Kingdom of the Stormlands: Strange Travellers

Rogar first knew something was up when he saw the boot laying behind a section of rocks. His eyes narrowed, but he didn't stop the men from continuing along. His whole family was with him, as well as many major families of the Stormlands. A whole section of Stormland guards were going with them - his father didn't trust the Hoares, and he didn't necessarily blame them.

It had been a while since Rogar had been with his family, and he could see little had changed. His two younger sisters, Kierha and Luxinia were as close as ever. Earlier, though, Kierha had snapped at him, making him wonder if something was up. His brother, Arthur was...just as infuriating as ever.

Arthur was just like Rogar in terms of appearance, but smaller. Just a little less tall, slender rather than broad, but they had the same dark hair and light tan - even if Rogar's was becoming a little darker. The two Stormland brothers had once been more in common than they were now - and it was even able to be seen from just their short walk.

Arthur was quiet, holding a dark book in his right hand as they made their way through woods in the northern Stormlands. The book in question? A copy of the Seven Pointed Star, something that Rogar found obscure and something his brother would prattle on about. Even now, the man was quietly whispering to himself as he remembered lines, having memorized it two years before.

Rogar humphed to himself when he noticed that. He had a healthy respect for religion, but he believed that leaving a distance between yourself and it was the best way to go forward. He didn't need his brother to prattle onto him about sinful natures, when he hardly knew what it was like to even be near a naked man or woman.

"Do you hear something?" His father the King turned around to face the siblings, his face set in stone. He gazed around, and they could hear a very faint sound of leaves crunching to the east.

Rogar nodded, stopping along with the rest. Luxinia craned her neck to look around, curious as the rest of them were. Their father stopped them from moving any further, potentially into any danger. King Erich IV had always been careful with his kids, especially considering the fragile relationship that the Stormlands had with the rest of Westeros. He gave a stern nod to the guards standing by his children, and they stepped in around them. The eldest sighed, Rogar rubbing his face. He had run a campaign against the Dornish for half a year or longer, and his father still did this with him.

They finally spotted a dim fire ahead of them in the forest - with a group of men around it. Rogar tensed when he saw what the insignias on their back were. Dragons, red dragons on a black field. Targaryens, or men of New Valyria at least. In the Stormlands?

"What the hell…" Rogar trailed off and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. His father stalked forward along with some of his men, Rogar and his siblings trailing after him.

"I've never seen anything like that before." Kierha admitted softly as they stepped forward reluctantly.

There was a light mist in the air, caught in the heavily wooded area that laid north of Storm's End. The sky was the dullest grey that could be imaginable, but it was one of the more consequential meetings in the history of Westeros. Rogar's brow furrowed further when he saw the bright white-gold hair that was typical of the Valyrians and their ilk, those that had settled into cities like Volantis and Lys.

The King's herald stepped up beside Erich, his voice a bit louder than those that were around the Stormlands. He'd obviously been at the job for quite some time. "You are in the presence of King Erich of House Durrandon, Fourth of his name, King of the Stormlands. Who are you?" The man looked over the New Valyrians with a bit of distaste.

Trade had been common between New Valyria and the Stormlands in recent years. While the Stormlands had gotten used to their old partners (the Free Cities, as they were), they now had to get used to a bigger trade partner in New Valyria. Erich was close to Essos, and always had been. But, he had always been hesitant of the Targaryens as well. With good reason, it would seem.

A white-haired young man stepped forward, tall like Arthur, and had a similar build to him as well. Rogar couldn't help but shiver as lilac colored eyes focused on them intently. They were unnatural. He could see that there were three that they seemed to turn to, three that were not dressed in the plain attire that the others were.

One had blue-and silver, the young man who had stepped forward had that. One was silver and red, and the last red and black. "You stand in the presence of Princep Jaehaerys Targaryen, Grand Princep of New Valyria, Heir to the Imperial Throne, Rider of Vaegon, Archon of Lys and Scourge of the Horsemen," The man in blue said, a certain light in his eyes that made Rogar a little confused as well.

His sisters immediately turned to each other and couldn't hide shocked expressions. If he were a mean sibling, he would've stomped on their feet to get them to stop. If their guests knew that they were ready to be chummy, they would lose what element of superiority they had at the moment. The group was a small one, probably no more than a half dozen. Much smaller than the Durrandon company was all that Rogar cared about.

His eyes locked with the bigger man standing to the right of what he assumed was Jaehaerys Targaryen - the heir to the throne of New Valyria. The man and himself were similar in stature, and Rogar bristled as the violet eyes looked to him. Their hair colors were similar, but their eyes were different. He had the blue Durrandon eyes, but this man had the same Valyrian lilacs.

"Good to meet you," The Valyrian man, Jaehaerys, stepped forth to speak directly to Erich. A look of distaste flickered through the Durrandon's eyes - they were in his land after all, and his company hadn't bowed to the King in which land they were trespassing.

"What are you doing this far south, my good man?" Luckily, King Durrandon kept his sense of politeness that was fast fading in his son.

"It's been a habit of mine to visit areas of Westeros," Jaehaerys' eyes swept over the group of Stormlanders, over a hundred they numbered. "I was simply on the way to Harrenhal, and we wished to see other areas of Westeros."

"Who are your men?" Erich nodded at the two that stood closest to him - lords or higher, in all likelihoods.

"Ah," Jaehaerys fell into step with King Durrandon as they walked through the light mist and dark, lush forest. "This is my sworn sword, and heir to Pentos." He addressed the larger man whom Rogar had been looking at before. "Maekar Baratheon. And this is Daeron Velaryon, my most trusted friend and ally." He gave a thin smile to the Durrandon King. "It seems we are headed in the same direction. Do you mind if we accompany you?"

Everything in Rogar screamed no, but he wasn't quite sure why yet. The clues were clicking into place, but he didn't want to risk the ire of his father who was seeming to get along fine with the man.

Arthur was gazing at the people as well. His darker eyes were watching with a bit of concern in his face, and Rogar could see he had a tighter grip on his Seven Pointed Star than he did before. It wasn't quite white knuckled yet, but it was on it's way.

The Velaryon kept glancing from side to side, fading out of the conversation that was growing between the two royals. Rogar sidled up to him, tugging on his elbow and getting him to get into step with the Durrandon crown prince.

"Velaryon, you said?" Rogar asked, his eyes glancing at him. The two were getting ever so slowly to the right of the group at large. Just a little further, Rogar thought to himself.

"Indeed." The man was polite, loyal it seemed. His eyes seemed to follow the Targaryen princep wherever he went, even though he was standing beside the King of the Stormlands.

"You must've been to Westeros before, then," Rogar attempted to foster a bit of conversation as he made his plan. Everything that had happened was making more sense in his mind, and he didn't want to frighten the Princep into an action.

"Ah, yes," He gave a smile to the prince. Rogar almost felt bad for what he was about to do. "The continent is known to my family, it's quite something. So when the Princep wanted me to show him around, I naturally agreed."

A light fog was settling into the area as Daeron Velaryon continued to talk. "It's a neat place - from Sunspear to the Wall, it is very different from -" Rogar's arm slammed into his chest to knock the wind out of him, and pushed him behind a rather large elm tree that rose between them and some of the other Stormland men.

"Now listen carefully," Rogar murmured to him, the man strong enough to make a fight if he wished, but the group he had been with was hopelessly outnumbered between all the Stormland men. Those lilac eyes filled with apprehension, surprise, even a bit of hurt. "I don't know what you're doing this far south. I don't know what your beloved pretty princep wants with the Stormlands, but I'm guessing you didn't have a fair reception with the men of Felwood?"

The Velaryon said nothing, his face was pale - whether or not it was because Rogar was holding him against a tree was yet to be seen. It was all making sense now - they'd been in the Stormlands, hoping not to be seen. The boot he'd seen had been expensive, and the remark from Lord Fell earlier about his missing guards only confirmed it. They were skulking around, looking for something.

"Now, I'll keep my eye on you and your princep." Rogar said, releasing him with a shove back towards the column of men. "Step out of line and you'll get lost in this strange country and you won't find your way back out."

Kingdom of the Isles and Rivers: Arrival

The courtyard of Harrenhal was massive, and on that morning, it was quiet. Not a good quiet that Ravos was used to, but one that seemed oppressive, overbearing, and commanding. The Hoare family was standing out in it as they awaited the arrival of his brother Darrick's bride. There had been rumors about who it could be, who would be the lucky girl to call herself the future Queen of the Isles and Rivers. It was not ironborn, otherwise it would've been already known. No, it would be a prize for Harrik's favorite son.

Ravos got Gwynesse Harlaw. He knew nothing about her other than her family name, and it wasn't what he wanted. The poor girl wouldn't enjoy her time at Ravos' side, no more than Harrik liked having Ravos be his son. Well, the Drowned God doesn't grant every wish, it would seem.

The carriage rattled louder as it got closer to the courtyard of Harrenhal. A grinning Lorcan Greyjoy spread his arms. "I present to you, the future bride of Darrick Hoare." He and Darrick had been friends for years, and Ravos had hoped he'd died when they said he'd died the first time.

He had gotten more pessimistic about his odds just in the last few weeks than even before then. His father had all but called him a riverman, something he shared in common with his disdain for his sister. To normal men, that wouldn't matter. But he was a prince, one disliked by his own father, some men were crazy enough to take that as a sign to kill him.

Ravos had to admit his curiosity was piqued. The carriage opened, and a woman stepped out quietly. She had dark black hair, with green eyes that seemed to glow lightly in the dawn's early sun. Her face was pale like the rest of her, and the dress she wore was pitch black.

"I present Lady Jeyne Mooton, the Maiden of Maidenpool." Lorcan said it in a way that was joking, teasing the lady who had already likely gone through enough. I get a Harlaw, and he gets a Mooton? Ravos didn't think it was fair. He would be much nicer to the lady if she were in his bed. He had no salt wives, nor would he ever likely take one. His brother had two. Everything else...was self explanatory.

"Lady Jeyne," King Harrik cackled, those dark eyes glinting. The lady at his own side - a slip of a maid with ruby red hair, shook at the loud noise. Kyra Tully had been her name once, but now she was just Kyra to anyone in Harrenhal. Anyone who mentioned her former name seemed to disappear.

The way Harrik told their story, it sounded like a love story, a dream that any man would want. He saved her from a hated marriage with a Blackwood whelp, even killed him for her. But if you took one look at the woman, it was clear that the story was far different from what he told. Ravos doubted he'd ever know the truth. He had been a son of Harrik's ironborn wife, who was dead for a while by now. Kyra would never trust him, nor did she seem to like him much.

Darrick stepped forth to gaze at his soon-to-be wife. His eyes were cold, pits that seemed to go on forever. Ravos and Darrick hadn't ever been close, but they never hated one another either. His eyes weren't necessarily showing disappointment...but he was unimpressed.

"I may need to break her in myself," Harrik smirked a bit, but no one expected he would. If he wanted to, he would just do it. The lady paled even further, her skin so sallow that Ravos wondered if she'd gotten sick on that ship.

"A pretty maid, to be sure." Darrick said slowly as he stepped closer, putting his hand on the lady's cheek. The reaction was visceral, her head jerking away from the touch and her foot stamped on his.

Darrick swore as he bent down to nurse the foot, but her elbow slammed into his jaw next. For a moment, Ravos smiled. Darrick, he knew, was usually just an intelligent enough man. When irked, however, he turned into a true ironborn, and less like his younger brother.

His fist hit her hard across the face, and Ravos could hear something crack. Whether it was her jaw, nose, or teeth, he wasn't sure yet. He leaned back, and his arm slid around his sister. She didn't like such things, and truth be told, neither did he. But looking away was no option either, and their father would know if they turned away from it.

Darrick loomed over Jeyne Mooton, and now they could all see it was her nose. Blood poured out of her nose, but her lip was upturned, a bit of a combination of a grimace and a sneer. "You're just proving who you are." She gasped as the hilt of his sword slammed her stomach, and she doubled over.

"Get her inside," Darrick growled. "I want her willing and ready for the ceremony by the time the others are here. I'll visit her later." He wiped blood off his knuckles - whether it was the lady's or his own, Ravos had no idea. He'll need to have that under control by the time the other lords come, he thought. If he didn't, he'd have dozens of angry rivermen watching Jeyne Mooton's tears tear down the kingdom that Harrik's forebears had built.

The rest of the family was standing there awkwardly after Jeyne was hauled inside. Even Lorcan Greyjoy seemed to have a bit of a grimace on his face - clearly not what he had imagined.

"Well," Kyra Tully said then, her voice shaking but more confident than he'd heard before. Ravos was surprised she spoke at all, she never seemed to be around any of the children. "She's stronger than I was."

The Kingdom of the North: Southbound

The wind was low in the North that morning, which gave the Starks a good day to set out. King Alaric stood in the courtyard of Winterfell, gazing up at the heart tree that he would leave behind. He had heard it's wish before, and he would hear it again before long. As always, he had to leave a Stark in Winterfell.

King Stark's boots made imprints in the snow that had fallen the night before. They had got less than a dusting, but still, it heartened his bones. "Uncle," Alaric gave a thin smile and shook his hand, letting his uncle clap him on the back.

The two were close in disposition, about the same height with the same eyes, but aging had begun to take Prince Cregan. Still fierce and strong as he always had been, but less comely than before. "You will reign in Winterfell while I am gone. Winter is coming, and your hand will be steadier than leaving it in any other's." Alaric smiled.

"I'll do my best, your Grace," Cregan said gruffly, but a smile twitched at the edges of his mouth.

"Be safe," Aerelle stepped forth, by far the shortest among the Starks. Nearly a foot shorter than both Cregan and Alaric (and close to a foot shorter than Lyarra as well), Aerelle nevertheless had Stark features. She gave her grand uncle a hug, and Alaric couldn't help but smile a little.

"And you, my great-niece," Cregan grinned and released her to go with the rest of the family. "Our wild wolf going south seems to be quite a fearsome prospect for whatever southern suitor gets the honor of marrying into House Stark." Aerelle only grinned and stepped in beside her brother, squeezing his arm lightly.

"Goodbye, Uncle," Lyarra was more formal, standing much like her father, tall and handsome, not necessarily a more wild beauty like her sister. Her face was drawn in clear lines, and black hair fell down her back in waves.

"I'll be lucky if I can return to the North with one of them in tow," Alaric said with a light bit of humor, grabbing his horse and slinging himself onto it. Out of all animals, Alaric loved the horse best. He'd always ridden from a young age, and his newest horse was a gift from the Ryswells of the Rills - famed horse breeders. His new horse was a chestnut colored one, with cream colored hair. Alaric always believed that horses were smarter than a lot of people - including some of his vassals.

He was mostly joking at that bit, but it was true that some were beginning to press on his nerves. He couldn't count the number of times that some had asked for Aerelle or Lyarra's hand. It was beginning to wear on him - he couldn't promise them all their hands, nor could he even offer two of them. If he was to marry one to the Blackwood, he would only have one to spare. He fretted about what would happen if he married one, say to a Manderly, and left the Bolton without one. The gods didn't answer those kinds of questions.

His son was with his wife, the two standing side by side a little ways back. Alaric had always a little wave of discomfort pass when he saw Tirius. He loved him as he loved any of his children, but his one eye was gone due to an altercation with wildlife years back. He knew it had to hurt - no other reason would he feel that way.

His wife was a Mormont by birth, and he swore that Aerelle took after her, and Lyarra after him. Tirius was the more of a mix of both. Thalina was actually a hair taller than Alaric was himself, and a fair bit more pleasant to discuss with than Alaric himself. There was still a warrior under there, though, that Alaric had come to know many times before. She could be both more fierce and more loving than the King himself. Thalina had even barbed him once that he was like her, but all the colors about her were muted. He couldn't disagree.

"I leave Winterfell to you," Alaric gave a nod to his uncle, and turned his horse around. They trotted out of Winterfell, a tad warmer than it had been the day before. The sun was even shining, creating a glistening-like radiance on the snow at the horse's hooves.

"You'll like the south, I imagine," He told his son when he rode along beside him, his grey eyes sweeping to his son, who was level with him and Lyarra (a slight bit shorter than his mother, though).

"I like the North," Tirius replied, his chin lifted up as they continued on. "I don't need babbling brooks or streams to enjoy, nor do I need warm air."

Alaric's teeth gritted a little bit. They'd always had a problem between them, one that Alaric found hard to place. Tirius was a good boy, a son Alaric was proud of. But he was confident, almost to the point of arrogance. His wife and Aerelle were so similar, and he and Lyarra were too, that it was hard for him to find someone to get it through his son's head that the world was dangerous. There were people out there, even friends you thought would help you, that would throw you to the wolves if they could.

"It'll be good for Lyarra," Tirius continued, glancing over at their sister. They were all bundled in furs, but Lyarra most of all. The cold had always disagreed with her, making her sick more often than any of the others. Aerelle was a natural Northerner, her sister less so.

"It will," Alaric replied. Aerelle needed to stay north, he knew. She'd always assumed that her father didn't know about her secret training sessions with Cregan, but he knew. He had to pretend as though he didn't if she wanted to keep doing them, though. So that's what he did. Lyarra would do well in the south - she was the key that he had.

Author's Note: Thanks for bearing with me here. This was a bit more of a difficult chapter for me to work on, I had a lot going on this week and all of a sudden, it was Friday! It's not a perfect chapter, but I hope you do enjoy what's in it. I hope to get into the meat of what's happening at Harrenhal here in a chapter or two, which will really liven up what's going on. Thanks for all the great reviews, and keep 'em coming. I really appreciate reading them and hearing what people are thinking.