"Clarke." Analia snapped, moving to him once the men had gone. "Thank you, Aeden. Saving his sorry ass, as always." She said, eyes flashing over the commander's shoulder to where Kailan was still watching, expression angry before the other woman turned her horse away, galloping off.

Lord Reyne
The Knight stepped away, sheathing his blade. "Clean yourself up, then take care of this mess." Aeden told the Bolton before spotting Kailan mounted and off towards the keep. He then sighed and moved to join the rest of the company he was assigned.

Clarke
The Bolton only winced, "It wasn't me this time, I swear it... that goat fucker stole my own coin and well, things got a bit turned around." He grumbled, dragging the body off the street and into some bushes where he saw it fit to leave to rot.

Ser Lucius then moved past the Kingsguard and rode up to the other Knights he had faught with for the many years.

"Arthur, I thought the Prince had requested that you personally ride alongside him?" The Kingsguard asked, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Analiafollowed Clarke, sighing deeply. "Why can't you keep out of trouble, Bolton?" She asked him softly, touching his wound gently, healing him without a second's thought.

Clarke

"Come now, If I didn't always get into trouble, there would be no fun in this beautiful little shit hole." The Bolton mused, shrugging off the pain in his waist and bruised shoulder.

Analia reached up to touch his jaw lightly, smiling softly. "You're a walking disaster waiting to happen. Why did I think it a good idea to marry you?"

Kailan slowed her mount as she reached the keep, dismounting and handing the reigns off to one of the guards, who told her where to find the old woman. She went silently, ignoring the keep's occupants, and the place itself, wishing deeply to be anywhere but there.

"Aye, I was just preparing" Arthur greeted his comrade, putting Dawn back into its scabbard. "Though perhaps not for long, Ser Duncan have been made the Prince's sworn shield. I believe the Regent would have me lead the Dornish vanguard sometime later. But for now, let us ride." The Dornishmen put on his white half-helm and rode by the Prince's side.

"I wonder how wielding a blade like that would feel like" Duncan commented.

The Palace itself was enveloped with all sorts of lush colors. Though, none of it was anything new to the prodigal daughter come to speak with the White-haired Maiden. "Lady Kailan, right this way, our host is expecting you..." A servant spoke as he appeared in view.

Clarke

"Isn't that a fantastic question to ask, for I've not a clue." The Bolton grinned as he moved off with her.

Lucius

"Haha, of course... Say, did Lord Aeden relinquish his white cloak? In fact I've not seen that silver armor on him since the siege of Kingslanding..."

The silver princess sat in a small room, drinking some wine. Despite her age Daenarys still retain some of her youthful beauty, a beauty that caught the heart of the world's greatest warrior, a time long passed.
Upon her grand daughter's entrance she greeted with a soft smile. "Kailan, please, sit"


Duncan the Tall

He recalled his memory and agreed. "Aye, maybe in due time, if the regent allows it." Dunk stopped and look to Lucius apologetically "Sorry, I misspoke. It isn't my place to say"

Kailan sat obediently, hand never leaving her sword's pommel. "Grandmother. It has been a long time. What do I owe the honor of your request?" The woman's tone was dry, empty of emotion.

Ser Lucius

"Oh... But what of the oath he took?" The Knight sighed, a short glance sent towards the Reyne. "That man was my brother."

Daenrys

"A warrior" She remarked, addressing her defensive stature "Not what your father wanted. I suppose I can only blame myself...The maester and his cousins showed him how nobles behaved beyond Dorne, he intended to project that to you. But, the blood of Nymeria is still strong." Daenrys sipped her wine. "I'm not here to challenge the path you choose dear, the ink is dry. You spent a long time with Prince Aelor, tell me about him."

Ser Duncan

"He still is Ser Lucius, he may have spoiled his cloak, but his heart hasn't change." Dunk replied, although he had his own concern. He hadn't known Ser Aeden, only for short while, though they did share the same cloak. Duncan dismiss the thoughts.

Ser Lucius

"You're right, but our vows hold us to never falter in our duty. That child is... Nevermind. It just feels wrong, is all, I thought our cloaks used to mean something."

Duncan

"It still can"

"I only protected him, Grandmother. It is not my place to tell anything about the young king. Only that he has learned much, and is intelligent and calculated as a king must be." Kailan hardly relaxed at her reassuring words, wanting only to get back to Aeden and Jolan, until they had to move on.

Years Ago In The Land Of Essos

Gwel stood before his final challenger, his saber extended towards the Bravosi Swordsman. The edge of the blade had been painted blood red by his last duel. With a quick lunge, the Brovosi attacked the young man. Blood spewed from his mouth, all as Gwel backed away, allowing his Saber to remain in the man's chest. The young fighter was then escorted back to his cell, to await the day's grand finale.

Tristan waited for his friend, arms holding his weight against the bars of their shared cell, though his wrists remained chained together. The youngster was bruised and bloodied, but mostly uninjured. Suprising, given his size and weak appearance.

Gwel smiled at the sight of Tristan, "Brother." He whispered as the bars were closed behind him. "They say there is one more match in this tournament... Westerosi Swordsman and the likes against us and a few other slaves."

"They are only looking to have us slaughtered. There are too many slaves. They want us thinned out." Tristan spoke quietly, eyes distant as he gazed to the empty cell across from theirs. Another friend who hadn't been as lucky as they.

"Don't say that... What matters is that we're together, and we're alive." He smiled hesitantly, patting his friend's shoulder. "One day, we will cut the heads off those fucks and piss all over their bodies."

"I suppose it is better to die alongside a brother than alone." Tristan sighed, turning from his forlorned stare. "Are you injured? Let me take care of you before they send us out again."

Gwel shrugged, "just a scratch... No worries, mate." His gaze found the cell door, where he heard the deep chanting from the crowd above. "They're monsters, the lot of 'em. Taking amusement out of our suffering, our bloodshed."

"We are hardly more than goats, brother. They take pleasure in knowing they hold their own freedom." He said quietly, going to sit on the ground against the cell's wall, eyes on the ceiling. "I wish i could bring the whole stadium down on them, so that they can see they are no more free than any of us."

The slave turned, shaking his head softly. "I know, we just have to stay strong, wait for our chance and-" Just as he was about to finish, three guards came into their cell and started dragging them back into the Arena. "Get your hands off me!" Gwel shouted, just before they were thrown out into the pit. The metal door slammed shut behind them.

Before the pair was another slave, armed only with an axe and small shield. "C'mon, get your weapons." The man insisted, pointing at the small pools of various swords and daggers at the center. At the opposite end stood three armored warriors, clearly Westorosi fighters.

Tristan hardly made a sound as they were dragged out, his eyes scanning the arena, as well as the stands around them. He glanced down at his still shackled wrists, then towards the weapon pile, and then reached down and picked up a long pole that lay just at his feet. A broken and discarded spear. It would do, as their keepers refused to release the younger man from his bonds, even to fight for them.

Across the arena Connor stood calmly, wearing half as much armor as the other two Westarosi warriors, whom he'd never met. Across the mans shoulders rested his heavy greatsword, the blade gleaming as he shifted it under his arms hooked over the blade. "Fucking slaves. This aught to be interesting." The man grunted, and snorted a laugh when the boy across the arena picked up a broken spear. "Foolish slaves."

Gwel rummaged through the weapons, cursing when he could not find his favorite saber. "Right, suppose this'll do..." The Slave uttered, pulling out a thin bladed sword from the pile. He then rose and moved at the head of the other two slaves. "Tristan, stay behind me, only attack when you have the opening."

"Whatever you say." Tristan's low monotone hardly carried to his friends' ears as he stood silently, one end of the weapon resting against the ground. Above them, a horn sounded, signaling the beginning of the fight, and the crowd cheered as two of the Westaros natives advanced.

Gwel lowered himself slightly, raising his blade in an overhand stance. "Ay, mate, you mind taking on one of them?" He asked, glancing slightly at the Axe-wielding slave. The man nodded hesitantly and took a few steps forward, lining up with Gwel.

Connor didn't move, letting the other two take on who they wanted. He wasn't in any hurry, and found it amusing when trained knights met their matches in slaves and vagabonds.

Tristan moved a step closer to his brother in bonds, grip shifting on the makeshift staff, eyes narrowing as the other warriors advanced confidently, expecting an easy slaughter.

Gwel whistled a soft tune, then knelt down, taking sand into his free hand. "You lot think you're tough, just 'cause you've got fancy armor and long swords?" The Slave mused, holding his stance as the two advanced on them.

"Don't taunt them brother. It isn't kind to confuse the poor bastards." Tristan spoke up, and the rage in the men's expressions became very clear as they advanced more quickly, obscenities flowing.

The Slave advanced in an instant, throwing the sand directly into the armored foe's visor. A scream sounded to Gwel's right, the voice of the slave that had been at the front. "Fuck... Tristan, watch him..." Gwel uttered, then shoved the stunned foe to the ground.

"Oh, he's dead." Tristan said calmly, moving up slightly to meet the advances of the now cocky warrior, his grip shifting on the spear in his bound hands. The youngster moved quickly, suddenly the man's legs where knocked from beneath him, taking his breath with them, and Tristan had hardly seemed to move, except to step back again and allow him to regain his feet, charging like an enraged bull, only to be knocked to the ground once again.

"Whatever you're doing keep at it!" Gwel spoke quickly, just as the other Paladin raced after him. The Slave sidestepped out of reach, watching as the Brute came at him again, this time swinging. The sharp clang of metal hung in the air as Gwel deflected each strike with a slight ease.

Tristan hardly glanced up from the ground, bringing the man back to his knees every time he attempted to attack. The slave was breaking the warrior, physically and mentally. With each pass he struggled more and more to stand and attack, until he could no longer, and the Westarosi remained on his knees, shoulders slumped, shaking with exhaustion and from the tears streaming down his face. "Why do you taunt me? Kill me boy!" The man howled, and Tristan looked away. "I don't kill for sport." He said quietly, looking up as the third Westaros warrior approached, a worn Dornish sigil on his armor.
Connor wasn't as amused as he had hoped to be. It was rather sickening, seeing how the boy seemed to be completely uncaring in his actions, and yet brought a seasoned warrior to his knees.

Gwel spotted Tristan facing two of the Knights. He cursed then saw an opening in his own attacker's movements. As the armored foe took a step closer, Gwel sidestepped and kicked the man's shin out. The foe dropped to the ground instantly, before a thin blade was plunged deep into the back of the neck. "Tristan I'm coming!"

"Take your time." Tristan said quietly, just watching the Dornish man as he walked towards them, both calm despite the crowds roars.

The slave ran to the phased knight, instantly and with not a second thought slit the man's throat. "Let's get this over with..." Gwel now stood at Tristan's side, ready to back up his brother in bonds.

Tristan snorted a bit, letting the butt of the spear rest on the ground, waiting for either his friend or the knight to attack.
Connor hefted his sword, smirking a bit as the crowd cheered. "You are both rather noblee men. For a couple of slaves. Fight well." The giant of a man mused, looking between them.

"You call this noble?! We're fighting for our lives!" Gwel shouted in anger, dropping the thin blade and taking the knight's single handed broadsword. "Come on then, do what you're here for..."

"I dont fight men who have no chance against me." Connor almost laughed, looking around again. "They're getting very angry up there. I wonder what will happen when i dont kill either of you."

"Why don't you find out what kind of chance we have?" Gwel spoke in a growl, already furious by the circumstance. He hated them all, their arrogance, their need to control. To Gwel every Knight, and all their masters are but a constant reminder that there was nothing to life.

"Fine." Connor growled, stepping forward, the heavy blade moving incredibly fast for its size in a slashing arc, aimed for his knees.

Gwel's blade spun downward, meeting the large blade. With a quick step, Gwel rolled past the knight before readying his blade once again. The Slave's stance did not match the sword he carried, but it was keeping him alive.

Connor snorted, keeping up the agressive style, his massive blade dancing as if it hardly weighed an ounce. He knew he wouldn't get much of a hit in, but he could keep the man moving. And perhaps he would miss a step in the process.

"Hey Tristan, you mind using that fancy magic of yours?" Gwel said uneasily, using his speed advantage to keep out of reach from the man's edge.

"Can't." Tristan muttered, stepping up to his friends aide, slowing the knight down with the effort of blocking the spear. "Chains block it."

Gwel was a flurry of slashes in an instant. Light shimmered off the whirlwind that was his blade, cutting down, slash after slash against the plate. It ended when their swords locked and they stood face to face, men who would one day be brothers in arms...

Present Day

Morning crept in from the dark of night, ever slowly. Restless souls tossed and turned in the land of Dorne. At one point, it is said that Dorne connected the world and brought the first men to Westeros. It would seem fitting that this land would bring a King home...

The Lord of House Reyne had awoken during the dead of night, and had not slept since. As light began to rise over the glimmering Narrow Sea, Aeden gazed out at the host before him. As the city of tents began to stir, Aeden moved off on his horse to get one last look. As the Lord Reyne's mount climbed the highest dune, Aeden's eyes opened to the great castle of Sunspear, its towers rising high above the nearby ocean. The castle rose in the distance, at least a handful of leagues away. He thought it a sight to behold, for it felt not so long ago that he and his company had first arrived in Dorne.

The man could remember forcing himself from his bed, all within the keening ship. He had dragged himself, wounded and weaken across the length of the vessel until Aeden found the ladder to the top deck. The harsh sunlight had blinded him at first and he struggled to climb to the top. But the moment his body felt the heat of the Dornish sunlight on his battered skin, a deep longing sigh escaped him.

A very similar moment came to the man as he raised a hand to shade his eyes. The Lord Reyne lowered his heavy head, eyes finding the hand that had been ruined by the Bolton, his sword hand. The tendons were healed and renewed to their strength, though the scars remained. Aeden knew what was to come, that he would raise a sword once again for the boy, the king, the true dragon...

Jace

The Regent had taken the young King for a walk, giving him some lessons on ruling. Though Jacearys had never officially ruled, despite being the heir of Griffin Roost, he believes his time on the small council was similar to ruling, co-ruling. He had learnt many things from the lords of the council, even from Bloodraven with his spies.

He then left Ser Arthur and Ser Lucius to prepare from for the journey, as he went to his stead that his squire, Rakhelis was tending to.

"How is he?" the Regent asked

The squire answered as he brushed the horses neck "Fit for travel, and combat, my Lord"

"Lets hope it doesn't come to that, for the King"

Aeden

The man kept silent as he rode back to the host, watching the soldiers as they drank and shared stories. A smile crept upon Aeden's face. He recalled when his father's men would take him hunting, It was Aeden's sixteenth nameday. They would tell him of war, and honor of heroes before, how the great Lion of Castamere had led their fathers to battles of legend. The face of a young squire came to mind, Tommen. He was of a similar age to Aeden at the time, and served Ser Gwain, the Captain of his father's guard. That boy had thick black hair, and a rough stubble of a beard. Tommen had been Aeden's closest friend, a boy of the strongest will, he remembered.

The Lord of Reyne wondered if Tommen had died a good death, honoring his family during the sacking of Castamere. He had only briefly seen the man, running past him to defend the courtyard from the Lannister host.

It felt like so long ago... The day his father was slain, and his house cast into exile. By right, Aeden was Lord now. 'Lord of what?' He thought to himself. Ever since his family's exile, Aeden had served, as he had done since taking the white. Being a Knight of the Kingsguard meant renouncing any title or land he might have inherited. But he had left his King to save his family, fathered a child with a woman he loved, stayed behind when the King fled. 'Oathbreaker... Man without honor... ' He quietly shook his head, before dismounting at his tent. The Lion of Castamere was nothing more than a rogue who wore a cloak of white to mask who he truly was.