A Song of Ice and Fire - Interregnum (IC/Open)

by **Independent States of Tula** » Mon May 04, 2015 11:12 am

Renly Storm, The Yellow Stag, King's Landing, 0 Days...

As Lord Cerion Lannister was enjoying his two twins in his room Renly Storm was in his office going over his books, some contained ledgers about the various incomes Renly had from whorehouses, inns, and the few other businesses Renly had invested in...however most of them contained archived pieces of information that Renly's network had gathered for him in Westeros. As Renly went over the information a knock on his door alerted him to someone wishing to enter, in came a stunningly beautiful and exotic woman, she was one of Renly's most sought after whores. She hard raven-black hair, emerald eyes, full lips, a curvy body of soft tanned skin, and was from one of Yunkai's pleasure houses.

"The vote has come in." The woman announced as she handed Renly a note.

Renly only needed to glance at the note to know the result...the same one that it had been for years...and inconclusive at that.

Tossing it away with disgust Renly looked to the woman and asked "Lord Lannister is in today, yes?"

The woman smiled slyly as she answered "And with his two favorites as we speak."

Renly nodded before getting up and walking past the Yunkish whore without needing to explain himself as he moved to the room he knew his twins used regularly. Making sure he was presentable in his black jerkin and dark cloth shirt beneath it Renly took a moment before knocking on the door once, twice, then a third time after a moment's pause. It was a knock all his girls (and a few men) knew...it meant Renly was on the other side of the door and needed to come in. Undoubtedly the two girls would cease what they were doing and get up to walk over to the door and open it, when the door did in fact open Renly took a few steps in and closed the door behind him to look at his patron with a smirk that befit the most hated man in Westeros.

"My apologies Lord Lannister for disturbing your...entertainment, I'll ensure that you'll be refunded your coin for this but I'm afraid we need to talk." Renly stated as if speaking to a long time friend.

Auster Baratheon, Outside the Manor of House Targaryen, King's Landing, 0 Days...

Auster was dressed in blood-red robes that befitted him as a Priest of R'hllor, the One True God, however today he was not here to convert but rather to stop a war his God would not want to be fought. Auster knew that his God was truly a God of Peace, Warmth, Light, and Love, and only had His followers resort to the Sword when the Other's grip on men was too strong. Today Auster hoped that the Other was not as strong as it once was during the events leading up to the Second Long Night. Today he carried a note from his blood-father, but he did not serve House Baratheon on this day, instead he was promised this was a letter of peace that could only be delivered by a man of peace and holiness. With his mission clear Auster approached the Manor of House Targaryen in King's Landing and was stopped by the Targaryen guards.

"Halt Priest, what is your business with House Targaryen?" One of the men asked.

"I have come to speak with Rhaegar Targaryen, I am Auster Baratheon, formerly of the House Baratheon and I have a message from Lord Baratheon and a message from the True God. Could you see if your Lord is able to speak with a humble Priest of R'hllor?"

Lord Paramount Davos Baratheon, Practice Yard, Storm's End, 1 Day...

Davos watched his youngest son, Stannis, as he fought against one of the many trained knights in House Baratheon's service. Davos couldn't help but smile at the sight, after all his son was quite the fighter in his hauberk and leather armor, dashing and jumping around the heavily plated knight who tried to catch him with his blunted longsword. However so far it seemed that Stannis was doing better as he moved quickly around the knight with his blunted arming sword which ended the mock fight with a whack at the joint for the back of the knight's knee and sent him to the ground.

"A good show son, but remember it won't be single combat on the actual battlefield, everyone's going to try and take a shot at such a highborn like yourself!" Davos called out to his son as the boy barely grown helped the knight to his feet in his heavy armor, the two parting in a good-nature way.

Stannis approached his father, sweat glistening off his brow as he replied "Then I wished you'd of come here sooner father, you would've seen me fight back three of our guards before the fourth got me in the back of the head."

Davos allowed another small smile upon his bearded face as he replied "Aye, that would've been a sight to see...keep training and you'll be ready for anything they can throw at you on the real battlefield."

Stannis gave a rare smirk at that before suddenly a new voice to the mix interrupted the two, the voice of his mother "Davos, Stannis, I knew I'd find you two here!"

Lyanna Baratheon (nee Lannister) was nearly in tears of anger and clutched a note in her right hand, this distressed both Stannis and his father as Davos replied "My beloved, what troubles you!?!"

"Dany is so scared, she's locked herself in her room and refuses to open the door for even myself, when I asked what troubles her she slid this under the door!" Lyanna explained loudly as she thrust the note to Davos as if it was as hot as the coals in a lit brazier.

Davos frowned as he read the note, when he handed it to Stannis the boy's neutral expression turned to one of fury, it was the note from House Caron...

To lord paramount Davos Baratheon of Storm's End

Greetings, lord of Storms. I write you with a request, the first one in its like from my house to yours. House Caron has stand besides house Baratheon since the Age of Heroes, it is not for nothing that Maester Yandel stated: "Nightsong has been sworn to Storm's End since time immemorial". Our lords Rolland and Bryce have fought on the side of Stannis, our house has given our lands up to remain loyal to Stannis. It is in this light that I ask for a marriage between my son and heir Lyonel Caron and your daughter Daenerys Baratheon. This marriage would further improve the relations between our houses and would secure the loyalty of the Marches towards Storm's End forever. I hope for a positive reply.

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of the Marches, lord of Nightsong

"I don't understand, how does this letter bother Dany? It certainly isn't the first letter asking for her as a bride and it won't be the last." Davos asked Lyanna.

However the answer came from Stannis with his expression a mix of anger and graveness "House Linster..."

Davos glared at Stannis and asked loudly "And what does that cunt, Lord Linster, have to do with this!?! If I had it my way I'd of burnt that traitor at the stake as an offering to R'hllor!"

"He has a Swann for a bride! And the last Swann we had died in our care after she gave birth to Cassana! The only Marcher Lords more powerful than the Swanns are the Carons...and undoubtedly Dany knows you want your Marcher Lords back under your influence and not Linster's." Stannis exclaimed.

Adding in Lyanna stated "You know what he tried to do to her, you know it, you can't send her to him!"

Davos replied "I know what he tried to bloody do, but wine can cloud a man's judgement, that was not the true Lyonel undoubtedly!"

"Does it matter? He tried what he tried and Dany nor I or Stannis have forgiven him for it yet...up until a few moments ago you were in that camp as well." Lyanna pointed out, she could see that Stannis's words had had the inverse effect on Davos as he plotted in front of them, suddenly the lioness that was Lyanna was slowly coming out at the threat to her child.

"Father, there has to be another way, Dany is your daughter, your beloved daughter. You can't just sell her away to the Carons like a pleasure slave from Yunkai!" Stannis pleaded.

"What other way? I need the Marches! Or have you forgotten that most of the families of the men in my Army live within the grasps of the Marcher Lords? If House Linster gains the Marches then they gain the families of my men and if they gain the families then they have hostages that could force them against us!" Davos pointed out.

"I will sooner kill Lyonel then let him touch Dany, father...I agreed to your plan with the Targaryens, I'm willing to do that...but Dany is not willing to be sold to the Carons like I to the Targaryens. Does she mean nothing more than a political pawn to you?" Stannis questioned.

"Stannis is right my Love, we cannot let this proposed betrothal happen...not to him...not without the consent of Dany." Lyanna stated firmly.

Davos looked between the two and bit his bottom lip before he replied "Stannis will duel Lyonel at the Tourney we've planned...if Lyonel wins I'll give his family Dany...if Stannis wins then Dany will choose her own husband. There will be no argument if Stannis loses...do I make myself clear?"

Lyanna was about to protest but a hand on her arm stopped her as Stannis looked to his father and stated "I will not lose...not to him."

With that said Stannis turned and moved as fast as he could in his armor for Daenerys Baratheon's chambers, Lyanna glared at her beloved a few moments before turning and walking away, Davos knew he'd be sleeping in his own study for a while after seeing that look on his lover's face...still he now had a letter to write back so he might as well go to the study now.

Letter to House Caron

To Lord Bryce of House Caron,

Greetings to you and the Blessing of R'hllor upon you Lord Bryce. In answer to your request there has been much resistance by my family to the proposal...however there is good news. House Baratheon is planning to have a Tourney soon, the details of which will soon be revealed in a letter that many Lords will receive within the week. My son and heir, Stannis of the House Baratheon, will duel Lyonel of House Caron. If he wins I've promised that my daughter will choose her own husband...if your son wins then he will have Daenerys' hand in marriage. I wish good fortunes upon your House.

Signed,
Lord Paramount Davos Baratheon of Storm's End

by **Krugmar** » Mon May 04, 2015 11:23 am

Ser Mathis Redwyne
King's Landing, The Red Keep

Mathis made his way into the Throne Room, escorted by two Blue Cloaks, as he was trying to locate where his wife had gone. He was hoping one of the servants might know, as he had no clue as to her whereabouts in the city. He noticed a small group chatting next to the Iron Throne, and bid his escort to stay by the door. He strode over to them, pushing a hand through his long red hair and attempting to look as intimidating as possible. Outwardly few would know how much of a weak man he thought himself to be, as he looked like a younger but just as stern Ryam, though this stern look was from years of dissapointment rather than anger.

Be like Ryam, be strong! he thought to himself, and pushed on ahead. "Your Grace, my Lords, I hear the Council vote was inconclusive? A shame, I am hopeful that the situation can be resolved soon, as is my brother" he said, with a tone as confident he could muster. Perhaps talking to them wasn't the wisest idea, they looked like they were busy, but it was too late now, he had to keep his confidence, that was what Ryam would do.

Ser Desmond Redwyne 'the Knight of Thorns'
Vine Keep, The Arbor

"Keep your sword arm up... no, I said up... up... up!" shouted Desmond as he attempted to teach Ashara how to block and parry to no avail.

"It's no use, the sword is too heavy!" she complained, throwing it to the floor in protest. Nearby Lady Elinor Rowan giggled, causing Ashara to shoot her a glare. "I am good with a bow, I can-" she started, before Robert interrupted.

"You can have the bow cut in half when the knight lunges at you, and you can wish you had listened to your brothers" said Robert, the beast of a man making his way over to his half-siblings.

"Robert!" shouted Desmond, pulling his sibling in for a brotherly embrace. "Lets show these girls how real knights fight" he continued, confidently boasting of his abilities in battle. Robert laughed and grabbed a warhammer from the nearby rack. Desmond ran a finger over his eyepatch, his eye having been lost several years ago in a jousting accident, and swung his sword around a few times in a boastful manner. They charged at each other, Robert brought his warhammer around and crashed it into Desmond's shield, completely ripping it apart. Desmond threw the remains at his sibling, causing him to duck, and kicked him to the floor. He brought his sword down but Robert blocked it easily, grabbed on to Desmond with one hand and pulled him over. He landed with a crash, and both of them started laughing.

"You know you can't beat me brother" said Robert, pulling himself to his feet.

"No, but neither can you beat me" replied Desmond with a great grin on his face as Robert helped him up. He wiped dirt from his armour and gave a puzzled look when he saw Denyse entering the training yard, she looked worried. "What is it sister?" asked Desmond, before being handed two letters.

"Father says that things were heating up in the capital when he left, and urges you to have the Redwyne fleet ready" she said.

Desmond nodded, "He thinks it will come to war?" he asked, realising that he knew the answer already.

"There is an empty throne, and quite a few dangerous and powerful people who all believe they should sit on it. This Council won't last much longer, I'm surprised it has lasted this long already. Our lord Father is embroiled in all of this whether he wants to be or not, he controls both the Redwyne Fleet and the Royal Fleet. We must be ready to stand beside him, I will send word to the other houses in the Arbor to prepare their bannermen" said Robert, before he made his way out of the keep to find a horse. It seemed that he was going to inform them personally, rather than inform them by raven.

"I will make sure that the fleet is ready, begin assigning the crews and captains" promised Desmond, making his way back into the castle with his betrothed, Lady Elinor.

by **Novae Vitae** » Mon May 04, 2015 12:10 pm

Ser Cerion Lannister
The Yellow Stag, King's Landing

"Ah, Lord Renly," Cerion said. He had had enough time to retrieve his red, silken trousers before the door had opened. Cerion grinned at the girls. "I'll just come back another time," Cerion promised, when Renly offered to return his coin. "I'm surprised your girls haven't given me bastards yet."

Cerion leaned against the wall, raising a golden eyebrow. "What is it that you would like to discuss, Lord Renly? Your girls? Quite good, I must say."

Robb Lannister
The Red Keep, King's Landing

"It appears we have attracted a crowd, Your Grace," the dwarf whispered to his queen, so faintly that only she could have heard. Turning to Martyn, Robb took the papers in his outstretched hand, reviewing them.

Tyrion will never pay another tax on gold, nor will any of his lords, Robb thought, looking over the document. The city tax is interesting, though Lancel will be disgruntled. But does this man realize he has taxed Plankytown more? Robb chuckled inwardly, though his face did not change.

"Very well and good, Martyn," Robb replied, folding the parchments into his surcoat. At that, Mathis Redwyne approached, and Robb had to resist a burst of laughter. How many men could happen upon Catelyn today?

"Lord Redwyne, how fair you? We were just discussing a new tax that has been placed," Robb said, with a brusque intent. It would not be hard to turn Reachman against Dornishman, but it never hurt to add fuel to the centuries-old rivalry. "Would you like to see the documents, my lord?" Robb inquired.

As if with a purpose, he took a step forward, conveniently placing himself between the Reachman and the queen, hoping she would realize how he gave her a minute to compose herself.

by **Nuxipal** » Mon May 04, 2015 12:17 pm

Lord Daeron Blackfyre
Hightower Study, Battle Island, Oldtown

Daeron was in his study. He had been there for the last four months. He had become engrossed in a tome which he discovered one day while exploring the labyrinth beneath the Hightower. It was of some mysterious origin, however he had begun to be able to read some of the words which were in the book and was trying to translate the rest. His thoughts kept drifting to Rhaegal, in the makeshift dragonpit on battle island. The Sept wasn't particularly useful here, but it became known as the Dragon's Sept now that Rhaegal was stabled there. However, it had been years since anyone had actually let the beast out of the sept. As he was reading he knew his son and heir was doing the same at the citadel. He laughed to himself as he continued his work.

Jacaerys was obsessed with trying to tame the Dragon. He was an excellent fighter, however, the Dragon of Aegon sat outside the Hightower for the entirety of his life and no one ever was seen attempting to ride it. He sent word for his dinner to be prepared and continued his work.

Ser Jacaerys Blackfyre
The Citadel, Oldtown

Jace was just finishing up his third day of reviewing the Habits of Dragons, which really should be titled 'The Habits of Rhaegal' due to that being the only subject that was observed. While his father was the Lord of Oldtown, Jacaerys had been running the holdings ever since his father took to his study in the Hightower. It was strange to see his father avoiding most everyone in favor of some books that had been there his entire life. On his way back towards Battle Island, a message arrived for him, carried by Harrold Duckfield. "My Lord, a Raven arrived from the Capital this morning with new taxes to help pay for the Grand Council's services. They want five percent of the city earnings as taxes."

Five percent was a huge number for Oldtown. "What do you mean five percent? Well we will send a tenth of that. We will still be sending twice as much as many other cities. Probably several times what cities like Fairmarket and White Harbor will be sending in. I will not bankrupt my house simply because some corrupt lords sit on a special council." As they were approaching the Hightower, they noticed the ships of House Redwyne in the port facilities nearby. "Seven preserve us if Lord Ryam is here to try and win my father over with some new promises. I know he despises my house for taking the Arbor back before he could. Perhaps he will be here to apologize for it all."

The two men continue in to find Daemon already speaking with Lord Redwyne.

Daemon Blackfyre
The Hightower, Oldtown

Daemon was no warrior, and his slight build showed that. He had been named for the founder of House Blackfyre, who was a great warrior. The King Who Wielded the Sword, he was called. Daemon would have no such titles thrust upon him. To be exact, the only thing he may achieve is the Dragon who chose the book. Daemon is smart and extremely well read. Daemon greeted Lord Redwyne and his son as they entered the great hall. "Greetings Lord Redwyne. My father is quite busy at the moment, though I am currently his only son here. Jace is out at the Citadel right now trying to learn about the dragon our grandfather locked up in the Lords Sept."

Daemon walked down from the throne that was at the head of the great hall. Above the throne was the Blackfyre banner on one side, the Hightower Banner on the other and between them the Valyrian Steel Longsword Vigilance on a wooden plaque. A family sword relegated to a wall decoration. "So, I presume you came here for some purpose Lord Redwyne. What is it that you needed to discuss with my father?" As he finishes up he sees Jacaerys enter the hall with Ser Harrold, the Steward.

by **Krugmar** » Mon May 04, 2015 12:53 pm

Lord Ryam Redwyne
Oldtown

Ryam looked at the boy in front of him with obvious disdain, he had the typical proud face that all the dragons seemed to bear, though it was more bearable than looking at the smug faces that the Lannister and Baratheons shoved into the faces of those they saw as lesser. He ran a glove hand through his bristly red beard and looked for a moment at the sword Vigilance, By all the laws of inheritance that sword is mine he thought, though he would have a hard time claiming it.

"I came here for quite a few reasons Ser Daemon, though I have a feeling I will leave without fulfilling most of them" he said, his eyes drawn once again to the sword. He pulled them back, and also pulled Horas to his side, the boy had meekly been hiding behind his father. "I wish for my son Horas to be warded here in Oldtown. I warn you he is quite useless with a sword and book both, but your family seems to have a knack for mastering both. Should he fail in his training, let me know, it is the Nights Watch if he does" he continued, noticing that two new souls had entered the room.

"I had hoped to speak with your lord father, but if he is busy then it shall have to wait for another time" he said, his eyes gazing once again to the sword. He hated the effect it had on him, but it had always wounded his pride that his family had never owned a Valyrian Steel sword, and an upstart family of traitors that he now swore fealty owned two of the damned things.

Ser Mathis Redwyne
King's Landing, The Red Keep

"Oh, no thank you Lord Lannister, I have little interest in taxation and the economy, though I do hope it doesn't place any such taxes on wine or ships. You can imagine my brothers fury" he said, chuckling nervously. "The day fairs me quite well, though my wife has vanished with some of my brothers gold, I had best get that back before she causes any trouble. You wouldn't happen to have seen her, would you?" he asked, hoping that one of them would have seen her.

"Oh, that reminds me" he said sharply, "My brother has drafted the plans for five new custom warships which are a new class called Clippers, smaller than galleys but much faster, which he believes will be of great use against the Ironborn. As you can see they have a reduced hull size, but retain three masts and a large number of oars, though this means that they will not be able to go up rivers like the Ironborn longships. They will be of... considerable cost, but we believe them to be worth it" he continued, handing over several drawings and a tally of costs for the materials, sailors and labour work needed.

by **Ochallan** » Mon May 04, 2015 1:10 pm

Braavos.
Braavos was mighty, and Braavos prospered, with a navy as large as any single authority from Lonely light to Qarth. Its navy was a titan in the west and east, and the city itself grew rapidly, the people happy and prosperous. The Titan and the Arsenal had kept the city safe since the time of Valyria, but Valyria was dead and gone, and the city had to modernize. To this end, Mothys had aimed to construct a ring of forts around the cove of Braavos, castle like structures, armed with ballistae and scorpions, and manned with around 500 soldiers each, commanded by men of the newly created position of Gatemaster, each gatemaster tasked with ensuring the safety of the city.

The forts were begining to be constructed, the plans as follows: 3 20ft tall towers, each topped by a Ballistae, with battlements and a walkway connecting them. The barracks and main interior being dug into the sea wall.
The idea of the forts had been suggested by Morothys son, Mothys, and it was financed by Orothys. The two often worked together on such projects. Security brought trade, and trade brough finance for security. There would be 10 forts, at first at least, manned by 5400 (4 135 units per fort) men, most of Braavos land based military. The men were organized in squads of five, all armed to an exemplary standard. Myrish repeating crossbows, finely forged handaxes and grappling ropes. The idea being for the soldiers to be able to use several squads to leash in a vessel, then to fire on it with the ballistae above, followed by a volley of crossbow bolts. If this was to fail, then the enemy was to be boarded in the confusion, and the mast hacked down with handaxes. Each squad came with one man armed with a heavier, logging axe to this end.

Every 5th squad would be made up of proffesionally trained crossbowmen, armed with windlasses, halberds and heavier armour, designed to remain on the walls and fire on key targets. Every 5 Squads fell under the control of a Watch Officer, and every five watch officers falls under the command of a high bravo, who brought with him two 5 man sqads of Bravos, lighter duelists. Thereby meaning that every 4 High Bravos either fell under a gatemaster or a Quatribune. The Quatribunes reported to a Quaroun (Who commands 1080 men) Who in turn report to the Commander in chief (Mothys Terratho) and the Sealord, bringing Braavos' land based military to a total of 9720 men, not including the Bravos who ranged the streets fighting off crime and anyone who challenged them.

Mothys had planned out the redesign of the military, and it brought him no small amount of joy to see the newly formed squads marching to action around the city, clad in steel and with badges of sky blue, the colour of the city. He had yet to deal with the militaries of the noble houses, and the mainland, which hosted several smaller cities and farming villages. The militia provided by the mainland would be settled in several forts on the border, he thought, it made sense to ward off the other cities. Braavos was strong, but these improvements were expensive. To the city, it was a small dent in the books, to his brother and father, it was a failing on his part, that he was unable to raise his own funds. Life as one of the bastards of the Sealord was a great competition, to win was to be legitimized, and to inherit the family, and the campaign to inherit the city, to lose was to be killed by one of the other players. His father had countless bastards, but only himself, Orothys, Kennalos and the Snake who called herself his sister were acknowledged. Mothys needed to strengthen his position, and he was content as he was. He acted as the main commander of the army, the Houses troops, and a sizeable fortune, along with almost all of the food flowing into the city. The people adored him, all of them fed by his hand. He was powerful. Not enough. But once he could ensure the citizens safety, their feeding and their wealth, then he would be powerful. The whims of the masses controlled the city, and he held the whim of the masses. But the whims of the nobles kept a knife from his neck, and if he were to marry a noble maiden, he would gain nobility of his own merits. He began writing a letter.

To the Lords and Eligible Maidens on Essos and Westeros,
I am in search of a wife of noble birth, from the age of flowering to the age of seven and twenty. We may be married under any god, so long as no sacrifice is needed for the service, and the maiden will be provided for with uptmost care. A wedding feast will be provided, observing any tradition neccesary. I will gladly negotiate on any neccesary points.
-Yours in good faith, Mothys Vorko Terratho, Son of the Sealord of Braavos, Commander in Chief of the army of Braavos.

by **Keznov** » Mon May 04, 2015 1:25 pm

Lord Cedrick Stokeworth
Red Keep, King's Landing
0 Days

Cedrick had been in his study when one of his 'little sheep' had slipped in and given him the results of the vote, all before the council itself had been adjourned. He had quickly made his way to the Red Keep and now his boots could be heard lightly clanging against the hard floors of the entry gallery. He did not really care much for the place, or King's Landing for that matter, but both of them opened up to him the source of what he desired most: power. He had money, he had information, and so naturally to him the last thing he needed to grasp to complete it all was power. As he made his way towards the throne room the armored figure of the Commander of the City Watch, Ser Robar Darkholme, appeared beside him.

"My Lord, I have heard of the results, it is most disa-"

Cedrick would cut him off with a wave of a hand and sigh. "Ser Robar, I knew this was going to happen. Spare me the courtesies."

"As you command."

"I trust it will be news throughout the entirety of Westeros in a matter of days. Poor control of information in this rotten city. I would cut all the tongues off myself if I could, but that is poor manners and those who cannot speak oft make poor informants." He gave a light chuckle at that but momentarily resumed his straight face.

"Do you have any directives for me my Lord?"

"Keep watch over the city. Report to me if anything happens; or if the Master of Laws gives you any special orders. But I will probably know before you do..."

"As you command." With that the Commander stepped back and faded into the background as Cedrick continued his walk to the throne room.

Moments later he quietly slipped in through one of the side doors. Immediately upon entry he noticed the Queen, Master of Coin and acting Master of Ships. He smiled warmly but made no attempts to make it genuine and bowed before the Queen.

"Your Grace."

He looked to the other two and nodded his head. He turned back to the Iron Throne, gazing up at it.

"Rather ugly I must be honest; I can understand the symbolism but why in the Seven Hells did Aegon or any subsequent King sit on it I do not know. I have heard quite frankly that it is quite an uncomfortable piece of metal. I pity the next one to sit on it." He chuckled again, "What is this I hear about new taxes? On towns yes? Rather distasteful do you not think, Master of Coin? Are the poor not in need of their money? And the merchants the incentives to trade here?"

Lord Bronn Stokeworth
Castle Stokeworth, Stokeworth
0 Days

Bronn was lifted by two chambermaids from his bed into a small palanquin. Relaxing into it he let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the two girls, "As healthy as ever my dears. I would like to go down to the Hall; I want to lunch with my daughter."

The chambermaids lifted the palanquin with some struggle but carried it slowly down one level and into the hall, though it would be more accurate to call it a great hall: Bronn had authorized a number of expansions and extensions over the years and it rivaled that of the Red Keeps' in size. Bronn was once again helped into his chair and smiled warmly as his daughter Tanda appeared followed by a few attendants and her eldest son, Bronn the Little Lamb.

"Father, how wondrous it is to see you!"

"And you my child, and you..." He turned to his namesake, "How are my grandchild? I have not seen you in sometime."

The young man smiled and bowed his head respectfully. "I am good my lord; I have been traveling the Crownlands of recent in search of a bridge for myself, unfortunately I have not found one of an acceptable stature yet: to be honest they are all rather plump."

Bronn chuckled. "Your grandmother was plump, plump as the Seven Hells in fact..." He sighed a bit, "But I grew to love her, she was a sweet girl. But enough of that, let us eat...I am starved!"

Tanda and her son seated themselves as servants scurried off and came back with plates covered in assorted foods. Bronn's eyes gazed immediately upon the porridge however and he signaled for a serving maiden to bring it to him and feed him. "I may be able to feed myself, but frankly I do not damn feel like it. I did enough of it in my youth; and fighting too!"

Tanda smiled at her father. "That you did, I heard all the great stories of you from many people. How is my goodmother? Where is she rather?"

Bronn mulled on some porridge before speaking. "Only the Gods know my dear, that woman is off doing something: probably spending my money!" He turned to his grandson, "Maybe it is best you not marry; bloody wives are vampires, they suck your youth and your money!" He chuckled again but looked down, a mixture of sadness and great weariness suddenly washing over him. He brushed the serving maiden away with a swipe of his hand and looked up to the still rising son.

Tanda, sensing her father's mood change, quickly took his hand and smiled. "I am sure Cedrick is making you proud in King's Landing; as you say, he's the Tyrion of our House but with your good looks!" She gave a hearty, but rather faked, laugh. He soon joined her but it was no use: his mood had set in and soon he summoned servants to carry him back to his chambers. He was old and he needed his rest.

by **Novae Vitae** » Mon May 04, 2015 3:51 pm

Robb Lannister
The Red Keep, King's Landing
Day Zero

"I am afraid that I have not, my lord," Robb replied. He gave a dwarfish shrug. "I must say that it makes little matter. Your family has strong ties to House Tyrell, and my family has strong ties to House Tyrell--surely, for the ties we share with House Tyrell, and for the general kindness between us, you would allow me to lend you the necessary funds? Come, we can talk lending and ships while we walk together."

Robb, however, paused briefly. With the approach of Cedrick Stokeworth, he looked back. "The poor are always in need of money, my lord. That is what makes them poor. And as for merchants . . . what does a man prefer more, some gold or no gold? I myself prefer some gold; and, having preferred some gold, now have quite a bit of gold. But the details are not my concern. Lord Martyn here has the laws on his very person, as its."

Robb turned back to Mathis. "Shall we, my lord?"

Ser Gerion Lannister
Near Casterly Rock, the West
Day Zero

Gerion had awoken to the sound of clashing steel, to the hiss of blades and the roar of shields and the clash of cobbles against hooves against the cries of men and the wails of women and the bleating shrieks of children. His eyes had seen red and brown, blood and mud, and the tattered face, the scarred face, the faces cleaved in twain by his foes . . . and his brothers. Oh, yes--he had seen it. For each night, he dreamed of it.

Now he rode back to Casterly. It had been a short scourging this time, and they had only happened upon three bands of bandits. The first two had been easy work, for they had numbered less than ten, and Gerion's thirty men had ridden them down like flies. It had been a different sort of work with the third group, which had numbered above forty, and against which Gerion had actually paused to consider his attack. In doing so, he had waited until the night, and then had fell upon the bandits' camp like a savage. He had not spared their whores, and any child over twelve had been killed as well. Those under twelve had been given to needing farmers, as retribution for damage the bandits had caused.

There could be no mercy insofar as bandits were concerned.

But now Gerion, having conducted his scourging of the lands and hamlets and small villages about the Rock, returned to his home, climbing the harsh slope that returned him to his home with six-and-twenty men remaining. It was an odd thing, how hard these men were. They had charged against ten more men than themselves, yet only four had fallen. Years of riding with Gerion did that, he supposed.

Now, as he returned, he saw a party was leaving. "Serelle?" Gerion called out, in confusion, when he saw that his sister departed. "Serelle?" he repeated, not understanding. Both parties stopped, and in the time it took Serelle to ride forward, Gerion noticed that she had five-and-twenty men riding with her, and all were respectable knights of mild repute.

"Ask father," Serelle replied. Her face was hard, but even in riding clothes she still had a beauty about her. It was not a child's beauty, which had been lost in her times, but it was a wild beauty, so fierce and indomitable that Gerion--had they not been siblings--would have lusted for her. Even in the early hours of the day, her hair still caught the light and trapped the gold of the sun.

"I'll miss you," Gerion said, knowing that another of his family was to depart. It did not matter as to where; all that mattered was that she departed.

Serelle studied him for a moment. Her green eyes, so heavy, so emerald, so alive, did not blink while she looked him up and down. "And I, you," Serelle said. "Goodbye for now, Gerion."

She spurred her horse onward, and Gerion his, and the siblings left each other.

by **Moth-Gar** » Mon May 04, 2015 3:52 pm

Darrik "The Hammer" Morshall, Lord of Castamere, inside of Casterly Rock

Darrik smiled, laughed a bit, then said " My house, House Morshall of Castamere, owes you Lord Tywin. Was not you but Jaime Lannister, brother of the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, that raised my father to be a minor noble house. My father, Gerrad, was loyal to House Lannister even before being given land, and may I say my Lord, he was only a Sworn Sword. My family knows how to fight, especially for you, my family knows and respects loyalty, honor and promises, we do not back down from anyone or anything". He paused for a moment to calm down a bit, but finished his response to Lord Tywin's proposal with " I agree to this statements, to every term. I will lead my men and maybe yours to battle, to victory or to defeat, I take full responsibility for my actions or to my promises, my loyalty will never waver for what your family, your father, did to my family". He finally finished his long response, hopefully honor-sounding enough for Tywin Lannister.

by **Novae Vitae** » Mon May 04, 2015 4:03 pm

Ser Tywin Lannister
Casterly Rock, the West
Day Zero

"Then we are indeed agreed," Tywin said, rising and extending his hand to Lord Morshall. "Your men are free to remain within the keep for as long as they require, as I am sure that they are tired from the journey."

He gave the Lord of Castamere a sharp smile, glad he had secured the boy's loyalty. Joanna would adapt.

by **Moth-Gar** » Mon May 04, 2015 4:14 pm

Darrik "The Hammer" Morshall, Lord of Castamere, inside of Casterly Rock

Darrik shook Lord Tywin's hand and humbly said "My men and I will return tomorrow, but the day is still young, what is Joanna doing? I would like to meet her, if you allow it". He was happy and enthusiastic about the betrothal, but the price of it, that is what Darrik was thinking of. Darrik has sworn his house to the Lannisters, the Lions, but at least he was able to secure a future for his house, just the thought of that, it made him happy.

by **Novae Vitae** » Mon May 04, 2015 4:32 pm

Ser Tywin Lannister
Casterly Rock, the West

"Certainly," Tywin said. "Perhaps it would be best if you changed from your riding clothes, however," Tywin suggested. He clapped, and a servant appeared in the two way. "Please show Lord Morshall to a room where he may change, then escort him to my daughter's room."

Tywin had Lord Morshall escorted to what would be his chamber for the night, to change, then went swiftly to his daughter's room himself. He found Joanna practicing at her knitting with some handmaids, but he quickly had them sent away.

"Father?" Joanna inquired in confusion, but Tywin waved a hand to bring her to silence.

"Joanna, dearest," Tywin said, "listen to me." He closed the door behind the servants, then turned back to his daughter. "I have just betrothed you to Lord Morshall"--Joanna opened her mouth, but Tywin held his hand up--"and he is on his way to see you."

"What?" Joanna shouted. Tywin held up a hand, eyebrows raised. "What?" Joanna asked again, rising to her feet. She was a tall girl, a quarter shy of six feet, but that still placed her a foot below Darrik Morshall. But that made no matter.

"Listen to me, Joanna," Tywin said. "We will soon be at war. When we are at war, Darrik has agreed to lead the armies in the van. Do you know how hard it is to survive the van? He will inspire terror unless he is felled, but if he is felled then his name with still inspire terror. Calm yourself, Joanna. Please him for now. You are only betrothed."

Joanna looked at her father, her face moving from rage to shock to confusion to amusement. A smirk spread over her lips. "As you will, Father," she said. Tywin smirked back at her, then departed, and Joanna remained, waiting for Lord Morshall.

by **Givious** » Mon May 04, 2015 5:04 pm

Manor of House Targaryen, King's Landing
0 Days

The men at arms shifted nervously, although they were not scared of Auster it was his faith that sent a shiver down many spines. Stories of the magic the Red Priests commanded had spread far and wide, everyone knowing the terror they could impose. However from behind them stepped Ser Maegor, Rhaegar's captain of the guard. The man was slightly larger than the normal man, but was built like a fortress. He nodded to the men, and moved his head in a manner that beckoned Auster to follow. Maegor wasn't known for speaking, instead letting his steel speak the words needed. He led Auster through the courtyard, to his left Gold Cloaks and to his right members of the faith militant, who seems to grip their weapons tighter as they saw the Red Priest. As they entered the manse Auster sees a dragon skull hung from the ceiling, massive in size it almost looked like it was breathing fire at those who entered the room. On the walls were paintings of various Kings and Queens, members of the family. As they entered main hall Auster saw a number of minor nobles seated around the table, at the head is Brandon Beesbury, Jacerys Targaryen, and the elder dragon himself. Rhaegar holds up his hand in a signal for everyone to stop talking, and everyone turns to see the priest.

"Welcome, Priest." Rhaegar greets the young man, his voice echoing his old age. He looks at his legs, then back at the priest. "I would stand to welcome you but.... I apologize. Please, take a seat... Again I am going to apologize but I don't know much of your faith-- Would you like some wine or water? What brings you to my manor this morning?"

by **Independent States of Tula** » Mon May 04, 2015 7:25 pm

Renly Storm, the Yellow Stag, King's Landing, 0 Days...

Renly's smirk did not disappear as Lord Cerion spoke, when he finished Renly replied "Please spare me the formality of 'Lord' we both know I am no Lord...merely a Bastard with a father who cares far less for his bastard than you yours I've heard many a time. As to what I need to speak to you about...I heard the vote was once more inconclusive...and that two new taxes will be imposed to help in maintaining the Grand Council's lifestyle. This will not go down well with the Lords of Westeros...they are more likely to raise armies against your council than pay them the extra coin. If a King is not chosen soon then I'm afraid you may find yours and you bastards heads on spikes...thankfully I am here to discuss a way that not only will keep your head where it is but make you and your children very much secure in your futures...interested in hearing out the most hated man in Westeros?"

Auster Baratheon, Targaryen Manor, King's Landing, 0 Days...

Auster gave a warm smile to the Lords as he took the offered seat and spoke "Please my Lord, no need to apologize, I have had far, far more hostile welcomes than this...in fact this may be my warmest welcome in a month and for that I thank you for your hospitality. As to your question of what to drink...wine will be fine, thank you my Lord."

Looking among the men gathered at the table Auster focused back on Rhaegar as he stated "If at a later time you'd like I could very well educate you on my Faith's beliefs, I could even convert you if you like what I have to say...but for now I must bring to your attention my reason for being here."

The conversion part had been a jape but all after it was deadly serious as Auster explained "I have been all throughout Westeros, I have spread the faith, and protected the innocent as my God commands of me. Just two days ago I killed three bandits with my sword which I have left in a safe place for now, another two with flames I conjured in my own hands, and their leader I burned as an offering to R'hllor. That was the least troublesome sight I'd come across in a year...the smallfolk are hurting under the callous rule of the Council and the war that is on the horizon will kill thousands of innocents. This is unacceptable to my God, that so much blood should be spilled for a chair of metal, and that is why I bear with me both my message and the message of the family I swore off years ago. My message is this...please do everything in your power my Lord to avoid this senseless bloodshed on the horizon...do it not for my God or your Gods but do it for the sake of peace and the lives that would be saved.

"And here is the message I was asked to deliver beside my own."

The last sentence was said as Auster reached into his cloak and handed Rhaegar a letter with the unbroken seal of House Baratheon.

To Lord Rhaegar,

If you are reading this then in most likelihood my son Auster is sitting across from you speaking about his and my God's will for peace. Please understand he is not a Baratheon anymore and as such he does not know the contents of this letter. Now, onto the important shit, pardon my writing. First off I'd like to see if a jointly hosted Tourney would be possible in King's Landing with equal funding from both our houses, the sooner we can host it the better so we may beat the coming war to the punch. If this is not possible then consider this an invite to the Tourney that will be hosted in Storm's End instead.

Secondly, I would like to extend to you this peace offering. Give up your claim to the Iron Throne and I will offer to you my heir, Stannis, as a husband to any maidens in your family that you deem suitable so that they may be a Princess and later when Stannis takes the Throne...a Queen. With this agreement we will have brought our families together in a bond that once conquered all of Westeros.

Finally I have one last offer to this peace offering but I fear to put it in writing and would appreciate the gesture if you'd wait until we meet personally so that I may properly give voice to the proposal. Please send your reply on the Tourney as soon as possible...the peace offering can be decided upon once we meet face to face so you may think on it wisely.

Signed,
Lord Davos

by **Moth-Gar** » Mon May 04, 2015 7:52 pm

Darrik "The Hammer" Morshall, Lord of Castamere, inside of Casterly Rock

"Thank you my lord, I'll get dressed immediately" he said humbly, then the servant escorted him to his chamber, which was in good condition. A good view of the outside, an oak table in the corner with a chair with both having the sign of the Lannisters, then the bed and wardrobe. "Please give me a moment if you can" he politely asked the servant, who then bowed and exited the room. He opened the wardrobe to see a variety of clothes, mainly suited or for the liking of the Lannisters. He removed his armor, revealing his muscles in his arms and shoulders. He pulled down his pants, making him fully nude, then picked a leather garment suited for indoor purposes, although it was slightly tight for his taste, he won't complain. Within a few minutes, the Black Leather garment over the blue shirt covered his upper body and later wore Dark Blue pants to match his upper body clothes. He looked at the mirror and saw it was thankfully a body fit for him.

He walked out of the room and saw the servant waiting for him by the door, and later humbly asked "May we see Lady Joanna?". The servant quickly nodded and led him to Joanna's room, where Darrik initially hesitated but composed himself before entering the room. He entered with discipline and good manners and saw Lady Joanna was waiting for him, where she looked at him and he looked at her. An awkward moment of silence went by, but Darrik beat his nervousness and said "Good day Lady Joanna, may I ask how you fare today?"

by **Nuxipal** » Mon May 04, 2015 8:12 pm

Lord Jacaerys Blackfyre
The Hightower, Oldtown

Walking in to find his brother was trying to treat with Lord Redwyne alone wasn't surprising. "Daemon, go up to Father's study and notify him that Lord Redwyne will be leaving a ward for him. He is likely eating his evening meal at this hour." Jacaerys was the wielder of the family's namesake. The Valyrian Steel sword at his hip was the symbol of his actual position. Sure, his father was the Lord of the Hightower, Voice of Oldtown and a half dozen other titles, however, Daeron rarely left his study. It had been a recent change and it wasn't expected that many people knew of it just yet. Sighing and listening to his elder brother, Daemon went to the stairwell and began ascending. After he was safely out of earshot, Jacaerys continued with Lord Redwyne.

"I apologize for my younger brother and for my father's absence. He hasn't left the upper portions of the tower in months. I fear that he may become a recluse as the Last Hightower had become. Horas is more than welcome in our home here. If you had more to discuss with my father, I'd be more than happy to hear what you have on your mind. My father has left the official business to myself so that he may focus on his.. studies." He motioned from Horas to Ser Harrold next, "Horas Redwyne, this is the Steward of the Hightower, Ser Harrold Duckfield. He will show you to where you will be sleeping and help you get used to the daily schedule that the castle is run under." Waiting until they left so it was just him and Lord Ryam in the great hall Jacaerys spoke up. "Aside from your son staying. There has to be something else on your mind. I know you aren't the biggest supporter of my family."

Aegon Blackfyre
Practice Yards, The Red Keep

"Aegon I want you to go to the training grounds, you need the practice." Aegon was always practicing, he used to want to become a Kingsguard like his uncle Viserys. However, that changed in the last few years has he has seen the realm go without a King leaving the Kingsguard out to dry. No one to guard except the widow of the former King. Lord Arryn had always been kind to him and he had lived with the Arryns for the last five years of his life. He learned to fight with longsword, lance, mace, and bow. He was proficient horseman, and with his sixteenth nameday approaching he was hoping for a gift that would be greater than the last year's gift. The previous year he was given a shield, it was Red with a Black Dragon flying above the Moon of an Arryn Sigil. "Yes Lord Arryn." He replied smartly. He followed the path down to the Practice Yards and was quick to find a partner to practice with.

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Viserys Blackfyre
Practice Yards, The Red Keep

He saw his nephew enter the yard where he was drilling some of the Red Keep's garrison of Gold Cloaks, or Storm Guard as they called themselves. "Aegon, come here." As the young lad approached he noticed that the boy was getting taller and his continual practice had strengthened his arms greatly. "I would take it that your Guardian sent you here to practice? If so I'll help you out. Don't want you growing soft in those mountains so far away from the rest of the world. Your father would be greatly disappointed." He and Aegon started a practice fight. "Have you heard anything from him recently? Last time I was updated about his.. condition.. he was keeping to himself." Aegon nodded, "Jace sent me a raven last week. My father named him Lord Regent of the Hightower and Oldtown so that he can focus on studying that book he found in the vaults."

The two went back and forth with their practice. It isn't everyday that the two got to have a conversation. Nearly an hour when by before Viserys brought up the topic of Aegon's nameday. "You are six and ten in a week aren't you?" Nodding the squire said, "I am, I had hoped long ago to become a Kingsguard like you, but..." Viserys smiled and patted his nephew on the shoulder. "It is ok. I understand. It is dreadfully boring right now. We have a rotation on who protects the queen.. that's it. Perhaps I'll go see you great uncle Rhaegar at some point today. I know that he might have some insight of how to break this stalemate."

by **Alotopia** » Mon May 04, 2015 9:06 pm

Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell
Highgarden

"New taxes? For the Grand Council to maintain its lifestyle?" Mace said mockingly to Oberyn as he was passed the letter, "If they think they can levy taxes, let us see them raise an Army to enforce them!" He let out a bellowing laugh as he threw the message in the fire... "I shall send word to our Brother-in-Law, Lord Tywin Lannister, that war is coming... But more importantly, a letter to our cousin Alena in King's Landing. She is betrothed to Lord Arryn of the Vale and we need her to ensure we have his support... The Master of War would be a powerful ally and increase the power of the Reach in King's Landing... The Master of Ships is already a Reachman, and the Master of Coin is a Lannister. Our power and wealth increases day by day, it is only a matter of time..."

To: Lord Tywin Lannister

Lord Lannister, I wish to meet with you to discuss our future business ventures between our Kingdoms. We will have to find a way to overcome these new taxes... Goldengrove sounds like an excellent meeting place, let me know...

Lord Mace Tyrell

Mace tried to be as cryptic as possible so that if the message was lost, it would look harmless...

by **Givious** » Mon May 04, 2015 9:29 pm

Manor of House Targaryen, King's Landing
0 Days

Rhaegar takes the letter in his hands and hands it to Brandon who breaks the seal for him. Taking the letter back Rhaegar stares at it, pulling it closer to his face until he sighs, handing it again to Brandon. Brandon reads the letter aloud to everyone in the room. After the letter is read Rhaegar nods his head for a minute, finally motioning to a servant to step forward. He brings him parchment and quill, and Rhaegar orders the writing of a return letter.

Lord Davos,

I would be more than willing to cosponsor a tourney here in King's Landing, as a sign to the low born that there is not to be a war.

On the other subject we will have to discuss it on a later date.

Sincerely,

Rhaegar Nymeros-Martell Targaryen

Taking the letter Rhaegar seals it with a black wax, pressing his personal sigil into it. Rhaegar then reaches out, Brandon helping him stand up and a servant handing him a cane so he can walk. The rest of the nobles stand around the table and Rhaegar walks over to Auster, handing him the letter.

"I will have to have you educate me later on the true god, however now I need you to send this to your father." Rhaegar pats him on the shoulder. "One thing before you go, never get old." Rhaegar chuckles as he leaves the manse, he enters a carriage brought around by pole bearers, and directs them to the Dragon Pit.

by **Nasaira** » Tue May 05, 2015 5:01 am

KINGS LANDING, TYLAR ARRYN

Plotting and scheming was a daily activity in the capital. This is where men and women came to try their luck at winning allies, but most ended up making enemies. Tylar Arryn the master at arms of the small council has been in the capital for a year serving his post, but he had yet to start playing the game. A year is a long time, in that time he had seen the lack of progress that the grand council had presented the people of the realm. It was surprising to him that the former queen hadn't taken power herself yet at least if she did there would at least be a ruler that the people could rally around.

Yes a year is a long time in that time at court Tylar had learned many things. The most important lesson that he had learned was to distrust every one. The few acts of violence that he had witnessed was to do to the unlucky fool believing he had friends. But the truth be told nobody has friends in Kings Landing, the only one's that a man can trust is family and that is how you deal alliances in this dangerous place. Far too long had Tylar sat on the small council with no progress now was the time to act and no to sit by while the grand council was unable to make a decision.

But who to support that is the question that plagues everyone playing the game. Who would be the best candidate to win and that can elevate your statues even more. Of course this was the question that dishonorable asked, all that they cared about was what reward could be gained from supporting a certain claimant. But Tylar was raised in the old ways where succession law was set in stone. Rhaegar Targaryen was the rightful heir and it was him that should be placed on the Iron Throne.

But almost no one else would support that claim, to most of the nobles Rhaegar Targaryen was a frail and fragile man. But to Lord Arryn he saw the blood of the dragon that ran through his veins.

Lord Arryn sat in his study in the Red Keep staring at the flame on the lit candle on his desk almost in a trance. In his right hand he held a quil and parchment lay on the desk in front of him. Finally he brought himself back to reality and began to write a short letter to Rhaegar Targaryen.

My Grace,
Dangerous times are about to fall upon us and with the inaction of the grand council I fear that the nobles will no longer wait for them to vote on a new king. The Iron Throne rightfully belongs to you and to your family, you have several supporters all you would have to do is rally them to your banners. I fear all of the realm will be torn apart if no one acts. You have the blood of old Valayria , the blood of the dragon that runs through your veins. If you speak the people will listen. I beg you my grace to act, you have the power to prevent any possible war.

Sincerely your servant,
Lord Tylar Arryn

The letter was sent by raven.

by **Old Tyrannia** » Tue May 05, 2015 5:48 am

Tytos Stark
Winterfell, the North

There was a loud clang of metal striking metal as Osric Stark, son of Lord Rickon Stark, brother of Lord Alistair, brought his tourney blade down towards his sparring partner, Edwyn Locke. Locke's own blade blocked the blow, and Osric pulled back, assuming a defensive position and circling. Edwyn smiled and mirrored Osric's position, following the older man's movements. From where he was sat on the edge of the courtyard, Tytos Stark, the son and heir of the Lord of Winterfell, watched wide-eyed. Osric stopped for a moment, smiled and lowered his blade slightly. Edwyn cautiously did the same, but just then Osric darted forward and swung his sword, knocking Edwyn's straight out of his hand. He brought the sword up to the young Locke's chest, and poked him gently with it.

"Dead," he said with a rueful smile.

"That was a dirty trick, my lord," Edwyn said in mock anger, but it was clear from where Tytos was sitting that the young lordling was struggling not to smile. Dropping his own blade, Osric clasped his hand on Edwyn's shoulder and let out a hearty laugh. Edwyn soon joined in. Tytos simply smiled. He enjoyed watching his Uncle Osric spar, and he liked Edwyn, who was kind and funny and never looked at the boy with pity. At eight-and-ten, Tytos was unable to walk, confined to the wooden chair with wheels his father had ordered built for him. He could get around the castle by spinning the large rear wheels, and the chair even had a breaking mechanism he could use to stop if he started rolling down a slope. But it was embarrassing and belittling, for him and for his father, for which Tytos was ashamed. He owed his life to his Uncle Stannis and his father's friend Jon Fenn, who had saved him from the lizard-lion that had crippled him; but he sometimes thought it might have been better if he had died that day, than to live like this. His father could have had other sons, fit sons who could succeed him. He still might, but Tytos would be in the way, and he knew that as cold as Alistair Stark could be, he would never put aside his eldest son in the succession. It was a matter of honour, tradition, and a father's love.

"And how is the young lord today?" asked Edwyn, walking over to where Tytos was sat. "Have you been practising your swordplay?"

"Yes," answered Tytos honestly. He couldn't fight on foot, but he could ride a horse, thanks to the special saddle his father had ordered made based on a similar one designed for his father's Uncle Brandon by Tyrion the Imp some fifty years ago or more, and his father had made sure he trained regularly to fight on horseback. He particularly enjoyed jousting. He remembered the first mock-tourney his father had organised after coming to Winterfell, just for the young sons of his lords. The Umbers, the Thenns, the Mormonts, Cerwyns, Flints, Ryswells and Manderlys... They were all there. Tytos had ridden against five opponents that day; in the first four matches, he had been victorious, knocking his opponents from their horses. He remembered the crowd cheering. His fifth opponent, though, was Eren Snow, Tytos' bastard cousin and the son of his Uncle Stannis. He never knew why his father had permitted his brother's bastard to compete, but Tytos had been glad; Tytos and Eren were fast friends. But as the horses rode towards each other, Tytos' lance had missed it's mark, and he himself was hit by Eren's own blunt lance and knocked from his horse to the ground. He remembered trying not to sob as he lay there helpless on the ground, unable to get up himself, having to be carried away by three of his father's men. He remembered the whispers, one in particular- "why'd he have to be so rough?" It was then he realised all the other riders had gone easy on him. His father had watched passively from the sidelines, his face expressionless, his eyes betraying no sign of emotion.

That night, though, as Lord Alistair feasted his lords bannermen in the great hall of Winterfell, Tytos sat besides him at the lords' table, he turned to his son and said, simply, "you were brave today, Tytos. I was proud." Tytos was ecstatic; those few words from his father made up for all the whispers and the looks of pity and the jests. He was never ashamed or afraid of losing again. Three days later, his lord father gave him a male direwolf pup, and albino like Lord Jon Stark's direwolf Ghost. It was a gift for his bravery. He named the pup Snowfire, and they had been inseparable ever since. Snowfire lay by him now, panting and receiving strokes from his master. Edwyn Locke eyed the wolf carefully, then reached out to pat him on the head.

"Good wolf," he said with a grin. "Well, then, Tytos, perhaps you and I should spar later. You need a real fighter to spar against if you ever expect to be any good, not just Wet Alis."

Wet Alis was Alistair Fenn, Jon Fenn's son. He and Tytos were brought up together and they were friends of a sort, though deep down Tytos disliked him. Everyone called him "Wet Alis" because he came from the marshes and acted like a little girl.

"That'd be great," replied Tytos. His uncle was coming over to join the conversation when the gates of Winterfell were flung open. In rode a column of horse, at its head Lord Stark himself on a grey stallion, a dark fur cloak billowing behind him clasped with a silver broach in the shape of a wolf, a round fur cap on his head and dark grey doublet and trousers. Lord Alistair was an imposing man, over six foot with a dark beard flecked with grey, and pale blue eyes like those of the White Walkers in his Great Uncle Jon's tales of the Long Night. The Lord of Winterfell had his stallion trot smartly up to where his son was watching, and Edwyn Locke fell to his knees.

"My lord Stark," he said.

"Brother," said Osric.

"Father," said Tytos. Lord Alistair ignored the others, focusing on his son. He said, "today's hunt proved unsuccessful. Tomorrow we ride again. You will accompany me, Tytos. I have a desire to see how your riding has progressed."

"Yes, father," replied Tytos. Lord Alistair nodded. Before he could move on, however, Osric said, "brother, I was asked by Maester Jaime to ask you to seek him out when you returned from the hunt. It seems there's a raven from Stannis."

"Very well. I will see Maester Jaime once my horse is stable. Perhaps the thrice-blasted council has finally made its bloody mind up."

Lord Alistair turned and rode for the stables.

Eren Snow
Winterfell, the North

The only son of Stannis Stark watched his cousin, Tytos, from the window of his chambers in the Bell Tower. The older boy was alone in the courtyrard watching their Uncle Osric and Edwyn Locke practice their swordplay. Eren longed to join him, but Lady Stark had ordered Eren confined to his chambers after he had climbed the New Tower again, against her repeated orders. The New Tower was the tallest tower in Winterfell; it had been the Broken Tower, once, but after Winterfell was put to the torch by the Boltons Jon Stark had rebuilt the entire castle, including the long-abandoned tower. Eren knew that Lady Lyra, a basically kind woman who he suspected pitied more than looked down upon him for his bastardry, was simply afraid he'd fall and harm himself, but it made him no less bitter. At five-and-ten years, he was too old to be climbing around anyway, she told him. He should be pursuing more manly diversions such as swordplay and hunting. She even provided him with a small allowance to visit town, although the winter town was virtually abandoned in summer. But the truth was, he had no friends to spend time with. None but Tytos, who could do none of those things. There was Wet Alis, but Wet Alis and Eren hated one another, and as kind as Lady Lyanna was to him she still never treated him as a true equal. His only real friends were Tytos and his wolf, Theon.

Lady Lyra had once suggested to her husband that the direwolves should be kept in the kennels and not allowed indoors. Lord Alistair, who was always accompanied by his three wolves Frost, Ice and Thaw, looked at her as if she'd suggested that their children be kept in the stables and the horses in the kitchens. Theon was thus with Eren now, lying on the boy's bed asleep. Lord Alistair did not allow the wolves to sleep on the children's beds, but Eren was not Lord Alistair's child and so Lord Alistair did not care. But the Lord of Winterfell was not entirely without fondness for Eren; it was he who had given his bastard nephew Theon in the first place. Eren remembered the day he had knocked Tytos off of his horse. He felt ashamed afterwards, but he'd only done as Tytos asked. "Don't treat me any differently to the others," the Stark heir had said; "I don't want special treatment." He'd done so, ridden as well as he could, not held back for Tytos' sake, and he'd knocked the young Stark off his horse. He remembered his horror as he watched Tytos writhe on the ground, unable to get up, and the whispers and accusing glares of the crowd. "Bastard," they whispered. "Why'd he have to be so rough?" Lord Stark had just watched emotionlessly from his seat. Eren was sure he'd be disciplined for that, and sure enough, both the master-at-arms Daryn Tallhart and Lady Lyra had whacked him around the ear. But three days later, his uncle had walked up to him and Tytos in the courtyard, just as Eren had finally come up to apologise to his friend only for Tytos to say there was nothing to be sorry for. He'd given Tytos a direwolf pup, an albino with snow white fur and red eyes.

"He's a reward for your bravery," said Lord Alistair. Delighted, Tytos thanked his father profusely named the pup Snowfire. Eren congratulated Tytos on the gift when Lord Stark turned to him.

"I've another. This one is for you. For treating my son like a Stark of Winterfell ought to be treated, lizard-lions be damned." To Eren's wonder, he'd been handed a small, grey direwolf pup.

"I'll name him Theon," he'd said quietly. "After King Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf. Thank you, my lord." Lord Alistair said nothing, but his lips curved up slightly into what might have been a smile.

Just then, Eren's attention was brought back to the present. Lord Alistair Stark was returning from the hunt. He rode in proudly on his grey stallion, and then spoke to his son and brother for a moment. Eren knew there was a letter waiting for the lord. Ignoring his instructions, he raced out of the door and down the tower's steps, Theon bounding after him. He ran out into the courtyard.

"Eren," said Osric with surprise. "I thought-"

"Quick," said Tytos. "Father's received news from King's Landing. Let's go see what it is!"

Osric watched in bafflement as Eren obediently pushed Tytos' wheelchair through Winterfell to the Maester's Tower. They arrived before Lord Alistair got back from the stables. As he approached the tower, he looked at them.

"Come, then," was all he said. Excitedly, they followed. Eren liked to hear word from his father, although he'd hardly seen him more than a handful of times in his whole life. He was always there when letters from King's Landing were opened. His father had never asked about him. Tytos simply wanted to be there when the new king was announced at last, whenever that would be. There was a special pulley system inside every tower in the castle now, installed by order of Lord Alistair, to allow Tytos to rise up to the top of the tower in his chair. Lord Alistair pulled and bell once Eren had manoeuvred Tytos into place. At the top of the tower, men pulled on ropes to hoist Tytos up the stairwell. Eren was left to ascend alone with his uncle. They walked up the steps in silence. When they reached the top, Maester Jaime- a thin, balding man- was waiting with Tytos and an unopened letter.

"Open it, then," the lord commanded before Jaime could welcome him back. The maester obeyed. He read the contents aloud.

"To my lord brother, Alistair Stark of Winterfell," the letter began. "I hope that all is well in the North. I have been well. The Grand Council met again today. The vote went the same as always, tied four ways. Lord Rhaegar, Hand of the King, continues to shun the Tower of the Hand and resides at his family's manse in King's Landing. There is talk of a new tax being introduced to support the Grand Council's living arrangements. The air in the capital is tense, and there are those who whisper war approaches. I can say nothing more for now; I will keep you informed of further developments. Yours always, Stannis of House Stark."

"It appears we remain kingless," said Lord Alistair. "Though the Grand Council has taken it upon itself to act like a king, making new taxes. I wonder what the Lords of the Realm will have to say about that."

"The Grand Council rules in the place of a king, until a new king is named, my lord," said the maester.

"Their job is to name a king, not become one, Maester Jaime. A task at which they have singularly failed." He turned to his son. "I'm sorry, Tytos. You seem to have come all the way up here for no good reason. Lower him down, boys. Eren, I know you're not supposed to be here. If you are swift, you might be back in your quarters before Lady Lyra notices." Finally, Lord Alistair turned to the maester again. "I am going to send the Grand Council a brief letter to spur on their decision. We'll see if it makes a difference."

Eren left, as commanded. He never heard what the contents of the letter were.

To the Grand Council of Westeros, Lords Regent of the Seven Kingdoms,
My lords,
I am informed that the Grand Council has met recently and once again failed to come to a decision on the succession to the Iron Throne. In light of the continued indecision of the Grand Council, as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North I am obliged to speak out. The realm is in need of a king. If the Grand Council is unable to fulfil its purpose in the selection of a new king, and soon, I may have no choice but to take extraordinary actions to secure the stability of the realm. I write to warn you that the Grand Council's rule will not be tolerated indefinitely, in the hope that you redouble your efforts to select an adequate heir to the Iron Throne.

I wish you the blessings of the Old Gods and the New,
Alistair of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North

by **Diliath** » Tue May 05, 2015 6:58 am

Bryce 'Greybird' Caron, 2 days, the Red Keep, King's Landing

Bryce heard the knocking on the Door with relief, as it was his servant returning with the letters and reports from that day, something Bryce was already waiting for, unable to do anything else. The first letter Bryce opened told about a positive reaction from lord Aran Selmy to his marriage proposal. The man just wanted to see Pearse before betrothing him to his daughter. Bryce wrote back that he would send Pearse as fast as possible and he made a note that he had to prepare Pearse's attitude for his visit to Harvest Hall.

To lord Aran Selmy, lord of Harvest Hall

I'm honoured to hear that you accepted my offer. I'll send Pearse to Harvest Hall as fast as possible. I hope he will please you and your daughter and I hope for a fruitful future for the two youths and our two houses.

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of Nightsong, lord of the Marches, protector of Summerhall

He sealed the letter and took the next one. The next message was from house Aelör and it pleased Bryce mostly as he needed to give support to house Aelör anyway to confirm his plans, so that the lord of Blackhaven asked it himself was a great thing.

To Lord Shoryn Aelör, lord of Blackhaven

As my vassal, ally and friend can I say that you will receive all necessary help from house Caron in your war against the bastards of Wyl. Just inform of the time you are planning to act and tell me your plan and 5000 Caron men will stand ready to support you. Our houses are connected by vows and friendship, I don't take this lighty and for that can you always count on house Caron.

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of Nightsong, lord of the Marches, protector of Summerhall

With this had Bryce dealt with the letters from other Marcher lords but he decided to send a letter to the remaining friendly Marcher lord, Ormond Peake, in order to secure that alliance and support.

To lord Ormond Peake, lord of Starpike

I write you to warn and inform you, my friend. I want to inform you abut the fact that your son makes great progress as squire in Nightsong. He will be an heir to be proud on and we do anything to help him getting better. I also want to warn you, both about things you propably already know and things you propably don't. At first do I want to tell you that the voting of a king has failed again. The tension grows my friend and I feel the taste of war in the air. It is for that that I advise you to keep your army ready as we live in unsure times and things can go fast. I also want to inform you that the tension between house Wyl and house Aelör grows and that will mean another conflict for house Caron that has sworn to help Blackhaven. I hope for your help when war with Wyl starts. Remember, we, Caron and Peake, stand together, since times immemorial and all times to come.

Also, how does my sister Elyse do?

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of Nightsong, lord of the Marches, protector of Summerhall

The next letter suprised Bryce, it was a letter turned to all lords of Westeros from the son of the sealord of Braavos -about Bryce's agents had told him several things-, asking for a marriage. If the marriage would bring alliance could it prove very useful in the future and Bryce decided to reply, altough he knew that his minor house would certainly be no first choice.

To Mothys Vorko Terratho, Son of the Sealord of Braavos, Commander in Chief of the army of Braavos.

A message carrying a request for a marriage with a young, noble Westerosi maiden has reached me and I am willing to answer positively to the request as I have nothing good will for your city and family, still, are noblewomen in Westeros also important for keeping p alliances with other houses, and with sending my daughter Cyrenna to Braavos would I lose alliance possibilities that need to be replaced. It is for that that I request that an alliance between our houses and between your fathers rule and mine will be sealed together with the marriage. If you and your father are willing to enter an alliance with house Caron, about which terms will be discussed in Braavos, am I willing to offer you my daughter Cyrenna as bride.

I'm awaiting your answer with excitement

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of Nightsong, lord of the Marches, protector of Summerhall

The next paper the servant handed him was a letter from lord Davos Baratheon. It was a letter that made Bryce both happy, intrigued and annoyed. Annoyed because it was no clear answer and no yes, happy because he was sure Lyonel would prove himself worthy at the tourney like he always did and intrigued because there needed to be quite a family disagreement if Davos was willing to risk the Marches. If Lyonel would lose from Stannis, a man about who Bryce did not know much -something he would soon change-, would Bryce ally himself with lord Linster of Tarth who was known for his not very pro-Baratheon attitude and a powerful position in the Stormlands, but at first was a letter to lord Davos needed, as was the information about the location of the tourney.

To Lord Paramount Davos Baratheon of Storm's End

Seven Blessings upon you, Mylord. Your message is clear and I'm sorry for any family troubles my message has caused, that was of course not the intention of it. I'm pleased that you still open a possibility to continue the marriage, and I consider the tourney a good way to decide it. May I ask when and where you plan to host the tourney, just in Storm's End or in a place like King's Landing? I wish your house also much fortune.

signed

Bryce Caron, lord of Nightsong, lord of the Marches, protector of Summerhall

While Bryce sealed the message was he becoming happier with the tourney with every moment, it would be a good way to present house Caron and the good fighters it contained at the moment. Bryce was looking forward to all things that could be established by meeting all the attending lords during the tourney. Another adantage was the fact that he could separate his brother Gawen, a good (tourney) knight from his scheming and intrigueing wife. The last message was from Nightsong and told of the return of Gwyneth Yronwood, a great fact as Bryce plans within the Red Mountains were now ready to start. Bryce took his quill and paper in order to write a letter to Nightsong to inform his family of all new happenings that had occured.

Letter to Nightsong still WIP

by **Elepis** » Tue May 05, 2015 9:12 am

Docks of King's Landing, King's Landing

"Lord" Martyn Sand, Master of Laws, the "Sand Snake"
Two days

Twenty Martell household guards lined the docks of King's Landing, behind them stood another twenty Gold Cloaks, between them they had cleared a pier of ships and people, making way for the two galley's pulling in to the harbour. On the masts of the galleys flew the spear pierced sun of House Martell on a golden field and on their sides were painted the names Princess Elia and Godsgrace. The oars of the two galleys plowed through the waves of the Blackwater Rush and on the decks of the two ships stood another fifty Martell guards stood, the sun glinting of their spear tips and metal shields as the galley's pulled in to dock at the stone pier.

Two men holding the banners of House Nymeros-Martell stepped of the galley Princess Elia, followed by a beautiful woman, who's raven hair braid fell across her shoulder and around her voluptuous breast. The woman smiled at Martyn, who stood in front of the guards and embraced him. When they fell apart Martyn smiled at the woman "Sister" he said "How was your voyage?". Princess Nymeria Nymeros-Martell smiled at her brother, her green shoulderless dress blowing in the ind "Nothing much to report, some trouble off Tarth but we managed to avoid the worst of the storms." .

At this Martyn drew a long dagger from his belt and used it to clean his finger nails, which were dirty from traini. He put the dagger away and turned to his sister. "Sweet sister, I am sure you must be tired from your voyage, I believe we should depart these crowded docks, my Red Manse has been equipped for your needs and my Dornish servants will see to all your desires. I will take you their, however I need to go and see Lord Arryn, then I shall join you soon and you can tell me all about the news from Sunspear." With the single stroke of a galley's oar, Martyn had increased the size of his force in the city by half and laid his hands on two swift galleys.

Once Princess Nymeria had been safely settled in her chambers in the Red Mance, Martyn Sand again mounted his sand steed, this time for house of Lord Tylar Arryn. At the gates of his house he found a number of Arryn guards. At first the eyed him suspiciously, his long, flowing Dornish robes did look out of place in the capital, with its drab doublet and plate armour. However, once they realized who he was, they let him enter. Martyn could feel them looking at him though, Valemen, Northmen and Reachmen tended to be to "honourable" for is liking, he new they were uncomfortable with a bastard on the small council and although they never said it openly, he was to powerful for that, he new many of them thought he should be back in Sunspear or Yronwood instead of in the capital. It did not bother Martyn though, he might have even reveled in it. This Lord Arryn was an anachronism in the capital, just as much as Martyn was. They had met many times at Small Council meeting but Arryn never schemed and never back-stabbed, a quality that could be useful for Martyn. He opened the door to Lord Arryn's study to find him at a desk, writing a letter. "Lord Arryn" he said, bowing his head slightly "I was hoping to speak to you somewhere more private than the Small Council chamber."

by **Alotopia** » Tue May 05, 2015 11:07 am

Ser Barristan Tyrell
King's Landing

It was a relatively calm day in King's Landing, and Ser Barristan was walking Lady Alena Tyrell to Lord Arryn's residence. Lord Mace Tyrell had secured a marriage alliance between the Arryns and the Tyrells as it would make it easier to do things and would give the Tyrells more power... Ser Barristan was escourting her to met with him...

As they reached Lord Arryn's residence, a guard stopped them. "What business do you have with Lord Arryn?" The Valeman asked, obviously confused to why there was such an uptick in traffic to the Lord's house.

"I am here to deliver a message to Lord Arryn from Lord Mace Tyrell of the Reach. It is of the utmost importance. Stand aside." Ser Barristan said commandingly.

"I can take it for you. Lord Arryn is currently being visited by the Master of Laws..." said the Vale Knight...

"Ah. The Dornish... I must deliver it myself then, pardon me." He said as he pushed past the guard and made his way to the Lord's study. The Valeman didn't bother to follow, why stop him? He is a nobleman...

Lady Alena turned to the Valemen and spoke, "I am sorry for my cousin, he is usually better behaved..." She quickly followed Barristan up the stairs...

Lord Arryn had a nice residence, it would suit his purpose. Ser Barristan and Lady Alena soon reached the study where they heard Martyn speak. Lady Alena strode into the room and spoke, "My Lord, what is the Master of War doing today? What do you do with no wars to fight?" She laughed, but it was quickly soured by the Dornishman... She didn't like the Martells...

by **Nuxipal** » Tue May 05, 2015 12:33 pm

The High Septon "The Blacksmith"
Great Sept of Baelor, Kings Landing

Ever since the re-founding of the Faith Militant the High Septon has been chosen from among the Sparrows. The Most Devout is now entirely filled by the members of this sect and those who clung to the old ways of wealth and worldly possession were quickly punished. From the Sept, the High Septons ruled as the second most powerful men in Kings Landing. Since the death of King Aegon however, the High Septon was seen as a figure most powerful in Kings Landing. No one dared to plot against the Faith so long as the High Septon remained so heavily armed. The current High Septon was an unusually young fellow, in his mid thirties, the lowborn man known as "The Blacksmith" has been High Septon for twelve years. The Faith Militant was particularly fond of him. It is said that the High Septon blesses each sword he crafts and personally hands them out to the Knights of the Warriors Sons. On this particular day he was in meeting with the officers of the Warriors Sons when their representative from the Grand Council arrived.

"Most Holy, I have returned from the Grand Council meeting and voted as you instructed once more." Ser Kevan stated. The High Septon looked to two of the officers and nodded. They grabbed the arms of the knight and started dragging him with the man screaming. "You did well Ser Kevan, however, your stop at a whorehouse on the way back is an affront to the gods as is the tax your Grand Council wishes to Levy. It will be known that any business which does not wish to pay the tax can be protected by the Faith. I will not have our faithful ruled over by a council of thieves who are unable to determine which thief is to become King. Westeros has been corrupted for too long."

The High Septon then went out of the Sept. The surrounding land on Visenya's hill had become a small fortress. 1700 Knights were here. A full third of the Poor Fellows resided here at any given time. He strolled out into this yard with a scribe writing his words as he walked and talked. The scribe then ran off to have copies made and to put them up around the city.

By Order of the High Septon

To All the Faithful,
The High Septon, Voice of the Gods on Earth has heard your pleas. The Grand Council has failed to select a King for three years now. Three years where this council has sat around and acted as if they are the King. The Faithful will never have to bend the knee to anyone but the Gods and to the King. They have ordered forced the Small Council, full of men both Faithful and heathen to pass a new tax which will cause pain to all those who it effects. Five percent of your earnings now go to pay this Council of Snakes. Fiver Percent of your earnings go to creating corrupt lords and ladies. Let it be known now that, due to the failings of our own representative we have arrested him on accounts of treason against the realm and the faith. I ask that all the faithful arrest the Lords of the Grand Council so that we may create a new council, overseen by the Faith to choose a King from the nobility that will stand with The Gods against the Heathens. In the meantime, do not pay this tax. Seek out the members of my holy order and they will protect you. Send your sons to join our ranks, and we will protect you. To the Heathens, I implore you to see the Light of the Seven and cast down the false gods you take to. For when the Father anoints the Warrior, only the Stranger will be waiting for you.

by **Nasaira** » Tue May 05, 2015 12:40 pm

KINGS LANDING, TYLAR ARRYN

Lord Arryn was busy thinking to himself on how to avoid a this conflict that was brewing amongst the great houses and this letter was the first step in his plan. Scheming and plotting was two things that he most despised but it was a necessary evil in the capital. This was the only way to make allies and friends, two things that you needed to survive in the capital.

Once the letter was finished a knock came at his door, it was Lord Martell, Lord Arryn had seen him at the small council meetings and the two had spoken briefly but mostly over things of no importance such as the weather and the state of the market place. For what Lord Arryn knew about Lord Martell was he was a man with principles and character qualities that are very rare in Kings Landing.

" Come in Lord Martell I am just finishing up some work."

Tylar didn't want Lord Martell know who he was writing. A secret that he wanted to keep to himself, while it was true he liked Lord Martell Tylar wasn't sure if he could count him as a friend just yet. Placing the seal of Arryn on the parchment with red wax Tylar looked up to speak with Lord Martell some more.

" what brings you here? Some matters that need to be discussed?"

A foolish question Tylar thought to himself. Of course Lord Martell had business to discuss why else would he be here. But before they could speak another knock came at Tylar's door this time it was his betrothed Lady Tyrell.

This was a political marriage and not much more. The marriage had just been recently arranged when Tylar arrived in Kings Landing to assume his post as master of war. The lady Tyrell was a nice enough girl but Tylar's personality and her's was very different. While Tylar was more serious and dutiful she was a free spirit.

But Tylar admired her personality it have him a nice change from the political scheming in Kings Landing. Even though Tyalr and lady Tyrell were betrothed the two had hardly spent anytime getting use to each other. Once she entered the study Tylar made introductions.

" Lord Martell this is my betrothed the lady Tyrell."

Introductions went smoothly enough as the two acknowledged each other.

" I'm sorry Lord Martell may I speak with my betrothed first then we may discuss our business."

Tylar asked in the most polite way possible and waited for lord Martell to leave the room before he spoke to his betrothed.

" m'lady surely you have not just come here to make jokes about my position on the small council. And I am almost certain you are not here for my company so why are you here?"

Tylar was quick to the point while he tried not to be rude in anyway what he said was true. It was rare for his betrothed to seek him out, most of her time was spent with her handmaidens or in the garden and not in his company.

A Song of Ice and Fire - Interregnum (IC/Open)

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