowned.
“You plan to attack the Darklyn’s.” Wyatt finally realised, and Togarion nodded. “They are starving both their people and ours, and while I do not fall under their reign, my wife’s family does, and I will not let them suffer the way I did. I tried to extend my alliance to Lord Karlack when I had my vessels patrolling the Blackwater, but I received no word in return.” He said with remorse. “I gave the order.” He admitted, grief thick in his voice. Laura and clenched her hands into fists.
“You murdered innocent sailors, among them was Lord Karlack’s son!” She spat, disgracing herself in front of the table. Togarion’s frown was heavy, and Wyatt could see he was at least somewhat suffering for his actions. He placed a hand on Laura’s hand. “Maybe you should go back to the ship.” Wyatt suggested discretely, and Laura cleaned up her attitude before excusing herself, to which Togarion sent his wife after her. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again.
“Wyatt, I’m sorry. I didn’t want things to be this way, I still don’t, but the Darklyn’s are not good for any of us, I’m sure you’ve seen it too.” Togarion stated in an attempt to convince, to which Wyatt had to agree, he knew the Darklyn’s were running them dry, but the Manderly’s were still strong through trade. Some aren’t so lucky. Wyatt let out a sigh, tapping his finger on the table. He was tired.
“So what do you want me to do, Bar Emmon? Forgive you? Forget that you ever sunk one of my ships and murdered Karlack’s son? Togarion, I like you, but my people won’t stand for it.” Wyatt admitted, and Togarion let out a sigh of his own.
“Wyatt, I don’t want you for an enemy. Quite the contradictory actually, but if you stand with the Darklyn’s you will leave me no choice.” He stated with regret. “Today I am going to launch an assault on Maidenpool, and show the Darklyn’s that we will not stand for their condescending nature. You should join us, we could really use the help.” He suggested, and Wyatt shook his head.
“There is no profit in taking Maidenpool. It would cost too much to take and hold it.” Wyatt argued, but Togarion shook his head. “That’s not the point. I was hoping you’d see terms with me, Wyatt.” Togarion said with a hint of disappointment, and Wyatt raised an eyebrow.
“What would you want from me?” Wyatt finally asked, and Togarion’s small smile reappeared. “Support me. Soon I will be King of the Blackwater, and I will need allies. Denounce your loyalty to Waldemar and swear your allegiances to me, and I will name you my Hand. You would have a lot of power and influence over the kingdom, as well as over Westeros.” He stated, and Wyatt frowned. “You know I can’t do that.” He replied sternly, and Togarion frowned. “I’d rather you my ally than my enemy, Wyatt, and trust me, more Andal’s are coming. It’s just a matter of time, and it would be better for you if you served me when they come. I’d hate to see you fall with so much potential.” He spoke with a pity which made Wyatt cringe. There was something off about him, something sly and mischievous. We won’t fall. Wyatt confidently thought to himself, thinking of Vera’s cousin. The only question now was what Wyatt was going to do. He may be right, the Darklyn’s are bad for all of us, but if I choose to side with him then I will be at war with the Darklyn’s. We don’t need a war at two fronts.
[Swear loyalty to Togarion] [Suggest an alliance] [Turn down his offer]
Actually, if neither of them wishes to break the tie by the time you close the next voting, you can consider my vote changed. I sort of prefer Ryman, but I cannot deny that CM3434's argument made a lot of sense. After reading it, I could certainly arrange myself with talking to Frenken as well, so I wouldn't mind if that option wins. So, let's see if we get our tie-breaker, but if not, then I will do it in a couple of days. Just count it as a vote for Frenken then, I wouldn't mind talking to him and that is at the very least better than you having a tie and not getting it resolved
[Suggest an alliance]
That is a choice I had to think about for a bit. The thing is, I don't think Togarion would make for much of a good king, nor do I think his reign would be long. He seems reckless, more concerned with sending a message instead of actually doing thoughtful and rational decisions. I have no doubt that without the Manderly help, the Darklyn's will crush them eventually, even if their allies ally with Togarion. This means, I don't want Wyatt to be caught in this, to turn against the Manderly's and renounce his oath to them, especially not for a cause that I see as doomed to fail. Togarion is biting off a lot more than he can chew in my opinion, at least unless I am not seriously underestimating him here. At the same time, I don't want to turn him down, as I could see him as a stable ally, if supported properly. With the backing of House Manderly, backing Wyatt would lose if he were to renounce his loyalty to them, maybe Togarion could provide stability for this region and become a valuable ally. So, this alliance very much sounds like the best bet here.
On another note, I just noticed the story passed a milestone. Happy 1000 comments! May there be many more to come
So it is! Well I'd love to thank you and all the other great readers which have participated in this story over its long and slow duration. I am eager to see this story continue to thrive, and I'll be honoured to have you all along with the grand journey ahead, because I wouldn't be doing this other wise
P.S. These choices... Super important
I won't close any votes just yet, but I do have the next part ready. As I cannot write out Samira's next part until I get a conclusive vote from Wyatt's recent part, I'd love for you guys to vote on that one soon
I have done the Nathan part finally, which I started over a month ago and just got bored of, hopefully it isn't that bad too read though 
Anyway, the last we saw him, Nathan had burnt down a sept in the Saltpans and taken Septa Talia captive. When bringing her to Rayvani, she decided to indoctrinate the girl into their faith, and decided that it was time to choose their next path. You chose for Nathan to head to the Riverlands, which Rayvani did not approve of, and this part takes place a few days after then.
While I'm at it, I've written out the next two parts, which go to Samira and Dormund. The last we saw of Samira, she had chosen to head straight to the Japing Kitchens to seek out Dalia's safe haven. Clearly tired, she made herself known in the kitchens when she put a knife to one of the kitchen waitress' throats. She was directed to Dalia, who then led her to the safe haven. When asked to hand over her weapons, you chose only to hand over the visible dagger she had. This part takes place not too long after then.
Last time we saw Dormund, he awoke in his bed and was found by Elena directly after. She promised to answer his questions, before disappearing. Dormund decided he felt like flaying something, and descended down to the dungeons to watch the craftsmen at their work. When he noticed a familiar face being desecrated, Dormund could not help but give his old friend, Ryden, the honour of a Bolton's blade, heavily annoying the previous flayer: Rechar Greenwood. He was later found by Tobas Bolton, who brought him to their father. Rogar informed Dormund of his plans to take Winterfell, and then when the conversation was concluded, Tobas asked if they could hang out before he left for Andalos. You chose Elena over Tobas, and this part takes places closely after.
Nathan
The sun started to fall in the far west, the small fire being the main source of light for their small camp. Nathan rubbed his arms, the cool breeze of Westeros welcoming him back to the land. He gritted his teeth, scanning the land for something, anything. They had sailed down the Red Fork as far as their transport was willing to take them, and from there they had walked. His memory eluded him, but he was sure the Stone Hedge was close. Another day. He reassured himself, but it was clear his company was unsure.
He turned his gaze back to the two women sitting by the fire. Rayvani stared into the flames with a lifeless, expressionless gaze. Septa Talia sat beside her, her white gowns dirtied with mud and ware. Nathan squinted his eye, observing her dried tears on her cheek. Nathan rolled his eye, walking towards the fire and taking a seat. Rayvani momentarily gave him her attention, her green eyes glared at him before returning back to the flames with a bitter gaze. Talia avoided eye contact entirely.
“We start again at dawn.” Nathan announced decisively, receiving no attention from Rayvani, and little from Talia. Nathan sighed, tucking his legs up to his chest and staring at the flames. Nothing. What did he expect? A vision at his wanting? Unlikely. He sighed, running his hand through his dark red hair.
“This is the wrong path, my Ember.” Rayvani said calmly, widening her eyes as she disconnected from the flames. Nathan snorted, rolling his eye. “She finally speaks, and only to criticise my decision. Of course.” Nathan chuckled without amusement, and received a disapproving scowl from the red woman.
“This won’t end well for us. I’ve seen it.” She tried to convince him, and Nathan raised an eyebrow for a moment. “Seen what?” He curiously pursued, and Rayvani frowned. “A bearded figure, wielding a trident in one hand and manipulating water with the other. The duller of my Flame.” She foretold, giving reference to Nathan’s given title. Nathan shook his head in disbelief.
“A bearded man able to wield water? That sounds as believable as you priests and your ability to throw fire. Which, if I may add, I have yet to see.” Nathan stated simply, cutting off her vision. Rayvani bit the inside of her lip, kicking at the fire. “Why are you so stubborn?” She yelled, frustration heavy in her tone. “Why here? A marshy swamp in the middle of nowhere!” Nathan’s lip quivered into a smirk. There was something about the mysterious woman’s temper that was alluring to him, however his lustful thoughts were quick to change as she impatiently stared at him.
“I’ve always had an interest in your god, woman. Ever since I picked up the book from my father’s library, I was captured in your ideology. The other man who shared similar views to mine was murdered by old god fanatics, and I burnt down my home’s weirwood. They wanted to execute me for it, Lord Mayne Bracken personally offered to take my head from my shoulders, but instead my father exiled me. I plan to take the head from that horseman’s shoulders first, and then the rest who opposed me.” Nathan revealed to her, closing his hands into fists. The Red woman looked at him with her cursing green eyes, her face expressionless.
“Then you will die, and I won’t be able to bring you back.” She foreboded, her eyes uncomfortably piercing, weighing down on him. Nathan felt an uncharacteristic chill run down up his spine, he shifted his gaze to the girl, who just stared at the ground with a sullen look. He felt his hands starting to tremble, he gritted his teeth.
“Sleep.” He ordered her with a mutter, and reluctantly she broke eye contact and sunk into her bedroll. The young septa followed her example, avoiding eye contact entirely. Nathan let out a long winded sigh, before turning back to the sunset. His thoughts weighed heavily on him, what if she was right? All of this, for nothing? He shook his head defiantly, setting it aside as another of the Red Woman’s manipulative tricks. We start again in the morning, he reminded himself, sitting himself against a rock. He stared across the field of button grass, bushes and wildflowers, listening to the soft sounds of the rushing Red Fork in the far distance. His eyes drifted off into the darkening sky, until he fell into a deep, restless slumber.
-
The sun was high in the sky by the time Nathan had awoken from what felt like pure exhaustion. The night had been restless, chaotic if anything. Haunted by dreams. Often this was the case, but last night had been something else. He sighed, rubbing his eye as he sat himself up. The fire had extinguished over the night, leaving only a small plume of smoke where the burning coals remained.
He stretched his arms, taking in a deep yawn, before opening his eyes again. Their camp was empty. Nathan widened his eyes, standing himself up and scouring the land. Nothing. Rayvani and Talia were gone. Shit, he cursed, reaching for Lightbringer, which was not there. “Fuck!” He shouted, now searching for the sword. That bitch. Nathan shook his head irritably. That self-prophesising no good bitch. He kicked at the coals, igniting sparks as he did, before falling to his knees.
“Why?” He muttered, to no one in particular, as he stared at the raging coals. There was something beautiful about the element, he could see why the fanatics worshiped it, but he couldn’t care less for them now. “Why.” He repeated, as if hoping an answer would come to him. There was only silence. He muttered some curses, standing himself up.
With that red bitch or not, I will go through with this, he swore, turning to grab what few of his gear remained. He hauled the leather bag over his shoulder while rolling up the bed mat and starting to walk. It wasn’t long until he heard the sounds of thudding hooves and neighing horses. Rayvani? He suddenly thought, a stream of ideas rushing through his mind. Had she found horses? Was she captured? He had to know. He started to run for the sound.
Rushing through the ankle-deep streams, he sprinted across the rivulets and through the tall grass, until he came to an opening, and saw the horses. They were hitched to a rotting lump of wood, while their owners sat around a camp fire. They wore bronze mail, and tabards of brown, gold and red. Bracken’s. He realised, starting to back away. They hadn’t spotted him yet.
Cautiously, he turned around to escape, but was met with a sorry sight which stopped him in his tracks. He stared into the eyes of another Bracken soldier, his flowing stream was the only sound that was shared between their cold shocked and locked eyes. He reached for his sword, but by then it was too late. Nathan threw the man into his puddle of piss, quickly securing a hand around his throat while the other clamped his mouth shut. He squirmed in the dry grass.
“What was that?” Nathan heard briefly as he strangled the life out of the fearful man. “What was what?” Another asked, clearly disinterested, but his partner persisted. “I heard something, over there.” He fretted. “It’s probably Bartel, but if it’s bothering you so much then check it out.” He taunted him, giving him a push. Nathan crushed the windpipe of this ‘Bartel’ in an instant, and stared at the guard who slowly approached his general direction. Fuck. He turned to look for options.
He could stay hidden, maybe hope that the soldier would lose his courage quickly, or he could take his chances and make a run for it. Those horses would outrun him, but perhaps it would be possible if he could make it back to the Red Fork. Nathan turned his gaze to the bronze short sword that rested in the grass by him, which he quickly grabbed. Or he could stay and fight. He counted five more men.
[Stay hidden] [Run for it] [Fight]
[Suggest an alliance] The thing is, I don't trust or like Togarion enough to kneel to him. However, I think it would still be wise not to become his enemy, as I can very well see him succeed in his campaign.
[Fight] I understand if others want to go with a less reckless choice, but I just think a fight would be nice
Time for Nathan to prove how much of a badass he is.
[Suggest an alliance]
This choice will put Wyatt on a more equal level with Togarion, than swearing loyalty would. Also, I don't think betraying the Manderly family would be a good idea. Also, I don't think completely turning down his offer is the right choice. Hopefully, an alliance will help to defeat this Darklyn threat.
Hm, it seems there is going to be some conflict between Nathan and a Manderly later on, though I have no idea with whom. Maybe Wyatt, considering that he is the one that is geographically the closest right now. All I know is, Rayvani clearly saw a Manderly there. Maybe they will be on opposing sides in the coming Darklyn-Bar Emmon war?
[Fight]
I actually see fighting as the most reasonable choice here even. It's not all that reckless. Running seems hopeless, because they have horses and I doubt he would come far if they find him. Staying hidden could work, but if they spot him, he would basically be fucked, because he wouldn't have the element of surprise. I think fighting first gives him an advantage and probably not a small one. Nathan is pretty badass, as far as I know, so I think he can take these men. Plus, I would like to see him fighting as well, this is likely going to be pretty cool.
Samira
The cellar was damp and dimly lit, but Samira could hardly complain. I’ve lived through worse, she reminded herself, tucking her legs close to her chest. She jittered her teeth in the cool air, rubbing her arms frantically. At least I had heat. Her gaze flickered around the dark room, it was located under the storage room, and mostly homed empty crates and containers, and another guest.
Samira stared at the unconscious woman by the crate, sleeping soundly on a bed mat with layered blankets. She had not awoken when Samira arrived a few days ago, and she still hadn’t moved still then. Perhaps she’s dead. Samira thought hopefully, feeling the cold bite at her skin. Those blankets would be nice.
She pulled herself off the freezing stone floor, making her way towards the still girl. If she was sleeping, she was hiding it well. Samira studied her body for breathing movement, but it was of little use, she was heavily covered in thick blankets. She sighed, reaching to take hold of the top layer. That’s when her unexpected gaunt friend span around and revealed her threatening blade, and her merciless eyes. Samira backed away instantly, reaching for a bronze dagger on her leg. The two glared at each other in silence.
“Fuck off, bitch.” The woman warned, revealing a skinny frail arm which clutched onto the blankets. Samira’s eyes widened at the sight of her. She was… starved. Her facial features were gaunt and angular, the bones in her body were easily seen through the skin. Her black hair clumped in a mess down to her shoulders. Her eyes were her only saving grace, as green as jade stones. Samira felt a lump build in her throat.
“What happened to you?” She asked, and received an ireful glare. “Mind your own business.” She spited back, rolling back on her side, under the blankets. Samira shook her head, she would try again. Quicker. The cold drove her, even if she felt a sense of pity and regret. She lunged herself at the blankets, pulling at them as she got a hold. The woman screamed, slashing her knife madly, slicing Samira’s wrist. She pulled them free, falling back.
Her eyes widened in shock as she found herself on the ground. She had to get up, she was vulnerable. She quickly tried to crawl back, but to her surprise there was no retaliation. Only the sound of a vicious rattling chain. Samira sat herself up, looking back at the frail woman, a fearful but fiery look in her eyes. Then, Samira saw it.
Her left leg was chained to the floor with irons, and her right leg… Gone. It had been cut off, the blood still oozed through the bandage. Samira’s eyebrows raised in shock. “What the fuck?”
-
Hours passed, and the two sat in silence, apart from the constant shivering that Samira painfully listened to. She was in comfort under the heat of the blankets, but there was an itch at her heart, a touch of remorse on her conscience. She looked over to the girl, who was withered to the floor. Flesh and bones.
“Who are you?” Samira asked with a hushed voice, and the woman just remained dormant. “Why the fuck do you care?” She spat back, and Samira raised an eyebrow. “You want one of these back?” She tempted, and the desperate and broken look returned on her fearful jade eyes.
“Cassy.” She revealed quietly. “Cassy Waters.” She stated, now turning her pleading eyes to the blankets, but Samira shook her head. “That tells me nothing. Who are you really?” Samira investigated, and the girl shook her head with paining eyes. “Please.” She mumbled.
“Who are you?” Samira repeated, her tone growing harsher, beating the girl out of her frail state. “I’m a spy.” She revealed, and Samira felt a painful realisation crawling over her. “You came here for a safe haven?” Samira finally questioned, more stating it to herself than her. Cassy nodded, her ireful glare returning. “Now give me a fucking blanket!” She cursed, and Samira reluctantly tossed her one.
“That’s not enough, I’m going to fucking freeze.” She complained, but Samira shook her head. “You want blankets, I want answers. We can help each other out here.” Samira confidently stated, and received a hesitant look in return, before a doubtful nod. Samira smirked. “Now, where did you come from?” Samira interrogated, and Cassy shook her head.
“By the fucking time I answer all your questions I will have fucking frozen. Just give me another and I’ll tell you my story from start to finish.” She promised, and Samira eyed her suspiciously, before turning her gaze to the blankets. There were only three. Why should she sacrifice herself for a dying sack of rotting meat? She bit her lip, tossing her another. She knew she’d regret it, but there was a thankful look on Cassy’s jade eyes.
“Okay.” She stated, tucking them around her. “I was in service of Togarion Bar Emmon, and an acting medic in the Darklyn army. I was collecting intel for Togs when I was rooted out.” Cassy revealed, and Samira raised an eyebrow.
“Togs?” She asked, and she noticed a shade of embarrassment flash over the girl’s face. “Togarion.” She corrected, and Samira eyed her carefully. “You two are close.” Samira realised, and Cassy shrugged. “He’s my half-brother. Whether that makes us close or not…” Samira sighed, pulling her blanket closer to her.
“The Bar Emmon’s sided with Qarlon in Andalos.” Samira recalled, and Cassy nodded. “The one true king.” She stated with confidence, a weak smile on her face. “I suppose that doesn’t matter now, with the Freehold taking rise.” Samira stated with boredom, the civil crisis of Andalos didn’t particularly bother her. Westeros was her home now, but Cassy begged to disagree with a firm shake of her weak head.
“That’s precisely why it matters. Noriphos is a weak king. Andalos needs a strong ruler with a steady hand, which Noriphos does not have. He can barely run his own city, little own a kingdom. Qarlon can, and unlike Noriphos, he isn’t abandoning his people.” She said with a bitterness in her tone, Samira rolled her eyes, causing Cassy to smile.
“That’s where you came from, isn’t it?” She questioned, and Samira raised her eyebrow. “What?” She said with confusion, but Cassy shook her head. “You worked for Noriphos.” She stated confidently, and Samira found herself eying the girl again, before she nodded. Cassy chuckled. “Now you’re here. Strange that.” Samira felt herself staring at this girl in a different light, she looked at her with suspicious eyes. What else does she know?
“What do you mean?” Samira encouraged, and Cassy smirked. “I mean he’s sold you out, Samira.” Cassy smiled, and Samira’s eyes widened. “How do you know my name?” She demanded, only amusing the girl further. “Honey, every spy from Dorne to the Wall has heard of the girl who brought a kingdom into ruins. I bet Noriphos wasn’t too happy with that.” She cockily added, and Samira shook her head. “He wouldn’t sell me out.” Samira stated with some confidence, which was only wavered with Cassy’s raised eyebrow.
“Oh really? Did the Courier come for you?” She asked, and Samira nodded. “Whenever the Courier comes, it’s never good. My bet, if I was Noriphos I would have wanted the Northmen to kill each other, then take what remains. You kind of fucked that one up.” Cassy teased, and Samira felt her hands clenching. “We’re going off topic.” Samira stated, in an attempt to return it back to her control. Cassy nodded.
“Of course we are, where were we?” She teased, to which Samira ignored. “How did you end up here?” Samira asked, and there was clearly some unease on the topic for Cass. “I heard there was a safe haven here. I was foolish to believe it.” Her words spoke with a certain tremble to them, invoking some uncomforting vibes. Samira questioned the matter further. “Meaning?” Samira pushed, and Cassy looked at her like she was the dumbest soul to be imprisoned with.
“Look at my fucking leg.” She stated with an obvious irritant. “Dalia is not what she seems. Those grand meals she cooks up…” Cassy’s words started to waver, and Samira came to the realisation of what she meant. She shook her head, a revolted feeling aroused in her stomach. “No.” She said, shaking her head still as she covered her mouth. Cassy stared at the stump with teary eyes.
“The same will happen to you.” Cassy said hopelessly, but Samira shook her head. “I have friends here, I… I can get us out, we can get to Togarion.” Samira suggested, but Cassy shook her head. “I tried the same thing. Denzel? Dallop? All those ferry kids are owned by Dalia. It was a trap the moment we set foot in this cursed city.” Cass stated, resting her head down against the stone floor. “All we can do is wait now.” She said miserably, and Samira wanted to shake her head, to install some hope, but what good was there now? Her plans had just backfired. She should have never came here.
The lock rustled and clinked as a key was inserted, and the cellar trapdoor was opened. Light flooded in, and an arched-back woman stood at the entrance. “Come out, Samira.” She beckoned, her croaky voice was thick and barely unnoticeable that it was an act. Samira cautiously approached the entrance, climbing the steps and meeting Dalia’s gaze.
“Finding your stay bearable?” She asked, and Samira looked back down the hatch before carefully nodding. Dalia smiled, her black mole widening at her as she did. “Good. I have some work for you.” She stated, and Samira raised an eyebrow. “King Florian, the boy king. He returned to Maidenpool today, and is requesting some bed warmers. I figured you would be a good choice, so long as you didn’t kill him.” She added, a smile on her lips. Samira reciprocated it, even if it was fake.
“I hope that your company hasn’t been all that bad. The poor girl came to us with a broken foot. It had infected to a point beyond anything we could do. We had to take it off, I feared she would die otherwise. Has she woken yet?” Dalia asked, and Samira found a lump build in her throat again. Should she tell her the truth? What would she do if she did?
[Tell her the truth] [Lie to her]
Dormund
The halls were black and damp with moisture, giving a hauntingly cool appearance, yet something that was oddly comforting for Dormund. The walls were bare, sparing no room for natural light, but only the holstered flames they held. The only addition to this bland hallway, was rooms. A number of dark wooden doors, reframed with heavy red-bronze plating, adding only a bloody colour to an otherwise black corridor.
Dormund wore a loose grey shirt with the Bolton coat of arms displayed on his chest, along with some simple leather pants. His feet were bare, cool and numb. The cold air nipped at his skin, yet he felt nothing, the heatless corridor stood no match for him. He frowned, taking a few steps closer to one of the doors in the corridor.
He hesitated a moment, unsure of whether he should knock or simply enter. This castle, this kingdom. It was his domain, being its prince. If I even am that, Dormund reluctantly thought, looking at his cold hands before closing them into fists. He raised them to the door, but before he made contact, the door swung open. Eyes as blue as the Narrow Sea stared out from behind the door in shock, clearly startled to see Dormund standing there. Her hair was like dark chocolate, long and wavy, and despite her young appearing age, her body looked to have matured.
“Uhm.” She awkwardly sounded, and another voice picked up from the room which Dormund could not see. “Do not fret, Lady Catlina. You stand before Prince Dormund, heir to the Dreadfort.” The feminine voice announced, and Catlina’s cheeks began to blush. She gave a curtsy and nodded.
“My Prince.” She greeted, and Dormund gave an impatient nod. “Now go.” The woman ordered, and the girl obeyed. “Come in, Red Prince.” The woman ordered, and Dormund reluctantly entered. The room was dim, the only light came from a few melting candles and a lantern on a desk in the far corner. By that desk sat a woman, drowned in grey robes with blood red linings, which opened up into a bloody sleeve. Her bright icy blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkened surroundings, being complimented by her straight straw blonde hair.
“Would you like a seat, Prince Dormund?” The woman, Elena Rivers, offered. Dormund shook his head, shutting the heavy door behind him with ease. She smirked, marvelling at Dormund’s physique with awe. Silence lingered in the damp air for a moment, before Elena eased her tone into it.
“Catlina Glover. A girl of fourteen, with a sour distaste for her controlling mother, looking to marry your brother. To her, I am naught but a mere handmaiden.” Elena explained, and Dormund crossed his arms. “I care not for your ability to fold clothes.” Elena smiled, shaking her head. “Of course not.” She acknowledged, clasping her hands together. “You want answers.” Dormund nodded.
“Why did you bring me back?” Dormund asked, demanding an explanation, and Elena sighed. “I saw potential with you, something which your older brother never had. Your father wanted that pathetic brother of yours back, but the Wraith chooses her own subjects. We chose you.” Elena revealed, and Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“The Wraith?” Dormund further questioned, and Elena stood from her chair, revealing herself in the candlelight. “She is the warden that holds the Great Other north of the Wall. She wars with the creatures in the Winter lands, and her power keeps them from passing the Wall. I am her servanthe had me bring you back for one clear reason.” Elena stated solemnly, and Dormund’s eyebrows furrowed.
“And what reason is that?” He pushed. “Unity.” Elena revealed, nonchalantly. “We must prepare to fight the forces that are growing too strong in the real North. To do that, we need strength in numbers. The North must unite under one flag. A house with strength, and a reputation that will meet those of the Other’s. The flayed man of the Red Kings must fly over all of the North.” She divulged, and Dormund could not help but chuckle.
“You’re mad.” Dormund grinned, turning for the door. Elena let out a small laugh, sitting back at her desk. “Perhaps,” she replied, “but what makes you any different?” She challenged him, and Dormund’s grin mellowed down to something dour. “Vengeance.” He muttered silently under his breath.
“Good.” She smirked, walking after him and taking his forearm. “Then take your vengeance. Take what is rightfully yours, take the flayed crown.” She encouraged him, but Dormund just shook his head. “I don’t know how much you knew of me, but I should have never been born. Now remove your hand before I make you wish you weren’t either.” He threatened, and hesitantly the girl obeyed. Dormund reached the door, exiting the room and slamming it shut behind him. He needed some air.
-
The air was cold and sleet was starting to fall in small clumps. Regardless, soldiers sparred in the courtyard with spears and swords of iron, or shot at straw targets with their new arrows. The Bolton’s had come off well with the Andal invasion, and soon they would come off well with the North. Dormund rolled his eyes, thinking to Elena’s words. Take the crown. The words rolled around in his head, persisting to bother him. He shook his head, walking to the courtyard.
A few men bothered to notice is hideous outlook for long enough to put on a show. “The fuck is that?” One taunted, spinning his sword. One of his comrades piped up. “Dunno Maggot, I bet he bleeds.” He stated with a bloody grin, his teeth yellow. “Just like the Leech you are.” He jested, before turning his gaze to Dormund.
“You reek.” He shouted, a smirk building on his lips. Dormund reached for a sword in the rack, pulling out the first he saw. He unsheathed the blade, now approaching the two sparrers. “That’d be a good name, don’t you think, Leech? What’dya th-” His words were cut off as the hilt of the dulled blade smashed into his jaw. Dormund turned to Leech, his counterpart, encouraging to take a swing. He took the bait.
His attack was pitiful, and he was dragged by the weight of the sword right passed Dormund and into the mud. There was some hostility in his new expression, followed by Maggot’s rise. The two cooperated an attack which caused Dormund to parry the first swing, while countering the second with a kick. He turned to Maggot with a joyful gaze, before hacking his blade again Maggot’s. Clearly stunned, the trainee struggled to keep up with Dormund, who had never been an excellent swordsman. Before long his foe had tired, and Dormund gave him the mercy of his sword butt again.
Leech arose from his stumble to surprise Dormund, landing a well-placed thwack in the back. Dormund gritted his teeth, turning to catch his second swing before he could land it. He held his foe’s arm high in the air, and before Leech could do the same, Dormund brought his sword thundering down onto the man’s wrist. There was a crack, followed by an agonising yell.
Dormund grinned as the man fell to his knees, dropping his sword and nursing his wrist with his free hand. Victorious. “Having fun there?” A raspy voice called from behind him, and Dormund turned to meet the brown eyes of a familiar face, but not one which he could pick. His head was shaved down to near nothing, but it was clear he once had black hair. Dormund glared at him a moment, and the man nodded. “You don’t remember me.” He concluded, and Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“Should I?” The man chuckled, extending a gloved hand in greeting. “Russel.” He introduced himself foolishly, to which Dormund ignored his hand. “What do you want?” Dormund asked, running his hand over the old dry blood on the sword. Russel crossed his arms, leaning against the stone wall they stood beside.
“Your father wanted me to make you something.” He stated nonchalantly, and Dormund eyed him off curiously, to which he sighed. “Come to my forge, I’ll show you.” He beckoned, and cautiously Dormund followed him. The court was on the other side of the court, in easy view of the sparring field. The blacksmith stopped by his workstation, putting away some tools. “What is it?” Dormund inquired, impatient. Russel simply chuckled.
“That was always like you, impatient as ever.” He stated with amusement as he placed some iron tongs over a hook. It was then that he reached under the station, pulling a weapon from underneath and presenting it to him. “Recognise this?” He asked, placing it in Dormund’s hands. It was a war hammer, and well made by the looks of it. Dormund shrugged.
“Should I?” He repeated his question, causing Russel to sigh. “That hammer belonged to Harmond Hornhill, one of the greatest soldiers in the Stark army. A man you killed. It’s only fair that you should have it now.” He stated, looking down to his hand. “Given you can’t shoot without any fingers.” He taunted, but seemed disappointed when he did not evoke a response out of him. “Come on, where’s your humour boy?” He tapped his arm, and Dormund took a firm grip on the shaft.
“Was that all?” Dormund rushed, and Russel eyed him for a moment before shaking his head. “Come inside.” He ordered, and Dormund followed him into the dim room, only lit by a fire pit. Tools hung over the walls, and in the corner was an armour stand, with armour he did recognise. “For you.” He stated, pointing at the flayed armour of the kingsguard. It had been the armour Ryden wore, yet now it was different.
“I reforged it. Still in the same design, of course, but there was an abundance of iron left from the boats. What do you think?” He asked, clearly proud of his work. Dormund took a few steps closer to the armour, examining its details. It was beautiful. Russel did not wait for an answer.
“You should go out and give that hammer a swing.” He suggested, turning to his forge. He put some gloves on and put a lump of metal into the fire pit. Dormund adjusted his grip, approaching the fire pit with slow and cautious steps. “The Hammer of Hornhill they call it. A lovely piece of work, forged by Brodin Cale. Not that I-” His voice fell silent when Dormund took the first swing.
The head of the hammer planted thick into his skull, liquid spewing out the gaps. His neck twitched as Dormund moved the weapon, before he finally fell to his knees. He dislodged the hammer from his skull, pushing him into the fire pit before observing the remnants of Russel’s brain and skull on the end of the hammer. “Yes.” Dormund stated aloud. “I think it will do fine.”
No decision.
You know, the only thing that is better than having two new parts when waking up is having four parts over the course of the last 2 days. This has to be an absolute record and I applaud you for it. Well done, Sir, well done. And with such outstanding quality as always. I could never do that in such time, I am not even kidding you there
[Lie to her]
Holy shit! That part... just... holy shit! You know this feeling when you realize that literally everything you did has been a huge mistake lately? That is exactly how I feel with Samira right now. It seems we seriously fucked up with the choices for her, but even worse is that she and we were genuinely tricked. Fucking Dalia... hey, I think I won't have a problem with disliking her. Rolls off the tongue nicely
But anyways, wether or not we messed up or Dalia was just too good at tricking us all, it doesn't matter, since the situation won't change. Samira is in serious trouble now. And hell, that damn twist. Dalia is not only evil, she is also a cannibal and now she's got Samira in her hands. I doubt this will end well for either of them. But well, I don't think we should rat Cassy out here. Just lie to that bitch, I don't see a good reason to tell her the truth.
Ah, another Dormund part and this time we even get answers. I loved that a lot. This Wraith Elena mentioned... it does ring a bell. It's been a while since we got an update for that, but hasn't the Northern Chill featured such a being? I might mix things up here, but it sounded familiar. Surely, this part brought up new questions, but it is nice to get a glimpse of an answer here and there. I feel like the puzzle is slowly making more sense. A question though, I don't exactly remember it. Does Rogar know that Dormund is resurrected? And has he been okay with this? Or was it simply that he has enough respect for Elena and her powers to accept her decision?
Also, do I see it correctly that the crown of House Bolton is called 'the flayed crown'? That... sounds gross. I think it's better not to imagine how it looks or how it smells
[Suggest an alliance]
[Fight] I agree with Liquid and Wildling on this, fighting is probably the best option plus I am curious to see how great of a fighter Nathan is.
[Lie to her] Cassy has clearly been put through enough and I figure that if Samira tells Dalia the truth, than things will only get worse for her.
Edit: Oh yeah I forgot to mention that there is probably now a second Dalia that can contribute to the Dislike Dalia Club
That's awesome! There is something so cool about seeing little easter eggs from the series thrown in.
This was a pretty neat part and it seems we have indeed gotten some answers. From the sound of things, Theon and the Stark army may not have such a great homecoming once they arrive back from Andalos
If what Elena says is true, it seems another Stark-Bolton war will soon be on the horizon and it will be interesting to see where it goes from here. Dormund will clearly has a very action packed storyline moving forward and I am obviously hyped to see where it takes him 
[Fight]
Well, I guess he is fighting. Hopefully, he can take on five men.
Geez.... I think Elena's resurrection must have messed with his personality or something. He seems a lot darker and crueler than he was before his death. He literally just killed that blacksmith for no reason at all.
[Lie to her]
There isn't really any good reason to tell her the truth. Doing that will probably just get Cass killed.
Well Liquid, looks like you have another Dalia to hate. Except this time, this one has done something to warrant it, while the other is just a potential future threat.
You are correct. From the start I always wanted to keep all my story plans linked, and this was the way to hint TNC's existence in the very far future while in the Invasion. What little we learned there we will pick up from here
No stress, I barely remembered the last part myself. I did put a recap up with Nathan's, along with a Samira one, but I don't blame you if you missed it. Last part Dormund did indeed reunite with his father, and it made for an interested and conflicted scene between the two. Rogar never wanted Dormund to be resurrected, but due to what he is left with, he's had little choice other to accept it. It makes it difficult both on him and Dormund in this aspect, but as we can see, Dormund is far from the man he used to be.
Well, it may be metaphorical... It may not be either...
Haha, I'm really glad you picked up on this. I saw the opportunity and I thought, why not? This is a GoT based story after all
Oh if you thought that the Stark's and Bolton's could be friends after the Battle of the Weeping Water, my friend, you were mistaken
There is indeed a war coming, and one which will determine a lot for the North, and for this supposed 'threat' beyond the Wall.
Apart from the sheer thrill of it, yep. There was no reason for him to do it. He's definitely not the man he was prior to his death, and arguably a lot more 'Boltony' now, which his father could potentially approve of.
Well I was considering getting the last part done too while I was at it, which would have been a Steffon part, but a couple of things held me back from doing so. It's meant to be a semi-emotional revealing part, and these last few parts have had a pretty harsh and rushed rhythm to them, so I figured I'd only spoil Steffon's part if I did then. Also, I remember a time when I pumped out a fair few TNC parts every day over a couple of weeks until the chapter ended. Well, I also remember a couple of complaints for those who fell seriously behind
Anyway, after Steffon's part we have Jaycen, which is something for you to get excited for 
Hahaha wow, I didn't even realise that until now
Well, as Tales said, at least there's a warrant to the hatred.
Haha that is a very good point
Rogar and Theon certainly won't become buddies anytime soon. By the way, I have really enjoyed their scenes together especially this one scene in the first chapter where Rogar told Theon to remember that "Our Blades are Sharp" and than rode off 
I had to mention it because it was pretty beast! As for this threat beyond the wall, I suppose this means the White Walkers may be gathering or this could also mean something else entirely which probably means I need to finish up some northern royalty 
Hey guys, so I have the next part ready, which goes to Steffon. The last we saw of poor old, and tired, Steffon Cale, he was discussing war matters with the council. They ended up deciding not to request aid from the Barrow Kings, to which Steffon later left the council for some well needed rest. However when encountering his room, he met little Tristram Stark, who informed him of the tragedies of their house, and his worries. As they were talking, they were interrupted by a worried handmaiden, Martena Rivers, who was in charge of the Stark children's well-being. She offered to take Tristram back to his room, and when left with the choice, you decided to have this tired old man accompany them. This part takes place where it left off, enjoy
Edit: The new Jaycen part is also out. Last we saw him, he had decided to allow his son to be acting lord of Nightsong while he was gone. He then gave his farewells and joined Gladys and Keat in marching their army for Storm's End. This part takes place a day or two after.
... And the new PoV, and I believe the last of this chapter, is introduced! Torrhen Blackmont.
Steffon
The door to Tristram’s room swung open as Martena guided the weary boy into his bed. Steffon watched with envious and tired eyes. He wondered how much longer he could last without sleep. I suppose someone out there just wishes to see me suffer. He thought bitterly to himself, before the face of his daughter and brother flashed in the darkness of the room. He fought hard not to crumble down, not in front of the boy, and not in front of that bastard hand maiden, who was now exiting the room. When the door was closed, she let out a sigh.
“You didn’t have to escort us, although I appreciate your silent company.” She mocked, starting to walk down the hall. Steffon rolled his eyes, walking after her. She possessed beautiful long and wavy red hair, with polar opposite eyes that were a cold icy blue. She was tall, and had a slim build, overall Steffon found her quite attractive for her age.
“So tell me, what is a Riverlands bastard doing so far north?” Steffon investigated, scratching his thick beard. He had not bothered to shave for a while now, not since his daughter passed. Martena shrugged her shoulders. “There was no place for me in the Riverlands.” She stated boldly, making Steffon raise an eyebrow.
“Who is your father?” Steffon asked, and Martena sighed, stopping by a window where she overlooked the dark courtyard. “Edmure Tully. He is a general in King Tristifer Mudd’s army.” Martena stated, staring out the window with boredom. As I am to Theon. Steffon though in contrast, before turning his gaze out the dark window.
“So you lived with the Mudd’s then?” Steffon continued to question, and Martena rubbed her eyes. “General, forgive me, but it’s getting late. Queen Helia is in the Great Hall if you’re looking for a chat, otherwise I wish you a good night.” She bid him, taking a bow and egressing before Steffon could think to chase after her. Instead he just rested his head against the wall. He was exhausted beyond belief, yet the likelihood of getting some rest now felt minimal. Given that the Queen was still up at this hour, it was a pliable option to check on.
-
She sat alone at the council table, a flask of red wine with a stack of cups beside it, one sitting in front of her as she stared into oblivion. Steffon watched her for a moment, unsure whether he should interrupt on her calmed misery, but something told him to go in. His first step into the hall caught her attention, her eyes flickering over to him with a saddened gaze. “General Cale.” She greeted, her voice dignified and courageous, yet there was a sadness deep in her tone, Steffon knew it well.
“Queen Stark.” He reciprocated, taking a seat opposite her. He reached a cup, pouring himself a drink. Wine had never fancied him, but for the occasion, he had a thirst. It wasn’t long until he was reaching for another refill. “What brings you to my hall of misery, Steffon?” Helia muttered quietly, sipping on her wine.
“Misery.” Steffon stated blatantly, downing a second cup. She sighed, placing the cup back on the table. “Theon is a fool.” She said with caution, to which Steffon simply shrugged. “Kings have been made from worse.” He stated, though he did not see Theon for a fool. A warrior perhaps, but not a fool. Helia shrugged, lifting her hands to her hair.
“He’s not a great king.” She expressed bitterly, parting her hairline to reveal a filthy long scar. Steffon studied it before turning his gaze back to her. “Theon did this to you?” He asked carelessly, and she nodded hesitantly, causing Steffon to frown. “I’m sorry.” He muttered, which seemed to displease her.
“I do not want your apologies, General. I want my people to survive, and this road you are leading them on will certainly put an end to them.” She exclaimed, causing Steffon to raise his eyebrows. “Have any better ideas, princess?” He mocked her, but she took no attention to it. “Yes, I do. Request aid from the Barrow’s, I know they will help.” She stated confidently, to which Steffon just sighed, shaking his head.
“You heard the council, showing weakness to them could end badly for us.” He recited, but Helia shook her head furiously. “Fuck the council! Things will already end badly for us, Steffon. Can you not already see that?” She yelled, to which Steffon shrugged it off. She rolled her eyes pathetically. “I’ve never met someone so fucking naive.” She muttered, taking a page out of Steffon’s book and downing her cup in an instant, somewhat impressing him. Still, he chuckled.
“So what, you would just have me ride for Barrowton and demand their assistance in taking back Stark land? You have to be kidding me.” Yet Helia nodded. “They’re of the western lands. We’re not the only ones affected by the Ironborn, Steffon, they’ve got it worse. Much worse now, since their crown was assassinated by Andal spies. My family are the stewards of Barrowton now.” She informed him, which Steffon raised an eyebrow.
“Your family?” He questioned, and she nodded. “House Amber.” She stated with a small smile, there was some pride in it for her. “The rule Barrowton now, and I know they would help, but they do not have the power or influence…” She revealed with disappointment, and Steffon sighed. “So it’s a dead end.” He muttered, but Helia shook her head in disagreement.
“The people are choosing to support a girl called Emma Snow. She is the eldest bastard daughter of the late King Dustin, and proclaimed herself the heir to Barrowton, but due to her bastardy her claim is tested.” Helia stated, and Steffon crossed his arms. “So why would Emma Snow want to help us?” Steffon asked, and Helia sighed. “She wouldn’t.” She admitted, to which Steffon frowned. “Then what good is it?” He stated ignorantly. Helia poured herself another cup of wine.
“Before the Battle of the Weeping Water, Theon called his most trusted soldier to him to forge an alliance with the neighbouring kingdoms. This man was Harmond Hornhill, and he was accompanied by his pupil, Edrick. We know Harmond is dead, but perhaps Edrick survived. Perhaps he headed for Emma, she is his half-sister.” She stated with some hope, but Steffon felt unconvinced.
“Even if he is there, do you think he would help us? Or even be able to convince this Emma to help us?” He asked, to which Helia shrugged. “I don’t know. You’re guaranteed at least some help with the Amber’s, but I don’t know how much they can do. However, the same can be said with Emma Snow, I’ve never met the girl, but if she’s rallied most of the western houses then I can presume she’s tough.” Helia guessed, and Steffon still felt unconvinced by it all. “I don’t know Helia…” He said unconfidently, to which she crossed her arms with frustration.
“What have we got to lose, Steffon? We’re both weakened kingdoms, they don’t have the time to turn on us, we can still overpower them if it comes to that. We could if we didn’t throw what’s left of our forces at ravaging rapists and raiders.” She argued, and Steffon nodded in agreeance. “Please, you know we need this. Wulfgar will lead what we have west, and we know Haymitch is getting help from the Night’s Watch. You could either ride to Barrowton, to my family, or to the Rills, where I hear Emma Snow is building an army with House Ryder and others. What do you say?” She asked, and Steffon needed to think for a moment. His extreme exhaustion did not help with his decision, and he didn’t want to make a bad choice.
[Ride for the Rills] [Ride for Barrowton]
Indeed, some threats beyond the Wall may be arriving sooner than we think. Well, maybe
Rogar is a bit of a bad ass, and I'm a bit ashamed to admit I haven't been able to show off much of him over these three chapters. However I'll be happy to announce that Chapter 4 should show off a bit more off his beast-ism 
Jaycen
The fork of the Wyl River was drawing near as the Dondarrion and Caron host marched onward. Their armies would need to cross the Stone Bridge in order to continue through the Stone Way, a road which Jaycen was highly hesitant of using. However due to time restriction and distance, they had been left with little other choice.
Jaycen rode with the Dondarrion vanguard, beside General Gladys and Keat Musgood. Gladys’ expression seemed to match Jaycen’s thoughts pretty clearly. She had never held much love for the Wyl’s, with her father in the past, however when she lost her lover to them, it only stretched the already stretched relationship between Blackhaven and Wyl. The track they followed was treacherous, and quarrelsome to say the least. The only member of the van who seemed to have their wits about them was Keat Musgood, who held a solemn expression.
“We will need to move with haste once we’re over the Stone Bridge. The Stone Way is known to be filled with bandits and criminals. While I doubt any will bother us, it’s better to be safe than sorry.” Keat suggested, to which Gladys spat. “That’s if they even let us past. What will they think with a combined army heading for Wyl? Those bastards stabbed us in the back once before.” Gladys cursed, to which Jaycen sighed.
“They’ll let us through.” He stated solemnly, but Gladys looked unconfident to say the least. “We’ll take the bridge if it comes to it.” Jaycen reassured her, to which he sparked a small smile on her lips. He didn’t wish for it to come to that. No, I need to lend my forces to die in a pointless war. Jaycen thought bitterly, yet he refused to believe that Qarlton was that stupid, that was not the man that he had once called friend. He didn’t know what had happened to that man, it sure as hell wasn’t him when he was fucking Jaycen’s wife behind his back. Jaycen tightened his grip around the reins.
“We’ll ride ahead.” Keat decided, turning to Gladys. “Have your van come to a halt, we’ll return soon.” He stated, to which Gladys raised an eyebrow. “Since when did a mere cup-bearer order a general?” She asked with annoyance, but Jaycen wasn’t in the mood for quarrels among their own. “Save it for the Dornish if they try anything. Just do as he says for now.” Jaycen muttered, before spurring his horse forward with Keat’s.
The two reached the Stone Bridge after a few minutes of riding, and were met with armed crossbows and aimed spears. The banners of Wyl and Yronwood flew high above the blockade, with the wooden gates firmly shut. Jaycen looked up the stone wall, studying the faces. Lord Nic Wyl stared down at them with cursing eyes, yet another face caught him by surprise.
Prince Benedict Yronwood stood by Nic’s side at the battlement, his features clear even with only one eye. He had short brown hair with a short beard of the same colour, and from Jaycen’s memory, eyes of a similar colour again. While he had an average build, his armour gave the appearance that he was much stockier than actual, with plated bronze over his loose white shirt. He stared down at them with stern eyes, a hand on the pommel of his sword.
“Lord Caron.” He greeted sternly, then turning his gaze to Keat. “And who is this?” He called, to which Keat answered him solemnly. “Keat Musgood, a warrior in service of Lord Connington.” He informed, to which Benedict nodded. “What brings you to the Stone Bridge?” He asked, to which Lord Nic answered in their place.
“A Dondarrion army? I think it’s pretty clear.” He bickered, but Benedict paid him no mind. His eyes stared to Jaycen for answers, which he planned to give him. “We seek passage to the Stone Way.” He informed him, causing Benedict to chuckle. “Obviously, Lord Caron. Why, is the question I want answered.” He stated more clearly, to which Jaycen frowned. He didn’t want to reveal their plans to any of the Dornish, especially the Yronwood’s.
“We are reinforcing Stonehelm from an Andal threat.” Jaycen lied, to which Benedict raised an eyebrow. “Andal’s?” He asked sternly, to which Jaycen nodded, but Nic saw through his lie. “You’re full of shit, Caron. If there were Andal’s, we’d be the first to know about it.” He stated confidently. “Now, last chance.” He said with some sick amusement, ordering his archers to take aim. Jaycen took in a deep breath, moving his hand to the hilt of his sword. Keat did the same.
Tension stared off between the Lord of the Marches and Dornish lord of Wyl, which was eased, or replaced, with the sound of a blasting horn from behind them. That’s no Caron horn, nor Dondarrion. He realised, turning his gaze behind him. It was the banners which appeared first, rising over the hill, flapping aggressively. A black vulture on yellow, the pink infant in its talons. Blackmont’s. Jaycen’s eye widened with surprise, whether it was positive or negative was another thing. Then the flag carriers rode over the hill, followed by familiar faces.
King Hector, a terrible and relieving sight, which Jaycen found himself grinning to. The man had barely changed since their last encounter a little over a year ago, at Ryman’s funeral. He still maintained the physique of a warrior, which was admirable for a man of his age, being only four years younger than Jaycen. He was accompanied by his son, Torrhen, who possessed the dark skin of his foreign mother, and hair which he had seen on no man before him.
With them rode Gladys, who clearly looked eager to join them at the bridge. Before long they were upon them, and Hector replicated his excitement to see Jaycen. “Hector!” Jaycen greeted his old and strange friend, dismounting his steed. Hector dismounted from his moving horse and took his arm in greeting.
“We tried to seek you at Nightsong, but found her empty of all Caron’s.” He revealed with a confused tone, taking a firm grip on Jaycen’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you’re well.” He added, to which Jaycen nodded. Hector freed his arm, turning to the gates, and then to Benedict. “Do I need to ask?” He called, with a tone that was harsh and raspy. Before long, the gates swung open, and a sulky Lord Nic disappeared behind the battlements. Keat cleared his throat, turning his horse around.
“I will bring the men through.” He informed, and Jaycen gave his nod of approval, sending the man off. Hector and Gladys had already ridden through to the other side as Jaycen was mounting his horse. He found himself looking into the dark blue eyes of Torrhen’s solemn gaze. “Prince Torrhen.” He greeted formally, to which the young man broke his sturdy expression to give him a small smile.
“Lord Jaycen, it’s a pleasure.” He stated, before the two started across the bridge. “How does Bethany fare?” He asked awkwardly, running his hand through his hair, which Jaycen found himself somewhat distracted by. He had inherited the black hair of his father, but apart from that it was completely dissimilar. Shorn bald on the sides, his long hair was tied back into a braid which fell to his upper back. His face was cleanly shaven.
“She fares well.” He stated after a moment, turning his gaze back along the bridge. “And your family? Selena?” Jaycen asked, to which Torrhen nodded. “Safe at Blackmont.” He informed him, which Jaycen approved of. What bothered him was that the Dornish had passed through the Marches without his knowing, even if he did like the Blackmont’s, the thought still bothered him.
“Your father said you passed Nightsong. Why?” Jaycen asked, and Torrhen turned his gaze to Hector, who rode ahead. “I’ll let him explain.” Torrhen decided, increasing the pace of his courser. Jaycen nodded, meeting his pace. The sooner he got answers, the better.
-
The last of the combined host had passed over the Stone Bridge and was slowly led up the Stone Way, while Jaycen found himself standing by the river with Hector Blackmont. Jaycen watched Torrhen converse with Lord Nic and Benedict for a while, before turning his gaze back to Hector.
“He’s grown into an honourable man. You must be proud.” Jaycen managed, he somehow found it hard to say. The boy, he reminded him too much of Ryman, and those two had been friends for a time when Hector and Torrhen visited Nightsong. Still, Hector nodded.
“Not only in appearance, but in mind. He will make for a great king someday.” Hector stated proudly, squatting beside the rushing water and washing his face. “Though I’d rather he focus more on his studies and less on trying to please me.” He added with some arrogance, to which they both chuckled.
“I hear that the Storm King is embarking on a conquest.” Hector mentioned after some time, and Jaycen nodded with a disapproving gaze. “He’s a fool. There are larger problems to be dealt with.” Jaycen stated with frustration, and Hector nodded in agreeance. “Like the Andal’s.” He suggested, and while Jaycen had not thought much on the eastern invaders, he nodded regardless.
“That’s why we’re here.” Hector revealed, standing from the river and turning to Jaycen. “I wasn’t wrong to predict that they wouldn’t stop with the Fingers. It’s only a matter of time until they reach the Stormlands, and Dorne.” Hector foreboded, to which Jaycen raised an eyebrow. “So that’s why, you’re forging an alliance.” Jaycen realised, and Hector nodded. Still, Jaycen was confused. “Why did ride for Nightsong then? Why not cross the Wide Way and ride east?” Jaycen suggested rhetorically, but Hector shook his head.
“Riding east would have taken us too close to the Fowler’s… and the Manwoody’s.” He said with spite, which Jaycen could relate to. The Manwoody’s were responsible for Ryman’s death, just as they were responsible for the death of Hector’s sister. Jaycen nodded. “Gareth will be the Lord of Nightsong while I’m gone. If the Manwoody’s try anything, they’ll be pinned on both sides.” Jaycen said with some reassurance, which Hector was not so confident with.
“Almost.” He muttered, placing his hand on the neck of his horse and stroking her mane. Jaycen eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t trust the Fowler’s?” He asked, to which Hector shook his head as if it was the dumbest question posed. “Not since Rickard’s passing. Now his son, Derrick, has taken his place. I’ve only met the boy on a few occasions, but it’s enough to steer clear of.” Hector stated. “Hence why you rode for Nightsong.” Jaycen added, and Hector nodded.
“I’ve installed a thousand men at Vulture’s Roost. They’ll be the first line of defence if the Marches fall to the Andal’s.” Hector informed him, to which Jaycen crossed his arms. “The Marches will not fall.” He stated confidently, but the Vulture king did not look convinced. “We’ve repelled you Dornish for thousands of years. We can do the same with some foreign invaders.” Jaycen assured him, but Hector just gave it a shrug.
“The Andal’s are different. Just know that if Nightsong falls, the Caron’s can find safe haven at Vulture’s Roost.” Hector offered, and Jaycen expressed his gratitude. “Thank you.” Jaycen extended his open hand, which Hector accepted. He wasn’t sure when he may see this man again. “Until the next unfortunate time.” Hector jested, bidding him farewell. Jaycen rolled his eye, climbing onto his horse and turning it around to join the marching garrison. Before he did, however, he turned back to Hector a final time.
“Hey.” He called, grabbing Hector’s attention. “Don’t attack Nightsong while I’m gone.” He joked in return, causing a grin to widen on Hector’s face. “No promises.” He added, winking at him as he mounted his own horse. Jaycen chuckled to himself, galloping back to the Caron and Dondarrion army. Farewell, Hector Blackmont.
No decision.
Yiesh, I tried Lord. The voting is closed! Wyatt will suggest an alliance.
Well this vote was a clear one, and I'll close it now! Nathan will fight. Should make for a cool scene
Torrhen
The sun had started its descent by the time they reached the gates of Yronwood. It hadn’t been long until they were escorted to the great hall of the castle, which proved to be a larger hall than the one at Blackmont. It consisted of a mix of stone and sandstone, held up with stone pillars and consisting of three levels. The hall had been built around a natural rock pool, which Torrhen found himself staring into.
He wore a black leather vest, as thick as gambeson, which he tucked his hands into. His grey shirt was loose but long sleeved, and his trousers an ash grey. Yet these minor details he paid little attention to. He stared into his eyes, a dark blue which was piercing to look at. His braid hung over his shoulder. Another figure joined his side by the pools. He was older, with skin like dried leather, and black hair which fell to his shoulders. His matching dark blue eyes had a stern look in them, which glared at Torrhen’s reflection, causing him to lift his gaze to his father.
“They’re stalling.” Torrhen muttered, turning his gaze back to the reflection. They had been waiting in the hall for close to fifteen minutes now. Hector shrugged his shoulders, following his son’s gaze. “Perhaps.” He said gently, which was highly uncharacteristic of him. Torrhen turned his gaze to him awkwardly, studying his face.
“Are you feeling alright, father?” He asked, to which his father’s dark blue eyes met his own. “I am.” He stated, allowing himself a small smile, and causing Torrhen to raise an eyebrow. “What is it?” He questioned him, and his father raised his eyebrows as if he were confused. “I just met with an old friend which I hadn’t seen in years, am I not allowed to smile?” He challenged, to which Torrhen rolled his eyes.
“Sure.” He stated nonchalantly, his thoughts drifting off to Ryman Caron momentarily before he forced his mind back into solemnity. His father sighed, crossing his arms. “We’ll be home soon.” Hector reassured him, staring back to the water. Torrhen nodded, the thought warmed him in a way the Dornish heat never could. Regardless, there was something still bothering him.
“This is taking too long.” Torrhen expressed with impatience, and Hector nodded, sitting himself on the rocks. “You understand the price that may need to be paid?” Hector asked sternly, and Torrhen nodded. An Yronwood-Blackmont marriage was not to be unexpected. “Once we have the Yronwood’s by our side we will have strong allies to protect the east. As well as the Dayne’s, we will have a good hold on most of Dorne. Controlling the Stone Way holds a strong strategic value.” Hector informed him, to which Torrhen nodded.
“I know, father.” He assured him, to which Hector gave him a weak smile. “I know you know.” He responded with some warmth. The reunion with Jaycen Caron had really rubbed off on him. Perhaps now is a good time. Torrhen thought, freeing his hands from his vest. He rubbed them awkwardly.
“Father. We should stop at Skyreach on our return to Blackmont.” He attempted, which resulted in an instant retaliation. “No.” Hector said with outright refusal. “I know what you’re thinking. You want to add the Fowler’s and fucking Manwoody’s to the alliance.” He stated, to which Torrhen nodded, but Hector firmly shook his head. “Those Manwoody’s can be the first to fall.” Hector snarled, throwing his hand into the water, breaking the clear image.
“Dorne needs unity! We need the Wide Way.” Torrhen tried to argue, but Hector had had enough. The main doors opened as silence began to suffocate the air, extinguishing the cool tension with the outside heat. Two elderly figures entered, which Hector seemed to instantly recognise.
“Prince Eddin.” He hollered, rising from the pools and approaching them. Torrhen followed after him, studying the two folk before him. Eddin was a tall and skinny man, with a few wrinkles on his face and grey eyes. He possessed a white beard, with long white hair, which a pointless silver crown sat atop of. His skin was pale, it was clear he was sick.
“King Hector.” He noticed warmly, taking his hand in greeting. He was accompanied with a woman that Torrhen guessed to be his wife, she was shorter than Eddin, but still tall. She had straight white hair which fell to the arch of her back, and she wore ruby jewellery. “You remember Sofina?” He asked, introducing his wife to him. Hector nodded, taking her hand. “Of course. It is a pleasure, again.” He added kindly, to which she bowed in respect. “And who is this?” Eddin asked, pointing his frail hand towards Torrhen. Hector smiled.
“This is my eldest son, Torrhen.” He beckoned for him to come closer, which Torrhen did. Eddin’s grey eyes looked him up and down before a wide grin formed on his face. “How you have grown. You were only this high when I last saw you.” He marvelled, lowering his hand below his thigh. Torrhen gave a sympathetic smile, and nodded.
“It’s an honour to be here.” He stated with generosity, to which Eddin looked back to Hector with cheerful eyes. “Well-mannered too! He takes after his father.” He complimented, tapping Hector’s shoulder. “Shall we go and talk?” He suggested, and Hector nodded, but Torrhen felt unpleased with this. “I thought we were to talk with King Olyvar.” Torrhen stated with some disappointment, to which Eddin frowned.
“My father is resting.” Eddin informed him, and Sofina piped up. “And you should be too.” She mumbled, rubbing his arm, but Eddin simply shook his head. “I’m not.” He tried to convince her with a warm smile, which clearly didn’t work. “Besides, we have guests, which I’m sure aren’t here to check on my health. Are you?” Eddin jested, evoking a frown from Hector. Torrhen sighed, crossing his arms. “Please, follow me to my office.” He beckoned, linking his arm with Sofina’s and starting his pace. Hector and Torrhen followed, exchanging glances as they did.
-
Eddin sat behind his desk, pouring over the parchment scrolls while his wife stared out the window behind him. Hector sat opposite of the old man, and Torrhen found himself standing beside his father. Eddin sighed sadly, lifting his eyes from the papers.
“I’m sorry, I simply cannot extend anymore Yronwood forces. My father has requirement for them elsewhere.” He stated awkwardly, causing Torrhen to raise an eyebrow, but Hector shook his head with frustration. “Will they be too busy to defend their own shores when the Andal’s come? Eddin, the Dayne’s will not be able to hold the eastern shores alone.” Hector muttered, and before long the door to Eddin’s quarters swung open.
Torrhen turned to meet the old gaze of King Olyvar Yronwood, his brown eyes were stern and piercing, aged with experience and maturity. Torrhen stood down, lowering his gaze, while Eddin’s eyes widened in shock. “Father, you’re awake?” He realised, startled. He nodded, walking into Eddin’s quarters with a snarled expression. “You won’t take my crown yet.” He informed his son with a harsh and raspy tone. Eddin shook his head, lowering his gaze.
“King Hector.” He greeted, then turning his gaze to Torrhen. “Look at me, boy.” He ordered, and Torrhen hesitantly lifted his gaze, staring the man in his hard brown eyes. His age showed, with heavy wrinkles on him. His white hair was short, and heavily receded. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Torrhen Blackmont. Welcome to Yronwood.” He greeted, giving him a firm nod. Torrhen kneeled in respect, to which the old man smirked.
“There’ll be none of that here, Prince. Get up.” He commanded him, and Torrhen arose feeling left without words. His father simply stood, staring at Olyvar with admiring eyes. “Eddin, Sofina, you may leave.” He ordered them, and they quickly took their leave, until it was just them three. Olyvar clasped his hands behind his back, approaching the window, which he stared out to the view of the sea.
“Come take a seat, son.” He ordered, beckoning Torrhen to Eddin’s chair. Torrhen did so with obedience, while Hector watched with stern eyes. Torrhen took a seat in the chair, which he found cold, to his surprise. “I hear you want an alliance with me.” He stated nonchalantly, staring out the window. Torrhen nodded. “You’ll speak when spoken too.” He informed him, to which Torrhen cleared his throat. “Yes, your grace.” He responded. Olyvar smirked, turning his gaze to Torrhen.
“You are to be king someday, and from what I’ve heard, you’re quite an intelligent man for your age.” He noted, studying his facial features. Torrhen remained silent, to which Olyvar turned his gaze to Torrhen’s father. “King Hector, I’ll meet you in the hall momentarily. I’d like to speak to your son in private.” He informed, which Hector clearly showed his dissatisfaction, but nodded regardless. He knew the importance of this alliance was paramount, as did Torrhen. When he left, Olyvar let out a sigh of relief.
“Your father is a hard man. A true warrior. Though I am not interested in conversing with the ideals of a soldier. I’ve heard that you’ve received an education from tutors all across Westeros, and Essos for that matter.” He acknowledged calmly, to which Torrhen nodded. “Yes, your grace.” He remarked again, to which Olyvar mumbled something to himself. Torrhen squinted his eyes, trying to make out the words. “Pardon?” He finally asked, snapping Olyvar out of his trance.
“These titles… For a moment, let’s ignore that I am a king, and you a prince. Let’s simply look at it from the perspective of two men. I, having something you want, and you having something I could want. What is it?” He asked, and Torrhen found himself at a loss. He shook his head.
“I’m not sure.” Torrhen mumbled, to which Olyvar appeared displeased. “A king cannot hesitate in a time of importance.” He instructed, to which Torrhen raised his gaze. “Yet we are not kings or princes. We are men.” Torrhen pointed out, causing Olyvar to smirk. “Good.” He complimented, leaning himself against the wall.
“Tell me, Torrhen. How much do you know about me?” The old man asked, which caused Torrhen to think back to his Dornish history classes. It had been years. “You fought with Erich the Unready.” Torrhen stated from memory, and Olyvar nodded. “I did. Who won that war?” He asked, crossing his arms. Torrhen sighed, turning his gaze to the sea. “The Durrandon’s.” He said with regret, but Olyvar nodded all the same.
“I lost a lot in that war. My brothers, my friends, my men. Tell me, after that, what does a man want? Does he lust for the power he lost? Does he wish to seek wisdom from his mistakes? Or does he wish to take revenge on those which did him wrong? Tell me, Torrhen Blackmont, what do I want?” Olyvar asked, finally revealing his terms. Torrhen’s eyes widened, as he realised the alliance between the Blackmont’s and Yronwood’s rested on his shoulders. He thought carefully on his answer.
[Power] [Wisdom] [Vengeance]
You have been pretty busy lately. Getting all these parts out at once. We are very grateful for all your hard work.
Oh man, I am surely relieved that Alara did not choose to get into an affair with Theon. The scene with Helia showed to me that she likely wouldn't have been save so close to him. At the same time, seeing that he is not afraid of scarring his own queen in a fit of rage, I am more than just a bit afraid of the repercussions Alara might have to face for rejecting him. Still, we made the better decision, because I surely wouldn't want her to actually even fall for Theon before finding out what he truly is like, because that would have undoubtedly ruined her emotionally. Then again, there is the chance he had genuine feelings for her, as unlikely as that is.
[Ride for the Rills]
Hm... This is a bit of a gamble. The thing is, Emma, as a bastard, has little chance of ever actually holding the crown for long. Maybe she can win it, but she sure as hell won't be able to keep it forever, being a woman and a bastard. She has men who support her, men who can help in keeping the lands of her family save, which is what should be her primary concern. I doubt Steffon can risk having her as a potential enemy while he is fighting the Ironborn. An alliance against a common enemy is in everyone's best interest and the best chance I see for him to succeed at his mission. After all, Emma has a personal interest in driving the Ironborn out of the North and if Steffon can make her see this, he has a chance of ending her uprising peacefully and before it even truly begins.
One thing I am a bit confused by though is Helia spelling out the relationship between Edrick and Emma. If she is the bastard daughter of King Dustin and if Edrick is her half-brother, doesn't that mean that he is the trueborn son of the king? Or do they simply have the same mother?
Ah, this is a part where I would have loved to comment on it before reading the next part. As much as I love the introduction of Hector and Torrhen, it obviously pales before the next part
Let me be clear though, that is not a bad thing. I found this to be a wonderful introduction to my newest creations, one that made me super excited to see how you are going to use them in the future. It was especially nice to see the friendship between Jaycen and Hector, as odd as it is, given their backgrounds and surroundings. One thing I found particularly memorable is seeing a more light-hearted side in Jaycen. We naturally don't get to see this while he is around the dysfunctional mess that is his family, where he is more often than not the guy in the wrong. But here, he was far less stern and serious than usual, showing to me that there is another side to him. With how few friends he has, I don't really expect it to come up again anytime soon or ever again, but I found it to be a scene that adds some big depths to him as a character and made me only more happy with the way you write him 
You know, there was one moment many months ago which has burned itself into my mind as my favourite Invasion moment of them all and it is a bit of a surprising one, because it is not actually a story moment. It's the moment I saw the first Bethany part and the absolute, nearly speechless surprise I felt there. I never even suspected her to become a PoV in the slightest. This moment here, while not exactly as powerful, due to me knowing that there would be a Torrhen PoV eventually, comes really damn close to that feeling, because the last thing I would have expected is to see his first part right here, immediately after Jaycen's part. Needless to say, this is a surprise I love greatly
Now, as much as I enjoyed the previous part, I consider this to be the true introduction to Torrhen as a character, given how closely these two parts were written after each other. Seriously, three parts while I was asleep and here I am struggling to write one part every three days. You are, without any doubt, the fastest writer in the forums who still manages to give them such wonderful quality. Kudos. And Torrhen, well, seeing him here makes me proud to see how far he has come from a mere concept that was thought of while writing an H&L (and those who don't know it might remember him from Gwendis' H&L in Nymeria's War), who literally was mentioned in one sentence, only to have him expanded and developed here into a full character. That is a first time for me (well, unless you count the entirety of House Caron from Alara's backstory), so certainly a very special moment. Thank you for providing it, thank you for writing and this was an awesome part. An awesome set of parts, to be honest, because I loved all three of them
[Vengeance]
Thing is, I believe Torrhen himself would want wisdom, he's that kind of guy. However, the question is not what he wants, it's what Olyvar wants and he struck me as a stubborn, crabby old man, who might value wisdom, but who values his own urges, such as vengeance, more than that. I might be wrong here, but I could see him to be the kind of person who has nurtured a terrible grudge against House Durrandon for decades now and who absolutely wants vengeance on them. He also mentioned it last, which might be an indicator that he indeed wants it the most. Again, Torrhen would likely answer wisdom if the question is about himself, but vengeance is what I see as most likely for Olyvar.
[Ride for the Rills] This is a big risk but at this point, it seems Emma Snow actually has more power to help so I believe it is a risk worth taking.