Sixth Moon, 8012

Red Mountains outside of Castle Blackmont

Lord Michael Blackmont spurred his destrier faster, feeling the hot wind upon his face, the sand stung his eyes but he urged the horse forward, ignoring the pain, embracing the wind.

This is living. The old lord thought to himself before finally bringing his mount to a halt, letting his escort catch up to him. The afternoon sun sat low in the sky, almost obscured by the red mountains.

He stopped for a moment and took in the sight of the red mountains. As he did so often he found himself thinking of his sister Wylla who had died almost a decade ago, the memory of her face had faded from his memory, but still she remained at the periphery of his mind, like a ghost, that would not be put to rest until she was avenged.

I will join you soon enough The old Dornishman thought to himself. Maester Nyles had done what he could, but Michael was not fool enough to believe he had much time left, he was already an old man, and the cancer festering inside his body ensured he would be dead within two years, maybe more if he was lucky.

Not until the task is done He thought silently. He was not afraid of dying, but the thought of leaving the world without avenging his sister weighed on him each and every night, inhibiting his sleep.

His sister had been wife to Domeric Yronwood, the younger brother to the late Lord Yoren Yronwood. He remembered their wedding, and how proud his late father had been at arranging the match. It had ended in tragedy however as his sister had perished with her husband and all the rest at the burning of Yronwood. His maester claimed that the citadel recorded the event as a terrible accident, but Michael named it murder.

He had hoped to be named Derias spymaster, yearning for the influence and connections it would bring, as well as the opportunity to counsel her that Dorne must rise up against the Dragon. However the lady Martell had never seen fit to honor him with the post and one day he grew tired of waiting and decided to take matters into his own hands to avenge his sister….which could only be accomplished with the death of the Dragon King, ordering his connections to explore the possibility of murdering the King.

Michael continued gazing at the red mountains, he could sense his escort growing restless but he had no wish to return to his bed just yet, within a few months he would like not be able to even ride, and returning home to his thoughts would remind him yet again that it had been another day that his sister remained unavenged.

The old man remained there with his thoughts for quite some time before his captain of the guard roused him from his peace with a terse whisper ‘’Lord Blackmont.’’

Michael was about to chastise the man for disturbing him when he looked behind them and understood why he had been roused, a feeling of great sadness coursing through his body.

It is over. The Lord of Blackmont thought to himself, his hand slowly dropping to his sword.

Behind them stood a contingent of mounted men, probably fifty in all, most with light lances, with swords and shields, one of the riders was carrying a large flag, the black and red dragon of the Targaryens stitched proudly onto the cloth. The contingent outnumbered his small escort of ten men.

At the forefront of the column was a man with a long face and pale skin, a ragged black beard and a receding hairline, his black hair tied back behind his head. He wore fine black ringmai, supple leather gloves and a long gray cloak fastened with a silver salmon that covered much of his body as well as the back of his horse. His shield bore an insignia of some sort of fish, a device that Michael did not recognize.

The man rode towards Michael with two guards, and the Lord of Blackmont nodded to two of his men to follow.

‘’I do not recognize your standard my lord…..I would know your name and your purpose in my lands….I received no raven informing me of your visit.’’ Michael said, he knew exactly what this was in truth but he was content to let things play out as they would.

‘’No raven was sent.’’ The man said gruffly.

‘’Nonetheless I would know your name.’’ Michael said coolly.

‘’Jon Mooton….Lord of Maidenpool and Master-at-Arms to our King Aegon…and here on his orders.’’ The man said, and Michael got the feeling he was one that enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

‘’Your King perhaps.’’ Michael said, dropping his courtesy, there was no further point in the farce.

‘’You damn yourself with your own mouth…..more so than you are already….I have been sent to take you to the Aegonfort to stand trial for plotting to murder the King.’’ Jon said.

‘’If you think I will go off meekly you are mistaken…..you will get no fear from me Lord Mooton.’’ The old Dornishman said.

‘’I dont give a fuck what you do or how you go….so long as you tell your men to drop your weapons and surrender.’’ Jon Mooton said.

The Lord of Blackmont then drew his blade, causing Jon Mootons men to do the same, as well as his own escorts.

Lord Mooton chuckled at that, drawing his own blade from a well oiled sheath ‘’You're outnumbered more than three to one….spare your men a slaughter.’’

I'm sorry Wylla The old man thought to himself, he would go to his grave with his sister unavenged.

Michael Blackmont was many things, but no man could say he lacked for courage, blindly stupid as it was.

The old man suddenly lunged at Lord Mooton, putting all his strength into a brutal downwards slash at the mans unprotected head, Jon Mooton had not been named the Kings master-at-arms for no reason however and he brought his own sword up to meet it with a clash of steel. The riverlander then brought an elbow into the old Dornish man's chest while the two were engaged and Lord Blackmont fell to the sand from his horse, his head ringing.

He saw his own men had rushed forward to join the fight, hopelessly outnumbered. One of the youngest members of his guard Dallar rode forward riding straight for Lord Mooton, Mooton caught the boys spear on his shield and bashed it into the boys chest, sending him to the ground where he was soon surrounded and captured.

The fight, if it could even be called that, ended almost immediately with his men surrendering once they saw their lord had been downed, with very few casualties on either side. The surviving men would be spared and Michael Blackmont, weary from his fall and illness, brought back to the capitol to face the King's justice.

To the east of Blackmont, another similar situation occurred, albeit without the struggles of the prior one.

Visenya Targaryen had also received word that Ellaria Toland, the lady of Ghost Hill, a castle on Dornes northern coast, was involved in Lord Blackmonts treason.

The King had sent the hedge knight Ser Neilyn, whom he had met at Wyl during the Dornish war, with a contingent of men from Ory’s household guard in Storms End to sail from the weeping town and apprehend Lady Toland.

Ser Neilyn was an interesting choice to send as he was an unlanded hedge knight of humble birth whose only title was that of the Master of the Hunt in the Aegonfort, but given that Aegon kept no full time executioner, he bid Ser Neilyn to travel as the King's Justice. This decision was made more palatable due to the fact the man was Dornish himself and knew the people.

Lady Ellaria had been taken without incident and was taken back to the capitol where, along with lord Blackmont she would stand trial for her role in what became known as the Dornish Conspiracy.