Paper Swords & Thorny Roses [Sanoci x Fruit] {GoT}

[Fruit]

​

---

Lady Syn Yronwood​

F

It would have been as dark and silent as a grave if it wasn’t for the flame torch glittering in the distance. She couldn’t even see her own hands. I might as well shut my eyes. She trod slowly, her feet testing the ground before carrying her weight. Gusts of air blew around her, and she suddenly realized she was naked as her nameday. The dampness between her legs and beneath her arms tickled, and her nipples hardened almost instantly. The longer she walked, the stronger the winds blew, and she could see the torch dancing in the distance, wrestling the winds like a flapping flag. Yet when the maiden approached the torch, it died instantly. Lovely. Another torch lit itself in the distance, and the girl followed the trail. Each time she reached a torch, it died before she could touch it, and another torch appeared some ten yards away. With time her steps became surer, and the girl started running, her hair flying behind her like a banner. Am I running in circles? She run from one torch to the next, then to the next, then to the next. She never saw the broken glass on the ground. Her legs quivered and she sank to the ground in tears and muffled cries of pain. I need to move on, she urged herself and crawled; Her hands moved before the rest of her body and pulled her forward. The princess was feet away from the torch when a beast jumped at her from behind and gnawed at her shoulders. The dog barked as she turned to face it. "Ahhhh!" She barked back, and the corridor echoed her hopeless shriek back at her. When the dog made for her throat, Syn woke up frantically. She was wet with sweat from head to toe, and panting and shivering at the same time. Her hazel eyes moved from right to left and back as the reality of the situation came down to her. Next to her, her handmaiden Yuna had been sleeping like a kitten but when she felt the sheets shift, her eyes fluttered and she smiled warmly. "Good morning, my sweet princess", the handmaiden remembered her courtesies, but then moved a hand to gently rub her princess's chestnut nipples. "Not today, sweetling. Have the maids make a bath". They bathed her in water scented with Dorne's finest fruits; lemons and oranges, then they burned incense and ran the aromatic smoke through her brown hair. She wore a Myrish lace that morning, dark purple and black, with her house sigil embroidered in bronze on her back; a portcullis sable. Syn walked the stairs of the Sand Dome all the way to the highest floor where her lord father, Anders Yronwood, resided. The princess walked in her father's room without knocking on the door, and greeted him with a warm smile and a warmer hug. She kissed him on the brow, "Father, you look livelier this morning" she lied. The lord of Yronwood was ghastly sick. He'd die the second he sneezes Syn realized dreadfully, but smiled at her father's own crooked smile. He only had one tooth left, and the only things he can move were his lips and eyes. They bathed him at his bed, and fed him and wiped his shit at the same place as well. It was painful for Syn to see her once mighty father reduced to a blinking corpse. He was the Warden of the Stone Way, and ruled the strategic Yronwood Castle; the last fortress defending the Boneway. He was named "The Bloodroyal"; a title that passed down from generations to whoever was the head of the house. A day will come when they call me The Bloodroyal, the thought was appealing even to the dutiful daughter. Almost as if the wise gods answered her pleas, her father gasped then started coughing blood. Syn's eyes widened like a cat at her father's sudden spasms, then she fumbled around to fetch him water but the water vase on her right was dry. A handmaiden heard her distraught and ran to bring her the water from the kitchen. "Hold strong, dear father. Juhaqa will soon be back with water to relieve your throat". Lord Anders Yronwood relieved his throat with a gush of blood. "Father!" she teared up, and the Bloodroyal leaked more royal blood from around his tongue. Syn shook him, pinned him down, hugged him and kissed his temple to calm him down, but her kisses didn't ease his struggle. He raised a finger her way for a few seconds before he collapsed dead. She gulped, and tasted his blood on her lips from when she kissed him. The room was soon crowded with family and retainers. ​

 

[Sanoci]

Ser Tamir Yronwood
​

F

Enraptured fervidly onto the political strife-inducing state of Dorne into chaos lately, simpering by the current of the winds escaping from outdoors, passed the spacious window in which he stood. Westeros struck the initiative with the death of Oberyn Martell in a vengeful incited trial of combat against the infamous Gregor Clegane. The gods retain twisted humor on your fate...Red Viper. This irony wasn't lost to Tamir for the atrocities committed in the prince's youth against one of his own. Complicating manners based on eavesdropping from those swayed with ambitions for his family was the tirade this inflicted onto the Martells with his bastards and paramour seeking retributions. Despite the equipoise behind these duels and whom it concerned, even his Dorishmen pride could not deny where to pick one's battles and where pragmatism can work subtly. Privy to extensive access to knowledge since his conjoined youth with Syn, several bookcases decorated the room comparable to the embroidery of one's tunic. Subjugated to the slovenly rule of the Martell bloodline diluting them through the relationships of foreigners. Subterfuge, currency, and an unhinged devotion for dominance was all that helped cling to their rule and to those with keener senses the aphotic manifestations vying for its prestige title and reputation back. A clamorous knock reverberated his eardrum, swerved with mild curiosity never conceding with the appropriate facial expressions pressed into a stoned imprint of sternness. A wiry fellow barring a station practically nonexistent, the gods accursed the degenerate with seemingly crooked dentures more courteous for the wildlife than him and a complexion darkened by a repugnant breeding with Salty Dornishmen like the Martells with slight distinguishing marks of the lands of a Westerosi. Disregarding everything, he was family or scarcely being a cousin far banished from the mere joys of station thanks to his bastard blood. Quite swift in movement, Niall Sand came before his presence with narrowed hues mindful of surroundings. " I..I bring news from mii visit from Sunspear itself. The Sand snakes bring complete discord to the foundation of the Martells. Surely this be a sign of a return to old, eh?" " Splendid, this quickens the ascension to our noble house. I would not dally here long for another task I suddenly find of the utmost significance. They will be relayed shortly.", Impeccable timing blessed the Yronwoods from afar without showing their hand, amusement for once not disciplined through an ominous grimace. Laded in the shadows unlike dear Syn, the plots intertwining into his devious minds knew no bounds, no morality if it instilled a sense of power where the title Bloodroyal held its true strength once more. Delay depended on the fleeing health of father, even his aloof disposition dare not tamper with the respect he deserves. Half dressed, a boisterous whistle often times a chime to signal for maids was met with urgency. Instead, the greeting came from commotions not too far from his dwellings. Brandishing his revealed torso with a dark tunic ingrained in patterns of silver while amidst the haste of slipping on his sleeveless surcoat of dark gold pigment with stitching of his house embellished blatantly on the back rushing out the door in a frantic state. The disturbance is coming from Father's...by the new gods..no , Unnerved by the acceleration of the turmoil befalling him simultaneous towards the joyous occasion was another cord of irony the gods probably relished at the games mortals bestow upon themselves. A whimsical whistle exhibited by the curling of his tongue was synonymous for nimble communication, priding himself on the guards who stampeded with a protective formation formulating around one of the heirs out of precaution. Immersed amongst family and retainers was Tamir, vision bulging at the bloody sight of his sister and now deceased father. Hushed whispers manifested Tamir's conscious shuffling at the array of scenarios of how this could dare occur. Insidious plots percussed his mind, ascension one step closer as he gradually came closer to embrace his sister in a tender, yet firm show of affection. Conveying a flocculent means of conversation with Syn, what he yearned for was just awaiting him, but it heeded a subtly, deception, and most of all never following back unlike the Sand Snakes as contention came so close. " .....He's gone, isn't he? Please tell me the kindness affronted to him was mundane and not by avaricious for power or one's revenge ? ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Syn Yronwood​

F

Ander Yronwood's passing was as smooth as a candle dying out. He had been lying on his deathbed for a full year, and only chose to die when Dorne was on the brink of chaos. They're all silent, Syn realized. Her eyes were still cool and dry and her father's corpse warm and wet with blood. Only one figure approached her with a devious smile followed by hug, my charming little brother. "That is what I hope" she dodged his subtle accusation which she registered as an empty threat. Her father's death seemed natural to her, but poison was a specialty at Dorne. It was a possibility which Syn dismissed as trivial. Death was a dying man's mercy, and mercy comes from gods and men alike. When the brotherly embrace broke, Syn's eyes moved to study the men standing solemnly around her. They're looking for a leader. Her mother had taught her that you can look through a man's heart by his eyes. That it was a skill to judge men's characters and read their mentalities. One look at Ser Desmund Santagar was all she needed to confirm her doubts. He would never bend the knee for a woman. The salty Dornishmen had a black eye next to a black eye patch, and black hair, and probably a black heart. He stood only a hair shorter than her brother Tamir, donned in a black and red leather jerkin and matching pants. His hair was a tangled mess, both on his head and on his face. His two scimitars shimmered every time he shifted. Smile, brother, you have the only one-eyed pirate knight in all of Westeros. And his army. Ser Ossifer Fowler seemed like a man easily blinded by honor. The sort of knight willing to sail to Volantis to defend a maid's honor. He had a comely face and long blonde hair that flew wherever the winds blew. His sapphire eyes were easy to read, and so she skipped on to the Blackmonts. Lord Axell and his son Ser Wylan were present, their faces different shades of red and yellow. I might need to promise Lord Axell a betrothal if I am to win his support, but she wasn't sure if she'd fuck Wylan for all the land in Dorne. Vayon the Qartheen will bend for the person with the most gold, and she wagered a few more idiots around him will fall for her charms. On the other side of the room, Maester Augwyn was already looking at her brother. Around him, Ser Merrel of House Uller, Lord Ulwyck of House Dayne and a few more lords of houses and noble knights were present, and whilst some will honor a dead man's will, most were either too proud to follow a woman or too smart to be wooed with a lie. I am outnumbered she reasoned and bit her lips, but the eyes around her grew heavier. "My lord father Ander Yronwood has passed away" Syn declared, her eyes moving to study the faces around her, starting and ending with her brother. "With his dying breath, he named me his heir" she lied. Her father never explicitly named an heir. Whenever his counselors bid him to name one, he would shake his head and say that he needed more time to test his children's worth. Yet his closest aides knew he favored Tamir. "It might be that Tamir thinks too highly of himself, but Syn is too spiteful to rule" she heard him say to his council members one day. He would have named Tamir his heir... Tears finally came to her eyes.. It was Dornish law for the line of succession to not take sex into account. Both men and women were seen fit to rule after Queen Nymeria brought her ten thousand ships to conquer Dorne some centuries ago. Syn and Tamir were twins, but Syn happened to pop her head out first. They may not know of this, and Tamir will most definitely challenge that argument, she bit her lips. Some men fell to their knees honoring their former lord's will. Others sank down acknowledging the traditions of old. Few were swayed by Syn's tears. Most remained standing with doubt. They'd seen Tamir rule for a full year, and they'd never seen me set a foot in my father's council. They won't want an inexperienced maiden in command, not with Dorne in turmoil ​

 

[Sanoci]

Ser Tamir Yronwood
​

F

Death around Dorne only accelerated the responsibilities speared upon the Yronwoods so abruptly. First, the Martells extinguished by infighting by bastards no less, then to his astonishment was witnessing disarray plunged further with the Patriarch passing away as many have estimated in his decrepit form bound to a bed. Glimpses of bewildered gaze illustrated the mysteries behind his death, Dornish law dictating the possibilities, unlike the universal schemes where conventionally things would be secured... Never thought I would wish to bare the laws of foreigners this day. Damning the serpentine mannerisms on the upper echelons of society left him quickly to consider all, even puzzling statements to the family to quickly inspect tone, deviations in body language; practically anything to deduce motives that his father tended to call haughty for such games. The Subliminal definition behind hi aloof disposition could constitute a multitude of viewpoints. Fools quickly flocked to those who garnered favor, whether it was the voracious promise of wealth, the vivacious touch of a drooling cunt, even abstract rewards like prestige or in naive notions like how Ossifer Fowler adhered to honor. Syn's theatrics on something humanely like grief could only move those with the compassion or gullibility to believe while majority conceded simply for the abhorrent circumstances befalling everyone. Embracing his sibling should have remained longer, inhibitions and an audience her only sanctuary for what she smeared filled with ambition; something in similar positions would he would had stolen too. "With his dying breath, he named me his heir" Viperess is just pining to snatch Yronwood simultaneous with the discord, we shall see, sister. It wasn't too outlandish for a few of those retaining the Stony Dornishman ethnicity follow customs from the Andal rather than Rhoynar laws of inheritance. Tempting as that solution would undoubtedly be, even a pragmatic manticore like Tamir did not subscribe for blasphemous disregard for the law; only its morally grey areas. Fortune briefly shined upon him, Maester Augwyn swinging that cumbersome chain attached to his collar with metals of Steel, Tin, and most notably in his studies Gold for symbolizing economics. One privy to the feeble state of Lord Yronwood he hid his foresight of Syn's lie, instead opting to watch the spectacle unfold between the siblings. The room obviously divided, Tamir devised something immeasurably out of character. Bombarded like wild fire upon the Red keep at her accusation would force his hand, uncanny but nothing else could tame the calamity that unravelled in the minds of allies. I guard the way to more than the borders, I guard the Bloodroyal title. " Her words are factual and bare truth to his dying revelation to the future of the Yronwoods. Maester Augwyn can attest Lord Anders Yronwood conflicted with whom should be an heir. Akin to two sides of the coin and we Dornishmen rule with standards, unlike our neighbors. She will rule, but what she left out was jointly with her twin brother ! " Ludicrous was the idea, an affront calculated striking closer to misdirection as bewilderment faced the general mood of the nobles and small folks in attendance. Technically ruling dictated the older sibling, yet twins were a complex circumstance with the exception of the witnesses in his parents and the wet nurse. Leaving a nonchalant grimace, grasping her hand while those withholding knowledge mainly in the small council in Yronwood truly knew despite whom was favored that this decision made him appear benevolent with hopes of strengthening their family, not sully it with infighting for the role of Bloodroyal. Clamping her hand, he rose with those even most stunned at the overly dramatic announcement to clap. Niall Sand needed to move ahead of his assignment now, Arianna Dryner must be silenced to keep things in operation whether or not she swear by the New Gods to never address it unless the house was threatened by extinction like how the Martells seemingly just faced. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Syn Yronwood​

F

The room grew silent as Tamir played his dice. Eyebrows were raised and looks were exchanged; even Maester Augwyn stroked his mustache uncomfortably. Ser Desmund Santagar's chuckle was the only thing disrupting the silence, if only for a moment. It reminded Syn of a time when she used to play a game of cyvasse with her Tamir. Whenever she moved her light cavalry, he would counter with his spearmen. After a while his moves became predictable, and she bested him at every turn. He would impulsively move his dragon, but her trebuchet would always ambush him. Even her father used to commend her for her knowledge in the game and her ability to read her brother's mind. Yet I never saw this one coming. Syn watched her brother hijack her lie as if he was taming a wild horse. This halfwit means to take my throne with a lie. Everyone in the room could feel the animosity in the way she looked at Tamir. Her own breath was heavy as a dragon's. "Jointly?" her voice was full of contempt and condescension towards the silly idea. "Can a ship can ever have two captains?" she walked across the room and stood next to Ser Ossifer Fowler, This is a fool I can trust. "No kingdom has ever been ruled by two sovereigns, sweet brother. Maester Augwyn can also attest to that." she laughed behind a veil of fingers, "Rule jointly? You must take us for fools if you'd thought we'd believe this mummer's farce. My lord father had respect for traditions, and so he named me his heir. If you can't honor your own sire's dying wish, then at least uphold the law. I am your elder; I should be the Bloodroyal - I will guard the way". The morning sun flickered behind passing clouds like a candle making the shadows in the room change shape and size constantly. Handmaidens slowly left the room, and only those of noble birth and high rank remained. And Vayon. The mercenary's army of cutthroats has earned him status as guest of honor on Lord Ander's table. He had been present in a few of the Bloodroyal's council meetings but never in a meeting of this importance. He shouldn't be here, Syn thought. If word is to reach our enemies of this succession dispute, there is no telling how many enemies we'll have knocking on Yronwood's gates. Father should have never let this whoreson see him ill to begin with. A few of the men in the room fell to one knee. Ser Ossifer Fowler was to first to bend his knee, his ocean-colored eyes sparkling beneath her. Some noblemen soon followed. Not out of love for Robert but of hate for Aerys, Syn wagered. Many of those who declared for her were on hostile terms with Tamir for one reason or another. They'd hate for him to be their Warden of the Stone Way. I will mount their heads on spikes the instant I'm done with Tamir. Of those who remained standing, Maester Augwyn was the only one who dared speak. He cleared his throat then spoke with his adenoidal voice, "Forgive my intrusion, Lady Syn, but I must inquire." He speaks as if he has a stick up his arse. "Lord Tamir is your twin brother. The matter of seniority becomes almost.. irrelevant, and highly questionable, I must say. Some might claim that Lord Tamir was firstborn, and there is hardly any proof to refute that argument. The late Lord Anders had never confided with me, or anyone else that I know of, on the matter of succession nor mentioned who of his progeny was firstborn."I should have you executed as well, Maester, that ought to refute any claim. "The Milky Sparrow will set ashore on the gulf of Yronwood on the morrow. Arianna Dryner will be arriving from Weeping Town with her herd of sheep that she intends to sell in our markets. Before she took to tending sheep, Arianna used to earn a living as a midwife. She is mine and Tamir's milk mother, and had helped with our births. She will confirm I am firstborn." Syn gave a sly smirk. Lets see you counter that, dear brother. ​

 

[Sanoci]

Ser Tamir Yronwood
​

F

Noting the guffaw burst of laughter tantamount to the riposte of a fencer advocated none of the solemnity in the room by the barbarous Ser Desmund Santagar, Advertising his obscure humor to the inner turmoil imploding candidly around Syn's ominous gaze at him. Unscrupulous, well-nigh impassive amidst the theatrics was the placid Qartheen. Jaunty arse is too consumed by avarice , practically fawning with subtle gawking over how to capitalize on the misfortunes of the Yronwoods. Happenstance might require one like him drowning in pragmatic for years as a Sellsword cutthroat. Vayon remained conserved in the room as handmaidens and other small folk slowly dissipated from such abhorrent tragedy before the sun fully greeted them. Judging from the wrath emulating in her expressions, Tamir anticipated retaliation for his frail endeavor to weaponize that bold statement. Shiitt, dear sister really vying for control. Cooperation spared this dilemma festering into more. . " Either you are bemused or its blatant denial of history. Funny how you flaunt our father's tradition as the Rhoynar themselves weren't passed such selfless behavior. Elaena Targaryen and though I detest the illustration itself was the sister and .... wife to Aegon Targaryen whom 'jointly' ruled Dragonstone. I apologize if I yearn to significantly quell potential infighting or feelings of envy, prompting a cooperative effort. " Fabrications spiraled from his wily tongue easier than the loose tits of a whore hunting for nobility. If his audacious sister regarded any truth hoods from Tamir it was how sagacious her fellow twin was towards brandishing knowledge like a warrior whose conquests were stacked by the number of carcasses from skirmishes or exquisite secrets those who jape at the capabilities of one versed in espionage. Alarming was relinquishing everything in his very presence, underestimating one's integrity over this brewing feud and what drastic measures the prince would utilize to safeguard any discrediting information. Mimicry at its finest a few distinguishing nobles and knights wholly swore allegiance similarly to him. Whether it served ideals striking closer to the Andals where traditional values adhered as skewed support of him abolishing the Dornishman's ways, economical alignment where experiences often decreed how many golden dragons littered their pockets. Painting a perplexed delineation was witnessing the rancorous seaborne turned knight resting his right knee to Tamir, both parties acknowledging the elusive dealings of the past. Lord Ulwyck of House Dayne pursues forward, regulating others of notes to slowly equate to his sister. Regardless others were in the middle of the fermenting chaos, gauging sides akin to a well-placed bet at a tourney. Seething at her discussion with the Maester, he sunken his teeth into his tongue to suppress the urge to combatant her, instead opting to fume in silence without saying a word as the name Arianna Dryner soured his mood as he slowly left to return to his studies. " Preparations will need to be made, passed our feeble egos Father needs a proper funeral and with it a day of remembrance for all he has done. Only appropriate for Arianna to resurface despite the tragic undertones. I bid all the lords farewell. We can discuss more on father later, Syn. " Maintaining aloofness placed strained tremendous stress on nerves even of his caliber, commanding enough energy to dissipate from the room of vipers including regrettable one's fellow kin. Gawking, taunting, spreading gossip; none weighed heavily on significance with encasing the mind in books, documents, and other machinations those blessed with stupidity weren't harassed until sleep became a skirmish. By now even his bastard cousin would submerge himself on the note delivered in a discreet location, a plan months or years in the planning potentially warranting extra steps. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Syn Yronwood​

F

A chuckle escaped Syn's lips as she heard her brother weave his own accounts of history out of thin air. She watched as some of the men in the room nodded and smiled like children mesmerized by a puppet show. All she had to do was to retort her brother's argument and mock his knowledge of history then her trebutchet would topple down her brother's dragon as it always had. But these men care not about history. All they want is a leader with a cock and balls they could suck. Maester Augwyn's eyes swore as much. It would be impossible to debate history if the maester was going to corroborate Tamir's lies, Syn decided. "Father's funeral will be held at Boneway's Sept". Her father had never been the devout worshiper; the only day he had gone to a sept was his wedding day. And Lord Anders Yronwood was now a corpse; he couldn't care whether he was to be buried under a sept or brothel. But people enjoyed theatrics, and while a mantle of piety was never needed for lords in Dorne, a grand funeral was still expected. It would serve as a good distraction from the matter of the succession, Syn thought. It struck her that the funeral was going to be her first appearance as the Bloodroyal. She needed to don the robes of the loving daughter and the crown of a loving ruler. Syn needed a tearful speech, an eloquent tongue, and a memorable dress. It needed to be perfect. People needed to see the real her. A woman worthy of ruling this city, capable of carrying their ambitions and nullifying their sorrows. That morning she wore a black myrish lace that made her skin shine even brighter. She was putting on her earrings when a handmaiden walked in and announced Sir Ossifer Fowler's arrival. "Let him in" He thinks I'm just some pretty maiden he can visit whenever he wills. The knight was dressed in a blue doublet with white stripes. His golden hair rested on his shoulders like an eagle sitting on a tree branch. "Your lordship, the Milky Sparrow is set to arrive two hours after the funeral ends." He smiled as he concluded his statement, his perfectly square jawline making his smile even more attractive. If he was a woman, he would be the sort that was bred for bedding. "Have the guards let the masses in the sept. Lets get this ordeal done with." Her hands squeezed at the lavender-colored handkerchief as she eyed her lord father's corpse. The Silent Sisters did well cleaning father. Hardly anyone can tell he spent his like few months farting on his bed. Out of the seven deity statues in the sept, they had placed the former Bloodroyal looking up to the Stranger with two red funeral stones covering his eyes, shying away from the Gods, are we, father? Next to his feet were seven jars that were filled with her father's internal organs. Maester Augwyn informed her that this was to slow down the corpse from rotting. The corpse was going to be displayed in the sept for seven days where people can pay homage to their formal master and a rotten corpse could turn away the most pious and loyal retainers. "I thank you all for being here with us today. My lord father.." Syn shed a tear, and noted the reaction in the audience's faces, "would have loved to thank everyone here with his own tongue. He was the sort of man to inspire love and dedication from his followers. Fierce in the fast of adversary and gentle towards his loved ones. Like a cloud raining on his people and thundering those who wished them harm. He was firm, yet amiable. Unyielding in the face of adversary, and welcoming when counselling his advisers." Syn took a deep breath and stopped sobbing, her eyes had dark-violet circles around them, as if she was drunken with sorrows. Her voice showed more vigor as she spoke again, "I fostered under his wing. He taught me how to face enemies and how to embrace my people; how to fend off evil and bring out the good in everyone. He gave me the wisdom of a ruler, the strength of a commander, the piety of a priest, the gentleness of a mother and the sagacity of a Bloodroyal." ​

 

[Sanoci]

Ser Tamir Yronwood
​

F

A myriad of possibilities invaded the mind of Tamir presently, including the cumbersome tasks allotted in the background which required a dexterous intellect to juggle migraines of such growing severity. Her hubris, including blatant disrespect, was appalling simply gnawing further into his complicated psyche. Arianna Dryner became the epicenter of this impending bloodbath between them, though honoring father remained paramount for the meanwhile. Inciting chaos at a funeral was too unbecoming, but the symbolism of it seem inhumane if not justified for she was the sole witness to his passing. Likewise, Tamir had plenty of obligations to address that yearned to sweep him upon the gale winds of uncertainty. Mother would wheeze at imagining Father being showcased in a Sept, yet that was the benefit of survival where only one's reputation and memories could dare hold its fleeting influence like decomposition of a carcass. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Morning infiltrated by its scorching rays, commemorating the bleak day which undeniably would be basked in the words of smallfolk and nobility alike.Shifting Syn's impregnable stubborn would be a fruitless endeavor for the sake of thwarting the religious tones behind the funeral. Boring similar sentiments over the gods, favoring the acumen of one's aptitude whether it was engineering, diplomacy, even the primitive yet necessary skill of violence. A decorative silver gorget enveloped his neck, donning a plain black doublet with a tightened dark violet waistcoat practically camouflaged with the exception of the embroidery displaying his house. Artifical padding around the shoulder better emphasized a mighty leader, a Bloodroyal despite the insistence of his twin to parade around the castle like a harlot masquerading as a notable figure in Essos. Reservation between him and his pompous, begrudging sister was best kept in separate sections until this frivolous and overly pious event has concluded. Although sunken in a foul mood as of late, things would eventually look up. Discarding the distance he kept from kin originally, now he stood with her, peering nonchalantly at the festive corpse once his father. I cruel jest, parading you like this. , Tamir could only think of such disrespect. However, Syn played the game when it was a necessity. This was her center stage to masquerade emotions, garner support with the greatest tool of all; sympathy after tragedy has stricken. Awaiting for her piece to come to its conclusion, he addressed the audience with a robust authoritative demeanor. Faking weaknesses like sorrow were not among his talents, preferring weapons he favored most; facts. " The veracity from my sister's lips regarding our Bloodroyal Anders Yronwood holds all the weight in golden dragons for the standards he withheld. Though taken from us by illness, we guard the way towards prospering through this dark period.", pausing momentarily to watch the expressive faces contort, a few gleaming by his every word, and a few demonstrating dismay. Unwavering in his convictions, he continued knowing the venomous fangs of Syn yearned to penetrate his jugular for each sentence he implemented. " Recently the Martells have shown the folly within the infighting with the rest of Westeros , chaos ensuing and legacies lost with only us caught in the crosshair. Like our coat of arms and renowned words, Yronwoods will be that portcullis guarding the way against discord of other nations,meliorate Dorne into something sinew, something evolved. Allow my father's death be a day of joyous remembrance and from it return like the wrath of warrior. " Finishing his speech merit mixed reactions, plenty still applauding from transforming this gruesome day into one of unity. A glance was fixated onto Vayon, silent communication between them like the words spoken before was as much a secret code than just to lighten the moods of others. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Open waters quivered like a bashful virgin at a brothel, a macabre galleon stained in black as it lingered in between territories with a purpose though the sails remained relatively the same. The figurehead closer to a horrific creature beyond the wall with elongated tusks upon it. Normally the area around them occupied the Royal fleet marshal by the Master of Ships and located at Dragonstone. Fortune served this group well. When the War of the Five Kings broke out, Stannis Baratheon seized control of the ships at Dragonstone and utilized them in his attack on King's Landing. Most of the Royal Fleet's crews and captains stay loyal to Stannis because he had been commanding them as Master of Ships during his brother Robert's entire reign, including most fractured after Wildfyre drowned them to the ocean. ​

 

[Fruit]

Arianna Dryner​

F

Although the rotting corpse remained inside the sept, the swarms of visitors left soon after paying homage to their former Bloodroyal. Only those affiliated with the ruling house remained; Syn could see her brother speaking to some of his associates, the maester conversing with his stewards, and the silent sisters attending to her father's corpse. Might as well burn the bloody thing and live our lives. But the customs demanded her father's noble corpse to be on display for longer than she would like. The issue of succession weighed more importance in Syn's mind, and she would rather don her father's crown than kneel before his coffin. Salt filled her elderly lungs and tickled her eyes as she watched the tides wrestle. It has been thirty years since she had last stepped foot in Dorne, and this thrice-cursed wasteland hasn't changed one bit. She had been a younger woman then. Her first husband had passed away earlier that year. Lady Yronwood thought against having me feed her children. She thought the sorrow in my milk ought to make them bitter. I wonder how they've grown she thought as she saw the Sand Dome of Yronwood peer in the horizon. The noise of the fishermen in the port soon outgrew the noise of the waves. She felt herself sink deep into the market, her eyes studying the shops and stands on her right and left. "Have the herd delivered to Greenspoon" she told her servant boy as she proceeded to lose herself in the market-square. Merchants to her right and left were enticing her to buy their goods; some announced they had the cheapest prices while others sang about the freshness of their catch. One merchant even tried to flirt with her just to get her to buy his oysters. A knight wearing an azure armor with a hooded hawk blazoned on his chest introduced himself as Ser Ossifer Fowler. "Lady Fowler, milady Syn of house Yronwood would like to welcome you to Yronwood Castle. She has ordered me to escort you to your residence in the Sand Dome. She requests to meet you as soon as it may please you". With the black banners raised all over Yronwood, it wasn't difficult for the elderly woman to infer the cause of the invitation. Succession fued she mumbled under her breath, dropped the oyster from her hand, and followed the knight towards the castle. "A lively market during the funeral of the Bloodroyal. How the times have changed! Lord Ormond Yronwood's funeral lasted a month. Markets were shut down and people wept in their homes; you could scarcely see a soul wandering these wretched streets." They had her in a small room in the upper levels of the Sand Dome. A room that is normally reserved for noble visitors and envoys of high prestige. A servant girl delivered her a bowl of grapes and oranges, a flask of wine, and dry bread to appease her appetite before her dinner with the lady of the castle. "I'll be preparing your bath soon, Lady Dryner" the little girl said as she laid down the food. She soon left, and a while later, a shadowy figure emerged from under the bed. Syn replaced her black funeral lace with a more comfortable red robe. She sat at the dinner table in her own quarters with a flagon of spiced wine and lemon cakes. They had a honeyed deer grilled for her and her milk mother. Lets hope she remembers, she took a sip from her goblet and let the venom warm her chest. She waited, and waited, and waited. Then she came. "Terrible news, Lady Yronwood! I'm afraid Arianne Dryner was found dead in her room." ​

 

[Sanoci]

Ser Tamir Yronwood
​

F

Interpreting this inefficient event as one invoked through as a temporary deterrent to quell the rumors of civil war awaiting the House of Yronwood. People often their condoles, finding this degree of counterfeit emotion just dreary masking the disappointment the late Anders Yronwood would confess had he still linger in some manifestation. Petty ambitions from his sister tired him, practically yearning to strip his crowd and defuse everything without incumbrance overtaking it. Farewell father, and I am sorry for what transpires , that sentiment stirring intensely with forethought of the ordeals awaiting the masses and the pieces to the Cyvasse board whether or not they were cogent of what was manifesting around their country. Skirting passed the presence of Syn, shifting to a sculpture of stoicism almost uncanny even throughout the funeral. A subtle quirk brandished during even his youth, Tamir alighment towards common behavior became a void while deep in thought. Many were signs father predicted eventually to nefarious deeds at work. Try as he must, no one was above being read like a book; some more complex than others as he left the facility sickened by mockery of his life to be gift wrapped to the Sept. ------------------------------------------------------- Camouflaged in the skins of normality was a gaunt figure in a billowing cloak of dun-and-yellow sandsilk. Copper skin pressed onto the homey velvet tunic lacking sleeves to combat the scorching sun slightly. A prominent limp did nothing to help his travel in the halls, frantic in his search for someone in Castle Yronwood. Reluctance to allow him entry almost came to blows according to the status of anarchy occurring in Dorne, lobbying cooperation with a sealed piece of parchment with the signet of Yronwood stamped into the wax. A wretched looking entity barely worth a silver stag, let alone a measly copper star with fractured yellow teeth, balding head and a face like a infant with no visible facial hair. Guards patrolled the rooms of the feuding siblings without respite, practically nations divided by the confine of this very castle by reflection. Foregoing pleasantries, he gawked at the pair of soldiers keeping the dwelling of Tamir Yronwood secured. Gulping out of a nervous tick, a raspy tone escaped his arid lips at the men in attendance. " I am Unai Jarvus, the rightful heir seeks my presence. ", presenting the classified document for verification. After a few moments of thoroughly checking his person for weapons, Unai was released and allowed entry. Sluggishly moving to the table where the young man frequented, he stood still before any leeway was afforded for him to proceed closer. " The scorching sands of Dorne are unforgiving!" " Unforgiving, but it combats the winds of winter longer than most! " " Splendid, come closer!" Tamir did not trust the presence of this enigma in human flesh, knowing the origins of the face staring at him like measuring his worth or maybe that was paranoia festering since dear Syn viewed the title of Bloodroyale more substantial to peace in the ensuring aftermath of House Martell's demise. The cloaked man surrendered the document to him, shredding the seal and reading the content behind it. Keeping composure over the emotions yearning to strike like a viper on heat, Tamir glanced at the mysterious courier before reaching for a coin purse of a hefty quantity. " I did what you wrote for the milk mother, even the touch up during my time here to leave personal effects from Lord Ulwyck to link him to the quicken demise of your father. Unusual request not to sully our hands, but I ensured it done." , he slowly paced out from the facilities with expressionless hues drawn from him. Counting the Golden Dragons were unnecessary, trusting that cheating a servant of death was most foolhardy just for petty greed. They would be in contact, but by another alias similar to a snake shedding skin. Once clear from civilization, he peeled his face demostrating a more youthful appearance with none of the characteristics of Unai Jarvus; old petty beggar from the city no one would miss. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Stoneheart​

F

She breathed through the gash on her throat. Her nose had been broken since the Frey soldiers dumped her corpse on their river, and the sorcery the Red Priest had done to resurrect her rendered her mute. Most of her bones were broken, but not a single joint ached. Half a hundred scars decorated her chest and back like a portrait of a battlefield, and not one of them pulsed pain or wept blood. A frail little body feeling nothing but absolute cold whenever the harsh winds of winter filled her damaged lungs. Her left eye could scarcely see in the dark, and her right eye only saw shadows for men and queer shapes for horses. Not even her yearn for vengeance warmed her. Beric Dondarrion gave his life as a price of her resurrection, and she ended up leading his pack of brigands on his stead. They raided the Riverlands; Wendish Town, the forks, Stonehedge and Seagard. Every few days they packed and left to camp in a different wasteland, and everyday they grew closer to the Twins and farther from the Trident, much to the frustration of the members of her pack. This is no pack of wolves I'm leading. My case with the Freys means nothing to them; they only care about what Ned had commanded them. "Anguy intercepted a long raider near the Red Fork" Lem told her. His teeth a shade yellower than his lemon-colored cloak. "A brawny fellow, Anguy claims. Thick eyebrows, blue eyes. Like as not he's not the dog we're after. This one might be highborn. Anguy reckons we're in for a hefty ransom". Anguy and Lem were her two most trusted aides. Anguy claimed to be the best archer in the land, and has given her little reason to doubt his boast. Lem was a seasoned member of the Brotherhood, and unlike Thoros of Myr, he wasn't skeptical of their new methods. Yet they all cling to their dead king's commands like a widow in denial She nodded silently; a gesture her followers took as a sign of approval. Some days her throat felt too weak to nod, and mere silence was taken as consent. For a gang of outlaws, they are taking her feeble commands with utmost regard. It was as if she was dealing with her husbands stewards or her father leal knights. Yet Catelyn Stark was certain her henchmen would no longer commit to her cause once their mission was fulfilled. Lets hope we remain too blind to find a Mountain. That day she broke her fast with a hard boiled egg and carrot soup. Their cook from Wendish Town had finally learned to salt the eggs to her liking; the time she spent drowned prevented her tongue from tasting anything but salt and pepper. Her broken teeth deprived her from whatever game Anguy would hunt and whatever bread the villager brought, and her half-rotten tongue made wine and water taste alike. Yet that never tormented Lady Stoneheart, as the man had taken to call her, her fixation on avenging her sons deaths made her sleepless nights and bland meals tolerable. "Lady Stoneheart. He is here" Lem announced as he dragged his hooded victim behind him. ​

 

[Sanoci]

Brynden "Blackfish" Tully
​

F

Boggling was just how pusillanimous Edmure became, sullying the house of Tully by relinquishing Riverrun by becoming it's proxy ruler in the hands of it's family murderers and by extension his in-laws the Starks. Old age wasn't agreeing with him, begrudging allowing that damn Lannister to live but alas that was the price of warfare. Living another day meant potential revenge on the Freys for the systematic slaughter of many of his family and even a few allies amidst the dead. Rumors persisted this was where dear Catelyn was dumped compared to his getaway within the red folk river. Ironic this was the resting place of his brother following the funeral. It did not take him too long to grasp his surroundings, wrestling through the currents, then the mud as he attempted to regroup. "Options running thin with those vile Lannisters at the ream " Disoriented and under tremendous distress following the betrayals and cumulative losses stacking like the carcasses of his allies into a pyre. Could that bastard Jon Snow be trusted? That was uncertain, yet hearing the Starks usurped by the Boltons left his idealism low like the winter approaching as Eddard frequently preached. Trouble did not take long to greet him, some peculiar marauders ambushed him. One brandishing a bow to temporary exploit my vulnerability and another not caught in my cross hairs before ensnared in a hood and thrashed properly into cooperation. Had they wanted him dead immediately, he would be after the hardships presented to eliminate him. " Wished I brought the grey plate armor and helm now.." , thinking to himself until consciousness fleeted from him. Hauled in the dirt, bewilderment draping the veteran as his whereabouts remained in mystery for the meanwhile. Survival felt like a Mummer's farce seeing all the chaos ensued within the last couple years with it escalating towards the shifting of law and order itself. Maintaining his composure became the thread to the doublet regarding preservation in itself. Laid out like a big to a slaughter, all he briefly heard before light bear his aging eyes again was a Lady Stoneheart. Curiosity was plentiful for the bound and blindfolded warrior, hoping this was a ransom or a swift execution. For now he waited, for now he would be on the defensive like of recent time but with plans in mind. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Stoneheart​

F

Lem dragged his hostage behind him as if he was reeling a fish. If it wasn't for the puffs of white smoke coming from the fish's mouth whenever he breathed, Lem and his compatriots would have thought their victim dead. For the celebrated warrior moved ever so slowly, his body more a weight Lem had to carry than a person he could steer. Under the dirty rags and dark cloak, Lady Stoneheart couldn't recognize him even if she had her eyes back the way they were. This is no Mountain. That much she knew. The behemoth war criminal and rapist wasn't built like any other man. It wouldn't take Catelyn's broken eyes more than a short glance to find him among an army of men. At the time, most of her followers were gathered for dinner. Anguy had caught three rabbits that day, and so the meal comprised of rabbit stew for the majority of the company. Those lucky ones had a small chunk of meat in their bowls, while most settled with bones and vegetables. The choicest of meats were saved for the highest ranking men of the brotherhood; people like Lem, Anguy, Thoros of Myr, Jack-Be-Lucky and Harwin were among the favored elites. Others like Gendry and Notch were lucky enough to have some fat in their stew. Lady Stoneheart herself seldom ate a meal after her breakfast, and so she was content with a cup of warm water with lemon sitting on her lap. With her was Lem and Anguy, who deemed the captive more interesting than their stews. When she nodded, Lem exposed the hooded man's face. Nuncle.. The gods are good. A small, gentle smile greeted her chained uncle as she ordered for his ropes to be cut loose, much to the dismay of her followers. "This man is Brynden Tully, my lord uncle. The veteran warrior known as the Blackfish" she hissed, her voice almost sounding like cold winds. With all these scars, Catelyn doubted her uncle would recognized her, but she only hoped he would believe her. Lem helped the man up his feet, while the others retreated before their bowls turn cold. "The wrong type of nobleman. The one that doesn't pay" Jack-Be-Lucky told Anguy after he Lem with the Tullys in the room. After the man was unchained and seated, his niece sat across from him. "We found 'er body dumped on the river" Lem explained. "Lord Beric Dondarrion gave his life in a spell casted by Thoros to 'ave 'er come back from the dead. Although she may not look like it, this is Lady Catelyn of House Stark; Your kith and kin". When he was done, he stood up and left the two together in the room. Catelyn moved her hand away from her throat and revealed her slit to Brynden, then looked at him as a single tear slowly moved down her right cheek.​

 

[Sanoci]

Brynden "Blackfish" Tully
​

F

Greetings within an undercroft wasn't a question of many changing of the seasons. Alienated by these wrecked events, hauled like some degenerate slave from Essos to the pits for entertainment. Whomever this Lady Stoneheart was, if Hoster could not make a stubborn trout like him submit to tradition..what chances did these bandits hoped to make him yield for his life? Noises amplified, signifying a gathering of sorts. Did his imagination play true about him being the source of entertainment? ' Bloody brigands, prancing with food and no decency to end it already!!!' Liberated by that unwashed hood clogging his senses to bask in the smell of meats lingering the air, Bryden was bemused at the usage of phrases in his mind working to his favor. Ropes were trimmed off by their blades, eyes disturbed by the daunting presence before him. Addressing him amicably bewildered him more, peering something out of those farfetched stories told to deter one of the bad behaviors or simply to terrify. Red streaks occupying his eyes aghast at a mention of their relationship, " She mustn't be Catelyn, she was murdered by the fucking Freys." , he said quite vocal to these strange occurrences transgressing before him. Reflexes conjured forth an urge to retaliate on the stranger rising him up, yet warring against instincts like these was most fortuitous for this moment to be relayed information and formulate something mighty to escape from these brigands. Brief observations told the Blackfish they discriminated on the nobility, however, finding hints of reluctance not to kill him resonated by how others reacted. Floundering like the proverbial fish on his banners, begrudgingly sitting down despite protest visible in his apathetic eyes and nonchalant demeanor. Regardless it was discovering more about this woman claiming to be his kin that concerned him immediately. Reliving accounts of the Red Wedding by his unexpurgated testimony of the person before him was Catelyn Tully, Bryden grew pale and silent as all the proof was thrust upon him. An abhorrent fate for anyone judging by her appearance, enraging the Blackfish as he uprooted from his seat moments after being left alone to his own devices. The distance was closed, as if appraising how much of her still remained in Westeros. " Seven hells, this should not be possible!", noting her sole tear trickling from this living carcass. Adjusting to all of this would be difficult, accepting aspects of the world he dismissed as fairy tales. " Being comforted by the idea not all the Tullies are dead, why did you take this long to come out? Were it shame you feel for Robb or were you content on getting revenge alone? " , mixtures of excitement to see her but her independance without stopping to get family digged a deep wound. Edmund hardly counted anymore, surrendering to the enemy. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Stoneheart​

F

She had been her uncle's favorite, and he had been her favorite uncle. But that's when she was a person with a heart; not a soul cast in a corpse. Struggling, her tears, or tear, rather, was the only testimony to the sole emotion she could display, whilst her uncle erupted with a frenzy of mixed emotions. He's disappointed I didn't tell him I lived, but he's also shocked that I'm alive. "Nuncle" the widow hissed, her voice akin to a passing ghost, "I have but a small gathering of rebels and brigands. Should the Lannisters know Ned Stark's widow is alive.." her words broke into coughs as she clenched her dry throat. Speaking had been challenging for Lady Stoneheart, it made her neck rumble in pain with every attempt, and after a few words a wisp of fire near her throat silences her shut. The Red God's doing.. "Riverrun..?" she managed to mutter amidst her coughs as she looked up to her uncle, wondering if the Lannisters had stormed their ancestral lands. The ship sank and he found himself washed ashore, here on my door, she speculated, Or maybe they lifted the siege, and found himself here on his way on a mission, she couldn't pinpoint the truth but her mind leaned towards her pessimistic assumption. "Edmure?" she presented another question to her captive, wondering if the waves claimed his life. Are the gods vicious enough to take my husband, children, father and brother all together? Lem walked back into the room with a carrot broth with small chunks of rabbit meat, a smaller loaf of breed, and a cup of water. The man presented Brynden with the food and proceeded to take a seat between the two. As soon as their conversation finished, he tossed his own topics into the table. "The Blackfish. It is indeed great that you are alive and kicking. We'd figured you were rotting in a Lannister cell. You still smell like piss, but you're not rotten" he cockily smiled, and brushed his stubble. "This is the Brotherhood without Banners. Founded by the order of His Grace King Robert Baratheon to enact justice on the rogue Gregor Clegane for his crimes near The Trident. What the Freys did to your nephew was an insult to all the laws of men, a disgrace to the gods, and a treachery that won't be forgiven, but it is not what this company of men is fighting to achieve. We're bound by oath to slay the brigand, and I hope you remember that" Lem said his words, rose up and left the room. "Revenge.." she hissed again, her fiery eyes glowing with revenge, all the while it started raining outside the cave. The horses were led to shelter in anticipation of a thunderstorm, and the food and weapers were carried outside. Catelyn watched her followers move their equipment inside and huddle up around a campfire in the center of the cave. Had Tom O'Sevens been with them, the men would have been singing alongside his songs, but instead they were subjected to Jack Be Lucky's bawdy jokes. ​

 

[Sanoci]

Brynden "Blackfish" Tully
​

F

Subjugated through such conditions did not improve his bewildered disposition to all the information attempting to make sense of this warped scenario. Contorted were his features to the distress, hiding no remnants of the horror dawning onto the seasoned noble that tales of magic could not be merely dismissed akin to the Northerners belief in the old gods of folklore. Impeded in speech, poised hues entrenched on her uncanny appearance to his niece...simply as a walking carcass no less. Any Southron here now would be night soiling themselves..thought earnestly in silence while attentive to her words, her explanation saddening the old knight for the topics discussed by these brigands. " Seven hells it's troubling to believe my sanity is going or you're actually living. To answer your question, fucking Lannisters and Edmure handed the lackwits the ancestral home. Utter rubbish I tell you!", intensified emotions roared like the river expressing and crackling under the facade of unbreaking steel to the betrayal sinking further into his heart. Appalled for remaining a captive under supposed kin, a silent stern gaze assaulted the figure of Lem passing right by his lonesome. The jape at his failure continued his grimace... I teach you the meaning of smelling piss if you insist. Minding his tongue momentarily without a shift in demeanor nor features he heeded the words of the odd fellow in the yellow cloak. Although the explanation painted them originally in a modest light, almost bearing a snicker at the words of bound by oath to slay the brigands in exchange becoming the very definition of that word itself. Her hissed of revenge caught him off guard, feeling obliged to continue conversation moments after indulging heavily onto the acquired meal. All the hardships the old warrior went through lately justified the appetite. " If what your man says is true, I presume you have a plan? The Freys are aligned to the Lannisters and by extension the crown. Unless your forces are hidden in the red folk river it will be a challenge.", he spoke plainly as he tried regaining composure of all of this. Ignoring the rain he kept his gaze onto her, deeply disturbed and curious altogether, needing strong encouragement after the disasters plaguing his mind after such a defeat. ​

 

[Fruit]

Lady Stoneheart​

F

The corpse rose from her seat. It took all of Catelyns strength to stand on her frail, broken legs, and then some more to walk around the room. She struggled to hide her weakness from her uncle; it ached her to show her weakness in front of him. "So, my brother turned our lands over the the Lannisters". Her voice boiled with contempt and disgust. The gods should have taken him. It was utter wickedness and absolute injustice for her honorable husband to die and her coward brother to live. It seemed to her that her family members either die because she couldn't protect them, or soil their honor before she could stop them. But at least I have him with me, her eyes studied her uncle as she bit on her lips, thinking over the news he had brought to her. "I trust every man I have to swing a sword and fire an arrow, but leading an army.." she broke into coughs. Her fingers moved to cover her lips, while her other hand leaned on her uncle for support. "Nuncle, we need your help" she hissed before she rested back on her chair. Her hand moved to hold her cold throat and warm it down. Talking made it feel as if frozen shards of glass where traveling down her throat. She continued coughing till her noise drew Lem back into her chambers. "Lady Stark, are you well?". His question went unanswered, as if Catelyn was implying it was too stupid a question to warrant an answer. He snatched a bowl of soup from a passing swordsman and brought it to the frail woman. Three spoons later, Stoneheart's neck was warm enough for her to speak. "Lem, nuncle tells me the rogue traitor is now riding with the Freys". Lem scratched the back of his head. He suspects its a lie thought, before he spoke in his piss-colored cloak, "So the Lannisters renounce him and declare him an outlaw, then hide him with the old rascal at the Twins? What sort of twisted mummer's farce is this?" His eyes shifted to the veteran knight as if he wanted confirmation of what Catelyn just told him. He wanted to hear it from Bryden himself to believe it. The Blackfish wouldn't soil his honor with a lie, he thought, and so worried Catelyn. ​