Byran II
The council met in the massive feast hall that sat in the center of the sole tower of Storm's End, the hall was rounded much like every room in the tower, but it was the width of the tower save a small hall and kitchen. The room was impressive as it was oppressive, the roof was only a few feet higher than him to give it more strength, but it gave it the feeling of being underground. Aegon Dracrhys sat atop a squat chair behind the Lord's table, and looked from one face to another, his gazed over long at Trystane Martell who sat just below him in a place of honor. Byran's father Adrian had shrunken in his old age, and it had done nothing for his sour attitude. His father leaned precariously in his chair, and put his mouth close to his son's ear.
"With your brother in the capital, you represent house Celtigar. So act like it, sit up and pretend like you know what they're saying." His father struggled back to a more relaxed position. "I remember when Stannis raised our banners, we were the only loyal house to fight for the true lord, these other lords are just pretenders, no true storm lords." A few lords gave the old man a queer look, Steffan Seaworth choked on his wine and began coughing.
"Of course father." Byran never could stand up to his father, but he felt the blood running to his face. He turned away from the lords and found the familiar face of Entan's leaning against the back wall, he was a comforting sight in a sea of more important people. The room was filled with lords and heirs as they joked murmured secrets and waited for Aegon to start speaking. The black prince took his time to get up and Viserys Connington clattered two large metal dishes and the room quieted.
"My fellow storm lords, as you well know Trystane Martell is my own son by marriage, and as less of you know Dorne is falling into the hands of peasants and revolutionaries. Our king is distracted with the reconstruction of The North, so it falls on us loyal swords of the crown to turn our eyes south and restore the king's peace, I ask for you to raise the banners. We all know the sad downfall of the Martells, however we have the rightful heir right here among us. The Yronwoods have failed so now comes the time when we must step in and reassert the Martell line. However I would like to hear the opinions of my lords for it's your people I am asking to put down their lives, so any man that will be heard speak now." Then came a general shuffle of voices as men looked at each other wondering if they heard or understood. The wizened figure of Donnell Swann was the first to stand and speak.
"My lord, why have you not asserted this claim earlier, Trystane has been with us for years?" A few of the honorable lords nodded along with the question.
"I was loathe to sacrifice Stormlanders on what was in essence an internal conflict, the Yronwoods seemed to have a handle on the peasant rebellions. I appreciate the honor in your question, it was a matter of healing our ailing lands, now the stormlands have recovered the fastest of all eight kingdoms, for the moment our power is only matched by that of the rock, not that they're likely to bestir themselves to do anything." Lord Swann bowed primly and sat, next Ser Morrigen stood.
"Lord Aegon, how are we going to do this, even your namesake, the conqueror, struggled to take Dorne from dornish hands." Aegon took a long pause before he answered.
"Dorne is no longer in any hands, it will be difficult, but as long as we're slow and careful we will be victorious. I would also like to say that this is not conquest, we will be going in to restore order." Every lord in the hall had some question or another, after the first hour his father noisily left the room, it murmured about cowardly dragons and flatterers. By the second hour Byran felt as if the room seemed to thicken with boredom, as he felt his eyes droop a man sat noisily next to him.
"What did I say, we're not going to save those sandy bastards." Most of the lords around pretended the bastard didn't exist, but Steffan who had gotten to tipsy in the intervening time laughed loudly.
"You speak too freely bastard." Steffan made the word sound like a profession. "Our storm lord has proclaimed we are upholding the king's peace, do you doubt him?"
"Ah, the onion boy I was wondering what the smell was, I realize now that it was innumerable whores that you've seen in the last week." Entan and Seaworth laughed loudly, Byran supposed that was the way with low-born people. "The king's words are pretty, but it doesn't change the fact that Martell is his son by marriage. Dorne will be Aegon's one way or another, it's a canny if simple ploy." Florent Tarth eyed Entan with bald faced contempt, the others tried to hide their shock with hands or coughs. "My friend why do you look at me so, is it the name Waters or the contempt I have for our lord's duplicity." At that Florent jumped the back of the seat towards them.
"Florent, forgive him he's a bastard of no real note he must be provocative or we'd forget his very name. Regardless he is a friend of house Seaworth, so steel your nerves or you might provoke us." Florent froze in his tracks the thinly veiled threat was like a knife in his gut if his face was any indication.
"I ask that keeps that wit to himself, we are no enemies of the Seaworths, but that boy is speaking of our lord." Florent held his chest high as if he'd made some grandstand.
"If I even see his tongue I'll cut it out myself." Entan let out what was surprisingly close to a giggle.
"I meant no offense, this hall feels like a tomb perhaps I should take my leave. Byran join me for dinner?" Seaworth smiled inscrutable into his chalice and sipped quietly, Florent pulled on his tunic and looked between the three men.
"Yes, you should leave, you never belonged here to begin with." He turned back, and began the long walk around the benches to where he had been sitting. "Half bastard and half pirate I should have not gotten so worked up." He made no effort to keep his voice down as he ranted to the little lordling of Mertyn who was the man's squire. Byran finally turned to his friend and put on his best scolding face, Entan laughed at that too.
"We really should get out of here before I'm torn apart by the mob of loyalists, shall we head to The Narrow Pike I believe it stands just outside of this awful castle." Byran stood and dusted himself although there was no obvious grime.
"My lord Seaworth." A quick bow was only met with a non-committal wave of the hand.
Sitting just outside of the castle clinging to the wall that broke the storms sat The Narrow Pike, along with a few other establishments that couldn't be fit into the castle itself. All the buildings leaned drunkenly as the wood warped in the wet and cold of the sea air, only a small stable made of stone stood proudly. Byran mused the building was a bit like him, solid in a land of braggarts and whatever the hell Entan was. Once fully outside the castle the wind tried to push him over and they were forced to sprint to the inn. The door required a bit of forcing before it popped open, they were met with the loud complaints of a bar full of guards and sellswords.
"Apologies gentlemen, next round is on me, try to go easy my purse has been somewhat lacking." A few of the younger ones laughed and cheered, however most of them grimaced and raised mugs. The second part Entan whispered to him. "Not particularly welcoming are they?" He didn't wait for a response as he sat at a nearby table with the laughing sellswords. "Boys it seems that you have room for two more drinkers, what are we talking about." They seemed to nod agreement, but looked uncomfortable as they glanced at Byran. One of the younger ones who seemed to be a scarlet shade of red laughed loudly.
"He's a Blackfyre through n' through, he's hungry and that means work for us." He looked near to falling backwards as he took a swig of ale, one of his friends put a protective arm out as he leaned. "It's about time somebody not holier than fucking thou was in charge of somethin'." Once more the lot glanced cautiously at Byran.
"How many sell-swords do you boys reckon have gathered for this little confrontation with Dorne." A few seemed to think about, but the oldest one who had quietly been drinking was the first to speak up.
"Must be 5,000 men m'lord." Entan eyes sparkled at the man.
"Oh, and how do you know."
"Count the whores and it's 10 times that." The man's voice was gruff but there was a hint of amusement.
"A well educated man in a bar like this, I must be dreaming." They shared a laugh. "Where would I find the more capable sailors in your group?"
"M'lord I happen to be a very capable hand, and I know a few others that could join you, if that's what you're looking for." The grizzled man smiled sagely.
"Well if they are all as delightful as you, I am Entan Waters Blackfyre bastard, and pirate extraordinaire." The man's smile widened and he let out a small chuckle.
"They call me Davron Saltcliffe m'lord, soldier." Entan brightened at that.
"An ironborn, tell me how you've come across such a queer accent." The man didn't possess the harsh tongue that most ironborn wore, instead he sounded like he had the common speech of someone who lived in King's Landing.
"Aye but I would like to meet your friend first, if it please m'lord." The words were pleasant enough but like Entan there was a hint of mockery behind them.
"My lord." Davron waved away the title. "Davron, my name is Byran Celtigar, unfortunately I do not have any nicknames of interest." I offered the man a small bow and he returned it with a head nod.
"I'm a fourth son of a little recognized house so here I am seeking gold and glory with my glamorous cohorts." He waved at the young men also at the table who had by now forgotten anyone else was there and gone to a drinking game of some description. "Even before that my father was a well travelled man, and as the youngest he would dote on me so any trip he made was with men and my oldest brother, Donnor. After the crow's eye came through there was little left of the islands, especially of Saltcliffe isle I'm the last of the Saltcliffes but there is little left to go back to." He smiled into his drink and drank deeply. Byran glanced at Entan who was studying the man intensely. "It used to be that I'd have to go to Essos to find steady work, but after the dead came down from the north, sellswords became more prevalent here. Well in any case I prefer it here, closer to home, and you don't ever have to deal with Dothraki screamers." Entan perked up at that.
"Most of them were wiped out, you've actually met Dothraki, there something of a legend to the boys where I grew up."
"I have and it must be said that whatever you've heard about them is only half the truth, and I hear they've only got tougher since they've returned to the grass sea. They scare me, and I'm glad I won't be facing them again anytime soon." The older man gave his drink a morose look. "I find my taste for battle has dimmed since those days, I wonder how many years I have left in me. Perhaps after this… adventure in Dorne I'll set my sword down for a plow." He gave us a look as if he had just remembered we were there. "Forgive this old man his mutterings. Well either way I am still a fair hand with a sword and an even more capable sailor, are you looking to fill out your rank of mates?"
"Unfortunately I have something much worse in mind for you, how does quartermaster sound to you, and as your first duty I need a dozen new boys for the crew."
"And if it's not too much trouble I need five more for myself." Davron was as surprised as any experienced sellsword could be. Entan stood and gave Davron a small bow then started to move away, but paused near the small door.
"My ship is The Winter Rose, his the Crab Claw, oh and Davron I would pay to see an ironborn plowing a farm so let me know if you ever get the land for it."