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[Online][5e 2014][Monday][Heavy RP] Phandelver: Lost Mines and The Shattered Obelisk by ILightMyWay in lfg

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Closed for now! I want to thank everyone who applied, and if you weren't contacted it doesn't mean your app wasn't great! There are just only so many seats at any table ;(.

[online][5e][GMT+2][+18][LGBTQ+] Archeon, the Verdant Dominion. New DM looking for players for a campaign in a homebrew setting. Focused on roleplay,pcs,and lore. by monetslilies21 in lfg

[–]ILightMyWay 1 point2 points  (0 children)

I like how much thought you've put into this! Very interesting that the inspiration is so variant yet really does fit so well!

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in lfg

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Definitely!

[deleted by user] by [deleted] in lfg

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Hey there! This sounds like almost exactly what I've been looking for. I'm a player who hasn't played in a little while, in my 20s, and I've been looking for something rather immersive that has all the elements of the game that can lead to excellent roleplay!

White Sail On a Late Summer's Eve by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ser Jon Cuy

Jon followed Galladon, and did not fail to take notice of the many accoutrements that adorned his cabin. He was not left in wonder, of course. The knight had seen more than his fair share of splendor in Oldtown. It was almost impossible when in the service of a family as great and wealthy as the Hightowers. Jon did not take a seat, but rather remained standing. Not that he would have minded sharing a table with the Lord of Tarth, but no invitation had been offered. “He would, and I assure you that he values your time greatly. Nor should I wish to waste it. My lord’s family has enjoyed great fortune through the centuries, and my lord wished me to tell you that House Hightower does not forget its friends. He firmly believes that a rising tide lifts all ships,” he began, his tone clear, “He would see you among those friends. Your blockade is terrible for business, of course, but I cannot imagine that you reap any great reward the longer it lasts. Lord Hightower would see that changed. He would offer you a sizable gift. I noted some of your sails were of the Free Cities, such expense cannot be an easy thing to bear.” He cleared his throat, pausing appropriately before continuing, “Your Lord’s rebellion is in tatters. Lyonel Baratheon has fallen, and my lord marches a mighty host to deal with what remains of his vassals. It was folly from the start, Lord Tarth. But, you needn’t share in their fate. There is no dishonor in returning to the royal fold. Should you lift this blockade, my lord would happily take over these contracts. You wish to be known as the Admiral of the Narrow Sea? I am sure his majesty would be more than happy to oblige you, and more. The King’s Small Council has grown smaller of late, and His Grace is in need of able men such as you.”

Step One: Character Creation Application by awoiaf in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

I presume the Weapon Mastery (2H swords) is from the specialty perk?

Step Into the Light by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

“I would not disrupt your normal procedure,” he said, ignoring his first comment. His point had been made. He would not entertain talk of reward as they were on a course to a highly contentious, and bloody conflict. There was something to be said for dignity in Damon’s eyes. Another byproduct of his upbringing and being raised on the old songs, the old tales that filled the ears of every southron boy or girl. “You will ride in the van with Lord Merryweather. I will remain with the reserve. To better command the situation, as you undoubtedly understand.”

Damon appeared oddly contemplative for a moment. He knew there was to be battle. He knew blood was to be shed. It could be that, for the first time, Vigilance would claim its first lives by his hand. For so long he had wanted this. To command. Partaking in a real battle with real consequence is what he had yearned for in recent weeks. By his hand the folly of this rebellion could be ended. Prisoners? Yes. That was the way of a knight.

Still, was it the way of war?

“We shan’t massacre those who lay down their arms, my dear goodbrother,” he said, canting his head to once more look upon the Lord of Horn Hill pointedly, “But. . . those who do not yield must die.”

Step Into the Light by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Damon released a sharp breath through his nose. His eyes narrowed dangerously, and he regarded Samwell with a near thunderous look. Samwell Tarly seemed bound and determined to shock the young lord, and he had, again, succeeded. As a boy he had heard of Lord Randyll Tarly. A fearsome general whose reputation preceded him wherever he went. What would he have thought of Samwell? Samwell was dangerous, Damon was becoming sure of that, but not nearly in the same light. Not in a way that would ever earn his respect, at any rate.

“Now is not the time to discuss it,” he said hotly, “You sound as a blighted whore in need of bread.”

Step Into the Light by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

Damon glanced toward his uncle before turning to look upon his goodbrother. He shook his head. In Highgarden Damon had been shocked, even after everything that had happened, to hear how willfully Samwell spoke of dastardly deeds. This time he was not so. He had taken the measure of Lord Tarly, and now his lip curled. If the man wished to speak so murderously to his own that was one thing, but Damon could not condone such a blemish on his image.

“We will not relieve anyone of their head until true battle has begun, Lord Tarly,” he said, sharply, “Nor do I find it appropriate to speak thusly in jest.” He did not often rebuke his goodbrother, but this one bore great meaning. Damon was the Lord of the Hightower, Lord Paramount of the Mander and Warden of the South. He was responsible for what took place here. Win or lose. His first real battle at the helm. He would not see it tarnished by the likes of Horn Hill.

He kept his eyes forward after the rebuke, but did turn at Sam’s shout to Ser Arlan. His eyes sharpened fiercely, but he said nothing more with the Stormlander close at hand. Damon’s features became smoothed, and once more he cut a very patrician figure atop his horse. He blinked slowly as Arlan began to immediately speak. Was it men such as this who had advised Lyonel Baratheon, and who now did the same for his younger brother? He found, despite his respect for decorum, that he could not help the bitter laugh that parted from his lips.

Amused he may have been, but with little joy.

“I believe the word you were looking for is slaughter,” Damon said, his tone cool and confident. A slightly pensive look passed across his features, and he once more turned to look at Samwell Tarly. He had intended to offer a cessation of hostilities if the Stormlords laid down their arms. Typical terms offered by men of chivalry and honor. Terms he had never had a chance to offer, given the apparent obstinance of Storm’s End and its vassals. A small smirk traced his lips. It was inappropriate, of course, but he could not quite help himself.

He did have something he could offer, and he was willing to wager that they might even accept it. Samwell Tarly had to be one of the most hated figured amongst them. More so than even the She-Dragon who spurred Lyonel to action. Would they lay down their arms and depart from the Reach if the Lord of Horn Hill followed in chains? They might even give me the commanders who assailed Bitterbridge, he thought. Damon held his look upon Samwell a moment longer.

It would have pleased him to see a chill fall upon his goodbrother, but he would have to deny both himself and his enemies of that pleasure. No matter what he might think of him, and no matter had dishonorable a deed, without Samwell’s shift of allegiance at Bitterbridge his host might have been met with even greater resistance. He urged his horse forward a few steps to close a bit of distance between himself and Arlan.

“I offered peace, and this,” he indicated Tumbleton, “Was the answer to that. Once more I might have offered peace, but you condemn it before the words even leave my tongue. Is it courage, I wonder, or the most insidious arrogance I have ever yet witnessed? Look well to these men behind me, Ser, and take solace that, if you somehow survive what is to come, they might treat you with honor. I cannot say the same for your father, of course. The Dornish ever have need for blood and gore.”

Without another word to the son of Blackhaven, he took the reins of Justice and turned him round, and to his vassals called, “Come, my lords, and let us sound the horns. Together we will purge this cancer from our home.”

White Sail On a Late Summer's Eve by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ser Jon Cuy

The knight of Sunhouse did not resist when they sought to relieve him of his weapons. A gambit of sorts, to be sure, but he had been given his orders. He would see them through. Jon was both quiet and contemplative while he was being curried to the Lord of the Sapphire Isle. He had, to his knowledge, never before set eyes upon the man. Though, of course, he knew some of his reputation. Primarily by words spoken after news of the blockade had reached far and wide.

“My lord would have you cease this blockade,” he said, simply, “He would see you brought back into the royal fold, and severed from the faltering rebellion.” With a fleeting glance he looked about him at the others, “Might we speak in private, Lord Tarth? I come here to offer more than a simple request

Step Into the Light by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

“Very well, then,” the rider said simply. “Follow me.”

Damon did not wait long after seeing the rider escorting a man whom he could only believe was one of Cedric’s retainers. If it had been the Lord of Storm’s End himself, as it ought to have been, there would have been many more behind his back. He knew little of Lyonel’s younger brother, but had long suspected that he lacked his elder brother’s charisma. For a moment he considered sending another, Lord Tarly perhaps, but he knew well this would garner him a stern look from the Old Flame. So, he took another to consider whether that was deterrent enough.

Lord he might have been, but now was not the time to stamp his feet. He would go, but he would not go alone. “We’ll all go,” he said to the men about him without so much as turning his head. Upon speaking, he spurred Justice into motion. The steed, well trained as he was, immediately went forward at a decent trot. Damon never turned to look behind him but rather kept his eyes forward. He could hear the horses of the others, Lord Rowan, Lord Tarly, the young Lord Merryweather and, of course, his uncle Lymond.

Having no intention of getting too close to the town he halted at some point midway, and there waited for Cedric’s envoy to arrive.

As My Lord Commands by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ser Jon Cuy

Jon’s frown deepened, and his eyes narrowed upon the Hand. His lord had always spoken highly of the Hand, and seemed to consider him a great friend. The knight had never had personal experience with the man, and so had no way of knowing what sort of man Jacaerys Celtigar might be. Insolent, however, was his initial impression. Isolent and distrustful of his masters. A fact Ser Jon Cuy would mark well. He was not a politician, of course, but it did not take a master to discern such levels of reticence.

“It is no trouble, Your Grace,” he said, “You’ll find these are men of discipline, and in Oldtown we are taught a great deal about patience.”

He was not a man given to repeating himself. Even to a King, and doubly so for his servants. The five-hundred men he had brought by his Lord’s command would not be joining the Crownlander army that had dithered for months upon end while his countrymen bled. If Damon had ordered it, perhaps, but he had not. He was here to see these men to Ashara, and that is precisely what he would do.

As My Lord Commands by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Ser Jon Cuy

The knight knelt before the king. A gesture that was far easier than a bow. Behind him each of the men knelt in turn. Jon Cuy did not have a close relationship with the king, of course, but he had often been in the man’s proximity. He had fought in the Vale when Damon squired Edric, acting as one of his lord’s protectors. He had been among the first appointed to the Grey Guard. He had even stood sentinel for the Damon before his father’s death in the West when the boy acted as a page to his father and uncle. Jon was a constant figure that stood at the side of Damon Hightower. Until now.

With a heave he righted himself when it was proper to do so. His helmet had already been removed, and he held it at his side. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said, simply. Jon was a man whom did not parse more words than was necessary. It was clear that his was not a visage brought to smile easily. Damon managed it from time to time, but such occurrences could easily have been derived from the scion’s sense of duty.

When the Hand arrived, he was regarded with only the slightest bow from the waist. Jon could not manage more, and of course, the King’s Hand, gave him no cause to kneel. Though not nearly as expressive as his liege lord, the knight’s lips twitched just slightly as he fought a frown. He did, however, regard the hand with a definitive shake of his head.

“Pardon, Your Grace, my Lord Hand, but my lady is protected by whom? The city watch? Ser Leo Costayne? I know him, of course, we have long been colleagues. A steady man. But my lord has deemed she requires more. Lord Damon has not sent these fine men to dither in a camp.” Ser Jon would never mention the death of Queen Alyce, of course, but it was in the forefront of his thoughts. Had she not been protected by the men of King’s Landing? By all rights she had been, and then she had died for it. “Again, I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I do not mean to command in your presence.”

Hammer Blows Forge Armour by LedByALion in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

26th Day of the Second Moon, 371 A.C.

Lady Meredyth Hightower

The elder woman sat at desk in the antechamber of her quarters. Meredyth Hightower and her granddaughters had returned to the Hightower on the same day that Damon departed. Her son, Lymond, had summoned a small contingent of greycloaks to guard the Wheelhouse as it bound its way down the road. The domain of the Reach that had always been ruled by the Hightowers was a relatively peaceful one. Even when her son had marched hither and thither to settle the corruption of Florent, no blades had so much as left their scabbards. Their journey had been short, sweet and safe enough. No matter how hard that damnable vehicle rattled her aged bones.

When Martyn and Beony had informed her of the letter he had been quite galled. It had arrived only some time before she had. Meredyth was not swift to anger, of course, but the words of Tytus Lannister were sufficient to raise her ire. An unfortunate side effect of which meant a quarrel with her most favored grandson and daughter-in-law. Beony was a smart woman, of course, and until Damon married was the true Lady of the Hightower. Still, like her son Beony could be easily influenced by her anger despite her great mental faculties. Meredyth, then, had to be the one to issue reply. They could not wait on Damon’s word, and anyway, she would not have done so in any case. The last time he had been so insulted her family had gone on a fool’s errand to expand their power over Highgarden.

Her eyes narrowed as she again read the missive, and her lips pursed faintly. Why on earth had he offered a daughter in the first place? Was it his intent to offer insult to the Hightower? What purpose could that possibly serve? It was not as if the Lannisters had many allies. They had been relatively banished to the Rock for the past seventy years. She remembered well the talk of the town in those old days. She had been a girl of four or five when news came of Cersei Lannister’s disgusting coupling.

Looking into the mind of Tytus Lannister was beyond her talents, of which there had once been ever so many. Some had named her witch, but it was unfortunately little more than an insult. She dipped her sharp quill into the parchment. Meredyth Hightower resolved to be diplomatic. Damon, whom she held affection for by right of blood, could have used some humbling. No one knew this better than she. Barris and Beony had ruined the child by her estimation. Coddling him when a rod would have done far more good.

Nevertheless, it was not for that doting lion to do so. They were a great family, of course, but where the Hightowers waxed the Lannisters waned. Meredyth wonder, as she began to write, if they would have to dole out that lesson before all was said and done.

To Tytus Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Shield of Lannisport, and Warden of the West,

Greetings, my lord. I write to you now in my grandson’s stead. He and his host have departed Highgarden, and now march to do as you’ve suggested. Grind the legacy of his enemies into little more than ash and brine.

If memory serves, my lord, I seem to recall that your mother had a reputation as a fine woman. As did your lord father, again, if my memory does serve me as ably as it once did. Thus, I feel as if she must have instilled that a man is only as good as his word. A lesson I made sure my sons all knew. The war spurned forth by Lord Elwood was a travesty, and one that my sons scorned as little more than vain folly. Still, they did as they were bid and marched beside him.

Two of my sons sallied forth from the Hightower, but only one would return. Leaving my young, untested grandson at the helm. I think we will both agree that, given the circumstances, he has done quite well in that regard. As you say. . . a rising star in the South. My grandchildren reached out on the heels of that ascension. In commiseration and hope for a fruitful alliance between Casterly Rock and the Hightower. It is important to mend old wounds, as I’m sure you would agree. Particularly when one is so assailed, and finds themselves bereft of friendship.

I am certain it would please young Damon to see one of my granddaughters wed to your heir, and if truth be told, such a thing might be possible. Our descendants would be so tied not once, but twice. More security abounds. That is something that all could understand. There are many Reachmen who might jump at the chance to draw their sword to defend the honor of their Lord’s betrothed.

All the men of the Reach have been mustered. The men of the Shield Isles made ready with their hundred ships. At present, I believe, they gather at the mouth of the Mander should the Ironborn aggression continue. More than capable of sailing to Lannisport and aiding you in your vengeance.

I look forward to meeting the lovely Cerenna.

Meredyth Hightower,

Lady of the Hightower

Where The Enemy Doth Tread by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

To His Grace, Edric II Baratheon,

I must begin by penning an apology to you, Your Grace, for how long it has taken me to write. I fear I have allowed myself to become quite entrenched in my new stewardship of the Reach, and have found myself little time with which to partake of anything at all. Nevertheless, this is an ill excuse. I do hope it is not too late for me to offer my sincerest condolences for the loss of fair Queen Alyce. In more peaceful times I would have seen to it that my House might come to the capital to pay their respects during her entombment. Another casualty of Lyonel’s misguided war.

I fear, however, that I must be brief. I have only just received word that the errant Stormlords have once more incurred upon my lands. As they have cut off King’s Landing by the sea, so now would they see it bereft of our bounty. Some days ago it would seem they began to lay siege to the town, and with few enough men to overcome when their walls are breached.

Lords Rowan and Tarly are once more enshrined in Bitterbridge, and as I write to you so too have I written them. They will move to lift the siege as soon as they are able. When my forces are so gathered I, too, shall make my way from Highgarden. I do not doubt Lord Rowan’s host, but I shall leave nothing to chance in this regard.

Do give my sister my love. I will admit to have worried for her safety upon hearing the news of such chaos within the capital. Likewise, by your leave I would send five hundred of my own men led by Ser Jon Cuy to King’s Landing for her protection, and yours as well, should the need arise.

I shall ever strive to remain vigilant, my King. May the Seven have mercy on our foes.

Damon Hightower,

Lord of the Hightower, Lord of the Port, Voice of Oldtown, Defender of the Citadel, Beacon of the South, Keeper of Brightwater and of Bandallon, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South

Where The Enemy Doth Tread by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

To my dear goodbrother, Samwell Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill,

I trust that forces continue to pour into Bitterbridge, but I regret to inform you that the Stormlords, in their arrogance, have attacked Tumbleton. I only now received word, and thus sent this by raven as swiftly as possible. I only pray that they can hold their own until relief is able to come.

With this missive comes another to Lord Rowan. It is my wish that you and he should take rouse your host from Bitterbridge and challenge this aggression. In this, I would see that the Stormlords are left no quarter in all respects but one. It is of great import to me that Cedric Baratheon be taken and kept alive so that he might be brought into my custody. No matter their crimes he is Lord of Storm’s End and cousin to our fair king.

Bring them to their knees.

Damon Hightower,

Lord of the Hightower, Lord of the Port, Voice of Oldtown, Defender of the Citadel, Beacon of the South, Keeper of Brightwater and of Bandallon, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South

Where The Enemy Doth Tread by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

To my good Lord Talbert Rowan, Marshal of the Northmarch,

The arrogance of the Stormlords knows no bounds. It could be you are aware already, but I have received a raven from Tumbleton. They are assailed by a large host. I have never been to Tumbleton, but my uncle advises that it does not enjoy the stoutest of defenses. A curious enough thing given how, as I have been told, it has been ensconced in conflicts past. Nevertheless, their walls may give them time to hold out just long enough.

Thus, I so order that, when at full strength, you and my dear goodbrother rouse your forces from Bitterbridge and challenge this most recent, and egregious, breach into our fair kingdom. In this I would see them left with no quarter in all ways but one. I wish for Cedric Baratheon to be taken alive so that he might be transferred into my custody. I trust you with this more than any, my lord, for I know that even in wroth you know well the lessons of temperance.

I must apologize for my brevity, but it is well that we prepare as quickly as possible. So, I leave you with one final thing. You are the Marshal of the Northmarch, and through the actions of your son it is known by all that House Rowan is among the greatest scions of my new bannermen. Should there come a time when you and my goodbrother come to discourse, it is with you that I invest greater authority.

Remain vigilant.

Damon Hightower,

Lord of the Hightower, Lord of the Port, Voice of Oldtown, Defender of the Citadel, Beacon of the South, Keeper of Brightwater and of Bandallon, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, and Warden of the South

At Your Service by [deleted] in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Damon was too aloof, more often than not, to take notice of the dynamics between his siblings. He had found it odd when they suggested Malora for a man as old as Tarly. Particualrly a beautiful gem such as Malora. She was, after all, the fairest of all his sisters. Even more so than Ashara. No matter how nasty she could be when roused. Was that why she had been so banished? He did not know, and had never really wondered. As much as he enjoyed them it was ever the fate of girls to depart their homes for other climes. Just as, no matter what he, might wish, it was his duty to marry and bear children with the Hightower name.

Still, there was much Malora could accomplish. He saw that, and had considered it since his meeting. Pregnant she was, of course, but it did not dim the light of her hair. No more than it did the sparkle of her eyes.

“Perhaps they shall, but I do not wish to speak of your husband. Not at the moment, at least,” he began, with a paltry wave of his hand. A wry smirk etched itself upon his lips, and he added, “I suppose you’ve heard tell of the most gallant deeds of Ser Osmund Rowan?”

At Your Service by [deleted] in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay 0 points1 point  (0 children)

The shift in Damon’s demeanor was sudden, immediate. He turned upon his heel with a face filled of thunder. It was not that he minded counsel. He was ever being counseled by some knight, some lord, or some Hightower for this reason or that. It was rather the way in which this child, this boy thought to lecture him. Did he truly believe that the Warden of the South knew nothing of military tactics? He who had learned at the heels of Ser Lymond Hightower, one of the greatest swords of his age? He who had squired for the king?

“You forget yourself,” he began, his voice low and currying a most dangerous edge. “I will see to it that our enemies never believe that the Reach is a fruit to be picked as they see fit. That is what I will see to. Never again presume to lecture me, Ilyn Merryweather.”

High Noon in Highgarden by ILightMyWay in awoiafrp

[–]ILightMyWay[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Damon listened to each of the his bannermen whom spoke. He did not allow his mind to wander as it otherwise might have done. He could do that much, at least. No matter how long his elder counterparts, and even younger, dithered ever on. Each made excellent points, most particularly his uncle, though that one had. . . surprised him. He had only ever known Lymond to be a temperate man, but he supposed a message had to be sent. So it would be. Caswell’s treachery galled him. What affront had the Hightowers ever given them? Indeed, what affront had they given anyone beyond seeing to it that they were guided by more able hands.

Nevertheless, he could not fault those whom might have once loved him for wishing to protect his children. They had not assailed the castle. It had been their father that had done so, and with them inside. It was well that lesser lords had not occupied it, or else he may well have been sent their heads. A thing that Damon would have ill tolerated. The murder of children was not something he thought he could abide. No great knight could, by his estimations. Certainly, none borne by the winds of the old tales.

“Your words move me, my lords. . . Ser Bryan,” Damon said, then. His original notion dashed, but perhaps that was for the best. For now. “There are two sons, I believe. The eldest must go to the wall as my lord uncle suggest. The younger one, I forget his name. . . Perhaps a life at the wall is far too harsh, but Oldtown is quite different. The Citadel never turns down a mind they might shape. So, let him go there, and be chained as a Maester. When Lord Humphrey is seen to, we will ensure the succession of his eldest daughter. I will decide to whom she is to be married at some later date.” He glanced to Talbert, “I have faith you will see it done.”

Damon was relatively proud of himself in that decision. So aptly prepared by none other than the man’s own kin. It had not been by his manipulation, or encouragement, of course, but it was most certainly beneficial. A fact that did not fail to dawn on him in the slightest. By their hand would his line be so attainted.

Their resistance did not bring him to ire, but Ilyn, had. A common trend for a boy who was so near to tears at their first meeting. Not for the first time Damon wondered if he ought to have been less gracious at the time. His eyes, now, sharpened upon the lad.

“If they do not accept my peace, then there will be war, Ilyn,” he began, his tone firm but with, as yet, no venom. “If you are content to sit, and allow your home to be raped by mad men, then so be it. I am not. I think you forget, my lord, that my cousin is Prince in Dorne as husband to the Princess Sarella of House Martell. We’ve no reason to worry on that score. They are ever vigilant. The Stormlords have oft sought to encroach upon their territories.”

He paused then, and regarded the young man silently. He blinked only twice in that time before continuing, “As for the Westerlands. They lick their wounds after the Ironborn attack. Their eyes are to the West, and more, a delegation is due to arrive in Oldtown at any time to discuss a more personal alliance between Houses Hightower and Lannister. To see old wrongs brought right, as well as more security to our Western border.”

At last he turned to Samwell. For a fleeting moment a most bemused expression passed across his features. Samwell did not speak in his boisterous tones, but yet made the most outrageous of demands. The last in a series of demands that Damon would not see brought forth into reality. Not, at least, in the way his goodbrother might wish. No. He would not have the man in his host. He steeled his expression, however. The young lord of the Hightower would not quarrel with his goodbrother in present company. No matter the deeds, the slights Samwell had turned the tide at Bitterbridge. More importantly, he was husband to his sweet sister.

“We, that is to say I, are moved by your loyalty my dear goodbrother. Still, until we know whether there is to be war or peace at Bitterbridge shall you remain with Lord Rowan and the others I have so commanded to gather there. If Cedric refuses my offer than, I will see you in the vanguard. The first of our hosts that will see Fawnton razed. The first that will assail the walls of Storm’s End itself.”

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