The midday sun moved west as the feast hall of castle Oak was made ready, most of the long tables were retracted and a single shorter table was set in the centre. Servants brought in wine from the Southshields, roasted and salted nuts, white cheeses and freshly baked bread, a light afternoon meal to accompany the lordly talks. The head of the table would be reserved for Lord Paramount Theo Tyrell, should he deem to attend, at his right hand Lord Jason Hewett placed himself, placed across him would be Lord Redwyne or his representative, beside him would sit Lord Hightower and across from him would be sat Lord Cuy, by the side of Lord Jason.

Outside, Hewett men at arms would wait, with their halberds up and swords sheathed, the chamberlain of the castle, Lord Jason's younger brother Jon Hewett, waited by the castle's lowered entrance, ready to guide in the invited guests.

As the 8th moon drew to a close, ravens would fly out from Brandybottom:

Dear [Lord/Lady] of [Keep],

It shall be our great pleasure to once again host you in our halls for a feast at the start of the eleventh moon this year. To share the boons of a productive many years with the noble houses of Westeros is among the highest honors we have. There shall be the typical fare of dancing, lancing, and other competitions the people of the Reach so love.

Patience Conquers All

Ser Axell Flowers, Regent of Brandybottom

Signups

Lord Luceon watched from his tower as the various ravens flew off to keeps around Westeros taking the various proposals with them. It was the first time in a while that he had found his son Selwyn actually agreeing with him. The two of them had constructed the letters together, debating the words that the Maester had penned on to the page, deliberating on the exact Lords to send the letters to.

It seemed a lot to do it in one go but the house had been so isolated for so long that he was making up for lost time. He watched as the last dark winged bird disappeared on the horizon. Such severe birds for such good news, maybe he should ask the Maester to begin training swans to deliver letters.

"You know whilst in captivity you pickup several things, there was this kind old man enslaved since he was a wee lad manage to survive for dozen of years" Tyburn would tell a story whilst cutting some carrots and peeling a potato, then would chuck the ingredients into a hot cauldron set over a makeshift campfire, he'd go onto speak about his time in captivity.

"Slavery, an common norm across the Narrow Sea, only few places like Braavos...Pentos which is controversial itself but say they don't practice still does in their own unique way...What am trying to say is that life should been spent focusing on the brighter side of things"

The marks from his ghiscari master remained upon Tyburn, but he managed to move on from that trauma somewhat.

"My master, not the fat ghiscari shit, but the cooking chef that was passed around like hard salted beef taught me the works, he said that most freedom he ever found was in the kitchen and in food. For the stomach unlocks true joy in the body and soul, I however didn't believe until he showed me...Closest thing I came to witnessing magic"

Tyburn would cut into the rabbit guts and began fixing it to become the evening meal stew.

"A battle nor a war cannot be won on an empty stomach, now please enjoy for this might be the last meal we'll have together"

Tyburn himself would cook for most people, knowing good stew would soothe their spirits and bellies. "Dig in, don't be shy now,"

Tents set up outside of Devil's Rock and the Forces of House Sarwyck was laying siege onto Devil's Rock whose defenders did not disappoint nor its defences.

Tyburn had something in mind in defeating the last remaining DeViles that resided within as their commander, Conrad DeVile, The Last Demon of the Riverfork.

"The end is near. I hope the others made it inside safely on their end." Tyburn wondered if The Mormonts and the motley crew they sent had made it inside of the blasted Rock.