The Decision

The second meeting with the Lady of Dying Crane had been very enlightening. That there was something that was amiss was evident upon Tirian's first visit. But the truth . . . that was perhaps more of a surprise than Tirian had supposed possible. He was not so naive as to believe that such chicanery was not to be found in the Houses, but to come face to face with it still stirred his insides uncomfortably.

He had attended the Lady, only to find that whatever ailed her severely limited her. She seemed to be failing, and on his approach, she nearly went into shock. Tirian had done what he could, but it was a poor remedy, he was afraid. After getting her settled into her bed, her maidservant had been surprisingly forthcoming regarding the condition of her Lady. It was shortly after receiving said information that he begged his leave, promising to return with all due diligence. Expressing his deepest regrets for missing the evening meal, he hastened to the stables to acquire his horse.

Darkness was deep and the moon was starting to rise when Tirian had an encounter of a much different nature. Several men stood around him in a secluded clearing, hoods thrown back, revealing men who were weathered and travelled, but bore the mark of loyalty in their eyes. They were now questioning their leader in a way not often seen in the courts of the current Houses. "My Lord," said one particularly hardened man. "This is folly of which you speak. We have a task before us now." They had been discussing Tirian's pronouncement upon his return to camp.

"We will bivouacking in the Ninth Kingdom for a time." Tirian spoke resolutely, though his heart trembled at his own decision.
"The Ninth Kingdom, m'Lord? I thought that the dark rider travelled north. Do we not follow him?"
"For the time being, the dark rider will have to be considered lost. I followed him to the borders of the Ninth, and he took to the rocky hills on the wings of the wind. He will not escape forever. But for now, there are more pressing matters at hand." He had told his faithful friends very little of the actual plight of Dying Crane, but had informed them all was not well, and that at this time, there was reason to stay.
His friends were going to be heard, though. "Are you meddling, my Lord, in House affairs?"
Tirian became frustrated at the comment, saying, "We all are always meddling in House affairs. It is the nature of this foul world. I just choose to meddle here, if meddling it in fact be."
"But, my Lord . . . what of Silver Crescent?"
Tirian was now angry. "What of it? It has waited four generations; a little longer will do no harm!" His friends stood sullen and bemused. Tirian continued, more slowly. "Besides, my friends . . . if we do not do this, then we have failed to learn from the mistakes of our fathers." He looked to the starlit, moonstruck sky, and sighed, his face revealing a past and lingering sorrow. "Is this not the way I was taught? The lessons learned by my father, and his father before him? Nay, Hardir," he said, stopping his friend from argument. "I have made my decision. We will camp in the Ninth, here in this land. No one will enter except with the consent of the Lady of Dying Crane."

Plans and arrangements set, Tirian readied himself for the morning, when he would return to attend to the Lady that he had set a scare into.