[IMVU Logs] Patrols & Travels

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LordChampion: "It is to be nothing but a simple patrol. There has been no bandit activity in the area for some time now since your last bought with the savages. Why not bring the boy along?" Ser Joseph. A man whose wits terribly outweighed his looks, yet that wouldn't stop him from bedding every wench in Highgarden. He and Ser Derek had just been given their latest orders. A patrol along a road that had just recently been cleared of any hostile bandits. "I believe that would be wise. Azaroth could use the experience. I'll get him. You grab the men to come with us and we meet back at the gates." Ser Joseph nodded and they went their seperate ways. Ser Derek was dressed in his usual Tyrell guard armor, a castle-forged sword with a golden engraved hilt at his hip. He had daggers at multiple points throughout his armor, hidden yet easily accessible if needed in a fight. He made his way toward the main Tyrell home, and grabbed a guard. "Go, find the boy Azaroth. Tell him I request his presence outside the house. Inform him to come fully armored." The guard nodded and headed into the main household. Derek stood outside, patiently. His bright blue eyes lifted toward the clear morning skies and when they came back down, his conciousness returned to the present. The patrol thus far had been as simple and calm as Joseph had mentioned earlier...and yet.... "Ser Derek, I know that look." Ser Joseph had been watching him after all. "Get your head out of the past, and in the now. What is it you always say?" "You cannot decide who lives, who dies, or who tells your story. Yet history shall always have it's eyes on you." It was a habit of his to utter this every once in a while...almost like a prayer. He had told Azaroth this plenty of times, reminding him of the future he has ahead of him. "Exactly. So stop moping and march." Ser Joseph remarked. "Maybe you should stop paying attention to me and focus on your footing..." At the moment he finished his sentence, Ser Joseph immediately fell flat on his face, tripping over a loose branch. Some of the men hefted him up. "Funny, Ser Derek." Derek knew Azaroth was still in formation, and likely directly behind him or at his side. Altogether, they counted a mere 10 men.

Brute: Truthfully it hadn’t been long since Azaroth had returned from the baths after his afternoon training, when you spend all day swinging swords, sweating and baking in the roasting sun it was always great to bathe and get the stink off you. By the time Azaroth had dried off and started putting on more appropriate wear for around the Tyrell household there was a knock on his bedroom door and when it was answered it seemed like the boys prayers had been heard by the gods. Azaroth moved with a passion like no other, clearly he was looking forward to marching with the patrol even if it he knew it wouldn’t amount to much, there was no way they would take a squire on anything too meaningful; even one with skills such as himself.

Once he was fully dressed in his armor, some bronze plated cuirass with a dark blue undertone shirt that matched the greaves and boots; the other items consisting of the steel long sword at his side, which even if it wasn’t castle forged steel was still rather well made, as were the daggers that sat at his back, hiding behind the dark cloak he wore.

The patrol was going as well as could be expected, there hadn’t run into any sorts of danger so far and Azaroth figured they wouldn’t at all, even if there were bandits running around and doing unjust things in the realm not many would have the steel to go up against the Tyrell men. Azaroth’s mouth turned up at the corner into a small knowing smirk, he had indeed heard these words from Ser Derek before, though they were good words to live by.

As they walked the young Lord tried his best to be as professional as he could, even though clear excitement could be seen in his eyes, yet at times he found himself looking to his side where Ser Derek was positioned. If Azaroth hadn’t known better he would suspect Derek to be an uncle or cousin, he had the Baratheon look, attitude and definetly had the fury of said family. When all was silent and the group of ten men turned on the road towards their destination the young boy spoke, his voice clearly less mature than the other men present, even though he matched almost all of them in height and weight.

“Do we suspect any bandit activity in this region, Ser Derek? If we do find ourselves amongst the less honourable men of the region my sword is yours to command.”

In truth the boy spoke words to steady his own nerves, challenge his own resolve for the situation and to make sure or atleast give off the pretence that he held no fear of bandits or any such other man though to the veteran Knights around him and guards, they probably saw through his facade.

LordChampion: Ser Derek rose a brow as his eyes found those of Azaroth's. He chuckled at his words, and looked forward once more. "You are brave, young Master..but you forget that YOU are the Lord here. In accordance, it is you who commands our swords. Or, at the very least, my own." He placed a heavy, armored hand over Azaroth's shoulder. It always amazed him how tall the boy was for his age. The Baratheon blood running through his veins could never be denied, no matter how hard he, or the king, may try to do so. "Never forget your position. As in combat, where a balanced stance can sometimes mean the difference between victory and defeat, a strong position can do exactly the same thing. You are a Lord, young Master. This means your sword unsheathes at no other command than your own." He moved his hand and strongly patted the boy on his back before the company continued. As they neared the end mark of their patrol, while the sun had already begun to set, Ser Derek rose his hand in a fist, causing the small company to stop their march. "We set camp here men. Unload the mule. Start a fire, and begin pitching tents." The men jump to their tasks and Derek looks to Azaroth. "You and I will be bunking together, young Master. I, unfortunate as it is, trust no sword to guard you over my own in our current company. Come, show me what you know when it comes to making camp. Pick a spot, get your equipment, and begin settling."

Brute: It wasn’t long before Ser Derek had responded to Azaroth’s statement and in doing so he caused a chill to run down the young Lords spine. The words Derek spoke showed off his demeanour perfectly when it came to the way he saw his position in life yet still Azaroth straightened his sight and kept his mouth closed, after all he wouldn’t insult the Knight by countering his words with his own. As Derek’s heavy hand landed on Azaroth’s shoulder and continued his council of the young squire once again he turned and took in those words which for the second time that day gave the young Lord a feeling that he wasn’t quite sure how to deal with at the moment.

Their party came to a halt at the end of the patrol upon the command of Ser Derek, as he spoke and gave orders to the Knights under his command and finally turned to the Lord Azaroth nodded and approached the mule to pull of his own equipment. To say his equipment was better off than those of the other Knights would have been a slight understatement, after all even if the young Lord wanted to be treated as equal to every other squire in Highgarden, he wasn’t. He was treated closer to the ranks of the Tyrell sons than the other squires and most of the time this didn’t sit well with the aspiring Knight. To have so much comfort when other had so little always made Azaroth think he looked like just another spoiled noble, that these things were of his choosing and his ways when really he just couldn’t bring himself to deny the favour of the Tyrell mother and father.

Like most other men in that moment Azaroth picked up his bundle and looked around for a few seconds, they had found themselves inside a small clearing, three ways in and out of their current position making it not the perfect spot to hold up in but rather adequate since there would be little to no danger. After looking at their surroundings Azaroth turned Ser Derek and pointed to the flat of land he had chosen to set up camp.

“I would think this the perfect spot for our current surroundings, it gives a fair vantage point of all three paths to our position and we have a sold wall of thick heavy trees at our back. From what I know of the animals in the region they won’t venture out from the woods but are rather territorial and as such bandits and the likes would be less likely to attack from the forest.”

Of course Azaroth would make sure to get the go ahead from Derek before setting up any further, but if he had then the boy would have made light work of going about what had to be done to pitch the tent, and like all other men doing the same job at the moment he did it in full heavy attire and in silence. It didn’t take long for the young Lord to finish his task, of course his tent was large enough for more than one man, even more to the point more than one man of his size and stature; it would easy accommodate both Ser Derek and himself while a lot of the other tents were much smaller in size and made of a far less expensive material and build quality. Turning to the Knight who had ordered the camp be made Azaroth spoke in a smaller manner than before, truthfully he hadn’t wanted the other guards to hear his apologise and as such his usual tone was hidden in that moment.

“I apologise for the comforts and unnecessary items packed within my equipment, I understand that Knights hold no love for overly comfortable and pretentious belongings and that it could serve to dull the blade that is supposed to be sharp and refined.”

LordChampion: Ser Derek hadn't brought any accomodations other than his armor, weapons, and the most basic of travel gear. Through the years, Derek has trained himself to live, fully, off the bare minimum. His body was truly a fine tuned piece of equipment, fitting his tool-like position. He watched the others, providing direction as needed, and once he was called upon by Azaroth, noticing his chosen location, he surveyed it for a second. The boy was thinking defensively, not for one second losing his guard. Something a Lord, even a knight, should always ensure remains intact...his guard. Henodded to Azaroth. "An excellent surveyal of your surroundings. Proceed." He would continue lending his hand where it was needed as Azaroth continued to set up his tent. He was glad to see Azaroth remained in his armor as he commited to his task. After a few minutes, his attention was called back to Azaroth as the young man approached him and spoke. He smirked at the young Baratheon's words. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he nudged him slightly in a direction. "Follow." He said simply. He led the boy a few fet away from the camp perimeter, to where they could take in the sight of it all. "Azaroth, I know how YOU feel about being treated so generously. Having more than a knight would normally be used to." He looked at the boy. "What you have, each and every one of those men wants. They do not hate the things that are given to you due to your station. They envy you for them. Yet, what many of them don't understand, is that it's necessary. If you slept in a basic tent, ate tasteless food, drank dry wine with no flavor...if any Lord or Lady lived as their subjects do, what would there be to look up to?" His eyes lifted to the darkening sky, which had spread apart to show the stars by this point. "People need a star to look up to. Soemthing to look upon with wonder, with amazement. Something to target with rumors and fascination. If not for the lavish lifestyles of Lords or Ladies, we small folk would have no reason to serve anyone other than ourselves. You unite us. Whether the cause is just, or not, we are what we are because your tent is better than theirs. I am what I am, because of that." His eyes fell upon the boy once more and he began to lead him to the campfire. "My uncle always told me a sword is only as sharp as the arm that holds it is strong. For that arm is the arm that carries the stone that sharpents it. You sleep upon fabrics I have never even felt. You lay in comforts I have never known. Yet you also wake more refreshed and thus, more alert. These things you think of as weaknesses, can also be some of your greatest strengths." As per usual after a lesson, he strongly patted the boy on his back and continued....just as an arrow whizzed past his right ear. Time essentially froze for him as he instantaniously realized what happened. He charged for the woods immediately. "SWORDS! INTO THE TREES! ARROWS!" His sentences were short and to the point. He knew Azaroth would be right behind him. The boy's reflexes were almost as great as his own. Once past the initial line of trees, he drew his blade and placed his back to one of them against the direction the arrow had come from. He knew this was likely a trap. As not a single arrow had hit their marks. The enemy must have been lying in wait in the woods. "Roth!" A nickname he gave Azaroth. It seemed fitting, given the situation. He could not allow the attackers to find out they had with them a Lord of the Baratheon line. Just as he finished his call, the ambush commenced. "Roth! Ambush! Make your way to me!" He said just as a sword came slicing through the air towards his right. He deflected it and drove his shoulder into the chest of his attacker. The man fell immediately to the ground with a soft thud. Light armor, no plate or chainmail. Good. He drove his blade into the gut of the man just as another charged his back. He left his blade in the gut of the first man, and rolled to the left to avoid the second attack. He drew a dagger and held as the attacker came once more. He side stepped a downward slice and brought his dagger quickly across the man's throat. He noticed the glint of a blade on his left at that moment and lifted his arm. Lucky for him, the man's sword was of poor make, or was terribly dulled. However, due to the make of his Tyrell coffer provided armor, it was highly unlikely any blade short of Castle-forged or Valyrian steel would do anything but bounce off. He unbalanced the man by throwing the sword off his arm and drove his foot into the man's chest, sending him reeling back. He rolled away, resheathing his dagger in the process, toward his sword. Upon reaching it, he pulled it from the now dead or unconcious man's gut, and readied his stance. The attacker charged. Derek deflected the attack with an upward strike and spun around the man's back, bringing the sword back down along his spine. Leather armor. Taking a second to inspect the bodies, he noticed they all wore light armors. To move quietly throughout the woods so that they weren't noticed in their approach? Who did they fight for? Why attack them? How did they know this was where they'd be? His questions would have to wait, however, as he noticed another two attackers approaching him. He readied his stance. "ROOOOOOOOOOOTH!!!!!!"


Brute: There was that feeling again, that feeling that he hadn’t felt in, well it had been years since his chest had tightened this way and he could almost feel every muscle in his body tense, the small hairs on his arms and neck standing to attention as adrenaline soared through his body with the mix of words Derek spoke. It hadn’t been but a few minutes that he had taken Azaroth to the side and begun speaking to him, mentoring him to become what the young Lord was destined to be, after all with the way he was raised until this point and the way the Knights of the Reach had imparted their knowledge on to him, specially Ser Derek; where else would Azaroth end up but appointed into the brotherhood of Knights.

Derek’s heavy hand once again placed upon Azaroth’s back as he patted the boy with some strength in his touch, in that moment the young squire took the words to heart and specially the action that followed, after all it was these minor moments in time that showed just how much Ser Derek cared about the boy; something that was rarely ever spoken out loud yet it was undeniably there. Just as the conversation was about to continue the young Lord was pushed away with heavy hand, an arrow narrowly missing Ser Derek’s head had the whole situation on a completely different pace and now both of them were racing towards the treelines, aiming for the woods of where the arrows had come from.

As the boy did his best to keep up with the well trained Knight he fell to his right hand side, knowing full well that as he ran and pulled the sword he didn’t want to mess up and slash his mentor in the back. With sword pulled and held firmly in his right hand Azaroth mimicked the actions of Derek and pressed his form against a tree, his back held firm and steady in the situation, breathing slowing down from the rushed dash into the forest and all but both hands that were now wrapped around the sword hilt were steady as could be. A few times in the past the Knightly Ser Derek had dubbed Azaroth in a manner of which only he used, though it was rather well thought out considering the circumstances they had just walked into, Roth was a rather clever way of getting the boy’s attention without alerting the others that there was indeed nobility in the gathering of Knight and not just any nobility, former royalty.

By the time the attack had started all ten men from their party had entered the woods, not a single arrow had pierced any of the guards armor and more than likely it would remain that way. Azaroth’s body leaned to the side as he held his sword up right, waiting for the right moment to look out and see what was going on beyond the bark he placed his back at. The young squire took to the dirt once more with haste as he rushed from behind the tree, well taught and trained limbs pushing his heavy armor coated form towards Ser Derek and the on-going men that were constantly assaulting him, yet even as he dashed towards the fighting he found himself in a situation all of his own and couldn’t make it past the wall of men that now separated himself from Ser Derek and the onslaught of bandits that were rushing towards the other eight men.

“Well well, what do we have here? A youngin with a sword that’s built for real men, hand over the blade boy and we’ll think about letting you leave with atleast one of your legs in working order.”

All three of the bandits stood before him laughing at their luck, while their other men where off fighting and killing proper Knights there three had gotten the runt of the litter, maybe not in size but definetly in age and experience, after all the boy had merely seen twelve name days and even if his size added to his years he was clearly wet behind the ears when it came to this lifestyle.

Azaroth’s form stop dead on the dirt, heavy feet digging into the group as he took up his stance, a stance he’d been doing for going on four years now, day in day out without missing a moment of practice in his free time. Both hands held the sword in the manner befitting a Knight, right hand further up the hilt and his left at the pommel to help adjust swings and add speed to his attack power. With the sword raised up and pulled to the side of his face Azaroth held it aimed diagonally with the tip pointed between the sky and the attackers, his body somewhat turned with his left shoulder facing them, all in all this was widely taught as the side stance. The moment one of the more confident men stepped into Azaroth’s range the boy moved forward, cementing his weight into the swing of the sword and using his double handed grip as advantage to overpower the man who sought to take advantage of his own. After the first man fell to the floor with a gashing wound across his chest the other two rushed forward in anger, swinging madly, with little to no form to speak of and no refinement in their technique, Azaroth had seen more competent moves from the practice dummies in the courtyard than what he had here.

Deflect and parry, this is what happened with the first of the two men that came into contact with Roth, his shitty steel sword wasn’t even a match to the higher grade weapon the young Lord wielded, even though it wasn’t to castle forged standards there difference between both weapons were regions apart which was shown when the boy deflected the first blow with a single movement. As the first man fell past Azaroth and hit the ground the second had already found it’s mark when his sword bashed against the side plate of Roth’s armor, though it was nothing more than a dent in metal and surely nothing serious would come of an attack that didn’t even scratch the surface; yet Azaroth’s face scrunched up in the moment and fury over took technique and training for a split second as the boy cleaved his sword into the neck of the bandit, finding the sword cut through half way before he had to steady himself and pull the blade out from the meat suit that lay on the floor.

Only seconds had passed but the moment seemed to go on forever, sickness was turning in the pit of his stomach as he tried to hold a composure fitting of a Knight, guard or even a man, yet here he was a twelve year old boy who had just take the life of another for the first time. No, there was no time to feel anything for the men he had dispatched, they wouldn’t feel it for him and there were more important things to do right now, like get to Ser Derek and fend off the attackers. Azaroth started moving again with some purpose towards Ser Derek while all around him he start seeing the guards fall, one by one the bandits outnumbered them and one by one they were beaten to the dirtied ground and finished off like dogs. The scene more than anything had caused the young Lord to freeze on the spot, perhaps from fear, from the sickness that filled his stomach with a feeling of dread or maybe sorrow for the lives lost that day, the lives of good men who did nothing more than their jobs to try and protect people. Though those would have been the last thoughts of the boy before his body hit the floor, the pommel of a sword struck hard against his head and sent his form to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes, the world was dark again yet somewhere inside the unconscious youth he knew the fighting was still going on, he could hear the clash of swords and finally his name being yelled by none other than Ser Derek.

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LordChampion: "Have you seen the Squire?! Or Joseph?!" Derek screamed as he ran his castle-forged blade through the gut of one of the Bandits. His back was now pressed against that of another knight. "Neither, Sir." The man answered. Derek couldn't afford to have himself distracted, but he needed to be sure of Azaroth's location. He worried for him, knowing full well this was the first taste of true battle the boy has tasted and to think it was a ambush. None of them were prepared for this. As Derek dispatched another attacker, he and his fellow knight became surrounded and yet, they fought on. It wasn't long, however, before the man was overwhelmed. As derek sliced the throat of another enemy open, leaving a fourth body on the ground before him, the others held their circle tight. Derek, for all intensive purposes, was alone. He had no clue where Azaroth was, he had no back up, Joseph was likely dead...he had failed his house...the people who gave him a chance where others would have...and in fact had, laughed at him. However, he would not go down without a fight, and was too smart to simply charge. "Come cowards! Approach and allow my sword and I the pleasure of dying covered in the blood of those who killed our allies!" derek roared at them in a voice deep and fierce. You could se the fire in his eyes, and some of the attackers jumped at the sound of it, stepping back slightly. "Oh, but Ser Derek, they aren't all dead." Derek turned to find Joseph standing behind him, sword drawn. "Ser Joseph? What....what is this?" He already knew what the answer would be, but at this point, he needed to buy time. Perhaps Azaroth was yet living, and would find a way to signal him. The boy was smart, and talented. He WOULD find a way. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Derek watched as Joseph nodded his head towards some of the attackers. The men obeyed, and spproached, holding Azaroth. The pair threw the motionless body at Derek, who allowed his own body to brace the boy's fall. He immediately listenend for breath, releasing a satisfied sigh when his life was confirmed. He gently laid the boy on the ground and stood, holding his stance defensively facing Joseph. "That should answer your question....mostly." Joseph said. "Ser Joseph, you have been a knight for the Tyrell house just as long as I. Why betray them now? Why betray me, your brothers, NOW?" Derek asked. He needed Azaroth to wake up, and would buy as much time as he could. He knew Joseph, he could easily get him talking. "My brother you ignorant oaf of a man." Joseph answered. Derek thought back. The man did indeed have a brother only a few years younger than them. He too had become a squire, but after a bandit raid gone wrong, only a few of the guards returned and his brother was not among them. However, this only offered more questions to ask. "Joseph, your brother was killed by bandits. All the knights said so that day they returned. We destroyed the force ourselves. What does that have to do with the Tyrell?" Joseph laughed at Derek's question. "You think this to be about those wealthy, pompous, cocks? No. This has to do with you. the day we attacked the Bandits...I found him. they had brainwashed him, convinced him they fought for a noble cause...and so he fouhgt for them. He attacked me from behind, and upon realizing who I was, he pulled back. I convinced him to run, and we kept in touch. During one of your oh so heroic patrols, you ran your blade through his heart, with not an ounce of remorse and returned a hero for it. When I found out..." He said softly, slowly approaching Derek and Azaroth. "When...I found out what you'd done, I decided to act. To avenge him...and I knew exactly how..." He eyed Azaroth, and Derek immediately lunged at him. He threw his sword away, and tackled him to the ground. Before the attackers could pull him off, he had managed to land five heavy, armored fists into Joseph's face. the man was helped up, and laughed the whole time. Derek fought the hold of the men gripping him, causing a great amount of struggle for the men. "You lay a single finger on a single hair of him, I will tear you to pieces Joseph. I implore you, now, before you come to regret it....return home with me. Help me destroy these savages...and I will vouch for you upon your return. Please." Joseph laughed again, and turned his back on the two of them. Derek's eyes fell on Azaroth. "Bring them both to the camp. My vengeance, your victory, is at hand brothers." A thud sounded as one of the men slammed the hilt of his blade against Derek's skull and all he saw was black. After what seemed like mere seconds, Derek awoke in a cell. His weapons and armor removed, wearing nothing but trousers. Azaroth still lay on the ground beside him. There was more than enough room in the cage for the both of them. This had been planned for many weeks. Derek stood, or tried to, as he wobbled to his feet using the cage bars for support. The cold of the night air caused a shiver down his spine and goosebumps to spread across his body. The men from the ambush all surrounded the campfire, drinking and laughing. It would seem they thought themselves victorious. they let down their guard. Derek, in his wisdom, immediately began thinking of a plan.



Brute: It wasn’t the cold air that woke him but that was definitely the first thing he felt as he gained consciousness, the second, a throbbing pain at the back of his head that caused the young Baratheon’s face to scrunch up and his eyebrows to narrow as he winced in pain. Slowly he opened his eyes, the eerily blue hues had the kid stomped for a second until he saw the stature of Derek holding himself up against the iron bars of the make shift prison. Attempting to move the young Squire tried to sit upright, only to be forced back down onto the space he was before yet this time more pain surged through him, the fall back against the floor beneath him just added to the pain that was coming from his side; the same side that one of the bandits had struck him earlier, clearly the injury he’d received from that strike had been a couple of broken ribs.

It took a few minutes for Azaroth to catch his breath again; even then he tried once more to move even if it was just slightly, just for a second so he could pull himself slightly closer to Derek so they could talk without making too much noise. It was already clear that they were caught though he wasn’t sure the reason that only two of them had survived and since he hadn’t the time or standing to look over towards the large first in the centre of the camp he hadn’t noticed Ser Joseph sitting amongst the bandits.

“What, what happened? I was running towards the group and all I remember is falling and hitting the ground…Where are the rest of the men, Ser Derek? Tell me they’re alive…Tell me they aren’t all gone.”

Yes, the young Lord Baratheon who had spent the past four years training for this day in and out, who knew that one day would come the pain and hurt of losing a friend or having to cut down a foe, had failed to prepare himself for those very things. Though could one ever really prepare themselves for something such as this? The sound in the boy’s voice was borderline scared, even his lips were shaking as he uttered those words yet there was a different feeling inside that wasn’t fear, it was an anger that surged through his being; anger at himself for failing, for falling too soon and not taking a decent amount of the enemy with him.

Azaroth closed his eyes over as the scene replayed in his head slowly, the moment he froze on the battlefield was the moment he lost all heart, that moment where he watched the others be slaughtered by the mass bandits and froze on the spot was forever a dark stain on his heart.

LordChampion: Ser Derek heard the boy's failed attempt at standing. He was in pain. apparently more pain than Derek had thought he'd be in. There must be something broken, which means running is out of the question. they'd need some form of transportation. As the boy caught his bearings, Derek began searching the area with his eyes. He'd have to wait until all the bandits were asleep. Or, at least until a majority were asleep. He needed to speak with Joseph. Just then, Azaroth's voice caught his ear. He knelt down next to the boy, ignoring the sting of the cold upon his flesh. "Joseph yet lives." He spoke softly, and did not make eye contact. He wanted to make sure he gave no reason for any of them to approach. He needed time, and as long as they were focused on their festivities, he'd have it. "The others are gone now, little Master. Yet, we must away. Steele your heart. Harden it. Mourning shall come, but you must gather strength for now." Derek patted the boy's back. He knew he was scared. He was scared his first real battle. He lost his uncle, his mentor, that first battle. He'd make sure Azaroth did not have to witness such a thing...not as he had. "Intelligence shall win us a victory now, little Master. I am working on a plan that will require me to leave you for a short while. If you'd like, and you think it possible, you may come with me. Though it will require you to walk." He looked at Azaroth now. "I will allow no harm to come to you. Tell me, little master, what happened to you? Did you hear my calls?"

Brute: The words Ser Derek spoke cut through the boy harder than even his previous thoughts, after all he still had hope that some of them had survived and went for help, for some back up at least yet that wasn’t how it was in reality. As Derek kneeled to his side and stayed his eyes in another direction Azaroth slowly answered his question, though to whether he’d be ready to move soon was another question entirely, one which he wasn’t sure even he knew the answer to.

“While I was making my way towards you and the other men I was cut off by three bandits, two of them fell to my blade after one of them managed to get in a decent blow against my ribs, luckily the armour protected me from the sword but it seems the force from the weapon has broken a few ribs. I was sloppy and the third one I had only sent him to the ground. When I moved off again to reach you and the others he must have attacked me from behind and knocked me out.”

There was only a slight pause in time between Azaroth’s last words and the ones he followed up with, during that time his eyes moved and he found Joseph indeed sitting amongst the men, clearly turning on his own men but for whatever reason Azaroth did not know.

“Ser Joseph is really with the bandits? For what reason could he have turned on the Knights of the Reach? No…I suppose that does not matter anymore, the deed is done and we must make sure the deaths of the others are not in vain. I don’t know how long I can run for, Ser Derek but I will not fall behind again. Whatever plan you have to get us out of this situation then count me in, if I can’t ride out the pain and trudge forward then I’d never be able to call myself a Baratheon.”

LordChampion: Ser Derek nodded in reply to Azaroth's question concerning Ser Joseph. The news would not have been easy to take in terms of the other knights. The boy did not know him well, and so accepting his betrayal would be simple. Derek, on the other hand, thought of the man as a brother. Joseph was a lordling. However, his family had very meager holdings, and thus weren't very popular. Ofcourse, with Derek being low born, the two eventually drew to each other and from the moment they met, were nearly inseparable. Derek was having trouble with Joseph's betrayal. It would mean more than being betrayed by a Knight, but it would mean being betrayed by blood. He had no recognition of his brother. Or the fight he spoke about. There had to be another hand at play here...Joseph couldn't have been the one to plan this all on his own...and to gather this many bandits...no. Joseph wasn't alone. Derek looked out to the camp once more and noticed that some of the men began to walk away, heading for their tents. Azaroth's words built a feeling of pride within his chest. He was proud of what the boy had become over the past few years. Yet, nothing about this progress surprised him. The strength of a warrior was in his blood...and it yearned to be released. "Little Master, should I not make it this night, to see the rising sun, I wish to impart upon you a little bit more wisdom." He turned toward the boy, a smile upon his face. The admiration, the love, it could all be seen. Derek was a lonely child growing up. He had no siblings, save a baby sister. Azaroth, Joseph, they were the closest things he had to brothers...and one of them had just betrayed him. It woke him up to the reality of bonds. As easily as they are formed, they can be broken. "Azaroth Baratheon, within you lies a strength greater than anyone can hope for or even imagine. With it, you can do the impossible. You are not like me, I have had to work very, very hard to be where I am. I am low born, no special talents...no name. In the long run of history, I will be no one. Yet, your name will live on as long as the land breathes and humanity lives. Use this strength. Never forget the power that is within your blood. Yet all the while remembering that when your body is broken, your mind yet lives. If you feel pain, it pounds away and is capable of thought." He patted the boy on the shoulder one more time before leaning his back against the cold steel bars of their cage. "Rest now, Little Master. I shall wake you when we make our move." Should Azaroth obey, Derek would close his eyes as well. He would not sleep, only pass the time, and prepare himself. He would open his eyes once the sounds of the night had stopped, and only the noise of the whores remained. The pleasured screams of the women filled the air, though it was obvious most were rehearsed. He stood, nudging the boy Azaroth awake, if he were asleep. If he wasn't, he'd skip that and speak. "Joseph handed the key to his guard. The man right there, pleasuring himself to the sexual acts of another." He pointed towards one of the tents. It was larger than the rest. Likely to be Joseph's. "Gather stones. You will toss them at the man. When he approaches, you will make a scene. Rile him up. Get him mad. we want him to open the cage, and as soon as he does, we will have our escape. As soon as you are ready, begin. Once we are out, I will handle the rest. You will follow my lead. Where I step, you step. Understood?"

Brute: The longer Azaroth waited to hear the details from Ser Derek the longer pain continued to pass through his side and head; it was basically all he could do to keep silent as his body shivered in the cold and he tried to stay calm even though his blood boiled with a hatred for the Knight who had betrayed them, betrayed the brotherhood he swore to and not only that, a man who was like his brother. Truth be told Azaroth had little view when it came to Joseph, there was very little contact with him over the years and that was probably due to the fact that the Knight was rather average amongst those of Highgarden, so when it came to the Lord’s training he was never matched up with Joseph and as such there were no deep bonds made between them. However he wasn’t unaware of the connection Derek and Joseph had, being that they were always together in their squads and he had a keen eye that noticed the subtle differences between the way Derek treated others and those he cared for.

When Derek started speaking about the possibility of him not making it through this next endeavour Azaroth’s face changed, there was a slight hint of anger in his stare, as if he was insulted by the words the Knight spoke. No, there would be no more deaths that night or the morning that followed, least none that included Azaroth or Ser Derek. Yet on went Derek with the knowledge he was trying to impart on the young Lord, his words like most times started sparking something within the young Baratheon, a spark that would lead to a flame to fuel the fury inside the boy, a fury that he had grown up trying to ignore, hide and push out of the way because he felt it went opposite his duties as a Lord and as a person.

He had nothing to say when the Knight stopped his speech, there was no thanking him for his belief or even questioning anything that was said, after all it would be meaningless in this situation and right now Azaroth couldn’t believe a word of what Derek spoke, even if it rung true and he meant it with all his heart. No the young Baratheon had just felt defeat for the first time in years, five or six years to be exact, ever since the times when he was constantly compared to his elder brother, ever since the times when being himself wasn’t good enough for the people, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even good enough for his family.

Like most younger brothers Azaroth once upon a time doted on Kainen Baratheon, the eldest of the current generation Baratheon’s. Wherever the elder son went was soon visited by the younger Azaroth, where Kainen trained the younger Lord attempted the same training, same books and for a while even took up similar interests to that of his sibling. Yet it all seemed to be for nothing, which wasn’t really anything to do with the elder brother, after all his obliviousness in the matter was always rather apparently to Azaroth; whether true or not.

Now that his eyes were closed and the injured Lord tried to get some sleep more thoughts kept appearing in his mind, this Knight that had so kindly spoken of him with passion in his voice almost reminded him of his sister, the second true inspiration of his life; first being his father. Although there were never really any awe inspiring speeches from her he never really needed them, a few of her wise words were always enough to set him to a task and those tasks he followed through with, much like Derek, Rhaelle had an odd way of sharing her affection with those she loved, yet it was never mistaken that that love did not exist.

Azaroth woke with a nudge and his eyes landed on Ser Derek as he finally went about explaining his plans, turning slightly on his side and bearing with the pain that coursed through him he looked to the guard who Derek had pointed out while explaining the plan but before Derek’s hand reached for some stones the young Baratheon spoke lightly, as to not gain attention from anyone around them.

“Surely the annoyance of rocks will bring the guard to us eventually, but not before making noise and the possibility that he yells out to us to stop…I have another idea that may work with less, noise required, Ser Derek. As the guard approaches to check on us I will go into a fit and start coughing, I can try to make it as realistic as possible and with how bashed in my cuirass is you will lead him to believe I’m dying due to the pressure and something burst inside. By worrying and demanding that Ser Joseph would hang him if one of his prisoners dies not at his own hand, surely the man will rush to help you relieve my cuirass from my body and in doing so will be less likely to make much noise and come in rather willing to gain favour for saving one of Ser Joseph’s prisoners…”

If Ser Derek had agreed with the young Lord then the plan would have been put into action but if he stood against the idea then Azaroth would give up, after all he was only 80% sure greed would take over the guard in trying to find favour with the Knight, though the fact that he was a bandit made it a rather high probability.

In events that Azaroth was given the go ahead with his plan he slowly bit down on his inner cheek, face scrunching up in pain as he did so but it was needed, it would go a long way in helping once the guard stepped close enough to take notice, and with his eyes barely open the boy waited for the right opportunity to start coughing before both arms moved to his injured side and he let the pain direct his efforts forward. His body curled up as if in suffering and just as he turned on his side while holding it in pain and squirming blood erupted in form of a cough, sputtering over the make shift cells and even out on the dirtied ground beside them, coating the bars in a sufficient amount of blood to convince the guard that something was indeed terribly wrong; The rest was up to Ser Derek.  

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Olena: Ten galleys set sail up the Mander, conveying the Tyrell party north to the Harvest Festival in Kings Landing. Their large silk banners of green and gold tossed and flipped in the wind as the rowers pushed against the South against the south-bound current; although, large and powerful, it was a slow-moving river and easily navigated. Scattered strategically among the boats were members of the family, items of their household, and dozens of guards to defend against possible attack while on the water, or once they arrived at their carriages in Bitterbridge, which would take them the rest of the way up the Roseroad to the capital. The sight of the wooden vessels, covered with gold-coated carvings of roses and mermaids, was truly one without compare. Villagers and lesser nobles from townships they passed would come running out to the riverbanks to wave to their masters and mistresses as they sailed by, and were greeted with the sight of serving girls and boys tossing golden rose petals into the air and minstrels playing at their lutes and lyres. To most, they seemed like characters from a fairy-tale, cloaked in all their majesty and fine clothes. To the well-fed and abundant populace of the Reach this was not some disgusting display of wealth by the upper class to oppress those beneath them, but a reflection of their own accomplishments as a region where such luxury and comfortable living could thrive. The charity of their goodly leaders extended to the borders of their domain, and the presence of guards to defend against bandits lay heavy upon the land. Power and sources of information reached out far and wide from the central seat at Highgarden—one need not be mistaken.

Inside the second vessel lay the youngest member of House Tyrell, relaxing across a chaise-lounge as the gentle breeze wisped through her and her husband’s chambers below deck.  The two were under strict instruction to remain out of sight from the crowds, especially the prince, lest the wrong face in the crowd hold his visage and report to his brother. All those set to serve the couple were to do so on bended knee until they arrived at their destination, where they would resume noble treatment. However, now in this brief period of time they would have to try their best to get the future king adjusted to how others would behave around him for the rest of his days, and the appropriate responses to different situations. Ayrlsse had been assigned to the task, occasionally using Odessa as an interactive stage prop, or others ladies to represent noble lords and ladies. As king his role was far less constrictive than that of a lesser noble being thrust into court, and Odessa silently thanked the gods that one toppled kings and not crown-princes for their positions in government—less is more. Unlike her and her siblings, Dante had been shut away on the miserable little island of Dragonstone, not exposed to the daily encounters of court life which were governed by the rules of the ever-critiquing rules of protocol.

The moment they arrived, they would all step into another role than that which they played in Highgarden. Though arguably high up on the food chain, Alexander and his council of snakes sat at the top. They would be considered the lesser, and under this tyrant they’d no doubt be treated as such, hence why they so seldom frequented the halls of the Red Keep. Their envoys would be the ones sent to maintain their interests there while the Tyrells maintained the economy and markets within the Reach. Odessa herself had never actually been to Kings Landing, but she had been informed that she was not missing out on too splendid of an experience. The Capital was not clean like Highgarden, and was said to reek of defecate and waste. The thought made her head spin, for she could hardly stand to be in the room when a chamber pot had to be wasted. Her anxiety had been growing since the moment they departed and only seemed to worsen with each nautical mile they ventured away from what had always been her home. Not the mention, it seemed the farther away they got, the more changeable the weather seemed to be. The mornings were plagued with rain and queasiness from the rocking of the boat, but the sun tended to come out later in the evening. Luckily, they would be at Bitterbridge soon enough and the remainder of the trip would be on dry-land.

Her nerves had calmed for the moment as she looked on watching her lady-in-waiting attempting to teach Dante a simple yet graceful dance from the Reach, the problem being Dante was neither simple nor quite built for grace. It was all Odessa could do to bite her lip in order to hold back her laughter. Though she was managing to hold her countenance, the red glaze across her cheeks and breast surely betrayed her thoughts. She had opted not to take the part of being his dance partner for this round because walking on-board the barge seemed to do her no favors. She’d be holding onto the railing and vomiting overboard. Of all times to have a cold! She did her best to try and hide her lips behind her white feather fan, which served the dual purpose of keeping her from perspiring, something she seldom did anyway. “My love, do not break my ladies toes, she'll never recover in time to walk the halls of the Red Keep.”

Judge: A single week of his life had been so different to anything he could recall with clarity. In the Reach he’d experienced candid and carefully structured statements when addressing him, the rigid rule of protocol that dictated everything and how a whim of a command effected everyone around him. He’d plotted treason, misplaced a cousin, wed a noble woman he knew nothing about really aside from his own reactions to her presence and taken her maidenhead. Dante had never been so busy in is life. The hardest part of it all was learning not to do things for himself – not to pack his own bags, get his own food, make his own, put on his own clothes… or even care for his own owl. That, however, very quickly reverted back to Dante’s official job when many found Wise not nearly as trusting as his human companion. It took but one time for the bird to try and claw a page boy’s eyes out for everyone to leave him be. In the Reach, Wise had spent more time away from Dante than they had ever been apart. What the bird was doing the king to be couldn’t say, but his childhood friend seemed rather upset with him after his wedding night. Jealous maybe?  Who knew a bird could be jealous. Although it made sense. The only other friend Dante had in the world was a pirate first mate of a notorious crew and Wise often shunned him the moment the pirate came into port and for days after he left. In all fairness, Dante had disappeared for nearly a fortnight during his first meeting with the pirate, nearly giving the bird and his old maester heart attacks. It had to have been one of the only times the maester looked as though he wanted to strike his ward.

It was only at night that Dante ventured onto the main deck. Most of the Tyrells and their companion ships knew of his presence, but during the day with all the people gathered on the shores to celebrate the sighting of the ships there was no way he could roam freely around. The amassed crowds he could see from their small port windows baffled him, even more so to know this would be his receptions anytime he left the Red Keep following his act of treason. The idea made him uncomfortable. As did this dance Odessa had him learning. Dancing, like swordplay, was not one of his strong suits. He was too big and awkward. On Dragonstone, he’d attended many festivals and gatherings where there had been dances and always ended up dancing with the little girls who wanted to stand on his feet. Whenever he attempted to dance with a woman it became something more akin to a Jerry Lewis comedy special than dancing. There were a few dances he could do – there ones where there was at least a foot of space between partners, but those dances often included some part where arms had to go over heads and partners changed places; he’d learned to just lift the women off the floor to accomplish this and was always rewarded with a timid giggle. This he would not get from Odessa’s lady in waiting? Hand maiden? He still couldn’t tell, but she was more irritated with him than anything.  The failed attempts to keep her snickers to herself from Odessa weren’t helping much either. The lady sighed and stepped out of his hands, repositioning his feet and arms to start over.

When Odessa spoke, Dante turned to look at her, only to have his face pulled back to the job at hand, but only took a second for her visage to become everything and the only thing he could see. Her face was flushed, not just from trying not to laugh at him, but she’d been sick since the day they set sail. Being no stranger to tumultuous waves, the unsteady course of water didn’t phase him, but it was taking its toll on Odessa. Of course, in the back of his mind, Dante worried that her sickness may not have been completely due to sway of the ship. The idea kept him up at night, on the deck speaking to Wise like some sort of nut. All the owl seemed to care about was the lack of rats or readily available fish to fill his belly, and fish he ate begrudgingly, leaving Dante alone to his musings on the possible topic of having children. He worried raising royal children would cause issues of their own. A valid worry considering how many time in a single night he’d taken her and how times since then. He hadn’t come with any of that strange oil one of the whores in Pentos had used in order to prevent pregnancy. He’d been unable to hide his identity from her because she was not a fresh young prostitute but a well-traveled woman, in both senses. She had explicitly stated that a bastard of a royal was more trouble than it was worth, insisting that he leave with the oil and use it every time thereafter – and he had, as far as he could remember. Her gift had come with the cautioning that if he cared at all for the lives of people, as he had expressed in their long conversation afterwards, that he would not leave any uncared for children behind only to be slaughtered later in order to preserve the line of royal virtues. It seemed this whore was well versed in the histories, which meant she could read, leaving Dante to wonder why a woman who spoke and acted like a noble was a whore in the first place.

In any case, bastards were the least of his problems, what bothered him the most was the bloodthirsty need to possess that damned uncomfortable chair. What if younger siblings via’d for the throne over their eldest brother? What if years went by and Odessa didn’t conceive? What if she only gave him girls? Not that he’d mind but there was a certain expectation of a queen. If they went years without having a child and one day she was suddenly pregnant, should he be suspicious? What if there were only girls then suddenly a son, should he be suspicious? Should he care? So long as the child was not mad, did it matter? A less than subtle clear of a throat brought Dante out of his thoughts. Immediately his head turned to look at Odessa only to be brought back to the dance again. “Oh. Yes, maybe we should take break?”

Ayrlsse’s eyes flashed relief as she bowed away from him, but he’d already turned and moved to the lounge where Odessa sat. Seating himself beside her feet, Dante moved them gently onto his lap and flicked her little slippers off, his thumbs kneeding into the arches of her feet. He wanted to complain about learning to dance, but a bigger part of him wanted to learn for Odessa, even if he didn’t really see a need for a King to learn to waltz around a huge crowd. Seemed like a good way to get side-stabbed. If he could get away with it, he’d just sit in a chair on a dais and watch, even if he felt he owed her at least one well stepped dance. “You can laugh. I won’t be offended. I suspect if you hold it in any longer, you’ll burst.”

Olena: If one more wave were to send the ship up and then down again she knew she’d not be able to contain the contents of her stomach. She had to be practically forced by her ladies to break her fast that morning. Gods be damned! When would they ever reach dry land?!?! She’d rather be tossed about in a carriage than this hell any day of her life. Oddly enough, such dalliances down the Mander in her family’s pleasure barges had never been this much of a struggle before, but then again they never lasted for more than a few hours. Even then, she had always been surrounded by groups of dazzlingly beautiful ladies or handsome men currying favor with her father’s court, but now she dreaded their swarming her. She felt claustrophobic. It seemed the only relief she found was in resting her gaze upon this handsome stranger that had taken her to bed every night, sometimes day, multiple times a day each day since they had left her home. He seemed to evoke stirrings that she had only once deemed as lust, but took them past that into thralls of passion, all the while granting her an odd sense of peace and comfort.

As he took her dainty feet into his massive hands, rolling out the pressure she had felt from her part in the dancing that had taken place before she felt the need to be seated, she burst into a fit of giggles on-contact snatching back the foot. His digits had ventured too close to the delicate arch that was extremely ticklish, one of the many places. Odessa’s laughter was not hard to earn, granted one knew where to look or what to say. She had nearly fallen off the bed some nights before when the bristle of his incoming facial hair had touched at her collar bone. The two of them seemed to have no concern for those that looked on, bypassing certain rules of protocol that would have them act as figures of stone in the presence of others. They would cause quite the scandal in King’s Landing. A king that massaged his queen’s feet? Unheard of! The women traded looks and giggled as the treasonous couple held such intimate displays.

“No, please! Stop!” She’d flip in the chair, going from being on her back to resting on her hip beside him. “I am terribly ticklish.” The tone of her voice was not so much urgent as it was filled with a certain child-like delight. Her hands rested on his forearm for the moment, her body slightly tense, awaiting another touch that would send her into a frenzy. One hand moved to cup the cheek farthest from her, “You never cease to amuse me my lord husband. Rest with me.” The word rolled off her tongue so naturally, as if it simply fit and suited him. She had no doubts, given his recent…performances…that the man sitting before her had his fair share of experience in ‘life,’ but he would have no doubts that the woman seated before him was now eternally bound to him under the most sacred bonds of matrimony in the eyes of all the gods—old and new. She was not some passing affair whose passions he might purchase for a night, in fact she had paid a handsome price for his. The thought of another laying hands on him the way she found herself doing was one she quickly put to the back of her mind, for a small flame of envy seemed to burn within her; however, her mood would not be soured by the idea now.

Luckily enough for her mother, the Lady of Highgarden, her Lord father had never been so desiring of another woman’s affections that he might plant his seed to create a garden of ‘Flowers’.’ At times when he did quench his thirst for flesh, it was never with another being that could create anything with him, due to certain…similarities. Although, his love for his wife was genuine, all the same. Odessa, like her mother before her, would not take kindly to being step-anything to anyone. Any child that bore the name ‘Waters’ would not fulfill the typical bastard’s dreams of being the next Edric Baratheon, the whoreson of King Robert I who wed a maiden from her own house of Tyrell—Margaery. This was not something that had actually crossed her mid, but such was the way of noble women that knew their place in society, and that of their children. Odessa had always longed to be a mother, to share the bond that existed between a woman and her offspring, and in her heart she had already reserved a place for such. It was a notion she held dear, and felt very strongly about. Now, given who she had married, that child or those children would be born into a class beyond that of her own birth-station—royalty. The protective feeling one might feel for a child of low birth was multiplied by the thousands with this elevation in social standing. There would be millions that loved them, others that hated them, and even a brave few who would think to rise up and harm them; be that as it may, they would be met with a fury that in all seven hells existed no equal. Neither man, woman…or child would pose themselves as an obstacle to the child or children of this match.

Judge: And he did stop. His hands moved to her ankles, pulling her further down on the lounge, returning her to her back as he parted her ankles around his hips. Straddling the lounge now, Dante leaned into his wife, her little hand resting on his arm, the other on his cheek as he watched her mouth work. “Mhm…” Hadn’t heard a word. No, his hand was busy drifting up her now bare thigh, as he leaned over her, perched on one of his arms. When he first arrived in the Reach the idea of constantly being surrounded by a gaggle of women, always with guards at the door, a page at beck and call seemed bothersome, and it wasn’t that he was used to the idea or anything, it just didn’t seem to matter or exist whenever she was close to him. It was only when she left the room that he felt crowded and claustrophobic with all the people standing around. Often, he had no orders for them, and no subject he thought appropriate to broach with them. Many of them still raced him to accomplish tasks he attempted to do for himself. In a way it reminded him that he was no so powerful of a man as the Lady of the House Tyrell. The servants and attendants of the Reach were so indoctrinated and cautious that they would not slip in their duties even when he requested it to be so.

His hand drifted back to her ankle when he leaned in, brushing both his lips and stubbled chin along her collar bone, and bracing for the jolted motion that came with her little giggle. He’d almost taken a knee to the face, the side and the groin discovering new things about his bride but in the complexities of her body he was a quick study – and he liked to study. This particular subject, no matter how damaging it could have been to his person on occasion, he enjoyed far too much to ever close the book. Applying that sort of dedication to learning that dance or the many, many, many rules of etiquette at court was difficult. These lesson were not new to him just unused. It was hard to pull rank on a commoner while milling, plowing, or fishing on their land. The callouses grazing Odessa’s skin weren’t just from learning swordplay, they were trophies from years of manual labor no different than any other person on Dragonstone.

Sitting up again, Dante looked down at Odessa, his blue eyes drifting slowly over her soft features. Unable to lose the idea of offspring from his mind, he imagined their daughters would be nothing short of the beauty their mother was. He hoped their sons would be true figures of the Baratheon name and that his line would lack the madness of his brother.

Thoughts of his brother always made his stomach drop.

Frowning absently, Dante stood up and made his way across the room, rubbing the back of his head in thought. He was counting the days since his arrival in the Reach and his days on the barge which dwindled down just how many days were left for the gods to strike him down before he had to publically embarrass his brother with this take over. Rhaelle had warned him not to leave Alexander alive. It was not unlike the flippant lesson about enemies he’d been given by Kainen so many years ago. Leaving an enemy alive, especially one you’ve slighted was dangerous. Trouble was, Dante couldn’t see an end to that cycle. Everyone in the capital functioned by their own motives, working towards their own goals and they were far more devious than a simple farmer who only wanted to provide enough meat and bread to keep his family fed. These people wanted money and power. Money and power were the causes of some of the cruelest acts Dante had ever seen or heard of. That wasn’t to say he was above maiming or even killing a person if it dictated that many lives would be spared as a result, but killing a king or even a noble was like pulling weeds in a garden.

A hoot made him turn to look at the stairs that led down into their chambers. Wise was half tilted over with a small bird in one of his claws. With a hard flap of his wings he launched into the room and directly at Dante like some sort of kamikaze pilot headed directly for his friend’s face. Dante only smirked as the owl turned from him, intentionally flapping a wing against the man’s face as he detoured to Odessa. The bird, whose neck was freshly snapped fell onto the lounge when the owl landed on the arm. He gave a hoot and another flap of his wings, jutting his neck out to look very closely at Odessa.

“It’s about time you came to your senses.” Dante said, crossing the room slowly.

Unamused, the owl ignored him, his large eyes darting between Odessa and his offer of friendship.

Olena: Thankfully the quick motion was not enough to further cause her stomach to turn, as he lay on top of her directly following the action. Her hands instinctively moved to rest on his shoulders and then worked down his chest as he leaned into her form. She’d inhale deeply as the crown of his royal head was situated just below her nostrils taking in his scent. Lying with her and not bathing was not an option she allotted her husband, but despite the oils that were used to wash away the muck of each day his dark strands of hair always seemed to hang on to a certain scent of musk and salt that was unique to him. She had used these past days, since their marriage, to quietly observe her husband both physically and cognitively, judging his reactions to certain things and facial expressions as well as body language. He was not a man of many words, so it was something she found herself relying on as a means of communication. To have him speak his mind she had to first interpret the signs and ask.

As for the physical aspect of Dante Baratheon, he was a bit of an anomaly. The roughness of his hands were not something one often found on a man of high birth, not even one who engaged in battle practice or actual combat. Her own brothers had rigorous training in the art of knighthood, whether or not they bore the title “Ser,” and had palms like the backs of doves—it was a sign of station. His body was built and strong, but it differed from those that guarded the keep, bearing more similarities to the men that labored on nearby farms. No noble woman alive in the Reach would admit their admiration and secret longing for such men, but a working man seemed to have so much more appeal than a war-brained buffoon. The looks were similar, but they bore differences to anyone who knew to look and make study. Many a house had been scandalled by the younger children of a bored lady looking more like the stable-hand than their ‘lord father.’ In time she would ask him about his stay on Dragonstone, but there were more pertinent matters at hand.

As he pulled away and began to trek across the chamber she quickly felt the deprivation of his body heat. There were very few times she could say that she had actually felt warm in her life, and when she did it felt good. Moving up on the pillows once more to sit up her gaze followed him, his frown and shoulders in their current positions alerting her. “You are troubled by the days to come, husband?” The pensive prince he was. Then, their moment of silence was broken by the appearance of his owl, which he had made mention of, but she had never actually lain eyes upon him. Given Dante didn’t jump as he spear-headed towards him she remained calmly in place; although, he then ventured closer to herself. Until that point she hadn’t noticed the carnage in his mouth, but as the thud landed beside her feet she understood the meaning well enough. “Why thank yo…”It hit her. Her eyes had made the mistake of landing upon the visage of the dead animal and her stomach followed suit.

Her hand rushed to her lips and the young lady of Dragonstone propelled her way across the room to where the empty chamber pot sat. It was not that she had seen any blood, but the thought enough was enough to send her reeling. She held onto the wooden side of the wooden platform with one hand, and the other stuck out as a warning not to come any closer. It didn’t help that in that particular moment it had once again started to rain, and the boat deemed this the proper moment to rock with the disturbance on the water. She rested a hand on the lower part of her belly, and the other grabbed a linen cloth nearby and wiped away anything that would be on her mouth before she rose from her knees. “Thank you, who I assume is Wise, but refrain from bringing objects that are or once were animate in the future.” Her tone was soft but faintly warm all the same.

Judge: He wasn’t so much troubled as he was overthinking and he didn’t know how to explain to Odessa that every time he thought of his brother and what had to be done, he simply wanted to go back to Dragonstone and bury his head in the sand. It would have been a coward’s response and he certainly didn’t want her to think she’d married a coward. Being King, ruling Westeros, dealing with nobles and politics, none of that really bothered him to the extent of the idea of having to kill his own brother. Each time he tried to steel himself against his own stupid sentiments by calling up all the horrible things that Alexander had done to him in his brief time at the Red Keep, the recollections only battered at his heart instead of turning it to stone. Maybe it was the Baratheon in him but his brother would always be his brother.

Dante watched as Odessa and Wise exchanged looks but Odessa could barely expel two words before she bolted for the chamber pot. He moved immediately behind her, halting when her hand went up, then opting to turn and fill two goblets. When she rose he handed her a goblet of water to rinse her mouth and followed it with a goblet of wine to further stave the taste of undigested food. His fingers trickled across her features, gently pulling back the lose strands of her hair and attempting to put them back in place. The other hand went absently to her stomach while she spoke with his owl. The creature tilted his head at Odessa, looked at his bird offering then lifted it off the floor and deposited it in the chamber pot as well before landing on Dante’s shoulder so he could scrutinize the placement of the Lord’s hand on the Lady’s stomach.

“You idiot.” Dante said to the bird causing Wise to huff and return to the lounge. He looked back to Odessa then gauging how steady she was on her feet. “I think you should go above and get some fresh air, my Little Flower. It may do you some good.”

Olena: The liquid came at just the right time, swishing and returning it to the goblet before depositing it in the pot, without looking, of course. She cringed and shut her eyes, but the sip of sweet arbor wine returned her to her senses. “If we don’t reach land soon I’ll just bloody walk the rest of the way. They can put me off on the shore. Maybe I’ll arrive in Kings Landing once everything is all sorted.” Of course she said such in jest. It would be cruel to leave the task to her family and spouse alone, but a dry surface would come as great relief in that moment. Bitterbridge would be anything but a bittersweet sight. She thought a silent prayer begging for The Mother’s Mercy.

She felt an odd stirring in her gut, unlike that of the nausea that had preceded that moment, especially when Dante’s hand lay across her own. In that moment something occurred to her that hadn’t before, her eyes grew wide and she looked up to meet his icy-gaze. “I think I may do just that, pardon me.” The words were hardly audible, but she began to walk for the stairwell leading up towards the main deck of their ship in a silence brought about by her shock. She ascended the steps and the guards saluted her station before she bypassed and walked towards the water’s edge. This level was covered by a green and golden tarp to keep the weather from its occupants’ heads, especially the sun from the fair ladies. However, it was actively blocking the rain from drenching her as she moved over by the edge, gripping the railing.

A servant took the notion to inform the lady Arylsse of her mistress’s whereabouts, and thus she accompanied Odessa, the soft patter of her heels alerting the lady to her presence. One hand on her belly still, Odessa extended the other for her lady and closest confidant to take. The two exchanged knowing looks, and nodded an unspoken confirmation. “So soon though?” The lady-in-waiting placed a hand over the other’s womb, “Some sooner than others, My Lady. It only takes a few days for some, others never have symptoms at all.” “Discuss this with no one. It would displease me greatly if word of this reached past us.” She turned and looked across the waters, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “On my life, my lady.”

Their silence was broken by that of one of her two primary guards stepping forward, followed by that of another man, slightly familiar, but in uniform they all looked alike so it was hard to tell. “Begging your pardon, my lady. I was instructed to introduce Ser Derek once your ladyship had a free moment. He’s to replace Ser Harland, per your lord father’s orders.” Odessa raised an eyebrow, inwardly chuckling and wincing all at once, for she knew ‘lord father’ translated to ‘lady mother.’ He must have done something rather scandalous for a man in his early twenties to be replaced as a guard, and only one thing could come to mind. Thankfully that situation was past them now, but this new man was to serve as her mother's reminder to her. She would nod her head in greeting in the direction of the other man, scanning him over quickly. “Ser Derek.”

LordChampion: Derek paused for a moment. Of the guards escorting him, only one stopped to see if he was well. "You haven't gotten your sea legs as of yet, have you?" Ser Derek responded with a quick shake of his head. He was not scared, for the man feared nothing. Yet, here he was, unable to move his own body on-board a ship. Granted, he'd never been on one, and had trained and become learned in naval warfare, still he had not actually been on the water. Gods know how he had managed to avoid such training. The guards laughed and continued forward. Thus, gathering his steel, Ser Derek followed, gripping the railing tightly as he did. In what felt like hours, he was on board, settled in one of the cabins, and the ship pushed off. For a week they remained on the galley, helpless against the strength of the waves. Yet, across all this time, he had yet to meet the woman he'd be protecting, though she was merely a girl compared to him. He had gotten himself acquainted with the ship...after all, just because he had not met the woman personally, did not mean he was free of his duties. He learned every crack, every possible weakness and strength, all the lines of defense that could have been drawn. He took specific notice of any well defensible positions where the Lady herself could be kept in the event of an attack. He had also managed to keep himself busy, surprising as that may seem. He had read, as the ship did carry within it a modest count of books, and when he could sit no longer, he would work out or practice with the blade. Recently, he had even taken up the spear, having read a book containing records of training regiments and such in the art of the spear, and javelin.

It was perhaps the rainiest of all the days they had spent upon the ship and Ser Derek seemed unphased by it or even the movement of the ship anymore. He had adjusted, which meant he would need to be readjusted to the dry land that was to come. This day, he had been reading quietly, once again for about the sixth time, his book on spear mastery when not half an hour later, a few of his new charge's servant women entered his chambers. They surveyed him, eyeing him up and down. One of them, tall yet slim, with curves in all the right places and hair dark as a Raven's feather down to her lower back, seemed to be the leader of the bunch. "Ser Derek?" He nodded, and the girls got to work. It would seem he was to look presentable before meeting the Lady Odessa, who would hopefully, be Queen within only a few weeks, or Months even perhaps. He stood, allowing the women to undo his chest piece and remove it, as well as aid him with the rest of the armor he wore. "Though it is well kept and finely polished, your plate is dinged and colored and scratched from past battles. We simply cannot have this." The two guards that had escorted him onto the ship then brought in a chest, dropping it to the deck with a heavy thud. The women waved the men away, and they obeyed. Well, woman, as the others could scarcely believe their eyes as they removed his chain mail and tunic."Not a single scar. So the legends are true, the great Ser Derek, the Unscathed, has never been harmed in battle." Spoke one of the girls. "Hardly true, I have had many a bone broken," The girls chuckled soflty as they got to work scrubbing his body.

They seemed not to care for his nakedness, focusing solely on their duty, which was to prepare him for his meeting with the Lady Odessa. "Only the best shall be allowed to guard our Lady, and that means you must look the part." the lead chambermaid would answer him each time he mentioned it was all unnecessary. They groomed him, clipping his hair shorter. He grunted at this, knowing full well he rather liked his hair slightly longer. Once redressed, he was handed a new set of chain-mail, and equipped it. It was lighter than his old set, likely due to the newer steel and forging techniques developed over the years. "And now, the Armor." It was splendid. The woman, who seemed the leader of the bunch, brought him his chest piece, and allowed him to survey it. "Though same design as your older armor, it is fresh out of the forge." She began to aid him in equipping it. After the new set of armor was fully dawned, he was handed a new sword as well. "Your old one, once again well kept, was scarred, unlike you, by it's previous clashes. Accept this new blade, that it may serve as well as the last." Derek took the blade, and strapped it to his left hip, which would allow easy access to it's hilt by the right hand. "And my old sword?" The dark haired woman rose a brow inquisitively. "to be melted down, reforged...i'd assume. Perhaps even sold." Ser Derek shook his head. "I'd keep it." the woman nodded, and the other girls brought him his old sword, which was strapped to his right hip. Dual Wielding was uncommon in Westeros, to put it lightly. However, Derek had dabbled in the study of the form, and though was no expert, could handle himself. The sword would serve more of a reminder than a weapon in most cases.

Just as they finished, the door opened to the room and one of the lady's handmaidens entered. This one shorter, brown hair, green eyes. Just as Curvaceous as the first, Derek had hardly ever seen women as....appealing as this in his life. "She is available, now would be the time." the other girls nodded. "He is ready." Said the taller one, eyeing him up and down. two guards then entered. "We are to escort him." The handmaiden nodded, and waved Derek onward. "Go now." Derek nodded, and followed the two guards to the Main Deck, where Derek could see Lady Odessa standing by the railing, speaking to another woman. Hand on her belly, Derek could only speculate...though he chose not to..as it was not his duty. They were received by the Lady, and once spoken to, Derek knelt, his head low. "M'Lady."

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LordChampion: Derek couldn't believe how large a hole he had left open in his plan, and how quickly Azaroth caught onto it. However, he couldn't let the boy see his surprise, and then remained quiet for some time, feigning thought. His eyes scoured the camp, laughter and moaning having died down, it was rather quiet...so just about any noise would have drawn attention back to them. After a few quiet moments, Derek nodded to Azaroth. "Very well. We shall go with your own plan." He watched then, as Azaroth prepared, and waited, suddenly gushing blood forth from his mouth as the guard came near. Derek rushed to his side, and began surveying him. After a few moments, the guard approached them, peering into the cage as Derek began trying to remove the cuirass. "Guard! The boy is sick and needs attention! Please, help me to remove his cuirass!" The guard scoffed and began to turn away. "You would let him die? And what would Ser Joseph think? Hm? I've known men like him, I've known him for years as a matter of fact....and he will NOT take kindly to the death of the instrument to his revenge." The guard stopped then...perhaps he wasn't as stupid as most believed bandits were. The guard grunted and reproached the cage. The guard entered and began to help remove the boy's cuirass, only to be taken into a headlock with Derek's hand covering his mouth to prevent much noise from escaping his lips. The man began to panic, attempting to dig gloved nails into Derek's bare arms. A few moments later, the man stopped moving, and Derek could feel no breath escaping his nostrils. However, he tightened his grasp and held for a few moments more, to be sure the man was dead. He pointed to the man's sword, and instructed that Azaroth take it. Derek was sure his own armour and weapons would be with Joseph in his tent, and thus he began his first steps headed in that direction. He lifted a finger to his lips, signalling to Azaroth to keep quiet. the camp was set in a ring formation, tents surrounding Joseph's own tent as a ring of guards would a person of importance. Thus, Derek had to be careful, since for about twenty feet, the pair of them would be wholly exposed. He watched his steps carefully, making sure not to step on any twigs, or dead leaves, or anything that might make a sound. Or at least an audible one. He came to a tent, and skirted it's back as he made his way towards the inner ring, Azaroth in tow. As they were about to step into the open, a man came out of the tent they were skirting, and Derek had to tackle the man down as he almost caught sight of them. The man struggled, but Derek managed to pull the man's dagger from his belt, and slit his throat, dragging the lifeless body into the darkness of the tent. Assuming Azaroth followed, he would rest there a moment, to catch his breath. Afterwards, he checked outside the tent flap, saw that the area was clear, and hastily made his way into Joseph's tent. Should Azaroth have followed him, the boy would have walked into a rather gruesome scene. Ser Joseph was already killed, his head displayed on a pike in the middle of the camp and a body nowhere to be found. Derek immediately threw a cover over it, and looked to Azaroth, hoping the boy would be fine. He then began searching, for any proof of Ser Joseph's involvement...or who may have backed him and yet...nothing. All the letters had been lit aflame and left in a pile of ash on the floor. His own armor was set aside in a corner of the tent. He signalled to Azaroth to keep watch, and quickly began suiting up.

Brute: As Azaroth lay there both fighting through the pain and acting out on it at the same time Ser Derek had managed to pull his chest piece off with the help of the guard before he wrapped his arm around the man’s neck and pulled on him till the light left his eyes. Azaroth was somewhat stunned in the moment, this was completely different from being on a battlefield were each man held a sword or weapon to fight with and it just came down to who the better man was on that day, yet here was watching the life drain from the eyes of a man who even though he had put up a decent fight, really had no chance to escape from the hold the dark haired Knight had him in.

When all was said and done with the guard Azaroth took hold of the bandits sword in right hand, the pain going through his side was much less now due to lack of the steel cuirass being pressed in against his wound so he was able to move and keep up with Ser Derek, even as he hushed the boy and started moving the young squire would have given a simple nod and followed in his footsteps rather literally at this point. It seemed like they were destined to be caught once more when another bandit stepped out of his tent but was taken down quickly by Derek, before Azaroth could even respond with his sword in trying to help out the knight in the fight, Ser Derek had the man’s throat slit by his own blade and was dragging him inside.

Even though they had only been out of the cage less than a few minutes it really did seem like hours had gone by, maybe it was the situation they were in and the serious nature of it, but now that they had a chance to take a breath inside the tent Azaroth took it, his free left hand coming down on his right hand side ribs and pulls the undershirt away from his person slowly, it was latched there by help of tried in blood and bruises, yet he stilled managed to peel the sticky fabric away from his injured body. After the minute or so had gone by they were on the move again but what Azaroth had seen previously wasn’t enough to prepare him for the sight he was about to set his eyes on. The scene laid before him was one of a severed head of the Knight that had betrayed them, sought to torture and kill them yet now there was nothing to the man, only a head upon a stick and blood dripping from it.

While Derek looked around the ten for his equipment and hopefully a sword to be used, Azaroth held up against the entrance of it, half coated in against the fabric and darkness of the inside of the tent while his eyes peered the outside, watching for any signs of movements from the bandits. The man who killed Joseph had to be there somewhere, after all he wouldn’t have left the bandits to finish off the job, no they were far too reckless for that surely? Surely whoever had gone to all this trouble to get them both captured was going to show his face and finish off the job himself; something that the previously gullible Joseph had thought was his job, how wrong the man was. Finally Ser Derek had found his gear, though it didn’t look like anything else was to be found in the tent, no notices or signs of who was in responsible for this ordeal so there was really nothing else they could do but escape with their life; that was at least something.

Just as the dark haired Knight finished suiting up an arrow would have soared by his face and into through the fabric of the large set up tent. One by one more arrows assaulted the place and it was rather clear that they knew the prisoners were once again free. Azaroth turned and placed his back against one of the wooden beams, but being the size he was it hadn’t completely covered his back, yet luckily no arrow has pierced through his loose under shirting so far and if all went well it would stay that way.

“Ser Derek, it looks like they have us surrounded by archers, arrows are only flying from the exit but I don’t know if we should rely on them being dumb enough to leave the other sides unguarded. It seems like our only option is to survive the volley of arrows and take them down as they come into the tent; either that or we take the gamble to cut our way out the back and risk running into more arrows.”

LordChampion: Ser Derek ducked the moment he heard the fabric of the large tent tear. The arrow plunged into the ground, and immediately, he rolled to cover under the desk, just in front of the spear which held Ser Joseph's bloody head. Arrows, and after Azaroth spoke, he understood they were coming from the exit. Derek was a fool to believe they would let the two escape upon learning of their attempt and the death of more of their men. As screaming began to roar forth into the dark night sky from the camp, Derek realized exactly what was going on. Ser Joseph was dead, head upon a spear in his own tent. Now, arrows pierced the sky aimed at the camp as a whole. Whoever wanted them dead, wanted them dead for sure and would risk the lives of all the men in this camp to achieve that goal. He spoke. "Aye, Little Master. Yet, listen. Do you hear the screams? We must hold, and wait. Once the screams stop, they will have fewer arrows in the sky as they approach the camp to scan for life. We will wait until it is quiet, and we will then make our move." Ser Derek said. "In the meantime, come. You must find cover for your head." He signalled toward the desk. "This will also be our way out, once we are ready to make our way out. Now find patience, and we shall be free again soon." with that, he went silent. He closed his eyes, and entered a sort of trance, listening to the screams of death and pain as arrows continuously lit the night sky. After about an hour of death, the screams had stopped, and arrows stopped pounding the ground. Ser Derek could hear footsteps outside the tent and immediately opened his eyes. He slowly, quietly positioned himself to carry the large, thick, but surprisingly lightweight desk as cover for their retreat. He whispered now, to Azaroth. "As soon as they open the flap, we charge. Your blade shall be my only protection as I carry this. We move fast, we move as one." Assuming Azaroth agreed, Derek nodded to the boy. "You shall survive this night. Allow your fear, your rage. Let it fuel your passion for battle." With that, Derek's eyes moved to, and remained glued on the tent flap. It was merely seconds, and yet the wait felt like it was hours. Just then, the Tent flap opened, and Derek caught the image of a well armoured man's hand causing this. Immediately, he burst forward, placing all the strength he had in his back and legs. "GO!" He hollered and assuming Azaroth obeyed, they were off. Derek rammed into the man, sending him flying toward the ground, and yet Derek was not halted in his momentum. Screaming came forth from the men who witnessed this, and Arrows began pelting the desk top once more, though admittedly much fewer than before. This would mean the bulk of their force was in the camp, and would mean good news for Derek and Azaroth. He stopped for nothing, of course helping Azaroth up should he fall, not to say, that is, he did. Once at the neck of the woods, Derek tossed the Desk aside, and drew his Castle forged steel sword from its sheathe. He wanted desperately to catch his break, to take a break, but could not afford the time. He knew Azaroth was hurt however, and that none of this could have been easy on him. "Should you need to stop, simply ask and we shall. I will guard you as best I can while you catch breath." He said as he kept an open eye on their surroundings.

Brute: Azaroth snapped back out of the small daze he was in while attempting to hide his overly large frame behind the wooden beams of the group tent. After Derek had motioned him towards the other side of the desk Azaroth made quick work of staying low and dashing for the cover, there was no looking back and checking for arrows coming his way because chances were even if he had seen one he wouldn’t be able to avoid it, not with his ribs broken and the right hand side of his chest caved in as it were.

The moment he landed in the skid at the desk and hid his frame from the volley of arrows was the same moment Ser Derek started speaking and gave off all the answers that Azaroth was previously worried about, it seemed like the Knight had a decent plan of escape in mind and he was sure it could work. They’d simply batter through the forces using the desk as a shield, he himself would serve to cut down any man who tried to breach them from the sides and during so they’d pray to the seven gods and every other magical being in existence or not that they made it out alive. For Azaroth there was only two worries that were brought about in the moments before they rushed off behind the desk, one being that he no longer had any armor for his torso or head, and even though it seemed like there were a few pieces laying around the tent, none looked big enough to wrap the young Lord in, especially the helmets. The second of the two worries was the constant throbbing and pain that was coming from his side, more so the fire it seemed to bring with it, or maybe that was just an imagining of his mind after all the boy was injured not on fire.

Signal given and with it both Knight and squire dashed for the flaps of the tent, luckily the desk was wide enough that both their frames were hidden well behind it, gods help us. For the first few seconds after breaching away from the tent it seemed like everything was going rather smoothly or as smoothly as could be expected in this situation, he could hear each and every arrow that hit the desk and near the clearing of the woods as they made a dash for the sides more and more arrows started breaking through the shield but luckily by this time the desk was tossed aside and they had made it slightly beyond the tree line.

The young Stag Lord turned to face the tree line to make sure the people following weren’t that far behind but even with that he never stopped walking slowly backwards, one hand holding firm the sword they had taken from the bandit and the other pressing firmly against a wound and arrow that had caught him on his right upper arm, just below his shoulder. “There is no need to delay; I fear they are already catching up with us, Ser Derek. We must make haste further into the forest.” Azaroth made no attempt at bringing up the wound on his shoulder; it would do no good at the moment anyway considering pulling the arrow free would cause more damage and pushing it through the rest of his upper arm would cause yet another wound on his person.

Just like the wound before it his arm had started to burn up, it wasn’t like anything he had really felt before and even as they made their way through the dark cold woods his body started showing the same traits of his wounds. Fever had taken over the Baratheon but not so much that he had stopped from trailing Derek, if it had been up the Knight they would probably have set up some camp somewhere, he would have defended the sick Lordling till he died doing so and what would come of that, two dead and no one to pass on what had happened. No, Azaroth had refused to stop, refused to give into the dreaded heat that was taking over his body but most of all in those moments where he felt like he was at the end of his stamina he riled himself up again by refusing to be the cause of Ser Derek’s death.

“How far away from a safe keep do you think we are, Ser?” As he spoke the boy’s breath was already becoming shallow, his words little more than a whisper as he fought the pain in his ribs each time he tried to take a breath. “If we do not happen upon a place soon, Ser Derek then by the gods you must swear that you will continue on without me and make sure it is known what happened to the men and see that justice finds way to the person who puppeteered Joseph.”

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Judge: Odessa looked up at him with something akin to fear and realization on her face before fleeing in a daze towards the stairs. Initially, Dante had returned her look with a slight furrow of his brows. Maybe it was her muttered words, or maybe it was the faint and brief turn of her stomach under his hand a moment before he left, but suddenly he too found himself in a stupor. With a single slow blink, Dante wandered back to the lounge and sat down. Wise was staring intensely at the side of his neck, head tilted. Resting his elbows on his knees, Dante put his face in his hands and remained that way for what felt like ages, until a gentle voice caused him to lift his head. One of the handmaidens asked if he were alright or needed anything and Dante just nodded. The girl took a step back. Where she went, he didn’t really care.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dante stood and began to pace the room. There was a high chance that he’d misread the look on Odessa’s face for her sickness had stirred the idea in his head before that look so he could have been jumping to conclusions. Either way, his hands were shaking slightly and his heart rate had picked up. Both excitement and anger rolled through him. The idea of Odessa waddling around flush faced with great big belly was exciting and slightly hilarious but being on this ship, having to stay hidden, was pissing him off. He couldn’t follow her to the upper deck and hold her hand, or her hair or anything else and as far as he was concerned, pregnant or not, she was sick and needed him. The idea of someone else having to lift her off those two adorably tiny feet of hers and bring her downstairs pissed him off more. It surprised him.

Dante was not really a person prone to extreme emotion, and to his recollection he’d never really been pissed off. He took life one day at a time and viewed the world with calm disposition that allowed him to assess most angles of a situation before acting. He’d been the brunt of jokes, he’d had his castle sacked by Alexander’s men, he’d almost died a number of times and yet he had never truly been angry about any of it. Upset, yes. Depressed, at times, but never for very long. He believed lingering emotions weren’t very helpful and the old maester had always told him, he was simply young. He’d had nothing in his life to stir those types of emotions yet. Clearly the maester knew what he was speaking of, which led Dante to wonder he managed to remain a maester if loving a woman could make you someone complete different. Maybe he had a bastard somewhere.

That was not a pleasant thought. Having to give up your child for posterity sake? Dante didn’t want to imagine a world where he knew he had children but could never actually know of them. When he’d heard his cousin Rhaelle was keeping her son, a bastard boy, whose father was rumored to be a Tyrell Knight, he had to admire her for it. Most women of her station would never let such a rumor spread and they surely would never have let the child become a bump in their belly much less give birth to him, introduce him without his bastard name and from what he heard, she took the child everywhere. Most noble girls were like Odessa. Odessa had only kissed his cousin and she’d nearly died when he’d outted them for it.

Dante paced the room. His thoughts rolled on and on, from children to bastards to family to treason and finally to transport. He wanted to get Odessa off the ship. Watching her be sick was mildly hellish before but now… even if he was just being melodramatic, he wanted her on land where she’d feel, hopefully, much better.

Olena: The two women could hardly stifle their laughing at the notion of the man that knelt before them being elevated to the position of guard to a member of a house so grand as that of House Tyrell. When they managed  regain their composure once more the lesser of the two took it upon herself to correct his improper address of their mistress, “Regardless of your birth, Ser, you will not make a mockery of this house by addressing your charge as though you were a common pauper begging for scraps. It is ‘My Lady henceforth. You are not a foot soldier, you are a guard to House Tyrell. You will need to be accustomed to the manner of speech used by the elite.” Ser Brendon flushed with embarrassment, knowing this correction affected not only the other man, but reflected upon his own ability to instruct another knight on how to properly behave in the presence of the nobility—let alone royalty. Odessa’s golden hues flashed between the two, studying their appearances and attire, taking note of the two swords fashioned at the one’s waist.

“Tell me, Ser Brendon, has a second sword been added to the standard dress-code for those in service of my family?” The man’s eyes would scan directly to the other’s hips seeing where he had been returned custody of his previous weapon and mistakenly thought that the keepsake could be worn while he was actively on duty. “No, my lady” he kept his reply simple and to the point as she had specifically pinpointed a grey area she desired to have clarified, nothing more. The military personnel of The Reach were expected to do what was asked of them, and trust that their betters had already accounted for other possibilities. “No? Then why do you think it appropriate to present yourself as so to me, Ser Derek? Who allowed you to do such without correction? Are guards not dressed and made ready before they are presented to their liege? This is insulting. Do you think yourself different from all the rest somehow? You are one of many, and your functional role is to do as all the rest do, and serve accordingly. We all have our parts to play. See to it that you do yours, and mind you do it well or you shall meet with my extreme displeasure.” Her tone was very matter-of-fact, not quite as iced as those of her mother before her, but filled with the weight of all her own concerns and burdens bearing down on her shoulders.

What a man did in his own spare time was his own worry, but from the instant he stepped into his uniform until the instant he took it off he would present himself in a way that brought honor to those said uniform represented fealty to. Individuality was reserved for those who could afford it, or those with no means to know any better.  All knights and soldiers under the banner of the Tyrell could expect to be humbled before the thorns of their roses. It was all to be nothing short of a slap to the face, as was given in the ceremony that bestowed the honor of knighthood upon them, followed by the second so that they not forget the first. Even those in high places bowed down to something or someone else at some point, be it the gods, the masses, or the sword—none were without a controlling force.

“Ser Brendon, see to it that he is made ready,” she would begin pacing her way back to the cabin below, guards all around the deck placing their watchful eye upon the future queen and the man who had just been on the receiving end of his first moment of initiation. If he wished to reply he would do so to her back, and if he were foolish enough to retaliate he’d be reminded why even the mad king himself dared not cross the Tyrell too hastily. “You are to present him to…our guest…at once.” Above deck, mention of royalty on board this barge would result in immediate and permanent termination. It was only below deck in their joint chambers that the rebel-prince Dante’s existence was to be acknowledged in the manner befitting his claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Odessa and the lady Arylsse would descend into the rooms below, their silken slippers patting at the steps.

LordChampion: Derek was not at all prepared for the scrutiny under which he was objected. He had not thought his wearing the second sword to be much of an issue. After all, he only wore it as to keep it safe and to refrain from getting it lost or stolen.Castle - forged blades were not at all easy to come by. When reminded of how he should have regarded the soon to be queen, hopefully, he cursed himself inwardly. He had been a knight for many years, and has had yet to properly learn how to address his superiors. He had shamed himself in his first impression. As the Lady Odessa turned, having given him a rather royal whipping with her words, he stood once she had turned, dismissing herself from the interaction. He was slapped at the back of his head by a gloved palm. He turned, looking rather angrily at Ser Brenan, though the man seemed not to care as he moved toward the open pathway that led deeper into the ship, following the Lady Odessa.

Ser Derek had followed the man, who followed the Lady Odessa, down, deeper into the ship where this guest was kept. He couldn't help but replay his interaction with Lady Odessa, soon to be Queen Odessa, over and over in his mind. There was so much he could have done better, so much he wish to have changed. Normally, Ser Derek was a very confident human being. He was terribly talented, as was proven by his track record. He was intelligent, versed in strategy and history due to years of reading. To be honest, he also thought himself rather attractive and yet none of this mattered to the Lady Odessa. The woman who he was to be guarding for years to come. He could not wrap his mind around the fact that she did not put his record into perspective, or that, in the case she hadn't been informed of it, that she hadn't been informed of it! He had achieved so much and the Tyrell apparently had absolutely no interest in him. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps they were more concerned with things more important than a lowly guard, and yet Derek still felt under appreciated by the very people he would give his life for...the people he swore to serve...though perhaps all this was simply expected of him. It damn near drove him to madness, this doubt within his heart. He had been having these thoughts for years, since his kidnapping and escape with Azaroth. No reward, no honorable mention. Yes, he supposed he did not need those things to know what he did was impressive, but to have his lieges simply ignore his feats....the group of men and women made it to the room below decks where Odessa had been headed as they were to introduce him to this guest.

Judge: To the relief of the people in the chamber with Dante, he had finally stopped pacing and sat down on the lounge, but now his leg was shaking as he chewed on his thumb and stared off into the distance. He couldn’t recall how long Odessa had gone upstairs and was pretty damned sure that his panicked heart was exaggerating how long she’d really been gone. He toggled between aggravation and worry, thinking of all the things that could be happening on deck. His ears were pinned toward the stairs because if Odessa made even the meep of a mouse all this bullshit about keeping his identity a secret would have been straight to the gods. Periodically his eyes would cast to the door before returning to the empty void in front of him.

There would be no stopping his mind from wandering back to the idea of Odessa being more than just sick. Sick he could handle. He’d handled her sickness since they boarded. It had been much easier believing she was merely sick. As if the situation wasn’t complicated enough without his stupid strong swimmers finding a golden egg… oh gods… or two. Dante paled at his own thoughts. His head felt light enough that he had to grip the side of the lounge to steady himself. To clear his head, Dante stood again. Had he been paying even an ounce of attention to those about the room, he’d have seen the look of worry and mild fear on their faces. His pacing, they would swear, was rocking the boat. As he paced, Dante forced himself to take a deep breath and push his increasingly panicked ideas aside.

Just as he was about to sit down again, Wise gave a noted hoot as the stairs creaked. Dante paused, watching the stairs. Anyone could have come down those stairs but only one person mattered. The hem of her dress and the subtle flash of her slippers on the stairs appeared on the stairs and that incredible control he had kicked in to keep from rushing up the stairs. He allowed her to make it all the way to the base of the stairs before his massive bombarded her petite form. Cupping her face in his hand, the other looping around her waist drawing her closer, Dante effectively halted the procession behind her on the stairs as he looked her over. Finding that the color had returned to her cheeks and there was a soft glint in her eye that often lingered after her laughter, Dante kissed her forehead before releasing her and stepping back.

All the mad ideas he had rolled through seem bleed out of him in the single breath after Odessa’s arrival. As much as he wanted to believe that his panic had been in vain, the faint feeling of something rolling against his hand as it lay over her belly was still tickling his palm. At the moment though, he would be able to move past that and get his wife a drink. Pouring her a fresh serving of wine, Dante brought it to her, brushing his rough hand against her soft cheek once more,”The air above this stuffy little room did you well, my Little Flower. You’re no longer wilted.”

Olena: The warm greeting of her doting husband make Odessa’s heart leap with a certain joy she had not experienced before having met him. Crowds numbering in the thousands had cheered her arrival at numerous occasions, but none compared to that of Dante’s hands cupping around her chin and waist then pulling her against him. She closed her eyes and took in his comforting scent as he loomed over, his lips brushing her forehead, and sighed happily. Then, he parted and fetched her beverage, despite the present servants—quite the scandal.  As he parted from her the usual longing for his touch to return was accompanied by a certain stirring from within her womb, and her hand reflexively touched at the spot, “Me too,” she mouthed inaudibly.

When he returned with the goblet of Arbor golden vintage, her favourtie, she sipped the beverage and took his hand to lead him back to the lounge where they might recline. " I do feel much recovered, my love." She sat on her usual end against the cushioned pillows, pulling him to the space beside her and intertwining her arm with his. For a moment she had almost forgotten that Sers Brendon and Derek had followed them into the room. Despite the individual qualities that all servants possessed as human beings, they often tended to blend in with the furniture when you were constantly surrounded by them, not that they lacked certain value, just visibility. She cleared her throat as the two men would approach, having been ushered the rest of the way in by the Lady Arylsse. “My lord husband, I should like to introduce you to the latest addition to my personal guard,” Ser Brendon would drop down to his knee, placing a hand over his heart and lowering his head so that his eyes dared not look into those of the Royals, “Of course you know Ser Brendon, this is Ser….” It had slipped her mind for the moment.

After pausing for a moment’s time it returned to her, “Derek. Ser Derek, that’s it. From what I hear he’s quite the accomplished knight in the Reach, now that I dwell upon the name for a moment longer. Bearing some previous association with your cousin, if I am thinking about the same one, please correct me if I am wrong. Although, in all this time spent at Highgarden it seems he has not yet learned to properly address nobility for one of his station. Lets us see how he fares with royalty. You may rise, Ser Brendon.” The guard nodded his head, clapping his hand over his heart and standing to attention, “Your highness.” Her golden hues danced over the other man, her tone teasing but daring all at once. “I hope you briefed him well enough on the…pending situation.” While in private on-board the galley they would be served on bended knee, as royals and not nobility. In the presence of others and once they reached King’s Landing she would revert to that of noble status, as she received on deck, until Dante openly declared his rivalry with the king.

LordChampion: At the sudden giant figure bursting through the doors, Ser Derek was halted in his tracks. His hand shot immediately to his blade, though he was halted at the moment he realized that the large figure was not set to harm the future Queen. He calmed his tense form, and removed his hand from his blade hilt. He watched as his charge's husband checked her over, probably out of worry, and then followed further into the room upon being ushered to do so by the Lady Arylsse. He did know, however, how to address royalty, despite his previously failed attempt of presenting himself to Lady Odessa. He was not uneducated after all, simply out of practice. He knelt, placing a hand over his heart, same as Ser Brendon, lowering his head as well. He bit his tongue as Lady Odessa came at a loss to his name. If not her previous words were enough of an insult, why would she further spit upon him, figuratively of course, at this moment?

After the moment's pause, and the continuation of his lady's introduction, his heart rejoiced. She was in fact knowledgeable of his name. He had served her family for years, and finally he comes to see the fruits of his labor. Her mention of Azaroth and his own relationship with the young knight may not feed to his advantage as well as one would hope with the Prince, due to the fact that the two were not of immediate blood ties, and through Azaroth knew well that the two were not terribly close as well. As Ser Brendon was told to stand, Derek did not move, even as Lady Odessa asked whether or not he had been briefed on the situation. Ser Derek was a knight, but he was also intelligent enough to deduce a situation based on information. He had been told by her mother of the secrecy of this plan, and that in the possible sight of others who could not be so trusted by her mother, Odessa would be treated as though she were just a Lady of the house of Tyrell. However, Derek would deduce that in private, terms and treatments befitting royalty were best used, as to prepare one for her eventual rise to power. Thus, whether Brendon had or hadn't briefed him was irrelevant. He stayed kneeling, his head low, waiting his order to stand.


Judge: Dante followed Odessa back to the lounge and allowed her to get comfortable reclining before he sat straddling the seat and pulling her feet between his legs again. His hands skipped over her overly sensitive feet instead his fingers tips danced around her ankles and near her calves. He was glad and now relaxed by the fact that she was feeling better and even looked it.

It wasn’t until she spoke that his head turned to the room and new faces therein took his attention.  “Of course you know Ser Brendon,…” Yeah, sure… His face looked somewhat familiar. Just another one of the many people that trailed behind himself and Odessa. They were all starting to run together. In fact they spent more time with Odessa then he had since beginning this voyage. Odessa was free to roam the ship without restriction while Dante had to stay in the room and learn how to be a royal someone, so he hadn’t seen much of her entourage as of late. The room was small enough without her full staff present at all times. He did however remember that when they boarded the ship, her men and many of the other guards were still in full armor. It was a trip up the river but it still had made him uneasy. A trip up the river with a treasonous second son in their mist was still a dangerous situation. Keeping his thoughts to himself, Dante had assumed they would change once the ceremony of boarding had been over. However, a few of the guards he’d seen while on the deck at night were still wearing that armor.

Himself, Dante rarely wore armor. On Dragonstone, not only had he been too poor for anything more than training guards but he’d never seen any man board a ship in full armor. They were basically walking anchors waiting to drown. Trying to defend anyone aboard a ship while wearing clunky restrictive armor was a fool’s errand. There wasn’t enough room and the unsteadiness of the sea needed to be taken into account. The traitor to the king didn’t count himself good at much, but he could move on a ship. He could sail if need be. He wasn’t much with a sword, not even the massive one he kept close to his person. He wasn’t much with a bow or even a spear or Warhammer, but he could snap a collarbone with his bare hands by accident and that certainly would have been reliable in the close quarters combat of a ship – armor disturbed him. More so to see those charged with protecting Odessa dressed in the deadly garb. Had they been dressed like that each time she disappeared up the stairs? Oh hell no.

He frowned and let his eyes jump from the one guard to the next committing their faces to memory now, then did so with the rest of the room. The newer guard was sporting two full sized swords strapped to his person. The only people Dante had ever seen use two weapons at a time were pirates. Their attacks were frenzied and overwhelming and their weapons had been short swords and axes or hammers. He’d heard that the Free Folk also fought this way and of course there was one legendary knight that had “perfected” the act of fighting with two swords so many many years ago and he’d been cut down before any records of his techniques could be recorded. Beyond that, who the hell was running this ship that he was free to flaunt more than one weapon? So effectively what this person was doing was beyond him.

The idea of Odessa left in the care of these people, during the radical changes and dangers of King’s Landing, struck him hard and fast and he was not pleased; not with them and not with himself. It shouldn’t have taken this long for him to be aware of the people around them. He’d let his discomfort with being crowded be drowned out and with it the potential protection Odessa needed. In Highgarden she would always be safer than any anywhere else in the world but it was still his duty to protect her, if not physically on his own, he should have been more aware of anyone that came into contact with Odessa and any and all changes to those faces.

Even with all that was going through his mind, none of what Odessa was saying had been misheard. It would just be a long moment before he gave a nod of acknowledgement to the old guard and the new one. His hands stopped moving on her legs and remained still over her thin ankles as his blue eyes found her face. There was a sharp urge to apologize for his errors but he forwent that for the moment, vowing to make it up to her later and instead focused on the things that could be addressed now. Her manner of speaking when it came to Ser Derek made it clear she wasn’t impressed with him which altogether dropped Dante’s opinion of the man as well.  Odessa was a stickler for protocol and it was not loss on Dante that had he not been a prince she would have shunned his entire existence. The only reason she had patience for his clumsiness and his lack due diligence during matters that rested on ceremony was because she’d chosen him. To some extent, he made her happy on top of giving her what he supposed almost every lady wanted.

“Maybe things are different in the Reach, I’m sure they are, but I dislike the idea of your safety in the hands of anchors.” He said leaning forward to kiss her forehead once more. He shifted then, throwing his leg over the lounge to turn and face the two men, nearly putting Odessa behind him. “Is this some sort of ceremonial thing?” He was asking Odessa. “I sincerely hope so. If it’s not, I can’t let you leave the room without me anymore.”

Olena The lady of Dragonstone scanned over their attire once more, the sight of the sword still causing her minor irritation, but it would be gone as soon as they left the room. Thankfully they did not require the guard patrol to be present in the room at all times while on-board the ship. The rooms, though grander than hardly anyone else could afford in the seven kingdoms, seemed cramped to Odessa, worsened by her current state of being. She clapped her hands together, “Thank you good sers, but that will be all, leave us,” and then turned back to Dante, “it is customary to don the armor of one’s commanding house’s  before being presented to the liege or whomever one might serve. They will remove it as they return to their chamber in exchange for something lighter while on-board. It’s, of course, an added weight one can hardly afford outside such moments while traveling on water.” Ceremony and pomp had surrounded every waking moment of her life, as it would her husband when he sat upon the Iron Throne. The king could hardly shit without an outstretched hand offering to wipe his arse.

Yet another bump from the bump caused her to grab at her belly once more, her free hand sinking its nails into Dante’s arm, but then a booming voice shouted, to her great relief, “Land! Docking at Bitterbridge per the order of The Most Honorable, The Lord Julian Tyrell, Lord Paramount of The Reach, Warden of The South, and The Lord of Highgarden.” It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders in that very moment and she couldn’t help but laugh out of the sheer joy. This flower was no fan of the water; save for the daily watering high-ranking women could afford to take in the privacy of their chambers, and she made no future plans of traveling said way anytime in the foreseeable future. “Thank the gods! I thought we would never reach the damnable shore.” She leapt into Dante’s lap, kissing him firmly on the lips, but then a thought was recalled to memory and she eyed the large chest across the room—“Oh dear.”

There was one part of the mission that her mother advised she save for their arrival at the port town before informing her husband of, as his agreeability to the arrangement might not be so favorable; although, there was no other way to productively hide someone of his size from a crowd. He would be released and let to ride in the carriage with her once they had cleared the city limits and were on their way down the Roseroad under the cloak of the forest, but would be returned to his…confinement a few miles outside the capital as the family feigned a rest stop for the ladies. “Dante, there is one part of our travels I might have left out of the grand plan,” biting her lower lip she pointed to the large chest, which Lady Arylsse made the point of opening to reveal its vast emptiness aside from pillows and cushioned walls with air openings hid behind pieces of metal on the outside, projecting out just enough to allow air in but simultaneously obstruct the view.  “Your conveyance.”

Judge: So it was just ceremony. Good. Although a few moment later it didn’t matter. A herald called out that they would dock soon and switch to dry transport. Relief relaxed his shoulders and soon they were alone again; as alone as they got when not ready for bed. With Odessa jumping into his lap with happiness, Dante smiled, wrapped his arms around her and returned her kiss. He chased after her when she pulled away, leaving his lips pecking the flesh of her shoulder as she motioned across the room. To say he wasn’t particularly surprised might have been an understatement as he couldn’t think of any better way to get off the ship in stealth. He could think of more fun ways, just not better ways. In truth, he would have preferred walking on his knees in a heavy cloak than leaving Odessa, but what had to be done, had to be done.

It wouldn’t have been the first time Dante had been transported in a trunk. At least this one had pillows and a blanket. Really though the other times he’d been transported he’d been incredibly drunk, waking up in colorful places with strange people, wise whores and strange drugs. There wasn’t much memory when it came to the travels he shouldn’t have had, they were all a blur of color and sounds, mostly laughter and music. The forgotten Prince might not have been very regal or even noble, but he was far from sheltered.

Resting his chin on Odessa’s shoulder, Dante regarded the trunk with a sigh. His blue eyes drifted to Arlysse. “Alright but I will need a lot of drink. Do you know any good drinking games?” The question was posed to Odessa’s constant companion as he stood up, taking Odessa with him. He would need enough liquor in his system to sleep pleasantly through this trip without constantly worrying about his wife and staving off the urge to jump out of the trunk. Only when he’d crossed to the trunk did he put her down, removing all but one pillow from the box. He pulled his shirt over his head and removed his boots then sat down at the small table in their room. The plan was to get plastered and roll into the trunk when he could barely stand. They had a few hours while everyone else gathered up and prepared the carriages, and with an empty stomach he should be able to get good and sauced.

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Olena: Trumpets sounded and crowds cheered as the Tyrell barges arrived at the port of Bitterbridge, welcoming their liege lords and ladies with great pomp and ceremony. The family was known for its benevolence, and thus gained the respect and adoration of those beneath their jurisdiction. Whether or not their concern for the small-folk was genuine was a topic of great debate across the realm, but a vassal lord could hardly afford to rise up against a family paramount so beloved by their citizens. Loyalty to House Tyrell was well-rewarded, and vassals could rest assured that there were at LEAST two servants in their household that collected from such loyalty, reporting every move they made to Highgarden. After the Winter War and the Wars of Succession, one could not afford to miss details. A momentary lapse in the attention paid to those beneath you could cost a hefty price.

Odessa changed from her loose-fitting leisure attire to a court gown in the latest fashion. The neckline swooped down just above her navel, and exposed most of her back and sides. Needless to say, it left little to the imagination; however, such was not viewed as derogatory in The Reach, in spite of their chivalry and prudishness. The human body was celebrated and put on display to the very border of propriety, not hidden beneath layers upon layers of damasks and woolen robes. Not to mention it could be hot as seven hells so far south, and the humidity could be brutal, unlike in Dorne where one encountered a dry heat. Also, it was important to understand the concept of lust and what it could lead people to do for you. An admirer would pledge their sword. A desirer would pledge their life.  

She transcended through the cleared path leading towards her carriage, waving to onlookers and blowing kisses to those who called out for the ‘Swan of Highgarden,’ her gaggle of women close behind. Behind them still were several muscled men carrying a large chest…a piece of luggage that had been left behind? From within the cargo, the murmur of a rumbling sound could be heard to any within a close-enough range. Odessa hoped anyone curious enough would only interpret this as some exotic pet of hers sleeping. Thankfully they were still in the Reach and their own people feared them well-enough to not pry. Up ahead the Lady Davena cut a glare in the box’s direction, hissing at Julian “It would have been more convincing to cover him in a fur coat and pass him off as some beast than our daughter’s luggage,” whipping her skirts up into the lead carriage. Julian half-chuckled and climbed in behind his wife, waving once more to the crowds before closing the door behind them.

Before Odessa could step into her own carriage, the men lugging the container lost their grip on the crate and dropped the part in which Dante’s head rested on the ground. It was all she could do to hide the horror in her expression, Arylsse touching at the small of her back to steady her in case she might faint; however, a loud snort followed shortly after. The lady shut her eyes and sighed, taking the footman’s hand and hoisting herself into the conveyance. Once the door closed behind her and two of her ladies selected to ride with her she burst into laughter. “Gods I pray the brother is easier harmed than this one.” The two women followed suit, holding on to one another with tears in their eyes from snickering. “Let’s us hope they strapped it to the carriage well enough. I don’t have the heart to tell my lady mother that our precious cargo flipped off the back somewhere at the port.”

The traveled for several miles, ensuring everything was clear before making a halt in the road by a large pond. The area was shady and heavily wooded, a natural habitat to several animals and away from human inhabitants, save for any travelers on the Roseroad going to or coming from Highgarden or Kings Landing. “Company halt!” the head guard bellowed out, signaling the carriages to stop and let the horses rest, and for the other guards to dismount and secure the area. Once everything was clear a sentry signaled for the men to unstrap the chest on the back of Lady Odessa’s carriage and set the rebel prince free from his confinement. This time, however, they managed not to drop him, placing the chest gently on the ground, keying the lock, and peeling back the lid. Meanwhile, Odessa remained unconscious in her carriage, laying sideways across the cushioned seat, her head in Arylsse’s lap, as she hadn’t managed to get much rest on board the nightmare of a barge trip.

Judge: Dante would be none wiser of the travel or being dropped or the snarky remark of his Lady-Mother-In-Law. Being drunk in a trunk was far less humiliating than being dressed as some exotic beast and paraded around. They didn’t have enough drink on the barge to convince him to do that. No, the trunk worked out just fine as far as he was concerned. So well, in fact, that once the transport was over and the lid was opened there was a long stillness before long limbs unraveled out of the trunk and Dante rolled out onto his hands and knees. The men who had tried to rouse him, stood back a bit after being rewarded with a deep growl.  His head was pounding as he sat back against the trunk. Even the dim afternoon light was too bright for the hung over Lord of Dragonstone. Rubbing his face, Dante tried to figured out what was going on around him, and where he was, but his first coherent thought was of Odessa.

Pushing himself to stand, he disregarded the helping hands around him. Someone brought him his boots and shirt but he didn’t want them. Sunlight caught the shine on a tray that brought to him causing him to quince and rub his head again. Inquiring after his wife, Dante disregarded his shirt and shoes to lug his mass over to what would be their shared carriage. Entering the carriage, even his blurred vision could make out her petite form curled up on cushion. He remained by the door not wanting to disturb. So he spoke in hushed tones asking about his clothes, his sword and his owl. Satisfied with the answers, Dante pulled his hair free of its perpetual knot on the top of his head and tried to quietly exit the carriage on unsteady feet.

A flutter of wings filled his ears a moment before talons pinched his bare shoulder. Wise dropped a sweet fruit into his hand and complained as they made their way toward to the pond. All that was left of the fruit was the pit and it was pitched into shrubbery around them as Dante stripped away the last of his clothing and got into the water. Wise brought him pine leaves to clean out his mouth of the stale wine taste. The two moved as though they’d done this time and time again and the rebel prince seemed to have no qualms about the contents of the unidentified pond. His bath almost over, Wise swooped into the face of whomever looked as though they should be serving demanding a towel. There was a bit of confusion and fear before they finally came to terms with what the owl was demanding. Rewarded with a handful of minnows, the owl settled happily onto the carriage of his master while Dante came out of the pond, towel around his waist, a large fish in his hand.

His hair hung down around his ears, his face was shadowed and unshaven, but he was as clean as that pond was going to get him. His head was clearer now as he sat on a stump cleaning the fish he’d caught. Someone brought back that tray of food and drink and left it at his bare feet. Dante cleared the tray of fruit and bread and cheese; emptied into his stomach, so he could put down the cleaned fish. Washing off his hands, Dante stood and took the tray into the carriage putting it on a counter and tried to be quiet about putting his clothes on.

Olena: The slumbering lady of Dragonstone roused for only a brief moment at her husband’s initial appearance in the carriage door, but due to her rather exhausted state she quickly returned to her dreams, not caring to be bothered by the gods themselves in that moment. As she shut her eyes, it seemed to open a new world entirely. She was standing alone in a large room in an unfamiliar place. The walls were polished stone, but the tapestries were not the trappings she had back at Highgarden; instead, she saw murals of dramatic scenes with heroes, dragons, kings, and fair maidens. The only light came from a nearby balcony, which was illuminated with the moon’s rays. Past the sheer curtains leading onto said balcony she could just begin to make out a somewhat familiar shape, and then the sound of cooing lead her to realize it was a baby’s cradle—she felt lead to it.

She made her way across the chamber, the soft patter of her bare feet accompanied by the sound of nearing thunder, which caused the floor to tremble lightly. The closer she drew the more apparent became the figure standing just opposite of the cradle. Her maternal instinct urged her to rush forward, but something held her back, controlling the pace of her steps. Then came an eerie whisper, as if spoken by the walls themselves, “Father…Smith…Warrior…Mother…Maiden…Crone…Stranger…” the sound vibrated within her head as it repeated itself again and again until her hand reached out to part the curtain. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck the inside of the cradle, causing her to cry out for fear of the child therein. The shock lit up the face of the figure, revealing…herself?, but the mirror image vanished with the bolt. Odessa rushed forward, finally free from the force, laying her hands at the end of the wooden bassinet. There she beheld the visage of a cheruby infant with onyx black hair and eyes like that of the very bolt that had struck only moments before, near white surrounded in blue.

Reflexively, she snatched the child up, holding it to her breast and checking it for injuries, but it had somehow remained untouched. No scars, no burns, only wide-eyed fascination as it gazed up at her as calmly as though nothing had happened. Odessa could hardly overcome her bewilderment, and did not even seize the opportunity to pull back the baby’s clout and check it’s gender, the thought never even occurred to her. She felt so completely overwhelmed with emotion for the child that she didn’t care. Tears sprung from her ducts, rolling down her cheeks, but the drop that first fell upon the infant was not from her eyes, but from the sky overhead. Within seconds a light shower began to pour over both of them, but once more she was not able to relocate them to standing back under the shelter of the room inside. She looked overhead to view the outline of the darkened clouds in the night sky, yet as she looked back towards the infant it had vanished from her arms which were now protectively wrapped around a burgeoning pregnant belly. “Tell him,” the voice sounded from behind her, and she felt the freedom of motion once more so she whipped around to see…her parents? They had come and gone as quickly as she had before them, but oddly enough as she recalled the faces she saw only the countenances of the marble statues that stood before the alters in the sept at Highgarden and not what she had seen moments before…The Maiden, The Father, and The Mother?  What? Odd dreams were not something particularly new to Odessa, as she had been plagued with them since childhood, but they were not typically so vivid. She often found herself in situations that felt as though they had already been lived.

Her golden hues would pop open, finding herself lain across Ayrlsse’s lap and covered in a cold sweat, the silken gown sticking to her back. She was gasping to catch her breath, riddled with anxiety, and the sudden clap of thunder overhead nearly sent her flying. To say it seemed as though she had seen a ghost was an understatement. “My lady! Are you well? It was only a dream, nothing more. Everything is alright.” The lady’s hands would smooth at Odessa’s honey-brown locks before she sat up straight on the bed to face Dante. “I’m with-child.” She had always been sensitive to the world around her, but this pregnancy made her feel incredibly odd. Everything around her seemed so very amplified. “Back into the carriages! Out of the rain! We must continue on so we do not become stuck! Knights, to your mounts!” The herald barked her family’s orders once more.

Judge: Dante rolled up the sleeves of his newest shirt to his elbows and padded around the carriage looking for a decent knife to split the fish with. In the modest little kitchenette inside the carriage was everything he needed to cook; small red potatoes, onions, garlic, basil, tomatoes, salt and pepper. It didn’t seem to phase the massive man that servants and ladies in the carriage watched him in bewilderment. Dante was so used to taking care of himself it came second nature to him and it would be a long while if ever that he broke the habit. The small fired he made in the stove warmed the carriage against the cooler winds that began to pick up outside as Odessa tossed in her sleep. As the winds gain, he motioned for the others to close the shutters.

Haunched in order to somewhat be able to stand in the carriage, his head still grazing the ceiling, Dante prepared the fish and slipped it into the oven all the while noting how Odessa began to toss and turn more in her sleep. Her breathing picked up and shallowed then suddenly she was awake, glazed in sheer of cold sweat, her beautiful gold-green eyes wild when she blurted out that she was with child. The giant froze before the small stove. All that he had panicked about hours before, all that he had tried to shove away with drink came rushing back to him in a panicked flood. He was now taking a pregnant woman before his crazed brother and he could not fathom the danger he was putting her in pregnant or no. The sound of her words, however, created new feels about the situation in entirely. Pushing a hand through his loose hair, Dante turned to face Odessa as she sat on the bed looking up at him like a startled doe and for the first time the notion struck him that he was going to be a father.

There wasn’t much that he remembered of his own father or mother for that matter, but the old maester had been as much a father to him as he could ever claim; teaching him of the world, lessons both spoken and unspoken. Now he would be the one to pass that knowledge. He’d known all along that at some point he and Odessa would be required to created little princes and princesses to keep their lines strong and their enemies and allies alike close. There was no way to prepare for the flood of mixed feelings that came with the announcement however. On the barge the idea of a child had been another dark cloud over an already dark deed he’d been forced to complete. Now, in the face of his equally bewildered wife, the idea was more a light at the end of these dark days than not.

Moving to sit down, Dante drew her into his lap, spreading a hand across her back and kissing her forehead. “I know.” On the barge he hadn’t been certain but he’d been aware enough to panic. Her words had confirmed what he’d already feared and hoped. “Do not be afraid, beautiful. I will have a page grease all the doors of the keeps so you will slip through them with ease.”

Olena: Odessa found herself wedged between an odd grouping of emotions as her husband pulled her onto his lap. His comment made her feel the urge to do one of three things: kiss him, slap him, or cry for the loss of her figure to the development of this giant of a man’s child. She had heard horror stories of women who were unable to pass such large babies through their birth canal, and midwives would have to cut the mother open in order to save the child’s life over that of the mother’s. Granted a woman did survive the procedure she would likely die within a few days to months from sepsis. What if the child was breeched and midwives would be forced to turn the child by handling her belly or….dare she fathom the thought of a hand being inserted there?  However, she simply patted her hand to his chest and chose to overlook the comment for both their sakes.

    Although, the fact he was already aware of her condition made her do a double take. What familiarity did he have with the condition, being the youngest son of the royal family and having been stowed away on the isle of Dragonstone for all these years? As the youngest daughter to her parents, she had never really been exposed to the concept of pregnancy very directly, aside from what books were in the library or the occasional servant who found themselves in a delicate condition. Her ladies mother and grandmother had both described it as a dreadful state of being that was both completely necessary and completely inconvenient all at once. For certain there was nothing glamorous about it that she had heard thus far, and having been outside the birthing chamber when her aunt delivered a younger cousin when Odessa was a small child, it sounded nothing short of a nightmare.

    The process by which life was created came so simply and was so sought after by both men and women alike, longing to share in the passions that intercourse brought about; regrettably, it was always the woman left to endure days worth of labor and the expansion of the most sensitive part of the body to accommodate something the size of a melon coming out of a lemon. Furthermore, the men, at least the higher ranking ones, were not even permitted into the birthing chamber to witness their wives’ anguish. Instead they were left to drink and celebrate the fruits of their ‘hard’ word in a room somewhere else in the keep until one of the lady’s maids emerged to reveal the sex of the child and the marital status of the new father.

    Another dreaded reality came to mind, the process of lying-in. Usually within the final two to three months of a woman’s expectancy, granted she could afford it, she was to go into a secluded bedchamber where she would relax and refrain from any strenuous activity that might cause premature delivery. Only women were permitted into the chambers unless the woman encountered some extreme situation, like the caesarian section, in which a master would be allowed in, but unless it could be absolutely avoided the septas and midwives were given ample instruction. Not to mention, half these women had been practicing the delivery of babies their entire lives to the point it was a science. Odessa would insist that Reachwomen be brought in to handle the delivery, due to the greater importance placed on women’s lives there.

    Despite all her fears, the vision of that angelic face she had seen in her dream still shown clearly in her mind’s eye. She had been so completely enraptured with love for a person she had never met, and felt an immediate connection that even that which she had found in the man she now called ‘husband’ bore no comparison. If she had to die for them to come into the world, so be it. At the same time, should she live and go on to bare more, a respectful fear of what lengths she knew she would go to protect and provide for said children would be advised. Even now, leaving the safety and hospitality of Highgarden for the hostility and well-known back-stabbing of King’s Landing pitted her stomach with an uneasy feeling. Leaning her head against his chest she turned to peer out the window of the now-moving carriage, guards surrounding but not obstructing the view, placing a hand protectively over her belly. “I am ready for this to all be over soon.”