The calm before the storm

Theomore sat atop his black horse, wearing a voluminous garb of light blue silk to ward off the heat, just like the locals, some might even mistake him as Dornish from afar, they certainly would had he been riding a sand steed rather than a black courser, draped as the Marchers had recommended, Theomore had respect for the advice of those who had fought under this sun for hundreds of years.

Halfway between the castle and their own battle lines he stood at the front of various lords and knights of renown under the banners of truce and the three headed dragon, waiting for Lord Wyl, it was, after all, customary to exchange pleasantries before sending hundreds of men to their deaths, offer the defender the chance to spare his people. "
My Lord Wyl."
He greets the man as he arrives. "
My complements on your sally, that was well done, but alas, we have more than enough to replace those losses."
Not to mention the prince on his dragon, but Theomore decides not to indicate whether or not Vhagar will join the battle. He lets out a sigh "
I imagine it is folly to hope that you might be willing to surrender and save the lives of your people?"