(121-03-19) Escape to the Hightower
Escape to the Hightower
Summary: The Dornish, plus one, are hauled from their manse.
Date: Date of play (19/03/2014)
Related: Wickham's Nest scenes

As it is evening time, the street for the most part os unoccupied. A few stragglers are out, but for the most part it seems as if the focus has shifted from the manse, to sleeping or drinking. As it is, there's not a huge crowd, and the small one disperses easily as riders come clattering into the street. Ten men at arms and Ten watchmen make the parade, as well as three knights. Not a large party, but large enough for what is needed, plus the compliment already outside the manse.

Small folk are hedged back by horses and spears, as two of the horsemen dismount. One moving to the door and forcefully throwing it open, the other moving to stand where he can be seen. His voice calling out even as the heavily armored knight stops within the main hall.

Helm slid back Ser Olyvar Hightower looks as if he is ready for trouble as opposed to an arresting officer.

Ashara has spent the intervening days preparing as well as she can for this moment, and so when the escort arrives, she's already dressed in plain, dark clothing, her hair braided and pinned around her head. If she's nervous, she doesn't show it, stepping into the courtyard to meet the Hightower men. "Ser Olyvar," she greets their leader, though she watches the others as well.

A mousy squeak sounds near the thrust open door, behind the bold march of Ser Olyvar and to his left. There's a patter of back-tracking footsteps and a mild clatter as a servant hurries away from the window she'd been spying through to keep a tray carrying cups of wine steady; liquid nevertheless splashes, bold and red. The Reachlander girl with her dull, light brown hair, fair, freckled skin and wide, subdued blue eyes and plainer, Southern clothes stands out like a sore thumb in the Dornish manse while trying to blend into the background, instead. Embry is frozen, her stare wide as she steadies a cup of wine with one whole hand, lest it topple from the pounding of her heart.

Nearby Ashara is Mariya. She is likewise dressed in dark clothing, hair braided properly by Embry. She's unsure of what to do or bring for an escape and supposed arrest by the Hightowers. Though she attempts to put on the same calm demeanor as her cousin, it is clear by her eyes darting every which way that the young girl is nervous. Luckily, she does not have the same duties as Embry, otherwise there would be a toppled tray and spilled glasses and wine all over the floor.

Arros is likewise prepared for leaving the manse in a dark colored padded tunic as opposed to the rather obvious sandsilk robes he usually prefers. His jaw is clenched rather stoically as he stands behind the princesses.

Tameron, newly knighted, stands in leather armor with his sword at his side, ready enough to defend the lives of the princesses should it become necessary. His clothing beneath is rather plain and uninteresting, and he waits against the window, arms cross, as the Hightower lord comes to collect them.

The Men are of fine calibre and spare horses have been provided for the Dornish members. A faint scowl shows on the knight's face even as the cargoes are read out. Cheers coming from the crowd, which is slightly starting to come back together. "In the name of Ormund Hightower, Voice of Oldtown, you're under arrest for murder most foul." The words are dry and formality. And there he motions for another man to join him, as a leather strop is produced. Stepping in closer Olyvar goes to lay it on the wrist. "It'll look like manacles and bindings. Just lay them so, and don't fuss with em. They'll come free if you move your wrist, which you should only need to do if we run into trouble."

With that he glances back to the Manse.

"Anyone staying behind?" That is the question of the day, after all he needs to account for numbers. Embry is given a glance before he is motioning for the other Dornish to prepare for the fake bindings. "Hurry now. And look cowed, or something.." And so rough hand moves to Ashara's arm first. He'll take her to her horse. One of the men, moving towards Tameron eyes the blade before turning to block sight from the crowd, before a bit of grey is thrust to him. A tabard in Hightower colors. "Put that on if you're going t' wear Ser. otherwise we're all fucked." hissed from the Men at Arms teeth before another moves towards Mariya, to jerk her along towards another horse.

"Ser Osric intends to remain behind," Ashara answers, and though she gives the leather a wary look, she doesn't balk. "It's all right, Mariya," she murmurs reassuringly to her cousin, though her arm is tense beneath Olyvar's hand. "Murder most foul, indeed," she mutters indignantly. "I am trusting you, Ser Olyvar. I pray such trust is rewarded."

Embry swallows, and the tiny motion shakes her whole body, forcing a tremble all along the tray; formalities or not, whatever is going on is nothing like the poor girl's ever witnessed. As she gradually remembers how to put one foot in front of the other, she inches closer to her Dornish betters, worry alight all along her earnest face. She stands by their ominous gathering with her head slightly bowed in respect and implicit loyalty, but her eyes can't help but peek up and watch the whole process.

Arros declines the bindings, "Give me a tabard, instead." He tells the guardsman who tries to bind him up. His eyes will fall on Embry for a moment, and he crooks a finger, "Why are you still here, girl?" He demands, "I thought we'd sent all of the native servants away?" He frowns slightly, "You'll have to take her with us. If she walks out of this house, and it is realized that she served us, they will tear her apart."

As nervous as Mariya is, the pull toward the horse she is meant to ride does the trick to urge her forward. There's an unmeditated glare tossed the way of the perpetrator when she is manhandled, but she does not struggle. Her momentary anger quickly melts into distress at the bindings. She gives a worried glance that she casts to her Dornish brethren (including Embry). "She's been helping me as my lady's maid," she tells Arros, softly. "She refused to leave and wished to keep serving, despite the danger." With a glance toward Olyvar, she adds a tiny bit of steel in her voice - made slightly less convincing when it breaks at the end of her decree, "I will not see her harmed."

Better a tabard than manacles, fake or no. Tameron tugs the thing on, though not without a small sneer that they need to stoop to such chicanery simply to keep themselves safe. He glances over at the servant girl and then at Arros as he gives a small nod. "Ser Arros is right enough. Give her a leather whatever that is as well and push her to the middle where the crowds can't see her well."

"Quit fucking complaining." Olyvar barks, before he roughly helps the lady up to her horse. The others will be taken care of in like fashion. The members of the house not remaining behind. As for the announcement of Ser Osric Dayne remaining behind there's a flat look given Ashara before he shrugs. "His funeral. Hurry all, time is ever of the essence." And once Ashara is upon her horse he's moving to see to another member of the household is loaded up. There's a glance given Embry again before he is pointing towards Ashara. "Is she coming or staying?" this asked harshly as the men at arms press in. One Sarjent calling out that more are coming from the west.

A look is given over to Arros. "Fucking tabard him. Sarjeant. Tell your men to press back, we're almost ready." Now Olyvar is moving for his horse As the herald continues to rattle off charges. Turning, the herald moves to the door to nail the warrant in place. The crowd, slowly growing is also starting to call out. Jeers. A piece of rotten food is tossed at the guards. A frown shows on his face

"No time. one of you grab her, we're riding." And with that he is moving to the head of the column as the herald clambers up. A hand is raised and the horsemen and footmen move back in.

A whistle and they start out.

Ashara doesn't seem inclined to do contrite at the moment, but shocked and outraged is something she can manage. Grimly, she holds onto her saddle around the bonds, though she rides well enough not to need too much help. Still, once they near the crowd, she ducks her head, doing her best to be…unremarkable, at least.

Embry bows her head an inch deeper for a second, made more timid by Ser Arros — or, more frightfully, the prospect of being hauled off by these stranger men. She puts up no fuss whatsoever about being taken with the Dornish, however, even in the face of the volatility of the crowd beyond. She even starts to raise her chin in determined bravery. "I will go where I'm nee— " she starts to reply — quietly, but with conviction — before everything starts to move even faster and she finds herself in a whirlwind.

Arros puts the tabard on over his tunic, and mounts up on the horse waiting in the yard for him that has been saddled up in a rather nondescript manner. A helm is grabbed up from the back of the saddle to cover his features, and settled onto his head quickly. He lets out a slow sigh at Mariya's words in regards to Embry, wheels around his mount, and rides over in a trot to lean in his saddle and scoop up Embry with one arm. He places her in front of him on the horse. "Hold on to the mane." He commands the servant, his voice muffled by the helmet.

It's against Mariya's nature to not take in her surroundings - even in such a dangerous environment. Once on her horse, she quickly looks to make sure that Embry is also among them. When the call has been made to move out and she has yet to locate Embry in the commotion and the racke, she starts to call out, "Embr—" It's just in time to see Arros scoop her up. There's not enough time to call a thank you - nor should she if they are to pretend he's amidst the guard that are there to arrest him - but she will be sure to do so later. Mind at ease that Embry has been taken care of, she matches pace with the rest of the group and attempts to blend in as best she can.

Tameron climbs onto his own horse, arranging himself so he's one of the 'guards' closest to where Ser Osric's wife and children ride near the other princesses. He glances over to see Arros plunk up Embry and then looks straight ahead as they begin to make their way.

The crowd surges, and there's a push. Olyvar turns and looks back briefly, before he is wheeling about in his saddle. "Echelon!" called out, and quickly the knights and riding sarjents form up, allowing for a small space with the Dornish in the middle. "Captain, once we ride out, fight your way to a watch house and lock yourselves in." This bellowed to the man leading them men on foot. Rocks and some of the loose cobblestone are being hurled as a cry of kill the Dornish is given out. Shields are battered, and some of the small folk slip behind as one man at arms is jerked from his saddle.

"Charge through them!" Olyvar bellows before he does right that into the small group that blocks their path. It's not enough to warrant such a maneuver, but it is given, given the sudden surge to the sides and fast approaching rioters to the west and torchlight to the east.

The horses charge and but a few are trampled as they narrowly make their escape.

Ashara leans forward toward the horse's neck as the crowd grows more violent, taking what shelter she can there behind the guards. It's a lucky thing that the rioters probably can't see her expression, though, because she doesn't look the least bit contrite. Instead, she looks determined and grim, and not the least bit inclined to yield.

Embry does just as the knight says. Her small, work-worn hands are a good match for the horsehair; she holds tight, tucking down slightly in front of Arros, closer to the mount, taking up little room. The spilled tray of wine, flung when she was pulled up, is quickly left farther and farther behind, a telling piece of evidence that those in the household were well and truly dragged away. She tries not to look to one side or the other, lest anyone see her between their foreboding escorts — but, like the youngest princess, it's against her nature not to take it all in. Here and there, she sees a familiar face among the smallfolk — and gives a tiny cry when she sees some on the ground by charging hooves before all she sees are dark clothes and horse flanks.

Tameron moves forward, keeping as close to the womenfolk as he can and spurring his horse faster to, in turn, urge their horses faster as well. If any on the groound try to block his way, he does not stop or veer for them.

As the column forces its way through the gathered crowd, Mariya clings to the to the reins as they trample over those not quick enough to get out of the way. Though she rationally knows these people were there to possibly harm them, she can't help but be horrified to know that she had a part in their death.

Trampling smallfolk? Why not? Arros spurs his mount on without hesitation, and without an ounce of guilt for the trampling of those who mean to murder them in the middle of the street.

The column escapes, and makes for an easy ride to the Tower, thanks to it being evening. However, for the men remaining

With three dead and two injured the crowd is incensed, and it will be a hard fight to get back safely to the nearest Watch House.

At the end of the night, three small folk will lay dead, trampled by the horses, two injured, where as the Hightower forces, have five men injured and one dead.

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