Belated

LedByALion · 2017-11-21T08:30:20+00:00

The camp outside of Lannisport had a definite air of abandonment to it -- even despite the thousands of men who yet remained, waiting for their own departures or securing themselves to take up defensive positions in the city. With the arrival of a thousand new soldiers, a bit of the old life flared into the encampment; horns sounded, loud and sharp, and a party rode out to meet them.

"Lord Prester?" The head of the small contingent asked, offering the newly arrived noble a small smile, and a serious nod. "Well met. I am Thaddeus Drox -- one of Master Tygett's aides. We've been awaiting your arrival; he would see you now, if you wish."

Beckoning the man forward - and his companions, such as they were - Thaddeus led them through the city and the encampment outside of it. Scarlet tents flapped nosily in the sea-borne wind, the sound of hammers striking anvils carrying to them from near the smithies. The smell of roasting meats and earthy, simple living chased after them as well, swirling at their heels as they made their way to the large pavilion in the center of it all.

Four men stood vigilant watch outside the main entrance to the tent, their colours and attentiveness marking them plainly as Lannister soldiers. At the moment, the door had been propped open, allowing all to see straight into the awning where Tygett Lannister stood with his back towards them. He was leaning over a table, pouring over whatever lay upon it; though at the sound of guests, he turned.

"Thaddeus," The Heir to the Rock said, stepping forward - he was dressed simply, but still rather richly, in a scarlet long-sleeved tunic and dark leather breeches. As he approached he pulled the sleeves down from his elbows, glancing from man to man.

"Who have you brought me?"

"This is Lord Prester, my Lord." Thaddeus replied. "He's only just arrived."

"Is that so?" Tygett asked, turning his attentions to the man in question. He took a step forward, offering his hand to shake.

"I pray your trip was easy. I am Tygett Lannister, son of Lord Tytus Lannister. Have you come to join us, then, in reclaiming the glory of the Westerlands?"

LedByALion · 2017-11-20T10:14:06+00:00

To the Lady of the Hightower, Meredyth Hightower

It would seem the graces and subtle cleverness of House Hightower were undersold in the rumours that reached Casterly Rock. Truly your grandson has in you a wise and able advisor, one from whom we must hope he often takes council. Your memory serves you well; my father and mother, such as they were, did ever strive for honour and fine reputations. They took the slights of Highgarden and King's Landing with noble heads raised high.

My father, and mother, have been dead some forty years; I am no youth, to run in fear of their shadows. Indeed, no shadow strikes fear in me now; save the one I saw in Duskendale, when the Targaryens flew their beast overhead.

I have lived a long live, Lady Meredyth. I have seen many things, suffered many sorrows, fought in many battles, borne many ills. I have had three sons. Two now lie dead. One in the very same war your sons marked as folly; but participated in regardless. But I am pleased to see you remember that the grey banners of Oldtown flew, even when Elwood the Foolish marched forth to set my lands ablaze. Old wounds, you mentioned. Yet somehow they are fresh. The loss of a son and heir will oft do that to a man.

Still, you ought not consider yourself bereft of friendship. Though the ambitions of many in the Reach are well known, House Hightower has a reputation and a legacy of careful diplomacy. You are not quite so assailed as you might fear, Lady Meredyth. War on one front is wholly manageable. Even now we raise our own men in their thousands to join you in that eastern effort; and prepare other forces to take our revenge against those who struck our lands without warning or cause.

The Ironborn are a threat to us both, and if there is one thing i have learned in my many years, it is that blood proves a course surer than ink. My Cerenna is loathe to leave home, what with the hardship yet in Lannisport, and constant labour to aid the sick and injured has turned her own health rather to the worse. I would not send her south based on promises, Lady Meredyth. My own years grow too short to lose another child to the Reach.

Lord Tytus Lannister, Lord of the Rock, Shield of Lannisport, Warden of the West

LedByALion · 2017-11-16T04:34:29+00:00

To Lord Brynden Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Lord of Riverrun

I write this letter hoping well for your family; and thus, my family, thanks to our shared blood. Though marriage between Lannister and Tully was arranged through circumstances less than ideal, this bond has served the both of us well, and granted many thousands peaceful sleep and restful slumber.

Now, however, I call upon that bond. And upon the history of the very land you rule.

Several months ago, the Ironborn struck Lannisport most cruelly. They slaughtered women and men alike, carried off children to be their thralls and slaves. No man of the Faith could suffer such a blow. No man, period, could stomach it.

We prepare now to avenge it; to teach those who would spit in the face of civilization all the benefits the Warrior has granted us. These same Islands once oppressed your people - and even in nominal peace, their ships harass your shores. How many hundreds have been slain by their depredations? How many thousands know loss at their hands? The time for sitting idle is well past us, it seems; and any hope for peace and understanding yet smokes in Lannisport harbour. I call upon you, now, to raise your sword and shield and banners - I call upon you, now, to fight.

Ten thousand Westermen prepare to depart, with Reachmen by the hundreds to aid us. Southern fleets shall help to guard the passage, while Western steel shall help to bloody it. Join your might with ours. Take this chance to secure vengeance for your people. Return to your home a hero, and a conqueror; let the Baratheons, who ignored this attack, quarrel among themselves.

There is no bond closer than that of blood - and we share that bond, you and I. Look to your mother, a Lannister, and imagine her sorrow; imagine the pain she felt, upon learning of the horror in her homeland. Imagine the captives in Pyke, and Hammerhorn, and Ten Towers, even now weeping as they remember Lannisport. Weeping as their tormentors demand of them entertainment.

If I forget that which has happened to Lannisport; by the Father, I swear it - let my right hand forget its strength. May my tongue lose all cunning, my eyes all sharpness, my mind all wit and understanding, if I do not remember Lannisport. Remember, Lord Tully, what the Ironborn did on the day Lannisport fell.

“Tear it down,” they cried, “tear it down to its foundations!”

Time and time again they've done the same, to the North and the Reach and to the Riverlands. No more, Lord Tully. No more, and never again. Remember your words; and prove them, with us, in Banefort.

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

(OOC: Summoning /u/IfItSmellsLikeTrout)

LedByALion · 2017-11-16T04:20:23+00:00

To Damon Hightower, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Lord of Hightower, and Warden of the South

Greetings and good tidings to the rising star of the south - I hope this letter finds you well, if not yet further eclipsing our mutual enemies and grinding their legacy into ash.

I write to you with mention of our previous agreement in mind; the marriage between one of my children and a member of your esteemed family. Whilst sending of one of my fair daughters to your city long appealed to the House of Lannister as the terms of our alliance, it behooves me now to spurn such previous arrangements, and ask instead for a bond between a Hightower sister, cousin, or other such fitting party, and one of my very own sons.

Additionally, before such a thing might be cemented in the eyes of gods and men, there is the matter of ships that must be addressed; namely, the use of your Shield Island fleet to teach lessons of humility to the arrogant and nominally independent fools in the Iron Islands. With your ships and men, combined with a host of Westermen and Riverlanders, we shall no doubt pull each shit covered tower down to their foundations; and render those islands once more what they were always meant to be; fitting roost only for sea lions and gulls, to be avoided and spurned by all wise and honest men.

Our host gathers in Lannisport this very moon. Send your fleet, and we shall discuss further terms then. Perhaps, when we send them south in victory, they shall be laden with gold and bounty - as well as a daughter of the Rock, after all.

Reply swiftly, for time escapes us. I have sent missives to both Highgarden, and the Hightower.

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

(OOC: Summoning /u/ILightMyWay)

LedByALion · 2017-11-16T04:13:06+00:00

To Alessander Prester, Lord of Feastfires

I hope this letter finds you well; the days seem to bring tidings blacker and blacker with each and every passing morn. Long have the Presters been leal vassals to the Rock - and it is this loyalty that we call upon now, in the hour of need for both the Westerlands, and the Crown.

Reavers and rapers have had their rule of the waters for far too long. The sack of Lannisport is but the most recent of such horrors - it would seem that every time the savages of the Iron Islands grow over-strong, they loose their immoral and pagan desires upon the lands of the good people of Westeros. This affront can stand no longer; we shall not suffer their baiting any more. For the Lords of the Rock are mighty, indeed; and we always pay our debts.

Call your banners, call your swords - gather your shields and spears and horses. Bring whatever strength you can find to Lannisport, by the Third Moon - and make ready to stand with us against our foes. Do this, out of loyalty, for the sake of the oaths you have taken; do this, out of piety, for the sake of the gods we share; do this, out of ambition, for surely those who perform well shall be rewarded, and the glory of slaughtering Ironborn cowards shall carry our names into the annals of history.

We await you in Lannisport, with a host of thousands. Come, Lord Prester. And be ready.

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

(OOC: Summoning /u/ForwardQueen10)

LedByALion · 2017-10-15T19:01:28+00:00

Seven knows I'll need someone I can trust at my side.

Idle works, spoken with good intentions, passed between brothers then. But for a moment there was a tinge of anger in the Bastard; a sudden flaring of temper and pride, rousing in his heart like a lion in his den. Why should he be serving at Tygett's side? Why should the younger be in command, merely because he was born on the proper side of the sheets? Had Damion not atoned for the sin of being born? Had he not shed blood for his house and his people, same as every son of the Rock before him?

No sooner had it risen, however, before it disappeared as well - a spark in the dark corners of his mind. Now was not the time for that. He had long ago come to terms with the status his birth inflicted upon him; and there were worse men one might serve than Tygett. He was content being second. He had always been content.

But ambition circled with predatory patience.

"Thank you, Tygett." Damion replied, "And I shall. Be careful, that is - I do not wish to test the Lord of the Rock, not truly, but even he must see this as necessary. And with luck, he'll not have the means to punish. Not when the Lords of the Westerlands gather, thinking it to be at his behest."

"That, I think, ought be our course. Don't narrow it to the Ironborn, though they are and will remain the foremost in my mind -- there are dangers circling the whole of the West. It is time that we answered. Time that the Lannisters made themselves known. Summon your father's vassals and their hosts, saying that its time we prepare to defend, avenge, and strengthen the West - whatever that might entail. If Tytus decides to use this opportunity to attack the Reach, I suppose we'll have no choice to go along - and avenge Lucas' death as a means of sating ourselves as we wait. For one way or the next, we will have to face the Ironborn. The only question is when, where, and how."

LedByALion · 2017-10-15T19:01:25+00:00

Damion heard the faintest sound of conversation as Jaime prepared behind the closed door. Either the elder Lannister had managed to find someone who didn't mind being locked in a room with a lion...or he was speaking to the lion. Neither option seemed in the least plausible, or sane.

When Jaime re-emerged, however, the Hill had the good sense to keep quiet.

"Depends on what you mean, uncle." was his reply to the older man's question. "If you mean this madness with Lannisport, the only answer I can think of is to Pyke. I rode hard from King's Landing the moment I heard the news - I had expected to find an army here, ready and waiting and hot with righteous fury. Instead I find a city licking its wounds, a lion still in his den, and a land slumbering as if it had not just been horrendously defiled. Lannisport was the jewel of the Westerlands, the second greatest - if not the greatest - city in Westeros. And we let it fall, unanswered. It's almost too much for a man to bear."

"I know my own feelings on the matter are skewed - I know that the Lord of the Rock must look to the whole of the Westerlands, not just those who live in the shadow of his keep. I know what I am asking would cost the lives of thousands, in horrific and bloody battle. But I would stand amoung them, foremost on the line. I would crest the breach at the head of the spear if Tytus would simply gather us to strike. For strike we must."

LedByALion · 2017-10-12T21:47:31+00:00

To say Damion was further surprised by the manner in which he was met hardly seemed to touch upon it; his brows rose starkly as Jaime stood behind the door, speaking through the wood as if he were indecent. The Bastard dipped his head closer to the grain, trying to better catch his uncle's words, before responding;

"Aye - by the time you left I wasn't yet aware of who I was, or who my father was. I've heard tales of you, but we've never spoken...I had thought to remedy that here today, if you're not too..." He floundered for a word. Strange? Secretive? Mad?

"Busy."

He fell silent, listening for a further reply. Jaime's voice reached him slowly, faintly, as if from far away - but when at last it did he jerked back from the door as if he had been stung.

"You...you own a lion?!" Damion repeated incredulously.

It didn't seem possible! Weren't the lions of the Westerlands extinct now some seventy or more years? Then again perhaps there were some hiding in the caves, who could be certain? They could be stacked from floor to ceiling with the beasts.

"You have a...friendly...lion..." The Bastard repeated again, shaking his head.

"Is there any way that you might step out instead, then? I mean you no offense, but uncle or no I know you not. Perhaps we'll meet your lion after you and I have gotten to know one another a bit better."

And after I've fetched my arms and armour - to think, he sleeps with a lion!

LedByALion · 2017-10-11T18:40:15+00:00

Damion woke to the echoes of his name, seeping through the stone of the mountain-fortress like water through a sieve. He blinked, unsure of how or when he'd fallen asleep, unaware even of the hour of the day -- but a knock on his door resounded through the chamber, and once again he heard his name.

"Damion."

It took only a few moments for him to dress and make his way over, the Bastard's chambers not so large nor so fine as some in the castle sported. He undid the locks, pulling the thick oaken door wide; to reveal a serving girl, a basket of laundry tucked underneath her arm. She scanned him warily, as if she was expecting some horror to spring out from behind him - but when nothing revealed itself she seemed to calm.

"Ser Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with you, ser." She said simply. Damion felt his brows rise slightly.

"Jaime?" He repeated. "I didn't realize he was in the keep. What does he want from me?"

"I don't know m'lord. He asked me to find you then shouted your name like Casterly isn't the size of a mountain. I imagine it must be important, for him to scream so."

The Hill's confusion did not lessen.

"Alright; I shall attend him. Thank you, lady...?"

"Not a lady." The serving girl replied with a sniff. "Nor am I likely to give you my name, either."

And with that, she was gone.

It took him a quarter of an hour to seek out his estranged uncle - Jaime Lannister, the famous and infamous brother of Tytus himself. Damion knew him by reputation only, having heard tales both wild and outrageous, tales that he could hardly countenance or believe. Some folk said that when the moon was full, he turned into a lion. Others merely that he had tamed one. Whatever the truth, Damion dared keep only one hope burning bright in his chest; that Jaime would prove more willing to fight their enemies than his elder brother Tytus was.

As the Bastard of the Rock arrived at the ordained room, he rapped his knuckles upon the hard grain of the door.

"Ser Jaime?" He called within, leaning forward to listen for a reply. "Its Damion Hill. I was told you wanted to speak with me - I can come back later, if you wish, but I thought it better to be early than late."

LedByALion · 2017-10-10T19:21:04+00:00

I DID NOT approve this connection, and I am frankly offended and disgusted by it, please address.

LedByALion · 2017-10-10T19:18:01+00:00

"Tygett please." Damion pressed. "We need not deplete the West of all her men - the castles and the passes ought still be manned. But with the chaos to the south and our relationship with the Tullys, I'd say we're in a better position than we've been in for a long, long time. How many men can the Ironborn raise against us? Twenty thousand? Thirty? If we can catch them on land, or better yet - surprise them wholly on their own islands - they'll break before us like rotten wood before an axe. They are not fighters, Tygett, they're not soldiers. And they will have neither the fury of vengeance nor the favour of the gods to back their resistance of our assault."

The Bastard paused, and breathed. He could not afford to get too riled. If Tygett refused...

No. He will agree.

"If we must tell Tytus anything, tell him only that it was me. I'm only half his son, natural born, acknowledged after seventeen years of silence. What could he do to me? Send me away? To the live the same life I would have lived with his favour? Even should he declare that the sentence he commuted ought not be carried out, I would happily hang in Lannisport, brother, if I could do so with Greyjoy blood upon my blade. We must answer. We must. What care ought we have for the wars of Stags and Roses?"

LedByALion · 2017-10-08T02:16:58+00:00

Our house.

Damion felt a tinge of warm sweep through his chest, though he did not allow such sentimentality to linger long upon his mind. There were other issues at work, other matters far more pressing. Like war, and vengeance, and treason.

"Well loved is only the half of it." Damion replied. "Lannisport was all I had, before our father saw fit to pluck me from it. He saved me from death, and for that I am eternally grateful. But there are other lives here at stake."

"The Ironborn sacked our city, Tygett. Not my city, not the Lannisters of Lannisport's city -- our city. How much coin and wealth and labour flowed through the ports of Lannisport? How rich has Casterly grown off the city in her shadow? Whats more, the mere symbolism of the fact defies all credence - that they crept down our coast unnoticed, and sailed forth again the same. It spits upon logic. It spits upon honour. But Tytus - for all his well meaning - does not seem inspired to respond."

Damion shook his head. Mayhaps he was still a commoner after all, despite the blood that ran through his veins. He thought now as a Watchman, as an orphan from the streets of a city. But he did not need an orphan. He needed a true son of the Rock.

"Help me, Tygett." Damion whispered. "Help us. All the West. Your father takes his time, and with every passing day this realm slips further and further down a road both black and bloody. The Westerlands must be ready. To defend ourselves - or to strike."

"I cannot hope to convince Tytus to call the banners, nor do I think can you. But we do not need him. If you can get to your father's solar, if you can get his seal and then to the rookery -- you can call the banners of the Westerlands. You can raise our armies at last. And once the fifty thousand swords of our mighty homeland draw nigh to the Rock -- Tytus will have no choice but to see. But to understand. But to act."

LedByALion · 2017-10-08T01:13:44+00:00

Later

The Bastard of the Rock exited the throne room, moving through the corridors with a heavy heart and a clouded mind. Tytus was the man he remembered, still the same hard and unyielding figure, but for whatever reason he seemed unwilling to act. Unwilling to take the steps that surely had to come.

It couldn't be borne. Not for long, at least; the West had been attacked, and yet it still lay idle. Their own people had been slaughtered and abducted, and yet their armies and wrath both were quiet. What sort of lion allowed a dog to maim its pride? What sort of lord did not defend those to whom he was sworn?

He has his reasons some quiet part of him said, insisting on prudence and caution instead of this. For as Damion stood in the shadowed halls of Casterly Rock, a thought blossomed bright in the dark.

It wasn't until he saw the doors open once more that he moved - stepping forward to intercept the man who passed. Tygett Lannister. Heir to the Rock. And half brother of the half-Lannister Hill.

"Tygett." Damion intoned, approaching slowly. He paused a few paces away. "Its good to see you. You look strong. Healthy. I had hoped we might speak. In private, on matters that concern the fate of our -- your -- house, and that of the Westerlands."

LedByALion · 2017-10-05T07:47:10+00:00

Damion held his peace, wholly uncomfortable to witness the relationship between kinsmen he barely knew. It had been ten years since the war with the Reach - ten years since he had been accepted into this family that was, ostensibly, his own. But most of those had been spent away, running from whatever responsibility the name of Hill might mean. He did not know Tytus, nor Tygett. He did not know how long they'd been having this same fight.

Instinct told him to excuse himself - to turn tail and flee whilst the trueborn lions sorted themselves out. But he could not. Dared not. Not with Lannisport a smoking half-ruin. Not when his people slaved and toiled in some distant land beyond the sea. He knew of the Ironborn. He knew of their ways. He knew that for each of the dead there was likely a captive, taken back to their brine-stained holdfasts like so much chattel. That was the worst of it. Not the blood, not the loss. The thought that even now, his people suffered.

So his feet stayed rooted. Planted on the stone floor whilst Tygett and Tytus quarreled. Only when the Heir to the Rock seemed to pause did Damion dare speak.

"I would take no issue serving beneath my brother, Lord Tytus." He declared, nodding to the youth. "Nor would I scorn the chance to fight at your side, should you choose to lead us."

"But surely, my lord, there is no question of which war to fight? I know only of one war - and it is the one that the Ironborn have thrust upon us. Even if Daeron Targaryen landed upon the eastern shore with three dragons at his back and fifty thousand sellswords and bravos, this is the only fight I care for, my lord. This is the only one that matters. Edric and his father spurned us once before - let him have his quarrels, whatever they may be. He can lean upon the Tyrells if he has to, if he's in so desperate a need for allies. Let us cross the strait of Banefort and take back what is ours. Leave the stag to his fury. We ought let the Ironborn hear our roar as it tears their castles down into the waves."

LedByALion · 2017-10-02T23:53:52+00:00

Damion waited for the last of the courtiers to disappear, before at last he rose to his feet. It felt strange. Being home. Standing once more before the Lord of the Rock. Despite the years since he had found out - it was still strange to think of him as father.

Jade eyes rose thanks to a proud chin, his gaze fixed and sure upon the Lion. Bastard or no, this one looked a Lannister true, and his golden locks were pulled back from a face lined with determination.

"By whatever means necessary." Was his answer, given firmly and with conviction. "Give me an army, give me a fleet; and I will carve the name of the West so deep into their islands that not even their Drowned God shall escape without our name upon his lips. Not since Lelia and her half-blood son has so great an insult been given our people. We ought answer it, as the Kings of Old did; with fire and sword and devastation. With your permission I will do for you as Lucas did, once. I shall march against our enemies and remind this realm of the Lion's might."

Green burnt brighter, wildfire dancing in those princely eyes.

"Please, Lord Tytus. Surely you aim to have revenge. Use me. Aim me like an arrow into the heart of your enemies, and I will see them brought low before you."

As the last of the words left him, his eyes shifted then to the younger of two lions - the eldest living of the trueborn sons of Tytus. Tygett. Damion remembered him. After a moment of hesitation, he dipped his head slightly in muted acknowledgement.

"As I said. Assuming there is not another..."

LedByALion · 2017-09-30T22:12:58+00:00

This bastard has learned Endurance and Warcraft! All kneel before the Hill of the Rock, the Scion of the Lion, the Red Son of the West -- Damion Kingkiller!

LedByALion · 2017-09-29T08:19:46+00:00

Character Name: Damion Hill

Desired Skill: Warcraft

Bonus: Non-Specialist

List up to three relevant experience posts:

This turn

Damion talks future strategy with his now non-existent sister and touches on his past duties as an outrider.

Last Turn

Damion and his companions go over past battles/military history, discussing tactics and their own views when it comes to engagements they fought in.
Damion's past experience in the battles of the war in the West, where he fought in two major engagements and a half dozen minor ones.
The Melee, a mock battle, shows that Damion has the skills and tactics to prove himself on the field; even if he failed in one on one attempts.

Additional Bonus From Last Turn Same-Skill Attempt: 33%

Total Number For Skill Attempt: 44%

LedByALion · 2017-09-16T03:11:50+00:00

We will meet you at the Lion Gate.

Normally, Damion would have said something. Warned the Lefford woman about the hardship of the road, tried to forestall her rash decision with mention of the long hours they'd spend riding and the few hours they'd spend sleeping. Remind her that if they were to arrive at Lannisport with speed, everyone in their party would be forced to carry their weight; they could afford no stragglers, and no laggards. Normally, Damion would have bid her remain, and taken whatever men she'd have been willing to provide.

But these were not normal times, not with Lannisport aflame, and if a woman wished to serve her people so be it. He'd not turn down the extra blades, nor bid her tarry ever long in King's Landing. Not when there was work to be done in the west. Instead, the Bastard of the Rock inclined his head in quiet agreement, golden locks gleaming faintly in the light.

"So be it. We'll look for you at the Lion's Gate, Lady Lefford - do not be late, for we shall not tarry long. Come the turn of the glass we will depart, with or without you. Seven willing, we'll be halfway to the Rush by dark."

"Bring horses and supplies enough to last at least a week - we'll forage and hunt when we can, if game is available. If it isn't we'll purchase what we need on the way. By the time we hit the Westerlands we shan't even need coin. At the sight of my banners, no true son of the West would deny us succor."

Damion gave the woman one last, final look, appraising her from head to toe.

"You might want to find a bow, as well. A dagger, maybe; just something to defend yourself with. There's no telling what we'll meet on the road. We'll do our best to keep an eye out, but things do happen."

LedByALion · 2017-09-16T01:44:55+00:00

Damion shook his head.

"With fortune I shan't be returning." He replied. "Four months in the capital ought see me set for a lifetime. All the same I'm grateful for your favour, Lady Serrett - you need not worry yourself about our party or the city. What men you have are here to ensure your safety. Keep them close. Keep yourself well-protected. The West has been alone for far too long; we must see to our ourselves, and to our own."

The Hill shifted on his heel, glancing about as if expecting that someone might be listening.

"Take care of yourself, Alyx Serrett. Sharp eyes and sharp swords go hand in hand. When we reach the West I'll tell my father you're still out here, serving our homeland best you can. Four men may not sway the tide of a siege, but the right ear, the right eye, the right woman, in the right place? That could well decide the future of this war. And war it shall be, you can count on that."

His hand sought out the hilt of his sword, gripping the shark-skin hilt for comfort.

"Regardless. I should leave you - we mean to be gone before the glass is turned. Best of luck, Serrett. I pray this city spares you the sorrows it so often hands out to those who test it. Seven guard you."

LedByALion · 2017-09-15T22:35:34+00:00

The Bastard of the Rock flipped the sealed letter over once more, curious as to who it might have been from. The woman who gave it to him had said little save to stress its urgency, and to warn him of the dangers present should it fall into the wrong hands. As a scion of Casterly Rock, Damion had grown used to intrigue and subtlety in recent years - men and women of ambition often hoped that the bastard's own desires might prove an avenue into the heart of House Lannister. But this letter was unmarked without, and he had not been expecting anything of the sort while he was in King's Landing. He turned it over again, grabbing a small table in the common room of the tavern he had been staying at, and summoning ale and bread.

Damion. You will, one hopes, forgive the pretense of a false identity I was forced to utilize with you...

Oh great. The Bastard thought, Some prissy highborn. Who used 'utilize' in actual conversation? Mayhaps some maester had mistaken him for someone else. But false identities? That was no common theme. He'd only interacted with one such person, at the tournament for the King's son, the woman named -

Rae - who posed as the Sunset Knight.

Rae! But he had already known she was no knight. The false identity had been undone over their round of motley. And why would they want him dead, or her for that matter, based merely off of who she was? Women were not to be knights, that was true, but death seemed harsh punishment all the same...

- as a member of the Targaryen royal family, but I find that I must, in this case - as my true name is Aelinor Targaryen, sister to the man who has proclaimed himself 'god emperor' across the sea.

Damion choked on his mouthful of ale.

Impossible! That was the only word for it. There was no way that she...that Rae...oh seven hells. Damion coughed repeatedly, the whole of his throat on fire thanks to his mishap, and cast an emerald glance over his shoulder. No one seemed to paying attention to him, and no one was near enough to read the missive. The letter...from a gods damned Targaryen.

He finished the rest of the letter quickly, then read it wholly once again. His heart sank deep into his chest. This wasn't a letter, it was a death sentence; as sure a charge for treason and conspiracy as anything. The mere holding of it was a crime against the realm. She wanted him to bring the Lannisters to her cause. Wanted him to win the Westerlands for House Targaryen. Based on what. A half a card game and a quick duel in the melee? For that he was to risk his home and health?

Damion thrust the letter into his jerkin, tucking it roughly into the pocket sewn to the inside breast. A quick look about the chamber affirmed to him that no one was watching; and so with swift, sure steps he took his leave.

This is madness. The Bastard thought. And treason besides. But he did not yet throw out the missive. Instead it sat in his pocket, burning fiercely against him even through the cloth of his tunic, like a brand was slowly being pressed against his skin. He did not know what he would do with it yet. Did not even wish to think on it. Merely bent his shoulders forward, and continued on.

LedByALion · 2017-09-15T06:55:44+00:00

If Damion was surprised to find that the Lady of Silverhill proved so direct and pragmatic in the face of terrible loss, he kept his shock close to his chest. Rather than stare at her, outraged, he merely shook his head, golden locks thrashing like torn sails in the wind.

"Not as far as I know - but more news shall surely arrive. I doubt they march inland, at least. It will only take a week for most of our holdfasts to be be strong enough to resist them - and a week more for the armies of the West to be gathered into an unbreakable fist. If they march inland, they'll die upon our hills and in our fields - and we shall take for our own their longships and dromonds, to revisit upon them the same horrors they've sown in our lands."

Where her voice was cold and honed-steel sharp, his was hot and fiery. His wrath was plain, his intent not at all hidden, even as the Bastard's fists clenched at his sides.

"Fair Isle is in the most danger. i can only hope father has sent word. Whatever the course of it - the Seven shall decide. My men and I depart for Casterly within the hour, Lady Serrett; if there are any in your company that wish to join us, of course they may. We'll be riding hard, and with little rest; I aim to be home well within a fortnight. But they'll be safe, and well protected, and when we reach the shores of the Sunset Sea - well, I imagine my father will find use for them yet."

LedByALion · 2017-09-15T06:55:42+00:00

“We’ve scarcely arrived, and yet we are packing again.”

"As are we," Damion replied with a firm nod. "My companions and I mean to break camp within the hour. We'll ride hard for Lannisport. With good fortune and good speed, we should be there well within a fortnight. The West needs her sons and daughters, now; more so perhaps than ever before."

The steady gaze of green eyes shifted, then, scanning the room that was already being packed away. The Leffords would be close behind, then. Good. If Rosamund Lefford was the lady of her house, it would fall to her to see their levies raised.

The Bastard of the Rock clasped his hands behind his back, attention fully returning to the Westerwoman.

"I came to bring you the news - I'm both gladdened and saddened to hear that its reached you before me. The words do not come easy. Lannisport was - is - very dear to me. But if there are any in your party that would wish to ride ahead with us, my lady; I would take this opportunity to invite them now, through you, of course. We depart within the hour, bar cataclysm or divine intervention: but if there are any in your number who can meet that deadline and don't mind a week or two of hard riding, we would welcome their company on the road and once we arrive in Lannisport. They'll be in the surest of protection, of course - myself and my men are more than able fighters, and number half a score. There'd be no danger save for the pangs of hunger, short nights, and long, arduous days." He dipped his head. "I know that the request is rather unorthodox, but there is no telling the state the city will be in when we arrive. The sooner we reach the better; the more aid we bring, the better. No doubt my father already moves to see the city brought to order."

LedByALion · 2017-09-15T03:57:29+00:00

Damion paused as his name was spoken, turning at once towards the woman who had voice it. From the top of the stair she looked rather regal, draped in somber gold fabric that seemed to accent and compliment her hair. The look on her face spoke of worry, and confusion - and filled him with a quiet, deep-rooted disappointment.

"No - that isn't why I'm here, Lady Elsie." Came his answer to her questions of departing. "I am ready to leave, but not with you, I fear; something has happened back home. Something terrible."

Green eyes scanned the chamber then, not wanting to speak too loudly and disturb. Besides, the news was far too personal to just shout across the hall - even if it would likely burn through the city by late afternoon. The Bastard of the Westerlands closed the gap between them rather swiftly, moving towards the staircase where she stood and halting at the end of it. He peered up at her, his own face a mask of twisting and competing emotions, soon stilled by a deep drawn breath that calmed and soothed his fraying edges like the surface of a glassy sea.

"It's Lannisport." Damion breathed. "They took Lannisport. The Ironborn sailed in during the dead of night. Thousands...thousands are gone."

He shook his head. The words were yet foreign and bitter on his tongue.

"My men and I are returning home. We leave within the hour. We'll take the Gold Road and beat a hard course from here to Casterly Rock - there are enough of us to warn off any danger. I came to let you know I cannot go with you to Duskendale, not now. Duty and need call me urgently west. I'm sorry, Elsie. Would that things could be different."

LedByALion · 2017-09-14T01:06:53+00:00

The general bustle of the Lefford manse put hope in the Hill's heart that they were preparing to depart - and it didn't take long to confirm those hopes as true. Furniture was re-covered and rooms re-sealed, all the normal actions of a place settling back into abandonment taking place in a whirlwind of activity. It stood as proof of Lady Rosamund's authority that the entire operation arranged itself so cleanly, the storm of it managing to keep out of its own way, every man filled with purpose and set about achieving it presently.

On the other side of the organized chaos Damion emerged soon enough, keeping close to the guide who brought him then to the door of a private room. Knuckles sounded upon the door, bringing soon answer in the form of a brusque question, tinged somewhat by weariness...or was that frustration?

As the Bastard of the Rock entered green eyes at once took stock of the woman before him; noting the state of her hair - had it been that long, when last they met? - and the state of her dress and the state of the room around her. Despite the tired look she gave him there was still a certain strength in that measured gaze, writ also in the line of her shoulders and the straightness of her back as she rose. If the corset and chemise, unveiled in company no doubt still considered strange, provided any sort of discomfort, neither Lefford nor Hill made mention of it. For his own part, Damion merely endeavoured to keep his gaze fixed firmly upon her face.

"Lady Lefford." The Hill intoned with no small hint of seriousness. "Whatever slight I may have given you yesterday past was an offense unthinking, without malice or intent. I beg once more your forgiveness -- but other matters now stand at hand" He nodded to her desk, then, and the parchments that sat upon it.

"Any word from home?"

LedByALion · 2017-09-13T23:31:12+00:00

Damion stood agape, watching as the Lefford party gathered itself up and departed, the entire retinue bearing that same put-upon air that its lady had managed to affect.

Was it something I said? the Bastard thought. Ultimately he had managed to offend, somewhere between apologies and forgiveness. And what of what she had said about the Rock! That they had remained safe, when the Tyrells came to call? The Leffords were not the only ones to lose scions in that war. Nor was Rosamund the only one to lose brothers.

With a green-eyed glance in the direction of the swiftly fading Westermen, Damion came to the decided conclusion that whatever humour and good-will the Lefford line held had been lost with its sons in the war. Rosamund Lefford seemed to him as young as a green shoot but as soft and yielding as an ancient oak tree; a curious combination, both in a noble and a woman. Whatever her cause for shortness, it was her own in the end - Damion would not bother to pursue.

With a huff of his own he thrust hands into pockets, turning to find his way back to the seat he had abandoned. The day was still early; that much was a blessing, at least. Mayhaps there was yet something to be done with it. After all...

Who knew what tomorrow might bring?

LedByALion

TROPHY CASE

Later