Your son is back

The sound of hoofs hitting the ground and the neighing of horses got louder with every moment.

Not even waiting for his Lady's instructions or approval Ser Hadrian and his men barged inside the tent and surrounded their Lady.

They weren't afraid of the newcomers. No, they even welcomed their arrival. What the old man could not allow was for his lady to be taken hostage.

The knight might swear an oath to protect, he can speak flowery words full of ideals and oaths about honor they do not plan to keep, yet the underlying thing is, that they are only humans, and except little to none few, humans Ser Hadrian did not trust.

Lady Olenna was surprised at the swift reaction of her adversary's men, different from her own that were joining in one by one, like going on a after meal stroll and that too while still shaken with fear.

She understood that there was no way to use Lady Dustin as a bargaining chip now.

Faking her stoic demeanor, she could only listen to what was going on outside while blaming herself for the weakness that young Margaery used to come along on this trip.

Old Olenna had to take a sit as the shaking ground almost made her loose her balance she wasn't young anymore. In the silent tent, only the sound of panicking Tyrell men's shouts was clearly reaching everyone's ears, afraid of listening to it anymore and thinking about the consequences of her actions Olenna closed her eyes and reassuringly squeezed the little hand of the trembling child sitting at her side. Whatever it takes the child must live.

=== Brendan ===

"Oro! Amo! Each of you take half of the tribal riders and encircle the camp from left and right flank, gather them all in one place! I will lead the cavalry charge straight to the camp dawn the middle! I don't believe they are brave enough to fight us, but kill anyone that is stupid enough to do."

The war horns were blown and the drums resounded, Dustin banners were dancing in the wind as the cavalry charged forward.

"Are you sure my mother is there?!" Brendan shouted at the messenger galloping to his right.

"Yes my Lord!" the reply came instantly.

"Good!" The young Lord hastened his trusted, red horse and joined the vanguard in their charge while the messenger slowed down retreating to the back.

The Tyrell knights panicked seeing the mass of riders approaching, yet before they even managed to form up any resemblance of defense the situation changed again.

From the back of the charging unit two other groups emerged on both sides.

The swiftness of the additional men reminded some of the more knowledgeable people from the Tyrell faction of a Dothraki charge, with each warrior shouting his own warcry, the willpower of those rose knights diminished remarkably and almost extinguished like a candle set against the blowing cold Northern wind.

If not for the organized formation and the light armor that they saw the riders assemble themselves into and wear, they were willing to swear on their life that the Dothraki were the ones attacking.

Of course there were officers trying to rally, inspire and organize their men, they were the unlucky ones to fall first being rammed by a charging horse or with an arrow to the leg or shoulder.

The best horse archers didn't miss, especially at a simple, stationary, unarmored targets like these, and the Tribal riders were the best.

Years of constant, ruthless battles against the Dothraki made sure of that by eliminating the weak in natural selection.

Closing the encirclement the archers didn't stop harassing the hastily getting their armor adjured flower knights.

The riders didn't even take it seriously as laughter and derogatory jokes were thrown at the defenders mercilessly, they just watched out not to kill anyone as per their Khal's wishes.

Before the grouped together people, not even resembling knights anymore, managed to think of a way of countering the situation there was another change.

The archers came and left like a tidal wave, but then came the real demons...

When the cloud of dirt from the encircling attack scattered in the wind the Tyrell men saw their doom approaching.

Fully covered in armour horses, black and yellow cloths jumped on their body in the rhythm of deadly tune played by powerful horse hoofs hitting the ground.

Dark armours not even reflecting the sun covered every part of riders on the horses back.

The smell of piss and sound of crying of the younger knights, calling for protection, mercy and salvation from the Mother of the Seven showed the different side of the not so long ago proud and overbearing men.

Each look at the pointed lances mercilessly closing in with every second, like in slow motion wilded by the heavy cavalry left the defending men with a dark, devilish shadow in the hearts of even the most experienced knights of the Tyrell house and those eyes...

Cold, emotionless eyes of each rider...

That was something that neither of the ones present would ever forget.

The image of predators gaining on their pray, ready to pounce and tear a piece of the throat momentarily, came to some of the already resigned to their fates men.

All what felt like hours, yet no more than 100 breaths only passed from the first loose arrow till now.

The sea of black and yellow came closer and closer when like a spark in the darkness directing it, one knight in different armour than the rest shouted.

"Spread out!" and like water meeting a rock the darkness split in half and evaded the crowded men from left and right.

They didn't manage to release their breath of relief when the black knights circled around again, this time slower as no resistance was meet by them.

They seemed almost disappointed by the fact to even bigger embarrassment of the tourney knights.

Now the famous rose men saw only a wall of lances pointed at them by slowly approaching emissaries of the Stranger.

"Yield or die!" Brendan's youthful voice surprised the captured men and not even a second later swords felt to the ground.

There was no middle ground or negotiations, just life or death.

No one was stupid enough to question the owner of the voice feeling the fury contain in it, even his own men just looked at the prisoners without a word showing unmet in this continent discipline.

Last time they saw their Lord so furious was when Set Arthur and Bryce brought the news of little Bri's death.

His family was his weak point and Brendan and everyone else knew it, but so what?

That's why he trained his men and himself by shedding blood on every battlefield next to them to prepare for every possibility.

Brendan took his helmet off surprising the older Tyrell knights by his young and handsome looks, some Tyrell men even wanted to be stabbed by his "sword", but his bloodlust and the dents and scratches on his armour each represented a life and death struggle just like his scars did.

"Find my Lady mother!" each word from him echoed in the silent surroundings.

Inside the biggest tent Lady Olenna thanked the Gods for stopping her hand before she did anything to the woman fidgeting in front of her.

With the experience coming from her old age, she easily recognized a mother trying to keep her emotions in check after missing her child.

Oh how she wanted to feel this type of feeling as well, but with her children already having their own and the constant battling in The game made her forget her human side.

Lifting her head Lady Barbrey expectantly watched the flaps of the tent, what would she see when they lifted? What would she do? The thoughts moved inside her head building up her insecurities, she didn't see her son for so long. She heard the reports and read his letters, she new he wasn't the same as the boy that left years ago.

Hearing his voice getting closer to the tent her body stiffened a bit, heart started drumming harder and faster threatening to jump out from her chest.

"Ser Bryce! Get the Centurions to guard the captured, two centuria to go bring our support convoy and the rest should rest." when she heard the sound of her son's manly voice and the confident commands overflowing with authority and expecting unquestionable obedience from even the hardened warriors she felt relief.

She looked at Ser Hadrian smiling at the side.

By the Old Gods it's been years since the man smiled...

The flaps moved a bit and a dark armour knights entered the tent and stood at the sides hands on their swords.

'Praetorians' she thought as this was the first for them all to see the famous 1st Legion soldiers.

Barbrey knew some of them came with her son, but a second later two others came, looked around and one left back.

The Tribe? Lady Dustin was lost.

"My Lord, and the security?" Unknown voice asked at the tent entrance only building the tension of everyone inside to the displeasure of Lady Dustin.

"Noya you go, get Centurion Cedric to arrange everything. Get the house guards on it, they just sat on their arses the whole time!" Barbrey saw Ser Hadrian lip twitch, but he held his tongue.

Finally the flaps opened and a group of men and women entered the tent.

Both parties eyed each other, but the young man had his eyes locked on the woman sitting not far from him.

He felt like the fatigue, the pain and the wounds from the last few years just evaporate like they were never there under his mother's warm and loving smile.

He handed his helmet and swords to the Praetorian standing guard and slowly moved up to her taking one step at the time, his emotions clouded his mind as he dropped to one knee in front of her chair.

Brendan gently placed his mother hands in his shaking gauntlets, moved his head closer to her knees and slowly kissed them, his eyes got wet from the flood of feelings, hiding his face in her arms he just managed to say...

"Mother... your son is back..."