Tent of the Traitor's Son

[The Flint]

Talyn Thatcher returned to find a strange, well dressed man in his tent.

"Who are you?" he asked with a curious look.

[Ollie]

Warren would have though it was obvious, what with the smoke and fire motif and his burning tree clasp of onyx and garnet gemstones. Then again, there were many things that Warren had found obvious in his life that other men had not, so it was hardly polite of him to expect the man before him today to surmise his identity. In his experience, Warren found that men were more like to realize his identity when explicitly told, though assumptions had their uses as well.

"Lord Marbrand," he answered plainly. "Warren Marbrand. And you are Talyn."

[The Flint]

"So I'm told. What can I do for you milord," Talyn asked, slightly curious how the man managed to remain so well dressed in three years of war.

[Ollie]

Had Thatcher verbalized his curiosity, Warren would have favored him with a knowing wink, and murmured some turn of phrase about the importance of appearances, something the young Westerlord held in high esteem (not to mention realized the utility for).

"So what they're saying is true then?" he gestured around outside the tent vaguely. "The Traitors’ Sons and all that?"

In fact, Warren had only heard snippets of that name around camp, but had yet to fully deduct the reason for formation and cause under which the men assembled. He was only barely certain that they were assembled as a unit at all, and not just an encampment of temporary associates.

[The Flint]

"That depends, I suppose, on what they are saying." Talyn admitted. "If they are saying that we're a sellsword company, it would be only partially true. We haven't been paid, and I don't have any present plans to present a bill to Selwyn or anyone else for that matter. But we've got a banner," Talyn said with a smile, "And that makes everything official right?"

[Ollie]

"From what I understand, it's a useful ploy to offer your first service on the house, as it were," Warren smiled. "A nice way of earning friends and making customers, am I wrong?"

[The Flint]

Talyn nodded, "I suppose so. Right now I'm focused on King's Landing. Once that's retaken, we can talk about a future. Before that, everything's just fool's dreams."

[Ollie]

Warren canted his head to the side, smirk widening. "Fool's dreams, it is? Why so focused on the 'Landing?"

[The Flint]

"It's still held by the Cult..." Talyn explained, "And my father."

[Ollie]

Warren's mouth made a small 'O' in surprise. "Well, that ought to make things easier, shouldn't it? Or... maybe not. I guess that will depend on whether you can ask father dearest to come on out and play nice."

His smile returned. "Can you?"

[The Flint]

"I wouldn't count on it. He must know what would lie in store for him if he were captured," Talyn said, "if you'd served the Others, to wipe out mankind, and failed? How would you expect to be received?"

[Ollie]

"On the point of a sword," the Westerlord answered, nodding. Warren pursed his lips into a quirked little expression of mock consideration. "You'll have to siege the city then, it looks like. Assemble the men, assault the walls, send wave after wave of weary men against your father's defenders, until one side emerges bloodied but victorious."

He shook his head regretfully. "Sounds like awful work."

[The Flint]

"It's one way to go about it. I will try and make him see the reality of his situation, but if not, what choice do we have?"

[Ollie]

"Kill him in his sleep," Warren offered, with a lightness in tone that suggested he were talking about the weather.

[The Flint]

Talyn snorted derisively. "He's not some bumbling old man, such skulduggery would never work, he'd know about the attempt before we got south of White Harbor. In any case, dying in his sleep is too good for him. Wouldn't be justice."