As Errik, Onri, Areon, and Giselle wander through the second district, trying to determine what inn they are at, Ser Brindon Lews hails them.

“M’lords!” he says, addressing Errik and Onri, “I had begun to fear the worst, and here you have been in a fight!” He gives Areon and Giselle – both of whom are uninjured and considerably cleaner – a sidelong glance. “Come, come, I will wake the Maester.”

Brindon leads them to the Greentree Inn, a very fine, respectable looking establishment and gets them settled in, then heads back out to keep an eye for Mattyw. The Maester looks after Errik and Onri, working quickly and efficiently despite his tired eyes. Errik he pronounces fine, aside from a few bruises, but he spends a few minutes applying a poultice and bandages to Onri’s injuries. {Healing, 32}

“You’ll be fine in a day or two, young master Doryc. Meanwhile, I advise you avoid getting kicked by horses. That is what happened, yes?”

“The number of legs is wrong, good Maester, but your estimation of the size is spot-on,” Onri says to his erstwhile healer.

Mattyw returns a short while later. By this time, Alexia and the twins are up and wondering what everyone has been up to all night. The group has the common room to themselves aside from a very sleepy Lyle Brewer, the proprietor of the Inn, who periodically stokes the fire and offers whomever is nearest a drink.

Errik nurses his bruises with a glass of wine. He quietly fills the menfolk in on the encounter with the thugs. When he’s finished, he finds a seat next Onri.

Sitting down by the fireplace, Mattyw looks at the innkeeper, requesting a small mug of water, before blearily eyeing the rest of the group. He takes the measure of Errik, Areon, Giselle and Onri, before trying to clear his eyes. “Of all of us, I’d expect Areon to be bloodied and muddied, not our good Lordship. And with a newcomer to boot. Apparently I miss out on all the good stuff. Well, some of it. Well, some stuff at any rate.”

Gladly accepting the mug when it returns, Mattyw nurses it gently before putting his feet up.

Attempting to keep things a LITTLE light, Areon will look to Mattyw, “You know better than that, my foes don’t get the chance to bloody nor muddy me.” Turning grave once more, Areon turns to Onri, “I thank you Ser, for coming to our lords aid. I hate to think what might have happened if those thugs caught him alone. This whole trip has been turning out to get more and more complicated.” He’ll slowly shake his head.

At Areon’s gratitude, Onri responds, “Merely doing my duty. Besides, they weren’t the first brigands to give me bruises, they won’t be the last.”

IN LOW VOICES

“You said you bought a message. Nothing troubling, I hope?”

At Errik’s question, Onri looks around, seeing a larger audience than he hoped for. He leans in, to at least prevent the innkeeper from overhearing his whisper.

“Dark wings,” he says soberly, unsealing his scrollcase and handing the scroll to Errik. “I was told to advise you to keep news of this from spreading at the tournament. It concerns your brother Aengus and Ser Alexandre. They were both badly injured fighting the bandits that Ser Jaramy has had so much trouble with. Your father wants Maester Lagorio to return as soon as possible with whatever escort can be mustered. Transportation has been arranged with the Orphans.”

Errik shakes his head in disbelief. “Bandits? I- How did it happen?”

Alexia gasps and covers her mouth in shock. Tears spring to her eyes, Janessa and Janeria pull her in to comfort her.

“All I know is that they were making a raid on a bandit camp,” Onri replies. “My father met me on the dock, took my charts and papers, handed me this scroll, and sent me back out on a Myrish ship. I’ve yet to set foot upon the solid ground of my home.”

“It seems ill has befallen our house on many fronts,” Giselle chimes in hushed tones. “I fear that encounter on the docks may not have been as random as it may have seemed. I know you must worry for Aengus, my Lord, but we must keep our own selves, you especially, from a closer foe’s intentions.”

She looks about to ensure their discussion is not being followed, “I can’t pin down the significance, but know in my heart it was no coincidental attack on the docks. The bandit I shot as he attempted to flee had the mark of a a crude red hand dripping blood on his left forearm. I know I should be able to place that symbol, but my mind is awash with other things, and I can not.”

Mattyw puts his mind to work thinking of this symbol Giselle mentions, smiling outwardly at Areon’s words. “I think it may be best to get our good Maester on his way as quick as we can, though I fear the timing for this to be too coincidental, for us to be without his services in a place such as this, where blood has already been spilt tonight.”

{Knowledge, 7: Mattyw has never seen or heard of such a tattoo, that he can recall.}

Onri thinks for a moment, but the description of the tattoo doesn’t stir any memories for him. {Knowledge, 13: The tattoo is not something that Onri is familiar with, so far as he can recall.}

“Dark wings, dark words, indeed,” Maester Lagorio mutters. “I had best begin packing.”

“M’lord Errik,” Ser Brindon steps forward. “Your noble brother and the good Ser Alexandre have been injured whilst aiding my liege lord. I offer my sword to defend the Maester on his journey, lest some further ill luck should befall us in his injury.”

Pulling herself together, Alexia also joins the conversation. “I’m going back, too. I feel that my proper place is by my father’s side. But I must appear at the Prince’s feast tomorrow as well, in the interest of maintaining secrecy concerning these injuries – if everyone knew how close you and I are to becoming the heirs of our houses, Errik, we might be in even greater danger.”

She purses her lips and flicks her nails distractedly. Addressing no one in particular, she says, quietly, “I don’t know what to do.”

Onri leans forward uncomfortably, with a twinge of pain from his injury. “I would not attempt to advise you for such a decision. But if you wish to leave, then you should do so with the Maester. Given everything that has happened, we should avoid splitting up into ever smaller groups.”

Alexia nods her head. “That makes sense to me,” she says. “Perhaps…perhaps I could fall mysteriously ill, or have been poisoned by our known enemies?”

Maester Lagorio clears his throat. “I could fake either with ease, and my standing with the local collegium is strong enough that I doubt any questions would be asked. Although I admit the thought makes me a tad uncomfortable – and my dear Lady would need to suffer some stomach cramps to make it truly convincing.”

Areon has long been staring intently into the fire, even more distant and aloof than normal. “I remember the hand… that bloody hand. What became of the man you shot?” Areon asks, with steel in his voice.

“He was apprehended by the city guards after all was said and done,” Giselle says to Areon, “but unless they bothered to see to his wounds, I doubt he will live to see the sunrise through the window of his cell. What do you know of that symbol, my friend? It is right on the edge of my knowing…”

As he looks into the fireplace, the light there pales in comparison to the fire burning in his eyes. After a moment, Areon says quietly, “Long ago, when I was a boy, I saw that symbol. I was 12 years old when a man bearing the same tattoo rode down my family’s caravan.” He pauses, as if to compose himself, “I was the only one to make it out alive.” Areon blinks, and seems to come back to himself. Looking as Giselle, he adds, “The man on the docks was not the same man, I would recognize his face as if it were my own…”

Areon’s story helps Giselle connect the dots, and she is suddenly able to put something together. {Giselle: Knowledge: Memory, 9, Success} The tattoo is the symbol of an old brotherhood of bandits and killers, the aptly named Bloody Hands, who marked their membership with such tattoos. They haven’t been active in the nearly 20 years since Giselle was a girl, not since Aelius Corinthyen ordered the Hoplites to drive them out of Dorne in one of his first acts as Lord after Halpern’s death.

As Onri listens to Errik’s tale, the name Maiyo Vierro strikes him as strangely familiar. {Cunning, 9, Success} He recalls that Vierro is a moderately wealthy and successful Braavosi spice merchant, the owner of perhaps half a dozen ships, and has a dangerous reputation among his own people. With a bit of field research, Onri is sure that he could dig up more details.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

(I forgot to put Mattyw’s name in this part, but it was him, all along!)

Seeking to break the somber mood that has ensorcelled the room, Mattyw claps his hands and plants his feet firmly on the ground, launching himself into a standing position. “At least the night is not all gloom! I have, through various means, managed to procure the location where those of Lugus lay their head, and some choice tidbits for Areon as well, should he care to remain both blood and mud free in the contests to follow.” His eyes glint in the firelight mischievously.

Onri turns his attention to the jovial Mattyw. “So, friend, do not keep us in the dark. Out with it,” he says, the man’s jubilant manner spreading to Doryc.

The conversation continues for another hour or two as the compatriots fill each other in on the events of the evening and become acquainted with their recently arrived friend.

_____________________________________________________________________________________
BY MORNING’S LIGHT

Come morning, everyone but Alexia and the Maester congregates in the common room for a breakfast of fresh fruit and lightly sweetened pastries.

As she leaves the large suite that she shared with Alexia Thracyen and the Corinthyen twins, Giselle discovers a young serving boy waiting outside her room with a small package. He looks up when she steps out, furrows his brow for a moment, and then nods.

“Mizz Giselle Montkillier of House Corinthyen?” He pipes up questioningly. “I’ve a package for you. Master Brewer said someone dropped it off last night, but didn’t give a name.” He holds it out to her.

Onri steps out into the common room, wearing a courtier’s outfit. Snatching a pastry, he moves towards Giselle. “What is it?” he ask, taking a nibble from his pastry.

“Lord Errik,” says Giselle, snapping the lid shut on the box and ignoring Onri’s question. She strides towards Errik. “Pardon my imposition, my Lord, but I must needs speak with you, and a common room will not do, I’m afraid.”

Errik frowns in concern, but acquiesces. “Come then, let us speak in my rooms. Areon, will you keep a close eye on the twins? With Lady Alexia leaving, I’m afraid I’m not quite sure what to do with them.” He sighs.

Onri watches as Giselle seeks a more private setting to talk to Errik, an amused expression on his face at the castellan’s pointed secrecy. He finishes pastry and wipes his hands, making sure he does not let any crumbs fall on his courtier’s outfit. As Matthyw enters the common room, Onri presumptuously lifts a pitcher of water and a cup and carries it to the troubadour. As he sits next to Matthyw, he says “Strange, isn’t it? One thirst leads to another.”

Mattyw laughs, clutching the cup as though it were a rock in the middle of a raging rapid. “That’s the last time I spend the night with the landed gentry and a lady-of-the-night… well, now that I say that, I feel rather foolish. I take it back!”

He takes a deep draught of the water. “Why is it that the nobles always seem to be falling in love with the street-wives? Are they just that good at their jobs?”

Onri laughs at Matthyw’s observation. “The ones worth bedding, I suppose. But this is nothing! In Braavos, swordsmen duel to the death in the streets over which courtesan is the most beautiful. And some of those courtesans make some of our nobles look like paupers. Come to think of it, in the Summer Isles, some of the courtesans are nobles.” Onri reflects for a moment, before concluding, “Across the waves, they take the profession much more seriously, no?”

Mattyw smiles fondly. “If only mannerisms mattered, then the best of us would live like kings, nobility or not! I dream of visiting the Summer Isles some day. Although in Braavos I would hate to be caught out in such a duel. My skill lies with rapier wit, rather than the blade itself.”

Finishing his water, he gets up and begins pacing around the common room, stretching his legs. “Still, I’d rather see woman fight over gentlemen like us than be forced into it the other way around. I don’t suppose they have that over in the Summer Isles, though.”

His walk completed, he collapses back into his chair. “So, are you planning on entering any parts of the tournement? If so, I pray you don’t end up against Areon!"

“I am not competing in the joust. I am more suited to the sea than horseback. I may enter the melee though.” Onri looks as Errik and Giselle reenter the room.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
ERRIK’S CHAMBERS

Giselle shows Errik the dagger, and explains the circumstances of its arrival.

“How odd.” Errik comments. He chews his lip, considering the blade. “Dragonbone and, likely enough, Valyrian Steel. In light of all else, I’m not quite sure what this can mean, but it strikes me as ominous. What do you make of it, Castellan?”

Giselle frowns, “I’d like to think of it as a precious gift,” she says somewhat sarcastically, trying to lighten her own mood, “but in light of recent circumstances, I feel it to be either a not-so-subtle threat, or a ‘request’ for a sinister act, the specifics of which we do not yet know. I like it not at all despite it’s beauty. I was thinking I might search out more information about the blade itself, for surely it is one-of-a-kind, and the weapon’s origins may help to shed some light on why it’s been delivered to me.”

She thinks for a moment, “But I fear there is little time for investigation, as we dare not be absent from the Nameday events.”

Errik paces back and forth, considering. “Today is merely the presentation of arms and the establishment of the lists. The only real requirement is that I make an appearance – the rest of you can pursue other leads regarding our current troubles.” He stops pacing and smiles at Giselle a bit grimly. “I can already see why my father prefers to stay home from these events.”

“I should like to be present at the events this evening,” says Giselle, “but I feel as this weapon was delivered to me specifically, that it must needs take priority. I should hate to think what it means to not find the answer to this riddle.”

She approaches Errik cautiously, as she has yet to establish what would be called a “friendship” with the man. Respect, which she feels is mutual, yes…but they have certainly had their moments of…resentment?

She lays what she intends to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, and says, “You’ll be fine, my Lord. These formalities and politicking are both your birthright and your curse, I’m afraid. Try to enjoy it…I’ll see to this mystery. Shall you be taking the Prince’s gift this evening? I’ve marked the crate carefully so as not to present him with a case of scorpions!” she laughs awkwardly, not knowing how the informal attempt at familiarity (if not friendship) will be received. {We’ll call it Persuasion to cheer him up: Persuasion, 14, Success x2}

Errik sighs, and gathers himself together. “Thank you, Giselle. Let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we? The fewer tongues wagging, the better, I think. And yes, I will take his gift later this evening, but I expect you all to join me for the feast! We’re not like to eat so well again any time soon.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
BACK IN THE COMMON ROOM, ALL TOGETHER

Errik and Giselle emerge back into the common room. “Well,” Errik says to Giselle. “Nothing we can’t handle, then.” Turning to the larger entourage, he says, “I think you all have something to do today. Areon, I would ask that you accompany Giselle, if you’ve nothing else. Onri, you may accompany the girls and I-” Here, Errik is interrupted by twin shrieks of joy as his sisters realize that they are going to the presentation of arms with him, and not being sent home.

“-Ahem. The girls and I are going to the Presentation of Arms. We’ll be heading up early so that I can see to their seating, and introduce them around. You are invited to accompany us if you wish, but I understand if such things do not interest you. Otherwise, of course, you are free to do as you like.”

Then he finds a seat next to Mattyw, and calls for wine. Turning to Mattyw, he says, “And you, my good bard: Are you ready to enter tonight’s tournament of music? I understand the Prince is offering quite a sum, and I will most certainly sponsor you.”

Mattyw all but leaps out of his chair in excitement. “My lord, you do me an unimaginable honor! I shall not fail you, if you sponsor me!”

He leaps up to the back of the chair, arms spread wide for balance. “I shall sing songs so sweet that they shall snare the hearts of young maidens! I will ply my poetry to pierce the hearts of old harden warriors and make them weep! I will wind my words into the hearts and beings of all present, and bring honor to your house!”

Errik grins at Mattyw’s excitement. “Well spoken, Mattyw! I’ll hold you to it!”

“Thank you for the offer, my lord,” Onri says with a slight bow. “However, given the circumstances surrounding your arrival here, I would like to figure out what is afoot. Starting with the Braavosi. From what I know about him, I don’t think he is here simply to sell spices. If Mathyw has time, I’d like him to join me. Also, if I may ask, what was the gift sent to us this morning?”

Mattyw nods in affirmation at Onri. “I believe the music entry is not for some time yet, and maybe this will provide some much needed inspiration!”

Addressing Onri’s question, Giselle says, “I think we should perhaps save that discussion for another time or place, my new friend. Suffice it to say that I have to look into a few things before attending the tourney in order to set my mind at ease. I welcome your company, if you wish…not sure how you feel about libraries, though."

“Of course, I will accompany Giselle, my lord," Areon says. "I wish for the necessity for hushed tones to come to an end. I only ask that I be allowed time to enter the Grand-Melee. It has been a long time since I was able to test my blades against anyone of equal skill.” The sour look Areon has been wearing ever since hearing of the bandits’ symbol seems to lift a little at the thought of swordplay. “Where will we be off to my Lady?”

{COMPLETE}