Wanderers Of Westeros (ASOIAF/GoT)

Status
Not open for further replies.
V

Villanelle

Guest
Original poster
This is the IC thread for 'Wanderers Of Westeros', please do not post character sheets or OOC here.
Please read the Sign-Up Thread to find out more about the settings/rules, and fill in a character sheet before joining.
Please post anything not in character on the OOC Thread.
Thank you, and enjoy!

The Oldriver Inn, as always, was bustling with life. The long summer was coming to an end, autumnal winds were beginning to blow, and many travelers decided to seek shelter in the old but sturdy building on the outskirts of Lord Harroway's Town, a short ride from the Trident. Rolf, the Innkeep, kept a stern eye on the more suspicious-looking customers while his wife Lyla and a few serving girls from the town brought food and drink, and their son Brynden, who would one day inherit the Inn, laughed merrily with customers. It was evening outside, and a number of customers entered, intending to stay for the night before continuing on their journey...
 
A cold fall wind was stirring up the golden carpet of leaves that covered the road. It was chilly, the first signs that the summer had departed for the year. The road was quiet, with only the occasional traveler crossing his path. He travelled alone, however, a man in chainmail and a white surecoat with a bloodred cross emblazoned on it, save for his wiry horse, haggared and scarred, but tough as few. Together they made an ominous sight, and most travellers avoided them.

He lowered his head in protection from the wind, which ruffled his dark blond hair. Up ahead he finally saw the inn that he had been waiting to find, seemingly bustling with life and the windows glowing warmly with light. As he approached, a rumble from the sky announced the arrival of the rain, and moments later, it began to pour down in a virtual flood. He dismounted his horse, patted it lovingly, and led it into the stables, where a boy approached him.

"Can I take care of your horse, stranger?" He asked the rough looking swordsman, who nodded silently. He pulled a couple of copper coins from a small purse and gave them to the lad. After whispering a few words to the horse he left, heading back out into the rain only to step through rhe door to the warmth of the inn itself. Laughter, music and the cracking of fires met his ears as the warmth enveloped him. A handful of soldiers, the source of the laughter, silenced when he stepped inside, as they eyed him suspiciously.

Bernard stepped up to an empty table far from the fires, and sat down. His surcoat was already soaked, but he made no moves to remove it, instead closing his hands and his eyes in a quiet prayer to the Father, while waiting for a bar girl to come take his order. He had only a little money left, enough for food and a bed for the night, bur he had faith that the Father would provide what he needed after his coins ran out. After his prayer he hooked his sword scabbard from his belt and leaned it against the wall next to hin, quietly watching the inn guests one by one, in particular weary of the drunk soldiers.
 
The Inn was far more crowded than Catryn would have liked it to be, and as a result she was rushing back and forth, working as hard as any of the tavern girls were. Except I don't get paid a single copper, she thought to herself bitterly. Her parents were always hasty to remind her that her payment for her help came in the form of the roof over her head, the fire burning in the hearth and all the food a girl of her age could possibly need. However, gratitude was something that didn't come easily to the irritable redhead, and lately she had been spending increasing amounts of time contemplating the possibility of leaving the Inn and making her own way. King's Landing would appreciate me, she always told herself, King's Landing is filled with fancy people, and fancy people recognize high-born blood. They sniff it out like a hound follows a boar's trail. Not that she had any more high-born blood than anybody else in her family: one of her father's ancestors had been the bastard son of some Tully, and that was all there was to it. Her parents and brother never talked about it, she was the only one. I'm the only one who knows what it means, she told herself, I'm the one who's going to be a Lady soon. There was a pack at the foot of her bed, containing the few clothes she had and the meager amount of coin she had saved from the occasional generous customer. She was ready to go. The next person I meet who's going to King's Landing will be going to King's Landing with me right behind them, she told herself. The words drummed in her head day in and day out, her own personal motto. Her parents wouldn't mind, they had told her as much, the rules were clear enough: the day she stopped working at the Inn was to be the day she left. There was nothing for her to inherit here, and no suitable matches to be found.

Sweating from the heat of the bustling tavern, the redhead made her way further to the back of the hall, away from the fires, in an area that was generally emptier. There was a slight relief to be found from distancing oneself from the majority of the crowd, although the interior, which was certain to be a great comfort to anyone entering form outside, was still extremely stuffy for somebody who had spent the entire day rushing back and forth indoors. "Be grateful for the warmth," her father had told her a few days ago, "we have had a long summer, but it's coming to an end. An even longer winter will soon be upon us. I hear the Maester at Riverrun said it might well last a decade. You'll be wishing for the warmth then, when there is a shortage of wood for the fire and nobody on the road." It was part of what made her itch to go to King's Landing. It was not all that much further south than where she was, but a city was sure to be warmer than the windswept, isolated town by the Trident. Whenever she pictured the city, she imagined it red: a traveler form the capital had once told her that the bricks with which the city was built were the color of her hair- red and sunny and chaotic in the best of ways. That was where she wanted to be.

As she made her way to the quieter area of the tavern, daydreaming, her eye fell on the knight sitting alone. She rolled her eyes a little, as she had been hoping to be able to sit in the shadows unnoticed for a few minutes in order to avoid working, but she was somewhat excited to see a new and unfamiliar face.
"Good evening, what can I get you Ser?" She asked in a tone which sounded positively bored.
 
Ethenn moved down the road toward the distant light of crossroad inn that stood along the Kingsroad and near the trident. The days were growing colder, but winter was far from arriving. The last summer has lasted over nine years and many of the winters before that had been short and mild, the younger men and women of the realms didn't know cold like he and the rest of his black brothers knew. Even in the summer, traveling to the north, the real north, was a very cold and very harsh reminder that the Starks are always right in the end. Winter is coming.

As he approached the inn, Ethenn examined the contents of his coin purse, the Freys of the twins had been just as eager to take his coin as they would any other traveller, nevermind that he is only traveling south to gather men who'll one day protect their precious bridge just as fiercely as any of the Frey's men. In truth, he had too little to afford a night in a feathery bed or a supper made of something else than old cheese and stale bread so he did what he always did and moved into the stables. If he kept his head down, his mouth shut and his presence out of sight the owners of whatever inn he stays with at the time normally don't notice him and leave him to his business.
 
Bernard looked up, disturbed in his silent prayers, when a serving girl came up to him. She looked and sounded bored when she asked him what she could get him. He studied her for a second before he replied, deciding that the girl was not being rude, only bored of her chores at the inn. Finally, he replied:

"Some food. Bread and vegetables. No meat, please. A small cup of wine to drink. I would also like a room for the night." He placed his money on the table near the girl.

The rules of his order, known simply as the Rule, forbade eating meat more than once a weak, as partaking of flesh corrupted the body. It did, however, allow for the partaking of wine, one mug for every meal. Bread and vegetables was the most common meal of the Order's members, and while none grew fat on it, it was healthy, albeit meager. But nobody had ever said that the life of the brothers of his order, was an easy one. Pious men were they who took to joining the Order. Some even considered theirs to be a harsher life than that of those who took the Black, joining the Night's Watch at Castle Black. Bernard would never agree to such, however.
 
Last edited by a moderator:
The blare of the sun shot rays of unnatural heat upon the traveling Northerners. None of them were quite used to such southern heat and the constant sensation of a summer sun at their backs, and while the lady's heart cried for the North she knew her liege lord's bidding was more important. Jeyne had begged them time and time again, both her beloved father and the great Lord Stark to take her to Winterfell and avoid these travels, but the men had thought it best, especially Lord Manderly, to continue forward as planned. "You can celebrate Maiden's Day at the Great Sept," he had told her with a loving smile on his round face, "and while you are there, engage the Queen and the King's Hand, and discover what you can about their movements. I believe Lord Stark is right to be suspicious." But that had nothing to do with my marriage, she thought with the smallest bit of bitterness that she knew wasn't justifiable. When Jeyne was a girl, she had always talked about visiting the Great Sept of Baelor on Maiden's Day and lighting candles and singing and making new friends. It was all she had ever wanted back then, when times were simpler and the King's peace kept most lords away from their suspicions in favor of other things, like family, repairing holdfasts, tourneys and other joyful distractions. Jeyne did not like what the world was breeding. She had expressed her concerns to her sweet Robb, who told her in return, "Don't worry, Jeyne. You'll be gone for a while, aye, but you'll be back soon and we can marry before the Heart Tree, or in the sept if you prefer, and we can put all of this behind us. We will be together again soon." And then he had kissed her, sweet and gentle and undemanding.

Oh, Robb. I hope you're right.

"My lady?" Ser Barton said, trotting up to the girl's side with a look of concern on his face. "You do not look well."

"Homesick, is all." She smiled sadly towards one of her two protectors. Ser Tristan was riding a bit ahead of the two, looking for any signs of a town or a place for a proper lady to stay the night. The two knights in her father's service had asked her to take up residence with Lord Roote of Harroway for the night, but she had politely declined. She was sent out to unearth news of Lannister movements, and she would not find that in a lord's halls. The people knew better than highborns on matters like these.

"Aye, me as well," came Ser Barton's reply. "I've missed White Harbor ever since we left."

"I'm not talking about White Harbor. I'm talking about Winterfell."

The knight smiled warmly. "Of course, Lady Manderly. You'll be back there soon enough."

"Oi!" came Ser Tristan's voice ahead. "I see Harroway! It's not far, my lady. I think there's an inn where we can sleep for the night."

"Wonderful!" Jeyne praised. "Lead us onward, then."

The town of Harroway wasn't much, that was certain. It would pale in the light of White Harbor, but then again so would most towns. She smiled at laughing children that rushed by, nodded politely at whatever works she made eye contact with, though as she proceeded down the main square Jeyne dismounted her horse and watched her knights do the same.

"Something wrong, Lady Jeyne?"

"I don't want Lord Roote to know I'm here," she said with a small chuckle. "You know how boring he is to behold. I should hate to waste my time with him, and he would summon me to the castle if he knew I was in town."

"Right," Ser Tristan agreed. "I'll take the horses to the stables. Barton will go with you to the inn." And so it was.

Oldriver Inn stood at two floors rather than one, something Jeyne found impressive enough. She entered through the front door which pulled her in to lively music, vigorous chats and plenty of drunken hedge knights and bar wenches. A somber knight sat in a corner with a red-haired girl assisting him. A lute player was singing "The Bear and the Maiden Fair" while what Jeyne assumed to be a whore climbed onto the lap of a Roote soldier, shouting "I'm a maiden and you're a bear!" before kissing him feverishly.

"My lady," whispered Barton, "are you sure you don't want to stay with Lord Roote? He would be more than happy to host you for the night, and this is not the place for a maiden to be, much less a highborn lady..."

"Hush," she chuckled, seeing no harm in ignoring what couldn't hurt her. "I have two brave knights to protect me, and these are times of peace. No one would dare harm me while the two of you are present." Jeyne picked up her skirts and sat at the last empty table, patting the seat beside her for Ser Barton to sit. He seemed to be looking at the whores rather nervously, as if they would jump out and bite him.

"Sit down," Jeyne laughed, tugging on his sleeve like a child. "They won't bite."

"Not unless you pay them to," he jested right back as he sat, though his face turned sour again. "Ahem. Sorry, my lady."

"Don't worry. I have a sense of humor too."
 
Ethenn watched with little care as the trio of northerners headed into town, it was hard not to notice them seeing as they stood out like a sore thumb. Two knights and a woman, most likely a lady, who else could afford such protection. For a second Ethenn contemplated whether or not he should try and convince one of them to accompany him up north to take the black, but he quickly erased that thought from his mind as he knew that it would be a wasted effort. In all the years he had served he'd seen few knights or highborn men join the watch and even fewer voluntarily, they must think they're too good for it. Not that Ethenn blamed them. How could he? He didn't even care.

When one of the nights started pulling in the horses in the stables, Ethenn hid just that little bit more. Knights were always a problem, especially Northern knights. Bloody honour bound, the lot of them. If any would catch him hiding out in so much as a run down stable without the owner's knowledge or consent they'd drive him out with either the flat, or the sharp, side of their swords. Well, they would try at least, but it wasn't the swords he was wary of, it were the problems that would come after. If word reached castle black that one of their wandering crows got in a scuffle with any knight, they'd make damn sure their man would spend more time north of the wall rather than south of the gift.
 
Catryn was perplexed by the man's request for a meal with no meat: meat was usually what travelers wanted when they came in, particularly on cold nights. When the Inn was particularly crowded, she'd seen men very nearly come to blows over the last scrap of mutton. The Oldriver Inn prided itself on always having a stocked larder, but on such a common route the occasional shortage was to be expected, and the shortages would only become more regular as winter crept up on them. All the same, the redhead masked her confusion and picked the coins up off the table, disappearing into the more crowded area of the inn.
Over the years, Catryn had become an expert at weaving her way through crowds efficiently: even with her bright red hair, she had developed the skill so well that she could often go completely unnoticed. Customers didn't like to be kept waiting, and getting lost and held up in the crowd was always sure to cause a delay.

Several minutes later, she returned to the table with the man's food, and wine, which she placed on the table in front of him before handing him a key. "Top floor, last door on the left," she informed him before taking a step back. She cocked her head a little: there was something different about the Knight. She was intrigued by his refusal to eat meat, and his quiet, calm demeanor. It wasn't something she was accustomed to seeing. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but noticed movement in the corner of her eye as three new customers entered the inn. "Call me over if you need anything else, Ser," she said quickly before making her way to the next customers. They, too, seemed to stay away from the crowd, and were therefore her responsibility.

There was a girl with them. That wasn't unheard of, but it was somewhat uncommon. Particularly a girl like that. She wasn't one of the women who came to the inn in the hope of finding customers, nor did she look like a hardened traveler.
The redhead approached the table where the three new customers sat and gave them a crooked smile. She liked highborn customers, particularly when they were women. She could pretend that she was working as a handmaiden to a noble lady: that was what she should have been doing with her life, after all. If not a lady, she should be a handmaiden, at the very least.
"Good evening," she said with a clumsy, half-mocking curtsey. "What can I get M'Lady?"
 
Ser Barton scoffed. "My horse can do a better curtsy than that."

"Barton!" Jeyne scolded. "As if you could do any better? I'm terribly sorry, dear. Some knights are more comfortable around women than others."

"I'm not un--!"

"We'd like some warm stew, if you have any. There are three of us. One more knight in my company." Jeyne pulled out her coin purse and put three silvers on the table. "As well as a room for the night, if you have any left. I hope we haven't come too late."
 
She welcomed the sights of the sparsely populated cottages and farms beginning to dot the landscape, knowing it meant a town was nearby. She was tired of looking at the same three faces of her father and his two guards, it had been long since they passed many other travelers of note. She was told by her father to not speak with the guards unless necessary and being she was his bastard daughter, he found little reason to speak with her either. They had traveled far and while she was accustomed to silence, this had gone on too long. Coupled with the mystery of why she was on this journey to begin with, she would be happy to have something else to think about and other people to look at.

They reached Harroway just after dusk and the chill in the air sent a shiver through Ayla's body. Her father nodded his guards to the stables and she and her father dismounted their horses while the guards took the horses in with their own to tend to them. Ayla walked with her father toward the inn. This always excited her, the opportunity to see new people that looked nothing like the people of Dorne. They walked inside and her father led the way and looked around for an empty table. None of the smaller tables were free, but the larger middle tables were sparsely populated. They seated themselves at a table with a lone man in mail and white surcoat that sat far on the opposite end.

Ayla surveyed the room quickly, sure to look down when anyone saw her gaze. She noticed louder, likely drunken men at the tables closer to the bar and women that were as loud and drunk, sitting in their laps or playing coyly with this man or that. In the back of the inn, it was quieter. People were not sitting as close together and there were more relaxed, hushed conversations from this person to that person. She immediately noticed a young, beautiful girl with a light smile and a noble stance. She was finely dressed and seemed to give off a friendly confidence, very likely a lady of a fine house. She watched as the pretty redheaded barmaid curtsied and interacted with them. She too seemed to have an easy confidence about herself.

Ayla's gaze fell to the man at the far end of their table in the chainmail. She watched him for a few moments before her father interrupted her musing on the patrons. "Stop staring at people, Ayla…you think they don't notice, but they do." She nodded her head in obedience at her father and she stared at the grain in the wood of the table. Ever since they had ventured far from Dorne, she realized how different she was from most of the people of Westeros. They did not get many visitors in the deserts, even fewer that weren't Dornish by birth.

She cut her eyes again at the beautiful lady that sat not far from them. The lady smiled easily with her companion again and Ayla wondered for the moment what it must be like to be accepted as whatever you happened to be. Whether it was be a lady, small folk or even a bastard, what must it be like to not hide so much?

"Ayla!" Her father whispered loudly and she pulled her eyes from the lady and back down to the table again.
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back