Duskendale

[House Dustin]

Ravens arrive from King's Landing bearing the seal of the King's Hand.

Dear Cousin,
Matters have grown grave in Dorne and my attention is required there. As I believe Duskendale has been bloodlessly pacified, I am calling all available fighting men who sought to assault Duskendale as well as whatever strength you can raise yourself. Please have those fit and able march with all haste and meet me on the Kingsroad south of King's Landing.

Lord Roland Royce
Hand of the King

[Ollie]

Only two short days after receiving the Lady Regent’s raven at King’s Landing, Mace Goodbrother arrived at Duskendale. Like most Ironborn, he was a middling rider at best, and struggled for control of his garron as he reigned up at the castle gates. He was hooded and cloaked to ward off the chill in a slate gray longcloak that draped over the spotted rump of his mount, and was dressed simply in gray leathers and black linen.

Upon being addressed by the guard of the gate, he called up in a deep, resounding voice. “I am the shipwright Mace Goodbrother, called upon the pen and parchment of Lady,” he shouts, falling off for a moment to check the letter, “… Lady Aranya Royce.”

[Deleted]

The guard eyed him for a moment, and then let him through. "Straight up to the Dun Fort, master shipwright. They leave at dawn for war, but Lady Royce should still be up."

[Deleted]

A young boy of about eight years old rides through the gates of the city at night, mounted on a glossy, splendid chestnut gelding that arches its neck proudly as it trots under the gateway. The boy's grey cloak is plain, but clearly thick and of good quality, and draps over the chestnut's rump. Behind the boy rides his servant on a piebald rouncey.

Once outside the gates, the boy turns back to take one last look at Duskendale. Around him are the vast camps of the troops that came to take the city. The headland is cold and bare, and he can see the lights of the city, and the Dun Fort on its perch above the harbor, with tall chalk cliffs rising behind it. A brisk wind ruffles his cloak, and the boy turns his back on the town.

"Come," he said to his servant, and put his heels to his horse. The chestnut canters away smoothly down the road, the servant coming behind.