Book 2, Chapter 1 - The Red Sands and the White

Aaaah, the first part in the new forums and it is a Gwendis part on top of that, what could possibly be better

Admittedly, it is a bit weird, seeing Gwen and not having any influence on her behaviour. Yet at the same time, this gave me a stronger appreciation for her character even and I know that sounds weird, given my blatant favouritism. But I really enjoyed this part in a different way. It was relaxing, not having to think about the best route for her, though at the same time, it is a bit concerning that it is now entirely up to her to make the best choices. One thing I am honestly worried about is how she will act with Nymeria. I know she loves her family, her father and brother, so I can only hope she won't outright betray them, but this sentence about her being able to guide Nymeria, it got me a bit worried. Perhaps she can find a way to please both sides though, the submission of House Blackmont without any Blackmont lives lost. I could see this being what she goes for in the end and while I have no doubt Nymeria will be up for it, the one thing I am truly worried for is if she can manage to convince Naemon and especially Benedict that this will be the best course of action. Naemon might ultimately be alright with submitting, but Benedict... he loves his daughter deeply, but I can only hope she finds some way of getting him to submit. More importantly, I hope she finds some way that causes her to get through this alive. There is a lot of potential danger on the horizon and I must admit, I am deeply concerned.

But I loved this part in general! It really highlighted how close Gwen and Desi have become over the last two years and I have no doubt they will meet again in the future. Perhaps not in Book 2, but who knows what will happen in Book 3. I also have a more refined opinion on Myraalduin for now and strangely enough... I trust him. Yeah, he seems weird, but I actually think he is reliable, in the truest sense of the word. I rely on him to keep his word. I don't think he will ever warm up to Gwen, nor do I think he will be much of an ally, but I think he can be trusted to support her as long as they both have a common goal and I actually doubt he will go against her unless she actively stands in the way of R'hllor. Makes me quite happy that we prevented Dark Gwen in Book 1, because while Myraalduin is a cold and strange ally, he definitely gives me the vibes of being a terrifying enemy. As it is right now, I can't see him becoming an enemy to Gwendis, I guess they will remain neutral towards each other. One thing that also really intrigued me is Laela's claim that R'hllor saved her. It could mean that she simply did some stuff she isn't proud of in her past (such as being a criminal or stuff like that), but there could be a darker meaning behind these words. After all, Gwen definitely has been through some shit and she can probably similarly say that R'hllor saved her. I was already interested in Laela's backstory, but now I really want to know more about it. Ah, I guess that is guaranteed to happen in time

Aye, it's pretty nice to get back into writing NW. After the news about TTG's shutdown dropped I was pretty sure I'd have to abandon this story, because taking it to another site (like fanfic) just didn't appeal to me. However, new forums for the creative community was the best possible solution

And yeah, you'll have to trust for Gwen to make the best choices without your help now, but on the other hand at least you won't have to be nervous about choosing wrong And well, Myraalduin's objective is to help Nymeria win her war (because his master has told him it will weaken the Great Other) and Gwen did choose to aid him instead of going with Desi and Belan. Anyway, we'll see soon enough how the meeting between her and Nym will go.

Gwen and Desi have indeed grown quite close during these past two years. Understandable, since Desi saved Gwen, and she probably needed some emotional support as well after losing her mother, even if she isn't one to show much weakness outwardly. As for Laela, we will definitely learn more about her going forward as well

So Desirea and Belan are going to meet Kris after so much time, I wonder how will they react?

As long as all the chapters are in the docs version, I have no problem with the new format.

Ortheg

The couple hundred Yronwood troops led by Ser Wallace Wyl had marched through the peaceful lands of House Marcant, finally arriving to Stonegate four days after leaving Yronwood. It was a simplistic and modestly sized ringfort with a stone keep and a single tower, built atop a large rocky hill in the shadow of the Red Mountains. Thinking back to his lessons with Maester Symon Ortheg recalled that the fort had stood here since the age of the First Men, though the keep and the walls around it had been rebuilt several times over the centuries, and House Marcant wasn’t the first noble house to call Stonegate their home. However, those that had come before were long forgotten to history.

Stonegate was surrounded by fertile farmlands, and Ortheg knew there to be several silver and iron mines in these lands as well. Marcants weren’t perhaps the most recognized or most powerful family under the rule of King Yorick, but there was no denying their wealth. Lord Myles Marcant however had a reputation as a stingy man, as well as arrogant and cruel.

The gates of the castle were opened after Ser Wallace addressed himself to the guards atop the gatehouse, and so the troops marched in. A tense atmosphere lingered in the courtyard as Lord Myles walked out of the doors of the keep, flanked by his personal guards. He was a robust man on his late fifties, with bald head and a stern expression on his round face. He was dressed in fine silks adorned by golden jewelry, clearly showing off his wealth. Meeting with Ser Wallace in the middle, there was a distinct expression of aversion on the Marcant lord’s face. “Welcome to Stonegate,” he nonetheless spoke, though his tone was far from welcoming.

“Lord Marcant,” Wallace responded respectfully with a bow. “We’re grateful to be welcomed within your walls. I trust you have received the raven sent from Yronwood?”

“The one written by the prince, yes,” Myles responded with a sour tone, eyeing at the troops that had just entered his fort, his gaze meeting with Ortheg’s for a brief moment. “I was informed that you’re attempting to crush a rebellion brewing in the Manwoody lands, and that I would be required to offer my aid in this cause.”

“And I take it you’re unhappy with this,” Ser Jared Lonmouth spoke up with his sardonic tone, gaining a cold glare from Lord Marcant. “I will not go against the orders of my liege, but I would’ve hoped to wait until King Yorick’s return before making such drastic moves,” he responded sternly. “King Albin is an incompetent ruler, there will always be unrest in his kingdom. What we should be more concerned about is the Principality waging war right by our borders. Reports of the Martells besieging Blackpool Keep have reached me recently. How long before they set their eyes to Stonegate?”

“I wouldn’t be too concerned about that, mylord,” Ser Wallace spoke with a relaxed tone. “The Martells know better than to agitate us while they are already in war with the Fowlers and the Daynes. If anything, their attack on Fowler lands should make King Garrison more inclined to finally ally with us.”

Lord Myles shook his head and scoffed. “The day that Garrison will break bread with King Yorick is the day that the seven hells will freeze over,” he said mockingly. “Nonetheless, I’ve got my orders and I won’t go against them. So, I have gathered fifty-four fighting men to join you in marching to Manwoody lands. That’ll have to suffice.”

“It shall do, mylord,” Wallace responded thinly.

While Ser Wallace and Ser Jared were invited to the dinner with Lord Marcant’s family, Ortheg and Willem Pyke spent their evening with the rest of the troops at the barracks of Stonegate. Truthfully, Ortheg much preferred it this way, imagining the dinner with Lord Myles to be quite an unpleasant experience.

“There’s something I should tell you, Ortheg,” Willem suddenly said, downing his mug of mead with a mischievous smirk forming on his face. “What is it?” Ortheg asked impatiently, and Willem poured himself more of the mead before responding.

“Regarding what I said back in Yronwood, about you being more than ready for this mission,” the Ironborn bastard finally spoke, looking Ortheg to the eyes. “Well, it was a lie,” he concluded with a chuckle, to which Ortheg reacted with a confused frown. “What do you mean?” He asked strictly.

“You see, no one is ever really ready for their first war,” Willem explained calmly. “However, you do already have all the skills required, and staying in Yronwood wouldn’t have made you any readier than you are now. Only war can truly teach you what war is.”

“So, you said it just to encourage me to come?” Ortheg asked with a sigh, and Willem nodded. “Aye, and to make Tanya less concerned for you, I suppose,” he said nonchalantly. “Trust me though, you’ll much rather be introduced to war by hunting down some peasant rebels than by fighting against trained soldiers on a proper battlefield.”

“I guess so,” Ortheg responded with a subtle gulp, and Willem studied his face with great interest. “Tell me, friend, what frightens you the most about war?” he asked calmly. For a moment Ortheg remained silent, keeping his gaze down. It wasn’t an easy question, there was a lot to be afraid of when it came to war. However, there was one thing it all boiled down to. “Death,” he finally said, raising his eyes to meet with Willem’s.

“It comes for all of us sooner or later,” the Ironborn said with a small sigh. “If you ask me, it’s better to die in battle than to waste away from old age.”

“I guess, but… I don’t think I’d be ready to go so soon,” Ortheg said quietly. During these past years he had found a new life in Yronwood, new family and friends, but there was still so much more for him to achieve. He wanted to become a knight, the greatest in the kingdom. To die by the blades of some lowly outlaws on the lands of House Manwoody was a depressing prospect.

“Best any of us can do is to fight it,” Willem said with a relaxed shrug. “But it’s not always fair, who dies and who gets to live.”

“I know,” Ortheg said with a small sigh. “The Stranger’s kiss oft comes without warning, but it always has a purpose.”

“That from the septon’s books?” Willem asked with a raised eyebrow, and Ortheg nodded. “The opening lines of the Book of the Stranger,” he answered calmly.

“And do you believe in those books?” Willem asked, a subtle smirk on his face. “Do you believe that when you die you will reach the Seven Heavens?”

“Yes,” Ortheg answered, just a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I take it you weren’t raised to worship the Seven?”

“No,” Willem answered with a chuckle. “I guess you could say I was raised to worship the Drowned God and to believe in his watery halls, but I never cared for that either. If a man such as my father pleases the Drowned God, then I’m glad the bastard is drowned.”

“Perhaps you could ask the septons in Yronwood to teach you about the Seven,” Ortheg suggested. Despite his rough surface, he did find Willem to be a good man, and it’d be a pity if he’d be deprived of the love of the gods in his death, simply because he was born in the wrong place.

“I appreciate the thought, my friend, but if the Seven want my worship they can ask for it themselves,” Willem responded with a cold chuckle.

The very next day they continued their march, now with the additional fifty-four Marcant soldiers. They continued to north, towards the Greenbelt. Slowly the farmlands and small forests gave way for the rugged hills and mountains, and the paths became narrower and less well maintained.

By the evening they reached a small fort in a shadowy valley. It was in ruins, having been abandoned for many years. “The Bear’s Den,” Ortheg said quietly as they approached it, and Willem gave him a questioning look. “It was the seat of House Serviene, until Lord Marcant brought his wrath upon them over a petty dispute.”

Maester Symon had of course brought this up in his teachings, but it was a story Ortheg had heard long before arriving to Yronwood. Every man, woman and child in this castle had been put to sword by the order of Myles Marcant, or at least that was what Ortheg had heard.

They made their camp inside the walls of the ruined fort for that night. The nature had begun to reclaim it, with tall grass growing in the courtyard and wild vines climbing up the walls. After setting up his tent, Ortheg decided to climb atop the walls to look at the scenery before the sun would set. It was quite a familiar sight for Ortheg, with its green meadows and rugged hills. After all, the mine he had grew up in wasn’t too far away from here, located in a valley not so different from this one. Though there were still times when Ortheg felt like an outsider in Yronwood, he didn’t miss his former life. I don’t want to be poor, ever again.

“Ortheg Sand, was it?” he heard a calm and deep voice behind him, and turned to see Ser Wallace Wyl approaching him. “Yes, ser,” he replied with a respectful nod.

Wallace smiled thinly as he leaned on the battlements. “Jared told me earlier that you were uncertain about joining this mission,” he said with a relaxed tone, and Ortheg nodded.

“I’ve never been to war before, ser,” he said with a subtle gulp. “My sister thought I wasn’t ready, that I’d still need more training.”

“Knowing that you’ve lived in Yronwood for two years now, I’d wager you have more training than the average soldier,” Wallace stated, measuring Ortheg with his eyes. “However, I must warn you, battlefield is no place for hesitation or second guesses. It’s one thing to spar with your friends at the comfort of Yronwood, and another to kill a man who is trying his damnest to kill you. And then another one, and another, until the battle is over or one of them gets you. Do you understand, Ortheg Sand?”

“Yes, ser,” Ortheg answered with a dutiful tone, to which the Wyl knight chuckled softly. “Then you are one in a thousand,” he said with a smirk. “I certainly had no idea what I was getting into when I charged into my first battle. But you’ll learn, slowly. Come to terms with it, learn to cope. However, to this day I have never fought a battle that didn’t leave me feeling like a worse person. With every man I’ve slain, I’ve drifted further from the gullible boy I was, the boy that you are now.”

“I don’t want to be a boy, I want to be a man,” Ortheg insisted, and Wallace gave him an empathetic look.

“I’ll hold you to those words lad,” he said lightheartedly, tapping Ortheg on the shoulder before walking away.

Ah, thanks for pointing out, it's fixed now

Hello! Yes, after a long hiatus Nymeria's War is back! I never planned to take this long of a break from the story, it just sort of happened due to a variety of reasons, but I'm glad to be back to writing NW We'll start things out with a relatively short Mors part. I'm not sure exactly what kind of pace I'll have in posting new parts from now on, but regardless I'm excited to continue.

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Mors

Prince Mors Martell sat atop his horse, clad in his armor and his squire Cason Bloodspill standing by his side. They watched from afar as the troops led by Ser Albar Ladybright and Desmond Uller stormed the walls of the Blackpool Keep. The sun had been up for less than an hour, and Mors was convinced the castle would be theirs before noon.

“Your Grace,” Ser Lothar Hill spoke, and Mors turned to look at his loyal guard dragging with him the chained Ser Harris Blackpool. The young man looked towards the castle that was his home, in his eyes anger and terror.

“You’ve forced my hand here, ser,” Mors said with a sigh, not even looking at his hostage. “I would’ve preferred to resolve this without violence, but due to your nightly attack my men demanded blood.”

“Fuck you,” Ser Harris hissed, and Mors turned to look at him. He wanted to say something, try to convince him that their cause would benefit all of Dorne, but it felt wrong to say so while his troops were assaulting this man’s home. Mors remained silent, turning his gaze back towards the castle. “You can take him away, Ser Lothar.”

“No,” Harris protested angrily. “I want to see it,” he proclaimed with defiant pride in his words. Mors gave the young man a wordless nod, and so they watched together as the fighting ensued on the battlements of the Blackpool Keep.

An hour or so went by, after which Desmond Uller rode back from the Blackpool Keep, surrounded by half-a-dozen Uller riders and carrying in his hands the banner of House Blackpool. He halted before Prince Mors, and tossed the banner on the ground before him. Desmond’s face was stained with sweat and splatters of blood, but he managed a small smirk. “Blackpool Keep is yours, Your Grace.”

Prince Mors entered the castle with all the glory and grandeur of a conquering king, attracting looks of admiration from his own troops and ones of fear and disdain from the defeated Blackpools. In the middle of the courtyard Ser Albar presented him with Lord Addam Blackpool, who was in chains but didn’t look to be injured from the battle. He was an average looking man with a wiry physique, sporting a short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard.

“Is my brother alive?” was the first thing the young lord asked as Prince Mors approached him. “He is,” Mors responded calmly. “Though many are dead because of his actions.”

“He acted against my orders,” Lord Addam claimed nonchalantly, and Mors had no reason to doubt his word.

“It would have been wise of you to surrender earlier, Lord Blackpool,” the Prince stated with a sigh, glancing at the dead bodies being cleaned up from the battlements. “It would’ve spared us from this bloodshed.”

“And give up my castle without a fight?” Addam asked with a frown, a judgmental glare in his green eyes. “I don’t know what kind of wars you’re used to, Martell, but I’ve never seen or heard of one without bloodshed. You are the one who brought it here today.”

“I take it you will not pledge your sword and house to serve the Principality?” Mors asked unenthusiastically, and Addam shook his head. “My sword and house are pledged to the Kingdom of Stone and Sky, and I have no intention of breaking the oaths given by myself or my forefathers.”

“I understand,” Mors replied calmly. “However, that means that we must imprison you until this conflict is resolved. Perhaps by then you will have changed your mind.”

In the following days tense atmosphere hung over Blackpool Keep like a storm cloud. The lord and his brother had been locked in the dungeons, along with a couple household knights who had refused to cooperate. Meanwhile the lord’s wife and their five children, all of whom were under seven years old, were allowed to reside in the lord’s chambers, with Martell soldiers guarding their doors at every moment. From the small amount of surviving Blackpool soldiers few had pledged their swords to Mors, and the rest were allowed to leave without their arms and armors. However, there were also servants and other retainers in the castle, none of whom had a particularly welcoming attitude towards its new masters.

Mors had claimed for himself small but comfortable quarters on the third floor of the castle’s only tower. There was a window in the room opening a view towards the mountains to the north-west, and Mors knew that somewhere just a couple days of ride to that direction stood Skyreach. Our destination.

The door was knocked, and Mors went to open. In the corridor stood his squire Cason. “Your Grace,” the boy said with a small bow. “The war council is ready and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Cason,” Mors responded politely, as he stepped out of the room. Soon he entered the small council room of the castle, where Ser Albar Ladybright, Desmond Uller and Ser Lothar Hill were already waiting for him by the table. A tapestry depicting some ancient Fowler king hung on the room’s stony wall, as if Mors needed any more reminders of the Blackpool family’s allegiance.

“I take it the cleaning up is done?” the Prince asked as he sat down at the head of the table. Ser Albar gave him a small nod. “And what was the death toll?”

“Around fifty Blackpool men, nearly hundred of our own,” Albar responded, his tone flat and joyless.

“A greater price than I wanted to pay for this castle, but it is done now,” Mors said sternly. In the days following the battle he had often wondered if following Desmond’s advice and presenting Ser Harris to Lord Addam on the gallows would’ve been the better option after all. However, there was no time to wallow in past decisions, there was still a long war ahead of them.

“The castle is low on food resources, as we expected,” Desmond joined the conversation. “We still have some of our own supplies left, and men have been sent to hunt and forage for more. Regardless, this castle can’t support our force in the long term, not without significant resupplies.”

“It will not have to,” Mors stated calmly. “Soon we will march to Skyreach.”

“It will be a significantly harder castle to take, Your Grace,” Desmond remarked with a hint of concern in his voice. “It would be better if we could face them on the open field.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Mors asked curiously.

“We must lure them out by blocking and harassing all routes going to Skyreach,” the young Uller said confidently. “Whether it be trade, or vassals and allies attempting to join King Garrison, we should make it hard for anything to get to Skyreach. Sooner or later the Fowlers will have to commit to a battle.”

“I trust your advice, Desmond,” Mors said with a respectful nod. He glanced at the Ladybright knight to see if he had anything to say about it, but he remained silent.

“Good then, prepare your men to march.”

Damn, I sure as hell missed reading NW. Didn't think it would be back anytime soon, so it's safe to say I was pleasantly surprised with this new part.

I think I remember reading a post of yours over at the discord server about a possibility of writing a story about Westeros after the events of season 8, depending on how it ends. I was hoping you'd go forward with that since it would be such an interesting setting, but seeing that NW is back just made my day. Glad to see one of my favorite stories making a comeback.

Can it be... is it... a new NW part! Hell yeah, welcome back I greatly missed the story, so I was already very happy to hear you wish to get back to it, but like CM3434, I did not expect it to be so soon. I might need to do a small reread on some of the more minor names (Lothar Hill is Lucifer's old bodyguard Ser Blackheart, right?), but all in all, I loved jumping back into it. I also liked how Mors was portrayed here. I do consider him to be one of the more unambiguously good characters in the story, but this part showed how easily even someone like him can end up a villain from someone else's perspective and the Blackpool's do have a point here. Ah, I missed this, it's good to have it back.

I was quite unsure how long it would take so I didn't want to hype it up too much, but it is nice to return to this story after so many months And yeah, this part was mostly about Mors having to face the harsh reality that these people he wants to conquer won't welcome him with open arms no matter how good and justified he sees his cause to be. Playing the role of a villain is certainly something he isn't comfortable with, which is a theme we will no doubt discover further as this conflict against the Fowlers progresses.

Update!

First of all, thanks for the nice comments on this latest part, I certainly feel warmly welcomed to continue this story!

As for what's next, I'm currently working on an Arvin part, which will be his fourth in the chapter. And since it has been so long a recap surely is in order: Prince Arvin Manwoody's storyline begun in Kingsgrave, where we learned that his wife Sanya Manwoody (neé Purell) is pregnant. However, it was also clearly established that the relationship between them is cold to say the least. Regardless, with an entourage of hundred soldiers and Larry the Kind, Arvin begun his march towards Safyre Hall, the seat of the Manwoody vassal House Safyre, who had reported about a band of outlaws terrorizing their lands. On the way Arvin and Larry managed to learn that this band of outlaws calls themselves Free Ravens, they are lead by a man named Ser Lucas Corbray and they are actively recruiting the smallfolk of the Manwoody lands to their cause. In his latest part Arvin arrived to a small inn on the lands of House Safyre. There a bunch of men were trying to pick a fight with Arvin as they learned who he was, and would've got it if a redheaded singer lady in the common room didn't put an end to it with a couple strict words. Larry grew suspicious about the authority the singer had over these men, and Arvin decided to go speak with her. And that's where we'll pick up the story.

Anyway, I've been doing a lot of re-reading lately to get back into writing this story, and it has made me wonder one thing: Should I bring the choices back? Not in the same way that I had them before after almost every part, but every now and then when I feel like it makes sense and doesn't ruin the pacing. I think NW has enough active readers that I could pull that off without having to fear getting stuck because no one is voting, but what do you think?

Yeah, the thing is that as I re-read the older parts I felt like in many cases having a choice at the end was warranted and felt meaningful. However, for every meaningful choice there were several that were just there because I felt at the time that I had to have them for sake of interactivity, and those are definitely the kind of choices I have no intention of bringing back. But yeah, I think I'll experiment with it in the future, bring it back for some part where I feel it fits and see how it goes.

Hey, I just saw this. I'm happy that Nymeria's War is back! As for the choices, do whatever you feel is best.

Arvin

Quietly Arvin walked through the tavern’s small common room, approaching the table where the redheaded woman was playing her lute and singing a song that the prince had never heard before. However, apparently the half-a-dozen men around her had, as they sang along with her. From what Arvin could tell, it was a cheerful and jovial song about a lord’s son flirting with a lowborn girl.

Arvin noticed the striped red-and-white beret on the table in front of the singer, a few coppers laying in it. As the song ended, Arvin tossed a silver coin to it, shifting everyone’s attention to him. “Thank you,” the girl said with a sweet smile, though her tone was somewhat hesitant. “Didn’t know my singing was good enough for the royalty.”

“I’d like to have a word with you,” Arvin spoke politely, eyeing the men by the table. “In private, if I may ask.”

After a tense moment of silence, the singer nodded and gestured for the men to go away. With some muttering they all stood up and made their way to the tables by the fireplace. The girl placed down her lute, and Arvin sat down opposed to her. The girl was beautiful, her green eyes mesmerizing and her lips forming a shy smile. For a moment Arvin was even inclined to say something flirtatious, but he managed to restrain himself. No matter how cold and distant the relationship between them was, he still had a duty towards his wife. “Prince Arvin of House Manwoody,” he finally introduced himself with a formal tone, offering his hand for shaking.

“Clarysse the Siren,” the singer responded calmly, shaking his hand. “What exactly did you want to talk about?” she asked with a carefree tone, though Arvin could spot the subtle hint of concern in her words.

“You managed to grab my interest,” he replied smoothly, narrowing his eyes as he studied Clarysse’s delicate features. “You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“I am a travelling bard,” she said with a small sigh, glancing at her lute. “I come from the Reach, in case you’re interested.”

“That is quite curious,” Arvin responded, taking in a deep breath. “The Reach is a large kingdom, and much richer than ours. One would think there would be more coin for you to earn there.”

“True, but there is also more competition,” Clarysse responded sharply, a tiny smirk on her face. “That said, I don’t plan to stay here for long. From what I’ve heard, these lands have been plagued by wars in the past few years. Wars that were instigated by your father, am I correct?” she asked boldly, looking Arvin straight to the eyes.

“Aye,” he responded sternly, turning his gaze down for a moment. “My father has made mistakes, there is no denying that. However, he is still the rightful ruler of these lands, and those who would seek to overthrow him will hang. I will see to that,” he spoke with a quiet but threatening tone, his gaze meeting with Clarysse’s again.

“I bid you good fortune in your efforts, prince,” she responded tonelessly. “Was there something more you wanted to discuss?”

“Yes, in fact, I have a question for you,” Arvin said, his tone more relaxed now. “Does the name Free Ravens say anything to you?” he asked calmly. For a split second Clarysse’s eyes widened in surprise, but a confident smirk quickly found its way on her lips. “Of course,” she said nonchalantly. “They are quite famous in the Reach. I’ve heard many songs of their deeds, all praising them for fighting against the tyranny of unjust rulers. Ah, I can see why you would be afraid of them, given your father’s record as a ruler.”

“I’m not afraid of some ragged band of rebels,” Arvin clarified sternly. “Do you happen to know where the Free Ravens are now?”

“I do not,” Clarysse responded nonchalantly. “What would a travelling bard such as myself know about a band of outlaws?”

“From what I’ve heard bards are often eager to glorify the acts of outlaws, making songs about them like they’re heroes,” Arvin spoke with narrowed eyes. “I wonder if you have a song about Ser Lucas Corbray?”

Clarysse looked surprised as Arvin said that name, but she was quick to shake her head. “I don’t like to sing about killing,” she said quietly, grabbing the coins from her beret and putting it in on her head. “Now, if your highness allows it, I would like to go to rest.”

For a moment Arvin stared at her tensely, considering whether or not he should let her go. She has some connection to the Free Ravens, I know it. Then he nodded. “Good night, mylady,” Arvin said politely with a sigh. Without a response Clarysse stood up, took her lute and walked away, leaving Arvin to sit there by himself.

After another day of travelling Prince Arvin’s entourage of hundred troops finally arrived at Safyre Hall. On the way Larry the Kind had kept grouching about Arvin’s decision to let Clarysse go without further interrogation, but he paid little attention to the freak’s complaints.

Safyre Hall was a modestly sized square fort built atop a small hill with timber and dark stone. Arvin remembered from his history lessons that House Safyre had first been established some couple hundred years ago by a Stormlander pirate who had escaped the judgement of Storm King to Dorne and sworn allegiance to House Manwoody. Arvin himself had never visited this place before, and it didn’t look like he had missed much.

Riding in through the open gates, Arvin didn’t see Lord Joachim Safyre among the welcoming party at the courtyard. Instead, a tall and shapely woman dressed in a long white gown with gold and blue lace trimmings was seemingly in charge, and the first one to approach the prince. She had an olive skin, smooth and round facial features, as well as piercing and slightly upturned green eyes. Her long dark hair was tied to a loose braid, and curiously Arvin noticed that a strand of it had been dyed blue.

“Your highness,” the lady greeted him with a deep bow. “I am Carolyn Safyre, sister and adviser to my dear brother Lord Joachim.”

Carolyn was probably at least a decade older than Arvin, but he had to admit she had aged gracefully, still being among the most beautiful women he had ever seen. “And where is your brother?” Arvin asked calmly. Behind Carolyn he could only see some guardsmen in the blue-and-white tabards of House Safyre, as well as one bald and red bearded man with a heavy brow clad in light leather armor, whom the prince assumed to be a household knight.

“My noble brother is resting at the moment. He leaves much of the castle’s day-to-day dealings for me to handle,” Carolyn explained with a soft smirk, to which Arvin reacted with a frown. “You would call the visit of the Crown Prince a day-to-day dealing?” he asked coldly, to which Carolyn chuckled and shook her head.

“Of course not, your highness,” she admitted with a humble tone. “And don’t fret, Lord Joachim will surely join us at the dinner, to discuss this… situation. If I may escort you to your quarters, my prince?”

Arvin turned towards Larry, instructing him to see that the troops would be fed and housed, after which he followed Carolyn Safyre inside the keep. She led him through the small great hall and up the stairs to the second floor. There she showed the prince to what had to be the largest guest room Safyre Hall had to offer, with a latticework window giving a view to the verdant valley opening south of them. At the corner of the room Arvin noticed a wooden tub filled with hot water.

“I imagined you would appreciate a bath after the ride from Kingsgrave,” Carolyn chirped as she noticed Arvin eyeing the tub. “It is appreciated,” he confirmed.

“May I help, your highness?” Carolyn asked with a playful smirk, removing Arvin’s cloak and starting to open the clasps of his leather jerkin. The prince remained silent, letting his eyes roam over Carolyn’s shapely figure, from her wide hips to her prominent bust. She removed his jerkin and placed it neatly atop one of the chairs. Meanwhile Arvin pulled of his green tunic and threw it to the floor, revealing his wiry but muscled torso.

Carolyn returned to him with lustful eyes, but as she begun to loosen the strings on Arvin’s trousers, he grabbed her hands to stop her. She turned to look at him with a surprised expression.

“If your highness prefers to bath alone, just say the word and I’ll leave,” Carolyn said with a coy tone, a seductive look in her eyes.

[Ask Carolyn to leave] [Allow her to stay]

[Allow her to stay]