[Day 7: Late Afternoon] Taking in the country air (Closed)

[Jon Cobb]

Refreshed by his bath and buoyed by Dunstan Tullison's offer, Jon made his way to the Marsten encampment, leading his trusty chestnut rounsey. In a fit of inspiration, he had also stopped off at the Bartheld kitchen tent on his way, commandeering a hamper full of bread, cheese and cold cuts left over from the masked ball, as well as a fine winter ale to go with them. So armed, Jon arrived at Lady Dyana's tent to find her waiting.

"
Good afternoon, my lady,"
he greets her with a bow. "
I hope this night's adventures have not tired you so much that our ride in the country must be postponed?"

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana waves to Jon as she approaches, dressed in leather and riding boots. "
Good afternoon to you too, Ser. The night wasn't at all tiresome, though the morning was taxing. But now that that Darry is dealt with, we can take time to enjoy ourselves without worrying for the morrow. To some degree, that is."
She chuckles to herself.

She caresses the side of a great destrier stallion, his bay fur bright and pure of color. If Jon had any eye for horses, he'd know one would be hard-pressed to find a finer breed anywhere north of Dorne.

"
Breaker's here seen some activity already, but he's got far more stamina than myself. Did you have anywhere in mind for us?"
She asks, eyeing the satchel where the food had been stored.

[Jon Cobb]

Dyana waves to Jon as she approaches, dressed in leather and riding boots. "
Good afternoon to you too, Ser. The night wasn't at all tiresome, though the morning was taxing. But now that that Darry is dealt with, we can take time to enjoy ourselves without worrying for the morrow. To some degree, that is."
She chuckles to herself.

"
I'm very glad to hear that, my lady"
Jon answers sincerely. "
I've been looking forward to our ride all day."

She caresses the side of a great destrier stallion, his chestnut fur bright and pure of color. If Jon had any eye for horses, he'd know one would be hard-pressed to find a finer breed anywhere north of Dorne.

"
Breaker's here seen some activity already, but he's got far more stamina than myself. Did you have anywhere in mind for us?"
She asks, eyeing the satchel where the food had been stored.

"
That's a fine warhorse you have there, my lady. I'm certainly no expert on horseflesh, but even I can tell that he's a lovely specimen,"
Jon notes. "
As for where we're going, I do in fact have a spot in mind. I spoke some with Eddrick Goodwater - our guide last night - and he recommended me a spot in some woodlands less than an hour's ride from here. Should be just far enough to ensure privacy and still let us get there and back in good time, while enjoying this excellent repast I liberated from our cook, Bevan Sand, on the way here,"
Jon grins, tapping the hamper tied to his saddle.

[Dyana Marsten]

Breaker lets out a snort, then eyes Jon with suspicious horse eyes, his hair drifting as he shakes his equine head.

"
Shhhh..."
Dyana soothes the beast, running a hand across his flank with deliberate care. "
T's alright, cheyao. Jon is a friend."
Her voice has a different tone - no, a different timbre to it when talking to the horse;
rhythmical, alluring, almost hypnotic, though the sentences are short. "
Affa, ajjin. I will come now."
With practiced ease, she rises into saddle, throwing her leg over the other side and settling down as if she was born there.

"
He's a fine horse indeed, Ser. Now, let us get going, then? I would not delay a repast you acquired from a dornish cook. I hear they appreciate good food down south."
She tips her chin forward, then smiles at Jon. "
I follow your lead."


[OOC: Breaker's fur is bay, not chestnut... brainfart]

[Jon Cobb]

Jon leads the way, out past Riverton and the main road, onto a winding farmer's track. He sets a sedate pace, walking his rounsey but interspersing with a trot every now and again. The farmer's track soon gives way to ever smaller paths, until Jon and Dyana are well and truly into what passes for wilderness in the heavily populated lands of the Trident. They splash through streams and meadows before entering a stretch of woodlands that is just sparse enough to allow them to ride at a slow walk.

Jon is uncharacteristically silent as they ride, keeping his eye on where his rounsey is treading and stealing a glance at Dyana every so often. Finally, he asks, "
Did my lady and Daveth enjoy the rest of the evening at the ball?"

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana follows Jon's pace through the farmer's track, and then the streams and meadows. She has a dumbfounded smile coming into and out of her face throughout the small trip, seemingly enjoying herself immensely for riding through the countryside, feeling the soft breeze in her hair, listening to the sound of running water and the hooves of their mounts...

At his question, she looks his way without ceremony, smirking warmly. "
We had a magnificent dance, and then a short conversation, but other obligations claimed me for the remainder of the night. Namely, Ser Baelon called me to request aid on today's trials... I didn't get all of our riders ready at dawn by partying all night, you know."
She looks at him for a moment. "
How did your own night go?"

[Jon Cobb]

At his question, she looks his way without ceremony, smirking warmly. "
We had a magnificent dance, and then a short conversation, but other obligations claimed me for the remainder of the night. Namely, Ser Baelon called me to request aid on today's trials... I didn't get all of our riders ready at dawn by partying all night, you know."
She looks at him for a moment. "
How did your own night go?"

"
I'm glad for you, though it must have been disappointing to have had your evening cut short for such foul business,"
Jon replies somberly. "
As for my own evening...I managed my fair share of drinking, dancing and eating. I talked business with a fool and scared a salmon man witless, spoke of warriors and swordsmanship with a White Walker, and - I think - helped a mother remember happier days. And then I rode into the night and killed two men for their crimes, all before breakfast,"
he finishes with a sour smile.

"
I'm sorry Dyana, I didn't mean to spoil the mood with my dark thoughts. Look - we're here."
For the past ten minutes or so, the riders have been following a babbling brook, and now they have arrived at its source. In the center of a small clearing is deep pool of cold, clear water, likely fed by an underground spring. The pool feeds the brook, which rushes off merrily down a slight incline and into the woods. The sun shines through the boughs of the trees, lighting up the clearing, and a mixture of grass and moss make for soft, if slightly damp, seating.

Dismounting, Jon unfolds a thick wool blanket for himself and Dyana to sit on, then lays out the repast he's brought with him. Finally, he produces two cups and fills them to the brim with winter ale. Handing one to Dyana, he says with an ironic grin, "
A toast! May our hero's story be told in full today, and may he get his just desserts!"

[Dyana Marsten]

"
I'm glad for you, though it must have been disappointing to have had your evening cut short for such foul business,"
Jon replies somberly. "
As for my own evening...I managed my fair share of drinking, dancing and eating. I talked business with a fool and scared a salmon man witless, spoke of warriors and swordsmanship with a White Walker, and - I think - helped a mother remember happier days. And then I rode into the night and killed two men for their crimes, all before breakfast,"
he finishes with a sour smile.

Dyana listens silently and with some curiosity as Jon recalls his day. She seems to show more reaction to the mention of a 'mother' than the killing of two men.

"
I'm sorry Dyana, I did'nt mean to spoil the mood with my dark thoughts. Look - we're here."

"
There is no harm done."
She nods before looking at the clearing in front of them.

Such a... pleasant place!

She dismounts, patting Breaker on the side and speaking softly to him. "
Ayolat."
The woman says, pointing to the grass around them. "
And behave well. Adakhat. I will be here."
With a last caress, the horse wanders off some yards and sniffs the ground appraisingly.

"
This Eddrick surely know his way around these woods. This place is wonderful, I think."
She smiles at Jon as he begins to unpack the blanket he'd brought. "
I'll make sure to thank him for the tip when we return."

Dismounting, Jon unfolds a thick wool blanket for himself and Dyana to sit on, then lays out the repast he's brought with him. Finally, he produces two cups and fills them to the brim with winter ale. Handing one to Dyana, he says with an ironic grin, "
A toast! May our hero's story be told in full today, and may he get his just desserts!"

Dyana returns his toast, sitting down, and swills back a good amount of her ale. "
May it be so!"
She says with a friendly grin. "
Would you... regale me with this tale now, or would you like to wait until your 'mood' is better tuned?"
She gestures speculatively with a hand, and moves the cup suggestively with the other.

[Jon Cobb]

"
This Eddrick surely know his way around these woods. This place is wonderful, I think."
She smiles at Jon as he begins to unpack the blanket he'd brought. "
I'll make sure to thank him for the tip when we return."

"
It is a fine spot, isn't it?"
Jon replies, seemingly happier already. "
And I'm glad you like it. Master Goodwater will be too - I threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life, if this glade of his turned out to be nothing but yet another waterlogged swamp,"
he chuckles.

Dyana returns his toast, sitting down, and swills back a good amount of her ale. "
May it be so!"
She says with a friendly grin. "
Would you... regale me with this tale now, or would you like to wait until your 'mood' is better tuned?"
She gestures speculatively with a hand, and moves the cup suggestively with the other.

"
I do believe my mood could do with a little something to help it along first,"
Jon answers, draining his cup in one go. Filling it up again, he says, "
Before I begin, I have a request. Those words you use when speaking to Breaker - what language are they?"

[Dyana Marsten]

"
It is a fine spot, isn't it?"
Jon replies, seemingly happier already. "
And I'm glad you like it. Master Goodwater will be too - I threatened to beat him to within an inch of his life, if this glade of his turned out to be nothing but yet another waterlogged swamp,"
he chuckles.

Dyana smiles, but one of her eyebrows crease, and the smile is half-hearted. She was either worried that Jon was telling the truth, or thought the joke was in bad taste, if she caught it.

[url=Awareness (Empathy)][/url]: 4d6k3 12 to discern how much truth underlies that joke...

"
I do believe my mood could do with a little something to help it along first,"
Jon answers, draining his cup in one go. Filling it up again, he says, "
Before I begin, I have a request. Those words you use when speaking to Breaker - what language are they?"

"
Thought you wouldn't ask about that."
She smirks, a bit surprised by his drinking so heavily... but decides to accompany. She had already taken a good swig, so the cup wasn't as full as Jon's, but she still took it all in in a single gulp, letting out a satisfied 'ah' afterwards. "
It is Dothraki. I don't speak much of it, surely not enough to have a conversation, but Breaker was taught to understand it better than our tongue."
Dyana shrugs as she speaks, pouring herself more ale. "
Is that your only request?"

[Jon Cobb]

Dyana smiles, but one of her eyebrows crease, and the smile is half-hearted. She was either worried that Jon was telling the truth, or thought the joke was in bad taste, if she caught it.

Awareness (Empathy): 4d6k3 12 to discern how much truth underlies that joke...

OOC: Jon probably did impress on Eddrick just how important it was that this glade should be perfect, but he's no doubt pulling your leg about having threatened Eddrick with grievous bodily harm.

"
Thought you wouldn't ask about that."
She smirks, a bit surprised by his drinking so heavily... but decides to accompany. She had already taken a good swig, so the cup wasn't as full as Jon's, but she still took it all in in a single gulp, letting out a satisfied 'ah' afterwards.

"
Who me? Miss a chance to interrogate you about something interesting?"
Jon chuckles. "
Have you forgotten our first encounter so soon?"

"
It is Dothraki. I don't speak much of it, surely not enough to have a conversation, but Breaker was taught to understand it better than our tongue."
Dyana shrugs as she speaks, pouring herself more ale. "
Is that your only request?"

"
Dothraki? Well now, that's not just interesting, it's fascinating. So of course, I have to ask, how came you by a Dothraki-speaking horse, and who taught you the words?"
Jon's black mood seems to have been swept away, and his eyes are alight with curiosity.

[Dyana Marsten]

OOC: Jon probably did impress on Eddrick just how important it was that this glade should be perfect, but he's no doubt pulling your leg about having threatened Eddrick with grievous bodily harm.

OOC: It figures, but she still didn't really like it.

"
Who me? Miss a chance to interrogate you about something interesting?"
Jon chuckles. "
Have you forgotten our first encounter so soon?"

Dyana shrugs, and purses her lips in a half-smile. "
Well, I figured, if you didn't ask it immediately, nor during the ride here... maybe you were avoiding the question, or not interested at all. Goes to show how wrong I can be, I suppose!"

"
Dothraki? Well now, that's not just interesting, it's fascinating. So of course, I have to ask, how came you by a Dothraki-speaking horse, and who taught you the words?"
Jon's black mood seems to have been swept away, and his eyes are alight with curiosity.

Her eyebrow perks, as it often does. "
Oh, you're fascinated by the Dothraki tongue, now? I must say you got one thing wrong... Breaker isn't a Dothraki-speaking horse. He's kind of silent, as it is. More of a Dothraki-listening horse."
She chuckles in a hearty but low tone. "
Well..."


She takes another swig of the ale, tastes it for a moment, then looks at Jon.

"
Jon. Can I call you Jon?"
Perhaps it was time to drop formalities a bit... 'ser' gets tiresome, after all. "
Breaker was my father's. And one thing my father appreciated, was horses. Essos too, it would seem."


Dyana stops speaking for a moment, eyes lost as her mind wandered somewhere. With no warning, though, she takes a deep sigh, then continues. "
He had several Dothraki-trained horses back then, though he didn't breed them. Only... purchased, I suppose. Windbreaker-"
she gestures her cup towards the stallion- "
came to be one of his favorite ones before... well, before he left."
She unwittingly shrugs, as if trying to make little of a serious subject she'd rather avoid, then gulps down the remainder of the ale. "
He's mine now, and I am his, in a way. We nearly grew up together. Thankfully he isn't getting slow with age just yet.

"
My father taught me the words, naturally. And that's about all there is to it."

[Jon Cobb]

OOC: It figures, but she still didn't really like it.

OOC: And it's perfectly alright if she lets Jon know sometime that he should rein in that aspect of his sense of humor.

Her eyebrow perks, as it often does. "
Oh, you're fascinated by the Dothraki tongue, now? I must say you got one thing wrong... Breaker isn't a Dothraki-speaking horse. He's kind of silent, as it is. More of a Dothraki-listening horse."
She chuckles in a hearty but low tone. "
Well..."


She takes another swig of the ale, tastes it for a moment, then looks at Jon.

"
Jon. Can I call you Jon?"
Perhaps it was time to drop formalities a bit... 'ser' gets tiresome, after all. "
Breaker was my father's. And one thing my father appreciated, was horses. Essos too, it would seem."


Dyana stops speaking for a moment, eyes lost as her mind wandered somewhere. With no warning, though, she takes a deep sigh, then continues. "
He had several Dothraki-trained horses back then, though he didn't breed them. Only... purchased, I suppose. Windbreaker-"
she gestures her cup towards the stallion- "
came to be one of his favorite ones before... well, before he left."
She unwittingly shrugs, as if trying to make little of a serious subject she'd rather avoid, then gulps down the remainder of the ale. "
He's mine now, and I am his, in a way. We nearly grew up together. Thankfully he isn't getting slow with age just yet.

"
My father taught me the words, naturally. And that's about all there is to it."

"
I would be only too happy to drop the formalities...Dyana,"
Jon answers with a warm smile. "
And I am sorry if my questions dredged up painful memories, but I thank you for taking me into your confidence. I shall not ask you to dwell any further on the matter."


"
Now, I believe I was in the middle of a story when my eagle fled the coop last night, and that our hero had just been sent into captivity on a paradise island, yes?"


Well then, this island was the loveliest place our hero had ever seen, and on it lay a city more beautiful than any he had known before or since. His captors treated him kindly, and because they did not fear that he or any of his fellow prisoners would try to escape, he was given the run of the city. In this fairest of cities, the young man was to meet two people who would forever change his life – the wisest of fools and a swan maiden.

The wise fool was a fellow captive awaiting ransom. He was of noble birth, but he greeted the young man as a long lost brother, taking him under his wing and teaching him about his world – a world that neither Flea Bottom nor the battlefield had prepared the young man for. And the wise fool did more – he perceived the injury that the young man's spirit had sustained in his last battle, and he spared no effort to heal it. Indeed, it wasn't long before his efforts bore fruit, and our hero knew that he was blessed, for here was a man who was more his brother than any blood kin of his had ever been, and he knew he would never have a truer friend than this wisest of fools.

It was through the wise fool that the young man met the swan maiden. She too was of high birth, and yet she languished on the island as a slave, reduced to a plaything for the lusts of strange men, because her niggardly uncle had refused to pay her ransom. But for all her plight, there was a strength in her that allowed her to transcend her circumstances, and in the eyes of the young man she appeared as nothing less than a queen, for she was the fairest and noblest woman he had ever met. For the first time in his life, the young man knew true love, and it was a love requited!

Thoughts of his swan maiden filled the young man's every waking hour, filling him first with elation, and then with dread at the thought of somehow being denied her companionship. For the first time in his life, he knew he had something to lose, and his dread drove him to make a mad promise – he swore to her that he would never leave the island without her, that somehow he would pay the price of her freedom. These were the words of a fool in love, but despite herself the swan maiden listened, and she began to let the most dangerous emotion a slave can have into her heart – she began to hope.

Soon thereafter, word reached the young man that his ransom was to be paid. Frantically, he tried everything he could think of to raise the money needed to secure the release of his love, but to no avail. He even offered to betray all that he knew of the great prince's plans to the lords of the city, but they paid him no heed.

With a heavy heart, he went to his swan maiden and told her of his failure. He begged her forgiveness, promised her that he would return and take her away from the island, but the wound he had inflicted by giving her hope was too deep. She cursed him, denied their love, and swore to him that he would never again have anything from her – she would strike him from her life and memory, and should he ever return, he would find her door barred to him on pain of death.

In the morning, our hero sailed from the city and the island that had given him both the truest friend and the greatest love he had ever known, and then cruelly erased that love from his life. Some time later, he landed on the island where he had held the bridge so many months ago, and found that the world had changed greatly in his absence.

Pausing to see Dyana's reaction, Jon asks “Is there any ale left? This part of the tale always leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana seems enthralled by the tale, inching forwards slightly and nodding silently as it develops.

"
Oh, sure. There is some."
She says, pouring ale for Jon, then looking up at him with a small smile. "
You can have it all. I'm good."


She looks at him expectantly, refraining from further comment until the story is over.

[Jon Cobb]

“Thank you, Dyana, that's very gentlemanly of you,"
Jon replies with a jest. Then, taking a sip of ale, he meets her expectant gaze and smiles appreciatively at her. “You know, if I'd known that all it would take to keep your attention was endless prattling, I'd never have stopped talking from the moment I met you.”

Returning to the island where he had made his stand, the young man found many things had changed. He learned that the captain of the foemen, who had treated him so graciously, had been slain in single combat with the great prince, and that the prince had been crowned king by his own men. And he learned that tales of his battle on the bridge had spread far and wide – that his name and deeds were celebrated in song and story from the islands to the Seven Kingdoms. He was no longer just a soldier, but a hero.

The great prince, meanwhile, set about rewarding those who had helped him win his kingdom. In the space of a day, our hero was made both a knight and a lord of the new realm. The king granted him one of the conquered islands as his domain, to rule as his own in perpetuity. And so, through blood and sacrifice, the boy from Flea Bottom had won himself a land of his own, to be ordered as he pleased. This was freedom and power of a kind he could never have dreamed of, and once again, he now had something to lose.

Our newly minted lord traveled at once to see his island – his home – and to plant his banner there. What he found was a small, rocky islet, inhabited by an insular, suspicious people – the descendants of pirates, thieves and smugglers – who cared little for any man who would call himself their lord and seek to administer a king's justice. Unperturbed, the young lord set about raising a keep, and though the island was rich only in goats, he found that his name was enough to draw many soldiers of fortune to his cause. They were soon sorely needed, for despite their earlier defeats, the king's foemen did not relent – they brought forth new armies and new allies, and the war continued.

This was a blessing in disguise for the young lord, for soldiers cost money, and his domain had little of value to pay them with. But war was something he understood well, and he knew how to make it pay for itself. He brought ships as well as men under his banner, and sent them forth to reave the enemy's merchants wherever they might be found. Soon enough, gold began to flow into his coffers, and thence to the people of his domain. And though they would never love him, they at least came to accept him.

The war dragged on for many years, and the king was often in need of his banners. The young lord spent much time away from his domain, attending the king's court or battling his foes on land and sea. Strange as it may sound, this was a happy time for the young lord, for he was high in the king's favor, and the fighting kept him from dwelling on the past and the love he had lost. His spirits were further lifted by the return of his friend and brother, the wise fool, and they fought side by side in many a battle.

But though he feared no man, the fool eventually tired of war, for he had brought all four of his sons to fight for the great prince, and lost all but one of them to the blades of the foe. And so one day, the wise fool returned to the Seven Kingdoms with his last son, to find peace and perhaps a just reward for his loyal service. The young lord grieved then, for it seemed to him that he had lost the brother he had so recently regained.

But the king's foes were many, and they were relentless. Eventually, they gained the upper hand, and the king was driven from his throne. The young lord understood then that his own cause was doomed, and that he must inevitably lose the island that was to have been his in perpetuity. Returning to his home one last time, he loaded a galley with all the gold he had left, released his people from such oaths as they had been willing to give, and sailed back to the city of his birth. He who had been a lord, was once more a simple sellsword.

The man who returned to King's Landing was far different from the one who had sailed away to war ten years before. He had gained and lost more than he had ever dared dream of, but despite all he had lost, he still had one precious commodity left – his good name. Indeed, such was the strength of his reputation that the great prince's brother, the King of Westeros, commanded our hero to attend him at court.

Here was a world unlike any he had experienced before. Amidst the splendor and pageantry of the royal court, wars were being fought daily, only with words instead of steel. The sellsword hero soon found that his name brought many a noble to his door, beseeching his attention and even friendship, but most of all it made him a prize to be fought over. Little by little, his freedom to do as he willed disappeared, until he became like a captive dancing bear – an amusing pet for his owners to display at festivities. Certainly, there were advantages as well – he was well kept, and there were maidens and mothers aplenty who were only too eager to have him lick the honey from their hair, but in the end these were but hollow distractions. His wealth too, was quickly lost, for there was much to spend it on, and few means for him to replenish it.

For a long while, the sellsword hero paid little heed to what was happening, so enticing were the distractions of the royal court, but as the months turned into years, he became increasingly ill at ease with the companionship of the denizens of the court, and at night his dreams were troubled by phantoms from the past – the faces of dead men and the swan maiden foremost among them. Some malady of the spirit had taken hold of him, and day by day he felt his will to live draining away. It took a moment of desperate clarity for him to perceive the cause of his illness - that it was the aimlessness and emptiness of life at the royal court that was poisoning his soul.

With unseemly haste, the sellsword hero left both the court and King's Landing. He had resolved to seek the counsel of his old friend, the wise fool, who had indeed been rewarded by the king upon his return, and was now lord of a prosperous and peaceful domain. Our hero, now a man in his middle years, was not disappointed by what he found. The wise fool welcomed him with all the hospitality he had become famous for, making a place for his friend under his roof for as long as he should desire it.

Freed from the poisonous atmosphere of the royal court, the sellsword hero's love of life slowly began to return, but there was still something lacking to make him whole again. He spoke at length with the wise fool, and finally it came to him that what he lacked was purpose. He had his freedom back, and his reputation afforded him the means to exercise that freedom, but what was he to do with it? The sellsword did not know, but he resolved to find out, and so he took his leave of the wise fool, packed his few remaining wordly possessions, and left the sanctuary of his friend's house in search of his future...

Jon looks into his cup, swirling the last drops of precious ale about, and then looks up at Dyana to see her reaction. "
Here endeth the story, fair Dyana. And now you had best tell me what you think of it and our hero, before I burst from curiousity and trepidation."

[Dyana Marsten]

“Thank you, Dyana, that's very gentlemanly of you,"
Jon replies with a jest. Then, taking a sip of ale, he meets her expectant gaze and smiles appreciatively at her. “You know, if I'd known that all it would take to keep your attention was endless prattling, I'd never have stopped talking from the moment I met you.”

Dyana shakes her head, a congenial smile on her lips. "
I don't enjoy endless prattling as much as purposeful prattling. And the tale of your life holds purpose for sure, does it not?"
She nibs some bread, then locks her gaze on him as she waits.

Jon looks into his cup, swirling the last drops of precious ale about, and then looks up at Dyana to see her reaction. "
Here endeth the story, fair Dyana. And now you had best tell me what you think of it and our hero, before I burst from curiousity and trepidation."

"
A tale in the making."
She says in a grand tone, lifting a slice of cheese in mock toast, and gesturing to an appreciative, imaginary crowd with the other.

Her frowning, serious eyes take the run of the crowd, watching for the reactions on the faces of the imaginary men and women present. They settle back at Jon, though, nearly bursting of curiosity and trepidation, and she giggles merrily.

"
I'd heard the most well-known song of the battle, you know. But to hear the whole thing, from the man himself... that's something else. I had no idea."
She considers the knightly sellsword before her again, though somehow he doesn't seem too much different a man than he did before the story. "
I think it's tragic, really, even though the hero rises throughout the tale. From mud and nothing, to a warrior's life, to that pivotal moment at the bridge... and then he's away, living a different life in a different place, and there are things to enjoy.

"
But he loses his swan lady, and he loses that which he has earned, his lands... it almost feel like the happy days you mention were not truly happy, but merely a little more able to stave off sorrow. And keeping unhappiness at bay, unfortunately, is not happiness."
She sighs, glancing down at the cheese but not bringing herself to eat it. "
And later... it all sounds so tiresome. Not to me, listening, but to the hero, because... he's trapped. Trapped in a life that isn't his. And that is a fate I wish upon no one. Not on me, and not on you, Jon.

"
If you'll allow me an honest opinion, I... I think you are lost."
Her emerald gaze searches his own. "
You sound like a man who left his life somewhere else, decades ago, across the sea... someone to whom the here and now, is hollow. Even if you end the tale with a hopeful outlook on the future, you said yourself... that what the hero's life lacked was purpose. A reputation that traps you, and a freedom you don't exercise, sound like a torturous life.

"
For that, I have two questions for you. One of little importance, a trivia of my curiosity. The other, paramount."
Dyana says, lifting two fingers.

"
First, who is the wise fool?"
A finger descends.

"
And second, Jon. Have you found purpose?"
Her hand closes to a fist, and she looks at him with an unreadable expression. Curiosity, perhaps, or something else?

[Jon Cobb]

"
I'd heard the most well-known song of the battle, you know. But to hear the whole thing, from the man himself... that's something else. I had no idea."
She considers the knightly sellsword before her again, though somehow he doesn't seem too much different a man than he did before the story. "
I think it's tragic, really, even though the hero rises throughout the tale. From mud and nothing, to a warrior's life, to that pivotal moment at the bridge... and then he's away, living a different life in a different place, and there are things to enjoy.

"
But he loses his swan lady, and he loses that which he has earned, his lands... it almost feel like the happy days you mention were not truly happy, but merely a little more able to stave off sorrow. And keeping unhappiness at bay, unfortunately, is not happiness."
She sighs, glancing down at the cheese but not bringing herself to eat it. "
And later... it all sounds so tiresome. Not to me, listening, but to the hero, because... he's trapped. Trapped in a life that isn't his. And that is a fate I wish upon no one. Not on me, and not on you, Jon.

"
If you'll allow me an honest opinion, I... I think you are lost."
Her emerald gaze searches his own. "
You sound like a man who left his life somewhere else, decades ago, across the sea... someone to whom the here and now, is hollow. Even if you end the tale with a hopeful outlook on the future, you said yourself... that what the hero's life lacked was purpose. A reputation that traps you, and a freedom you don't exercise, sound like a torturous life.

"
For that, I have two questions for you. One of little importance, a trivia of my curiosity. The other, paramount."
Dyana says, lifting two fingers.

"
First, who is the wise fool?"
A finger descends.

"
And second, Jon. Have you found purpose?"
Her hand closes to a fist, and she looks at him with an unreadable expression. Curiosity, perhaps, or something else?

Jon listens attentively and with uncommon seriousness to Dyana's response, his gaze never wavering when her eyes meets his. When she is finished, he smiles warmly and says, "
I appreciate your candor, Dyana, it makes me happy to have shared my story with you. I can understand how it may sound like a litany of misery and loss, but there is more to it than that, as I hope I'll be able to convince you before we part today."


"
As to your questions, the first is indeed trivial to answer, but the answer to the second will require some more...prattling,"
he says with an ironic little smile. "
The wise fool is Lord Brom Bartheld, and I can honestly say that I have never met a kinder, or more insightful, but impulsive man. I really believe that Brom is constitutionally incapable of not following through on anything he has set his heart on, no matter how much trouble it'll cause.” Speaking of Brom, Jon's smile widens briefly into an uncontrollable grin, but when he continues his expression is serious, even grave.

"
Concerning your second question, you said that the events of the story seem tragic, and that the hero is unhappy, trapped and lost in a life not his own. Well, when I was at my lowest ebb, that is exactly how I felt, but I have had much time to examine my thoughts since then, and I always arrive at the same conclusion – that those are the thoughts and feelings of a pitiful, conceited cur."
Jon face is dark as he fairly spits out the last few words, but his anger soon passes, and when he continues, there is a fierce resolve instead.

"
It's true that I've gained much and lost much over the years, but even when my fortunes were at their lowest, my life has been far better than it would have been if I hadn't gotten out of Flea Bottom. So, I cannot in good conscience say that I have just cause to feel unhappy with my lot in life. Moreover, the life I have led is in large part the result of my own choices, and one of those choices was to volunteer to hold the bridge on Bloodstone. In a very real sense, I created Wrecker Jon, so to claim that I am trapped in a life that is not my own would be just another self-indulgent lie, and I am done lying to myself. The plain truth is that Jon Cobb and Wrecker Jon are not separate – I am he, and he is me - and accepting that is what gave me the strength to cast aside the malady that had afflicted me."


"
So, have I found my purpose in life? The answer is yes, Dyana. I am Wrecker Jon, and I will use the power that gives me to rebuild my fortunes, to protect my friends, and to aid the causes I deem to be right and proper."
Jon looks straight at Dyana as he speaks, his voice and expression filled with a certainty that he will achieve the things he says.

Then his gaze drops, and when he speaks his voice is soft, almost beseeching. "
But there is one more thing that I need to become whole again, Dyana. Something that just being Wrecker Jon cannot give me. Dyana, I...I want what I lost all those years ago in Lys. I want to love and be loved, to be with someone who would share my life because she wants to, and not for gain, fame, or from a sense of duty. Someone who won't care when the day comes that I am too old and feeble to be Wrecker Jon anymore, when all that is left is Jon Cobb. Am I a fool for telling you this, Dyana?"

[Dyana Marsten]

Jon listens attentively and with uncommon seriousness to Dyana's response, his gaze never wavering when her eyes meets his. When she is finished, he smiles warmly and says, "
I appreciate your candor, Dyana, it makes me happy to have shared my story with you. I can understand how it may sound like a litany of misery and loss, but there is more to it than that, as I hope I'll be able to convince you before we part today."

Dyana nods with the same seriousness to him. "
I didn't expect you brought me here to hear lies, Jon. If one asks my opinion, they will have it, just as you just had."

"
As to your questions, the first is indeed trivial to answer, but the answer to the second will require some more...prattling,"
he says with an ironic little smile. "
The wise fool is Lord Brom Bartheld, and I can honestly say that I have never met a kinder, or more insightful, but impulsive man. I really believe that Brom is constitutionally incapable of not following through on anything he has set his heart on, no matter how much trouble it'll cause.” Speaking of Brom, Jon's smile widens briefly into an uncontrollable grin, but when he continues his expression is serious, even grave.

She takes on a look of satisfied curiosity, almost like someone saying an 'ah!' aloud, and nods another time. "
Interesting. I do not know of Lord Brom other than his recent misfortunes. It's good to hear something of the man other than the same tired rumors."

"
Concerning your second question, you said that the events of the story seem tragic, and that the hero is unhappy, trapped and lost in a life not his own. Well, when I was at my lowest ebb, that is exactly how I felt, but I have had much time to examine my thoughts since then, and I always arrive at the same conclusion – that those are the thoughts and feelings of a pitiful, conceited cur."
Jon face is dark as he fairly spits out the last few words, but his anger soon passes, and when he continues, there is a fierce resolve instead.

"
It's true that I've gained much and lost much over the years, but even when my fortunes were at their lowest, my life has been far better than it would have been if I hadn't gotten out of Flea Bottom. So, I cannot in good conscience say that I have just cause to feel unhappy with my lot in life. Moreover, the life I have led is in large part the result of my own choices, and one of those choices was to volunteer to hold the bridge on Bloodstone. In a very real sense, I created Wrecker Jon, so to claim that I am trapped in a life that is not my own would be just another self-indulgent lie, and I am done lying to myself. The plain truth is that Jon Cobb and Wrecker Jon are not separate – I am he, and he is me - and accepting that is what gave me the strength to cast aside the malady that had afflicted me."


"
So, have I found my purpose in life? The answer is yes, Dyana. I am Wrecker Jon, and I will use the power that gives me to rebuild my fortunes, to protect my friends, and to aid the causes I deem to be right and proper."
Jon looks straight at Dyana as he speaks, his voice and expression filled with a certainty that he will achieve the things he says.

"
I never thought getting out of Flea Bottom, fighting and being sent eastward was something that led you away from your life, Jon. I know Wrecker Jon and Jon Cobb are the same... but I had felt you left all your happiness in Essos, is all. That that was the life you ought to have remained in. I'm glad this is not the case, though, and that you have such a certain purpose ahead of you. No man should be devoid of that."
Dyana says in a solemn tone.

Then his gaze drops, and when he speaks his voice is soft, almost beseeching. "
But there is one more thing that I need to become whole again, Dyana. Something that just being Wrecker Jon cannot give me. Dyana, I...I want what I lost all those years ago in Lys. I want to love and be loved, to be with someone who would share my life because she wants to, and not for gain, fame, or from a sense of duty. Someone who won't care when the day comes that I am too old and feeble to be Wrecker Jon anymore, when all that is left is Jon Cobb. Am I a fool for telling you this, Dyana?"

At this, Dyana smiles. No simple smile, but a particular, relatable one... a smile she holds onto for special occasions only.

"
You are not, Jon Cobb."
When she wanted to, Dyana had a knack of making someone feel like no one else in the world mattered to her as much as they did, and she was doing this now. Her semblance took on a look of kindness, a wordly air of infectious optimism and confidence and genuine interest that radiated in an aura and embraced those around her to partake. It was effortless, and honest, and made you want to trust her on sight, to confide in her, for you knew she would understand you without an ounce of baleful judgement or derision afterwards.

She edges forwards, reaches for Jon, rests a firm hand upon one of his own. "
You seek what all of us do, men and women, young and old, builders and wreckers."
She speaks with that simple tone of advice you overlook and imagine you'll forget soon after, but surprises yourself by remembering time and time again, decades later, in soft and fond memories. "
I want to love and be loved, as do you, as does any you know. It is unfortunate we cannot choose who we love, for then we would be able to find this whenever we wanted to, but we do not have to leave our love to fate alone. All we need to do, Jon, is look in the right place. Where have you been looking?"

[Jon Cobb]

At this, Dyana smiles. No simple smile, but a particular, relatable one... a smile she holds onto for special occasions only.

"
You are not, Jon Cobb."
When she wanted to, Dyana had a knack of making someone feel like no one else in the world mattered to her as much as they did, and she was doing this now. Her semblance took on a look of kindness, a wordly air of infectious optimism and confidence and genuine interest that radiated in an aura and embraced those around her to partake. It was effortless, and honest, and made you want to trust her on sight, to confide in her, for you knew she would understand you without an ounce of baleful judgement or derision afterwards.

She edges forwards, reaches for Jon, rests a firm hand upon one of his own. "
You seek what all of us do, men and women, young and old, builders and wreckers."
She speaks with that simple tone of advice you overlook and imagine you'll forget soon after, but surprises yourself by remembering time and time again, decades later, in soft and fond memories. "
I want to love and be loved, as do you, as does any you know. It is unfortunate we cannot choose who we love, for then we would be able to find this whenever we wanted to, but we do not have to leave our love to fate alone. All we need to do, Jon, is look in the right place. Where have you been looking?"

Dyana can feel the tension drain from Jon as she rests her hand on his - there is an almost palpable sense of relief at her reaction to his question. Unbidden, he takes her hand in his and squeezes it gently as he looks deep into Dyana's emerald eyes. Smiling softly, he answers her question. "
I would say that, until this very moment, I have been looking in all the wrong places, sweet Dyana. Now I know that I love, but am I loved - or can I at least hope to become loved - in return?"

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana's head lowers reassuringly when Jon squeezes her hand - reassuringly for it was meant to be a nod, though it halted halfway through. Her face needs no further smile, and her eyes shine in the soft afternoon light of the clearing. "
You love?"
She asks in a tone of pleased surprise. "
Then most of your work is done, Jon! We all imagine it can be so hard to have someone love you, but the true task is finding the one you truly want to suffer through this effort for. Why do you not speak to her of this?"

[Jon Cobb]

"
But I am speaking to her, Dyana. In fact, I'm speaking to her right now,"
Jon answers, his smile widening to a happy grin.

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana's reaction is delayed.

First, she just stares at Jon, in the exact same position as she was. This lasts one, two, nearly three seconds. Then, subtly, very subtly, her face edges to the side - her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Though her face does not frown, something in her gaze suggests as much.

"
I..."
She glances down at her hand, then up at him... discreetly, even gently, she retreats her hand, leaning back at the same time, perhaps to mask the movement. To mollify its effect. Her head shakes slowly, almost imperceptibly, and she looks searchingly at the knight. "
What. What are you saying, Jon?"
Though she takes every step to restrain herself, she is breathing a shade harder, and there is something that trembles, lost, somewhere in her voice.

Am I blind?

[Jon Cobb]

No. No. NO, don't pull away Dyana! Don't... Jon feels his pulse and mind begin to race, filling his head with a thunderous roar. He watches Dyana withdraw her hand with an odd sense of detachment, feeling as though everything is happening in slow motion.

Then, a musical, twinkling laugh intrudes, and beautiful emerald eyes from the past pierce his mind... You lose again, my darling Jon. She sees right through you. She heard what you said, she knows what you are now. A failure. A fraud. A COWARD.

Steady now, lad! No need to panic, all is not lost. She hasn't run away screaming - yet! Just remember to breathe. If you pass out on her, you'll never live it down, an old man's voice chuckles inside his head.

Suddenly, Jon snaps back into focus. His grin fades, replaced by a serious, even solemn expression. Taking a deep breath, he says, "
Dyana, I...I am trying to tell you that I love you. That I believe with all my heart that you are the companion I have been searching for, and that I hope that some day you may come to love me in return."

[Dyana Marsten]

Dyana holds herself high. She lifts her chin, and though they are level, it feels as if she's looking down on Jon. There is a defiance in her semblance, a defiance born of disbelief. "
But Jon, surely, that's not possible."
Her tone isn't the same as moments before;
she didn't intend to patronize the man by being overly endearing whilst saying what she had to say, and thus, she sounded more distant. Almost formal, though not quite so. "
We scarcely know each other. You accompanied me on a, addmitedly pleasant, drunken night, and... we met briefly at the Bartheld party."
She stops for a moment, hesitating as if choosing her words carefully.

"
You are a self-made man, Jon, and I cannot presume to know your heart. I find it unlikely that you feel for me the love you hold in high regard in your tale, but I doubt your feelings give a damn about what I find."
She stares hard at him now, no longer friendly and understanding. Fierce. Threatening, even. "
But I also believe you wouldn't be fool enough to bring me false promises of love, or to fool your own self."
Dyana leans forward again, eating him with her eyes. "
Do you tell me the truth, Jon? Do you swear it on your oath and your life, that you would see me at your side until the end of your days, with a tender heart? Is that what you want?"

[Jon Cobb]

Jon meets Dyana's hard stare without flinching, and when he answers his voice is steady but forceful. It is the voice of someone who is certain that he's right, and who's not about to back down. "
If you're trying to scare me, Dyana, you'll have to try harder than that."


"
You're right about one thing, though - there's much we don't know about each other. But each time we've met, I learned a little more about you, and I have yet to be disappointed. When I sent you the brooch, you received it with good grace and wore it for all to see, which tells me that you are a woman who knows how to laugh. When I asked your opinion on my tale, you gave me a forthright answer, which tells me you value honesty, and when I told you that I seek someone to make me whole, you sought to counsel and comfort me, which tells me that you are kind and generous by nature. These are all qualities that I would wish for in any companion, but doubly so in the woman I hope to share my life with."


"
Moreover, I think that we are not so different, you and I – if I am a self-made man, then you are a self-made woman. You could have followed the same path in life as your sister and cousin, and you would have done famously, but you chose to defy your destiny and become a warrior instead. That takes courage and willpower that few can match, and every time I look into your eyes, I see that desire to be your own woman shining forth like a beacon. It is a glorious fire that burns in you, Dyana Marsten, and it draws me to you like a moth to a flame."


"
You want my oath that I would see you at my side until the end of my days? You have it. And I will promise you this as well, Dyana – I will not seek to command you, or to change you. I will strive to earn your love and respect, and I will only take from you that which is freely given. I'm offering you a partnership of equals, Dyana, and I want you just the way you are."

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