(En Route to Silverhill: 4/17/299) Jun II
"Awww, how sweet," the self-proclaimed Syrah Dragonseed, giggled, sniffing at the frail little collection of flowers in her grasp. Gifts from a man, who appeared no older than Jon, and seemingly brimming with hope for his future with the beautiful Dragonseed girl from Dragonstone. Looking between the scraggly boy who had offered them in earnest, and the vile girl from the Academy, Jun could not help but wince at her former classmate's poisonous smile. "And what's your name?" her white-haired companion smiled sweetly, flirtatious as ever, the light of the midday sun catching the girl's hair and granting it a shimmering gleam reminiscent of polished white-gold.
"Arrol, mi…milady," the all-to-young soldier following at their side, replied with a grin, seemingly trying his best to maintain composure as he gave a quick bow of the head. As Arrol stumbled over his words, Jun could see the lust and affection the boy held for the bitch burning as clearly in his eyes as it did in the eyes of many others amongst the army.
Young though Syrah was, at fourteen, even Jun could admit that the white-haired siren was particularly well-formed and continuing to grow into herself as the war dragged on. With every victim left charred by the Dragonseed's elegant hands, so too did Jun find the girl's beauty growing into ever more unreachable heights. A similar trend Jun had noticed in her friend Ursa, however unlike every man who could found drooling at Syrah's feet or casting lustful stares, there were yet ten others who grew wary around the sweltering furnace of power that was silently building within the Fire Princess of Dragonstone. For not only had Ursa Baratheon's inner fire burned brighter than the sun, but so too had her body grown taller and more defined, nearly matching Robb Stark in height and muscle.
As she looked skyward, towards the bleeding star, Jun could feel the supremacy granted to her by it gradually being drawn towards her unflinching and unyielding friend. Slowly, but surely, the others from the Academy had grown closer as well, and it had not escaped her sight. "Nor those of the flames," she muttered to herself, remembering their visions depicting a shadowed Ursa and a burning crown that had come to her after the desolation of the Golden Tooth. As she watched the other benders, Jun was certain they felt the same as she, down to the irascible temptress at her side, and the lumbering oaf of a boy, Haruto. The massacre had been the first moment she had noticed the change in the Dragonseed and the Fire Princess. A transformation that had only truly bloomed after Sarsfield and Hornvale, turning whispers into nearly undeniable facts. Whispers of Syrah Dragonseed being more beautiful than even the former Queen, and of Ursa Baratheon being the Stranger's own crimson-hued spawn, a dragon given human form.
Unsettling though the rumors had become, what had truly troubled her as of late, were the eyes that had taken note of the Dragonseed's development. For they were more than just the hungry eyes of men, Jun knew. No, these were eyes that burned a fiery gold, and ones that the daughter of Xai-Bau had known since childhood. "Making note of a rival, or an ally, Ursa?" Jun idled, remembering the focused look her friend had displayed while watching the battle outside of Hornvale. Attentively, they had observed the Dragonseed as she had killed her way through scores of men, and smashed through a center charge as if it had been composed of nothing but sticks and dry weeds. Although Jun had long since lost count, she was certain that the white-haired girl had slain at least a thousand men since their invasion of the Westerlands. Second only to Ursa herself and easily ranked as amongst the deadliest of the Dragonstone contingent, Jun knew Ursa would make note, for it was her charge. But whether to eliminate or recruit, Jun still found herself wondering.
As she toiled at the thought, she felt the pull within her chest. The feel of her flame tugging her attentions upwards and towards the forefront of their column. Staring ahead, Jun found her gaze falling upon the girl in question, Ursa Baratheon, daughter of the Stannis and Azula Baratheon. At her side rode Robb Stark, son of Eddard Stark, Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Selwyn Tarth, Lieutenant-General Chi-Ha, and the four large Flameguard dispatched from Dragonstone to protect the Fire Lord's heir. All sat astride horse, speaking with each other, save the Flameguard. Though at the distance in which she rode, Jun could not hear the nature of their discussions. Combined with the noise of the army marching all around her, Jun near immediately gave up trying to hear them. For in-between them, marched five-hundred Dragonstone men and eight of the graduates, while at her back marched the Sunglass-Rambton foot and the remainder of the Northern troops, which was more than enough to drown out any conversation more than a meter away. At the wings of the column rode the heavy cavalry of Houses Bolton and Frey, three-thousand combined, by her estimate. The left flank was led by Lord Roose Bolton with two-thousand horse, and one supporting bender, while the other thousand were led by the weasly Ser Stevron Frey and the 'wedding prisoner' Haruto. Sworn to wed a Frey girl, upon victory in the West, Haruto had submitted to Ursa's pact with Walder Frey without a word. No doubt knowing that going against the Fire Lord's heir, would be the same as going against the Fire Lord herself and tantamount to suicide, or so she assumed.
Staring at the cliff face to their west, Jun knew what lay beyond the mountains. "Casterly Rock," she told herself. Turning ahead, she spied her beloved Jon, along with Ser Justin, the Hellhound, two-hundred Stark horse, and nearly twenty soldiers in Dragonstone steel save one who had been clad in Fire Nation garb. The last of which being worn by a boy she had been keenly familiar with at the Academy.'Kai?'she remembered the name of Steffon Baratheon's closest friend. 'Why are you here?' Whereas Jon and the rest had been returning from a scouting party, the presence of Kai and the Dragonstone detachment riding alongside them had been a bit of surprise to her. As their full number rose over the crest of the hill, they appeared like heroes from old, with the Fire Nation mounts carrying large sacks of what she assumed were provisions taken from the wherever they had come. 'Where's Ghost?' she asked herself, not seeing the majestic white wolf at her love's side. As she scanned their approaching group, she locked eyes with Jon and saw his face light up. Smiling, she waved to him in giddy excitement. The worry forming within her mind was dashed away, by the soft smile Jon had cast, for she knew no smile would have come had something befallen the ever growing direwolf. As Jon's party rode to the head of the column with their unexpected Dragonstone escort, Jun reflected on the direwolf, knowing the most prudent course would be allowing the animal free rein to scout ahead. "Wait," she scrunched her brow, "didn't Robb just do the same with Greywind a few hours ago?" The recollection hit her suddenly, her mind vaguely remembering a verbal exchange of some sort, but finding it jumbled in amidst the flood of words, visions, battles, death, and suspicions of all that had plagued her since the onset of the war. Things that she found only drink could help silence. Things that Jon had attempted to steer her from with only moderate success. Patting the pouch of Huangjiu at her side, Jun remembered how Greywind and Ghost had saved their lives after the Golden Tooth. Not once, but many times over, as they had been the two responsible for discovering the numerous ambushes the Lannister's had placed all along the pass between the Tooth and Sarsfield. Long before they could be sprung, Robb and Jon had pointed them out, almost as if they could sense the men hidden in the mountains. Positions, in which Ursa and the rest of the benders had burned to cinders, leaving nothing but soot covered cliff walls and burnt corpses. Realizing her own forgetfulness at this fact, Jun felt incredibly stupid.
"Arrol what?" Syrah's sickening sweet voice turned Jun away from her thoughts. Blazing golden eyes turned sharp at the words, while gracile alabaster hands shifted from relaxed to vice-like. So tight had they become that Jun quietly observed the off-white color of bone beginning to peer through the snake woman's milky-white skin.
"Just Arrol, if it pleases you, milady? I am of no great birth, but I do offer you my heart," the boy looked down and wrung his hands, the nervousness having finally settled in, before staring up again with renewed vigor and stiff back. "Lord Stark called us to arms in defense of the King and the Realm, and I obeyed. I was no coward."
"That is very noble of you, good ser," Syrah smiled, lowering the flowers ever so slightly as she stared the boy with the twinkling eyes. "And, I am happy that you did. The whole realm thanks you for your bravery and loyalty."
Ignorant of the girl whom he fancied, the boy's face lit up in contentment at the sight of Syrah's smile and encouragement, before they turned to horror as the flowers went up in flames.
Dusting off her hands, "Keep holding your breath, Arrol Nobody, and come back when you have a family name worthy of my consideration," the Dragonseed sneered at the young man.
"My lady, if you would but consid…." the boy attempted to press his positon, before being interrupted by a condescending voice.
"No. You would give me nothing in exchange. Nothing but wasted time and effort. I value position above all else, including your affections, Annor," the bitch declared, almost certainly choosing to state the wrong name and smiling sweetly all the while. "Bye now," she pouted, displaying false sadness, as she waved the man away.
Jun watched as the soldier squared his shoulders, seemingly ready with a reply of his own, before the burning look within Syrah's laughing golden eyes took the fight out of him. As he trailed off, Jun saw the spark of anger in his eyes.
"What?" Syrah turned and glared at her, catching the piteous glances she had cast towards the young northman. "Does my demeanor upset you?"
"You shouldn't keep insulting them," she grumbled, her eyes still lingering on the man returning towards the rear of their group, where a set of laughing men clapped at the boy's back and shoulders, before offering a wine sack of which the boy drank deeply.
"Why not? They mean nothing to me. Hell, they mean nothing to no one if we are being honest," Syrah shrugged, turning away, and not once looking to her as she spoke her piece. "Nearly this entire army has already tried their luck at courting me either for themselves, or their sons, or their brothers, or their uncles, or their cousins, on and on," the Dragonseed waved her hand. "Bah! The only one I've seriously considered thus far is Lord Bolton's only son."
"Your insults and dismissals do nothing to improve our cohesion with the rest of our allies," she suggested, her thoughts lingering on the idea of the Dragonseed and the Bolton heir, and the outcome her Fire Lord most certainly wished for.
"Oh please, what are they going to do? Betray us? Leave us to die, while the Fire Lord, the King, and Lord Stark still breathe? You and I," Syrah craned her neck, before wagged her finger between the two of them. "We were taught at an academy brimming with envious, back-stabbing bitches."
"I know. You were one of them. Isn't that right, Whisper?" Jun countered with a snort, before her steed whinnied in agreement. "You see?" she chuckled, running her fingers through Whisper's mane.
"Hmmm, true enough, though I was never envious of anyone. Least of all you," a brilliantly white smile flashed across the Dragonseed's vibrantly youthful face. "But what I'm saying is that this miserable little war is nowhere near as horribly grotesque or depressing as that nightmare. If grown men can get so easily offended, so as to allow little girls to die, then perhaps they should be replaced? Speaking of," the perfect girl tilted a head to her, "is the Bolton boy as dashing and intelligent as the Leech Lord says?"
"I've only met him once, during Ursa's first nameday in Winterfell," Jun offered, remembering the look of stony disappointment that had been written across Ursa's face when none from Dragonstone had come. A deep sadness that had only been brightened by a single letter of forgiveness, and a thoughtful gift from a dutiful father.
"I know. That's why I'm asking, you undersized rodent."
"He seemed pleasant enough," Jun shrugged, "though he only wished to speak with Ursa, and gave her a gift. Spirits if I remember what it was, Ursa kept it close. Though I think it was a knife of some sort. Maybe."
"Really?" Syrah displayed a queer smile at the news. One that unnerved her. "How interesting. It's a pity it was her last nameday in Winterfell," she placed a deceptively delicate finger upon her chin.
"What?! Who told you that?!" she demanded, nearly stopping dead in her tracks, her mind spinning at the idea and unsure of how such news could have spread to Dragonstone.
"No one important. At least not to me," the Dragonseed smiled. "But there is truth to it, isn't there? Truth to the rumor that she's never celebrated one after?" Jun saw a raised brow, at the corner of Syrah's face, as she asked the question no one but she and Brienne could have known the answer to.
"Her reasons for that are her own," she countered, disliking the probing nature of the pale-cunt's questions. "Feel free to ask her, if you wish. I'm sure she'd have a much more decisive answer for you," Jun felt the frown forming across her face as the question left her lips.
"I'm sure she would too. But I don't think the answer to the question would be worthwhile," golden eyes twinkled in the sunlight.
"What are you getting at you silver-slut? Are you playing with me? Aren't you and Takkar planning to wed each other, anyway? Why do you care about the Bolton boy?" she hissed.
"Tut. Tut. There's no need for such language, sewer rat. I am no slut. Takkar and I merely tolerated each other, and he just likes to talk. That sword-swallower is an ambitious little shit."
"And why would you allow him to say such things about you, if you think so ill of him?" she asked, the doubt still burning in her mind with the Dragonseed's words.
"I thought it best to allow that lurid little rumor to spread within the secluded confines of that wretched little island. If only so the others would not hound me like these fools here," Syrah scanned the army with a critical eye. "Steffon would have been the ideal candidate, but the Fire Lord would never have allowed he and I to wed. Even if we had somehow managed to miraculously deceive her, and do so anyways, I know such a marriage would not have been long for this world. The Fire Lord would have seen to that."
"The Fire Lord would never have…" she interrupted.
"Oh she would have," the Dragonseed tittered, "because she understands what you do not, apparently. Has Ursa never shared her experiences at Dragonstone with you?"
"No, the affairs of family are private," Jun shook her head, believing if Ursa wished her to know, she would say. Equally knowing that she had secrets of her own that were best not to air out.
"Well if she hasn't, then you should ask, because I imagine the stories to not be so pretty. In any event, I was forced to settle for Takkar, as he was the best of what remained. Even if he was a cunt," Syrah spat the last. "Thankfully this war came and it did not. And as for my flower? It, thus far, retains all of its petals," a suggestive smile came across tantalizingly full-lips.
"Pfft, you could have fooled me," she scoffed.
"Hmph, its funny that you think fooling you is anything but child's play. This shit stain on my boot is harder to fool than you," Syrah mocked, briefly raising her foot to reveal a light brown smear at its sole, before running her expertly manicured hand through silvery-white locks.
"You…" she started, only to be cut off near immediately after.
"Shhh! Don't talk," a pale hand stifled her words. "You've lived here for almost fifteen years, and you still don't know?"
"Know what?" she tightened her grip on Whisper's reins.
"That one's virtue can be quite the valuable commodity in this barbaric country. Especially when the virtue being held is that of a woman. A quality that I do not intend to so easily cast aside for some temporary sense of contentment, or base desire," Syrah looked to her.
"I…" she stumbled upon her words. "I never…" Jun felt her words falter as they left her mouth, the memory of her brief tussle with her beloved beneath the sheets coming quickly to the fore.
"By all means, please reveal to me your thoughts. Wait, nevermind," she said immediately after. "I don't care. Why would I? You're obviously very limited in scope and vision. Seeing as you've already chosen to invest what," Syrah judged her body with quiet laughter, "little personal currency you had on Snow, and lost the opportunity for greater purchase."
As if on instinct, Jun's arm reflexively went to her chest to obscure the sight of the undersized bumps beneath her crimson uniform. The rather small breasts she possessed were nothing when compared to those of the Dragonseed.
"Don't let the fact that you have the body of a little boy keep you down, rat. Obviously you have rather handsome takers. So, as I was saying, now that Westeros herself has spread her legs open to me, I will make the most of what the whore has to offer. But never mind that for the moment. That discussion is for another time," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "This conversation was about prospects, and the name Bolton is a family name worth a damn. Certainly much better than Takkar, or Snow, at the very least," the Dragonseed pointed out. "Perhaps not the best, but adequate. For the moment. Though I still need to meet him personally before I make a decision."
"I'd hate to burst your poisonous little bubble, but you are not some noblewoman who can pick and choose to become the wife of some great lord," Jun supplied, her annoyance at the Dragonseed's conceit nearly getting the better of her.
"Keep telling yourself that, vermin, because I most certainly do not intend to settle for some random bastard as you have. No matter how attractive he may be," Syrah smirked, glancing at Jon as she did so.
"Listen, bitch, you will not speak of him in that way," she warned through gritted teeth.
"Don't take it personal, little mouse," the white-haired girl raised her hands in placation, even though both knew the Dragonseed could best the Grandmaster's daughter in any contest of strength. "I'm sure that he's the ideal man to wed in everything that doesn't count. A man who is kind, loyal, and honorable, but even so I'm just saying that you wasted your rather immense potential on him."
"And why do you say that?" she huffed, narrowing her eyes at even the vaguest of off-handed compliments coming from the girl.
"Once this war is done, you will see," Syrah winked.
"See what?"
"See every lord, great and small, clamoring for us," the girl smiled.
"You don't know that," she countered.
"Our strength will always be enticing to those who lack it," a predatory smile came upon the beautiful girl's lips. "Despite one's better judgement. So why settle for less, when the sky's the limit?"
"Keep telling yourself that," Jun snorted, watching as the feral smirk on the Dragonseed's face grew wider.
"Anyways, since we are still on the topic of prospects," Syrah continued, waving off her comment with but a light chuckle. "I suppose the Stark boy would also be an interesting catch, but he has yet to approach me."
"Oh, And why would that be? You don't think it has anything to do with your charming personality, do you?" she answered harshly, not once believing herself having sounded genuine, as her mind had been preoccupied with the girl's suddenly grating voice.
"I wasn't born yesterday, Bau, and I would appreciate you not assuming my mind to be as slow as yours," the girl answered shrewdly, her face taking on an almost ethereal guise as she spoke. "We both know the Princess was not sent north to learn how to knit or understand their…" the Dragonseed cringed as she gestured to the northmen behind them, most of whom were haggard and unkempt. "…ways of life. Likewise, I am certain the Stark boy was nudged to get into her good graces. But…" Syrah laughed, "…spirits know the Princess is fouling up her approach. Have you and the tall-one taught her nothing? She may as well be stabbing the poor boy in the face with a spoon."
"Her name is Brienne, and we are not as well-versed in the nature of men as you," Jun hissed, wanting to smack the bitch in her puckered face.
"They are simple creatures to understand, rodent," she cleared her throat. "The Princess should consider herself fortunate that I am not suicidal, because it would be a simple enough task for me to nab the young wolf right out from under her. But not so simple as to stay her hand if she chooses to take offense to it. Which I'm sure she would. Fortunately, for my life and her pride, I have bigger dreams than that. Dreams that do not revolve around becoming some lowly broodmare doomed to waste away in the north. Moving to that desolate hellscape, is partly the cause for my hesitation with the Bolton boy. Its far too cold. Too distant. Too secluded. I prefer to be near power. Where the environment is more dynamic. More alive. Like fire," a small flame burst out from her palm as she said the last.
"Willing to spread your legs for power are you?" Jun raised a brow, the grimace not at all hidden from her face.
"No," came the simple reply, as the Dragonseed clenched her fist, killing the crimson flare. "I already have that. What I need is more, and this war will leave a host of rich and powerful widowers. And I aim to claim the largest and fattest of the lot," Syrah's eyes glittered in the sun as she uttered the last. "You should go now," the girl said. "We can finish this later. The Princess is waiting for you," Syrah added, nodding her head towards the front of the column where Ursa and the rest awaited.
"Come on girl," she said, kicking softly at Whisper's sides. Her steed clopped forward, past the marching men who all bore steel plate, save the crossbowmen and archers, who stood at the center. As she came up to Ursa and Jon's side, she caught the last bits of conversation between her and the Hellhound.
"And what of your family's lands?" the Princess questioned.
"The area near Clegane Hall appears to have been abandoned for several weeks now," the large man said. "Likely after Sarsfield."
"I agree," Jon affirmed.
"Hmm. So it seems Lord Tywin is consolidating at the Rock, now that we are no longer pressuring him into open battle," Ursa reasoned, pursing her lips.
"Aye," Robb agreed. "And combined with the deaths of Ser Stafford at Sarsfield, and Lord Lefford at the Tooth? His list of capable commanders grows short. Leaving him no one to help pursue his aims, even if he wanted to," the Stark heir added, as they continued on with their procession, now that she had arrived.
"What are you lot thinking? All I see is the old lion is bleeding, and us allowing him to squat down in his little cave to lick his wounds. This is not a wise decision. We must maintain our forward momentum, and crush him utterly. I say we should go the Rock and drag him out of there!" Clegane barked, his resentment at the orders to disengage and march towards Silverhill readily expressed upon his hideously scarred face.
"A sentiment shared, but such things are for the King to do, not us," Ursa cut him off.
"As do I, and I'm sure half of the army would be of the same mind as you, Major, but a royal command is a royal command. No matter how much all of us are in agreeance," the former instructor countered, her taut muscles glistening in the afternoon sun.
"Indeed, and I have no intention of allowing them to be disregarded, despite these misgivings," Ursa supplied with a deep-set frown, her blazing eyes causing the large man to urge his horse back a single step. As the heat around the Princess rose to near discomfort, Jun knew the true depths of her 'misgivings.' For Ursa Baratheon had exploded into a fiery tempest after having received word to march to Silverhill, through Jun's father, from the Fire Lord herself.
"Make for Silverhill and be quick. Steffon will send Kai with orders. Read them alone, and ensure the seal is not broken," she recalled, grasping the message's precise meaning as much as her father claimed he did, which was not at all. 'What is happening?'
"How long before the King arrives at Silverhill?" Ursa turned to Kai, who was visibly exhausted but somehow still managed to maintain his composure.
"The King's army is slow going, but should be at Silverhill by next week's end," he replied, reaching into the small sack at his side and presenting a simple roll of parchment, still sealed with the sigil of the burning stag.
"More than enough time," Ursa stated, taking the scroll, and handing an open ravenscroll to Kai in return. "Lord Serret has declared for King Robert," she added, studying the seal before nodding. "Good," she said simply, before looking to Steffon's friend. "Are you to remain with us all the way to Silverhill?"
"I am," he supplied, as he read the ravenscroll in his hands. "This would have been useful to know before I took the long way around," he laughed, causing Robb and Jon to laugh with him.
"Its good you showed caution when you did, friend," Stark answered. "Because we have yet test the veracity of his claims."
"But rest assured we will, when we arrive in four days," the Princess answered flatly, finding no humor in Kai's words. "I was commanded to read this alone. You lot continue on without me. I will return," Ursa stared at her, Brienne, and Jon as she looked down to the sealed scroll with a frown. Without a word, Ursa urged her steed away from them and the rest of the column, only followed closely by the four silent Flameguard sent from Dragonstone.