A Song of Frost & Flame

by Chimaera1201

When Robert's Rebellion broke out, the ancient friend and ally of the Starks, House Tormont offered their oldest daughter to the Lords of the Corridor for their alliance. Powerful and respected, the Taugere family kept the way north safe and at peace for thousands of years. But a less known prophecy may declare if the world will freeze over again, or burn in the fires.

25. Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25 - THE ARDENT QUEEN

Milla stood in their chamber, packing away clean clothing into the dressers while a single chambermaid cleaned the room and her mind wandered over the past. They'd been back at Citrine Arch for near to two years. When they arrived, Carissa received them gratefully, explaining that the unexpected loss of lord Scharer left both her husband and lady Bea in a state of sorrow so overbearing that they could barely manage. For a time, the lady had locked herself away while Rod tried to maintain everything, but found himself overwhelmed and her father's body remained on the vigil bier, surrounded by the bright flowers that gave her childhood home its status. But with their aid, two days later he was released to the shimmering river like his father before him, and his long before. Berin was made Surrogate Castellan while Rod regained his footing and his senses, and Milla took the hold's responsibilities along with Carissa, leaving her mother to grieve and heal. With the Silent Sister and Berterin, Berin who had been to the stronghold twice - the second time in the company of the Tormonts themselves, returned the caskets and the sword Talon to Pale Haven personally, and returned within three days. Barely a fortnight after that lord Roose Bolton arrived at Citrine Arch, ordering their fealty to him as the new Warden of the North. As lord of their holdfast, Rod had little choice but to concede, and swore loyalty to the Boltons of the Dreadfort. The White Hold fell silent after that, and on multiple occasions the warden's soldiers came coercing to reveal it's location, with little luck. There was just nothing. Like the entire castle and its grounds and all who dwelt on it disappeared into the mist, but she did not fear for them. Berterin had made a new friend, though. Ormont of Highpoint, and they spent most of their days together. He was a tall boy of ten and five, thin as a reed and straight as a dirk, with sand brown hair and clear brown eyes. A hard, scarred face but gentle manners. It was said that the boy possessed the gift of "greensight", and although the two boys had similar talents, what Berterin saw was quite different. His visions did not come from dreams, it was a living energy made known to his eyes, and visible in all that he saw. Only, some more prominent than others. But, with Ormont's help he seemed to improve, and even started using this form of 'sight' to predict an opponent's movements in sparring. In time, it became easy to notice when Ormont saw something, as his gaze would dwell to the sky above him like some magical creature flew overhead; he shared many of them but these aspects rarely made any sense. Simple flashes that lasted but a moment, among them a great fire swallowed by a shadow, two cats swimming upstream in a storm, a blue bird flying over The Wall, and as recently as a fortnight ago, a blooming sunflower drenched in warm blood... Vaellion made new friends as well, but where his brother preferred the weight of a sword or mace in his hand, he favoured the longbow and a quiver of arrows. Bella spent her time with family, and loved taking her little cousins to the garden. Leufroy was six, Reyne was almost five and Basilius was just past three, and he enjoyed wandering around... and there would be a fourth before too long. Carissa was already showing.

"Milla!" she looked up from the drawers, answering her husband's voice. A moment later he entered their chamber, with a queer smile.

"Your mother is asking for you. She wants to know if the tea was delivered to your father." he laughed softly, and Milla sighed.

"Al right, I'll be down in a moment." after a long absence, lady Bea rejoined them seeming no more distraught than years ago. Somehow, she had the firm belief that her husband was still there. But they left her be. If it was something that comforted her, they left it so. Then she smiled.

"And you?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I need to speak with Rod. I want the soldiers running the grounds before they take up their weapons, today." he decided. They'd had their frustrations, with such differences. Rod was a good man, and admired by all. But he was much too lenient as far as discipline of the soldiers went, and had received a good deal of complaints from some of the men since Berin took management of the castle's defences. He'd asked that the training be lessened with at least an hour, of which none would be had. And so, the differences remained. But despite the arguments, they saw betterment nonetheless. They left the chamber together, heading down to join their family. They parted ways again in the main hall where Berin made for the lord's audience chamber to meet with Rod, and Milla spared an admiring glance for the unique artefact mounted on the wall above the hearth. Strong mahogany wood carved into woven sunflowers, the petals laid with gold leaf and the cores set with black gems; and a long curved blade of green gilded steel. The Scharer family arm, unlike other houses, was not a weapon. It was a tool. A magnificent scythe named "Harvest Bringer". The legend told that as long as this blade remained in their home, their harvests would be bountiful; and true they had seen plentiful years that seemed to disregard any form of weather changes, whether it was the heat of summer, or the chill of winter. She made her way outside, facing a clear morning sky. Citrine Arch faced south-east, the front of the castle only enjoying the copper sunlight of late noon; but it did not lessen the rays that spilled in through each great window. Two high towers flanking the long halls of the stronghold connected by an arch gave the castle its unique appearance, and two sets of wide stairways leading down to the great rounded bailey was joined by a grand stone deck bordered with more high arches. And yet another immense arched gate allowed entry through the keep's outer wall. The stable, armoury and the castle forge was set against the right wall, and the stores and training grounds was off to the left where Berterin and Ormont duelled with sword and mace, and Vaellion loosed arrows at a straw target along with his companion. Lady Bea sat on the stone bench at a rounded stone table on the deck, busy arranging flowers in a large vase in front of her, and Milla approached.

"You called for me?" she asked gently as she stopped next to her, and the elderly woman looked up.

"Oh, yes my sweet. Did you see that your father was served his tea? He always takes lemon tea in the morning." she asked, reminding her of an old custom.

"Yes, Mammy. I did." she lied, but it was a small lie. One that would comfort a forlorn heart.

"Thank you. Please join me, Carissa and Bella should be down soon." she invited, and Milla took the seat next to her, claiming one of the red roses lying on the table and started removing the leaves. They spoke softly, wondering if the new baby would be a boy or a girl, and what name Carissa would choose, while Bea commented that 'Jehan' would be a fine option for a boy. Shortly after, the children emerged doddering down the stairs followed by Bella, carrying a tray with a pitcher and several pewter cups and Carissa holding a platter with small cinnamon rolls and brandy cakes. They settled in at the table, continuing their discussion while the little ones played and laughed on the deck, chasing the many Mourning Cloak butterflies that fluttered between the vine covered arches. Carissa pulled the delicate wool shawl together over her shoulders. Had it not been for the wind, it might have been a warm day. Berin came down the steps, scanning the bailey for the soldiers that would be under his training today, and called them together.

"Quickly! Into two columns, hurry up!" he called over them, and a third of the eighty seven castle guards rushed together. They waited while Berin inspected them, and once he was satisfied that all was in order he turned for the gate, where to his annoyance a group of forty men entered abruptly, carrying the flayed man on their shields. At their front was a big boned, fleshy youth with sloped shoulders. A small, meaty mouth was set in a wet-lipped smile amidst pink and blotchy skin, seeming unnatural under a broad nose, and long, dark, dry hair was left at the mercy of the wind. His distinctive eyes gave his identity, for they resembled his father Roose's. The small, close-set eyes scanned the faces on the grounds; oddly pale, like two chips of dirty ice. Berin knew him for lord Bolton's son. Bastard son... he quickly corrected himself. Next to him on a dark palfrey sat a haggard man, gaunt and bony with wild greying hair. He seemed so out of place, he would never face someone fully and would always look down or away from those in front of him. They called him Reek, on occasion. But again he couldn't resist the thought that he knew him from somewhere. Then Ramsay's attention fell on him solidly while most of his men dismounted and dispersed into the bailey.

"We've come to collect tax." Ramsay Snow announced, but Berin stared back unaffected by his icy stare.

"Ours have been paid." he told, but the smile remained.

"You were short." the youngster curtly said, and Berin felt the rise of warmth through his arms.

"This is the second time since the turn of the moon that you've come. What do you want?" he asked irritably, barely noticing the soldiers starting to amble about in search of valuables. The Trentin sons, turned to watch.

"Sixty bags of seeds, and two chests of silver. That should settle your debt." Ramsay demanded, and Berin spared a quick glance at the stores. There were only one hundred and ten bags left.

"Our farmers need to plant those seeds, or there won't be a decent harvest." Berin denied, but the crooked smile turned into a horrid grin.

"Well, if you can't pay your taxes, we'll need to take something else." he looked up at the women on the deck, taking in each face before suddenly motioning to the men.

"Take the girl!" he suddenly commanded, and watching several soldiers move up the stairs it left a petrifying chill in his veins, and turmoil flooded the yard. Berin tried to move forward, but three more soldiers blocked his way. A string of men with blades created a wall between the soldiers behind him and those from the Dreadfort.

"No!" Milla screamed as she rose to her feet, watching in terror as two of the soldiers seized her only daughter by her arms and started to drag her away. Shocked beyond motion, Bea looked on wide eyed and crying; but Carissa, truly as the gallant little woman she was, abruptly stood and stepped forward, near to disregardful of her state.

"You can't do this! You can't!" she yelled at them, intent on intervening when a hand suddenly grabbed onto her dress to hold her back.

"Let go of her!" Berin ordered, still trying to battle his way through the soldiers that held him back, following each torturous moment that she struggled and fought against them while they pulled her down the stairs to the horses. No! Not my girl! Not my Bella! He wanted to scream, to draw his blade and demonstrate the proper way of flaying, although it was left inside.

"Leave my sister alone!" Berterin yelled as he threw himself at one of the soldiers, followed by Ormont. He knocked the man to the ground, but an unseen fist flung him to the dust where the sharp tip of a sword held him in place, and a quick strike knocked the blade from his friend's hand. Vaellion and his companion both raised their bows, but with five men facing them it was difficult to decide whom to aim at.

"Let her go!" Berin roared again, disregarding the angry fingers digging into his arms as he forced himself forward.

"Enough!" everyone looked up, acknowledging the lord of the hold whom came from the great doors to discover the event. Then he looked at Ramsay.

"Leave her! Take the bags and the silver and go!" he exclaimed, looking at a man at the base of the steps.

"Wert, open the stores." he told, and the man moved away. Mercifully, Bella slipped from the soldier's grasp and ran from them, Berin wretched himself free from the hands and finally wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as she shivered and whimpered against him. He felt suddenly warm and tired, hateful of the shudder coursing through him. A gentle hand rested on him, and Milla held them both. Berterin forced himself to his feet, wiping a drop of red from his lip; but the soldiers moved away as a group started carrying bags of seeds and two chests to a wagon evidently waiting outside. Berin looked up, the urge to slaughter each of them lingered in the boil of his stomach. With the last of the bags claimed and stowed on the wagon, the soldiers remounted their steeds and filed out through the gates, but Berin watched them, resentful to release his hold. Ramsay turned his courser with a final hard glance at them and followed; the leer in his pale grey eyes indicative that this would not be their last visit. Which in itself would not have been overly daunting, but for the hunger behind the glare. Finally with them gone, he allowed himself an easier breath and then looked at the soldiers.

"Back to your routines. We'll resume training tomorrow." he sighed, and made his way back into the shelter of the castle with his family, leaving the men to return to their day. With evenfall, Berin met Rod yet again in his audience chamber where he was seated at his desk and a clamour of letters were strewn about the surface. He stared at the space in front of him, candles and torches creating long distorted figures across the walls and his gaunt face; a horn held in his right hand. Berin paused, wondering for a moment what to say to the lord whom seemed so beaten. He'd sacrificed the livelihood of his people, to save his daughter. Then he took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"Rod, your people are heavily burdened by these war taxes. What you did..." he started, but unexpectedly saw the younger gentleman smile.

"It's al right, Berin. We've gotten by with as little as twelve bags before. I'll confess it was a fucking meagre year, but we survived." then he looked up, his green eyes clear and without any resent.

"Besides, your daughter is worth far more than sixty sacks of seeds, wouldn't you say?" he added, bringing the horn to his mouth while Berin glanced down, a soft smile of his own.

"Thank you." he breathed, and then Rod stood and rounded the table towards him.

"You've given so much to us, lord Trentin. Without you, and your family, mine and our lives might have turned out far worse." he told, and then laughed softly.

"Bella is my niece, and I love her. If it is within my power, I will never allow her any harm." he assured, and they took hands.

"We will continue to help you as much as we can, my lord." Berin returned, and it seemed lighter then, but Rod sighed.

"Things have changed a lot. Lord Eddard Stark would never have seized a member of someone's family as compensation for tax." he breathed dismally. But no, that was not the true reason. They came for her, and they needed a reason to take her... Bella sat on her bed, running her fingers over her bare arms. She'd never been as afraid as she was today, the terror of being ripped from her family overwhelming every other sense. She was completely unprepared, and everything she'd learnt left her mind in that instant. She hadn't realised the hurt to her arms before her father brought her back inside, and only now noticed the discoloured blemishes left by the cruel grips. She could still hear her mother screaming when she watched her father struggle, fighting to get to her and he couldn't. Saw her brother struggle, fighting to get to her and he couldn't. She missed home, missed aunt Claira and uncle Raeghun, missed young Rychon and fierce Falgon. Then she smothered a sting of heat to her eyes and strangled a sob when a soft knock to her door drew her attention, and she quickly pulled her robe over her shoulders.

"Enter." the door cautiously edged open, and Berterin peered inside. When she smiled at him, he stepped in and closed the door before coming to her.

"Bella, are you al right?" he asked as he took a seat next to her, hearing her sigh.

"Yes. A bit bruised, but no more." she assured, showing him the purplish stains on her skin, but he laughed running his finger over a distorted thumbprint.

"Oh, don't worry. Knowing you, the shock will fade sooner than the bruises." he softly teased, making her smile. His mouth was still swollen, and a red stain marred his throat where the blade rested against him; and for some reason she recalled the day she struck him. She had apologised, but still felt now that she acted rashly. Then she took his hand in hers, hard and callused from training.

"Thank you, for standing up for me." she breathed, and he smiled.

"We would never, have just let them take you." he promised, so to keep herself from crying she laughed.

"I know." Then he held her, and her arms went around his waist. Her brave little brothers, who were taller than she was now. How they'd changed over the past two years... Berin stood in front of the window, bare to the breeze watching the darkness outside where the shadows were only broken here and there by a single flickering light, wondering when they'd come back. He heard his wife moving on the silken sheets behind him.

"My Knight, come to bed." her voice called to him, barely above a whisper. But he breathed in, filling his chest with the cool air.

"Berin?" Milla raised herself, staring at him.

"It's getting harder, to protect Bella..." he muttered, then she stood and joined him, gently resting her skin against his as he faced her and softly kissed her brow before looking back to the window, feeling her soft arms circling his waist, easing the ache.

"I've included her in the training so she would be able to protect herself, and she'd be fine against one or two. But if a horde of soldiers swarm her like they did today, then..." he didn't want to imagine it, he couldn't. I couldn't do anything... gods be good, if Falgon were here, any man who touched her would have lost his arms... He wished he was stronger, then.

"Oh, my love..." Milla breathed against him, sharing his concerns. Then he looked down at her again.

"She's beautiful, Milla. She draws attention. And I should have known she would not avoid the eyes of the lordlings." he told, and her light green eyes met his.

"We could consider sending her back to Mount Ardor?" she proposed, and drawing as it was it was a dangerous suggestion.

"Not alone, we've only brought four guards. I can't risk it." he declined, and they stood for a while as he recalled that place. She wanted to stay there, perhaps he shouldn't have made her come with them. There was nowhere in the world she'd be safer than their true home, where a threat on a lady of the burning mountain was instantly as dire a crime as murder. Then his thoughts went to the blade stowed in his dresser, the one they'd brought back from Pale Haven.

"The sooner we go home, the better..." he sighed, secretly hoping that it would come sooner rather than later. Important as they were, they could not remain here. Not if it placed his family in danger... Staring up at the stars he wondered how their lady was doing, all alone in that immense stronghold. Had her lord returned..?

Claira sat at the head of the great table in the Hollow drenched in the light of a full moon, only barely broken by the firelight around her while she stared at a selection of maps open on the surface, trying to mull over the situations. But it seemed, her mind was not partial to the task and she'd already sent master Austinus down to rest. Their men had defended their lands tirelessly, and despite ser Serrett's best efforts she believed, they'd been probed by several raids and other attempts on their domain. The patrols did their best to keep the peace, but were picked off where possible. The parties did not carry colours, but it was not hard to guess where they came from; and they would continue to gnaw at their strengths, while slowly trying to seize their landmarks; while it was left to her lords to either protect them or reclaim them in the end, either one of these leading to loss of lives. Several supply posts have been claimed and reclaimed, small villages raided, and watchtowers overwhelmed and recovered. Yet, perhaps there was hope that circumstances might calm. The much anticipated royal wedding came and went, a grand and tragic day all the same when their king was poisoned at the feast; and following his funeral young Tommen Baratheon now sat the Iron Throne as king. She found herself thinking of her family so far away, and wondered what they were doing. Was Bella still dancing, and were their sons becoming as strong as their fathers? She received a letter from her dear friend around each turn of the moon with new events and developments, and as much as she could tried to reply although there was less and less to report on, and honestly in most instances just could not find the time to do so. One moment she'd think of the letter before her attention was needed on a different matter, and at evening she'd realize she'd forgotten about the letter, but would reply the next day. So, on and on it went. She'd heard nothing of her brother for a long time. "The Silence of the Mist" they called it, and she knew it well. It has happened in the past, several times; where the White Hold disappeared under the gaze of the old gods. When there was danger and uncertainty, this was a method they fell to, to protect themselves and their people. But apart from that, she had all but lost hope to receive a ransom for her lord husband, there was not so much as a rumour or even a whisper now; and despite still watching the stars each night and asking him where he was, and when he would come home to her, she tried not to expect it. Mayhaps, if she did not expect, she would not suffer so. If he had fallen to anyone, or was seen or heard of to any degree, she would know what to do and how to bear it. But the uncertainty was far worse... She couldn't tell if this helped her at all, but how she missed all of them, and would continue to wait until the end of time if she must, and had told as much to many. Of course they came, athirst for more land and the grand status that would come with it. Some charming, some courteous, some polite, others insistent, demanding and even forceful. All received the same answer, heated or otherwise. Some days were better than others... Focus, you lunk! She jerked her thoughts back to the table. Two months ago, a group of highwaymen under leadership of a hedge knight going by the name of ser Cyrtos of Greenpine seized a fortress that was known as "The Fountain" that held their main crossroads, the pathway connecting the King's Road to the Honey Road. It was one of their strongest keeps, a great rounded stronghold surrounded by a river, initially under control of lord Seigre's castellan. To continue maintaining flow through their lands, they would need to retake it. But so far, they'd had little success and each force was essentially destroyed outside the gates, forcing her to send orders to the rest of their vassals to hold off their assaults, until their men healed and they could bolster their numbers. It was discouraging, to say the least. She glanced at Falgon, who silently stood off to one side in the shadows, once again admiring the tapestry on the wall. Then she sat back with a heavy sigh.

"No thoughts yet, your grace?" he seemed to share her frustration, which he hid remarkably well. She was grateful for him, on so many matters he shared his opinions and advices with her when they were alone, and she always took his words to heart along with her own. But he always left any choices to her, whether she used his persuasions or not. But once he did ask her why she preferred her men wait for nightfall before attempting to reclaim a target post or tower, and she simply smiled. Cats hunt in the dark, ser... They saw better success with this, and their people knew their lands well. But here, it was different. Raeghun would never have just sat here, wondering what to do... He would have gone out himself, would have helped his people, would have protected them...

"You use strategy in everything you do, whether you notice it or not. I've spent years of my life having to think my way out of situations, and for a long time I didn't think I'd have much use for it. But right now, I have no idea what to do..." she breathed dismally, but then she heard him chuckle.

"You'll figure it out, your grace." he encouraged, but she slid a scarred palm down her cheek.

"You know what my family is famed for? My father used to make us play chess every day, since we were old enough to know how. We were not allowed to leave the hall until someone was in check-mate. It was maddening, if you didn't chew off your wrists of boredom. Sometimes we'd have to sit there the entire day, many times into the night." she continued to glare at the maps as he turned back.

"He wanted you to learn. Not all situations call for a sword." he mentioned, and she recalled a dormant memory, one that could allow her a smile.

"Indeed not. Some battles were won without having to lift an arrow. My father used to say, 'Own the field; know your people, their strengths and weaknesses; your land, its heights and depths, every river every stone. Use what you're given. Know where you can move, and they can't. Where they can, and you can't. Calculate your risk – what will you gain if you win, and what will you lose if you don't, and strike accordingly'." she brought it back. It was in her father's library, when he showed them each landmark of the North. Every stronghold, every settlement, every forest, every mountain, every stream, every meadow, every road, every cave. All from the Wall down to the swamps.

"Wisdom. Not always something passed down through the many generations." Falgon admired as he came over to share her view of the maps, his fingers resting on the edge of the scroll. For a moment she stared at his powerful hands. They were enormous. Palm-to-palm, her fingers might only reach the base of the second joints... Then she looked back at the parchments, lit by the low candle flames.

"My brother Gerald was better suited to it than I ever was, he always won. Occasionally he would have the courtesy to hand the game to me. I remember this one late summer day, we've been sitting there from morning on a single gruelling match which, at the time balanced on a stalemate. With my father watching us, and insisting on a victory, there wasn't much to do but sit and mull over every move or submit." she remembered, and it dragged on until late into the night.

"It must have taken a great deal of patience." he reflected, tracing the long road from Mount Ardor to The Fountain with a finger. Those hands carried me so gently, and they killed for me... She looked down at her own hands. Soft hands with long, delicate, pale fingers resting on the surface of the table. And I can't even hold a dagger properly... She sighed again.

"That was the only thing I was good at. Being patient, and Gerald surrendered by nightfall." she sat remembering, he couldn't move, and she couldn't. Or perhaps, wouldn't. That would have meant instant victory, or defeat. It all depended on a single decision. One action. On either side.

"Patience…" then she stood. They can't move around much, but we could, and we have to find out how and where... He looked at her.

"Your grace?" she stared at the maps. A high hill was situated to the west of The Fountain, flanked by a rich woodland towards the north. Then she looked up at him.

"Find Maester Adlyn for me." he bowed his head, and left the chamber while she was left examining the area. The woodland stretched in half an arch before ending at the edge of the river, and continuing again on the other side. The Fountain had two gates on either side of the river which flowed southward, and the fortress itself had two towers on her flanks, aside from the gate towers. And it was halved with a high wall, set with another gate. Inspections would be done in either one of the two baileys before allowing passage through the middle gate, and out the other. The armoury was on the west side. And a gated drain allowed the river to pass through the bowels of the river castle. If she could do this right, The Fountain would be back under their control before the next full moon... Some moments later Falgon returned with maester Adlyn just behind him.

"You called for me, my lady?" he asked, and she looked up.

"I did, maester. I apologise for waking you." she told as she rounded the table towards them.

"I was not asleep yet, my lady. How may I be of service?" he presented himself eagerly, stepping forward.

"According to the raven's letter you received what was the count at The Fountain?" she asked, and he thought for a moment, recalling the letter.

"Five hundred and seventeen men, my lady." he told, and she glanced back having the first threads of a design.

"Any mention of prisoners?" but he shook his head.

"No, my lady. But I highly doubt that Ser Cyrtos would have taken any prisoners." he said, and then watched her walk back to the table, laying her hands on the surface.

"With full stores, how long would it take for them to run out of food?" she asked, and he thought on that as well.

"A fortnight, perhaps three weeks; but there are some nearby farms, not to mention the rich woodlands around the Fountain." he explained, and she glanced back.

"We will sever their resources, completely. Have messages sent to inform the farmers to make for the Settlements. And then we must post hunters and sentries in the woodland to scarcen the wildlife, they'll have naught but squirrels and linnets. They must take down any of the ravens sent from their tower as well. And for every scouting or hunting party that leaves that gate I want a head count..." she started, and the maester stared at her.

"My lady, the lords have insisted on a full onslaught." he reminded, several of their vassals had offered to take the bulk of their arms to the fortress walls. Not as thick as Storm's End, but strong nonetheless, and lord Seigre's attempts to retake the castle remained unsuccessful several times, with most unfavourable results.

"And how many of those onslaughts have already failed? The greatest part of our fighting force have suffered at those walls... We have to think of a different approach." she decided.

"The Fountain is heavily fortified, and can withstand the assault of entire armies with only minimal hands on their side of the walls. We don't have the men, or the resources, yet. But for now, we have the time, so let us make the best use of it. They're not going anywhere." she turned back to them, debating her choices. Their most important asset right now, and the last week would deal the decisive blow if she could get the men inside desperate enough.

"Please have the arrangements made as soon as possible, I will give further instructions when I am sure of the course." she said, but after another heartbeat of silent eyes the maester bowed.

"As you command, my lady." he left back to his tower, from where with first light, the ravens would fly. Claira spared a last look at the maps, still wondering and hoping that she could manage this.

"Is something wrong, your grace?" her attention came back to the dark eyes staring at her, attentive and caring.

"No. I... we should both get some rest. And I need to think." she decided, and he escorted her back to her sanctuary. But, of sleep there was little; so she spent her night trying to plan out her strategy. She would have to divide a force into two units, their greatest force on the west side of the hold and another smaller on the east side, if she could find a way to get them there without being noticed. And she would need two commanders, one over each group with people they trusted who could, and must unite their efforts precisely, someone who their men would follow without question; and someone they trusted enough to take risks for. With only a count of one hundred and eight soldiers inside the castle, and limited prospects that could be hoped for from their surrounding dominion their mass would be meagre. And with lord Seigre's strengths near to completely depleted, lord Haslinger would have to be enticed to lend them his arms in this venture. And unfortunate as her circumstances were, she didn't have a great deal of options. As for the leaders, in light of Berin's absence, master Austinus would be an obvious choice, yet he had his grievances of late, struggling with painful joints. She did not know the experience of the other men to a certain extent... Morning came, with little more progress than the day before and with her little companions at study she found herself back in the Hollow with the maps after breaking their fast, prayer, inspections and several court matters. She had to find a way... Then a mass came into the Hollow, taking a respectable position behind her.

"I apologise for disrupting you, my lady." master Austinus excused, and she glanced back.

"It's al right, master. Regrettably, I've made no progress yet." she breathed as she looked back at him.

"What may I do for you?" he smiled as he looked down.

"I was hoping, I might do something for you." he said, and then their eyes met.

"My lady, may I suggest that you consider appointing a Battle Master to aid you, in the defence of our realm?" she stared at him for a moment. She'd heard of Battle Masters before, and according to the family records, he whom was known to history as "The Old King", Jahaerys I Targaryen himself in his youth during 50 AC had appointed Balendron, a second son of house Taugere, noted for his skill and valour, as his Battle Master, while his elder brother Vaerind remained at Mount Ardor to eventually succeed their father Lord Rhaevard; but their service diminished and later ceased entirely some decades after that. It was a very high position, and in general held by men of noble birth if the records were unquestionable. If Kings and Lords were equals, then so were the Hands and Battle Masters. She smiled.

"And who shall I appoint in that position, master? You?" she asked, rather hoping he might accept, but he laughed softly.

"No, my lady. I'm too old for that, if I must confess it so directly. A Battle Master must be a leader, as well as a warrior himself. You need a young, experienced soldier. A clever man, with the hearts of your people." he guided, and she took that in as she wondered over those in her hold. Berin would have been ideal, for obvious reasons.

"Oh. Thank you, I will think on that." she promised, and he nodded.

"I do believe you will find the best man for this office, my lady." he assured, then bowed his head to her and left with a quick inconspicuous glance at the sentinel in his usual indistinct place while she stood contemplating her options, which again were not a great deal. Her nobles would no doubt jump at the opportunity, and she had their loyalty that much was true. But whose trust did she have beyond any question? It was an imperishable place in the home of the liege lord, and currently Darius Foch had enough to deal with, taking care of his brother's family as well as his own while reigning over both Earndale Palace and Boatwright. Lord Rames still had governance of Hurlton Fortress and Ramshorn, lord Florentius oversaw Hornsney from Longdale Citadel with its many farms and their illustrious honey production. And of course, there were lords Haslinger, Garrener and Seigre... The holdfasts of both Reubel and De Veaux were on the east side of The Fountain along The Bite, all with their own lesser bondsmen, their losses, positions and obligations. And all of these men had their own way of doing things. Who would abandon their whims to her instructions? With no clearer answer, she returned her attention to the maps and continued to deliberate on their way forward. The river was deep and wide, but not as wide where the forest was once connected before the water cut through it. Yet still, they would need ropes, and sets of barrels if it was necessary... More days passed, and quickly a week blew by like so many leaves in the wind. The time to move, was quickly approaching and she could not waste any more time. All of her men were avid soldiers, but only a handful displayed the potential as leaders according to master Austinus. Marron of the Strings would be promising, but he did not have the kind of draw to him that was truly needed. There was only one other. Someone who was dominant without being forceful, who gained respect simply with his presence. He had no grand ambitions and did not aspire to be worshipped by others, despite it being so whether he wanted it or not. He was a warrior, and a leader. A champion who would be followed even to the gates of the seventh hell... And so he will be. She stared hard at the maps on the table in the Hollow, as hard and bitter as the reality of this was, she had no other choices now. There was no time left. With a deep breath she turned to her great shadow.

"Ser Falgon. I... I need you and Wymon to go out, and reclaim the Fountain." she told him while he stared back at her, every emotion behind the striking eyes while she tried not to be crushed under the weight. He was the best choice. Right now, he was her only choice. There was no one she trusted more, than him.

"Your grace, my place is at your side." he gently reminded her, and while she understood the reluctance there were more important things.

"If Berin were here, I would have asked him. But he's not. And Wymon, kind and capable as he is, I don't believe he can handle these situations alone. He doesn't have the experience that you do." she gave him her reasons, and he glanced down away from her.

"I cannot leave you unprotected, even here." he refused, and the heat ate at her senses.

"As long as I am inside the castle, and the gates are sealed, nothing can happen to me." she said, but he continued to watch the stones, the reflection in his eyes nothing short of insolent.

"My purpose is to protect you. I cannot do this, when I am not near you. You need-" just now, just this once he needed to think of something aside from her. Their people, needed them more. Their people needed their help, they needed their security. If she could not give them this, why was she here? Why did she become the wife of one of the greatest liege lords?

"I don't need you, here! I need you out there." she suddenly told him, and the dark eyes came up to hers, harder than before. It was hurtful, and she hated herself for it. She did need him, more than anything to be true. But, their people needed him most right now.

"I made a promise." he breathed, remembering it so vividly... When peril is present in any circumstances, never leave her side again...Promise me... There was no way he could refuse.

"I release you from that promise!" she exclaimed, but he stared at her a moment longer before suddenly smiling like it was a joke, but his eyes glinted with defiance.

"Forgive me, your grace. But, you cannot release me from a promise, that was not made to you." he threw back, and already she felt defeated. If he would not submit, she might as well surrender the Corridor.

"Please, Falgon... Please, I need your help. I can't do this alone." she beseeched him, one last time. For yet another long moment he stared at her, his bewitching eyes sharp and hard and resistive. Please... What should I do to convince you? There were methods, of course. Lordships, lands, payments of various forms. None of which he would be interested in, of course. He never wanted anything. And yet, maybe... Then unexpectedly he softened, looking down from her once again.

"Very well, your grace. I will do all I can to help you. But, I will leave your side only when we have no alternative." he finally agreed, and just then she felt she could embrace him. Wrap her arms around him and drive the air from him. With him, she need fear no one. With him, she had a chance. With him, they could win. Then he returned his eyes to her.

"What is my assignment, your grace?" he asked, prepared for what might come, and she ushered him to the table with the maps.

"The Fountain must be retaken, with men you trust. And you must be precise..." she started to explain.

Rychon sat at the table in his chamber where Wink was busy pillaging a basket which would normally hold flowers, paging through a book from his uncle's library. A small space, but comfortable all the same. He'd been here for more than two years, and his thirteenth name day had come and gone. He couldn't go out here like he used to, but to try and continue his training he erected target post along the walls of the castle, the only place he could still run, while Gavin and Renko continued to help him. Their methods were not at all like Falgon's, but it kept him strong. Their days were long and lonely, and growing colder; but if the cold was of the changing weather or his longing for his family was often a cause of silent debate for him. Not a day had passed that he did not miss his mother, his father, his aunt and uncle and cousins or friends, and of course his teacher; and he wondered what they were doing and if they missed him as much as he did them. But he tried to endure, and each new day brought him slowly closer to home, and it would be a lie that he did not look forward to it. He enjoyed it here, and once or twice tried to see the Wall from the height of the tallest tower, but so far he'd had no luck. A knock at the door drew his attention, and he looked up.

"Enter." the door edged open, and his cousin with bright blue eyes and the light hair of her mother, peered inside.

"Supper is about to be served." she announced, and he stood.

"Al right, I'm coming." he stood, taking his pet up and bringing him up to his shoulder as he followed her down to the high hall where he supped on butter and parsley goose, a stew of spiced greens and fresh bread among familiar faces. Every once in a while he would tear off a small piece of meat and feed it to his ferret, who lounged peacefully across his shoulders. They shared stories, and an excited proposition from their uncle to go camping, which he found himself quite excited about. They'd done it a few times before, and as long as they kept to the thick of the woods, there was little danger to them, and he found it preferable to the isolation these thick walls seemed to force on them. Then he looked up, spying a shadow passing through the hall having come to claim their evening serving, and his heart skipped a beat. She was a pretty girl of fifteen years named Talia, daughter to the castle blacksmith and gifted with a hammer, pale and tall and slim as a straw with brown eyes and long black ringlets usually worn in a braid that hung to her thighs. If the wind blew too hard, she'd float away... came the thought. Then she looked his way and smiled, aware that he'd noticed her. She was dressed like a man, in soiled black riding boots, dark boiled leather breeches with a faded tunic under a belted jerkin. And he supposed, for her occupation of helping her father in the forge, it was much more practical than a gown. But she made him think of Bella. Perhaps it was the hair. Maybe I'll ask her for a short walk, tomorrow... After the hall was cleared, but feeling no need for sleep he made his way to the library and took a seat at the table where a chessboard waited, the pieces moved about. He and his cousin had been playing this afternoon, and he was quite good; but with little progress for some hours they had decided to retake the game tomorrow. He might as well take some time to think on how he would do that. With nothing more to do himself, Wink sat on the table surface washing himself, and Rychon smirked.

"Yes, you do that. You're dirty, besides." he teased his friend, and for a moment the little creature looked at him with a shiny eye before continuing, and his own attention went back to the board. He needed to protect his king, so couldn't move either the bishops or the left side knight. The rooks would be useless, so really all he had were the pawns, one knight and his queen.

"I saw you staring at me, my lord." came a soft voice, and he looked up to see Talia standing in the great archway, leaning against the frame.

"Why wouldn't I look at you? You're a pretty girl." he replied, and she smiled coming forward.

"Well now, what a compliment." she teased, and scanned the board.

"Making any progress?" she asked, allowing her hand to rest on the table surface and he took notice of them. Her hands were lean, hard, scarred and callused. Evidence of years of forging arms and armour.

"Not yet, but I have time." he breathed, and then watched Wink come forward to sniff at her hand.

"Aw, how cute." she smiled, scratching his cheek and he squeaked happily at the touch.

"Proper gentleman, that one." Rychon teased, hearing her laugh. She had a gentle, lady-like laugh, just like Bella. Then she turned, and rested herself against the table, bringing her long black braid over her left shoulder to flow over her chest and lap.

"So, are you happy here?" she asked, and he looked up at her brown eyes.

"I am content, but I miss my family." he confessed, and she nodded.

"There's a special lady waiting for you back home?" she asked,

"I don't know. There might be." No suitors were considered when he left home, but perhaps his mother had received proposals over the time he was gone. Then he felt her fingers, softly on his.

"I'm sure she will be a delight to you." then she looked at him for a long moment, a whimsical smile in her brown eyes.

"Have you ever kissed a girl before, my lord?" she asked suddenly, and he felt his cheeks grow warm, hoping it was not a flush of red.

"Of course I have." he quickly replied, thankful that his voice remained even. But then she laughed lightly.

"I meant properly, my lord." she moved forward like a shadow, sliding herself over his knees.

"If you're to have a genteel lady as a wife, you'd best know how to please her." she whispered from where she sat, using the tip of her braid to caress his cheek. Again it was a pleasant feeling, but not entirely the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

"I could teach you, if you want?" she offered openly, and he felt as taken aback as he was warm.

"I don't think your father would appreciate that." he tried, but she smiled again, bringing her face closer to his.

"He's a blacksmith, and you're a lordling. He'll be overjoyed." he stared at her, it wasn't the butterflies. More like little worms, tickling and wiggling their way through his gut.

"I don't want to hurt you." he tried again, and she took hold of his right hand.

"If you do it right, you won't." she told bringing his hand around her side and laying it gently on the small of her back.

"It's all in the touch." she whispered close to his ear, and his left hand softly slid along her leg to her hip. She gently lay her right fingers to his cheek, her long braid left coiled between their thighs, and moved forward pressing her lips softly to his, her left hand rested on his arm; with a subtle motion her fingers pressed into his skin, and he pulled her closer to him, deepening his kiss. For half a heartbeat she broke the contact with a satisfied smile.

"Good..." then she kissed him again, more fervently than before; and he returned her fire with his own. She took his left hand, just resting on her thigh and brought it to her cheek, gently guiding his fingers into her hair, thin fragile strands, not as thick as his his mother's but still soft as he brought her closer yet again. He learnt more of kissing in that single moment than he ever could from a lifetime of watching. When he drew back from her, Talia was breathing hard and her hair and clothing appeared slightly disordered where his hands had been. A needle of guild pricked at him.

"Did I hurt you?" she looked up, but smiled.

"A little." his hands came away from her.

"I'm sorry." he looked away to hide the blush teasing at his cheeks, but she took his face between her palms and brought his eyes back to hers.

"It's al right. You're just eager, that's all." then she brought herself closer once more.

"You will learn. And I am resilient enough to guide you." she whispered again, so close to his ear that it sent a flush of warm tingles down his neck into his stomach, where the tiny worms still squirmed around.

Their troops lingered in the darkness, awaiting the dawn. Falgon watched the soldiers, mounted on the lord's great Rage, whom he'd started riding more over the past months. He was younger and faster than the big brown warhorse, and far from as mild, but easier to handle once one had his understanding. The night-black steed stood where he was, but made a frightful noise as he chewed at his bit excitedly, and Falgon ran his hand along the strong neck to calm him. He was eager, as any one else; You're a very bold one, aren't you... then he glanced at a restless lord Haslinger who lingered at their side, his banners with the black and white twin horse heads on autumn orange blowing in the night breeze along with the burning phoenix. Several days ago, he and Wymon rode from the gate of the burning mountain with a count of soldiers behind them, and specific instructions while master Austinus remained at his queen's side, with sixty guards to keep the castle. The gates were to remain sealed until their return. Avery had been severely insistent to join them, hoping to redeem his honour which was allowed, while what they needed was cunning and stealth as much as strength. Lord Sebaston Haslinger and his men united with them on the road on the morning two days past. He was a small man barely five and a half feet tall, thin with dark grey hair and a clean, narrow face; but fierce and proud, his temperament more than made up for any shortcomings. Just past midnight Wymon took two hundred men down through the shroud of the thick forest to the riverside with ropes and barrels, Jevan, Marron and Avery in his company. The scout reports stated that the inhabitants started to grow anxious, yet still they could not wait too long. They only had this one chance. He looked up at the sky as a gentle breeze blew by, shifting the heavy brown cloak hanging from his shoulders and brushing his hair softly over his cheek. It was starting to lighten. The air was cool, but the wind was high and blowing south-east, which could be advantageous.

"Milord?" one of the men came softly up to him from amidst the soldiers.

"We wait for the signal." he reminded, before looking down.

"And I am no lord." he added. The soldier nodded, and then returned back the way they came while the great warrior watched the men. They should be almost ready... all of them had received their instructions, orders they had to follow expressly, with little margin for error should they hope to have victory. If they were too soon, they would fail. If they were too late, they would fail. If they could not coordinate their efforts, they would fail. And because she trusted none more, she had decided to send them. Divide the force into two units... she had told.

"This is a waste of time." lord Haslinger quipped irritably, his grey destrier moving about impatiently beneath him.

"We wait for the signal." Falgon insisted again as his eyes went to the thick shadows of the woodland where Wymon watched the men of his unit. Twelve men were hammering thick beams into the earth, but the rush of the river and the howl of the wind smothered the sound. Jevan coiled a link of rope around his waist and waded into the water, before swimming hard for the other side. Moments later he emerged, sopping wet and exhausted but otherwise no worse as he continued to tie the rope around the thick trunk of a tree, tying it securely and waving back.

"Good, now string up the rest of the lines." Wymon ordered quickly, and five more men used the rope to cross. Marron stood with a raised arm, a swift bird perched on his wrist while he waited and five more ropes were strung across the rushing waters. The moment the final rope was tethered, Wymon looked back at him and he let the raptor fly into the sky. Now they would cross. The wide wings took the bird high and it flew for home while Falgon continued to watch the heavens. It shouldn't be long, now... But it would be false to think that his own soldiers were not growing equally as impatient as those inside.

"We should move, ser. We're not here for an outing." lord Haslinger again urged.

"We wait." Falgon refused, heedless of the nettled glare of the green eyes but there were no more words. The noble had been glowering at him since late the day before because all of their soldiers, even those under the horse banners obeyed his orders without question, so easily that it was magical. Truth be told he didn't ask for it, it just happened, and it peeved the lord to no end... And then, with the grey of dawn on the horizon, a crimson shadow glided over them with a single loud screech. The red falcon. His attention went to the soldiers ambling about behind them.

"Mount up!" all of them obeyed instantly, rising on their chargers and destriers with banners streaming,

"Now, we move." he nodded at the lord beside him, and led the mass forward to take their position on the high hill. Make sure they see you, but stay out of range... her words came back. From the height, the stonghold came into view. A large fortress, the pikemen and archers wandering around on the walls. He took Summit from his back, and rose the blade into the sky for all to see, the steel glimmering in the fresh light.

"Mount Ardor!" his voice was loud and clear, even more drawing and daunting than the dozen wails of their warhorns flooding the plains and over the distant keep, his echoed by the voices around him that screamed and called and cried, rising high and sweeping over the land, some voices shouting for lord Haslinger's seat, Cainhorn Keep. More and more heads appeared behind the embrasures to see the banners of Taugere and Haslinger; they had their attention solidly. Good, now we have to keep it... The whistle of arrows were all but drowned out, the shafts digging into the hillside just out of range.

"Why are we not charging them?" lord Haslinger suddenly demanded, his heavy mace drawn for battle.

"Hold ground. Our second unit must take up position on the other side while a runner secures the west gate. You will have your battle soon enough, lord Haslinger." Falgon told him, irrespective of the high-born's stature. Their battlecries and shouts continued, echoing through the shadows of the wood where Avery suspended himself from the last rope over the middle of the river. He looked up at Wymon, remounting his horse on the east side before the sentinel raised his hand, giving the approval to proceed with his instruction. He breathed once, twice and a third time before falling silently into the cold water and drifting downriver in the current, aiming for the drain that would deliver him into the keep unseen. The west battalion kept until the ground was littered with arrows while they held that position, shouting and screaming and cursing. But eventually, the archers learnt they won't be reached, and the sky was changing to the peach sheen of dawn. Then Falgon replaced his sword and turned the black stallion around.

"Retreat!" The soldiers complied again without much thought, wheeling their steeds around and vanishing from the hilltop to the base of the hill.

"But-" the lord started up again, suddenly met with the hard, sharp eyes and it seemed the light receded slightly back to where it was meant to spill from.

"Pull back! If you cannot follow orders, give me your men and head home. Now are you going to stop your grumbling and fall in, or no?" the green eyes stared back, shocked and enraged, and he knew what it was he was thinking. Her grace would no doubt hear of his belligerence; but lord Haslinger complied nonetheless, lowering his mace and following. Now, we wait... Falgon looked up, absorbing the world around them. The wind, the chirping of birds, the rush of the river, the light from the east where Wymon led his company towards the castle, and formed a long line just out of range. His voice rose into the sky, followed by the shouting of men that all cried for the burning mountain. Wymon grinned, watching the shadows dart across the walls as the soldiers came scrambling this way. Come on you louts... Come and get us... He looked at the archer at his side.

"Marron, let them know we're here." he instructed, and the tall black haired man raised his bow, aiming for one of the towers, his sight along the edge of a pinewood arrow. He held his breath for half a heartbeat, and let the arrow fly into the tower. Falgon had closed his eyes, focusing on the castle. The gates must be secured... she instructed. A single resounding echo sounded over them as something hard struck the bell of the east tower, and he turned his horse a final time. He heard the strain of chains and cogs, the heavy creak of wood and the angry clang of metal. The east gate was opened, which meant that the mid gate was left open while men were fighting. Now, Avery. Hurry... There were more screams and shouts and curses, and the sudden loud crash he was waiting for followed by the shutter of chains and laboured groan of wood. The west gate was lowered. He looked up, intent and focused as he gripped the reins tightly, and glanced back.

"Now storm the gate! Take the castle!" he ordered, and spurred Rage forward. The great destrier reared up with excitement and charged as the others followed, fervent and eager over the height and towards the open gate, lord Haslinger as ferocious as any with his heavy mace in his hand as he raced forward boundless; all with a fury thought lost to the tales of ancient heroes as the shadows of invisible clouds enveloped the world...

Two guards kept vigil at the high door as Claira paced the stones in front of the window of the Hollow overlooking the outer bailey and lands far beyond, shadowed under a clouded sky. In light of the absence of her sentinels, Master Austinus had seen to her protection earnestly, permitting her solitude only in the privacy of the lord's wing and her common room with her ladies-in-waiting, elsewise she was never left alone. Yet, even so she'd been feeling sickly anxious since the day before, her soldiers should have returned by now. What if she failed them? What if something happened to them? They should have been given more time, more men, more means... That castle was all but impregnable, how could she ever have expected them to retake it with the limited men they had available? For close to a fortnight she prayed to all she knew to watch over them, and to bring them safely home whether they saw victory or not.

"Milady?" she looked back to see Laurene in the doorway, holding a baby boy wrapped in a soft wool blanket in her arms. She faced her with a soft smile, coming towards her.

"Laurene. How is little Ricket?" she asked, and the girl looked down at the child.

"Much better now, milady." she breathed. The boy had been suffering from colic, but with the healer's aid the pain was eased. Ricket Flare was a tiny little thing, with his mother's light grey eyes and his father's dark hair. The initial discovery was nothing short of a shock and Laurene was understandably frightened, but with great support and understanding from family and those close to her, she decided to keep her son instead of sending him off to be raised by another. And with Hazel, he added a little laughter to the vast halls. And as promised, Jeyson had sent her a token. A raven arrived at the castle half a year ago with a letter, and a small slim shaft as long and thin as her finger, filled with small gemstones.

"Wonderful." the lady watched the little one, sleeping peacefully against his young mother's shoulder and it reminded her so much of her own.

"May I?" Laurene smiled shyly.

"Certainly, milady." she surrendered him, and Claira held him close to her breast rocking gently.

"May I have your tea served here, milady? Or would you prefer it be delivered to your common room?" the girl asked as Claira glanced back at the window.

"You may have it delivered to my common room, I believe I should head up. My little companions should be nearly done with their lessons, as well." she decided, and Laurene nodded.

"At once, milady." she lingered a moment longer.

"Has there been any word?" she asked softly, and Claira sighed.

"Nothing yet, but they should be home soon." Claira tried to reassure her, and then smiled again to bring her comfort.

"We must never lose our hope. They are all, our most exceptional warriors." she told, knowing why she felt so uneasy.

"Go have something to eat before you see to the tea, you must keep yourself well nourished as well. I'll hold on to Ricket for a while." she offered, and Laurene bowed her head gratefully.

"Thank you so much, milady. For everything." she praised, then turned and hurried off to the kitchen while Claira returned to the window, again scanning the outside world that was unnervingly quiet. Where are you? Then she looked down at Ricket, still sleeping serenely.

"Well then, let's head on up, shall we?" she made her way up to her common room, where the two guards assigned to her duly retook their places at the door and she settled into her chair. She thought of her family, of her son and her love; reminiscing over long past memories and almost drifted off to sleep herself with the small body against her before Laurene returned with a tray holding fresh tea and a small plate of crispels, setting it down on the table next to the chair before reclaiming the baby.

"Thank you, Laurene. You may take the rest of the day for yourself." she dismissed her, and the girl curtsied lightly before vanishing from the chamber just as Beatrice and Samantha entered and took their places. Claira proceeded to fill one of the fine cups with the dark liquid and stirred honey into the tea, and then the youngsters claimed cups of their own. Then she took up her embroidery work as she waited for it to cool, listening to the girls converse on their lessons and how much they enjoyed the burning mountain. She pulled black thread through the fabric, filling out the ears of a black horse, set in a ring of purple roses; her work had improved substantially with Beatrice's eager help lately and the visions became clearer. Then she glanced out of the window, where it was slowly starting to grow darker. It might have been late noon. Where are you..? She sipped at the tea, and enjoyed two of the sweet pastries before continuing her work, adding some silver threads to accentuate the flowing mane; but then her attention was drawn away by the sound washing over the fields. She stood and made her way to the window as the bells gave answer, and witnessed a black river flowing towards the keep, banners held high and vivid in the sky, and several cattle wagons following. Her hands covered her mouth to stop a happy cry. They've come home. She left everything as it was in the common room and made her way down to the great doors with the young ladies behind her to receive her soldiers, and the two guards following dutifully; and then she waited on the highest step with many of her castle women, awaiting their fathers and husbands and brothers and sons. What seemed like an eternity later, the heavy gate opened to them, and Rage came trotting through, high-gaited and proud with his raised head and alert ears, as always chewing merrily at his bit as if to announce their victory, her sentinel mounted straight and valiant on his back. The rest followed behind them, Wymon on his dark courser and Sebaston on his grey destrier, and all of their men. Claira smiled, taking in each of the faces. Avery and Marron among them. The stable boys emerged quickly to tend to the horses, and Falgon dismounted, sparing a last moment where he bowed his head to the noble steed, whom in turn responded by throwing his head up and down agreeably before being led away. The soldiers started to mass together while Falgon then approached the castle, his company flowing along and then he stopped in front of her, bowing gracefully before looking up from several steps down. She desperately tried to restrain the happy laughter, and the want to embrace all of them; but settled for a softer gesture.

"Welcome home." she received them, and her sentinel smiled back.

"The Fountain is yours, your grace. Currently under guard of Jevan and his battalion, until a new overseer is assigned." he announced, and she felt light as a feather, floating in the elation. Jevan the Jackal might be an ordinary soldier, but he was smart and good at what he did.

"You've done exceedingly well, all of you. Go now and rest with the knowledge that you've done our country a great service, and you have my sincerest gratitude." with The Fountain back under their control, travel through the Corridor would return to normal. She lingered a moment longer, watching the soldiers disperse while Avery and Marron came up the steps to meet with their loved ones. The scout took his daughter up in his arms before greeting his wife, and the archer met happily with the red haired handmaiden, and a fond kiss to the little boy's brow. He'd told his companions that the child was his, irrespective of the timespan. Although he was twenty years Laurene's senior, he was kind and supportive; he would be good to her. Then her attention went to the girls behind her.

"Beatrice, Samantha. Please be so kind as to see to our feast hall for this evening. Be generous, we have something to celebrate." she told, and the youngsters smiled happily.

"Yes, my lady." Beatrice replied excitedly, and then she and her friend hurried to the southern hall. Finally her attention went back to the sentinel lingering in front of her while the others returned to their own.

"Come." she beckoned him, and he followed duly into the keep behind her.

"You took longer than expected." she mentioned.

"My apologies, your grace. We were delayed for a couple of days, as fever fell on young Avery." he explained. The cold water of the river took an unfair toll on him, but with the castle maester's help he was able to ride again in two days, provided he continued the use of the medicines and was not expected to exert himself for a while.

"I see. Then it is good that he is better, and you're all home." then she paused and looked back at him.

"He did well. We would have had far more difficulties without his adeptness for discretion." Falgon smiled, the boy was deserving of his praise.

"What was the fate of those holding the castle?" she asked.

"Put to the sword for their crimes against your people, your grace. A handful has fled, but we have men looking for them, with the same orders." he told. Her Raeghun might have made the same judgement...

"How many casualties, ser?" she asked softly, but he smiled.

"One hundred and seventy three injured, your grace. But, no lives lost." he told, and she breathed out relieved.

"How wonderful. And again, thank you for doing this for me." she breathed, then the presence of lord Haslinger drew her attention.

"My lady, may I have a word? In private, if it please you?" he suddenly asked, apparently he had a dire matter that required her urgent attention.

"Certainly, my lord. If you'd be so kind as to await me in the Hollow, I will meet with you momentarily. A decanter of rich Arbor Gold was supplied this afternoon, please feel free to enjoy some." she agreed, and he moved away towards the lord's counsel chamber after a final hard stare at her sentinel. One she noticed.

"Did something happen I should know about?" she asked, curiously cautious before returning her attention to Falgon, who gently shrugged.

"I might have been a bit uncompromising, your grace." he confessed, and she took a deep breath.

"Well then, I should not keep such a proud man waiting." but she smiled at him.

"You've had long, hard days. Go get some sleep, you may rejoin me later." she suggested, but he smiled back.

"If it please, your grace. I would retake my place at your side." he countered, and she sighed.

"As you wish." he followed her to the door of the Hollow, where she entered and closed the door while he waited outside, joyful to be back where he could retake his place at her side, and the calmness once again. For a time there was silence in the halls, but then he heard a voice from inside the chamber. Hard and angry. He wondered if he should dare enter, to be at her side. But then, unexpectedly the enraged voice died... What is happening? Suddenly the door was flung open, and a red-faced lord Sebaston Haslinger stormed out alone, seething as Falgon watched him stomp down the hallway. He drew a deep breath, and then entered to find his queen standing in front of the window, the new twilight seeping into her dark green satin dress and her hands together in front of her. He approached carefully.

"Is everything in order, your grace?" he asked, and she turned to him. Her blue eyes hard, but clear.

"Yes, of course." she reassured him before glancing at the table against the wall where the pitcher and a selection of goblets awaited use.

"Would you care for a cup of wine, ser?" she asked moving away as he watched her, her demeanour seemed to have taken a blow of frustration.

"If it please, your grace." he agreed, and she took up the ewer, pouring the rich clear wine into two chalices before replacing it. She took the goblets and came back to him, presenting one to him; which he took gently. Then she sighed, bringing the chalice to her mouth before looking up at him.

"Lord Haslinger had his complaints. He obviously took exception to the fact that his soldiers complied more easily to your orders than his." she revealed, taking a sip of the wine as Falgon sighed looking at the glass in his hand. He might have been a bit less harsh, but in the tension of battle that was not his norm. When swords were drawn and bows were strung, there was no place for compassion and diplomacy. You follow orders or you die, you fight or you die. It has always been that way. Then he looked up.

"I apologise, your grace. And will ask lord Haslinger's forgiveness for offending him." he decided, but then she smiled at him.

"You will do no such thing." she told him, and for a moment he could only stare back in confusion.

"Your grace?" she glanced away, placing the chalice on the table and taking a deep breath before looking back at him, an easier smile than before.

"You were trained to be a warrior, Falgon. But you were born to be a leader. That's why men respect you, that's why men follow you. That's why they adhere to you with so little resistance. And if lord Haslinger is to see more of you, he'd have to conform to that." she said, and again looked down at her hands, recalling their final exchange, following an uncalled for quittance from the vassal lord. Have you forgotten me, or yourself, my lord? I remain the wife of your liege lord, and until he is returned to me these lands will fall under my rule. You would do well to keep that in mind... then he stormed out. Whom she chose to serve in her name for the sake of her people, remained hers.

"Would you give me the freedom to ask more of you?" she brought her eyes back to his, again not finding quite the identifying colour of his striking eyes. Always, with that slight hint of red...

"If it is within my power, your grace." he agreed softly. Of course it is within your power... she almost laughed.

"Master Austinus came to see me, with a suggestion. It is a noble title, but I cannot imagine anyone else in this position, and you have proven yourself worthy as well as capable beyond any doubt." she started as he listened attentively, waiting for his order. Then she breathed in again, in all she did this was the best choice. There was nothing clearer, nothing surer.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, I would name you my Battle Master. If you want it." she issued, watching him stare back in silence. Then he finally breathed, glancing away with a smile.

"Battle Masters have not served in Westeros for almost two hundred years." he recollected, Battle Masters faded away even before the tragedy labelled the "Dance of the Dragons". By all accounts, this position will be higher even than Berin's.

"Then I will have the only one." she said with pride, and then he looked back at her, with an expression she couldn't understand. And she didn't know why, but he seemed... sad.

"Your grace... When you found me, I was nothing. I had nothing. I wandered from place to place, wielding my sword so that I may... get by. You and your lord husband, took me from that. You gave me everything I didn't have. A name, a home, a family, a purpose. I received all these greatest gifts, simply because your eyes met mine, one day long ago. Who am I, to want anything more?" he asked softly, and her eyes lowered. Such a great and powerful man, whom was capable of immeasurable things, who stood above all others in all things... who remained so humble in spite of all else. Whom else, could compare to him but her lord husband himself? How and where, would she ever find anyone worthy?

"But, I would be honoured to accept, if I may make one condition of my own." she heard him, and it felt her heart would leap from her chest as she looked up, his eyes settled on her once again. Yes, anything... Ask anything of me, I will see it done...

"Name it." she permitted, and he smiled.

"That nothing else changes. I will serve as your Battle Master, and should a threat rise against us I will meet it, granted that I retain my initial place at your side as your protector." he put forth, and she stared at him, not knowing if she should feel shocked or overjoyed. Is that it? No lordship? No lands? No treasures? But she allowed herself the happiness. Thank you, my Falgon...

"Done. The Rite of Decoration will take place with the next full moon." she decided, and he bowed his head.

With the recovery or The Fountain, the greatest part of routines returned to normal throughout the Corridor while the moon continued to change. Lord Haslinger had elected to return to Cainhorn Keep due to fatigue and other pressing matters, however had agreed to have his youngest son attend the forthcoming counsel meeting regarding other annual affairs. Yet, before long the vassal banners streamed through the gates of Mount Ardor as the lords and their personal attendants arrived, taking up residence in the east and west wings of the great castle, and all high-born loyals settled into the halls of the burning mountain. But Vega did not attend, for which she found herself grateful. What he needed to know, he will be made aware of by others. He might hold Bristlemane Stronghold, but his was still a lesser name. One clear noon while the weather graced them with some warmth, Claira dismissed her little companions for some enjoyment in the garden while she herself sat at the head of the wide table in the Hollow, where her husband would have; her sentinels behind her and her banner-men in her presence while they discussed their matters of state.

"Very well. Raise the taxes by the annual percentage; but raise compensation as well. In addition to that, favour export prices to demand, but don't make it unreasonable. We must still keep it balanced." she agreed to lord Violet's proposal, and he stared at her for a moment longer.

"My lady?" she sighed, bringing her eyes to his.

"Our own people have been struck hard by the wars, they won't be able to trade for basic needs if they don't have the coin to do so." she added, and he nodded making a note on the parchment in front of him.

"As you bid, my lady." he concluded, passing his calculations. Then she looked at lord Rames, to her left side.

"Lord Rames, please have your son Elduin take up control of The Fountain, and all its attended lands. The soldiers already stationed there, will remain under his orders." she further decreed, and the lord bowed his head, secretly grateful for more grounds where they flocks may grow.

"With pleasure, my lady." he agreed, but lord Seigre looked on appalled.

"My lady, The Fountain has been under my family's control for decades." he reminded, then her eyes met his.

"And then it was taken from you by a band of raiders. Tell me, lord Seigre. How many attempts did you make, to reclaim that castle?" she asked, and a moment of silence followed.

"Five, my lady..." he breathed.

"All with the same outcome." she sat back, the light cascading off the twilight blue of her dress.

"I sent out my personal force with the aid of lord Haslinger, and they retook it in their first assault while yours were still inadequate. The river fortress will go to lord Rames, until otherwise decided." she finished, and he slowly nodded. Several other points were made as well, of possible losses should they suffer more attacks; and currently the most vulnerable lands were those along The Bite. And while the Honey Road was the main passageway through their country, being the most used; other smaller roads like the Red Fox Path to the south and the Roseberry Trail to the north that leads directly to Moat Cailin may also fall victim to enemy plunders and advantages.

"How many patrol units are still active?" Claira asked, glancing at master Austinus.

"Between one hundred and seventy three, and two hundred and twelve, my lady. The parties range between fourteen and twenty two men." he reported, and she thought for that on a moment. Currently, there was not much to bolster their forces, but perhaps they could try to have more eyes on their grounds.

"With our numbers still insufficient, we may consider dividing the patrol of the country into two groups. The first is to continue their rounds of the country going north and west, while the second is to reverse their rounds heading south and west instead. They would cross paths, but with the rotation we will have a fairer chance to identify and repel any attempts." then she looked up.

"But continue managing your defences as well as you can, we must improve our strengths by any reasonable means." she told, and they agreed to that.

"How fares the restoration of our fleet, lord Foch?" she asked as her attention went to Darius.

"Up to twenty seven ships, my lady. Not including The Honey Horn and her flagships, Sweet Sickle and Golden Maiden." he reported, and she nodded. These were the only three ships of the original fleet that remained unscathed, as they were still in port when the attack came.

"Good. Keep working on that as much as is reasonable." she encouraged, and he agreed. Then her eyes went over them, raising yet another matter.

"Further, on the advice of my master-at-arms, ser Austinus; I have seen fit to appoint a Battle Master to help me in defence of our country." she announced, and the want of better positions among the men started as she'd expected. Lord Haslinger's son, was the first to stand.

"I would be greatly honoured, to take up this position for you, my lady." he offered eagerly, in turn followed by lord Reubel.

"It will be a privilege to serve in this position under your name, my lady." he put forth, and young lord De Veaux also stood to add his name.

"Should the position be granted, I swear I will not fail you, my lady." he promised sincerely, but she raised her hand to silence them.

"Your offers are very kind, my lords. But, I have already chosen." she told, and they stared back at her.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, will serve as my Battle Master." she proclaimed, and those who had offered their names slowly retook their places. All, but for lord Reubel as his deep blue eyes watched the tall man at her side. It was an uneasy notion to accept, that a commoner would be raised above their own standing.

"My lady, begging your pardon, but to appoint... your own sentinel, in such an important position may be... too much. Perhaps, a soldier with more experience-" he started to persuade her, met with the frost blue staring back.

"He may be young, but in addition to being highly skilled, my people respect him, and he assumes command easily. Also, he has experience in foreign countries as much as our own. I believe, that he is well suited to the position." she finished glancing up at him, ever present and patient behind her before looking back.

"His Rite of Decoration will take place in the Hall of Fire in three days time. Those of you whom wish to remain and attend this ceremony, and offer your arms are welcome to my halls. Those who would return to their homes to see to their affairs, are free to do so." she finished, and then thought for a moment looking over them. Some seemed either indifferent, or less than happy with her decision, except for lords Foch, Rames and Violet who were smiling. The heads of her strongest and most loyal vassals.

"Are there any other matters?" she asked, followed by a moment of silence, and a discreet exchange between a few of them.

"Only one, my lady. It concerns your marriage." lord Garrener said, and she stared at him curiously as a young page came forward laying a selection of letters in front of her before stepping away.

"What about it?" she looked at the letters, sealed with the sigils of several of their houses. The green axe and bow on purple of Garrener atop all the others. He glanced at the lords beside him, his eyes suggestive. Then lord Violet softly breathed out.

"Begging your pardon, my lady. The lord refers to your re-marriage." he directed, a subtle disdain for the word. He could have liked it just as much as she did, since the others were too craven to clarify. It might have been something they discussed among themselves before this meeting, which of them would offer themselves, their sons or cousins or nephews. But she felt a sudden surge of warmth through her stomach realising what the letters were. How dare you? All of you! Are you that willing to abandon him?

"What is my husband's name?" she asked, attempting to control her voice. Several more exchanges followed between the men.

"My lady, proposals have been made from-" lord Reubel started, and the fire flared out over her limbs.

"What is my husband's name?!" she demanded, challenging them for an answer. But there was silence as they stared at her, and she forced a breath into her chest.

"Very well. To those of you who do not know, or have forgotten. My husband's name is Raeghun Taugere of the burning mountain, lord of Mount Ardor and liege of the Corridor. This will not change under any circumstances. Now I trust that I have made myself clear on that point. And while I thank you kindly for your years of support and counsel; this is one thing you cannot ask of me." she refused, and then took the letters from the table and held them out to her sentinel.

"Ser Falgon, if you'd be so kind as to answer these for me, please." He took the letters from her, and without pause walked to the fireplace and dropped them into the flames. If her words were not enough, that would convince the hard staring eyes.

"Until my husband's body or his head rests in my tombs, he is not dead." she told them, and she heard the voice of lord Seigre.

"But, soldiers brought his sword back." he reminded, but she scoffed at those words.

"You may lose a sword, like anything else." she added, and lord Garrener sat forward, resting his hands on the surface of the table.

"My lady, you must consider-" he started, fuelling the blaze through her bowels.

"I will not! I will not consider it." she snapped at him.

"Lady Claira, it's been over two years. The obligations of this keep was not meant for the shoulders of one person alone." lord Seigre attempted a gentler way to persuade her, but she refused to be swayed. By anyone.

"That does not matter. I am a Taugere, my lords. I will never remarry. I will reign the burning mountain in my husband's name until either he is returned to me or until my death, alternate to my son coming of age and he succeeds me." she finished, met with another silence as they graciously decided to keep further arguments to themselves.

"If there is nothing else of importance, you are free to leave." she dismissed them, and they stood issuing a respectable bow before departing the Hollow, and she closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to reclaim herself. She would never be her husband's equal, she knew; and prayed many times for the strength to uphold his name. She had to try harder, she had to be harder, she had to be stronger...

"I am one of your lords. I have a right, to your hand." she looked up to meet the smirking face of lord Garrener, watching her. His dim blue eyes taking in the flawless pale skin of her open shoulders amidst her beautiful marbled hair hanging freely down her bare back from her jewelled pin, and the curve of her body under the dark blue velvet dress that had but a broad satin ribbon decorated with silver thread coiled around her neck and along the low sleeves. The same details that lined the wide seams. He was a tall man with fiery auburn hair, pale blue eyes and a waist as big as his self-pride. And thrice a widower, as well. His first wife died in childbirth, the second to food poisoning, and the third to an unfortunate fall down the tower stairs. Must I have you thrown from the stairs before you understand my position?

"All of your rights were forsaken the moment you entered my grounds, save that you may be allowed to leave here alive. Should I not find you to be an annoyance." she threw back, and the grin faded.

"This is not Dorne. A woman is not a man's equal." he told deliberately, and she sat back with a sigh.

"No, it is not. This is the Corridor, of course. It falls under governance of Mount Ardor." she agreed, and then smiled.

"And I rule here." his face hardened, and she noticed his hands clench into fists.

"Now if you'd pardon me, my lord. I do have more matters that require my attention." she again dismissed him, and after a recognising stare for the warriors shielding her, he turned and marched away into the hall. Again she claimed a breath, silently acknowledging that this was severely tiring. If her vassal lords continued to take offence, she would have very little support in the end. But she was a Taugere, and could not allow herself to be intimidated or manipulated for any reason. Not for anyone. But then she smiled as she looked up, in the sweet reprieve. With Falgon and Wymon she will always be safe, and it was her heart that she needed to protect. Then she stood, turning to her sentinels and saw Wymon smiling broadly, finally releasing the laughter softly that he tried so hard to withhold.

"You find my situation amusing, ser?" she asked, and he strangled the sounds.

"No, my lady." but then the smile came again.

"But I do enjoy watching you put them down, so gracefully." he confessed, followed by another soft snigger, one she had no choice but to share.

"It's anything but graceful, I'll admit." she breathed,

"But good all the same, my lady." he bowed his head to her as Falgon watched her, a smile of his own.

"Well, I should meet with Jeody on tonight's selections. You may take the rest of the day for yourself, I'm sure you have things to do." she allowed him, and Wymon bowed to her before heading away, then she looked at Falgon.

"They don't seem to approve." she sighed, but his easy smile remained.

"They will adjust." he reassured, and she laughed.

"They'd better." then she turned.

"Shall we?" he followed down the hallways, watching her. He had once compared her to a flake of frost, glowing in the flames. Glimmering, but delicate and fragile. She wasn't that flake, not any more. Still beautiful in its shine, but hard and unyielding. Somewhere, the flake of frost had become a diamond…

"Am I being cruel, Falgon? Am I being unfair?" she suddenly asked him in the silence of the passage, and he felt for her. Again, like many times before she started doubting herself.

"No, your grace. I do not believe you are being either cruel or unfair. You are protecting your people to the best of your capability, why should you not be allowed to protect yourself?" he countered, and heard her softly sigh again recalling the heated exchanges she was forced into.

"They're being rather insistent…" she said, and he jeered. Those pompous badgers may squabble and claw until their teeth fell out, their strength will never match hers. Not truly.

"They may insist all they want, and that is all. None may force you. And they will remain to insist for the next fifty years, some may even demand it from you for their continued support. But they still cannot force you." he told, and she suddenly stopped turning to him, her eyes bright and almost luminous in the light of the torches lining the walls.

"Now you're sounding insistent." she said, and he felt a slight guilt pull at him before bowing his head.

"My apologies, your grace. I only meant that a choice that concerns your life and the way you live it, cannot be made by anyone but yourself." he corrected, but then she stepped closer to him.

"You're right. They will keep insisting, and the only power I have to oppose them is the name of my husband, and my words. Which might only shield me so long." she looked down from him.

"I won't be able to stand for long, not on my own. I will need your strength, as well." she whispered, but he smiled then.

"You have it, my queen. Always. In everything." he promised, then she looked up at him with a grateful smile behind her shining eyes.

"Thank you." then they proceeded down the incline, where she found a group of nobles on the second level in front of the great hearth, engaged in a subtle discussion. But as she neared them, they turned and acknowledged her.

"My lords." Ernaldus raised his hands to her, and she gave her hand freely.

"If it please, my lady. We have decided to stay for the Rite." he told, sparing a glance for those behind him. Darius smiled warmly at Falgon.

"You are very welcome, of course." she said, grateful for their loyalty, and then the lord of Hurlton looked back at her.

"The absence of lord Raeghun is a tragic void, but until otherwise is proven, we will keep believing with you. Nothing will alter our standings." he assured, and she stared at him for a moment.

"My lord..." then he smiled. His thick mane of brown hair and fierce beard for a moment had him resembling a snarling lion, but how she admired him.

"You are a Taugere, lady Claira. Our houses, served under an Ardent Queen many centuries ago, I see no reason to forget that. Until your lord husband is returned, you have the support of Hurlton Fortress, and all who stand under us. And if you believe that your sentinel is worthy of the title you grant him, by all the gods we will serve under his command when needed." he vowed again.

"As will ours." lord Foch added his numbers, and then Florentius stepped forward.

"You will have our strength, my lady. Longdale is yours, for however long you need it." he promised, followed by lords De Veaux and Haslinger on his father's behalf, and she stared at them.

"Thank you..." she breathed, the eagerness of these regal noblemen leaving her overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude. They would not forget their bonds, would not abandon her or her family.

"Thank you all, so much. I am forever in your debt, my lords." she praised them, the kind faces that looked back, and continued to share her halls as the moon completed its turn and its full silver light showered down on the burning mountain. But lord Garrener, Reubel and Seigre elected to return to their strongholds to manage their concerns, leaving their word to rise should they be called upon. The fires burnt brightly, the great hearth in all its splendour, and vibrant banners displayed along the walls while Claira gave Jeody freedom of the kitchen, and he spent three days planning and preparing a lavish feast to follow the ceremony; certainly taking to the task passionately. Yet none seemed so enthusiastic as Wymon, who was often heard commenting on any possible improvements. With late noon, Claira decided it was time to prepare herself for the occasion, and while her little companions were given the opportunity to do the same, she retired to the lord's chamber, where with her handmaiden's help she redressed in a grand mantled dress of fire red silk with gold detailing across the bodice, hemlines and seams of the wide sleeves. A girdle of gold, pearl and ruby to match the gown hugged her hips and a circlet with the same effects would rest on her brow after Laurene finished brushing her hair. She waited patiently, feeling each gentle stroke through her thick marbled hair, counting another moment and wondering what the others were doing, and reflecting on the letter they received this morning from the south. It was a sad thing that her house could celebrate something, while King's Landing mourned with a funeral. And no one less, than the Hand of the King, lord Tywin Lannister. She didn't know how he died, but people made their own conclusions. Some say that his heart simply stopped, others say that he fell and broke his neck. And others, said an assassin stole into his bedchamber and slew him in his sleep, and somehow all of these seemed so unlikely while she tried to recall him. He was a stoic man, who never smiled although he held his courtesies. He might not have been young any more, but he was fierce in his ways. She couldn't imagine that he had held a sword in his hand in decades, but he was powerful. It would be a lie to say she did not admire him, and Westeros would have a difficult time finding a lord who was close to equal to serve as Hand of the King. But perhaps, her lands would suffer less. Tommen was a soft and gentle boy, even for a king. Finally the girl brought strands together at the back and carefully secured them with the jewelled pin before moving around, styling some loose stands to frame her face. Then Laurene took the circlet from the dresser surface and gently fit it into place, and stared at the lady in front of her for a long moment with an enchanted smile.

"Is something wrong?" Claira asked as the girl moved back.

"No, milady. You look wonderful." she praised, waiting as Claira slipped garnet red suede shoes with small heels onto her feet and then stood to feel them. They were comfortable, and the low heels gave enough balance so that she won't stumble. Then she took a deep breath, looking through the window where the sun hung low, gleaming red over the water of the Sunset Sea. The ceremony was set to start at dusk.

"Well, we should head down. The Rite will start, soon." she decided, and Laurene nodded before turning and picking up the basket where Ricket lay sleeping, and they proceeded down to the Hall of Fire where Beatrice and Samantha awaited her at the base of the incline, looking equally exquisite. The entire space bursting with life. Each member of the keep was present, those from the village came, and others from nearby farms and settlements, many also took up positions on the third level looking down. All who could, waited eagerly for the distinction of the new Battle Master. Claira took a place in front of the throne with her little companions to her left, speaking and laughing excitedly of the event as she stood listening to the mass of voices diminish to a soft exchange here and there while another young page started his way down the long pathway amidst the people to the barracks, and disappeared through the arch. Maester Adlyn waited to her right side and two squires holding the Taugere standards stood next to the rails on the first step; her leal lords all in the row closest to the grand staircase. There was music from somewhere, soft sways of a flute to entertain the waiting horde. She focused on breathing for a while, watching the faces that crammed her great hall. After all the loss they'd suffered, she didn't expect this many people to come. The last of the light vanished behind the horizon quickly, and then the same boy was seen silently making his way outside. And then there was movement. From the arch to the barracks came master Austinus, dressed elegantly in dark breeches, high boots, a fine white shirt and a smooth leather jerkin, his sword and dagger on the studded belt at his waist and a black cloak from his shoulders. And then came Wymon, dressed in the same attire. They paused on the steps in front of her, bowing formally before assuming their places next to maester Adlyn. And then came her sentinel, tall and valorous and straight as a lance down the masses that stared in silence, sure and confident in his steps until he stood before her, five steps down from where she stood so he looked up at her. He looked exactly the same as he always has. She returned his gentle smile before looking over her people, raising her hands.

"Thank you all for attending this proud occasion, when we may honour one of our greatest members." she called over them, the words reaching each corner of the space, and then brought her hands back in front of her.

"Our lands, and our people have suffered under attacks from those who would seek to test our strengths, and break our spirits. But by standing together, we will defend ourselves and our homes from whomever comes. We will stand against them with courage. We will force back whatever hand wishes to claim us. And we will do it, with the leadership and power of the finest in this country." she continued, and then looked back at him with a subtle nod. Again he approached until he towered over her, then took the sword from his back and knelt in front of her, laying the glimmering blade by her feet. The firelight reflected off his smooth dark hair, like beams of gold, and she wondered why she never noticed before. Perhaps because the last time she looked down on him like this, was when her lord husband named him her sentinel, and she was far away from him, standing next to her husband who sat on the phoenix throne. Quill was far too big for her hands, and so because she had no sword to dub him, she lay her right hand on his shoulder with her blessing.

"Ser Falgon of the Fire Hall, Sentinel of Flame. In the sight of gods and men, I entrust you with the title of Battle Master, under my name. I charge you to be brave and just, and to be true in your duty. But remain gentle to the innocent and defenceless." she declared for all to hear, and she felt Falgon move with a breath.

"Before all who bears witness, gods and men, new, old and forgotten. I swear my sword and my being to your house, and name." he promised, and then looked up, the light of the great hearth in his eyes.

"By the sun and the sea, and all in between; eternal I shall stand." he added, and she smiled brightly with so much happiness and assurance before her hand came away from him.

"Rise, Falgon of the Fire Hall. Battle Master of The Corridor." she named him, and he stood replacing the Valyrian steel great sword where it belonged.

"I know you will serve with pride." she said freely, and he bowed his head. He turned to the mass behind them, assaulted with a wave of overzealous applause and cheers followed by the tolling of the sentry tower bells as she watched him standing high and fierce beside her, feeling warm. My Raeghun will approve... I know he will... When the zealous acclaim calmed, the heads of each vassal house came from the horde, and all offered their hands to the Battle Master, symbolizing their good faith and trust, and he accepted their gestures graciously while discussions floated about the hall. Slowly the smallfolk departed the hall back to Garde's Post where the Inn Keeper Oswell, and the other owners and farmers had planned their own festivities following the award with lavish music, dancing and drinking; the nobility was allowed a calmer night in the castle's southern hall where they indulged in Berry and Joldewin's energetic displays, dancing to the lovely sounds of girl with a harp and Jeody's fine talents where they were served rich potato and leek soup with bacon bits and bread rolls, Turkeys stuffed with pork sausage, mushrooms, spinach and cheese. Seared lamb with wild herbs and garlic. Butter-grilled herring, sole and rosefish with lemon sauce. Spiced potatoes, sweet carrots, pots of creamed vegetables. Figs and grapes and cherries. Tartlets, cakes, berry and apple pies, warm custard, curdled cream, wines and meads and ciders, all while exchanging soft conversation on present betterment and future hope and Falgon again sat at Claira's right side at the high table, all at ease and the words light and cheerful. This was a good day. And when all was thoroughly jaded, they slowly sauntered off to their apartments, and the Battle Master accompanied his Queen back to her sanctuary. Claira felt a bit clumsy, cursing the final glass of wine. But she felt content, only so wishing that her dear Raeghun and Rychon were there. But with Falgon with her, it wasn't so bad. Although he didn't eat much again, save for perhaps a few tastes of each course with a goblet of mead.

"For such a big man, you certainly don't eat a lot." she lightly teased him, but heard him laugh.

"I just wasn't hungry, that's all." he brushed it off, and she glanced at him.

"You almost never eat anything." she reminded him, seeing him shrug slightly.

"I'm almost never hungry. But if I need to, I will have something. I promise." he told, and she sighed.

"Jeody certainly went to great lengths. I haven't seen a feast like that in a long time." she breathed, again admiring the excitable kitchen master's gift. If the opportunity came, he spared no effort or expense to make it grand, and she found herself remembering Rychon's presentation, Berin and Milla's wedding feast, and Raeghun's succession.

"He loves what he does, and has no objection to displaying it." Falgon agreed as they rounded the curve towards the lord's wing.

"We have some extraordinary people here. Our jailer, our cook, our healer..." then she smiled at him.

"And now our Battle Master." she announced happily, turning to him in half a whirl, but stumbled. He caught her easily, and drew her up.

"Careful. Don't hurt yourself." he gently steadied her as she blushed.

"I'm so sorry, I'm not used to heels..." she muttered, feeling so foolish. Perhaps if she'd started wearing them sooner like Milla did, she would be. I shouldn't be like this... but he smiled back, regardless of the burn of her hands on his arms.

"It's al right. And I will do my best to be worthy of the title you gave me, your grace." he once again promised as he guided her further up the incline.

"There is no one better, my Falgon." she praised as they walked together for another while, and then she stopped and started pushing the heavy door open, reflecting on lord Garrener, his words and why he did not stay.

"Would you take a last cup with me, ser?" she invited, but he wavered for a moment before nodding.

"If it please, your grace. But you've allowed yourself a bit more, than usual." he softly cautioned, and she laughed.

"Oh, gods be good. No wine. Just apple press." she assured, and he gingerly agreed, then entered the lord's hall with her where she poured clear amber liquid into two goblets and offered him one.

"Thank you." she smiled, and then turned taking the circlet from her brow and laying it on the small table next to the divan and sat down on the wide fleecy pillows. Then she removed her shoes and brought her feet up onto the softness next to her, and rested her back against the curved armrest, allowing her body to ease and just take in the calmness. Then she looked at him, just watching her.

"You may sit down." she told him, and he nodded. But instead of claiming the space next to her, he chose a seat facing her and then drank from the goblet. For a long moment, there was silence as she stared at the chalice in her hands, the fingers of her right hand running along the edge. She kept thinking of lord Garrener, who had been less than pleased.

"Falgon..." then she looked up at him, his eyes attentive on her.

"Do you think, I should be concerned about lord Garrener? What if... What if he turns on me?" she asked, and he glanced away seeming to reflect on that.

"I don't think he'll risk it. He will gain nothing, and lose everything." he said, and for a moment she flushed.

"Gain nothing?" then he looked back.

"Because whatever attempts he makes, will fail. I assure you." he said, and she eased again lowering her eyes. Of course they will fail. All of them will fail...

"Do you remember house Coder?" she asked, and he stared at her for a moment.

"I've heard of them. A few words, here and there. But nothing in detail. It seems that there was no deep fondness for them." he replied, and suddenly she recalled.

"Oh, forgive me." she paused, softly smiling.

"I've forgotten that you were not with us, yet..." then she sighed.

"Unfortunately, no Rains of Castamere was ever sung for Coder..." she breathed. There was a reason Coder did not attend any more.

"Years ago, lord Coder insulted the wife of the liege lord's son. For his words he was banished from the Corridor, and their hold fell silent. Two years later, he appeared with a host at the gates of Mount Ardor, demanding an audience with lord Taugere and the head of the North Witch..." her hands hardened, remembering that horrible night.

"There was a clash outside the walls; the lord, his son and the sentinels took the field themselves with a count of one hundred and seventy nine men, against near three hundred..." That was one of the most frightening nights of her life, and she remembered fighting against Gavin who held her inside.

"That battle was won, if one could call it that. But, the liege lord was injured. He took an arrow to the knee, and the wound became corrupted. He left this world barely a week later..." she felt the heat to her cheeks, she was the last one to be with him when he passed. She remembered the cool of his hand in hers, the pallid skin. And that last breath...

"Within a fortnight of the new lord's succession, he received a message from lord Coder's son. A second threat." she remembered him, how hard his eyes had become as he crumpled the note in his hands.

"What happened?" she heard her sentinel softly, and smiled as she looked up at him. His elbows were resting on his knees, his posture slightly leaned forward as he listened.

"Lord Coder's son wanted a burning. My husband gave him one. Blackmantle Hall has remained forsaken ever since..." she finished, bringing the chalice to her lips and swallowing. That one thing was the cruellest her husband had ever done, and the result was shocking. But she understood his judgement, and she accepted it. Vaguely, his words came back to her when she asked him about it. I cannot rule these lands with kindness and compassion alone...

"I see." he breathed, looking at the fire of the hearth.

"Well, if lord Garrener has a shred of sense he would remember their fate, for his own may yet be far worse." he added, and she had to bite down a snigger.

"What could be worse than being burned alive, ser?" she asked, and he looked back at her.

"Your husband is the liege lord. He is gifted of mercy, and has the right to exercise it at his discretion. I, as your protector, and because I made a promise to him, am under no obligation to do the same." he looked down at his hands as she stared at him. Hard hands, that have been soaked with blood completely. Beloved and foe. The sins of his darkness, for his weakness...

"You are not a cruel man, Falgon." she told him softly, and his hands clenched into fists.

"You've not seen what these hands have done, your grace. I've killed thousands, most with no reason other than simply continuing my existence..." then he looked up and saw her standing in front of him, and her hands came to his as she knelt in front of him, her blue eyes shining up at him as she smiled.

"These hands have protected my family. They've saved the lives of my husband and my son. They've saved my life, so many times. They've carried and comforted me. What they've done before that, is of no matter." and he could find it to smile back. Thank you...

"And they will continue to do so, my queen. Now that I've found my purpose." he promised, and she glanced away from him for half a heartbeat, at the light of the hearth as if searching for a memory.

"It is something strange. But, it feels as if you've always been a part of my life. A part of my family." she said, and suddenly just for an instant her eyes became hazed, like a cloud passing in front of the sun.

"A man of my house..." the words oddly didn't sound like hers, as if someone else was speaking through her lips. But his hands uncoiled, and wrapped around hers, burning in his palms.

"Perhaps, I was always meant to be." he breathed, and for half a heartbeat he thought of taking her in his arms, and just holding her for a moment. But her eyes cleared, and instead he sat back taking the chalice off the table next to him and draining the contents as she stood. Then he replaced the empty cup, and came to his feet as well.

"Thank you for the press, your grace. I should not keep you, this has been a long day." he suggested, and she nodded.

"Good night, ser Falgon." she greeted, and he bowed to her.

"Sleep well, my queen." then he left in silence, making his way back to the guard's hall reflecting on the day. And as he walked, the moment came back where he knelt in front of her, renewing his vows to her, and the words that resounded in his head. A long dormant memory, something his father told him long, long ago when Summit became his. "The mountains will shift and shudder like sand over the dunes. Forests will splinter and sunder and turn to ash. Rivers will ripple and wane and dry. But we... Eternal We Stand." then he smiled.

"Eternal I Shall Stand..."