The Tourney at Harrenhal: Early Days

[Poach]

The Tourney at Harrenhal

Very important notice: This thread is time frozen in the days before the first tournament events. No duels, jousts, or any other event is permitted to take place. This is a mingling thread for anyone who wants it. The RP will begin properly on friday the 13th of January, and until then you may not raise armies, build buildings, hire troops or position characters elsewhere from where they would start the rebellion at. When Friday comes this thread will close and a brief summary of canon events (Queen of Love and Beauty etc) will be posted, as well as the "trial" of Rickard and Brandon Stark.

* * *

Lord Whent's great tournament is in the early days of set up, with knights and lords from across the Seven Kingdoms gathering to display their martial prowess when events begin in a few days' time. It is the first great tourney since that of Lannisport in 276AC, and as such many knights have old rivalries to revive, old friends to catch up with, and news of home and family to share.

[Pontifex Maximus]

Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King was in attendance with his son, the fifteen year old Jaime Lannister. Tywin's squire, the immense Gregor Clegane, was also present. Gregor was only in his teens and yet he was the size of a large man already. Jaime was bursting with enthusiasm, prepared to participate in his first tourney. Tywin was in a more annoyed mood, as Whent had obviously gone to great lengths to make this tourney much more opulent than his own tourney held several years before to celebrate the birth of Viserys, the King's son. "It's a bloody insult is what it is." he said through clenched teeth. Jaime didn't hear him, he was instead determining where he should go in order to enter the lists. Tywin turned to his servants and Gregor. "Clegane you shall squire for Jaime in the tourney. As for me, I will undoubtedly be in the King's box." he said with redoubled annoyance. The King had been insufferable as of late, taking all sorts of delight in Tywin's misfortunes.

[Pericles of Athens]

Rickard arrived in the southern lands with his brood close behind, his son and heir Brandon, his beautiful daughter Lyanna astride a horse, his youngest boy Benjen alongside his twin sister Alys, only young Eddard was missing - though he was to arrive with his guardian Jon Arryn. Rickard's brother Theon had opted to stay in the North to manage affairs there, though even if there hadn't been matters to attend to Theon cared little for the southern lands, and less for the southern peoples. All could note that Harrenhal was an impressive, if I'll kept, stronghold, and the lands about it crawled with human forms preparing the grounds for the festivities to come. The small Stark party advanced, surrounded by southern folk, Rickard told himself that it was necessary however, after all his daughter would soon be a Baratheon wed to Robert and Brandon was soon to wed a Tully lass who's name escaped the gruff lord of Winterfell. I'll show these southerners a thing or two about riding. Brandon proclaimed. Aye, and soon a thing or two about wedding. Rickard agreed flatly, as his heir made his way to the signing tables. Rickard's icy grey eyes scanned the crowd, few lords of note had arrived yet, and Lord Tully wasn't among them. Where's Ned, father? Benjen questioned. When you see blue eagles he'll be here son. Rickard answered, Atleast he better be. He mused inwardly. If I were to bet, I'd say Robert's gallivanting delayed them. Lyanna remarked coldly. Don't speak ill of your intended, dear. Lyanna scoffed and trotted away, followed by two Stark men-at-arms.

[Poach]

Leffords

As the easternmost house of the Westerlands, House Lefford were among the earliest Westermen to arrive at Harrenhal, save perhaps only the Lannisters who had largely come from King's Landing itself.

The family had come in force, with Lord Harmund accompanied by his son Raymar, nephews Edric, Dale, and Parker, grandsons Donnel and Ryon (Raymar's children), and the children of Edric and Dale. Poor Parker could not have children, a touchy subject. Also attending her first major event was Raymar's youngest daughter Kyra who, at 15, was abuzz with excitement at seeing all the handsome knights and beautiful ladies of court. Harmund's brother Willem had remained behind to run the estates, his old age meaning he would not compete in anything anyway, leaving that to his children Edric and Dale.

Missing was, alas, Alyssa Kenning, Harmund's late wife who had passed 3 years previously. Such news would have to be shared with distant friends who were last seen at the Tourney in Lannisport.

First on the agenda for Harmund, while the younger Lefford men sought to their signings and the two young Lefford women took charge of seeing to the unpacking of the camp, was to go and pay homage to his liege lord. Or, rather, the son of the Lord and to many the de facto head of the House, the Hand of the King Tywin Lannister. Alas he seemed busy with matters of the Tourney.

Harmund, at the age of 63, was one of the elder Lords of the West, with only a handful such men and even fewer in good health. The aged Lord Yarwyck, at 72 years old, barely even knew his own name by now, for example, his sons instead managed his affairs. He had seen much in his day, fighting the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion and the War of Ninepenny Kings, witnessed the Westerlands decline under Tytos and it's continuing rise under Tywin, and the reign of five Kings.

Aerys II

Aerys sat brooding in the most luxurious apartments Harrenhal could provide, which of course were a veritable dungeon compared to those of the Red Keep. He'd had his Kingsguard turn the apartments upside down checking for spy holes and secret entrances, one could never be too careful: plots were everywhere, plotters infested every gathering, every town and city, every ramshackle holdfast in the Seven Kingdoms!

That's why he was here. They were plotting. He knew they were, his Master of Whispers was loyal, knew their schemes, knew of their movements. The Tourney was nothing but a ruse for their gathering to put the plot in motion. It had to be stopped, before they moved against him.

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[The Mad Skylord]

Ser Arthur Dayne

The Sword of the Morning had come, as was his duty, to guard King Aerys II and his family. He cut a striking figure, standing outside the door of thr King's apartments and dressed in a glorious suit of white scale mail. Across his back back was the greatsword Dawn. Many passer bys who stopped to gawk at the legendary knight would no doubt convince themselves they could see Dawn's pale glow emanating from the scabbard.

Ser Arthur had entered the later tourney intending to best Prince Rhaegar - as the noble Prince had bested him years before at Lannisport.

House Crakehall

House Crakehall were late. As the southernmost lords of the Westerlands - Crakehall Castle sat right on the border - there was little they could do. Having travelled quickly to avoid missing the tourney, the company that rode in was dusty and rather tired.

Lord Roland Crakehall was, like Harmund Lefford, one of the oldest lords in the West. He was Lord Lefford's junior, but only by a few years. Accompanying him were his small host of sons and his grandchildren. Even the Bastard of Crakehall, Ser Bronn's son, was taken along. Secretly Lord Roland thought very highly of the child and he always did his best to show him kindness. He treated the child as he would any other grandson and, as rumour would have it, he intended to have him legitimised.

Lord Crakehall led his party into the tourney grounds. Most of the sizable group simply departed to do their own thing but Roland's eldest son - Ser Tyrion - and Tyrion's own children accompanied the old Lord of Crakehall as they rode forwards to greet Lord Harmund Lefford after which they would attempt to find the Hand of the King.

[Poach]

[OOC: We can make this before I find Tywin, saves all three of us potentially getting caught up in chronologically muddled conversations.]

Harmund had caught sight of Tywin, but noted that he was at present deep in conversation with an array of minor Riverlands and Crownlands gentry: likely those that were directly managing the many functions of the Tourney itself in Lord Whent's name. Tournaments of this size often ran into the hundreds employees, tasked with security, signings, managing the tourney grounds, the camp site allocations, the merchants and craftsmen, food, drink... No doubt Tywin was ensuring it was running smoothly, or had been cornered by the gang in an attempt to curry royal favour or Tywin's own favour by tending to his specific needs.

Instead he found himself conversing with a collection of Reachmen with whom he'd feasted with at the Lannisport tourney, and ended up spending some hours as they each relayed the news from home to one another and discussed events.

In making his way back out of Harrenhal itself and down towards the now-increasingly sprawling encampment, he met a dust-encrusted Lord Crakehall, with a number of his family and a large retinue of people from his lands, mainly minor knightly houses or hedge knights seeking fame on the tourney field (a similar entourage had accompanied the Lefford party), coming off the road and towards the camp sites.

"Roland!" he said jovially, "We have been here only half a day ahead of you. You rode hard, by the looks of it?"

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[Adamat]

The Baratheon standard was one of the first to arrive from the Stormlands, although the House's most important members were not with the caravan that was snaking through the Riverlands at a slow pace. Lord Robert would arrive with the Arryns, while Stannis was still under Lord Hoster Tully's guardianship. Instead, Ser Desmond Baratheon led the household of the Stag.

Their pavilion was set up in a place suited for the highest of nobility, sitting on one of the low hills commanding the relatively flat landscape. Desmond had delegated the task of managing the camp to the talented bastard rumored to be of Baratheon descent, Mya Storm, while he and his niece Alyssa Baratheon surveyed the grounds, looking for either of the Baratheon brothers, or vassals of the Stormlands. "Let us hope the weather stays like this," Desmond remarked to nobody in particular, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun. The young Alyssa giggled. "I agree," she said. "The knights look much more fierce when their armor is shining and polished."

[Iron Aquilifer]

Stevron Frey

The Frey procession wormed their way through the festivities, enjoying themselves as only a family of poor roots could do. Stevron led them, charmed by the extensive nature of the tourney's entertainment. Such was his genuine pleasure that the old man forgot about his brother, the weak-chinned Emmon with his stalk-like frame. Emmon was not enjoyable company, nor were his two sons that graced his presence. Stevron could not understand how a son could end up worse than their father, but Cleos had managed that. A teenager and yet prone to cowardice, Emmon's firstborn was a disgrace. Lyonel, a boy of nine, was a far better child. Despite taking after his father's weak appearance, Stevron had been led to understand that Lyonel was more than capable of serving his duties as squire without dropping everything at the first sign of danger.

Casting his mind from the ills of his brother, Stevron marched over towards a display, grinning as a pair of dancers revealed themselves from behind burgundy drapes. Maybe they were myrish, or maybe they were riverlanders, the heir of the crossing could not tell. It had been decades since he had last traveled further than Riverrun, except in the company of his father. Walder's age restricted his movements to that of the best maintained roads, suitable for his litter. Stevron, as son and heir, knew that his place was at his father's side, in order to be ready for the news of his passing. It could not be long now, Stevron reasoned, before he would ascend to govern the Frey household. However at present his duty was to attend the tourney. The greatest assembly of nobility since the time of dragons, Lord Walder had reasoned, screwing up his face at the thought. The Freys would have to be there, to be seen and to be noticed. It was only then that they could further rise above their foes.

And so it was that Stevron now walked with eight of his brothers, the youngest, Raymund, almost three times younger than himself. Joining them was also another nine offspring, Stevron's own children and grandchild included, with whom Stevron was to introduce to the highest echelons of westerosi society. Before he could lament such a task, the dancers had begun, and his mind drifted from the politics of the day.

Doran Martell

The Martells kept a modest company about them, not overly keen in forcing themselves upon the more resistance of their neighbours. Even now, after so many decades of unity, the dornish presence in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms was considered odd by members of both parties. As such, the princes maintained a distance from the baser elements of entertainment offered in the town, electing to assemble themselves about the most beloved member of their company: Elia.

She is putting on a brave face, Doran acknowledged, watching as his sister eased herself into a seat. She was heavy with child, a situation which had reaped a heavy toll from her last time. Nearby, her ever-present shadows, were maesters. She was a proud woman, just as any dornishwoman should be. Yet here she was, unable to evade the knowledge that her life was a glass vase, ready to be shattered by the softest of breezes.

"It is a dangerous time in the capital," Lewyn informed his nephew. His uncle seemed stiff, though Doran could not say if it were age or fear for his niece. Unfortunately to the prince it was most likely both. "There has been a growing divide within the court."

"Word has reached us of this," the prince informed his kingsguard uncle. "But my sister will be protected from it?"

Lewyn offered a nod. "On my honour, she will come to no harm." The older man hesitated. "But I fear what could happen, if the prince were no longer at her side." The knight seemed smaller now, hunching over as he whispered his secrets. "The prince does not have the ear of his father, as you must know now. If I am called away, I am bound to go." His eyes asked for forgiveness, but to his credit, Lewyn asked for none. "She will not be safe if the council have their way."

The Martell swordmaster had been a price for the dornish match to Rhaegar, an ally for the delicate flower that was Elia. In the space of only a year Lewyn had found himself an ally of Rhaegar, siding with him in the growing factionalism within the royal court. That had won the Martells some friends among the court, but it also painted Lewyn a target. And if Lewyn were to be a threat to the King's favourites, then it would only be reasonable to assume that Elia too could become a victim. Doran knew that such a thing could not be allowed to happen. And now that Lewyn confirmed the prince's suspicions as to his true loyalties, the dornish prince could only act as a brother could.

"And you think they will blame Elia for Oberyn's actions?"

The white knight nodded. "All know what drives him. The Martell image must be kept as pure as possible."

Deference was not something a dornishman was keen to accept, even now after so many years. And yet, for his sister, Doran could do no other thing.

"Oberyn," he called to his brother, kneeling before his sister. They were deep in conversation, about what Doran could only guess. "A moment."

His younger brother pulled himself away from Elia, kissing her softly on the forehead. "Doran?" He clapped Lewyn on the arm. "What is it?"

"You are going back to dorne. I will have a raven sent to forewarn of your-" he stopped his brother with a hand. "I do not need you to understand the gravity of this issue. You will take your company and see to it that you go in peace."

Oberyn, true to his nature, argued against his brother. However the words fell on deaf ears. "Do this as Doran commands," Lewyn informed his nephew. "It for Elia's sake. Pay your farewells and go about it. Speed, Oberyn." With a slow shaking of his head, Oberyn submitted to his brother's will.

[Lucius Malfoy]

(Be aware that Walter Whent is still alive for the tournament, but will be dead before the war begins)

House Whent

Among the seats of honor that were placed ahead of schedule before the arrival of participants and their houses, the Whents stood out the most for the tournament was happening within the shadow of the ruined keep of Harrenhal. Despite its ghastly state, made true by the hot flames of Belarion the Black Dread, the castle quite an imposing network of stone and wood. The present Lord of Harrenhal, Walter Whent, was a known as a rich man. The intention of this tournament was to celebrate the name day of his maiden daughter who had come of age. Present in the large booth containing many high-ranking nobles and Small Council members, the Whents stood present when King Aerys and his royal family arrived. Lord Walter was a man in his late 30s, his wife and cousin, Shella, was around the same age. His fine sons were in their teens, all young and eligible men. Lord Whent would leave the side of his wife and children to go and mingle with the other nobles. The first person Lord Walter saw was Stevron Frey. He calmly approaches the son of Lord Frey with a smile.

Stevron! I knew you of all the Riverland's sons would be here today. Here representing the Old Lord of the Crossing are ya?

Ser Oswell was also present with members of the Kingsguard. His status as a sworn knight of the Kingsguard only enhancing the prestige of House Whent even further. Oswell was the younger brother of Lord Whent and brother to the late Lady Whent who had married Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Compared to his more... open-handed brother, Oswell was of dark humor and cold looks. It is a surprise that these two are brothers, yet underneath his darker exterior, Oswell was a man of loyalty to King and his family and of honorable intentions. He stood in attendance with the King.

======================================

House Tyrell

The Tyrells came late, due to their proximity to Harrenhal, but still arrived with the flare that any Lord Paramount of the Reach would desire to display. Mace rode upon his steed, attended by a company of knights and rode alongside his young wife, Lady Alerie Hightower. They had come with some members of House Tyrell, mostly the cousins and uncles of Lord Mace. Though Lord Tyrell had the posture of nobility, he was widely known as an oaf. Even as they arrived at the stables, while attempting to get off his horse, Mace stumbled and fell onto the ground, much to the embarrassment of his wife, who thankfully knew no one could see her husband's foolish performance. Mace managed to recover himself however, paying the stablehand more handsomely than he should. Once all the horses were settled, Mace would enter the tournament area, joining the other Reach Lords that had made it to the event.

======================================

House Lannister

A trio of Lannisters would arrive at the Tournament, along with other notables of the Westerlands. The sharp-looking Damon of Lannisport came with his wife, Elia Lannister, his son, Damion, and his daughter-in-law, Shiera Crakehall. Also present with them was the youngest of Jason Lannister's son, Tybolt, who was a young man of 23. Damon never really liked tournaments, not even the one that was done to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys at Lannisport a couple years ago. Most of the time, Damon noted the knights as nothing more than upstarts and hotheads, seeking to make a deed all in the name of some lady most likely. How did Damon secure his wife? A simple display of his authoritative manner and the Lady Elia was swooned. As Tybolt wandered off in the direction of Lord Lefford, Damon would walk with his wife and son in the vicinity of Tywin Lannister, the Lord Hand, who could easily be spotted given the proximity of the towering Ser Clegane. Damon walks up to his nephew, who had once been his in-law when Tywin was still married to Joanna.

Cousin Tywin, it seems King's Landing has not made you fat like some of the other members i can see. You must be running all over the place for His Grace as usual.

[Iron Aquilifer]

(Be aware that Walter Whent is still alive for the tournament, but will be dead before the war begins)

House Whent

Among the seats of honor that were placed ahead of schedule before the arrival of participants and their houses, the Whents stood out the most for the tournament was happening within the shadow of the ruined keep of Harrenhal. Despite its ghastly state, made true by the hot flames of Belarion the Black Dread, the castle quite an imposing network of stone and wood. The present Lord of Harrenhal, Walter Whent, was a known as a rich man. The intention of this tournament was to celebrate the name day of his maiden daughter who had come of age. Present in the large booth containing many high-ranking nobles and Small Council members, the Whents stood present when King Aerys and his royal family arrived. Lord Walter was a man in his late 30s, his wife and cousin, Shella, was around the same age. His fine sons were in their teens, all young and eligible men. Lord Whent would leave the side of his wife and children to go and mingle with the other nobles. The first person Lord Walter saw was Stevron Frey. He calmly approaches the son of Lord Frey with a smile.

Stevron! I knew you of all the Riverland's sons would be here today. Here representing the Old Lord of the Crossing are ya?

Ser Oswell was also present with members of the Kingsguard. His status as a sworn knight of the Kingsguard only enhancing the prestige of House Whent even further. Oswell was the younger brother of Lord Whent and brother to the late Lady Whent who had married Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Compared to his more... open-handed brother, Oswell was of dark humor and cold looks. It is a surprise that these two are brothers, yet underneath his darker exterior, Oswell was a man of loyalty to King and his family and of honorable intentions. He stood in attendance with the King.

Stevron Frey

The old man was taken aback by, to his mind, the sudden appearance of the tourney's host. Turning red as his relatives sniggered at his expense, the knight bowed deeply. "Indeed I am, Lord Whent. And if I may be so bold as to say that my lord father is most grieved that he is unable to present himself here in person. He always enjoys the festivities of welcome occasions such as this."

"His wife died," announced Emmon, materialising out of nowhere. "In childbirth."

"Indeed, a tragic thing, for such a young and strong woman," Stevron continued, frowning at the interruption. "But yes, a daughter's nameday." The man nodded half to himself. "I have seen those for my own Maegelle. Such a blessing, a daughter. I am sure you feel much the same." Stevron paused, as if to gauge the mood. "Such blessings to come to your family, it seems that you are the one to break that damnable curse on this place," he declared with a smile. "Most certainly the best man to have such fortune."

[The Mad Skylord]

[OOC: We can make this before I find Tywin, saves all three of us potentially getting caught up in chronologically muddled conversations.]

Harmund had caught sight of Tywin, but noted that he was at present deep in conversation with an array of minor Riverlands and Crownlands gentry: likely those that were directly managing the many functions of the Tourney itself in Lord Whent's name. Tournaments of this size often ran into the hundreds employees, tasked with security, signings, managing the tourney grounds, the camp site allocations, the merchants and craftsmen, food, drink... No doubt Tywin was ensuring it was running smoothly, or had been cornered by the gang in an attempt to curry royal favour or Tywin's own favour by tending to his specific needs.

Instead he found himself conversing with a collection of Reachmen with whom he'd feasted with at the Lannisport tourney, and ended up spending some hours as they each relayed the news from home to one another and discussed events.

In making his way back out of Harrenhal itself and down towards the now-increasingly sprawling encampment, he met a dust-encrusted Lord Crakehall, with a number of his family and a large retinue of people from his lands, mainly minor knightly houses or hedge knights seeking fame on the tourney field (a similar entourage had accompanied the Lefford party), coming off the road and towards the camp sites.

"Roland!" he said jovially, "We have been here only half a day ahead of you. You rode hard, by the looks of it?"

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The extensive facial scars ran in a dozen different directions as Roland smiled. "Harmund! I'm glad to see I'm not yet the second oldest lord in the Westerlands." The Lord of Crakehall wiped his face, smearing the dust on even more. Crakehall glanced at Tyrion, noticing his grandson, Beric, had disappeared. He shrugged, the lad was a man.

He turned back to Harmund, the eyepatch lending his face a fierce look. He leaned his left forearm on the pommel of his saddle, the missing hand obvious. "We rode hard, I didn't want to miss the Sword of the Morning and the Prince breaking 12 lances again!"

He shifted awkwardly in the saddle again. "Any of your progeny intending to enter, Harmund? A couple of mine might enter, but the rest are more interested in drinking, whoring and dreaming about reclaiming the Iron Islands in the name of House Crakehall."

(Be aware that Walter Whent is still alive for the tournament, but will be dead before the war begins)

House Whent

Among the seats of honor that were placed ahead of schedule before the arrival of participants and their houses, the Whents stood out the most for the tournament was happening within the shadow of the ruined keep of Harrenhal. Despite its ghastly state, made true by the hot flames of Belarion the Black Dread, the castle quite an imposing network of stone and wood. The present Lord of Harrenhal, Walter Whent, was a known as a rich man. The intention of this tournament was to celebrate the name day of his maiden daughter who had come of age. Present in the large booth containing many high-ranking nobles and Small Council members, the Whents stood present when King Aerys and his royal family arrived. Lord Walter was a man in his late 30s, his wife and cousin, Shella, was around the same age. His fine sons were in their teens, all young and eligible men. Lord Whent would leave the side of his wife and children to go and mingle with the other nobles. The first person Lord Walter saw was Stevron Frey. He calmly approaches the son of Lord Frey with a smile.

Stevron! I knew you of all the Riverland's sons would be here today. Here representing the Old Lord of the Crossing are ya?

Ser Oswell was also present with members of the Kingsguard. His status as a sworn knight of the Kingsguard only enhancing the prestige of House Whent even further. Oswell was the younger brother of Lord Whent and brother to the late Lady Whent who had married Hoster Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Compared to his more... open-handed brother, Oswell was of dark humor and cold looks. It is a surprise that these two are brothers, yet underneath his darker exterior, Oswell was a man of loyalty to King and his family and of honorable intentions. He stood in attendance with the King.

======================================

House Tyrell

The Tyrells came late, due to their proximity to Harrenhal, but still arrived with the flare that any Lord Paramount of the Reach would desire to display. Mace rode upon his steed, attended by a company of knights and rode alongside his young wife, Lady Alerie Hightower. They had come with some members of House Tyrell, mostly the cousins and uncles of Lord Mace. Though Lord Tyrell had the posture of nobility, he was widely known as an oaf. Even as they arrived at the stables, while attempting to get off his horse, Mace stumbled and fell onto the ground, much to the embarrassment of his wife, who thankfully knew no one could see her husband's foolish performance. Mace managed to recover himself however, paying the stablehand more handsomely than he should. Once all the horses were settled, Mace would enter the tournament area, joining the other Reach Lords that had made it to the event.

======================================

House Lannister

A trio of Lannisters would arrive at the Tournament, along with other notables of the Westerlands. The sharp-looking Damon of Lannisport came with his wife, Elia Lannister, his son, Damion, and his daughter-in-law, Shiera Crakehall. Also present with them was the youngest of Jason Lannister's son, Tybolt, who was a young man of 23. Damon never really liked tournaments, not even the one that was done to celebrate the birth of Prince Viserys at Lannisport a couple years ago. Most of the time, Damon noted the knights as nothing more than upstarts and hotheads, seeking to make a deed all in the name of some lady most likely. How did Damon secure his wife? A simple display of his authoritative manner and the Lady Elia was swooned. As Tybolt wandered off in the direction of Lord Lefford, Damon would walk with his wife and son in the vicinity of Tywin Lannister, the Lord Hand, who could easily be spotted given the proximity of the towering Ser Clegane. Damon walks up to his nephew, who had once been his in-law when Tywin was still married to Joanna.

Cousin Tywin, it seems King's Landing has not made you fat like some of the other members i can see. You must be running all over the place for His Grace as usual.

Beric Crakehall strolled through the grounds of Harrenhal, enjoying the great luxuries of the tourney. He had made it a very short way before the long trip with little in the way of female companionship hit him and he began prowling for a suitable woman.

Eventually the young Crakehall found himself strolling through the halls of Harrenhal, when a woman caught his eye. He saw from her broach it was a Whent, and the pieces clicked into place. This was the Maiden of the Tourney. Crakehall smiled handsomely and easily, quickly making his way towards her. Arriving in front of her, he bowed and swiftly caught her hand, making sure to kiss it chivalrously - and much longer than necessary. "My Lady Whent, you are looking radiant this fine summer's day." The dashing Crakehall's eyes roved easily up and down her body, taking in the sights.

[Pericles of Athens]

@Aerys II

A white clad knight entered the king's more than modest accommodations, falling upon one knee upon seeing his liege. This wing of the castle is comepetly secure, your grace. He remarked, voice only partly muffled by his helm. He peered out through the slits in the white metal encasing his face, his blue eyes looking to his king - for further orders or for dismissal.

[Dirty Chai]

The Valemen

Flags dyed in deep blue lapis arrived, heralding the arrival of the Arryns to the tournament along with a mix of vassals from all over the alpine glades of the northeastern kingdom. At the front of the column came some lesser knights wearing blue livery, followed by the Darling of the Vale (as was known Ser Denys Arryn), and then the Eyrie's heir, Elbert Arryn. Two young men (if you could call them that) rode with them, carrying their own seperate heraldry that denoted their statuses among the Starks of Winterfell and the Baratheons of Storm's End.

As the party settled into the tournament, filtering into its place, it came to be clear that the lord of the Eyrie himself, Jon Arryn, had deigned not to come. His seat was conspicuously left empty, while the seats beside it were filled by his nephew Elbert and cousin Denys. These Arryns themselves never betrayed any sense of unease, smiling jovially always as befitted the event, but the gossips would talk. Apparently, as it was told around, Jon Arryn was feeling his age; perhaps even illness had taken hold. It was no secret that Jon Arryn had disagreements with the king, animosity even, but to many a noble's disappointment, Jon allegedly would no longer be strong enough to offer this amusing tension for their enjoyment. Of course, his two wards knew better; when was Jon ever sick?

[Adamat]

Robert rested his weight on the spear with the slim banner of the Stag attached to it. "Sers Elbert and Denys," he spoke to the Arryns. "I do thank you for the escort you provided, but I am afraid I must now go meet with my family. I spotted their heraldry on display when we rode into the camp, and it would not do to let them wait." He nodded his head before turning. "May we meet at the lists or in the tavern!"

Only moments after he'd left the Arryn pavilion, Robert noticed two of House Baratheon's retainers pacing towards him. "Lord Robert," one spoke as both took a knee. "Your sister and uncle have been waiting for you at our encampment. Let us escort you there." Robert acknowledged with a nod. "Very well, Sers," he said before taking the lead, setting a high pace.

"Alyssa!" Robert enthousiastically made his presence known as the group of three reached their destination. He barely had time to set down his helmet before the young lady was hanging around his neck. "Robert! Oh, how I have missed you!" It had been long, too long since the siblings had last seen eachother, and Robert made a mental note to tell Lord Arryn that the time for him to depart the Eyrie was near. When the Lord of Storm's End opened his eyes, he saw the trusted face of Ser Desmond. "Uncle!" he spoke as he gently let go of Alyssa. "How are things back home?" The two shook hands before Robert motioned to the tent. "Let's get us something to drink first."

[Xion]

A retinue of horsemen pass through the pavillions and festivities occurring outside and within the walls of Harrenhall, flying the standard of the Yronwoods of Yronwood, the company of horsemen being led by the Bloodroyal and her twin sister. Ravella brushes a lock of silver hair out of her face after dismounting, having inherited her Dayne mother's siler hair and purple eyes while her twin had the appearance of a Yronwood, sandy blonde hair with blue eyes. "Ser Wells, see to establishing our encampment. Ser Manwoody, you shall lead my escort." The two knights nod. After giving several other commands, the lady of Yronwood, the other members of the house, vassals sworn to Yronwood, and the twenty knights assigned to escorting the Bloodroyal make their way to the tournament grounds.

[Gandalfus]

House Hightower

Bringing up the rear of the procession of House Tyrell were banners depicting a solitary tower, a company of finely garbed peers bringing up the vanguard of a lengthy train of various retainers, all bedecked in the heraldry of Hightower and their vassal houses; flags of the Cuys and the Beesburys could no doubt be seen among the panoply. At the head of the snake were the Hightowers themselves; the Old Man of Oldtown himself had left his books behind for such a fabulous occasion. With his wife, the graceful lady Rhea Florent at his side, Leyton bore himself regally, his form enveloped in a golden trimmed riding cloak. Immediately behind him rode the fair haired Baelor, who wore a characteristically chiselled grin, followed by the more dour looking Greysteel. Squires accompanied the latter bearing armour and weaponry, signalling his intent to take part in the lists - it was apparent that a spot in the Kingsguard was open, and Garth fancied himself to claim it and take his place by the side of his legendary great uncle, the White Bull.

--

Ser Gerold watched the realm's great lords arrive stoically from a window of the King's apartment within the aptly named Tower of Dread. Here, three hundred years ago, the forebear of King Aerys unleashed Balerion, the Black Dread upon the unsuspecting inhabitants. Wearily, he grimaced. The screams of the victims would be familiar to him, he felt, along with the scent of burning flesh and the sickening heat of the flame. Hightower ensured that the grimace had well and truly faded before turning back to Aerys, who seemingly slumped within his chair, gaze wild and yet vacant, as if his mind was somewhere else. He'd grown tired of moralising long ago. Serve. Obey. Protect. Sacred duty came above all else, all thought of right and wrong, black and white. For what seemed like an age, the White Bull simpy stared silently into the nothingness, the King and his Lord Commander alone within the chamber, its vast size making it appear empty. Then, a creaking door, and a voice. Hightower's hand instinctively twitched towards the blade that hung at his hip, before relaxing slightly as he saw who had in fact entered. The Lord Commander inclined his head towards his sworn brother in silent greeting, not wishing to speak and impose upon the King's often erratic train of thinking.

[Lucius Malfoy]

House Hightower

Bringing up the rear of the procession of House Tyrell were banners depicting a solitary tower, a company of finely garbed peers bringing up the vanguard of a lengthy train of various retainers, all bedecked in the heraldry of Hightower and their vassal houses; flags of the Cuys and the Beesburys could no doubt be seen among the panoply. At the head of the snake were the Hightowers themselves; the Old Man of Oldtown himself had left his books behind for such a fabulous occasion. With his wife, the graceful lady Rhea Florent at his side, Leyton bore himself regally, his form enveloped in a golden trimmed riding cloak. Immediately behind him rode the fair haired Baelor, who wore a characteristically chiselled grin, followed by the more dour looking Greysteel. Squires accompanied the latter bearing armour and weaponry, signalling his intent to take part in the lists - it was apparent that a spot in the Kingsguard was open, and Garth fancied himself to claim it and take his place by the side of his legendary great uncle, the White Bull.

Mace would turn to see his father-in-law, Leyton of Hightower. It was definitely surprise to see the hermit Voice of Oldtown come out of the tower and rejoin the social life of the Seven Kingdoms. Mace adjusts his doublet, which was tighter than before, and began walking over to see Leyton and his family. Mace gives off a beaming smile at the Old Hightower.

Leyton! By the Seven, its good to see you again. I haven't seen you since little Garlan was born.

[Mary The Quene]

A retinue of horsemen passed through the tents and festivities outside wearing the banners of House Velaryon. Lord Monford and his bastard half brother Aurane arriving late to the party as usual, both being drunk and arrogant as usual, they are one the few of with Valyrian blood who have arrived up until now. Once they dismount their horses they are loudly and arrogantly presented to those already present by some trumpeters. "Presenting Lord Monford of the noble house Velaryon". Perhaps both brothers could find themselves new friends to drink with.

[Jokern]

The highborn and smallfolk at the tourney were busy with their smalltalk, enjoyment and stalls when heads turned as a group of knights made their way through the crowd on their horses. They were all young men, yet already famed throughout the realm, mostly because of the silver-haired man that rode at the front, his dark indigo piercing those it looked upon. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was clad in black and a red cloak, the three-headed dragon embroidered on his chest. Young, handsome and a master of the harp, he had already proven himself in several tourneys in the past, despite infrequency at such events. The Targaryen had a small smile on his lips as he waved at the crowds, though his eyes were clearly drawn towards the spectator boxes. His beloved wife Elia were pregnant once again, and Rhaegar worried for her health, seeing how great a toll it had been to bring their daughter Rhaenys. He had advised against her presence there, but she was still of Dornish blood, something that was not be taken lightly. In the end she had come, and Rhaegar had decided to enter the lists for once.

After entering the lists alongside his companions Ser Myles Mooton and Ser Richard Lonmouth, Prince Rhaegar made his way to the Dornish box, where Elia and her family had taken their place. Rhaegar quickly glanced over at the royal box, letting out a sigh of relief at the absence of his father. He had been surprised when Aerys had announced his wish to attend the tourney at Harrenhal, to the dismay of the prince. The two had not been on good terms for years, and Rhaegar was glad for every moment that he did not have to spend in the presence of the king. Aerys had become more and more paranoid since Duskendale, his obvious jealousy for his Hand and the factionalism at court doing nothing to calm the haggard looking king. Even Rhaegar, usually a calm and collected man, had felt anger swell up within him when Aerys had said that his granddaughter Rhaenys "smelled Dornish" when she had been presented at court. What was greatly worrying though, was the fact that his father had become a brutal and sadistic man, executing alleged traitors with wildfire. Rhaegar then thought of the way his father treated his mother after any such executions... anger swelled up within him again. For too long had his father's madness hurt both the realm and his own family, and the prince had had enough. He would do something about this once and for all, he swore to the Old Gods and New. For the realm, and for his family.

Rhaegar entered the box where the Martell family had gathered, while his retinue either waited outside or went off on their own. He gave a courteous nod to Prince Doran, Prince Oberyn and Ser Lewyn, while smilling greatly and giving his wife a kiss. His anger from before had vanished, though his eyes revealed a sadness and concern when they met Elia's. She was already several months into her second pregnancy, and she was obviously not of good health, even worse than she usually were. He smiled and stroked her face gently.

"My dear sun, you light my day whenever I see you. Are you well, have everything been arranged properly for your comfort? I will make sure they bring everything you need, only say the word."

-----

Among the parties that had followed the Arryns to Harrenhal, the Graftons of Gulltown were among the more prominent. Lady Gwyneth Grafton, a young woman of 21 years of age, was dressed in a blue dress after the latest fashion in King's Landing, the proximity of the Vale's largest city to the capital allowing for gossip, trends and fashions to quickly spread from one to the other. Behind her rode the rest of her large family, along with the Shetts of Gulltown and several other knights, retainers and servants. Gwyneth had been the Lady of Gulltown for the last 5 years, ruling ever since her father's untimely passing. It had been hard, but she had been able to lean on the shoulders of her uncles and aunt, especially of uncle Gyles. He was sadly not with the rest of the family at the tourney, choosing to stay behind and govern Gulltown.

Boring old man, how could anyone not want to be at the event of the decade, Gwyneth thought as she excitedly looked around at all the people, both highborn and smallfolk, that had gathered at the infamous ruined castle. It felt like ages since she had been at such a grand event, the latest she could think of being Storm's End. It was a fond memory, her emotions running wild at the sight of Prince Rhaegar over and over again besting his opponents. He was such a handsome man, and Gwyneth sighed at the thought of him already being married. If there were many any man she wanted, it was him. Sadly, that would never be. Instead her mind went to the countless suitors that had asked for her hand, who all paled in comparison to the Silver Prince. Even her own family pestered her over it, but she stood tall against their assaults. She had come of age long ago, and it would be her decision alone which man she would share everything with.

Waving away the dreary thoughts, Lady Gwyneth eagerly stepped out her carriage with her friends, and made their way to one of the boxes reserved for highborn houses. Her eyes went to the box bearing the Martell sigil, seeing the beautiful prince from afar. She had heard that he would enter the lists, something she was eagerly hoping for. This would be the greatest tourney yet, she thought to herself.

-----

The standards of House Swann floated in the air behind those of the Baratheon party. Lord Leyton Swann, along with his wife, eldest son and retinue, arrived in force at Harrenhal. Lord Swann was a large and built man, with dark brown hair and a large beard covering scars on his face. He had been a green boy, barely a knight, when the War of the Ninepenny Kings broke out, yet he had leaped at the opportunity to prove himself in battle. He had performed well enough, fighting alongsidesuch men as Steffon Baratheon, Rickard Stark, Brynden Tully, Tywin Lannister and then Prince Aerys Targaryen. It was a time he remembered fondly, though his bones ached with every year. The years of peace had been good, though the growing erratic behavior of King Aerys in King's Landing was worrying. Thankfully, Stonehelm was far away from the capital and the king's suspicious gaze. The rumors that had spread, of men being burned alive, made Leyton shiver.

Spotting the Baratheon family gather around the young Lord Robert, who had arrived with the Valemen from the east, Lord Leyton smiled. How similar they looked, father and son, and Lord Swann felt as if he stood on the Stepstones again, following the young Steffon in a charge against the Golden Company. Robert seemed to be cut from the same cloth, and Swann hoped that the young man would prove himself a worthy lord to follow, especially for his two sons. Leyton went forth and made a quick bow to Robert Baratheon and his family.

"Lord Baratheon, excuse my intrusion, but it is good to see you in good health. It has been a while since we last met, the tourney at Storm's End if I recall. Though I believe you were thrown out of the saddle by Ser Barristan Selmy back then, you look like your father did when we fought Maelys the Monstrous back in the day. Do you plan to enter the lists, Lord Baratheon?"

[Adamat]

The standards of House Swann floated in the air behind those of the Baratheon party. Lord Leyton Swann, along with his wife, eldest son and retinue, arrived in force at Harrenhal. Lord Swann was a large and built man, with dark brown hair and a large beard covering scars on his face. He had been a green boy, barely a knight, when the War of the Ninepenny Kings broke out, yet he had leaped at the opportunity to prove himself in battle. He had performed well enough, fighting alongsidesuch men as Steffon Baratheon, Rickard Stark, Brynden Tully, Tywin Lannister and then Prince Aerys Targaryen. It was a time he remembered fondly, though his bones ached with every year. The years of peace had been good, though the growing erratic behavior of King Aerys in King's Landing was worrying. Thankfully, Stonehelm was far away from the capital and the king's suspicious gaze. The rumors that had spread, of men being burned alive, made Leyton shiver.

Spotting the Baratheon family gather around the young Lord Robert, who had arrived with the Valemen from the east, Lord Leyton smiled. How similar they looked, father and son, and Lord Swann felt as if he stood on the Stepstones again, following the young Steffon in a charge against the Golden Company. Robert seemed to be cut from the same cloth, and Swann hoped that the young man would prove himself a worthy lord to follow, especially for his two sons. Leyton went forth and made a quick bow to Robert Baratheon and his family.

"Lord Baratheon, excuse my intrusion, but it is good to see you in good health. It has been a while since we last met, the tourney at Storm's End if I recall. Though I believe you were thrown out of the saddle by Ser Barristan Selmy back then, you look like your father did when we fought Maelys the Monstrous back in the day. Do you plan to enter the lists, Lord Baratheon?"

"Lord Swann!" Robert remembered the older gentleman. "The years have been kind to you, it would seem. Let us drink together sometime, reminisce about Father maybe." Steffon had always spoken highly of this bannerman in particular, and Robert had had no reason to think another approach was warranted. He nodded. "I intend to get my dearest Lyanna's favor before riding, that will surely improve my chances." He smirked. "Although so far, the Stark banner has been absent. How about your own House, my Lord?"