Game of Thrones: Aftermath (IC)

[The United Realms Of Lords and Paradox]

Harrenhal
kingspyre tower
The early Morning Air was unusually cold and brisk; this cold was fought by the Fire pits of the tower being Stoked By servants. The Valenvareth Brothers were asleep in their chairs after drinking games that night, as soring was continuing in the hall the doors swung open letting in the cold wind and voice of Maester Rowen boomed into the hall “My Lord a message from Kings landing.” The Brothers awoke from there slumber with a jolt, Brynden inquired” So what’s the message?” As the Maester came closer the light from the fire it revealed His sad and watered eyes” The Queen is dead my lord” The young lords face turned from sleepy to worried one. ”Brothers as we all know there is no heir to the throne this will cause war; I say we prepare now so when the call comes we can answer it fast and hard."He turned to the maester "Maester Rowen send out the ravens and gathers our men. Jon buy and gather supplies” as he finish he turned once again to face the fire pit and under his voice he said “we shall be ready.”

[Jade Confederacy]

Oldtown, the Reach
The bells of Oldtown rang as her citizens filled with dread: the Queen was dead and the Iron Throne vacant. Not all the people in Oldtown were alive during the War of five Kings, but the older ones remember the war with all its brutality and horror. They remembered the constant threat of sacking by marauding armies and the decades of famine, plague and conflict that followed the fight for the throne. That was why everyone-even the young ones-knelt and gave a heartfelt prayer for peace. It was a fruitless endeavor, for unbeknownst to them, the armies of Westeros are already on the march.

Oldtown, the largest and richest city in Westeros, seat of House Hightower, the second most powerful house in the Reach

…

Court of Highgarden, the Reach
In the wake of Queen Daenerys death, the court was abuzz with rumors of a succession war. A Blackfyre pretender from the Stepstones has already declared his intent to claim the throne. As the Wardens of the South, the Reach would be required to head off against any his attempts to usurp the Iron Throne from the legitimate heir. The trouble was who was the legitimate heir?

Garth Hightower watched as a heated debated ensued among the nobility of the Reach.

“Orys Baratheon should take the throne! He has the closest claim among any of the contenders. To even think of contender should be tantamount to treason!”

“A Baratheon? They gave up their claim to the throne the second Queen Daenerys pressed her blood right. No, if anyone, it should be someone with Targaryen blood flowing in their veins. It should be that Blackfyre boy from the Stepstones.”

“What! Blackfyre?! They were considered usurpers ever since the Dance of Dragons centuries ago. The closest a Blackfyre has ever been to the Iron Throne was when one of them was executed in the courtyard in King’s Landing!”

And on and on it went. Some supported Blackfyre’s claim, some for the Lanisters. Some even supported a Stark from taking the throne, but most preferred the House Baratheon regain the Iron Throne as they were the ones to hold it before Queen Daenerys. The only thing everyone agreed on was the desire to avoid a full blown civil war like that of the War of Five Kings.

Garth, following the prudent advice of his wife, kept his mouth shut. It would be foolish to declare ones support so early. Instead he cautioned against the Reach from deploying her troops prematurely. He warned that with the Iron Throne vacant, the Iron born would only grow bolder, conducting raids while everyone was offed to fight in a succession war. He urged everyone at court, including the young Lord Paramount Garlan Tyrell not to send the Reach Fleet to the Stepstones. He argued that it might be a preemptive blow for the Blackfyre camp, but it will also leave the Reach’s rich coast open for Ironborn sacking.

[Logistica Suprema]

Garlan Tyrell
Highgarden, the Reach, Westeros
Garlan Tyrell had meant to leave immediately, but Maester Leo had cautioned him against leaving without his sworn bannermen, or some.
Now he could see why. Opinion followed by opinion flowed through the court. Baratheon, Lannister, Stark, Blackfyre—all of these were names atop the tongues of those present.
Garlan Tyrell remained silent, for the time. He would not argue with his vassals, for his vassals had a right to speak. More importantly, it was his right to listen. He, it seemed, was not the only one. His eye spotted Garth Hightower, silent. His House represented a dangerous faction at court.
Yet even with all the power he held, Lord Hightower did not speak. Garlan found in amusing. The two most powerful men in the room—himself, and the lord—said nothing. They only observed. They always observed.
At last, Garth Hightower did speak. The House he named was one that had not been mentioned, but one Garlan recognized as a threat. Greyjoy.
With the Iron Throne unmanned, Lord Hightower said, the Greyjoys and Ironborn would grow even more brazen. He cautioned restraint, patience. Garlan considered it. It was a subtle game. A careful game. An effective game.
As soon as Hightower was done, Lord Florent was suddenly for his restraint. Garlan saw it at once, the way they meshed together. Garlan could no longer trust Florent, if Florent had sided with Hightower so easily. Garlan could see their power crashing against his own.
His hand twitched. The court was soon consumed in debate again, yet no one questioned Hightower. Thus it went around in circles: Baratheon, Lannister, Stark, Blackfyre . . . but now, the subtle hint of Greyjoy.
The name rang in Garlan’s head. Greyjoy. Greyjoy. Greyjoy. If he closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, he could see this new fleet of theirs smashing against the Arbor and the Shield Islands. The Reach would be bathed in blood . . . and Highgarden too, if they sailed up the Mander. Garlan decided.
He rose, and nodded to the herald. The staff beat against the floor thrice. All fell silent, and Garlan turned his head to face all of them. His eyes lingered on Garth Hightower a fraction of a second longer.
“My lords,” Garlan declared, “I hear you, and what you say.” He paused. “How many men in this hall can claimed to have seen the War of Five Kings?” Few men motioned.
“I did not see it either,” Garlan said. “They say the dragons turned our fields to ash. They say my great-grandsire and grand-uncle burned in the flames. My grand-aunt was killed in King’s Landing. Yet this is nothing, my lords, to the suffering of the Reach by another foe. A darker foe.”
Garlan paused for breath. “The Ironborn have always plagued us. I have heard of the monstrosity Euron Greyjoy, whom sullied the honor of the Shield Lords. And I have heard of his brother, Victarion, whom struck down the Redwyne fleet and let innocent men drown. They came like their waves, and were pulled back before the Reach could retaliate!
“There is a saying. The North remembers. Well, the Reach remembers as well. I bear the experiences of history about me, my lords, and I tell you now—the Reach will not fall prey to the Ironborn again. They are our first, and primary, concern.”
Garlan gave that a moment to set in. Cries of “My lord!” and “Madness!” resounded the surprised court. The Reach had never parted on war before. When Garlan had had enough of the cries, he held a hand up. He made sure he held up his right.
Slowly, the court fell silent.
“I do not think, however,” Garlan said, “that the Reach should remain isolated. I mean to ride for King’s Landing, my lords, and to say this before the Small Council. With the Blackfyres in the Narrow Sea, and the Greyjoys in the Sunset Sea, we must caution the Realm. We cannot afford division now. The realm must united against common enemies. After they are defeated, we can all come together to name our heir.”
Garlan took in another breath. He felt the control slip through his body. Now he played the game. “What say you, my lords?”
He turned his head amongst the lords in his court. For a fraction of a second, they lingered on Garth Hightower.

[Arlye Austros]

Greywater Watch, The Neck
Howland
He walked into the room and saw Gerron of the Lane, a wise man of the keep, leaning over a table near the door. His son Brandon looked up the ceiling, seemingly annoyed. It had been five days since he was ill. The dawn after the raven arrived, just as Meera woke up from her nightmares, Bran was feeling sick, terribly weakened and feverish. His mother took care of him until she and Howland chose to leave their son to the care of the wise man. Gerron was a man who knew of herbs, and it was a fever he was fully able to take care of.

Now, Bran looked far better. He was still in bed, but now he would not sleep all the time, and often said he wanted to go out and run. <<That´s an improvement.>> Howland thought. His son suddenly showed an interest in runing, and going outside to do something that would not involve the pages written by some old maester. Now, he had his face irritated by the constant sneezing. When he looked at his father he raised his back and took sit on the bed. Howland made a gesture to Gerron to go out.

"Are you feeling allright, son?"
The boy noded.
"Good. I was hoping you could stand up today. I still need you to cover yourself in many clothes to keep the cold out, but today is rather warm, and I need to go out."
"What is it?" Brandon asked quickly.
"Karlan arrived from the Silvereed. Some message, and the Orphan´s Ford is beyond any passage by horse, Karine will float me to the other side."
The boy smiled and stepped out of the bed, putting on his boots. He sneezed.
"Stay warm!" He reminded him. Brandon rushed to a wardrobe and took out some thick clothes to keep the cold away. Finally, he stood before his father with a big smile and with a thick cloack of bear furs hanging over his back.
"Better. Stay in the keep. I need you to watch over your Grandaunt. She is not feeling well again, I think the same cold has got her." He turned to the door.
"I will... can I practice the sword out..."
"No! Stay in."
"And the bow..." The boy implored.
"Very well, but only a while. I will be back at sundown."

He walked out, and Gerron came nearby. "The boy is strong today. The cold will leave his body soon. It´s the old Lady I am worried about, My Lord."
Howland grabbed the cane he had left aside of the door before comming in. "Go check her, Gerron, and make sure the kitchens give you a nice soup. It´s warm today, but the night will be cold. I would like you stayed here tonight... just in case."
The man agreed with a movement of the head.
"Thank you." Howland walked away and soon joined five of his personal guard, men armed with spears and bows. He lead them to the Little Sister Canal, where Karine the Old Trouch, a lady in her 60s, stood over a small boat, with a stick to guide the wooden craft over the bogs.

Brandon Reed
The air was fresh, and he could not resist a deep breath, and a morning´s breeze was golden to him. For some reason, after five days of bad dreams and feverish hours, he was feeling so different. The bow and the arrows were there, but he looked back to the keep, and then rushed in, heading for his Grandaunt´s chamber. He had a cough episode in the middle of the stairs, and an armed guard passing by looked at him. "Don´t rush it, boy!"
"Oh just up, Melir" He said, as the guard laughed and was lost in the dark hallway. He then continued and crossing the room´s door. It was dark inside.

"Aunt Meera?" Her bed was empty, and he could barely see around. He walked in the near complete dark until he stumbled on something soft. Bran lost balance and fell to the ground. He layed on his side and when he noticed, a couple of eyes were looking at him. He was scared to near death, before realizing it was Meera, and she was staring at him.

"Brandon? Is it you?"
"It´s me..." He whispered. He sat on the floor just by her. "Aunt Meera... What...?"
"Oh, It´s been so long since you came to visit me, Brandon."
He was ashamed, it was, indeed, a long time. He had read a lot.
"Yes, I am so sorry..."
"I always think of you, dear. Have so much to tell you."
"Do you want to go back to your bed?" He was astonished, as it seemed she was looking somewhere to the wall behind him. He looked over his shoulder, but it was all utter darkess... Yet, she smiled and talked as if she was looking to somebody´s eyes.
"How is Jojen?"
"He is fine... He has been travelling a lot around the Neck really." His older brother had been terribly busy, as their father was growing old.
"The Neck? That´s a bit too far from here."
He was silent now... Not only confused, terrified. His father had told him of Meera´s episodes of insanity, but he had never been told what to do if this happened in front of him.
"Aunt Meera?" He passed her hand in front of her eyes. She stayed focused on the dark wall behind him for a second, then winked, and looked at him, she looked not confused, but actually ashamed. "Bran?" She started to cry. "You made me leave, Bran, you made me flee... I told you I wouldn´t I would not leave you both to... to them... "
Brandon stood up. He realized she was gone. He rushed to the door, but it was dark and walked right againts a wall, then knocked a small table and some wooden plates in his way to the floor. He screamed as the pain invaded his head. When he turned to look at her, it was all in dark, but she was still crying. "You should have raised your son, Bran! You should have raised Howland." Bran did not thought of that until he had find the door and rushed to the stairway, shouting for help. Gerron of the Lane was taking Meera back to her bed in a minute, and only then Bran came to realize what had just happened.

[The Holy Dominion of Inesea]

Lord Yorren Royce, Lord Presumptive of Runestone
Gates of the Moon

The Great Hall of the Gates of the Moon was packed to the rafters with Lords, Ladies and Knights of the Vale. On the dais, sitting in the stone chair, was the Lord Paramount himself, Dilon Valestark. Before he began his speech, and while the assembled were still getting seated, Yorren turned to his compatriots. On his left was his Sworn Vassal and friend, Lord Bormyr Shett-Grafton, and on his right sat the Lord of the Gates of the Moon, Lord Edmund Royce. Both men were in the forties with Yorren, and had all grown up as good friends. As Lord of Runestone and Patriarch of the Royces', Yorren had nominal seniority; however, Edmund was like his elder bother and Bormyr was many times the administrator that he was. Turning to them, he said, "Brother's, I suspect ill has occurred. Be prepared to align your banners to mine. Can I trust in you?"

"Of Course" -Bormyr

"Conflicts with the aims of the Valestarks permitting, of course" -Edmund

"Thank you Brothers" -Yorren

*Lord Dilon's Speech*

My Gods, it is worth that I believed. The Dragon Queen has passed. And the realm is heading the same way it went in the days of my father and his father before him. Standing up resplendent in the ancestral bronze armor of his family, he declared," My Lord, the Banners of the Royces' and the men of Royce herself are with you. I pledge today 3,000 men from my Banners and I to defend to our realm. Buttress the Bloody Gate. Let the Realm sort out her problems without bloodying the Vale."

[New Frenco Empire]

Elia

Elia sat up from her bed, her muscles giving the satisfied ache of lovemaking. She might have been one and forty, but she was still young in her own eyes. Most of the women her age were beginning to sag and wrinkle, showing the first signs of aging. Not her. Her regimen of clashing swords with knights in the yard and hawking and riding sand steeds from the Water Gardens to The Tor left her muscles thick, her hair black and her skin hard yet smooth. It was up to her pair of bastard paramours to help her with her hard-worked illusion that she was still an armored maiden of twenty. She was with Margeary today. Given the circumstances, she would have taken both her and Nerris to her bed, but Nerris was in Oldtown to see off Mattias, Elia's own bastard. Mattias was Elia's own son, despite being a "Sand", and pressured him to become a knight. However, Mattias was a bookish boy. He spent all his time in the maester's library. When Elia and Nerris informed him his skills would be best spent as Sunspear's next maester, Mattias was pleased. He even promised to forge the longest chain ever worn.

She ran her fingers down Margeary's smooth, olive skin from her breasts to her sex. She giggled a bit, not opening her eyes. Elia grinned, stretched and stood up. She paced about her chambers for a bit, naked, taking a moment for herself to contemplate. The first bannermen would be arriving today. Her father had left two days ago. Would she be ready? She disregarded it, and went about her morning routine. She used the privy, called for one of her pages to bring a hot bucket of water she could wash in and donned her elegant armor of gilded scales over red-brown leather. Over the armor, she wore a long, flowing sash of red that featured the sun of House Martell prominently. She approached her bed once more, and shook at Margeary. In one of her sensual little games, she put on Elia's sword belt, which held her dagger and her prominent valyrian steel scimitar Nymeria's Talon. It was the only thing she was wearing. After removing it from her bare waist, she snapped it on her own. She looked at herself in the mirror. She pulled off the warrior princess look proficiently, she thought.

Downstairs, several of the lords were already gathered in the great hall. Their banners were hung around the hall. She could spot the Black Leopards of Vaith. The golden quill of Jordayne. The lemons of Dalt. The cockatrice of Gargalen. The golden hand of Allyrion. The green dragon of Toland. The shining maiden of Ladybright. All the Dornish lords and ladies who could get to Sunspear within two days' on sand steeds with a small retinue. Serving girls poured wine and carries trays of cheese-stuffed peppers and skewers of grilled snake and onions. The bannermen sat around, downing chalices of Dornish Red and chomping on the snake and peppers. They spoke to their knights and spear ladies. Some had paramours in their arms. Elia went unnoticedas she took the throne. "All rise for Elia of House Martell!" Ullom, the fat seneschal boomed. "Heir of Sunspear, daughter of Trystane, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne!" The lords and ladies of Dorne silenced, and raised to their feet. "Sit, my friends," Elia said, reassuringly. "Our friends to the west have yet to make it, but I must address our issue before we begin." She cleared her throat. "As you already know, Queen Daenerys is dead. Several claims to the throne have been made. Lord Lannister, my brother by marriage, has suggested himself as regent. So had Lord Stark, my father's successor as Hand of the Queen. The Baratheons made a legitimate claim, and we have reports of ambitious Blackfyres on the Stepstones." The hall roared. "The Baratheons probably have the right of it! My grandsire used to say that Robert was a fair king!" Lord Vaith yelled. "A Stormlander on the Iron Throne? Next you'll want to replace Prince Trystane with a Tyrell. Let some arrogant flower of Highgarden sit in the same seat our fair Elia sits! Our best bet would be to support Princess Mariya's husband!" Lady Jordayne screeched. "I'd like nothing better, my fair lady, but Stark's the only one has the right of it! What would Queen Dany have wanted?" Lady Dalt asked. "Bastards they may be, the Blackfyres are the blood of the dragon. Consider it!" Lord Allyrion rebutted. "None of 'em, more like! Princess Myrcella has king's blood in her! Why not an adopted daughter of Dorne?" Boomed the knight who was Lady Gargalen's nephew and heir.

Elia waved them all off. "Peace, sons and daughters of Dorne. We can make a decision once our lords and ladies from the west join us and I get my princely father's blessing. Maybe the honorable houses of Dayne or Yronwood or Uller can help us in these troubled times. For now, enjoy the hospitality of Sunspear and think nothing else of it." With that, the bannermen shrugged and returned to their wine and lovers. Elia called for a flagon of Dornish Strongwine whenever Maester Kale showed himself at his feet. Kale was an old man. A greybeard. Just like half the people in Sunspear. It seemed the next few years would see quite a few replacements. He handed her a scroll. "A raven, my lady. Addressed to the prince, but the circumstances would leave you to read it." Where could this one be from? She looked at the seal. She expected the dragon of Targaryen or the lion of Lannister. She would be receiving more news from both of those sources. Instead, she found a rose. This letter came from Highgarden. What business do the Tyrells have with Dorne? She read through the parchment and sighed. The Tyrells requested a marriage alliance. A girl, Margaery, requested safe passage. Elia sighed. A Tyrell marriage might be smart, but her bannermen would never approve. Not to mention, who could she marry off? The only male in the family that would be allowed to marry was Jaime, and he was too busy with his travels. Enjoying the silk-clad girls and perfumed boys in the Lyseni pleasure houses, hunting for treasures in Valyria, dining on the finest cuisine Pentos had to offer. "Maester Kale, tell Lord Garlan that Sunspear will welcome Lady Margaery. Send a raven to the Fair Rhaegar as well. Inform my father of this. He's going to be the one to greet her." The maester bowed, and retreated to his tower.

Elia fingered the hilt of Nymeria's Talon, uncertain of what to do. Who to declare for. If an alliance with the Tyrells was desirable. What would Queen Daenerys do? What would my father do? What would Queen Nymeria do?

[Jade Confederacy]

Highgarden
When asked to attend Garlan in his travel to Kings Landing, Garth respectfully declined. He cited that the possible threat of renewed Ironbornd raids and his duty as the commander of the Reach fleets to defend the realm’s coast if attacked. He did, however, recommend Lord Florent to be his substitute, saying that Florent’s insight into diplomacy and intrigue would be invaluable in dealing with the den of snakes that was the King’s court.

After saying his piece, Garth withdrew from the crowd and contemplated the political landscape within the Reach. There were three major factions within the court. One was Tyrell camp, with the usual Tyrell lapdogs of Houses Redwyne and Tarly. The second was Hightower faction with his supporters, the Florents and Osgreys. The last were the defunct crown loyalists; those who held allegiance to the Queen rather than their liege lords. Now though, they were among the undecided. It was of paramount importance that they be wooed to the Hightower side as a soon as possible. Their loyalty and more importantly their troops would be needed in the coming storm. Now, as he remembered, the current lord of the Fossoways of Ciderhall had a bad gambling problem and would be in desperate need of a loan…

…

Stepstones
A ship with black sails silently glided into port on the island of Bloodstone, carrying a precious cargo. Once docked, several men in black disembarked, followed by porters carrying three distinct chests. Flanked by Blackfyre men-at-arms, they ascended the steps into the citadel.

There they meet with the Rhaenys Blackfyre, the brother of the pretender king. When asked of their true identity and allegiance, the men simply answered “Those who are loyal to the Targaryen bloodline, their decedents, and the true Kings of Westeros”.

Seeing the uncertainty and in the young Blackfyre’s eyes, the men stated that they bore gifts for the new King and motioned for the chests to be opened.

The first contained neat stacks of golden crowns and vouchers from the Iron Bank, totaling a quarter million pieces, enough to hire out a mercenary company for two years or outfit an army of 50,000 with arms and supplies. The combined shine of the gold, reflected from the torchlight was enough to make one’s eyes water.

The second contained several pieces documents-appearing far more mundane than the contents of the previous chest at first glance, but upon inspection, was no less astounding. When asked of what was written on the parchment, the men in black replied that they were the keys to the kingdom. On it, stated Queen Daenerys’ will for a Blackfyre to inherit in case she died childless. Another parchment contained proof, or so it claimed, of the closeness of the Blackfyre line with the main Targaryen royal bloodline.
When asked how these documents came to be, the men simply stated that they were handed to the previous Grand Maester (who, conveniently, happens to be dead) by Queen Daenerys herself and were kept by the men’s benefactors until her demise.

The last chest, when opened, squeezed gasps of awe from all those in the room. They contained two unspoiled dragon eggs. One was obsidian black and the other bone white. Once, these eggs would have been dismissed as dusty heirlooms, but that all changed when Daenerys birthed three dragons and those dragons burnt all her enemies to ash. Now, every dragon egg was precious and near impossible to obtain.

With the last chest opened, the men in black took out a golden pin with a rising bird ringed with fire in the middle. They stated that the bird was called a phoenix, a near mythical creature that can be only found far east of the Jade Sea. They said that anyone who wears these pins can be considered a friend of the Blackfyre cause and that they would be making contact with the Blackfyre brothers at a later date with another agent. With that, the men exited the citadel and went back aboard their ship. The ships then silently glided back out into the Narrow Sea and disappeared into the rising dawn.

OOC: the document are forged, but the forgery is so well done and the with the royal seal authenticating the documents, it would be very hard to disprove.

[Mormak]

Lord Tywin Lannister the Second

Golden Lion, Narrow Sea

2 Days after the Death of the Dragon Queen

The Ship as it slid from the waters of the great port of blackwater and made way to the sea, Tywin whom stood upon the deck of the Oarship couldn’t help but think this voyage was far too late in it’s coming, had he been back within the Halls of Casterly no doubt he could have prepared far more than simply sending a raven. As it was now, he could only hope Willem had done as instructed and gathered a sizable host of veteran men and made them prepared to march.

As a drop of rain impacted the rough and weathered deck of the ship as swayed slightly as it rode a wave, Tywin gave a look to the rising sun, hidden as it was behind a blanket of thick grayish clouds. They had been making fairly good time so far, the waters of Duskendale had flowed to King’s landing, and from Blackwater bay they had come upon the edge of the Narrow Sea.

As the waters of the Blackwater gave way to the Narrow Sea and the Ship sailed into the vastness of the great body of water separating Westeros from the eastern cities, The weather seemed determined to impede the Warship’s travel. Rain pelted the deck in thick droves, But never the less the Oar Master’s drum continued to beat, the ship struggled against surging tides and waves but it was making progress as it followed the Coastlands south, It would be a lengthy voyage to Casterly but it was by far the swiftest route.

The soaked the Oarman who worked the massive galley forward, further into the swells of the narrow. The captain had already found their heading it seemed given that they were rowing steadily in a single direction, the coastlands of the crownlands still within sight as the sea foamed and spat around the Golden Lion.

Short of that the Golden Lion could only travel northwards towards the Neck and try its luck upon the vast system of rivers, and hope to find a path to the Westerlands. The Sea presented the surest method of travel and the fastest. Tywin stared out at the vast emptiness of the ocean for a moment longer before he turned back and headed below deck to the cabin, he, his uncle and his men at arms were sharing. It would be a long voyage yet.

As he entered the cabin once more, he saw his Uncle formerly of the Queen’s guard dicing and laughing with his Men at Arms. Several skins of wine lay empty upon both the table of their game and the floor around them, Tywin himself was not a patron of lesser amusements of lesser men. His uncle though, He clearly enjoyed himself around his men, Tywin kept his distance from near all though.

His Father Tommen had taught him from a young age to never grow over attached to a subject, a vassal or soldier, for they could call be taken from you. Tywin instead focused upon what could be important, what could be beneficial, to not only the realm or throne but to his house, his lands and his people. He was the Lord of the Westerlands, the people of it his subjects and It was for them and his house that he acted.

Tywin sat himself upon one of the Hay lain bunks that the Captain had insisted the Lannisters take upon boarding, while in truth these were fine accommodations aboard a warship they were inferior to anything the Lannister had ever slept upon prior to coming to King’s Landing aboard the Golden Lion; the first time near four years prior.

As he sat upon the bunk he retrieved a thin slice of yellow cheese that had been left upon the bedside table and cut a fragment of it off with the dirk he kept at his belt, he chewed it slowly and methodically. It was a sharp and bitter cheese, but far better then what most of the realm consumed, After all he was entitled to all the best within the ship’s stores for he was the Lord of the ship and the realm it hailed from.

He chased the last of the flavor from his mouth with a sip of a flagon of arbor gold that be left beside the cheese, Tywin guessed by his uncle whom had resumed his blusterous laughter and cursing with his men as they diced.

“Ser Tytos.” Tywin stated plainly.

“My Lord?” He questioned, good spirits and humor flowing easily from his eyes and tone, as he turned about and rose from his chair albeit with a slight drunken wobble.

“Leave us.” He commanded the men at arms, and slowly but surely they rose from their bunks, their chairs and the floor and stumbled out of the room. The moment the door was secure the lord of Lannister spoke.

“We are to be aboard this vessel for the foreseeable future, Until we dock in Casterly I expect you to act as befits a member of the Queens…Or Rather King’s Guard, and more important, I act for you to act as befits a Lannister.” Tywin commanded.

His uncle was unlike him, He was committed to his duty it was true and he was a man of Solomon and dire action when the need arose but that was their the similarities ended despite the short distance of their age. Tytos was a lively and happy man, he enjoyed being around warriors, Matters of stateship, of rulership and politics both bored and confused him.

He was a man best suited to wielding a sword, so it was thankful the Gods had made him one of the best Lannister swords since Ser Jamie of the King’s Guard of the prior generation.

“Apologies my Lord..” Tytos ground out and fumed slightly, Tywin reflected that perhaps upon occasion Tytos resented the fact that Tommen’s heir had taken presidence over that of Kevan’s son Lancel despite Tommen’s not being Eldest at the time.

“I just want you reflect glory upon our house, to reflect our ability, our power and most of all? I want you to show them that it is still prudent and wise consul to fear the Lannister lion when it is brought forth as a battle sigil and not merely as a procession marker.

“My Lord?” Tytos inquired clearly confused.

“I ordered you to send that raven to Casterly Rock not only to prepare for the worst should the realm to descend into war, but also should chance present it self.” He gave a slight half smile as he flicked a final piece of the cheese into his mouth and chewed it slowly before spitting a chunk of the rind into the floor and swallowing another gulp of arbor gold.

“Chance?” Tytos stated, but it was clear he got the notion of where this was going and didn’t care for it at all.

“A chance to sit a Lannister upon his throne again of course, Tommen was the most current, but he will not be the final. The throne of Westeros, of King’s Landing, The Iron Throne.” Tywin finished his summation.

“By the light of the seven…” Tytos stated his mouth drawn tight.

“Indeed uncle, The Lannisters will ride for war and the throne will be ours if the chance is given…But if a more suitable arrangement can be found for the current generation so be it…Ambition will keep, as will the Lannister house and name. If we can benefit more by backing a king then becoming a king then we back a King. But the throne will be ours again someday, perhaps not today, nor a century from now but the Lion of Casterly will fly from the Halls of the Iron throne again.”

“You mean to take Casterly to war even though we barely survived the prior war of Kings?” Tytos fumed.

“Our force is rebuilt, our wealth is secured and the realm needs us more than most, they will never risk upsetting the balance over much. We can collapse our mines,Casting the rock and its wealth into the sea. Cast Lannisport into the swell and let them see how without our house they enjoy treating with foreigners for gold.”

“Your ambitious nephew”. Tytos finally said with a small smile forming on his lips as he sat upon the bunk next to his nephew.

“A Lannister always pays their debts Uncle…And we owe Westeros quite a bit from the last war. And it will be repaid, With interest. The Baratheons, Tullys, Starks…They will all be paid in full.”

Lord Tywin Lannister the Second

Golden Lion, Narrow Sea

4 Days after the Death of the Dragon Queen

As the Golden Lion entered the southlands, The realm of Dorne, Sunspear and Tywin’s current wife. The Lord of Lannister’s mind kept going back to that moment in the cabin, He had spoke treason against the throne, it had seemed like someone…else had seized his mind for that instant. The House of Lannister had never openly sat upon the Throne but under the guise of Baratheon perhaps his House cried for that honor. Perhaps it was time for a Tywin to sit upon the throne, His Great Grand Father, the first Tywin had been hand of the king twice, His Father had been King. House Martell still hosted Tommen’s sister, His aunt…The only living child of Cersei and Jamie.

As he stared at the sunbaked coasts of the Southlands, he could help but be reminded of his brief foray to Dorne near a decade before that had resulted in his marriage. He had come down there merely to visit his aunt, it had ended with him seeing one of the fairest beauties he had ever borne witness to. She was fair his Mariya, But she was also courteous, dutiful, aware and most of all intelligent. Add in the connections and establishment of the merging of their houses even further and into the current blood and it was a match Tywin couldn’t ignore. He had returned less then six months later to request Mariya’s hand in marriage, due to the increase in relation between Casterly and Dorne the request was approved and they were wed, and with regret his wife had left the land of her people and birth and returned with her Lord Husband to Casterly after the wedding feast. He thought about diverting course and heading to the sea of Dorne and visting the Lands of the Martells again, but only briefly his own people needed him far more then he needed to see the Martells.
The sight of Lannister Crimision flying over the sail was now a welcome sight of the Dornish coasts, Where once it would provoke an attack, now it would call forth the same courtesy a Martell sigil would receive for the most part.

The sea gave way to an even further expanse of the waters of the narrow as the Oarship continued to push for the waters and berth of Lannisport, The weather that had given them trouble out of blackwater and into the narrow was absent now, it had been clear and magnificent for the past day and it seemed it would remain so for the remainder of their voyage too.

the captain who was adequate at reading the Heavens, Had informed him that, They were making good time and would likely would be within Lannisport inside the week.

[Arlye Austros]

The Southern Causeway, The Neck
Orphan´s Ford
-Howland Reed-

Howland was numb due to cold. It was a cold noon, and after a small meal on the boat, he was only feeling more cold. But now, the small dock in the swamp was drawing near, marking the end of their boat trip, however small was the rest. Two armed men carrying the Reed banner stood watch on the small wooden platform, and helped Howland out of the boat. In front of him, The Neck seemed to change, and thin strip of dry line known as "The Causeway" seemed like an actual different region from the Neck. But the eye could be confused in that part of the world, and as any Crannogman, Howland Reed knew when not to trust his own eye.

He walked into the border of the Causeway, into a small camp they called "The Bog´s Eye", a small group of cottages entrenched to the east, south and north, and open to the marsh. It was barely defended, with only five armed men and three archers. It was also the place messages to the Neck could most easily pass through, as they would be taken on boat by Crannogmen to Greywater Watch.

Howland was greeted by the Crannogmen there, and walked to the central house, where the Captain of the place, Richard Lonmell, gave him a roll of paper. His heart stopped.

"Queen Daenerys... she died..." he muttered. Richard was astonished.
"The Queen? How? When?"
"This message was written by Elsen Marsh, who is our informant in King´s Landing. He wrote this as soon events unfolded, date... It was five days ago. He was fast, I must admit." He gave the letter to the Captain, and continued. "There was a meeting in the Red Keep. We don´t know what happened, but Lord Lannister left King´s Landing short after."
The Captain of the Bog´s Eye was speechless.
"My Lord... do you think..."
"That we will have a war again?" He completed the question. "I don´t know... but my guts tell me it should be heading down that way. If so, I don´t doubt Lord Rickon will call us." He looked around. "And you will have some work to do."
The Captain entered, and he was followed by the Lord of the Neck. They both took seat around a small wooden table. A fire kept the small cabin protected from the cold, and three beds were unmade and in the need of a sheet wash. Lord Howland did not cared. "I wan´t you to reinforce this place, Richard. Stakes near the entrances, and patrol posts across the Causeway. Let´s be sure we are ready to answer. I will also send twenty of my men here. I will return to Greywater, then I will bring them to you."
"Bring them, My Lord?" Richard asked. He looked outside, maybe to check nobody was listening.
"I will head south myself. If there is a funeral, I would like to be there."

Brandon Reed
He rushed into his room in a hurry, running from something... He wasn´t sure. He looked out the window, into the marshes, gloomy trees watching above a thin mist that came in from the west. His aunt was crazy, that was the only answer. She had just said Bran should have raised Howland... his father maybe? But How could he raise his own father? It made no sense. And he spoke of Jojen, but he suspected she was referring to his Grandfather, who died north of the Wall, when they travelled there with Brandon Stark...
Maybe Meera refered to Brandon? That would imply...
No! It was madness! It was inseign. She was mad. Bran walked away from the window, even more confused. But the words whispering in the back of his head continued to repeat his own answer. "That you are a Stark." He washed his face on an iron bowl they placed in his room. He felt feverish once more. And just before he could even start shooting some arrows as he wanted. Now, he could only think of going to speak to Meera again, but he was too scared for it.

[Imperium Nova]

The Narrow Sea
Afternoon

It was a fine day, Monford could feel it in his bones. Having grown up on the seas and followin his uncle and grandfather into battle as a young lad he was no stranger to the tides. He stood on the stern rail on the Balerion, looking out over the Narrow Sea, almost hinting Bloodstone far back, beyond the horizon. He inhaled deeply, smelling the fresh salt water air. It seemed so different from the one that he had gotten used to from Torturer's Deep since he was put on the council by his cousin, oh how he loved the High Seas.

"Lord Monford!" He heard the voice cry out from behind him, and he recognised it immediately. The wise Admiral turned around on his heels, his teal cape swaying in the winds of the Narrow Sea.
"Your Grace." The Lord said, bowing gracefully to the large man that was approaching him, towering over the rest of the men in both size and splendour.
"Lord Monford. I hope that there is nothing that displeases you on this journey so far." The King said, signaling with his hand that the Velaryon could rise.

"Not at all, Your Grace. It seems to so far be a fine journey, the gods be good." Monford stated, and he was not saying it for idle talk. He was, and remains, deeply religious.
"Well, let's hope that will continue. We don't want to spoil our fine journey, now do we?" Daemon said rhetorically, continuing on. "I plan on taking the route straight north, past Tarth and then arrive on Dragonstone. From there we will seek the support of House Crassius."

"And Your Grace is confident that we will find support in House Crassius? They may be a dragon but that does not guarantee anything of the sorts." Monford said timidly, although he did wish to see Dragonstone and Driftmark, and his kinsmen there.
"I am confident in the White Dragon's aid to our cause, we have a common goal after all." The King bluntly stated. "There be no worrying of their loyalty on this matter, Lord Monford." Monford was thinking of something to counter the King with, but before such he heard the ship's lookout cry out.
"Ship! Warship on the horizon!"

Daemon smiled.
"It seems we have company. Grab me the spyglass!" He ordered, and a shipmate soon came running with one, presenting it to the King as he put it to his eye.
"Lord Monford," He started, and the Grand Admiral turned his gaze yet again to his King "I think we need to prepare a warm welcome to our guests."
"Your Grace?" The Grand Admiral replied worryingly.
"The Lion comes to dine with the Dragon." The King said as he gave away the spyglass and moved down the staircase, letting out words to the rest of the ships.


The Blackfyre ships drew closer to the lone Lannister one, the main ship drawing closest to the Golden Lion, trying to come as close as possible.

[Mormak]

Lord Tywin the second

The Golden Lion, Narrow Sea

Afternoon, Four days since the death of the Dragon Queen

One minute the seas before them had been clear and now they were filling with ships, Shouts of alarm echoed as the Captains ordered the scant defenses of the ship be readied and they prepared to fight to defend the Lord of Casterly rock. Lannister sell swords, Men at Arms, and even a few Sailors produced blades, The Lannister hirelings and their small number of men at arms bore castle forged steel and the crimson raiment’s of Casterly. The Sailors bore whatever cheap iron was affordable to them and their own rough spun tunics.

The approach of vessels, especially Pirate warships sent the crew into a frenzy, Orders were barked by the captain and Oarmen began to turn the twin deck, 100 oarship around. The fearsome wedge of bronze and steel that formed the former Lannister warship’s ram gleamed as it broke water. The Ship’s two mounted Ballistae were being prepared and loaded, but As Tywin surveyed the enemy formation he knew they were outmatched, and furthermore they weren’t already under fire from the pirates that was odd.

“Hand me the spyglass, hurry now!” Tywin commanded of the Navigator.

One ship was veering closer to their aft, but apart from that it appeared that there was no hostile intention forth coming from the vessels of…Tywin’s blood boiled and froze within an instant before lighting aflame again. Blackfyre the bastard cousins that the small council had deemed close enough to the late dragon queen to be handed the throne. The bastardized Tarygarian Sigil was enough to make him grip the hilt of his sword.

He roughly shoved the spyglass back into the hands of the map bearing man as he rushed into a pair of Men at arms, who were bearing his mesh and pauldrons, it wouldn’t have the same protection as a true piece of plate but it was the they could do on short notice. Tywin stored their loyalty and creativity away fro later, it was always useful to note whom the most useful servants of the House were.

It was true there was no ill between their two houses, but his regency was cast out of hand in favor of their appointment, it was a stain upon the honor of both him and his house.

As the nearest BlackFyre vessel passed within crossbow range, the captain gave the order to fire, but that was not a second later Belayed as the Lord of Lannister now clad once more within the crimson velvet surcoat that bore the lion sigil of his house, along with a chained hauberk beneath it stained Lannister field red. It was good to be wearing armor again, he felt the familiar weight of the steel and he could move as gracefully and swiftly within it as he could clad in his small clothes.

“Do not fire.” Lord Tywin commanded as he approached the captain.

“They have us at a disadvantage, we cannot hope to win this battle, so it is best not seek when its obvious they wish something more then our lives…” It was true that pirates occasionally pillaged the dornish coasts, and House Martell maintained a sizable warfleet for that very purpose but, Tywin didn't even know if they were out this far in the Narrow sea.

They could expect no help beyond what they could give themselves.

With that in mind he lent forward against the railing just as his Uncle approached his side, Unlike Tywin Tytos as usual was still clad in full plate, bearing the fearsome Long blade as he often did, Longswords were Tytos’s specialty, while some Knights were fearsome in their strength or relied upon speed. Tytos had near inhuman levels of power within his arms and back, it was why he was capable of nearly sprinting in full armor despite the weight.

“Call their intention Tywin commanded of his uncle.”

“What business do you have with House Lannister?” Tytos screamed across, his voice his hoarse with effort and his usual boisterous confidence.

Tywin stared at the approaching ship, He didn’t know what these raiders who would be king wished of House Lannister, but he knew he would remember this day. House Lannister never forgot and it always repaid what was owed. Be it gratitude or vengeance.

[Imperium Nova]

The Narrow Sea
Afternoon

"My Lord Tywin!" Daemon exclaimed as he clutched the railing of the Balerion. "Who would have known that one would have such a fine meeting here on the High Seas!" Daemon looked over to the other shide of the Lannister ship as Helfyre, the old Flagship and formerly named Lord Tywin drew up besides it, now engulfing the smaller Lannister boat. The commander of it, Lord Orin, signaling to his men to stand in formation by the railing.

Lord Monford approached the King behind him, standing beside him as they looked down to the Lannister boat.
"Surely, we can not stand here for idle chit-chat, not in the presence of the Lord of the Westerlands. Please, my Lord, come over. There is much to discuss." The King said as he motioned for a gangplank to be drawn up between the two ships.

"There is no need for fighting here, Your Lordship can count himself among friends, as long as you are under my protection that is." Daemon put his hand on the hilt of his sword, not to draw it but simply to rest.
"Your Grace, if I may." Monford said as he looked up at his king, signaling for them to speak in private for a short moment while the men would take care of the possible gangplank. "The Westerlands are rich, why not we skip these niceties and just ransom the Lord Tywin? We would gain a hefty sum of gold for it. If they decline, we just sink their ship."

"Ah," the King replied, putting his hand on the Grand Admiral's shoulder as he spoke, "we could do that. But there is no need for it, nor is it wise. You may still have your pirate-ways in you, but if we are to take the Seven Kingdoms, we need to act as more than common pirates. And imprisoning a future Lord Paramount is not the best way to start your rule." Daemon stated as he looked back to the Lannisters, awaiting a response.

[Mormak]

Lord Tywin the second

The Golden Lion, Narrow Sea

Afternoon, Four days since the death of the Dragon Queen

“KNOW YOUR PLACE PIRATE!” Tytos exclaimed at the casual greetings of the Blackfyre, outnumbered or no, this was the head of his household.

The twin decked War Galley looked positively small as the larger oarship pushed alongside it, a plank was lowered and an offer of hospitality extended.

“We have no choice.” Tytos ground his teeth, With the Flagship having closed the distance and the plank boarded, their ship was locked together with the enemy, their scant handful of soldiers, were likely severely outnumbered compared to the other ship’s crew, and not to leave out the matter of the other vessels of the Blackfyre fleet.

“Uncle, We are Lannister’s we always have a choice.” Warden of the West and Head of the Lannister household stated simply, in truth he was surprised by this turn of events but he would adapt quickly, he knew these pirates, while they were no Ironmen they were still raiders all the same.

“Oh?” Tytos commented on but before he had gotten an answer the head of the Lannister household gave a nod. He would accept their hospitality.

As Lannister men at arms took up position at the gang plank to form an honorguard Tywin pushed off the railing and approached, the Velvet surcoat boring the sigil of the raised lion swaying in the sea spray and gusting wind. His golden hair, cut short but still swaying in the fierce breeze as he climbed the plank and the Guards followed behind, Tytos just behind them.

As he reached the top deck of the Blackfyre flagship, his procession fell in behind him apart from his uncle, the Former Queen’s guard as usual stood at his side. He saw whom him presumed to be the Lord BlackFyre and, his second, bodyguard, relative…He had never encountered a blackfyre, and he knew nothing of the modern structuring of their house.

All the Blackfyres he could recite by name, were merely words on paper he had read from tomes or scrolls. Lost to history long before his birth due to their rebellion against their greater house.

“You know my name Blackfryre, I am not aware of your own.” Tywin had abandoned the typical gold lacquering that he often wore in court or king’s landing, but he still bore the fearsome emerald eyes, and piercing golden blond hair that marked him.

“Before we commence with anything else, We should at least greet each other properly.” Lord Tywin instructed as he went through the common courtesies of the realm.

“I am Lord Tywin of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport, Lord paramount of the Westerlands. And you are?” Tywin stated, his posture was relaxed, his hands loosely at his sides. He could draw his blade and have it planted in this “Lord” inside four heartbeats and he knew he could do it, His skills may have been decaying from what they were in his younger years but he was still blessed with some youth and he had kept his sword arm strong.

But for now at least, words were all that would be exchanged here upon their ship when hospitality had been offered.

[Imperium Nova]

The Narrow Sea
Afternoon

Daemon was impressed by the Lannister, he seemed to stand tall and strong, and his velvet surcoat ornated with the proud Lannister Lion. He seemed much like Daemon himself, perhaps even taller. And not weak either as the years seemed to not have taken its full toll on him as of yet. However not as much could be said about the other man, older and with less grace in diplomatical matters.

He had heard about this Tywin Lannister, and he seemed to both be a good administrator, and an able fighter. He imagined for a moment if the Lion would charge towards him, but then dismissed the thought. The Lannister was a guest, and as he read his full title to Daemon he yet again returned his left hand to the hilt of his sword, gazing firmly into the eyes of the Lion.

Daemon straightened, his ornate plate armour rustling slightly and the Blackfyre tabard straightened, showing the full splendour of the black dragon.
"I am Daemon of the House Blackfyre the third of His Name, King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Daemon expressed with an authoritative voice, and then, waving to Monford, dressed in a more simple armour and with his teal mantle swaying behind him, who was standing slightly behind him on his right he stated "This is Lord Monford Velaryon, Regent and Grand Admiral of the Stepstones, Lord of the Waters and of Torturer's Deep. My mother's cousin."

The King then looked over to the man besides Tywin, who seemed to be of great importance nonetheless.
"It is an honour to meet you, Lord Tywin. However, your..." He paused for a moment, contemplating on what word to use, "'friend' here does not seem to be of the same feeling." Daemon looked to his Grand Admiral who simply nodded, already knowing the question.

"Lord Tywin, we can not stand here idly debating titles. I'd instead suggest moving down to the Captain's Quarters, you and your 'friend' must surely be hungry, and the cooks make the most marvellous of meals. Would you care to join me?" He said as he pointed downwards to the Captain's quarters, noticing how the Blackfyre soldiers onboard the ship had positioned themselves in formation on the deck.

The Stepstones, Bloodstone
Late Evening

Lord Aegon stood in one of the rooms in the Royal Quarters of the Black Keep. The room was large, with the Blackfyre banners hanging from the walls and a massive chandeleir perched from the celing, lighting up the room. Before him laid the chests that he had been given by the black-clad men, the glittering gold, the documents and, the most impressive of all, the two dragon eggs. One as black as the night itself and the other one white as milk.

His sister clutching his side, leaning on his broad shoulders and her beautiful silver hair flowing down his back.
"Are they not wonderful, sister?" Aegon said, hinting to the dragon eggs, as he gently stroked her arm.
"They are, dear brother. Almost as beautiful as I am." She giggled a bit as she looked up to her brother, and then treaded lightly over to the dragon eggs.

"They're so heavy." She exclaimed as she tried to lift one, having to use both her hands to get the black egg out of the chest.
"The people of old believed that time had turned them to stone. Oh were they wrong when Daenarys hatched three dragons from eggs just like these. And with those she conquered the Seven Kingdoms and defended them against the Others." He spoke as he approached his sister, kneeling down beside her.

"After the death of the last dragon, at that time, the foolish Usurper-Targaryens triedd in various ways to hatch dragons, even burning themselves in their house of Summerhall once." He took away some of her sister's hair from her face, putting it behind her ear. "But we know better, don't we, sister?"

[The United Realms Of Lords and Paradox]

Harrenhal
kingspyre tower

With the morning Sun raising the light peeks into the Lord Chambers in the Kingspyre, with the Light the heat followed across the room from the widow laid a large feather bed with Lord Brynden laying on top of a swelling belly with his ear down into it. Lady Spoke up “So… Are you going to attend the funeral?” Brynden moved round to face Simone and with thoughtful look with a smile” I will be sending Jon, I don’t want to leave you this close to birth, Jon asked to take the House and GC standards and has selected good men. But I’m worried that the snake pit will be the end of him; He has had a shelter life in the riverlands not having to deal with the cloak and daggers of Kings-landing. Do you think this is the right thing to do with the realm nearly at braking point?”
Simone embraced Him Kissing him on the cheek telling Him” trust your brother he is not a bunny, He’ll know when to get out of there “he nodded as he pull himself up from the bed Heading for the door into the Hall. As he stepped into the hall he saw Mark the slob was passed out in his own puke and wondered if this was the harren curse He chuckled moved over to Jon. who was still in his chair watching the fire die down” Jon? You ready for your trip to kings landing” as the words left the young lords mouth Jon stood in his Beast plate and scaled Armour” The men are ready and awaiting me brother” The Lord took his brother by the shoulder” promise me any sign of things going wrong come right back: Jon smiled “right…. Come right back, maybe after visiting the ladies of the night. Well... I will see you later brother”
As Jon walked out of room the lord focus back at mark with a smile that showed he had devious plans for him.

[Logistica Suprema]

Garlan Tyrell
The Roseroad, the Crownlands
Garlan Tyrell had been five days riding on the Roseroad, breaking the strength of the horses he and his men rode. With him was Lord Randyll Tarly and Lord Alester Florent, amongst twenty knights and guards. Garlan Tyrell liked having the Florent beside him. The man was a shrewd one, abandoning House Tyrell as soon as House Hightower offered something better. Garlan had no doubt that the Lord meant to convey his knowledge to Lord Hightower, but he had removed Florent from a position of immediate assistance to Garth.
Here, the whispers of Hightower could not reach Florent’s ears. As Garlan began to see the change of the scenery, he knew he must speak to Florent shortly. Every second wasted was dooming the opportunity.
It was only when they had crossed into the Crownlands that Garlan found his pretext. They had stopped for the night, and this time, on the road. While the men were going over the business of making camp, Garlan sat beside Lord Florent. He was still wearing his armor. From a pouch on his sword belt, he produced a note. It read:

Lord Florent, I am aware of you allegiance to Lord Hightower over myself. I cannot blame you. Lord Hightower has given you much and more . . . yet how much can he truly give you? I am Lord Paramount. My wealth is greater than Lord Hightower’s, and my strength as well. My father restored you to Brightwater Keep. I can give you more. I can put the blood of House Tyrell within your own House’s, and raise you higher than House Hightower shall ever be. I have a young brother, and you a young daughter. I purpose we wed them, and forge a new strength between the Houses Tyrell and Florent against this Hightower threat. When we are done with this, you shall remain my staunchest ally in the Reach. Return this to say yes, and burn it to say no. Consider carefully, Lord Florent. Would you gamble on a chance at power with Hightower, risking all . . . or have it secured with me?

As Florent read it, Garlan felt his hand twitch.

[Arlye Austros]

Greaywater Watch
He had set back home too late to make the arrival with day light, making preparations to the deepest level. And insisted on doing the crossing of the bogs at night if necessary. Howland stepped out of the raft and walked into the fortification, traspassing the outside stone wall. The door of the Keep opened, and the figure of his castellan walked towards him.
"My Lord..."
"Tammard, is everything in order?"
The castellan, a man in his 30s, seemed unsure. "Not quite. Your aunt Meera. She has been acting... strange. She wont come back from her daydreaming, and seemed to be calmed upon being in front of the Weirwood."
Howland looked at the Godswood, the white branches of the tree were visible over the lower wall.
"Don´t see what´s the problem."
"Your son... He says your Aunt spoke to him before she had the episode. He claims he wants to speak to you only and has locked himself in his room."
Howland sighed. "I will speak to him. Is my aunt asleep?"
The man seemed to wish he was somewhere else. "I beg your pardon, My Lord, but your Aunt refused our attempts to take her back to her chambers. She is still in the Godswood."
"What?!" He walked by the castellan to the Godswood. Tammard followed him. "In this place everyone seems to have lost their mind!"

Meera was asleep on a flat rock in front of the Weirwood. Her face seemed to be freezing, but curiously, she seemed happy, and less old.
"Aunt?" He said softly. "Aunty, you need to get inside." He moved her gently and she woke up slowly.
"Oh! My Boy! I was dreaming about you."
"That´s good, Aunt, but its freezing here."
She sat on the stone, rubbing her eyes. "Your son... Bran. I think I scared him." She looked fine, and Howland wondered if she had spoken to anyone since she was taken there. It was like if nothing had happened.
"You remember what you told him?"
"I do... I think I do. I am sorry I said that."
He passed his arm around her shoulder. "It is freezing cold here, let´s go inside." She nodded, looking at the face carved in the tree. After a while she stood up and accepted his guidance into the Keep. Howland looked at Tammard. "Go to the kitchens and bring her something warm. After that tell Gerron to go to her chamber." The man agreed and rushed through the front courtyard.
Inside the Main Hall, barely large enough to hold an avarage party, it was warm, and only two men of his house hold were grabbing the last remnants of the meals they had consumed. they looked at Howland and acted quickly to leave the two alone. A short while after Tammard brought a soup made with fish bones and herbs, then left to the north wing.
"Tell me, aunt, what did you told Brandon?"
But she was looking at the western side. Standing on the entrance of the hall, his son Brandon looked at them. He seemed expectant on what was going to happen. Howland calle him over with a move of his arm.
"Son, are you alright?"
He noded. His fever was clearly gone, but he seemed as if he had spets for hours. His eyes were bright, and his hair was spiked upside on one side of his head. Bran took seat in front of them, looking at his Aunt. The woman seemed sad, but forced a smile after taking a sip from her soup.
The silence was tense for a minute, and Howland grew desperate to break it. "Care telling me what happened?"
Both old lady and child looked each other. Meera broke the silence then. "I said... something to Bran. I didn´t meant to, but I thought..."
"She told me..." Bran tried to help her.
"She told you..." Howland insisted. Meera sighed and kept going.
"I told him about your father."
"My father died long ago."
"It´s a chance." She answered, sounding even younger. Howland raised an eyebrow.
"A chance? You said he was dying by the time you left, about to give in to the illness he had fend off for years."
Meera looked down for a few seconds.
"She said that I should have taken care of you as my son... well..." Bran said. "She was talking to me, but not really. She spoke to someone called "Bran", and said that he should have raised "Howland". I know it makes no sense, but... I am sorry, Aunt, but you were not being logic." He looked at her. The old woman smiled.
"I was not, child. But what I said was right... I have been lying all this years, Howland. Your father did not bore the name of Jojen Reed, nor did my brother spent a night with a wildling. He was too weak for that. But through all those years, all those days of walk, me and Brandon Stark formed a bond... I think he did before me, but it time, it was mutual. I loved him, and after the Winter seemed to draw back, if such thing is possible in that place, I became pregnant."
Howland was now silent. Bran seemed actually relieved. "Can I go, father?" He asked. Howland noded slightly, still looking at his so-far aunt.
"Jojen told me that a son of Bran Stark would never be safe, and that a son of mine could not receive the Lordship of The Neck without a bloodbath. He was smart enough to give you his name, it solved both problems. I forced myself to lie and say to my own son, who I raised as mine, that he had no mother other than a dead wildling, without a name or a face at all. I saw you cry over your missery, and forced myself to be silent, biting my own bitter thoughts. But I knew that if I told you the truth it would all come down to you being endangered. I wish I had kept the secret to the grave."
He reached her face, touching her chick and looking her in the eye. She was his mother, at least that is what she said, and when he wondered if he could love as a mother a woman he thought wasn´t, not knowing what a mother was, at that age, he realized there was no difference. That woman had loved her for an entire life, and to all practical effects, she was his true mother.
"I am glad we came to this."

Next Day
The caravan arrived the next morning, Tayra and Jojen rushed into his chamber, but he was already awake, looking at some maps.
"Tammard told us to come here." She said. His son Jojen was confused. "What is it, Father?"
He raised his sight. He had been awake the whole night, and was tired as he had never been. He explained them the events of the last day. When he was over Jojen was now astonished. "That means..."
Howland walked to the door and checked it was closed. "That means you are a Stark, at least if you believe Meera." He now avoided calling her "aunt", not sure what to believe. "If that is true, not only you are the member of an old lineage, but also means two things, you would not inherit the neck, and put Rickon Stark´s power in danger. I am most likely too old to claim anything, but by Right I would be the Heir to Winterfell, and should be sitting there instead of Rickon Stark."
It was too much to digest, and needed something to think about away from those linage things. He grabbed three glasses from a cupboard on the wall and filled them with some wine from the Westerlands, then offered two to his kin. "It is madness!"

His wife drank, then spoke. "But if your aunt is right, then what? You have to do something."
He had thought of that. Howland walked back to the maps. "There is even more. Queen Daenerys died, at least a week ago. That means Lord Rickon will either enter a power fray with the other Lords, or return North and stay out of it. I expect my liege to call me anytime now. If that comes to pass, I will march, North or South. I must be sure I am among the firsts, that no other High Lord of the North is between me and Lord Rickon. Then I will tell him. Wether he believes it or not, its up to him. But I will not risk this all... My family, My People, I will not risk you to face the wrath of Lord Rickon."

"Telling him seems like the opposite, Father." Jojen said.

"That is why you are leaving, son. Take your brother, your sister, your mother and your... Meera... Take them all away. Somewhere safe. It´s up to you. I don´t want to be able to turn you in should the Lord force me to speak."

Tarya had already emptied his cup, and took sit. "Still... the claims of some old Reed are not enough to even threat the Lord Paramount of the North, Howland. Wether Rickon believes her story, who would raise arms for you. You are no danger at all."
"There is one who could speak. Although I think he is already dead, and if he is not, there is little he can say." He laughed a bitter single laugh "There is only one thing he could ever say... His own name."

[Mormak]

Lord Tywin the second

Blackfyre Flagship ,Narrow Sea

Afternoon, Four days since the death of the Dragon Queen

“Ah, Your grace then.” Tywin intoned lightly, bowing his head in a firm nod.

Tytos merely gave the selfnamed King a long stare, Tywin on the other hand actually quirked a small smile. His uncle noticed that and thus prompted conversation.

“Nephew it appears we stand before the very man, they spoke of placing upon the throne.”

“Indeed it appears such Uncle, it appears as so, Forgive me my lord, But if you were not aware I was formerly of the Small council of King’s landing. I acted in the office of Master of Ships, I resigned said office however when, it became apparent that…sycophants at court deemed Lannister regency to be a…unwise decision. Obviously I could not in good faith to gods, or house be sworn to such a council having dealing insult to the honor and name of Lannister.”

“In the very meeting of my resignation, I bore witness the proposal of Blackfyre being nominated to the throne, but it was among many others mentioned, chiefly Baratheon.”

He doubted if the Blackfyre aware of the aftermath of that small council meeting, Tywin had not borne witness to its result so he ultimately had not an idea whom if any had been selected to act in accord as regent until the nomination of a new dynasty.

Tytos didn’t apparently care for not being recognized as both a fairly renowned knight and former blade of the Queen’s Guard. His neck flushed a purple and his brow tightened, And his hand went to his back were a fearsome greatsword had been strapped rather then to the longsword at his belt, but His nephew simply placed on a hand upon his shoulder.

“Apologies my liege.” Tytos ground out in frustration and his hand returned to his side, Tywin ignored the way he had addressed for the moment and instead focused upon smothering out this situation.

“Ah, Apologies…This is my Uncle Ser Tytos Lannister. Son of Lancel, Son of Ser Kevan Lannister, Brother of Tywin Lannister first of his name. Formerly of the Queen’s guard and Master of arms at Casterly Rock. And Knight of the Lion.”

“As for supping with the good king? Very well, I once dined with Queen Daenerys on the eve she anointed me Master of Ships, Although I do admit I am in no state for dining with a royal Patron, This armor is hardly of worth and this coat is worn from sea and travel. But I will accept the offer. Uncle will you remain with the men or shall you accompany me to dine with our King?”

“I will of course accompany you my Lord.” His neck had returned to his natural fair and weather worn color, and his eyes had resumed their knightly steely hue. Rules of hospitality aside, these were pirates and Tytos had survived an Ironborn raid during his youth and he had never forgotten the savagery of it, he would sooner be cast into any of the seven hells before abandoning the Lord of his house to these men.

“Well then shall we you’re grace?”

[Nuxipal]

Barrowton

Banners of the houses of the Rills were coming into the town as the men they planned on having go with Lord Ryswell. Many of them brought their sons and a few brought a daughter along hoping to marry them to Torrhen or Mark and gain favor with their liege lords. The town was busy with all the new lords and soldiers in town. It took time, but the troops from most of the other holds were there. The Stouts were keeping to their own castle much of the time, but once the last banner came in to the city Lord Stout joined the other high lords at Barrow Hall for a meeting.

Barrow Hall

"Why now? What does Lord Stark think is about to happen?" shouted one of the bannermen. To this Lord Ryswell stood and spoke, "The Queen is dead. and Lord Stark does not wish to be caught off guard should the Lannisters, Tyrells, or any other lords seek the throne. Personally, I'd love the north to be rid of those southerners once and for all. We have no need of them. It is true, many of you have people in your holds who now hold the Seven of the south just as high as our gods. But the Old Gods are the ones that protect us here. They were there when the Andal invasions were stopped and they were there to bring the Dragons back when the Others came again. They will be there when we need them again in the future. We will see what Lord Stark wants of us when we arrive at Winterfell."

The lords tend to agree with him. The main course is brought out and Torrhen catches his father's eye and motions that he needs to speak with him in private. They leave the great table to confer in a back room.

"Father, I have a question for you. While I was in the Library I found a wooden box. Looks like it hadn't been there more than a few decades. Probably only a few years older than me. When I opened it..." His father's eyes grew wide. He had almost forgotten he had placed that there. His son walked over to the stone table where a folded quilt was and pulled out from what was inside. It was a valyrian steel sword. Black blade with a red guard. The Pommel was capped with a black marble horse head whose eyes were rubies.

"Where did you get this father? You never mentioned we had one of these just lying about in the castle." Lord Ryswell looked almost shocked that it was infront of him. "I told you that before your mother and I were married I traveled a lot. Well, that blade came into my possession in Qarth. I.. well I persuaded a trader there that it was actually my family's ancestral blade. He sold it to me at a distinctly discounted price... that'd be the price I wanted to pay as he was at sword point. At the time I wanted to collect enough Valyrian Steel to have a hammer forged for myself. Unfortunately my ship's captain refused to sail into the Jade Sea. So we turned back and I was unable to get more valyrian steel. I kept the sword hidden here until I could get more. Never learned the name of this blade however.."

"So you essentially stole a valyrian steel sword.." "I didn't steal it.. I just paid a fraction of the asking price"

"FIne fine, you didn't steal it. The next question is, may I take it. You don't use a sword. I have never seen you even pick one up. Mark is taking after you and prefers maces and hammers. Let me take it and make it our family sword." After this William Ryswell looked over Torrhen and then the blade then back to Torrhen. "Fine, it is yours. Name it what you will. The family needs its own sword anyway."

With that Torrhen replaced his sword with the Valyrian Steel blade. He was mulling over names before settling on one. He settled back into his seat, at his side Nightmare rested. The rest of the feast was a bore. Torrhen was talked to by several lords looking to wed their daughters to him. Several of the daughters themselves made attempts to lure his attention away from the table. However, he had no intention of marrying any of his father's banner's daughters. Instead he had sent ravens to several minor lords in the south who would be able to give him names and locations of noble lords who would have daughters of the correct age for him to wed. This served a dual purpose of finding who would be available for Mark as well.

The Following Day

Given a days rest the Lords followed William Ryswell out of Barrowton heading north along the Kingsroad. With them some 2700 Soldiers from across the Barrowlands and the Rills. Meanwhile in Barrow Hall Torrhen has taken the regency while his father was away. He began drilling the men his father left behind in Barrowton. Particularly the 400 cavalry that were left with him. House Ryswell had a horse for their sigil for a reason. The Rills were home to some of the best cavalry in the north. Now with the move to Barrowton, House Ryswell brought their knowledge of horses with them. Now with a larger population to work with and horses bred from Dothraki stocks during the war against the Others, house Ryswell horsemen are truly top tier.

"Alright men, my father may be away with half of the cavalry force, but that doesn't mean we get to rest. I will be taking up drilling here as well as recruiting. And believe me, we are going to need recruiting."

They go about their daily drills before returning to Barrowton and to Barrow Hall inside the city. Along the way Torrhen talks with shop keepers, blacksmiths, innkeeps, and other people of the town who would be able to get word around about recruiting a stronger city watch. There was going to be a recruitment drive for the city watch as well as other military units in the coming days. Torrhen hoped this would prepare Barrowton for anything that came its way.

[Lunas Legion]

The Whispering Tower, Riverrun

The Whispering Tower was only recently finished; although construction on the new central keep of Riverrun had started only shortly after the end of the Second Long Night, there had been numerous setbacks along the way, but it had been finished nonetheless.

Lord Bryden was in his solar when the raven arrived; his Maester, Quoren, had brought the message with all haste, ordering servants to bring Lord Jason to Bryden's solar. Quoren was a large man, with a clean-shaven face and a faint wisp of brown hair on his otherwise bald head. He was a man with a voice like thunder and the ability to shout just about anyone into submission, and both Bryden and Jason often wondered why in the seven bells he'd become a Maester.

But that didn't matter now. As Quoren entered the brightly lit solar, a large window on south side letting light stream into the room, Bryden sat up from where he'd been slouching in a chair, pushed the empty goblet on a table next to him away, and spoke.

"So, out with it Quoren. What has my brother said today to offend her grace?"

Jason smiled. He sat opposite Bryden, but had no goblet. He didn't drink, or not much. He had little taste for wine. "I should like to know too what uncle Bran has sent."

"I am afraid, my lords, that her grace has passed away."

The pair stared at Quoren in a mix of shock and surprise for a moment, before Bryden spoke. "Then the realm will be in mourning, and a successor must be selected."

"But there is no successor." Jason pointed out. "Both the Lannisters and Martells have claims, alongside the Baratheons."

"And, my lords, earlier I received a raven from a supposed Blackfyre on the Stepstones who intends to claim the throne for himself." Quoren added.

"Chaos and anarchy shall once again rein free..." Bryden muttered. "We have no choice." He spoke up, almost shouting. "Quoren, summon the banners to Riverrun immediately. We cannot delay. Jason, send a raven back to King's Landing to advise Bran and Adam to leave immediately, and a second to House Baratheon saying..." Bryden fumbled for words. "I don't know, think of something! Go, boy!"

With that, Jason strode out of the room, Quoren trailing slightly behind.

"And once again, the realm degenerates into a mess of backstabbing fiefdoms, bickering over land." Bryden spoke aloud to himself. "We have the Baratheons, the Lannisters have the Martells or vice versa. The Hardyng-Starks and Starks will squat behind the Bloody Gate and Moat Cailin respectively, the alliance between us and the Starks gone since the war of the 5 Kings. The final factor is the Tyrells, who have no reason to love us, yet no reason to back the Lannisters if they push their claim. And then there are the Blackfyres, the unknown... Too many damned unknowns. I'll sleep on this." With that Bryden shut his door, walked over to his bed, and lay down, silently staring at the ceiling, planning.

[Givious]

Kings Landing, Red Keep

Vesarys and Loran approach the Red Keep; the castle seeming almost in disarray. With the Queen dead it would fall to the Hand to keep things in order, and with so many lord trying their hands at the Iron Throne, that position may lay empty. Upon entering the main hall Vesarys grabs one of the Guards

"Get me the Hand of the Queen and the Lord Commander of the Queensguard. Now, please."

Loran stands behind his uncle, still wearing his uniform of the Queensguard.

Kings Landing, Great Sept

Jacherys paces impatiently. The High Septon had not come from his quarters in hours now. Being a man of the faith he knew that things would find their way. The Queen was dead, throwing the nobility into shambles. The Grandmaester was dead, throwing the maesters into chaos as a new one was selected. One more figure, and things may break down. A messenger came running up to him, handing him a small note. Written on it was that his brothers were in the capital. "Good, I will go see them soon after I have had my audience with the High Septon" he thought to himself. He then began pacing once more.

---

Rosby, Crownlands

Mekar rode into the town with thunder following him. His horses hoofbeats drowned out any noise. As he rode into the castle gates he was welcomed as a Lord. Pulling out a piece of parchment he approaches the castle, and upon entering comes face to face with Lord Stokeworth. House Crassius had helped in the petition for his father, Bronn of the Blackwater, to gain the Castle and lands for his service to the crown.

"Ah, Lord Crassius. What do I owe your company to on this fine day?" Without saying a word Mekar removes the documents from his cloak, spreading them on the table for Lord Stokeworth to gaze at. On the bottom of the page, a nearby guard can make out the Queen's signature, and the seal of the crown. The food in his mouth begins to ooze out as he is taken aback. "If that is true, then who is the h..."

"All in due time. First, rally your banners. I ride for Duskensdale next... I need you to send riders to Brindlewood and Hayford and raise the levies. Do so with haste, but be discrete."

"Yes mylord."

Both of the men leave the castle, Holswish pulling together his men for the raising of the levies from the other cities and to carry the word, while Mekar quickly mounts his stallion and rides away as fast as he came.

---

Rook's Rest, Crownlands

Vaelor has finally arrived at Rook's Rest, the home for House Staunton. Here he knew he was among friends, as they had long ago pledged allegiance to him. As he rode into the city many knew his face. They came before him, asking for coin as they knew him a kind man. He pulled a bag of silver stags from his belt and dropped them in to the hands of the local septon who had walked out to see what the commotion was "I give you this, so that these people may eat tonight." With this he continued to ride on, up to the gates of the castle where he was recognized and allowed in. Inside he approached the young lord Boros. The man was plump for his young age, as he had never had to fight or ride far distances. Seeing Vaelor he bellowed "If it isn't the prince of the Island! It is good to see you boy!"

"My gods you have gotten fat boy!"

"Eh, the ladies have not complained so no reason to stop in my books HAHAHA!"

As the two sat and drank, Vaelor revealed a piece of paper to the lord. The man, so drunk, had a hard time reading it; but he knew the seal. "By the Seven.... this will become a blood mess I am sure of it. Your father knew this whole time and did nothing?"

"He knew that the other lords would not sit idly by while she lived and this was not in effect. They would of tired to change her minds, or make as many of our family disappear as the could. This is our chance. We need the Crownland banners."

"Of course.... by the gods I can fit in my armor or on a horse..."

"You are far better a warrior of the tongue than you are a warrior of the sword. I need you for a different reason..."

---

Stone Drum, Dragonstone

Thygar paces around the room. The party from the Vale should be arriving any day now, and he had received multiple ravens from various lords about this lord in the north looking for a wife... he had ordered a response giving Daneys's hand if he came to Dragonstone to claim her. A raven was also sent to the Riverlands, as the heir apparent in those parts had just been widowed by the Pox. He had also received some letter from a "Lord Reyne" but they were all dead. Some sort of rip off no doubt, but it said he would be at dragonstone within a moon, and that was tonight. He hears a slight knock on the door, and in walks Robert Waters; the bastard son of Mekar.

"Ah, my boy. Come come. I have a job for you. He reaches down and begins to scrawl on a piece of paper. A few minutes go by and he pulls out the Seal of House Crassius, and seals the paper with a white wax and a seal press. Slowly turning he hands the parchment to his grandson.[/i]

"Sail to Dorne. Take this and deliver the goods that are aboard the ship. Another thing..." He turns, opening a trunk that was laying on the ground. Rummaging through he pulls out an old helmet and a large warhammer, the helmet that of a bull. "These were your fathers in his youth. The Bull Dragon they called him... a fitting name for you I think.... Return here in one piece, and we may make a lord of you yet."

"Thank you grandfather. I will not fail you." Full of pride, Robert leaves the room and heads towards the docks. Reaching into the trunk once again, Thygar pulls from it three swords, and heads towards the main hall.

As he enters, he sees Aegon, Baelor, and Rheagar standing around the painted table. They are talking about various items, and he can see a ship painted red in Aegon's hand, no doubt for the Lannister vessel that passed recently leaving Duskendale. He throws the three blades on the table, and the boys focus changes to him.

"Grandfather we did not see you there... what are these." Baelor asks, looking as the three swords

"These my boys, are one of my final gifts to your three. Three swords." He looks towards Rheagar

"Bastard born to this house, you have served your cousins with dignity and loyalty. Here is Oath Maker," He pulls up a longsword, its gilded steel with silver embroidered into the handle and a silver stone as the end. The boy takes the blade, unsheathing it and looking at the swords splendor. He now turns to Baelor.

"To you, grandson. You have been a faithful member to this house, a strategist against the pirates and a master of predicting the weather. To you I present this sword, Storm Bringer." The sword is a deep blackish steel, with a black hilt and obsidian stone in the pommel. Baelor takes the blade, pulling it halfway from the scabbard and admiring it. Finally he turns to Aegon.

"You are of true blood, and direct in line. For this, I give you a sword any lord should carry. I give you Titan Bane," This sword took all the strength of the old man to pull it from its sheath. It was a massive greatsword, but as Aegon picked it up he could wield it in one hand. It was a ironish color, although he could see it was made a a great steel. It was not as flashy as his cousin or brothers blades, but it was by far the greatest in craftsmanship. "It is not valyrian steel, but it was forged in old valyria; spell woven. It will serve you well, and is fit for a king."

"Thank you grandfather... I know not what to...."

"Say nothing. This has only begun children.... only begun."

---

Narrow Sea, On Route to Braavos

Aegor puked over the railings. He had lived on an island his whole life and hated the sea. The boy was a bit of a downer, always wearing black, always seeing the worst possible outcome. For a majority of the trip he expected to be set upon by pirates. As he began to regain his head he heard a yell across the waves "Land sighted!" Before him he could see the massive statue of the water city. "Braavos... at last". The ship sailed into harbor, no doubt both the Sealord of Braavos and the Iron Bank were very much awaiting his arrival.

[Imperium Nova]

The Narrow Sea
Afternoon

Daemon looked on the two Lions that stood before him, as they seemed to have a conflict of interest here. Especially the older one. On the one hand they seemed to be able to control themselves and partake in discussions and talk with Daemon, another part of them seemed willing to just draw their swords and hack their way through the Blackfyre men, no doubt attempting to murder the Blackfyre lord.

The Blackfyre lord also was quite pleased so far, he did not expect to both meet the Lord of the Westerlands and a former Queensguard member too.
"It is an honour to meet you, Ser Tytos of House Lannister. Any member of the Queensguard is a revered man and guest, especially one so prominent as yourself." Daemon had not heard too much about Ser Tytos, but knew of himself as one of the seven members of the Queensguard.

"I am glad that you chose to stay, Lord Tywin. I am sure that you and Ser Tytos will find your visit quite, enjoyable." Daemon stated as he motioned for one of his servants to make the final arrangements in the Captain's Cabin. "Lord Monford, if you will." He expressed his will and motioned for the two Lannisters.
"Ofcourse, Your Grace." The Grand Admiral replied and moved towards the Lions. "If my Lords are wiling to move downstairs, all preparations should be finished." He finished off with a wave off his hand, and the Blackfyre men clad in black plated armour and a black and red cape closed up in formations. Then he led the way down to the set table in the Captain's Cabin, putting away his belt and weapons as he entered through the doors, encouraging the two Lions to follow suit.

The King stood for a bit on the stern, looking over the railing down on the Lannister ship, before turning around and approaching his First Mate.
"I believe we will stay here for some time, signal the fleet accordingly. And, well. You know the rest." He smiled as he patted the First Mate on the shoulder and moved down to the Captain's Cabin, whistling slightly, before entering and leaving his weapon in the hallway, the doors being closed behind him by two Blackfyre guards.

[Krumbia]

Lord Dilon Hardyng-Stark, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East
Gates of the Moon
Several days after the death of the Queen

Lord Dilon listened to his close ally, Lord Yorren Royce, the de facto Lord of Runestone. “Exactly, my Lord. We should not intervene in the affairs of the realm that do not concern us. Be ready, and keep a close eye, but intervening is simply out of the question at this point in time.

“However, I would like to announce that I am sending a small party to parley with the Greyjoy's. This party will be led by Ser Danel Pryor, the heir to Pebble, and he will be accompanied by my nephews Ronnel and Ser Jonothor Crabb. I hope that their party manages to converse with the Ironborn and are not held up by too much trouble.

“Before this meeting is finished, I would also like to announce that I have decided to support my uncle and two brothers in King's Landing by sending a further detachment of 40 guardsmen. With any luck there will be no blood spilt in King's Landing following the death of our beloved Queen but we cannot be sure.”

Lord Dilon shuffled in his seat, looking down on his audience. “Finally, I would like to ask you all to ready some soldiers. Do not call your banners, but warn your banners. Let them know that the time to assemble could be soon, but it is not yet. The Vale must always be ready, we do not know what the rest of Westeros plans in our wake.”

---

Lord Ryman Hardyng-Stark, Master of Laws
The Red Keep
The day of the death of the Queen

It seemed like Lord Ryman had been forgotten in the Council Chamber, and those that were left (Lord Lannister and Lord La Valette had both stormed out), were ignoring him. He had not spoken since his short conversation with Lord Tywin. Eventually, after Lord Rickon Stark proposed his offer for regency, Lord Ryman spoke again.

“Lord Rickon, I understand your proposal that you take the role of regent, and, under the circumstances and to prevent disaster in the near future, I vote that you are granted the position by the power of the Small Council. I believe that you will serve the role the best out of those of us here and we cannot wait for others to step forward. Time is of the essence, but I'm sure you already know that.

---

Cassius Stone, Captain of the Dragon Gate
King's Landing
The day of the death of the Queen

Cassius Stone. A well known name on the streets of King's Landing, more well known that it really should be. Cassius was the bastard son of Ser Sorin Hardyng-Stark, the Commander of the City Watch and a low born woman of the Vale. Cassius was young, in his early twenties, and it was clearly due to his father that he had landed the position of Captain of the Dragon Gate.

But Cassius was hardly useless. Cassius was in fact a man of natural talent. He was a natural swordsman, a natural archer, a natural rider, naturally intelligent and what seemed to be most in important in some people's minds – naturally handsome. Dressed in the black breastplate and cloak of the Watch, Cassius was quite a sight to behold.

Cassius was sat in a small office, surrounded by scrolls, maps and ink. “Captain Stone! It looks like Lord Tywin Lannister, the Master of Ships, and his procession have just left King's Landing. I've had a few riders follow them to ensure they are leaving the city and get an idea of where they are going.”

“Good work Mikeal. Remember what the Commander said – we need all eyes on, anything you see I want you to tell...”

“Cassius! Another one leaving. Seems to be Lord La Valette this time. He's leaving from the port.” Shouted a different gold cloak as he ran into Cassius' office.

“Right. Something must have happened. Mikeal, I want you to report this to my father, if he doesn't know already. Dismissed.” Both gold cloaks dipped their heads and left the office of the Captain of the Dragon Gate.

[Mormak]

Lord Tywin the second

Blackfyre Flagship ,Narrow Sea

Afternoon, Four days since the death of the Dragon Queen

“My Uncle, Was quite the famed blade in his day, It was why he was the first Lannister to guard a Monarch of the iron throne since Ser Jamie, House Lannister owed the Queen much, so it was quite the honor that Tytos be chosen for that select group. But with no Queen, there can be no Queen’s guard can there? He chose to return to the rock with me, rather than keep to his oath for a future Dynasty. He wishes to have children, family…The white prevents that so I bid him leave to come.”

Tytos merely stared the Lord down when he mentioned he had heard of him, Tytos had been a Queen’s guard for more then a decade and most of his deeds were long forgotten by the realm. His slaying of Brigands and the winnings of tourneys long gone, but it was courtesy offered so he did gave a polite nod of the head at the acknowledgement.

The Two Lannisters gave a singular nod of ascent and followed after the Lord of Blackfyre and self-appointed King of the realm, Tywin took a seat at the right of the head of the table and his uncle took the unoccupied seat next to his own.

“I mean to return to Casterly Rock, it was why you caught me in the Narrow, I left King’s Landing just hours after the Queen’s death and meant to return. The House needs me now more then a dead woman who sat on a throne, wouldn’t you agree the living be priority over the dead?” His tone was respectful, but he offered little in the way to the former Monarch, He had served the Dragon Queen for three years, and had flooded the realm with wealth at her behest for many before that, but he had never found her governance overly appealing nor of any particular overt skill.
Tywin glanced to his uncle and gave a nod before he spoke.

“You are to claim the throne upon your arrival at King’s Landing I presume? Well as House Lannister is loyal to the throne of the realm, regardless of whom sits upon it even a minor branch of a dead house. It is my duty as Warden of the West to offer you my best wishes, and to offer you the courtesy…limited as it may be here, of House Lannister.”

“Rob and Alme are half decent with the Lute from how they were playing it last night.” Tytos interjected.

“Excellent idea uncle, Would you grace like some music while we sup? Our men arms I fear are not up to the standards of professional minstrels but Tytos has never been a man to lie, if he offers confidence in their skill then they are up to the measure of his words.”

Tywin gave the Blackfyre lord an even casual stare as he waited for the lord to speak both and for the food to brought in, He had to admit he was missing the richness of the foods of King’s Landing and Casterly rock. The Golden Lion was stocked as a military ship, so its foodstuffs while filling were simple and of quality he had to force himself to endure.

[Imperium Nova]

The Narrow Sea
Early Evening

Lord Monford looked upon the Lannisters as they divulged into conversations with his king. He thought for a moment that they showed genuine feelings towards the Blackfyre cause, and regretted his suggestion that they imprison the Lannisters and ransom them back to their own lands for gold. He understood this approach, even though he would never admit it to Daemon.

"The living are ofcourse prioritised over the dead, one always needs to look forward in this world and strive for the future." As he spoke, Daemon ordered one of the servants to pour up some of their finest wines. "But, one should also show respect to the dead and to history. Daenarys and I did share common ancestry stretching back to the days of Old Valyria, but I agree with your statement Lord Tywin. One should do what is best for the realm of the living."

The Grand Admiral listened to the Blackfyres words, he seemed to show at least some affection for the dead Dragon Queen, at least more so than his ruthless father. Oh how he hated that man,, it was good that he died soon enough on some foolish expedition, may the Gods prove him right. As he listened on the Lannisters continue talking, he drew the attention of a servatn towards him, making sure that the proper arrangements had been dealt with. After such he turned his attention to the King.

"I have stated my intentions on the Iron Throne and presented my claim to it by right of birth and blood, and as you can see" the King stated as he moved his arms in a gesture towards the general direction of his fleet "I took a small part of the fleet and sailed northwards. What to be done once we've reached the Blackwater remains to be seeen." Daemon finished his little speech by unstrapping and removing his plate gloves, handing them to a servant.

"And your idea of some music, Ser Tytos, is an excellent suggestion. Too dreary would life be without music, especially on the High Seas." He snapped his finger in the air, and one of the doors leading down into the lower decks opened and in came several servants carrying silver platters with various foodstuffs. Duck, chicken, roast beef, fish, vegetables, grapes, cheese, bread & salt, clams and some pastries, all served up on the table.

"One must always be prepared to serve ones guests to the best of ones ability, and as such I hope that this will be to your satisfaction." He then issued the servants to return to their stations, wheter it be on the sides of the room or to return to the lower decks. Daemon strategically refrained from asking too many questions of political nature for the time being.