(122-05-27) A Song of Dragons Part 2
A Song of Dragons
Summary: And now Dhraegon, Dalt, Daevon and Camillo attempt to get rid of the dragon, with a little help from a pig.
Date: 26/05/2015
Related: Citadel and Sept Plot, A Song of Dragons
Players:
Dhraegon..Marsei..Ormund..Camillo..Lionyl..Dalt..Daevon..Whoremaster..

"You are not expendable to me," Marsei says, soft but with insistence; her voice firms as she goes on,looking straight into his pale eyes. "Nor to the gods or anyone else. You just said yourself you are the blood of the dragon. But you are not a dragonrider. If you are to leave the Hightower at all, should it not be to find someone at Dragon Door? Princess Visenya? Prince Rhaegor?"

Ormund listens, scowling.

Dhraegon looks at her with a surprised earnestness, "I'm? I'm not? But I've always been?." He takes a deep breath, "If another can be found quickly?. We could? could do it and ride away quickly?"

Marsei quietly ushers away the ladies and children from nearby before she responds, coming back alone into the circle of conversation overseen by her brother on his chair. "Must it be you?" she repeats herself to Dhraegon, both insistent and, tentatively, confused, her gentle voice at odds. She looks around the hall, for armoured knights and guards and men with swords.

"I do not want the pipes to run off with the rider," says Ormund, quietly. "Prince Dhraegon, I trust." He looks about. "But I cannot in good conscience order a man to face a dragon. I would sooner ride… myself." It's obvious that he doesn't want to. That hesitation is accompanied by a look at his son, and a paling of his face. Lyonel doesn't like the idea either, and screams, "NoooO!" in that terrible shrill voice that only small children have, the one that's particularly horrible when employed by a child of Lyonel's age — old enough not to do it any more, usually.

Dhraegon eyes lowered, "Unless Daevon or Rhaegor or even Visenya are home, yes. I've more of a chance of surviving than that Knight, if we can jot get away fast enough. I do not know how fast the Dragon can fly. Ser Dalt can take me there and… and drop me. I will blow your pipes a bit and hurry away to where the Knight waits. I do not think he will harm me and I will hold your heirloom close and do my best to bring it back to you." He looks up at Ormund's threatening to go and says with a hint of dragonish firmness, "No. You have a young child, and I think you will make a wise sucessor to your father. Absent a hero like Daevon or Rhaegor, it must be me. Maelys likely wouldn't give it back."

Dalt FINALLY finds his horse, after calling for it a few more times, as it sort of works its way back to him. He arrives in time to shoo a couple of smallfolk trying to grab it, and the saddlebags - one of them manages to run off carrying something he grabbed from inside.

Dalt quickly gets on the horse, to chase the thief down, but sighs, and yells, "You're lucky I'm meeting the local Lord, you filthy thief!! I hope you /choke/ on those lemons!" He turns the horse, and starts back to the Hightower.

The typically unmarred face of the lord's sister wrenches with distress, most of it bottled behind that very expression that keeps it in. She says nothing, this time, and in doing so gives her understanding that it must be one of them.

Dhraegon goes to her and takes both her hands. Very softly, he brushes lips to the knuckles of both hands. His looks into her eyes and says in a bass rumble, "Marsei of the right Petals, I do not want to die, and will do all in my power to come home safe to you. I very much want to be here to see your wings unfurl."

Dalt rides up, casually now, and waves to the guards as he returns on his horse. He gets off the horse as the sentries hold up a hand, and he starts to lead it in. "May I pass, gentlemen? I believe I am expected to return to the Lord of the Hightower. I just had to recover my horse."

Ormund nods to Dhraegon, somberly and unhappily. He whispers soothing words to the boy Lyonel.

Looking up at Dhraegon in her earnest way, multiplied, Marsei slips one of her hands from his to reach up and lay it by his silvery temple. "I will pray for you, my dear prince." She takes a token, one of the disheveled tiger lilies he wears, and holds it faithfully close. "Think of me and be brave." But not too brave.

Once the guards nod, and let him through, Dalt leads his horse into the yard, towards where the Lord and the Prince are still speaking with the Lady. He holds up a hand, almost like a wave, as he approaches. Once he stops within a few feet, he bows, still holding on to the reins of his horse. "My Prince, my Lord."

Ormund looks to Dalt. He nods. Then, to Dhraegon. "Can you?" he asks, frowning a bit now. He tilts his head towards the horse, indicating the animal.

Dhraegon stops to kiss her pale forehead, squeezing her hands gently before pulling away. "Thank you, My Snopdrop. You know who to pray to." He blushes pink, looking at her a long last momment, as if fixing her in memory. Then he takes a deep breath and steps delicately towards Dalt. He is a giant really, and a heavy one. Trying to sound brave he asks, "Can… can your horse pull a dart, or will you…will you blindfold me?"

Dalt blinks, and shakes his head, "My Prince? Why would I blindfold you? I am at your service in this. Can it pull a cart? I.. suppose it can. Do you not have a horse of your own?"

"Our Prince Dhraegon is afraid of horses," says Lord Ormund. He manages to deliver this fact calmly, as if it's perfectly normal. Well, perfectly normal except there's a dragon perched on the tower at the time he's saying it.

Dhraegon looks down, "Nathaniel tried to teach me to ride. I can probably get up behind you with a little help…. I have no horse…. What was your name again? If I am to cling to you in terror for hours, I should likely know your name. You may call me Uncle Dhraegon.

Worry crosses Marsei's face anew, and she casts her chin down to hide it. She steps toward Dalt, then, although not without a concerned glance to her brother first. "I shall pray for you as well, ser," she says, and though it is absolutely genuine, it is lighter, not with the conviction for her betrothed who just introduced himself to the knight as Uncle Dhraegon.

Dalt's eyes turn to Lord Ormund, then back to the Prince, while he keeps the confused expression on his face. "Well, then.. You know what?" He straightens himself out, "That shows even /more/ courage on the Prince's part. He's afraid of horses, but has agreed to ride with a Hedge Knight he doesn't know to call off a Dragon." He pauses, then says… "My Lord…?" He turns his head to Lord Ormund, "Might I beg your indulgence, and ask for the use of one of your wagons, and a couple of horses to pull them, so as to ferry the Prince? He /is/ the Prince, after all. My horse can be reserved and ride along, in case we need to escape quickly. Should the Dragon come to us, I can unhitch the horses, and guide them on my horse, with the Prince riding with me, and return them. It it still a tiny investment of resources considering the problem we are dealing with."

Dhraegon looks relieved that there will be a cart after all. "Thank you." He turns to lord Ormund, "Have you, the package for me to take?"

Ormund nods to Dalt, "That can be arranged. There's a light cart in the stables." He gestures, the way to go along the Hightower's lower levels, to the entrance where horses normally enter, and the wood for the beacon fire, and the oxen that carry it partway up. "And horses." He reaches into his doublet to produce the old pipes and hand them to Dhraegon. "Good luck, my Prince. The Warrior be with you." Then, to Dalt, "And you. And the Crone be with you as well. Keep this a secret."

Dhraegon takes the pipes and tucks them up his sleeve pocket. He has wide sleeves that can hide any number of things. He attempts to give Ormund a big hug, "Thank you for trusting me." He goes down to get into the cart.

Marsei is quiet as a whisper; not standing quite still, it's her gown that rustles. She holds the tiger lily close to her chest like a delicate bouquet, watching Dhraegon prepare to depart with Dalt.

Dalt blinks, and looks at the man, "My Lord? You wish this mission to be secret?" He furrows his brow, and shrugs, "Of course, I will obey." He turns to the Prince, "Alright, then, Uncle Dhraegon, I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will do my best to protect you, and get us both home alive and well. I will shield you, and give my life if it comes to that." He pauses, and leans forward a bit, "Please don't let it come to that. I have some things I wish to do in this life, still."

Dhraegon casts a last serious look at Marsei, and blows her a kiss. Then hthe mercurial Prince gives Dalt a light hearted giggle, "It will be an adventure! I've never been on an adventure before! Shall we play I spy on the way there?" For all the seriousness of mere moments before, the snowy haired Prince with the bedraggled flowers in his hair is now much like a child on a hay ride in demeanor. "Perhaps when we are done we shall eat cakes and share a barrel of wine… do you think a whole barrel will be enough?" More giggling.

Ormund nods to Dalt, "I do," he says. "At least. The pipes." He grimaces. "Go, and Gods speed to you."

Dalt blinks… "So…. We're not going to wait until the Maesters have something to put him to sleep, like Dragon-strength Essence of Nightshade? Or… Well… Can you tell me a good place to go with a lot of wildlife far from here, that might attract the dragon? If we're luring him away, we want him to focus on the wildlife and not on us."

"Prince Dhraegon will tell you where to go," says Ormund. "And no, we are not waiting. Why would we? Are you changing your mind?"

Dalt blinks, and looks confused again, shakinng his head, "I believe I was the one who suggested this mission, my Lord. Of course I'm not changing my mind. I just didn't want to do this in a way that would cause the Dragon to simply return in another day. Well, if you'll give me your leave, my Lord, I will go with one of your servants or guards and retrieve the wagon and horses, and put on my armor, so that we may be off."

Once he's directed and given leave, he goes to wherever he's guided by one of the guards to retrieve the wagon and horses, and the ropes to keep them in line. After a little while, he returns, and he's wearing his armor,

Dhraegon giggles, "I have means of luring him and there is an old cave the Dragon liked and I think there are still goats and the like grazing out there. I may not be a good dragon, but I am still a dragon. young Daevon and Visenya camped out that way for a month. We ride north, Out the honey Road and keep going until we reach the hills. The cart won't go the whole way, but at least I will be running down hill." He pats Dalt, "It will be alright. Do we want a second man to drive the cart?

"It's a dragon," says Ormund, again. He waves a hand, evidently to indicate that Dalt indeed has his leave.

Dalt shrugs, and goes off. He returns in his armor, still fastening things. "I presume we'll be stocked with provisions, and any equipment or bedding you need?" He then says, "Another man can come, but if this mission is secret, he must be someone who will keep secrets, and someone who can ride. I can't carry three on my horse shuold we need to escape." He continues to armor up. "Alright, my Prince. I think I am ready. As soon as they bring the wagon, we'll be off."

Ormund grimaces and looks to Marsei. "He's a presumer," he says quietly, as the party goes off. He gestures to Camillo, "Help him, as far as you're willing," he orders.

Dhraegon giggles, "I have a flask. I think that is all we need…." He gives Camillo a friendly wave from the cart, "Want to come help us lure the dragon?"

Camillo finishes doling out a last bit of supplies, then gives a short bow to Ormund. "Yes, my lord," he replies, and moves in Dhraegon's direction.

Marsei doesn't smile knowingly at her brother's comment, but there's a hint somewhere in her expression that suggests she might have, another time. At any rate, her features sharpen in surprise when Ormund brings Camillo into things. Torn, she says nothing. Another name to add to her prayers.

Dalt shrugs again, "Alright, my Lord. If you and the Prince believe we have what we need, then we are fine." He waits for the cart, and guides his horse up, tying it to the side, to gallop alongside. He awaits the Prince. "My Prince, and my friend. Please, if you will be so kind as to board, we will be off."

Dhraegon gives Marsei a last look and a cheerful smile, "I am ready… What was your name again?" He turns to Camillo, "Whatever happens, do your best to get home again." Then he is chattering atDalt, "So where are you from? Do you Joust?"

Camillo lifts his eyebrows at Dhraegon. "Your Grace is the more precious cargo," he murmurs, giving Dalt a glance as well.

The men who normally carry the wood for the beacon are down in the stables, with the oxen. And the men who's turn it is this day to loiter about up top feeding the fires. They help with the cart, happy to be alive. And then there's the open doors that lead from the stables to the outside.

And off into the north, the heroes ride, fearing… well… everything!

And above, on the top of the Hightower, the dragon watches them go. The little ones are still flying about up there.

Dalt is driving the cart as he talks to the Prince. "Well, my name is Dalt Sand. Sometimes in tournaments I go by Dalt the Condor. I'm a Hedge Knight, so I do, in fact joust, my Prince."

Dhraegon seems completely light hearted from the tone of his chatter, though he keeps glancing back, not at the dragons, but at the exit from the tower as if he might catch a glimpse of bright hair until they are out of sight. "Dalt the condor. So you are a sort of Silent sister of the jousting world? Useful creatures, condors, and hard to kill. What part of Dorne are you from? Do you like spice cakes?"

Camillo is, of course, the gloomy silent one on the trip. Or perhaps he isn't gloomy at all. Hard to tell with that beard. But he is certainly quiet.

The bridge is unguarded. The city is very quiet. People are peeking out of windows at the dragon, but the streets are largely empty.

Dalt smiles, despite the city's fearful atmosphere. He seems none too worried, or maybe he's trying to keep himself distracted from the fear. "Well, it's interesting you mention that, Uncle Dhraegon. I /do/ like the spice cakes, and lemons, and oranges, and a few other things from Dorne, but I'm not really /from/ Dorne. I was raised in the Riverlands. My father was Dornish, a minor noble, I believe, who brought a lot of trade up in the Riverlands, and that's how he met my mother. The Dornish don't look down at bastards the way other peoples do, and my mother remarried, to a good man, who cared for me nonetheless. I have many things I may have been sad about in life, but my Riverlands family is not one of those things." He keeps moving the cart along at a relaxed, but brisk pace.

Dhraegon keeps chattering and looking at the view in that lighthearted way of his, "I like spice cakes too, but it is the jam cakes that are my favorate." His face falls, "I didn't get any at my party." This being the true tragedy, not a Maester falling to his death. "I hope the garden is all right. I designed it for her, did you know? A betrothal gift." He carries on nattering away as if they were on a simply outing with a picnic in store, "So you have a leg in both worlds? Does that mean you favor peace?"

Camillo feels belatedly for his knife at his belt, but his fingers slip away when he realizes that, face-to-face with a dragon, it really doesn't matter if you brought your knife or not.

Dalt nods, "Of course I favor peace. It's always the smallfolk that suffer, and the Nobles that hate each other are still eating their jame and spice cakes, and becoming betrothed to the most beautiful women - whether they win or lose." He turns in his seat just a bit, "That is meant as no offense to you, my Prince. You have proven to be a brave man, facing your fear like few others. However, I believe if those with the most hatred are unaffected by a war, then perhaps tht war is unnecessary." He keeps the horse moving, "Still, I know that at times, a war is the difference between having a good ruler and a bad one… And I know we /don't/ want a bad one."

Carts are slow. But it's not bad. The streets are empty. At least, they're empty until the Hightower Street curves towards the Rose Gate. Then? There are a lot of cattle and sheep in the streets; whoever fled the stockyards left a gate open and the animals are milling about.

Dalt sighs as he sees the livestock….. "Well, I guess it will be slow-going. I'd prefer for our path not to cross through those animals… The Dragon could come to eat us with the livestock." He starts to scoot over, to leave the cart. "My good man.." He turns to Camillo, "I'm sorry, what is your name? Can you take over a moment? I wil attempt to scatter the livestock so that we have a clear enough path. as it opens, please start mving us past them."

"It is Camillo," the servant replies, and takes the reins from Dalt, though he frowns just a little. His distaste for dealing with horses is known to some.

Dhraegon says simply, "I am doing what I can, Ser Condor. I am… not good at many of the expected things, but I am trying to tie us all together with trade and friendship. If the rich loose their cakes and oranges and wine and coin when there is fighting, maybe they will do what is best for all the folk. I do not know, but it is a thing to try." he cocks his head at Dalt's last comment, "What do you mean about a bad ruler?" And then he giggles again, "Don't worry, I'm not likely to be in line for the throne nor would I want to be if that is what worries you. There are more Targaryens right now in the World than there have been since the Doom." He looks in dismay at the beast, "Oh! They must be lost! I got lost once and they splashed my shoes with a chamber pot!~ It was all right though, as we got really drunk afterwards…. I wonder how I got home…."

A young pig runs up to the cart, snorting about. The sheep are upset, though, huddling together and trying to push their way into the wynds.

Dalt snaps up his shield while he heads out there, and begins swinging it, "Come on, move along." He starts shooing the animals as best he can, and pushing some of the bigger ones. "Can I get some help here? We're TRYING to help this issue, and these animals could lure the Dragon unless we get them off the street. Come on, we don't want him burning houses! Let's protect this neighborhood!"

The big dragon is still on the Hightower, being circled by Visenya's escaped Dragons. Ser Dalt, Camillo, and Prince Dhraegon are trying to leave the city with a cart. Dhraegon is a passanger. Dalt is trying to clear escaped livestock from the area around the gate.

When the dragon came, the people ran and hid. Here, when there Hightower Street turns to run East-West, ending and the Rose gate and T-intersecting with Beacon, is not far from the stockyards. When the stockmen ran to hide, one or more must have left a gate open — there are cattle and sheep and swine milling about in the streets. The people, however, are still under cover, some peeking out of windows to see if the monster is still perched on the tower.

Dhraegon giggles and climbs out to help with the shooeing, flapping his big formal sleeves about as he chases the beasts out of the path, whooping as he does, like a demented crane.

There's a galloping of hooves, as Ser Daevon Targaryen, the Maiden's Knight, and horse make their way through the streets. Daevon's dressed plainly, only lightly armoured in leather. His horse is a solid, brown creature that's utterly unspectacular in every shape and form.

Dalt smiles, and keeps trying to drive the animals further off the road. The armored Hedge Knight stands a bit straighter as he finds himself working with a /Prince/ to do the job. He works at it and as he clears some space, "Come on, Camillo, move the cart up." As he works, the new Knight approaches, "Please excuse us Ser, we must clear this road, to get the cart through. Actually, perhaps your riding can assist us." He then motions to Camillo, who has the reins of the cart, with its oxen, and the Knight's warhorse hitched to the cart off to the side.

<FS3> Daevon rolls Command: Good Success.

Camillo moves the cart up. He's obedient like that. He eyes Dalt a bit. He eyes the horse. He eyes the oxen.

The pig attempts to bite the cart wheel. Hey, it might be tasty.

Dhraegon makes a happy squeal as he sees the second knight aproach, "Daevon! We are going to lore the Dragon back to the old cave! It is a secret mission! Have you met the Condor? He is helping! Ser Condor, this is my brave young kinsman, Ser Daevon the Maiden Knight!

Daevon flashes a smile at Dalt, nodding. He looks around for any help amongst those who're currently hiding. "The dragon is not going to hurt anyone. It is settled on the tower. We need to get these animals under control. Can you help, please?" He chooses a specific person, from a specific window, then moves on to another, imploring them. "Together we can do this." And then he'll set about doing just that, trying to clear a path regardless of whether those he's commanded help or not.

The folk peeking out the windows simply draw away from them. Sure, if the Maiden's knight can't see them, he can't shame them into coming out. The sheep bleat. A goat makes its way to the gate, having decided that the best thing to do now is go home.

Dhraegon flaps about, staying well clear of the horses, but otherwise doing his best to shoo beasts back through the gate."

A few do come out, slowly, cringing and looking towards the Hightower nervously. Folks begin to herd the animals back toward Beacon Boulevard, and the stockyards.

Daevon offers smiles, and thanks, and reassurances to those who help. He will praise their bravery, and he will also remember, in the future. He's as much about the herding of the people to get the streets cleared as he is about the herding of the animals. But he does try to keep it light enough, charming and genuine that it doesn't come across as patroning.

Dalt whews, "Thank you so much, people of Hightower. My Prince, it looks like we're getting this under control. Thank you again for coming out here to assist." He now redoubles his efforts to get this done and clear the streets. He finally turns, and heads back to take back the reins. "Alright, we'll bring it through… People of Oldtown, we thank you for your assistance, working with the Prince /himself/ to do this." He looks to Daevon, "Ser Daevon, if you wish, please do join us on our mission. It will be dangerous, but it could save lives."

He brings the cart up a bit, closer to Prince Dhraegon, "My Prince, if you will but board…"

Dhraegon is his giggly self, but encouraging in his own Dhraegonish way. He waves with childlike enthusiasm, and calls, "Thank you!" before climbing back into the cart. "Two Princes!" He settles back in the cushions, "Daevon knows the way!"

"What is the plan?" Daevon asks. Dhraegon may have already explained it to him but this time he looks to Dalt. Just to be sure of things.

One of the smallfolk, a boy of about fourteen, starts to cheer. He cuts himself off into silence, though, glancing up at the dragon on the Hightower, and runs off, chasing a pig towards the stockyards.

Dhraegon waits until the smallfolk are out of hearing range, "The dragons were called. By accident. I have the treasure in my sleeve to call them, but we need to get it back to hightower safe afterward. On our honor. The plan is to ride back to the area with that cave she like have… one of the blood of the dragon call it, and then we all run away really fast. The hope is, the beast…" He refuses to call the dragon whoremaster, "The beast will go where it is called and stay in the area. I fear Visenya's beasts will go too, but I do not know what else to do." He crinnges, "I think she wuill be very angry with me, even angrier than she is now." he straightens, "But it must be done."

Dalt jumps off the cart for a moment, and walks over to the wheel, moving to try to pick up the young pig. "Well, it seems almost a shame to fatten up and slaughter such a brave animal. I won't steal these people's property, but this little fellow could be good luck." He carries it to the wagon, "Well, we'll have to drop this one off at the stockyard on our way out, or when we return. We'll just have to pay for him - otherwise, we'll have a screaming piglet attacking the entire trip." He chuckles, and brings it back. "Should we give it a name?" He looks around for one of the people who should be minding the animals. "Come on, if you're alive when we return, we'll make sure to buy you, and turn you into the cutest guard animal in the history of Westeros." "Alright, two princes. This is already the most important mission I've done. If you both know the way, this will be an easy ride." He hops back up on the cart, and take the reins, "Lead the way, my Princes!"

The piglet, when picked up, screams ear-peircingly. It's a pig. They do that.

The gates are still open, but the guards are hiding inside the gate-towers, peering down through the murder-holes.

Once in the cart, he holds the piglet in his lap, and takes the reins.

"Alright, two princes. This is already the most important mission I've done. If you both know the way, this will be an easy ride." He hops back up on the cart, and take the reins, "Lead the way, my Princes!"

"Veraxion," Daevon supplies the name that Visenya gave the dragon in the gap that Dhraegon provides with the absence of whoremaster. He is looking concerned. "I hope the little ones will survive such a journey." He smiles a touch at Dalt. "Taking any livestock with us may result in it being eaten. Good luck for us perhaps, but not a fitting end for a brave creature. Even our horses are at risk. Pigs are smart creatures though, as much so as dogs some say."

The pig quiets down once set on Dalt's lap. More or less. It makes snorky pig-noises.

Dhraegon repeats Veraxion several times to himself. "Maybe they will get tired and come home. They made it to the tower all right and were friendly enough. I didn't have any mice for them though and they kept kissing at Ver..Veraxion. Onward into the Hills!"

Dalt rides the cart on… He lets the cart do the work of riding, glancing back at his horse every few seconds, making sure it's alright. "This is by far one of my most unique adventures.." The carriage moves on.

Dhraegon chatters away the whole trip, pointing out bits of landscape and trying to get the knights to play "I spy" as you do.

"Does it work by compulsion?" Daevon asks. "Did the dragons seem of their own mind when it flew to the tower? Or were they singleminded until it reached the source?" He's clearly worried. Worried enough in fact that he says. "I'm going to need to leave a message before we leave. Visenya needs to know where the dragons are." And he'll do that, having word sent to the dragon door manse for whomever's available, to see that the dragons are followed, if and when they leaves, just in case. And then he'll continue on after the others.

It's a long trip, and carts are slow. Still, soon enough they reach the track that forks off the Roseroad and leads into the uplands. Another hour and the cart can no longer make way up the rocky path.

Dalt sighs, as the cart must stop. He looks at the rocky path. "Do you think our horses can make it?" He looks around, and hands off the piglet to the servant, and jumps off the cart. He reaches in to take his helm, and shield. "It looks like we will have an interesting run back."

The pig squirms out of Camillo's grasps and jumps to the ground. It falls when it lands, as pigs are not good at jumping, but it's up again a moment later, running up the track.

Dhraegon says, "The little ones were very much themselves. They seemed to know me well enough and they were all hissy at the big strange dragon. The big one seemed… curious and impatient? I think? I tried to take the little ones inside with me, but they flew up to hiss at Ver… Let's call it Vex?" he takes the ancient steel pipes from his sleeve. They are the type with a row of tubes in different sizes to make different pitches, "Do you want to take these, Daevon, or ought I? I'm the expendable one, for all my sweet snopdrop says not, but you are ahorse and faster, Daevon. I will do what you think best.""

Daevon shakes his head at Dalt. "The horses can't. We generally leave them here and make the rest of the trip on foot." He shakes his head at Dhraegon. "No one is expendable. But I am faster, and I know the lair far better than you, I suspect, the places where one can hide. Keep an eye out for sheep, we're going to need one if they haven't all already been eaten."

Dhraegon sighs, "Best we turn horses and cart to face the way we came. There was a long time between the playing of the pipes and the coming of Vex. The little ones were faster. I've hopes we'll have time to get further away before Vex reaches us…." he turns serious again, "I need your oath before I hand you these. They are a hightower heirloom, and must return to my Bright Flower and her kind brother. Whichever of us lives needs to try to get them back to her."

Camillo turns the cart. "Ride as far as you can?" he suggests, "And I'll wait where cart can be pulled at a run?"

Dalt nods, and sighs… He unhitches his horse, to at least give it a fighting chance to run if the Dragon attacks… As he does, he sees the piglet running /up/ the track. "That is the bravest food animal I have ever seen. I really hope he survives." He starts up the gravel path. He sighs, "This shield does /not/ get any lighter the more I carry it…. but it's good exercise." He stops, when Dhraegon speaks, and says, "You already have my oath to serve faithfully for this mission, but of course, I will also swear to give my all in returning these. You have my oath that I will, if alive to do so, see these returned to their rightful hands."

"They'd also a shorter distance to travel," Daevon says. "Leave the shield then. It's going to be little protection against dragon fire. The only real use will be to use it to slide down the scree, if you're so inclined. Which isn't particularly good for you or the shield." He nods at Dhraegon. "You have my word that I will see them returned to your Lady Marsei, and her brother. But those, are no Hightower heirloom, they are of Valyria, and they should be in dragon hands. Already we've seen the dangers they present being elsewhere."

The pig, leading the charge, dissappears behind a boulder up the track.

Dhraegon looks Daevon in the eyes, "The King knows of it, but for the moment, it is a Hightower Heirloom." He hands it over, "I admit to hoping your sister might experiment with it somewhere safer. I do not think Kinglslanding is a good place for such gamres…. The boy blew on it at random before they got it away from him."

Dalt turns, still holding the shield, and heads up the path. He tries to jog a bit, to catch up with the smallest, bravest member of the party. "Let's finish this quest, my Princes! Glory, and the favor of the Seven, await!"

Daevon's taken the pipes, being a Targaryen and all. Not that he can play them, mind you, but musical ability isn't essential, is it? He turns them over in his hands, gazing at them with wonder. "I'm not in the best favour with the King." He admits. "But we can't risk something like this happening again. These are far too powerful, far too dangerous. You will need to speak with your Lady, her brother, and the King and ensure they are returned to somewhere safe." He keeps walking, he's been here so often he knows the way, all the nuances of the path. He doesn't hurry after Dalt, but does smile at those words.

The pig slows down as the climb gets steeper, and stops to snuffle about, pushing some rocks aside with its snout to eat something or other.

The massive Prince waits in the cart, but turns around so he might watch them go, worried for his young kinsman, despite what lies between them, and for the young knight who chose this mad errand despite him not needing to.

<FS3> Daevon rolls Marksmanship: Good Success.

Dalt keeps moving, trying to head up the track. The climb is steeper, but he knows he must complete it, slowly or not. "We're almost there, I'm sure of it. And if we're not, we'll be that much stronger for the climb." He tries to march on. "It's as important as a war…" He starts to exhale quickly. "Ok.. no more talking while I walk uphill in armor." He chuckles, and continues on.

Daevon shoots down a couple of birds with his bow as they make their way to the dragon's lair. His own armour's light, leather, and he's dressed very much for this journey. He chuckles as well at Dalt. "Just about," he agrees.

It's a steep trek, even for the most courageous and energetic of young swine. Still, the pig is motivated to run after the birds that fall from Daevon's bow, and attempt to devour them before the hunters can reach them.

Dalt chuckles, "Good idea. It'll keep the little guy busy. I think that pig has some wolf in his family tree." He keeps moving, slowing down but continuing until he makes it or falls.

"Well I was planning to use them for the little dragons," Daevon says. "But, that's a point. You'll need something to keep him," he gestures to the pig, "from getting eaten." He just shoots down an extra bird, so there's enough for both pig and dragons. "I'm Daevon." He introduces, not sure if he's already heard Dalt's name.

Dalt turns his head as he keeps the trek upward. "I'm Dalt, a pleasure to meet you, your Grace."

The piglet does get tired, after a bit more running about, and as the track gets steeper and more treacherous as it gets closer to its apex and the scree leading into the high little wash.

Once they're situated opposite the lair he points out some safe spots for Dalt and piggy to conceal themselves in. He places the birds down, nearby. Then he tries to blow the pipes and nothing. He peers into the other end, just to be sure they're unblocked and then tries again and while he just about manages a noise, it's not a tuneful one.

Once they're situated opposite the lair Daevon points out some safe spots for Dalt and piggy to conceal themselves in. He places the birds down, nearby. Then he tries to blow the pipes and nothing. He peers into the other end, just to be sure they're unblocked and then tries again and while he just about manages a noise, it's not a tuneful one.

Dalt chuckles, "Should I try it?" He goes to conceal himself, scooping up the piglet, before going to that corner an kneeling, holding his wooden shield in front of him over the part that's not protected by any rock. "Run over here once he comes, if you like." He waits….

The pig isn't interested in hiding. Pigs don't normally get attacked from above. But it is tired. It stands about slobbering now, then wearily tramps over to try to eat Daevon's birds. The sound of the pipes does silence some of the birds that are still in the air. It's cool up here, rocky, barren, bleak, and entirely unwelcoming. The towering rock with the crack on it that's on the other side of the wash is bathed in sunlight, and well out of reach there on the other side of the deep and narrow little canyon.

Daevon gives one last go, shivering as he does so. He offers the pipes over to Dalt, since he's not sure of his own nonmusical attempts. "Might as well."

Down below, Dhraegon shivers depite the heat, even though the sound is barely in his range of hearing.

Dalt stands up, and moves over to Daevon. "Well, they tell me that while you must use your lips, the trick is in the lungs, and holding the air flow…"

<FS3> Dalt rolls Music: Success.

On the Hightower, the big dragon lifts its head and blasts a column of blue flame into the sky, roaring. Sort of handy, since it's getting dark now, and the actual beacon fire has burned down well past as low as it's ever allowed to get. Then again, what ship wants to be guided in towards a port with a wild dragon sitting there?

Daevon laughs at this. "I've never been all that musical." He admits. "Fighting, I can do, but not that." He closes his eyes as if trying to feel something. "Keep trying."

Dalt plays a simple, trudging, sort of sad, chanting tune, with just three notes to it for a few seconds… After a few seconds of dreariness, he plays a more regal tune, like he's announcing the entry of a KIng into Highgarden. It's a very simple five-note tune. He tries to play that, to call the Dragon to them.

<FS3> Dalt rolls Music: Success.

"They're coming," Daevon says.

And then the monster opens its wings, taking off from the tower top and beating its way back towards the East and the uplands from whence it came. There are a couple of tiny sparks of fire alongside it, from time to time.

Dhraegon shivers again and starts to get out of the cart. To a question from Camillo, he giggles, shaking his head, and climbs back in, "I think it is working."

Dalt pauses for a moment, "Alright, why don't you take the piglet, then…. Should I keep playing?" He looks around quickly for a place to hide from the fire - or a place where he can at least wedge in with his shield to protect him.

The beast is out of sight in the evening gloom in a matter of minutes.

<FS3> Dalt rolls Music: Good Success.

It took the party, pig and all, hours to get this far out of town and up into the rocky lands, but they are neither huge nor winged. It's getting dark, so the shape of the dragon is hard to see until it gets closer, already a sizable shadow in the darkening sky.

Daevon shakes his head at this. "If you want to save the pig, you're going to have to do it yourself. The baby dragons will think I'm bringing them lunch. They're used to me feeding them." He holds his hands out for the pipe. "Stop. Hide." Although he himself doesn't do either. There's absolutely no fear ot he dragon at all with him. He does look for his birds, or whatever the pig's left of them.

The dragon's coming in fast, an increasingly enormous shape in the sky, headed straight to Dalt and Daevon's position.

Dalt puts the pipe in his shield hand, holding it with his fingers, and walks over to scoop up the brave piglet, before looking for a place to take cover. He moves into a corner between some rocks, and raises his wooden shield to cover the rest of the space, putting it between him an the dragons. He holds onto the piglet under the shield. "Come on little guy, we need to hold on until these monsters lose interest."

Dhraegon is peering back up the trail worrying as there is no sign of sensibly terrified and fleeing knights.

The pig squeals when picked up, and then stops. Dhraegon was right. Pigs are smart.

"Pipes please," Daevon says. It's a Targaryen thing, probably. He keeps his hand held out. Daevon's not smart, not taking shelter.

Dhraegon looks really alarmed now. he climbs out of the cart and looks for a nearby high point so he might better scan the sky for dragons.

The big dragon passes over Dhraegon and Camillo, making the horses rear and panic in their traces.

Dalt puts the pig down, hoping it sits still, and switches hands, reaching out with the pipe, putting it in Daevon's hand. "Here you go. In the Hightower, the Dragon wasn't completely aggressive, but.. be careful. I'll protect you as best I can, but the Dragon doesn't know me."

Dhraegon turns and watches the thing, leaving poor cam to deal with the terrifying and dangeous horses. he climbs a boulder to better watch for flames, and more specifically the wee dragons.

"I'm Blood of the Dragon," Daevon says to Dalt. "If the Dragon does try to eat me, remain hidden. It's not an aggressive dragon though. Veraxion is more playful and generally shy. It wouldn't have shown up at all if the pipes hadn't been played. I need to stay out here to coax the babies closer." He takes those pipes.

The big dragon circles over Daevon and Dalt's spot, and then begins to come in low. Possibly it means to land directly on top of. Dalt? Daevon? The pig?

Dalt moves to protect himself and the pig in his rocky corner, with the shield. He waits quietly.

"Hey!" Daevon yells up at the dragon. But sure he can be moving out of the way now and so he does so in the opposite direction from where Dalt is.

Above Daevon, the big dragon roars, sparks sputtering from its nostrils as it comes in, beating its wings and stirring up dust and pebbles.

Dhraegon has done his own bit of feeding and playing with the babies, back before Visenya got angry at him. he starts making a cooing trill, in hopes the little ones are lagging and might want someone familiar.

The monsterous huge blue and mustard dragon lands on the rocks and looks down at the two knights. The pig starts to scream and struggle.

Dalt holds on to the piglet, wrapping it into his arm, putting the shield in front of him. He says, "Well, I'm glad it's not angry. I'm going to try to back away slowly. There are enough animals out here for it to keep full."

The beast stares at the two knights as they back away. The piglet struggles and screams.

Dhraegon keeps wwatch for either the babies or the Knights, as patient as he is in a garden hunting slugs.

The big dragon settles, waiting and staring at the two with its great molten yellow eyes, its jaws smoking. But it does nothing, simply watches the knights back away and make their way back towards the cart, and Dhraegon.

Dhraegon looks relieved as he sees the knights, "I did not see the twins. It may be to far for them to fly…."

Dalt backs up, and says, "It really nice to meet you, big guy. My name is Dalt. I hope we can be friends." He keeps talking nervously, "Now, if you don't mind, I think I will avoid you getting territorial. Good boy. Let's all be friends." He finally turns after a bit, and heads down the path, to Dhraegon, bringing the piglet into the wagon. "Oh, yes, well, luckily the Drahon wasn't angry. If it was to far for the twins, will they have tired out along the way? Or will they still be in Oldtown?"

Dhraegon says, "We should watch for them just in case. They know daevon and I…." He holds out a flask he pulls from his sleeve and offers it to the knights. "We may have to go looking tomorrow. I wouldn't want the poor things to be lost or distressed….""

Dalt nods, "Fair enough. I'll be happy to help out." Once he puts the piglet down in there, he takes the flask, and has a swig of it. "Thank you." He hands it back, "I'm not much of a drinker, but I think I needed that right now."

Dhraegon takes a swig without wiping the mouth of the flask. "You were very brave. I am sure it will not be forgotten."

The pig squirms its way out of Dalt's grasp partway down the track and runs (whee whee whee) all the way back to the wagon. Fortunately, no dragons give chase.

Dalt chuckles, "Well, I think you were quite brave yourself. You fear many of the things we had to deal with, and still you came. As for whether it's forgotten… well, I hope not, because I won't forget having quested with you I had a good time, to be honest, and you and Prince Daevon gained much respect in my eyes, more than most nobles or royals."

By now, it's getting close to full dark.

Dalt goes to pick up the pig and put it in the cart, "I suppose we should be making our way back, unless we plan to camp here until the morning. I don't know if we brought enough in that flask for /that/." He smirks, and puts the shield in the cart, and then hops up in it.

Dhraegon giggles and shakes his head, shedding the last of the wilted lilies, "I'm just the Clown prince. It's young daevon who is a real hero. He's the one who organised food and milk during the black sick. He climbs into the cart, "I would like to reassure my Bright Flower if that is all right, and to do that we must go home.

Dalt takes the reins, and with that, they are off. "We'll have to use the moonlight to ride this out, but I think we'll be alright." He begins the slow journey home….

Dhraegon periodically passes the flask to cheer the ride home.

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