Who: Tyrith, ? When: Day 67, late evening Where: Tower of the Hand Rating: PG Status: Open
Tyrith’s jaw was set in a grim line. Gold cloaks were maintaining a line to blockade the hill, but the disorder by the gate seemed only to be getting worse. He’d given leave for the men to start breaking heads if they needed- anything to quiet the rabble for the night.
Between this and the damned hunting incident he would need to tell William and Kaelyn to keep within the castle walls for a few days. Lyanora wasn’t well enough known, and Lily rode under Lannister banners- it was known what befell anyone stupid enough to lay hands on a Lannister; as the bones still hanging on the road to Casterly could attest. And if anyone even remembered poor Celia, it would be a miracle in itself. More mouse than wolf that one.
And of course his eldest had chosen tonight to wander off to the Street of Silk… or more likely a library somewhere. The boy was hopeless. Maybe he should take him along on the next voyage; they did have two spares, and worse things could happen to Casterly than passing to Toria.
He pressed his seal into the wax and handed the paper over to the waiting messenger. “See it done and quickly.”
Another messenger was waiting. This one was swathed in black, and offered no word of greeting, merely bowed and held out a scroll to the Hand. Tyrith smiled as he opened it.