Nicolas

Settling down is looking better everyday.

So many complications hindering House Cockshaw! First, the mysterious death of the Black Serpent's woman has everyone baffled. How did the Crow allow that to happen? Then, the injured bandit made a foolish attempt to take Treyton's life. Well, if we gain any favor from the locals by ridding them of a menace, it's because they are a bloodthirsty lot.

Market Town is all right. People seem friendly to bastards. I'm noticing an obvious coolness towards Berowne, Daemon and Kableta. It's probably best we move on soon.

This Isen character makes me nervous. He's quiet. And he kind of lurks. He's lurky. Weylan's also starting to act twitchy.  I'm going to keep my eye on Berowne and make sure he stays safe.

Hey, that merchant, Merle, just walked in the door. I wonder if he has news from King's Landing?

Treyton

Treyton had weaknesses that he succumbed to still far to frequently for his liking. Taking the black involved committing to a life of celibacy that would be a super human task for a normal man much less one with his predilections. Unfortunately his ability to see into the hearts of candidates for the wall also allowed him to read this strumpet like an open book. She was desperate and willing-- two qualities that would lend themselves to a night that might very well quell his thirst for quite a while. It would also leave him vulnerable to any number of embarrassing situations... Flinch was the key- by using the harlot as an object lesson for the lad he might very well make it through the night without (literally) fucking up.


"See how she tempts you with her flesh-- Don't be fooled! She'd use your own dirk on your dick if it would affect her escape. This is the face of desperation. Mark it well and never let your guard down when you see it," Treytron pontificated to a wide eyed Flinch. The lad's time on the wall had ill prepared him for temptation such as this. Treyton was still quite ill prepared as well...

Nicolas

Yep, it's good to be a tournament champion, Nicolas thought as he lay stretched out on the barmaid's straw stuffed bed.  She breathed softly and peacefully next to him, but he was wide awake. It gave him time to think.

The young hedge knight was a mysterious and awkward fellow. Darcy Mormont took great interest in him and monopolized his time for much of the evening, though Isen looked as though he'd like to run and hide the whole time. That was just as well. He didn't need a new player moving in on the good thing he had going with  the Cockshaws.

The Inn at the Crossroads was packed that night and they had been the kings of the tavern. There was much local talk and talk of the tournament and King's Landing. Turns out this town they will be going through to get to the Bartheld lands is a bastion of free thinking people who don't take kindly to bending the knee to nobles. Nicolas liked that. Maybe I'll move to the Riverlands....

Market Town is run by one Esra Stone. He's known as the "Wily Mayor."  Of course he's wily! His family  were obviously bastard borns from the Vale of Arryn. Through his determination and cleverness, Stone has kept Market Town free from noble control. Nicolas wondered exactly what he has done to accomplish this. He suspects it hasn't all been above the board. Market Town is also known for swift justice. He and and his young lord will have to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble. The Captain of the town guard, this Yorik Ralk, sounds like a real law and order sort.

But maybe, someday, settling around these parts may not be such a bad idea. Sounded as though there are several places left abandoned by the Targaryen sympathizers after their defeat in Robert's Rebellion. This Rugar's Hold in Durain forest, sounds like a likely place for a young newly landed knight to stake his claim. All you would need to do is run some bandits out of the area.

If I ever become a knight....

Riverthorn is also a likely area to settle down in. Good farming land and easy access to water and roads, even a small little hamlet. If you could win the locals over, you may have a good place to call home. The locals would warm more quickly to a bastard than a nobleman from the sounds of it.

Sounds like some of the local folk still hold to the Old Gods, something Nicolas never understood, being from the Reach. What can talking to a tree do for you? Still, I'd like to see this Godsgrove, though. And the old grovekeeper, this Peter Hastings, sounds like a real character.

Nicolas kept turning these things over in his mind until he drifted off to sleep.

He woke the next morning and Brenna was gone. Probably off to work. He remembered that Daemon and Isen were going to spar that morning. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, pulled on his trousers and went out to the dining hall.

He found Isen and Ser Daemon already outside getting ready to go at it. Who made this kid a knight? Nicolas shook his head, completely puzzled.

Isen steps up to Daemon and swings his flail right at Daemon's face. Daemon does not respond fast enough and the flail makes contact with the bone around Daemon's left eye. There is a sickening crunch. Nicolas was sure Daemon had took a mortal wound. Daemon went down on one knee, his other foot still firmly planted on the ground. He swings his mace into Isen's ankle, knocking him off balance and onto his side, but not injuring him terribly.

Daemon ceded the fight to Isen. Nicolas was speechless, as Ser Daemon is one of the best fighters he has ever seen. Masha Heddle came forward with some salve and ice for Daemon. Nicolas walked up to Daemon. "That will take some time to heal."

"Yeah, it will," said Daemon. It was hard for Nic to say if Daemon was upset by this or elated. He was always so hard to read. Nicolas turned back to Isen and to his dismay, Berowne was enthusiastically talking to him. He moved closer so he could listen.

Young Isen Snow seemed in awe of Berowne, a quality that made Nic wonder if the kid was a little simple. Darcy Mormont was also slapping Isen on the back and handing him an ale. She shook her fist in the air and cried "Bear Islander, here! Ha, Ha!"

"Young knight! You have bested one of my best men! Who do you currently serve?" Berowne asked.
"Um, no one mi'lord," he mumbled.
"Well, we are on a mission for King Robert. Could I hire you for a time to assist us in our task?" Berowne inquired.
"Uh, sure," said Isen.

Shit, thought Nic.

Weylan

The weather had held for the Cockshaw party as they traveled up the Kingsroad. It was warm and mild with a breeze for a couple days, but as night approached today, the wind had kicked up and clouds were gathering on the horizon to the Northeast. Weylan could smell rain. His bones ached a bit as well.

The journey had been tedious, so far. The young lord had felt it necessary to croon and pipe on his flute for our "entertainment." Weylen felt like stuffing the damn thing up his ass. That would give him something to croon about. And then there was the Crow and the kid with him, nervous acting lad. The cart was slowing them down, with its awkwardness and iron manacles. Crows made Weylan feel uneasy. They were like dark specters sent to take you to a cold, bitter Hell. And this one -- this Greenshield -- he was a real exacting sort. Stingy, too. He never once has offered to buy a drink -- always asking for receipts and writing expenses down in a ledger.

Weylan wondered as he rode into the gentle rain why he agreed on this trip in the first place. Lady Evangeline has paid him well for his services, but this trip is not to his taste. He could have just said no and given her notice.  He worried over it and wondered if he'd lost his edge.

He reflected on what they knew of House Bartheld, the people who were holding this Waterman fellow. Brom Bartheld and his sons joined Robert's Rebellion and distinguished themselves in battle. Two of the four sons died at the Trident. As a compensation, Robert granted House Asrig's lands to the Barthelds. House Asrig had been loyal to the Targaryen's in the war and the males were all killed in battle.

Since Brom was stripped of his titles and sentenced to death, the House Bartheld has been run by Brom's grandson Davain. Davain's wife, the Lady Ayleth, is a celebrated beauty in the Riverlands. He has heard her hair is so light blond, it appears white, like snow. She's also known as a "very generous hostess." Weylan suspected this meant she was easy. He didn't care about that. He was more interested in there Maester's wine distilling abilities, which were famed throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

He also has heard rumor of the leader of House Bartheld's forces. A hater of Targaryens, Rowan Clay had asked Brom Bartheld after Brom offered him a job if he would be a "good lord or a great fat pig fucker like Leofrick Asrig?" Clay sounded like a good sort to Weylan.

Weylan was jostled out of his reverie by Berowne stopping Starshine Immaculate and raising his hand. "Halt!" he hissed. "You all hear that?"

Weylan heard sounds of metal on metal and grunts of exertion. He quickly dismounted and approached Berowne. "I'll walk around through the trees on the side of the road ahead," he said quietly.
"I'll come around the other side," said Treyton from behind him.   Mistrustful Crow! I know my trade.

Berowne looked at them vaguely, saying "yes, yes, ok..." --- Then "Charge!!"

Treyton looked at Weylan and shook his head. They headed quickly into the trees on either side of the rode, in case the young lord had gotten himself into a mess of trouble. Fortunately, the others on horseback were following Berowne into the fray.

As Weylan crept up to the site of the battle, Berowne had of course already arrived. He stopped and was talking to a large young man. He may have been 18 y.o. The young man was outfitted like a hedge night with a large polar bear sigil. There were four bodies lying around him. Weylan stepped on a twig and the young man turned to look into the woods. It was then that Weylan noticed the horrible claw mark scar on the other side of the boy's face.

Weylan stepped out of the shadow of the trees and bent to examine the bodies. He looked up at the young knight, "Come at ya out of the wood, eh? Wanting money or your armor I imagine?"

"Uh, I guess... yeah." He had a surprisingly quiet and nervous voice.
"Well, I did some traveling through the Riverlands some years back and these look to be Black Serpents, one of the many gangs that prey on nobles and the like. Though I've never seen them be so bold as to wear a black snake sigil on their shirts," Weylan reported. He looked at the young man again. He's oddly shaken about this for a hedge knight.  He turned to Berowne, "Mi'lord, ahead is the light of the Inn at the Crossroads. Masha will give us a warm welcome. And you," he pointed at the knight, "could use an ale."

Treyton

"Do you think I'll look good in the black, Cap'n?" said the nearly toothless young man behind the bars.

The crow observing him, chuckled a little. He was around 30 years and in good physical condition. He turned to a young nightswatchman next to him. "See this one, Flinch? He thinks were taking him to the wall. How's he going to eat? We don't serve baby food, and there aren't any tits to suck on at Castle Black." Laughter echoed through the cell block under the Red Keep.

Treyton Greenshield had been in King's Landing for a couple days looking through the dungeons for likely recruits. They had found a few. This lad was as good as any and despite the lack of teeth, you could see lean muscles through his threadbare shirt.

"What are you here for? Speak true. I will find out all from your jailor," Treyton asked.
"Me and me gang jumped a couple noblemen during the tourney," he confessed.
"Your gang?" Treyton asked, amused.
"Yeah, me gang... Only they ran off and left me for the gold cloaks when I turned my ankle in a pot hole," he said.
"Ah, most unfortunate. What's your name?"
"Spender Spanks, Cap'n." More laughter rang down through the cells.
"Well, Spender, hope that ankle heals quickly. It's a long walk to the wall," Treyton said.

"Captain Greenshield?" A gold cloak appeared down the hall, helmet in hand. "The Hand would speak with you."
Interesting. "All right. I have some more cells to go through. As soon as I'm finished, I could --"
"Now, Captain. I don't know how they do it on the Wall, but here, we don't make our betters wait," he said smugly.

Son-of-a-Saltwife. "Fine." Turning to the young man at his side he said, "Flinch, go get Roland and have him help you with finding some more men." To the gold cloak, "Well, let's go then."

-----

John Arryn was sitting in his solar. He looked up from his writing. "Oh, you must be Greenshield. Have a seat." Treyton sat. "We have something that has come up that requires your personal attention. I trust you brought more men with you?"

"Yes, my lord," Treyton said.

"Excellent! Then you can be spared. There is a wanted man in the Riverlands named Brom Bartheld. He was to be executed for challenging the King to a duel. We have decided to show some leniency and commit him to the Wall instead, if he can be found. We are sending you along with a party who is collecting another prisoner for us. This prisoner, Rudyard Waterman, is being given to us with the promise of the lifting of Brom Bartheld's execution order. The problem is that we do not know the exact whereabouts of Bartheld, but his grandson Davain might," he finished.

"Who will I be traveling with?" asked Treyton.
"Berowne Cockshaw and his party," he said.
"Cockshaw? That sounds familiar..." Treyton mused.
"They just won the Grand Melee at the Tourney," Arryn offered.
"No. No I wouldn't know about those things. His family from the Reach?" he asked.
"Yes. As a matter of fact, they are west coasters," Arryn replied.

Ah, yes. This must be Benedict Cockshaw's son, he thought. "I remember the lad from years before. Strong seaman. I see he has lived up to his promise."

I'm afraid you are thinking of his brother Benarys, who died of a flux last year," Arryn said. "No, this is Benedict. Benedict has proven himself in battle, though he's a bit reckless and a tad flamboyant."

The door to the solar burst open and King Robert entered. He looked harried and, well, drunk already. He was clutching a raven's message in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. Greenshield rose and bowed. Arryn also rose, "My lord."

"Yes. Yes. At ease. They just entered the walls of the keep." The King sat heavily down in the Hand's chair.

"Ah, well," Arryn turned to Treyton. "Please wait outside a moment. We will call you back in shortly."

Treyton left the room. There was a white cloak on either side of the door to the solar, now. A gold cloak came down the hall leading a small party. There was a fierce but attractive woman in the party as well. Mm. mm. mm. Hot blooded Dornish woman. This might be a fun trip after all.... Then, I wonder who the dandy is.....?

Daemon

He was riding Angel through the woods near Highgarden. It was a bright summer day and Lady Olenna was throwing a tea party that he was trying to escape. Glancing back through a blur of green, he saw a blonde rider following him, laughing and jeering, sword drawn, blood dripping from it. Daemon rode faster, but the rider behind him sounded closer. Fury overtook Daemon. I'll show the smug bastard. He turned Angel around to confront his enemy, sword drawn, but suddenly he was on a barren rocky cliff overlooking the sea, a curtain of dark gray clouds hanging thick in the sky. On the sea, was a ship with black sails and a grim-faced black cloaked crow....  He was no longer riding Angel, but standing alone on the cliff, the sound of hoofbeats approaching from behind, keeping time with his own thundering heart. Something ice cold on his neck---

Daemon started awake to the view of Angel looking down at him, the horse's cold hoof nudging his neck gently. He could hear rain falling on the roof of the Greentree Inn's stable. He rose and checked Angel's wound. It was healing nicely. Yes, I can take him on this journey, today. He looked out the window. It was still dark. The kitchen of the Greentree was lit up, however, and the cook was bustling around preparing breakfast for the guests. A window suddenly blossomed with light allowing Daemon to peer into the empty tavern dining room.

Daemon strode quickly over to the inn and went up the stairs. The door to Rudolphus's room was ajar and there was light coming from it. He briskly opened the door, startling the young Maester inside. Rudolphus's things were half-packed.

"I need to borrow the Maester's inkpot and quill for a bit. It will only take a few minutes," Daemon said.

"Uh, well. Uh, all right," the nervous young man rummaged through a box and found the items. "P-p-paper?" he asked.

"Yes, thank-you." Daemon retreated downstairs with his writing implements and found a snug in the corner of the tavern hall. The inn had mostly cleared out in the past couple days. The hustle and bustle of the tournament had completely died. The young Dornishman, Tigor Wyl, who they had known as Bryan Telson for most of the tournament, had left with Iris Costayne, heading back to the Reach to ask for her hand. The Lugus' family had disappeared rather quickly, not surprising considering their son's treachery.

Lyle Brewer, the innkeep walked up to Daemon's snug and snidely asked, "Water, Ser Daemon?"

Daemon smiled broadly without mirth. "Why, yes. Please. Thank you, innkeep." Lyle turned away and Daemons face quickly reverted to a flat expression. Lyle returned a few moments later with a glass of water. He hesitated looking down at Daemon and then said, "My father used to say there ain't no such thing as a man without vices and beware the man who won't show 'em plain." He set the water down and walked away.

Daemon bent to his task. An hour later, his letter completed and water consumed, along with a couple hard boiled eggs, Daemon returned the ink and quill to the young maester. He took his letter over to Lyle and asked for a candle. He poured candle wax on the edge to seal the letter.

At that moment, Weylan Pebble walked in the inn, carrying a travel pack and his bow. He nodded in the knight's direction, "Ser Daemon. My lady has sent me to assist House Cockshaw on their mission." Daemon shrugged at this.

Berowne glided down the stairs in a citrus scented cloud. "Weylan! I hope your visit means your Lady wishes to accompany us on this journey!" he beamed.

Weylan nearly rolled his eyes but seemed to think better of it. "No, mi'lord. I was sent to assist you on your journey. Her ladyship will be staying in King's Landing for a wedding."

Berowne went pale and became suddenly flustered, "Wedding? What wedding? Whose wedding? She's not---?"

"Lord and Lady Cressey's daughter, mi'lord," Weylan said. He sighed impatiently and looked around the room. He caught Daemon's eye again. "How long can we expect this trip to take, Ser?"

"Well, Rudyard Waterman is a Northman. Lives near White Harbor from what I've heard. Been up that way before?" He was trying to feel out this man-at-arms.

Weylan looked around the room. "Can't say I have."

Berowne, suppressing some irritation at being left out of the conversation, said, "All will soon be clear, gentlemen. We meet with Jon Arryn and his Majesty this morning. They have news pertaining to Waterman of some import." He swept his gold colored scarf over his shoulder and strode over to bar, head high. "Innkeep! Breakfast for my party, please." Weylan rolled his eyes and sighed deeply.

Berowne leaned over the bar and quietly asked Lyle, "Any news of my Maester?"

Lyle regarded him slowly and then said, "Nope." He shrugged and turned his back on Berowne, tossing a bar towel over one shoulder.

Poor Berowne, thought Daemon. He's more worried about Rudolphus than he lets on. "I broke my fast already," Daemon says to Berowne. "I have to run an errand and tend to Angel. He needs new shoes and a dressing change." He quickly headed out into the rain, dark gray clouds looming above.