Reach lords: Past time

Harlen Flowers had taken to Gwayne Hightower after weeks of being on the road. The man was quiet enough, and only talked when he felt he had something to say. Harlen could see the value in that, and saw it as a lesson for himself to learn. When they had arrived at Harrenhal, he was unsure if he was going to stick with him, but the night after the big welcoming feast, Gwayne was knocking on his door asking if he was ready yet.

The young man jumped out of bed, all his clothes sitting on the seat beside him. They were simple hunting leathers, all that he really felt comfortable in at court. He liked wearing armor as well, but he knew it wasn't proper to wear at Harrenhal (regardless of how they all felt). He fastened up his brown boots, and stepped out into the hall. Harlen had gotten ready rather quickly, but Lord Hightower just met him with a hmph.

"You're about to get a quick tutorial in southern Reach lords," Lord Hightower said crisply, standing a bit taller than Harlen himself, with graying hair at the fringes. His strides were long, and trying to keep up with him was a task in and of itself.

"I do know Lord Florent," Harlen admitted - his mother was a Florent, after all, and was the current lord's aunt.

"I find it unlikely Lord Florent will make an appearance," Hightower replied, putting a hand on his shoulder and steering him down a hallway. "But a useful lesson in politics nonetheless. These lords, these ladies, they will lie. No one is a better liar than the Queen in this whole Kingdom, and I've seen it up close since I was young. The only ones who can come close are the ones you are about to meet."

Harlen just nodded. He felt a little uncomfortable, but he didn't bother telling Lord Hightower. The way he saw it, the more information he had, the better he would make out in the end. He was loyal to his house - or at least, what house he would be if he was legitimized. He didn't care about legitimizing, though, so it made the whole situation peculiar.

The rains had abated in the Riverlands for once, and the sun was peeking out of a rather cloudy day. It was humid, and the courtyard they were entering was utterly bereft of people. The ironborn had even cleared out - they were giving people more space than he knew his stepmother would if she had held something of this size. There would be Gardener forces everywhere. Maybe the Hoares weren't interested in them, who knows, but Harlen was curious nonetheless.

Harlen gave a bow along with Lord Hightower's simple nod of his head to the group they were coming up upon. A small group they were, just two sitting together, along with a handful of their own guards. They had no markings of their house, but the older man was marked in deep purple - surely a Redwyne of the Arbor.

"Lord Gwayne," The lady got to her feet. She was a bit older than Gwayne, Harlen could tell that much. Her hair was naturally a deep brown, but there was grey streaked in it as well. Her face was weathered, but still handsome. She was tall, standing even with Harlen, and she had a dress that was a pretty crimson-maroon color. "And who is this?" She gave a thin-lipped smile to Harlen.

"This is Harlen Flowers. A bastard of the King's make - Lady Bethany Florent's. I thought I may help the poor boy," Lord Gwayne replied, not minding at all how his words were coming out of his mouth, nor thinking about how they would seem to Harlen.

To the boy, it was just an exercise in learning Lord Hightower. He knew the stories about him, the King, and the Queen, as well as what had happened to his sister and the King. He didn't know what to think of that, so he pushed it aside most of the time. Though, the hatred between the two ran deeper than what Harlen had even thought possible.

"Lord Gerrit Redwyne," The older man said gruffly, his hair mostly silver with only traces of what was its former ginger-red coloring. Famed throughout the Reach for his ships, but also his strategic cunning, he was less cunning when it came to politics. Harlen remembered two years ago when they'd come to Highgarden, and Lord Gerrit had all but called the King an idiot and the Queen a whore.

Knowing that fact alone made Harlen nervous. Combined with Lord Hightower's hatred of the King - if not grudging admiration for the Queen, he had a feeling he was in on something he shouldn't be. Harlen was proud of his Gardener heritage - after all, they had made almost all the houses in the Reach from their own loins.

"This is Lady Mina Tarly," Lord Gwayne told him, pointing to the handsome woman standing across from him. "Originally a Peake by birth, now she rules Horn Hill."

It was beginning to click into place for Harlen at that point, but he kept his mouth shut - as all men must do at points in their lives. A ping of sadness went through him. He had known her sons, Ser Alester and Ser Axell, when they were serving with the Order of the Green Hand. Bandits had been plaguing the area near Cider Hall and New Barrel, and the Fossoways had needed help. The King sent a few of his best knights from Highgarden (a rather kind move, in Harlen's eyes), and only one had come back. Neither had been Lady Mina's sons. Her husband, already dead, made her the sole survivor of House Tarly, except…

"Until my ungrateful husband's bastard takes it from me when I die," Lady Mina's mouth turned into a cold upturned frown. "No offense to you, my dear, but bastards are a sensitive subject at Horn Hill."

"None taken," Harlen replied calmly, sticking to his place at Gwayne's side, and sitting when he told him to.

"Are you sure we can trust the boy?" Gerrit Redwyne said, not offering any of the pleasantry that Lady Tarly had attempted. "He's Gardener and Florent both. Even without you saying it, it's quite plain to see the Brightwater Keep veins flowing through him."

Lord Hightower sighed. "He's not my squire, nor will he need to be, but he's learning from me in the art of politics while we're on this little mission. It keeps me from having to talk to King Gardener himself, because his wife avoids Harlen like the plague."

Lady Tarly chuckled a little bit, and held up a dainty glass of wine, taking a sip from it. Her eyes were a dark brown, and seemed to follow him even when he wasn't looking back at her. Harlen glanced at Lord Hightower, unsure what was going to happen at this little meeting.

"Highgarden has ignored us for too long," Lady Mina took out a few pins in her hair to let it fall in wavy layers down her chest. "The King nor Queen even bothered to show up to my sons' funerals. Then, years later…" Her eyes flashed and she gripped the side of the chair, those brown orbs turning to Lord Hightower before she fell quiet once more.

Harlen gauged her, wondering what the point was she was going to make. Whatever she was going to say, Lady Tarly seemed to know Lord Hightower didn't want to hear it. A good move, in his eyes. Lord Hightower was a prickly man, from his experience, and didn't take well to anything he didn't want to hear.

"The King shat all over the alliance that has bound the Arbor with the mainland," Lord Gerrit affirmed, his chair creaking as he sat forward and glanced at the two. "And the Queen, well…"

Lord Hightower's eyebrow raised, and for a moment Harlen thought as though Lord Redwyne was going to do the same as Lady Tarly - stop talking. He didn't know if it was going to lead to some sort of rebellion or not, or just a place to voice discontent, but making an enemy of the Lord of Oldtown which sat smack dab in the middle of both of their domains was probably not a good idea.

"It's an open secret, isn't it?" Lord Gerrit said gruffly. "She fucked both of Mina's boys, I figure she's got one of my grandsons in her schemes as well. Fossoway boy, it's been rumored. Her little vines aren't as secretive as she'd like to think. They just protect her well, that's all."

Lord Hightower's eyes flashed and he stood up abruptly. "The Queen is an honorable woman, and has led this country of ours for years, while the King whores and drinks his way to the grave. I don't want to hear your lies smearing her good name. We're done here." He began marching away in his quick style that Harlen had to scramble to his feet, whispering an apology to Lady Tarly. She simply looked on with a resolved expression in her eyes, getting to her feet while the other two left.

Harlen could hardly keep up with Lord Hightower with how quickly he was walking. He had known the lord was a good friend to the Queen, but he had assumed after years that friendship had waned. Apparently, it hadn't broken yet. Still, Harlen was confused. It was an open secret that the Queen entertained visitors. Harlen didn't see it as that big of a deal as others may - the King did it, so he couldn't fault the Queen if he didn't fault the King. He wondered if Lord Hightower truly believed what he had said, or if he just wanted to believe it. Either way, Harlen had to take it and move on.

Old Gods: The Meeting

King Alaric had chosen the place to meet carefully - Harrenhal was swimming with ironborn, but also other kingdoms' men as well. He had chosen a place outside, in the woods, with the Stark standard fluttering in the light wind. Luckily there was no rain, which made it that bit easier. He had been watching at the feast to see what the guards of the ironborn were doing - and sure enough, they had been largely following rivermen. They weren't worried about the others yet.

Lord Arthos was just a slight bit taller than the already-tall Northman. It was easy to see him coming with his Blackwood standard, the tree and its ravens. It was rare that Alaric felt like he could trust someone so completely, but with the extra prodding by the gods, he felt comfortable with Arthos.

"There they come," Thalina told her husband, seeing a few ironborn coming out of the castle, shadowing the Lord of Raventree by about twenty feet.

"Your time to shine, my dear," He gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. Queen Thalina stalked from the Stark camp along with five Stark men following her, the Blackwoods calmly progressing past her towards the meeting place with the other Starks.

King Alaric had brought chairs with them, four for him, his two daughters, and his son, and two for Lord Arthos and his sister Alysanne. He sat down in one quietly, sparing a glance at where Queen Thalina had met the ironborn. It wasn't inconspicuous, Alaric knew, but still, these sorts of meetings needed to happen regardless.

"Good morning, Lord Arthos." King Alaric rose to shake the man's hand, bypassing the usual formality of letting the lord kneel to him. He wasn't sure even if the ironborn would react well to that.

"And to you, King Alaric." Arthos replied with a small smile, helping his sister take a seat in the chair beside him, across from the four Starks.

"Lord Arthos," Lyarra smiled, sitting beside her father, her hair done up elaborately in a southern style - having been helped by one of the Durrandon girls that morning. Her mother knew the basics, but she didn't know how to do it like the southern girls did nowadays. Aerelle had said that the Durrandons seemed to be rather pleasant, so Thalina had braved the potential indignity of asking for aid. Queen Yovanna Durrandon had been kind about it, so Lyarra had been happily telling her family that she wanted to be just like her throughout the rest of that day.

"The winds of change are upon us, King Alaric," Lord Arthos said in a low voice, glancing to the right to see the ironborn disappearing from view. "I know you have felt it as I have."

Alaric nodded immediately, the king the intended target audience for such talk. His son, even Aerelle were a little more uncertain about what everything met. Tirius wasn't even paying attention to what was going on, really, his eyes fixed on the Blackwood girl. Truth be told, she was pleasant on the eyes in Alaric's mind, wearing a dress of black with gems on it, creating a little bit of sparkling in the morning light. Her hair was done up tightly around her head, and her pale arms were bare.

Aerelle popped to her feet and went to Alysanne's side. "Those are beautiful," She grinned. Normally not one for dresses and getting all done up, she still marveled at the way some of it was done. "It reminds me of my great-grandmother's old style. Queen Alarra, her name was. Beautiful as all could be, a lady of House Karstark. And a wolf pendant too!" Aerelle examined it with a wide smile, a silver band around the girl's wrist.

"We may be southern, but we do not forget our friends," Arthos surmised for them while the two girls devolved into chatting about the pasts of both houses. Aerelle had never been one for politics, so Alaric was just glad she had made a friend.

"Well, Lord Arthos," Alaric gave him a quiet smile as he sat there. "My son and both daughters are unpromised. You and I both know what is to come, and for that reason, I would offer you my eldest daughter, Princess Lyarra of House Stark, to be your wife and betrothed."

Lord Arthos stood, recognizing what he had to do. He gave a smile to Princess Lyarra and took her hand in his, kneeling in front of her. "It would be my honor to bound our houses together." He gave a soft kiss to the knuckles of the girl, who couldn't hide a bit of a flush on her cheeks as the lord rose to his feet once again. "And to you, Lord Stark. Your son is unwed, and nothing would bind our houses together like a dual wedding. I would offer my daughter, Lady Alysanne of House Blackwood, to your son, the Crown Prince Tirius, future King of the North."

Alaric couldn't remain quiet for long. He forced a smile, and even though Tirius appeared happy with the match, his father was unsure. Putting all his eggs in one basket wasn't usually the smartest move, but he still did have Aerelle if things were desperate. "I accept, so long as the Crown Prince is happy."

Tirius gave a nod, and got up as well to where the two girls were sitting side by side. "Lady Alysanne." He said in a deep tone, putting his hand out to help her up. He held her close to him, and whispered something to her that Alaric couldn't hear.

"Then that is that," Alaric dusted his hands off and got to his feet as well, pushing the chair back on the floor of the forest. "It is tradition to marry the son of the King in Winterfell. We will need to move quickly once this ironborn wedding finishes, and move up North as quickly as we can. Can your household go directly from Harrenhal to Winterfell?"

Arthos nodded. "Certainly." He said breezily, and their attention turned when they saw Thalina running towards them, calm as before, but Alaric could sense a bit of urgency.

"What's wrong?" Alaric asked immediately to his wife, stopping her with his hands on her shoulders. "Do the ironborn know what's going on?"

"No, no," Thalina brushed her wild hair out of her face. "There's something happening in the training yard, a fight of some sort. It's getting ugly. They need as many men as they can to separate them. Come on!" She yelled. Alaric, as well as the rest of the family, had always teased her by calling it her 'thunder voice' because it seemed as loud as a thunder clap.

"Stay here." He told the girls. "Stay with them." He told Tirius as well, not wanting his son to get mixed up into whatever was going on inside the Harrenhal keep. Alaric, Arthos and Thalina ran together, heading in through an entrance on the side of the gate. They had to take off to the left, jumping around where other people were trying to steer clear of what was going on.

There was a crowd of people filled out in a circle by the training grounds. A mob of men was in the middle, one clearly ironborn with their black, gold, and naturally darker tones. The other was brighter, more yellows, reds, even some blue mixed in.

"What's going on?" Arthos asked another man near him - from the looks of it, he was a man of House Frey, but no lord or relation to them.

"Lord Bracken was shooting in the yard, and some ironborn must've got too close and thought he was gonna shoot 'em." The guard replied in a low tone. "Wish he would've." He muttered.

Thalina was ready to charge in, but from what Alaric could see, the sides were starting to separate. Blood was everywhere on the ground, and he could see the battered faces of the Bracken men from where he was standing.

"Come back here, she-wolf," Alaric teased and slid his arm around his wife quietly, seeing that just about everyone in the crowd was on edge. "There's no fight to play at now."

"Looks like the son of Lord Harlaw," Lord Blackwood noted as he saw the ironborn trudge back into the castle. "A bloody nose, and a good one too."

"Yeah," The Frey replied, leaning back against the wall, eyes glittering a little bit. "Lord Bracken cracked him across the nose pretty good."

There was a bit of silence before Lord Arthos smiled. "Good." And the Blackwood headed into the castle as well, disappearing from view. Alaric Stark had a feeling that it wasn't the worst thing that was going to happen in the days that led up to the wedding.

Princess of the West: Encounters

Princess Cerelle was making her way through the whole castle for her destination. She'd heard about the scuffle between Bracken's men (as well as other Riverlords) and the ironborn, and had alerted her father and mother already. They stayed put where they are, but they got word from one of their lords later on that they had been separated and everything had been taken care of. Her father had gone to meet with Lady Reyne and a few other allies, leaving her and her mother alone in the room. Her brothers had been out riding with both Durrandon princes and hadn't come back yet.

It was her mother that had suggested she make the trip in the first place. She assumed her father would agree, but her mother seemed pretty set on it. They said that Lord Bracken was recovering in his quarters, and Elayna thought it would be a good idea if she went and checked on him. The key phrasing in there that she hadn't said was "before anyone else could".

Cerelle was wearing a dress of scarlet, the color she had always preferred (along with her gold). She came across a woman standing outside the Bracken quarters, along with a handful of their guards. She was holding a wet washcloth and fussing at them to keep still while she wiped away the blood. Feeling most comfortable to talk to her, Cerelle glided over.

"Um, excuse me, ma'am?" Cerelle asked, and the woman turned to face her, a portly woman with an honest-looking face and lines etched into it. "I was hoping to see Lord Ryman, if he wasn't busy."

"Not busy at all," She waved her off. "And especially for a pretty girl like you, I'm sure he'll have the time." She gave her a thin smile and pointed to the door. "Go into the door, he's relaxing in his chambers, so take your first right, and go in there. He should be there."

"Thank you," Cerelle didn't bother to tell her who she was, figuring the less people who knew she was going into the Bracken's chambers alone would be better. She pressed open the door and took a step inside. There was cloth laying everywhere in the common area that the Brackens were staying in, some bloodied, some not, some wet, some not. Only a few ladies were sitting inside, stitching together some more cloth out of what looked like old rags.

She slipped into the short hallway and took the first right she found. It was a large oak door, with a Hoare sigil nailed into it. "Lord Bracken?" She said, opening the door's handle.

Cerelle let out a little yelp of surprise when she walked in, seeing the young lord resting in a long bathtub, the water luckily covering...the more salacious things, but she could see the expanse of tan skin of his chest above the water, and what looked like a nasty broken nose that had been set. His eyes were closed, looking actually quite peaceful, his brown hair running down to his shoulders and still dry. He noticed her when she let out the noise, and his gaze turned to her with humor in them.

"Well, princess," Ryman said dryly as he couldn't really move except to show her more of what was beneath the surface. "That is why you wait for a response."

"I'm so, so sorry." Cerelle said, standing in almost shock as she stood just inside the doorway, averting her eyes to her feet.

"It's a compliment," Ryman chuckled a little and groaned as he sat up a little bit. "Avert your eyes for a moment, and I'll get dressed and we can talk, which is what I'm sure you were here for."

Cerelle turned around at that, hearing him stand up and his wet feet hit the ground. Her heart was racing, and she cursed her wandering mind for the images going through her head - he was tall, his arms were to die for and his chest hadn't been anything to slouch at either. She heard him grunt as he presumably pulled on smallclothes. She didn't know it, but her wandering mind had been inherited from both her mother and father.

"Ready, princess." Lord Bracken chuckled and put his hand on her shoulder, surprising her by being so close so soon.

"Alright," Cerelle ran a hand through her wavy blonde hair and turned, turning red again when she saw that he hadn't bothered to dress from the waist up, wearing tight red leather pants from the waist down. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, but that wasn't it.

"I assume you're here to see if I'm doing alright." He held out his arm and she took it, biting her lip as she let her fingers run along the bulge of muscle on his bicep. Cerelle closed her eyes for a moment as they took a few strides towards the long, rough-spun bed and chair that sat beside it. When she opened, she found them straying to how his body narrowed at the waist, and expanded out as it went up towards his chest. "Am I right?" He interrupted her thoughts abruptly.

"Yes, yes," Cerelle said quickly to compensate, Ryman letting her sit in one of the chairs, an old one by the looks of it, and he sat on the bed.

"Well, I'm okay, then, if that's all you wanted." Ryman jested lightly, facing her. "But I assume that's not all, otherwise you wouldn't have made the journey all this way. Get in a good view too, ten minutes earlier and you would've gotten everything."

Cerelle blushed fiercely at that, but she attempted a rebuttal. "Is that any way to talk to a princess?"

"Well, no," Ryman laughed and tossed his auburn-brown hair back. "I wouldn't have said it if I thought you wouldn't laugh. Now, I may not bother." He sniffed, teasing the poor girl further.

Cerelle chuckled at last, crossing her legs together and she played with the edge of her hair a little bit. "Has anyone ever told you that you're trouble, Lord Bracken?" She said playfully. "Because I assume today would be a good day for someone to do it, if they haven't already."

Ryman grinned widely and reached out to give her leg a little squeeze. "Always." He gave a wink. "When I was a child, they used to have to have three guards with me at all times so I wouldn't get lost going and doing something I wasn't supposed to do. Once, I outran them and got to my horse and rode all over until they finally caught me. I was so happy, but what came after that made me regret it."

Cerelle giggled, not being able to imagine causing her parents much trouble. She respected and loved them, and she saw acting out in many ways as a way of disrespecting them. She was sure Ryman and his family were different, but she couldn't do the same thing.

"I bet all the girls around Stone Hedge love that," Cerelle prodded, not sure what to make of the boisterous man yet. She liked him, to be sure, but she knew what her mother was up to: seeing whether or not he was worthy of their time and attention.

"Clearly," He snorted. "Though, I'm careful." Ryman ran his hand through his hair. "Your parents have it figured out, though, by the way it seems. King Gardener doesn't. You can't chase all the stars in the universe, otherwise they'll all flicker away. You just have to find the one that glows brightest for you, and your father did well at that."

"Where'd you learn that saying?" Cerelle asked dryly as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Probably the maester," He grinned back at her. "Though a smart saying, still."

Cerelle smiled and got to her feet. "I suppose." She glanced around the room. "I hope you have a speedy recovery, Lord Bracken, and that I will be able to see you again soon."

Ryman got to his feet as well, and grabbed her hand, giving it a kiss on her knuckles. Gooseflesh popped up along her arms, but she did her best to keep a straight face. "Until next time." He said with a faint smile on his face.

Cerelle hurried from the room, trying not to show the Bracken household the blush that was already spreading across her face, whirling down hallways and towards where her family had been staying. She flew nearly, brushing past people and slowing down whenever she thought someone was paying too much attention to her. Luckily she hadn't been wearing shoes with any height to them, just flat shoes that could go across the stones quickly.

By the time she had arrived where the Lannister household was, she was out of breath and the tightness of the dress was making it hard to breathe. She had to stop outside and gather her breath, the guards watching her with mild concern before she got up to open the door to the chambers.

"How'd it go?" Her mother was seated in the master bed in the corner of the room, legs propped up on pillows and a book in her lap.

"Well," She blushed a little and went to sit at the bedside, glancing at her feet. "It started a little rocky…" She admitted.

"Rocky how?" Elayna raised an eyebrow lightly.

"Well...I knocked, and just kinda...went in? I guess, and he was in the bath." She blushed at admitting as much to her mother, but she was the one who had asked! "I didn't see anything!"

"Nothing?" Elayna had a glint in her eye that showed her mother was up to no good either.

"Well, not nothing, of course." Cerelle flopped onto her back beside her mom. "Just his chest and arms."

Elayna laughed and played with her daughter's hair, flicking it around. "And the man himself, a good personality?"

"It seems so. He's funny. Kind enough, from what I could tell. A bit hard headed, and obviously from what happened today, he has to have a bit of a temper." Cerelle chuckled a little bit and ran her hand through her hair.

"Alright," Elayna smiled a bit at her daughter, keeping her cards a little closer to the vest than what others may do in the same situation. She wasn't sure what her husband was thinking, but it was at least an idea to present.

Author's Note: Thank you all for reading, and we got back on the Friday update! I just have a little bit of an update on scheduling going forward: I am going to be moving to weekly updates on Fridays rather than twice a week updates Tuesday/Friday. That isn't to say that if I get ahead and feel comfortable getting two updates out a week, I won't do it, but I just won't be pressing myself to do so.

Just for a bit of background into that decision - I've been RPing on discord now for about a year, and I'm taking up staff responsibilities for a server soon (based on GoT, naturally). That'll take some of my time up, as well as other things personally. Don't worry about this though, I am super pumped and that's why it's actually taken me so long to make the decision to go to once a week rather than twice. I think it could help with the quality of the work too (as well as potentially quantity - we'll see ;) ). Thanks for all the support so far, and I love the reviews, keep 'em coming! We're getting into the meat of the story now, so that's fun for me to get involved with as well. As always, my PMs are open should you want to discuss anything character related or otherwise. Thanks