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.

24. Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24 – THE RIGHT

Two moons have passed since the tribute to their people, and the days were long and slowly becoming colder. Barely a week past, the Mother graced Avery and Lilly to meet their daughter, a tiny little girl they named Hazel for her thick brown hair, and she added a little light to the halls, along with two other arrivals from her vassal lords to start service to the lady of the hold. Beatrice Seigre, daughter of lord Jethren Seigre of Elden Castle. A shapely maid of thirteen with thick sunset red hair, pale blue eyes and full lips in a heart shaped face. Although courteous, she was anything but timid. With her came Samantha De Veaux, daughter of young lord Esmond De Veaux of Worthwood Hall, another comely maid of about the same age with rich brown locks, clear hazel eyes, a soft face with a sweet smile. Unlike Beatrice, she was reserved but by no means meek. They both became lady Taugere's ladies-in-waiting, regularly in her company when they attended her in dressing, at her table, during court, and other activities. But they were not necessarily her constant companions as were her sentinels, and allowed a fair deal of freedom when they were not needed, as long as they did not leave the castle alone, nor venture beyond the woodlands visible from the castle walls. They were gifted singers both, but Samantha was the favoured dancer while Beatrice was more prone to music and embroidery. Their presence was a confessed comfort, but only just. However, they were both afraid, or at the very least, shy of the greatest sentinel despite being severely smitten with him. On a slow, wet day, Claira lay on the wide divan in front of the hearth of the lord's hall, dressed in a warm gown of azure blue with gold detailing, just allowing herself to drift in the ambience of gentle rain falling outside and the crackling of the fireplace; her hands resting on the soft pillows above her head. The once deep cuts to her palms were now little more than pink lines across the skin. Having given the household the day to themselves, it was a welcome release. Everyone's been busy lately, yet she welcomed the activity to fill her time, but for now she felt calm and peaceful, still waiting for her family to come home and with each sunset she reminded herself that with another day gone, they were that much closer to her once more. The darkness under her eyes had diminished slightly, seeming more natural but to those closest to her still did not hide her ever present sleeplessness. It was hard, to sleep alone. Her eyes opened to the phoenix on the wall, still in flight, still in search of his lord, and Quill waiting patiently underneath on the hearth shelf... It wasn't even long after the tribute when she received the letter from King's Landing, summoning her to court to pledge herself, her people and her lands to he who would now remain king of Westeros. Many advised her against it, while another few encouraged her to meet with the young king, showing that there remained no ill will. Even her Falgon who would remain by her side should she decide to go, advised her to stay. And so she did. With courtesy she replied to the king's summons, that she will not promote hostility between their lands, and will continue to uphold her people and her country granted they did not suffer any further assaults; but in light of the circumstances and her noble obligations without the aid of a court master, would not be permitted to leave her home; and hoped he may accept her pardon. But then she sighed, and supposed not. The young king was not like to accept an answer that was in opposition with his desires... and wondered how long it would be before he would send for her again. Or send someone for her. But then she looked up, just staring at the high cap of her hall... Her sanctuary, where she felt safe and secure, albeit often lonely. Especially now. And then she wondered where her two remaining guardians were, and what they were doing. In all likelihood they were assessing the grounds, or training, or in the village, or sharing stories and gossip from other places, or reading. Yes, one would definitely be reading. Of their order of ten, only two remained. Her Falgon and Wymon were still at her side, while Berin was away with his family. Gavin and Renko had both been sent with her most precious to keep him safe. Like Hernaut before him, Derric was released, and taken home. Edur was dead, buried and honoured with the rest, as was Adelard and Remir long ago. Colbert, Hilfert and Saerus could be dead as well for all she knew. Many died, both that she knew and that she didn't, and she wished she could have done more, for all of them, or even any of them. Falgon might have been right, to add to the order. But she wouldn't know the first thing about who should be allowed to name themselves to the Sentinels, that ancient and sacred order that have stood by the side of the Lords of Flame and their families, and the Ardent Kings long before that. Theirs could have been as old as the Night's Watch itself, if it wasn't older as there was no way to specify when the Order of Sentinels of Flame was founded. Some speculated it happened suddenly, following an assassination on some ancient King or his family, others thought it happened slowly over many, many years. One thing all agreed on, is that it happened and it stayed to this very day. Nothing had ever been this solid, yet only... Even one of their very best could not bring her husband home to her. Her hands pressed over her face, again feeling the tears. When she slept, she dreamed of him. And then she would wake suddenly to an empty bed, only deepening the bitterness that surrounded her and the endless longing. The presence of others made it bearable but nothing would ever fill that emptiness, and still nothing had been heard making her think that someone was not holding him as Berin had believed. Someone may have taken him, but perhaps he managed to escape them. He could be on the road back to her this very instant. There were stories, but no confirmed reports. Peasants who'd said they'd seen someone resembling the lord Taugere in the Stormlands, the Crownlands, the Reach, even the Vale. One even speculated that one such man had asked passage to Braavos, Pentos or Lys. Men with dark hair and scars, but all of these stories were discounted as runaway visions as no one ever mentioned the eyes; which would be the single most obvious way to identify him. No one in the extent of all of the kingdoms had eyes like he did. Her Raeghun would never hide, and he would never flee. This was his home, this was his family, this was his land; but, he could be anywhere still... he could be-

"My lady?" a sudden knock at her door drew her attention back, and she sat up newly taking in the space around her. She may have been sleeping, her sight was dazed and her limbs felt heavy, and she brought her hand up to her face as the knock sounded again.

"Enter..." the great door slowly edged open, and maester Adlyn stepped inside, seeming somewhat tense as he came closer.

"My lady, I do apologise for disturbing you." he pardoned as she looked up, but managed a small smile.

"It's al right, maester. Is something wrong?" she asked, and he glanced down at a parchment in his hand.

"I'm not sure, my lady. I hope not. I'm quite baffled, if I do say so myself." then he looked up at her again, extending his hand.

"This arrived for you earlier, sent with a child. The boy did not say much, I'm afraid." he explained, and she took the paper. It was rolled up tightly, and bound with twine, but dirty and torn in several places; evidence of a long journey and quite possibly transferred between many different hands. Then she stood from the pillows and slipped the binding from the scroll, opened it and stood before the fire of the hearth as she read the words: "Sadly, no songs have been sung of the Phoenix; and the Peacock will dance for his mate. Beware of the hunger that follows him..." again and again she read the words, but only one name came to her. Why would he..? Then she dropped the letter into the flames, watching as it burnt and vanished into the heat of the fire.

"My lady?" she turned back to the maester, watching her curiously.

"It was nothing, maester. You may return to your tower." he seemed to ease, but the deep brown eyes remained uneasy.

"Very well, my lady. If you insist." he turned, and made his way back to the door.

"Thank you, maester. Enjoy your day." he turned back as he stepped through the heavy doors, and nodded.

"And you, my lady." then he was gone, and she was left to the silence of the hall again, watching the light in front of her. I am not without watchers, after all... then she glanced at the open doors of the lord's garden, where shadows still lingered between the pouring raindrops. Within two days the rain cleared, and on the third the song of a horn was answered by the toll of their sentry tower bells and the howling and barking of their hounds. A visitor had come; and from her common room with young Beatrice and Samantha following where she was busy working on a new woollen shawl, they made her way down to the Hall of Fire to meet them, but rather than awaiting them outside she took a place above the grand staircase with her sentinels while the girls waited nearby to see the callers, and moments later the guests entered along with their guards, following three of hers. She stared at the newcomers, a young man whom could not be past his twenty years, clothed in rich silks of green, blue, purple and white with light wavy hair of either light brown or dark gold, and a clean square face approached her happily, with a shadow next to him. Darkly clothed, dark of hair and an equally dark air about him, some years his senior and a bland contrast of the youngster. She glanced at Wymon next to her, his left hand resting on the grip of the sword at his hip. He was tense as he watched them glide over the stones of the Hall towards them, but then the small party stopped at the base of the stairs and the young man looked up with an easy smile before bowing low.

"Good day, lady Claira Taugere. I am ser Jeyson Serrett, son of Lord Janos Serrett of Silver Hill." he greeted, and introduced himself graciously. Even his voice was sweet, as a summer song. Then he straightened, again facing her, his light eyes alternating between striking shades of blue and green, then he brought his hand up indicating the man next to him.

"May I also present, my personal attendant; ser Robar Hill." he indicated, and the man simply nodded his head, his piercing hazel eyes staring at her intently from a lean, chiselled face.

"Good day to you, and welcome to Mount Ardor. What may I do for you?" she received them, and he returned his eyes and his smile to her.

"On request of lord Tywin Lannister, named hand of the king to his grace, king Joffrey Baratheon; I come as emissary to share your home, and promote peace among our realms." he explained, and she heard Wymon scoff next to her.

"If you presume to think that your king has any authority here-" he started, but she raised her hand to mildly silence him.

"My dear Wymon, these men are our guests." she calmed him as he looked at her, and then he nodded while her attention returned to the young man.

"Please do forgive the veracity, ser. My sentinels have been severely protective for a while now." she pardoned, but Jeyson remained smiling at her.

"There is nothing to forgive, gentle lady. I would be as well." he reprieved comfortably, and it made her wonder. His companion had not yet breathed a word, and still coldly stared at her. Her hands came together in front of her.

"In agreement with his grace's... request; I grant you guest right for as long as you choose to stay, ser Serrett. You will have every fitting comfort, as befits your position. You will share my tables, and have freedom of my hold and its grounds. Save for my private apartments to the north. Your horses will be cared for by my stable master, and your guards are welcome to find a suitable space in my barracks." she invited, and once more he bowed gracefully.

"Your warm welcome, and gracious hospitality is greatly appreciated, my lady." he thanked, and she turned to a page waiting nearby.

"Kade, would you be so kind as to present ser Serrett and his companion with the Merigold, and Cardinal apartments in our west wing?" she asked, and the boy moved forward with a smile.

"Of course, milady." then his attention went to the visitors.

"If you'd be so kind, milords. Please follow me." he beckoned them, and they started up the stairway.

"My castle hands will deliver your effects to your respective chambers. Please, take the time to settle in. I will meet with you again tonight, when we may feast together to mark the start of a new, and lasting peace between our people." she said, and Jeyson graced her with a soft laugh that she found secretly pleasant. But then he stopped suddenly, the smile fading as he stared at her. No, not at her. At the mass behind her.

"Thank you so much, my lady." he thanked her again, and then lightly moved past her to follow the boy to the west.

"Shall I escort you to your wing, your grace?" Falgon asked softly, and she tuned to him.

"Thank you, ser. I do believe I may take some time to myself, and prepare for this evening." she decided, and he gently bowed his head as she retreated back towards the incline, Wymon and the girls still at her side, they youngsters already in soft discussion on pulling a marvellous dress for their lady from her wardrobe. Then a presence made him look back towards the stairs, where the darker stranger had stopped in front of him, staring at him. Then he grinned, his hazel eyes bright; seeming to have found an interest.

"And you're what? Her paramour?" he suddenly directed, watching him intently. He was shorter, some years younger, maybe around his mid twenties but by no means reserved.

"Her protector. I understand that you could get confused with the terms, but there is a difference. You might want to listen carefully to distinguish the two." Falgon replied, but the grin remained.

"Tender, aren't we?" he continued, stirring a warmth to the tall sentinel's skin.

"Mind your tongue." he reproved, heedful of the irritation flaring over his shoulders, answering the intent to provoke.

"Why? She won't." Robar glanced at the lady; had he an ounce less control over himself he would have sent a fist into the stranger's jaw, and left his body shattered at the base of the steps.

"Ser Falgon?" he heard her voice, calm and soothing behind him, cooling the air in his chest and the fire over his body.

"You're not worth my frustration." he finally decided, and started to turn.

"I'll be worth far more than that, I assure you." Robar replied, taunting the blaze in him that for now, stayed its wrath.

"You might regret that." Falgon smiled back at him, and then left to follow the lady of the hold up into the castle while Robar stared after him, the sensations rushing through him. This will be very interesting, indeed... then he turned and shadowed the others up the western staircase into the wing that faced the sunset of the world, where the youngster opened a great door to the noble guest who stared at the space in utter astonishment.

"The lavender bath chamber is through the farthest door down the passageway of the west wing. You are welcome to it at your leisure, milord." the boy guided, but Jeyson only just heard him as he stared. The chamber was exceedingly spacious and light, with sunlight flooding through three tall sheltered arches behind daffodil yellow drapery that led onto a grand crescent balcony which overlooked a good part of the gardens, and the Sunset Sea far beyond. A wide canopied bed stood waiting on a dais to his right, covered with gold and ivory silks, the curtaining hanging from the canopy a shade of soft honey. Chests and dressers lined the left wall while a small fireplace stood dormant in the wall to his right where a small table holding a basket of wild flowers, and two goblets waited alongside two chairs, on a brightly coloured Myrish carpet. A wardrobe stood against the wall next to the bed, and a clear mirror cast it's reflection on the wall next to the inner arch. Jeyson stepped inside, marvelling at the space. Even his own room in Silver Hill was not this beguiling, and perhaps only half this size with no balcony. He glanced back, nodding and waiting as the page led Robar further down the long passage to the next apartment before heading happily to the balcony where he rested his hands on the balustrade and breathing in the sweet air that rose up from the garden. If success is mine, I will be the lord of this keep... He laughed again, and then returned inside to test the bed; which was solid and comfortable, and as he lay on his back on the silks the thought passed that the mattress was not as soft as his own, but he would be grateful for the relief of not sleeping a hole in it. For a little while, his thoughts wandered towards the weeks past. The journey to Mount Ardor was shy of three weeks, but before that his father was summoned to council in King's Landing on Lord Tywin's orders. With his oldest brother in command of their keep, and himself having been knighted by ser Tygett Lannister barely a year past, he was allowed to accompany his father to the capital, and he was excited for what waited. Entering the royal council chamber, the young king was nothing short of furious at something.

"The bitch refused me!" he'd called out, and then silence fell over them as the Hand of the King looked up to acknowledge them. Two other lords were already seated.

"My deepest apologies, my lord Hand. Your grace." his father begged their pardon, and they were allowed to take their seats while the king continued his rant.

"I want her dead! I want her head on my gate!" he continued his demands, and then for a moment lowered his voice.

"Send ser Gregor to claim the castle, and send me her vile skull!" he ordered, while the aged lord regarded him coldly with gleaming green eyes flecked with gold; and he couldn't help wondering whom it was they were referring to. Suddenly, lord Tyrion spoke up from the other end of the long table.

"The war on the mainland has only just settled. And now you want to send troops, to attack one of the strongest keeps on this continent? To murder the wife of a liege lord of one of the richest lands we have? A woman, protected by some of the finest warriors there are, not to mention beloved by her people? Forgive me, but how do you mean to gain any success out of that?" he asked, staring at king Joffrey for an answer as he glared back.

"She refused me!" he reminded him again, and lord Tywin breathed a heavy sighed.

"I must agree with Tyrion. She has confirmed that she will not encourage hostility, but granted she has no kin to send here as wards, there are better ways of getting what we want. A woman is not a direct threat." he glanced at the other lords around the table. Lord Brax of Hornvale, lord Estren of Wyndhall and lord Kenning of Kayce, all awaiting the subject they were called for.

"One of you, will travel to Mount Ardor and claim the widow Taugere along with their lands; and bring it under sovereign rule." he ordered, but then Varys glanced at him nervously.

"Begging your pardon, my lord Hand. Lord Taugere has been neither decided nor declared dead." he interjected, and the cold emerald stare came to him.

"What does it matter? He's gone, and even your spies cannot locate him, for all your efforts. Why do we even keep you?" lord Tywin suddenly directed at him, the frustration not hidden; and the master of whispers lowered his head accepting the decision. Then he looked over them, silently deliberating his choices of the lords under his command before finally settling on lord Kenning.

"Lord Kenning, you will travel to the burning mountain, claim the lady and claim her lands." he ordered, and the big man with dark hair and steely grey eyes smiled.

"It will be my pleasure, my lord Hand." he immediately agreed, but again Tyrion regarded both lords with apprehension.

"Which part of 'strongest keep', 'finest warriors' and 'beloved by her people' pray, did you miss?" he asked again, as lord Kenning was known for his assertiveness.

"Might I agree, that force might not be the choice approach for this matter, my lord?" Varys complied. There were mumbles, and murmurs from around the table while he wondered on the circumstances. Then his father, lord Serret looked up.

"May I suggest my own son, my lord?" he suddenly put forth, drawing the chamber to a silence as they stared at him.

"This son?" lord Estren indicated him, stifling a laugh and his father's eyes came to him.

"He is young, gallant and charming as a song. If it please you, my lord. I believe Jeyson will suffice for this venture." the large lord with blue eyes, grey hair and a fierce beard approved, followed by a long silence as the lord at the head of the table stared at him, the bright eyes absorbing him completely. He'd always been afraid of the Great Lion of Lannister, and couldn't decide what it was he saw in the indifferent stare. Would he believe him good enough? For a moment he glanced at Tyrion at the other end of the table, whom if anything seemed pleased of the proposal; and then sat back.

"Very well. You leave immediately." he ordered, and Jeyson lowered his head.

"I will do my best to honour you, my lord Hand. Your grace." he promised, not noticing the young king staring at him, clearly displeased of the change. But with little more to discuss, they left the city that day back to Silver Hill, where he would only linger long enough to load what he needed and then head further north to the Corridor. His gut twisted and fluttered for days while his father told him everything he knew, recollections or spoken words, about the place he would visit and whom he would meet, and could not deny that it was frightening. But more than that, it was exciting. He lingered at their hold for no more than two days while his effects were loaded, and he endured the stories. Moments before leaving Silver Hill, his brother approached him with a final advice of his own.

"Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother. You will do her bidding for hundreds of years while you slowly freeze to death..." he warned before his father shooed him away.

"Have no mind for your brother's stories. You have one task, claim the lady of the hold as your wife. No more, no less. This is an order of your king." he told, and Jeyson nodded in acceptance. Then he was heading for his horse, and his aunt stopped him, presenting a tiny little box to him, and a gentle smile.

"A gift, for your lady." she whispered, and he smiled.

"Thank you, auntie Jeyne." and then he left the Hill behind for the Mountain. Robar wasn't his first choice of a companion, but his father had remained insistent so he endured him. And also, he was family, although he was not fond of confessing so. A bastard son of an uncle, or great uncle, or something in the line of that. This morning, when the grand stronghold came into view on the horizon it was nothing short of breathtaking, and he stared and marvelled at it heedless of Robar's incessant ranting until they rode through the great gate. Then they entered the famous Hall of Fire, drenched in firelight; and he saw her. Tall and small, graceful and beautiful in deep red and gold with luxurious marbled hair framing her face and tumbling down her back from a jewelled pin, standing in front of a great statue depicting The Warrior with his great sword behind his right shoulder. Fierce and powerful as one would expect, but an odd spot to place an idol; yet for ages these people had been known for their bravery and strength, so having this face of the deity in their hall should not be unbelievable. A solitary soldier stood at her side while her frost blue eyes regarded him. This will be easy. I don't need Robar... he thought at first, and then as he approached her, he met the eyes of the statue behind her. Living eyes of dark gold, a touch away from red... then the god moved, and his confidence left him. Scattered like a flock of pigeons before the leap of a fox, and he thanked the Father that he did not run, preserving his poise.He'd never seen a man that big before, save for ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain himself. And it was only a quick glimpse as he once rode past... But there was something different about this man, something that hid the world behind him. He hadn't even noticed the great burning hearth behind him before he moved away. I'd better be careful of that one... he decided. Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother... came the voice, and his eyes opened to the canopy of the bed. He didn't feel any different, although he did find her clear blue eyes mesmerizing. If she'd cast a spell upon him, he would have thought he might feel it. Something like sand sliding down his shoulders and back, or tiny tentacles moving through his chest. But there was nothing, just her eyes and her kindness that received them. A soft knock on the hardwood of the door, followed by the shuffling of feet made him sit up to look back, and noticed a young girl with red hair and light grey eyes waiting in front of the door. A pretty girl, short but slender. Then he stood and approached, watching several strong men coming inside carrying the bags, crates and chests holding his effects.

"Hello." he greeted the girl, and she blushed.

"Good day, ser. Lady Claira has asked that I enquire, if your chambers are to your liking?" she asked, and he looked about the space.

"It is wonderful. Please do give her my sincerest thanks, I will be most comfortable here." even her gentle freckles disappeared behind the ruby of her soft cheeks.

"I most certainly will, ser." she promised, and brought her eyes up to his again.

"I look forward to this evening." he added, and she laughed.

"I am sure that her ladyship will enjoy your company, ser." she assured him, and then quickly turned on her heel and left down the hall. Having delivered the items, the serfs left and he busied himself with packing away what he had into the wardrobe and dressers before choosing his apparel for this evening. Fine boots, light silk breeches, a pearl white tunic and a quilted doublet of sapphire blue velvet, lined with emerald green satin and studded with amethyst purple chaplet over the padded shoulders; the Serret sigil emblazoned over left breast, and a gilded leather belt to match. This was his very finest doublet, and he hoped it may meet the lady's delight. But he would leave the sword.

"You mean to garb your way into her bed, boy?" a voice drew his attention, and Robar stood in the doorway, studying the garments he had put aside.

"Are you daft? There is no way-" he started, and his companion walked towards him.

"You came here with a task, best you get to it." he urged, and Jeyson turned towards him.

"I have time. You can give me that, at least." he tried, but the eyes stared at him with no emotion.

"Only so much, and the longer you take the harder it will be for you." Robar told him, and he looked away. Impatient was one of the terms often used to describe his... cousin, was it? Distantly, maybe.

"I won't get near her if she doesn't trust me. I need to work on that, first of all. She has said that her sentinels are severely protective of her..." then he looked back, his thoughts clear in his eyes. He would not be able to just work his way around them, especially him...

"Besides..." then the thin lips pulled up in a sly smile.

"You just worry about her. I'll wind those two so tight, they won't be able to turn their heads." he assured, and Jeyson knew what he meant. He would annoy them and pester them and provoke them relentlessly; he'd already started with one.

"So long as you don't cause trouble for me." he said, trying to sound as stern as his father; but Robar remained smiling at him.

"I'll try not to be too... violent." he promised, the young lord's threat meaning as little as he'd knew it would.

"See to it, then." he allowed sullenly before turning away and continuing his activity, listening to the heavy footfalls leaving and disappearing down the hall. Then his attention went to the little box left on the surface of the dresser, and he took it up in his hands to open it. Inside, lay a pair of elegant earrings, clear sapphires set in silver; and he wondered when may be best to present it to her. Then he smiled. Tonight, at the feast. That should be appropriate... Evening came in rich shades of rose and copper over the horizon, and the guests made their way down to the feast hall to join the members of the hold, where the lady and her sentinels were awaiting them, her grey haired soldier to her left and her noble young ladies next to him; and The Warrior on her right side. Her hair was still as it was this afternoon, but she had donned a dress of glistening pearl white with gold hemlines and a pearl pin set on the low neckline, and the young lord complimented her generously. Ser Jeyson and ser Robar were offered lordly seats opposite from them at the high table, and they conversed pleasantly, sharing their knightly tales while the girls gushed and giggled as the evening feast was served, however Robar remained mostly silent. He was garbed much more simply, in a white cotton tunic under a rich red jerkin with no sigil, and a black belt about his waist. Dark brown breeches and good riding boots reaching to his knees. Their supper consisted of delightful warm mutton pies, followed by boar haunch roasted with cherries, nuts and glazed in honey, lard baked potatoes with creamy spinach and sweet carrots, and stewed fruit with warm custard, along with spiced wine.

"This is a magnificent feast, my lady. Your kitchen master is exceedingly talented." Jeyson complimented as he brought a piece of the succulent roast to his mouth, and she nodded.

"Our Jeody is one of the finest cooks in Westeros, many have complimented his hands." she agreed, and noticed the sigil on his breast. A prime peacock prancing on a cream white field, feathers brightly coloured and displayed with pride. The Peacock will dance for his mate... Then her eyes came to his.

"You are a knight, ser Jeyson?" she enquired, and he smiled warmly.

"I am, my lady. Recently anointed, but still proud for the honour." he replied modestly, and glanced at the men at her sides.

"Your sentinels are knights as well, I assume?" he probed gently.

"Not in the same sense as you, but yes. I suppose they are." she agreed, looking at Wymon.

"Our order is as noble and ancient as any, and they uphold their oaths just as fiercely." she continued, watching the youngster help himself to another piece of pie.

"Men of noble birth, and it clearly shows." he continued to praise them, and Wymon laughed softly. "Of nobility I cannot confess much, I'm afraid. The honour we have to serve this great house, came to us from dedication mostly." he told, the wine having softened his senses somewhat.

"I was a mason's son before I came here, wanting to do more with my life than cut stone. And ser Falgon..." he glanced at the giant on the other side of his lady.

"He was a mercenary." he told, and suddenly Robar sniggered.

"Mercenaries are only as good as the gold they get." he said, and the warm eyes settled on him, hard but indifferent.

"That has long passed me. My devotion here is absolute." he told, and the hazel eyes leered back.

"A mercenary with standards. How rare." he continued to tease, unmindful of the irritated glance from the youngster at his side.

"What they did then is of no matter. Their loyalty values much more, and they are my most trusted." Claira finished the engagement, feeling a light heat to her cheeks as the eyes met hers solidly. Not that long ago, his stare might have made her feel defenceless, naked and violated. But the presence of her strongest covered her like a cloak of steel, and after a long moment his eyes lowered as he smiled.

"Of course it is so, my lady. Unquestioning loyalty such as it is, is a singular quality of late." he agreed, and the heat left her.

"You are a knight as well, ser Robar?" she questioned him, bringing a chalice of sweet rose wine to her lips and he leaned slightly forward.

"Yes, my lady. Knighted by lord Lydden for my service to him in the Greyjoy Rebellion." he told, and she wondered for a moment.

"My husband held the shores beneath Seagard during that time." she softly breathed, seeing the hazel eyes light up.

"He did the lords a great service, cutting off the Greyjoy's supplies. Had he not, it might have taken a good deal longer to end the uprising." then he glanced away for a moment.

"I never did have the honour of meeting him, though." he sighed, almost sadly.

"I remember that. I was just a boy, then." Jeyson added with a bright smile.

"'The Wall of the West Shore', some of the lesser men had named it." he told, and it made her smile. It sounded strong, and solid. Just as her husband was.

"He protected many people, those who stood under him and the strangers he barely knew." she remembered. It was a good memory. They continued their discussions until well into the night, not minding the passing time. They shared stories of their homes and their families. Ser Jeyson Serret was a third son, the youngest of five. His older brothers were named Joseth and Adrion, both wed and became new fathers recently, one of his second child whom was a daughter and the other of his first, also a daughter. Of his sisters, Julianna was recently wed to lord Lydden's son and expecting her first, while Jeyna was intended to marry a lordling of the Reach. His mother passed from this world many years ago when he was still very young, and his father never wed again; and his aunt remained a widow for sixteen years. They found a sort of comfort in each other, and she took to caring for the children while she had none of her own. And his father continued to govern their keep. Robar chose not to share his own fond memories, beyond stating that he did indeed grow up on the grounds of Silver Hill. Wymon allowed them some of his history, while Falgon revealed no more than a handful of intriguing glimpses of the lands he'd served in. It may have been close to midnight when they left a quiet hall, the greatest part of her people having left for their beds including the lady's little companions. A couple of scullions remained to clear the hall, and she glanced at Wymon. It turned out to be a lovely evening, they hadn't had a night like this for a long time, and her poor guardian was more tired than drunk. He'd offered to help master Austinus with their soldiers, and spent a great deal of time in the barracks, allowing the greatest sentinel to tend to the lady of their hold. He still gave orders and advices when it was needed, but that was where he was supposed to be. At her side.

"Go to bed, ser. You are completely worn, of this day." she urged him, and he straightened slightly.

"But, my lady-" he started, and she gently smiled.

"Ser Falgon will see me up. Go on now, you and master Austinus have worked yourselves as half dead as our soldiers, today." she told, wondering why he had chosen to linger with her long after master Austinus had left the hall for his bed. Then he nodded, secretly grateful for her.

"Very well. Good night, my lady. May you sleep well." he greeted.

"And you, ser." she returned, watching him slowly make his way to the arch of the barracks before turning back to Falgon, who stood behind her right shoulder where he always did while he waited for her to finish her conversations.

"Shall we?" he nodded with his gentle smile.

"Of course, your grace." he followed her towards the great staircase where Jeyson approached her a final time before they would head up into the western wing of the castle, and bowed to her formally.

"Thank you very much, my lady. This was a wonderful evening, and I hope we may share more of the same." his smile and tender honesty made her feel happy.

"You are most welcome, ser. And perhaps, my days will not feel so long any more, until my family is returned to me." she hoped as she stared at him. This afternoon, when she first heard the horn over the fields she was reluctant, and only barely hid an annoyance for those who came to call. But to herself could confess, that this was a small relief and a kindness to her halls. And in a way, however allowed, she did enjoy the youth with his flush lure.

"Good night, my lady. Sleep well." his eyes went up to her sentinel behind her. He was still regardful of the great man.

"And you, ser." he greeted politely, and Falgon nodded.

"Good night, ser." Claira replied, and he left them to the stairs where Robar awaited him; once again he was staring at the lady of the hold with bright eyes and a smile that was... strange. Then they left, and Claira returned to her sanctuary freely with her sentinel at her side. He remained quiet, and again his servings were left largely untouched. He might have had a taste of each course, and a glass of wine. It had been so since she could remember, even having a seat at her right on the high table did not change much; and she supposed he simply did not find it appealing to eat in front of others. He had his reasons, and she would not pester him. He would have something if he was hungry, of course. But she sensed an uneasiness in his silence.

"What do you make of our guests, ser?" she asked for his advice, rounding the curve leading to the lord's wing.

"The boy is harmless. But the other one, his companion... Robar. I remain distrustful of him. And I don't like the way he looks at you." he weighed them, and she glanced at him with a small teasing smile.

"Are you jealous, ser?" she asked, and rued it the moment the word escaped her lips. Perhaps she had indulged excessively in the wine as well, gods forbid... She wanted no return to that darkness.

"Jealous?" he stared at her, confused for a moment and then sighed.

"If that is what my protection of you is, then name it so if you wish." she wanted to strike herself. What's wrong with you? Are you stupid?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Whatever he was, it was not that. Whatever his reason was, that was not it. Then she turned to him, reaching the doors and meeting the eyes looking at her. But, to her relief he did not seem to be offended by her choice of words.

"When he looks at you, he does not see someone precious like I do. He sees a challenge, and every thought going through his head is of how to meet, and win that challenge." he explained, and she nodded. The only thoughts that would be in his, would be of how to keep her safe.

"I'll be careful of him, I promise." she said, and then raised her eyes to see his smile.

"I am thankful for that." he seemed slightly less worried, then.

"You realize why they came?" she asked softly, and he nodded.

"As well as you, your grace." he breathed.

"My husband is not dead, Falgon. He is coming home to me." then she looked away, shunning the bitter thought. The Peacock may dance all he wants...

"I will never marry again." she swore.

"And they will do well to honour that." he agreed, and she looked up at him. She had strength of her own, and when she needed she would lean on his.

"Good night, my knight." she raised her hand to him.

"Sleep well, your grace." and he raised his, allowing her fingertips to rest on the black steel of the bracer on his wrist as he bowed to her. Cold, hard and strong. Then she turned and entered her wing, closing the door behind her and listening to his footfalls slowly fading down the hallway outside to return to his chair. He hadn't touched her since that night... then she turned and made her way up to her chamber, and found Laurene lighting another candle to replace one that had burnt out.

"You've been here all night?" Claira asked surprised, and the girl looked up.

"Most of the night, milday." she confessed as Claira came forward.

"You could have gone to bed hours ago, you don't have to wait for me. As soon as your chores are done, you may leave." she told, and the girl blushed.

"My pardon, milday." but Claira smiled at her.

"Go, get some rest. It's late." she dismissed her, and she left the wing as Claira took up a light dress of powder blue and relinquished herself to the bath chamber, soaking in the warm water and cleansing herself before drying and redressing, the heat from the water allowing her senses to diminish slightly to a sleepiness she welcomed. Her hair fell loose and natural down her back as she departed the bath chamber, but as she came into the lord's hall she stopped suddenly, taking in a foreign figure standing in front of the hearth, looking up at the phoenix on the wall and an icy hand wound around her chest.

"You're not supposed to be here." she told, and he turned to meet her eyes.

"I do apologise, I didn't mean to intrude... It's just that..." Ser Jeyson Serret started, glancing at the floor and seeming uncertain of what to say. If I scream, would someone hear me..? But she knew it was unlikely. "The walls here are three times as thick as anywhere else in the castle..." her father had told her when he welcomed her to their sanctuary. A place where she had felt safe since her first night on these foreign lands... Then he looked up, shyly.

"Your handmaiden... the pretty red haired girl..." he started, and she recalled.

"Laurene." and he smiled.

"Yes, she said I might still find you awake." he told, and then approached her.

"I'm sorry... I feel quite foolish. I enjoyed this night so much, that..." he fumbled in the pocket of his doublet for a moment, and her hand tensed around something on the table behind her. A chalice perhaps. She'd thrown Falgon before, and missed. Then he brought his out, and presented a tiny wooden box to her, and the icy grip released her in a wave of relief.

"I forgot to give you this." he explained, sounding apologetic. She slowly took the box, and opened it to see a pair of beautiful sapphire and silver earrings. The boy is harmless... her sentinel's words came back, and she softened. He was a boy, and no danger to her. And he at least had the courtesy to wait, instead of wandering around in search of her.

"They're lovely, ser. Thank you." The stones were clear, and luminous. It made her think of her husband's eyes.

"It is my great pleasure. I hope you will wear them." he took her hand and brought it closer before pausing, and staring at her palm.

"What happened to your hands?" he asked, and she gently pulled away.

"My... my husband's sword." she breathed, and he looked back at the weapon resting on the hearth shelf.

"This sword?" he asked, and she glanced at it as well. Remembering how the tiny opal eyes seemed to shimmer with tears on that dreadful day.

"Yes. Quill, the Taugere family arm. I... I was holding it, and..." then he looked back, sorrow in his elegant eyes. He needed no explanations from her.

"I'm sorry. How long ago was this?" he asked softly, and she tried to remember.

"Four months, perhaps. I'm not exactly sure." that time was more a dream than a memory. A horrible, sickening dream.

"And it only recently healed." he breathed, and she nodded.

"It's Valyrian steel." she explained, and again he took her hand, gently running his thumbs over the icy skin of her knuckles.

"Oh... I should leave you. Sleep well, my lady." he bowed, placing his lips tenderly to the tips of her fingers before looking up and smiling at her a last time.

"Good night, ser." then he left without another word.

Morning came, and another, and another; and for a while her halls were happier than they'd been before. The young knight was a pleasantness in her home, and indeed charming. Everyone enjoyed him, and delighted in his presence. Often the maidens would blush and giggle for his easy courtesies but the focus of his interest would remain the lady of the hold. They learnt that he was as skilled in lyre and flute as he was in bow, sword and lance, having given his mornings to training with the soldiers, being able to best most of her archers. Except for Marron of the Strings who had eyes and aim as keen as an eagle. And some times when he and his companion were not hawking or hunting with her master and his officers, he would join her in her common room with songs and tales which the girls found most pleasing, those of ser Duncan the Tall being his favourite, and his personal inspiration. The music was drawing, but admittedly not as sweet as her sentinel's lute. He would attend her at court, aid her in inspections of her hold, ride by her side, face her at her table, and even pour her wine for her. Courteous as he was, he always allowed her the first serving of every meal. Not too long ago, he had asked the lady if she would care to walk with him through their beautiful gardens after supper, which she at first seemed slightly hesitant of as it was not her norm, never having done so before. Not because she couldn't or didn't care to, but simply because she hadn't thought of it, and later quite enjoyed. Thrice he shared a view of Arun'vemi Lua where he stood at her side looking up at a golden crescent moon with the daunting shadow behind them, but he learnt he had little to fear from the Warrior lest he threaten or disrespect his queen. Once or twice he pointed out that Cersei Lannister was the queen regent, to which the tall man simply responded that he served whom he chose to, and fate had decreed that he be hers. And one full moon evening, near the back of the garden Claira couldn't help staring at the edge of the world where the bright sphere hung low. It was glorious. It's light reflected off the smooth surface of the water, seeming to create a pathway in silver far to the horizon, and she could imagine herself walking on the ocean to somewhere far away. With the moons that followed it was a clear thing that the lady had grown rather fond of the youngster, allowing small gestures like taking her hand in his, and brushing a stray strand of marbled hair from her face, but to those who knew, whenever he drew close to her she would turn away from him or even pull back, denying this subtle desire. He even met several of her vassal lords who came to her court on matters of their country, lord Ernaldus Rames, lord Darius Foch, lord Sebaston Haslinger and lord Dainel Reubel, among others whom seemed to accept his presence graciously. His companion however, remained ever brooding and rowdy, especially around her guards. Falgon, for the most part seemed to ignore him when he japed of his great size and bland appearance, which did little to provoke the warrior as he soon learnt. But then his taunts started to sway to his queen, which annoyed him but not as much as to cause vehement outbursts. Yet, Wymon sometimes found himself in the need of removing himself from the man's presence lest the confrontation turned violent, and did what he could to avoid him. One calm and cool afternoon they found themselves in the garden once again, making their way to the seat next to the fountain from where they could watch the glow off the Sunset Sea, the seam of her dark green dress brushing about her ankles as they walked. Jeyson spared a fleeting glance at the sentinel that followed while the other was helping the master with the guards as he'd often done for some time now, and the young ladies with the maester for some studies; not in their immediate presence allowing them some grace, but close enough to act should he need to. And he grinned as he looked back at her.

"Does he need to follow you everywhere?" he asked softly, and she laughed.

"He is my sentinel. It is to be expected." she said simply, and he cast him another small glance.

"I know, but don't you grow annoyed or weary of the constant presence?" he asked, and she sighed as they reached the bench.

"I used to, but after these many years they've become my shadows. Moreover, it was a direct order from my lord husband, many years ago." she explained, and they sat down on the seat, and he took her hands in his.

"Claira, I would never hurt you." he promised sincerely, recently having found the courage to call her by her name, and she smiled back.

"Yes, I know." in the beginning, it was simply doing as he was told. But now... did he fall in love? He wanted to see her happy, he wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted... to see her beautiful eyes each morning, and it was the first thing he thought of when he woke. He noticed her stare on the blue of the world.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked curiously, and she sat back.

"My family." she said softly, and he gently squeezed her fingers.

"They will all be fine, I am sure." he tried to ease her. It was so strange, this care for people he didn't know, and he found himself praying to the Mother at night to return the lady's family to her unharmed. She'd told him about everyone, those whom sacrificed for her, and whom were so far away from her. She told him of her father and brother, who gave themselves to protect her. Her younger brother who would now hold Pale Haven. Of the head of their Order and his wife that was her court maiden, who was away on urgent matters, and how they had become her family. But her son was the deepest heartache, and he'd been sent away for his safety. She had told him, that she'd become barren after his birth, so he and her husband were all she had. All she would ever have. For her son he hoped with her, but for her husband... It had been so long, it was unlikely that there remained any surety; but he would not say as much. Not to her. It was a sad thing that she was barren, she loved children and he could see as much with baby Hazel and the little ones in the village whenever they visited. If the gods determined that he would not have his own, then he would accept it so. He looked down, at the slender pale fingers in his. Beware the Snare of the North Hag, brother... and secretly he scoffed at those words. Now that he thought about it, Adrion was smiling when he said that to him. He wasn't warning him... He was teasing him. You're such an insolent sot, brother... then he looked back at her face, her stare lost in the vastness of the sky above the ocean. The only thing cold about her, is her hands. Her lovely, scarred hands... His hands softly tightened around hers. Would her lips be cold as well..? He leaned forward slowly, thinking of the touch. But then she pulled away from him.

"I am grateful for your company, Jeyson. You have made my days and my heart lighter. Even my nights seem shorter, somehow." she graced him, and he sat back, once more feeling defeated, but he hid it well.

"You are very welcome. I am pleased, that I may help ease any of your burdens." he said, and she smiled.

"Would that my son were here, he would have liked you. You remind me of him, sometimes." she breathed, and he looked down. Well, that's better than nothing, I suppose...

"I hope I may meet him, someday." he'd heard a lot about him, often praised for his great strength. All said he was like his father, and it was clear that he was missed dearly by all in the hold, and he wondered what the odds were that the heir may accept him in a different light. Then she stood, slipping her fingers from his.

"Please excuse me, I must meet with cook Jeody on this evening's selection. I shall meet with you again later." she pardoned, and he looked up with a smile.

"Of course, my lady. Until later, then." she walked away from him, and he was left feeling frustrated with himself, and more than a little vanquished. This was the most he had accomplished in all of this time. Then he stood, deciding he might take some time to himself before the banquet. He watched as Falgon stood on the edge of the garden pathway, waiting to follow as she passed him back to the keep. He was smiling as she vanished between the shrubs. He might even have been trying not to laugh, and he felt the frustration turn into a flush of anger as he stalked forward.

"Do you enjoy watching me fail?" he suddenly asked, and the dark eyes met his.

"More than I enjoy watching you try." he replied openly, and Jeyson felt his face flush warm. For all his kindness, the Warrior was brutally honest. Then he saw the tall mass turn towards him, his dark eyes clear.

"Your reasoning was that you came to ensure peace between the realms, which I commend you for. But your intent, however subtle you attempt to make it, is to claim her hand, along with rule of her dominion. You will find yourself sorely disappointed, ser. You will not have her." he told him, and nothing seemed ever more true as he stood there beaten, staring at the ground. But then he looked up again, trying to be stern.

"And neither will you..." he declared, although he wasn't sure why. If she didn't find a lordling appealing, she would never want a former sell sword. But he saw the powerful face smiling at him, confident and unbiased.

"You mistake me. I do not want her. I do not love her. I do not spend my time wondering what it might be like to have her wake up next to me. My bidding is to protect her, and I will continue to do so until all else has faded." he assured, and again nothing was truer. When his eyes settled on her, it did not resemble the gaze of a lover, there was no desire, no yearning. It was a shield, warding off any malignity directed at her... Jeyson glanced away at the lush green of the garden, having to shield himself from the daunting glare.

"I doubt you will have dire need of that from me, ser Falgon. I did not come here bearing any ill intent on anyone." he sighed.

"Oh, have no doubts. Had I perceived you to be a threat, you would not have seen your second day here. But if you attempt to force anything upon her, best you throw yourself from the sun tower. It will be far less hazardous for you." he said lightly, and Jeyson looked back, startled for an instant by his bluntness.

"You may not choose to believe this. But, I truly do care about her." he confessed, but the dark eyes did not seem as threatening as he'd thought they may, and the smile remained.

"And so, you will respect her. Good day to you." he bowed his head to him and then turned and left, following the garden trail back to the kitchens where she discussed the evening meal of mushroom stuffed swan with fresh bread, country greens with cheese, and berry pies with cream, and retook his place at her side. When she was done they headed up into the castle towards her common room, and he examined her.

"You've become quite taken with the boy." he noted and she glanced back with a smile.

"He's a sweet child, Falgon." then she laughed.

"He's trying so hard, gods preserve me. It seems almost cruel." she sighed, but he found a comfort in the way the young knight could ease her. He may have been cruel himself for his words.

"Regardless, I am contented that he may make you smile again." then she paused and turned to face him.

"My Falgon, you once told me you have an exceptional memory. Have you forgotten how many times you have made me smile?" she asked, and he stared back. No, of course I haven't. Nor the many tears that fell on my shoulders, your grace...

"What he grants you seems to be different. It is something happy, and light." he measured it, and she glanced away.

"It is different, of course. He is my guest. And you..." she started, searching for a word. But he nodded.

"I am your shield, your grace." he finished for her, and then she looked back. Her eyes were clear as it met his, its depths shrouding the thoughts behind.

"You are." she agreed as she stared at him. But he was more. Much more. He was her truest knight, her stone and strength... He was her dearest friend. Together they took the halls up where she settled on her chair and took up her embroidery, and he took his place against the wall with the lute in his hands, enveloping her in The Whispers of Elune again, and Beatrice and Samantha once again joined her after finishing their learning. Robar returned from visiting the Hawks with two of their guards, and some from the castle when twilight turned the horizon a fiery red, laughing and japing for the activities they busied themselves with, among the many was gambling, gossiping, telling their tall tales, drinking... and some others less mentioned. He passed Wymon as he came into the great hall, and grinned.

"Working hard, moonshine?" he teased, and Wymon stared at him.

"My name is Wymon. And yes, the strongholds's defences must be upheld at all times, the way our liege lords have enforced it for aeons." he said back, watching the leering eyes.

"I don't know why you bother. How much could be learnt from two old men like you?" Robar continued, and the sentinel felt the warmth in his gut.

"I am five and thirty. My hair is grey because of-" he started.

"Because you killed your sister, I know. That must be the reason you ran." he suddenly said, and the heat vanished into a cold and bitter sting in his chest.

"I did not kill her... It was an accident!" every memory came flashing back. He was eight, and she was ten. The heavy wagon racing down the hill towards him, the stone carrier that he'd forgotten to tie down; and he was right in front of it. And his sister came running towards him.

"It was an accident!" blindly he grabbed the tunic of the man in front of him, hauling him closer.

"It was an accident!" his sister was running towards him, and roughly shoved him away a moment before the sickening sound struck him. The heavy blow of the wagon against flesh, and hundreds of breaking bones. There was no way she could have survived... He felt hands, strong hands on his shoulders while lean callused fingers struggled around his wrists against his grip; then they were forced apart and he was surrounded by a score of guards. But the hazel eyes remained leering back, and the dire urge to meet his stare with a fist remained, and he struggled.

"What happened?" a voice filled the hall, sweet as spring flowers but demanding and he looked up to see the lady of the hold approaching with quick steps and obvious concern over her lovely features, her guardian behind her and her companions trailing. I did not kill her! But his mouth felt dry and viscid. No words would come.

"Escort ser Wymon to his chamber." she ordered as she reached them, and he was cordially guided away by their members while she remained; and then looked at Robar who was staring after him.

"I ask again, what happened?" she asked him, and he looked back.

"I cannot say that I know, my lady. I had heard about his sister from some people in the village, and wished to offer him my condolences. I too, have suffered a loss many years ago, so I know what it feels like." he explained, and then his eyes went back to the arch.

"And he went completely mad." he finished. She'd heard of it too, yet never from him. He was loathe to mention her, or what happened to her.

"I see. You may all settle into the southern hall, I will go see him." she decided, and Robar nodded as he headed away and she turned her steps to the arch of the guard's hall where she moved through to the arch leading up into the barracks, down long hallways with doors both open and closed on either side of her and up three flights of steps to the highest level and again down the passage to the fifth room where a candle was burning on a small table, and Wymon sat on the edge of a fur bed with his head resting in his hands. He was shivering. She approached him softly.

"Wymon. Are you al right?" she asked and he sat back, his eyes fixed on the stone of the floor.

"It was my fault... It has always been my fault..." he breathed softly, and then looked up at her, revealing the sheen of tears in his light grey eyes.

"I've never spoken of it. I thought that if I did not, it would not haunt me..." he told before looking down again.

"I've never truly grieved for her, because I told myself that I was not allowed to... That she hated me for what I did..." his hand went to his face, and he struggled against long suppressed tears. She felt for him, her heart breaking with his and she stepped forward wrapping her arms around him, the fingers of her right hand resting on the strands of grey hair and the other gentle on his back; and she felt his hands on her, shuddering on the curve of her hips and the fingers softly straining over the warm green velvet that covered her skin.

"Oh, Aster... It was my fault... Sweet Mother, have mercy on me... It was my fault..." he whimpered softly as she lulled his head against her with gentle soothing sounds. Whether by his hand or not, he caused it. He was the reason that she lost her life... and no man is as accursed by the gods as the kinslayer...

"I was not there, when it happened. I did not know your sister. But, she knew what could happen, and she came to you nonetheless. She protected you, she saved you because she loved you. And she loves you still, I think." she finally said softly, and drawing a breath he looked up at her.

"You truly believe that, my lady?" she was smiling, ever so gently. Her clear frost blue eyes filled with compassion and truth.

"I do." her cool hands came up, the fingers resting on the sides of his neck and her thumbs gentle on the curves of his jaw as she tenderly rested her lips on the top of his head in a comforting kiss, and he breathed out. Thank you, Aster. For giving me this life. I will honour your memory, by protecting her, I swear... then she pulled away from him.

"Take some days, and rest. You are overburdened." she suggested, and he suddenly looked up again, startled of the proposal.

"But, my lady..." he started, meeting the clear eyes that silenced him without words.

"Please. I will have a serving girl bring your supper here, and send for maester Adlyn to bring you something to ease you." she told, and he lowered his head.

"Yes, my lady." he agreed sullenly, and then she left. He glanced at Falgon, whom had been waiting at the door, and as he turned to follow her, he sat back.

"Falgon." the dark eyes came back to his.

"Do not leave her side. Do not leave her alone with them." he said, and the great sentinel nodded.

"I won't." he promised, and then he was gone like a shadow down the hall, tailing her back to the southern hall where Jeyson and Robar awaited them, and the girls nearer the hearth. There might have been an engagement she realized as she examined them, as Jeyson seemed vexed but Robar stood neutral next to him, his arms folded over his chest. The young knight looked up as she entered the hall approaching them, concern visible in his expression.

"How is he?" he asked as he faced her, and she breathed a sigh.

"He'll be fine. He won't be joining us for a few days, though." she informed, and he breathed out seeming relieved.

"Apologies, my lady. I did not realize he'd be as sensitive of the matter." Robar said softly, and she studied him. The words seemed sincere enough, but it did not reflect in the stare that settled on her.

"It has been a tender point for him, for many years. I only hope that he may find the peace, and forgiveness for himself to heal." she said, and then indicated the high table.

"You may be seated, I will join you in a moment." they left for the table, but Jeyson seemed oddly irritated with his companion. Then she summoned a page passing by towards the Hall of Fire, one of maester Adlyn's apprentices.

"Please be so kind as to ask our maester to tend to ser Wymon, perhaps he might benefit from a glass of dreamwine." she asked, and the boy bowed.

"Yes, m'lady." he hurried off, then she asked a serving girl to deliver a portion of the evening meal to her sentinel's room before taking her place at the high table, with Falgon and the youngsters next to her. They nibbled on nuts, pastry straws baked with cheese and tiny flamed pork sausages with mead while they waited, and Robar indulged them with stories from tourneys where he'd competed, and others where he simply observed, the young ladies listening starry eyed and attentive from their seats. Then he looked at Falgon.

"Have you ever been to a tournament, ser Falgon?" he asked, intrigued.

"Quite a few." he said while Robar drank from his goblet.

"Have you ever participated?" he continued.

"Once, or twice." Falgon replied, and Robar grinned.

"When was the last time?" he asked, and Falgon glanced at his queen.

"King Robert's Wanderer's Tourney. Many, many years ago before I found my purpose." he said, and she smiled up at him.

"Who did you face?" Jeyson asked inquisitively.

"Ser Loren Masur the Steel Guilded, ser Hermus Hardyng, ser Argus Florent and ser Gregor Clegane." he named the four men he had bested, bringing four victories to this great house in honour of his liege.

"Such decorated knights against a... Well, that's rather uncommon." Jeyson noted, but stopped himself lest he might offend the former mercenary.

"The leader of The Black Bannermen is very persuasive, and he knew the Master of the Games from previous services to the king." he explained,

"The Black Bannermen?" Jeyson asked. The name sounded oddly familiar.

"The mercenary group I travelled with before coming here. Not as notable as the Brave Companions, the Gallant Men or the Long Lances, but good at what they're set to when well paid." he told, and then Robar's eyes glinted, a sudden memory flashing behind them.

"Oh, yes! I remember now. Ser Loren lost both his hands to you, and you unhorsed ser Gregor in your first tilt. You went at him without a helm, or even proper armour for that matter. It was a great match." he praised.

"You remember that?" Claira asked, compared to everything else, it seemed a vague memory.

"I do. I was still just a squire at the time." he confirmed, and his grin widened somewhat.

"Pity the matches didn't last a bit longer." he breathed, and Falgon sat back.

"I was meant to kill ser Loren, I chose not to. And ser Gregor was a younger man, then." Falgon mentioned as he sat back.

"So it was..." they continued their discussion while the banquet was brought out, but oddly Claira did not feel hungry, and she ate little more than Falgon did. Neither did she share a walk with Jeyson in the gardens after having the hall cleared, and retired straight to her wing while the others headed for their own. Her sentinel stayed at her side to the great door, only returning to the guard's hall to his seat after seeing that she was safely inside and the door shut. She relinquished herself to the bath before taking a book off the shelf and settling on the wide divan in front of the fireplace, a chalice of berry press waiting for her on the table infused with two drops of essence as maester Adlyn had allowed her for a good long while now. Heedless of the argument unfolding in their western quarter where Jeyson faced his companion, a degree more involved than the ones before.

"We've been here for months, and you haven't done shit!" Robar told angrily, but then sighed.

"I've removed one of them, best you get to it." he urged, but Jeyson stared at him with fire over his hands.

"This is not the way I want to do this!" the young knight threw back.

"You're too lenient. You're taking too long. Just fuck the bitch and get it over with." Robar said irritably, but it made the youngster laugh in disgust.

"And she'd just let me? There's no way-" he started, but Robar stared back indifferently with his arms over his chest.

"I could always hold her down for you. And when you're done, I might have myself some." he said without pause, and Jeyson felt his arms burn from the heat in his chest. Or perhaps it was nausea.

"You're despicable." he told, turning away from the hazel eyes.

"You're weak!" Robar degraded him harshly as he stepped forward, the frustration and impatience clearer than it had been before, but Jeyson looked at him again, defiance screaming from his eyes.

"She's a lady! Not one of your tavern sluts!" he yelled at him, but the older knight remained careless of his resistance.

"It doesn't matter if she's a queen, or a whore. She will grow feelings for you once you stick your cock in her. Maybe even a son." he said, and the sear of the warmth flowed into his legs as well, along with a hundred thoughts to smash in the face in front of him.

"Why in the name of all the gods did I even bring you along? Of everyone, why you?" he questioned loudly, so that the gods would hear him; and rough hands suddenly shoved him back.

"Because your father knew I would get you to finish what we came here for!" Robar answered him.

"Not like this! If I win her, it will be because she accepted me. Not because I forced her!" he shouted back after regaining his footing. For his father's sake he endured Robar, but on multiple occasions he'd wished that things could have been different. Then a hard hand crashed down on his chest violently, slamming him against the wall and the air left him in a sudden gust. Dazed he looked up at the eyes glaring at him.

"I've had enough of your incapability. Now, you will do it my way. And you had best do as I tell you, or I'll fucking do it myself!" he said, and his will left him. He would not have a great deal of choice. Robar was older, crueller and a good deal stronger. He would have no choice...

Claira lay on a calm hillside, showered in the light of the sun and the grass soft, and summer green. Raeghun and Berin were speaking softly a few feet away while Milla and Bella wove crowns of flowers somewhere next to her. Rychon and the boys were chasing each other around a wide elm tree while the sentinels watched over them, and Falgon held his vigil over all from above her. Flowers were blossoming in all their rich colours and filling the air with their sweet scents. Her family was with her, and it was a good day. She looked at the clear sky where white clouds drifted past, one was shaped like a sleeping cat. Another like the head of a horse. And another like a grazing sheep while a gentle breeze swept them idly along... A butterfly floated by, bright in blue and black with wings of clear glass, and settled gently on her cheek, its feet tickling the skin and she found the touch pleasant. It was a Dragontail. I wish I could stay here... she thought. I wish I could stay here... the calmness she felt here was so ensnaring, that she hoped time would stop and she could remain here, simply existing in a world where nothing else made any matter. Another butterfly floated down from the sky, settling on her breast, and another down on her stomach. I've never seen so many Dragontails in one place... more and more and more of them came, drifting down from the wind. It was a beautiful sight, but the gentle touches soon became heavy as the little creatures slowly swarmed her, and a fear of suffocating under the weight flooded her. She looked around, everyone still where they were and she tried to call to them. All of them. Her husband and his friend paid her no mind, the sentinels didn't seem to notice her cries. The boys were too far away, her best friend and her daughter ignored her, and the pressure increased. Then she looked at the warrior above her, reaching for him. Help me, please... he was staring at her, cold and stern as stone. Falgon! The fluttering wings covered her eyes, and the field faded away as the tiny feet danced over her lips. She forced her arms up, unnaturally heavy under the weight of the butterflies; and her legs did not seem to respond to her commands. Suddenly her hand pressed against something solid, and the dream was gone. There was a hand to her breast, gentle but foreign and a mouth against hers. Her eyes opened to meet a familiar face, and fright washed her. She forced him away with a sudden push and a terrified gasp, and he lurched away landing on the carpet.

"You're not meant to be here! Get out!" she yelled, but as she stared at him she calmed. The young knight was shivering, and staring at the floor between his legs where he sat. She stood from the divan where she'd fallen asleep, the book discarded on the floor and the goblet lying empty on its side on the tabletop; and then she knelt next to him.

"Jeyson?" her hand rested on his shuddering shoulder.

"I can't do it... I can't..." he whispered, and she felt lost. Then he looked up, his eyes reddened.

"Robar... he told me to come here. He told me that... to..." then he looked down again.

"But I can't..." his hand covered his face.

"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have come here... I never should have... I never meant to hurt you..." her arms closed around him, and she soothed him.

"It's al right. You didn't hurt me. You just scared me." she calmed.

"I'm so sorry, Claira..." he muttered again, and felt the gentle pressure of her arms as he battled against the sobs, and her soft comfort. He remembered his mother cradling his head like this long ago, when he was afraid or when he'd gotten hurt. It brought him calmness, and gave him strength. Then looked up at her again.

"I can't... but he might. Robar may be an irritation, but he's a dangerous man. Post a guard at your door, or in your hall. Please..." then he stood, gently pulling her to her feet along with him and holding her hands in his.

"I was sent to claim you, but I will not do it like this. I will not deny that I have fallen in love with you, Claira. But... I understand that if I cannot win you honourably, I will never have you. Nor will any other man." then he forced a smile.

"We will return to Silver Hill. If your husband is alive, he is coming home to you and I have no place here." he gently brought her hands up as she stared at him, utterly baffled at his sudden open honesty, and he softly kissed her fingertips.

"Good night, my lady." he whispered, and then swiftly left the hall without another word and made his way back to the Merigold apartment. How could I ever let you manipulate me like this, you bastard! I am a Serrett! I Have No Rival! Their house words gave him heart. He entered the chamber where Robar sat waiting on the chair, playing with a dirk in his hands and his feet lounged on the table. He stood as Jeyson closed the doors behind him.

"And? How was she?" he asked wickedly, and Jason glared at him, feeling the rage in him.

"I won't do it! I won't do it, do you hear! I won't!" he called, and the face in front of him changed as well, equally furious.

"You useless little worm!" he stalked forward malevolently.

"Shut your mouth! We're leaving!" the eyes stared at him, almost as if in shock.

"I order preparations in the morning." Jeyson told.

"You have fallen under the spell of the North Hag, after all." Robar breathed, and the fury flamed.

"Shut up! She's not a witch! No more than you are a god!" all of those were just stories, fables made up by the feeble minded to frighten children. Besides, witches were old and ugly and cruel. And Claira, she was no more than thirty and still beautiful, and nothing but kind. A sudden searing pain filled his left cheek and rushed down his body as the back of a hand collided with him brutally, sending him down.

"You stupid boy!" Robar yelled at Jeyson where he knelt on the floor hurting; then he moved forward shoving his boot into the boy's gut and he tumbled back.

"Were you half a man, you would do whatever it took to secure your place!" he grabbed hold of the green doublet and hauled the youngster up again, seething down at him. But the youth smiled, his mouth red with blood.

"I'd rather be half a good man, than a whole shitty one like you." Jeyson threw back, the clash of their eyes as brazen as any two swords in war. How many times had he wished this man dead? He'd lost count long ago. But for his lord father, they endured each other. If not for him, they would have killed each other a hundred times over. The hands hardened on him, jerking him roughly and aggravating the pain that lingered in his stomach.

"Hold your tongue you little fool, lest I rip it out for you! Were it not for your father, I would have!" he threatened, and then threw the boy down heartlessly before rising and turning away.

"Would that I was born a Serrett, gods curse me! I would have done it myself! Perhaps I ought to!" he continued as Jeyson raised himself, holding his bruised stomach and still feeling the throb. If you touch her I will kill you! If you go near her, I will break every one of your fingers! He wanted to scream at him, but he settled for a better truth now that she knew.

"You won't get near her. You never will." he told him, but the dark knight did not turn to face him.

"No thanks to you, you witless dolt. If ever a man was as thick as a castle wall, I swear you're as thick as the Wall up north!" Robar looked up at something, but the young knight felt confident that he'd thwarted him. He would never touch her.

"Do what you will, I still order preparations in the morning. My party pulls through the gate in two days." Jeyson told again, but then Robar turned to face him with a dark smile.

"And in two days, you will have your bride whether by your means or mine. She'll be begging you to marry her." he assured, and in a rush of daze the evil glint of his eyes drove all confidence from the young knight.

Claira moved through the garden with Beatrice and Samantha in happy conversation on the past few months before their morning serving would be served; with Falgon in her shadow. She hadn't seen either of her guests yet this morning, which was something odd. Customarily, ser Jeyson would await her at the mouth of the incline on the third level of the Hall of Fire, and they would start their days together. Yet today, he was absent. In all honesty she couldn't care much of what the other one did with himself, so long as he did not cause trouble; and his taunts and japes were mild enough not to cause blatant brawls. She wondered briefly if it was related to what happened the previous night, or perhaps it was early this morning, she couldn't quite tell. But it was deep dark. After Jeyson left the wing she hurried up to the lord's chamber and locked herself in, until her companions and handmaidens came knocking with sunrise. She glanced up at Falgon.

"How is Wymon?" she asked.

"He is finally allowing himself the grief so long denied. He should be fine." he reported, noting that the grey haired sentinel was still confined to his chamber. But better, under the circumstances.

"I am relieved to hear that. Grief is a very hard thing to face, but in the end it makes things easier." Claira breathed recalling her own bitter days, and then her eyes settled on the shadows of the garden. She could still hear the children, could still imagine them playing between the shrubs and the trees. Then she heard Falgon shift next to her as Samantha gasped.

"Good... Good morning, my lady." she turned, and stared at the young face startled. A light bruise covered the left side of his face, lined on the defined cheekbone.

"What happened to you?" she asked anxiously, and he looked down seeming abashed as his hand came up and the fingers gently touched the soft blemish.

"Oh this? It's nothing. I... I hit myself on the edge of a table as I bent over to pick up my belt." he tried to explain, not meeting the dark eyes studying him.

"Have you seen my maester?" she asked, and he chuckled.

"There's no need, my lady. It will be gone in a few days." he assured, and then he looked back at her, attempting to straighten his back through the lingering tenderness to his gut.

"I have ordered preparations to start, as promised. But it will take a while." he told her, and she sighed.

"Jeyson..." but he seemed intent.

"I was not drunk, when I came to... to speak with you, last night. Not on wine, in any case. I do believe that it is best." he resolved, and she managed to smile.

"I understand. If you believe that it is best, then of course all is agreed." then the young knight returned her smile.

"I will try to make my last days worthy for you." he joked, and they shared a small laugh.

"Of course you will, ser." she agreed, and then he turned away, indicating the pathway back to the southern hall.

"May I beg the honour, my lady?" he asked lightly as he held his arm for her, and the cold fingers slipped softly around his elbow.

"You may." they headed inside while Falgon followed, his stare still on the youth. He was chivalrous indeed, but he knew how to lie, and he did it well. Yet, it remained a lie; but why he could not tell. He and his companion had more than a few arguments over the time they'd been here, but it has not been physical until now. However, the topic of the arguments had remained unknown to them. They settled at the high table, awaiting the kitchens to serve; but Robar's seat also remained empty.

"Where is your escort?" Claira asked, and Jeyson looked up, not bothering to have a thought for the open space.

"I'm not certain, my lady. He might be out, seeing to some of the preparations." he said softly as he stared at her, hoping she may remember what he had told her the night before, and she nodded. The day passed much as the ones before, with slow alterations. After supper, the youngsters returned to their chambers while Jeyson walked with Claira to the third level where he bid her a fair night, but the pressure to her hands as he took his leave from her suggested the urgency of his request, and she was left thinking of it with every step she took, and reaching the great doors she looked up at her protector.

"Falgon..." how would he react to a request like this?

"Your grace?" he waited patiently, his dark eyes watching her attentively.

"I have been advised, to post a guardsman at my doors. If there is anyone you may assign..." she started, and then he nodded with a gentle smile.

"With your permission, your grace. I may take my vigil in your hall." he suggested, but grateful as she was it made her feel guilty.

"You've been attending me all day, ser. I cannot expect you to spend the entire night here on guard as well." she tried to decline.

"You can. And all I will need for my watch is a book, nothing more." he assured, and she looked down.

"You'll be dead tired by morning..." she reflected, but he laughed.

"There is no reason to concern yourself for me, your grace. I'll be perfectly fine." he said again, and then she sighed.

"Very well." she pushed the door open and stepped inside, then glanced back.

"Come in." he hesitated for a moment, and she wondered. He hadn't set foot inside the lord's wing either, since that night. Did he remember? Did he even think about it? Then he moved forward and entered her sanctuary, and she closed the door behind him.

"You may take any seat, and of course you are welcome to my bookshelf." she suggested, and he bowed his head.

"Thank you, your grace. I will attempt to remain out of sight." he promised, yet it made her laugh. How could someone so great ever conceal himself?

"Al right. I'll just tend to my routine, and head up to bed." she decided, and he nodded silently. After spending a moment in her garden, offering her prayer to the ancient face, she stole away to her chamber to gather up her white gown and blue silk robe before returning to the bath chamber. When she passed through the lord's hall he was standing in front of her bookshelf, studying the many tomes. Then she closed the heavy curtain of the bath chamber before discarding her dress and wading into the warm water to cleanse, relishing the warmth. She soaked for a good long while before departing, then dried and dressed, pulling the robe over her shoulders and tying the silk sash around her waist. But before returning into the hall, she paused. Will I get by him without being seen? She took a deep breath and stepped out, scanning the hall when a sudden chill spread through her. He was gone. Did he leave? She walked forward, searching.

"Falgon?" and for a moment a deep silence surrounded her until his voice sounded from somewhere.

"Your grace?" once more she walked forward, and found him on the floor against the wall in the nook between the shelf and the door to the balcony overlooking the east fields, Summit resting against the stones beside him.

"You may use a chair, or a pillow at least." she told him, her previous thoughts of wanting to pass through unseen all but forgotten. He looked up at her, his eyes clear and his smile easy.

"I am very comfortable, your grace. There is no need." he said, and already she knew that she would not persuade him otherwise.

"Oh, suit yourself." she laughed softly, and then started to turn.

"Good night, ser." she returned to the table next to the divan, and took up the chalice of essence press always left for her, then started towards the stairs.

"Sleep well, your grace." but before taking the steps up, she paused for another moment, and turned back to him.

"Falgon..." he remained as he was, but his eyes met hers.

"My queen?" Has there every been anyone in the world, quite like you? She smiled at him, at ease in his presence and safe in his care.

"Thank you. For everything." he returned her smile, graceful and true.

"It is my greatest pleasure, your grace." then she made for the silence of her bed, while he returned his attention to the book; and elsewhere a girl walked down the passage through the western wing of the castle, returning to her own room in the servant's quarters in the west of the second level of the castle from the lavender bath chamber, after delivering a box of candles. She should have done it earlier, she knew. But the other girls kept her sufficiently busy, insisting that she help them finish their chores first. They have an early night, at least... she thought tiredly as she walked. Down a long hallway the soft sounds of her footsteps rang off the walls, and one of the great doors opened as she passed.

"You, girl." he called to her intentionally and she paused. There was no one else in the passage, he had to be speaking with her. Then he grinned as she stared at him cautiously.

"Yes, you. Come here." he beckoned her, and she slowly approached him.

"What can I do for you, ser Robar?" she asked, watching the intense hazel eyes glinting down at her.

"I find myself in want of company. Come inside. Join me for a while." he told, without a trace of humility. He moved back from the open door; but she remained staring at him nervously.

"Ser, I... I..." she started, unsure of what to say. But he still grinned, confidently.

"Come. I won't bite... hard." he told, making a jest of it. Disregarding the tightness to her stomach she walked forward, gingerly entering the Cardinal apartment of the west wing. A warm red chamber with a wide arch leading onto a humble balcony overlooking the bay; a wide bed under black silks with a long chest at its foot resting on a deer pelt rug, a table with two chairs and a burning hearth in the wall opposite from the bed aside a wardrobe and two dressers. He closed the door behind her, and then made his way to a dresser that held a pitcher and two goblets.

"You have a name, girl?" he asked, and she fumbled her hands together watching him pour deep red wine into both goblets.

"Laurene, ser." she mentioned modestly, and he looked back at her taking the goblets from the surface.

"You've been here long, Laurene?" he asked, coming back to her.

"Five years in the castle, ser. And I was born in Garde's Post, yes." she told, and he presented one of the goblets to her, which she carefully took and stared at the dark red liquid.

"Ser... I..." she started, still uneasy while he took a good mouthful before lowering the chalice again and smiling at her.

"You can have a cup of wine with me." he encouraged, and then turned heading for the table and chairs while he drank again. Once more she stared at the wine, but then brought the rim to her lips and swallowed. The wine was thick, strong and sour. A richer vintage than what she'd had before. But rather than offend him, she tried to stomach the heavy liquid. Besides, he didn't seem the like to take rejection; his desire for company having sounded more like a command than a request. He sat down as she forced another small mouthful of wine down her throat.

"You have family here?" he asked as he looked up at her, his hand resting on the edge of the table with the chalice between his fingers.

"My mother and brother are in the village, ser." he waved her closer, and she obliged as his piercing eyes absorbed her.

"You're pretty, for a peasant girl." he said, and she blinked. She'd heard that knights were chivalrous, but his courtesy was not as refined as ser Jeyson.

"Thank you, ser." she breathed, and his grin widened as he ushered her even closer, and unthinkingly she took another tentative step forward.

"So what does your family do, in the village?" he asked, and she glanced down at the goblet.

"My mother is a purser at the general merchants, and my brother is a logger for the carpenter's guild." she told, and suddenly his hand slipped around her thigh and pulled her closer onto his knees.

"And your father? What happened to him?" he asked, and she brought the wine to her mouth again before lowering it.

"He... He died by our lord's side, during the siege on Pyke." she told as his finger slid up the skin of her arm. It left a queer tingling over her skin, and she shuddered slightly. She'd spoken to some of the guards in the halls, but she'd never been alone with a man before.

"I see." his left hand gently glided over her hip; and without knowing what else to do, she drank again while he smiled at her.

"Now, I want you to tell me everything, starting with the giant. This, Falgon." he urged, and she shrugged.

"There's not much to tell. He is the lady's shadow, her strongest sentinel. Utterly loyal to her, and more protective of her than a dragon over his gold." she told, and his hand ran through her soft red hair.

"I heard he once slew a hundred men, single handedly." he continued, and she lightly smiled starting to feel warm to her cheeks.

"I cannot say that it was that many, but it is true." she confirmed, and he nodded.

"He's that good?" he asked, pleased that she dared another taste of wine.

"I've never seen him fight, not even in a tourney. But all seems to believe so." she told, feeling his right hand lightly move over her side, the tingling merging with the heat in her stomach.

"Could he use more than one weapon?" he asked, and she seemed to think on that for a moment.

"I don't know, ser. He always has his sword with him, haven't ever seen him with another. Unless he was sparring fists with lord Berin." she told while he listened intently.

"Lord Berin?" he wondered, and she blushed.

"Lord Berin Trentin, he is the head of the Sentinel Order." and then he remembered, he'd seen him before.

"Oh, yes. The Crimson Knight." he identified, and she nodded.

"So, if he's the head of the order, where is he?" he asked, glancing at the goblet in her hands.

"Have some more, it won't kill you." he laughed, and once more she brought the chalice to her lips before looking up.

"Lord Berin has been called up north on urgent matters, he and his family left some months ago. But they should return when all has been resolved." she told, and he chuckled as she flinched, feeling his hand move up her leg. But she did not move to stand. His fingers tightened, pleased that the wine had taken effect quickly, and he would have control of her.

Claira stared at the lightening sky, thinking of the night. She slept and woke, and slept and woke, and slept and woke, and slept again until now. But she didn't feel as restless as she did the night before, and the Dragontails kept their distance. She spent time mulling over what she'd wear today, about what she'd ask Jeody to serve this morning, and about the improvements of her soldiers under master Austinus and Wymon's guidance. If there was the time for it, she'd like to go out riding today, and let Brazier run with her over the fields. She'd asked that the stable master have her husband's big black destrier worked as well from time to time, but he was an appropriately named nineteen hand, unruly stallion sired by his predecessor, and very choosy of whom he allowed on his back. The only men ever to have mounted him, was her Raeghun who'd seasoned the colt himself when he was old enough, and later Berin when he brought him home, along with the sword. Perhaps Falgon would dare to mount the fierce steed today instead of his docile Galeo... Rage was starting to get fat, after all. He wouldn't be much of a warhorse if he was slow and sluggish, even if he was only seven years old. She flexed between the sheets, and wiped the sleep from her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly before a soft knock sounded at her door, and she gingerly sat up as her ladies-in-waiting entered with a polite greeting.

"Is ser Falgon still in the hall?" Claira asked as Samantha paused to decide what task to take on first.

"He left when we entered, my lady. He should be waiting outside." she informed, and then moved to the wardrobe to be the first to choose the lady's dress for the day. The last to enter was Laurene and the chambermaids, and Claira examined her. Her hair hung loose around her face, and she was dressed warmly in a wide sleeved dress of dark velvet with a high collar, and a mustard yellow scarf wrapped around her neck. The garb was far too long for her, sloshing around her feet clumsily as she walked, and very loose fitting. It must have been something borrowed from one of the older women. She waited as Samantha chose a dress of deep blue and silver satin from the wardrobe for her, and helped the lady dress while the others started on the chores. While Beatrice gathered her slippers and a jewelled pin for her hair, Claira sat on the chair as Laurene brushed out her hair in silence, the strokes long and laboured, increasing her uneasiness. Her movements were odd as well. She walked slowly, stiffly like she'd sprained an ankle. Then she finally secured the marbled strands with the jewelled pin, and Claira slipped her flat grey slippers over her feet; then stood and faced her young handmaiden. Her eyes were distent, and her freckled cheeks pale, then she glanced at the other girls who were regarding her, and the chambermaids busy with the bed.

"Leave." without question, everyone discarded their activity and made for the door. In an instant, Laurene turned to follow, but Claira's cold fingers wrapped gently around her wrist.

"Not you. You stay." she told, and the girl nervously turned back.

"Yes, milady..." she whispered as the lady stared at her.

"Are you al right?" she asked, and the grey eyes went to the floor.

"Yes, milady..." she whispered again as Claira's hand came to her face. But she couldn't determine a fever.

"Are you sick?" Claira tried again, and Laurene slowly shook her head.

"No, milady..." she continued as Claira's fingers slid down to the bright scarf.

"Look at me, child." the lady said, and the eyes came to her again. Eyes drowned in fear. She'd started to shiver suddenly, but the air wasn't severely cold. The lady's frigid eyes searched her features closely, and then noticed a dark stain under the handmaiden's jaw. Claira gently pulled the fabric away, shocked and horrified as the wrapping fell to the floor. Her throat was covered in bruises, and furious red bite marks were strewn over her chest.

"Laurene, who did this?" she looked down, and started to cry as Claira's arms went around her tightly. She would not answer. How could she? This was her own fault. He'd told her as much when she lay broken and bleeding on the black silks.

"Who did this?" Claira asked again frantically as she held her, and could finally make out a name through the distraught whimpers. White flames exploded through her entire body. Thoughtlessly she seized Laurene's hand and pulled the weeping girl along down to the lord's hall where the other women waited, granting them an almost cold glance as she passed through the arch where she finally released the hand she held.

"Take her to the maester, now!" she ordered unintentionally harshly as she strode for the door and passed through before making for their great hall, her sentinel following dutifully without a word. He must have known. She couldn't remember ever feeling this angry. Laurene was a sweet, shy girl. A maid of ten and four, soft and gentle. She didn't deserve this. Jeyson was waiting at the mouth of the incline as he always did.

"Good morning-" his smile disappeared instantly when he saw her, and he faced her fully.

"What is it? What happened?" he asked, taking well heed of the gleaming frigid eyes.

"Where is Robar?" she asked, passing the young knight with little thought.

"Where is he?" she demanded again, scanning the hall.

"Find him and bring him to me!" for half a heartbeat the faces stared at her, but it felt a day.

"Now!" a handful ran off, and a warm sting filled her shoulder at the touch of a hand.

"Claira, what happened?" she turned, meeting the stricken face of the young man next to her.

"Your companion attacked one of my girls! He brutalized her! I will see his face on my wall before this day is done!" he drew slightly back, all the horror and disgust she felt visible in his clear eyes; and again she seethed, turning towards him.

"Did you know about this?" his mouth opened, but what kind of answer would he give her, for trust is easily lost.

"Did you know?" the terror was clear.

"No! No, of course not." he answered quicker now. There was a scuffling through the hall as some of the soldiers rushed back, dragging a man along and finally threw him down at the base of the steps. He looked up sheepishly.

"You summoned me, my lady?" the rage consumed her and she descended the steps, feeling like she was gliding rather than walking.

"You vile fiend! I should give you to her brother so he can hack out your heart! Had I the strength in my hands, I would stab you myself!" never before had she wanted it more, to take a dagger and shove it through his throat. But he displayed nothing, no guilt, no shame, no shock, no grief... just his frustrating, bland stare.

"If you ever touch any of my people again, I will have your head thrown to the sea, do you understand me? You may have shared my halls as a guest, but you are not above my rule and expected to retain your courtesies!" he looked down, away from her.

"Yes, my lady. I apologise." he didn't even deny it. Is that it? All you expected and all you would offer?

"Ser Falgon." he looked up again, suddenly. Something else in the hazel glint of his eyes.

"Take his left ring finger, so he may remember my promise." She did not wait to see his reaction before she turned, intent on returning to maester Adlyn's chambers, but she did hear shouting. Loud and resistive. Let the gods determine if he may survive this. Her father would have done the same, although it may have been a different finger. Or even taken the gonads of a raper. Then a hand took hers, desperate and pleading.

"No! Please, please relinquish his punishment to me. He has come under my emblem, and so I am responsible for him." she looked back at Jeyson next to her, his fingers squeezing hers.

"Please..." he tried again, and then glanced back to where Falgon had seized the knight's left hand and he was on his knees protesting. The hand was bent back awkwardly and the ring finger grasped in a large, powerful hand. In a moment she realized that the great sentinel meant to break the finger off, rather than cut it. And he could easily, given his strength. She might even have found it preferable.

"Wait!" she called, and he lowered his hands instantly, giving her his attention. Then she sighed and turned back to Jeyson.

"This judgement I will give you. Any more, and-" she started, and for just an instant he seemed relieved.

"I will see to it, I promise." he turned and headed towards Robar, and mercifully Flagon released him; yelping as the pressure to his extremities vanished. Jeyson hauled him up and shoved him roughly away to the west wing, where he drove him into the Merigold apartment and closed the door.

"How could you do this?" Jeyson asked with a final shove.

"I needed information." Robar defended as he corrected himself, and another surge of rage flared out through the young knight's limbs.

"There was no need to harm her! Are you that idiotic?" Then the hazel eyes came to him, heinously emotionless.

"It was late, the wine was finished, and I was bored." Jeyson stared at him, waves of fire and ice rushing through him, and images of how he'd kill him flashed through his mind. There might have been a handful of figures in their history, crueller than him.

"There are no words for you. I should have left you! I should have let ser Falgon break your hand, I might even have encouraged him! This is the last time, that I will risk my name for your skin!" he told, and then Robar sighed.

"Well you did. So, what punishment are you planning to give me? Aside from your irritable scolding?" he asked as the young knight stared at him.

"I should whip you like the dog you are!" then he smiled.

"Best get to whipping, then. I have matters to attend to." Robar urged, and all sense left the young knight as he grabbed a thick black leather belt hung over a chair, and released all frustrations as he flogged the man in front of him again, and again, and again. It must have been painful, before long he was lying on the floor, howling like a hound with each lash; but by the fourteenth strike the youngster stopped. Something was wrong. He did not resist. This was a trick. Gaining a few breaths he looked up, with a smile.

"Good. But I would have preferred to be bleeding." Robar taunted him, and another blow crashed down on him, right across his face. The edge of the leather belt bit into the flesh of his cheek, and a trickle of blood escaped the skin.

"There's your blood, you fuckshit! If you go near any of her girls again, I will keep lady Taugere's promise myself!" Jeyson threw the belt down, and turned away from the man lying on the floor.

"You are to remain in your chamber until we leave. I'm sick of you as it is." he breathed, and heard Robar laughing.

"You're not as strong as I'd hoped, and your slant leaves much to be desired. But, I suppose this will serve." he sighed, and with a sickening stab to his gut Jeyson realized that he'd been deceived. He turned back to see the knight stumble to his feet, making little effort to wipe the blood from his face... so it will be visible later.

"You evil, deceitful wretch!" Jeyson threw himself at his escort, a fist aimed for a nose that had been broken twice over the past twenty years. But the powerful hands grabbed hold of his shoulders and hurled him away, crashing into the foot of the bed where he fell on the ground. The world was swimming in a dull haze after his head slammed into the stones of the floor, and he lay there wondering for a moment where his right hand was in this universe. Then the shadow stood over him, grinning down menacingly.

"Tend to your things if you must. I should beg the hag's forgiveness personally." he only heard the words, but no voice; and then the shadow was gone. Claira had hurried back up the incline to the maester's tower where he examined the girl. When he was done he came to Claira alone, and the worst was true. But only the future would determine if a horrible memory, would be all that was left of this. And what she needed now was support and understanding, and the time to heal. She'd proposed that the Laurene leave the castle and go home, but she declined. Claira felt cold and drained as she walked back down the incline. Maester Adlyn gave the girl a cup of apple press with essence and she was bid to return to her room and rest, Claira ordered one of the other maidens to stay with her until told otherwise. Suddenly she stopped, and turned back to Falgon.

"You haven't said a word..." she realized, and he smiled softly.

"You needed no help from me, your grace." he told, and she looked away from him. The events were a whirl of cloudy memories.

"What have I done? What am I doing?" she started questioning herself, but a strong hand rested on her shoulder and she looked at him, the stare calm and reassuring.

"You took control. You are making judgements appropriate to your position." then he smiled again.

"You will rule this domain in your husband's name. And do so, splendidly, I think." he added, and she breathed out, feeling slightly more confident.

"Thank you, ser." her judgement had been made out of rage, not merits. But had her husband been here, he might have reacted much differently. Their morning meal followed later than normal, but with the situation and having received no specific request, Jeody took to serving boiled eggs, fresh bread with cheese, charred bacon, mushrooms and tomatoes with tea; for which her guests were strangely absent. But nonetheless, joined by her little companions she continued with her day much as any other, and following the completion of her daily meeting with master Austinus she returned inside while the girls again joined the maester for lessons. But then she wondered as she walked. Her sentinel was quiet, yet he stayed by her side. He didn't seem as tired as she'd expected, despite having taken no sleep for near to two days. But he would not show it, of course. He must be moving simply on memory... she turned to him.

"Ser Falgon, you really should go get some sleep." she told, but he stared at her.

"There's no need, your grace." he declined, and she looked away.

"How ironic, that my strongest will die of exhaustion." she teased him, and he laughed.

"Don't worry about me. There were times that I went weeks with no amount of sleep, and I've adapted quite well. I'll be al right." he assured again, and she sighed. Stubborn as stone...

"Well then, we could take some time in the fields, if there is nothing else that requires my immediate attention." she decided, and they proceeded to the Hall of Fire where one of the knights approached her. She stared at him, taking note of the inflamed weal across his cheek.

"My lady." he bowed to her.

"May I beg a private word with you, for just a moment?" he asked, and she looked back at Falgon. He waited for her reaction, and then she looked back with a nod. He would remain close, there was no threat to her.

"Very well." she moved away with him, just out of hearing distance before stopping.

"You may ask my maester for an ointment, for that." she proposed, indicating his broken cheek; but he smiled.

"Oh, no my lady. It's nothing less than what I deserve, of course. I dare say that young lord Jeyson gave me quite the thrashing." he laughed, which she found out of place.

"He has ordered, that I humbly beg your forgiveness for my actions. I confess that I was out of line, but it was never my intention to harm the girl." he said, but she stared at him, shunning his smile. His words changed nothing.

"You should be on your knees to beg hers as well, and I should expect that you will ensure the Laurene is taken care of for the rest of her days." she told, and he nodded.

"I will do what is needed. As will you." his hazel eyes regarded her, and again the heat raced through her.

"I beg your pardon?" he smiled, his entire demeanour was wrong.

"You will approach the boy, and you will tell him that you reconsidered your circumstances. That the rule of a lord over your lands will be preferable to your own." he determined, and she realized the demand he made of her.

"I will not." she refused, but the leering smile remained.

"You will. The girl was not my first choice, but she did prove to be useful in the end. Hightower may have declared themselves neutral in the war, but they still fall under sovereign rule." he hinted, and the fire in her veins froze.

"You wouldn't dare..." he smirked.

"It's your choice, of course. I trust you will make the right decision." then he walked away, leaving her feeling breathless and lost, her chest aching from the unexpected turn.

"Your grace?" she whirled, finding Falgon behind her.

"They know. Falgon, they know about Oldtown." she whimpered as he stared at her.

"I see..." he understood.

"If anything happens to him, how could I live with myself? I... I don't have a choice..." she whispered, but strangely he regarded her with his calmness.

"Everything will be al right, your grace. You'll see." he said, but right now she couldn't believe it. How would it be al right? What could any of them do otherwise? He was still under her care, and there was no telling what they would do to him if they took him. They couldn't protect him. She could not risk it... Not even for him. Then he raised his hand to the great doors.

"May I suggest we go for your ride, your grace? When we return, we will see to the rest." he said, and for a moment she didn't know what to say. How could you consider riding right now? But she yielded to his suggestion, and sent a passing handmaiden to invite Beatrice and Samantha to join her before heading outside while he followed.

"Bring the horses out for us, and have Rage saddled for me." Falgon told the stable boy as they neared, and he nodded before returning inside. Three brown coursers along with two pale palfreys were prepared for the young ladies and additional guards who would attend them, then Claira's magnificent rose-gold stallion was groomed alongside her husband's gallant black warhorse, whom just would not stand still. Eventually brushed and saddled, the soldiers helped the girls onto their horses and mounted while Falgon helped Claira onto Brazier's back, and only then approached the black destrier. He snorted and pawed at the ground restlessly, then threw his head back with a loud neigh displaying his impatience. But then his bright eyes settled on the tall mass moving towards him, and pulled his ears back.

"Look out!" one of the grooms screamed as the mighty horse reared up, throwing the other boy to the ground. Rage lashed out with one hoof, and then slammed down on the ground, cracking the earth beneath his hard feathered hooves. But then the tall stranger raised a hand and gently touched his nose, and he breathed in the scent. The once flat ears moved forward curiously, and he watched the warrior in front of him, listening to the soft words; all while Claira stared at him in awe. Even the animals find calmness in you... then he moved and mounted easily, taking the reins in his hand and gently nudging the steed forward.

"At your leisure, your grace." he waited patiently, a trait that Rage did not seem to share as he stared out the great gate to the fields far beyond, his head held high and the ears facing forward eagerly. She urged Brazier onward, and the group left the grounds at a brisk trot towards the meadows, where they allowed the horses to run freely. It was liberating, the freedom this brought as the horses ran and the wind swept by. With late noon they returned to the keep, and the choice she had to face. But much as she wished, nothing could alter it. Then she glanced at Falgon. Would he forgive me? Would he stay with me? Then she scolded herself. Why should I care what he thinks? His charge is my protection. With a heavy sigh, she entered the castle and up to the second level where Jeyson came down the west staircase with maester Adlyn with him from the west wing, and the ice cold hand clasped down on her. Then she looked at the youngsters.

"You may take the rest of the day to yourself, I will see you both tonight at supper." she told, and they nodded.

"Thank you, my lady." Beatrice smiled, and then she passed Robar as well, where he stood at the base of the stairs speaking with some of the guards that initially came with them, and a passing look of triumph passed over his face. The urge to cry stifled her, and her steps felt heavy.

"It should fade soon, ser. You suffered quite a blow." Maester Adlyn said before Claira eventually faced Jeyson, and he looked down at her perplexed.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, and she allowed herself a deep breath.

"Jeyson... I... I need to speak with you..." she whispered, and he took her hands, while maester Adlyn regarded her anxiously.

"Of course." but her words stayed, and she hated herself. Why the cruelty of fate continued to pester her was unfair, but it would not allow her any choices. Her mouth opened, but the words were bitter. Then she noticed the presence next to her, and looked up.

"Your grace. If I may have a word." Falgon suddenly interjected, and she glanced at Jeyson, waiting patiently in front of her; but the dark eyes settled on him as well.

"Before you speak with lord Serret." he added, and after a moment she nodded before he led her away along with the maester. Jeyson watched them curiously, the tall sentinel spoke softly as she stared up at him, her eyes clear and frightened. There seemed to be a brief exchange with the maester as well, but he wouldn't necessarily call it an argument amidst the three. Then descended the steps to Robar, taking hold of his shoulder.

"What did you tell her?" he demanded, and Robar shrugged.

"Just enough to persuade her." he breathed, and then Jeyson looked up again. The great sentinel started to move away from her, and she grabbed his arm. He looked back, and with a final word he slipped away from her as she remained staring at him, her hands clasped in front of her chest while the maester's hands rested on her shoulders. Falgon took a place in the centre atop the grand staircase, and removed Summit from his back, he brought the steel down hard on the stones above the grand staircase; the kiss of the blade on the sunstone created a spark bright as the sun as it rang through the Hall like a bell, and everyone present looked at him. He never looked more The Warrior than he did in that instant.

"I claim the Right of Preservation! Should any wish to challenge this, let them do so with their steel!" he declared loudly. There were mumbles and murmurs throughout the hall, soft sneers and private debates among the whispers, and for half a heartbeat Jeyson felt hopeful. But to his dismay, Robar stepped forward.

"I will challenge your claim." he announced, to another flurry of gasps, grumbles and outright disputes from around them. Falgon watched him, his dark eyes clear and sharp. He said nothing, but nodded in acceptance. Master Austinus glanced between them.

"The claim will be decided in the inner bailey, if it please you. Whenever you're ready." he proposed, and Robar turned to face him.

"The sooner this is done with, old man. The better." he decided, and moved away to prepare himself, and Claira's hand rested on Falgon's arm.

"Falgon..." she felt so guilty, to have him do this along with everything else he'd sacrificed for her. But then he looked down at her.

"I will stand for you. I will fight for you. I will slaughter every house south of the Neck if I have to, and if there is any mercy left in the whims of fate, I will die for you. But I will not watch you subject yourself to anyone lesser than your husband, for any reason. He is of Kings Blood, and no less will ever be worthy of you." he told her, and she felt her heart breaking as he moved away. Robar may be an irritation, but he's a dangerous man... Falgon walked towards the guard's hall to await his challenger in the bailey, and suddenly felt a gentle pull at his cloak, and looked back to see the young knight standing behind him.

"Ser Falgon..." he started, but seemed hesitant. Then he turned back, and the light eyes came up to meet his.

"Be careful." he warned softly, and with another nod Falgon moved away to the bailey where he waited, his hands resting on the pommel of Summit while the tip rested on the hard ground. Others came and slowly massed in a circle, even Wymon came down from his chambers having heard of the challenge. The men were speaking softly among each other, wagering on who would emerge victorious in this. Every member of the burning mountain had absolute confidence in their tallest sentinel, while the meagre few that came from the hill assured that ser Robar was a fine fighter, not to be underestimated. Claira stood with them, every emotion a whirl of autumn leaves in her stomach while Beatrice and Samantha stood at her sides offering their comfort. Moments later ser Robar emerged, completely armoured in shining plate, a wide oak shield on his left arm and a heavy steel flail held in his right. He took a position opposite from Falgon, and grinned while the tall sentinel regarded the weapon. He hated flails, not an easy weapon to defend against.

"I told you, that I will be worth more. Soon, this keep and all of its dominion will be ours, along with your hag." he said, and the dark eyes hardened.

"She is wife of the phoenix. This will not change. I will not allow it." Falgon said back at the grin.

"And you think-" he started, disregarding the darkness falling over the world as the sun disappeared.

"I will not allow it!" the sentinel declared again, and then brought the sword up in front of him.

"Bring your steel if you wish to break my words." he urged, and Robar brought the handle of the flail up.

"As you wish." methodically he started to swing the weapon, and the heavy ball and chain began to whirl above him.

"He's so brave..." Samantha breathed with such admiration she was like to swoon.

"It's just like the old stories, where the knights duelled for a lady's affection." Beatrice agreed softly, but Claira felt dissolved. This might have been heroic, but it was certainly not flattering. This wasn't for her affection. This was for her home, for her family, for whom she was. Someone would die here today, and she'd sooner the girls not see that.

"Perhaps you should head inside..." she urged, but they took hold of her hands.

"We're not leaving you, lady Claira." Beatrice insisted, watching the men ready themselves for a battle, but still Claira felt burdened.

"Maester Adlyn..." Claira breathed, and then looked at him.

"It is a valid claim, my lady. Although, outdated. It has not been used in hundreds of years." he said before returning his deep brown eyes to the men in front of them.

"It falls within the same order as every other Trial by Combat, and the rules are largely identical. However, customarily this right was claimed by close family members to protect maiden daughters. A father, or a brother. On the odd occasion, an uncle. Even a grandfather, if he was still fit to stand in a duel. This came about when the Andals invaded Westeros, and would seek brides from the lines of the First Men." he explained as they stared, and she prayed while her strongest watched his challenger. It was quiet, he could hear the people but it was fading, and for a moment it was as if he could hear Robar's heartbeat from feet away before he was left in silence. The flail whirled through the air, singing its horrible song in the wind as Robar stared at his opponent; and then he struck forward. The spiked ball rang off the steel of Summit, but the sphere continued to fly. The sound of the ball ringing off the steel, left a sting to his ears. Twice more the flail came down, ringing against the sword's edge, and suddenly Falgon moved forward, bringing the sword down and striking upward, cutting through the shield and shoving Robar back, and he tumbled down. I will not fail! I will kill this beast today, even if he struck me down now it won't happen a second time... Robar grimaced as he watched Falgon step forward once more, rising the blade; and with a grunt Robar discarded the shattered shield. Moments before the sharp edge cut into the ground he rolled away, and jumped up, throwing a fist for the tall sentinel's face; but suddenly uncurled his fingers, and a cloud of dust exploded into his eyes. Claira called for him, but strong hands held her in place. I'm so warm, my throat is drying... and I want to scream and beg him to stop... what will I do if I lose him? He is my protector... the one I need... I can not lose him now... not like this... not by the hand of a monster! Falgon's free arm came up in defence as he grunted for the sting in his eyes, and the flail sang again. Robar threw it forward and grinned as the chain coiled around the face of the blade, I will kill him today! He will not let me lose! I am the one who will show everyone what I, Robar am capable of! and he jerked it away suddenly, ripping the sword from Falgon's grasp and it fell in the dust feet away. With an evil grin the knight continued his assault, and Falgon was forced to defend, bringing his arms in front of him; and the heavy ball rang against the black steel of the bracers on his wrists. Claira stared in horror, again held back by strong hands on her shoulders. For the first time, he disregarded the rules of his own training, and gave ground. She wanted to scream, to run and place herself between them; but Wymon held her as another blow sounded through the bailey, and Falgon was down on one knee, still defending. The ball sang through the air. I don't feel anything... But... I can hear everyone screaming... I can hear my name... I can hear my queen screaming... That dying scream... She is the only one! I hear my queen... I can see her eyes staring at me...

"Bid your bitch good bye, I'll be sure to grace her as I did that peasant girl." Robar whispered, and the bailey blackened. The words cut through him like arrows, leaving a sting to his heart. Darkness enveloped him, and the world dissolved into dust as he forgot everything, and everyone. This is the only time I will kneel in front of anyone, but her! Robar smiled, drunk on his early victory. He must really love the white northern whore... The flail whirled towards him, in an instant Falgon raised his left arm forward and the chain coiled around his wrist over the armour.

"Allow me to grace you." he smiled as he looked up, and then shot forward back to his feet with Summit in his right hand. The last remaining thoughts came and went through Robar's head like the flash of a falling star, and everything went black as sound drowned out, and two arms flew through the air with his agonizing screams. Robar stared at his open elbows, blood gushing out and soaking the earth, then he turned with eyes wide with terror. Falgon looked back at him, and swung a last time, opening the knight's soft throat precisely just above the gorget with the tip of his blade and the body fell, jerking a final few times before ceasing entirely. A deep silence held the bailey, and then it erupted with hundreds of voices, cheers and scorns. But the right had been defended, all agreed. Falgon replaced his weapon in its place, and returned to his queen whom stared at him with bright eyes. She felt numb watching him, too shocked to manage her thoughts beyond that she just witnessed a death, but in him she saw a light that breathed sentience to her again. A true fighter. He is her sentinel. Above all, the one who will die for her and protect her before all seven hells rose up out of the ground. And even then, he will remain standing. As he came closer, she glanced at the face of the sword, and it was as if the blade was smiling in victory. Just a light flush of green behind the leering red, glowing with pride. And then he was in front of her; he smiled and bowed his head to her. She looked down, at his wrists. There were light scratches on the surface of the black steel, but nothing else, not even a dent. Then she looked at Jeyson at her side, staring at the lifeless man lying on the red ground.

"Jeyson..." then he looked at her, and breathed out heavily.

"I... We..." his words had escaped him as he looked back where their soldiers gathered around him. But then he smiled.

"I've wanted him dead for a long time. And I should feel pity, but I don't." he finally managed before turning back to her.

"However, he remains what he was. I should take him home, and have him buried beside his father. Would your maester be so kind, as to help with the preparations?" he asked, and she nodded. The night was empty and quiet, and the comings and goings of the keep passed with little attention. The body of the knight was delivered to the maester's chamber for treatment, those who chose to gathered in the southern hall for supper; but her little companions accompanied maester Adlyn to his tower before retiring to their chambers. These things were not like the stories, they were real, and it was terrifying. She hoped the shock would fade in time. Being robbed of her own hunger as well, Claira returned to the lord's wing instead with Falgon at her side, and she called him inside once more. As he stood on the carpet waiting for her instructions she closed the door and approached him.

"My knight..." he turned to her.

"My queen?" she stared at him.

"What you did for me..." she started, and he smiled.

"Is nothing less than what I was meant to." he insisted, and she thought, bringing back each terrible moment.

"He could have killed you. I've never seen you driven back like that, before." she whispered, but he gave her an odd look. Something mixed between amusement and curiosity.

"You doubted me?" he asked, and for an instant she didn't know what to say.

"You... you gave ground. You moved back, that is something against your own training." she reminded, and suddenly he laughed.

"I needed my sword, your grace. Strong as I am, it's difficult to punch through steel plate." he said, and breathless she glared at him for a time before laughing.

"You fool! Here you had me thinking..." she stared at him a moment longer, and then dissolved as her arms went around him.

"How can I ever thank you enough?" his arms circled her, and he held her for a while. She would never be safer, than under him. She would never be stronger, than with him. She could never be braver, without him...

"You are very welcome, your grace." he whispered, feeling the warmth to his skin. Then he drew back gently.

"Perhaps you may try getting some rest. We've had a long day." he said softly, and she nodded.

"Will you stay?" she asked, and he glanced away.

"If you wish it so." he sighed, and she smiled.

"Only for tonight. Our guests leave tomorrow." she teased, and he laughed.

"Very well." he agreed, and she left to see to her routine. Her prayer to the fountain, and a warm bath left her feeling light and at ease, then she returned to him where he'd retaken the space between the bookshelf and the open door with the book in his hands.

"Good night, ser Falgon." he looked up at her, his stark features gentle in the candlelight.

"Sleep well, your grace." half a heartbeat later she leaned down, placing her hands gently to his cheeks and laying her mouth to his brow in a soft kiss before rising away, and making her way up the stairs to her chamber, but all he could do was stare at the empty space. He smiled, savouring the warm touch. It made him think of a mother. She'd been mothering everyone more and more for near to a year now, since her children were taken from her. But he had found himself thinking of that night, time and time again, even though he knew he shouldn't. Her lips soft and warm against his... You insufferable fool! He should not think of it again, and would not. And so, he instead gave his attention to the book in his hands.

Before noon the day following, Claira and her companions stood with Jeyson at the base of the steps leading into the castle, his party assembled and prepared to leave. The body of ser Robar had been balmed and wrapped, then loaded onto the back of a waiting cart along with their effects. Then he took her hands in his, bringing the cool fingers to his mouth.

"Farewell, Claira. And, thank you again, for everything." he said, and she smiled.

"Fair winds, and warm days to you, Jeyson." then she glanced at the waiting group.

"What will you tell your father?" she asked, aware that he would have to tell them that he failed in his task.

"The truth, I suppose." then he glanced at Falgon.

"Besides. A right was claimed, challenged and defended. They will have to understand that." he breathed, and then laughed.

"After all, I don't believe that the king would appreciate it if I married before he did. I might just make it back in time for that." he japed, having heard that the young king's marriage to lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden was predicted to be one of the grandest events of their age for the time it took to arrange.

"Well, enjoy that as much as you can, ser." she shared a laugh with him.

"Oh, I will. It's the closest I'll get to a wedding right now." he breathed in,

"I wish you every happiness, lady Taugere. I will do whatever I can to help keep assaults from your borders, but with my position I might not have a great deal of success. And if I am able to, I will send something for Laurene." then he glanced at Falgon a last time.

"You will remain safe for all of your days, as long as The Warrior protects you." he said, and she couldn't help but blush softly. Then his attention went to the great sentinel, ever present by her side.

"Take care of her, ser." Falgon nodded.

"I will." he promised again, and then the knight left after another gentle kiss to her cold fingers. He mounted his grey courser, and led his people through the gates back home; and with peace Claira returned back into her own house with her people and maester Adlyn accompanying them.

"Ser Falgon?" he started, and the sentinel looked at him.

"Do you wish for the Right to be made known?" he asked, and Falgon spared a moment's thought for it before smiling.

"No, it's not needed. Those who must know will, and if the need arises I will invoke the claim again. The Grand Maester is as old as the Right himself, he can explain it to them." he decided when Claira suddenly turned back.

"But, if they send demands to Mae-" she started and maester Adlyn smiled.

"Do not worry, lady Claira. As it happens, the Right extends to all children who fall under your care as well. No child of your house may be claimed as a pawn against you, blood or otherwise." he explained, and she felt relief wash over her, and she wondered why this right was forgotten. But if it was forgotten... she looked at Falgon.

"How did you know?" he shrugged lightly.

"My people often used it. Suffice it to say that our invaders saw little success." he told, and she stared at him before sighing.

"Well then, I have no doubt that my invaders will have as much success as they did." she teased him, and he smiled back.

"Oh, less your grace." he joked back, and despite the light air around them, the words were as solid as he was. Then she glanced at the doorway leading to their servants quarters. I should go see Laurene... then she looked back.

"Off with the maester both of two, you still have lessons to attend to." she issued the girls, and they moved obediently off with the healer while her attention went to her sentinel.

"Please excuse me for a while, Falgon. You may come find me later." she pardoned, and then headed up the stairs and into the extensive blocks that housed their castle servants, making her way down the many steps and passages to a room far to the north west of the hold where she found her young handmaiden sitting on the edge of the bed, the other sitting on the tiny chair in the corner busy with mending shoes. Claira passed a glance between the girls and then stepped inside.

"Go get something to eat, I'll sit with her for a little while." she told the girl, and laying the shoes aside she stood and issued a small formal curtsy before leaving for the kitchen. Then Claira sighed and stepped forward, taking a seat next to the girl on the bed where she'd been mostly sleeping since early the day before. They talked for a little while, just about small things before Claira's attention went to the girl's condition.

"How are you feeling?" she asked softly, and Laurene wiped at her face.

"I'll be al right. Maester Adlyn has given me a lot of medicines, so I don't hurt as much now." she breathed, and felt cold fingers around hers.

"I'm so sorry. Nothing will ever set right the wrong that's been done to you, and it happened in my home." Claira said, but the wilful redhead looked up at her.

"It wasn't your fault, milady. And Robar's dead, now." she managed to smile.

"It will take time, but I won't let this rule me. I... I will take back my life." she whispered, and Claira admired her.

"You're so strong, Laurene. I'm proud of you." then she took hold of the small hand in hers.

"Are you sure you don't want to go home? Maybe some time with your family will do you good." she suggested again, and Laurene took a deep breath.

"I'll go visit. But, I'm not leaving. This is my home." she insisted, and Claira nodded accepting her choice.

"Very well. We'll do everything we can to help you." she offered, and Laurene returned the gentle pressure to her hands.

"Thank you, milady." then Claira stood.

"If you need anything, all you need is to come to me." the light grey eyes regarded her, they were still red and swollen from crying; but despite all of that there was hope. Hope for a new day, better than this one.

"I will." then Claira released her hands.

"Get plenty of rest. And see maester Adlyn whenever you need to." she gave her final advice, and then returned back the way she came, passing the girl she'd sent away a while ago, on her way back to her assignment. She was trying, but gods only knew she would have to try harder for her people. She found her sentinel waiting for her, in front of the great hearth where he bowed to her formally. Wymon was with him, and he mimicked the gesture kindly. There were others as well, who looked to her, and bowed their heads as she looked over all of them until her gaze was lost on the world outside. Her home. Her house. Her country. Her people. Her family. Her pride. Her fire. Her responsibility. And she will hold it. From the Ashes we Rise. Stronger we Rise!