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Post by Magnate Lucius on May 28, 2023 15:50:45 GMT -5
Denys was brought forward by a pair of Crownlander soldiers. Only when in the presence of Lewyn is the offer made to himself, Robert Baratheon, and Eddard Stark. Unlike Jon Arryn, who was newly wed, Denys had a wife and son to think about with his decision. They were the last of the Arryns, beyond the infant Harrold Hardyng, his nephew by marriage, and their distant Arryn cousins who were merchants in Gulltown. His eyes glance over at Eddard and Robert and then forward at Lewyn. Denys had quite the honorable and knightly reputation among the Vale, nicknamed the 'Darling of the Vale', but they were thoroughly beaten now. The death of Lord Jon has surely destroyed the spirit of the soldiers and nobles that followed the late Lord Paramount into battle.
And so, Denys spoke.
This is... acceptable, Ser Lewyn.
The Vale may be impregnable, but it didn't have much soldiers nor its nobles remaining across the mountains. On the matter of a family to provide, the choices were either Ronnel or his cousin, Harrold Hardyng, but both were still relatively young. Harrold a handful of years older. He may have no choice but to send his son to the capital, which would break his wife's heart surely.
On the matter of a family member to provide, I have a son, Ronnel, who is still a nursing newborn, Ser Lewyn. I don't know of anyone else to provide to show my good faith to the terms offered by His Grace, the Prince Rhaegar. I would like to speak with the Prince on this matter if possible.
Denys sighs deeply, rubbing his wrists nervously.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on May 28, 2023 15:51:12 GMT -5
Blood. Death. Shit. Screams. Sights, smells, and sounds all assaulted Mooton at every turn, but all faded, burned away by the fire of determination as he followed his prince into the fray. Their line of foot yet held, though it seemed a near thing, and their only hope would be this charge, and so forward they went; knights of a hundred different crests thundering into battle behind the mighty dragon standard. There was a mighty rushing of air, and then a sudden crash as the lines collided, the screaming of both horses and men redoubling. Through it all, Mooton still focused only the charge, and staying by the side of his bright prince. His lance shattered early, catching on the shield of a man-at-arms in the colors of House Blackwood, and his sword came free in an instant as their momentum carried them ever deeper. He hacked about him, form largely forgotten, and rarely having any idea of the effect his blows had.
Then, suddenly, the light seemed to dim. With a horrific shriek, Rhaegar’s mount reared and tumbled, spilling the prince to the ground. With hardly a word spoken, Mooton and Lonmouth together threw themselves into the press of men surrounding the prince. The dim haze of the moment gave away to sudden, terrible clarity. He would die in this moment, Myles knew, but it would be a death for songs. He found that his feet were planted in the water, not the most tactically advantageous position, but somehow it felt right; he was a son of the Riverlands after all. His teeth formed a snarl behind the visor of his helmet as the rebels closed in. A spear lunged for him, but he turned the blow with his sword and simply punched a mailed fist into its wielders face, dropping him into the shallows. An axe whistled past him as he twisted, and he jabbed his blade into the joint under the man’s arm. Already the end drew near. There was little sign of any relief that might come, the mighty charge of the princes loyal knights having been blunted and broken apart. Across from Rhaegar’s fallen form, Lonmouth took on two knights alone.
There was a sudden flash of white, and as if the warrior himself took the field in the prince’s defense, Selmy was there, horse rearing as his blade flickered out, showing no sign of the fatigue that was slowing the limbs of nearly all of the other combatants. Scrambling to the prince’s side as his former foes suddenly found themselves on the defensive, Myles found Lonmouth already there, sawing his way through the saddle girth that had Rhaegar pinned. Heaving the slumped form between them, the two knights followed the white streak of Selmy’s cloak as he hacked a path through the doomed flank and to the clear ground beyond. The prince still lived. He had to.
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 16:17:40 GMT -5
Boots full of water, armour covered in blood and silt, helmet bent and battered. Mace winced as his squire unfastened his boots, feeling the wetness around his feet. He quenched his thirst with Arbor Gold, his heart still drumming in his chest from the day of battle. Glory they had won, though so much death did not feel glorious. But he had done his part, done his duty. Tyrell's name would be honoured for the part they served, even after he had long been buried and forgotten. He had already pledged to hold a celebratory feast in his own quarters for his surviving bannermen, where the usual backslapping and boasting would no doubt take place. Who had killed the most men, taken the most prisoners to ransom, behaved the most chivalrous. Lord Rowan had already told half the camp of his defeat of Lord Dustin. It was honourably done, Mace conceded, allowing the Northman to pick up his sword after being disarmed. No doubt he would tell the story again and again at the table, as would Lord Caswell, who took the wounded Lord Stark as his captive. "Trapping the wolf" he called it. It was all so exhausting. All he wanted was to return to Highgarden, to home.
After being cleaned and properly dressed, the Prince of Dragonstone sent a runner to fetch him Ser Mooton and Ser Lonmouth.
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Post by oznerol on May 28, 2023 17:22:21 GMT -5
"Fuck yerself in the arse with yer own spear"
Said Robert as simple answer.
--
Oberyn comes to visit the prince.
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 18:21:19 GMT -5
"Fuck yerself in the arse with yer own spear"Said Robert as simple answer. -- Oberyn comes to visit the prince. Oberyn is brought into Rhaegar's tent. He finds the Prince still abed, albeit now dressed and with a little more colour in his face.
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Post by oznerol on May 28, 2023 18:29:27 GMT -5
"Fuck yerself in the arse with yer own spear"Said Robert as simple answer. -- Oberyn comes to visit the prince. Oberyn is brought into Rhaegar's tent. He finds the Prince still abed, albeit now dressed and with a little more colour in his face. Oberyn, dressing now only a light leathern attire and no mail or plate, arrives and unceremoniously sits on the bed. The prince casually places a hand on the injured leg. "Brother! What a joyful ocassion. Much to celebrate, doesn't it?"He pats the prince's leg. Martell smiles, but his eyes do not. He has a venomous gaze.
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 18:39:37 GMT -5
"I find death little cause to celebrate." Rhaegar said wearily through gritted teeth, sunken eyes watching Oberyn with a marked lack of concern. The scent of lavender perfume hung thick in the air. "But I will not judge you for where you find your comforts."
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Post by oznerol on May 28, 2023 18:45:38 GMT -5
"I find death little cause to celebrate." Rhaegar said wearily through gritted teeth, sunken eyes watching Oberyn with a marked lack of concern. The scent of lavender perfume hung thick in the air. "But I will not judge you for where you find your comforts." He said. The prince inspected the wounded leg. "I find my comforts in simple things. The firm buttocks of a man, the full breasts of a dancing lady, wine... and family"He ran a finger, like a caress, through the ankle. "Maybe you should get checked by our maester. Here in the capital you only have butchers, it seems to be your's father's choice. His darlings, pyromancers and butchers"
The hand stopped. "I forged that link in the Citadel. Medicine. I'm as good a maester as any of them, save for the arsehole with the jade mask in Oldtown. Maybe I should inspect it, treat it"
Oberyn's eyes climb up, with no emotion. "I don't want my sister to have a cripple as a husband... Glad to be back with her, I expect, brother"
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Post by Gandalf on May 28, 2023 19:07:03 GMT -5
"For the blood you share with her and our children, I have allowed your tongue to run this far."
He smiled thinly. Pain ignored him when he lay still, for the most part. At the protesting of his physicians, he had stopped taking the Poppy's Milk; he could not afford for his senses to dull. A part of him felt this was his punishment, and thus he would bear it with all the dignity he could muster. To submit to the drug was nothing but self-indulgence, selfish weakness.
"It is in the hands of the Gods now. The chained men have done all they can. If I am to be a cripple, then so be it."
Rhaegar had always been somewhat sceptical of the Maesters. Some truths were not written in ancient tomes, but hid in one's blood and bones.
"On my father, we agree." He said darkly. "I am no friend to such creatures, now or ever."
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Post by Grand Admiral Chesser on May 28, 2023 20:23:52 GMT -5
Marching along the Gold Road towards Kings Landing was a long procession of men and wagons that spanned for miles, as the army of the Westerlands slowly made its way toward the Capital. At the front of the column, Tywin rode astride a large white destrier, his piercing gaze taking in the landscape around him; his mind awash in thoughts. All morning, forward scouts and outriders had reported signs of a massive battle near the Blackwater crossing. Apparently the Royalist and Rebels had finally grown tired of trading blows and went for a decisive fight; with the Royalist coming out ahead. Though other rumors claimed that the Prince had been fell in battle, so who knew what to believe.
The march would continue for several hours before Tywin was finally be able to see for himself the carnage that had unfolded. All along the river signs of battle were apparent as bodies littered the ground and floated in the murky waters. The smell of blood, waste, and death permeated the air, and flocks of carrion birds littered the sky. In the distance he could just make out a series of large tents; the royal standard rising overhead one of them. With a destination in sight, Tywin Lannister rode onwards in search of the Prince.
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Post by AxBrew Sunster on May 28, 2023 20:28:37 GMT -5
Ser Myles Mooton, likewise cleansed of much of the residue of the battle, made his way to the tent at his prince’s summons. Removed from the adrenaline of the battle, his participation was now visible in his gait, a slight limp borne more of sore weariness than any particular wound, as well as the map of bruises and scratches tracing across his skin. Nevertheless his smile was bright, as it had been since word of the prince’s survival was confirmed, when he pushed his way into the tent, bowing deeply, followed by the slightest twist of pain across his lips.
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Post by Gandalf on May 29, 2023 5:37:30 GMT -5
Marching along the Gold Road towards Kings Landing was a long procession of men and wagons that spanned for miles, as the army of the Westerlands slowly made its way toward the Capital. At the front of the column, Tywin rode astride a large white destrier, his piercing gaze taking in the landscape around him; his mind awash in thoughts. All morning, forward scouts and outriders had reported signs of a massive battle near the Blackwater crossing. Apparently the Royalist and Rebels had finally grown tired of trading blows and went for a decisive fight; with the Royalist coming out ahead. Though other rumors claimed that the Prince had been fell in battle, so who knew what to believe. The march would continue for several hours before Tywin was finally be able to see for himself the carnage that had unfolded. All along the river signs of battle were apparent as bodies littered the ground and floated in the murky waters. The smell of blood, waste, and death permeated the air, and flocks of carrion birds littered the sky. In the distance he could just make out a series of large tents; the royal standard rising overhead one of them. With a destination in sight, Tywin Lannister rode onwards in search of the Prince. Lord Lannister found Rhaegar seated on an impromptu throne, his right leg bound in dressing with a splint and raised onto a cushioned chair in front of him. Ser Barristan stood at his side, his white shadow. "My Lord Tywin, you will forgive me if I do not rise." He smiled thinly. Some weight and colour had returned to his face over the previous days. "I fear you have missed the battle."Ser Myles Mooton, likewise cleansed of much of the residue of the battle, made his way to the tent at his prince’s summons. Removed from the adrenaline of the battle, his participation was now visible in his gait, a slight limp borne more of sore weariness than any particular wound, as well as the map of bruises and scratches tracing across his skin. Nevertheless his smile was bright, as it had been since word of the prince’s survival was confirmed, when he pushed his way into the tent, bowing deeply, followed by the slightest twist of pain across his lips.
The Prince was propped up on his elbows in a raised bed. With a wince, he tried to move to face his friend directly. "They tell me I must try to walk soon." The leg was barely visible, bound up in bandages tied between two ashwood splints. "I broke almost every bone I had. Almost lost the whole thing, could you imagine? What a sight I would make for the smallfolk."The laughter was hoarse. With a wave of the hand, Rhaegar beckoned him closer to the bedside. "What is the life of a prince worth?" He asked earnestly.
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Post by oznerol on May 29, 2023 8:48:31 GMT -5
"For the blood you share with her and our children, I have allowed your tongue to run this far."He smiled thinly. Pain ignored him when he lay still, for the most part. At the protesting of his physicians, he had stopped taking the Poppy's Milk; he could not afford for his senses to dull. A part of him felt this was his punishment, and thus he would bear it with all the dignity he could muster. To submit to the drug was nothing but self-indulgence, selfish weakness. "It is in the hands of the Gods now. The chained men have done all they can. If I am to be a cripple, then so be it."Rhaegar had always been somewhat sceptical of the Maesters. Some truths were not written in ancient tomes, but hid in one's blood and bones. "On my father, we agree." He said darkly. "I am no friend to such creatures, now or ever." Oberyn raised from the bed, and smiled. Something piqued his interest. "Daring to say as much of our sovereign. You never seemed to happy to what the king does or say"He walked around, in circles. The prince placed a hand on the ruby-inlad chestplate. "I have seen things... I pity my uncle and Arthur both, they have to remain silent and do nothing... I heard what he does to your mother behind closed doors"
Martell sat on the table nearby. "This you know, as well as anybody who ever sat in your father's table and shared bread and wine with him"
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trot
Veteran 
Posts: 77
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Post by trot on May 29, 2023 9:32:47 GMT -5
Denys was brought forward by a pair of Crownlander soldiers. Only when in the presence of Lewyn is the offer made to himself, Robert Baratheon, and Eddard Stark. Unlike Jon Arryn, who was newly wed, Denys had a wife and son to think about with his decision. They were the last of the Arryns, beyond the infant Harrold Hardyng, his nephew by marriage, and their distant Arryn cousins who were merchants in Gulltown. His eyes glance over at Eddard and Robert and then forward at Lewyn. Denys had quite the honorable and knightly reputation among the Vale, nicknamed the 'Darling of the Vale', but they were thoroughly beaten now. The death of Lord Jon has surely destroyed the spirit of the soldiers and nobles that followed the late Lord Paramount into battle. And so, Denys spoke. This is... acceptable, Ser Lewyn.The Vale may be impregnable, but it didn't have much soldiers nor its nobles remaining across the mountains. On the matter of a family to provide, the choices were either Ronnel or his cousin, Harrold Hardyng, but both were still relatively young. Harrold a handful of years older. He may have no choice but to send his son to the capital, which would break his wife's heart surely. On the matter of a family member to provide, I have a son, Ronnel, who is still a nursing newborn, Ser Lewyn. I don't know of anyone else to provide to show my good faith to the terms offered by His Grace, the Prince Rhaegar. I would like to speak with the Prince on this matter if possible.Denys sighs deeply, rubbing his wrists nervously. He sighs as Robert speaks up. He had hoped the man would be more gracious in defeat, but it seemed the ego remains as ever. "Fuck yerself in the arse with yer own spear"Said Robert as simple answer. -- Oberyn comes to visit the prince. Lord Baratheon as hot headed as ever. "Lord Baratheon if you do not wish to reswear your oaths there is always the wall. As I understand it they are constantly on the lookout for new recruits." He studies Baratheon cooly before turning to lord Stark. "Am I correct in that?"
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Post by Gandalf on May 29, 2023 9:36:14 GMT -5
For a moment he said nothing, and the pools of lilac in his eyes seemed to swirl and harden. Even Ser Selmy flinched as if struck, and rest a hand on his sword reflexively.
"You know nothing of what I know." Iron and hard was the voice that snapped back, with a cutting edge of restrained anger. Like fire, it threatened to overtake, to consume. To eat him from the inside and out. It would be easy to surrender, as weak and tired as he was.
I could have him killed with a word. No, a gesture.
Disgust contorted his face, and he let the fire go. "Save your pity for those who need it. They are of the Kingsguard, and they know their duty. As do we both, though you hide from it behind your cheap mockery."
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