Princess Alayne Lannister stood upon the windswept battlements of Casterly Rock as banners crested the hills below one by one. Not raiders nor traders this day—but her father’s sworn vassals, summoned in their strength. They came from every corner of the westerlands: armored columns of red cloaks, glittering knights beneath golden lions, ox-drawn baggage trains groaning under supplies for war. They marched to join King Mern Gardener in the Reach, to stand as one host against the dragonlord from the east.

The gates yawned wide to receive them. Horns sounded. Crimson and gold snapped in the sea breeze.

Alayne leaned forward over the stone, chin resting upon folded arms, studying each sigil as it passed beneath her. Playing a sigil test with herself.

“Lydden… Banefort… Lefford… Crakehall…”

She smirked faintly, pleased with herself.

Then a knight with a banner with a bird on it, rode through the gate. Damn her mind. She wasn't sure which one this was.

“Serrett,” she declared to herself.*

Below, the herald’s voice rang out across the yard. “House Swyft of Cornfield!”

Alayne’s smile vanished.

“…Fuck. Of course, I knew it.”

Her fist struck the stone in sharp frustration.

Behind her, the Rock was alive with preparation. The great hall had been hung with banners for a feast that night, one last revel before the west marched east to meet the Gardener host. Wine casks were rolled in, boars turned on spits, and musicians summoned from Lannisport. Her father would dine with his bannermen beneath a hundred golden lions before leading them to glory.