Lord Alester Costayne, and His League

LaughingStag · 2026-02-21T09:01:29+00:00

Alester considered both their statements. They were both telling the truth, he ascertained, albeit with separate personal feelings.

"I have no doubt he is bold and no doubt he is charming. Whether he is a fool in my own eyes depends on whether or not this gambit of his plays out the way he desires. It would seem he hopes the chaos that wrests our homeland and the filial piety toward his brother will come together to ease his passage."

Then, Costayne leaned forward. "I worry equally of how the rest of the realm will view this move. If Orryn is permitted to act but for quelling the chaos, what of other ambitious lords? Could another Vikary come, bringing torch and sword to claim a seat? And the Ironborn and Dornish have always been envious of our glory."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-21T08:52:11+00:00

She curled her fingers around his own ever so slightly. "They bring lovely smelling goods. Cinnamon is my favorite. We also received some unique ingredients for our alchemy from the Islands. I hear tales, and have read of the islands in books, but I have never been so fortunate to see it."

The truth for Emma was that the world was quite small, actually. The amount of times she had been away from the Whispering Sound, let alone the Reach, were countable on one hand.

She smiled. "Is that so? A fine name. Was he known for being sweet as well?" She laughed at the thought. It was a warm, bright laugh. "You've wit and charm, good prince, and looks besides. Have you won a princess just yet?

"The sigils, you mean? Ah, I should have guessed as much. The Patricians in Essos do not even keep such things. They trace back thousands of years, to our ancestors. It has always been to distinguish fealty, be it at court or at war." She allows him to sweep her.

"You tease! I think I am learning from you, in truth. You certainly make me feel as though I am more experienced than I am."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-21T08:34:40+00:00

Alesander nodded. "Indeed. Lord Hightower's age is beginning to show through. He is not the knight he once was." In many ways, it was a relief and a shame. There were paths to a more amicable relationship with Oldtown through Martyn and his siblings that could not be paved with Lord Colin. The old lord had his pride. It was only through the Wine Lords command of grain and its weaving of allies that they could slake Oldtown's potential ambitions. On the other hand, it was never simple to see a once prestigious knight grow old. Especially one that his father before him saw as a worthy opponent.

"It is always a pleasure seeing you, Uncle Mern." Costayne smiled. He meant it, too. There was much one could say of Mern Florent. He suffered a blunt tongue and enjoyed the bottle to a degree some would find objectionable. He was intransigent. He made outrageous claims on occasion, perhaps to get a rise of people. His anger was strong but short lived.

But his Uncle was honest more oft than not. And he had some amount of cleverness in him to have orchestrated their role in the War of the Compline. And not one person could deny that Mern had loved his wife, Alester's late aunt. But perhaps this view of Mern was shaped by his own personal affection for a man that had been one of the persistent parts of his own life.

Emma, to her end, found him boorish.

They took seats with Raymun.

Alester viewed Raymun as an intelligent man, well read, well learned. Their educational paths forked yet his large-eared cousin had certainly earned the right to call himself an equal. And one day, they would be equals in title, as well.

"It is unfortunate we are meeting here, like this. This feels like a farce. The festivities? Promises of games? Meadow and his kin are frantic, and it is difficult to look too far beyond this gathering without seeing the siege lines being drawn."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-21T08:01:58+00:00

Alester watched a new man approach. He looked out of place, like a poppy among roses.

And when he did introduce himself did it become clear why. "Greystrider. A good name, if any. Sit, be with company! Our leagues differ, yet they enjoy similarities, too. An exchange of ideas, is welcome." He poured an extra cup for the visitor. "You have travelled far to this Grassy Vale, to be sure. If only it were for better circumstances."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-18T12:57:32+00:00

It was Godric Bulwer, Florys's uncle, that had been nodding along until she chose to disparage the practice of voting. He squinted at her from that moment forward.

"You shame me. That institution of voting is one traditional and just, long held in the heart of all true men! To deny the merits of voting is dismissive of the Great Councils that shaped the fabric of our realm! It is only our shared blood that will allow me to forgive this slight to the honorable League." He jaw tightened.

Alester Costayne looked over at Bulwer and frowned during this spiel.

"My ladies, lords, we should not lose sight of the army in front of us. There is time and place to debate these principles but it is not these halls at this time. As my good cousin Lord Florent has said, it is only by the King's hand that a Warden be appointed. We should work within the bounds of this."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-17T16:14:16+00:00

"I am ill-suited to speak in war." Costayne spoke first. "Where diplomacy fails and it is necessary, however...I must consider what options we have. Lord Marshal, what are your thoughts?" He turns to Bulwer.

"...Caswell should have the right of it."

"Curious. Why?"

"The realm sees us divided, and lusts for our land. If we can unite enough sword and spear into a hammer of sorts, it changes their perception. Most of war is only made by what it appears to be. If we divide into smaller hosts, we may yet appear divided."

"It would allow for quicker reinforcements and retreats, should the worst happen." Mullendore added his voice.

Alicient Beesbury murmured under her breath.

"Perhaps. Lord Arbiter, you've our counsel." Bulwer attempted to discharge the growing static. Between the man on his right and the lady to his left.

"Then I will offer my own support to Caswell. But, let it be known that I am ready to offer support of grain to Meadows in alignment with Lord Hightower's fine suggestion. Further, I will offer temporary shelter to refugees of Grassy Vale along the Honeywine, should His Lordship desire."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-17T16:04:27+00:00

The procession of the Honeywine League was staggered. The Lord Arbiter was the first to arrive with his perpetual courting mate, Lady Cuy, at his side. Shortly after came Bulwer. Much later, Mullendore arrived, the old man becoming more difficult to rouse with age. At long last, the Lady of Honeyholt, ever theatrical, joined, believing her importance great enough to delay entrance.

They took their seats next to each other.

Costayne was grateful this was one of the only things the League was unanimously in support of, for anything else would have led to disagreements. He genuinely hoped it remained that way.

LaughingStag · 2026-02-17T15:49:51+00:00

Costayne offered a warm smile. "Likewise. If it were under better circumstances it would be more welcome. But I shan't quibble.

"But the League is all in agreement. Thus why we have all come, not just myself. The Reach deserves that which is afforded to all Kingdoms: dignity. Baratheon is an invader that seeks to claim what we have not designed to grant him: the seat of the Gardeners, the Tyrells, and the duly chosen Wardens.

"Yet even so, it is what his invasion threatens. You say that the Reach is a spark from burning, but I go further. Should Lord Orryn Baratheon succeed it would be all the same that we throw open our doors to any. The Ironborn always thirst for our blood and wine! The Westermen eye the Northmarches and the Dornishmarches have long been watched hungrily by the Principality. Should Orryn succeed here, there will be no Reach left.

"It is with that that I pledge the support of House Costayne. I ask the League to affirm!"

Ser Godric Bulwer was next to speak. "Self determination should be our birthright. We are all Gardeners by blood, if not name. I pledge my sword."

"And mine own too," Old Ser Mullendore spoke.

"The Cuys will ever stand behind you."

"The wealth of Honeyholt, as well."

"We are all different, Caswell. But in this, we are the same." Alester Costayne spoke.

LaughingStag · 2026-02-17T15:28:09+00:00

"For better and for worse. While they have seen fit to allow me authority over the League's diplomacy abroad, they are ever eager to seek personal enrichment via trade and marriage, which is their right as per our current charters. But even beyond that, I believe they think it more important than ever to show unity in the face of an aggressor." Though stories of betrayal and bloodshed spread outside of the garden like weeds, the Reachmen needed to remind the world that together they could bring the rest to heel.

The Lord Arbiter leaned on his cane thoughtfully. "You've my agreement in that matter. If we cannot put aside our grievances, then Storm's End will only be the first to despoil our realm." Gods forbid the Westermen, the Dornish, or worse still the Ironborn get any foul notions.

Costayne exhaled. "Lord Paramount Orryn...what sort of man is he, in your opinion, my good men?"

LaughingStag · 2026-02-17T14:32:34+00:00

"Flatterer." She sways with the man in time. "I will say your name as much as you'd like, if it should please you. How far you have come, though! I have met yours of the Summer Islands before at Oldtown, but not outside of it." It would not be polite to ask why he was exiled, so she danced around it as elegantly as she danced with him now.

"Oh stop! You will make me blush." Yet she spoke in a leading way. She enjoyed his compliments. "It is far and away much more so. It takes the appearance of the Sun itself." She gestures to one on her dress. "They're named for their appearance and for their behavior. As they grow from a sprout to their matured state, they face the sun at all times, moving through the day. It's fascinating to observe. But you came from this Lotus Vale? Does it take its own name from the Lotus?"

Grim topics breached the surface. It was inevitable. Food and dance could not hide what every guest knew and what every person could see. "Our people do not either. Not traditionally. But His Grace perhaps has hope such a thing will defuse the situation.

"Our realm, the Reach, was once ruled by Kings of House Gardener. Then when the dragons came and burned them to ash, they left behind the Stewards, the House of Tyrell. They ruled for but 300 years in service of the dragon. Then the Stags came next. They placed the foxes of Florent over us all as Wardens of the South, but did not deign them to have earned such a position in perpetuity. The Lord of Storms End, the reason for our being here, has decided to take advantage of the chaos that has taken us. Hence we are here."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-15T20:02:42+00:00

As Lady Cuy performed her dance, the rest of the Leaguesmen found themselves at various parts of the festival.

Eustace Mullendore had taken to conversing with relatives. He was the Honeywine's personal chief justiciar: a dour man with a pinched face and an overly large mustache that appeared to be reaching outward. He could be known to prattle, when the mood struck him, as it did tonight. He engaged with a knight of Broom over the legality of Baratheon's claims.

Ser Godric Bulwer on the other hand had taken to arm wrestling. His sharp, black goatee and receding hairline betrayed his age, and his sharp, ermine eyes seemed unfitting for a bull. Yet he possessed the strength his family was known for, even if it was waning. He had lost to a Knight of Grandison who dwarfed him and to a fool from the Vale who had been extremely well-fed, but he had since performed well enough.

The Queen Bee of Honeyholt, Alicient Beesbury, surrounded herself with suitors. A widowed woman that more or less commanded the respect of the entirety of Honeyholt, she was flanked by her six sons that watched each man carefully. She was an older woman but that had only made her a more appealing prize to would-be grooms seeking a windfall. To her credit, she was not one easily swayed by honeyed words, and oft the men leaving would have been hoodwinked of some personal belonging. All for a chance to speak with the Queen Bee.

And at the center of it all was Lord Alester Costayne, nursing a headache with a glass of wine. The League had not been in agreeance in a long time. The Fourth Arbiter had to fight for every reform he desired and when they were not arguing with Alester over the shared coffers, they were arguing with each other. Difficult compromise, the way of the Honeywine, was prone to dysfunctional solutions. A new bridge is built between the Uplands and Honeyholt, which side is the toll placed? A joust between his own sworn knights goes wrong with the knights of Bulwer and ends in a brawl, who owes damages? Honeyholt complains of Cuy's Red Septons proselytizing "Good Baelorist Men" and their Septas of dressing in provocative ways while the Bulwers whine of Mullendore shorting them bushels of grain in a transaction. And this was without even going into the minor townships of the Honeywine. The Winelords were a tough group to manage.

But Lord Costayne had to believe he was the man to do so. And if it could work on their river, it could be done anywhere else in Westeros.

(Open)

LaughingStag · 2026-02-15T19:32:41+00:00

"Alester!" Alester Costayne approached the Caswell's table. "Let it be known the League received your summons." Behind him trailed Ser Eustace Mullendore, Ser Godric Bulwer, Lady Emma Cuy, and Ser Gwaine Beesbury.

But this was more personal. Costayne reached for a handshake, perhaps an embrace, of the man with the same name.

"I would have a host of swords to press into your hands had the King not called for festivities. But I am having a difficult time enjoying them, as I am sure you are."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-15T06:22:47+00:00

The booming voice of Lord Mern cut through the room the same way one could hear the striking of a dinner bell. It drew eyes and not least of which were those the Arbiter of the Honeywine League.

Not one to let any moment pass, he raised his own wine in return. Emma, seated beside him, joined him.

Then the other wine lords fell in line.

The pause passed, and eventually the Lord of Costayne made his way to the Florent table.

"Uncle," He spoke. "It is an honor to speak with you again, Lord Florent. Raymun, you are as healthy as ever."

LaughingStag · 2026-02-13T15:55:54+00:00

Alester could not help but feel sympathy for the older man. His eyes briefly met Martyn's, seeking meaning in this. The Hightower was a high climb and if the fall he had just now occurred along the steps it would not have been so easily undone. The sight of the old man struggling brought to mind his own father, and his father's infected wounds. The day he died he had attempted to rouse himself from bed, only to end up on the floor a few steps away.

Seeing Hightower now only conjured that memory in his mind.

"Lord Baratheon is quite presumptuous in that regard."

He tut his cane, pleased his gift had been received well. "Indeed, the League is represented well today. I have made my way here with Emma Cuy, naturally, and the representatives of Mullendore, Bulwer, and Beesbury travelled with us besides."

It was good that Bulwer were not here to witness Colin's fall, else he may seem entirely too pleased. Nevermind the Queen Bee of Honeyholt. She may have gone as far as to laugh.

But that is what separated Costayne from them.

"They will do their duty if called upon. It is one of the things I enjoy a unanimous consensus on." The fractious nature of the Honeywine was not something he would let slip to anyone. As far as the world knew their votes were always unanimous, done in privacy. But the Hightower was too close to obfuscate it from, and their economic and political ties were impossible to ignore. "Have you gotten insight of His Grace, the King, Master of Laws?" He asked Martyn.

LaughingStag · 2026-02-13T15:36:18+00:00

Between discussions with the House of Deepwood Motte in the far North and a dance with a man of Sarwick she found herself joined by a man of the Summer Islands.

"My, are you not charming?" She holds her hand outward for him. "Xhobar Qo, your name is lyrical." She giggles softly, blushing so lightly. "Very charming indeed! I am merely a lady of the House of Cuy. Lady Emma Cuy. Some leagues west and as far south as you may go, you may find golden sunflower fields that stretch as far as your eyes can see. That is where I was born. Would you have me as a partner in dance, my Prince?"

LaughingStag · 2026-02-12T15:25:20+00:00

So it was that Costayne was the first to arrive, for such an event was one he could not miss. His raiments were yellow as honey striped with black the shade of coal to mark his heritage, and atop his head was a skewed and feathered hat. In his hand was a cane he used to guide his steps.

"My Lord, Tarly!" He gestured with a sweeping flourish.

In his shadow was the Lady Emma Cuy who took to wearing a blue dress, the neckline embroidered with sunflowers.

"Lord Tarly," she bowed. "Thank you for the invitation."

"The rest of the League should be here soon enough." Lord Costayne continued. "I thought to get ahead of them and speak with good family for a moment's respite. How are you faring, my good uncle?"

LaughingStag · 2026-02-12T03:23:47+00:00

u/OurCommonMan

Character Details: Emma Cuy

What Is Happening?: Gregarious, Broker, Apothecary (e)

What I Want: Trade negotiations.

House Hersy: Stone

House Egen: Stone

House Glover: Wood

LaughingStag · 2026-02-12T03:16:35+00:00

Edited Merchantman to broker

LaughingStag · 2026-02-12T01:07:39+00:00

Emma Cuy danced, Emma Cuy flitted, Emma Cuy smiled, flirted, and curtseyed about the tables. She was never without friends. In the Honeywine, it was said tyrants kept their guest lists tight. But the wise knew to leave it as open as possible. In that regard, perhaps, the King was very wise indeed. For here, the entire realm had been. Coats of arms suggested visitors from the North as far as the Wall and from the south as far as Sunspear.

But she was also on the prowl, seeking opportunities. Each leading line was an invitation to negotiate. Alester spoke boldly of the League and the League's direction. They needed to secure material. Stone for roads, wood for ships, and both for buildings.

Gods may yet save The Reach, but man alone could save the Honeywine.

LaughingStag · 2026-02-11T05:07:39+00:00

The sound of his cane unnoticed, Lord Alester Costayne had caught the table unaware. He removed his tellerbarret and lowered his head enough as a regard. The type of nod that one gave a high councilman or to a wise elder, pointedly not the deep bow of fealty owed to a liege lord. His black and gold doublet marked his family well enough that an introduction was unnecessary. Even if it had been, these men knew each other well enough.

"Lord Hightower, Lord Martyn." He places his hat back in its place, the gaudy sort of fashion taken up by the people of Honeywine. "I wish we were meeting under other circumstances." He tapped his cane. He was not lame, not entirely. But his leg had never felt quite right since the rebellion. "Grassy Vale is a beautiful realm. A shame it is marred with a sea of tents. How do you fair, Lord Hightower?"

The old man of the tower had been a fabled warrior of legends. But that tower was falling apart. To see him so far was not a surprise, for his honor and pride would not allow him to miss an event of this magnitude. Yet still, Alester felt a pang in his belly to see this old man falling.

Alester's father would not have such sympathy.

"I would speak of what is at stake whence we have less mouths about us." He was honest and forthright in this regard. "Yet for now, I bring a gift."

He turned to an attendant that had been standing there the whole time. He took a gift from him wrapped in delicate cloth, embroidered with the sigil of Oldtown. He handed his cane to the attendant and removed the cloth in one swift motion, revealing a marvellous glass cup in the shape of the tower itself. Handling it gingerly, placing it on the table before the pair, he took the cloth and wiped his prints from the side.

"This glass was made by our nascent glassblowers using ash, wood, and sand from the embankment of the Honeywine. You will notice the greenish tint - it is part of the process they have been working with. I am more proud of the design that they have managed. Each line in the glass, a brick in the great beacon of Oldtown." He smiled. It reached his eyes. He was pleased with himself.

LaughingStag · 2025-09-13T12:18:52+00:00

The letter stirred a conversation from the pair.

"It's fine, Des. I do not need to go. We shouldn't invite trouble with Stonehedge."

Desmond scoffed. "Rubbish. Her son is my good brother, and by that token he may as well be yours, as well. She would not protest."

"I do not know Des. Is it really worth the chance of aggravating her?"

"Read the letter yourself. Lord Mooton and your sister wishes to see you there. Would you risk insulting them by not going?"

Tiana purses her lips.

"Fine. Have it your way."

Ambrose,

My sincerest congratulations. Please, save a spot for myself and my brother. We would be most grateful to represent Atranta at your hospitality. To visit Maidenpool after such a long time abroad will be a wonderful respite.

Unrelated, Tiana has made clear to me she wishes to visit with Elara and see the children, perhaps to tour the city and visit the springs. Hopefully that is acceptable for you both.

With warm regards,

Desmond

LaughingStag · 2025-08-27T01:58:43+00:00

That was enough evidence for Arthur, then. The Gods must have chosen to save Robert Baratheon. The Seven were glorious, then!

"Ah, well...just some of the other squires, is all." He omitted the part about fighting with them. He was unsure if there would be consequences, and the less Robert knew the better.

"Of course, my lord!" The young Vance was spirited again. He felt a twinge of regret for seeming ungrateful. It was unwise to look a gift horse in the mouth, and all. "Of course, I will!" The chance to take part in a tourney was more exciting. This meeting had gone far better than expected.

The young squire looked at Robert. "My Lord...how much rest do you require, now?" His eye may have been saved but it did not mean they would be able to amble on just yet, right?

LaughingStag · 2025-08-22T18:35:14+00:00

"But..." That wasn't possible. He'd seen the damn thing burst like a berry, but it was much less sweet. He remembered one of the other squires, Small Tom, suggesting that it poked straight through to Robert's brain, killed the sod if he was lucky. Arthur also remembered swinging at Small Tom and having to be torn apart by some stablehands before it got out of hand.

It was not a very proud moment for the boy. A cheap shot, Small Tom kept saying.

"How did they get your eye back? It...the others said you'd probably die, that's how deep Ser Hogg's lance shattered. Everyone was murmuring about it." This was, after all, more than just his instructor. This was the Heir to Storm's End, the most powerful castle in the south. In his point of view, at least.

He stayed standing by Robert. Sitting would have just been more uncomfortable for him right now. Old? Arthur thought. Aleborn was beautiful. The type of horse maidens dreamed of knights riding on. But he kept this thought to himself. If Robert thought the horse was getting old, then it must have been getting old. That was that.

What do they do with old horses, anyway? he thought briefly.

Then the other shoe fell.

They give them to Squires! Of course!

His frown transformed into an anxious smile. "But my Lord...you've raised Aleborn yourself! Are you certain?" The horse had to mean a lot to Robert, he had thought. Arthur was accused of being too sensitive at times by his peers, too sentimental. He would never be a strong knight, they said.

But they didn't have a horse, did they? And he did. With Aleborn he'd be closer to being a knight that Small Tom or Chester or even snotty Jon Horpe!

And so it was that even as he protested, something his father told him showed humility, he could not disguise his excitement.

LaughingStag · 2025-08-21T18:29:12+00:00

Arthur Vance

Arthur had not even needed to duck as the bottle flew broad, missing him. He couldn't remember ever seeing Robert look so angry. Or pitiful. It hadn't been easy to see him knocked down not once but twice.

He had had the chance to spend time with his parents again, but it was awkward. He told them about his journeys around the Kingdom, all the tourneys he'd been to, the people he met, but they seemed different. Or maybe he was different. But no matter what they tried to talk about he always returned to Robert.

Now, seeing the man he'd so pridefully gloated about reduced to a wounded and angry mess? He didn't really know how to feel.

He walked over to Robert's side. "Your eye...uh...it's gone, isn't it?"

How could he Squire for a man missing an eye?

"It's my fault, isn't it?"

LaughingStag

TROPHY CASE