the ballad of elissa swann (a.t.) (UNDER EDIT)

ten

They rode diligently through the hour of the bat to the hour of the nightengale, when birds first took to the softly glowing skies to announce the morning. They approached a line of great, ivy-covered stone walls when the dawn was golden. A voice boomed from atop them, causing Elissa and her prince to crane their necks and squint to the speaker.

"Who goes there? Name yourselves!" a man called from the ramparts.

"Prince Aemond Targaryen, an envoy from King Aegon, the second of his name. Stand down and grant us passage." Aemond yelled from the saddle. Elissa had come to know this specific tone as the princely voice - the one he spoke with when he invoked his rank on people.

"And your companion, your grace?" the guard asked with more courtesy this time.

"A scribe," he lied, and Elissa shot him a side-long questioning glance.

"Raise the gate!" they heard the man call to another above them, and the gate heaved and creaked, coming free of its fastenings.

Aemond led Stranger in, and Elissa urged Grindstone to follow suit. She trotted to keep pace at his side and asked under her breath, "A page?"

"You are a lady in breeches, as it happens." He replied without looking directly at her. "It required less explanation."

Elissa felt her hackles raised, but bit her tongue. Her noblewoman's pride was bruised, but she would save the thought for later. Beyond the gates, they rode through the cobbled streets of a village. With the hood of her cloak obscuring her face, she gazed about at the surroundings.

In the morning light, she could finally appreciate the sheer amount of green that surrounded them. Gone, it was certain, was the rocky terrain of the Crownlands. Now, they were in the Reach.

"This," Aemond spoke, "is Grassy Vale. And there?" he said, nodding ahead of them to a hill. "Is Grassfield Keep, the seat of House Meadows. Do you know their words?"

"Forever in bloom?" She replied, scratching the back of her mind for the memory.

"Nearly. 'Always in bloom,' though if you ask me, it's a little on the nose." He answered, nodding towards the approaching castle walls, which were absolutely covered in flowering vines.

"Is it always this way, in the Reach?" Elissa marvelled. "The Stormlands are..." she trailed, "certainly not like this."

"The Reach is much like a greener Dorne, and even in the winter it is temperate." Aemond said as they came to the castle gates.

Before they had the opportunity to call out who they were to the gatekeepers, the grate creaked and lifted, revealing a man in green-velvet doublet standing on the other side.

"My Prince," the man bowed deeply, "Welcome to Grassfield Keep. My home is yours."

Aemond sat up straight in the saddle, letting the hood fall from his head. "My Lord Meadows," he said by way of greeting, "I come baring the good wishes of King Aegon, second of his name."

"Long live the king," Lord Meadows intoned as servants (who must have only heard of their arrival minutes earlier) came rushing out of the castle. They ran to form an entourage around the lord of the castle, carrying with them the materials of their trade - staffs and pikes, washerwomen with buckets, grooms with the tack and brushes for their horses.

"Your companion," Lord Meadows gestured in question at Elissa.

"Yes, she is my..." he paused only momentarily, but long enough that it registered, "personal scribe, the Lady Elissa." He looked sideways at her, and she shrugged off her hood.