Cheering sounded from the far side of the thicket of trees. Through the gaps between the trees it was easy to see the raised seating which ran around the edge of the tourney ground. They had stopped at the crossroads here for a tourney and Yorwick was growing impatient, the men had no way south except for through here, at least a path that didn't include climbing the mountains. He was reluctant to climb unfamiliar mountains without a guide. He sized up his men. "Lord Flaxe, we shouldn't stay still too long, the tourney won't have stolen away all of the scouts, Lord Tarly is in this army after all." Yorwick nodded his head, Brandon was an experienced warrior, he had fought in the King Robert's Rebellion.

"We'll walk the horses around to the north again. What do you think of just walking into the camp and seeing how far we get?" Brandon looked out of the trees.

"We've gotten within a stone's throw of their King. I don't think they'll pay much attention to some extra men wandering about camp. But we'll need a pretext in case someone recognises these." He gestured to his ironfur. Lord Flaxe stood up and gripped his horse's reins.

"We're merchants, the iron of the Ironmountain is the best in Westeros. We're going to sell these in Dorne." Brandon stood and went to his horse. The four other Ironfur riders followed suit and began to lead their horses round to the road north of the camping army. There were no guards at the road as they entered the camp. They had no palisade defending it either. Brandon grunted. He disapproved.

They passed Florent banners, Tyrell banners and Rosegold banners. Clearly the Reachmen were supposed to be the first line of defence. The tents were empty. Loud shouting came from ahead. As Yorwick looked around he noticed that there were no Hightower banners. The Tarly banners were surrounded by armoured men guarding the entrance of the camp from the Rainwood to the east but the Hightowers were nowhere to be seen. Were they late? Or had they not followed the Tyrells in their support of Renly?

The crowd of excited soldiers was between them and the southern road. They tried to press through the barrier of men. "Hey! Stop pushing!" A man beside Yorwick grabbed him. Brandon drew his blade. Yorwick glanced back at him and put out a hand.

"We're trying to get through. We're traders, going to Dorne."

"Then you can wait. The tourney isn't over." He spat at Brandon. "Put your sword away. You don't want to cut yourself old man." Brandon stepped forward. He growled softly. The man stepped back in surprise, bumping into others. The rest of the Ironfurs had drawn their blades and were stood around Yorwick. He sighed and drew a shortsword. It was simple. A steel blade in a wooden hilt with black leather wrapped around the hilt.

The sounds of cheering had been silenced. Even the tourney was quiet now. Renly Baratheon was stood on the raised platform looking towards the disturbance. He walked down the steps, various knights formed a ring around him. "What is going on?"

"I am Lord Yorwick Flaxe, your Grace. I'm travelling to Dorne and my friend here took offense at the behaviour of one of your men. If we could pass through we would be very grateful." Renly Baratheon looked down slightly at him. He seemed thoughtful. A smile grew across his face.

"Of course. But we are having a tourney. Your friend should compete. Do you think he will win the next duel? There is a handsome reward for the winner. They may ask of me one thing, and I shall grant it, should I be able to. What do you say Ser...?"

"I'm no Ser." Brandon gritted his teeth. He looked warily about the men around him, his sword still raised. Renly laughed.

"Compete." He turned around and climbed the platform. He looked over at them expectantly. Yorwick sighed and pushed Brandon forwards.

"Win, lose. It doesn't matter. Get out of here alive Brandon." Brandon just grinned back. He swung his sword in his hand.

"Lord Willas Rosegold and the brute in the service of Lord Flaxe." A man dressed in bright colours leapt backwards leaving a sandy circular space behind. Lord Willas was blonde haired and bore a longsword. Brandon had stitched a frown onto his face.

He took up a stance. Brandon stood still, his sword hanging limp at his side. Lord Willas looked at him in confusion. Then he rushed forwards bring his sword down from above. Brandon rolled to a side and swung up at where he had been. His blade planted itself firmly in Lord Willas' thigh. The crowd roared in anger as Lord Willas collapsed, blood pooling from his torn arteries.

"You killed a lord." Renly spoke quickly.

"I did. He swung a sword at me."

"This is a tourney."

"Don't be a fool. You're at war. All of you!" He roared out. "Men die everyday. You're marching along this road to battle. You think none of you are going to die! You think Lords are any safer than the common man." He laughed. "This is no tourney. This is practice. If you don't want to get hurt while you practice, then use sparring blades." Brandon turned and spat on the ground before striding across the arena towards the southern exit of the camp.

"You were promised a prize." Brandon stopped and looked back at Renly.

"Aye, I was."

"What do you request?"

"A long happy life. Can you give me that?" Brandon turned back around and continued walking. Renly laughed behind him. A small sack of gold was brought to Yorwick.

"For your man. Enough gold for a happy few years at least." Yorwick bowed. He and the four other riders rushed after Brandon. They caught up to him at the exit, his horse was being lead by one of the other men.

"Do you want us dead?" Yorwick grabbed Brandon by his arm and pulled him closer. "Behave yourself."

"They're boys off to war. Boys of thirty years and more. Those knights are the knights of dancing halls and feasts. Not knights of war. They should learn their lesson."

"You should learn your lesson. If this had been in King's Landing do you think King Joffrey would just let you off with killing a Lord, even as part of a tourney."

"We aren't in King's Landing." Brandon put one foot back and put both arms out to the side as he bowed mockingly low, his nose nearly touching the floor. "My Lord." He mounted his horse and waved an arm to the Stoneway before them.

"Welcome to Dorne."