A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest | Chapter XLV

Welcome to A Song of Revenge and Gold: House Malroy Quest. In which you take the reins of a House of storied glorious past since Aegon’s Conquering, but whose fortunes have taken a turn for the worse in the doom that Robert’s Rebellion brought. You are Brynden Malroy, second son to Lord Vamos Malroy and Lady Esemella Hayford and the last living heir to Steadhold and House Malroy. The year is 285AC, two years after the Rebellion and a year after your return to Westeros.

House Malroy is a pre-genned House designed around the idea of a story within the Crownlands of a House fiercely loyal to the Targaryens and their attempts to live in this new world after Robert’s Rebellion. Lord Brynden Malroy is as well pre-genned but will take direction from the players in his ways and how he develops himself further. This Quest will be moderately more story driven than others of its kind, but the development of the House and her lands will take just as much importance.

If you’ve played one of the many Quests within the ASoIaF setting the rules of the SIFRP system should be known. I will be using the Game of Thrones edition, as well as a few of the expansions namely OOSP and a few house rules which will be explained as we come to them. If you have questions about how things work or why certain actions are taken I can explain them as we go along. In truth this is a learning experience for me as well.

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And now without further ado.

“Brynden where are we going?”

“I said be patient.”

“It smells awful,” Obella whines, her vain attempts to break free from your grip over her eyes going unnoticed by yourself, “And it’s so hot and humid. For once I miss your cold castle.”

You cock your head to the side for a moment, sniff the air and shrug to yourself, “Smells like a normal summer day to me. And aren’t you dornish, since when do you complain of the heat?”

“Dorne is a desert, love. The heat is dry. Not this wet heat you northerners have. It’s unbearable and ruins my hair,” she snaps back with a quick pout, before asking again, “Where are we going?”

Shaking your head you gently open the door to the stables and lead your Ladywife into your personal stables. Goldsong stomps at the ground and shakes his head when you enter, clearly pining after the sugar cubes across from his stall. A couple of his progeny complain and bray from their own, the few you had been personally looking after, the little girl, one of his first had grown considerably since you first took her from Gawen, still not large enough to ride. Goldsong flares his nostrils when you stop to pet her with your free hand, allow the young horse to nuzzle against it for a moment.

“I’m not replacing you, old man,” you say, receiving another head shake in return and a low bray, that you retort to with, “Stop that, you aren’t a mule.”

Going to return to walking you find Obella has frozen in place and a cold sweat has begun to form on her brow running onto your hand, her voice comes as a low whisper, shaky and uncertain, “Brynden..? A-are we in the stable?”

Rolling your eyes you remove your hand and before you are to utter a response Obella gasps and wraps around and under your arm her eyes tightly shut and body shaking like a leaf in the wind. You stare at her with a dumbfounded look, not quite able to form a response, “Obella?”

“Brynden, please. Please. PLEASE. Do not make me go near them. Please by the Seven above promise me you won’t make me go near them.”

---

Quentyn Qorgyle is absolutely rolling with laughter, his younger brother Quellon merely shakes his head before plunking another arrow into the target. Arron and Gulian give the you and the other two adults queer looks before beginning another round of their own competition.

“I thought she would have told you by now,” Quentyn says through his laughter, propping himself up on the longbow he had been using for the night, his face flushed from the dornish red and the exertion of laughter.

“You know she doesn’t like talking about it Quentyn,” Quellon says in a low monotone. The youngest Qorgyle sibling hadn’t been the most talkative of the three. You found him to be a bit more like his nephew, Arron. Quiet and precise, not the stereotypical dornishman at all. He tsks as his arrow just barely hits inside the second ring.

“But she married a HORSE Lord! It’s in the blood heraldry! How do you not tell the man whose living is breeding horses she is deathly afraid of them!” Quentyn bursts into laughter again and Quellon rolls his eyes before fixing you with a steady look, his eyes weren’t the deep purple that his elder brother and sister were, instead a dark brown.

“I’m guessing she told you what happened then?”

---

Obella continues to shake, having drawn her knees up to her chest as you sat under a large oak’s shade, some distance away from the stables. Your hand rubs her back and she allows her head to fall upon your shoulders.

“You’re scared of horses then?”

She shakes her head in the affirmative, trying not to let the tears in her eyes roll down her cheeks.

“And you haven’t told me this… Why?”

She responds with a half shrug and a burying her face further into your shoulder.

“Are you going to?”

Her voice responds with a soft whisper and sniffle, “I guess so...”

You sit patiently, allow her a moment to collect herself, hand still rubbing her back.

“When I was little a pony bucked me off… She was the sweetest prettiest mare they could find my father told me. It was my eighth nameday present, all I had asked for that entire month was a pony, like any little girl’s dream,” she pauses and shakes her head, “It’s so stupid.”

“I’ve been bucked off plenty of horses Obella,” you respond, not quite having gathered the level of trauma the experience had entailed yet, “Hell half a dozen of them had bucked me off before I turn ten.”

“It wasn’t just that Brynden,” she says her voice slightly offended, “She didn’t like me at all. The pony bucked and went crazy, it took three men just to calm her down after I had fallen to the ground. Any time I would draw near her ears would lay flat, and she’d snap at my hand any time I tried to bring it near.”

Screwing your face up you look out at the yard where the horses were allowed to graze and exercise. Gawen was resting in the shade as a few of the stablehands were riding them about, Grant Conklyn was out there as well riding on the makeshift course they had constructed for him. You ask, “Why didn’t they get you a new horse then?”

“My father tried. Others refused to move once I sat upon them. Another ran off with me barely clinging on and refused to heed my commands. Quentyn had to chase us down and save me. The last one they got was an old man, so well tempered the horsemaster swore he was barely any good outside of riding lessons. He bucked me off too and I broke my wrist. When the maester was patching me up and I cried and lamented to him he told me perhaps it was not the horses, but me. I just offend them I guess. I never bothered to learn to ride after that, gave up my my dreams of having a pretty little pony. I just go by ship or failing that carriage, even though the horse drawn ones still make me nervous...”

Sitting in quiet for a moment you have to repress the need to laugh at the situation, “You are aware of who you married right?”

Obella punches your arm, “An unsympathetic hothead sellsword with a bunch of horses. Yes,”
again she wraps herself around your arm, “They just… Scare me is all. From a distance they’re fine. I can watch them from here, Seven I could watch you ride for hours. I just don’t want anything to do with them.”

You sigh and run your hand through the back of her hair, slipping your fingers gently through and around the small knots that had formed from the humidity, “So long as I don’t have to get rid of them. Gawen might be cross with me if I had to throw out my collection just because my wife thought they were... tacky.”

Obella pauses and laughs at your poor joke nuzzling closer to you and allowing her legs to ease, the soft ripples of the golden sandsilk skirt pick up in the summer breeze, her tanned legs allowed some time in the sun.

---

Aim. Breath. Fire. Your arrow streaks across the practice range upon Steadhold’s roof and firmly lodges itself into the center of the target. Smirking at it you turn and see Quentyn’s face of confidence dissolve and his brother shaking his head in dismay.

“I don’t know how you fucking do that,”Quentyn says, “You have to be cheating.”

“Learn to be pretty accurate when the other guy is trying to kill you for about a decade. Besides we’re only at a third of my maximum pace,” you say with a laugh, “We could always do it on horseback if you think you’ll fare better at that Lord Qorgyle.”

Quellon laughs as his brother’s face turns to annoyance, “Afoot is fine, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” you say with a shrug allow the smile to play upon your lips as you turn and draw another arrow. The longbow had begun to suit you more and more as you became practiced with it again, still couldn’t fire the thing from horseback like Solhas and Barq Zos did with their goldenheart bows but perhaps someday. Your next arrow drifts slightly upward, striking just above the first and you can hear Quentyn’s exasperation and Quellon’s laughter a moment after. Taking leave of the circle you cross with Quentyn who is stretching out his bow and take up place next to his brother who hands you a few dragons, a small bet. Who could make Quentyn rage and quit first? An amusing game as you were both far better shots.

“My sister likes to keep her secrets,” Quellon says after a moment of allowing his brother to take is first shot in silence, barely knocking into the second ring, “I’m not surprised she hadn’t told you.”

You shrug, “A small matter in the end I’d suppose. Maybe someday I’ll work on it.”

Quellon snorts, “Doubtful. Best of luck when your children begin to wish to ride.”

Quentyn knocks his second arrow slightly better than his first, and just inside where his brother had, enough to cause him to puff up his chest and bang it like he had just won a battle single-handedly. His brother rolls his eyes towards you before trading places with Lord Qorgyle who takes up next to you in his place.

Quellon takes his first shot, actually giving you some competition with it and causing Quentyn’s bravado to fade and his face grow cross. He turns to you, “Suppose you told her about the plans for Highgarden?”

Sighing you nod, “Could you imagine had I not?”

Quentyn shudders, “I would likely not have a brother-in-law for much longer.”

---

Lorelei is a best

“Are you truly so certain he will ask for a Trial by Combat?” Obella asks you the tinge of concern in her voice obvious and desire of the opposite evident upon it, “What if he asks for a trial by Faith? Or… Has an actual defense ready?”

“Three witnesses he hadn’t counted upon being alive or in my dungeon and his supposed overconfidence would suggest otherwise. More often than not a guilty man will resort to a trial by combat, their last resort to bring their accuser with them,” you respond, watching Gawen attempt to pull a large black destrier from the stables, two of the stablehands helping as much as they could. His side was bandaged up and he walked with a clear limp, but surprisingly the old warhorse you had commandeered from Aeror’s battlecamp survived the gruesome morning. One of the men-at-arms had found him wandering about with a dagger stuck in his side, and the cut still bleeding in the post battle. The first time you saw him in the stalls post battle had surprised you, further that he recognized you still and actually obeyed your hand, something Gawen was astonished by.

Obella nestles against you, allowing her leg to wrap around your own, her feet bare as she had kicked off her snakeskin saddles moments prior, “I’d suppose… I thought for once I would not have to worry as you left me. From what Illiad tells me you were unlikely to compete in the lists. Half the time would have been spent feasting with Reachlords and selling horses. Probably compete in the archery contest and that would be that. But now I learn you go off to war again. I cannot say I like it.”

Pausing you turn your head towards her, “Do you not plan to come?”

“And watch you try to kill yourself again? I think not,” she responds, “Besides, Lorelei will only be a month old, love. Neither her nor I are fit to travel, not that far, not this soon. And as much as I would love to see Highgarden and my place is by your side I think I would do better here.”

You tsk, and feel somewhat deflated, surrounding yourself with family only built your confidence further but this trip felt like you were soon to be on your own. Mason and the Sons of Gold would be staying home, the former having little reason to return to his birthplace. Dontos and Victus would be staying in Chelsted as well, a letter yesterday had told you, they were still dealing with the fallout of the Invasion of the Princewood, pockets of bandits had continued to pop up even after the main camp had been defeated. And now you’d be without your wife and daughter. At least Wesley had agreed to come, and Quentyn and Quellon were quick to offer you place at their own camp, likely not too far from Prince Oberyn’s as well. Small solace, but it was certainly not your preferred result.

“Speaking of Highgarden, love,” Obella interrupts your idle thoughts, “Have you thought of how you are going to convince him to see a Crownlands issue in the Reach?”

---

“Well have you?” Quentyn asks.

“Obella had,” you respond from the circle allowing the arrow to fly a moment later, “As had my uncle Dontos. The latter had written to Lord Mathis Rowan and Argor Conklyn. They both recommended appealing to Mace Tyrell’s ego, his need to appear relevant upon the mainstage of the Seven Kingdoms. It is not by chance that he claims victory for the Battle of Ashford when it was Lord Tarly who had won the day.”

“And my sister?” Quellon asks.

“Much the same. Though suggested I befriend one of his primary bannermen, tell him of my woes. Have him sponsor the trial, Lord Paxter Redwyne, Randyll Tarly, Leyton Hightower, Florents possibly, those likes. Though Ser Mason recommends against the Hightowers. Bribes, trade, and feasting if necessary. Another friend among the Reachlords is hardly a poor idea regardless, she said.”

“Sounds like Obella,” Quentyn responds, “Can’t say it isn’t a bad idea Brynden. Perhaps the Prince would be inclined to sponsor as well, failing all other things. Lord Tyrell would be loathe to decline Oberyn’s request, particularly given the man’s ego as your Uncle said.”

---

“When do you make leave for Highgarden?” Obella asks.

“Next week, as planned,” you respond, lazily playing with the ringlets of her hair, “Quentyn and Quellon both seem eager to be on the road and arrive early.”

She sighs, “I don’t have to say it do I?”

“Come home to you whole. Come home to you upon my feet, not upon my shield.”

“Or else.”

“Or else what?”

She looks up to you, pools of blue to drink in your emerald flame, “Or else Lorelei will grow up without a father and I will grow old without a husband. We dornish are known for our longevity love, particularly when we have something to live for.”

“And what is that?” you ask with a chuckle.

Her eyes narrow with a particular seriousness, her face hardened enough to tell you she was serious and for a moment not playing with her words as she so often did, the single utterance a reminder of what you lived for, of what had grown to consume so far that even your wife knew that you would not rest without it, “Revenge.”

---

Your second arrow thunks solidly into the center of the target and Quentyn throws his arms in the air, his bow falling to the ground. You laugh with Quellon as his brother stalks off to watch his son’s practice for a moment. Another three coins find place in your palm then quickly your pocket and patting him on the back, “Perhaps next time.”

“Perhaps next time in Sandstone,” Quellon says, “If you can manage to force my sister to return home for once.”

“A battle for another day I’m sure,” you say with a slight laugh, “Is House Qorgyle ready to depart?”

“At daybreak, as planned my Lord,” Quellon responds stiffly, “I assume House Malroy is as well?”

Pausing you tick off the mental list of preparations you had done, nothing in particular had stuck out to you, everything was ready as far as you could recall. Mason and Obella had been discussing Steadhold and her well being while you were away, both planning on making an appearance at the Sept to help quell the commonfolk’s reaction to their Lord leaving for Tourney so soon after war and their plight having worsened. Apprentice Ashby and Elionwy had promised to see to your House’s affairs as you were gone, helping Obella and Mason making the necessary decision in the month and a half you would be away. Jonos Strouman and your other Captains were still working within the city and Princewood to assure law and order was kept. As far as you could recall and knew everything was in order, nothing in particular to remember.

>Anything to do in Steadhold before we leave for Highgarden? (Specifics please, if it’s more than minor I’ll attribute a small scene to it, if it’s minor I will address it as needed.)
>Nothing to do, time to go to Highgarden.

Traveling to Highgarden:
>Arron Qorgyle
>Illiad (Merchant)
>Steadhold Household Knights (Ser Lucas Longwaters, Ser Jon Pryor, etc.)
>Ser Wesley Hayford & House Hayford
>Lord Quentyn Qorgyle, Ser Quellon Qorgyle, & House Qorgyle
>Ser Lyonel Langly, Marceline Sand, & Captain Belidos (Witnesses)

Remaining Home:
>Lady Obella Qorgyle & Lorelei Malroy
>Ser Mason Flowers (Castellan) & Elionwy (Stewardess)
>Ser Dontos Malroy, Victus Waters, & House Chelsted
>The Sons of Gold (Ser Victor Haigh, Yondril, etc.)
>Remaining Military & Household unmentioned

Anyone else we’d specifically like to bring along?

Nope. Also good to see ya survived them scooping ya brains out dad!

>>Anything to do in Steadhold before we leave for Highgarden? (Specifics please, if it’s more than minor I’ll attribute a small scene to it, if it’s minor I will address it as needed.)

Bed Obella. Her should be healthy enough to do that now.

Otherwise i am not sure what else to bring or do.

Nah I'm good, let's do this thing.

Figured we'd start a bit slow today, probably doesn't help that my OP is the longest I've ever posted. Ah well.

>Bed Obella.
Safe to assume that happened and has been happening.

Oh that's not until tomorrow. I'll address that at the end of the thread since it's very blog-posty.

I suggest we make a show of seeing the small folk before we leave. Some token gesture and time spent telling them we will be looking to ease their plight as soon as we are able.

Leastways they then have an arguing point that we have come to see them, instead of disapearing without even showing face. Should keep them in arguing long enough (in the face of a rebellion) for us to do something about it.

>Figured we'd start a bit slow today, probably doesn't help that my OP is the longest I've ever posted. Ah well.

Dear lord father. You got a lot of pent up creative juice. If you are not careful it will clog up your brain.

Might be a good idea. Inspect the area a bit, make sure the people know they are being taken care of.

Also play with Lorelei!

Let her know she is the cutest of all our trueborns!

Write to Rickard to find a husband for Cecillia and Dorian!

I can work that into the next post. Maybe distribute some food from the castle, leftovers from the night's prior feast. That'll help relations.

Out of all one of them. How much playing can you do with a month year old? Hell if I know.

IC Brynden has no idea what's going on with Cecilia and Dorain outside of 'they are alive.' He doesn't really have cause or reason, nor has he shown recently particular care, to do that.

Anyway, doesn't look like anything major, I can slightly switch around how I'm going to do the next post and we'll be off.

>Out of all one of them. How much playing can you do with a month year old? Hell if I know.

Poke them on the cheek intill they say funny noises and talk to them in funny voices

What i did

I love you father.

I love you as much as goldsong loves sugar cubes

Don't forget his love of dothraki mares.

Neigh neigh motherfucker

Gonna see some rivalry between him and Blacksong ?

Evidently we need to curb our wifes horse fear by getting her a foal to look after until its grown.
Get it young enough and it should aclimatise to her, even if its the only horse who will ever let her ride it.

>Anything to do in Steadhold before we leave for Highgarden? (Specifics please, if it’s more than minor I’ll attribute a small scene to it, if it’s minor I will address it as needed.)
Sup Old Man, we gonna talk to the Princewood Rebel guy right? You know what we should've done already

seconded, give her one of Goldsong's many progeny.

>first thing it do is try bite her

Okay I swear the posts after this will be smaller and more timely, I just had to get through all the exposition.

Anyone else we’d specifically like to bring along?

“Nothing I can think of, I’ll warn tomorrow might be a bit of a meandering start,” you say after a moment of thought, “Obella thought it best I make my rounds around the town before I leave. Sign of goodwill and all.”

“As is expected of a proper Lord,” Quellon says, again speaking less like a dornishman than you would expect, “Of course. Quentyn and I will go on ahead, I am certain you will be able to meet with us when we break for camp.”

“To be certain,” you respond with a quick nod. Quellon offers his head which you take and he leaves off to be with his brother and nephews for the rest of the evening, allowing you a moment with Obella for the night. She had even managed to separate herself from Lorelei long enough that you maybe enjoy each others company in a more intimate nature. She seemed more aggressive than per usual allowing the moment to last long into the night and until the point of exhaustion for you both. She had finished you in her mouth, an action that drew a queer look from you but was a foggy memory in the afterglow that followed as you drifted off to sleep.

The early hours of your morning were spent with Lorelei, allowing her to nurse from a bottle of goat’s milk and putting her back down to sleep until her mother had time to collect her later on. Breaking your fast with quail eggs on toast with a side of thick cut bacon allowed you a chance to look over your supplies for the road, nothing particularly outstanding in truth but best to double check, old sellsword habit.

Another scroll had Apprentice Ashby’s flowing script detailing the gifts and goods you’d be bringing along. Three of your best horse’s from the rare bloodline for Lord Mace Tyrell and his son’s Willas and Garlan, boys both but likely to enjoy the gift of a golden horse. A handful of lesser quality for the many cousins. Another five score horses for trade and sale. Two score of the Myrish crossbows that Illion had made, Illiad had insisted upon it if nothing else they made exotic gifts and played to the sellsword persona. Perhaps if the right trade offer came along you would even find a lucrative trade deal. Dontos’ letter had made sure to remind you to bring the pavilion Lord Argor Conklyn had gifted you for the wedding, and to be certain to return the favor with a gift of your own, Kate Yarson was quick to the request and produced an exquisite longsword to serve the purpose, Illiad procured a scabbard of grey leather, that he swore was elephant hide from across the sea and had rubies inlaid into the pommel. A proper gift to be certain.

Mason finds you not soon after you finish your meal and sending the page off to assure everything is in order, not that you expected otherwise. He seemed in good spirits all things considered, after having found out that Obella intended to stay home you took the chance to ask if Mason would reconsider coming with you to Highgarden, returning to his childhood home.

“I’ve got no place there Brynden. Seven knows my father don’t want to see me and I know the Hightowers will be there. Last thing I need is to have them breathing down my neck again about the girl, undue attention when you are in a time of needing to make friendship and alliances. I’d sooner stay in Steadhold, this is my home now,” he said to you, his voice tinged with anger at the thought. Very rare was it that Mason got angry but if it was regarding his past, he was soon to moods of dark dourness and often refused to speak of it further there after.

Instead today he looked to you with a smile, his baby blue eyes lit up in the splendor of the stained glass windows that had been refurbished and reinstalled not a few days prior.

“The servants are ready Brynden. Four wagons filled with what was leftover from last night, another two with blankets and basic supplies. And two more filled with barrels of mead. As instructed. Water seems to be a non-issue, thankfully.”

“Let’s keep it that way for the duration, hm?”

“Of course Brynden. I promise no less than the best.”

You smile a crooked smile and begin to laugh, Mason joining in not soon after, “When did we become so formal with one another Mas?”

“When you decided to become a Lord, and I your bannerman.”

“Terrible decisions all around.”

“Aye, that they were,” Mason says with a smile, “Ready to go then?”

Pushing off from your seat you nod and follow after Mason to the front of the castle, Obella is there waiting for you, as are her brother’s who make leave not soon after a quick exchange. Captain Jonos leads his garrison into the town surrounding the wagons and your small entourage, most of the citizenry are happy to see you, most of them having lived here in the past year and half since your return and having little reason to doubt in you. They were living and you were kindly to them as you could be. The walls being rebuilt helped to quell their fears of war and for the most part the send off was met with cheers and happiness.

However those that lived in the lower districts of Steadhold, the not quite finished homes and tent cities were less than thrilled. Many of them had been saved from bondage and were living off your dragon as it was already, but supplies were limited and people tended to get restless when overcrowding and rumors swirled.

Ser Jon Pryor and Lucas Longwaters flanked Mason, Obella and yourself, the rest of the Household Knights on horseback behind to discourage any sort of violence or riots. Luckily, it hadn’t ever built to that. The overwhelming majority of the refugees were grateful for your unexpected charity. Happy to eat bread and salt from your table and wash it down with what you considered pisswater but to them was mana from the Seven. There were those that refused of course, the disenfranchised who still saw your leaving as you ignoring their plight but you hoped Obella and Mason’s presence would help that anger in time or at least stem it off until you returned.

Not a few hours later and you finally found yourself on the road east towards King’s Landing. Obella saw you off with a kiss and a handful of her ‘favor’ to see you through the month and half journey and Mason a promise to do you proud, as if it were necessary to make. Wesley met up with you near halfway through the day, his much smaller entourage melding into your own with flags of House Hayford’s motley green and yellow, the brown boar of House Hogg, and surprisingly a few of the brown claw of House Brune mixing with the golden courser of your own. At least you would have some family to accompany you on the trip. Wesley for his part looked far less the mess he had the last time you had seen him, having news of his young wife’s pregnancy to greet you with. Cause for celebration to be certain for his dying House and bloodline. It at the very least had given him back his old glow and he happily chatted with you, of Hayford and his father’s improving condition and of his successes during the Invasion of the Princewood, a thing he had been most proud of. In the evening you come upon the Qorgyle camp and are quick and happy to break for your own. Goldsong seemed ready to go another night, the old man had grown restless in his stall and was ready for the life of the wandering sellsword once more.

Another few days and you found yourself in King’s Landing, happy to spend the night in the last proper bed you would see for awhile in the Malroy Villa. Rickard Wence met you as he always had with a smile and saw to it your entourage was accommodated as best as they could be, having to split some between this villa and the Hayford’s manse down the road. Quentyn and Quellon asked for a tour, somber an affair as it was, most of the villa had been cleaned and refurbished but the western wing still sat closed off from the general public. Rickard later in the evening had approached you regarding it, requesting the funds to be able to clean up the villa to its former glory, and not the site of murder and war it had become in the years that had followed. A simple request, one that you promised to think on.

The rest of the journey was swift and simple, a few weeks upon the Roseroad felt like a vacation compared to sitting in Steadhold. Though at times the sun grew too hot to bare it wasn’t anything that ever stopped you full halt and you made decidedly good time to Highgarden. A night was spent at Bitterbridge, a place where you could have sworn at one time or another you had very distant relatives at, but a night with a cousin of the main branch of House Caswell and current castellan as they Tourneyed in Highgarden left you with more of a headache than an answer. Nothing a few goblets of wine wouldn’t fix at least. When you did arrive in Highgarden you were happy to be greeted by your Maester, Benjin and Solhas and Barq Zos. It had been months but Benjin had been granted leave to meet with your and to represent the Citadel in Highgarden as they deliberated on the matter regarding the next Archmaester. It was good to have the two summer islanders flanking your sides again and to have the Maester to speak to at length regarding your House and her well-being.

Evening had just come in as your servants finished constructing the pavilion, it was a truly grand thing in all its splendor. Rivaling some of the greater Houses of the Reach such as the Fossoways and Florents. Quentyn even seemed a touch jealous of it as it stood next to his own that was certainly a few years older. From your seat there was a sea of colors and heraldry, every House you could remember from the Reach was here, some from the Stormlands, Crownlands, and Westerlands, even the Riverlands. Dorne was represented, though at a smaller scale, but was dominated by the speared sun of House Martell, though only other great House to, surprisingly, attend. You picked out those that Dontos had recommended you meet, House Redwyne flanked by a colors you did not recognize, a black ship on blue, surrounded by vines, odd choice. House Tarly and Hightower were scattered further up towards the castle, and what a splendid thing it was, you had never seen Highgarden before, so to see the bountiful overflowing gardens, the high walls of white and a castle that looked plucked from a fairytale, it was all very overwhelming.

Lucas Longwaters comes up behind you, dressed in his finer clothes and crosses his arms, “Hell of a view. Thought Steadhold was big.”

“Compared to Longhall, anything would look big,” you respond with a laugh.

“Don’t let Jon hear you say that. He has a bad case of castle envy,” Lucas says joining your laughter, “Suppose we ought to get up there for the welcoming feast, aye?”

>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time
>Do something else first (Specify.)

>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time
Let's check out the Redwyne tent and start making allies

>Go to the feast.

Do we know what the seating arrangements are going to be?

>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time

see if Goldsong will let her ride him without bucking.

>>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time

>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time

>Go to the welcome feast, always proper to be on time

>black ship on blue, surrounded by vines, odd choice.

>it's been nearly 3 years now

Where the heck did Princely go? He just up and vanished, never to be seen again

>Quellon offers his head which you take
Old Man pls

He died.

We got any family here in the Reach we could meet ?

Obama got him

Hey, man's having brain surgery tomorrow, I'm surprised we aren't getting more slipups

Damn right he did.

Good to see you again Father, hope you are alright and healing. I will be participating slightly later on questing.

Since he is on his way out do you think he will return to us ?

While you were stationed considerably well for a Crownlands House, and one that not a year and a half ago was on the brink of extinction, you still found the need to ride up towards the main gates of Highgarden’s castle proper. You had been allowed two guests to be seated with you, a common and proper number for your status and as a nonnative to The Reach. Lucas Longwaters and Lucerys Celtigar followed after you on your ascent. Lucas’s wife Lady Racheal Conklyn, and squire and heir to House Conklyn Grant, had both come with you, the former having made use of the carriage Lord Mathis Rowan had gifted you as she was now four months pregnant. They had both separated from you, being allowed to sit with their father. Undoubtedly Lucas would be invited to their table at some point as well. What had surprised you the most though was that neither the Celtigars, nor Velaryons had a presence at the Tourney. At the very least you would have expected Lord Monford Velaryon to make an appearance, it is not like his family was disliked here in the Reach. Perhaps they were late you thought to yourself and when asking your distant cousin received only a shrug of unknowing himself.

What hadn’t surprised you however was the grandeur of the interior of the castle, everything from the rugs of green and gold, to the golden trimmings and details of the walls spoke of wealth. Spoke of power, influence. House Tyrell had enjoyed years of flourishing wealth after the Targaryens had come to power, small wonder in the breadbasket that was the Reach. Even through the countless wars and battles that had been fought in the region they still prospered. Unsurprising that your family was quick to befriend the golden roses with gifts of golden horses.

You wonder to yourself as you entered the grand hall, that you swore was large than your castle alone, if your father Vamos Malroy or grandfather Emmon Malroy had ever traveled here, had every paid tribute to a great and powerful friend such as the Tyrells or if you were the first in more than a few generations.

Lucas behind you gawks about the grand hall his mother hung ajar at the splendor, “Do the Tyrells have a garden of actual gold roses in the back somewhere?” he wonders allowed, eliciting a laugh from Lucerys who almost looks underdressed in the considerable Celtigar wealth at his own disposal.

A servant helps you to your seats, a long table on the fourth step, you see the Qorgyles a step above you, and the Hayfords and Hoggs a step below. House Conklyn is on the same level as you, while the Rowans are on the second. From what you can tell Prince Oberyn is enjoying a seat upon the highest dial, a place of honor alongside the Tyrells, not unexpected to say the least. The Florents and Fossoways are a step above, the Redwynes, Hightowers and Tarlys above them. And through all of that you remember, in the grand scheme of things, that House Malroy was still hung low, not so low to become jealous, but low enough to remind you of your place in the world. A great House nor a primary bannerman you were not, a curt and to some extent welcomed reminder.

Your table mates are two more Houses of the Reach, House Bulwar and House Meadows. The Lords were pleasant and welcoming and you soon found yourself falling into chatter of the Crownlands, and telling a few of your less bawdy stories to the table’s amusement. A herald calls your attention before the first course is served and Lord Mace Tyrell stands to speak. A lovely speech that you barely catch word of but are happy to raise a glass to in toast.

After he sits again servants come out of the woodwork and begin to serve bread and salt before the first course of a quail salad with various greens. Your glass stays filled and you are happy to allow it, the months of not drinking in solidarity with Obella having finally been lifted. As this is all going on another herald begins to announce the order of events. Of course the joust was the primary event, open exclusively to Knights and Lords who had were Knights, it was the Reach after all, chivalry was far from dead here. Two weeks of Jousting leading to the crowning of the champion, tomorrow being the first, mostly hedge and lowborn Knights fighting it out in the lists to attempt to move into a position that mattered in the week that followed. The prize was announced as 8000 gold dragons, and you can’t help but be envious of those that knew how to actually joust. By the time the herald is done naming the contestants the third course is being served. On the sixth day there would be a melee open only to Knights and Lords, a much smaller event and a single day only, a prize of 2000 gold dragons had been allowed for that. A squire’s melee was on the eighth day, a prize of 500 gold dragons and a knighthood by Lord Mace Tyrell himself, you could see Grant Conklyn squirm in his seat at the thought. And on the tenth day an archery contest, open to all men. The prize was about what you expected for an undercard event, 1000 gold dragons, but still a paultry amount compared to King’s Landing.

Lucas Longwaters soon receives an invitation to join House Conklyn for the fourth course, a soup of red fish. And Lucerys has gone off to meet with an old friend leaving you alone at the table. You swirl your goblet and decide to finish the rest, a servant eager to fill it with the Redwyne vintage. Alongside him a squire appears, dressed in the green and gold of House Tyrell, he bows to you with grace and says, “My Lord Brynden Malroy?”

“Yes, squire, this is him.”

“Ser Olymer Tyrell requests your presence my Lord,” he says.

You give the boy a queer look and he only smiles at you, “Did he say regarding what squire?”

“No my Lord. Only that it was a matter urgent,” he says, “He understands if you are unable, but wishes to see you sooner rather than later.”

>Meet with Olymer Tyrell
>Do not, instead socializing with some of the other Lords (Open floor on this one.)

>>Meet with Olymer Tyrell
Ask if we can bring Lucerys along.

>meet with olymer Tyrell

Think the wifey would us a quick trip to the nearest brothel after we are done?

>>Meet with Olymer Tyrell

Nigger please

No. Just no. Keep it in your damn pants user.

>Meet with Olymer Tyrell
Who is he again

Ser Olymer Tyrell is the only child of Ser Quentin Tyrell. He is married to Lysa Meadows and they have three children; Raymund, Rickard and Megga Tyrell.

What I could find.

Stop making people want to slap you.
Eventually they will.
Or a dwarf will.

She didnt seem to mind when we visited one in Dorne!

Besides, we have to do the eight!

I am sure she will understand and be reasonable.

Thanks Sleepy, you the coolest namefag around since Art stopped

Let's meet him. Also, I wanted to say good luck tomorrow Padre

You mean before we even started properly courting her?

sexing is for when or son comes of age.

>Meet with Olymer Tyrell

We should totes get some of the golden flowers for Obella when she finally wants to start her greenhouse project.

Like a whole fooking bundle of them, along with any other rare plants we can find.

>Meet with Olymer Tyrell

Would be a good idea to bring back a few gifts for the family, Victus, Obella, Dontos and Lorelei.

Seeing little reason why not you excuse yourself from the table, Lord Jon Bulwer and Lord Elmer Meadows are deep in conversation regarding a Tourney held some years past, a topic you are less than interested in and are glad for the distraction otherwise. The squire smiles again and with a hop and skip is off to the races, weaving his way through the crowds of Lords, Ladies and Knights who are standing about the various dials and talking of all manner of things. None of which you particularly catch as you try to catch up to the young squire.

Upon reaching the second first dial, far above where you were sitting the young squire is found waiting for you, his arms crossed across his back, “This way my Lord Malroy.”

You find yourself in the company of more roses than you knew existed, and various other highly ranked Lords and Ladies. The Hightowers and Redwynes primarily among them. The squire stops and taps a man on the shoulders that looks far too familiar to you as he turns, skin pale as could be, baby blue eyes, light dirty blonde hair. For second you could have sworn- His extended hand interrupts your train of thoughts, “Lord Malroy it is a pleasure to finally meet you. My brother has spoken well of you. May I introduce, my wife Lady Lysa Meadows, and two sons Raymund and Rickard. Please sit, wine?”

“Your brother?” you ask half confused, allowing the handshake to go on far longer than it should have.

“Has he not told you? Mason, Mason Flowers, he is a man in your employ unless I have been very utterly confused and misled by his hand.”

You feel taken aback for a moment, Mason so rarely spoke of his family that you had little idea of from where or who he came from, a Tyrell he always said, Knighted me and the Hightowers banished me.

But who his parents were, never that he was also born of a Tyrell. You allow your hand to slip away and take a seat across from Ser Olymer and his wife, happily indulging in the goblet of wine before speaking again, “Mason is your brother?”

“Ah. Yes I do suppose that is very much like him to not tell you,” Olymer says rubbing the back of his neck, “My father, Seven rest his soul, Ser Quentin Tyrell had me and my mother died not soon after. Mason is my younger brother, my father took a mistress in his grief and two years later, I have a half-brother. Hadn’t heard from him in years… Fifteen or fourteen I believe? Then about a year ago I get a letter from him. Telling me all about the Free Cities, coming home, being a Knight in your Steadhold. He seemed proud and leveled, certainly not the man I had remembered from our youth. He was so… Boisterous then.”

You lean forward, “Ser Olymer you must forgive me, this is all a lot to take in. You said your father took a mistress?”

Olymer laughs, “Guessing Mas never told you about the cock upon his shield? Or the three black roses?”

“Enlighten me,” you say with a sudden amusement.

“His mother was the head of a cock-fighting ring. My father loved to gamble at those, met her. There you go. She died three years after Mason was born, the three roses are for her, black because he never truly thought of himself as a Tyrell. We grew up together, I never thought anything of it, hell I loved him like a trueborn brother. But when he was banished for having at that Hightower girl, well… Bastards do as they do my father said. Their relationship was rocky then, he never even got to say goodbye or make amends.”

“Amends?”


“Our father died during the Rebellion, Battle of Ashford. I had wished to send Mas a letter but didn’t know where to find him. Suppose I always hoped he’d just hear about it and come home, see his grave. Father would have liked that.”

Having finished your first cup of wine you beckon for a second and wave for Olymer to continue speaking, his wife having to pat his hand to remind him he was speaking with someone.

“My apologies my Lord. Regardless, we have been speaking, every couple of months or so. I couldn’t be happier to hear he is alive and well, his letter before last told me you intend to land him and he intends to marry? Joyous news truly, when it occurs I will be certain to attend. But the most recent letter he sent… Two weeks ago. He asked a favor of me I am uncertain I can help.”

“And what is that Ser Olymer?”

“He told me of your intentions here, the ‘people’ you have brought with you. Asked me to help you into the circles you need be, to gain the support necessary to bring your case to a true hearing.”

You sit upright and back, Mason hadn’t spoken of this, not even remotely, the way Ser Olymer spoke it sounded like he hadn’t gotten a response either, “I am sorry Ser Olymer I was not aware of this. If you are unable to help-”

“Oh no, no my Lord you misunderstand. I am entirely am to help it is just…”

“Such help does not come without a price,” his wife finishes, her voice curt and eyes sharp, “My husband is a cousin of the main branch but his name does not go unnoticed. If he puts himself out there in aid of your ‘cause’ Lord Malroy, then he will need proper incentive.”

Olymer smiles at you meekly and you suddenly become aware of who is pulling the strings in the relationship, you sit back again, face turning grim, “And what is that?”

“Marriage my Lord,” Lysa Meadows says, “Either of my sons would make a proper match for your own child. Mason has spoken of you having given birth to a daughter recently. A Tyrell is certainly a good catch for a Lady such as she.”

Obella - Some of the golden flowers and some fruit trees
Victus and Arron - Some daggers/shields
Dontos - Ser Loras Tyrell
Lorelei - Some Jasmine to hang over her crib.


we should introduce Dontos to Loras Tyrell

>>Meet with Olymer Tyrell

Olymer nods his head in affirmation and you swirl about your cup, mouth halfway agap, “And what sort of aid can I expect in return?”

The two look and one another and Olymer speaks, “Ask of me my Lord whatever you need to my Lord. I am certain I can provide you with the answers that would show you this is more than a good deal.”

You eye the two through half drunken eyes, even in such a sat your were aware of the play at hand if you only had daughters, Lorelei would inherit, and with a Tyrell husband it would be hard to deny them the Tyrells of Steadhold. If you had a son and he died without issue, the same. A distant cousin to the mainbranch of House Tyrell was still a Tyrell and that name carried weight. More weight than you were certain Obella would be comfortable with as well. Olymer however, could still prove useful, exceptionally so regarding the more powerful of the Reach Houses, but at what cost was the answer. Perhaps you could talk him down from such drastic demands or see if there was something else he desired.

>Question for Ser Olymer Tyrell?

Also discussion, feel free to ask me any out of character questions as well.

Whatever we decide, stop drinking. Or at least drink water instead for a while and eat more food.

Perhaps Lord Olymer but that would be in the future. For now though need horses for any jousts? I have brought a few for just such an occasion and if we were to grow closer as a result a marriage may be quicker in the coming.

Man we will not survive marrying our daughter without the consent of the lady wife

This is a serious discussion, one that we probably should ponder for a good while. It isn't a bad proposition, but we'd need to talk to obella and all of our other advisors and friends first.

This isn't something we can decide lightly and half drunk.

Umm do we even need to deal with this dude? We can still try to buddy up with some banner men

Lorelei is rather young, how old are the boys ?

Also compared to the Tyrell house Malroy is rather low. Even though they are just cousins of the main branch.

Just for the love of the seven dont say "I need my wife premission first" or something to that degree, just say "I will think about it"

Obella would have our guts for garters if we did this without discussion since this daughter is going to the Vale. How about we promise one of our children as a betrothal? We plan on five anyway

That's not a bad idea, noted.

A very good observation.

You don't necessarily half to, he'll just make it much, much easier to get into those circles. You have fourteen days mind you and when I noted the seating arrangement that should have told you how important status and rank is when it comes to making friends, especially the high ranking friends you need.

We can't really bargain with children who don't exist

You don't necessarily half to, he'll just make it much, much easier to get into those circles. You have fourteen days mind you and when I noted the seating arrangement that should have told you how important status and rank is when it comes to making friends, especially the high ranking friends you need.

Yeah it would be foolish of us to just dismiss it.

>My lord, I'm sure that you are aware that your and my beautiful wives would also need to be included in that discussion. Any demands of my family would need to include her input.

>Think about it this way my lord. You will have contributed to writing a serious wrong among the crownlands. Stopped a potentially dangerous and unstable lord from unlawfully usurping lands and engaging in hostilities with their neighbors of which I am sure Lord Arryn will be extremely grateful. You also place the name of the Tyrells in high esteem as arbiters of justice and as objective third parties in matters of law, away from the politics of the Crownlands. Redward is a patsy of the Queen and the Lannisters, reducing their prestige in the crownlands and giving Baratheon, the crownlands, and by extension the Stormlands better wiggle room and negotiating room with other great lords. Why, I can even see it as a beginning of the crownlands to start growing closer ties with the Reach and start removing themselves from the Lannister pockets. You personally benefit by advancing the cause of the Tyrells in Kingdom politics and are going to be seen as a shrewed and fair negotiator, as well as arbiter of justice. To get all these benefits and ask for the hand of my firstborn daughter when you will most likely receive better solicitations is just downright greedy. Of course, you would be helping me and my family out immensely. Maybe we can solidify our alliance in other ways, such as trade? I'm sure that if the Crownlands and the Reach begin to form closer ties, already having a ally in the crownlands would immeasurably improve your station.

If his wife is the one pulling the strings then maybe we should try to separate the two and speak with Olymer in private. Then we could try and figure if he himself wants anything besides a marriage without her interfering.

Other anons should edit the above as needed.

No dont tell them we need to talk with our wife first. It will make us look henpecked.

We will ofcourse talk to her about it. But dont admit it.

That is a good idea. Talk lord to lord, appeal to us his pride. Isolate him from his wife and we should be able to sellsword talk him

>Lorelei is rather young, how old are the boys ?
Raymund is 4, Rickard is 2. Neither of those age gapes are unheard of.

>Also compared to the Tyrell house Malroy is rather low.
Another good observation, it should be very clear how important the hosts of this Tourney are. Even if Olymer is a distant cousin of the main branch, the name still has meaning.

>since this daughter is going to the Vale.
Not this daughter and not to the Vale. Lysa Tully wants a son preferably close to the same age as her own. It doesn't have to be your first born.

>How about we promise one of our children as a betrothal? We plan on five anyway

Planning and having are too entirely different things. They see a firstborn daughter right now and that's all.

>Redward is a patsy of the Queen and the Lannisters
Not who you're taking to trial, House Langward is. In the grand scheme of things, they don't care about House Redward and your current conflict. Just what is going on here and now.

>Maybe we can solidify our alliance in other ways, such as trade?
Olymer isn't a landed Knight, just a Household one. He doesn't have anything to trade personally not without going through the mainbranch channels. Which would be difficult.

Otherwise you would hit some of Olymer's buttons there.

Not entirely a bad plan. Not that Lysa Meadows was said to have sharp eyes, she isn't drinking. While Olymer is rambling and fading off and clearly is.

>Talk lord to lord
Don't mistake Olymer for a Lord, he is a Knight, a Household Knight. And will likely never be anything more. Note House Meadows position on the dials relative to your own. There's a reason for that and it relates to Olymer's overall position in the family.

What is Lady Meadows relation to Morgan Meadows ?

We may be related

Can we bribe him with horses?

I'M GLAD YOU ASKED.

Note this all something Brynden is totally unaware of, well at the very least his knowledge of it is cursory, he'd need to succeed in a very difficult Breeding check in order to recall this information.

Morgan Meadows had three daughters to Falena Malroy, a distant cousin of the mainbranch. Their second born daughter Falyse Meadows went on to marry her first cousin, a Meadows and from there the line went on until Lysa Meadows was born. There is a relation but it is so distant and little it might as well be forgotten. Regarding Elmer and Elwood Meadows, the current Lord and Heirs of House Meadows, she is their first cousin, through a bunch of shenanigans.

So yeah, good question. But definitely not something Brynden knows off the top of his head.

He'd like the gift, and would be more inclined to something less drastic than marriage, a solid way to butter him up at the very least.

Anyway, it doesn't look like we've got a lot of discussion going on regarding this. But it does look like we want to at least get Olymer alone and start working him over with some well spoken words. Plus letting off the gas on the drinking train.

So yeah, we'll do a vote:
Attempt to get Ser Olymer Tyrell alone?
>Yay
>Neigh

>Yay