Tryion Lannister
Tyrion was admiring the brightly colored Lysien smallfolk, from his carried vessel, as the men moved him ahead of the vast, unsettled Valyrian-looking crowd ahead of them. He saw Westerosi traders, dressed in the House colors of House Baratheon and the half-crescent black-and-white insignia of House Swann, selling weapons and vast armies of silver plated armor, alongside a sew of well-equipped bodyguards standing watch nearby their various stands. He sighed, closing the curtains of his mobile transport, before staring at his little girl. Lanna was laying alongside with her nursemaid, as the woman fed her milk from her big, luxurious pink nipple she had out in the open - honestly, Lanna was all Tyrion had left for family anymore. He did everything for her, considering he couldn't have done the same for her mother, but what was done was done. He sighed, as he stared at the unscrupulous Lord Bellamy. He didn't quite trust the man, couldn't quite, but nevertheless Lyanna sent him on his way to discuss the supposed Rebellion he somehow came across, most likely due to spies; indeed, in the aftermath of the Westerosi conquest, he amongst others was the first to bend the knee to Lyanna and Robert, which saved him from being gibbeted by Lyanna in the aftermath, fortunately for him. He was the lowest of low merchants, a sex merchant, if you will, but either way Tyrion found the man to be disgusting at most and a unfortunate nuisance at worst, given how powerful he was within the city.
"So Lord Bellamy, tell me everything I know about this so-called rebellion of the whores." Tyrion had heard rumors, from his own.. whore... Every man has needs. that the former concubines were amassing a rebellion against Lyanna's reign. Something Tyrion wished to put an end too, for Lanna's sake. He stared at her fine golden locks, and her little white trim up of a gown with little gold trimmings at the end of it.
The Trolley itself was rather simplex, with wooden seats with simple white pillows attached to it. It also had four regular seats, with Tyrion and his daughter sitting across from Lord Bellamy, the bald-haired man that sat across from with them with a intricately made golden chalice in his soft-looking manicured hands. He was sitting cross-legged, like a Westerosi Lady might do in her billowing dress, in order to keep comfortable. He also had a whore of about three-and-ten years sitting by his side, as he held onto her like a piece of property. She had long, curly golden locks and bright sky-blue eyes to add on too it, but he kept her locks in two large pony tails on either side of her face, making her look very innocent indeed. She had a heart-shaped face, with a dimpled smile and a delicate face to add on to it, but she looked immensely uncomfortable in the much older man's grasp. He was unable to do anything to help her, so he ignored her for the time being.
Lord Bellamy was an awful little man that loved children. He was wrinkled in the face, with deep, sharp, squinted, little steel emerald colored eyes that made Tyrion feel uncomfortable as he stared at the breastfeeding Lanna with something entirely unbecoming in his eyes. If Tyrion didn't need him, he would've promptly deposed of him on the side of the road as a rotten corpse, but alas he needed this gentlemen. He also was unusually skinny, and wore various jewels on his hand, despite wearing the plainness of clothes imaginable. He wouldn't have looked very conspicuous, with that peasant grab he wore currently. But the thing that stood out to Tyrion was his ringed hands, and one ringed right ear, which made him look like some kind of bloody pirate. "Now, now, there Dwarf, I need payment before I tell the secrets of my beautiful girls in my salon." He had the greasiest, blackest teeth on out of anyone that Tyrion had seen, and a rather unseemly smile to add on to this display. He also something about him that could unnerve most people, but Tyrion simply couldn't place what it was about him that made him special in this regard.
"I'll pay you with placing you in a gibbet." Tyrion threatened the man, "or maybe you'll even get the ol Bolton torture device. You see, the Bolton family in Westeros do love torture, beyond of course just flaying mind you, but you, you deserve the pointed Bolton box." The pointed box was a platform which was pointed and the person in question would slowly either bleed to death or be impaled upon its sharp point. Not to mention they had to sit on it butt-nude, and it could days, even weeks, before they died the most terrible deaths either. Tyrion was not usually disposed to using torture, but sometimes people like this rich, spoilt little man could use it, sometimes.
Bellamy's smile disappeared. "Fine than, if you shalt pay me my due, than I shalt tell you a single thing. I am risking my neck for you, Lord Lannister. My girls are my greatest possession, and yet you choose to threaten me with violence? How dare you? Lady Lyanna treated me with more dignity than you. Hmph." He hummed to the driver, "Pull ova, now, sweet cupcake. It would appear I'm not needed."
"Bellamy, I jest you not, if you leave this compartment that your life and all of your fortunes are for forfeit. So me giving you your payments would be rather redundant. Now give me the information, or the very thing you'll be hearing is yourself screaming in pain and agony." Lyanna had thought it necessary to do this to the man, like the shrewd, but ultimately cruel woman she was. She had to be cruel in order to be kind to others, even as a noblewoman of her birth.
"Bah, it matters not." He snarled, before staring at the babe with something of interest in those cold eyes of his. "I need nought of your threats, Lord Lannister. But threatening me with torture will only do you more harm than good. I'm vera popular amongst the common folk, due to me giving them careers with their otherwise meaningless and pathetic lives. To see me tortured would only make them over-react... and oh, cause a mass riot which I doubt your army could sufficiently deal with." He gave a sultry smile, as they slowed down a tad bit. His smile was overtly long, given that he had a strong, meaty mouth - he also had distinctly minty smelling breath - for a man like him, he also smelled pretty well, like rosemary soap or something, but whatever the case, but it wasn't important.
"You, my friend have plenty of blood on your hands." Tyrion stared directly on those steel eyes of his. "I know for certain that you help with the other Prince's escaping with illegal slaves on their vast ships, none-the less to other free cities, despite it being illegal and illicitly stated by our fine ruler, Lady Lyanna. You also are still alive because of your immense influence, as you put it, but you also have a repute for backstabbing the other Princes, given that you work for us now. You demanding payment for even having your land, your whores, and your influence in tact is rather machiavellian of you, Gaƫl Bellamy." This Lord of the City also controlled most of the street patrols, of whom were known to be villainous and backstabbing, like their own leader indeed, and they carried his own personal insignia of the Lusty Goddess of the Summer Isles on an offset red background, everywhere with them. Indeed, they also caused mayhem for the black-cloaks, Lyanna's own personal city patrol, by basically warring against them for control of the city and its denizens.
The Lord sneared upon hearing this. "I have no oft you any violence, Lord Tyrion Lannister."
"You also are warring with Lyanna's own watch. Why should we trust you enough to pay you for your services when you are just going to use it to undermined Lyanna's reign? I wonder why? I do suggest you talk now." He drank some of his tea he had placed orderly from King's Landing whilst staring at Bellamy's small, scrunched up face which looked baffled almost.
"Okay fine." He brooded, in a sort of melancholy-like way. "The whores wish to see the magisters back in power, so that they may become the next Black Swann on their backs. With Lyanna in power, they cannot do that, because she's in the way of that transgression. The keyholder to this whole debacle is said to a whore that was the most debased from the invasion from Westeros. I wonder whom that could be, right?" The man titled his head to stare at Tyrion, as if he was questioning Tyrion like the little beetle-creature Lord Bellamy was. "But anyhow, her name is Augusta. Augusta, the Queen of Whores and the wearer of the biggest titties in Lys. She's said to be quite a marvelous little creature, quite unlike my own beautiful concubines. I do hope to meet the whore someday, because such a creature would have the loveliest children." He gave a closed smile on this. "And I'd know, I have nearly twenty children of my own with my pair of lovely lady Concubines." I think i may have discovered the Walder Frey of Lys. Tyrion thought, whilst comparing Lord Bellamy and Walder Frey both to little weasels in the way that they appeared thus far. "So if you do catch Augusta De Rebela, the whore of rebellion, I'd like to personally see 'er for meself. She seems like she'd be quite a catch, don't you think so, Lord Tyrion?"
"No." This man knew too much, which made Tyrion feel slightly uncomfortable. "Do you know what those whores are planning?"
"Nope. I wish I did though, seems like quite a tittious affair though." He chuckled.
Tyrion gave him a small smile, but that was about it. "I'm glad you have a sense of humor about this entire ordeal, Lord Bellamy."
"I mean, I must. It's a rebellion of em whores. I can't find anything more amusing than that, beyond maybe seeing the other magisters trapped in ye Gibbets though. You know, I say hello to them every once in awhile with some coffee and one my various mistresses in one hand. They don't seem very amused to see me, but It's amusing to see them, sitting there. Sometimes, I even had one my hoes got sit under them, literally whilst eating something like a bloody animal. The look on their faces are rather priceless, but they can't do anything to me."
Tyrion nodded, before stopping the trolly. "Do you make her -" He pointed to the delicately dressed child whore. "Do that?"
"You mean my little Cassandra, a pure Andal girl through and through, to do such things? No. You know how I obtained her? Her father sold her for a shitty loaf of bread for his starving family on the Hills, and she's quite a beauty for one of her age." He didn't smile, but the look on his face was rather unsettling, indeed. The girl looked down, shamefully. She never not once, spoke a single word whilst they sat on the side of him, a look of discomfort was still prevalent on her young, delicate features. But then again, neither did the maid or his sweet daughter did.
Tyrion nodded. "Well I do believe our business here is done, unless you have something to substance to add to the rebellion of whores?" He stopped the trolley, before again staring at his daughter. It was irrational to bring the girl everywhere, and it was indeed a mistake to allow the dangerous Lord to see her, or her nursemaid, give that he might be able to use her to obtain an advantage over him, given that he was really that dangerous, but alas, it was what it was now. It was by pure accident that the Lord saw them to begin with, as he was just bringing them to Belle castle to settle her in.
"Nothing more to add. Thank you for your time, Imp." He didn't sound pleased, as he got out of the package alongside the girl. The girl's soft, small breasts were barely booming as she was hardly more than a mere child. She was dressed in a vibrant red material, unlike the noble whom dressed in the plainest of colors. He felt a sense of sorrow for her, as she was rushed out with the magister of whom gave him a sully nod and a crusted grin, as he had several farce golden teeth in his mouth. The place they settled the wayward
He then turned towards the driver. "Please continue us towards the palace, thank you very much. Now, as for you two." He stared at the two woman besides him. "It was by pure accident you were brought here."
"I know, m' Lord Lannister." Her name was Ada, and she was sitting with the babe, with a sweet, warm expression on her rather homely features. She, like the babe's mother and father, originated from Westeros, although her father was a trader of silks and other goods from across the world. He knew that much about Ada, his baby girl's sitting mistress, because she talked about her family from time to time, as she sung Lanna asleep with her gentle, musical singing voice she possessed. "Your daughter, Lanna was such a good girl for that deary man though." She was caring, at least. That was something, beyond her breasts. She seemed like the motherly kind; Tyrion also knew she was married with a babe of own, that Ada said was about Ada's age, making them breast-siblings to her breasts, she said this with a toothy smile.
He didn't smile, feeling a sudden sense of dread about what could befall his daughter. "Ada, when we get back to the palace I'll make sure you are protected from his wrath, if he decides to backstab us, that is, and fed us farce information." He had doubts he could trust the information he was given from the Lord, but he had no ways of making sure it was truthful, which slightly concerned him as far it went. She agreed, although bashfully. They would discuss it more when they got to the palace, the beautiful Belle, the most beautiful palace that Tyrion had ever seen, beyond maybe Casterly Rock, even though Casterly Rock was basically hidden in a mine though thus making it hard to judge it's beauty, beyond maybe the front gate of Casterly Rock, which was made out of the most robust material in Westeros to keep out foreign invaders from it's grand entrance and the treasure within.
"Yes, m' Lord." She couldn't bow in the thing, but she nodded her head in understanding.
Willam
Willam didn't know why the Other left him alive when it slaughtered the others in his party. From the old man, Boromir Ironsmith - a well-known Ranger with a lifetime of ranges on his belt, to the young lord Waymar Royce of whom was laying face-down on the cold snow. Will could see Boromir's cold, dead but bright blue eyes, something that was as unnatural as the Other itself, of whom made Will feel cold besides himself even from a distant. Boromir also had some of the Other's icy weapon inside of his bloodied chest, and Will could see it due to the dull light the weapon possessed. Will shivered from his position under some random tree - he had broken an knee whilst running from the Other, and thus was incapable of doing very much. Will had indeed, put some of the snow on his leg to keep it cool, whilst he rationalized a way out of this mess, alive if possible.
First off, Will would need to collect that evidence from Boromir's chest, to give to Lord-Commander Jeor Mormont - if he didn't die first of something. Will knew of several ways he could die, immediately off the bat, from starvation, which was always an imminent possibility given that he was out in the wood. Or be killed by an returning Other, Will's eyes widened upon thinking about the Other. He was like the God's bane, in essence - Will had never seen such a creature in all of his four years at the Night's Watch. Was it a curse from the Seven? Will wondered, but Will had done nothing to deserve their ere, beyond being a born a bastard not even worth the name Waters, given that his father never bothered to claim him as his own. He always wondered about his father, even as a boy, and even as his mother succumbed to the dreaded pocks, and even when he was given up to that lowly Hedge Knight as a Squire.
He steadied himself of the ground, as he crawled over to Boromir, to collect the evidence for Lord-Commander Mormont, for Westeros, and even for Ser Robin, the knight that knighted him on the sept, and took care of him all those long years after his mother became deceased. He needed it, regardless of the intent... but then again...
Ser Waymar stood up off the ground with his ruined cloak, his eyes as blue and unforgiving as the Walker whom killed him. They were dead, like the younger Ser was, as he stumbled over to him, even as he tried grasping to get to the piece on Boromir's chest. The older man once had deep brown eyes, that always seemed to be laughing given the deep wrinkles under them. The man also was deeply scarred; he had a nose cut off, due to the effects of frostbite and a severely scarred face in general, but the older man always seemed to have a sense of humor and jolliness about him unlike some of the other Black Brothers.
Will's eyes widened, as he tried going backward, even disregarding his broken knee which hurt like one of the Hells as he tried going backwards. He knew, he saw him... Will needed to run, run back to Mormont and everyone else. Will knew terror, and he saw it, when he entered this bloody forest, with all of it's unwelcoming trees looming overhead, in a distinctively unwelcome way. They had faces, like the Weirwood Tree did - but Will was not of the Old Gods, like Boromir had been. Will prayed a quiet prayer to the Maid, above him, to give him some sort of clemency, or some level of assistance, in this time of need.
He saw the man overlooking him and like him, he got out his blade, before staring at the shambling corpse of Waymar with wide, and scared eyes. "Like you said before me, let us dance." Will knew that his blade wouldn't do anything against the Wright, but he suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline rushing through his blood upon seeing the Lordling shambling corpse.
Waymar only added to the allure and danger of the woods, and it's many unfriendly faces, as they stared their unfriendly gaze upon Will as he begun scotching back against their harsh barks slowly.
Will tried hacking at Waymar, for his blade to hit one of Waymar's shambling legs, with little to no effect, as he continued his seemly endless pursuit of Will, with his ghostly arms outstretched in this exercise, as if he were one of those undead that the Seven-Marked book kept on talking about in it's long, excessive tomb. It very much scared Will to think that the Gods might be inflicting this torture upon him for whatever sin he did, but he knew he was finished, as soon as Waymar came to his level and choked him with his icy touch. The last thing Will remembered was of seeing his cold, dead blue eyes and feeling the touch of his cold dead hands against his throat, so barbaric and hated-filled in nature, as he slipped off into the blue.
Viserys Targaryen
The scenery was beautiful in the King's Garden, as his eldest brother King Rhaegar brought him out for a walk along the gentle riverside of the March. Rhaegar wore a simple raven-colored tunic and the simple crown of Aegon V upon his head, symbolizing his rather humble nature. He also wore only one ring on his finger - which was made of pure gold, to symbolize his marriage to Queen Alysanne.
The walkway was on a gentle slope, with a light, dusty trail following the trickling water besides them. There were also many apple trees here, growing in abundance on the side of the trail, along with many rows of delicate purple rosemary bushes, pink-colored blossomed flowered ivy grew on white arches, which they passed, and there were gardeners everywhere, taking track of the royal food supply. There was also lemon, orange, avocado, and even some light peach trees, amongst the apple orchids. They also grew some other small, non-tree fruits and vegetables, but they were elsewhere, in the official royal garden where they grew most of their own bounty. This place, however was not the royal garden, but rather a place which Rhaegar loved almost as much as his own seat of Summerhall. He constructed it, solely because he wished to bring Alysanne on a journey outside of the palace, and this place in it's solitude would do just fine, Rhaegar supposed when Viserys asked him about it.
"Brother, as King, I do wish to share something with you, if you do not mind." Rhaegar softly went, as he walked barefooted around the compound, like Baelor I the blessed did. His eyes were determined and clear as the day's sky, as usual. "I'm terribly concerned that Aly wouldn't survive another childbirth. She nearly died giving birth to Rhaenys, and I was forced to keep her with a Maester for half-a-year afterwards. Do you think I should get another woman to take her place, Viserys? I don't wish for Aly to die to give me my proper heir.. not my daughter mind you, I think that having her as the true, rightful heir would be messy of an ordeal, given that she already has other male relatives." He sighed. Viserys did not wish to see Alysanne's honor to be disposed on by Rhaegar, in all truthfulness. That would dishonor their family, and Viserys did not wish that - his own wife, the ever-so charming Roanna, would also disapprove of it as well, he knew. She was a pious, good woman, with a gentle heart of whom loved charity work, which she did every year or so, for schools and rights for the small-folk.
"She's your rightful wife that's served you faithfully for many years, I wouldn't dishonor her like that." Viserys muttered, thinking he'd never do anything to hurt Roanna in such a way. She had given him a healthy son and daughter - he could not ask for anything more special than that out of her.
"I know, Viserys. I just..." Rhaegar rubbed his ring. "I just can't afford to lose her, not after what father tried doing to her whilst we were children. Did you know he tried raping her? In front of me, nevertheless. Like the fact he burnt half of your face off, he was also so terribly cruel to Aly. I don't want to be him, I want to be Aly's Aemon the Dragonknight, not her Aegon the Unworthy." He muttered. Indeed, Aerys did indeed do that Viserys, as he touched his right side, to feel the burn that was still there. Despite popular belief, Targaryens were not fireproof. He knew it, he's felt fire before, hitting his face as he screamed in utter agony at the fact his father had half of his face on a torch . He could see hear his older brother, Jaehaerys, crying something fierce about seeing the sight of burning flesh. The worst part of it was that Viserys couldn't remember what he did wrong back than, which he now just assumed he did nothing out of the ordinary, but he could remember the pain of it all. It was terrible, and unforgettable feeling, and he remembered smelling raw flesh flaking off of his skull.
Reminding him of that made Viserys nod slowly. "I'm glad someone poisoned him, if I'm to be honest with you, Rhaegar." Viserys was glad he was disposed of. Most likely by their mother, given how she was close friends with Doran Martell, another mourner. His wife died, giving birth to their last child, Trystane, which left him a mutual mourner as well. Whatever they had together, Viserys believed it to be a good thing because they both made each other happy for the most part, which Viserys believed his mother needed, given her own life of hardships brought on by Aerys II's wrath.
Rhaegar nodded. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop him from bloody effing up your face like that. Aly didn't want to go to court after that, and I couldn't blame her for that."
"I'm sure if you tried stopping him from doing so, he would've had you hung by a cross. He was always paranoid you were going to betray him, you know." Viserys knew his father spent a lot of ranting about Rhaegar betraying him, which was another factor of Rhaegar completely stopping his visits with Alysanne and their offsprings.
Rhaegar scrunched up his face upon hearing this. "I know. Did you know that I planning to call a Great Council on him to remove him from office? I was planning a tourney for it even, at Harrenhal but he ended up dying by some unknown poisoners hand before my plan for riding him off the Iron Throne could take place." He shrugged. "During that time, he had just conquered the Stepstones, but he was too mentally unstable to keep the region, despite the best effort of myself and Lord Quellon. He made me of one of his top lieutenants given that I was the Prince of Dragonstone and I commanded all of the boat levies of Dragonstone at the time. So off, he sent me to the Stepstones to dispose of me, I guess. But what I did learn from that expedition with Quellon Greyjoy is that the Ironborn are tough fookers, and that the Magisters of Essos are more dangerous than I had originally thought so, given that their lesser in technology then us in Westeros. But nevertheless, together they had enough ships to swarm our own fleet, and it was quite impressive in feet, given the amount of ships the Ironborn possessed." He smiled, with just a hint of pride to it. Though Rhaegar's tone of voice sounded rather triumphant, as if he just remembered being there yesterday or something, but whatever the case was, Viserys was just a mere boy back than - when Rhaegar did this amazing feet in Aerys II's name. He remembered Rhaegar coming back though, and the look on his face when he did so - it was the face of pure joy - even though he lost in the end though. "But I managed to escape their wrath by running to Dorne, the nearest safe harbor. Doran and mum were awaiting for me, with smiles and a cup of homemade orange juice." Rhaegar laughed, quite freely about that. "It was one of the best moments of my life, to see my mum happy and without any new bruises from father on her person, and Doran looked happy too. It was a great moment, indeed. I may have lost the battle, but I won my own victory that day."
Viserys knew of this already. But Rhaegar rather liked telling this tale, to whomever would listen to him. He was very proud he helped to capture the Step-stones - even though he was extremely jealous of Lord Robert Baratheon and his much more successful enterprise, unlike his own failed conquest. He knew, because Rhaegar sometimes had a bit of a complaint about this fact, even though he was very willing to help them though. More like Rhaegar mostly likely did not wish to seem like a weak, hurt child in front of his subjects, and more like a respectable man and King in his own right.
Rhaegar stopped to look at a growing rose bush, of which had some delicate, round fully bloomed red roses growing on it's delicate green thorned tips. "These are Aly's favorite flowers, I best go and get her some before we go back." He gave a bit of a smile, as he flickered to one of the gardeners to collect a loaf of flowers for him. Indeed, by the time he was done, Rhaegar snatched them out of the man's hand, though albeit with a gentle thank you to add to it.
"I like this place, Rhaegar. Whatever is it called? I'd like to bring Ro here sometime, she'd love it, as Alysanne has done before her." Personally, this was quite the romantic place, of luxury, with many simple wooden seats placed along the way to the main location, which Rhaegar didn't seem keen on going up too right now. Viserys noted that there was more to this path, given how it still continued to slope upwards.
"I named it Bellerose. I was inspired by Belle Keep in Lys, actually. That keep is a magnificent piece of construction, and had the most wonderful garden I've ever seen, and I've seen lots of gardens. Lady and Lord Baratheon were surely blessed to be given such a keep." King Rhaegar stated, softly, as he took a hold of his flowers, before putting them against his face to smell them.
"That Keep was fookin' fantastic to look at, but I dread to live there during wartime." Viserys thought that Belle Mansion wasn't meant for wartime, given how sincere and awe-inspiring it was. It seemed palpable for comfort only at least to Viserys, of whom scampered around it, looking for something not utterly beautiful, and something meant for practical use to find nothing. It had the simplest of gates, that even an small manned army could break through just as easily. Personally, Viserys found it rather unpractical, and swore to make his own keep both practical in war time and lovely to look at, as a result of their trip to Belle.
"Yep. Why do you think I didn't move my seat there? I don't think for one moment that it could survive an attack on it, from anyone, really." Rhaegar replied. "But If I could, I'd consider it a peaceful summer seat, but that's about it, I suppose dully." He muttered, as they walked back along the path back to King's Landing.
