ASOIAF - The Bleeding Years IC Thread

[Dalria]

House Gardener

74 YatD...

As Mern approached Lord Osgrey he recollected the stories told of the Osgrey's courage during the invasion of Lancel the Lion; Oswald Osgrey fell in battle beside King Gavin Gardener during the battle of Old Oak and since than, have been brave cannon fodder against the forces of The Rock. While another Lannister invasion was far from mind, one could never be too careful. The King approached Perwyn and planted a firm grasp on his shoulder, "rise Lord Osgrey, I would much enjoy a tour of your new keep" King Mern examined the architecture of the Coldmoat. It didn't rival Highgarden but it still remained an impressive feat. It was at the advantage of King Mern for Coldmoat to be built; another fortification that could provide protection against the molestation of his lands.

The two men behind King Mern stepped forward "my two eldest sons: Princes Edmund and Gawen" the two princes nodded in acknowledgement as King Mern continued, "I apologize for any inconvenience I have caused, I understand my notice was not as hasty as my arrival. I have been extremely busy with the state of the realm as of late! Between the squabbling stewards appraising the bountiful harvest and the planning of the Tourney of Highgarden, I have had absolutely no time to myself. Truth be told, this trip has allowed me to escape the clutches of my wife, she has been nagging me on my ale consumption" he laughed. "Now, let us get on with the tour of this magnificent fortress! We have much to talk about. If you could also have a servant fetch me some wine as well, the journey has made me parched" Mern ordered.

[The Anarcho-Syndicalist Commune]

Taedor

The Iron Blizzard sat in a spacious guest room within the fort of Dragonstone. He sat on the foot of the bed while his wife went through and decided which of her gowns she would don for the evenings meal. The Lysene were even more picky about their dress than the mainland Westerosi, much to Taedor's chagrin. Every occaison must be preceded with the ardous task of choosing a dress. Still, it was indicative of Essos he supposed. In Westeros when you wanted something, you used steel. In Essos you used whispers and webs of promises and lies. That was why the Farwinds remained particularly popular among the Free Cities. Sometimes, words and whispers failed, and that's when you called in a hammer.

Saenya was curently standing and deciding between a deep red gown in a more Volantene style vs. a more Westerosi black and white dress she had comissioned to match the colors of her husbands house. Without even looking at him, Saenya asked calmly "What troubles you husband. Normally watching me stand like this for hours is somewhat pleasing to you no, except for your utter disregard for the politics of appearance."

"Where is Earon?"

"Off playing with the Targaryen's daughter. Your guess is as good as mine as to what they are doing however. Might I ask why you suddenly care about the wellbeing of a child you told me would have to learn the iron way of pain as you did."

Taedor scratched his beard and said calmly "One of the very few things I ever heard from my grandfather was simple. It matters not what wealth you accumulate, or who you fuck. What matters is what legacy you leave behind, and how it secures a future for your family. For the Ironborn, that simply means that you raid, rape, and pillage a bunch of smallfolk that would be more profitable as slaves rather than thralls. But not for you. Do you remember what you said the night I first stole into your room with everyone intention of making you just another high-class salt wife?"

The Lysene Shadow appeared lost in thought for a moment, before bending over and retrieving another black and white gown, this one in her traditional Lysene style. After another moment she replied "I can't say that I do at the moment."

"I remember it as clear as day. Most women when they see an Ironman with the looks of a Valyrian would scream, knowing their new fate, but instead you barely looked up from a letter you were writing, and you said 'I told Jaesa that you couldn't be trusted. Before you rape and kidnap me, I want to say that I think we both want the same thing, and that we can help each other get there.' I was taken a little aback. At the age of sixteen I had already seen more horrors, killed more men, and taken more women, than the average Westerosi noble could hope to do in a lifetime. Fear, death, and their ilk, they aren't foreigners to the Ironborn, they are born into our blood. Yet for the first time in my life, someone had truely stunned me. I asked you at the moment 'And what do you think I want?'. You gave me that sly little smile you get when you know you've won, and you said with full confidence 'Power, enough to rival Valyria itself.'"

"I suppose the memory comes back to me now that you describe it." That sly smile crept across her face.

Taedor's expression did not shift from the hard emotionless one he normally wore. He looked over his wife again and said "And how much are you willing to give for that power?"

Saenya looked away from her dresses for the first time in the coversation. "Anything. What about you."

"You already know the answer to that."

"Than why ask me that?"

"Because I now have reason to believe that the scroll fragments we picked up were right in certain regards, and if they are it's good to have insurance if everything in Lys doesn't go to plan. So, we may need to produce that insurance starting tonight."

Saenya narrowed her eyes and grinned "If you wanted that you could have just asked."

"I'll never fully understand you."

"I suppose that's my advantage in our marriage."

[The Felan Federation]

House Osgrey
Our Honor, Our Blade

"Nonsense my King, the fact you decide to visit me of all places, whereas the mortar has barely hardened brings me great joy and honor..." declared Perwyn, rising up once more. Inching a few above his King yet keeping his face and posture bowed low by instinct.

"As for your sons. I welcome thee to Coldmoat. May your future be as prosperous as our lands..." he replied, pumping his fist against his chest in respect.

"... certainly. Right this way..." he said, allowing the King to enter Coldmoat. Almost immediately having the servants bring out a rare vintage for this special occasion. Namely a bottle of Arbor Gold, one that had been made during the reign of Gyles III Gardener.

The place was still fresh, with the smell of stone and gravel in the air mixed with incense and pine in an attempt to hide it. While servants scurried about, preparing the quarters and dining hall for their guests. "...I am happy to say, you will lquite enjoy tonight's meal. My cook has prepared something special..." humored Perwyn, showing his King the various halls, chambers and rooms that made Coldmoat a rather fine yet also very defensible location.

Their your stopping near a balcony that overlooked his lands. "...I have also a special request to show you. Gaze your eyes upon the fields below..." he said, as there several cattle were grazing. Though a very different kind to the usual kept in the Reach. They looked more hairier, with gray fur that made them look almost like stone statues from a distance.

"...my King...pardon the question...but how much would the Starks or the Arryns pay for animals whom wouldn't get ill or perish at the first breath of cold?" he asked, obviously the Lord of Coldmoat had done more than be building a keep in his days.

[Roman Imperator]

Lazan Hotirah
New Ghis - 74 YatD

Lazan choked slightly on his drink at the end of the emperor's monologue about the crucified man.

"Well now," thought the Volantene emissary to himself, as he placed his goblet down on the table and gave his host a weakly smile. "That explains the dead nobles hanging beside the slaves today. I have a feeling Triarch Valyreos would really like this man. Time to be more straightforward and less ambiguous with my words it seems."

As he listened, Lazan tried his best to quickly hide his unease as he nervously plucked the wing off of a fried chicken on a platter. Peeling the meat off of it slowly and putting it into his mouth, he was nevertheless pleased at the rest of the emperor's dialogue. Lazan laughed politely in response and spoke back in bastardized low Valyrian.

"A man of the people I see....forgive me if I was either too blunt or unclear with the portents of my earlier statement, your majesty. I hope you will believe me when I say that Volantis has no territorial interests in any of the lands of Slaver's Bay. Our interest is, as I mentioned earlier, purely business related. As you well know, New Valyria has set its sights on the subjugation of her sister colonies, so you can't imagine how pleased and relief I am to hear that your ambitions do not cross into its borders."

Finishing his meal on the chicken wing, Lazan's next target was the much acclaimed roasted hog of which he took a juicy slice of before continuing, "And yes. You are right when it comes to dragons. New Valyria has none of the prized monsters that made the Valyrian Freehold the masters of all that we seek to inherit. However..."

Here, the Volantene emissary looked at the emperor levelly, with a twinkle in his eyes, "...you can't deny that a Volantene involvement, especially on the side of Mereen, Astapor and Yunkai, does not preturb his majesty. The combined might of the three slaver cities along with that of New Valyria could pose quite a .....problem for New Ghis, if I'm not mistaken."

Breaking eye contact, Lazan began cutting a piece of hog from his plate and eating it. "But that would be most unlikely. Especially after what I've heard. We care not if another empire rises to our east, so long as our borders remain unviolated and business remains as good and as profitable as before. In fact..."

Once again, the emissary looked at the emperor, but this time, with a hinting smile.

"....Volantis might find it is in their best interest to aid New Ghis. As a measure of goodwill and good faith between New Valyria and a new Ghiscari Empire. That is, if such a proposition interests you, your majesty?"

Based on the emperors response, Lazan had decided to veer onto a more favorable path with New Ghis. Most probably at the cost of New Valyria's relations with the rest of the slaver cities. But if Lazan was successful with this, they might not even have time to know what hit them. Besides, maybe a beneficial relationship with a sole ruler of all of Slaver's Bay would provide access to perks that Volantis could never have, no matter how much favor they curried with The Masters.

[Dalria]

House Gardener

74 YatD...

King Mern was overjoyed as he was handed the goblet of Arbor Gold, especially such a fine vintage. Elia had been constricting his wine consumption lately, so he indulged himself in the pleasure. The Gardener's took note during the tour of the architectural nature of the castle; stability had blessed Westeros for too long, it was only a matter of time before war broke out. The walls were standing an impressive thirty feet high with a deep moat surrounding the outer area.

King Mern overlooked the field with the strange furry beasts inhabiting it. They weren't your typical cattle but weren't oxen either; these beasts of burden were unique. The Reach was the center of innovation in Westeros; not only did it contain the Citadel but local lords often experimented with crops and animals. "I think you could get good coin for these beasts, as a Stark would say winter is coming" once again, Westeros could only handle so much peace and prosperity, they had been blessed with a bountiful harvest for the past several years but the future was bleak. "I will send emissaries to The Vale and The North, seeing if any of the northern lords would enjoy livestock more attuned with their environment" the King patted Lord Osgrey on the back. Soon the servants had been calling them for the dinner that Perwyn had promised, both of the Prince's mouths watered at the thought of a delicious meal.

The lords took their seat at the table in the Coldmoat keep, awaiting for the special meal to be unveiled that Lord Osgrey had mentioned. Mern took another sip of his Arbor Gold, "Lord Osgrey; I have not only came here for pleasantries but I have something to ask of you" the King began, "Lord Arlen Florent has recently stepped down from my council due to his age." he paused "Between the two of us, it was the right decision that man was basically walking dust. I have an open position on my council that has a need to be filled; Justiciar. I like to surround myself with loyal houses such as Tyrell, Hightower, Tarly, and I think House Osgrey would be a fine fit to my council. The Tourney of Highgarden is in barely over a fortnight and I'd like to have this position filled. What do you say Lord Osgrey?" the King raised his goblet.

New Ghis

74 YatD...

Emperor zo Shaak sat astonished as the Volantene emissary hinted at aiding the Slaver cities if a conflict was to arise. Although Mizleq disliked threats being aimed at him, he respected Lazan's courage to stand up to a man that could have him crucified on the spot. There were several variables that the Emperor had to take into account if an alliance was to take place. Much of the nobility still had a foul taste from Valyria after being under their boot for so long, so accepting aid from The First daughter could be seen as weakness on the side of Emperor zo Shaak. Even if the Ghiscari set their aim at the conquest of the Valyrian cities, this was far-off. If conflict was to arise in Slaver's Bay, it would be a long and drawn out conflict that could bog the Iron Legion down for years; perhaps an alliance is what New Ghis needs?

The Emperor let out a laugh, "I like you, you have balls" he chuckled. As the Emperor stuffed some chicken down his throat, washing it down with wine, a servant entered the room and whispered in the ear of the Emperor. His expression changed, his face lit up like dragon's breath. He gestured at Lazan to wait and abruptly exited the room. From outside the doorway, Lazan could clearly hear Emperor zo Shaak yelling in anger. The Emperor reentered the room, holding something unidentifiable in his hand. Mizleq tossed the object at Lazan; it rolled towards him. The object that sat in front of Lazan was a bloody severed head.

"This is an act of war!" the Emperor roared. The severed head belonged to the emissary that New Ghis had sent to Astapor days earlier for talks about a peaceful unification and turning back the three-city host that marched to molest zo Shaak's land. "I will nail every Master to a cross and disembowel them myself!" the Emperor cried out in a fit of rage. It seemed to be perfect timing, now as three armies marched on New Ghis soil, Emperor zo Shaak could not afford to be on the wrong side of New Valyria.

"Seize any ship in the harbor from Yunkai, Astapor, or Meereen..." he grunted at one of the Iron Legionaries stationed in the room as he turned his attention to Lazan. "I will accept your proposition on behalf of the Empire of Ghiscar; you can send word back to your Triarch. Within the fortnight, I will be marching to the ruins of Old Ghis. Please inform Triarch Valyreos that I would like to meet her in person and will be awaiting at my camp in due time" the Emperor arose from his seat, glancing at Lazan and exiting the room.

Several hours later...

The Harbor District was in havoc as Iron Legionaries tore various vessels apart. They were setting cargo ablaze and executed sailors in the street, Emperor zo Shaak roamed the streets with his detachment of legionaries, examining the chaos. Chief Minister mu Leer and Commander zo Hazdan followed closely behind.

"My Grace, we must tread lightly... we have three armies marching towards us. We need to appease the Masters until we have the might to combat them. It is a possibility that we can cede Old Ghis and return when the time is right" mu Leer explained. Emperor zo Shaak did not seem to care as he watched the embers gracefully floating into the sky from the slaver ships. "Emperor, I..." mu Leer began.

Emperor zo Shaak cut him off, "let them come! Commander zo Hazdan, we must send the full might of our Legion to defend the garrison at Old Ghis and have our navy defend the straight between the Isle of Cedars and Old Ghis. Once we destroy the coalition host, it will be easy to march upon the cities" the Emperor stared towards the bay, "the Volantis navy should be joining us at the Old Ghis, if they are true to their word." the Emperor knew that the Iron Legion was no match for the combined forces of Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor, especially in naval combat. If New Valyria was to assist with its mighty navy, it could turn the tide of the battle.

[The Felan Federation]

House Osgrey
Our Honor, Our Blade

Perwyn did look interested when his King offered him a position of prestige in his very own council. "...I would happily accept this offer. I promise to uphold the laws of both Kings, Men and Gods," he declared, granted he may have to hold his tongue if he had to share a table with Lord Tarly yet the fact that he was given this honor...it was a small concession that he could accept.

"...until then...let us eat and enjoy the great bounty of the Reach...and for many more summers and green pastures to come..." he spoke, as soon the food would be brought forward.

As it was, Lord Osgrey didn't mouth-off without a good amount of stuff to back his claims and pride at that. For namely dinner they had gotten finely cooked steak alongside several slices of cooked chicken breast covered in cherry sauce, mixed with produce freshly picked, washed and salted alongside a bowl of sliced potatoes that had been cooked in bacon fat.

Alongside a tray of breads that had cheese, ham and several slices of bacon between them, several jugs of raspberry juice for those wishing to abstain from the alcohol and a fruit salad made of apples, strawberries, blueberries and grapes at that as dessert.

[Arlye Austros]

Harlan Hoare.
Dragonstone.

He paid especial attention to Lord Aerion’s face once his own name was mentioned by his guardian, albeit unexpectedly to him. He had hoped to lay low and pass through that visit unnoticed. So far did that hope lived. He looked on as stone and wondered, a second later, if he had to bow at all. Too late. Soon Lord Taedor and Lord Aerion left them. He approached lady Saenya and issued words in the common tongue of Westeros.

“I should go and make sure My Lord’s belongings are properly taken to his assigned chambers.” He told the lady, making a slight bow. Harlan spoke as he remembered to be taught on referring to nobility. As son of a King of two Kingdoms it was easy to forget proper manners, and he used to spend a lot with low folk and to get his own hands dirty at the mud. After finding his way to the hall where the rest of the retinue awaited, he helped organizing the Lord’s belongings. Soon he was sattidfied with the burden as it was laid at the guest chamber, and Harlan decided to check on his own lodging. He had brought little things off from the ship and was happy to keep his sword nearby. However, he frowned at the rolls of parchment laid by the thralls. They expected him to continue practicing his handwriting. There were Masters for that, but nevertheless, they expected that.

Little after, Harlan wandered through a hallway, thinking whether he should feel in danger at that place. Perhaps he should visit that beast of a dragon and put that suspicion to the test. his father insisted he was protected, as he drowned five commonfolk boys for the Drowned God to protect him. However, Harlan knew the Drowned God frowned on that action, and if any, he feared the Storm God was ready to take him. He imagined that drowning in dragonfire and surviving could provide a blessing much greater from the drowned God. But could that blessing ever be hoped for?

The boy wondered this possibility when he heard a laughter. It wasn’t as he feared a mockery of his own fears, but rather a genuine joy. He continued to the archway that led to a small courtyard, nearly forgotten amid that rocky landscape of a fortress. Large twigs and vines seemed to grow well there, over a soft bed of moss. Harlan looked about and noticed why. A wall there was lower, and the mist of a nearby cliff was able to climb into the yard, which was able to conserve the blessing of the sea through the close walls and overwhelming shadows.

Earon seemed to play around with some crab that ran away from him through the walls. It seemed as if it had crawled into the fortress. The boy wasn’t fast enough, and the critter slid into a crevice, fading from the sight of his pursuer.
“Too slow, Earon. You shouldn’t be wandering alone. Should I take you to your mother?” He called from the archway. “Lest that dragon finds you.”



Harwyn Hoare.
Southern Ironman’s Bay, off the Westerlander Shore.

A man covered in black leather and a woollen cowl nodded and whispered some words. In the dark, Harwyn could not see his face, but he knew Rowas. He knew he cried for his son. Harwyn had glimpsed from his edge of the Longship, the Bearshame. Awoken by the words and whispers, he had already been informed of the man’s misadventures, but didn’t bat an eye as the misadventurer died at the sight of his father.
Rowas stood up, as two others worked on the body, preparing it for the Drowned God’s Halls. Now Harwyn shook from his appearance of slumber and looked up at Rowas.
“I am sorry. He died at sea at least. Now he will rise stronger.” He muttered. The bearded man snorted but nodded.
“He was a good lad. My wife will weep.”

The Prince of the Waves made space at his side for the now mourning father, and as the man sat, he offered some mead from a corked horn. Soon his beard was dripping.
“He managed to flee from the Ironmaker camp. Jorimar Ironmaker committed a terrible mistake by not sending scouts before the raid. Instead commanding his crew to focus on the village. The Rayne knights fell on them as a storm.”
“Did they fight well at least?” Harwyn asked, taking back the horn and sharing himself some mead.
“Not enough. They all got massacred. My son fled. He assured me he should have died there. But he needed to deliver the message.”
The men tied the body within a seal skin, and the sack was filled with some stones from the shore.

The Bearshame rested, along with four other Longships in a shallow cove. A man could jump on the water and crouch to grasp some small pebbles. Harwyn had the good sense of placing watchers around and was assured by regular whistles from between the rocks at the shore that the observers had nothing to report.
“He ran for an entire day, wounded. I shall remember this feat.” He complimented the dead man.
“Not really. He stole a small boat, killed a fisherman who stabbed him instead. He bled through the voyage. Still. He warned us.”

They made a silence, and Harwyn measured his words. “Then to Gawen Fisherbane, son of Rowas. May the Drowned God recognize his effort.” He lifted the horn and drank from it one last time, then passed it back to Rowas, who accepted it and drank in silence. The Prince stood up and spread the word. They would move away.

Gawen Fisherbane sank into the darkness leading to the Halls of the Drowned God just north of the cove, as the five Longboats rowed out and caught a favourable wind. Harwyn had to head back to Orkmont, the ancestral seat of his House. There he always felt comfortable and would indeed be able to think ahead. Ravens, however, were dispatched to the God’s Eye. His father needed to be informed of this failed raid. It could spark a hostility right now the two Kingdoms couldn’t afford.

[Sarderia]

THE FREE CITY OF BRAAVOS
THE IRON BANK
74 YEARS AFTER THE DOOM

---

THE CITY COUNCIL

Artos lit the grand fireplace that adores the Sealord’s Palace’s great hall. Several guardsmenwere standing beside him, holding jars of oil and red candles. He took one of the red candles and put it on top of the fireplace. Silently, he knelt in front of the fireplace, its warmth fending off the cold gusts of wind, as the large windows beside him creaked. He cupped his hands and prayed.

“Lead us from darkness, O Lord,” he started. The guardsmen and several of the Palace’s servants followed him. “Fill our hearts with fire, so that we may walk upon your shining path. Yours is the fire that gave life to men, that lights our souls in the eternal night. O R’hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the warmth on our loins. May you grant your blessings upon us for this day. Especially when the times that we need the most…” He’s going to deliver a state speech this day, so why not go on and ask R’hllor everything that he could give.

“R’hllor who gave us breath, R’hllor who gave us the light of day. We thank you. Verily, there is no god but R’hllor; and R’hllor is the greatest.” The others followed with a chorus of “Lord of Light, defend us. Lord of Light, protect us.” Artos rose and opened his arms towards the fire. He took a melted wax from the red candle, right on his thumb. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

The rest echoed his words. He turned and fastened his ornate cloak with a golden brooch bearing the Iron Bank’s sigil. Artos walked towards the exit as he heard a voice calling. “So, you’ve finally found a religion.”

Artos gave the man a kindly smile. “A man must have his faith, isn’t it what the Magistrates keep telling us? The Lord of Light has provided us with day, and the sun is unusually bright these days. Would you join me, Lord Arenys?” The Keyholder smiled.

“Of course. Cannot wait for the Sealord to deliver about how the city is very prosperous and the citizens are bathing with gold.” The other man responded with a sarcastic smile. “Well, what do you expect? I am a Senator of the City Council, and so I’m obliged to oppose you.” They walked down the Palace’s marble steps.

“Ah, but I’m in your party. You nominated me for the national committee last year.” Despite all of his controversial policies that often goes against the Keyholders’ political stance, Uthor Arenys had always been one of his staunchest supporters. “That is true. Your first term as Sealord had brought us an agreement with Pentos, and a strong government that could rely on its own, without being dragged and pulled across the City Council like the inefficient bureaucratic mess that precedes it. I am sure that this is what your father would want.”

“Indeed, and my father would have wanted the most capable man out there serving Braavos’ prime interests. I have good news, my lord. You will lead the expedition to Dorne. Last year’s Council session have authorized this.” Artos gave him a slight smile. He watched as his former guardian’s face turned pale. “You must have been very proud to serve your nation, Lord Arenys. I thank you for your service.”

Artos walked out of the Palace’s large bronze gates and mounted his horse. He found the ornate carriages that usually brought the Sealords for their speeches to be quite dull. He waved a hand to Uthor, still startled at him, and rode past the Palace’s boundaries, with only a token of guards at his back. The citizens are also startled at the look of their Sealord riding through the town, like some bravos chasing one another – but then, he could care less about the Braavosi traditions that these politicians clung their life unto. He reined his horse at the City Council’s building, and dismounted with a swift jump. He fastened his cloak once again and walked through the doors, right into the Senate Chamber, where most – if not all – of the city’s most esteemed legislators have been waiting.

The Council’s Sergeant-at-Arms, a politician tasked with the duties of protocol and law enforcement, waited for him at the chamber’s doors. As soon as he spotted Artos walking, the Sergeant stepped in to the Chamber, and shouted, “Mister Speaker, the Sealord of the Free City of Braavos!”

The Speaker of the Council rose up from his seat, holding a scepter in his hand. “Order, order! Order in the Council!” the Speaker screamed. When all the Magisters and Keyholders finally ended their fierce debates and intense shoutings, the Speaker stepped up in front of Artos, holding several parchments in his hand, and regally lifting his scepter for the whole Council to see.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured members of the Council, and humbly the servants of the citizens of Braavos. I bid you all welcome on the three hundred and first session of the Council of the Free City of Braavos. May we never forget, and always remember, that our duty is first and foremost to the free and independent citizens of Braavos; that we are all elected here to exercise that responsibility as the vices of the city, and that we shall all strive to escort and protect our citizens’ interests first above our lives. As I, that has been chosen to speak for this honoured assembly, present ourselves before the foremost sovereign elected by the citizens of Braavos, we offer the voice of the people.” The Speaker said in a booming voice.

Artos gave his kindest smile and rose up from his throne, regally looking. “I recognize you as the voice of the people. I grant you this sacred task to escort and protect the interests of the people, and to help the elected sovereign exercise it with the most caution and counsel. The Sealord is at your service.” Artos bowed deeply.

The Speaker returned with a slight, courteous bow. “We recognize you as the elected sovereign of the people, and we would honour the trust by providing the utmost counsel to your government. Now, as it is customary, the Council will hear a formal addressing from the government’s head, in a presentation of the State of the Union, which has been eagerly awaited and demanded by the people…”

Artos rose from his seat again and moved to a desk near him. He gave several parchments of his speech to the Vicegerent and the Speaker of the Council, as well as several other councilman. He started with a loud, but intense voice. “The State of the Union is strong. It has and will always be strong, but to remain so it would need the unity of Braavos more than ever. I will start with the first of our most important matters of state. Councilman, as you all know, the power of our city, in forms of trade, wealth, and in military expansion, is now more increasing than ever. Five years ago, before the start of my first term as Sealord, the Free City of Pentos seek to threaten the ideals of freedom and democracy that our nation held firm above all else; and we retaliated in defense of it. It is only our right to defend the values of freedom against all odds, and that is explicitly why our proud nation is founded firstly; against the vile idea of slavery. We won, although it came at a great cost. Not for us, but for Pentos. But ever since, we have exercised our might of power benevolently; we have allowed Pentos to resume its former… activities, for the sake of respecting their sovereignity. Since then, we have made further progresses in terms of diplomacy and military support. Chief among these are to the Free Cities of Lorath, Norvos, and Qohor, of which we have great relations with and receiving our support in terms of trade and soldiers still to this second.”

“But an enemy most vile threatened the ideals which we live upon. The city of Volantis, now proudly declaring themselves heir to the old Valyrian Freehold, has once again resumed their aggressions to the former Valyrian colonies; the Free Cities. Already they have Lys and Myr under their oppressive yoke. Now, I believe, they want to bring Tyrosh under that barbaric and vile yoke as well; threatening their sovereignity by sending their ships a mere stone’s throw from Tyrosh’s harbor. Now as I have said before, we have not and will not stand idle to this aggressive and threatening behavior that those so-called triarchs had acted throughout this region. The safeguarding of freedom and democracy is paramount over all else in this world. Who will say that if they got Tyrosh under their horrific administration, they would not stop until all of us become their slaves next?” The statement invites many a roar of agreement from the Council.

“Because of that, we could not stand idle and let the vile and oppressive triarchs from expanding their rule upon the Narrow Sea. As you all know, I have authorized the sending of three Braavosi fleets on expedition last year, after the Navy Act passed legislation last year. One by the force of ninety ships to Pentos and its surrounding waters, herding off pirates and safeguarding our trading interests there. One to the protection of Tyrosh, after our esteemed ambassadors has agreed with their archons to let our ships patrol the seas near the Stepstones. This consisted of a hundred and sixty ships, aiding the patrol of any Tyroshi fleets present. As a token of friendship to the Tyroshi government, I have authorized the gift of ten further galleys, each of twenty oars, for the Tyroshi navy to take possession of, under last year’s Friendly Military Contribution Act. And finally the third expedition had not come as a military one, but more akin to a diplomatic expedition. We have sent one hundred and sixty ships to Dorne, in order to meet the Princes of House Martell that ruled the peninsula, and to strengthen our trade relations with them. Under last year’s Iron Bank foreign grant budget, we have gifted House Martell with a sufficient fund to raise two thousand men, equip, and train them thoroughly. The budget did not allow for more spendings, partly because we have other states that is also important to our interests, and of course I plan to continue this on to this year, but it's a matter for later. Half of the Dorne expedition will visit the petty pirate kingdoms on the Stepstones, granting them letters of marquee to dock on Braavosi-controlled ports, but that they will not interrupt our vessels and instead.. divert their attentions to somewhere else. We also plan for this half to continue to the Summer Isles, to Naath and then onwards to New Ghis and Qarth; finding a new trading route south that bypass Volantene control over the Rhoyne delta.”

“I suppose that is all I could address regarding the situation in the south, other than that we will continue last year’s military grant budget to bulid more ships in the Arsenal. Now on to the West. As you all know, a month ago I have sent Consul Zalyne to conduct an expedition to Westeros. Chief of all he will meet with the last Valyrian dragonlords to negotiate with them about the trade potential lying in Blackwater Bay. The Storm Kings and the Ironborn Kings currently squabble over Westeros, leaving many local lords scattered and unable to properly sow and reap their crops. The current government’s stance would be more liberal to this condition; we will grant permit to all trading companies that wanted to operate in the Blackwater. Consul Zalyne has gifted two of our galleys in good faith to Lord Targaryen. In return we expect them to increase their patrol frequencies to fend off any opportunistic pirate that would plunder our merchant ships there. Braavos would not support either House Durrandon or House Hoare or any other royal House that are currently contesting over the Sunset Kingdoms, but we will estabilish a colony on the mouth of the Blackwater, holding fealty to neither of these lords. If any of you wants to estabilish your own royal House to be kings over Westeros, I suggest moving here before anyone else does.” Laughter filled the chamber as he spoke. “I myself have an intention to be crowned after this term is finished,” he said with a chuckle.

With another scream of order from the Speaker, the Council chamber goes silent. “Now for the domestic matters of state,” Artos continued. “It is true that I have signed several unpopular policies that frankly some of you disagree thoroughly. The implementation of last year’s shipping and warehouses tax, for example.” Rumblings followed his statement. “However I must remind you that this is all for ensuring that our domestic market remains a place of good competition, and thus a healthy one. Since the liberalization of warehouses and shipping companies twenty years ago, this market has been steadily growing throughout Braavos in an unprecedented rate. Businesses are competing healthily against one another… until it doesn’t. The eight largest warehouse holding companies in Braavos has been buying out smaller warehouses in large numbers, exponentially increasing their value. Something must be done to stop these businesses from eating one another and eventually, creating a monopoly. And this does not apply to the warehouse and shipping businesses only. All manners of legal business will be subject to this year’s Income Tax act, which will control one’s growing wealth by the larger contributions he has to make to the state, parallel to the growth of his wealth. This year’s Progressive Tax Act would also implement a tax in which the tax rate increases as the taxable amount increases. We have put forth these proposals for legislation, in order to implement a more competitive and healthy capitalist economy in Braavos. As a reminder, these taxes will go straight into the State Treasury, as opposed to the Iron Bank, to increase the monetary value that our own state administration has against independent financial institutions…” he ended. Shouts of agreements cheered him from the Magistrate side, while the Keyholders side largely remained silent.

“As for the final announcement for the government programs this year, I am absolutely happy to announce that we will begin the single largest initial public offering of the most valuable company throughout the known world…” Several Keyholder senators rose up and began shouting obscenities at him. “Yes, that is right, ladies and gentleman, this council had authorized the initial public offering for the Iron Bank of Braavos! The Bank’s value is estimated to soar well over billions of coins after the initial public offering has taken place… wherein we will release forty-nine percent of the Bank’s shares to public market. Rejoice! Eventually, all wealth lead back to Braavos…”

Artos stepped down and smirked widely at the Keyholder senators, who were all sending him death glares at the moment. No doubt most of them will likely beg and plead for the Faceless Men to end him wherever they can. This will forever mark him as a traitor in the eyes of the Iron Bank’s remaining keyholder families; yet little did Artos cared for them. Petty familial interest must be put aside for the common good. The common good of his city…

DRAGONSTONE

Mero stood ever smiling, hearing Lord Aerion’s answers to his proposal. His refusal to allow any Braavosi warehouse to be constructed in Dragonstone has been politically motivated rather than naturally. Despite being a barren rock in the middle of the sea, a Braavosi warehouse, as small as it is – even if it’s sized as big as a hog’s house and located very inland, could provide a boon in both trade and political relations with the Targaryens; and Lord Aerion knew the latter all too well. It is why he so courteously told Mero to estabilish warehouses at the closest island that he had famililal relations into; because he did not wanted to be seen favoring the Braavosi while he still ahd a Volantene triarch present on his island. Or so Mero thought.

On the second matter, Mero had to give compliments to the dragonlords on how he could avoid owing favors with Braavos and having a stake in a new port located in mainland Westeros, all at once. The gold that Mero had presented in front of him would be used as the dragonlord’s shares in the new port. He had no objections on that, though; he could as well carry a giant dragon banner with the name of Lord Aerion carved in gold, to present that the dragonlord has also a claim in this new effort, and not just some foreigner from faraway Essos, if there is anyone who would contest the new colony’s sovereignity. He bowed slightly and said, “Of course, Lord Targaryen. Our own fleet would also be assigned to patrol the Blackwater Bay and this new colony from any threat of pirates. After all, no business wanted a loss…”

He followed Lord Aerion, bedecked in shining armor, towards his Garden of the Gods. Mero Zalyne was a diplomat, a businessman, and a soldier all in one – everything that a honest and proud Braavosi hoped to be. Yet despite all his achievements, his journeys throughout Westeros and Essos, he could not help but shiver at the presence of so many deities. Strange and familiar faces greeted him as he entered the garden. He stopped and examined the faces, his heart telling him that he need not fear all of these idols, as they were but one and the same.

He looked one by one at the gods. “All of these features, are but multiple faces of the same deity. There is only one God, Lord Targaryen…” he spoke, “and his name is Death. It is from where we came, and it is where we will end.”

“Tell me, my Lord. Do you hold slaves?” He asked. “I have heard that the Targaryens do not hold slaves, and that your house views all men as equal, before their might. As you know, Braavos is a free city, founded by free men who achieved their freedom by rebelling against the terrorism of their vile masters. And throughout several centuries, as old Valyria fell to internal bickering and finally their unexpected demise, Braavos had risen into a place of refuge, where the enslaved could rise to become a master, of their own fate and freedom. Indeed, we are now in possession of the largest trade fleet, that side of the Narrow Sea, and the largest amount of treasury as well,” he boasted. “But everywhere they go, Braavosi would always bow courteously when in foreign courts. We have always abided by the rules of where we go and trade, and respect the sovereignity of other states that we had come to contact, peacefully. We have recognized you as the dragonlords,” he reminded Aerion of the dragon egg, “and we have given what is rightfully yours by right.” He stopped.

“But now this pitiful and vile excuse of a state has come and spread its poisonous tentacles over Valyria’s former colonies, and have forced them to submit one by one. Already two great cities fell under their yoke, and now they dream of reinstating Valyrian,” he chuckled, “as if they had the right to call themselves Valyrian in the first place,” he said with a smirk, “their rule over old Valyria’s territories. I have heard that one of their leaders are here. That could only mean one thing. Any man with working common sense will know that they did not come here for mere sweet words and friendship, they want your assets.” He was sure that Aerion knew what that meant. “You have a weapon of mass destruction, milord. To pledge it, to help one of the most aggressive and vile slaver nation in known history would spell doom for the countries that have struggled for freedom so many years. I will be frank; I have come to plead you, in good faith, stay your hand. Stay neutral. Look not to Braavos or Volantis nor any other Free City for your dragons to burn. Let us resolve this power squabble peacefully if it could, or by sword if we must. Not by fire.”

“Contrary to what they might ask, we did not come here to gain your support. We only asked for your word, that you, or your son, or his descendants, or your kin, to stay the dragons from our conflict. I sincerely hope that you will consider the best…”

[Dalria]

House Gardener

74 YatD...

The lords feasted upon the bounty that had laid out in front of them; it was impressive for sure. King Gardener appreciated the effort that Lord Osgrey had put into his visit, even on such short notice. That is one particular reason that King Gardener had chosen the lower lord for the position of Justiciar. With the large expanse of The Reach and powerful factionalism between the powerful houses (i.e. House Hightower) and political entities (i.e. High Septon, Citadel, etc), corruption and political intrigue was always lurking near. The Gardener's needed staunch allies to fill key administrative positions within the nation. House Osgrey had remained loyal and would remain loyal under threat of Lannister invasion. Although not the most powerful house, Mern could trust them.

"Will you be attending the tourney of Highgarden Lord Osgrey?" King Gardener questioned. "It should be a momentous occasion! Queen Elia along with Lord Tyrell and Lord Hightower have been planning this down to the knit. I would say this will be the most exciting event of our life time; we have men attending all across the known world from as far as Yi Ti" the King joyously exclaimed, obviously proud of this achievement. "I am looking forward to seeing my sons compete, it'll also be exciting to find my dearest daughter a suitable partner" the King dabbed his mouth with a cloth as he leaned back, seemingly stuffed from the feast.

[Nuxipal]

Aerion Targaryen
The Gardens, Castle Dragonstone

Aerion listened to the Braavosi. He didn't particularly like the way this one had been implying the superiority of his ideals over that of the Volantenes, who had indeed begun calling themselves New Valyria. It mattered very little to Aerion which Free City fought which one, or who conquered who. What did matter was that no one power stayed in control over the whole of the continent and the current situation suited Aerion perfectly fine. However, there was a twist to the language that the Braavosi used to try and keep the Targaryens sidelined for all time. A dragon will do as a dragon wishes.

"I'm glad you have noticed the lack of slaves we keep on the island. I can't say I care either way for the institution itself, it is afterall, how much of the world as we know it came to be. In fact, without it, Braavos would have never existed." He then paced and came to a stop near one of the dragon-headed deities. "I can promise you one thing about me, and my weapons of mass destruction. Dragon fire will fall on any who make themselves an enemy of my house or its needs. I do not seek a war, but I won't be negotiated into a corner. I will grant you one promise on my behalf. The Titan will not be burned by my dragons, so long as I live. What happens after my time, is not for me to decide. Should Braavos wish to stay on friendly terms with House Targaryen, I would suggest you start keeping your eyes east, instead of west. Westeros is not a place for trading outposts, no matter how fruitful they may seem. The cities of Gulltown, Oldtown, Lannisport, and even White Harbor in the North are excellent places to trade. Even Duskendale is showing some promise despite the taxes placed on them by their Iron King."

He the walked straight towards the Magister and said, "I planned on keeping myself neutral in the wars of Essos. To think that I would pledge myself and my strength to anyone but myself is foolhardy. The whole combined navies of Volantis and Braavos would suffer irreplacable losses before they find a way to force a landing on any of my island holdings. The Velaryons are experts at sea. The Celtigars are renown warriors. And myself, I am a dragonlord. The last time anyone had to face a dragon in battle was nearly a hundred years ago and those were young dragons. Set up your colony at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush if you wish, even use my investment in it. Just tell your Sealord that the Dragonlords do not take kindly to being ordered about." He left Mero standing before the gods as he walked back to the Great Hall as he noticed footsteps approaching, likely warning him that more people were on their way. Going back over everything Mero said, he knew that he'd likely come off too harsh and perhaps just the small thought of the dragons leaving Dragonstone for any reason frightened Braavos and now they'd keep closer eyes on his actions.

To this, he thought, Good, let them see how the Dragonlords enjoy their retirement. As he sat in the Throne, the doors were being opened before him.

[Strala]

Aemon Celtigar- Dragonstone

Aemon stared at the walls of the guest room in silence. If one looked carefully enough at his face, they would see a slight frown. He and his family members had arrived at Dragonstone long before the other wretches had even set sail on their ships. They had been briefly greeted by their liege lord, Aerion Targaryen, before being delegated to the castellan. He didn't outwardly show his rage, but it was hidden in there, and he wasn't the type to forget even the smallest of slights. How his lord could even stand the sight of these sycophants was baffling, worse the descendants of an Ironborn, was treated far better than him. It doesn't matter if they looked like a Valyrian, they were ironborn trough and trough You could tell from their brutish nature.

Crispian Celtigar, on the other hand, was thinking of when he could finally depart from this dreary place and begin his first trade voyage. He wouldn't have minded so much if there fewer people here, especially the Braavosi, though the women would still be invited if he could choose who was invited. But since it wasn't his choice, and it was to celebrate the birth of the heir of his lord, there had to be foreign dignitaries that brought gifts for the only dragonlords remaining. Of course, there had to be foreign dignitaries. If there weren't any, then this event would have been considered a failure. His eyes wandered some more, better settling on one of the fairer looking serving girls that entered the room he shared with his older brother. Oh how he would love to spend a night of passion with her, but alas his brother had demanded that he was to be on his best behavior.

News of the birth of a new dragon-lord was received with much joy and celebration on Claw Isles. To the Celtigars, the time of the old dragon-lords and Freehold was returning. Now all they had to do was convince their liege lord to aid them in their conquest of Crack Claw Point. All of them, even the small folk were celebrating in the streets and praying to Meraxes that their future lord would live past childhood. Fourteen flames were lit in the Celtigar's keep, which represented the fourteen gods. Sacrifices were poured into the flames to ensure the continued prosperity of House Targaryen.

Valyria was the master of the world because of their dragons and blood. The blood of the Freehold was thinning and the birth of this new dragonlord would ensure that the blood stayed strong, and the continuation of Dragonriders.

"Crispian? What are you doing!," a smooth voice hissed in High Valyrian that broke the fancy of the young heir of Claw Isle. Crispian turned back to face his brother and blanched at the sight of his brother for a moment. Frowning, he leaned in from his seat, which was beside Aemon's, and proceeded to whisper a muttered response

"Brother. I have done nothing to warrant your anger. I was on my best behavior and I haven't drunk much wine."

Aemon glared at Crispian, due to his response.

"Do not take me for a fool. I know what you were doing. Make sure you don't do it again. Do you understand?!"

Aemon got up from his seat and began to furiously pace up and down the cabin floor with his eyes closed. Meanwhile, Crispian's skin color has slowly been recovering from the earlier incident. Aemon made his way to the middle of the guest room and stared at the floor before taking a deep breath. As expected, his brother was still far too stupid and immature to truly understand the finer points of rulership. Gazing at the sea horizon beyond, Aemon spoke in High Valyrian, "Do you understand how important this is for us? Do you?"

Behind him, dared not to immediately answer his question. He had learned from experience, that the best way for his brother to calm down, was to let him rage at him until he was placated. After Crispian visibly seeing his brother calm down did he formulate his answer. "No brother, I don't understand why this is so important? Is this not a time for festivity and celebration?"

Aemon scoffed at him before responding "No you fool. if that was the only reason, I wouldn't have brought Claw and five ships worth of treasure. One reason is to petition our liege lord, Aerion Targaryen, to help us in our conquest of Crackclaw Point. The other is to showcase our wealth and prestige to the other houses gathered here."

Before his departure, Aemon had made plans to begin his conquest of Crackclaw Point. The lords of said land were holding land that rightfully belonged to House Celtigar. Four years ago, he had become the new lord of the Claw Isles, due to the death of his father. He had immediately set out to purchase destriers, half-plate armor, long swords, and lances with gold. He also expanded their house's fleet to further project his family's power in Blackwater bay. It was extremely expensive and it much patience but the time and money were well worth it. House Celtigar had expanded its house guard from one hundred light horsemen to include another fifty heavy horsemen. Of that number, twenty of them were at Dragonstone along with five galleys ladened with exotic goods. His vassal Aenys Balatheros had also arrived at Dragonstone with him. With this, Aemon planned on showing off his house's wealth to his liege lords and the other lords assembled here.

His sister, Alysanne Celtigar, who had been educated by the dragon priests of the Claw Isle, had been ordered to stay at Claw Isle keep the flames burning for fourteen days. But before his departure from the Claw Isle, he had given her another mission. To discover what was the purpose of Aemon the Elder's ring. This was a secret fiercely guarded by members of House Celtigar, but their castle held an artifact from the days of the Freehold. Though what the ring did was lost, they knew it belonged to heir ancestor, Aemon the Elder. It fell upon Alysanne to discover what it was used for, as she had the most experience in dealing with the unknown.

Before leaving, Aemon had begun to muster a portion of his levies for the conquest of Crackclaw Point and issued orders to his vassals to ready their levies and merge with his main host on Claw Isle. If House Celtigar controls Crackclaw Point, they can begin to expand their domain, gain more taxes, and most importantly gain more resources and manpower. Claw Isle is a small island and in turn, can't host a large population that severely diminished the power of House Celtigar. The only problems were the Claw Lords and the time and energy it would take to completely take over Crackclaw Point. The overall commander of this force would be him, while his brother would be leading his right flank, and his strongest vassal, Aenys Balatheros, would command the left.

Meanwhile, House Celtigar's fleet had orders to dock at Claw Isles and prepare to ferry troops over to the mainland. Some of the merchant ships were refitted to carry men instead of spices and gold. The vast majority of the merchant ships were still making regular trips to Essos. However, they were entering the stepstones and Essos without many escorts. It has been noted that the Volantene Navy was patrolling this region, which eased the fears of many merchants.

At the moment, Aemon Celtigar had another pressing issue at hand that concerned the future of his family. There was a knock on the door, as he was calming down from his rage-induced fury. At Aemon's indication, Crispian opened the door and Aenys Balatheros quietly stepped into the room before greeting Aemon.

"My lord," Aenys Balatheros started to say in High Valyrian, " The Braavosi and lord Aerion, have finished their discussion. I also bare news from Claw Isle"

Aemon gestured for him to continue.

"They are reports from the hosts gathered at Claw Isle. The last of your vassals have finally arrived and as you instructed, they have begun to set up their camps near the castle. The ships that transported them here, have also joined in with the main fleet docked at Fisher's bay. They will continue to do so until new orders have been issued. There have also been reports of increased activity on the mainland. It seems that the lords of Crackclaw Point have been informed of our activities. The spymaster has reported that the lords of Crackclaw Point have been amassing their armies near Dyre den and he estimates that the enemy's host is roughly 4,000 strong. "

"Thank you Aenys, for informing me of these, developments," said Aemon, as he walked closer to the door. "You are excused from our presence."

Aenys gave Aemon a bow before he left. As the door closed behind him, Aemon turned to his brother and calmly said, "Crispian. It is time for us to meet with our Liege lord.Do not mess this up or you will be punished."

[Roman Imperator]

Lazan Hotirah
New Ghis - 74 YatD

"Well...." thought Lazan Hotirah to himself, as he stared at the severed head lying at his feet with disgust. "That ended way faster than expected."

In a fit of rage, the emperor had abruptly left the Volantene emissary standing alone in the banquet hall. Not that Lazan could blame him after the Masters' insulting declaration of war was delivered to New Ghis. Here, the emissary gingerly kicked the head away with the tip of his shoe before looking around to catch the attention of a servant. Nevertheless, negotiations were left off too abruptly. He had to find the emperor and finish their earlier discussion with a formal agreement between them. The emperor can't just assume that Volantis would willy-nilly send their fleet to aid them like that. No, first they had their naval contract with Astapor which was still in effect. Second, there was the talk of what New Valyria, or more specifically, Triarch Valyreos, would get out of it should she persuade Volantis to switch sides.

Yes, there was still plenty more to talk about and formally agree to before anything drastic was to be done. Lazan finally hailed the attention of a nearby cleaning slave and inquired on what she knew on her master's current whereabouts. After listening to her directions, Lazan felt around his robes to see if he still kept a map of the known world in its entirety. Having made sure that he still had it on his person, the emissary than headed to the streets outside of The New Pyramid, in search of Emperor zo Shaak.

By a stroke of luck, he spotted the imperial party guarded by a troop of Iron Legionnaires as expected. "Your Majesty," shouted Lazan Hotirah, as he hurried towards them. "A moment of your time if you please."

After being let through, the young emissary bowed low to the emperor and said, "Apologies for troubling you when you are so busy with your military affairs. But our discussion regarding an alliance between our two great nations have to be formally concluded between us. To which end you must know this. Volantis will be unable to render naval aid to New Ghis for the time being. Several months ago, the entirety of Astapor's Unsullied army was bought by us, in return for a portion of our navy to aid the Good Masters in their time of need. Which is why I propose..."

Here, Lazan took out his map of the know world and unfolded it to show the emperor. Pointing at a certain location on the map, the young emissary continued,"...I humbly propose that his majesty transports the entirety of his legions onto the southern region of Ghiscar. And then from there, march on land to siege Astapor. If you require the aid of our Volantene fleet, Astapor must fall first before we get to Slaver's Bay and reinforce them with supplies and other necessities. The good new is, the Volantene fleet is still at Volantis, which would take them around 1 to 2 weeks time to sail around the ruins of old Valyria before entering the Gulf of Grief. During this time, Astapor is more vulnerable, having no fully-trained Unsullied army to guard them and no help from their naval contractors for a week or so. Should you take Astapor before our fleet's arrival, our naval contract with them will be rendered null and void, and our fleet will then be free to do so as they wish."

With this, Lazan closed his map before rolling it up and shoving it back into his robes. "The last thing we have to negotiate is New Valyria's...reward...for firstly, this piece of important intelligence and secondly, for any assistance we render to New Ghis once Astapor falls." Lazan cleared his throat and bowed to the emperor before continuing.

"On behalf of the Triarchs of Volantis, I humbly ask of only four things from New Ghis, should they be successful in re-forming the Ghiscari Empire. Our first request is, of course, that all trade and business agreements between New Valyria and the slaver cities, remain the same with New Ghis. Our second request, is that we would like his majesty, Emperor zo Shaak, to personally endorse the building of Red Temples in New Ghis and the cities he will conquer, as well as guarantee their protection and the protection of its worshippers should they need it. Our third request and the most important, is for the new Ghiscari Empire's pledge to militarily aid Volantis in its conquest of Essos. Should the time come when we need it and only after New Ghis is successful in its own endeavors, of course. Our fourth and most minor request is this. Should the great emperor deem it wise to end the training of Unsullied at Astapor, New Valyria would personally prefer that the emperor sends its Unsullied trainers, instead, to Volantis and not to their deaths. We would even happily pay a price for them if that is what you desire."

Here, Lazan Hotirah stopped bowing and looked at the emperor with a grin. "As you can see. These requests of ours is beneficial to both New Ghis and Volantis in the grand scheme of things. Trade for trade, Military aid in return for military aid, and the building of red temples which would really boost support for my mistress in the coming future. Trust me when I say that whatever benefits my mistress, will most surely benefit New Ghis as well, in the long-run. Also, your majesty, just a simple question. Are you currently married or maritally engaged to anybody?"

This was one of many reasons why Lazan Hotirah was the favorite emissary of Maelenya Valyreos. He would most often get on her nerves with his daring and forward assumptions of what would benefit her and New Valyria. But even Triarch Valyreos had to admit that half of the time, he was always usually right with those assumptions. Not only that, but he was intelligent and cunning enough to see any loopholes in contracts and deals made and act on them whenever necessary.

Maelenya Valyreos
Dragonstone - 74 YatD - Meeting The Dragonlord

The eyes of the Triarch of Volantis sparkled as she caught sight of a black dragon, resting within the inner sections of the castle. Her party, which had been allowed entry and were now processing into the castle, stirred uneasily when they saw Balerion. The slaves gasped and muttered in fear as they stepped aside with the goods they carried. The Unsullied had left to follow the castellan and get themselves sorted into the barracks. But even if they were present, the slaves would probably have felt no different.

Even Sira, huddled closer to her mistress with a blanched face. For the first time since landing on Dragonstone, Maelenya Valyreos found herself feeling impressed. This beautiful monster was afterall, one of the main reasons why she had personally come. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips and Maelenya turned away from the creature to continue her journey into the castle. Surprisingly, she found herself wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon.

Entering the great hallway, the triarch was greeted with the sight of the last Dragonlord, waiting for her ontop of his throne. She gestured for her slaves to make way for her and walked closer towards Aerion before giving a humble curtsy of deference. Sira was nearly shocked at what she was seeing and from the sound of it, so were the rest of the slaves, who had never once in their lifetime of servitude, saw their mistress show any kind of respect or sign of submission to anyone. Least of all..a man.

"Greetings to Aerion of the House Targaryen, last of the Dragonlords. Or from my point of view..." and here Maelenya looked up from her curtsy and smiled. "...first of a new line of Dragonlords. Allow me to offer you my sincere congratulations on the birth of a son, Lord Targaryen. I'm sure you have received enough gifts and treasures from your other visiting envoys to make your eyes bleed, so I will do with presenting you just one and have the rest unwrapped by yourself and your family whenever you wish."

Here, Triarch Valyreos snapped her fingers and Sira quickly took a hard wooden casing from a nearby slave before standing beside her mistress to present it. As Sira unlocked it and slowly opened, Maelenya continued, "Allow me to present to you a goldenheart bow from the far lands of the Summer Isles. Not the grandest of gifts you have received I'm sure. But practical and mighty enough for a Dragonlord to slay their greatest foes with from a distance, or even to hunt with if they so wish it. I'm sure either you, your son or even your daughter will enjoy its use. I also have a lute made of goldenheart and ebony for any member of your family who enjoys musical instruments, but I'll let it be one of the presents to be unwrapped at a time of your choosing. Now as for the true reason of my visit. I have a proposition..."

Maelenya looked around the great hallway for moment before returning her gaze to the Dragonlord. "Might I trouble his lordship to lead me to a private area where we can have a more open and honest discussion? Apologies, but I became Triarch of Volantis learning that the walls always have ears, especially in places where one does not expect it."

[Nuxipal]

Aerion Targaryen
Castle Dragonstone, Dragonstone Island

Watched the Triarch carefully as her servants brought the gifts forward. A Triarch coming here in person was quite the oddity for Aerion and he was somewhat concerned having both a Volantene Triarch and a Braavosi Magister under his roof simultaneously. With the current situation in Essos, the likelihood that one or the other would be offended with the others presence was fairly high. As such, he hesitated a moment, before responding to Maelenya. "I understand. Please, follow me to the Garden of the Gods. The walls are not so close there." He stands and leads her towards the Garden. Upon arrival he takes his place near the Gods of Old Valyria and states that, "You may speak freely here. There are not but the gods of every civilization to witness our words and deeds in this location."

Sure enough, next to him, the fourteen gods of Valyria were arrayed along one statue as dragon headed figures, being part of a larger dragon. Nearby, a fiery heart made from dragonglass mined on the island. The gods of Westeros had places for themselves in the garden as well. If she looked hard enough she could find statues and shrines for the Harpy, The Summer Islander Gods, An axe of the Bearded Priests, and even a black stone goat head. It seemed the more you looked around, the more you'd be able to find. Aerion for his part didn't seem to look much around the garden, instead looking to see first where Maelenya went to stand, he assumed she'd be near the Fiery Heart of R'hllor if only for its position next to the Gods of Valyria. However, the denizens within the black walls were always a strange bunch. Turns out centuries of isolationism creates for a unique culture in each and every family.

[Roman Imperator]

Maelenya Valyreos
Dragonstone - 74 YatD - The Proposal

The Triarch of Volantis looked around the Garden of the Gods and approached the well-crafted representation of the Fiery Heart of R'hllor. Unsurprisingly, she ignored the others, including any that personified the Gods of Valyria, for she had long given up worship of the deities of her fore-bearers. Tracing a finger on the glass, Maelenya chuckled to herself as she spoke.

"You know, back in Volantis, the families of the Old Blood bluster and preen about how grand and important their individual bloodlines are. About how their lineage traces back to some long-dead dragonlord's family from Old Valyria, so ancient that whomever they boasted it to could not disprove their stories. With this, they claim they have the right to rule as the last blood-related scions of the Valyrian Freehold. All forgetting that far away across the Narrow Sea, there still survived a trueborn offspring of Old Valyria that claimed all the bloodright, the prestige and the status with a legitimacy those with Low Valyrian blood, no matter how pure, could never truly claim."

Here, Triarch Valyreos turned to face Aerion and continued her monologue while looking at him levelly.

"I'll not waste your time any further, Lord Targaryen, and get straight to the reason of my visit. I come here to offer a union of marriage between House Valyreos and House Targaryen. A union of marriage between your oldest daughter and my oldest son as well as your newborn son and my newborn daughter. Should you accept, they shall only be promised as betroths to one another until they all come of age. Now I'll give you my direct and honest reasons as to this sudden proposal."

Maelenya Valyreos began absent-mindedly pacing the garden, as she slowly wandered towards the other deistic sculptures while speaking. "As I mentioned earlier, blood-right is what rules Volantis nowadays. The purer the lineage to Old Valyria, the higher one's right to rule becomes. The thing is, only Low Valyrian blood flows through the veins of all the families that live behind The Black Wall of Volantis. Which is why it is my desire to have a descendant of High Valyrian blood in the family, for should they ever come into power in Volantis, there can be none to surpass them in right to rule. Especially if they bear not only the blood...but also, the name."

At this, the Triarch of Volantis, paused her pacing to turn and look at the Dragonlord with seriousness in her eyes. "You must be wondering what all this has to do with your family. A family who, currently, has no real interest in getting caught up in any power struggle happening across the Narrow Sea and rightly so. But you might understand this clearly when I say that your oldest daughter will not take the name of Valyreos should you agree to the marriage. Instead, my oldest son...my heir...will take his wife's family name and become a Targaryen if you so permit it. Followed by my newborn daughter who will do as tradition dictates. In other words, your family name will be secured in both the male and female lines, while mine will rest with my remaining sons and eventually fade into obscurity."

Maelenya gave a deep sigh as she looked up towards the sky for a moment before continuing. "I do this to, not only secure my family's legacy, but to also make New Valyria the great nation it can be, within the name of those whom I firmly believe are the only true worthy heirs to a New Valyria. The dragonlords, for they were what made The Valyrian Freehold the great civilization it was....a fact that the Old Blood has seemed to have forgotten in all their pride and hubris. For now, a Valyreos holds the power of New Valyria, but in time the children of our children can succeed to it if they so choose. One day, a Targaryen will rule Volantis as its rightful dragonlord and that is the day I firmly believe, that New Valyria will be gazed upon as the true successors of the Valyrian Freehold."

"But, of course.." and here Maelenya smiled. "That is only the distant future. Right now, this marriage alliance is the fruits to such a future and I don't only offer just that. Firstly, should you agree to such a union, I will personally guarantee that House Targaryen will not be pulled into any of New Valyria's current and future conflicts unless it is their dragonlord's desire to be involved. As such, this marriage alliance has to be kept a secret between the two of us until the time comes when our betrothed children are of age to be married. Secondly, as a gesture of my sincerity and commitment to this endeavor, I will include Dragonstone as a major trading hub within our eastern trade routes and ensure that the eastern riches, that has made Volantis so wealthy, be shared with you. Overtime, I believe that Dragonstone will be churning profits, like a maid churning butter, and you won't even have to lift a single finger to return the favor. All this and the promise of a second home for House Targaryen in Essos. Should any Targaryen in the future require safe refuge, they need only turn east and find it there. Not as fleeing refugees, but as welcomed princes and heirs to an empire they can choose to rule."

Maelenya Valyreos turned away from the Dragonlord to once again face the glass sculpture of the fiery heart. "I have many faults, Lord Targaryen, as you may have heard much about me and my nature. But there are two things that nobody can deny about me. One, is that I am a woman of my word. Two, is that I love my family and will do anything to protect them and their future for as long as I live and breathe. Which is why I am personally here."

Once again, she turned back to face Aerion with a semblence of fire in her eyes. "Unlike your other envoys who represent leaders speaking of many benefits and promises, but didn't think you important enough to be here to present it themselves."

All of a sudden, she smiled and chuckled as she realised something.

"You must be wondering that, since I hold your house and your name in such high regard, why I don't just offer you my power and position as a Triarch of Volantis. Well, simply and practically because it is not the right time. And also, because I know you have more interest in protecting your family then reaching for power in some distant land and risking all that you cherish and protect. Rest easy, my lord...this marriage and all I offer is for our children's future in mind. The power struggles of today are mine to bear and theirs to reap only when they are ready."

Maelenya Valyreos was practically offering this dragonlord the world, in return for practically almost nothing. Yet she knew that should this marriage come to fruition, the future of her house as rulers of New Valyria would all but be secured.....even if they ruled with the name of another family. But that mattered little, so long as her descendants had a future as dragonlords, it would all be worth it. Already the triarch could feel her ancestors, turning in their graves at the prospect of having their lineage being used as a supporting platform for another. But she didn't care for the ghostly opinions of the dead. She will justify herself to them when the time came.

"Additionally," Maelenya added, as a conclusion to her dialogue. "I plan to send my oldest son, Daemon, to you as a ward if you agree to the marriage and if it pleases you. He will learn your Westerosi customs and grow up next to your children as how a Targaryen should grow up to be."

This was an added sacrifice that actually wrenched at the heart of the Triarch of Volantis, infamous for being heartless. She loved her firstborn son dearly, but she knew that this was a necessity if she wanted the best for him.

[Keruma]

The Lord of Langward

*THUMP*

An arrow hits dead center. And another. And another. Three arrows, perfectly in line, have found their mark at the center of a target.

"Excellent work, Lord Urie! You truly have a talent for the bow and arrow" Jon exclaims, smiling and staring at the arrows hundreds of yards away. Asher smiles at the compliment; it's nice to be recognized in a thing you enjoy doing.

"Thank you, master Jon. I have always been more at ease with the bow and arrow" He explains, taking off the quiver of arrows behind his back. "I can see that, my lord; you have a knack with that" Jon replies, pointing at the Ironwood bow at the hand of Asher.

Asher looks at the black bow and can't help but remember his father. It was given to Asher for his 8th birthday; the age where Asher would start his formal training as a squire for Lord Massey. A note that accompanied it reads: "A knight must have the best equipment; may this bow serve as a faithful companion to you, my son". Asher's father recounts how he was able to get a hold of such a high-quality bow. A traveling merchant visited the keep, bringing many wonders from all over Westeros. The one that caught lord Urie's eyes was a black bow hanging at the top of one of the merchant's caravans. The merchant explained that it once belonged to a notable member of the House Feather who died in a wildling raid. It was sold off by the family as a way of remembrance for the man who wielded the bow wished to travel to different places. Asher's father was impressed by the quality and durability of the bow and decided it was a fitting gift for his young heir. It has been attached to Asher now more than ever; it is the most important memento of Asher's father ever since his demise a few months back. Asher remembers the silent, rageful vow that he made that night.

I swear upon everything in this world that with this bow, I will shoot the heart of every single one who did this.

Asher was jolted out of his reverie by a waving hand in front of his face. "Everything alright, milord?" One of the castle's servants inquired, clearly bewildered by Asher's actions. "I am fine. You have nothing to worry about" Asher sighs. He walks back to the castle halls, leaving Jon and the servant in the training grounds.

"If I may take a moment of your time, lord Asher" The castellan, Edric, says as he steps in Asher's study. Edric has been a faithful servant of House Urie for over a generation. "I'm sure its something important, Edric. You may proceed" Asher absently says, unstringing his bow. "Well, its importance highly depends on your decision, milord" Edric replies, setting down a piece of paper at the table of his lord. "What is this?" Asher asks, setting down his bow at the table and picking up the letter. Asher quickly read the letter, his eyes darting back and forth. "I think you should join, my lord. It would be a nice new environment for you. You surely must be sick of the woods surrounding you, no?" Edric inquires, sitting down. "I do think it worthwhile to join this tourney, but..." Asher trails off and stares at the other side of the room. He has a forlorn aura in his features. "What is the matter, Asher?" Edric asks. "I fear that something may befall the people while I am gone" Asher replies.

He still has trouble processing the events, Edric thought. Asher is still wrought by anger and guilt over the events that happened. Now more than ever, Edric thought, he needed reassurance.

"Have faith in us and your works, my lord" Edric says nonchalantly. "Your tactics and improvements to the land as a whole are highly commendable," he says, picking a book in one of the shelves. "Plus," Edric smiles, "We are stormlanders, are we not? We are made to weather any challenge".

Asher stares straight at his castellan's eyes. He knows what he is doing; offering platitudes to lift his mood. Truthfully, he does not find comfort in the words that Edric just said, but he knows that his improvements are effective when applied. "Will I miss anything if I leave for the tourney?" Asher asks his castellan. "None, my lord. I am confident that in your absence the council will be able to handle any issues" Edric replies confidently. "Thank you, Edric. You may go" he says in his familiar polite-but-firm tone. Edric bows and leaves the room in an instant.

Asher is lost in his thoughts. He sees the benefits of both going and staying and at the moment, cannot decide which course is the best. He stares at the bow at his table and prays that a sign appears.

[The Felan Federation]

House Osgrey
Our Honor, Our Blade

"Of course, I had been planning to attend the Tourney of Highgarden itself, before you had informed me of your visit. My son could use some practice in ruling by himself, he is young though like me, thinks he can conquer Valyria by himself with nothing but his steel and a rowboat," laughed Perwyn in good humor. "...aye...I shall accompany you back to Highgarden..."

As they enjoyed good wine and food, before things slowly became more political in opinions and ideas. "...if you ask me, I dislike having Targaryens around. Why are they still here in Westeros and hadn't joined their 'brethren' in Essos? Isn't there a 'New Valyria' already formed there? If you ask me, it's just asking for trouble. The Dragonlords of Old made this into just an 'outpost' - but I tell ya, if the Doom hadn't claimed them, pretty sure they may have deemed it 'fun' to claim us instead for their mines and magic. Now, everybody is eager to lick their boots and see their winged lizards..."

Perwyn spat at that indication. "...as much as I hate the Dornish and their strange ways - one doesn't have to look far to see what may happen, if the Dragonspawns decide to expand. From what I have heard, Dragonstone is more dull and gray than the cold Wall itself..." he muttered. "...and I don't want our legacy to of searching new lands to settle, cause we were too stupid to see the danger. Granted...I doubt anything would get Argilac to see reason. That idiot would smash himself against Moat Cailin with his own head, if the Gods told him he could claim the North that way..."

[Strala]

Aemon Celtigar
Dragonstone- 74 AD

The eyes of Aemon and Crispian gleamed as they caught sight of a black dragon, resting within the castle. They, had been proceeding the hallways for the first time in a few days, stirred when they saw Balerion. They had been at the castle for about a month now, yet today was the first time they had seen the legendary beasts that had destroyed the Empire of Ghis. Their guards weren't following them, as they were told to remain in their rooms by Aemon. However, if they were here, Aemon was certain that they would have been scared beyond their wits.

Impressive... Aemon thought as he stared at the majestic beast. To think that my ancestor Aemon the Elder and Gaemon the Just had fought under and along with such magnificent beasts.. The Celtigars had a long tradition of marrying into better houses, though in each instance it was always a minor side branch. His mother was from one of the side branches of House Targaryen, and his great grandfather's mother was from a line derived from the natural-born daughter of one of the great dragonlords. A smile was plastered on his face as Aemon turned away from the creature to continue his journey further into the castle. Not surprisingly, he wondered what it would be like to ride one of the great creatures.

Yes, how magnificent it would be if he could one day ride a dragon. As he walked Aemon kept watching for servants nearby. Aemon finally gained the attention of a nearby servant and inquired on what she knew on her Lord or Lady's current whereabouts. After listening to directions about the whereabouts of her lady, Aemon felt around his clothes to see if he still kept a sack of coins on him. Having made sure that he still had it on his person, the young lord than handed a silver coin to the servant before heading to the Library of Dragonstone, in search of Lady Vaelana.

When he entered the library, he immediately spotted the lady Vaelana guarded by a troop of Dragonstone's men at arms as expected. "My Lady," greeted Aemon and Crispian, as they walked towards them. "A moment of your time if you please."

After gaining permission, the young lord and his brother bowed low to the lady and Aemon said, "Apologies for troubling you when you are using your limited time to relax. But I have much to discuss, which affects both you and your lord husband and our house. You must know about the situation with Crackclaw Point. House Celtigar has long claimed that land as ours, yet the lords of said lands refuse to acknowledge our claims. Several days ago, I have received news that they have banded together to muster a force of 4,000 strong at the whispers."

Here, Aemon paused a moment to catch his breath. Crispian remained quiet the entire time, and soon the young lord continued after his pause, "I humbly ask for the assistance of Lord Aerion, my 2nd cousin, in helping us put down the rebellious lords of Crackclaw Point. The enemy host has gathered an army that House Celtigar can't put down alone. If you require the aid of our fleet, we are most willing to help send ships with supplies, soldiers and other necessities. The good news is, that most of the current host of 4,000 strong, are untrained levies instead of their Men-at-Arms. During this time, the Whispers is more vulnerable, having almost no fully-trained soldiers army to guard them and they shall have no naval assets as our fleet shall cripple theirs. Should you wish, House Celtigar is willing to launch an assault before House Targaryen's involvement. We are also willing to pay another five ships worth of treasure and other goods for this assistance."

With this, Aemon stopped talking and calmly waited for Lady Vaelana to respond. While he hoped that the Targaryens would agree to assist them without any incentives, it wouldn't hurt House Celtigar's wealth that much even if they did end up having to pay the Targaryens

Alysanne Celtigaer
Claw Isle - 74 AD

"How particular" thought Alysanne Celtigar to herself, as she stared inquisitively at the dead body lying at her feet "This was an unexpected result compared to the previous experiments." .

Two months ago, her brother had abruptly told her to begin research on the ring that her ancestor, Aemon the Elder, had worn during the siege of Gogossos. In the stories, it was said that the ring had granted the wearer extraordinary strength, though the stories and texts never recorded how the artifact was activated. It would be far easier if the texts did she thought before she gingerly kicked the bodies away with the tip of her shoe before looking around to catch the attention of one of the numerous dragon priests that were in the room with her. Nevertheless, there had been results with her numerous trials. She had to find answers soon and finish her task given to her by her brother. Her brother would be disappointed in her, and she wouldn’t want that. She would never willingly betray or disappoint her brother. There was already enough tension in her family, more specifically, Crispian and Aemon. Crispian constantly disappointed Aemon and whenever they were together, it would end in an argument or argument.

Yes, there was still plenty more for her to learn about and experiment on before anything drastic was to be done. Alysanne finally managed to gain the attention of the high priest and told him what had happened, and asked him how to continue. After listening to his instructions, Alysanne and the priest, flipped the dead man’s body around to see if he still had the ring of Aemon the Elder on his finger. Having made sure that he still had the ring on his finger, the head priest then muttered a prayer for the dead, before he had someone to carry the dead body out.

"Flamen Merexes, what do you think caused the death of the criminal..." and here Maelenya looked up from the body and stared. “ in such a violent way. I have never seen a man die so violently and so suddenly. I'm sure you have seen such cases before or at least have read about them in the ancient texts. The previous subjects were either slightly burned or shocked, and only those that struggled were severely burned ."

Flamen Merexes bowed his head and whispered to one of the many priests next to him, who quickly exited the room in search of something. As he returned, he handed the text back to Flamen Merexes who slowly opened the text. When he finally found the page he sought, he spoke in a gravelly voice, "My lady, it states in this text written by Aeron Targaryen, Flamen Balerion in 2700 BD, about the artifacts of Valyrians, it states that only those of Valyrian blood may use them. The blood of the user must be pure for at least ten generations and artifacts. The criminal that just died, was of andal descent, therefore the ring rejected him. I'm sure that if either you, your brothers or another of pure valyrian descent won’t suffer such grievous wounds. Aeron Targaryen continues by saying that most bound artifacts require blood and fire to activate though he did state that for certain families this is different. It wouldn’t be prudent to say that your family’s ring is among those very few that don’t use fire and blood as its base. "

[Dalria]

New Ghis

74 YatD...

As the Emperor was embarking upon his royal flagship, accompanied by his personal retinue, he noticed the young Lazan hail him down. Mizleq waved for his men to let him through and approach him. As the diplomat began to speak, Emperor zo Shaak realized that in his fit of rage, he hadn't guaranteed the support of the Volantene in the war effort. Did he just commit himself to a conflict without proper reinforcement, did he just send his men to die in the fields of Old Ghis without support? This was cemented as Lazan described the conflict for them to enter the conflict at its current state. The might of the coalition force fleet alone dwarfed the Ghiscari fleet; although the Iron Legion could put up a fight against their Unsullied counterparts, without proper naval support, supplies from New Ghis could quickly be cut off.

The Emperor examined Lazan, "Our men already march for Old Ghis where the coalition force aims to meet us in battle. As we speak, twenty thousand laborers slave away, fortifying the perimeter of the ruin. Our navy is disembarking for the straight between the mainland and the Isle of Cedars. With the might of our productive capabilities in Old Ghis and the fortitude of the Iron Legion, the ruin should be an easy area to defend against the oncoming forces. If our navy is able to hold the straight, we can prevent the naval assault of New Ghis and allow for our defenders to remain well-supplied. If we are able to hold off the enemy host, we may have a chance at turning back the invaders and launching a counter-attack, ultimately sieging Astapor. We have forty-two thousand legionaries accompanied by ten thousand conscripted freemen and a sizeable force of slaves who may act as an auxiliary force if need be. We can only pray that this will be enough and we can turn the tide of the war in the heartland of our new nation" the Emperor looked uneasy.

"I can only accept three adapted out of the four terms, which I believe can be acceptable as you are not assisting us in the determining battle at Old Ghis" he took a long pause, "We shall guarantee all prior contracts among the Slaver's Bay cities be upheld, we pledge military support for the soul reconquest of the prior Valyrian colonies and against any external threat to Volantis, and we shall retain the right to the Unsullied but shall lend them to Volantis at an amended and cheaper rate than before. Although I can not accept the proposition of endorsing the spread of R'hllor within Slaver's Bay; I am a staunch follower of The Harpy and the Graces are among the strongest supporters of my administration. If I was to do this, I would lose support of the Graces which would ultimately cause instability within Slaver's Bay. Under the boot of the Freehold, the Ghiscari people were close to losing our identity and I will not let this happen again". Emperor zo Shaak ascended to the throne with the support of the military-aristocracy and the Graces; the two go hand-in-hand and if he was to lose support of one, it would weaken his legitimacy. The Graces already struggled combating the influence of R'hllor that spread through the slave pens; while the Faith of The Harpy has been rebuilding since The Doom, the Red Faith was an already strong and establish religion.

"If you can accept those three amended terms, we could become the most powerful force in the entirety of Essos. Our partnership can allow you to grow larger than the previous freehold could have ever thought, all of this without the might of the dragon but keep in mind that I can not compromise my faith" the Emperor hoped that with his dialogue, an alliance could be made.

House Gardener

74 YatD

The King finished his meal, his stomach content. As Lord Perwyn shared his thoughts about the Valyrian's at Dragonstone, Mern cringed. It had seemed they had become the talk of Westeros; every conversation was centered around the mysterious white-haired demigods from across the Narrow Sea, since the birth of their heir. Mern thought to himself, "Is this what Garth felt like as the Andals landed in Westeros?" he reminisced about the tales told during his childhood about the Andal warriors who invaded Westeros which ended with King Garth Gardener opening his doors with an open-hand to the refugees.

King Gardener chuckled as Lord Osgrey's joked about Argilac, he had met with the Storm King several times during his reign and this was the closest thing to the truth about his personality. "I agree, we must be wary in this tumultuous time but I am more worried about the incursion of the neighboring kingdoms than I am of one dragon." King Gardener exited his seat, followed by his two children. "It is time for rest, afterwards I would enjoy the company riding back to Highgarden as our tourney is near" King Gardener and his sons gave their goodnight and followed the servants to their quarters.

During the early wake, King Gardener and his children mounted their horses and awaiting Lord Osgrey. The entourage took off, riding at a slow-pace in no rush to arrive in Highgarden. This was a much more calm ride than the previous, encountering no highwaymen this time around. As they arrived at Highgarden, the stewards had been working diligently day-and-night to prepare for the tourney. Hundreds of colored tents dotted the landscape and four wooden arenas had been set up, one large for a melee and three jousting lots. Knights from across the realm had already arrived; preparing in the open fields in the arts of combat around Highgarden.

"Lord Osgrey, I'd be delighted to have you as a personal guest during the period of the tourney. We have several rooms made up for you and your family in the west wing of the castle. Once again, I appreciate the hospitality during our journey and I look forward to seeing you during the tourney and at my table of council for the feast! I must bid you an adieu as I have much to still plan" King Gardener gracefully bowed his head and took off.

Approaching King Gardener was his steward, Lord Tyrell, who joyously extended his hands in excitement. "My lord! What a pleasure it is to see you. I've been patiently awaiting your return. We have everything in order; your beautiful wife, the Queen as well as Lord Hightower and I have been working diligently on your behalf" mi'lord" Lord Tyrell bowed. "We have enough Arbor Gold to flood Westeros, the smoked meats seasoned with spices from as far as Qarth is being prepared, and our entertaining for the week from the Free Cities have arrived. I am assuming this will be the most extravagant event that Westeros has ever seen" Lord Tyrell continued. It was only a few weeks away from the great tourney of Highgarden and all of the invitations had been sent out.

[Arlye Austros]

Harwyn Hoare.
Harlaw Hall, Harlaw.

While Lord Harlaw didn’t seem to worry a lot about the news, his son, Edwyn, agreed on his urgency. Harwyn stood leaning on a low wall, the sea and his small flotilla waiting in the harbor down below. Perhaps it was the cold. Even in the season, the hall of the Harlaws was cold and damp. The man was about his uncle’s age, and would, without any doubt, inherit the lands of his father in months, two years at most.

“I will see that he reasons. Don’t you worry.“
“Thank you. Ironmaker may have stirred a den we better kept silent.” Harwyn replied, crossing the folds of his cloak to better protect from the cold mist of the sea. “I sail north. Can I use a raven?” He asked. The man didn’t break a smile, but nodded.
“I will have the Maester summoned.”
“No…” Harwyn shook his head. “I have already written it. I am not illiterate as my brother.”
“Then I will lead you.”

The raven flew across the sea, northwards, and as soon as it vanished between the breaking of the clouds in the sunset, Harwyn said farewell to Edwyn Harlaw before descending back to the Bearshame. With him, one more Longship carried Harlaw raiders. A token of the support House Harlaw would issue to his future endeavors, even if the Lord didn’t quite know.

Harwyn was, above all, a seaman, and his crew was just as experienced as the Prince. Soon, the Bearshame and the other five vessels harried the winds leading to Flints Finger, passing safe from the storm at the horizon.

Your Grace.
I extend the good will and hope for a friendly future between the Houses of Stark and Hoare. Though our bloodlines might not share peaceful approaches in the past, I would very much like to speak to your House, hopefully to the Lord of House Stark and King in the North himself. I hope that, with such a visit, a peaceful coexistence between our realms can be ensured in the years to come.
I sail now from Harlaw Hall to the Saltspear, to the outflow of the river that comes from Barrowton. I will await there your reply.
Harwyn Hoare. Prince of the Isles and Rivers.

Seven Days Later. Saltspear.

“Why would they call it Saltspear? Perhaps due to the Saltwives we can take?” A man, Harwyn had forgotten his name, enquired while cleaning the stumps of his three middle fingers at the right hand. He was about the age of his uncle. Harwyn passed by his side, not paying attention to the implication.
They sailed through the Saltspear slow, knowing they were early. Eight or nine days, he remembered, could take the ride form Winterfell to Barrowton. And to that point it could be perhaps more. So they sailed slow, and passed gently and silently by the villages and hamlets of fishermen that lives off the Saltspear, dwelling in the hills that filled the northern shore. To the South, the cliffs of Flint’s Finger were threatening enough. Harwyn knew that, without a doubt, the Flints knew of their presence, and would be considering an attack.

“Keep the sails dry.” He told Rowas. The man decided not to mourn his son properly and sail with the Prince. A loyalty he would need, no doubt. He nodded and checked on the sails and riggings. Harwyn leaned on the railings and looked north.
“Can’t we go upriver?” A Harlaw man, a captain called Dagmer, asked as he peeled an apple with a knife, sitting on a crate. He had met with the captains moments before.
“No. It barely goes a mile before a blockade. And that repeats for days. It’s best we remain and get ready for any eventuality.” Harwyn replied. Rowas piled the riggings and sails again.

“Dry and ready. They will work just fine if we need to get out.”
Harwyn nodded. Perhaps. He was willing to wait, but not for long. If no reply came from the King in the North in the next two days he would have to turn around. In the meantime, they would have to make their living.
“Dagmer, arrange a boat and send men to the shore, unarmed. I want to trade with the commonfolk around here. Let them know we mean no harm at all.”


Harlan Hoare.
Dragonstone.

The boy shook his head, but Harlan insisted. “Come on. They will be worried about you.”

In reality, he was worried about himself. If Earon ended up as boy-stew served to the Dragon no doubt lady Saenya would suggest having him cooked as well. “Don’t make me drag you all the way.”
“You no boss me…” the boy said with a broken grammar. He was right, to an extent.
“Very well… I admit it. I am lost and can’t find my way back. I am sure you can take me there much better.”

He discovered that little reversal worked just fine on the child little after he reached Farwind Hall. The boy smiled and cheerfully sang something in Valyrian as he pranced by his side, holding a stick, and moved into the corridor. “Follow me!”
Of course, he would lead so far as the next turn. Harlan held the boy’s hand and passed to the front, leading him towards the chambers in which Lady Saera and Lord Taedor would reside with their son and heir.
“My Lord?” He called after knocking the door. “I bring Earon. He was playing in one of the courtyards.”

[Nuxipal]

Aerion Targaryen
Garden of the Gods, Dragonstone Castle

Listening carefully to the various twists and turns that come from politically motivated individuals such as Maelenya, Aerion was incredibly surprised at what everything she was saying would imply. An alliance with a Triarch of Volantis, the first daughter of Valyria which was not trying to inherit the responsibilities of the old City meant that the Dragonlord would have responsibilities over the various people of that land. It wasn't something he was fond of. He would however, know that the option for his descendants to return East some day in the future would be very useful. It was unfortunate, the situation that Aerion found himself in as far as remaining family was concerned. However, the Velaryons were already being groomed to take the Targaryen place should anything happen to their line. And with that thought in mind, he spoke his response to the Triarch.

"I see that you have put a great deal of thought into this Triarch Valyreos. My family has been invited, dozens, if not hundreds of times to reside within the Black walls. I myself have been given two such messages. Each and every time, we have declined the invitation. To which, we have been asked why? Why would anyone of pure Valyrian blood remain outside of their own kind? What kind of madness is it that keeps the Targaryens glued to their gods forsaken rock?"

Clearly visible from the gardens was the Dragonmont. Compared to the castle, it loomed as if an angry giant, clouds clinging to the highest portion of the fiery mountain. Lifting his arm to indicate the volcano, Aerion said, "This. This is the reason we do not leave Dragonstone. Going to Volantis to visit or for a celebration would be possible, but no Targaryen who wishes well on their dragon would leave the warm embrace of the mountain. Its the very same reason that most dragons and dragonlords died seventy-four years ago in the doom. The fourteen flames gave the whole of Valyria a great power to give rise to many large and powerful dragons that put Balerion right on the average scale. Now, Balerion is the true, Last Valyrian. He was born in the great city and my Uncle Baelon was once Balerion's rider. He planned to do just as you are suggesting. Fly to Volantis on the greatest of the Dragons and run for Triarch. Who would have opposed a Pure High Valyrian, mounted atop the only being that was born and lived in Valyria?"

He doesn't wait for an answer and says, "Absolutely no one. Those within the Black Walls would clamor to have their daughters wed to him. The Tiger Party of Volantis would absolutely abandon their own candidates in favor of him. Fortunately for everyone involved, Uncle Aelyx died without issue and Baelon scrapped his plans to try and marry here and continue his line. He died when I was younger and I took Balerion knowing full well that I would need to marry and create a new line of successors to the real legacy of Valyria. Dragons. I have three Dragons and rumors of a fourth flying within the caldera of the Dragonmont only hints of his shadow have been seen by the smallfolk. To ride these dragons, my sons and daughters must be of the purest blood. Their sons and Daughters must be of the purest blood as well. How else will they survive as Dragonriders? Adult Dragons do not bend their wills easily and there have been instances of dragonless Targaryens attempting to claim one. Vhagar, the youngest dragon here is who killed Aelyx. The dragon burned him on the mountain. My father rode Meraxes and Baelon had my own Balerion. What do you think three brothers mounted on the only three dragons in the world would have been capable of?"

He paced to let her think over his rhetorical question. They both knew the answer was anything they wanted, but where was the question. "If my father is to be trusted, the three of them had been instructed by their own father to establish three Kingdoms in Westeros. The Stormlands and Riverlands were weak. The Riverlords would have flocked to the savior of a Dragonrider to push out the newly invading Ironborn. The Storm Kings had just been humiliated and were beset by three enemies. A Fourth would be too much atop a dragon. Then the last was to Fly into the Reach and enthrone himself where the Gardeners resided. From there the hope was to create three powerful branches. Instead, ambitions were decimated. And a single line remained. I must be cautious because I cannot afford for my Aegon or his descendants to fall victim to a Dragon like my Uncle Aelyx did. Another incident like that and the line could end."

Letting those words sink in, he hoped that the regard that Maelenya Valyreos held for his family would hold strong here. If not, his next words and counter offer would mean little to nothing. "I cannot wed Aegon to your daughter. His children must be of pure Valyrian Descent. Your line is questionable and there are other families with purer bloodlines than your own which I can tap if I am in need of a suitable match. Not only is there House Targaryen, but also Velaryon and Celtigar. Three full blooded Valyrian Houses which stand alone in the world. I instead offer you this. Visenya may wed your oldest boy two years after they come of age. I wish for her to understand her role in the marriage is not to be subordinate, but to be a show of Targaryen strength. Any children of their marriage will be of a new Dynastic name of her choosing. I will help her decide as I cannot allow the future possibility of a non-pure Targaryen line ascending to hold Dragonstone. Your newborn daughter, will be wed to the next child of House Celtigar, their young lord Aemon and younger brother Crispan are both here on Dragonstone. I am almost certain neither of them are married yet. If that's the case, I may suggest to Aemon that he wed his sister Alysanne with the prospect of his firstborn son marrying the daughter of a great Triarch of Volantis. If that doesn't pan out, I will find a way to make it work for both of your children.

"Now, marriage portion out of the way, here are my amendments to the rest of your proposal. My trade hub is in Spicetown and Hull on the island of Driftmark where my cousins the Velaryons rule. They also patrol the seas here and are excellent sailors. If you have the time, I would sail there and speak to them about the trade outpost and maybe find a match for your daughter among their family. They have recent Targaryen ancestors as well. Next comes the one part of your proposal I do like. I do not wish to see my dragons or my children's dragons pulled into a war no matter what. I will not let them fly off to burn the enemies of Volantis until the time comes that we see Volantis is truly under threat. Your son, who you wish for me to foster here, can be fostered here with my children. I do now know his age, but when he comes old enough to grip a sword he will be taught to fight as a Westerosi Knight. I will do what I can to guide him in behaving like a proper Valyrian and will return him to you upon his majority or if you wish for him to return early you may ask it. My only request with him is that any slave soldiers or servants you send with him are to be given the option of becoming free and then obtaining paid employment with your house or anywhere they choose upon their arrival here. I cannot promise he will return to Volantis with a love for slavery as so many of the others within the Black Walls have a love for it."

He then breathes deeply. "So, Triarch. What do you say? Are my amended terms of this agreement acceptable by you and Volantis? Or will we see where the wind takes our two very different states in the future? I already have two children, one more and I have a rider for every dragon we possess. Two more and I have a spare rider or a rider for the mysterious dragon of the mountain. When I am dead and gone, what will stop my heirs from looking out to the world and seeing only broken lands in need of leadership as my father and his brothers did? It will not be me, but one day a Targaryen will be crowned King. Of where and of what is yet to be seen. Perhaps it is my young Aegon. So, what do you say?"

He now waited for his words to sink in and an answer to be put forth to his proposals. His ancestor Aenar took them from Essos, Aerion was not about to lead them right back there without a fight.

Valaena Velaryon
Castle Dragonstone, Dragonstone

Valaena had been carrying Aegon and keeping Visenya out of trouble with the help of a serving girl when the Celtigar brothers approached. Ten years older than Aemon, Valaena had remembered when her mother dragged them over to Claw Island to visit her aunt and see the Heir of Claw Island shortly after his birth. She remembered how small he had been then, though has since seen him grow into the strong figure of a Celtigar warrior.

"Ah, Lord Aemon and Crispian. It is great to see the both of you again." She ushered Visenya along with her serving girl and passed Aegon off to the nursemaid and sent her and the handmaids to follow after the toddling Visenya. "I see that you are receiving the same reports that we are here then. My Lord's master of whispers has indeed heard of the host making its camp in the Whispers. That broken land is hardly worth all your trouble. The Ironborn are as likely as you are to gain control over it, though I would have to say that adding to our territories could be prosperous for all of our families. I know House Velaryon has a few too many sons and not enough castles to land them in. If you can convince them to join the fighting, I will ensure my Husband at least makes an appearance on Balerion. The sight of the dragon may be enough to cause this rabble to break and run. Your men will then find it much easier to defeat them. I will certainly bring his attention to this opportunity and present it as a very low risk with a sizable reward. Of course, you may wish to speak to him yourself on the matter once the dignitaries leave. I know he has been meaning to visit Claw Island with some kind of request of you anyway."

She looked at Crispian and said, "Also, I've noticed you looking at some of the serving girls. Let them finish their duties in peace Lord Crispian. Once they have completed their jobs I'm sure many of them will be interested in you. After all, many of the girls here have been taught from very young ages that Valyrians are very important and to lay with one is a blessing in itself. Just remember that if you father any bastards, you may find yourself with two extra mouths at your brother's castle. Unless she decides to keep him a secret from you. There's been a strange tradition of the people of this island wishing to gain as much Valyrian lineage as possible. At this point, I'd say one in ten have at least one Targaryen ancestor, some may have multiple. The locals have taken to calling them Dragonseeds and honestly, if they want to treat us as semi-divine and worthy of picking among them, then that is perfectly fine by me. So long as they know that its in their best interests to continue their service to us, I am perfectly content with our men sleeping with their women."

She breathed in to calm herself, "So, in case you missed it Crispian. Have at them. Just let them complete their work first."

[Revlona]

Edric Stark
Lord of Winterfell
King in the North

A cold northern wind flew through Winterfell, its breeze chilling man, dog, and horse alike, but the wind also made the banners on the walls ripple. The Flayed man of Bolton, the Mailed Fist of glover, the chained Giant of Umber, and many more banners of the noble houses of the north. But above these banners, and more numerous than them all, was the Racing Direwolf of the Starks.

'Yes your grace, the Karstarks have been harassing the enemy as you ordered, but he reports that their host has grown and continues to grow, and that they have dug in as if they are waiting for something," Maester Desmon, the young black haired stormlander said.

"Very good, send no response, lord Karstark already knows his orders. What houses are we still waiting on?" Edric Stark, the King in the North asked. His gaze moved towards the castle town where the assembled host of the northern houses had gathered and were staying, some 9,000 men were staying in the town, castle, and surrounding areas, Vassals and stark bannermen alike.

"Just House feather your grace, but they are not late, there is still a few days before you wish to march after all," the Maester said.

Edric didn't deem an answer needed as he continued to gaze out over his home, the heavy furs he was wearing protecting him from the chilly breeze.

He wondered what was keeping Eyan. The Lord Feather was a few years older than Edric, but they had still shared a portion of their childhood together at Winterfell and Edric regarded the man as a friend. Whatever was delaying him, if he was delayed, must have been important Edric decided.

"No matter, here, please go send this message to Barrowton for me, leave instructions that the message is not to be opened but instead dispatched to the mouth of the river to receive the Ironborn prince," Edric said as he handed a parchment to the Maester.

Maester Desmon said nothing, merely bowing his head and turning to leave.

Prince Harwyn,
I receive and return the goodwill of yours with goodwill of mine own. Orders have been sent to my bannermen that they are to allow ,and assist if need be, your travel to Winterfell. I am currently indisposed or I would otherwise come to meet you. I humbly request that you accept this offer of a meeting in Winterfell, and I hope to negotiate the beginning of a new step in relations between the North and the Isles.

Edric Stark
Lord of Winterfell
King in the North

[Arlye Austros]

Harwyn Hoare.
Barrowlands.

Harwyn’s observers at the shore and agents in the nearby towns reported the messenger via smoke signals about an hour before the man arrived on horseback. Harwyn awaited him on the shore already, and was pleased at reading King Edric’s offer for safe passage. He issued orders to await there, and to restrain from any looting and trouble. He then took two Harlaw raiders and three of his own and mounted on horses he had paid for.

Two days later they reached Barrowton, and barely stopping to replenish some supplies and change their mounts, Harwyn continued the track towards Winterfell. No doubt, Lord Dustin wouldn’t be glad of knowing the Ironborn Prince passed through his lands without stopping by, formally. Four days and another set of mounts later, the eight riders reached the walls of Winterfell.

“Exhausted, lads?” He asked the others. They returned faint smiled. “I promise this will be quick, then we will go get ourselves some tavern northerner for our beds.” They didn’t answer, and advanced to the gate, moving between the rows of almost abandoned houses. Except, they weren’t.
The town had been occupied by an army. It seemed, Harwyn thought, that King Edric had gathered his banners and prepared for war? Against whom? Had he mustered this force to face Harwyn? No, that would be madness. He never issued a threat. Perhaps to impress the Prince? There was no way that force could be gathered in such a little time.

No doubt, that was the reason his companions were so silent. He glimpsed at them, and noticed they held a hand on their weapons. “Don’t do anything stupid… Please.” He begged them before facing the South Gate. There he issued his name to the guards who blocked their passage, and showed the letter signed by the King.
“I am Prince Harwyn, of House Hoare. I come with the blessing and invitation of King Edric, of House Stark.” He said, procuring not to break his voice. “These are my companions and escorts through my journey. If it pleases His grace, I shall send them to find rest and food while I see the King.”

King Harren “The Cursed”.
Construction site north of the God’s Eye.

No doubt his methods worked. Harren gazed up and realized that in the last few days the tower had raised a metre, perhaps double that. No matter how she protested, Gwynesse would have to agree now.

“See, boy? They scream, then they work. Perhaps I will send you and the others to help them.” He turned his mount to face the Blackwood hostage. Harrion? Haran?
He couldn’t remember. The black-haired teenager looked aside, no doubt remembering the display of cruelty he forced the hostages to watch. It happened just as the retinue left for a hunt. Atop his horse, Harren had the nine hostages watch as nine equally-aged boys were whipped, their parents workers in the construction of the tower. He had protested it wasn’t going as fast as he desired, and when the architect protested that workers seemed to loaf about, he questioned the construction overseer. He claimed that they were exhausted. He had his son whipped twice. Of course, he selected those ages to instil terror in the hostages, and the Blackwood was told to mount on his horse, while the others were returned to their guarded quarters.
That was four days before. Behind them passed the rest of the hunting party, and their bounty, three stags hanging from carrying sticks, a dozen hares and countless pheasants carried by trappers on their belts. He would feast tonight.

“Watch it!” He demanded. The boy looked up. He was somewhat older that Harlan… Harren wondered where he was. Perhaps he would call Lord Taedor soon. “Make sure the next time you see your father you tell him why that tower will be finished before the others.”
“I shall, your grace.”
Harren fully turned his horse and returned to the road leading to the Small Tower, as he called it. Others named it Kraken’s Lair. But that made his think of the Greyjoys. The Blackwood followed.

“Beron!” he called one of his guards. A man cladded in iron scale armour and a dark-leather helmet, carrying a spear and axe at his side approached Harren. “Take the lad to his chambers. Make sure he has a warm meal, he did aim right at the first stag.” Harren said, half complimenting, half issuing his authority. “No doubt those Raventree archers trained him well.”
“Right away, m’lord.” The man replied, and gestured the other to get off the horse, pushing him towards a building nearby, with some rooms used by the King’s court.

“Your Grace!” A voice called his attention. Maester Gerald, a bald riverlander who was getting too fat for his own sake, moved across the mud, lifting his robe as he trotted through the courtyard. “A raven arrived this morning. We were to send a rider, but we were informed of your return.”
Harren donned off the crown he wore always, and held it in his left hand, and grabbed the scroll. Harren’s eyes read hastily, then he closed them and sighed, containing his anger.
“Damn this man!” He yelled, passing by the terrified Maester, leaving the man unharmed.

“My King! What is happening?!” The scream of the man was sickening to hear. In a minute Androw Newhall, a minor riverlander Lord whom Harren rose from mere knighthood after he helped with a peasant rebellion, begged as two Ironborn held his arms, having aged his voice out of pure fear. He was even more disappointed when he found out that the man, red-haired and in his fourth decade, didn’t realise that Harren was moving against him. The Master of Whispers sat comfortably in his chamber, oblivious to the fact Harren’s men raided his home, built some miles away through the God’s Eye from the King’s pocket, and dragged his entire family to the place where Harren’s project took form. When he arrived, summoned by the King to “feast in the open.” His eyes no doubt first noticed the roasted pheasant and deer, on a fire as the table was laid about. Then his eyes rested on his wife, a son and two daughters. They were held tight by Harren’s men, and that’s only when Androw Newhall realised his demise. He asked what happened, but that only infuriated the King even more.
“Lord Androw. I have summoned you and your family to bask on the glorious hunt. Please, join us.”

The men pushed the raised Lord and his family to the table. “I am sure my guests will excuse me for a second, and leave their seats to you and your family.” Harren looked at the hostages, who sat one aside of the other on an edge of the table, facing Harren. “Young Blackwood, young Frey, Mandrakes… If you will.” The five looked at the king in growing fear, and then stood up as the two girls, the boy, the man and the woman, were forced to sit at their spot, aside the other hostages who seemed as if they had been placed by commoners with some nasty plague.

“Lord Androw. Please, have some deer.” Some thralls placed the plates in front of the Master of Whispers and his family. “Don’t be shy. After all, you have all enjoyed my blessings all these years. Why back off now for some deer.”
Lord Newhall stared down at the meat, and Harren, holding a goblet of iron, smiled, as the rest of the family seemed confused and lost between the fierce men, the cruel king and the sudden offer of food.
“EAT!” He yelled out of the sudden. The woman issued a small scream, and the youngest girl started to cry. The boy, in the meantime, looked at his father, who picked up the meat and ripped it apart, then chewed it.
“We hunted it yesterday. It escaped us for two days, but you know, it lead us to two more before it finally gave up. I slew it with an arrow…” He lied. “And it reminded me of my grandfather’s obliteration of the Durrandon hosts. And of my victories on the south. Taste it. Taste the flesh. Isn’t it tender?”

The family replicated their father’s taste. “I wouldn’t have slain the deer without a good couple of eyes, open ears and great hounds. Just as the string was strong, the hunter must have the senses attuned to the forest.” He rambled about. “To hear the creatures in the wild that he may feed his family with, to see those who may harm him.”

He slapped the table. Once more, the five shook in their chair, and stopped eating. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Lord Newhall seemed about to weep just as his daughter. The boy, Harren realised, had much more gut than his father. “What is it that you want from my family, Your Grace?”

“I want them to appreciate how kind I have been to you and them…” He lingered the idea in silence, as the man stared at the King, disregarding the daughter’s weeping. “Because that will be the last they will ever get.” At a new gesture the armed men reached once more for the family. The elder daughter screamed and the boy seemed willing to fight. That willingness died with a punch to his chest, along with the scream. Harren stood up and walked to Lord Androw, who didn’t struggle as he was held back up. “My brother wrote me. His raven tells of a force getting assembled in the Whispers. At our borders!” Harren’s yell left some saliva on the Master of Whisper’s face. “Under our very noses! Valyrians, none the less!”
“I swear that is not true! That man is a blasphemous man! You can’t trust him!”
But Harren would have none of that.
“I was going to just drown all of you. They say its like having coals for lungs. But I see that your son has more spirit than you could ever hope for. I could send you all to the east. Your son to Ghis or Volantis. Your wife to Pentos. Your daughters to Lys…”
The man looked up and opened his eyes wide. “No, my Lord. I beg you. They are just little girls.”
“And little girls and strong boys are good payment for Duskendale. But in truth, I need workers. What I really don’t need.” Harren bent down, until his face was right beside Androw’s. “Are incompetent advisors.”

Beron pushed Androw forward, and the other two men holding him brought his hands together, as the master-at-arms tied them behind his back. Then Beron pushed him towards a well at the middle of the open courtyard.
“Your son will be sent to the mines of Harlaw. I will make sure Lord Harlaw keeps him alive. Perhaps he can win back your position. Your wife and daughters will be sent to Orkmont, to serve the local town as thralls and saltwives.” Harren issued his sentence. “You will be sent to the Drowned God, and maybe, just maybe, he will repay them your kindness, and mine.”
The two girls screamed as the mother pleaded in tears. The boy struggled only to earn another punch. Lord Androw’s struggle wasn’t seen by anyone, as Beron pushed him into the well. His scream ended with a terrible sound. Harren imagined his joints had bent and ripped apart at the rope’s halt. It then resumed, more pitiful than anything, and Beron, who still held the rope, lowered Lord Androw further into the well, until there was a splashing sound, and the pleading ended.

“Get him out in an hour or so. I don’t want him to rot in our well.” The King told a guard while Beron tied the rope to a post. He sat again and began chewing the flesh of the deer. “As for the family, do as I said. Get them out of my sight. And tell Lord Harlaw to keep an eye on that boy.”
They four were silent, staring at the equally silent well, and didn’t protest as they were pushed away. Harren looked at Maester Gerald. “Write to my brother. Tell him he is needed here before the fortnight.”

[Nea Videssos]

Daemon Velaryon

Driftmark

At the port of Driftmark approached several vessels, led by an imposing black-hulled war galley bearing the sigil of House Velaryon upon its sails: a silver seahorse on an aquamarine field. Named the Grey Witch, it was one of several ships regularly used by the current heir to the Lordship of Driftmark. It was a triple-decked vessel with three hundred oars, equipped with several ballistae and catapults at the aft and fore, with which to rain down destruction upon enemy vessels. On the bow, just above the waterline, could be seen a large projecting ram of wood shod with iron, designed to break the frame of opposing ships. Above this was the vessel's figurehead, a scaled silver seahorse. The ships arrived in calm waters, the clear sky above Driftmark affording those beneath the warmth of the sun's rays. It seemed Blackwater Bay was calmer than usual, though it was never as bad as the Narrow Sea. Massey's Hook ensured that the worst of the weather was kept away from the bay, serving as a shield against the crashing waves and howling winds that gave the Stormlands their name. As they neared the island, the sound of seagulls flocking around the nearby port grew louder. Nearby, a patrol of three galleys from the Velaryon fleet passed by, and several merchant cogs departed east from the island.

Observing from the top deck was a figure dressed in a long, flowing coat of dark blue suede, an aquamarine silk brocade doublet decorated with seahorse and dragon embroidery in silver thread, fastened with ivory buttons, and studded with sapphires, rubies and emeralds. Beneath it was a white silk tunic. The figure was also garbed in midnight black quilted trousers with an ornately wrought golden belt and soft black leather boots. From their neck hung an amulet, a ruby in the form of a dragon's eye set in silver, linked by gold chain. Daemon Velaryon was as his reputation suggested, fond of surrounding himself with opulence, and clothing himself elaborately. As much as the young noble of Valyrian ancestry chose to dress himself in a manner he considered pleasing to the eye, it seemed nature had bestowed upon his form a natural beauty. Vibrant blue eyes the colour of the sea, silky, silver-white hair, pale skin, and a slender, androgynous physique. In the right light, his eyes had a tinge of purple. Some said he resembled a work of art, and it was as if he had emerged from the work of a master painter. It was often commented that he put many noblewomen to shame with his looks. At his left side he wore a rapier of Braavosi style, forged with Qohorik steel, with a gilded and engraved shell hilt serving as a hand guard, and sheathed in a bejewelled scabbard. It was paired with a dagger on his right side.

Breathing in the fresh sea air, Daemon felt a certain sense of relaxation as he neared home. Although he did not have much fondness for the matter, he was quite talented when it came to trade, investment and the management of finances. Of course, it was an essential skill as a scion of House Velaryon. Fortunately, the dullness of calculation and haggling was relieved and made more interesting by the associated travel to various exotic ports, and the acquisition of wealth and treasures that came with it. Daemon had recently returned from having made a trade arrangement with a powerful merchant family from the Summer Isles in the south, led by Prince Jalabhar Onuxho of Tall Trees Town. With his war galley and fifteen other warships, came a dozen merchant ships, packed to the brim with various treasures, materials and trade goods. To their rear were five of the distinctive swan ships of the Summer Islanders, gifted to the Velaryons as part of the arrangement. Escorted by the ships of House Velaryon, few pirates would be as bold as to assault trade vessels in the Narrow Sea. With recent successes against pirates and corsairs to the south, this notion was further reinforced. The swan ships, even if no longer staffed by the Goldenheart bow-wielding archers of the Summer Isles, also helped dissuade any nearby pirates from attacking.

The recent campaigns against the pirates, and the burgeoning trade occurring under the auspices of the Velaryons has begun giving Daemon certain aspirations. He recently discussed the potential construction of another keep on the island, noting that the current ancestral hold of Driftmark, while formidable, would perhaps be a bit cramped should the development and growth of Driftmark continue as has been in recent years. Considering this development and the increased wealth, resources and manpower being rendered at the disposal of the Velaryons, Daemon planned to continue expanding the Velaryon navy. Discussions with the most senior shipwrights, by the castellan of Driftmark castle, Zaerys Fyllodar had assured Daemon and Jacaerys that they had the means to continue building ships over the next few years. With future expeditions to Qarth and Yi Ti planned in the next eight years, wealth would not be an issue.

Already the shipyard of Driftmark was being expanded. Along with the shipyards of Hull and Spicetown, they were currently in the process of strengthening the Velaryon navy. Nine vessels were in the midst of being built, three at each of the shipyards respectively. With two-hundred men attending to each ship, consisting of shipwrights, sawyers, caulking attendants and others, it was estimated that they would be completed within three weeks. The first three had already been worked on for the past half a month. Combined with the swan ships and the current Velaryon ships, this would give the Velaryons a force of sixty-four warships in total. If one were to requisition trading ships and make use of sellsails, then this could be further bolstered. With the continued flow of resources and money, the shipyards could construct a total of thirty 100-oared war galleys or dromonds within five months. Given a year, without any complications, the number could rise to sixty-six dromonds. Carracks could be built too, though they took longer. Should the planned construction scheme succeed, then the Velaryons could more or less double their fleet. If the shipyards were expanded and the shipbuilding crews increased, then the speed of production could be increased further. There was still plenty of wood available, taken from the forest in central Driftmark or purchased from mainland Westeros and Essos. The population of Driftmark was still growing, and with its tradition of seafaring, many had experience with sailing. Of course, this did not mean that the Velaryons had an unlimited supply of manpower to draw upon. Manpower mattered for construction of ships, production of equipment and the supply of provisions as much as it did for the sailors aboard the fleet and men trained as warriors. Either the long game had to be played via a gradual increase in population over decades, or one had to outsource the manpower via foreign mercenaries and immigration. One element of this situation could be improved by the recruitment of shipwrights, carpenters, sawyers, caulking attendants, smiths and general labourers from within Hull and Spicetown and abroad, allowing the Velaryons to build a greater number of ships within a shorter period.

Daemon had also discussed with his father the matter of potentially setting up outposts in the Stepstones with which to better control trade in the Narrow Sea and weed out pirates in the area. Of course, no definite decisions had been made regarding this yet. The logistics and practicality of maintaining control over any of the islands in the Stepstones had to be considered. The territory was ruled by pirates for good reason, and many had attempted to clear the islands of them in the past. Weeding them out was about as effective as efforts to clear the Basilisk Isles of corsairs had been. Driftmark was too distant to the Stepstones for a rapid response, and so any outposts had to be able to defend themselves, at least for enough time for the Velaryons to reinforce them. Permanent, fortified strongholds and ports with appropriate garrisons would need to be established to maintain control over the islands, and the benefits needed to outweigh the costs. The only way this could be done was if the flow of trade was increased, and along with these strongholds, trading settlements were built. The value of the Stepstones first and foremost took the form of naval tolls, with the islands serving as the gateway to the Narrow Sea. Then there were geopolitical considerations to take into account. Dorne, New Valyria and Tyrosh would not necessarily take kindly to this infringement on their trade prospects in the Narrow Sea. Of course, as long as those with interests in the region gained a cut of the trade profits, and their own vessels were left unmolested, they would probably welcome Velaryon administration over the islands compared to that of unpredictable pirates. The neighbouring powers might sometimes be able to pay off or redirect pirates towards their own enemies, but for the most part the marauders of Stepstones were a pest that refused to disappear. The state whose opinion mattered the most in regard to the Stepstones was arguably New Valyria, since Tyrosh.

For the time being, Daemon's idea lay within the realm of the theoretical. Less ambitious than the conquest of all the islands, was an initial plan to take Sunstone and Bloodstone, the two westernmost islands of the Stepstones. From the reports, the former was ruled by a Lyseni pirate lord by the name of Sargoso Sithien, and the later, the biggest of the Stepstones, was ruled by another Lyseni, Valladhor Vunatis. Sithien was reputedly a decent fighter, though paranoid and quick to lash out. Vunatis, meanwhile, was quite a talented schemer, and a coward who would rather orchestrate fights between other pirate lords than put his own neck on the line. Quite appropriate for a man who reputedly owned a Valyrian blade named Poison. He left most fighting to his second in command, a Tyroshi named Yaran Adarys. Considering pirates were typically a disorganised, independent bunch, they had anywhere from two-hundred men to approaching a thousand pirates on each of their islands. Despite their fractious nature, they had a habit of cooperating against those who would divest them of their livelihoods. This plan would of course go through the approval of the Targaryens first.

Daemon, while interested in learning about other cultures and traditions, placed Valyrian heritage first and foremost. To a certain extent, it could be said that he regarded it as superior to other cultures, but this did not preclude common sense and blind his judgement. While considering his heritage important, he was intelligent enough not to put heritage above pragmatism to the point of potential self-destruction. When it came to the matter of the conflict between Braavos and New Valyria, Daemon's own preferences would obviously be for the latter. He saw the goal of reviving Valyria in some form to be a laudable one. That said, he was also willing to work with the Braavosi if it was the most advantageous course of action. Of course, this analysis was only regarding things from Daemon's own perspective. The Targaryens had their own thoughts on the geopolitical situation in the Narrow Sea, even if they had largely left naval affairs in the hands of the Lords of the Tide.

He did not care too much about the matter of the Braavosi desire to emancipate the Free Cities. Weighing the matter as he often did, he only cared about the legality of slavery within the contest of how useful and effective it was. If it it outweighed the disadvantages, then slavery was perfectly fine by his standards. Of course, there was a good reason the Valyrian remnants in Westeros had abandoned slavery. Thanks to the Faith of the Seven, their Westerosi neighbours abhorred slavery. Unnecessarily alienating these neighbours only brought trouble they could not necessarily afford. It was more valuable to have a positive relationship with the Westerosi kingdoms than whatever additional manpower, wealth and resources might be afforded by engaging in slavery. Likewise, on the Essosi front, it would also potentially attract ill intent on behalf of the Braavosi.

As he watched from the Grey Witch, Daemon turned his gaze to the north, towards Dragonstone. He imagined there were more recent arrivals at the port there. Over the past few months, it seemed many were interested in commemorating the birth of a future Lord of Dragonstone. Some, perhaps, wanted a man with fire breathing, flying weapons of war behind him as an ally, others simply wanted to probe him, and others still likely desired trade or political arrangements. As for the Velaryons, they had already visited Aerion shortly after Aegon's birth five months ago. Daemon himself was more than happy to hear the news that he had a new nephew. Pondering the relationship, he also realised with some amusement that he was related through both his sister and mother to Aegon. His mother, Viserra Targaryen, was Lord Aerion's aunt, and by extension Aegon's grand aunt. Daemon himself was Aerion's cousin via Viserra. Aerion was likewise married to his cousin in the form of Daemon's sister, Valaena. One could also go further back into previous generations of Targaryen and Velaryon marriages, but the point was made. The Velaryons and Targaryens were so closely intertwined that they were inevitably related through a variety of routes and figuring out all these relationships could get rather confusing.

Daemon began thinking about the history of the Velaryons. He remembered reading about the experiences of his great-grandfather Daemion in Valyria, when he was younger, spending his time in the castle's dusty old library. His grandfather, Lord Rhogar Velaryon, had originally been third in line to the Lordship of Driftmark. It was the deaths of his two older brothers, Maekar and Vaelyx who had been visiting the Velyrian city of Aquos Dhaen during the Doom that unexpectedly came to elevate him to the position of heir. It was also with their deaths that the ancestral sword of the Velaryons, Seafoam, was lost. The Valyrians had only established their westernmost outpost in Dragonstone two hundred years before the Doom. The Velaryons had ruled Driftmark for about as long, with the Targaryens arriving at Dragonstone only twelve years before the Doom, after Aenar the Exile heeded the words of his daughter. They had been granted the territory by Archon Daeron Varezys, with the first Velaryon lord of the outpost being a certain Lord Maelys Velaryon. As for the history of the Velaryons before they came to Driftmark, Daemon knew a bit, but the surviving tomes and manuscripts from before then were fragile, kept within part of the library containing the oldest and most precious writings. The family's previous Maester twenty years ago had been tasked with creating new copies of some of the older texts, but he had died partway through the assignment. From what Daemon knew, the Velaryons had also fought in the Valyrian Freehold's navies long before they came to Driftmark, where they had effectively served as marcher lords guarding the far-flung western outpost of the Freehold growing wealthy on the Narrow Sea's trade up to the present day. Back then the Freehold's power reinforced the wealth and naval power they possessed, even if they were essentially a backwater compared to the Valyrian heartlands. It seemed their maritime traditions were more than just a product of their current positioning in Blackwater Bay, or the old tale about their pact with the Merling King. From what Daemon recalled, the Velaryons originated from Aquos Dhaen, and once had a close relationship with the Ondoryen dragonlords ruling over that territory on the south coast of Valyria. Aquos Dhaen was at the estuary of the river that ran from Blenon Way north of Valyria, down to the south coast, and provided the city of Valyria with access to the sea by river.

Driftmark Castle was an imposing, grim fortress sat atop an elevated position on the island's east coast. From atop its dark, salt-stained walls, one could look east towards the Narrow Sea, and around twenty-five miles northeast towards Dragonstone. It stood on a cliff, with a fortified staircase leading up to the entrance. At a large natural bay on the southern side of the castle, between two cliffs, was its harbour and shipyard, unofficially referred to as the Blue Port. The bustling castle town next to the harbour provided a sense of life that the foreboding castle overlooking it seemed bereft of. The castle's fused black stone was the same material that Dragonstone was built from, carved though Valyrian magic and dragonflame centuries ago. While less impressive than Dragonstone, it was still a good example of Valyrian architectural capabilities. Despite being bleak and rather sinister, it still had a certain beauty about it. Of note were three towers that served as the highest points of the stronghold, strategically positioned so as to give good views of any approaching vessels. To the north, under the castle's shadow, the town of Hull flourished, its shipyard famed in the region. Of course, the shipyard paled in comparison to the Arsenal of Braavos, said to be able to construct a galley in a single day. A short distance to the west of the castle was a volcano, a stark contrast to the mostly low-lying terrain of the island. At the opposite end of the island lay Spicetown, on the southwest shore. If one were to sail along the south coast, one would first encounter the small coastal castle of Nimmark before reaching Spicetown, watching over the Gullet. From there, a ship could quickly reach Sharp Point if it sailed south.

As the Grey Witch and the other ships arrived at the Blue Port, the cacophonous din of sailors readying the ships for docking, and the dockworkers in turn making their preparations to receive the fleet, filled the air, accompanying the sound of merchants, fishmongers, sailors and locals going about their business. Most of the arriving ships took anchor, with the merchant ships and smaller vessels continuing onward to the available dockyards further in. At one end of the docks was a large wooden structure that served as the Blue Port's shipyard. It was almost like a barn or stables, though that was only if one were to be sheltering mammoths. It had a quarter wall of stone, and massive wooden gates that plunged down beneath the water. Two guardsmen were posted at the shipyard's entrance, armed with fierce looking halberds and dressed in mailed shirts under the aquamarine surcoat of House Velaryon. The shipyard was large enough to accommodate the construction of several warships at once, though this would naturally depend on the specifications of each vessel.

The Grey Witch drew to a halt along a pier, oars withdrawn, sturdy rope tying the vessel to the dock. It was time to disembark and visit home after several weeks away. A quick glance at the men behind him, and Daemon stepped onto the piers without a word. The crew of the Grey Witch knew their duties, there was no point dithering behind. Anything in his quarters that needed to be brought over would be. Following him onto the dock were four knights garbed in chain and leather with half-helms. Two of them were equipped with longswords in the Westerosi fashion, and the other two wore cutlasses more commonly used by sailors in the Narrow Sea. Stepping onto the pier, his gaze focused on the commotion as the busy crowd at the dock parted. Several men on horseback approached the edges of the dock, bearing the teal livery of the Velaryons.

"Lord Daemon!" One of the men, a sharp-faced, black-haired man in chainmail greeted him, dismounting as he did so, his tone curt yet respectful. "Lord Velaryon sends his regards, and also says that he shall meet you in the castle solar once he has finished negotiations with a representative of the Myrakis family of Nontelos." The man turned around, promptly giving an order for the men following him to watch over the transfer of goods from the newly arrived vessels. Daemon, for his part, stepped forward, the four knights behind him moving in tandem as he continued from the pier onto the docks. From there they would make their way through the harbour, up towards the castle's staircase that led down towards the castle town. Already, if one looked up, at the top of the fortified staircase, the gatehouse of the castle could be seen past the town's buildings. At either side of the black stone gateway, statues in the form of a pair of Valyrian sphinxes stood vigil, imperiously gazing down upon those who would approach the stronghold.

Daemon smiled faintly, a tinge of bemusement in his expression. It seems father always manages to get busier whenever I return, he thought. Despite Daemon gradually taking the reins of Jacaerys' lordly duties over the past few years, the aging Lord of the Tides was still quite preoccupied with various matters that required his personal involvement to deal with. Even when delegated to various subordinates, it could be headache inducing at times. At least his uncle Aemon and his cousins in the form of Lucerys and Valarr could take up some of the slack, though the later was perhaps less reliable. Valarr was more prone to drinking and whoring, though he wasn't a complete waste of space. He could do a decent job, provided he didn't come up with excuses or disappear into the backalleys of Hull. Refocusing his thoughts, the scion of House Velaryon continued, veering towards the old fortress that loomed over the harbour.

[Strala]

Aemon Celtigar

Dragonstone-74 AD

Aemon glared at his brother for a moment before he replied to Lady Vaelana "Of course my Lady. It would be most improper for me to forget to include my cousins, the Valeryons. I shall remedy that situation, and send a message to my Good Uncle informing him of this most excellent opportunity. I do believe that Cousin Viserys requires a castle to call his own. What better castle then the Whispers? It is close to both Claw Isles and Driftstone." Aemon paused as began to observe his surroundings. The halls, while not as heavily decorated like those of Crab's claw, were much more vibrant. It felt as if the walls themselves were alive. This had to be the work of Valyrian magic Aemon thought to himself as he slowly returned his attention to Vaelana. His expression softened as he began to discreetly stare at his cousin. It had been several years since they had last seen each other in person. When they were children Daemon was far too sickly to play with and Viserys had been too young. He had followed her everywhere as a child, as she had been his favorite relative, and as he grew, those feelings slowly changed into lust and want. Mesmerized, his mind could think of her face. If only I had been older and of purer blood, then it would be me next to her, instead of cousin Aerion.

Observing his brother's face and realizing what he was doing, Crispian immediately started to talk make small talk with Vaelana, " Cousin, it has been such a long time since we had properly talked with each other. How is my dear cousin Aerion and Visenya? He must have been overjoyed when you gave birth to little Aegon. When the news was announced five months ago, my dear brother wanted to visit immediately to check apon your health and that of Aegon's. Flamen Meraxes convinced him to stay as mother had been sick, and it was most improper for him to leave his sickly mother in her gravest hours. Instead, he had festivals held in your name and your son's on Claw Isles while he sent someone to Myr to purchase Myrish lace for you and a Myrish Eye for your lord husband." Crispian stopped and leered at one of the passing serving girls.

The look that had gotten from the serving girl caused him to grin. The grin was visible to all and broke Aemon out of his thoughts. Shooting Crispian a malicious look, Aemon growled out, "Crispian, stop leering at the serving girl. You disgrace the family with your actions!" Turning around he sent the serving girl away. "My lady, I apologize for the actions of my brother. While I know you meant well when you stated that Crispian may partake in his lecherous actions, I'm afraid that I can't condone such actions. I refuse to give away our illustrious line to a natural-born son if my brother and I were to perish with no true heir. Even if I or my brother have true-born sons, the situation will cause conflict between our family, as illustrated by house Maelyx in 500 BD, when their paterfamilias's natural-born son Maegor killed the entire family. Even if that was not the case, the dishonor my brother has committed would drive off potential suitors."

He doesn't wait for Vaelana to answer and says, "My brother can't afford the dishonor to his name. The Targaryens have their dragons and your house of birth has wealth and a prestigious name. What does the second son of House Celtigar have compared to them? Nothing. We have the wealth to match House Velaryon, but which pure Valyrian family would accept one of ours when they could marry someone of your family or better yet a Targaryen. Personal honor and desperation are what cause other families to marry into House Celtigar." These words left a bitter taste in his mouth. While he would never hate the house that the woman he loves comes from, it was hard to ignore their fame and the relative obscurity of his own. They both got wealthy from trade, yet it was Hull and Spicetown that foreign merchants visited. Fisher's bay was relatively unknown and was both poor and tiny compared to Spicetown and the Hull. He had enlarged Fisher's bay and the docks, yet few merchants braved the trip to the Claw Isles. Much of the trade on the island is conducted by his family and the few mercantile families that resided on Claw Isle.

He turned back to Crispian. "Brother why don't you return to our rooms and write a letter addressed to Lord Velaryon about our upcoming conquest of Crackclaw Point. Make sure that you include and heavily emphasize the benefits of aiding us in this conquest." He smiled at Vaelana before saying "My lady, I apologize if I offended you with my earlier words. I did not mean to sound condescending." He waited a moment before continuing. "My lady you would honor me greatly if you accept my invitation to escort you to your children."

Crispian exited the room after he heard his brother's demands. He calls me lecherous. Anyone with sharp enough eyes would notice what he was doing. He left out a huff of annoyance as he returned to the bedroom that he shared with his brother. When he entered the bedroom, he closed the doors behind him. Making sure that it was locked he pulled out a pen. Aemon won't return anytime soon. If I'm careful and quick enough I should get enough time to convince one of the serving girls to share the bed with me. Holding this thought, Crispian began to quickly write to Lord Velaryon.

My Lord,
I extend the goodwill of my brother, the honorable Lord Celtigar, for an opportunity to strengthen the ties of our houses. No doubt, your illustrious self has already heard about the build-up of troops at the Claw Isles. These are men that my brother has gathered for the conquest of Crackclaw point. While the clawmen and their lords are inferior to the bravery and training of our soldiers, they have amassed a considerable force of 4,000 at the Whispers. These are numbers that even the most dedicated and fanatic of my brother's soldiers worry about. Therefore my brother humbly beseech your august self to help us in the subjection of the barbaric Westerosi. This venture is not without gains for your esteemed family. Your second son, my cousin Viserys is without a castle to call his own. If your august self wishes, my brother will offer him the lordship of the Whispers.
From,
Crispian Celtigar, standard-bearer of House Celtigar

Letting the ink dry off, he opened the door and invited one of the serving girls inside and telling her of what he wanted. The serving girl grinned before she agreed to Crispian's demand. As they lay tangled together, Crispian thought back to the letter. Their offer had been extremely generous for House Velaryon. All they had to do was to send some of their levies to support House Celtigar, and their family would gain yet another castle. The land also hosted a large forest which would help them in expanding their navy. If the Velaryons decide to disregard the offer then the letter and the promises of cousin Vaelana would be null and void. If Lord Aerion didn't support them, House Celtigar would have to call off their invasion of Crackclaw Point. That was his last thought for a while, as he was far too busy enjoying the pleasure of the flesh.

Aenys Gaenoys

Dragonstone-74 AD

"2,000. 2,420..." Aenys said as he counted the levies and household guard gathered at Claw Isle. The young lord had surprised everyone when he announced that he planned on conquering Crackclaw Point. In Aenys's opinion, the operation was hindered because Claw Isles couldn't support so many men and supplies in one place. His counting was interrupted as Alysanne Celtigar entered the room

"Ah, Lady Alysanne. It is great to see you again." She ushered one of his scribes along with one of the scribes in training to take the data and paper to another room to continue their counting. "What is it that you seek of this humble servant to do. My Lord before he left had entrusted me with counting the number of soldiers that his vassals had brought. That amount of soldiers was far greater than expected and we haven't finished counting yet." He continued to rant before he realized that the young lady hasn't responded yet. In all honesty, he believed that his lord was pushing far too much work onto him. Two months ago he had down the same he enquired to buy armor and weapons. He had made Aenys and his small group of scribes to calculate the necessary amount of gold, and search for quality providers. It was tiring work, and it had taken his men at least three weeks before they gathered the necessary amount of data. He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the young lady call out his name

She looked at Aenys and said, "Aenys, I've noticed you were busy, but this is important. It concerns the duties that my lord brother had required of me. I need you to send my brother this package and the letter that goes along with it. Make sure that it is down in secret. After all, my lord brother wouldn't want to have his property stolen. Just remember the last time someone failed what I required of them. Unless you decide that you don't you and your family to continue to live on Dragonstone anymore. There's been a strange tradition of the people of those who left this island of not living much longer. I do hope that you will heed my warnings."

She quickly left after she finished. Aenys stared at her retreating form without making a sound. Sometimes it seemed that the young lady was far more intimidating than her lord brother.

[Revlona]

Edric Stark
Lord of Winterfell
King in the North

Edric Stark, King in the North, sat upon his throne in the great hall as he awaited his guest. The Prince of the Isles and Rivers, he wondered what would bring such a guest so far north, especially as he journey had been peaceful. He wondered if the Ironborn king had sent the Prince all this way, or if he had come on his own, seeking to feed his own ambitions rather than his fathers.

Ice, the Valaryian greatsword that was the Stark family heirloom sat, sheathed, beside the great throne of the Kings in Winterfell. It was no threat as the boy was allowed to keep his own weapon, but it was still within reach of the King, a subtle show that while peace was desired, war was always an option.

Along the walls stood dozens of guards, all Stark men through and through, and seated below were several of the great northern lords. Lord Umber and Bolton sat conversing as the ripped into chicken breasts. Lord Glover and his heir sat with their own men a ways off, the eyes of the young glover heir scanned the room constantly, as if looking for someone to fight.

Dante, the Castellan of Winterfell strode through the great double doors of the great hall and quickly made his way to beside the King. a whispered word, and a nod from the king sent the man striding back towards the doors. A minute passed by and the doors once again opened to admit a small party of men escorted by a greater one.

The Prince of the Iron Islands and his men strode in surrounded by Stark men who had two men for every Ironborn in the party. The escort kept a respectful distance from the Ironborn as they were not prisoners, but still, the escort and Dante were noticeably steering the entire group.

The Great Hall went silent as the party entered, grumbled oaths of surprise and anger audible through the silence as the Prince and his men approached the front table and the throne. The Escort around them stopped suddenly, maybe 30 paces from the head table. Edric stood and peered at the young Ironborn men before him.

"Prince Harwyn, I am sure you have noticed the extracurricular activities around Winterfell, so I also must assume you realize that the North prepares for war, so I must ask you frankly, why are you here, what brings you to my lands?" Edric said, his voice a deep and easily heard from the entire Great Hall. The Great Lords around the hall stared on as they awaited for the answer the young prince was sure to give, and Edric waited alongside them, curious despite what he had said.