To Step Upon the Sea
Eleventh Day of the Seventh Month 293 AC
Though tempted to summon storms and waves and scatter the Reacher ships to the horizon you brush it aside with the ease of long practice. This is neither the time nor the place to be capricious. House Redwyne has one of the largest fleets in all the Seven Kingdoms, able to match the Usurper's royal fleet and the Lannister ships if not both together. More to the point it is also one of the strongest Houses in the notoriously tumultuous Reach. There is something to be said about cementing your rule by elevating another House to the position of Lord Paramount just as Aegon had done...
You cut off the thought before the cart can go rolling any further ahead of the horse. Here and now you face Paxter Redwyne, Mace Tyrell's goodbrother, over a matter of a crown likely meant for the Warden of the South's own head. "Hoist the parley flags," you call. "It's time to talk."
"That will take time to do, though..." Asha says dubiously. Behind the doubt you can read the cold anticipation in her eyes. This one has inherited in full the pride of the Grey Kings of old, for all she has more sense than most.
"Usually, yes, but I am not of a mind to give them the choice," you answer, allowing a smile upon your lips. So saying you step to the edge of the deck and then keep walking. A perfectly flat disk of water rises to meet you, held together by will and
sorcery, and upon it you float towards the three galleys at a stately pace... which is to say slow as molasses compared to proper flight, but then you are doing this to make a point.
Alas that someone on those ships is of a mind to wreck the image you are presenting. A spell of
unravelling arcs from the main galley's forecastle, aimed not at you but at the water at your feet...
Strong, you realize, a touch perturbed by the implications. Strong enough that it would have picked apart your platform and dropped you into the sea, had you not
stretched the moment enough to restore the spell ere it could be properly broken. From the outside it must seem as though the spell had staggered, but not halted you.
Finally you approach close enough to make out the name of the larger ship, 'The Sea's Bloom,' and the figures upon her deck. Lord Redwyne is easy enough to pick out by elegant but simple cut of his blue coat and red tunic as well as the ring of silver and amber hanging from his neck. More than a show of wealth that... in each shard of amber sleeps a spell ready to be called with but a word of command.
He had not been the spell-weaver, of that you are certain. The stoop of his shoulders is only made more pronounced by leaning over the balustrade and the eyes beneath thick reddish eyebrows are bright with surprise... and perhaps a hint of fear.
Behind him you spy a figure garbed in red and gold, though not in the manner of mortalkind. Rather it seems as though its robe is patched together from a thousand autumn leaves. Crimson is the hood and shoulders fading to yellow gold as they sweep towards the deck.
Fey, you sense at once, though you cannot see the face in the shadow of the hood. As though sensing your gaze the mage shrugs off its cloak to reveal near-mortal features, though the bones are of a sharper more delicate cast framing wide green eyes. Something about the shape of the face, the thick fiery locks, awakens a faint sense of familiarity you cannot quite grasp, though ultimately it matters little.
You mark the sorceress of her power and the faint amusement with which she watches your approach, but your words are for Lord Redwyne: "Permission to come aboard?" you ask, a technicality but an important one.
After a brief moment of silence the lord agrees and so you do, allowing the water that had carried you here to rejoin the sea. "There was no need to be ill-tempered with my subjects, my lord. If you wished for an audience you had only to ask, and behold, here I am," you announce.
The lord pales. Whatever he may think of the fey mage by his side, he obviously does not count her your equal. "Your Grace, we have no quarrel with you and yours, but only that which lies beneath the waves here, the inheritance of House Gardener and hence of House Tyrell their rightful inheritors."
"Yes, I am quite aware of Aegon's choice to elevate the Tyrells to dominion over the Reach," you answer dryly. "However, if memory serves, he was not in the business of handing
out crowns. "
"Would you make true that pirate's threat and spill the blood of honest men over an ancient bauble?" he tries another tack, voice growing more strained.
"And yet this bauble was deemed precious enough to send into my waters three fine ships, your own self Lord Paxter, and..." you bow to the fey woman politely. "One of elder blood besides."
"These are Crownlander..." one of the other officers begins, obviously unused to how the game of negotiation is played, and you would judge suffering from fraying nerves.
"Do you then expect me to recognize the ascension of Robert Baratheon to the Iron Throne?" you ask mildly. "Come now, my lord, we are in a delicate position, but there is no reason it must come to blood or even to ill will. Let us share a meal like civilized folk and discuss our options over it." The options you will be dictating, but there is no reason to be so blunt.
One can almost see the wheels turning behind Paxter Redwyne's eyes. "Your words are wise, Your Grace, and perhaps those words I spoke to your subjects were... hasty."
Who do you bring with you and what subjects do you bring up at dinner?
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OOC: Well, you have a foot in the door, but you are not going to flip a high lord with just a show of magical strength and a few minutes of conversing.
