Game of Thrones: A New Dawn (IC/See OOC)

by **Independent States of Tula** » Fri Aug 14, 2015 6:15 pm

One Year, one year since the Doom of Valyria (1 AD), and with the loss of the greatest Empire known to man came great uncertainty throughout the world. In Essos the Free Cities eye each other with plots of expansion and the recreation of a great Eastern Empire as Valyrian families that escaped the Doom seek to cement their control over these cities, the Iron Bank of Braavos is the biggest supplier of loans in the world and the gold they receive back is staggering, the Dothraki fight among themselves as each Khal looks to gain dominance in their nomadic warrior society. In Westeros House Durrandon controls the largest swarth of land in Westeros with their kingdom stretching from the Dornish Marches in the South to the Neck in the North, however with House Martell in Dorne, House Gardener in the Reach, House Arryn in the Vale, and House Hoare in the Iron Islands all looking eagerly at the territory of the Storm King it will be only a matter of time until someone makes the first move. In the North House Stark is too preoccupied with a Civil War against the Boltons and their followers to concern themselves with taking Southern Lands. And in Blackwater Bay House Targaryen looks to the entirety of Westeros with plans to create a New Valyrian Empire in the West.

It is in this situation that we all find ourselves as one of the many houses in either Westeros or Essos and it is from here that we'll decide the future of the world.

Date: 1 AD (After Doom)

Events-

by **Novae Vitae** » Fri Aug 14, 2015 9:14 pm

Aegon Targaryen
Dragonstone, the Narrow Sea

"Ulcrax is dead."

Those three words sent a ripple through the six Targaryens. Elaena and Rhaenyra embraced each other and wept, though for different reasons, while Daeron inclined his head as Daenys placed a gentle hand on Gaemon's back. His only clutched the table, but Aegon--who had spoken--had never seen him so furious. His eyes bulged forward in his head, and he looked down at the table so his children would not see the way his jaw trembled.

"What killed him?" Gaemon managed to whisper out.

"I cannot say," Aegon replied. Gaemon turned to Daenys.

"Nor can I," Daenys replied. "I see only what the gods deign me to see, and this they have no desire to reveal." The room filled with a piercing silence.

"There is more," Aegon said. "Balerion is still ill. Hyroxis and Philar will not go near him, and Jurelle has driven him into a tight cave out of fear."

"Does he still lash out?" Daenys asked. The six of them knew well the way Balerion had lunged at her, and how only fate over tripping by a stone had saved from the paling, thinning skull of the dragon.

"Yes," Aegon replied. "I tried to approach him, but I had not taken two steps into the cave before he had spat and lunged at me as well."

"Perhaps Father can mount him," Rhaenyra said. "You were so good with Ulcrax, Father, and Balerion is a pup compared to him."

Gaemon did not reply. "Dragons are not horses, Rhaenyra," Gaemon replied. He was not looking at his children. "I doubt Balerion will take to a mount unless this illness abets him, and then it will be your mother or you. I will not ride again."

"Balerion seems too weak already to be ridden," Elaena said. While Rhaenyra still had fresh tears on her face, Elaena had wiped them away. "The gods are too wroth with us. We must let Balerion die."

Aegon had thought that same, but he also thought it better to let Elaena voice it than him. Daeron swung his head wide to stare at Elaena, and Gaemon's eyes snapped to meet hers.

"That is your counsel? Do nothing? I must do something, Elaena, or the gods will think me weak," Gaemon hissed out. Hunched over the table, he looked less than a man and more like a demon.

"They already must," Aegon replied. "What are we to the gods? Pawns, moved in convenient directions by the gods. It is unwise of the pawns to disobey the commands. She is right. Balerion must die."

"You've gone mad, brother," Daeron said. "Dragons made this House, and dragons will sustain it. We cannot hope that the gods will show mercy, but we can offer them something in sacrifice."

At that, a light flashed over Daenys' face, while Elaena roared, "Offer what? As Aegon said, we are pawns, and the gods know that whatever we could offer is little and less to them, lest it be obedience."

"I will not watch the lifeblood of my House die!" Gaemon roared, slamming his fist on the table. Rhaenyra jumped back, and Aegon, by reflex, inched closer to Elaena.

"You will not have to be present," Daenys replied. Her face was hard, but her eyes were alight with understanding. "I know what must be done. Sent word over Dragonstone that we have no wish to keep a sickly dragon; that any who dares and succeeds to mount Balerion may keep him."
"I will not allow it," Gaemon said. "You will do no such thing."

Daenys smiled and placed a hand on Gaemon's face. "You may be lord here, but regard which of us predicted the Doom. Valar morghulis, Gaemon. Valar morghulis."

Daenys Targaryen
Dragonstone, the Narrow Sea

It was remarkable that they had come so quickly to the cave to attempt to mount Balerion. They had sent word in the morning and, by night fall, at least twenty people had made the attempt to mount the dragon. All of them had failed, of course, and now, as Daenys reached the cave with Aegon's sword Dark Sister in hand, she smelt their blood protruding into the night air.

"You remain strong in your death throws, my sweet," Daenys said to Balerion as she entered the darkness. She could see a few feet ahead of herself at best, so she allowed her ears to take control. The protestant roars of Balerion, weak but willful, reached her not ten paces away.

The cave was tight, and Daenys was forced to keep Dark Sister level with her body lest it be caught on the wall. The scent of rotting corpses was so profound that it had become a taste at the back of Daenys' throat. She could feel that a general pool of blood filled the cave.

That is good, she thought to herself. That gods are lovers of blood.

"Where are you, my sweet?" she called out. In reply, Balerion hissed into the air again. Daenys imagined that the dragon was too weak to fight or flame. "It will be over soon, my sweet," she said.

And it was. She could not remember the way Balerion had given one last, futile hiss as she had run the blade over his neck; nor could she remember the few of her owns tears that mingled in the blood that poured onto her body. She knew nothing of the instance except that it had occurred.

Before she left the cave, she looked up and inquired, "Do you see, beholden gods? Do you see what we have done for you? We have lead others to their deaths, we have taken life so that you need not, we have trenched ourselves in the blood of that which we loved. Do you see? Do you see?" And for once, Daenys felt that she was no closer to the gods than any other being on the island, in the Narrow Sea, or from the famed Lannisport to the Shadow-beyond-Asshai.

As she made her way from the cave, she saw them being led up the hill--they were three oxen and six lambs, and that made nine, the largest single number that could be. The servants that led them surely saw Daenys exit the cave as a specter, for she was cloaked in red with a blade of Valyrian steel in her hand.

"Do not slaughter them," Daenys instructed to those servants assembled. "Only cover them in the blood." She nodded at the pockets. "Especially that around Balerion. Then feed them to the other three dragons. Break their legs if you have to. Snap their necks. But do not draw their blood."

With luck, Daenys thought, the dragons with eat the blood of the sacrifice and the gods will find favor in them.

by **Cuprum** » Fri Aug 14, 2015 9:58 pm

HOUSE GARDENER OF THE REACH
TERRITORY: HIGHGARDEN
"Sowing the seeds"

Highgarden

The vast expanse had been set for the occasion. Lodges had been procured along the almost a league of greenery and gardens that sat amongst the islands of the Big City.

As the grounds began to awake, troupes of actors and dancers began their performances, whilst the Courtesans began their parade, maids in tow, up the promenade before The Reach' nobility.

Servants, bearing casks of sweet wine, and troughs of ice from the ice houses mingled throughout, the retinues of the many exotic delegations being readily served to. All about, through the crowds, the lavender of the Lady's own household could be spotted, wheeling from one group to the next with practiced grace and charm, letting nothing escape their sight or sound.

A brazen horn announced the arrival of the King. Atop horseback in full armour, his Queen the beside him, he rode with his own company; the elite King's Honor Guard, their discipline as obvious as their silvered armour and sabres.

His arrival at the shrine in the centre began the official revels. Drums and flutes and a thousand other sounds rang out across the flowered domain, and Gardener' greatest prize was open to all.

Young Garth hadn't seen anything quiet like the Fortress of Highgarden and her gardens. There was beauty and color throughout the premises as noblemen and women gathered in groups to part take in socializing as festivities begin.

His father and the lord of Goldengrove sipped from fine colored glasses as they mingled with the others. Garth on the other hand felt a bit hollow and empty even with his apparent wanderlust. He wished that he could experience this with Melessa, she would have enjoyed the Pleasure Gardens. The Gardener heir had not heard from her in the longest time, every time he would ask her father about the girl he was always met with a nasty reply.

''I just hope that she's alright.''

Gyles Gardener, the lad with with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes ventured deeper into the gardens, strolling pass the waves of people and the musicians playing. He wanted to try to forget about his origins for a moment and have a good time.

Gyles, to his credit, had not drank much of the excellent summerwine provided by his brother Willas. His father had explicitly forbade the activity, and told him that he would regret it if he embarrassed his family honor.

And so Gyles had wandered the pleasure gardens, speaking to none of the nobles that were present. The way he chose to pass the time was instead ogling to beautiful courtesans that wandered the grounds. Only in Highgarden was such a feast for the senses possible. Gyles wished he had remembered more of his childhood, before he was knighted by his benevolent father.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a boy nearly his age walking towards him. Sighing, as Gyles realized they'd be crossing paths, Gyles raised his half full glass to the boy. "Good day." He spoke in a bastard Valyrian, inclining his head ever so slightly.

"Oh, greetings dear brother," Garth said to his half brother in his native dialect with a slight smile. He hadn't realized that he was nearly walking into him. He had been so busy taking in the sights that he had nearly lost his sense of direction.

"What are you into brother? Chasing skirts won't make you a famous gentleman," the bastard questioned the heir of the Reach with an eyebrow raised. He wondered if his brother had the same intentions as him.

"Yes, I'm without remorse." Garth said simply, eyeing the boy before him.
So soft, there's a dozen ways I could kill him before he'd even know what was happening, Garth thought darkly, drinking the cool wine from his cup.

"What shall we do now?" Gyles asked diplomatically, looking around the garden purposelessly.

''Create more bastards like you dear brother, my best wishes. Those ladies out there are willing to spend the night with you. Are you crazy enough to avoid such opportunity''

''Please, wake me up after I finish. I don't want to suffer our father's rage''

''Enjoy! They are going to send you to Goldengrove before you realize''

by **The United Eastern States of Europe** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 5:19 am

Hoare Castle, Great Wyk, The Iron Islands

"Bring him forward!" Harland demanded. The captain of The Windwaver and the captain of The Reed Wrangler, brought forth the captain of the Braavosi barge. The Windwaver captain wore Botley colours while The Reed Wrangler had a captain with Harlaw colours. The other two captains of the ships who assisted in the capture changed to clearly show their Greyjoy and Farwynd allegiances, with first mates who had Blacktyde, Drumm, and Codd sympathies. The Braavosi showed no fear or courtesy as he stared at Harland's disfigurement, and spat at his feet. "Do you work for someone?"

"The Iron Bank, who else would have so much gold?" The captive sneered and scoffed.

"Do they know of your location?" Qhorwyn rudely interjected from the side.

"No, but we are expected to return within three or five nights." His tone was less harsh with Harlan's brother.

"What of their ship? Is it sunk?" Harlan looked towards the captains. "Euron, what say you?" Euron looked around the court, trying to find an escape. He sighed and looked at the Braavosi. "Mercy, your grace. Send the barge back, gold and crew with it, and keep The Iron Bank content." Several men began muttering as Harlan fixed the positioning of his driftwood crown.

"No, your grace." The Greyjoy boy answered. "We seized it afloat and brought it to port with our own."

Qhorwyn and Harwyn looked at each other as if they were hatching a plan. "Seize the load yourself brother," Harwyn added, "imagine our treas-"

"I gave you no permission to speak," Harlan responded calmly. "Euron, what say you?"

Euron glanced around the court, trying to find an escape. He sighed when he realised there was no where to run. "Mercy, your grace. Send the ship back, gold and crew with it, and keep The Iron Bank happy and far away." Mutterings immediately began as Harlan fixed the position of his driftwood crown. He scratched at his greyscale and raised his hand to silence the court.

Simply tutting at his son, Harlan looked at the captains again. "Split the spoils with your houses and mine, wreck the ship off the Coast of The Westerlands, make it look like the Lannister's killed them." His voice was filled with determination as fear finally showed on the Braavosi as he was being dragged away, screaming.

"My love," Yara piped up beside him, "why The Lannisters?" She put her hand on his cheek as she spoke softly to him. Harlan kept his stern, stone face.

"Because they're close, and dangerous." Harlan replied as if the answer was obvious. "The North is fighting itself, The Stormlands will collapse on it's own, The Reach is too far to matter, the same with Dorne. The Arryns, well they may prove useful." Harlan smiled as he dismissed the court. The world was full of opportunities at the moment, he only needs to seize them.

by **Igoria** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 9:57 am

House Bolton
The Dreadfort
It was night, the hour of the wolf. The torchlight flickered, and the shadows danced on the cold stone walls of Lord Bolton's solar. Yet Rickard Bolton did not sleep, but rather stood hunched over a map, fingers thrumming an impatient beat on the table. Bolton's pale eyes surveyed the map, his keen strategist's mind formulating half a dozen plans to take the Crown of Winter in an instant, yet nearly all of them were bad. All the while, silence reigned.

Those present in Lord-or rather, King Rickard's company were a scant few trusted people. Bolton had held a council of war with his lords bannermen that had thus far marshalled to his banner, but the result had been a pointless argument that had forced Rickard to bide his lords good night and dismiss then from his presence. Bolton was not fool enough to trust his bannermen with his most secret musings. For that, he had his blood and kin.
His bastard, Cley Snow, slouched against a wall, lazily fingering the hilt of his sword, his pale Bolton eyes staring blankly at the map. Cley wore a studded leather jerkin, and on his belt he wore a sword and a dagger. He was a martial man, not one to go around unarmed. But Cley was tired and unfocused.
Lady Kyra Bolton, Rickard's sister, stood at Bolton's left hand. Kyra was a beautiful woman, not quite so tall as Rickard, slender too, with pale skin and soft brown hair. Her face, usually so pale and lovely, was contorted with concern.
Lastly, Maester Willum stood patiently aside, hands hidden inside the sleeves of his long, grey robe, his maester's chain clinking softly as the maester rocked back and forth slightly on the balls of his feet. Willum was a few years older than Rickard, and he had arrived a year into Rickard's lordship. The maester was an energetic man, and he too was tired of waiting for Rickard to speak, though he did his best not to show it, and appear just a humble servant waiting at his lord's command.

At long last Cley Snow broke the silence. "Father,"
Bolton raised his head, blinked, and cocked his eyebrow inquisitively. "Cley?"
"Father, it is no secret we lack the strength to match the Starks in the field."
Rickard's grimace may have been a smile. "Truly? I was so certain every house in the North would rise with me. Clearly you knew better, and yet hesitated to inform me of your suspicions. Mayhaps I should't have rebelled after all." Bolton said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
Cley looked abashed, and mumbled, "Forgive me, father," as he retreated back into silence.
"There is nothing to forgive." Rickard murmured as he straightened his tunic and walked to the window. The rest of the group shuffled around accordingly. Kyra drifted over to his side, and the maester shuffled forward. Cley stopped slouching and walked over to where he too could gaze out of the window. Outside, it was dark. The lights from the village and the Dreadfort danced eerily on the surface of the Weeping Water. Out there, on the far bank of the river, a host was encamped. More than ten thousand men, their bawdy songs and the embers from their campfires drifting high into the night.

"I have nearly eleven thousand men here. My own are here, and the Whitehills, Woolfields, Watermans, Hornwoods, Umbers and the mountain folk have sent their contingents as well. All I am missing are the Dustins." Rickard shook his head. "Would that Lord Dustin could hurry up."

"My Lord," Maester Willum spoke up.
"Your Grace. You forget yourself, maester."
"Forgive me, Your Grace." the maester cleared his throat, "You ought not forget that the Dustins are also isolated, surrounded by the Ryswells, Flints, Tallharts, Manderlys and Cerwyns. Stark men, every one of them. Mayhaps it is that Lord Dustin is besieged? Or that his host was butchered in battle, and we have not heard."
"If that is the case, I would have known. Stark would have gladly sent me a gloating raven."
Willum inclined his head "My lord knows best."
Rickard did not bother to correct the maester this time. Instead, he spoke "Stark may have more men and more lords, but Stark's lords may be turned, though. Each one of them desires something. A mill, controlled by a neighbouring lord, perhaps. Or a holdfast. Some may have bigger appetites. But all of them can be swayed to our cause, if one knows what to offer them."
Cley answered, "You think that lords can be bought like cattle?"
"Why not?" Rickard answered, "Stark deludes himself if he thinks that the entire North revolves around his principles of honour, justice and duty. Greed and ambition are far more enticing motivators for most of our noble peers."
"All the same, only a fool deserts the seemingly winning side." Cley said.
Rickard laughed, but said nothing.

Finally, Maester Willum spoke, "Mayhaps, my- Your Grace, it would be prudent to seek allies elsewhere?"
Rickard seized upon the idea at once, "Mayhaps."
Cley looked somewhat lost, "Where else would we find allies?"
Rickard smiled, "Oh, all over the place. There are dragonriders in Blackwater Bay whom we could ask for aid. A single dragon could turn the tide in any battle, and several could win a war." For a brief moment Rickard was captivated by the possibility of soaring high above two clashing hosts on a dragon, before turning his mount down and burning his foes to ash. But he knew these dreams were not so likely to ever come true. Instead he considered the more likely of the two options that he'd thought of, "One must not forget the ironborn. They could be...most useful."

Musing on this, Rickard called for a servant. The man entered, and Rickard commanded him to fetch a quill, paper and ink. When the man returned, carrying the aforementioned stationery, Rickard set it down on the table before him and set to writing.

To the Iron King Harland of House Hoare, it began, Your strength and prowess are well known in the north, and well feared. You may have heard, mayhaps, that I, being the rightful King in the North, have claimed my crown, the crown denied me by the Starks. To claim it, however, I need friends and allies, strong men who will not shrink away from hardships. Thus, I offer you a hand in friendship, and ask for your aid in the upcoming conflict against House Stark.
However, I would not presume to take without giving something in return. I know that the Stormking is no friend of yours, and he is certainly no friend of mine. Thus, in return for your aid in securing my crown, I pledge to aid you in expanding the Seastone Chair's dominion over the Riverlands once I have the full power of the North at my back. Together, Houses Bolton and Hoare can accomplish much.
Done in the eyes of gods and men, under the sign and seal of Rickard Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort and rightful King in the North.

Rickard finished the letter, let the ink dry some, and held it up for the others to see. The maester bobbed his head in approval, Cley nodded grimly, but only Kyra murmured a word of argument. "Brother, the Ironborn are hated in the North. Allying with them would not win you any love from the lords."
Rickard shrugged, "I am little loved anyway. Yes, some would prefer my rule over that of the Starks, but it is not out of any particular sense of devotion."
Rickard turned back to his map. Kyra opened her mouth to argue further, but Rickard cut across her, "Enough about the letter. Maester, it is a tad blunt. Feel free to make any necessary additions to the letter. But make sure you send it to Great Wyk with all haste."
"At once, Your Grace." The maester bowed and withdrew.
Rickard surveyed the map once again. His eyes lingered on the Wolfswood. And Bolton smiled.

by **Rather Polite Gentlemen** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 12:55 pm

Castle Seagard, The Riverlands

As the waves of the Sunset Sea danced along the shores of land long claimed by the Eagles of the river, a number of knights and noblemen gathered inside the warm halls of Castle Seagard, to feast under protection of its great lord. A few landed lords in their own right had found their way to Seagard, attracted by promise of Strongwine and sweet Arbor Gold, of which the Madeagle had supposedly brought up from his personal collection especially for the occasion. Lord Terrick had come, a lord sworn to House Mallister and brother of Seagard's highest admiral. A minor relative of the Rosby's sat in the foyer, swaying back and forth and reminding people of his status as they passed, as a certain Frey supped by at a lone table. Rumours circled round that Lord Bracken had arrived, though these whispers did not come to pass. However, the guests were not disappointed by the prospect of exotic wines, as the main hall certainly did feature wines from the south of Westeros, a feature that most lords had praised and many ladies had bemoaned. Indeed, the Mallisters had come out in full force to keep their guests as happy and as socialized as possible; Erron flirted with the daughters gathered in the halls, Roslin gossiped with the spouses of drunk lords and Owen harassed a pyromancer that had come from the town closest to the castle. Eleyne had been dancing wildly with a number of local boys, while Lord Mallister had been noticably absent for most of the evening. Dressed in a classic Riverlander garb, his heir certainly wasn't. Benedict approached the Frey and took a seat next to him.

"Good evening, Lord Frey. My name is Benedict Mallister, first son of-" Benedict tried to continue, but was cut off by the tipsy relative.

"Aye lad, I know who you are. Prince Benedict, third of his name, and future King of the Rivers and the Hills! Your father knows me already. We feasted together under the Twins many years ago, some months after your nameday. A noble little princeling you've grown into, that's for sure." the Frey laughed as he jested the heir, in between sips of sweet wine. Benedict flashed a charming smile and continued.

"Indeed, Lord Frey. A cousin of Lord Frey of the Twins, no less. We are honoured by your presence." Benedict said, as he looked to a maid that had brought him his own goblet.

"There's no need for the formal pleasantries, m'lord. My name is Alton Frey. This is your father's feast, and I suspect we are both a little bit drunk. One more than the other!" The drunken sot roared with laughter again, as Benedict laughed alongside him this time, shifting into a more subtle tact.

"I certainly can't deny that. In fact, I've heard that you've been touring the local taverns, in a fashion similar to a certain brother of mine." Benedict joked lightly. The Frey grinned from ear to ear.

"Hah, my reputation proceeds me! I have, and I'm sure you know what I've been doing. I've been informing everyone I've met that your father is the rightful King of the Trident, and all of the lands that it feeds. King Angron is the bastard of a Lysene whore, and his lord heir is an arrogant snake! I'd sooner see them cast down into their Shipbreaker Bay and drowned than have them lord over us for another year! Your father is a noble man of great birth, greater than any man that can summoned up from the Stormlands. Where is Mathos, anyway?" Alton said and quizzed. Ser Benedict focused on this question, rather than commit himself to any agreement with the loud lord.

"My father dwells above us, Alton. He's been preparing to make his entrance for some time, so as to get his share of the wine that we have offered to our guests. But my lord has been waiting for a reason. He's been waiting for you. Would you join me? I'll take you to him." Alton's eyes widened. He shot up with glee, and began to accompany Ser Benedict to his destination.

"I'd be damn honoured to join you! A chance to meet our king would be highly pleasing to me, as it was many years ago. Let us depart." The Frey confessed to Benedict, as they walked off together to another part of the castle. As they left, the young Mallister turned his head and looked to a figure in the corner of the hall. Lady Roslyn returned his gaze, as her son nodded to her. She soon trailed the two men.

=====

The men arrived to their intended destination; a small guest room within the upper bowels of the castle. A servant followed them both in, as Lord Frey made himself comfy and had some more wine poured for him.

Lady Roslin came in soon after. Alton beamed at the matured beauty, and bowed at her presence.

"Roslin. You look as beautiful as the day we met, all those years ago. As much as I respect your choice of marriage, The sting of your rejection still wanes." The Frey said softly, smiling at Roslin playfully. She returned his smile, albeit coyly.

"It's a pleasure seeing you again Alton, though I wish we could of met under better circumstances. My father oft speaks fondly of you and your kin. We must organize another feast under the Twins one day. Perhaps during the next Frey wedding." Roslin replied, soft and charming as usual.

"I'm glad, Roslin. But I must question why you believe that these circumstances are not perfect for a meeting of friends. Your lord lurks somewhere within the castle, there's quite the feast going on downstairs, and your fellow Mallister kin are enjoying themselves quite much." Alton questioned, but received no response from the Piper. As he finished, the door to the guest room burst open, as a gigantic male figure burst in, look of pure anger etched upon his face. His fist slammed down, as the Frey came face to face with Mathos Mallister.

"ALTON! Why the bloody hell am I hearing reports of you drinking and whoring your way through my lands and declaring me your king?!" Mathos boomed out, stunning his kin into silence. Alton's lip shook as Mathos demanded a reply.

"M-Madeagle, m'lord... pleasure to see you again. Your attention is welcome, and I'm honoured that you've graced me with this meeting." Alton stuttered out. He sobered up quickly at sight of the Madeagle's frightening glare, as he considered his words carefully. Benedict smiled and piped up with a jest of his own.

"No need for the formal pleasantries, my lord." Mathos his stare to Benedict, then straight back to the Frey.

"And here I fucking am! I cannot claim to be the most subtle of persons, but I pale in comparison to your drunken buffoonery! Tell me why your thoughts of rebellion are public and not in hushed whispers between fellow lords, or I'll have your tongue cut out for treason!"

"No need for that, Lord Mallister. In fact, I must profess that I'm glad I have this attention from your family. I come bearing a message from my own Lord, my cousin and head of our noble household, and I request that you consider these words with great interest." Alton explained to Mathos. The Madeagle backed away, and plopped himself on a seat opposite the Frey to listen, though without change of expression. What had been said next however, changed most expressions in the room.

"Hollis Frey, Lord of the Crossing and the Twins, pledges his support for any potential bid to the throne of the Rivers and the Hills, and all the bannermen that come with his promise. I had been given this message to send to you through any means possible."

Benedict's smug smile gave way to an unsure pout of disbelief. Mathos' gritted teeth and mouth curled into a deceitful smile, while Roslin's indifferent expression quickly turned to a frown. The lady began to speak.

"I must wonder why Lord Frey did not grace us with these words himself, Alton, why he would send you and not deliver this pledge in person. Under our house, your lord's thoughts would be kindled by my husband's own ambitions. It's no secret that we consider rebellion against the Stormlanders. What do you say to this?" Roslin interrogated the sot.

"My greatest apologies m'lady, but as your husband stated, I cannot confess much subtlety! My lord fears retribution from the Stormland yoke, as much as I'm sure the Mallisters do so. He hears rumours that the crown prince is a snake, and the Stormlanders command the loyalties of the Blackwood's. If word comes back to him that the Frey's move in support of the Madeagle, then the King would surely station troops in quick reach of the Twins and Seagard. A quick mind such as yours may surely understand that." Alton countered. Roslin considered this for a moment, her expression softening.

"I can concede this point. From here, our actions must be considered carefully. Mathos, shall we discuss this in private?" Roslin turned to her husband, who had been listening to this duel of words intently. He agreed, and left to talk with his wife, as Ser Benedict spoke casually with the Frey.

=====

"Alton, we have come to a decision on what to do with this information." Mathos spoke, opening the door for his wife and sitting back down. A small guard of men followed him this time, forcing Alton to gulp and listen to his words. Roslin spoke up with her verdict first.

"Mathos is pleased pleased by your offer, and Lord Frey honours me greatly by his support. However, there must be some form of retribution for your actions, as word of you will likely spin back to the Stormlands in time. We intend to have our actions find their way back as well." Roslin explained. Mathos cut in with his words straight after.

"You will be ejected from our lands, effective immediately, under the pain of death if you are to find your way back. You will be escorted by a troop of armed Mallister guards straight to the Twins, wherein you will give your lord our thanks, our grace, and an offer of a private meeting later this month. I offer him bread and salt, and the formation of a planned rebellion during this meet. I offer you a formal apology, but we cannot have the Stormlanders fear us, nor anticipate open rebellion." Mathos finished his judgement. Alton craned his neck upwards, silently thanking the Father for this great mercy, as well as Ser Mathos himself. He bowed to the Madeagle.

"Thank you, my noble friend. You need no apology, in truth. A shame I shall not see Seagard until our independence is secure, but I'd prefer that over losing my tongue! I'll depart immediately with the message. You'll be king in time, Mathos, I believe it." Alton thanked Lord Mallister. He departed quickly, the soldiers trailing behind him. Mathos, Roslin and Benedict were left alone. Mathos let his formality go, as he slinked down, and smiled proudly. Benedict rejoined the party downstairs, while Roslin embraced her knightly husband.

"Our rebellion is one step closer, my dear." Mathos laughed, and replied in kind.

"It is indeed, Roslin. It is indeed."

by **Phalnia** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 6:30 pm

Tyland Lannister, King of the Rock
Casterly Rock

A man sat in the study of the keep perched atop that great rock called Casterly. The room was opulent, as was appropriate for the king who sat on the single largest source of gold known to man. The desk and chairs were weirwood, as were the bookshelves that lined the walls. The books on these shelves were likewise elegantly appointed with gilded edges and immaculately bound in leather. To complete the room, tapestries were hung over the stone walls. They showed great moments in the history of house Lannister. Lann the Clever seated as Lord of Casterly Rock. His sons and grandsons claiming fealty of the westerlords and wearing the Crown of the Rock.

In the center of all this sat Tyland of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Rock. He pored over a pile of scrolls, parchments and books that sat upon his desk. He read through the records of taxes collected fro his vassals in the years past and the taxes most recently collected. The work was mind-numbing and tedious, though necessary. In the past the less honorable of his bannermen had attempted to withhold what was due to the Lannisters. Though, this did not appear to be the case. The taxes were at the level or exceeding the level they had been last year.

After what seemed like hours, though it was not long past dawn, a knock came from the heavy door that was the only access to the room. The thin man looked up from his numbers and spoke. "Enter."

A man in a red cloak opened the door and stepped in. "Your Grace. Ser Lon Lanny, Harbourmaster of Lannisport seeks an audience."

Tyland placed his quill into the inkwell and rose nodding to the man. The guard steeped out of the room and motioned to his unseen colleagues down the hall. After a few moments a man stepped in and the guard closed the door behind him.

"Your Grace." The man bowed deeply, his straw colored hair falling past his face as he did.

"Rise ser Lon." Tyland grabbed a chair from the side of the wall. "Please sit." The man did as instructed. "Something to drink?" Tyland picked up a bottle of wine, pouring one goblet and waiting for Lon's answer.

"Yes, thank you, your Grace. "

Tyland handed the man the goblet and took a seat himself. "What brings you to the Rock, today?"

"A ship, Your Grace." The harbourmaster replied. "One of Your Graces' ships, the Gold Lion. It sailed in just before dawn. They brought in wreckage of a ship and bodies. They say they found it not far south of the Crag."

"Ships wreck as commonly as birds fly, Ser Lon. Why bring this to me?" The king sounded slightly annoyed that the man would approach him with such trivialities.

"The ship, Your Grace. It sails from Braavos and the men their throats slit. Documents found in the captains quarters have led us to believe the barge was in the service of the Iron Bank."

Tyland's face grew hard as the man spoke. "What was the ship carrying?"

"The holds were empty. The sailors suspect the men were killed by ironborn. The marks on the ship seem to..."

Tyland slammed his goblet down on the desk, sending wine across the papers strewn there. "Are mad or stupid!"

The harbourmaster looked stunned and was silent, before muttering. "Y-y-your Grace, I..."

"Clearly, stupid." Tyland rose to his feet and shouted towards the door. "Guard!" The door opened and the same cloaked man entered. "See Ser Lon back to the harbour. And see to it the men of the Gold Lion remain on their ship. Any who've come ashore are to be dragged back."

The guard nodded, pushing Ser Lon out as he went. Tyland sluped down into his chair. An Iron Bank barge wrecked off of the Westerlands, hold emptied, and men killed. The Iron Bank was the only entity that Tyland knew of who could challenge his Kingdom in terms of sheer wealth. He did not need to make enemies of these men. Not now.

He walked out of the study towards the Great Hall. He needed to speak to his family.

by **Cuprum** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 7:25 pm

HOUSE GARDENER OF THE REACH
TERRITORY: HIGHGARDEN
"Sowing the seeds"

Highgarden

There is nothing in this world more mad, in both thought and word, than man's constant road towards war. Crowds cheer for it, rich landholders and magisters bank upon it in darkened meeting rooms. Is there something within the soul of man that strives for conflict and the chance to inflict cruelty on our fellow men. Mayhaps the blessing of some dark deity, thriving on our slaughter, or do the Gods above delight in making us play their sick games. Or mayhaps there is nothing, and we are alone and stupid, lashing out at a world that only makes sense when you force it to.

It is all the more baffling if one knows battle first hand. I would wager good silver that the voices that call in clamour for the sword, are not the same that scream and die when it comes. Save a few monsters, there is no one who has ever seen war, who ever wants to see it again. It is rather like the isolationist Lorath in that regard.

I have always found the Westerlands are too fond of battle by half. I believe that living in a city that is hard to touch with conflict must colour the soul in such a way. The Maidensblood did deeds which still dye my dreams his colour. I pray that the Lannisters shows more sense than his lord, for I have little want to attempt to breach the 'The Rock.'

If my hand was forced, then the best approach to take would most like be to break them at sea, before attempting to force an entry to their walls. Provided enough time, some form of sapping could give us a breach. Then perhaps buy some of the aforementioned monsters, and allow them free reign.

Fire and sword must be brought to those upon whose backs and wishes conflict is made. Let loose all the forces of battle unto that same common man who cried so hard for war. Only when the aggressor smells his dead, and hears the weeping of the widows, does he realise the true cost, and bend.

=====

"Why we seeing her?"

Maude Gardener winced at her younger sister's loud tone, more of a shout than anything else. Mellara had just begun to speak, if one could call it speaking. Half of the time the girl was talking too loudly, and the other half of the time too softly. The two young princesses were surrounded by a veritable horde of servants and slaves from the summer islands as they were carried on their palanquin towards the left wing of the Manor.

"Will father be there?" Asked Mellara, looking up at her sister as she clutched her small hand. Maude merely shrugged, brushing some of her long black hair from her face as she bit her lip, shaking her head.

"No, father's only ever on the roof. He can't be with us." Maude thought back to their last visit to their father, though she hardly ever seen his face. Every time they were taken out in the dead of night to the small courtyard garden, and each time they'd play while the shadow of her father watched from behind the silver shields of the guards. If I were Queen, I'd change it, I'd make daddy visit me every day.

Both princesses were dressed in gowns of beautiful green silk, embroidered with emeralds of a deeper green which glittered in the light as Maude plucked at the white lace lining the sleeves of her own gown. "We see father tonight." Said Mellara in a determined voice, nodding her head. Last visit to their father she had climbed up onto a rock to try and better see him before being whisked down by a slave worried for her safety. To bring harm to the King's daughters would mean a swift death for any who caused it, and the knowledge of the visits becoming public would most sorely damage Gardener's reputation.

Nevertheless, there was nothing prohibiting the girls visiting her mother. The two were excited at the prospect of having another sister, though they knew they should desire a brother instead. It had been drilled into their minds early by the other royal children that they brought disgrace upon their father and their family by being born women, instead of a man.

Maude's jade green eyes flitted along the manses and palaces that lined the street of Highgarden, noting the increased guard presence marching through the streets. The city had been quiet since the riots nearly a month ago in which their protector Sir Palmerstone had been killed, but the city was still on edge. It was now clear that the Cult of Rh'llor was more of a threat than at first had been anticipated, and soldiers were becoming more common than civilians upon the streets.

It was still another five minutes before they reached the Castle, the journey from the Lady's Court being one of the longer ones they had to make. Maude climbed down from the palanquin, helping her sister down after her. Cheng was still uneasy on her feet, and clung tightly to her sister's hand as the two made their way into the palace.

"H-hello?" Called out Mellara, her eyes flitting about the lavishly decorated anteroom. The walls were hung with portraits of kings, wives, and heroes of the past; almost of all them were immortal. Mellara couldn't help but hope one day when her prince came to take her that she too would earn a portrait up on the wall. But only if it's a boy, only then.

The two girls made their way over to a silken chair, sitting down beside each other in the seat as they awaited the arrival of their newest mother. Maude pulled out the scroll of poetry she had brought with her from the libraries, a poem composed by her father. Mellara seemed content to swing her feet back and forth, palms resting against the edge of the seat as she chewed on her bottom lip, her own bright blue eyes looking in wonder at the many tapestries and portraits.

by **Kuhlfros** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 8:20 pm

Sealord Garran Sorryl 'the Titan'
Sealord's Palace, Braavos

Within the many towers and domes of golds, reds, greys, and purples of the Sealord's Palace, an aging man sat alone in one of the many rooms within the elegant fortress. It was a dark room, its walls were a deep purple, like wine. The room was filled with towering bookshelves touching the ceiling, and in the middle of the windowless wine colored room, with a single torch burning, a desk made of weirwood, carved into the history of the known world, depicting the wall, dragon of valyria, a titan, a harpy and other images, the chair however was made of ebony and was simply crafted. On this desk an assortment of papers, one candle lit, and another, made of dragonglass, left unlit. The bookshelves were messy and unorganized and there were several piles of papers on the floor.

It was another vigil in the life of Sealord Garran, spending most of his energy through the night, filling papers, bills, orders, and reports in order to keep his city running smoothly, most likely, like every night, he would fall asleep in his work, and while he slept the servants would enter, clean up his study, reorganize his books and papers in neat piles and leave him his breakfast. However a man interrupted his long night tonight.

This man, a middle aged, stout and large man, wore a drab coat of grey, which hardly fit his large belly. Entered calmly and unaffected by the glare the Sealord gave him on the interruption, the man who was also balding and sported a very large mustache spoke quietly, as too not let the echos of his speaking run down the long hallways of the palace.

"My Lord, my name is Noros, a represenative of the Iron Bank, as a keyholder and Sealord of Braavos, it is your requirement to know what has taken place.... An Iron Bank convoy was returning along the coast of the Western side of Westeros when a storm swept a barge in the convoy away from the others, this one carried gold for the most part in its hold. While the rest of the convoy arrived, this one is still missing, and it has been far too long to assume they still have stores of food and water to survive on open sea."

Garran, now fully attentive to the represenative replied in a ragged, tired voice, "I see, so it is my reposibility now, as keyholder and Sealord to assist the Iron Bank in relocating or finding the wreckage of thier gold barge?" While Noros nodded excitedly, Garran stood up and walked over to the map of the known world, looking at the sunset sea and western Westeros. Dorne, the Reach, the Rock, Iron Isles, Stormlands, and the North...as well as those north of the wall all have settlements on the sunset sea, The Reach and Rock are the most powerful on the Sunset sea, in wealth, they have partnered with the bank before, perhaps it is best to start there...

Turning back to the representative he said , "Send my word to one of my messengers, send three official Braavosi war-galleys to hunt the barge, bring with you an Iron bank representative to visit the courts of Reach lords and Rock lords, particularly the Kings of those two kingdoms. for any sort of clue to the ship's whereabouts. We will handle this professionally and orderly, panic will not find us the barge any faster."

Marano Sorryl
Lady Gold's Courtesan Barge
God do I love this woman....

Marano laid naked on a messy bed comfortable next to a beautiful woman that was one of the famous courtesans of Braavos, Lady Gold, given her name due to her long, silky, golden hair, and bright blue eyes. She was a symbol of elegance for courtesans everywhere, and she was Marano's lover.

While Marano had many lovers and women he bedded, none compared to Lady Gold, whose real name is Serala Phaissos, her kindness and devotion to Marano, not to mention her full bosom and comely face made Marano fall for her as she did him. Not to mention Marano's favorite perk to his relationship with the courtesan, she cared little for his other amorous affairs, as she knew she was his love and life.

It was late in the evening, an Marano squeezed himself out of Lady Gold's rose petal covered bed, covering his lover in a blanket before he dressed himself in a vest of midnight blue, and strapped his sword to his side.

Unlike a bravo's thinner sword, Marano's water dancing sword was thick and strong enough to block larger blades, even strikes from a greatsword, while remaining thin enough for the quick and elegant water dancing style, thin enough to find and pierce the smallest chink in a knights armor, while strong enough to drive through mail and leather. These water dancing swords were called rapiers, and they were the Braavosi sword of war.

Once Lady Gold's barge had docked for the night, it was already night, and bravos filled the streets, Marano joined them, finding his first opponent nearing the fountain. Drawing his blade getting into his fenching position, he said

"You man, who is the the flame in the night, and beauty of of the sun?"

The bravo, had several options to choose from of the most famous and beautiful courtesans, Lady Gold among them, however he answered thinking himelf clever,
"Madame Dawn? The Sunrise and sunset of my life."

Marano responded taking a leap forward to prepare the water dance, saying, "Fight you fool, for you are wrong, My Lady Gold shines in the dark and day with the beauty of the sun, or even greater." And thus blades clashed in the night of Braavos, in a battle Marano won by taking a life of another bravo.

by **The Newton Collation** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 9:25 pm

The Harbor of Sunspear

Prince Ryman drove his steer forward through the dense crowd off the piers in the early Dornish sun, embracing the life flowing in and out of his city. Merchants unloading their various wares, eager to fill their purses once again. Whores and sailors alike stumbling out of the brothel only to be beaten back inside by the accusing sun. The fight that broke out between two embroiled captains saw no victors as three silent sentries removed themselves from their post and re-instated that princes peace once again. The trading galley, Dornes Gale, was siting patiently for the princes arrival.

He dressed as a commoner today, an outfit reserved for only some, particular occasions.As was often the case when the prince ventured out within his people, he would resist the fine silk robes he was more comfortable wearing throughout his palace for a more traditional attire of straw and hide. He was still easily identified by the gleaming bronze sigl of house Martell pinned to his coat, but a quick glance could mistake him as no more than a rich lordling. Those whom did identity their prince took time to bow their head in respect and he rode by. A gestured echoed throughout all the people of Drone in their princes presents.

He Kept a small guard with him on this occasion, two members of the city watch leading him through the thick crowd still forming in the harbor with two more keeping his back safe. On either side of him rode two people of significance. To his right, his long time friend sir Edric of Yronwood, a fiercely loyal servant and companion of the prince. He two dressed as the prince,two swords at his hips, with the only possible tie to his house being a small Yronwood pin he kept in his pocket. To the Princes left, his bastard son Lewyn, to whom this venture was primarily for. His short black hair and cooper skin shone in the sun, though he gathered not as much attention as his royal father did.

Arriving at Dornes Gale, Sir Edric and Lewyn both dismounted their horses, giving them to front guards while Prince Ryman dismounted in turn to see them off.

"Prince Lewyn, my son. I do wish you the best on your journeys. You shall do this house proud. You owe it to yourself, to me, and to the Martell family to make a name for yourself out there. To see the great mother Rhyone, and the place our enemies now burn eternal. To make court with exotic kings and princes alike. But of course,most importantly.... to make sure no one in the world forgets the name Leywn Sand of house Martell. I know you shall make me proud."

"You already know of my name father, surly the lesser princes of the worlds would take notice of me for that".

Prince Ryman Embrace his son one last time as his bastard prince boarded the ship. Prince Ryman then turned to his friend.

"Sir Edric, over the years you have paid back you grave mistake over tenfold in your undying loyalty to my family. Which makes more more than greatful and humbled that you volunteered to protect my son on this adventure of his. To act as his shield throughout the shithole of world we live in. Most importantly though.... I most ask of you to promote house Martell to the world, we need to see just which friends we can pick out of the ashes of that hellhole Valyria."

Prince Ryman pull from his pocket two identical Sun and spear of house Martell, each forged with a gold sun, and a silver spear piercing, and pressed them into sir Edrics hands.

"To serve you is an honor enough my prince. The boy is of your blood, no harm shall ever come to him so long as I live. I give you my word on that."

Bowing before his prince with the ornamental sigils pressed to his heart, sir Edric strode aboard the ship.

Mounting his horse, the prince took on more lingering look at the Galley, pondering its fate, before once again riding into the sea of his people.

by **Cuprum** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 9:32 pm

HOUSE GARDENER OF THE REACH
TERRITORY: HIGHGARDEN
"Sowing the seeds"

Highgarden

Alysanne had arrived alone without her doting handmaidens accompanying her as she had started to grown tired and sick of the consent attention. The girl didn't need nor want anyone to help her, she was just fine caring for herself and the babe growing inside her.

And mother had always said that too many hands are far worse than too little.

She gave out a small but welcoming smile to the girls as she entered the small room. The Queen wore a simple but flowing gown of azure with shorter sleeves embroidered with starry designs that resembled the summer night sky. The former Redwyne girl sat on the silken chair in front of the two girls after bowing to them with grace. "Thank you for being here," she said brightly. "It's a pleasure to see you, my dears."

Just then two servants came carrying trays of red bean cake and kettles and cups for the tea and placing them on a small table of pink wood beside them. They bowed in respect before silently leaving, Alysanne's attention turned back towards the two small girls. She had grown in a simple family, nothing as large and complex as this. The ways of the islanders folk were far different than those in Highgarden. She pitied for them greatly to never have a chance at just being normal children.

Instead that are raised as porcelain dolls, treated with unfairness and cruelty for just being born female. They are expected to give birth and please their husbands and nothing else. How disgusting. I know that they could do great things if they are ever given the chance.

"Help yourselves," the caring mother told her children. "There is plenty to go around."

Maude rose to her feet and bowed as The Queen entered, elbowing her sister to do the same. Mellara jumped to her feet, dipping into an unsteady bow. As her sister sat down she looked between the two, before walking over to her mother, holding up her hands as if asking to be pulled up onto her lap.

"Your stomach is so big!" Mellara oogled her mothers swollen tummy, biting her lip as she looked back at her sister. "Can I feel it?"

"Mellara!" Cried her sister, who has spread out a small napkin to place her cakes upon. "You shouldn't ask such questions, you have to be respectful!" She dusted off her fingers as she piled a few cakes onto her makeshift plate, dipping her head into a quick prayer to the Maiden.

Mellara frowned as she was told off, biting her lip harder as she looked up at her mother. "I-I'm sorry."

The Queen replied with a tiny giggle, amused by the children's antics. "No need to be so formal, you are my precious daughters after all," the woman of nine and thirty chuckled in reply. They were children after all, they did not need to act like adults at least not yet. Having fun should be part of their nature.

"You can touch it if you really wish, I don't mind," The Queen smiled as she moved her hand on her stomach, moving it upward as she felt it kick. The first time she had felt the strange movement in her, she felt a bit nervous and alarmed. It was an odd reminder that she had something precious, life growing and just waiting to spread out. It didn't matter it the child turned out to be a son or a daughter, she'll protect the babe no matter what.

She had gotten used it as time went on. The Queen grinned at little Mellara, motioning for her to come forward. "The babe is kicking," she spoke softly to the little girl.

Mellara beamed as she climbed up onto Alysanne's lap, pressing her hands gently against her stomach, her jaw dropping as she felt the soft kicking of the child. "Woooooww." Her eyes widened as she looked up at the Queen, and then back at her sister. "Maude, you have to feel this, come on!"

Maude glanced up at her mother, then to her little stack of cakes. Slowly she rose to her feet, hands folded in front of her, painted her brightly painted lip. "If...If you don't mind, could I maybe? But don't tell anyone I asked...We aren't really supposed to ask questions like that." She tugged nervously at the lace hem of her sleeve as she glanced around as if hoping no one was watching.

"H-have you seen father by the way? How is he, could you tell us what he looks like?" The sudden flow of excitement and questions ran off of Maude's tongue as she suddenly hurried over, climbing up onto The Queen's lap as well, reaching forward to feel her stomach. "Is he nice? I think he'd be nice, I always picture him as nice. None of the other lords ever call to see their daughters!"

"Well...," The Queen started to say as she thought of Garth. It was true that he was much kinder to her than any of his brothers but he still as a harsh symbol to her. A symbol of her imprisonment here in this Garden palace, she was as free as any other slave working in the fields. She couldn't be herself and Garth and his royal family treated her poorly. Every day she feared punishment. One day, she promised that she will rise up and show them all justice.

Despite his gentleness towards her... The Queen knew that he didn't love her but she knows that he try as hard as he can to be a good husband for her.

"He thinks of you two all the time," the Queen told the two younger ones on her lap. She didn't want to show any ill emotion in front of them, she wanted to show these girls strength.

They don't fare any better than I. These vicious customs hinder them.

by **Independent States of Tula** » Sat Aug 15, 2015 10:51 pm

Rhaegar Tula, Driftmark, 1 AD, Day 1...

Bloodfyre hissed at the slave merchant who cowered slightly at the sight of the black dragon with red wings and fiery red eyes. Her bondmate Rhaegar however did not seem to pay attention to his dragon's dislike of the man before them, rather he looked at the two pleasure slaves with avid interest. The pure Valyrian one identified as Daenerys was obviously the more shy one of the two as she shrunk under Rhaegar's gaze and seemingly hid behind her counterpart, the part-Valyrian one named Argella who seemed far more stronger of will as she met Rhaegar's gaze with her own similarly steely gaze.

Finally after finishing his visual examination of the two women Rhaegar looked to the merchant and stated "You attempted to avoid paying my family the taxes required to use the bay. For that you must pay, you will hand over these two women to me and you may keep your gold, we'll consider it even then. After all I may have use of you or some of your fellow slave merchants in the future, no reason to punish you too harshly, after all I would think taking two unprofitable slaves off your hands for free is quite a kind gesture from someone you slighted...don't you agree?"

The merchant looked like he was about to protest but another hiss from Bloodfyre silenced him before he replied meekly "Yes my Lord, very generous of you, very generous."

Rhaegar smirked and looked to the two slaves before ordering "You two, come over here, and you...merchant. You can leave now."

"Thank you my Lord, a thousand blessings upon you." The man stated before turning and quickly leaving for his docked ship.

The two female slaves approached their new owner cautiously, especially as Bloodfyre seemed to draw closer to Rhaegar in a protective way.

"Your dragon doesn't like us." Argella stated out of turn.

Rhaegar ignored that fact and simply replied "She doesn't like human females...I suppose she's afraid they'll steal me away from her though I would never allow that, would I Bloodfyre?"

At that question Bloodfyre lowered her head to Rhaegar's level so he could run his hand up and down her snout in a comforting way, as he did that Rhaegar asked the two women "So...how are you two related to House Belarion? Surely everyone from that House had been wiped out along with all their architectural knowledge?"

The two women hesitated a moment before the shy Daenerys replied "I am Daenerys Belarion...the only child of Viserys Belarion that wasn't a bastard...Argella here is my half sister."

Nodding Rhaegar asked "Did your father teach you two how to plan architecture that only House Balerion knew how to make?"

"He taught me...master. However if you wish I could teach Argella as well if you need two planners...I'd only hope you'd show us mercy in return." Daenerys attempted to meekly bargain.

Looking between the two Rhaegar chuckled before replying "I am not the type of man to use slaves for his own pleasure, slaves should serve far different roles than for pleasure in my opinion and if you two truly can plan and build the marvels of House Belarion then that is what I will use you for. I have a feeling that your services in that role will be needed soon. Now...let's get you two into the castle, I'll have some quarters for you two made, however after that I'm afraid I'll have to leave you two alone for a few hours...I have some business to attend to."

"Thank you...master." Argella replied, struggling to say the last word.

One Hour Later...

"We must act soon with the way things are going in the rest of Westeros." Valar was quick to state once more as the meeting stretched on for another half hour.

"No, we need House Targaryen's permission to act first, and after that we must gather allies to aid our plans." Baehra replied unusually boldly for the typically quiet beauty of six and ten, perhaps due to a certain member's silence at the table.

Maemon looked across the table to his first son Rhaegar who had so far seemed to be deep in thought as he paid little attention to the family meeting in Maemon's study.

"My son...you've been quiet, anything you want to add?" Maemon asked his eldest son who's head perked up when he realized the other three members of his family were all looking at him.

Clearing his throat Rhaegar replied "We'll need allies if we wish to succeed in these plans. However we should also hold back from letting House Targaryen in on them until we have a gift to sooth any wrath we might trigger from them. However one such ally we could find very useful isn't in Westeros."

"Oh, and which ally is this?" Maemon asked.

"Braavos, House Sorryl is a very powerful House there...they have a marriageable woman of eight and ten...perhaps you and Valar should sail for Braavos and see if you can secure a marriage alliance?" Rhaegar proposed.

"As much as I hate to admit it, that could work." Valar agreed begrudgingly.

"But what of Westeros? Braavos cannot win us allies there." Baehra pointed out.

"House Mallister could be a good choice...they've rebelled against the Storm Kings once...perhaps a marriage could convince them to do so again? Rhaegar could take that job surely?"

"No, the Madeagle's heir is unmarried, if Baehra and Rhaegar can convince him to marry Baehra then we would assure the loyalty of House Mallister far more firmly than anyone else." Maemon pointed out.

"If that is required then I will marry him father if he agrees to it." Baehra stated, she keep any reservations about the plan silent but her face had paled even more just slightly.

"And what about House Durrandon? How do we force them to our terms?" Valar asked.

"That's where I can take the blade brother, House Durrandon has two unmarried women. Once we get the Riverlands to rise up and declare their independence with our support I'll deliver the demands to them and ask for one of their hands in marriage to win the peace." Rhaegar answered.

"And what about that...egh, 'Queen Taker'? Surely such a man cannot be allowed to rule the Stormlands underneath House Targaryen?" Baehra asked, her displeasure for the man evident.

"I'll make sure one of the terms of peace be that he is gelded for the crime of rape. He's already sired a child with his wife, no need to add any more of his children to this world." Rhaegar stated.

"Very well, are we all agreed?" Maemon asked, when no one said anything he continued "Tomorrow I and Valar will sail for Braavos with five ships and his dragon. After we leave you two will fly for Seaguard and meet with the Madeagle...see what we can accomplish there. For now though get your things together and rest...and Rhaegar don't spend too much time with your bed warmers...I need you rested tomorrow and bed warmers can be quite draining after long periods."

"I promise father...though we both know I wait for my wife." Rhaegar replied with a slight smirk before he returned to his neutral expression.

With all said the Tulas began readying for the day ahead of them.

by **Novae Vitae** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 12:00 am

Elaena Targaryen
Dragonstone, the Narrow Sea

She wept tears of joy the next morning, and held a prayer with her family for hours. Balerion was dead, that was true. But the gods had spared them the extent of their wrath. The gods had given them eggs.

They had been lain by Hyroxis, the largest of the three dragons of Ulcrax's second brood. Aegon's dragon. Though Hyroxis was silver, the she-dragon had lain eggs--three, to be precise, as Ulcrax had before her. The first had been sapphire, with workings of bronze; the second was rose with swirls of orange; and the last was the color of cinnamon, with hints of Hyroxis' silver.

Daenys had resolved that the gods did not want them hatched, and she had stored them away to a place which only she, Gaemon, and Aegon knew. Elaena had no desire to know. There was no reason to; a babe did not yet quicken in her womb, though not for wont of her and Aegon's trying.

The prayer was at last broken; the sun had reached its zenith while they had been locked in their worship, and only now that it had begun to wane did they allow themselves wine and food. They were attended by two of the five other pure-blooded Valyrians that remained on Dragonstone, all slaves. Elaena did not like the way that Aegon's eyes lingered on the the woman of the two.

"What shall we do now?" Rhaenyra inquired as they dined. They did not dine in the Westerosi fashion, on a long and awkward table, but rather in the Valyrian fashion, in long stretches of bench with padding.

"The choice is clear," Aegon said. "We cannot sit idle any longer. We must needs strike east or west. Dragonstone has little and less to offer."

"It is where I brought us," Daenys said, "while you had yet to quicken in my womb. Recall that it is our home."

"Our castle, perhaps," Aegon said, "but not our home. Valyria was our home." He ate a grape.

"You speak of Valyria as if you saw it," Gaemon said. "Recall which of us is trained in the Valyrian style."

"Recall which of us has a dragon," Aegon replied. A silence settled between them at that, as Gaemon analyzed his son and forced a grape between his mouth.

"It makes little matter if we could put an army of Ulcrax's afield," Daeron said, "if we cannot bring men to strength. Even with the full, unconditional might of the Tulas backing us, we cannot put more than five thousand men afield. Even the hobbled lords of the rivers would make short work of that."

"You underestimate our dragons, brother," Aegon said.

"And you overestimate them," Daeron replied.

"We cannot strike west nor east nor north nor south without allies," Elaena said, cutting in between the siblings as she always did. Why was she forever the wall between Aegon and Daeron, between Dark Sister and Brightflame?

"Elaena is right," Daenys said. "We have but one ally, House Tula, and while they are true and loyal is does not hurt to reaffirm their loyalty. I have no wish to see Rhaegar's Bloodfyre fly against us."

"Maemon would not dare," Gaemon said. "He is a loyal man, and true. We would never even suppose."

"Maemon is not immortal," Daenys replied, "nor is Rhaegar the only rider of the Tulas. Which one of us shall leave to go to them on the morrow?" For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"I will go," Daeron replied. "They is no need to wait. If I leave now then I can make the flight before nightfall. What should I say to them?"

Elaena knew what her mother wished. "Tell them that Balerion has succumb to his illness, and that Ulcrax too has died." The words still tasted bitter on her mouth. "Do not mention the eggs lest it arise in converse. Greed leads often to temptation."

"I see," Daeron replied. "And what shall I offer them also?"

"Your hand in marriage," Elaena and Daenys replied in the same instant. Elaena nodded to Daenys, whom continued, "Baehra Tula is six-and-ten, of marriageable age. It would suit you to take her hand."

"Baehra Tula is no older than I," Rhaenyra interjected, for the first time. She seemed so small across from Elaena that she wished to embrace her sister. She also knew that the time for that had long-since passed.

"Precisely," Daenys said. "You will must needs leave on the morrow as well. Sarnath is far from here, and even Philar shall not make the flight in a few days. It will take time."

"Mother, surely I misheard you, surely--" Elaena began, but Daenys held a hand to silence her. Gaemon, to whom she looked for support, did not turn to face her as he ate another grape.

"You will take Philar and ride him to Sarnath with Rhaenyra," Daenys replied, "where Rhaenyra will make a wedding to the family there."

"You once spoke of House Gaelyreos as traitors," Aegon said. "When you heard of the Doom, you said if only they had been lost in it too."

"I said this indeed," Daenys said, "and I believe it still. But Aelor Gaelyreos has no reason to know it, and we will need allies. House Gaelyreos shall have many needed soldiers, if it comes to that."

"And what shall we offer them in return?" Elaena demanded. Rhaenyra was pale.

"The might of our armies, once they are forged," Aegon replied. He was the only one in the room that seemed pleased. "You outdo yourself daily, Mother." His violet eyes glimmered.

"Recall that you wish to beget your sister, not me," Daenys said. "I take no pleasure in giving up my daughter like a brood mare." At this, Rhaenyra ran from the room with tears streaming from her face, no longer able to control herself. Aegon went quiet.

"So I shall ride with Rhaenyra to Sarnath," Elaena said, "I journey that shall take a fortnight, no doubt, lest we wish to appear in exhaustion. Daeron will see the Tulas later today. And? Surely you have not excluded yourself from the master's plan."

"Surely not," Daenys replied. "I shall sail to Braavos to secure gold for our costly wars from the Iron Bank, while Aegon too shall fly north."

"I shall?" Aegon inquired.

"You shall," Daenys replied. "The Boltons are in rebellion against a foe they cannot hope to best, or so the sailors from White Harbor would have us believe. You, in turn, shall fly to the Dreadfort and make the terms clear. Either they shall bend the knee to your father, or Hyroxis and Jurelle will fly with the Starks."

Aegon nodded. "So we are decided then," he said.

"So we are," Daenys said, looking at Gaemon.

He only pressed another grape between his lips and nodded.

by **The United Eastern States of Europe** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 6:12 am

Hoare Castle, Great Wyk, The Iron Islands

Harwyn entered the court to his brother's back. "You claim to be rather well-read, read that." He motioned for a piece of parchement beside a dead raven. On it, the broken pink seal of the Bolton's. Harlan sat down on the steps of his throne as Harwyn edged closer to the message. He lifted it and began to mouth out each word carefully. Harwyn's dazed and confused look soon became contemplative. "Well?" Harlan asked impatiently.

"Take it! We shall be Kings of the Isles and Rivers!" Harwyn said excitedly.

"Word are wind, remember?" Harlan scoffed at his youngest brother. "We have no way to cement an alliance, the Bolton's could break their pledge at anytime and no one would care." Harlan shook his head. "We need a more... immediate reward. Cape Kraken mayhaps? The Flint' are loyal to Starks." Harwyn could only nod in response, not that it mattered. Harlan would do as he damn well pleased anyway. Harwyn dismissed himself as he walked away with scorn.

All. Must. Pay. The words were engraved above the court door on either side, but Harlan always felt this side had a more demanding presence. Under him, The Iron Price had been payed by many. Yet not all. His Drowned Man, Theon, had brought forth the map of the Known World. While other kings surrounded themselves in Maesters and tricks, Harlan employed a holy man in their place. Theon unrolled the map on the floor as Harlan crouched to see. On request he had also brought a quill, some ink, and parchement to send a raven to the Bolton's.

If The Bolton's were to ally with House Hoare, and if they were to become Kings of that grey waste of a kingdom, it could prove very valuable. Harlan knew if they did take the Riverlands, the next Bolton King would want them or try to take them. House Flint have failed to declare for the Boltons. Harlan took the quill and began his message, his counsel watching over him meticulously.

To King Rickard of House Bolton, Rightful King of the North and The Dreadfort,

I would call you honourable but your bastard disproves me. Without any way to ensure your proposal, we refuse. However, we do not wish to see the Starks rule either. In return for our men, we request a more immediate reward. Cape Kraken, held by Flint's Finger, and the traitorous House Flint. Give me this, and you shall have your crown.

Sincerely,
King Harlan of House Hoare, second of his name, King of Salt and Rock, King-Reaper of the Iron Islands.

Harlan returned to the map, ordering Theon to fetch Qhorwyn. The Drowned Man obliged his king and left Harlan with the map. Preferably, he didn't wish to leave the Sunset Sea to raid. The Rock were out of the question for him, after all they may have solved his Braavosi problem for him. The North will be raided once Cape Kraken is promised, and The Free Folk have nothing. That leaves the Reach and Dorne. Now Harlan had to choose whose wines he wanted most. He laughed at his own joke as Qhorwyn entered.

"A king shouldn't dirty himself on the floor," Qhorwyn jested.

"A brother shouldn't address his king without courtesy," Harlan looked up with a grim smiled. "Unless you really don't like your tongue." Qhorwyn looked at the laid out map, then back to his brother. "What happened to the Braavosi ship?"

"Crew are now without throats, and their ship is wrecked of the coast of The Rock. Your vassals were very pleased with your generosity, I also hear." Harlan nodded in approval. "Is that all I'm needed for?"

"No." Harlan pointed to The Arbor. "I want you to take three other ships alongside your own to raid here. Do everything necessary to avoid The Shield Islands, The Three Towers and Blackcrown. If they spot Ironborn, alarms will surely go off." Qhorwyn knelt down beside the map and plotted his route with his finger. He pointed between Brightwater and Blackcrown.

"If we raid here, we can cut down on supplies. Such minor fishing villages won't cause too much alarm when raided, not if we fly no colours." Qhorwyn looked to his brother for approval.

"Well, your the king of your ship. Good luck." Harlan stood and stretched his back as he rolled the map up. He sat on his throne and dismissed his brother, bidding farewell.

by **The Newton Collation** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 7:32 am

The royal Throne room

Prince Ryman settled once again into his decorative silk gown and silver braids before entering his throne room. His family and court had already assembled, and all rose in to greet him. His seat next to his wife on the platform overlooking the hall, he gestured to Maester Ludwick to begin open the gathering.

"I have received a few, urgent ravens from the princes son, Prince Hector,over an increasing amount of threatening letters they are reviving from lords of the Marches. And, just earlier today, I too received a raven bearing the seal of house Selmy, and another from house Dondarrion. Both issuing the same threats. They claim that raids are taken place in their lands, which they do boast, are conducted by House Wyl, violating the boarders of the kingdoms. Though they do not provide any proof they have of gathered of such raids taking place or that it house Wyl was the party that committed the act, they demand that they be compensated for their loses. They are...."

Princess Rosentine Interrupted the Maester in his briefing . "What exactly do these storm lords demand from us?"

"They claim that a payment of 700 thousand gold tokens would suffice to settle this slight against their houses, and preserve peace between our kingdoms. Or, as they go on to claim my prince, they shall hold house Wyl responsible and burn the castle and villages of Wyl to ground to fulfill our payment instead."

Murmurs shoot across the hall, each person in the hall expressing their own form of shock and disdain. Prince Ryman broke the discussions short, addressing the entire hall." Just when did the storm lords get such massive galls to issue such a threat!? To issue a warning against one of my bannermen, myself and to my son staying at Wyl!?

The prince froze in place...... a small chuckle raising from his throat.

"It would appear that they have forgotten their place in the world. Do they not remember that last times they have marched into Dorne? No army sent into Dorne by the storm kings ever leaves these sands with their lives. Maybe the storm lords have got a lustful desire for some men and women of real character."

Other lords and lordlings joined in their princes mockery of the storm kings. Arthur Dalt, the red lemon, made his own banter to the court." aye my prince, but these may not be simply words of header lords. I do believe that this could be a issued threat form that dullard king of their himself. He has Dornish ambitions in mind, this might just be a ploy of his to invade."

More murmuring in the court, broken by Janice Uller of Hellholt. "Fuck the storm king, and all those lords whom suckle on his teats. If they dare march south on Wly, my prince, we shall bring down a fire on the stormlands from the Dornish sun itself."

Every person in attendance were now shouting their own insults or promises to their prince, whose chuckled alongside his court. It was his wife who broke the silence this time, placing a hand on her husbands lap and raising a hand to settle the court." These threat ought not to be taken so lightly. The marcher lords still wield much power to our north. This payment, though as pinnacle as it is to preserve the peace of my husbands reign, is to absurd to to given away to our foes. However, we must not fear these impish warnings, even if the storm king himself marches on Dorne, he shall face the might of all of Dorne, slaughtering his army of green boys and foolish lords. This is not even considering the rebellion throughout his kingdom while the Kings plays conqueror."

Prince Ryman pressed his fingers to his brow, why the storm king couldn't be content with the lands he already holds, why did he have to break the peace the two kingdoms hand endured for 20 years now? He had to be decisive in his deliberation, and his verdict on the matter. He pondered on his thoughts for a moment while the court waited in anticipation. He finally settled in his seat, and proclaimed his decision.

"For twenty long years, we have enjoyed peace in Dorne. I have fought my own battles to ensure that conflict shall never boil over to war. The storm lords seem adamant about war however, and feel that Dorne right now is in a weaken state, ripe for their pickings. We must never be intimidated from cockless swines from the north. If any armies from the north cross the stone way, it will be war with the storm king. Give no response to the marcher lords on terms of the deal. And send a raven to my son at Wyl, inform him and lord Wyl to hide soldiers in wait outside of Wly in anticipation of attack , and for their lords and peasants to make take refugee at Yronwood. Those who remain at Wyl shall prepare for a siege. If the marcher lords do come down the stone way, they shall find it and the castle lightly defended at the end of their long march. Only to be crushed into the wall by the soldiers lying in wait nearby. Those who flee back to the stone way, shall find it blocked by the rest of the soldiers from Wyl and a small host from Yronwood and Blackmont. We do not want to be wasting money on soldier in the field however, so inform the lords of Yronwood and Blackmont to keep in wait for now, and await signal from Wyl. Let us then see if these storm lords are as powerful as they boast.

Cheers and praises emulated throughout the hall, but the Prince's face remained neutral. His wife gave him a compastinate and understanding look, but he was still dismayed. Deep down, he was saddened that the peace his reign had lived through would now likely end to the ambitions of a dullard king and his devoted lords.

by **Taganian Unfied States** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 11:06 am

Last Hearth-Keep of the Umbers, Northern Westeros
"Lord Umber! Lord Umber!" a Maester cried running up the steps into the Umbers Great Hall. The old oaken doors swung open with loud creeks. Inside the hall was large number of people. The Lord of Last Hearth sat in his seat drinking with some minor Lords. He was all smiles and cheer. His sword hung on his chair. His personal guard were all at ease. The Maester ran in still running for the High Chair, "Lord Umber! Lord Umber!" He shouted waving a note, "News from Winterfell!" He proclaimed as he reached the chair and handed his Lord the note.

Lord Umber,
Information you may find vital, the Boltons at the Dreadfort are possibly in rebellion. Starks intentions unknown. Ravens leave the Dredfort in great haste. Summon your levies Lord of Last Hearth. War is coming. Winter is Coming. And not even the Starks can stop this. - ~~~

Lord Umber rubbed his chin and handed the note to his bannermen. They each read it in turn. He eyed them and rose raising his hand, "Silence!" he shouted and the Hall went silence, "My Lords. If the Boltons are going to raise in rebellion, we must march to Winterfell. The banners will be raised. And I intend to be their to see them come." On his Minor Lords, Lord Henoud looked at his Lord, "Winterfell? To the Dreadfort! Let u take them and we will be the most honoarble House to the Starks!" A few other Lords nodded in agreement. Umber shook his head, "We would need more men. And the Dreadfort could never be held. Just like we can never be held. Let us write our words before we raise our swords. But sharpen your blades my Lords. We may go from farmers to soldiers by the year. Never be chained." The House words of the Umbers. The lords shouted approval and so did the people in the Hall.

To: Lord Rickard Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, sworn bannermen of House Stark
From: Lord Odin Umber, Lord of the Last Hearth, sworn bannermen of House Stark
Lord Bolton,
Their is trouble news coming to us here in the High North. News has come from Winterfell that you are calling yourself King of the North. We find these rumors disturbing here. With the Starks in Winterfell silent. The Umbers find their time is not wasted. Will the Boltons rise? The Umbers are no fulls. If the Dreadforts banners will rise over Winterfell. Then let the Umbers banner fly here in the High North. My brother, Jackson Umber rides south for the Dreadfort.
-Lord Odin Umber
~Lord of Last Hearth
~Keeper of the High North

by **Independent States of Tula** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 11:09 am

Rhaegar Tula, Driftmark, 1 AD, Day 2...

"I don't know if I'm nervous or excited at this trip." Baehra stated as she and Rhaegar approached the Dragon Pit of Driftmark with their supplies for their trip to Seaguard.

"I'll admit that even I'm nervous. If all goes to plan we'll both be married by the time our plans are completed." Rhaegar replied.

"The Madeagle's son...have you heard anything about him? What's he like...just so I can expect what I might be in for in the future." Baehra asked, her voice quiet.

Rhaegar pursed his lips before replying "I heard he was a promising military man, great with a bastard sword...other than that...not much."

Baehra merely nodded at that as the two entered the pit and approached their dragons. As they began loading their gear onto the saddles of their dragons Rhaegar noted that two other pairs of footsteps were coming from behind them and when he turned he saw Daenerys and Argella approach cautiously, both weary of Bloodfyre and Parinath who seemed to be staring at the newcomers with interest...though Bloodfyre seemed to hiss at the two women.

"Here to see off your master? Was he that good in bed last night?" Baehra teased the two recently acquired slaves, surprisingly sounding jealous.

Argella gave a glare at Baehra before a nudge from Daenerys reminded her of her place in the current situation and so she bowed her head to hide her anger, Daenerys for her part merely replied meekly "Our Master did not lay with us last night my Lady...we both maintain our maidenheads so long as it pleases our master."

"Is that so? I didn't know you had such restraint brother." Baehra stated.

"As I've said many a time before my sister, I am waiting for my wife, not to mention my moral code." Rhaegar replied, himself somewhat surprised by his sister's behavior, the girl typically preferring to be quiet and polite...he made a note to speak about that with her later.

However for now he turned his attention to the two slaves and asked "What are you two doing here? I did not summon you."

"Master, we...we were just wondering if you were taking us with you." Daenerys stated meekly.

"I think not. The Westerosi outlawed slavery long ago, it is now only practiced in secrecy due to its illegal nature. If I was to show up with slaves in tow than I fear that creating alliances would be made nigh impossible. ...Why would you want to come anyway?" Rhaegar questioned.

This time Argella answered "Your household guard does not give us comfort with their wanting stares...Daenerys and I are concerned for our safety without your protection."

"Any man who touches either of you without my permission will be gelded and fed to Bloodfyre. You need not fear my Guard, as my property they know to do no more than look or else face my wrath." Rhaegar replied.

"Very well Master. If you are confident then so shall we. I apologize, a year ago both my sister and I were free and we are still adjusting to this life which leaves us with a sense of unknowing," Argella stated rather unconvincingly for the first part.

"How did two Belarion ladies get turned into slaves anyway? I never asked." Rhaegar asked.

Argella's anger was clear as she explained "When the Doom destroyed our family we were lucky or perhaps unlucky enough to be in Lys at the time...our guards betrayed us and sold us into slavery. We were taught for months in the various ways of pleasuring men and women in a way that would not ruin our maidenhood so we could be sold for more. After that betrayal you must understand why we are untrusting of your guards master."

Before Rhaegar could reply a guard can running over and exclaimed "Lord Rhaegar! A dragon is approaching from the direction of Dragonstone."

Rhaegar furrowed his brow and noted the sound of wings approaching. Suddenly the dragon came in view and was clearly Daeron Targaryen's dragon. The rider, who Rhaegar noted was indeed Daeron landed the dragon in the pit and quickly dismounted.

Almost simultaneously both Rhaegar and Baehra bowed and stated "Lord Daeron."

The two slaves behind the two Tulas hesitated a moment before bowing as well.

Rhaegar ended his bow and asked "Lord Daeron...what do we owe this visit?"

by **Rather Polite Gentlemen** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 12:45 pm

Castle Seagard, the Lord's Hall

A day had passed since the fateful gathering inside Castle Seagard, and the servants that dwelled within were hard at work. Indeed, the castle had sprang to life once again, as Lord Mallister had finished taking court, and the many minor lords under him melted away from the the main hall. Lord Mathos had gathered his family into this hall, along with the various advisors of the Madeagle; his scribe arrived first, followed by the Castellan and Ser Manfryd, the Head Admiral. Naturally, after him came his protege Erron, whom soon stood to the left of his father, while Benedict stood to the right of Lady Roslin. The Maester sat far in the background with Eleyne, whom had taken a dour mood throughout most of the day. Owen came in last, though sat with his sister and the Maester. Once his council and clan had gathered, the doors were shut and Lord Mathos rose to speak.

"As some of you surely know already, a certain sot of the Frey household arrived in Seagard yesterday, to entertain himself at my feast and take in a snifter of my personal wine collection... of which, we can assume he took from the bait that had been cast out by my loving wife, not two days ago." Mathos stated, loud enough so that everyone in the room could here him clearly. He turned to Roslin, who returned his quaint smile and crossed her legs.

"As we expected, Benedict found him with a drink in one hand and a tit in the other. Alton Frey... cousin of Lord Frey of the Crossing. An interesting set of men, both of them. Certainly so, if his message holds any weight at all." As Mathos stated these events as they came to pass, Maester Raymar found his way to the center of the room. The short, middle-aged Valeman spoke up through his mess of a beard and mustache.

"If I may ask, my lord... did this cousin Frey state why he had been so vocal over this past month?" The Maester carefully questioned. Lord Mallister's expression did not change, as the uninformed room held its collective breath.

"You may indeed, Raymar. He told us something that I doubt anyone expected. Lord Frey has pledged his support to a Mallister-lead, popular uprising against those shriveled cunts who claim dominion over us. He has been escorted back to the Twins, on his way to schedule a parley with his landed lord. I expect his response within the coming weeks."

Many mouths gaped at this response. Some out of disbelief, some out of pure relief. As per Lord Mallister's strong opinions and thoughts over the years and months, he did not expect Lord Frey to join in with his planned rebellion, let along pledge his full support. Erron however, clapped his hands and cheered.

"Magnificent! Lord Frey commands a strong position in the north. With his support, we'll be able to harass and block troops from above the Twins, in case of any kind of attac-" Erron explained, but Benedict cut him off.

"There's no reason that the North would attack us, little brother. They are suffering many problems of their own. What we must fear is attacks from the water, not the land. Your area of expertise, is it not?" Benedict rudely questioned his brother. Erron furrowed his brow at Benedict's line of questioning. As he clenched his fists and readied a punch, Ser Manfryd answered before him.

"Correct, m'lord. The Hoares will likely sense the blood in the water. Like a Kraken, they'll strike at us when we are weak. While strong and built for such a raid, Seagard can only hold out for so long, in that case." Manfryd gave his wise council to Lord Mathos. Benedict smiled proudly at Erron, whom excused himself to calm down.

"Mmm. Thank you Manfryd. Two lords cannot handle these dogs of the sea as well as the dogs of the Blackwater." Mathos admitted.

"Three, Mathos. My father would rise for you with a single message. Lord Piper boasts one of the largest levies in the Riverlands, even moreso than a number of Stormlords." Lady Mallister spoke out.

"Three then. Three lords fighting a nigh-impossible force. The Blackwoods claim much loyalty to the Durrandons. Perhaps Lord Bracken would rise for us, if we goad him into the promise of Blackwood blood, and villages he believes is rightfully owed to him. I believe he would." Mathos rose, and strode over to a large table at the leftmost side of his hall. He sat, and scanned a map of Westeros, considering the lords that may rise for him, and those who may not. He pointed to Duskendale and frowned.

"The Darklyn's have ties to the King. They would surely rise against us. I cannot tell which way Lord Rosby would go, in such a conflict... Truthfully, one of his kinsman dwells somewhere locally, but has no real sway with his true lord. Lord Stokeworth claims no real loyalty to anyone. The same can be said for the petty lords that claim lands around the God's Eye." Mathos considered himself, his expression growing more dour by the second. After a minute, a look of determination washed over his face, and he slammed a fist onto the table. His voice boomed, as the Madeagle looked to his scribe.

"We will look to other sources for assistance. Roland, prepare a letter for me." The scribe, a minor noble by the name of Roland, rushed out of the room, coming back with his quill, ink and pieces of paper to write a formal letter for Lord Mallister. Ser Manfryd was the next to speak.

"Who are you to recruit, m'lord? Those gits in the Vale are hardly to break their isolation over the Riverlands, nor are the Starks. Bolton's will come down, just to skin a couple of whores and rape some more." Terrick admitted.

"Then we won't start with them, Manfryd. Let us send a message to the Lannisters first, or to the Martells. I suspect both would enjoy to kill some Stormlanders to improve their standings in Westeros. If we receive no response, then we'll look to the Reach, the Vale if not one of them bites. If no one responds, then the Starks will be our last chance. I have no trust, nor any love for the bastards of the Dreadfort. Send me to the Wall if they defend us." Mathos chuckled, albeit with some anticipation. He looked to Benedict, whom understood what Mathos was about to tell him.

"Alliances are sealed in blood and marriage, if words are not to become wind at our doorstep. Benedict, you will do your duty if needs be. We can claim a portion of Lannister wealth, if you take a Westerman princess to wed." Mathos confessed to his son. The heir was pleased at the prospect at wedding a blonde haired Lannister, but not the proudest in the room. As she heard her father consider a Lannister marriage, Eleyne's ears pricked up. Like a mad witch, she rushed over to her father and begged at his feet, her expression brightening up considerably.

"Father! Please, I wish to wed a beautiful Lannister prince! I simply must father, I simply must be swept away by a gallant knight..." Eleyne embarrassingly plead to Mathos. Both parents cringed at their daughter, her siblings sniggering to themselves along with a couple of onlookers. She unhooked herself and looked to Mathos with pleading eyes.

"Of course, dear. I'll mention you as a prospect to wed as well. Mayhaps if we can wed you or Benedict off to the Lannisters, we can looks to another lord for an alliance as well. Owen is too young, and offering up a third son may be considered an insult by some..." Mathos told Eleyne, trailing off and mumbling the last part so no one may hear him. With that said, Eleyne let out a large squeal, and ran to her room to daydream of her golden-haired princeling. Mathos spoke, summoning Roland to his side.

"If all is said and done, then let me dictate a letter, to be delivered by Raven to King Tyland of the Rock." As the scribe listened intently, Mathos cleared his throat, and spoke his message to the Westerlands.

(Image)

Dear King Tyland, master of the Rock, Lannisport and King of the Westerlands,

I send a message with compliments of your strength, and an offer of an alliance sealed by a pact of marriage. They call me the Madeagle, Lord of Seagard and rightful King of the Rivers and the Hills. I propose an alliance of convenience, but also an alliance of promise; a great friendship between our two houses for many years to come, and a mutual pact of defense and offence towards both of our enemies. I offer you the hand of my daughter in marriage, or similarly ask for the hand of one of your daughters. I assure you, with help throwing off the shackles of the Storm King, our alliance would surely become one of the most, if not the most powerful in all of Westeros. I await your response.

Signed,

Lord Mallister of Seagard.

With this, Mathos sent his Raven away to the south and dismissed all but his Castellan, whom he brought into a private chamber for a further discussion in due time.

by **Igoria** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 1:49 pm

House Bolton
The Dreadfort
The crowing of the ravens roused Maester Willum, just as it did many a day. Willum jumped from bed energetically, donned his grey robe and ran up a winding flight of steps to the ravenry. The Dreadfort's ravenry was a small room at the top of one of the castle's tall towers, its straw-covered floor was soiled by birdshit, and the ravens usually threw up quite the rancour. Willum had long gotten used to the noise: he had assisted Archmaester Ambrose in tending the Citadel's ravens for many a year as an Acolyte.
As for the Dreadfort's birds, King Rickard's magnificent arsenal of ravens sat on a multitude of perches, squawking at each other, and at the newcomer in their midst: A rather weatherbeaten bird was perched on the windowsill, crowing its annoyance at having to wait at the maester's pleasure. The maester muttered a few curses, took the bird in hand, and carried it down the same winding stairwell to his rooms. Once there, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, the maester detached the message from the bird's leg, placed it in one of the many pockets in his robe's baggy sleeves, before giving the raven a handful of corn as a treat and hurrying out to bring the message to his lord's attention.

When Maester Willum burst into the Great Hall, Rickard Bolton was breaking his fast in the company of his Queen, Barbary, his sister, Kyra, and his bastard Cley. Evidently, the Boltons were arguing as the maester hurriedly shuffled in, his shoes softly scraping the stone floor.
"Father, you can't." Cley protested, his face was flushed.
Bolton was adamant. "I am your lord father, and your king. I can. You will remain here as my castellan when I march. Being a castellan is a position of great trust and honour."
"Being a castellan is fitted for old, tired knights who can't keep up in the field." Cley threw back. "If you claim to trust me so, why can't you trust me to fight alongside you? You've seen me train, I can best some of your finest guards, I-"
Rickard sighed loud enough to be heard in Dorne. "Very well," he said to Cley, before turning to the two women, "My Lady, Kyra, if you could please leave me for a word with my son?" The two women got up and withdrew, and only then did Rickard seem to notice the maester. The maester bowed and was about to withdraw with the two ladies, but Rickard called him back. "Not you, Willum, you stay," and once the great doors of the Great Hall had closed shut, Bolton added, "I trust you can keep secret that which you are about to hear?"
"Certainly, Your Grace. The vows of my order-"
"Spare me. I know all about your vows." King Rickard turned to his bastard son, who said, angrily
"Aunt Kyra rides with you! She is a woman, not a warrior, and she comes while I will sit here-"
"Quiet. I take Kyra with me only because I do not trust her in my absence. But enough about her. You wanted to know why I am leaving you as my castellan, when I could leave some foxy old knight to do it instead of you? I have said it before: because I trust you. You are my son. I trust you to hold my keep and protect my wife and trueborn heir, your brother, in my absence." Bolton paused. "I know you lust for glory, same as any other youth, and yet the duty I call upon you to perform requires a man, not a callow, arrogant youth. There is every possibility that the Starks will march on the Dreadfort with all their strength, seeking to break my cause. The Dreadfort is strong, with thick, tall walls and sturdy towers. I leave you with several hundred men in the garrison, a third of them my professional guard. With such a force you could hold the castle for years of siege, if you use your provisions wisely and expel all the useless mouths. You could easily hold out long enough for me to come and relieve you. Do you understand?"
Cley nodded.
"Good," the Bolton King continued, "It may be that you will hear of my undoing. That my army has been slaughtered and I have been killed or captured. In that case, you must know for a certainty that the Starks will march on the Dreadfort. If I die, many of my lords may abandon me. That need not concern you. The men I leave behind are all my own, loyal to my house. Our house. Know this, that if I die, the preservation of House Bolton falls on you, Cley. And you, maester," Bolton added, turning to Willum. "When the Starks lay siege, do not yield. Hold out until Stark's resolve weakens. It may take a year. Maybe two. But it will weaken, Stark is not made of iron. Yield only when he agrees to accept your demands, and those demands must be the reconfirmation of House Bolton as Lords of the Dreadfort, and the acceptance of our House into the King's Peace. Is that clear, Cley?" Cley nodded again. "And do you understand, Willum?"
"Aye, Your Grace." Willum said, bowing.
"Good," Rickard said, evidently relieved.
"Your Grace," Maester Willum said, "There's been a raven."
Cley muttered "Dark wings, dark words," but everyone ignored him.
"Where from?" Rickard asked.
Willum handed the king the letter, sealed with the seal of House Hoare.
Rickard broke the seal, opened the letter and read. Upon finishing, he chuckled.
"Something amusing, Your Grace?" Willum asked.
"Oh indeed. Amusing and tragic. Harlan mocks me openly for fathering a bastard, and requests Flint's Finger as payment for an alliance."
Cley leapt up. "He mocks you, father?"
"Oh yes. He claims I have no honour. Well, I never claimed to be, so no harm done. I suppose I ought to reply in kind, but I wouldn't want to provoke the Ironborn too much. Their involvement would, after all, make my campaign easier."
"Surely, Your Grace, you do not mean to cede Flint's Finger to the Ironborn? Your lords would never tolerate it, and the North would never accept a man who hands away northern lands to Ironmen as their king." The maester asked, indignant.
"I wouldn't accept me as king if that were the case. I do not mean to give away Flint's Finger. Nor an inch of northern soil, for that matter. King Harlan writes that he requires some way to ensure my proposal. Well, I may have one such 'ensurance' just outside the hall."
"Who?" Cley asked, "Your wife?"
"No, you dolt, Kyra. She's too smart, too cunning, and too dangerous. Shipping her off to Great Wyk would rob me of a good counsellor, but also rid me of a dangerous kinswoman."
Rickard cleared his throat. "Maester, send back the following reply. It needs not be word for word. I'll give you my seal to affix to the letter."

To King Harlan of House Hoare, the second of his name, King of Salt and Rock, King-Reaper of the Iron Islands,

I will not, cannot, cede Northern lands, held by Northmen, to the Ironborn. This will not do, and will not win me any recognition among my future vassals. However, I understand your wishes for some guarantee of my support in your conquest of the Trident. So I propose to you this: the hand of my sister, Lady Kyra Bolton, for your son Euron. What can be greater assurance than a pact made in blood?

King Rickard of House Bolton, Red King, rightful King in the North and of the Dreadfort.

"As you command, Your Grace," the maester bowed and hurried off to perform his duties.
Rickard called, "Dake!"
A tall, thin man-at-arms in a fur cloak and a mail hauberk poked his head into the hall from one of the side servants' doors. "M'lord?"
"Summon my lords bannermen. I will convene the council of war in my solar in an hour."

by **Pirimus** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 2:22 pm

Meereen, The Great Pyramid
Boqorron sat in silence, looking out over his city from the Balcony. He could see for miles, out into the wasteland beyond his walls. He was used to the height, Ashheart flew as high as he liked, but to be able to stop and look was breathtaking. He could see the other cities of Slaver's bay from another Balcony, Yunkai and Astapor, jewels of less size than his own, but of comparable beauty. Astapor presented the most to him, it was renowned for it's Unsullied soldiers, such a force would be truly mighty, but not just that, Astapor had a military besides that, perhaps the best trained in the region. Yunkai presented the oppurtunity for profit, certainly, and his city would be far happier with pleasure slaves freely available once more. Further off, other prizes awaited him. Tolos would prove a good outpost to allow him control of the Demon Road, and he had heard that Mantarys remained intact, that would be quite the thing to take, The last city truly of Valyria that wasn't underwater or currently on fire.

Here he was, Boqorron, a man who had only heard his name the few times he had been sold until just a year ago. He'd owned nothing, and now he was a King, crown, throne, subjects and all. Her could not have dreamed of it, it was absurd. But here he was. There was work to do, however, if here he wanted to stay. There were other Dragonlords left in the world, not just him, and he was only one of many in possesion of a great city. His city would not protect him, not always. He needed to be accepted by other kings and lords, to keep an alliance with at least one. Meereen too would need to be made into something more. He needed it to be a capital, not a single city alone in the world. And so he needed Yunkai, Astapor and Tolos. And so too, he needed to be wed, to the Daughter of a Lord of some importance. He needed a wife to produce his heir, and he needed an ally to lend him legitimacy. That left the question, Who? He was not Valyrian, so no Valyrian familly would take him. The Free Cities were not somewhere to build alliances right now, the Doom had started quite the turmoil. The people of the far west? The Andals? Perhaps. He would make it known that the King of Meereen, a Dragon Rider, sought a noble Bride from among the noble houses of Westeros. Rumour and heresay should spread it far enough to be heard of, eventually, he did not think it best to send out a message directly alerting the world to his prescence and the circumstance of his rule, but word would spread slowly this way.

He stood up from his balcony and began dressing in his formal wear. He had solemnly refused to wear what the Meereenese considered formal wear, flowing robes and knots were for whores and priests, not Kings. He wore clothes in a similar manner to armour, metal trim placed in areas that it would be needed, leather padding tucked behind rich cloth to keep off any small blades long enough to keep him alive. He wore clothes not dissimilar to a pit fighter, little skin showing in the core and shoulders but with free arms and lower legs. He wore a crown as a matter of pride, not the elegant crowns of the old Kings of Meereen, instead a crown made to be impressive, blunt, made from Silver, Iron and Copper. He had faith that it could cave in a man's skull if given enough force, but for now it only functioned to be impressive. He lumbered down the stairs, struggling to fit his clothes comfortably, they had been built for a far smaller man than he. As he passed the small room made into his armoury, converted from a storage for fine wines, he picked up his Greataxe, marvelling at the shining steel as he began to walk down the stairs to his audience room. The Guards at the bottom of the stairway parted their spears from the doorway to let him past, and his herald, Daxanos, sounded out notification of his entrance in Valyrian.

''All Bow to Boqorron Raelnos, King of Meereen, Lord of the Pits and Defender of the People''

His court bowed in a quiet, momentary unison, none dropping to their knees, to Boqorron's delight. He approached the great throne of the city, a golden and bronze thing, built in the shape of a Harpy. He sat, arms resting in a half regal style, and he spoke, in the gruff, booming tone of a man never destined to be saying the words.

''Rise and Speak''

by **Arlye Austros** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 4:53 pm

Storm´s End. Stronghold of House Durrandon, Capital of the Kingdom of the Stormlands and the Trident.

Princess Tiana Durrandon.

Where was Alrec? He had to be there an hour ago. Father was getting nervious.

"It is obvious, Your Grace..." Coldsummer walked over a carpet extended, with the shapes and geography of the Kingdom of the North south of Moat Cailin, and all over the realm towards Sunspear, and from the Golden Tooth to the Fingers. Malrec stepped above Riverrun and moved south, to the Throne, and stopped over Duskendale. "That these Dornishmen cannot be trusted. however I advise caution. We must not watch over our southern foes and forget other threats."

There was a rumour in the court, and it lasted the most among the few Riverlords present, men of House Darklyn, Darry and Blackwood, they were obviously insulted. Tiana noticed Anrea raised an eyebrow at the other side of the court. Father, in the meantime, held his head with his palm against the chin, and watched the carpet. She knew he was lost with imagined armies marching all over the world. Somewhere inside, she felt sorry for him. The Queen replied.

"Lord Malrec, I understand your advice, however I believe the Riverlords can be trusted, at least most of them. Our interest must be mutual protection. They know that without the Stormlands they are just ripe fruits for others. My House here is the perfect example of this, and my Lord Brother commands half a dozen of loyal lords, loyal beyon doubt."

An exageration. Mother exagerated a lot. The King raised his sight. "Tell me, brother. how many men does the Lord of Sunspear command?"

Malrec seemed hopeless. "They say their strenght lies around the twenty times a thousand, take or give."

"We can squash them." The King replied. The door opened, but nobody seemed to care. Tiana looked in the direction of the entrance to the Hall, but she couldn´t see beyond a line of courtiers. "We command twice that force. I understand your fears. Our knights can obliverate the Dornish Cavalry in the field, and twenty thousand can defeat many times twenty of Dorne. leave the rest here, and should the Riverlords fail us, no doubt we will be able to command them back."

Tiana saw the Prince. Alrec had arrived. Some turned to him. "Ah! The Carpet of War! Are you in a war council, Father?" He walked to the Throne and kneeled. King Angron made a gesture and the young man rose up, and smiled as he seat on a chair by the Throne. He turned to Anrea. "Hello, sister. How is your beautiful self today?"

She didn´t even looked.

"My prince, we are discussing important affairs. Tensions with Dorne arise. What is your opinion." Malrec smiled as he talked, but it was almost invisible. Tiana saw it, and she felt a shiver, as she noticed, or at least thought so, that Alrec noticed it too.

"You know very well, Uncle. Squash everything that poses a threat. However, I stand with you."

She looked at her brother. It was surprising. Alrec calling for meassure and patience, for peace and not bloodshed. His shirt was wet and muddy on the side of the arm.

"Yes... If it was by me, I would leave the Dornishmen alone. I would march north and destroy all those Houses that have a history of rebellion. Give those lands to loyal men who can administrate them in the name of my father. Ser Janos, for instance..." He pointed at a friend of him. Ser Janos was a landed knight and personal guard of Alrec, and they were close friends. "He is noble and loyal, he could get that fortress of the Twins, tear down the towers and build something better. Maybe even in a generation we will have more of us stormlanders than weak riverlander sheeps."

Tiana frowned. he referred to the same crimes he was accussed of doing in the Rainwood. A Stain to the family.

"My son is harsh, brother. But I think we must talk this further. Send a letter to your son, Malrec. I want his opinion on Alrec´s words, I am sure he can shed some light." the King rose from the chair and the court kneeled. Tiana grined at Anrea, who nodded. Once the Stormking was gone they both approached their elder brother.

"Where have you been?" Tiana asked him. Alrec stood up and smiled at her, mockingly.
"Well, hello sister. I expected polite words from you on this day. But I saw your candle lit all night through the window, so I presume you are tired of all that reading."

Anrea leaned in between Tiana and Alrec. "Brother, I think it is wise to answer this question. Father called us to this court council, and your prescence was most expected. Where have you been."

"You see, sister." He looked down and then back at her face. "I have been inspecting the garrison. Father asked me to do that and maybe if his damned mind was not so lost in his armies of wood and his dreams of conquest, he could actually remember there was a council, and we could, for once, conquer something."

Tiana raised an eyebrow.

"Yes... I was in the garrison, and I saw some thieves in there. Some little cunts of whom I made an example. They say nobles can swim, and little ones float very well."

Anrea slapped him. "What have you done?"

Tiana rushed out. Alrec was an idiot, and a monster, no doubt. She knocked down her uncle in the way out, and Malrec asked what was going on. But there was no time.

<<Please, don´t be late... Please, Mother, give me speed.>>

She jumped down three stairs at a time and rushed, holding her dress with a single hand, across the courtyard.

"HELP!" A voice cried out, a Tiana´s heart rested for nearly three steps. He was alive, for now. She looked into the well. Elrich looked up, desperate. He struggled not to fall into the water, and his nails clawed the bricks, while the water covered his waist.

"Hold on, brother!" Tiana looked around. there was a bucket tied to a rope. "Somebody help me!"

Barron, a small boy almost as tall as his cousin, rushed. "Over here!" He guided a couple of stablemen to the well.

"Help me get him out." Tiana commanded while dropping the bucket and the rope. "Hold on to that, Elrich, hold on to it as best as you can!"

The boy grabbed the bucket, after doubting and hesitating about leaving the safety of the wall. He nearly missed the edge of the bucket though, and it took a while for him to grasp it completely and pass an arm around the rope. Tiana pulled, and in a minute the boy struggled to get out of the well, and dropped soacked wet and shivering to the floor, rolling over his back to look at the sky. Tiana touched his face, he was freezing.

"By the Seven, Elrich... How long have you been there?"

He gasped and then coughed. Water came out. Tiana supposed he had contained the water he swallowed in the fall in the fear of falling back into the water while clinging to the wall. Tiana grabbed Barron and turned him around. "I am sorry, cousin, but I need you jacket. I will get you another later.

After resting, Elrich was guided to his chamber and laid to rest. Tiana knew how to deal with a cold, and made everything she cold to spare her brother from an illness.

"He threatened me..." Elrich muttered while she lit the hearth. "He threatened me so I would jump in."

"What?!? Why would you jump in?" She turned and looked at her brother, he seemed frightened.

"He said he would come at night and cut me off with the knife, that I would never grow a man that way. He threatened to kill Barron too."

"Alrec?" She already knew the answer to the question. He nodded and confirmed the obvious.

Lady Geranna Connington.

Word was her nephew was nearly drowned by some criminal. Tiana and Anrea insisted it was Alrec, but on Malrec´s advice, they stopped the rumour before it spread, and Elrich also had to confirm that in front of the King. However Geranna knew the man was a monster, and he was better out of Storm´s End, and may long the King live, as long as the Gods.

"I don´t like it. Sending troops south. What houses made the claims?" Geranna asked to her husband. Malrec laid his hands over the hearth and stretched his frustrations against the bricks.

"Dondarrion, Selmy, Caron... I don´t know... I don´t know them at all to say if they are liers. If Dorne strikes, and I am wrong, then they could hang us all in a month. If I am right, then this is a roose."

"A roose?" It was odd. Who would make such a maneuvre against their Liege?

Malrec sighed and walked to her. "We better not think of this things. I want to love you once more tonight. It will be cold." He descended on her and pushed her over the bed, but she stopped him. "We have to send a letter to our son, not the one the King commanded. A different one. We must see what lies behind..."

"We must..." He leaned back and bit a nail, thinking. "I would send somebody to Sunspear to clear this out."

"Send Selmy..." She considered. "And Dondarrion, and Caron... Let them make their claims before the Dornishmen. See if they have any backup. If they are right, they will present evidence. If they are wrong..."

"We will start a war over dead Storm Lords..." He sentenced. "No. I would be terrible."

"Send their sons."

Malrec stopped chewing his finger and thought for a second, looking at the wall, then looked at her. "That´s it..." He jumped out of the bed and started writing a letter. "We will exchange hostages. I need some time to make things right for this, but maybe we can exchange hostages. Take dornish heirs or nobles for us, and let these brutes head to Sunspear and make their point... Maybe we can send a member of the Royal Family too, in the King´s Stead. I need time.... I need the night."

by **Novae Vitae** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 5:42 pm

Daeron Targaryen
Driftmark, the Narrow Sea

"I bring news," Daeron said, "and an offer." His face did not seem to be lightened with the words he said. He looked about the room. It was clear that Bloodfyre and Parinath were meant for flight, to somewhere. Supplies were evident. And there were two girls that Daeron had not seen before.

"Ulcrax is dead," Daeron said, "and Balerion with him." It was hard to force the word out, so he forced them from his mouth all at once. "We cannot say what killed Ulcrax, but Balerion grew ill from something we could not determine. Fear not--Jurelle does not carry the illness within her, or we would know already."

As if to state how she concurred, the purple dragon gave a healthy roar.

Daeron continued, and he forced a smile onto his face. He wished that Brightflame at his hip could have helped him here, in some way. "Further, my lord father and lady mother have decided that the ties between House Targaryen and Tula should be increased, and that I am in need of a wife. I must humbly request your hand, Lady Baehra."

Daeron paused. "But I cannot ask for your decision yet, nor ask that you make one without your father," he said. "Perhaps I may ask where you are going, or who these two are, while a servant fetches Lord Maemon?"

Daeron was so candid that he did not realize how intrusive his questions had been.

by **Cuprum** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 8:08 pm

HOUSE GARDENER OF THE REACH
TERRITORY: HIGHGARDEN
"Sowing the seeds"

Flaud’s Ford

Garth Gardener paced along the banks of Flaud’s Ford, the flooded remnants of the once prosperous village held by the Flaud family… the Flauds: some lowborn warlords-turned-cloth merchants that Garth’s grandfather saw fit to grant this speck of dirt in exchange for a few swords. Though not lords themselves, the Flauds were another house of ambitious vipers in the vicinity of Highgarden, using their financial acumen to purchase lands from the other Tyrell vassals in the wake of the Siege of Highgarden. For a time, it appeared they may be the strongest of the landowning families around Highgarden - until the Spring without Summer swept away their base of power at Flaud’s Ford and, with it, the family hierarchy. The Flauds were now collectively the richest and most numerous family in the Gardener holdings, but little more than a squabbling collection of bitter cadet houses.

No doubt Ser Arron Flaud, the nominal patriarch of that wretched House, had seen the rebellion as an opportunity to unite the family under his leadership - maybe even make a bid for a lordship. The man, much like Seldon Graceford, saw opportunity when it presented itself - Garth would grant him that. But, though crisis bred brilliance, there could be only one hegemon in Highgarden, and Garth Gardener was no more interested in allowing himself to be unseated by some knightly upstart than his northern rival in Lannisport. No - the Flauds had to be uprooted and stamped out.

“Rider from east,” Gyles Gardener greeted Garth. “The guilds forces are a day’s march from here - perhaps two.”

Garth dropped to one knee, prodding the soil with a stick.

“Flooding hasn’t subsided yet,” the future Lord of Highgarden rose to his feet, wiping off his hands. “Expect the storm will bring some detritus from up river - may slow down their crossing. Have the men drop caltrops in the river’s shallowest points. The rest of the men should dig in - trench ten yards from the river banks, another one eighty yards away.”

“With conditions like these, I’d be surprised if they attempted a crossing,” Gyles Gardener kicked the muddy soil with his boot. “We’ve a few days’ diplomatic advantage, and they’re more than likely to bog themselves down in the ford. They’ll be too vulnerable - expose themselves to our archers.”

“Our men are nearly without arrows,” Garth grimaced. “The fletcher hadn’t enough time to prepare.”

“Aye, but they don’t know that,” Gyles Gardener reasoned. “As far as they know, our men are well supplied and rested - and that’s not entirely off from the truth. From what I could gather from the Graceford boys, Arron Flaud commands the force alongside Jon Graceford, Lord Seldon’s… the late Lord Seldon’s eldest boy. I’ve no estimation of Jon, but Arron was never an impetuous man, and I doubt he’d advise such a risky endeavor.”

“True, true,” Garth sat against a nearby tree. “But they’ve no other opportunity for a crossing, and time is against them - it won’t be long before the Merryweathers cross south and move to reinforce us along the road from Highgarden, and the guilds will be bleeding supplies and coin in the meantime.”

“As will we,” Gyles Gardener cautioned, resting next to his liege.

“We have land - lands which can support us,” Garth said. “The guilds have nothing but debt borrowed against my lands. They can only spend so much as their victory is worth before they break. They’ll hazard a crossing, I wager.”

The two sat on the banks together, resting against the gnarled roots of an old tree. Gyles Gardener skipped a few rocks across the Mander, perhaps to test its depth, while Garth wrung his hands, clawing at his knuckles. Garth’s lieutenants knew not to bother him while he stewed, managing well on their own to coordinate the construction of trenches with those few knights still loyal to the Gardener host. At last, the Lord of Highgarden stirred:

“The Balfid boy-“ Garth began.

“Raymond,” Gyles Gardener reminded him.

“Yes, Raymond. He’s squired for you these last months, yes?”

“Aye, and he’s served me well.”

“He fought at the Battle of Rhysling? He remained with you on the south ridge?”

“Yes, he accompanied me with the first wave up the hill - killed a Graceford lieutenant, as I saw it. Most impressive for a boy.”

“So, you trust this boy? Approve of him?”

“Of course - like a little brother,” Gyles Gardener said. “I would recommend him for knighthood in some years’, should he continue on his present course. The boy has only given me reason to hold him in high esteem. Why do you ask?”

Garth bit in the inside of his cheek, grimacing; his eyes locked on his brother and friend - his only friend, and remained for a few moments. For all his brutal efficiency, Gyles Gardener was a soft man - a killer, as any knight is, and unrepentantly so, but there was some underlying humanity that drew other men to him. He had none of the superficial decorum - no velvet glove covering the mailed fist - of the other “true knights”, but there was a rare glimmer of kindness in him that provided some little comfort for Garth. Perhaps it was that this was the Lord of Highgarden’s last real tether to the humane; some frayed rope keeping him ‘connected’… would he really be willing to sever that?

“Hmm?” Gyles Gardener repeated.

“Just curiosity,” Garth cast his eyes again to the muddy banks, drawing circles with a stick. “Wanted to hear how that project is coming along.”

Garth reached his hands around himself in an embrace, as if to grasp the cold chains of a Maester… cold, but familiar. He could not be sure what exactly he was clinging to, or what he wanted. Maude, Gyles, Raymond… all flesh, warm and blooded. Everyone - his subjects, his family, his enemies - had aspirations, love, loyalties, and commitments. True or false, right or wrong, they all were striving, each seeking ‘fulfillment’. Garth could feel the same drive in himself; the same heavy heart, the same pangs of love and guilt, the same affections. It was at times like these that he steeled himself: flesh was comfortable, but it was flesh all the same, vulnerable and perishable. Steel - better yet, gold - was worth dying (worth killing) for.

Garth Gardener ground his nails into his palms, nearly bloodying his fists, longing for the stability of his chains. No stability anymore, no constants. But he was the fist of Highgarden, and the could feel new steel in his grasp…

Three weeks later the flaud's and their supporters were neutralized with cruelty by the Fist of Highgarden.

by **Phalnia** » Sun Aug 16, 2015 9:34 pm

Tyland Lannister, King of the Rock
Casterly Rock

Tyland sat on a throne of gold. It shimmered as light passed through the high windows. When not blinded by the sun one could truly marvel at the craftsmanship. Lions covered the surface. Some proudly standing, others sat as if keeping watch and still others slumbered in restful bliss. Tyland had spent his childhood marveling at the throne, though now its' beauty concerned him little. The weights of kingship had taken their toll on an inquisitive boy.

Arranged before him were his family and lords from across his realm. They had all been gathered here in the Golden Gallery. His own family stood out from the rest. Their blond hair, like spun gold. Their tunics and gowns, shades of red with golden lions sewn across them. The others wore a variety of shades and various motifs. Hooded men, purple unicorns, burning trees, brown boars, red lions, and blue ships were among them as well as others. These were some of the richest and most powerful houses to swear fealty to Tyland.

Several minutes had passed as Tyland looked over those hear, composing his thoughts. He rose and took several steps down the dais. With all eyes on him he spoke.

"Several days past the remnants of a ship were brought into Lannisport. This ship was found not far from the Crag. From the looks of the crew and the logs found there, it is most assuredly a barge from Braavos, in service to the Iron Bank of that city." The lords mumbled among themselves before Tyland silenced them with a wave of his hand. "The large sum of gold carried within was absent and replaced with signs of piracy and murder. Lords Westerling, Banefort, Reyne, and Farman step forward."

These men did as instructed. Banefort, Reyne, and Farman were near the fore and quickly knelt before the king. Lord Westerling who had been near the back had to make his way past several others before taking his place on one knee. These men had all proved loyal to Tyland, as their fathers had to his father.

"Your lands are the closest to were this ship was found and posses the means to take such a ship. What say you?" Silently he prayed these men were innocent. If any of his bannerman had trespassed so foully the only recourse would be death at his hand or the Iron Bank's no doubt. And men marched to their keep to recover the gold.

Lord Farman spoke first, raising his head. "Your Grace. A fleet bearing the colors of Braavos and their Iron Bank sailed past Fair Isle, not a week past. Not long after a storm besieged our island. We had no sighting of the ships since." He paused before adding. "You have my word, no man on Fair Isle raises sword without provocation or on your word." The other three repeated as much. Rumors of Iron Bank ships, a storm and assurances that they remained loyal and their swords clean.

Tyland nodded as Lord Westerling, the last of the four, finished. He nodded to the side of the gallery were a septon stood. The man approached and stood before the kneeling men and began to speak. "You high lords have given your testimony. But, the gods demand more. They demand sacred oaths on threat of an eternity in seven hells." From the folds of his robes the septon produced a dazzling crystal. It cast wondrous rainbows upon the four men as the septon passed it over them. "From seven there are one. And from one there are seven. The Father Above, the Mother Above, the Noble Warrior, the Virtuous Maiden, the Mighty Smith, the Wise Crone, and the Stranger judge all men and know the truth in their hearts. Now in sight of gods and men, swear to the words you have spoken before your King. Swear to their truth and the righteousness in your heart."

The men did as the septon commanded. They swore to the gods that they spoke only the truth. Tyland was satisfied, he dismissed the septon and bid the men to rise. "I am satisfied that this violence is not the work of westermen. Though this will be of little interest to the Iron Bank." The king paced in front of his throne before continuing. "I think we can all name the culprits. Ironmen have no qualms killing merchants and leaving others to clean their mess. We must make our innocence known to these Braavosi. And we must return what we have found. Ser Lon."

The harbourmaster stepped forward, seemingly still shaken from his last encounter with Tyland. He knelt before the dais. "How fare the repairs to the Braavosi barge?"

Ser Lon rose his head. "The ship shall be ready to sail within the week, Your Grace."

"Good, see to it that she is captained and crewed with the best you can find." Ser Lon nodded as Tyland spoke. "When the tide permits she and half a dozen ships will sail for Braavos. There the barge shall be returned and the bodies presented. Our case must be made and our innocence declared. If these easterners wish our aid in finding those responsible they shall have it. Go Ser Lon."

The man rose and bowed, before quickly exiting the hall. Tyland dismissed the remaining lord as well leaving only his family. Only when the great doors of the hall closed did Tyland speak again. "This issue with the Iron Bank is far from over. Though, we have done what we can for the moment. There other things to attend to." Tyland bid his maester to come forward.

The old man shuffled forward, scroll in hand. The seal bearing the Mallister eagle had already been broken. Tyland unrolled the parchment and read it aloud. When finished he gave the scroll back to his maester who slipped it into his sleeve. Tyland silently awaited a reply from his kin.

His brother Tybolt spoke first. "These riverlords seek much and offer little. Why should our men bleed to free those too weak to help themselves? This Mathos Mallister, his grandfather was 'king'. He fell to the Durrandons. What assurance do we have this man will stand strong."

Lancel Lannister, Tyland's eldest son, looked to Tybolt and then to his father. "With all do respect, Uncle, I must disagree. We stand to profit greatly. The stormking and his ilk control the largest swath of land on Westeros. From the the Red Mountains to the Neck. Their hegemony disrupts the balance of the kings. If we fail to cut them down they may grow to great to oppose."

Cerion Hill, the Bastard of Casterly spoke next. "They call Mathos the Madeagle. Say he was hardened as a hostage of some stormlord. Doubt there's a man alive who hates stags more than he."

Tylands second son Loreon, daughter Janei, youngest Tommen, and wife Ryella remained silent. Clearly, having no strong feelings either way. Tyland had returned to his throne and sat in contemplation for several minutes. At once he rose. "Maester Joffrey. Quill and parchment, if you please."

The maester nodded, taking a seat at a small desk not far from the throne. As Tyland spoke he wrote. Tyland looked over the letter and nodded. He added his seal to it and handing it to the maester, who hurried back to his rookery. Tyland looked to the windows behind his throne. The sun hung high, the servants had surely already begun to prepare the great hall for the midday meal. Tyland led his family there, where they were to sup before continuing with matters of state.

by **Independent States of Tula** » Mon Aug 17, 2015 7:28 am

Rhaegar Tula, Driftmark, 1 AD, Day 2...

At the news of the two dragons dying both Rhaegar and Baehra looked to each other with looks of shock before looking back to Daeron who continued to explain that he was not here just to give the bad news but to also ask for Baehra's hand in marriage...something which Rhaegar immediately knew was not something his father would enjoy declining or accepting considering the current plans House Tula held for expanding Targaryen and Tula influence in Westeros.

Finally Daeron finished with some rather candid words "But I cannot ask for your decision yet, nor ask that you make one without your father. Perhaps I may ask where you are going, or who these two are, while a servant fetches Lord Maemon?"

Turning to Daenerys and Argella Rhaegar commanded "You two, fetch my father, tell him Lord Daeron of House Targaryen is here and that he requires my father's immediate attention."

"Yes master." Daenerys replied as her and Argella hurriedly moved to obey the command.

Looking back to Daeron Rhaegar stated "Those two are slaves that I collected from a merchant attempting to evade paying my house our dues for using the bay...do not worry I myself am paying your House's dues for that particular ship out of my own coffers. The two of them are Viserys Belarion's children, one of the many heads of the Valyrian houses which mocked both our Houses for leaving Valyria...oh how far such a powerful house has fallen. As for where Baehra and I are riding to...Seaguard, to attempt to marry Baehra to House Mallister's heir."

It was just then that Maemon walked in, bowing to Daeron he asked "Lord Daeron, what do we owe this visit?"

"Ulcrax and Balerion are dead, Lord Daeron asks for my hand in marriage to help cement ties between our Houses. Rhaegar already explained your desire to marry me to House Mallister's heir." Baehra explained for Daeron.

Maemon seemed taken aback by the news but he quickly recovered and stated "I'm afraid I must insist that Baehra attempt to marry House Mallister's heir Benedict...however your sister Rhaenyra is of marriageable age, perhaps you'd prefer to have her marry my heir Rhaegar so that House Targaryen and House Tula shall be close as long as he reigns?"

Game of Thrones: A New Dawn (IC/See OOC)

Game of Thrones: A New Dawn (IC/See OOC)

Who is online