Game of Thrones: Downfall (IC)

[Great Franconia and Verana]

The Riverlands

Riverrun, on the Red Fork and the Tumblestone River, Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Hoster of House Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord of Riverrun

---

The sadness rising from the small Sept that stood along the edge of Riverrun's walls was palpable, even from the top of the Great Keep. From his vantage point, Hoster could see far across his domain. He often came here to think. Yet today, he was not staring out across the fertile plains of the Riverlands, instead, his focus was below, in the courtyard. Prayer's had just ended at the Sept, its small bell tolling mournfully. As people poured out from the doors of the stooped building, the Lord of Riverrun's keen eye caught his daughter. Cat looked beautiful, clothed in black velvet. Yet the tears on her face belied her true emotions.

Word had only reached Riverrun the day before last, and the news as no doubt even now still reaching the far flung lords in both the North and South. The raven had come while the family sat at supper. Brandon and Rickard Stark were dead, victims of the strange malady that seemed to course through the very veins of their Targaryen King. The news had shaken House Tully to its foundations. Catelyn had been betrothed to the Heir to Winterfell, and Lord Rickard had been Hoster's dear friend for many years. Their deaths would be hard to ignore, and rumour had it that the Mad King had already demanded the heads of Eddard Stark, and Robert Baratheon.

Hoster stroked his auburn beard, frowning. As the summer wind licked at his thinning hair, Hoster turned from the walls. He too was dressed for mourning, a black doublet and cloak, inlaid with silver filigree.

"You were not at prayers," a smoky voice said, cutting through Hoster's reverie.

The Lord looked up, and then returned his gaze to the ground. Brynden always had a knack for getting under his skin.

"Catelyn could have used you there."

"You were more useful to her than I have ever been," Hoster replied. Waving a hand at his brother's attire, simple leather riding clothes, the Lord continued. "And by the look of it you were not at the Sept either."

The Blackfish leaned against a parapet, and shook his head.
"I came back as soon as I heard the news, but it is a long ride from Seagard."

"I take it you havent seen Cat or Lysa yet?"

The Blackfish shook his head.

"Go to them, they need their Uncle now more than ever."

"I will be with them, but right now, I think you need my counsel more."

Hoster laughed mirthlessly. Ever since the Redwyne Affair, his brother had kept his distance, even in times of strain. "Do I now?"

"Aye, you do. If you think this is the end of the madness, you are wrong. Do you think House Stark will take this insult lightly? Do you think Jon Arryn will simply turn over his two young wards to the Mad King? To almost certain death?"

"Of course not."

"Of course not, and that is exactly why we need to be ready. War is coming, I can taste it in the wind. We still do not know where Lyanna is, nor Prince Rhaegar, and now, we have the Lord and Heir of Winterfell dead."

Hoster spun to face his brother, frustration mounting.
"I have not sat here on my hands, I know what is coming Brynden."

"You just dont want to accept it."

That wounded Hoster.
"War has never been kind to our lands. And I have ever enjoyed battle as you have, but do not underestimate me brother. If the Dragon sets itself on the Wolf, Stag or Falcon, we will be ready."

Brynden turned, mumbling as he left his brother's presence.
"Aye, but on whose side will the Trout fight?"

Hoster's hands unfurled from fists and he returned to his perch atop the Great Keep. The bells were quiet now, and the castle seemed to be still.

A rush of air blew past Hoster, as scores of ravens flew from Riverrun's rookery, bound for every holdfast in the Riverlands, bearing the words of the Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Dark Wings, Hoster thought, Dark Words.

[Jhet]

Rhaella Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms

---

The fire screamed. The fire begged. The fire burned.

She could see the Northman, flame dancing on his body like a ship caught in a storm. The metal of his armour deforming even as the sweet stench of his charring flesh filled the hall. She could see the son, all of his strength useless against the trickery of the easterners. Harder he pushed himself, digging wire deeper into the pale meat of his throat. And she could see her husband, bathed in the sickly glow, panting.

Rhaella turned from the brazier, away from the memories that lurked in the spitting tongues. She could not face them, not now, not anymore. Her husband had seen to that.

How many years had it been? Five? Ten? Fifteen? A smile, sad and empty, broke through her bruised exterior. It was closer to twenty-five now. Twenty-five years of marriage. Twenty-five years of loveless sex between brother and sister, husband and wife. Twenty-five years of despair, of waiting, of hoping, for something that was not there. How had she kept it together? Through the miscarriages and the stillborns, the innocents taken by a chill or illness or lack of strength? She had borne more creatures than most, and yet all but two had died before the birth was a year past. Was it duty? Was that why she bore the lust of her brother? Duty. Duty to her father, who was long dead? To her brother, who had lusted after another? To her king, who burned his subjects alive? "A woman's duty," the king had called it, when he first took her. She could remember his clumsy attempts at lovemaking, remember her nervous laughter as he wasted himself before he could even mount the bed.

Stupid girl, she told her younger self. Stupid girl. Aerys did not make love, no more than he could sit to endure a barber's knife. The fires, that hot, uncaring flame, was what mattered to him. Not the comfort of his wife or the wellbeing of his sister.

She caught herself. No, the queen lamented. That is not him. Aerys was not the monster. He had been caring once, a brother looking after his sister even as they were forced together. They had been happy once, as happy as dragons could. A sweet family, with Rhaegar to bring them together. It had been His Grace's enemies who tore them apart. There were dangers everywhere, men and women eager to kill them. Her own children had suffered their attacks, slain in their swaddling by monsters in human flesh. He had despaired, she knew that. "I couldn't protect them, my love," she recalled him saying. "I couldn't do it. My own son. What is wrong with me? Could I have done more?"

"You did all you could," her younger self had responded. What did I do? She found herself demanding, looking out at the city for her answer. Nothing. I sat and cried, as Aerys exhausted himself looking for the murderer. She had slept beside an empty cot while her husband near tore down the city for want of capturing the architect of all of their pain. And through all that, she could refuse to call him a good man?

No. He was a kind husband. A gentle lover. A just king. And they had taken advantage of him. Lord Tywin and his ambitions, the Martell snakes, Lord Darklyn and his Essosi bitch. They had cast him off the cliff, sending him diving into the abyss of madness. Them and Rhaegar.

Rhaegar.

Where was he? What had he done? Why did he do it? Aerys was the king, his father. They were meant to be united, as strong as the dragons of old. Sweet Rhaegar, who had loved to read. Gentle Rhaegar, who had played the harp. Her son had been lost to him, lost to the stories of the ancient Targaryens, to the honeyed words of poets. And now he was gone, away with a Northwoman in arm. Hiding, while his father risked his realm to protect him.

"Your Grace?"

Rhaella wiped away the tears that had started to flood down her cheeks. She had to stay strong. For her husband. And for the baby growing inside of her.

"Your Grace," young Janei continued, her head instinctually bowed before the Queen. Rhaella could not tell if it was out of respect for her station, or pity for her plight. "The King has asked for your attendance."

"Thank you, Janei," the queen replied. "You will accompany me?"

She asked as if there was an option. She had done that as a little girl, unaware of the power that she had, the responsibility that was crushing her spine. Her lady-in-waiting gave empty thanks for the honour.

The Great Hall was packed full. And not of peasants, looking for the generous hand of a king, but nobles, their hands uncharacteristically kept in their pockets. There were hundreds at least, riverlanders with their long cloaks and valemen with their's short, reachmen in a sea of colour and stormlanders too drab to compare. There were even westermen covered in jewels and northmen sweating into their furs. They were high Lords and knights, masters of a single keep and second sons with nothing to their name. They were ladies of gold-spun hair and dames with no man to protect them, they were mistresses radiating power and exotic beauties saved from the pleasure houses for a life of plenty.

The king saw them all, perched like a raven on his family's throne. He turned his gaze on her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. What is it, my king? He was not made to rule, not made for the challenge of keeping the realm together. He was a man of dreams, of great ambition. Yet he was not a builder, not a liar to appease the lords that demanded his attention. He could have made a great prince, travelling the realms as he made one nobleman a friend after another. But there he sat, on the history of conquerors and tyrants. No man went unchanged on that unforgiving seat. And Aerys, her Aerys, could only bleed as the realm took his mind.

"You asked for me, Your Grace," Rhaella intoned, her eyes refusing to glance at the lords below. They whispered like rats, haunting the hall of greats with their gossips.

The king nodded, as if recalling a past memory. "I did," he muttered, once, twice, third time the charm. And then his eyes lifted from her, and out across the forest of baser creatures. "Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon were condemned to death as associates to their families' conspiracy against my rule," his eyes flickered to where the eunuch stood, nestled in the shadows like a spirit. "I called for Jon Arryn to bring me their heads."

There was a general murmuring among the courtiers. Rhaella almost felt sorry for them. What did they expect when they pushed her brother past his limits? Their lies, their games, their ambitions which left only husks in the place of men, all of it had been leading to this. Now the traitors were being cleansed from the realm and what did they do? They turned to mice in the finery of lords.

"My leal subjects write that the Arryns are a member of this heinous conspiracy, and Jon Arryn has called his banners against his rightful liege lord."

She turned to look at the eunuch, her heart almost freezing. He had disappeared, that bald head unseen anywhere in the hall. Leal subjects, Rhaella would have smirked if a queen could. The sweetsong of the foreigner's birds served the realm, a statement that Aerys believed in as fervently as his distrust for his son.

"You are all commanded to raise your own armies and put them at my command," the king's voice rang out true. There was no weakness, no wanderings. Rhaella could almost cry. "If the Arryns want to spit on their oaths, then the dragon will shear their wings."

[Of the Quendi]

Harrenhal
On the Gods Eye, in the Riverlands
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Lord Walter Whent

In the Year 282 AC

---

It was a cold and dark winter's night at Harrenhal that the raven from King's Landing arrived. Lord and Lady Whent was holed up with their kin in the grand solar in the Kingspyre Tower trying to keep out the cold and damp that had gripped their mighty seat with alarming rapidity in the short span of moons that had passed since their dark and eerie seat was full of life and light and laughter, half of the realm guesting it for the grand tourney of the false spring. The tourney had not long displaced the ghosts that haunted Harrenhal, and as Maester Ilifer brought him the letter from King's Landing it seemed to Lord Walter that the tourney may have only served to create more ghosts.

The old lord of Harrenhal cast a loving gaze at his brood. Walton, still nursing an arm broken as he broke lances with Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard at the tourney, was conversing courteously with his sister Rohanne, whose disappointment at loosing the title of Queen of Love and Beauty had healed quicker than her brother's injury. Boremund, (...), and Osmund (...). Raymont was sitting by himself reading a book. Lord Walter wondered; would they be haunted in their dreams by the ghosts of Lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon. Lord Walter knew that he would. He remembered well the young Ser Brandon, the man had been both amiable and brave at the tourney. Now he was dead by some horrible torture of the king's.

Lord Walter shook his head in disgust and then handed the letter over to his wife. Lady Shella, looked over the missive, and the grimace of worry that had marred her features as Lord Walter read was replaced by one of shock and dread. "Seven save us." She whispered. Lord Walter grunted. He highly doubted that they would. Lord Jon Arryn had cut an impressive figure at the tourney and his appreciation of his Baratheon and Stark wards had been clear. Lord Walter did not believe the man would hand over either of the young men to be incinerated by Aerys's executioners. "This could mean war." He warned glumly. "Seven save us." Lady Shella repeated herself as Maester Ilifer nodded his head sagely. "And where will Harrenhal stand in such a war?" The maester mused.

Lord Walter looked on his horrified wife and pondered the maester's musing for a moment. "With the king." He declared with surety in his voice. But then he reconsidered. "Or rather ..." He said. "With the prince. Prince Rhaegar will sort this matter out." The Lord of Harrenhal said. "Your liege lord, your brother by marriage, may not agree with you." Lady Shella spoke worriedly. Lord Walter nodded slowly. "I know my dear. I know. Nevertheless I will not betray the Targaryen's, not even for the sake of Minissa's memory. Gods be good Lord Hoster will not call his banners against the king, but if he does I must choose my king over my lord."

Maester Ilifer nodded slowly. The man's counsel was invaluable to Lord Walter but what he appreciated most about the man was that he knew when the time for talk and deliberation was over and when a decision had to be followed through, come what may. "Then you must begin preparations. Harrenhal is no easy seat to defend with only your garrison to man it, muster your own banners my lord so that Harrenhal may answer the call to arms when it comes." The master said. "I shall." Lord Walter assured. "As soon as I return from Riverrun." He declared.

That caught both Lord Walter's advisor and lady wife of guard. "Riverrun, what will you there my lord?" The maester asked confused. "If the gods are cruel I may find myself at war with Lord Hoster in the coming year." Lord Walter spoke. "Yet I will carry arm against my liege without at least meeting him first to discuss the matter. It may well be that Lord Hoster feel obligated to march against the murder of his daughter's betrothed and if so the swords of Harrenhal must block him. But it may also be that Lord Hoster does not wish to bring war down upon his house and lands, and then I must counsel him not to rise against the king. If any act of mine can prevent the Tully's from raising their banners against the Targaryens I must perform it for the good of the realm." Lord Walter declared.

Lady Shella looked upon her husband fear in her saddened eyes. "He may arrest you, or worse, if he favors his daughter's happiness over his oaths to the king." She spoke. "You cannot go to Riverrun, send a raven or an emissary but do not go yourself or I may never see you again." Lady Shella declared. Lord Walter pondered his wife's words for a moment before shaking his head. "Nay my dear, death or arrest may await me, though I think it not as Lord Hoster is a good man who will not have forgotten that my sister's blood run in the veins of his children, yet still I owe it to my liege to look him in the eyes and tell him where I stand. And if his will is to fight against the king, I must assure him that should he face defeat I shall not forget to speak on his and his house's behalf. This honor and bonds of kinship demands." Lord Walter insisted.

Lady Shella did not cry, but she turned from her husband, gazing at their five children, none of whom, not even Raymont, seemed to have noticed that their parents were engaged in a serious discussion with the maester. "Your kinship with Riverrun is not as important as your kinship at Harrenhal, and honor demands of a father that he protect his children. Do not go to Riverrun husband, do not be to eager to throw yourself into this war. Think of our family and what may become of us. Six houses has ruled Harrenhal before us, some ruled well and others terribly but in the end they all failed, their great and honorable deeds forgotten by all but maesters and bards. War can undo our house as those before us. It can send our sons to an early grave their bodies broken by lances and pierced by swords, flung into shallow unmarked graves, and have our daughter know the black robes of mourning before she has worn her wedding dress, teach her about loose and grief before she has known love and joy. What honor can justify all the horrors that war may visit upon our house. Do not go to Riverrun. Call your banners, aye but to defend this castle, not to march to a distant field to die because a mad king and prideful lords cannot live in peace." Lady Shella spoke, so passionately animated that at last the children and servants began to take note of the discussion of the Whents. "I have never once told you how to rule my father's land husband, now I beg you do not rush to war, and do not go to Riverrun where you know not what welcome you shall have." Lady Shella begged.

Lord Walter was stunned by the spirited plea of his usually so demure and deferential younger spouse. Awkwardly he patted the trembling woman on her back. "I am sorry my dear, but you are wrong. I owe it to the Targaryens to fight for their Iron Throne and I owe it to Lord Hoster to meet with him and speak my mind openly. This I must do. But take courage. I am not dead yet, nor are our children. Nor have war begun or any of our worries come into being. Your fears may all yet prove to be nothing more than yet another terror of Harrenhal." Lord Walter tried to console his wife. "I ride to Riverrun tomorrow. You must strong and rule Harrenhal in my stead with Walton as you aide. Do as you wish, fortify this castle and call up our banners. Black Harren's fortress is not easy to garrison but nor is it easy to take. Our family will be safe behind the walls if war comes." Lord Walter spoke.

[The Valyria Empire]

Dorne

The Red Mountains, The Tower of Joy

---

Prince Rhaegar of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, and Heir to the Iron Throne.

---

"I loved a maid as fair as summer with sunlight in her hair. I loved a maid as red as autumn with sunset in her hair. I loved a maid as white as winter with moonglow in her hair." A beautiful voice sang out, before he sang The Winter Maid. Eventually, all would grow quiet until only the wind could be heard. The man who sang the songs place his harp down, then stood up from the rock he sat upon. He looked up at the Tower next to him, then to his two companions. One man held a sword that glistened like the moon while the other wore a helmet with a great bat emblazoned upon it. The man with the harp looked up to see a raven fly into the Tower's rookery. The three men remained quiet, while the man with the harp entered the tower.

He was gone for several minutes before returning with a letter. The letter's seal was broken and the man with the harp had a solemn look. He shook his head and closed his eyes. The three remained quiet, with the letter being passed around until all the men had read it. The man with the helmet, spoke first.

"My Prince, let us keep our wits about us. We shall deal with the flaming wolves at a later time, for now we must train."

The Prince nodded and unsheathed his sword, and soon the two began to duel.

...

After many strikes, the prince stood victorious. The man with the stunning sword nodded at the Prince and helped his brother to his feet. The Prince sheathed his sword, and looked to his friends.

"My friends, I know the times ahead will be difficult. Yet, keep faith. What you are protecting will guarantee safety for Westeros for years to come. My son's song is that of ice and fire... but the dragon needs three heads." The Prince spoke, as he entered the Tower. The two men remained outside, their thoughts only on their duties.

The Crownlands

King's Laning, The Red Keep

---

Valarr "The Feeble" of House Targaryen

---

The great hall was packed tightly, lords from many regions stood in occurrence to their King. From the Reach, to the Riverlands, to the Vale and Dorne there were lords aplenty. Valarr could not remember them all, but saw many sigils any lord would know. Valarr shuffled his way through the hall, his golden cloak flowing behind. His cousin, the King sat on the Throne. His finger nails, flowed from his fingers and reached to his knees, his silver hair stained by grime. Valarr continued to move through, apologizing as he made his way through. Some recognized him, and quietly moved while others had to be lightly pushed. If not his purple eyes, none would think any the wiser of him. Eventually he made his way to bottom of the mighty throne that towered above him.

His uncle cared little about him, since Steffon's death. Valarr's mind flashed to the anger on Aerys' face when Valarr returned, how he was blamed for the death of Lord Steffon. There had been little love between the two, but Valarr stilled loved his cousin, they were family and nothing could change that. He positioned himself to the side, and awaited what orders would come his way.

Aerys... how you have changed. Valarr thought as he stood in position looking out at the sea of lords.

[Nuxipal]

Ixidor Bloodfyre, Lord of the Dragonspire

The Dragonspire, Mountains of the Moon, Southern Vale

---

The Dragonspire, an impressive castle for its age. Defenses face its only accessible entry point in a manner which makes assaulting it a nightmare. Two large squat guard towers sit 35 feet above the mountain they were carved/built onto. They flank a gate which itself is nearly 16 feet high with walls reaching 22 feet. If the towers were not enough, an archer gallery was placed to the right side, the sword side, Ixidor's father always told him, of the gate. Archers from this vantage point could do significant damage while being relatively safe from the enemy that was advancing to the gate. The other entry to the castle involved a treacherous climb up nearly 50ft of vertical cliffs to a balcony on the part of the castle that was named "Last Keep" as it was separated from the primary portion of the castle by a long bridge and built on a second mountain peak. From here the family could also escape using a lift system, similar to what was used at the Eyrie. Supplies could be ferried up and down with ease as could people should the castle need evacuating.

Ixidor was in the study, going over the defenses of the castle. While the tower which had been named Daemon's Keep, after his father, was still being built nearby. He kept looking for the best way to defend the castle should someone march on it before he made his personal decision. He had already sent riders out to the villages in the valley to gather what fighting men they could. He needed to prepare his armies for the coming war. Jon Arryn, had called in the banners and while he was an Arryn Vassal he was also a vassal of the King. He had not had time to personally swear fealty to either his Lord or the King. Too busy fighting back the Clansmen from this side of the Mountains.

Ixidor turned to the other in the room with him, his sister, Naerys. She had eyes and ears across this region and parts of the Riverlands. "Any news from outside of our valley sister?"

She nods solemnly, "House Tully has called their banners. One of my informants near Saltpans also said they saw a force of men from Wickenden riding hard on for the High Road. Perhaps going directly to the Eyrie. No word from the other informants in the area. I do suspect the Waxely troops will pass our part of the High Road within a couple of days. Lord Waxely may not even stop on his way. I still think the best course of action is to try and find Rhaegar and get this whole mess sorted out. Rhaegar has proven to be capable in the past, though this business with Lyanna Stark is troubling, but nothing that can't be put right through negotiation."

Ixidor sighed, "I don't think there will be diplomacy this time Naerys. Jon Arryn doesn't call his banners to go have a chat. There will be dozens of lords of varying importance choosing sides across the continent. We need to be on the right side. The winning side. I don't want to have to watch them pull down our castle because we chose wrong. Lets go through the scenarios again.."

He starts on the present situation of how Jon would need to get Robert and Eddard back to their homelands to rally their own armies. "It is likely that Ravens have been sent already by Lord Arryn to rally the men of the North and Stormlands. So we know that House Arryn, Stark, and Baratheon stand against the Crown. Dorne is honor bound by Rhaegar's marraige to Elia. However, the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark and the sudden disappearance of the two in the south may cause some pause on their part. They may wait for Rhaegar or Elia to ask them to move against the Stormlords. Tywin Lannister was once the Hand of King Aerys. He resigned the post, but his oldest son is now a Kingsguard. I could see him easily backing the Throne, but he quit the job of Hand for a reason. Perhaps he will stay neutral because of it. The Reach is the wildcard I am most worried about. If they side with the Arryns, Starks and Baratheons, Aerys will have to sue for peace early. He can't fight the Reach and Stormlands in the South while holding back the North and Vale from the north. Even if Tywin, Dorne, the Riverlands, and the Iron Isles come to his aid."

Naerys looks over the map they had. Pieces were everywhere she noted the blue dragon at the Dragonspire. "We have about 3000 men that we can arm and send into battle while leaving enough to defend our castle. Surely that could be put to use to aid whichever side we choose."

Ixidor nodded, "Yes, but we are but a drop in the bucket of the Vale's overall strength. If we rise against the Arryns and lose. That is the end for us. If we rise against the king and lose. That is the end of us. We can't afford to lose this war."

"Then what do you propose we do Lord Bloodfyre." asked Naerys, clearly frustrated with how her brother was acting.

Pausing to think, Ixidor looked across the map. "We wait until a few more lords have declared. Send a Raven to the Eyrie telling them we are collecting our forces. We were asked to do as much anyway. Perhaps by the time they are all assembled we will have heard from the more bold lords of the realm. Keep me informed sister. I am counting on your information."

Naerys left the room, leaving Ixidor alone looking across the map. His family sword at his side, recovered from the Mountain Clansmen encampment they found the bodies of his mother and father in. He still remembers seeing their bodies, his father was cut up and seemed to have died of wounds long after capture. His mother seems to have been raped and mutilated by the barbarians. He had taken pleasure in killing as many of them as he could. The blade itself was nothing more than well forged steel, but the teal and red laced hilt along with a dragon pommel made for a very lordly appearance. He saw something on the map momentarily, looked at it again and used his measuring stick to make sure the distance was correct. Smiling at his cleverness, he moved his family's army piece into the mountain pass just north of where the castle stood. He could block of the High Road quite easily if he wanted to preventing anyone from passing north or south depending on the side he took and an easy, relatively, retreat point back to his own Castle was available through the foothills if he is cut off from the Highroad to the south. He would send Artys out there soon to scout out the area see if some kind of barricade could be built there.

[Revlona]

Near White Harbor

Eddard Stark Lord of Winterfell and warden of the North was nearly back in the north.
Having departed almost immediately to whiteharbor after the news had came, he had already sent ravens to his bamnermen calling them to winterfell to gather.

As the small trade galley glided into the harbor Ned could see a host of banners gathered on the peer for his arrival, there was the Merman of WhiteHarbor and the Direwolf of stark, meaning that benjen had come to meet him.

After the galley was pulled along side the peer Ned stepped off the galley and embraced his brothee. Its good to see you benjen, but I must know now, who answered the call? Ned asked. All brother, all answered the call, The umbers, karstarks, and the cerwyns ar just a few, though the boltons have not yet marched for winterfell there host has gathered at the dreadfort. The more southern houses have gathered at most cailian Benjen said
Thats good, the boltons not marching is worrying but I feel that roose knows that aerys is outmatched in the north. Anyways we must be off to winterfell at once, let's go benjen.

An honour guard of 30 stark men accompanied the
Back to winterfell with the manderly forces that hadn't marched yet.

[Warg the Immortal]

The Reach
The Mander, Highgarden

---

Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and the Reach, Warden of the South

---

Mace Tyrell sat in one of the many groves of the palatial seat his family had held since Aegon's conquest. He was surrounded by many members of his family and household. His eldest sons, Willas and Garlan, ran through the gardens, gaining chuckles and ire in equal measure from those in attendance to the family's afternoon luncheon. Garlan, always having been on the heavier side, struggled to keep up with the older and slimmer Willas, and by the time they had finished stirring trouble Mace's second son was quite red in the face.

Mace chuckled, remembering when he and his siblings had done the same in their youth. Sipping his fireplug wine he turned to his closest and advisor, and mother. "Mother. Do you remember when Greydon and I would act like that in our youth?" After giving Mace what could only be described as a sardonic smile, the Queen of Thorns responded to her eldest son. "In your youth? The both of you act much the same even now. Even your late-father was much the same with mutton-headed brothers." Mace shook his head, and chuckled lightly before glancing back to where his sons now stood, attempting to cool themselves off in the cool water of the garden's fountain. He concentration was interrupted as a servant came to him, clutching a piece of parchment in his hands.

The young man handed it to him, seal unbroken, Upon it was the thrice-headed dragon of House Targaryen. Breaking the seal Mace quickly read its contents, sighing in exasperation. "It would seem the King has called for the raising of banners against the Starks, Baratheons and Arryns." He exchanged a look of unease with his mother and uncle before retiring his attention to the young man. "Return to Maester Lomys, inform him to send ravens to all the lords and landed knights of the Reach. It has come time for war. Tell him to also send letters requesting the presence of Lords Hightower, Rowan, Fossoway, Redwyne, Ashford, Caswell, Crane, Merryweather and Oakheart. As well as to the marcher Lords, Randyll Tarly and Titus Peake, we will need skilled commanders."

The servant bowed before hurrying away to begin preparations for the impending war. His thoughts stirred to think of his brother, Greydon, who had left some time ago to King's Landing with other second sons and scions of great families, hoping to show their loyalty to the crown and avoid raising the undue anger of Aerys the Mad. Mace silently prayed that the foul king would meet his end soon, alongside the hotheaded Baratheon. He knew what kind of man Prince Rhaegar was, and hoped for him to sit on the Iron Throne soon, and put and end to this chaos.

[Ruskland-Preuben]

House Clipper of Cliffside, Cliffside

Cliffside, built by the ancestor of the Clippers, The Cliffman. True to its name, it was situated on a precarious cliff, and was separated from the main cliff by a small valley that flooded in high tide. Under the castle was a labyrinth of rooms, dungeons, hallways, and even a Clipper thought that it was good to add a maze at the lowermost layer! Where the sea water was made not to get through. "Silly Dale Clipper..." A young man thought to himself. Carl Clipper, currently ruler of the castle. He already has fulfilled heir and spare, with his twin sons, Lothar and Craig. He stood up from where he stood, and began to walk around the castle, intenting to simply enjoy a good walk.

He saw his house's banner, or coat of arms whatever you wanted to call it, and he decided to ponder about it. "A sun and a black castle, each on a blue and white background respectively." He mentally droned, "Blue for the sky and sea, white for the cliffs that all see.". "Why do I rhyme unintentionally..." Carl murmured to himself as walked away to enjoy yet again that walk he thought about. His walk that he was looking forward to enjoying was suddenly interrupted by a young servant with a piece of parchment in his hand. "Lord Carl! Raven from Karhold!" The servant hollered out at him whilst running towards him.

"Oh? What does my liege have for me now?" He said as he took the parchment, with it the unbroken seal of the Karstarks, a sun with a face on it. He broke it open, and his face grew grim. "Seems like that madman finally kicked the bucket in terms of his vassals," he whispered loudly, "And direwolf, falcon, and stag face against the dragon, with the trout, lion, and kraken still aloof. The rose and the orange sun have declared for the crazed dragon...". "What joy, tell Lord Karstark that we'll gladly go to war." He ordered the servant. Carl then went off to prepare the army while the servant went to the maester of the castle.

About a few hours later, the men-at-arms had been mobilized, and now, it was time to go. The only ship they had, a large one, had been prepared to disembark at a moments notice. The troops then went to the ship, and set sail, to White Harbor. But Carl would first grab a few things from his chambers before giving out the order to set sail.

A chicken's egg and a few glass vials, both thin and bulbous...

[Revlona]

Winterfell, The North


Ned looked out from his bed chambers over winterfell and saw the many different banners, the sunburst of the karstarks, the merman of manderly, the chained giant of umber, the flayed man of Bolton, and many more smaller houses.

There was a nock on the door and maester luwin entered.

My lord there has been a raven from moat cailian, howland reed has gathered the southern lords there with some 20,000 men,he has assumed command of them, he says that he has sent scouts down as far as the twins and they report that the riverlands have called there banners but have yet to declare for either side. Also Lord Clipper has arrived with his men. Luwin informed Ned

Good, send a raven to most cailian instructing howland to stay where he is, inform him we are beginning our march on the morrow and we should be expected before the months end. Also inform Lord Clipper that he is to take charge of the scouting. Ned said

Luwin mumbled that he would do so and left.

Ned's gaze once again looked over his host of about 25,000 men, he planned to March tomorrow.

[Ruskland-Preuben]

House Clipper of Cliffside, Winterfell

After about half a week's worth of traveling, Lord Clipper's forces arrived at White Harbor, then traveled on to the seat of house Stark, Winterfell. His troopshad been directed to camp near the Karstarks, as they were a vassal of them and for organization purposes. He currently was the main tent, sipping some Arbor Gold, finest in all of Westeros. Whilst in the process of sipping another sip of wine, a messenger arrived. "Uh, message my lord." The young lad told him. "Alright, give it me." Carl replied, and the messenger gave it to him, and promptly left about a moment. "Hmm, me leading the scouting?" He murmured to himself, "Well, I guess it shall be fine, I prefer stealth over tackiness.".

He then remembered what he brought with him, and began working on them...

[The Vekta-Helghast Empire]

---

House Bolton, Our blades are sharp.

---

Outside the walls of Winterfell, the Bolton camp.

”Loyalty’s a terrible things at times, you know that? Oh how I feel for Lord Tywin’s pain.. Torn between his family’s honour, his hatred for King Aerys and his honour as a man, to the title of hand of the King.. How fortunate we are to be without such trivialities, without split loyalties.. Wonderful.” Roose’s voice filled the entire tent, speaking idly to a select few members of his retinue, his castellan, martial and steward. He was among the last of the lords to arrive at Winterfell, his retinue being rather significant in size and taking some time longer to amass than the lesser lords, not only that - but the Dreadfort was nearly as far afield as the Karhold, so it wasn’t exactly a casual stroll to Winterfell. Yet he did come. He had no reason to side with the Targaryens and the Starks were his liege lords. It was a clear cut decision. And unlike the late lord, Walder Frey, he had a certain taste for combat and warfare. Particularly when it came to the tending of prisoners of war.. As all Boltons and Dreadlords tended to. Not that their lieges among the Starks were appreciative of their methods and at times, often totally outlawed them. Just as they had the flaying of men centuries before.

---

House Clarifont, Clarity and Guidance.

---

He’d been at the Clarifort when it all broke out, when the raven first arrived telling of the death of Lord Stark and the raising of the banners in the Vale, North and Riverlands.. As well as Robert Baratheon taking up arms at news of Lyanna Stark’s kidnapping. He can remember the letter falling from his hands in total disbelief - he knew the King had went mad and been up to some bizarre things. But he’d never expected things to go so far, yet, even now, he couldn’t bring himself to join the rebels’ cause. He swore an oath to House Targaryen, as had his forefathers and always had they remained loyal servants. He was even anointed by a Septon as a Knight of the realm, to go back on his oath to House Targaryen would dishonour him for an eternity. His loyalty was also reaffirmed by a strong belief in Prince Rhaegar, he was an honourable and fair man of great martial prowess. If anyone could bring peace to the realm once again under the Targaryen banner and ensure the realm’s continued prosperity, it was him. Almost immediately he rallied what few men he had at his disposal, all two hundred and fifty of them and set off for King’s Landing. They arrived within a day at the city’s gates, to discover a handful of other bannermen who’d arrived from around the Crownlands. He’d paid for his own lodgings within the city and a dozen men lived alongside him as his personal guard, all hand-chosen by himself. And eagerly they waited, for that ever approaching hour that they’d be ordered to move and that the war would finally begin.

[Rhinocera]

Rickard Stark, Brandon Stark, and peace within the realm. They all had one thing in common. Dead. They were all dead. The Stark patriarch had been burned alive at the behest of King Aerys Targaryen. The Stark heir, executed on his majesty’s command as well. A lord and his heir, both murdered after demanding that justice be wrought upon Rhaegar Targaryen and that Lyanna Stark be returned. A truly foolish errand, undertaken out of brash impulse. One did not simply ride into King’s Landing and demand such things of King Aerys Targaryen. The monarch was not a forgiving one, nor was he necessarily sound. He was impulsive, violent, conniving, paranoid, unpredictable, and King. Such a combination made him, undeniably, the most dangerous man in Westeros by a large margin. His condemnation of the Stark lord and heir was no surprise, though the method of execution was unorthodox to say the least. Even a King’s actions had consequences, however, and the commands of Aerys would have dire ones. Even now, the Starks rallied their bannermen and allies. Robert Baratheon would do the same, for it had been his betrothed who had been stolen by the Targaryen Prince. Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark were close, growing up under the watch of Jon Arryn, who would bring the Veil to the cause of the Wolf and Stag. Hoster Tully had betrothed his daughter, Catlyn Tully, to the now deceased Brandon Stark. It was more likely than not that the Trout would stand by the Stag, Wolf, and Eagle. Every passing moment drew the realm closer to inevitable war.

These were the thoughts of Tywin Lannister as he pondered how he would lead his house through this inevitable clash. Obviously, siding with the Baratheon rebellion would not be possible at the moment. Jaime Lannister remained a Kingsguard, meaning that he was at the mercy of King Aerys. Tywin had no intention of risking the life of his favored son by opposing the King. He also had no intention of wading into a war on the side of the Targaryens, simply because they held his son. Outright defiance was out of the question, but the Lannisters would not be ordered about like cattle. No, they would maintain neutrality until Tywin found reason to do otherwise. The Lion would watch as the Stag challenged the Dragon. By no means was this as simple as avoiding potential harm to Jaime Lannister either. The Baratheon resistance had done nothing to warrant the support of the wealthiest house in Westeros. When the time came, perhaps the Lion would unleash its might upon the Stag and Wolf, in solidarity with the Dragon. It was simply too early to tell.

Even for the Lannister’s, however, simple ponderance was not enough. The Westerlands would not sit idle as the realm collapsed around them. Tywin called upon his brothers, Kevan and Tygett. Kevan was the first to arrive and was the first to speak with Tywin regarding the matters at hand. Tywin tasked his younger brother with the rallying of the bannermen. War was on the horizon and if it were to force itself upon the Westerlands, it would not find sheep waiting to be slaughtered. Tygett arrived sometime after and also received a task. Tywin had commanded that Tygett take a force of some 6,000 men and take hold at the Golden Tooth. If the resistance wished to march through the Westerlands, the Golden Tooth would be where they would need to march through. 6,000 men could hold the position against a sizeable force if need be, and a force large enough to genuinely threaten the Lannister position would not be able to move unnoticed, which would allow Tygett Lannister to be reinforced before an overwhelming force would be able to bring itself upon the Tooth. The Lannisters would not be taken unaware. After all, Lions were not to be cowed by wolves, deer, nor fish.