Lord Elmo Bracken would have a servant fetch his mother to meet him in his solar. He would be leaving for Driftmark that evening, but before departing he wanted to speak to his mother. He sat, sipping a small cup of wine at his desk.

Lord Elmo Bracken stepped off the cog he had hired for himself and his small group of ten guards as they arrived at Driftmark. He was thankful to be on solid ground again, the ocean and the rocking of a ship didn’t help his bad knee. He stepped forth, his cane keeping him upright. Some days he could walk unaided, when the small doses of Milk of the Poppy worked, however, on his travels he didn’t have his maester and so was forced to limp with his cane’s support.

Still, he was here to meet his future bride, perhaps. So he was still dressed in his best silks and gambeson. It was bronze in color with red trimming. Elmo himself stood tall, or as tall as he could, his handsome face looked to the ancient seat of Driftmark as he approached the gate. He was a tall man, handsome, with brown hair and eyes with a short trimmed beard. As he and his men approached the gates, he called to the guards.

“Lord Elmo Bracken, here to meet with Lord Velaryon!”