7th Moon, 8024

Faircastle, Fair Isle

Robert Farman sat in his chair in his solat, positioned directly by the large window overlooking the Sunset Sea.

He took another look out to sea, for the third time at least, but still they remained, as real as the cup of wine in his hand.

Three war galleys flying the golden lion banner on red, three Lannister warships cutting their way through the waves towards Fair Isle.

They could only have one purpose, word must have reached Loren Lannister of his role in helping Matarys Targaryen escape from Fair Isle after Loren had ordered the king's brother to be imprisoned.

Lord Farman found himself thinking, not for the first time who had betrayed him, one of the sailors on his ship that he had arranged to take Matarys and his retinue to Seaguard no doubt, perhaps it had even been the captain, the wealth of house Lannister was legendary, and it was well known the Lannisters paid their debts, both in matters of reward and vengeance, and the lannister ships were here for the latter.

It doesn't matter He thought to himself, looking out the window and checking once more to make sure the ships were in fact real, whoever had betrayed him, the result was the same, 3 Lannister warships sailing onto his island.

He heard a knock at the door, standing from his chair, he ran a hand down his wine soaked leather jerkin and ordered the man in.

It was his Maester, Ottyn, standing in the doorway, hands folded over his black robes.

Lord Farman studied him, wondering if this man who had served him for well over a decade had informed on him, he thought it unlikely Ottyn was not one that took the initiative often and had to be prodded into action….most likely it was one of the sailors.

‘’They will be docked within an hour Lord.’’ Ottyn said grimly.

‘’What is your counsel?’’ the Lord of Fair Isle asked, more out of curiosity than anything else, he had all but made his mind up.

‘’I counsel you to raise what forces remain to us here and defend the walls, they likely have some 300 men on those galleys, but I am sure with the advantage of our walls we can throw them back to the sea…..strike your banners for the Targaryens, it is said King Vaemond is a charitable man, he will reward your family, both for aiding his brother and standing against the Lannisters.’’ Ottyn said.

Lord Farman ran a hand through his beard, the garrison of Faircastle was weak, when the war had begun in earnest he had sent most of his knights and levies to join Loren Lannisters armies. He may have defied his lieges order to imprison Matarys but Loren Lannister was still his liege lord and he would fulfill his oaths, not doing so would have ended any hope of avoiding reprisals for his treason.

It's made no difference in the end…I should have held back my levies He thought to himself ruefully, he had received word that his levies had participated in the Battle at Nunn's Deep against the Tullys, where no doubt many of them had fallen.

He turned back to Maester Ottyn, who was clearly waiting for an answer.

Lord Farman shook his head ‘’There will be no battle today…I wont have hundreds dying on my behalf….the garrison is mostly made up of old men and young boys, those too weak or inexperienced to go with our main levies…perhaps we could throw them back…but I will have no bloodshed.’’

Ottyn nodded, the disappointment evident on his face ‘’A risky proposition Lord…..they will no doubt have orders to take you into custody….the best case scenario is Lord Lannister spares you until the war is over, assuming he is victorious, and then deals with you then…but there is no guarantee, even if he is not able to personally preside over your sentence, that he won't order you executed to send a message to his other vassals…and even if you are spared and King Vaemond wins the war, you will spend months if not years in a dank dungeon in the bowels of Casterly Rock.’’

Lord Farman had no intention of spending a single day in a cell, much less years, but he nodded slowly.

‘’I have much to consider….you say we have an hour….I will think on your counsel.’’ He replied.

‘’It will be as you say of course but….if you mean to fight them, we will need time to prepare the men….time is of the essence Lord.’’ The Maester responded, bowing and leaving the chamber slowly.

Once he was alone, Lord Farman placed his hands behind his back and walked to the window, observing the fast approaching Lannister ships.

His mind went to his family then, his two girls, Ella and Elena, who had left with Matarys Targaryen and were likely close to the capitol by now. He even spared a thought to his Tarbeck wife and her bastard child, whom he had allowed to be raised under his own roof, despite the shame of it.

Most of all he thought of his firstborn son, Flement, who had died of cancer some years prior at the age of 20. He had been a difficult child, arrogant, cruel at times, and prone to gluttony, but he had been his only son, his firstborn and the Lord of Fair Isle had not been the same since his death.

He remembered his son at the end, bound to a bed, pitiful, the flesh sunken off his bones…a horrible way to die.

Mine shall be a kinder fate He thought to himself, looking down at the sunset sea.

Lord Farman had no intention of resisting the Lannister ships, ordering a defense of the walls would lead to a large amount of blood being shed, both Lannister and Farman and he would not be responsible for it. He had no intentions of letting himself be captured however, even if he had an assurance that he would not be immediately executed and would be rescued from the bowels of Casterly Rock, he would not surrender, his star had faded long ago.

He leaned over the window, looking down at the sea-sprayed white walls of his tower, and the rocky sea cliffs below.

His house words came into his mind then The wind our steed.

He repeated the words as he climbed onto the ledge and let the wind take him, plummeting to the cliffs below and into the waters of the sunset sea.

9th Moon, 8024

Village of Rosesk, Coldwater Burn, the Vale

The village of Rosesk was aflame, red and orange tendrils danced from building to building, sending thick plumes of black smoke into the cool air. The thatch roof of the village tavern collapsed inwards as Ser Bryan urged his destrier forward, the waning sun catching on his bloodstained silver plated armor as he passed by a burning watchtower, underneath it several dead corpses.

Ser Bryan, commander of one of the Eyries three way castles slowly spurred his horse around the scenes of the recent battle, four corpses lying on the muddy street in front of them. Three of them were the peasantry of Rosesk, but one of them had been with their host, a young knight by the looks of it, a feathered arrow sticking out of his mailed shoulder, while a spear stood upright, impaled in his chest.

What kind of knight is killed by a peasant He thought scornfully, they had lost near 100 men storming the village, but to be killed in the muddy streets of a village was the lot of common foot soldiers, no suitable fate for a knight.

Passing several more dead bodies, he finally made it to the village center, where several men-at-arms had rounded up the surviving militia of the town, dirty, bloody and several of them wounded they made for a pitiful sight, many women and children were among them as well.

‘’Is this all of them?’’ He asked a grizzled serjeant gruffly.

The man nodded ‘’123…..half of them fighting men…rest is just villagers.’’

Ser Bryan rode his horse forward, hand at the hilt of his longsword ‘’You should have laid down your arms when you had the chance…..you filthy rebels will see the truth of that….to your grief.’’

‘’Were no rebels Ser.’’ One of them, an elderly man said, dirty gray hair falling past his shoulders.

‘’You fought against your own countrymen……those that fight to win your own independence…..near 100 good men died putting down your treason.’’ Ser Bryan said airly.

‘’Seems to me you're the rebels…..we serve Lord Coldwater…aye…him and the Royces, they fight for the Dragon King….you're the ones that rose up ‘gainst them, that makes you rebels.’’ The old man said.

Bryan nodded to one of the men at arms who stuck a spearpoint through the back of the old man's skull, sending face first into the mud in a bloody heap, around him several villagers screamed.

‘’I won't suffer to be called a rebel to my face….I serve King Arryn, and you are his subjects, something you seem to have forgotten…..your Lord Royce has allied with the Sisterman pirates who have taken the Paps and Elesham, stealing the castles of their own countrymen, your Lord is a traitor.’’ Ser Bryan said.

‘’Were no traitors Ser.’’ A voice from the crowd yelled.

‘’If thats so…..why did you bear arms against our host when we arrived…..we came to liberate you and you repaid us with arrows.’’ Ser Bryan said loftily.

‘’Your riders tried to rape Serra, the millers girl, and they knocked old Jurgen into the dirt when he tried to stop them from stealin our grain stores…we was just defendin ourselves.’’ Another voice cried out.

‘’You name it defense, I name it treason against your own countrymen.’’ Ser Bryan said, turning to one of his loyal men.

‘’Get the villagers out of here, put them in the granary for now.’’ He ordered, and the villagers in the center, mostly women and children were dragged off by men at arms, many having to be pulled from their male kin who had survived the fight.’’

There were some 60 men left in the town center, the surviving members of the militia that had opposed the attack, some of them sat blankly, while others begged for help, either for their own wounds or the wounds of their comrades.

‘’Water Ser.’’ One of them called, but a man at arms laughed

‘’You won't have any use for it soon enough.’’ He said.

‘’You are all traitors….do you know what the punishment for that is?’’ He asked to noone in particular.

That caused a cacophony of shouts and screams from the surviving militia members, but Ser Bryen heard little of it.

He raised his hand slowly.

‘’Death.’’ He answered, giving the signal.

A line of crossbowmen fired into the huddled mass of men, quarrel after quarrel hitting the unfortunate men.

A few managed to evade the first volley but were swiftly cut down by Bryens riders, laughing.

It went on for a few minutes until slowly the screams ended, and his men moved in to finish off the wounded.

‘’What do we do with them in the granary Ser, the women and children.’’ His lieutenant asked with a sick smile.

‘’Treason must be burned away…..burned into ash.’’ Ser Bryan answered, wheeling his destrier towards the granary.

The screams of the villagers inside the burning granary were gut wrenching, but Ser Bryen had chosen his most heartless and hard warriors as part of his small host and none seemed the least bit fazed by the atrocity they were watching.

Such is the fate of traitors Ser Bryen thought to himself, listening to the fast fading screams from inside.

That was where Lord Wallace Waynwood found him, following with the majority of their army.

It did not take the gallant old lord of Ironoaks to ascertain what had happened at the village.

True to his name, he immediately confronted the commander of Stone Keep.

‘’What have you done….what have you done.’’ The old man cried with dismay.

‘’I dispensed the King's justice to rebels….they slew near 100 of our men, they were traitors.’’ Ser Bryan said with a shrug.

‘’You have murdered these good folk…..slaughtered them like dogs…..and the women and children…..burned…..you are no knight…you have no chivalry…no honor.’’ he prattled on.

‘’King Ronnel gave me command of this host, and instructed me to secure the Vale….the village is secure now, and will serve as a lesson to the peasants in Runestone…..you may be a High Lord but I was made your commander in this campaign…I have heard your counsel, now leave me.’’ Ser Bryan said with satisfaction, his land may have been limited to a small waycastle, but his martial prowess meant that High Lords had to defer to his judgment.

Lord Waynwood was persistent however ‘’Lord Arryn instructed you to secure these lands, not savage them….he shall be hearing of this you vagabond….knight without honor…..you shall hang for this…yes…you shall.’’

‘’Careful my Lord…..you may recall that I have mine own escort standings round me, your only companion is that ragged squirrel corpse you call a beard.’’ Ser Bryen said, earning laughter from his retainers.

Lord Waynwood, who had neglected to form his own forces in his haste to confront Ser Bryan and looked around slowly at the suddenly serious killers around him.

The old lord's hand fell to his sword, causing Bryens men to do the same.

‘’If you think to intimidate me……you are mistaken…you shall hang for this false knight….you have my word.’’ The Lord of Ironoaks said, before wheeling his horse around.

The following morning the old lord would leave the host with his own forces, but Ser Bryan cared little, one less high lord to share credit with, when King Ronnel returned from the west he would find his own lands secure and rebellion quelled, all thanks to Ser Bryan of Stone Keep, Lord Royce and his Sistermen were a nuisance to be sure, but he would defeat them in time, just as he had at Narrowshade.

Lord Bryan soon I think The false knight thought to himself, as the waning embers of the fires of death made their way into the sky.