(The Ruins of Summerhall: 2/9/299) Kai I
"This place has definitely seen better days," Steffon muttered behind him, as he studied the carcass of Summerhall, dragging his hand along the stone floor and rubbing the bits of dirt and dust between his fingers. All that remained of it now, that he could see, were bits of stone lining the floor, some blackened by soot with patches of weeds growing through, seven stone pillars, and four walls of staggered heights, though none much taller than a man. An empty archway where a large door had once stood, was flanked by four men, two wearing the black steel of Dragonstone, and two the steel of Storm's End. The roof had long ago disintegrated due to the fires, from the tragedy that had occurred so many moons ago, and the unforgivable weather the Stormlands had been named after. Weather, which at the moment, had seemed fairly clear, with naught a cloud in sight as he looked up into the blue sky. A royal tent, bearing the sigil of the crowned stag, had been pitched at their backs against the walls of the gutted room with the flaps open to them. Peering within, revealed an enormous cot with pieces of armor splayed atop it, and a large Warhammer reclined against the wooden frame. Light from the past midday sun filtered through the cracks in the walls and the open canopy, while Azula's Comet burned in the sky like a crying star. Looking at it, he felt stronger and hungrier than ever, his appetite having become near insatiable ever since the comet had first appeared. A trait he had noticed the other benders in his battalion had shared, after they had gotten into the habit of destroying entire banquet tables, and picking them clean, in the days following the comet's arrival.
"Never thought I'd see this damned place again, and under such circumstances," the King grumbled as he paced around the ruins of what had once been a great hall, shadowed by his two Kingsguard: Ser Barristan Selmy, and Ser Brus Buckler. The newest addition to the order, Ser Brus Buckler was the cousin of Ralph Buckler, Lord of Bronzegate, and had replaced the late Ser Meryn Trant after word of the chaos at the capital, along with its pertinent details, had reached the King's ears. Steffon had said the man was responsible for rounding up the Lannisters in the King's hunting party, once news had broken, and slaying two who had raised swords against Robert Baratheon. Lord Stannis had personally slain three, and the King himself somehow managed to strangle one, without suffering injury. The rest had thrown down their swords and were currently imprisoned within the dungeons of Storm's End. Although bereft of the traditional suit of white Kingsguard armour, due to the constraints of time the sudden treasonous actions of the Queen had imposed upon them, Kai recognized Buckler holding himself like a true warrior and had no reason to doubt his exploits as Steffon had stated them. He never doubted him.
"Neither did I, your grace," Lord Grandison said, as he limped up to a series of chairs, that were lined down along the length of the broken wall. A sharp grunt sounded out as the Lord of Grandview sat down to watch the men hammer at the wooden legs of the great table. Outside the walls he could feel the breath of the thirty-thousand men the King had brought with him, men shouting and laughing, or being deathly silent as they no doubt stared in suspicion at their Dragonstone counterparts camping beside them. Suspicions the King had actively discouraged seeing in his presence, stating that the Fire Lord had not once betrayed him, and served the crown faithfully for fifteen-years. In spite of the foul rumors, many had taken King Robert at his word, though holdouts within the most devoted parishioners of the Seven still lingered within their ranks, and it was Dragonstone that in turn eyed them warily.
"For a man who should've died years ago, you still seem quite spry," King Robert smiled, as he drew closer to the aged lord and placed at hand at his shoulder. "I was certain your wounds were going to be the end of you, old man."
"As did I," the man looked to Steffon, "but thank the gods for your mother and her healers, young Ser."
"I'll be sure to relay your gratitude, Lord Grandison," Steffon grinned. "The Seven were with you, as they were with his grace, and my mother. She may not have taken to field at the Trident, but she confided in me her belief that it was a place where heroes were forged and villains died," bright golden eyes focused upon the King, and for a moment brilliant blue eyes turned grey, until gold melted them back into softness. "Good to see you were one of the heroes," Steffon's eyes lingered upon King Robert and the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard, then twisted back to face the Lord of Grandview. Once his friend had turned, Kai saw the slightest of dips in Ser Barristan's head, and heard the faintest of sighs escape his lips.
"I don't feel much like a hero with this bloody limp," he chuckled and groaned in equal measure, before looking over the King with an approving nod. "And if you don't mind my saying, your grace," Grandison pointed, "you certainly seem to be getting back into form."
"Ha!" Robert bellowed, slapping his slightly smaller belly. "I still have quite some bit of work to do in that regard, eh?" he said in perfect jest. A jest though it may have been, Kai felt that it had still been quite the surprising development, and not at all something to make light of considering how 'atrophied' the King had become over the years. Though still large, the onset of the troubles that currently plagued them, the incest allegations with the Lannisters, Euron Greyjoy and the rumored Targaryen girl, the business with the Tyrells, and the odious threat of the Others, they all seemed to light a fire within the King, almost as if a great weight had been lifted off of him, and now Kai could begin to see the hints of the man whom had once been spoken of with awe by the women on Dragonstone. As his mother had once said of him, after she had first met the Baratheon king many years ago on his one and only visit to their island.
'It was a time before your birth,' she had said, with some measure of embarrassment flushing across her cheeks. 'He came to oversee the construction of the shipyard, and survey the lands where the remnants of the Fire Nation were soon to call home. Our home.'
"Yes. You have been well fed for quite some time," Steffon deadpanned, and everyone grew silent.
The King turned in almost genuine shock, staring Steffon straight in the eyes. "Is that any way to talk to our King?"
"I meant nothing by it, your grace. Considering your accomplishments thus far, it seems like the work will be done sooner than you think," Steffon pointed out. "But I admit to being worried about what happens once you succeed."
"Oh?" blue eyes narrowed, the feigned shock almost dissipating from within.
"There are only so many women on Westeros, and I think I speak for the men in expressing my worries that you will leave us with none to warm our beds once this war is over," Steffon maintained his look of stone, and it was the King that broke first, followed immediately by his friend.
"Ha! You little Silver-Tongued shit!" the King laughed heartily, patting Steffon on the back, before the others within the room shared in the humor. "Women do not like cowards, and there are no cowards here, eh!?" Robert Baratheon pumped his hands into the air.
"No!" the men cheered, even Lord Grandison, who still sat in his seat with a wistful smile.
"Good! I won't go into battle alone then," King Robert roared. "Now," the King clasped his hands together, and wrung them in eager anticipation. His grace then shifted his gaze to him and the men behind him. "Is that damned war table ready yet? There's lionspawn that need killing and roses that need a reminder on who tends the garden!"
"Just a moment more, your grace," a trio of men finished hammering wooden pieces together, before they heaved the product of their labors upright with short raggedy breaths. Their heads glistened with sweat as they set forth rushing to place free chairs up to the table.
Ser Brus Buckler, placed both gauntleted hands upon the wood and shook the table. Assessing its sturdiness, he nodded to the King, "It is strong, your grace."
"Excellent, now we know how strong the table is incase it decides to attack me! Come on, all of you, pull up your chairs!" he bellowed, waving them all in, Kai and Steffon included. Lord Bryce Caron of Nightsong neared first, and was clad in a fur-lined and hooded surcoat over a long yellow tunic with black nightingales. Following, was the weathered old Lord Estermont of Greenstone with his seaturtle cloak, and Lord Alesander Staedmon of Broad Arch clad in ringmail underneath a red tunic emblazoned with a black dagger piercing a red heart. From the corner of the ruined hall emerged Lord Duram Bar Emmon of Sharp Pont, a plump boy wearing purple velvet, and Lord Ardrian Celtigar, the bitter old Lord of Claw Isle.
"Ser Barristan, bring up the map!" the King thundered.
"As you command, your grace!" Barristan replied, lightly pounding his fist into his chest, in salute.
As the old knight retrieved the map from the King's tent, Kai observed those of the Dragonstone who surrounded them. Three-of-the-nine Fire Nation officers, dispatched by the Fire Lord: Major Zhou-Ti and First Lieutenant Lun-Ju, stood by the doors holding a hushed conversation. To their left, he saw two, of the thirteen, graduates, the two being the young spiritwalker initiates: Auster Ming and Cao-Jie. Both were his age, or near enough at thirteen and fourteen, and were two of the only twelve members in Grandmaster Xai-Bau's order. Cao-Jie held a short scholarly figure, lean and taut, though meant mostly for books and navigating libraries. While attractive, Kai felt she held no candle to Margaery, and unlike the daughter of Mace Tyrell, Jie was known to wield a terrible temper when cornered. 'Courtesy of her Fire Nation heritage…"Corner not the flame, for it will consume you,"' he recited the words of Commander Lee silently, a sense of pride washing over him as he did so. The boy Auster, he noted, was cut from different cloth altogether. Standing as tall and muscular as he and Steffon, Ming held himself with the pride and dignity of a man thrice his age. 'An excellent bender, through and through, with a good head on his shoulders. A welcome addition,' he thought as he looked at the young man who proved intractable during sparring sessions.
Kai assumed a place next to Steffon, his closest friend, and set to work assisting Ser Barristan in unfurling the large map. After placing weights at its corners to keep it flat, Buckler lifted a large leather sack from a stool just out of sight, and placed it upon the table with the audible 'clack' of clattering wood and ringing steel. The most recent member of the Kingsguard untied the string holding the satchel closed, and overturned the bag, spilling forth its contents. Scattered upon the table were small wooden figures, each bearing the likenesses of the various house sigils of Westeros, and miniature boats of carved wood. Mixed in amongst them were an additional ten pieces of metal, all bearing arrowhead shapes stamped with a golden teardrop flame, indicative of the Fire Nation cruisers and royal barge.
As several of the men, surrounding the table, scrambled to snatch up the appropriate pieces and place them at locations where scouts and ravens had last reported both enemy and ally activity, his grace had lifted a piece fashioned in the likeness of a lion. "Hmph," the King snorted, his eyes turning dark, "These were a gift from Lord Tywin, given after the birth of Tommen..." Robert Baratheon pursed his lips as he stared at the figurine, an unreadable expression lining his face. Everyone stopped in their tracks, and after a moment the King seemed to finally notice the silence and stared at them all with a reserved countenance. "Ironic that we will use them to plan the end of his house for their treason…" the King gently placed the piece back in the pile, his finger lingering at the head of the lion, until he shook his head and began reaching for other pieces. He and Steffon shared a look with one another, and continued on after having taken hold of the pieces of metal and wood representative of Royal fleet, placing three metal and four wooden pieces at Sea Dragon Point, three and fifteen at Dragonstone, two and ten at Storm's End, and one and twenty at King's Landing. Steffon placed the last one and ten to the side, representative of the fleet stationed at the Stannis Fort in Essos. As Kai placed his own pieces, he saw that the map had gradually started to become populated at the North, River, Crown, and Stormlands.
"Has Ursa reported any news from the Westerlands," the King asked Steffon, as he examined the map, and noticed the relative lackluster amount of information having been gathered about troop placements in the West.
"Not since the Lannister skirmishes with Ser Edmure Tully, near the Tooth, my King," his friend answered, staring at the same spot as the King. "Lord Tywin is being exceedingly cautious in dealing with Dragonstone forces, and refuses to give chase."
"What of who commanded the host against Ser Edmure?" the King pressed, knowing, as he did, the specific of the Dragonstone spiritwalkers. Specifics rendered unto him, by Lord Stannis and Ser Steffon, after the Fire Lord had taken the capital.
"We've come to suspect, with relative confidence, that the force engaged by Ser Edmure was commanded by Lord Lefford, and Sers Gregor Clegane and Armory Lorch, your grace."
"How have you come to this conclusion?" Estermont probed.
"The Tully heir stated seeing their banners during the battle: the golden pile on sky-blue with a golden star, the yellow field with three black dogs, and the black manticore beneath a crimson chief with three gold coins, Lord Estermont," Steffon effortlessly countered, as he pointed to each spot on the map corresponding to the house and banner in question. "Furthermore, he reported seeing a man larger than any he had ever seen before, riding at the forefront of the enemy force. Which at the very least indicates the presence of the Mountain. Unless, of course, there is another freakishly large man under Lord Tywin's beck and call, that also happens to fly the Clegane banner," Steffon asked, hearing nothing but silence before continuing on. "From that, we get hints at the others, as I doubt Lord Lefford would leave his men under the command of someone with Ser Gregor's predisposition. As for House Lorch, it is far too small to have anyone but Ser Armory flying its banner into battle. For the moment, we believe them to be garrisoned at the Tooth." Steffon moved his hand to the loose figures scattered at the side of the table, sifting through them, and finding the three he was looking for: the dog, the manticore, and the shield emblazoned with the star-over-triangle. After placing them at the Golden Tooth, Steffon moved his hands over to the stag and wolf positioned at Riverrun. "In the end, they are set of minor nuisances that Robb Stark and your niece have come to terms in sweeping off of the board, my King. Thus making clear the path to Lord Tywin's seat."
"Oh, and is it wise to rush such a thing, especially for two so young? They are…unseasoned," King Robert frowned, appearing almost fatherly in his stance, and looked to his nephew with the light of pride shining brightly in his sapphire-like eyes.
"Ursa seeks to press advantage while the comet still burns overhead, empowering her and her firebenders. As for Robb Stark, he likely shares your thoughts in this, and is compelled to follow my sister out of concern for her safety," Kai could see the hidden laughter in his friend's eyes as he spoke, and he knew exactly why.
"Ursa Baratheon requires no protective hand. It's everyone else that needs protection from her,"Kai said, holding nothing but the utmost respect for Azula Baratheon's successor, and the greatest firebender yet produced by Dragonstone.
"He is correct, your grace," Steffon added. "Ursa is as serious as they come, and she does not back down. She holds nothing as impossible."
'Contrary to what that fool Takkar thinks,' he frowned at the errant thought following his friend's words, and the woman-footed pissant beside. 'He's outthere,' Kai glanced to the empty archway, 'talking about himself, and his amazing talent at being a gigantic arse, no doubt...' Thoughts lingered on the son of Chang, and Kai clenched his fists, remembering the pissant's grating voice after he had knocked him off his feet.
"I had no clue the Academy trained amateurs," the fury burned within him at the memory. He remembered Margaery's soft hands helping to lift him up, even as the white-haired bitch at Takkar's side laughed, along with the ponce and his toadies. He recalled wanting to strangle them all, after the words had escaped the arrogant boy's lips, and the laughs had started, but somehow he found himself steadied by thoughts of a simple reply.
"Perhaps I should write to Ursa, hmm? Just to see how fast your balls can shrink?" he smiled then, forever remembering their puckered up, shit-eating faces, before they had all stormed out of the sparring chamber in the Academy.
"Ursa will do her duty, while Ser Edmure and Lord Hoster consolidate in Riverrun, and coordinate with the other Riverlords who are still marshalling forces within their own lands," Steffon added, as he placed down a handful of Riverland pieces, hesitating only slightly at his next words. "Likely to secure their borders against possible Reach aggression."
Though seemingly neutral in tone, Kai had known the heir of Dragonstone long enough to hear the unease in his words as they shook him out of his ruminations. 'Margaery,' he said wordlessly, watching as his friend's virtually beaming mood darkened ever so slightly in the sun.
"She will be heading the van with her Narrow Sea contingent, and a combined Bolton and Frey force of eight-thousand, led by Lord Bolton and Ser Stevron Frey, down to the Tooth. Lords Karstark, Glover, Flint, and Cerwyn will serve as the main body of the army, while Robb Stark, and the remaining northmen, take up position at the rear," Steffon said, before he was interrupted by a series of strained grumbles and the words of Lord Caron."
"If you'll forgive me, Ser, but what exactly do they plan to do? Lay siege to the Tooth? You said it yourself, that Lord Tywin refused to give chase. Therefore, I would assume he will not issue commands to engage your sister and the northmen in the open. What purpose do their battle lines serve when there is to be a siege? Have they siege craft of any sort?"
"Yes, in a matter of speaking, Lord Caron," a dangerously confident smile lined Steffon's face like a razor.
"Well even if they do, the area surrounding the Golden Tooth is mountainous, and the approach narrow. Any catapult that tries to make it up the road, would be met by the stones thrown from the catapults of the Tooth, long before they even see the keep's walls. House Lefford has held the seat for centuries, and they know how to defend it. It may not be the mightiest of strongholds, but it is still a stronghold, and one perfectly placed to bleed armies dry. Perhaps the Northmen may succeed in taking it, but their strength will be noticeably spent," the Lord of Nightsong disparaged the seemingly ill-thought plan.
"Normally, you would be correct, my lord," Steffon retorted with a smile, "but of all the times I've supped at your table in Nightsong, was I ever one to deceive you or give you the impression of being mad?"
"And what of your firebenders?" Lord Bryce shot back, "Your omission of them during our conversations was a lie in itself."
"The firebenders were my mother's secret to keep," the Silver-Tongue countered evenly, "and I was not to speak of them, because their safety was of paramount importance to her. You chose, but one moment, out of many. What of all the other times? Our hunts, the ale, and be blindly drunk?" the Silver-Tongue met Caron with thoughtful eyes, his arms crossed, left hand hovering just below his chin.
"Hmph," the Lord of Nightsong shrugged, then looked to Steffon with sharpened eyes. "I seem to remember having memories of seeing you dance with a sapling in the moonlight, before spewing the contents of your stomach all over it, and screaming to the high heavens of ants in your boots."
Steffon's expression turned flat, then broke into a wide smile. "Perhaps I could have lived without that bit of information out in the wind?"
"I recall leaving you 'out in the wind,' because you were rank," Caron's jaw tensed, even as he teased, causing several of the men, the King included, to burst out laughing.
Kai, however, was confused, 'Why did you never drink this much on Dragonstone?'
"Yes. Yes. Have it all out," Steffon waved in his hands, before apparently noticing the look Kai had splayed across his face and flashing a toothy grin. In the gaiety of the room, he saw the Silver-Tongue mouthing the words, 'My parents.' "Ahem," his friend cleared his throat, "where were we? Ah, yes, the attack on the Golden Tooth, Lord Caron?" The man steadied himself, followed by the others. "If they were simply men with swords, bows, horses, and catapults, it would expend much of their strength. But they are not. Firebenders are not. And Ursa is most definitely not. If you thought the little display, my people performed on the first night of the bleeding star, was impressive, then you have yet to see what power my sister can bring to bear. Before she was sent to the Winterfell, not only was she the most accomplished bender after my mother, but she was at the forefront of our crop of promising young commanders. At the age of seven, she outwitted several of our more seasoned officers, though my mother would not wish this to be known, and Ursa thought it a mere game. And a boring one at that. So if there is anyone who understands their tactical limitations, its her. If my sister thinks she can take the Tooth, then I hold no doubt that she can. She could have gone out alone, and I still would have had faith in her bringing the Tooth to heel. However, knowing her, she has no plans in taking it. Thus the formation of her army as one prepared for open battle, and not for siege."
"What do you mean?" Caron asked cautiously, almost taken aback by his friend's queer look of self-assurance, his previous mirth all but gone.
"Ursa knows that laying siege and holding the keep will rob her of manpower…With her lines in formation, she expects a quick assault," Steffon lifted a hand and scratched at his clean-shaven chin. "She is going to make a single offer of surrender. Likely something dramatic, but succinct in manner. Ursa is not one to repeat herself. If it is not accepted, then she will raze the seat of House Lefford to the ground, and march her army over its ruins on her path to the Rock."
"Impossible! Your benders are not capable of shattering thick stone walls that quickly…are they?" Caron asked, words dripping with both worry, and uncertainty.
"Perhaps not all of them," Steffon reasoned. "However, Ursa seems to think she can, and if she is as strong as my mother suggests and I believe, then that conviction is well-founded."
"Do you truly believe she can do as you claim?" the King said at last, oddly holding a broad smile, seemingly proud at his niece's audacious character.
"I am not one to underestimate people, you grace. Least of all, Ursa."
"Ha! Well then, we need to move to Highgarden before she finishes this war for me! A thirteen-year-old girl is out there in the thick of things, and here we are with our thumbs still up our arses! Come, come, before she takes all the bloody glory!" the King clapped his hands, laughing heartily.
"But your grace…" Caron started, only to be cut off.
"Have I ever led you astray?" the smile dropped ever so slightly, but even Kai could see the edge in the King's eyes.
The Lord of Nightsong shifted gazes between the King and the Silver-Tongue. "No, your grace. Apologies for…"
"No need to apologize, Lord Caron," King Robert placed a reassuring hand upon the man's shoulder. "You are cautious, and unwilling to allow me and mine to come to harm. Such loyalty is rewarded, but it is also the hardest to maintain." After a moment, the King stag turned back to them, "So what of the North? Any more from…what was his name...Shu-Yao?" he questioned.
"Sho-Yu," Steffon corrected.
"Yes, him!" Robert snapped his finger at the name.
"Northern forces still continue to pour into the Wall," the two spiritwalkers unobtrusively took up spaces at the northern edge of the map, eyed warily by all those in attendance, and carrying figures of the houses of the North known to have sent men to the Wall. "Near five-thousand scattered among the three castles, with the promise of more to come. Castle Black holds mostly Stark forces, Eastwatch heavily favors Karstark, and the Shadow Tower is mostly Flint and Mormont."
"To what end, Ser Steffon? The Others have yet to make a move, assuming they ever do," Lord Staedmon probed, as he examined the northern reaches of Westeros. "Are we absolutely certain Lord Stark was not mistaken in what he saw on Dragonstone?" the Lord of Broad Arch pressed, shifting his sights towards the King. "I would never speak ill of him, your grace, but mayhap all he saw was one of the Lady Azula's foreign prisoners from the Stepstones? That place is known to hold all sorts of exotic peoples. Perhaps not as many as the Basilisk Isles, but possibly enough to obfuscate one's own sight and recollections? Doubly so for those of a foreigner. We need his strength here, to…"
"Regardless of your own misgivings, Lord Alesander," the King cut in, "the Warden of the North has instructed that they be held in reserve, just in case the damned Others somehow find a way to breach the bloody Wall," King Robert grumbled, seemingly torn between his own disbelief in the old legends and the unwavering trust he held towards his own closest friend.
"And if I may add, your grace?" Steffon interjected with his silvery voice.
"What is it, nephew?" the large Baratheon king tilted his head towards the Fire Lord's son, never breaking eye contact with the Lord of Broad Arch.
"Lord Staedmon," his friend said with placating hands, "I truly understand from where your hesitation comes, because had I not witnessed it myself I would be there right alongside you, standing in utter disbelief. The Others have been the stuff of legends, bordering on myth, for thousands of years, to the point where we have near forgotten. Have you ever considered, even for a moment, that is what they wanted? Have any of you?" Steffon's golden eyes traced a path along the ruin, and the faces of those gathered. "To have us forget?" the question hung in air, casting a portentous pall upon the group. "Forget why the Wall was built? Forget how and why the Long Night happened? Because I assure you, my lords, they have not forgotten about us. They have waited patiently, all this time, to see us arrive to the point where we are too busy tearing at each other's throats, to remember that they still linger out there in the cold dark night. Perhaps we forced their hand? Perhaps even fortune favored us, in recognizing their threat? Or not? Who knows? But I do know, as you would, as every man here who has fought battles and strategized wars, would know. If you were planning an attack, what better target than a defenseless one? If there is even the slightest of chances that they can breach the Wall, then that should be reason enough to keep it manned, and to keep as much strength as we can between us and the realms of men."
"Well said," his grace rapt his knuckle upon the table. "If my nephew has not swayed you with his words, then know that I have no reason to place doubt upon them, Alesander. Neither his, nor Eddard Stark's own. For more than twenty years, Lord Stark has been my closest friend, and two things I know for certain is that he is no liar, nor is he prone to fits of madness. Traits he shares with my nephew, my brother, and my goodsister. Should the need arise, he has given his word that they can still be drawn South, but I will not allow that to happen unless we find ourselves on the verge of defeat. And fortunately for all of you, I have no intentions of losing any battles that chose to rear their ugly godsdamned heads in my presence. So I do not want to hear any more murmurs of doubt in either Lord Stark's, my goodsister's, or my nephew's words. Is that plain enough for all of you?" The large bulk of the King hunched over the table, glaring at Staedmon, appearing absolutely gigantic compared to the man.
"It is, your grace," he grimaced, replying with an uneasy nod, and withdrawing at the crowned stag who was bearing its prongs towards him.
"And I trust that will be the end of it, Lord Staedmon? I will not debate this same subject again," the King rumbled, narrowing his eyes at the questioning storm lord. "And that goes for the rest of you lot," lively blue eyes scanned the various faces at the war table, finding naught but respectful compliance.
As the day wore on, Kai heard mention of a host from the Vale, commanded by a Lord Royce from Runestone, descending down from the Bloody Gate. He saw several men, bearing raven and hawk scrolls, come and go as the King and his war council strategized. Each passing hour saw a growing number of Crownlanders reportedly arriving in King's Landing, as he studied the map before them beneath a scrunched brow. To the south, at the seat of the Prince of Dorne, he saw warpieces of sword-and-coin. The standard pieces used to indicate sellsword companies, and in this particular instant, he knew it indicated the position of the Golden Company. A group ostensibly known for being both professional and well-trained. Words such as 'Blackfyre,' 'Ninepenny,' and 'Maelys the Monstrous' were uttered several times, in the debates, mostly by the King, Steffon, and Ser Barristan, but Kai cared not for the past involving the Targaryens and their bastard kin. All he cared for was one thing, and before long, the words he was waiting for had finally been voiced.
"Pardon me, your grace, but what is to be done about Highgarden?" his ears perked up at Ser Barristan's enquiry.
"A rider will be sent with a simple message, one even Lord Tyrell will understand," the King sighed, "'Meet us at Ashford as allies, or die cowering under your sheets in Highgarden.'"
"A strong message, your grace," Steffon said, staring blankly at the map and the past home of their mutual friend Margaery. "Perhaps too strong?" he added, taking the words right out of his mouth.
"I'm done playing with the Tyrells, nephew. No more delays. No more excuses. We meet in battle on the fortnight, or we ride together to the Rock. Better swords at our fronts than daggers at our backs," the King replied to Steffon's query, showing quite a bit more cunning than Kai had expected of man formerly so gone to fat and drink. "And that is the end of it. Now, get some rest, all of you. The hour grows late and we march on the morn."