Winterfell

[Dyther Morrigen]

"I don't read so...well. I speak so eloquently because I grew up amongst minstrels. They taught me long ago, but a man of the sword has little enough need of it. I can fight until I die. Many have. Besides, my Braavosi is one step above embarrassing, and I spoke it for seven years. Do you smoke?"

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

"Sometimes, though not what you grow here. I will not talk you into a career of singing, which is also one step above embarassing, though it goes well with the one talent you do seem to have much of." She rolled her eyes in jest and then took a drink of ale, which did not please her as much as she hoped. "And when the war is over?"

[Dyther Morrigen]

"There will be another, somewhere. Lords rise and kings fall, cities are broken and rebuilt, but always, somewhere, men want other men dead." He chuckles. "I prefer to sing with passion rather than talent." He considers. "Perhaps the Free Cities will find use for my...talents, if not here."

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

Shah shrugs, "It is true what you say, even more so in the Free Cities of course, where men rise and fall on their own merit. Ships always look for good fighters, Magistrates and Legates for better guards, Sellsword companies for soldiers and so on. Somewhere, sometimes, women want men dead too." She gives a small smirk. "Passion or talent, I'd rather passion, and I like all types of songs, be they bawdy or not, I think I've seen enough sex to not be a prude about such things."

[Dyther Morrigen]

Dyther finishes his pipe and carefully washes it out whilst he speaks. "Too long without women in camp, is what it is. The ones that ARE around are all too highborn or proper to admit to themselves they just need to get proper fucked every now and again. If you want songs, I've plenty, I assure you." Satisfied with his cleaning, he puts the pipe in a small bag. "I could start my own sellsword company. The Other Buggers, I'd call it. My sigil could be one of their ugly heads on a spike."

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

"Oh the Queen get's proper fucked all right, I was not surprised to learn of it. That Selwyn knows what he's doing I imagine."

"True enough, I was on one of my walks when I heard it myself." Rekhmire added.

"I'd always be happy to hear more singing. The days do drag on without something to take up the time. I wish you luck with your business plan." Another small smile and a sip of ale and then pushed it away. She decided it was too bitter for her liking.

[Dyther Morrigen]

"I'm sure there's wine, Lady Shahrizai." He drains the remainder of his ale and gets another. "I heard you wished to hear a story. Maybe a reason I'm such a heartless bastard, why I wish to kill everyone I dislike for any reason, or no reason at all."

[Horas]

A handful of wildlings loiter around the walls of Winterfell and its nearby town, marveling at the size of it all. They have been told to be on the lookout for a whistling moustachioed man.

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

She asks for some wine in stead of the ale. "I prefer Qohorian honeyed ale. And yes, I am always willing to listen to a story if you would be willing to share."

[Dyther Morrigen]

"Well you bought the drinks for a story." Dyther takes a toothpick and plays with it idly as he speaks. "Our little fey tale begins in a castle far to the south, called the Crow's Nest. It's on a mountain in the Dornish Marches. A brave young knight weds a beautiful young woman from a nearby castle, called Nightsong. It's a wedding worthy of a song; the noted tourney knight, brave and kind to all he sees, the very essence of the Seven, and his bride more lovely than the face of the Maiden herself." He pauses to take a drink.

"Do you know what a nemesis is, Lady Shahrizai? I do not know the Braavosi. No matter. This brave young knight had a son with his bride, a strong, robust little lad. Alas, like every knight of song, this brave young knight had a nemesis, this...force he had to face. Sadly for our brave young knight, it was his own brother, and his virtue would not let him slay his own kin. This proved our brave young knight's undoing, obeying the wishes of his silent gods. The young bride was taken, the little boy vanishing into the lands around, to be found by minstrels too weak to deny the little lamb bread and a place by the fire.

The little boy became a man, as little boys are wont to do. One day he returned to the castle to see his mother, to find her married to the vile monster who had slain her own husband, the little boy's father. Our nemesis, see, was clever. He knew the beautiful little bride was with child whilst her husband died, and used the daughter to keep her slave to his will. Our little boy was brave, but the guards overwhelmed him and cast him into the darkness. It was then the little boy knew the truth, as his mother's cries to the Seven and his sister's pleas for his life to be spared echoed in his ears. The only gods are men who are willing to do what it takes to become one.

In time, of course, the nemesis joined with demons of ice and snow and winter, and the little boy became a real man, learning from all over the kingdom the art of sword. The war was bitter and long, but the demons were beaten, as you know." Dyther leaned back, sucking down another ale.

"The day will come when the little boy shall return to the castle upon the hill, and face down his nemesis, his own uncle. And when he does, he will become a god using his own two hands. He will rip out the nemesis's heart and eat it when the enemy is slain, and then he shall destroy his own half brothers to ensure his seed is wiped from the world forever. He will not be smote by any imaginary Seven, nor any trees nor drowned or storm gods. He, perhaps, shall be struck down by men. That is a fate which does not concern him. Gods are not concerned by the actions of those content to be merely mortal."

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

"The Gods gave us free will it is said." She mulls over her cup of wine. "It is a sad tale Dyther, and I will sing for vengeance for this boy, for I feel that there is an essence of truth to it all."

"Touching Dyther." Said Rekhmire over his mug of ale who did not hold the same qualms for the drink that his lady had. "You are as you say, a passionate man and remidns me that there are those with a struggle more pure than that of greed like my lady's."

[Dyther Morrigen]

"I do not fight for justice, Rekhire, nor to avenge what was lost or to redeem that which remains. I fight for simple vengeance. I fight to become a god, for what is a god but a being free to make its own fate? I do not wish to be an inspiration, or a source of pity." His grin is feral as he thinks of roasting his uncle's carcass over a campfire. "Pity is the death of respect."

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

"And it is said the Gods show mercy, and not only vengeance." Pointed out Shah. "I only hope this quest doesn't make you mad, that would be the saddest thing of all."

[Dyther Morrigen]

"Mad? I fear madness is only what we make of it. Sending an army to confront an invincible race of ice demons is madness. It is only madness if I fail. As to mercy, I have seen little enough evidence of it. Men stay their hands, not the gods. If there were gods, my father would be alive, and me dead. If there were gods, they would have struck me down for my impertinence in seeking to join their...illustrious ranks. Cast off your shackles, Lady Shahrizai. Become a goddess."

[Princess Lyssandra Martell]

Shah wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. "Perhaps I might, with all the men that have flooded me with such compliments. Though I only see others that want to bed a goddess, and not respect and worship me for who I am. I'm beautiful, and I can sing better than most. I do not hide my vanity, but I am not so certain I can be a goddess, no. That would mean I'd have to go below me to find a lover to find pleasure."