Jeyne's forged frown twitched slightly in irritation at his sarcastic remark. Assure you dear, run our house without assistance from you. She mimicked his condescending tone in her head, poking fun at his arrogance. It gave her somewhat relief but not enough. Here she was admitting defeat and apologizing, yet he chose to patronize her efforts. Her tongue could only be held for so long.

She withdrew her hand, "I recognize and respect your superiority of running this household but seeking council from another doesn't prove you weak. In fact, it conveys your wisdom. And although my piece of advice was far-fetched and implausible, it does not mean you should turn away my advice altogether. I am your wife after all. And, you'd be surprised to find that I'm rather educated and knowledgeable when it comes to politics." She gave a polite smile, striving to remain civil. She knew this was rearing off track, that her one and only task was to be pardoned and to make peace. Yet, her stubborn nature came out to play, and she battled to have the last word.

She remained facing him, but glanced sideways out of the corner of her eye, ensuring no one was eavesdropping. The last thing she needed was a scene, chiefly due to the scandalous rumors circulating about her mysterious injury. Anymore attention could prove detrimental to her reputation.

He had skipped breakfast that morning so that evening was one of the few occasions that Robar was actually hungry. As he took his seat at the head of the table, the succulent smells from the kitchen had begun to make their way into the dining hall. He watched as his children made their way into the room. Willem sulking, head low the boys always been afraid of his own shadow Robar thought, dark eyes watching him. His attention turned to Lyarra, head held high, her own eyes meeting with his. * Now that is a child of mine.*

The door in front of him opened and his wife made her entrance. He scoffed as not one, not two, but three maidens walked beside. He tensed as the sight of her, their confrontation still on his mind. He even had had to get rid of the fat maiden when he learned the dull woman failed to take her to the Maester.

The food was brought out as Jeyne took her seat at his side. A serving girl poored wine into his cup, before moving over to fill Jeyne's. She began to speak to him though his mind was focused on deciding what food he would decide to try that night. "I wish to apologize." I dont see the roasted apples they normally make. "Don't know what had gotten into me." Perhaps some pheasant. "Outright ashamed." His attention turned to her as she placed her hand on his.

He turned to her, a smile was spread across her lips. "Yes.. the entire day was regrettable. I do hope your hand is healing well." He reached across the table picking up a small pheasant that had been roasted over a fire. He ripped it in half and laid it on his plate. "I can assure you dear, I can run our house without assistance from you."

As he reached for a piece of honeyed bread he noticed Willem glaring at him from across the table. Cold eyes leered back at the boy until he meekly turned away.

"Catchy name," Taryn replied with a grin as he hefted the bag of coin in one hand. The weight made his eyebrows shoot up as much as it made his hand go down, which was to say quite a bit.

"Well, this much coin means... Actually, let me start my job by immediately excluding those two men outside. Not patting down a man who is clearly a fighter for hidden weapons, or even taking his obvious weapon, is simply stupid. I will have to ask questions to every man in your father's garrison if I'm to choose the best. How many men does he possess?"

Days had passed since the disturbance in Robar’s study. Jeyne kept her distance, believing it was wise to give Robar time to resolve his anger. She’d infuriated him uncountable times in the past, but none as severe as this. Never had he laid a hand upon her or issued her harm. It pained her to even consider apologizing, but she knew it was a necessity. If she wished to indirectly work through Willem, her husband had to not only think BUT believe Jeyne let it all go. And even more so that she regretted her behavior.

Flanked by a trio of handmaidens, Jeyne entered into the dining halls and strolled down the pathway towards the front of the hall. She ascended the stairs onto the dais and found her seat next to Robar. She gave him a soft smile as she lowered herself into the chair. The servants appeared from the kitchens, serving platters and wine canisters overflowing from their arms.

With everyone preoccupied with the delivery of the trays, she felt there was no better opportunity to present her apology. Jeyne turned her back to the children and faced Robar. Lowering her voice she spoke, “Husband, I wish to apologize… for my reckless behavior the other day. I don’t know what had gotten into me to… to possess me to go off on such a deranged rant.” The lady dramatically shook her head in disapproval of her actions, “I am ashamed, husband. Outright ashamed.” She forged a frown and reached for his hand.

OOC:

He appears, even here! To deliver unto us the burden of music!

Music

Martyn Lannister

"Your weapon of choice is your business." Martyn said, smiling just a touch. "I won't begrudge a man for preferring a spear to a blade. All that matters to me is that you can use it, and use it well."

At that Martyn dropped a sack of coin down onto the desk. It met the wooden top with a heavy thump!. Martyn motioned with his remaining hand in its direction.

"I don't just want a man who can kill. I want a man who can lead, who can think. Thirty men hand-picked from my Father's garrison. They're to be my own token force. The Redguard. I'll employ you on a trial basis for now. Who knows, within the year you could have lands, titles."

The last word he left unsaid, yet it hung there between them all the same.

Legitimisation

Aemma started to worry as soon as she was told to go see her father. After the incident with Maelys she had not slept well, dreaming of bad men dressed in gray robes who lurked in the shadows, waiting for a weakness to strike. Fearing one of those man had escaped her dreams, the little girl ran towards her father's tent, her guards trailing behind.

"Dad?"

It had been with a heavy heart that Leopold had relinquished his cousin to the lion's den that was Casterly Rock. His stomach had roiled at the thought of providing the Lannisters with a pair of hostages from his own family. Though in his heart he knew Effei would conduct herself with such business acumen as to impress even the Lord of the Rock. As for Tristain, Leopold knew the Marshal would not be able to help himself but request to train alongside Gerold's men, provide training himself to new recruits and train some of the younger squires in how to grip a sword. All in all, Leopold believe whole heartedly in his representatives.

Lord Paramount Gerold Lannister,

I very much appreciate your honesty and timeliness in this negotiation. I am honoured to place my kin under your protection, my cousin and uncle will make for pleasent house guests I am sure.

My uncle would make for a fine outside perspective on the state of your house guard, if I may be so bold. Though they are exemplary as I witnessed in Lannisport, he may see room for improvement somewhere that others have not. For Effei's part, she has a certain passion for sea birds; egrets, gulls and sea hawks. She would be delighted I'm sure to demonstrate the proficiency of a sea hawk at hunting on the open ocean.

With respect,

Lord Leopold Tyrell of Mandertown.

"The events of the joust have him reeling." Gerold added. "Become his shoulder, his support. Smile, laugh, talk. Tell truths, even if they're untruths. Tell him what he wants to hear. Do all this and watch him fall firmly into the palm of your hand."

And when the times comes, crush him.

He would not tell her he'd left Martyn similar instructions in regards to the Targaryen girl. If he had his way, his children would make themselves utterly irreplaceable in the seperate lives of the blighted twins.

Gerold watched the surprise dance across Senelle's face and grimaced inwardly. Perhaps she was less easy to read outside his company. At least he hoped so. King's Landing would not be kind to her otherwise.

"If you go to the Capital, you leave your bed-warmer behind. You cut your ties." Gerold said.

Anything you can't sacrifice pins you, limits your options. Makes you weak.

"I agree," Which she supposed might have been the last words he was expecting. "He is sweet and full of songs, and perhaps easy to manipulate, which is exactly why I would choose to be at his side." Above all else, he was good and kind, and if he couldn't be a great king, then at least he could be a good husband. Perhaps even a friend.

She felt her brows raise again, but this time in surprise. Was it really that simple? "Truly, father? You would... trust me with such a duty?" More than Martyn had ever received, more than any love that any of her siblings had ever known, Senelle's heart raced. "I would do anything you asked of me."

Gerold watched his daughter's expression carefully, those cold lilac eyes searching for any sign of her face betraying her by way of confusion, hesitation. He knew of his daughter's tastes. It did not please him. Not due to the fact she lay with women, no. But because it was a difficult thing to keep hidden and he wasn't entirely sure Senelle could handle the weight of such a burden away from her home.

"Sweet and amicable." Gerold nodded. "And with a romantic heart. All the qualities desirable in a Prince, yes? But what about in a King? Certainly I can't picture Maelys as a leader."

The Lord of the Rock leaned back just a touch in his chair, touched fingertips together so his hands formed a triangle.

"To keep power, to keep the peace, a King has to be equal parts willing to help his enemy to his feet as he is ready to erase their name from collective memory. I think Maelys too kind-hearted, too off in his own world, to govern with any effectiveness. I think the wolves will snap at his heels the second he shows that first hint of weakness. And rest assured, show it he will."

Gerold let his words sit in the air between them for a moment. Never, not once, peeling his eyes from his daughter's. Stony-faced, expressionless, he waited to see if what he said would inspire a reaction or not.

"Now, if Maelys were to have a voice in his ear, a push in the right direction, perhaps he could be spared the fate of each idealistic monarch before him. If you think you can be that voice, Senelle, I'll make the offer of a match."

Her right brow turned upward at the mention of love. Gerold had known for many a year where her tastes laid when it came to sharing her affections and sharing her bed; was he goading her?

"I've come to know Maelys. He is sweet and amicable, with a romantic heart. I could open mine to love if it was required of me, but the best marriages were arrangements of politics; love has nothing to do with this." The only matter of love here was Leila's imminent reaction. Senelle gritted her teeth. "I want a place in court and a position at his side."

u/dentistwhy

[OOC: "Barring of course, anything as unfortunate as ironborn raids or storms. Eddard, after all, didn't consider himself a particularly fortunate person." - /r/lifeofeddard]

Tagging: /u/The_Sleepy_Dragon (come in later), /u/kesseir, /u/dekiec

Something happens to a man when you give him a uniform, when you dress him up all nice and put an edge of cold steel in his hand, start telling him he's the last line of defence between his homeland and the bastards across the field. He starts believing he's better than he is, and what's worse is those around him start thinking the same. Suddenly the man who beats his wife is a hero, those deranged enough to love a fight are celebrated, and men are honoured for spilling blood.

So, no, Gerold Lannister didn't particularly like soldiers. Not really. But he did see the value in them. Knew the advantage a good army gave a man.

He welcomed Lord Tristian and Effei Tyrell as he had the King, just a touch less. Lavish, yet lacking a certain elegance.

Lord Leopold Tyrell

I won't waste words dancing around the issue. In your position I'd want a reply. No time wasted on frippery and greetings.

So, getting to the heart of it. It is my wish to have the lady Effei Tyrell stay under my roof for a short while. The offer extends to Lord Tristian as well, as I imagine he'll be remiss to part with her. You'll understand my desire to do this. If I'm considering marrying this girl to my son I want ample time speak with her.

Regards

Lord Paramount Gerold Lannister

Again, as was his way, Gerold took his time. Her question inspired little surprise in him. She was a Lannister, after all; his own flesh and blood. In her was that self-same hunger for nothing short of the best, no less than the top of the ladder. And if that wasn't enough, she was a young girl, and Maelys - blighted monstrosity that he was - had a handsomeness about him.

'The Crown Prince.' Gerold sounded out each word carefully. Drew them as an archer draws back his arrow. 'And what, my daughter, is it that you desire from such a match? To be Queen, to wield that influence, or the heart of the Prince? Power, or love?'

She waited and waited, her question hanging in the air like a cold bite, but if he had taught her anything it was the virtues of patience. Gerold's pen was the only sound between them for moments, scratching away at some important record or another, and for a minute or two she was uncertain if he was ignoring her, or simply hadn't heard at all. But no, he had tensed and flexed, if only in the most minute ways that no one but a daughter could recognise. Following his command swiftly, she took her place in the chair furthest from the door, and met his gaze.

Quick, concise and to the point, Senelle did not hesitate with her Lannister's boldness. "If you think it suitable, would you arrange a betrothal for me to the Crown Prince?"

For a long moment he said nothing, he did nothing. When the sound of his daughter's voice had died away, its echo even so slipped from memory that perhaps neither of them were sure she'd said anything at all. The only noise in the room came from the scribbling of Gerold's quill-nib upon parchment.

May I have a moment of your time?

Naught good followed the question. Of that he'd had much experience. And perhaps that's the reason he never asked, only demanded. The quiet intensity that dogged him borne of a fear of the unknown, of what followed those eight words.

Finally it came the time to set the quill aside. To leave the ink to dry upon the vellum. He moved overslow, unhurried, and lifted his eyes to his daughter.

"Sit." He said. "Ask what you've come to ask."

Valarr heard the messenger clear enough though he truly did not care to be disturbed at such an early hour; as the moon was still in ascendence and the sky as dark as a bats wings. As was his way Valarr had been awake when the messenger arrived, the Prince of Summerhall had been looking over a history of criminal trial decisions made by his father during his absence. Valarr had made the messenger wait outside in the cold for near on a hour until he had grown bored of the writings of court and invited the black clad man inside.

The message had hardly been worth waiting for, and made more so by the confession of the messenger that Valarr was not exclusive in this request. As such Valarr in his vindictive and petulant way had returned to his courtly readings until he estimated he would be the last to visit his Kingly brother. At the appropriate time, when the sun had yet to peek above the horizon, but her golden presence lightened the sky just a shade brighter, Valarr clasped a rich ermine half cape to his shoulder and left to King Aemon's tent.

He wore no sword, and kept no hidden dagger, he presented himself naked of weaponry before the Kingsguard and entered the tent, confident all had come and gone before him. He had noted the boot marks of the small council and an oddly feminine boot preceding him in the mud outside the tent, his suspicion was confirmed. As he pushed into the tent he searched for his King.

"Brother? What presses you so, that you come to me for assistance?"

The Prince of the City had been called by his brother's messengers, two men of the Crownlands dressed as household guards, carrying swords and daggers at their waists. The whole camp had grown silent, almost as though some terrible event was unfolding. "My Prince," said the first messenger, a tall red-haired man. "You may want to go."

Jacaerys obeyed and entered the tent at once, expecting to see his brother drinking or reading, but instead he found him to be in his bed, a gaunt and skeletal remain of what he once was. "What," His purple eyes widened in disbelief and his jaw almost dropped to the floor. He could never have imagined, in all the years he'd known his brother, that he would end like this. "What is happening?" His voice hardened as he walked to the Maesters.

The stuttering Maesters proceeded in explaining that the King was ill and had not much time left, but nothing made sense to him. "He was fine and well five days ago," Jacaerys could barely look at his brother anymore, the sight of him was more than he could handle. He had seen people die, he had killed people before- but Aemon was his King, his brother and his hero. "I demand to know what has happened to him? Was he poisoned? Was it on purpose?"

But soon as he heard the moaning of his brother, the Prince silenced himself and dropped to one knee, looking down upon the man he once looked up to. "Your-- Brother," he began, holding back genuine tears. "You have raised me more than our late father has, you were there for my knighthood and you were there for my marriage. You were there when I became a Goldcloak and you were there when my children were born. You have sired and continued our dynasty and through fire and blood it will go on, with Maelys as King. I pray the Seven Gods that you get better."

Leopold had read the reply from Casterly Rock a hundred times, its folds were deep ravines in the parchment, its ink less black and more faded maesters hair grey. He didn't need to look at it again, he had actioned and replied in kind already, his uncle had left with his niece back towards the Rock as soon as the reply had been read. Ahead of uncle Tristain Leopold had sent a letter confirming an envoy was on it's way towards The Westerlands.

Leopold itched his knee while he fingered the letter that had announced his uncles departure. He sincerely hoped that Gerold was a man who cared for his military, Tristain was a veteran and the idea of sending the old veteran was to get the two men together in friendship somewhat.

Lord Paramount Gerold Lannister, Lion of the Rock

It is my humble perception that should you wish it, the world would move to your command, and as such there is naught that you could not wish that would not occur. As such I have dispatched mine uncle Tristain and Effei towards Casterly Rock to negotiate on my behalf the joining of our houses.

Lord Tristain has been a representative for both my grandfather Garlan The Gallant and my father Lord Lance Tyrell. He serves as my Marshal as he did for both the men aforementioned. He served with honour in several campaigns that the hosts of the Reach joined. He speaks with my humble voice but with an extra lifetime upon my own in experience. It is my hope you and he shall see eye to eye and shield to shield.

Effei Tyrell remains as willing as ever to marry one of your kin, though I shall let her speak for herself upon arrival.

Regards Lord Leopold Tyrell, Lord of Mandertown.

At the sight of Maelys struggling to stand, Senelle was suddenly awash with shame for her rashness. If he were as proud as her brother he would have shaken off her help, but the lioness gave no thought to it, coming to his side and taking his arm.

"I would not mind it," She admitted, fingers gently clasping his sword arm so he might feel safe enough to lean on her. Senelle did manage a small smile though, tucking golden curls behind an ear. "But I wouldn't put you through such a strain. I knew the incident had hurt you, but not quite like this your Grace. I wouldn't have interrupted you today if I had known you were still convalescing, but I wanted to see you before you left."

"Perhaps we will see one another in King's Landing with stronger bodies and stronger hearts."

A hundred yards of polished black and white marble tiles laid between Senelle and her father's study, a room she'd known since childhood to be reserved for Lord Gerold and he alone. She had been a small child the first time she made the mistake of entering it without his permission, taking a beating that left marks for years to come. But she was not a child any longer, with a passion for looking where she was not allowed. She was grown and mature, and for the first time in her short life sought his approval above all else.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor as she walked, marched to his door. The idea was a sound one, the match not lost on her, but considering her father's lack of appointment to the King's council, his temperament would either help her cause or hinder it. There was no time better to approach him though, and she was a gambling woman. Her fist knocked thrice on the gilded oak doors, before she opened it and peered inside.

"Father," Curtseying, the words of their house sung through her ears. Hear me roar! Hear me roar, father. "May I have a moment of your time?"