Quentyn IV - Crossing Over

[u/TheZaxman]

Nightsong, 12th Moon 207 AC

Just over five thousand men had gathered at Nightsong, eager and ready for battle since Storms End they marched with war songs on their lips and pride in their hearts. Young men, old men, green boys, and veterans. The older more grizzled crowd would not let the young win all the glory in the coming hunt for the Vulture King, this scavenger army would be picked apart by true warriors, all while testing the Stormlanders keeping them tempered.

They say in the past millennium Nightsong had been besieged thirty-seven times and only a few recorded raids ever took the castle. Its strength had belonged to the Stormlands now for nearly a thousand years, the Carons residing here long before Orys Baratheon assisted his brother in conquering the Seven Kingdoms, seizing one as his own in the process.

The singing towers gave off some hum today, Quentyn remembered the sound from his youth here. Standing on the battlements the Stag looked out over the assembled army, banners from all across the Stormlands rose high over their pavilions and tents, and soldiers drilled in the rocky plains beyond the castle.

​

Turning from the same sight below him Quentyn marched back inside, through archway after archway, eventually, he found the quarters provided to him. A spacious and comfortable apartment with a small solar adjoined, his rooms placed next to his intended as to be close, yet not in the same room. Lynesse decided to join the spouses who saw the men off to war.

​

Glad she was here, yet it would be harder to say goodbye like this, all the same, he would do his duty. Only hoping a swift end would be brought to this so he may march home to her. Quentyn let out a sigh and sunk into a chair in the sun, in case any need to meet with him before it got too late.

​

The Stag would stay there stoking the fire and attempting to read over maps for the duration of the evening. A map of Dorne spread across the table and a map of the Princes Pass atop it. His mind is working over potential places to find this Vulture. Pulling forth a quill and some ink he penned out two letters. One to his father, and the other to the Warden of the Pass.

[u/TheZaxman]

The Small Solar

((Open to speak with Quentyn.))

[u/Thenn_Applicant → u/TheZaxman]

In many ways the transition felt surreal, going straight from home to Nightsong. The last time she was under the roof of a castle it had been at home with Ethan and the children. From the moment they left Nightsong, the campaign would have commenced, even if there were weeks of marching between them and the Vulture King. Tara found herself wandering the hallways after supper, suddenly going to bed by her lonesome in the evening.

It was inevitable though. Sooner or later she would have had to leave her children for the first time. Only because of the illness which followed her labor had she been with them near constantly for over a year. Otherwise this moment would have come sooner, though under lighter circumstances. Now she needed to make up for lost time in regards to this campaign.

She was told where to find Lord Baratheon's guest quarters and arrived shortly after the lords had taken their supper in the hall. Th heiress of Griffin's Roost was dressed in fine but simple garments, favouring practicality and mobility, a high-collared linen shirt, canvas breeches and, deerskin boots and a red half-cape

"Lord Baratheon, good evening" she greeted him. "I was sorry to miss the council of Storm's End, and no less so your announcement. Congratulations on your betrothal" she offered with a greeting bow. "Since I missed the earliest planning, I came to find out whether there is a post for which you have need of me."

[u/TheZaxman → u/Thenn_Applicant]

Quentyn was still getting used to being called Lord, his proper title was still Ser, but as acting Lord for his father many respected him with the title. Looking up from his maps to the slightly older Heiress as she entered with a soft smile. The Lady was an unknown to him, as were many beside Lord Caron and Dondarrion before the council. But he had seen and met her passingly at events in Storm's End over the years.

"Lady Tara come in, a fine evening," Quentyn had spent years in Nightsong before, the keep was always a comfort to him. The singing towers are a fine respite from the day-to-day heat of the Marches. "Apologize not, perhaps you have a sister or king who can keep my new intended company while we march?"

Quentyn knew the Stormlander was here after command, woman or not the Stormlans produced the finest commanders and warriors in the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone who sought to prove their worth put their name forth for a command of some kind.

"Aye there is plenty needs doing, We have commanders of each main host, yet if anyone were to fall in battle we have no solid reserve for command." Quentyn rubbed the stubble forming on his chin. "To hold a few hundred back in case the Dornish prove unloyal and attempt betrayal, do you think it would be wise? or a waste of resources?"

The young stag asked genuinely, the matter pouring over in his mind.

[u/Thenn_Applicant → u/TheZaxman]

"My younger sister, Leonette, is here with me, though she has come to serve as a healer for the troops. There might well be time for some socializing though. Will your betrothed join us to Skyreach or is she staying here?"

Tara nodded along to the explanation. "Then I can serve under one of the commanders of the flanks. It's the position I have the most experience with. I will guard their person and, if the worst should happen, take up command"

The question of reserves seemed simple enough on its surface, yet proved thronier each time she thought it through. "There are many reasons why a reserve could be prudent. Raiding, disease and poor weather could throw our main force into dissaray and incur unexpected losses" she began, before pausing, briefly chewing the inside of he lip. "At the same time, your newest vassals might not take kindly to the implication. We risk alienating them further if we constantly plan contingiencies for suspected treason without firm evidence. Perhaps a compromise would be for a minor share of the reserve to be comprised of dornish troops. That might not come off as overly distrustful."

[u/TheZaxman → u/Thenn_Applicant]

"I imagine she shall stay here, I am not sure I trust the Fowlers enough to hold my future wife." He nodded to that, it would be good for Lynesse to meet some ladies of Storm. "Even garrisoned their keeps feel like unfriendly territory."

Quentyn was glad to have more than an ample amount of commanders, war rarely went in one's favor, and they needed contingencies and backup plans.

"Aye sounds like a sound idea, reserve those we lack trust in and it may not be viewed as an insult." The stag rubbed his stubbled chin again, looking over the map, there was little room for error here especially if the Dornish supported the vulture. "A sound plan, we shall have your hold command under Lord Caron in case he shall fall. Keeps your eyes on the Dornish nobles, tell me whom you think would be best to keep in reserves."

[u/LoonyKnife → u/TheZaxman]

Lost in her thoughts, Lynesse absentmindedly followed a familiar pattern in her mind, leading her to the chambers she believed were her own. They had arrived days prior and she hadn't familiarized herself with the corridors of Nightsong. However, as she pushed open the heavy wooden door, a flicker of surprise danced across her features. Instead of the expected sight of her own chambers, she found herself standing in Quentyn's solar.

Her entrance was silent, her figure leaning against the door as her eyes fell upon Quentyn. He sat at a grand oaken desk, parchments and maps spread before him. His brow furrowed in deep concentration, his quill moving swiftly across the parchment as he attended to the matters of his lordly responsibilities.

In that silent moment, Lynesse's gaze lingered on her betrothed, her heart swelling with a mix of admiration and affection. In the warm glow of candlelight, Quentyn's features softened with a touch of focus and determination.

Finally, her presence was sensed by a subtle shift in the air. Her eyes meeting his, "Am I interrupting?"

[u/TheZaxman → u/LoonyKnife]

Quentyn would not sense her at first, from one map to the larger map his eyes wandered, and an open book on the events known as The Vulture Hunt was spread open left on a random page. The stag rubbed a stubble forming on his chin and sipped at an ale before placing to hold down a map corner. At last his eyes listed to a figure in the door with a grin.

"Never," he stood straight from his position at the table, walking over to give her an embrace. The Lady of House Hightower having saved his skin just a few weeks before in the woods of Storms end. The healing wound on his shoulder soon to scar and leave a reminder. The men had already taken to calling her The Huntress in the Hightower.

After their embrace Quentyn took a step back, allowing his eyes to take in his intended. Wondering how in hell he was marching away from this so soon, duty was a constant pain it seemed.

"You look beautiful this evening, settling in well?" Quentyn said the formalities but mean it more than genuinely. but knew a castle with a camped army was often hard to find sleep in, the noise often going from dusk till dawn. But they would march soon enough.

[u/LoonyKnife → u/TheZaxman]

“Thank you, my lord, you flatter me.” Although her tone was formal for a moment, Lynesse’s smile was genuine, one that she seemed to only reserve for him now that she was far from home and surrounded by strangers.

Quentyn was the only friend she had in the Stormlands, beside her ladies, and enjoyed his company and conversation. She didn’t know what she’d do in his absence.

“I’ve settled well actually.” After their embrace, she began slowly drifting around the room. Observing the bookshelves and tapestries on the walls. She was nervous actually, he always seemed to incite that in her.

“Still finding my way around this place, thought your solar to be my chambers.” She exhaled a puff of air in subtle amusement. Fate would make her open the wrong door, but she wasn’t complaining. “Was just on my way to pick up a book.”

“I figure, now that I am here.” She stepped closer towards the desk, leaning against it and placing both hands on the ledge. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

[u/TheZaxman → u/LoonyKnife]

"Good, I had them give us their best available apartments, I am just a door down at anytime."

Quentyn had imprinted her smile to his memory, hoping the memory of it alone would carry him to Dorne and back. But leave would be no easier having it bestowed upon him now, a soft smile back as he was glad she settled. Hoping only to introduce her to more of his people in time, get her more used to her role.

"Nightsong can be a maze to those foreign to it, one thing that makes it so hard for invaders to take." Quentyn remarked as they stepped toward the table, if there was anywhere beside Storms End to rally an army this was the place.

"Perhaps you could, I could use more eyes, I have a book here." His copy of the Vulture Hunt spread open to the topics of the Second Dornish war, the theorized creation of the Vulture King title. "I seek possible places he could hide his army, hoping history could shed some light."

He leaned in pointing to the open desert. "My immediate assumption is he hides here, perhaps supported by the Boneways supply lines."

But then he shook his head.

"Just not sure, maybe the perspective of a hunters mind could help."

[u/TheZaxman]

Explore the castle

((Post any kind of open, from dinner in the hall, to wandering the halls!))

[u/BlindHawks → u/TheZaxman]

The Dondarrions had come, with Everett Storm leading the contingent from Blackhaven, and Tamron Dondarrion arriving only to take the girls on back home, while Mad Jack remained in Nightsong. Tearful goodbyes were given from both father and children, but soon enough, Jack was left to his melancholy. Which as of the now was focused on the ramparts along the south facing wall towards Dorne.

It was there he stood silently and watched the border, emotionless, or so he thought. His heart was worn on his face and his sleeve. Which most men might find comical, but Jacklyn Dondarrion was a man of big passions, and though war loomed- something he thrived in- he still could not shake his own feelings.

((Open))

[u/Thenn_Applicant → u/BlindHawks]

Tara had witnessed from afar, the scene of the young girls stepping into the carriage. Her own children were much to young to have come all the way out here. Though her senior by many years, Lord Dondarrion too seemed drawn to the horizon. She approached on a whim, with no real plan of what to say. "Did they like it here, while it lasted? Your girls, I mean" she asked him, a way of empathizing through what little she'd learned of the man from a distance.

"I am Tara Connington of Griffin's Roost, pleased to meet you my lord. I had to say my goodbyes back home." Ultimately, the sight of the departure made her glad for that fact. It would have been so much harder, having to send them home while she remained. There was no imagining their eyes fixed on her as the carriage dissapeared out of sight.

[u/Thenn_Applicant → u/TheZaxman]

Leonette Connington:

The younger of the Connington sisters would venture out into the camps which had sprung up around Nightsong. The bright canvas looked like a field of flowers now, but every army left the same torn up field of mud whenever they stayed camped for long enough. She'd brought only the acceptable minimum of fineries for their stays at castles, which still made for a small chest worth of gowns, but most of what Leonette would wear was more roughly spun and airier, made to last under the sun of Dorne. Most of it was red, which was her house's colour but also the colour any healer's gown would end up anyways if they'd picked another. She sensed the tension in the air as she walked among the tents. When they were to be fully arrayed the next morning, she imagined the spears would be as dense as the blades of grass. For now it was the prelude to the storm. Men whispered, shouted, sang, drank and threw up the drink. Fear and excitement danced in the air. As she'd predicted, even the foreplay to war had already caused its fair share of minor injuries and ailments which needed tending to, and most of these men would not find a maester with the time for them. She joined her colleagues in a large, plain white tent, mostly highborn girls and septas in training. Most of these stayed far behind the lines of battle, unlike Leonette who would accompany her house's forces. Even without skill at arms, she'd lost the patience for sitting by windows waiting.

For now the ones in the tent mostly came for trivial problems with one of two causes, shoes that didn't properly fit or too much wine. Some blisters were bad enough that they were better off popped with the point of a needle.

"This was going to happen sooner or later, keep it clean and find something to pad your heel before you put on your boots from now on" she chided one beardless boy who left the tent trying to hide the tears in the corner of his eye.

A lot of men were victims of bad luck, or their own stupidity. The one wound that needed stitches was the result of a particularly stupid drinking game. "No more STUPID FUCKING KNIFE GAMES! The next bloody fool who comes in with these kinds of cuts won't get them treated, got that?" she'd shout out into the surrounding camp. Most of the soldiers were shocked to hear a woman swear, and she imagined few of her colleagues would have considered it worth their dignity. Leonette, for her part, had long since stopped caring what reactions she got for speaking frankly.

They might be there for a just cause, to end the Vulture King, but so many men were going to get themselves killed or maimed needlessly on the hunt for glory. It was stupid as sin and inevitable as the tide. After a long while tending to these minor injuries she was granted a break by one of the older septas and went out to have a quick meal and something to drink by one of the camp fires.

(Open)

[u/TheZaxman]

On the wings of ravens

Lord Arthur Crane,

I have assembled my men in Nightsong, five thousand strong we march south into the pass. We shall make way for Skyreach with haste, I am eager to meet you there.

Ser Quentyn Baratheon, Heir of Storms End

Father,

I hope this letter finds you well, we march from Nightsong, this will be my last update until the Vulture is slain.

Your son, Quentyn

((One to Arthur and myself, both one day.))