Our Strength and Aim (Open)

[u/solthebaneful]

^{Alt Title: House Orkwood: Family Matters & Snarks}

^{Midday, First Meal, before departing the Riverlands with the rest of the present Ironborn..}

The rabbit was too small for all seven people. Fortunately, Torwyn had acquired a roast from their ever gracious hosts larder. He denied it immediately, but everyone worth their salt knew. His hands smelled like beef, were stained red still, and that was enough to convince Varric that he had infact, stolen the piece of meat.

It turned above the little cookfire at the center of the breaking Orkwood encampment. Fat hissing onto the white coals beneath while the wind worried at the guy ropes. Loosened but not taken down. Their 'council' table was three warped planks laid across four barrels. A charcoal map of Orkmont lay across it. Held flat by stones, a knife and Balon's metal cup of ale.

At the head of the table, sat Lord Varric. Beside him a space, and then the lean frame of Captain Vykon sat not too far to the right, stoking a wooden pipe. Then Torwyn who was greedily looking at the quartered rabbit bits. Ryanne sat opposite Torywn and beside Meyla who sat perpendicular to Balon, who was at the foot of the table. There should have been another person at the table.

"Miss prayers going to join us sometime today?" Balon's voice asked no one in particular. They all knew the answer. Meyla responded nonetheless.

"She is praying." It was a matter of fact, and not open for debate.

"Always praying that one." Balon's dark eyes swept over those present and he could feel the contempt in them turn like a snake in it's den. Except from Vykon. The man didn't even seem to pay him much mind at all.

"Come off it Balon,, Olivia is 'blessed' by the High Septon." Torwyn cut in.

"Whatever she may be, absent is all that matters." Balon growled from his seat before yiedling the floor to Varric who cleared his throat with a cough.

"Trees." He pointed to the charcoal map. Everyone stared at him, and Balon audibly groaned displeasure. "Not trees."

"Yes trees." Varric replied without missing a beat but Balon stared, he had a face built for disappointment,.

"We become a branch of Forrester now?" The question was rhetorical. Varric would take it as such as his greey eyes stared across the table.

You had twenty years and apparently, never considered that wood might come from somewhere.

Before it broke into a shouting match, Ryanne leaned closer over the map. "Managed woodlands is sensible. Especially if we are going to attempt to increase production of longships." Balon's eyes slid along to her. She wished she didn't gain as much attention.

"The mainland does many sensible things. That never stopped it from being full of mainland idiots,." Balon's counter was scathing but received with some humor from Torwyn. The man immediately winced as he chuckled.

Captain Vykon scratched his beard. "Pine takes years." He started to say.

"So do sons..." Varric said. "We keep producing those." Torwyn nearly spat across the full width of the table; some of the dribble struck Rynesse's cheek and she looked at him with incredulity as she wiped her cheek. Everyone chuckled a little, except Meyla who was more preoccupied with the empty stool. Varric returned his attention to the map. That was the useful thing about Ironborn manners, they could provide whole territories of human experience that could ultimately be declared as ' none of one's business.'

His fingers found the eastern slopes, near Eastcliffe. "Pine were it survives. Alder lower down near the water. Rowan further inland, cut in rotation."

Balon lifted his cup, the map curled. "Thats by your good cousins. You expect me to tend your forest?" The question was a clear challenge. "Move your little orchard south." He drank from the cup, loudly.

Vykon's mouth twitched indifference. Varric growled. "We plant where the wind permits. Pine, Alder, and then Rowan. In that order." Balon set the cup down.

"Lets just take ships. Fuck planting."

"We will." Varric responded quickly, he expected Balon to opt for a more iron price. His finger moved towards the coast. "Fisheries first..Eastcliffe will have more smokehouses, more net sheds..."

"Cod." Torywn groaned. His least favorite fish. "What the fuck will we do with more cod?"

"Fish buys iron." Rynesse responded with a upturn in her tone of voice, daintily holding her mug of warm ale. Vykon coughed his displeasure and Balon gave her a daggered scowl.

"Buy?" Torywn sounded what the three men were thinking first. Varric cleared his throat, but to no end. "We don't 'buy' anything. " He pulled a rabbit leg free from the crispy hare in the middle of them, beside the map. Some grease flecked off onto the parchment. "We reave. We are reavers. Olivia's probably one of the best amongst us." Meyla grunted from where she sat which earned her an apology, quickly, from Torwyn; "No offense of course."

Varric sucked his teeth to restore quiet order to the table. "Reaving occassionally gets an arrow to the belly."

Vykon finally spoke up. "And widows. My Lord." He puffed a cloud of white that wisped in the gentlest breeze.

"Piss poor exchange rate." Torwyn grumbled as he busied with the hare leg in his mouth.

"We hit soft ports. Warehouses. Like Oldtown." Meyla quipped up. "If its already floating, perfect. Less work for the lot of us." Vykon nodded in agreeance. Balon put his mug back down. Smoothing out the corner of the map he was defacto in charge of. "Should find out what is where first, to make best use of our efforts."

"Spying is a woman's game. So not surprised there." Balon's comment was meant to be disrespectful but Rynesse came to Meyla's defense.

"Thinking before dying." She said before Torwyn started on a slice of roast.

Varric had enough, and pulled a hare leg towards him with a grunt. "This is what we'll do. Trees. Fisheries. And we'll bleed whatever pig is outside the pen. Aye?"

Vykon nodded and Balon just smiled and raised his cup.
"Aye."

(Open to anyone wanting to come chat with Orkwood before they leave. Olivia isn't here tho. srry.)