The ride down the mountains was not as boisterous before, but the undercurrent of victory still lingering within the party.

Of course, that sense of victory was being hampered by the fact that they had bene ordered to return the Falcon Lord to the edge of his territory, but Ambior gave no heed to the thought. It was all necessary, he knew, for what the magnar had planned, and it was a plan he would do his best to help come to pass.

Hence why he was riding down the mountains with a blindfolded Arryn in tow. Donnahal himself had been convinced to remain behind on the off chance (large chance, actually) that the Andals would slaughter them as soon as they returned the Falcon Lord within reach, and Ambior had offered to take the risk. He had been down there before to negotiate, so it only made sense to let the Andals see a familiar, if hated, face instead of a hated and known one.

However, he still was not putting his fate into the hands of an Andal’s goodwill, so, when the party of a hundred mounted clansmen and their captive arrived in sight of the gates, Ambior tugged on the blindfolded Arryn’s steed and freed his eyes, unbinding him as he did so. Then he jerked his head towards the gates in the distance, before passing a cage with a bird in it.

“Keep to you word, Andal, and your family will not be harmed. Use the bird in the cage should you wish to send a message.”

Ambior could see the gates of the Andal fortress were beginning to open, and judged it was time to go. So, he slapped the hindquarters of the Falcon Lord’s steed, urging it forward towards his Andal kin, before signalling to his retinue that it was time to leave.

And that they did, leaving the Falcon Lord alone and unharmed.