The Tourney at Ashford

Warryn sat with his family, eating dinner. He held his left arm delicately, and his mood was darkened, the forced cheer of earlier gone now. He ate his stew - rabbit - warily, more out of a motion, then any real desire.

"Father... how was the discussion with the other lords?" He asked tentatively, unsure of his father's mood.

Despite the events of that morning, Ythan Wydman had seemed his normal self. Truthfully, that wasn't saying too much; the man was usually dour and often times it was hard to believe his mood could possibly sour more. The only difference today was that, so far, he had been mostly silent, only muttering in quiet times to send servants to fetch one thing or another.

And the addition of his mail under his normal clothes, even here at the dinner table, of course.

He raised his eyes to his son, the wounded right eye taking a little longer to come into focus, "About as good as can be expected with this southron lot. Every one of them complaining about some grievance or another to settle. You'd think they never knew any real troubles down here."

Warryn frowned. "Too much time on their hands, from what I see."

He picked at his food listlessly.

"I'm sorry about my loss today." He finally said.

The Wydman seems quiet for a long time; he chews his food. Others at the table look around warily. It seems they afraid Warryn might have hit a sore spot.

But then:

"You appointed yourself well. You showed the southron lords not to underestimate us and that the Valemen do not surrender." He takes a bite, "And, at least, you did not end up with your neck broken under your own horse."

"I would never push it that far." He said, sighing. "My House needs me too much for that." He felt slightly better, though still fiddled with the food. "You know... some of the other houses also need help. I've met with some of them." He glanced up, slowly raising food to his mouth and taking a bite.

"Ah, so the southerners are in need of help, eh?" He chuckles slightly, "And what, prey tell, are they asking for?"

Warryn sighed. "Not just the southerners. The Forresters of the North too. They are involved in a land dispute with their neighbor, over half of their land. They'd rather avoid battle, as half their forces are over in Skagos, supporting the Starks. They'd like if someone with experience and prestige could advise, and perhaps show the Whitehills that the Forresters are not alone." Warrny glanced at her mother. "I was thinking perhaps mother could pay a visit. In return, they have a good warrior, Marqus Forrester, who would come stay with us and fight."

He started there first, unsure how his father would react. Or his mother.

"House Dunn of the Reach is thinking of reaching a peace with Dorne... and if someone else were to stand up for Dorne, someone of your stature... well, they have a large amount of force,s forces, they might be happy to part with, or at least some of it. From what I heard, they might have trouble feeding them." North and South, for now. Warryn waited for his father to respond.