The Square

His daughter’s lack of interest in the common shops around the square propelled a series of questions in his mind, none of which he would comment on as her next words fell from her lips and for the first time since breakfast that morning he turned his view downwards to her. He truly had no idea why she wished to be introduced to the Stark or Baratheon’s, though from what they had spoken about earlier in the morning he could think of a few reasons and would just need to confirm them in the future.

The rats scurried around the little shops going about their daily struggle to survive, a struggle that would only be harshened by the presence of the men who were supposed to protect them. Aethon had spent a good deal of time in King’s Landing however not much of that was consumed by the people who lived outside of the Red Keep. Lord Velaryon’s dead greyish blue eyes skipped from the nobles to the lesser crowd which included the Gold Cloaks and their abuse of power.

A small tremor passed through the ground as buildings shook around the square, the sound of objects crashing and falling off tables was soon masked by panic and fear. Just like the Baratheon guards had done the five Knights surrounding both Aethon and his daughter changed their formation as the head knight spoke his suggestion of placing Lord Aethon and his daughter towards a more defensive placement, which would essentially take them back the way they came. Aethon’s cold dead eyes fell onto the knight as he waved his hand forward, flicking at the air an instruction them to move forward through the crowd. “There will be no further delays in my plans.”

While the sounds of swords unsheathing and men stepping into proper formation drowned out the noise from the crowd, Aethon reached to his side and gripped the small Velaryon girl by her shoulder, pulling her form in closer to his own as his knights closed ranks and proceeded towards the main road that would lead up into the Red Keep. The knights surrounding the Velaryon’s watched intently on both the peasants and amassing Gold Cloaks, if they felt anything for either side it wasn’t shown on their faces. From the single string of words Aethon spoke, they grasped his full intent. No leniency would be shown to any commoner who failed to move out of their path and it was no secret to those around King’s Landing that the Velaryon Lord had the ear of their tyrant King; even if he was no longer amongst the living people rarely forgot those that stood in and around power.

In those earlier moments, Yvaine felt the strings of concern weave tighter in her chest. Slim seconds had passed without the reappearance of the Tully attendant; and each second that did hardened the strings around her heart. The Lady’s coal-grey eyes slipped from face to face, body to body behind them. Gold Cloak, commoner, child, man, woman: Yvaine brushed them off easily in the pursuit of the sole, solemn face she sought to find. Maybe it was unapparent, but the Lady of the Riverlands was unfamiliar with too much in those King’s Landing streets. No relations with shopkeepers, no lowborn friends among stall owners; Yvaine’s perspective on the atmosphere and its dwellers was untainted by any longstanding, personal opinion. In light of this, stereotypes drove her current state. Unease continued to seep into every crevice of her exaggerated thoughts over Margarethe’s unexpected disappearance.

“Brother,” Yvaine spoke again, “let us wait.” Beneath those few words, a restrained pleading within her voice likely slipped to Yuan’s accustomed ear, “Perhaps, Margarethe looks for us, too?” Now, Yvaine was attempting to rationalize over the old woman, “And we only wander farther down the--,” and here, Yvaine ceased speaking mid-thought to sharply turn towards the growing volume of screams and shouts. The Lady’s worried nerves increased softly as she breathed out his name, “Yuan…;” the murmur was barely audible in the swell of tension around them. For in these first minutes, Yvaine was frozen to her spot on the cobbled road. And then, the explosion outright startled the noblewoman.

She recoiled: curled her forearms, ducked her chin into her chest, and covered her ears and cheeks with both hands. For a split-moments, her eyes were clenched shut as the sound vibrated in her soles. Eventually, Yvaine lifted her head, “Yuan?,” she spoke louder, this time seeking reassurance in her shock. But as before, the growing chaos in the streets might’ve drowned out her voice again. People scrambled and ran away from the center-square down connecting streets; and the Tully party ultimately began to scatter apart on the Street of Looms.

The guardsmen whom had followed behind Yuan and Yvaine were swiftly pushed backward by the flow of peasant folk darting past them. In an upstream battle, they struggled to reach their noble wards. Like them, Yvaine was lost to the currents of the frightened people. Her shoulders collided with others, her feet were forced to move least she be trampled on. In the third instance, Yvaine attempted to shout over the screaming crowd, “Yuan! Yuan, where are you?!” The Lady raised her shoulders to full-height, but kept her arms across her torso. She could not see her brother. The rush of bodies and unknown faces were a catalyst to her panic. Yvaine called for her brother again, and gradually shoved herself out of the center of the street to the side. While she was still being pushed every-so-often, the lonely Lady attempted to keep her back against the wall. Arms still held against her chest, Yvaine’s fingertips rested at the base of her throat or side of her neck. Uncertainty and stress painted her demeanor as the noblewoman kept searching passing faces.

Elsewhere, Brisaenys had instinctively huddled closer to her father’s side as their knights adjusted around them. While fear panged at her throat, the fair-haired girl kept her chin lifted and remained alert. Blankness flooded her mind. Sternness lined her jaw. At her lithe height and size, there was no seeing past the knights; but the girl tried to glimpse past their waists and shields regardless of the fact. Brisaenys was in quiet disbelief at the commotion surrounding the square. So when Aethon affirmed their movement into the chaotic space, his daughter was internally aghast at the notion. Delay! What of death!? Her childlike mind cried with a swift stubbornness and refusal to initially move from her place. However, her father’s hand around her shoulder deemed otherwise—and, her body did not feel like her own as Aethon’s movement guided their strides.

The world itself felt muted. It was, as though, a sphere of silence wrapped about her head until all Brisaenys heard were figments of reality: the march of feet, the rustle of her gown, her father’s breathing, the steady heartbeat in her ears. She felt rigid, mechanical. Her own body felt otherworldly as every impulse followed the need of safety, which meant remaining inflexibly next to her father. Thus, because of this, Aethon did not have to hold onto her too tightly in their procession through the road. While emotion might’ve danced wildly behind her gaze, her body was engulfed by a profound determination to keep within Aethon’s reach at any cost. Self-preservation drove her daily life; and this event would be no different.


There were so many things that he could be right doing now but, bound by his loyalty and duty to his family, here he was… an idle part of the Tully entourage in King’s Landing, of all places. This journey was one that he didn’t want to make but it wasn’t something that he could miss, even if he expressed his wishes. This was because his father had insisted on a united front, as they were often lectured, regardless of their humbled--more like humiliated- stature and that was the end of the discussion. There were simply some things that cannot be opposed in their family and they were old, and wise enough, to not even try.

Today’s option for Yuan was upfront. It was either he joined his father and older brother in what he would call ‘politely cavorting’ with other nobles, or he could escort his twin sister in venturing out of the Red Keep. His choice was made even before his father asked whom he’d rather accompany, and despite the odd wrinkle in the patriarch’s brow when he answered, Yuan was glad that no comments ensued.

Uneventful as time progressed, the young Tully remained a quiet companion to his twin, only ever sparing words when it was necessary. It was probably something that would frustrate most that didn’t know him, but Yvaine was quite used to his demeanor and Yuan had always been like that, known to be capable yet enigmatic in the sense of being silent in moments when words would be appreciated. There was a big difference in being silent and doing nothing though, for however impassive the young man seemed, he was quite observant of people and his surroundings.

‘Where is Margarethe? She was just here earlier.’ His sister had asked as they strolled through the marketplace, the young Lord eyeing one of their guards as if to ask the same question that was voiced out loud. It would seem as if the attendant had slipped through their watchful eyes once more and, at the moment, Yuan was more keen on keeping watch of his sister rather than safeguarding a servant that probably chose not to keep in pace with those she should be accompanying. It was something that he could have his parents do something about, but he had a feeling that that could end disastrously, so he probably needs to speak with the woman about ‘proper’ group proximity when it comes to venturing into crowded foreign areas. He could’ve responded to her then but remained quiet as he caught sight of the Baratheons and the Starks, members of houses that his own was once at par with. These were the kind of chance encounters that could prove useful for his family, but he honestly didn't want to be involved in any kind of politics without observing the situation firsthand.

Now, he wasn’t the superstitious sort but being that Yvaine was his twin, he could practically feel the unease that she felt and he hated that he felt obligated to actually do something about it. Unfortunately, they only had a few guards with them and he wasn’t going to risk sending one away to look for just an attendant that got lost in a crowd. The young Tully was about to say something to reassure his sister, but it was at that point that chaos reared its ugly head to start disorder in the streets of the marketplace.

Anyone could attest that everything happened at such a fast pace, starting from the tension, explosions that seemed out of place given how close they were to the Red Keep, and then the mass of bodies that seemed to collide and move at the same time to get to safety. It was a natural reaction for him to try and reach for Yvaine, but her initial reaction to the sound of the blast caused them to be separated almost immediately.

“On me!” Was the first command that Yuan yelled through the rising noise that seemed to just get louder, an order that their guards were unable decipher and respond to. He wasn’t one to usually bark out commands but, if he gave them, they were followed… so it added to his rising frustration that there wasn’t apt action. At the back of his mind, he couldn’t blame them the guards though, there was just too much going on and the anxiety of losing track of his sister, in a situation like this, was making his heart thunder against his chest. This kind of chaos wasn’t something that could incapacitate the young Tully though, for the humbled status of their House has taught him to function independently… whether or not he had people to help him.

Almost like a beacon of calm and purpose, there was an urgency in Yuan’s movement as he scanned and pushed through the crowd, fighting to keep from drifting helplessly with the flow. Outwardly, it would seem as if Yuan was doing extremely well under pressure but, with the minutes ticking by without finding Yvaine, anxiety was starting to chip away at his façade. In his perspective, it already felt like a lifetime of searching until he heard a voice that pierced through all the noise, one that he was well acquainted with, calling out to him in a tone that made his gut clench in a protective response. This made him look toward the general direction of where his sister was, seeing the familiar color of her hair pop out as she tried to rise to her full height in search of him.

Disregarding the fact that they had lost their primary, albeit very minimal, protection in the chaos, Yuan didn’t hesitate to put himself in more danger for his twin. There was a good chance that he could also get trampled in this stampede but he was well aware of how small his sister was compared to him and he wasn’t going to risk having her hurt in any way. Forcing his way through the crowd, Yuan barely made a sound even through rather hard collisions, sometimes even shoving able-bodied men that were in his way or were trying to get away from the commotion. She had moved further towards the edge of the street by the time he reached the area where she had stood when he saw her, so it took him a few more moments to catch sight of her again. Relief flooded through him as he saw that she was relatively safe, but his expression was grim with anger by the time he reached her and engulfed her in his arms to reassure her of safety.

“I’m here.” Were the only words he said, almost immediately pulling away to lift her into his arms without even asking for permission.

More and more gold cloaks began to fill the square. They were dispatching from the nearby barracks at a rate, marching down the narrow street with a vendetta against even the weakest civilians. The nobles and their personal guards on the scene were left clear of the issues sparked by the actions of the cloaks, unless, of course, anyone of those nobles wanted to be some sort of hero and assist the peasants. Regardless, they didn’t pave any paths for the nobles to be free of the rising crisis either. Anyone in their way was pushed to the side, anyone who engaged them would be considered the enemy. This enemy was all around them, and enemy of their own creation, a desperate enemy. When those that already precieved themselves as weak were pushed to a point where they felt there was nothing left to loose they became dangerous.

The rage of the peasants mirrored that of the wild fire that was quickly circling the square. Even as some scrambled to douse the flames, attempting to snuff them with heavy textiles or grain or salt, virtually anything they felt wouldn't fan the flames, every spark that escaped on a brief breeze created more trouble then they could correct with their merger means. Being divided between saving themselves and saving the livilyhoods that none believed would be replaced by this new unknown king, allowed the flames to fan. Men, woman and children alike were dropping like flies as they attemtped to defend the expanding flames from their would be fanners the gold cloaks.

Meanwhile, Xara Xaq, encased in an armored circle of Baratheon shields, held her two cart boys close. The other ladies were now on the back of the cart as well, arriving just in time to see the littlest Baratheon make an escape from their protective circle over the shoulders of the men sworn to protect her. Two of those men didn't hesitate in their response, breaking from the line to follow right after her. They pushed through the crowd, and though their shields were right in front of them, they were careful about the civilians around them. Never was the youngest more than three feet from them.

Behind, the other guards closed the circle, keeping it tight about the ladies in their care. Their tight formation did nothing to quell the sounds of horror and devastation around them. Once Xara was sure all the ladies and the two lads with them were safe and harmed, she too rose behind the Baratheon soldiers to peer out into the broken world beyond. The Tully girl was separated from her brother, but from her high point, Xara could see they were on surges path to one another again. Her hazel eyes then narrowed in on Rhaenyrs, who was making a bee line in the direction of the Stark girl, when a building collapsed in on itself. The Stark was alone, mere feet from latest devastation, her company of guards yards away, trying to fight through the crowd to get to their charge.

"We can't stay here." Xara said over the hectic noise and crackling of flames that were drawing closer by the minute. She turned to the two young boys, placing a hand on each of their cheeks. "Do as I say and do it quickly. Swallow your fright and move with purpose, can you do that?" Wide-eyed and shaking it was a moment before they nodded. "Good, boys. Now, loose the horses and stay close." She turned then to the ladies with her, who were more calm than most would be; they were, after all, trained in combat. "Split up, help the smallfolk drown these flames." And they were off, two the left, two the right, flanked by guards. Xara took the remaining guard, holding onto the back of his sash and charged forward toward Rhaenrys and the Stark girl.

Terror rang all around the tiny pirate girl. People swarmed in all directions as she wove her small frame through the bodies. The rumble of the ground from another building tumbling down blocked her path; there was no going back to her Baratheon entourage.

With only one of the guards behind her, her only option was to move forward. Eyes locked on the Stark girl, who was now slowly being cased in a cloud of smoke from the building debris. Rhaenyrs' arm slung out, extending her gloved hand intent on snatching her long removed cousin by the arm and continue forward on her path as more building were surely to come crumbling down in that location.

"Are you trying to get yourself killed? Because that's how you get yourself killed!" Rhaenyrs yelled over the noise. Her speech granting her a confused and frustrated look from the guard behind her, whom she seemed to be completely unaware of.

Her misty, pearl blue eyes pinned on the girl who was wide-eyed and lost admist the chaos. Acting quickly, pirate reflexes which were honed in times of pirate created chaos to steal and loot with little or no witnesses, the youngest Baratheon, pulled her forgotten Stark cousin through a quickly dimishing gape in the sea of ever moving bodies. Closer to a flameless pillar now, her arms went about her cousin's shoulders, shaking her back to the reality of the world around her. "Where are your guards? Why are you not with them?"

The guard with her snorted but he recieved only a sheepish look when a blood curdling scream cut through the noise. Glancing over her shoulder, Rhaenyrs watched as a young mother was plummeted to the ground, hurdled over her infant child, protecting the child from being trampled by the flood of feet escaping yet another explosion of fire. Looking up, the Baratheon pirate girl was met with a pleading stare from the guard with her. He was ignored. Rhaenyrs thrust her cousin upon him in the same motion that she peeled herself free of noble dress Xara had provided for her. Darting forward, weaving through the fleeing peasants, until the thrust of her lean, short legs was enough to send her gliding across the cobbles, Rhae slide underneath a beam as it started to topple, ending up behind the woman and her child. Placing her hand on the woman's rear, she shoved forward, using momentum from her legs against something strudy behind her (no time to look back and see what it was), she shoved the woman and her child out in the square just as the beam collapsed. Those honed pirate reflexes saved her hands from being crushed under the beam. Smoke was quickly thickening around her. Embers floating in the dark were quickly becoming the only thing she could see.

'No wonder pirates aren't heroes. Gods be damned.'

One hand rose to rest upon the guard in front of him as Aethon and his formation of metal clad knights pushed through the crowd. The more the seconds ticked past the more dense the population of chaos became. It seemed each commoner was taking their opportunity to crawl from whatever hovel they called home to add their two cents to the mix of pandemonium. A snarl left the mans wrinkled lips at the thought of even being so close to such individuals. Curse the Toad for not coming to him and curse the Pirate boy for showing up when he did. Neither ever showed the Velaryon Lord the respect he deserved but they would, in time, one way or another.

Keeping a firm grip of the knights shoulder guard his other hand held tight to his daughter. Some might construed this to be some form of parental love, but Aethon was more a man not willing to part with anything that he considered his. Greed was in his blood so thick many were surprised he did not bleed green rather than red.

"Faster. Your head if I am delayed any further."

Though Aethon looked old and some might think slightly frail, the man had a powerful and commanding voice that easily rose above the sound of a city imploding upon itself. It was this attitude that had kept him so close to the previous King for Aethon was birth in treachery and deceit, he was a cunning, cruel tyrant of a man but he was not stupid. This was no more so obvious than how close he was to Alexander and how he managed to skirt the mad King's wrath on numerous occasions. This new boy King however, this would prove his greatest challenge for everyone knew of the woman that really got him his throne. Rhaelle Baratheon, the Beast of Storms End. Part of Aethon knew he should wait until the Beast withdrew to her cave upon the End, but the longer he waited to set his foot upon the side of this new King, the harder it would be to secure such favor. These would be trying times indeed.

Smoke. It slithered and swarmed as flames in the Square rose and climbed-- its distinctive smell pained Yvaine's eyes with tears. Those sensitive orbs burned and prompted the woman to press her fingertips atop those closed eyelids in attempt to rub the smoky scent off her eyelashes. And with the blackened vision, the cries of panic and rage seemed to amplify around her. So, when her brother finally neared and wrapped his arms around her person, Yvaine abruptly flailed her hands upward and out defensive towards an enemy she couldn't make out through blurred vision. "No!," she immediately exclaimed frightfully, "Do not touch me!" She blinked rapidly, struggled against her captor until, "I'm here...," and a godsend relief flooded her chest. "Yuan?!," Yvaine breathlessly mustered with pure solace, "Thank the gods."

But as Yuan lifted her up, the young woman instinctively reacted with resistance, "No! No, Yuan, we won't make it!" Too late, her form was draped across his arms, her left shoulder in contact with his pectoral muscle. Precipitously, a fleeing man ran too close to the Tully pair, rushed through her limp, slightly-extended legs with heavy impact-- the force might've been enough to throw Yuan forward some strides. And without doubt, pain burst through her left calf and ankle. Yvaine gritted her teeth at the sudden pain, vaguely noticing how a single slipper had flown off her foot and disappeared beneath the running crowds. And at this point, it appeared Yvaine had little choice but to be carried least she attempt to limp to safety.

Elsewhere, Brisaenys hadn't uttered a single babble of speech. Words were stuck dry in that slender throat. With all the dramatics one of her birth and age could muster, her thoughts alone were thunderous and spitting the girl's subdued, rising anger. 'She was to die here! Among fire and ruin! Her short time in this world was for naught but idiotic lessons... Pointless years wasted to a measly death in the peasant streets!' On, and on, and on, Brisaenys' mind shrieked in narcissistic despair.

But her jaw was locked tight. Her gaze firmly ahead to the backs of Velaryon knights. The girl swallowed her emotion, quelled her internal anguish with a determination that curled her hands tightly. Precious blood seeped past unforgiving fingernails to paint her palms. And like Yvaine, Brisaenys was left to the decisions of her male family-figure: her strides continued towards whatever direction Aethon willed without outward objection.

Dante was a hundred yards from the gate when it finally sunk in that he wasn't on Dragonstone. He wasn't rushing toward his little village outside his broken down keep and the people within didn't know anything about him. Nothing on his person signified anything royal; he'd taken his jacket off in the training yard. In his hand was a worn down training sword, steel, but worn steel. It all came crashing to a head as he pulled his horse to a stop, the confused animal bucking slightly and rocking around. Exactly what was this king of nothing doing? He had no idea what was in the city, what had started the fire, or where he was going to find the means to calm whatever situation was waiting for him just beyond the rise in the road. Dante felt as if he were rushing out to embarrass his new wife and the family that had risked it all to put him on the throne. Half tempted to turn back, the horse curved around giving him a view of the castle walls.

The new king didn't believe in the gods the way most people did. That is, he didn't believe them infallible or absent. They seemed to arrive, like wizards, precisely when needed -- like shining sun on the vision of his wife standing on her balcony. From this distance he couldn't make out her features, but no one stood the way Odessa did, taller than her physical height, feminine but commanding. Whether she was worried or calm, damning him or urging him on, he couldn't tell, but there was a distinct feeling of calm that washed over him from seeing her there. A sensation that told him whatever he'd forgotten in his haste, she hadn't. Odessa was to be the hearth to his fire, channeling erratic energy where it most needed to be, or so Rhaelle said and Dante believed it from the their lengthy conversation the night he met her. He needed time to stop thinking like a pauper prince on a poor island but she didn't. So along with all the other shit he had to remember to get done today, he would make a point of remembering to tell Odessa he loved her.

Just as he was about to turn and head back to the town, Daegon passed him. What passed him made Dante sigh and rub his face. His best friend was a wealth of nearly useless knowledge, and good enough with a sword but he couldn't ride for shit, and the horse he was on was the size of an ox. An ox who did not give a fuck about the rider on its back. That thing flew past Dante with Daegon on its back scrambling to get a good grip and his legs flying out to the sides. That shit was embarrassing. If his friend had any luck at all, he'd fall off the horse well before reaching the town. Either way, Dante turned and followed behind. He was still without a plan but that was most of his life and with Odessa on the balcony, he wasn't worried about it.

The people were starting to turn on each other. Those that counted themselves lower than peasants and were constantly reminded of that status began to loot and worse. Since their example was set by the men sworn to protect the peace, who would punish them? Those pious bullies in gold had now set about doing just the same. Those that weren't ruthlessly cutting down innocents were pillaging, raping and taunting others. Baratheon guards were attacked, provoked by the aiding hands of Rhaelle's women. Starks were kept from their charge. Tully's back into a corner and being extorted for clear passage through the chaos. Even the Lord Velaryon and his daughter were barred from escaping pending a tax. By the time Dante arrived, all he could see where the gold cloaks fanning flames and victimizing his people. It was no different to the riots that broke out on Dragonstone whenever Alexander had sent fresh men to make his life a living hell. They didn't last long and neither would these fucks.

Gripping his sword in one hand, Dante pushed himself up onto the back of the horse and launch onto the backs of gold cloaks taking up arms against Stark men. The sound of armor hitting the cobblestone was nothing against the sound of people screaming and fire crackling. As he rose off the back of a man, Dante gripped the back of his helmet and slammed it into the floor, keeping him down. The sword had gone fuck knows where but it didn't matter and he didn't have time to look for it, so he'd have to take one. Like from the gold cloak coming at him from the right. A solid boot to the chest sent him stumbling back, so maybe not. Some of the wind had been knocked out of Dante's lungs, prompting him to double over, but saving him from losing his head. A sword created a breeze as it skated by and the Baratheon locked his arm over that of the gold cloak who nearly murdered him. Standing up straight and pulling the arm to his chest, push the man's elbow out at a painful angle. Bones snapped. The sword hit the floor. The gold cloak was thrown into his back-up but it by no means slowed the fight.

There was little logical thought put into the Baratheon Lord's action when he took off towards the sound of destruction and screams. In fact the whole scene that was unfolding up ahead did not pull at some string of emotion for the people involved at whatever was going on, instead his sole focus was on one single individual, Xara. Even though he struggled to understand just what connection they shared or what hold she had over his consciousness to the point he would act as he is in this moment, the struggle was minimal at best. For some reason the behemoth of a male found some bit of comfort in just knowing something other than blood and food held his interest and he hoped she felt the same. Another notion that was very foreign to the Lord Paramount, hope.

Behind Kainen, Greyson rode as fast as he could to catch up to the man, in his left hand the reigns of another horse so they could arrive before the day was over. Most people might think Kainen an idiot for just running off, but Greyson understood his Lord better than even Kainen knew himself. Pulling the horse around in front of the sprinting monster, he forced the man to stop though a part of him thought Kainen would just punch the steed out of his way. "Lord Baratheon, the horse, we will get there much faster." Greyson could see the reluctance in Kainen's purple orbs but behind that he could see understanding. It took only a moment, but the two were off again, both mounted and riding with renewed purpose.

When they did eventually arrive in the midst of chaos, Kainen was first to dismount and his steed took off along the road they just came. It certainly was no battle horse for getting it this close was a feat. Kainen's eyes darted around the scene and though he witnessed the same as Greyson who had a mix of anger and horror at just what was going on, Kainen did not show even the slightest hint of emotion or recognition of care for these people. The monsters mind was on one thing and this whole city could burn to the ground as long as he found what he sought.

Just as Greyson was about to slid from his own horse and assist Kainen and anyone else that he could, his grey Stark eyes spotted Dante being set upon by gold cloaks. Brows narrowed in confusion but his actions did not show a modicum of hesitation. As Dante was dispatching his quary another cloak was running at his back but before he reached the new King, Greyson was off his mount, arms around the mans head and a quick jerk released the man from this existence. Dante, like Kainen, was a monster of a man but neither of them had eyes on the back of their head.

"Your Majesty. We need to find your guards. You should not be here alone."

Though Greyson had a pang of concern for his own Lord Paramount and best friend, Kainen would be far harder to protect or even stick close too in this crowd and Greyson knew he needed to keep Dante safe above all else. As his eyes scanned the crowd another attacker came but this was an elderly man with fear, panic and hatred for a people that were suppose to protect them but never did. In his hand a piece of glass that was going more damage to him than he could possibly inflict on an armoured Knight like Greyson. Grabbing the mans wrist, Greyson jerked it to the side and forced it to release the mock weapon before he pushed the man back. "Leave. Now." This was no normal situation but still Greyson was not about to kill an old man caught in the throws of panic. The old man's eyes swelled with tears and simply nodded before he ran away again.

To the side of the crowd Greyson spotted Stark Banners and then Baratheon. It was clear both groups were caught in this and so turning to Dante, Greyson pointed to the closest set which was the Baratheon's and then to the Stark banners. "We need to move and get you guards. This is not Dragonstone, Your Majesty, Your life is no longer just your own." There was no disrespect in Greyson's tone and though he knew Dante understood he was King, he was unsure if the man understood just what he meant to the people as King. They needed him alive, especially when all this blew over. There would be no use dying in this place and no benefit to the people he was here trying to help.

The gods seemed to have a real soft spot for this forgotten prince for even his fleeting and flippant requests never went unanswered. Perhaps it was because he did not rely completely on them or perhaps it was something bigger, whatever it was, as requested, the mammoth steed, once in service to the behemoth that rode swiftly behind him, came to a ground curling halt right at the edge of the riot in the square. As the stallion's front hooves practically shoveled dirt to bring the beast to a halt, its rear end nearly came up over its own head. There was no hope for the already unable bastard seated on the animal's back and he went sailing over the king he was supposed to be guarding, just as the man launched into the midst of the disturbance himself. The actions seemed almost choreographed but they were, hilariously, not. Satisfied with his brisk run and like his original owner, having no care for the deeds of mere men, the horse trotted off to the side and grazed as though all were right in the world. Meanwhile, like the man he was supposed to be protecting, Daegon tried to scrambled to his feet atop a writhing mass of gold cloaks, but this wasn't so easy for a man covered from top to bottom in newly forged armor. His task was made doubly hard by the fact that he was not used to armor, let alone new armor. The wind had been knocked out of him from crashing into his own armor. By some sorcery the bastard boy had managed to keep a hold of his heavy shield while riding the demon disguised as a horse. That shield provided a hard cushion between himself and two cloaks, probably crushing their armor in hard from the back. So if they didn't have broken ribs the blessing wouldn't much against the compressed chest gear that made it harder to breathe anyway. Daegon was just starting to get his footing when a cloak rolled onto his back and hooked the boy's knee causing him to crash down again. This time, with a growl, he manage to land a hard punch to the offender's face.

Rhaelle dismounted her steed beside the grazing monster she knew all too well from her youth. There was no need to drag an innocent animal into the uproar that waited before her. Unlike her cousin and much like her brother, Rhaelle strolled into the madness unarmed. There were a few peasants who had thoughts about taking their frustration against nobility out on the unarmed noble woman but it took only one stern look baring down from the eyes of White Walker to stay their hands and send them reeling onto another potential victim or just running scared. The small folk were not her worry. In fact she completely understood their riot. It wasn't difficult to see that the cloaks were taking advantage of their last hoorah. She sincerely hoped they had enjoyed themselves because every man in the armor of the City Watch was standing on grounds to face executioner for their insolence. Although, the reprimand for this would remain to be seen and would dictate where Dante stood with everyone under this charge. In this, she could not help him. Glancing over to the area near the square's central fountain, there would appear to be many things in which she could help her dear cousin. And the other idiot one was embarrassing her with his every bumbled moved.

There was another presence behind her, one that she had been acutely aware of from the moment they had all passed through the gates of the Red Keep. This one was singular but there were more men following behind at a rate as well. Those were the guards sent by the newly appointed Queen. Their carts, full of salt, were clattering loudly behind them. Closer to her person, however, was her younger brother. Exactly what Azaroth though he was going to be a capable of with one eye covered was anyone's guess. Regardless, brother and sister Baratheon moved through the crowd toward the swaying Baratheon banners but Rhaelle stopped short of her ladies of Xara when one of the guards caught her eye. He was screaming in frustration and what could only be pain as he bare-handed smoldering remains of a collapsed building like he was digging through the dirt. Without missing a beat, Rhaelle turned and her course led straight to the man. Gripping him by the back of his cloak and collar, she hoisted him to his feet; they were all quite physical those Baratheons. The man roared in anger moving around, ready to strike at the person who dared pull him away only to deflate at the sight of his Lady. His face was streaked with soot and sweat and possibly tears, brown eyes blinking up at her. He held out his hands as if to say the emptiness of them was his betrayal. He was trembling but not from fear. "WHY," He finally screamed, when he found his smoke choked voice, "Why can't you and yours just let people die!"

The steady gaze of the undead stared at him.

"Your sister, my lady. Your sister is in there. The Stark girl," He turned and motioned to the wagon where Xara had placed her wears. "She lost her guards and your sister brought her close. Then, then the woman was almost killed by the falling debris, but your sister, she… she… I can't," His hands were still out, shaking, bleeding and blistering. "there is still time. If the smoke hasn't taken her there is still time. Please…"

Rhaelle stilled his words by holding her hand out in front of his mouth. "Attend to the Stark girl."

The tremble of his frustration was subsiding somewhat as he nodded to his mistress and rose off of his knees, all but bolting for the cart, where the Stark girl was being protected by another Baratheon guard as she lay unconscious on a bed of fresh fabrics. As he disappeared through the thick of madness, Rhaelle turned to Azaroth just in time to grab him away from doing exactly what the guard had been doing -- nothing. Instead, Rhaelle guided her brother toward a beam that was jutting out of near center of the rubbish. Together they climbed over smoldering wood and rubble toward the beam. It would create the perfect lift that would get them under the fallen building. The combined Baratheon strength of brother and sister lifted with ease but the beam was breaking as fire devoured the would an ember at a time. Nothing passed between the siblings. There was no need to discuss their limited time or who should go into the belly of the beast. The one-eyed Baratheon slithered under the opening they created immediately assaulted by the smoke that had grown thick as rain clouds. The other followed suit. They'd lost their dear little sister once before and it would not happen again. This sentiment especially weighed on the boy. Losses were guilt and guilt he carried as a burden of his own making. Through the smoke and the haze, it came to be that Rhaenyrs was mere feet from them. The building was not done collapsing, however, and they had only precious moments to bridge the distance between siblings. Rhaelle crossed first but was vaulted forward by the shoulder of her younger brother. The woman spun with the force of the strike derailing her path enough for her eyes to focus in on the beam that had come crashing down and launched Azaroth to the left. Rhaelle doubled back, grabbing Rhaenyrs by the arm before making a beeline for her brother. He was doubled over, coughing, his ribs were likely broken. The arm that wasn't holding his side was slung over her shoulder. Rhaelle nodded back to the direction they had come, noting for Rhaenyrs to head that way. "Crawl out. Find steady footing, you will need to pull him."

Meanwhile, Xara and the rest of Rhaelle's ladies and guards were battling peasants and cloaks alike. Like, Greyson they kept the causalities of the small folk down by brushing them away and steering them toward putting out the flames rather than fight, but the cloaks were shown the same mercy they intended to show those that couldn't fairly defend against them. The sword in Xara's small hand was far to heavy for her, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins manage to hoist the long sword high enough for her to swing from the hip effectively using the weapon as a sharp baseball bat. She used her height or lack thereof to her advantage because the men were used to swinging higher, aiming for the average height of a fellow man, often swinging right over her head, leaving her gaping openings to cut their legs out from under them. But there was always something, wasn't there? Always one glitch in the mainframe, one detail forgotten. In this case it was the dark-skinned maiden long ass hair. From behind, a cloak wrapped his forearm in the billowing dark curls of the girl's hair and yanked her back, ripping her from the protective circle of cloaks and other women. Xara's small frame was slammed into a cobblestone wall. Flames licked near her person from the stabilizing beams between the cobble walls. A gloved and half armored hand wrapped around her throat, his body closing in on her. "You fight well, little girl." He sneered, the free hand snaking along her thigh. "Never had a Summer Isles girl before."

Men from Houses Tyrell and Hightower swarmed the palace square in search of the spice, informing the kitchen staff of the queen's orders and being faced with little or no opposition worth mentioning. The salt was then loaded onto carts and drawn by hand down the streets to the palace square, following not far behind the female lead of House Baratheon. An outer shell of shields surrounded the group so that they could more easily reach the fire without the hassle of pushing through a crowd of terrified people. They were under strict orders to meet an objective, and such did not include the calming of the masses prior to quenching the flames that could spread and kill them all. For the most part, once the running people discovered that the shields bearing House Tyrell's colors had no interest in interaction or allowing them past the barrier, they made every effort to run around them or move to avoid being crushed underfoot. Similarly, their concern for the gold-cloaks was fleeting, and any who opposed their efforts would promptly meet shield and foot to face.

From above, Odessa stood peering between the crenelations of the parapet, looking down on the rising flames and the progress of the troupe being sent to tend them. From the corner of her eye, just past the lower gate, she caught sight of her husband riding out to face the danger head on like a general in battle, but not that of any armed guard, until the one she had met earlier that day stormed past on...was that Titan? The poor fool. She nearly felt sorry for him, but not quite. His fight would be for his own survival at the hooves of that monstrous destrier, hardly the defense of Dante. She felt a tightening sensation within her womb that seemed to ease her nerves where his safety was concerned. He was not only the blood of the stag, but that of the dragon. Fire could not harm a dragon, and a rioting crowd would not penetrate the mountain of a man that was their new king; furthermore, she would not be the only being protected by his capable arms.

As the men moved in closer to their target they broke away from their formation and quickly set to tossing the white crystals upon the searing flames, aiming for the base. "MOVE!!!! Everyone away from the flames! Get out of the way!!!!" Little by little the fire was pushed back, but the progress was painfully slow. Others ripped down a heavy canvas tarp from a nearby stall, using it to suffocate areas that were better contained. The chaos that was quickly ensuing called for a few of the men to remain behind in order to guard the carts. They would worry themselves with defending those in danger when the more pressing matter was taken care of and not left to destroy the whole of King's Landing and not just the square.

The men were quickly able to deduce that the very root of the problem was stemming from that of Alexander's deposed army, who seemed to be unaware that their leader's replacement was in their midst. There was little doubt that the panic and fire had both stemmed from actions undertaken by the gold cloaks who wished to continue their reign of terror upon the people. There was neither fear nor respect instilled in them for the new regime, nor an understanding of what they wished to achieve. As such, it came as little surprise when two of the king's men approached, with lifted swords shouting, "You have no authority he.." Metal met metal, and green and grey swarmed on the two men in gold, pounding their golden heads into the cobblestone street. They had no trek with men who failed in their duty to defend and chose to terrorize the people, and negotiations were not on the table. The Lady of Highgarden and her daughters had been exceptionally clear in the conveyance of their orders.

Such pretty, crimson-orange embers floated overhead, as darkness consumed the air and everything around the pirate girl, who was found pinned on her back, frozen. She could feel the sore burn of smoke collecting within her chest as she gasped for air only to cough in exchange. The sound of screams and mayhem around her became distant with a buzzing ring. The embers distorted into wide shapes, as her eyes fluttered to remain open.

Between the labor of breaths and gaging between the harsh coughs of black smoke it was near impossible to find her voice to call for help. She was trapped. Is this how it’s going to end? Death by foolish heroism. She could already hear the roar of laughter from her crew mates. What if she died? Who would take care of Scribbles? With her out of the picture, surely her beloved pig companion would be the next pork dinner. The thoughts of her brothers, sister, nephew, first mate, the whole bunch of them raced through her mind. She wasn’t ready to die. Not like this. The longing thought repeated in her mind as she unwillingly accepted defeat to the heavy weight on her eyelids, forcing them shut.

It’s been rumored the precious moments in life will flash before your very eyes before you die. For that tiny pirate girl, such a memory rose from the deepest depths of her past. Drowning in a faded memory of her youth, being a simple noble child at the dining table at Storm’s end, she remembered. That was what was important she remembered that conversation, that harassment from her sister, that she was circled by her beloved family.

In such a memory, she turned to where her mother used to sit. “Mother…” the word was blurred from her lips. Extending her hand, begging to reach for her. Though unable to grasp or even drawn close, her mother never moved, only bore that motherly smile she always remembered. With no parting of the lips, her mother’s voice drew her in. “Wake up, Little Dove. You have to wake up." Her voice rang in the pirate’s heart beat as she tempted one more grasp till everything faded back to the wreckage and she called out to the grasp of another reaching for her arm. “Mother?!?”

Only to see Rhaelle through the orange shadows of the dying flames. Digging her knees against the ground she pushed forward to Rhaelle as her elder sister pulled her and tugged her to their brother Azaroth. Managing to be slung to keep balance she moved in direction to where Rhaelle directed as she tugged her brother forward pulling him through the exit they made as the light broke through the haze as she stumbled forward trying not to collapse back to the Baratheon flags. Rhaenyrs, panicked, groggy, breathing fire like the dragons her elder brother loved so much and still in shock from her near death experience, kept close to her sister, her rock.

To Aethon it seemed peoples solution to chaos was to throw more bodies at the masses. More wood for the fire wasn't the way to smoother the flames and as more soldiers came crashing down on the gold cloaks, blood started to flow a little bit more freely which sent even more of the civilians into a more startled frenzy than before. At least these ones were a little more tactful in their endeavor. Shifting down a side street with his armored convoy, Aethon emerged too see his son be flung from the back of some great beast. A frown knitted his brow as he regarded the animal for a mere moment before his attention returned to his son's embarrassing entrance. Curses were muttered under his breath as fingers tightened about his daughter. The boy was a lost cause, even with his posture so close to the new King who Aethon had finally got a glimpse of as he dealt with some of the instigators of this madness.

Dante was not as well known as his cousin Kainen but his size was definitely that of a Baratheon so it was easy for Aethon to put two and two together. This was not a person to shy away from getting his hands dirty for the sake of others which honestly made things a little more difficult for Aethon and his plans. At least Alexander would watch from afar so whispering in the mans ear, while still dangerous, was far easier that it seemed this would be. Never one to shy away from a challenge however, Aethon was already planning multiple ways to earn this new King's favor.

When yet another retinue of armored figures came upon the square, Aethon urged his own guards in the direction that those baring Tyrell and Hightower sigils came. As much as he thought it would be in his benefit to assist the new King by lending him a guard or two, Aethon was more interested in his own well being than that of a King. They could easily be replaced after all, his life carried far more worth to himself. Even his daughter was a bargaining tool to get him what he desired. Once passed the chaos and onto quieter streets, Aethon turned to witness that which he just escaped and his cold almost dead eyes remaining upon this new King as much as his current position would allow him to behold. This man was young, perhaps still naive, definitely not well versed in the way of court etiquette, though a glance behind him towards the Red Keep and he knew who lay within. A Tyrell, one born of stature, purpose and the knowledge the new King would lack. She would no doubt be Aethon's biggest hurdle for even if that Beast of Storms End had organised that which put this Dante on the throne, she would not be around forever but this new Queen would be.

Another curse muttered from under the Lord Velaryon’s breath as his hand removed from his daughter and folded across his chest as brooding features turned back towards the square. At least it would give him something to focus his time for it had been a while since he had been offered such a challenge and with such a thought a smirk tugged on tired looking features and a sinister grin set upon his lips. Although, Dante would need to survive this little trial before Aethon could even begin to mold the boy for his own desires.

Against his clothed chest, Yvaine’s fingers curled into the fabric as her ankle throbbed post-collision. Whatever tears had dried previously, she was now crying again; and while her sobs were muffled with gritted teeth, the sensation ignited tearful hiccups out her throat. Fearful, she clung onto her brother. When Yvaine tried to speak, only incoherent babbles stifled by her muted crying emitted from her. So, with his courage thundering in his chest, Yuan pulled her tighter in his arms; electing to hunch his shoulders around her head and knees to shield her from further injury. Then, as hand-pulled carts rushed past them back into the Square, young Lord Tully clambered behind their momentum as they cleared a path through the commoners. Better to innovate than to be stuck to a singular plan, Yuan opted to bring his sister and him to safety no matter the initial direction.

In this moment, all throughout King’s Landing, rumors flew about what was occurring. Some fleeing the scene sang to either fight or flee from the Gold Cloaks whom were slaughtering common-folk at will. Some mentioned glimpses of the King himself in the chaos. Some spoke that Dante I had already been killed. Words were aplenty and varied; with little truth or honest fact. And some believed solely in what they could see or hear from a distance: fire, black smoke, and screams.

Ambiguity over their children’s whereabouts was enough to implore the parents of Yuan and Yvaine—Lord Eóden and Lady Halenna— to send more of their own guards away from the Red Keep into the Square.

Soon, the spice carts sent by command of the Queen were lugged towards burning shops. Yuan broke off following them to assess the situation. In a mirage of hazy images, bodies flashed in every inch of the space. But young Lord Tully’s gaze was wild in thought. Abandoned and pacing in place, a dark stallion whined and tossed its black mane in fidgets. Quick to fulfill his newfound plan, Yuan sprinted towards the saddleless steed, “Ho! Easy, now! Easy!,” he spoke firmly to the beast, released Yvaine to her feet, and securely gripped the horse’s hair. “There’s no bridle, climb and hold on!” Yuan commanded his sister, which she obligated without hesitation. Throwing manners to hell, she flung her injured leg over first; a decision that hiked her skirt awkwardly. He aided her ascension onto the stallion’s back, “Hold steady!,” and then, Yuan mounted and sat behind Yvaine’s back. Both twins shared talent for riding, it was to be thoroughly tested now as Yuan and Yvaine surged forward through the crowd.

Faster, the mirage of commotion raced across Yvaine’s sight. Unknown, nameless faces of every social class and origin were battling, fighting, fleeing… but one. “Margarethe!” she yelled abruptly and grabbed Yuan’s wrist, “She’s there on the ground, stop! We must go back!” Yuan didn’t have the heart to argue reason with his beloved sibling and continued their gallop away onto the nearest neighboring street. “No!,” Yvaine cried in panic, “Margarethe!” Her pleas for the fallen matron were to dead ears... and that silent, soundless body, with green silk still gripped in cold hands, was likely to be recognized by others of the Tully guard and company.

Elsewhere, Brisaenys had finally groaned an audible sound of pained impatience, "Father." Irritation flashed across her irises as Aethon's hand curled tight about her shoulder. Her own sounds and those which surrounded them drowned his curses before they reached her ears. Brisaenys slumped her shoulder downward, as if attempting to escape his firm hold on her. Unlike her noble father, the pale daughter saw little past the heights of those Velaryon knights; rather, in these fleeting moments, Brisaenys only witnessed glimpses through their openings behind shield, sword, and body. Therefore, those elegant brows furrowed tactlessly to her Father's stern handling. She was responding with girlish vexation. Of course, her small display was to be outright ignored-- little wonder why the youngest felt inclined to say anything at all in the first place.

Soon, their group reconvened away from the Square into calmer streets. And the youngest Velaryon child was escorted, dragged along without single thought about Baratheons, Tyrells, and Gold Cloaks. Then, reassured by sound alone, Brisaenys felt her facial expression of indignation melt away to something more solemn. The sounds were behind them. Was she naive to believe such chaos and uncertainty was behind them... in more ways than one? Thereafter, one could imagine her misunderstanding at Aethon's hesitancy to stop. And look back where they came. Released of his hand, Brisaenys rolled her shoulder in a backwards to combat its stiffness.

Here, she then turned about slowly, purposely following his gaze. And she caught sight of his final smirk, "Lord Father," Brisaenys broke the silence, "we follow you." Away from here, she begged wordlessly, please. Whether she knew it or not, the survival instinct she felt extended beyond her own selfish desire. The feeling was apparently sowed in the ambition of her family unit in all things beyond what young Brisaenys had just experienced...

Stuffed into new armor, Dante's longtime friend and now his only guardian had flown over his head and into group of gold cloaks. At the onset, both men leaping into chaos may have looked heroic but the one in the armor hadn't planned for any of it. He was bucked from a stolen horse and nearly trampled as he tried to get his footing in that heavy, stiff armor. Daegon was a competent fighter. He and Dante had been their share of street fights, tavern brawls and even a tournament once. None of which counted for shit if he couldn't get upright. What little he could salvage of his situation had him getting off his face and onto his back, dragging cloak after cloak down to the ground in an effort to keep fighting and get room enough to get up. By the time Greyson was on the scene, Daegon had made a scattered pile of men and gotten to his knees.

Meanwhile, a cloak was shoved away from the reckless king into a crop of others knocking them over like pins. The loud familiar snap of neck bones made his skin crawl prompting Dante to turn around and see Greyson dropping a dead man to the floor. "Don't kill. Maim. Just maim." Greyson's one kill was nothing compared to the rising body count on the hands on the Hightower and Tyrell men. They had come to do a job and anyone to get in their way was fucked. The mentality wasn't too far off the cause for the riot in the first place even if the orders had come from a different headspace. At least the house guards weren't out for the innocent. Dante had been talking as Greyson was, so the other man's words took a minute to sink in. "Oh, yeah. Right. Huh..." He had one guard, with one fucking job and he couldn't find the bastard. No, wait. Reaching into a mass of writhing armored bodies, Dante pulled Daegon, who had been toppled over but was still swinging with all he had, and yanked him to his feet. "There we go."

Daegon didn't miss beat, his fist coming around right for Dante's head, but the new king ducked him and the punch landed square on a cloak that was coming at his back again. "I could have taken your head off!" Daegon fumed, gripping Dante's shoulder and stepping beyond him to continue pummeling the cloak.

"But you didn't."

"And you're lucky for that."

"Is it really luck though?"

"Yes!" Back on his feet, the armor forced to give way under the pressure of the fight, Daegon was far more formidable. To his credit, he hadn't done a bad job of surviving while he was on his back like a fucking turtle either.

All the while, Baratheon soldiers were being gathered and stationed around the Red Keep. The few soldiers who had been present with men in the training yard were under orders from Galen to gather water and supplies to aid the citizens; a dual effort alongside the Tyrell and Hightower men sent to douse the flames. They arrived behind the Reachmen lining the main street with wagons for aid before forming a second wall of shields and moving in behind those sent to douse the flames to gather the injured and innocent and the Lord Velaryon away from the chaos. The path created set free the Tully's as well though too late to save some.

There was little heed paid to the words Dante spoke in regards to maiming the cloaks. Though Greyson understood the notion he also was under no illusion that death was the only resort for men that attacked a King, yet in this current situation a body count was merely going to rise the tension of the common folk and the ire of the remaining cloaks. Then, as if to solidify such a thought a cloak lunged at Greyson's back but was met with nothing but an elbow to the center of his face, shattering nose and teeth alike as the man's appearance forever altered in the blink of an eye.

Turning to face the crowd, Greyson took a step back closer to Dante, grey Stark eyes scanning the crowd. Yet he did not look for more threats for they were easy to spot and with the little training these cloaks held they were hardly a match. Much more like ants that swarmed their prey, a quick boot usually sorted their kind out. No, instead he searched for his own Lord, Kainen who should have been quite easy to find but with all this debris and smoke the only thing Greyson could see was a massive black beast barreling its way through the crowd as if it were naught more than water. Titan. A smirk tugged at the Stark's lips for he knew the horses trajectory and with at least that in mind his attention withdrew back to the matter at hand.

"When you two are ready, I suggest falling back towards the Keep and let the Queen's men handle the rest, Your Majesty."

Neighs and flicks of its giant head cleared a path for the mammoth sized horse as it half trotted through the mass of bodies. People scrambled to clear its path but some were not so lucky, ending their encounter with either unconciouness or more fortunate, a mere broken bone. Though Titan had no care for most living things, the giant horse still managed to avoid children where it could for he was no mere brute beast as most would think. The unspoken mission at this moment however, finding someone he usually did not care for but at this time wished to be by such a persons side.

At the far side of the crowd, a girl experiencing rather unwanted advances was about to be greeted with a sight most would probably care not to witness. As the cloak's hand moved higher along the Summer Isle girls thigh, a larger hand gripped the back of the cloaks head. The owner of said hand masked by the closeness of the cloak to Xara but as he was lifted from his feet, armor and all by a single hand, well, ones own imagination could guess the rest. A growl rippled from behind the cloak as if a beast lay in wait yet as he dangled a few inches from the ground he was moved slightly to the side before his face came into swift contact with a wall before him. Blood and bone pained the charred surface a deep crimson and the lifeless body sank to the ground in a heap. Kainen now stood before Xara wiping his hand off on his cloak and giving her a rather rare smile, though deep violet eyes were glowing a most sinister tint. The man was a standing contradiction of emotions.

Behind Kainen a half circled had formed consisting of both rebellious cloaks and guards sent to deal with them, all pausing in their en-devours to look at this behemoth of a man. Their formation interrupted however when Titan burst through their ranks and halted a step behind Kainen. Dropping it's huge head quickly the horse headbutted Kainen on the back of his skull which sent the man forward a step. Rubbing the spot slowly, a brow raised as he turned, the pain seemingly little more than a slight knock and regarding the horse for a moment, he delivered the same greeting back to the beast which had Titan neigh again and shake it's head. Smirking, he smacked the side of the horse's face with a heavy pat. Turning once more, a large arm wrapped around Xara and in one fluid motion hoisted her from her feet straight up onto the massive beast's back. For once there was no objection from Titan and Kainen handed her the reigns.

"Follow."

The only word Kainen spoke since arriving, though it seemed it was more directed towards the beast than the small female that sat upon it's back. Walking back in the direction he came, a trembling a foolish cloak lunged for Kainen, why? Madness perhaps, who knows, but all his efforts were met with a thunderous punch straight to his breast plate which caved in the metal and probably a few ribs beneath it. The man flew backwards, dead or unconscious on impact, it was hard to tell given he did not move. The rest separated as man and beast moved forward and when he passed, the Tyrell and Hightower guards pressed their advantage and jumped on the cloaks, dispatching and subduing all they could.