Post by The Smith on Sept 4, 2008 22:54:12 GMT -5
Brandon Frey hated running the daywatch for the Western Tower. Noone ever attacked and there was no way to cross anyway without lifting the bridge for customers, so he spent more time arguing crossing fees instead of issuing real warnings. It was a wretched existence and he wasn’t even allowed to touch the treasury. When he saw the caravan in the distance, he immediately began making mental bets on how much they’ll be wanting the toll lowered.
“Alright, that’s…” He counted them with the skill of a true Frey. “15 men and 2 wagons. That will be 104 silver for the lot.”
The leader, whose face looked vaguely familiar to the older man, stepped forward. “Sorry… Tomas, right?”
“No, Tomas runs the nightshift.”, came the surprised response.
“Sorry, name’s Walter. Walter with a T, not a D.” He didn’t look quite like a Frey… “Delivering the effects of the former Lord of the Crossing from his home in King’s Landing.”
“Do you have a written statement?”
“Aye, I do…” Brandon was handed a document, which he examined while sketching his chin.
“Insignia’s here, all the mumbo jumbo…” The Crossing was quite proud of the high literacy rate of its occupants, especially considering they were one of the few houses that employed that demonic tool of enslavement referred to as a ‘contract.’
He looked up at Walter who was in turn looking at the men behind him.
“How is Warren? Did he ever see the king?” Brandon hadn’t seen him ever since he left for Goldfinger’s funeral last year.
“…yes, the king was very… friendly.”
“Hear Rickon’s turning into quite the Martell…” chuckled a nearby guard, who had until then remained silent.
“Yes, raised spear and all!” Suddenly the entire caravan bust out laughing. Brandon noted some were more enthusiastic than others.
“Right… anyway, off with you… I will send someone to inform the Lady Kaela her husband’s things have arrived.”
As the gate opened and the wagons were lead inside, he wondered why they thought his name was Tomas.
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Lady Kaela was as tall as her former husband and was obviously not born and raised in the Riverlands. The presumptive heir, Mara, was already half her height.
Hand in hand, they entered the Western Tower’s courtyard, where the movers were disarmed with bowed heads. “I was informed that my Walder’s possessions were either confiscated or already returned.”
“Aye, my lady… they were, but the Master of Whisperers decided to release some furniture. Said he was satisfied. Would you like to take a look, madam? There is a lovely crib Lord Frey likely intended for young Missus Mara there…”
“Oh?” Her face was a mixture of disappointment and reminiscence. “I wish to see it. Come, Mara, lets see your papa’s present for you…”
Five men vanished into the last wagon and slowly presented a large, ornate cradle, painted in the baby blue of House Frey and decorated with the gold that was the former lord’s namesake. The head’s end was designed to resemble the Crossing, both corners made to look like towers. Inside were blue silk blankets and a pillow. It was slightly garish, but quite spectacular nonetheless. The lady circled it while little Mara reached up to touch the carved buildings.
“It is… very beautiful.” There were tears in her eyes.
“Aye, milady. And it’s the last thing you’ll see.”
She turned her attention to ‘Walter’ just in time to see the second caravan explode…
“Fire in the courtyard!” Cried the master-at-arms, who was just about to examine the cradle for traps. The driver of the first caravan was one the fire while his fellow movers helped put him out.
“What the hell happened?” Cried Ser Theo Frey, a man whose first thought was to order a pair of his men to grab some water. The movers had no answer fir him, other than, “We told him not to smoke!”
Kaela was covering her child’s eyes from the screaming men and the flames when Walter said something she could not hear. Turning her head, ‘Excuse me?”
“ I said we’re pleased you liked the crib because it’ll be the last thing you ever see…”
‘Walter’ had a large knife in hand, carefully placed underneath the cradle. The four other men were also armed in the same manner. Two more men were removing the wooden towers, revealing them to be detachable blunt weapons.
“You’re not my husband’s men…”
“Yes, we are, and we wish to redeem his honor and the honor of everyman who served the true regent Horas Blackwood and died thanks to you and your family's treachery, Tyrell.”
Results:
The men are shot dead inches from their targets by the Frey archers. The rush in and kill the assassins before any harm can be wrought to their charges.
“Alright, that’s…” He counted them with the skill of a true Frey. “15 men and 2 wagons. That will be 104 silver for the lot.”
The leader, whose face looked vaguely familiar to the older man, stepped forward. “Sorry… Tomas, right?”
“No, Tomas runs the nightshift.”, came the surprised response.
“Sorry, name’s Walter. Walter with a T, not a D.” He didn’t look quite like a Frey… “Delivering the effects of the former Lord of the Crossing from his home in King’s Landing.”
“Do you have a written statement?”
“Aye, I do…” Brandon was handed a document, which he examined while sketching his chin.
“Insignia’s here, all the mumbo jumbo…” The Crossing was quite proud of the high literacy rate of its occupants, especially considering they were one of the few houses that employed that demonic tool of enslavement referred to as a ‘contract.’
He looked up at Walter who was in turn looking at the men behind him.
“How is Warren? Did he ever see the king?” Brandon hadn’t seen him ever since he left for Goldfinger’s funeral last year.
“…yes, the king was very… friendly.”
“Hear Rickon’s turning into quite the Martell…” chuckled a nearby guard, who had until then remained silent.
“Yes, raised spear and all!” Suddenly the entire caravan bust out laughing. Brandon noted some were more enthusiastic than others.
“Right… anyway, off with you… I will send someone to inform the Lady Kaela her husband’s things have arrived.”
As the gate opened and the wagons were lead inside, he wondered why they thought his name was Tomas.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lady Kaela was as tall as her former husband and was obviously not born and raised in the Riverlands. The presumptive heir, Mara, was already half her height.
Hand in hand, they entered the Western Tower’s courtyard, where the movers were disarmed with bowed heads. “I was informed that my Walder’s possessions were either confiscated or already returned.”
“Aye, my lady… they were, but the Master of Whisperers decided to release some furniture. Said he was satisfied. Would you like to take a look, madam? There is a lovely crib Lord Frey likely intended for young Missus Mara there…”
“Oh?” Her face was a mixture of disappointment and reminiscence. “I wish to see it. Come, Mara, lets see your papa’s present for you…”
Five men vanished into the last wagon and slowly presented a large, ornate cradle, painted in the baby blue of House Frey and decorated with the gold that was the former lord’s namesake. The head’s end was designed to resemble the Crossing, both corners made to look like towers. Inside were blue silk blankets and a pillow. It was slightly garish, but quite spectacular nonetheless. The lady circled it while little Mara reached up to touch the carved buildings.
“It is… very beautiful.” There were tears in her eyes.
“Aye, milady. And it’s the last thing you’ll see.”
She turned her attention to ‘Walter’ just in time to see the second caravan explode…
“Fire in the courtyard!” Cried the master-at-arms, who was just about to examine the cradle for traps. The driver of the first caravan was one the fire while his fellow movers helped put him out.
“What the hell happened?” Cried Ser Theo Frey, a man whose first thought was to order a pair of his men to grab some water. The movers had no answer fir him, other than, “We told him not to smoke!”
Kaela was covering her child’s eyes from the screaming men and the flames when Walter said something she could not hear. Turning her head, ‘Excuse me?”
“ I said we’re pleased you liked the crib because it’ll be the last thing you ever see…”
‘Walter’ had a large knife in hand, carefully placed underneath the cradle. The four other men were also armed in the same manner. Two more men were removing the wooden towers, revealing them to be detachable blunt weapons.
“You’re not my husband’s men…”
“Yes, we are, and we wish to redeem his honor and the honor of everyman who served the true regent Horas Blackwood and died thanks to you and your family's treachery, Tyrell.”
Results:
The men are shot dead inches from their targets by the Frey archers. The rush in and kill the assassins before any harm can be wrought to their charges.