Re: Adventures in the Bedroom

[Nathaniel Mason]

Prince Daeron looked anxiously around his bedroom for a place to hide as the battle waged outside his door, but there was little in the room to conceal him. Under the bed was the first place they would look, and the wardrobe was no better. He was still feverishly thinking when the doors to his bedroom crashed open.

Five men dressed in House Velaryon's white searhorse on aquamarine burst into the room. Three of House Targaryen's household guard lay dead in the hallway, the two guards posted on his door and one other. He backed away from them. Had there been only two he might have darted past, but there was no way past this many. He swallowed his fear and drew a dagger - a Targaryen should fall with his blade undrawn. The men laughed.

"
You will be coming with us little princeling."
said one as he advanced.

Suddenly the doors to the balcony burst open. As the draperies billowed in the wind and the sound of fighting in the courtyard filtered into the room as the men waited, looking at each other. The pause seemed to go on for a very long time, but it was only a few seconds before their leader jerked his head to one of his men for them to investigate.

Cautiously the man approached;
wary of threats. House Velaryon's men were well trained.

There was a flash of movement...

The ballista bolt hit the man square in the chest and carried him out of the room, pinning him to the hallway wall. He struggled to free himself for only a moment before blood poured from his mouth and he hung lifeless.

"
Well now. Five grown men against one little boy. How very very brave."
A dark hooded figure reveals himself on the balcony in the open doorway. His face was masked. His voice was casual, but dripped with scorn. "
I thought to find assassins, but all I find are thugs. What a deep disappointment."
The hooded head looked down the hallway. "
Sorry. Four grown men."


One of the men roared with rage and charged towards this new threat. Their leader shouted something;
a warning perhaps. This was no ordinary guard. The warning was too little, and came too late.

The fine steel wire that had been strung across the balcony doorway snapped, but not before slicing open the man's throat, nearly decapitating him. He fell backwards onto the floor, clutching at the wound as blood fountained a foot into the air.

"
Make that three."
says the dark figure blandly.

Seizing the distraction, Daeron quickly dives under the bed to make it harder for these men to kill him or use him a shield against this new threat.

Daeron was but a boy of twelve, but already displayed all the finer qualities of his family's line, clutching his dagger from beneath the bed and ready to strike, despite the disadvantage of size and numbers.

The opportunistic guardsmen had set upon a desperate scheme - surely it would prove impossible to cut their way through the Kingsguard to safety, but a royal hostage would ease their passage!

Young Daeron was little more than a target of opportunity, waiting patiently in the Red Keep for his brother Prince Aegon to practice in the yard with Ser Willis Fell. The Kingsguard had ever been kind to Daeron, encouraging his swordplay and treating him as a squire in training rather than patronizing him as a mere boy.

Nathaniel's contacts in the seedier side of King's Landing made him all too aware that Prince Aegon was oft late for these appointments, calling on a draper's shop on the Street of Looms. Curious that one of the supposed claimants to the throne should take such an interest in soft furnishing, but then, Princes were free to indulge a broad range of interests.

By some mercy, the guardsmen had abandoned the halberds as impeding their flight and difficult to wield in corridors, but each man still carried an arming sword in a mailed glove.

The tall, disconcertingly noble featured guard that had shouted a warning to his comrades was the first to move, lunging with his open hand at Nathaniel in an attempt to corral his assailant.

Nathan regards the man with a direct, steady blue gaze behind the mask;
giving little notice the man’s grip. With a disturbing chuckle, he smoothly pulls a large flask from his belt;
flipping off the stopper with his thumb and pouring the contents over the man's arm and chest. An acrid stench immediately fills their nostrils.

"
It's not polite to lay hands on someone without an introduction."


It was only moments before sizzling could be heard and fumes began to rise from the arms and armor. "
That should eat through your armor fairly quickly."
he continues. "
You might have time to remove your armor before it kills you, but then you would have to let go of me. Life is full of choices."


He smiles chillingly, and then smashes the empty flask against the side of the man's head. Shards of acid soaked clay embedding in the man's face.

"
Maybe that will help you decide. If anyone else wants to lay hands on me, I'm afraid you will have to pay the price."

Reaching behind his back, Nathan upends a large sack. Hundreds of small ceramic balls start bouncing around the room;
the clatter almost deafening.

Lucamore strains to reach the hard pressed Kennet, but is prevented from launching a flying tackle on the Prince's unexpected saviour by the treacherous baubles littering the floor. As he tried to move as quickly as he could to his comrade's aid, he saw their wily foe wriggle free from Kennet's normally vice like grip.

Prince Daeron bravely hurls his heavy leather satchel at Lucamore, attempting to coordinate his efforts with his saviour rather than preparing himself for the Velaryon guardsman bearing down on him.

Kennet tries to keep his calm despite his opponent's trickery, but is overwhelmed as his armor begins to melt and smoke around him. In a blind panic and with a newfound respect for his foe, he cuts the straps on his trusty breastplate. Where moments ago he was ready to bear the man to the ground and slit his throat, now he found himself unarmored and vulnerable. Still, trusty Lucamore was beside him. They'd faced worse situations in the Stepstones, they still had the numbers to bring the Velaryons a grand prize and win their freedom.

Nathan laughs. "
Normally I would think this an inappropriate time to be undressing, but we are in a bedroom."
He takes a step to the nearby nightstand. "
What a lovely lamp, my Prince, I do apologize."
Picking up the crystal oil lamp from the nightstand, Nathan hurls it at Lucamore.

The crystal lamp shatters into thousands of shards drenching the guard in glass, oil and flame. "
Nothing like a cheery fire in the evening."
says Nathan brightly. He glances at Rory and pulls out a parrying dagger with a flourish. "
Now, how shall I deal with you?”

Lucamore desperately attempt to put out the flames, but his efforts are for naught. He falls to the ground, dropping his blade and shrieking piteously. Prince Daeron appears poised to dash for a drape to help smother the flames engulfing a man who but moments ago meant him harm.

Rory, they youngest, shakes his head at the carnage that surrounds him, dropping his blade and moving his hands forward and upwards in surrender.

Heavy footfalls can be heard in the corridor outside, and a Westerland accent shouting:

"
PRINCE DAERON! PRINCE DAERON!"


Nathan chuckles as the guards enter, one having to duck under the ballista bolt pinning the first attacker to a wall, another losing his footing as he enters and sliding several feet into the room on his back.

Ser Lorent Marbrand shoves another guard out of the way and carefully steps past the wreckage of the doorway. "
What in the seven hells is going on here?!"


He was not far off. Lucamore still burned. Kennet still sizzled, his armor discarded and slowly melting to sludge. Dead and decapitated men littered the room.

"
They on our side or theirs?"
asks Nathan.

"
That's Ser Lorent Marbrand of the Kingsgard."
replies Prince Daeron with surprise. "
He's definitely on our side."


“I will accept your word, my Prince, but one should never assume or take anything at face value.” The shadowed hood turns to the Knight. "
You’re late,"
the dark figure quips. "
You should take better care of your Princes. It's not like you have so many you can be wasteful."


"
Who the hell are you? What the hell happened here?"
says Ser Lorent as he tries to pick his way into the room.

Nathan ignores the questions as redundant. He bows deeply to Prince Daeron. "
My Prince, it has been the greatest pleasure to meet you. I commend you for your cleverness, your presence of mind, and your bravery. It grieves me greatly we may never meet again, but it is my fervent hope that we may never need to meet again. Live well, Prince Daeron."


With that, Nathan turns, takes a few steps, and leaps over the balcony balustrade.

Ser Lorent roars with fury and frustration. He marches over to Rory and nearly lifts him off the ground by the throat with one hand. “Who was that?”

“I don’t know.” gurgles Rory.

“The man in black saved me, Ser Lorent.” interjects Prince Daeron.

“One man did all this? There’s a bloody body pinned to the bloody wall!”

“If you keep strangling him,” says Prince Aegon and he gingerly steps into the room, “we won’t be able to execute him.”

"
Had you not dallied on the Street of Silk there would have been a white shield present to defend your brother! Seven be good, that draper's wife wasn't enough to sate your appetites?"
bellows Ser Lorent as he drops Rory and rounds on the Prince.

Aegon's reply is slurred, the man has been in his cups but is sober enough to run and fight, a strong will and commanding presence despite his vices, although with a boyish sullenness at being told off. "
Do not try my temper Ser Lorent, the Kinsguard shields and obeys, do not presume to lecture me. Seven be damned, I am as relieved to see Daeron unharmed as any man."


“And who do we have to thank for that? I don’t know… do you?!”

“Perhaps we should put out the burning man.” replies Aegon with a shrug.

With a gauntleted fist, Ser Lorent pulled down some bed curtains and smothered the man. By the smell, it was unlikely he would need to be beheaded.

“Should we try to find the man in black.” asked one of the guards.

“With the castle in an uproar and fighting in the corridors? What do you think?” shouts the knight. "
Be grateful that it is not my brother in arms Ser Willis present for this."


As the two men that still live are taken into custody, and Prince Daeron is taken to safety, the guard mutters, “I think, if one man did all this, I would not want to be the one to find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”

[Reader]

[OOC: combat details in PC's personal forum (rolls on orokos), narrative above Narrator sanctioned, collaborative work between Nathaniel and Reader]

[Nathaniel Mason]

Nathan knelt in the small, quiet Sept before the statue of the Stranger. He prayed, but it was but prayers of good wishes.

"
Kennet... Lucamore... Rory..."
The names continued. The other attackers, the names of Prince Daeron's guards who had perished. Those who had not perished but soon would by the headman's axe. As he said each name, he gave a short prayer, then lit a candle and placed two silver stags into the coffer at the base of the statue.

He was dimly aware of a young acolyte a short distance away, curious and anxious to speak with him, but loathe to interrupt his prayers. He finally approached when Nathan finished and rose.

"
Milord, may I speak with you?"


"
Of course."


The young man hesitated for a moment, seeking to ask his questions but not wanting to offend. "
I have seen you come here many times. While you have occasionally offered prayers to all the Seven, you always offer alms to the Stranger."
He clears his throat slightly. "
Few people pray to the Lord of the dead."


Nathan gives a slight smile. "
Few people pray to him because they fear death. They think to pray to him is to court death. They are mistaken. He is not the beast in the night eagerly waiting to drag you away. He is the patient friend waiting for your time to come so he may lead you into the next life."


He looked up at the statue. It was his favourite in King's Landing. Most of the others were bestial in nature. A poor service to an aspect of the Seven. This one was merely a shrouded and hooded man with a compassionate smile.

"
The Stranger does not cause death. He simply cares for the departed. I have no desire to die, but when I do, as we all must, it will be nice to be led away by a close companion I have known all my life."


The acolyte looked at Nathan abashed, then stared at the statue. "
I don't think I have thought of him that way before."


"
He is not just the Lord of the dead, my friend, his is also the keeper of secrets and the face of the unknown. I look into the unknown every day. It can be frightening, but fear is the price of seeking what is hidden. If one never looks into the unknown, one never finds truth. The Crone would not have her wisdom had she not been brave enough to strive for the Stranger's secrets."


The young man bowed and stammered a thank you for Nathan's time. Nathan took out some silver stags and pressed the coins into his hand. "
The next time you are scared, lost and alone. The next time you find yourself in the dark, not knowing what to do or where to turn, offer a prayer to the Stranger. You might be surprised how comforting such a prayer can be."


The young man looked at the coins and bowed his head. "
Thank you. I... I will do that."


Nathan gave the man a slight bow and turned to leave.

"
Milord. You lit many candles and spoke many names. I am sorry for your loss. Were they friends of yours?"


Looking up at the statue of the Stranger, he gave a sad smile. "
No. They were friends of his."

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