Game of Thrones: A Dream of Spring [IC] -Concluded-

by **The Valyria Empire** » Fri Jan 26, 2018 11:46 pm

"Gaemon is dead, and we have three children bickering over who's king. I wager neither of them have killed a man, let alone paid the Iron Price. What a folly..."
-Victon Grejoy

OCC

The North

Winterfell, The Godswood

King Cregan of House Stark-Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

The godswood was quiet, all but for the sound of the wind and the breathing of the men and women. Not even Spring made any sound, as the Old Gods listened to their prayers. At the head of the small group was Cregan who had knelt before the heart tree. He whispered his prayers to the Old Gods and laid his hand upon one of the tree's roots. As he finished his prayer, for a moment he thought he heard a whisper, someone had said his name. Cregan opened his eyes, and smiled. The Old Gods favored him and continued to watch over him. As he stood, slowly the small gathering rose as well. They all slowly departed back to the great hall, yet Cregan remained with Spring.

Cregan stepped over by the pool, and leaned over. The reflection in the water showed a Stark, with a long and grey eyes. The reflection did not show the dragon that lay inside him as well. Spring, watched Cregan with her dark yellow eyes before sitting next to him. Cregan placed his palm on Spring's head, and gave it a rub. The direwolf while not fully grown, was already doubled that of any hounds in the Winterfell kennel. Cregan decided to return to the great hall as well, for what he was about to do would change Westeros.

Cregan found himself sitting upon the Winter Throne. Before laid many lords of the North, and many sigils as well. Not all of his lords were in attendance, and many were slightly disgruntled. Many wanted Cregan as their Lord, not their King but they still wanted justice for Torrhen. After a few seconds, Cregan stood up and walked down the few steps to stand before the crowd. He looked over to his wife, who nodded and then to his Maester Huelyn.

"Lords and Ladies of the North, hear me! You know me as Cregan of House Stark, son of Torrhen and Layla Lannister. I know the many greviences you share towards the vipers of King’s Landing. I have called upon you to swear yourselves as loyal vassals to my cousin Robb of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell.” Cregan proclaimed. The sound of muttering could be heard and many started to whisper to one another. “As you may know, I am not your rightful lord, but your rightful King. I have found evidence from the “White Wolf” that decrees as such. I ask that you swear your loyalty to me, as your rightful King. It is the only way we will find justice for my late father. Cregan paused and looked to the Northern Lords he had known his whole life. The room was quiet, until Lord Manderly stepped forward, trident in hand.

“My Lords, I have known Cregan since he was a small lad barely able to wield a sword. I have witnessed a fine man grow before my eyes. He is worthy of the name Stark, and Targaryen!” Lord Manderly shouted as he faced his lords. He then knelt to one knee and slammed his trident down. “Cregan, I swear my feality to you as my rightful King. All hail King Cregan! Long may he reign!” With this act, the other lords in the room knelt to one knee and followed Lord Manderly.
“Long may he reign!”
“Long may he reign!”
“Long may he reign!”

Later that day, Cregan sat on the throne with only his maester, wife, cousin and his Wolfguard. The maester has his quill at the ready, and Cregan sat thinking for a long while. Cregan and the others eventually reached a conclusion on what the letter to the realm should be. With that Maester Huelyn made many copies and soon enough ravens were flying across the realm all carrying the same message.

Cregan watched from the window as the ravens flew. “Dark wings, dark words. My mother often said.” Rhaenyra spoke as stood beside her husband. “Yet, those dark wings carry the truth.”

“Aye, they do. Yet, your cousins are likely to ignore it. I need to get the...” Cregan paused a second while he staggered back a few feet. “...I need to get the men ready to march, and... to...” Cregan had to be held up by Rhaenyra and one of the Wolfguard. “Cregan, you need rest. You have not slept for many moons.” Rhaenyra spoke as she led him to their quarters. “I can handle the rest for the day, you have done enough.”

“I... can rest when the realm has a King.”

“The realm will not have a King if he dies of exhaustion. You will rest, or I swear by the Seven I will knock you out myself.” Cregan got quiet for a few seconds and nodded, his eyes closed. He said a quiet “Aye” as they continued down the hall. Eventually they reached the room and Rhaenyra assisted Cregan to undress. Then he quickly laid down on the bed, and she covered him with a furs and a sheet. She then left the room, with Lyanna Flint to guard their king. Rhaenyra made her way to the Great Hall to act as Cregan’s Regent.

by **Revlona** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 9:13 am

Casterly Rock
The Westerlands

"M'lord, a Raven has come in for you" Maseter Joffery said to Cyrus Lannister, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.

"Let me see it then" Cyrus said

Joffrey then walked across Cyrus's study and handed him the letter.

Looking at the seal which closed the letter, Cyrus scrunched his eyes recognizing both the Stark and the Targaryen sigils combined into one.

Breaking the seal and opening the letter which read

All men know me for the trueborn son of Torrhen Stark, Lord of Winterfell, by his lady wife Lalya of House Lannister. I declare upon the honor of my House that our beloved Gaemon, our late king, has left us with no succession to his name. The men, Daeron and Jaehaerys are not in the line of succession. I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. I am descended from the line of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark as stated by Jon “The White Wolf” Stark. The line of Aegon “The Falseborn” VI and Daenerys come after mine as proclaimed by the Great Council of 101 AC. Let all true men declare their loyalty! Less they proclaim Jon “The White Wolf” a liar!

-Done under the gaze of the Old Gods, under the sign and seal of Cregan of House Stark-Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

"By the gods..." Cyrus said after finishing the letter, "If this is true...we must prepare ourselves, send out Ravens to all my lords, inform them to ready themselves in the event of a conflict. This Stark-Targaryen brings massive claims, and if they are true then he is the rightful King."

Looking up Cyrus then said, "We won't do anything for now, except prepare for what comes next"

by **Lunas Legion** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 12:01 pm

Highgarden
The Reach

It was a peaceful night, Leo reflected. All the nights had been peaceful recently. The night sky stretched out above him, a great, star-spangled canvas. It had become a habit of his to take to the roof of one of Highgarden's towers in the evenings when it wasn't raining, a glass of good Arbor red in hand, sometimes with a candle and a book, just to reflect on everything.

This night was a particularly clear one, barely two or three of the slightly lighter patches of sky that were actually clouds, the chirping of crickets in the background. The only light was from the half-sliver of the moon and the flickering, faint light of the candle on the table he sat in front of next to a half-empty glass of Arbor red and his copy of Grand Maester Kaeth's Lives of Four Kings, one of but three remaining copies in Kaeth's own writings; his was one, the second was held in the Citadel's own library, and the Seven alone knew where the third was.

He had just reached the chapter of Daeron II dealing with the First Blackfyre Rebellion; a properly messy affair indeed, and one that would frustrate the Targaryens for generations after.

The sound of crickets was disturbed by the door to the room creaking open and the sound of booted footsteps on stone.

"Father. I thought I might find you here." He recognised Gerold's voice immediately; it was young, fresh, eager, not Mace's harsh voice which sounded like he'd been gargling gravel or Lyonel's slightly prideful tone or Luthor and his curt, clipped speech.

"Gerold." He didn't turn around as Gerold moved to stand next to him, a piece of parchment clasped firmly in his hand. "Is this what ails you enough to seek me out?"

Gerold shook his head. "No, father. A message arrived in the rookery. As I was there for one final check with Maester Emmon before retiring for the night, I thought I might bring it to you myself, especially after reading its contents."

"Oh?" A small smirk formed through the wrinkles on Leo's face, barely visible in the candlelight. "Out with it then, boy."

Gerold took a deep breath before speaking.

"All men know me for the trueborn son of Torrhen Stark, Lord of Winterfell, by his lady wife Lalya of House Lannister. I declare upon the honor of my House that our beloved Gaemon, our late king, has left us with no succession to his name. The men, Daeron and Jaehaerys are not in the line of succession. I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. I am descended from the line of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark as stated by Jon “The White Wolf” Stark. The line of Aegon “The Falseborn” VI and Daenerys come after mine as proclaimed by the Great Council of 101 AC. Let all true men declare their loyalty! Less they proclaim Jon “The White Wolf” a liar!"

"Done under the gaze of the Old Gods, under the sign and seal of Cregan of House Stark-Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms." He finished.

Except for the chirping of the crickets and the low whisper of the wind, silence reigned on the rooftop.

Leo burst into laughter, a great roaring sound not expected from someone his age, before it swiftly devolved into coughing. He raised a hand, waving Gerold away.

"I see Cregan has the madness of the Targaryens at the very least if his claim is true. Pass it here." Gerold handed Leo the letter, who placed it into the candle. When he was satisfied that the letter was on fire, he handed it back to Gerold. "Dispose of this... Trash, would you dear boy?"

Gerold nodded and dropped the letter on the floor before stamping down on it with a booted foot, the letter now but burnt parchment and ash on a roof.

"Regardless, such matters are... Troublesome. Targaryen-Stark or Stark-Targaryen, it makes no difference; an usurper is an usurper, regardless of where he decides to hyphenate on the name of a family that he has no right to claim onto his name. No doubt he intends to make his claim at the coming Great Council, and if he fails there no doubt he shall resort to force of arms like the Blackfyres or the Baratheons in centuries past. No, he is nothing but a barbaric usurper, claiming based on lies and falsehoods." Leo breathed out.

"You know what preparations must be made in my name, my son." Leo turned and placed a slightly shaking hand on Gerold's shoulder. "Write to our lords. Inform them of the nigh-certainty of war. If the usurper is named king in the Great Council, we shall march against him, for the King on the Iron Throne's name is not Stark but Targaryen, and if he is not, then no doubt he shall press his claim through force like all usurpers are wont to do. We must be ready for either course of action."

Gerold nodded and departed as Leo turned back to his book, shaking his head.

"Such a beautiful and peaceful night for such dark tidings."

by **Nuxipal** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 12:26 pm

King Daeron IV Targaryen

The Dragonpit, Kings Landing

His brother had fled to Dragonstone, yet his uncle refused him entry to the Red Keep. His own home was barred to him. At present, he and his retinue were at the Dragonpit, the second most formidable fortress in the Capital. He sat there waiting for something to change the political climate. He was no diplomat, but he was well advised and knew when it was best for him to listen to his advisers and when to follow his own instincts. His instincts were itching, he wasn't sure just yet however.

As he sat alone with his maester, they were working on tracing family lineages, trying to find any advantage in claim over his brother. So far the best he could acquire was that though his wife's line, his son has a better claim than his brother's son, thus choosing him would provide the realm with not only the rightful King, but a King whose heir was more aligned with the legal lineage of the realm.

This meeting however, was interrupted by a Raven which flew into the fortress and landed in the Maester's aviary causing a ruckus. "Do not worry your grace, I'll go see what was so important your uncle had to send a raven this time."

Daeron shook his head. So far two attempts to contact his Uncle had failed. He wondered how his family was faring on the inside of the Keep. A minute later and the Maester returned. "You grace, you best read this yourself."

"I swear, if my Uncle decided to take the crown himself, I will.. oh my. Gods be good, Cregan cannot be serious right now." Re-reading the letter that was addressed to the Realm, Daeron shook his head again. "That boy is gonna get himself killed, and its likely going to be myself or my brother who will do that killing. Bring me parchment, ink, and a quill. I have letters to write to my family. We should be able to settle this matter of Kingship quickly, or we will simply need to postpone it until the rebellious northerners are quelled."

With the two letters sent off he then prepared his men and retainers to not only leave the Dragonpit, but the capital as well. He donned his armor, fastened Blackfyre to his waist. He would be seen riding to the defense of the Realm in the capital. He would be sure to have his retainers tell everyone where he was going.

He and his retainers, numbering nearly 100, left the Dragonpit. Most of his men were stationed in the Western Barracks. He would march, parade style, through the city to the Barracks, acquire them men there, then move to the Eastern Barracks where the last of his men were stationed and then exit through the Iron Gate and onto the Rosby Road to hopefully meet his brother and his retainers and acquire sufficient reinforcements to march to Harrenhal, rally House Baelish and then move onto the Twins to block any Stark forces from coming south into the South until Cregan is captured and rescinds his claim to the Targaryen Throne.

A few minor Kingslander nobles see him and ask why he had donned armor. Some even asked if he was going to storm the castle and claim the throne outright. His response was gentle and well practiced. "I will not needlessly endanger the lives of any who are loyal to House Targaryen. Both my brother and I have rights to that throne, it is unfortunate that my father did not choose an heir, but that heir is one of us. The Starks have decided to claim the throne for themselves and I am hoping my brother will join me to stop them. After that, the Great Council can decide which of us, or even our own sons, would be best to rule the Kingdoms."

Many nobles were shocked. Daeron was a great warrior and and battle commander, but this level of diplomatic skill had surprised them. To be fair, it wasn't all him speaking there, he had sat with his Maester and a few advisers and come up with a general plan and what to say to people who asked questions of him. His own retinue were reassuring the common people that no war within the city was to be waged that they were off to protect them from the Northern Wolves and to save Kings Landing from being Sacked and pillaged.

The entire 'parade' route took hours to complete. When they arrived at Cobblers square, his men were assembled ready for him. Even when he made it back past the Dragonpit to the Eastern Barracks, his men there were ready. He had to prevent a few members of the gold cloaks from joining his ranks with words of encouragement. "You are needed here to protect the people and this city should the worst come of my men and myself. Regardless of who is elected King, that is your duty." The entire ordeal was very visible, even from the Red Keep. It was sure to be the talk of the city for at least the next week.

Finally, near mid-afternoon, Daeron and his men passed out the Iron Gate and down the Rosby Road. He had it all planned so they would arrive in Rosby just after nightfall and his men would camp outside the town while he and the officers and nobles would stay in the Rosby Estate. He may not be King yet, but he intended to act as if he were one.

by **Eraus** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 2:54 pm

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Robert of House Blacken, Lord of The Dreadfort and Head of House Blacken

Robert had only left King's Landing a few moons ago, at the request of Lord Cyrus Lannister, the man who'd given him an offer he couldn't refuse. The hand of his daughter for his second son, truly an offer that came once in a lifetime. Especially for a man who'd spent his whole life hoping to find ways to move closer to his Southron kin.

Marrying into a House such as the Lannisters would be a huge leap into his goal, yet with what he'd been told tonight, Robert was unsure of his own future let alone his houses.

"I am descended from the line of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark as stated by Jon “The White Wolf” Stark. The line of Aegon “The Falseborn” VI and Daenerys come after mine as proclaimed by the Great Council of 101 AC. Let all true men declare their loyalty! Less they proclaim Jon “The White Wolf” a liar!"

Words from his kin, Cregan Stark a man who'd now claimed the Throne. If it was true that Jon Stark claimed to be the child of Rhaegar Targaryen then he'd truly be the rightful King, but the Targaryens or Blackfyres would never dare let a Stark sit upon the throne.

"Long may he reign," Robert said to himself as paced back and forth within his chambers, he knew he'd need to flee North before he himself was captured. Only the Gods knew what the Southrons were willing to do in order to keep one of their own upon the throne.

The unimaginable threat a follower of the Old Gods ruling over the Seven Kingdoms must have stirred to the Reachmen or to the Valemen, Robert knew he'd soon see just how far they'd be willing to go.

He just hoped he'd be beside his men when they declared war against the North, when the Wolves came down upon the Southern fools.

The Crownlands
King's Landing, Blacken Manse

Denys of House Blacken, Heir to The Dreadfort

"The Starks have decided to claim the throne for themselves" Words from Daeron spread like wildfire throughout the Capital. What was worse was the show that the Targaryen put on after his announcement, clearly a man trying to woo the people into permitting him to sit upon the throne.

It was almost as if he didn't understand that the Smallfolk didn't have a say in who'd be crowned King by the Nobles during the Great Council. He should have been trying to woo Lords, Denys was nearly tempted to chat with the Claimant, to ask him why he should be king.

Instead of his brother or Lord Stark, but the sheer amount of men and women in the street prevented the young Northerner from getting his chance to speak with the Targaryen.

Yet what had made it worse was the fact that he was a Blacken, a man who'd made himself somewhat known within the Capital if not by his actions then by his features. Denys was a red-haired man with the eyes of his Targaryen grandmother, blue-violet eyes which of course caught the attention of many.

He knew if he was to stay within the Capital, eventually, some fool would try something either a follower of King Daeron maybe even King Jaehaerys or maybe a man who simply hated that a Northerner would try to push his claim. Denys understood that he couldn't say within the Capital for long, he'd need to ride North with his cousins.

If not to prepare for a war then simply for the safety of the Blackens within Kings Landing. Shortly after hearing of Daerons planned departure, Denys and his kin were well on their way to fleeing the city. The men-at-arms of House Blacken were ready for whatever was thrown their way, Denys and Olyvar donned their armor while Lady Rhae and Asha both wore their riding wear prepared for the long trip ahead of them.

While it seemed Daeron was on his way to Rosby, The Blackens road on the Kingsroad heading north towards the Riverlands before they departed north. Denys simply hoped they'd be able to arrive their safely and without incident.

by **Revlona** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 3:42 pm

Westerlands,
Casterly Rock

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Cyrus Lannister was sitting in his council room, discussing military matters with his commanders.

Looking around the table there was Robert Lannister, the Heir Apparent to the westerlands, Harold Tully the Lord of Tully Hall and his good-son, and Jaime Serret.

Suddenly a thought came into Cyrus's head, launching to his feet he said "Robert, take a group of guards and escort Lord Blacken to my study before he can leave the castle. Harrold, Jaime, each of you take a group and detain his kin that are in the castle, try not to harm them."

The three men, seeing the urgency in Lord Lannister's eyes quickly stood, bowed, and departed to do as they where ordered.

Westerlands,
Off the coast

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Robb hill gazed at the behemoth that was Casterly Rock, the massive mountain was said to be so large that it towered over both the Wall and Hightower, which he has seen when his ship stopped in old town.

Robb had finally done what no Lannister could do, he had spent many of his adult years in Essos, hunting down a Valyrian Steel weapon.

He had succeded, he felt at his hip to assure himself the Dagger which he had named "Quickfang" was still there.

"Captain, a final thank you for bringing me home" He said as he jumped they slid into the docks at the bottom of the Rock.

He then pressed three Gold Dragons into the mans hand, "House Lannister thanks you" he said, before leaving the ship, and making his way up the Rock.

by **Warg the Immortal** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 4:35 pm

Blackwater Bay
Dragonstone

King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm

Jaehaerys ran his hand along the surface of the dragon egg, feeling the small scales that covered its surface while admiring its colours, a base the colour beaten gold, with veins of red and orange streaking across the surface like a patchwork of scar tissue, giving it the appearance of a flame in the glowing light of the braziers which lit the chamber of the painted table. Jaehaerys sat in deep thought upon the elevated chair placed at Dragonstone, where it had sat since its construction by Aegon the Conquerer. Across the table the repetitive sound of boots striking the stone floors as they paced back and forth could be heard. Jaehaerys did not even need to look up to know the origin of the sound, his good-brother and close friend, Daeron Blackfyre.

Jaehaerys knew that when he summoned the Blackfyre lord to join him on Dragonstone that he would not respond well to the news that his sister, niece, and nephews were hostages in the Red Keep. Though he knew his uncle, Baelon, to be a stern man, he had never expected him to take hostage the families of himself and his brother in order to keep war from breaking out in the capital. This, coupled with the news that Cregan Stark had laid some baseless claim to the Iron Throne through some readings he'd found belonging to the long dead White Wolf of Winterfell.

The letter itself lay open on the table, as it had for several nights since Daeron pinned it in place with a dagger. Since its arrival the pair had spent everyday within the chamber, alongside Jaehaerys' other advisors, debating on what course of actions to take before the Great Council was called. Daeron had already received word from the Whispers, Lord Aegon Blackfyre opting to support the claim of Jaehaerys' brother. None of this had done well to ease the enraged Blackfyre, and at this point neither his friend Jaehaerys, his brothers, Daegon and Daemon, or Rhaenys, his wife, could quell his anger. Thus Jaehaerys opted to let the man pace, far better than allowing him to march upon the capital and demand Baelon release his captives, as he had requested when he'd first summoned him to Dragonstone.

The silence was eventually disrupted as the chamber doors flew open, and in hobbled the elderly Maester Aemond, clutching in his bony hands a sealed letter and appearing very out of breath. "Your Grace! News has arrived from King's Landing, a letter bearing the Targaryen seal." Jaehaerys knew it could only be from two people, without taking his eye from the dragon egg in front of him he spoke. "Does this letter come on behalf of my brother? Or my uncle?"

The Maester waited until he had regained his breath before continuing. "I am unsure sire, I dared not break the seal before you saw it yourself." Jaehaerys grunted his approval before moving to take the letter from his hand, breaking the wax seal to reveal the contents of the letter.

Brother Jaehaerys,

I do suppose you received the letter from Cregan Stark as well. The man has lost his mind and is claiming the throne for himself. I am also writing to Uncle Baelon. We need to rally together to stop this usurper from stealing the throne from our family. He is no Targaryen, the last I checked House Stark gave up its rights to Kingship when they knelt to the Conqueror. Meet me and my men at Rosby to sign a treaty of alliance between us brother. Let no outsider claim what our father has left to one of us. I hope to see you in Rosby.

-Daeron

Raising his eyebrows Jaehaerys passed the note to Daeron before speaking, at the thought of his brother his hand found its way to the scar on his shoulder, which mirrored the one carried by Daeron. "It would seem that my brother wishes to prevent the Stark from putting forth his claim to the Great Council. an interesting idea, though I doubt it will work. Still, it would be interesting to speak with him and uncle." Daeron Blackfyre narrowed his eyes before speaking. "Perhaps, but Rosby is too far from a port for my liking, and too far from safe haven. If he is attempting to lure us into a trap, we would be easily caught. We would be incapable of fleeing to King's Landing, and with that traitor, Aegon, supporting him we could be cut off from Duskendale by his forces."

Jaehaerys nodded in understanding, Daeron assembling both him and their uncle in one place provided his brother with too good of an opportunity for an ambush. "Very well, rather than Rosby, what if we were to meet him at a less precarious position, such as the Antlers. We'll land at Duskendale, but instead of heading Southwest to Rosby, we head Northwest to the Antlers. At Duskendale we'll have a raven sent to Rosby to let Daeron and Baelon know where to meet us, as well as a raven to Lord Buckwell, so that he expects our arrival." Daeron grunted in approval with the plan, while Maester Aemond bowed before taking his leave. The two then set about making preparation to sail for Duskendale with a retinue of guardsmen.

by **Union Princes** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 5:33 pm

Carrion's Call

401 AC
Record account written by Maester William

For the first time since my arrival at Carrion's Call, this will be my first chronicles of House Stormcrow. Usually, like the maesters before me, these passages would be brief, quick, and to the point. But now, I feel that will all change.
I'll will take this moment to be of concern: while the Stag is feeding on the fruits of its labor, the Crow itself is starving. This fortified castle has not seen a single sliver of aggression in the last 100 years and as such, have lost renown for our ancestor deeds. Indeed, only Carrion's Call contains the records of Lord Bart and his service under Robert, Stannis, and Renly.
I cannot help but pity House Stormcrow, Lord Alfred shares the same ambition as his forefathers: a 1000 men of Blood Corvidaes, a rival to the Wolfguard or Kingsguard. We only have 100 with decent equipped weapons and armor. Such ambition is laughable for a minor house like Stormcrow yet Lord Alfred still cling on to a fool's hope that he would be able to form such a number. We would have a much higher chance giving Blood Corvidaes their own Kingsguard armor and weapons than expanding.
As for current events that are worth writing about, Lord Alfred seem to have hired a new spymaster, replacing his wife for that position. I have no idea how he made his way here as most of the Stormlander houses seem to forgot our existence. What I know is what Lord Alfred knows and what I know is that man is referred to as Elmo and he made it to our lands on his own accord. He was alone, without weapons save for a sword and a woodman's axe and he claimed he journeyed here to give Lord Alfred news from the North.
It was from here when we learned of Cregan's claim n the Iron Throne. This would be of no concern for us, unless the Stag wakes up and joins the fray.

Maester William settled down his quill and rested his hands. I still am not sure what t think of this "Elmo". he thought, He looks like one of those Faceless Men if I ever settled my eyes upon one.

But why is the North on the offensive? Surely, they're outnumber at least 3 to 1 if not 6 to 1.

by **Jhet** » Sat Jan 27, 2018 6:47 pm

Harrold Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie

he sun rose as it had done ten thousand times before, charting its long path across the vibrant sky without worry or care. Before the red dawn could give way to the shimmering gold of morning, the Vale of Arryn awoke to a new day. The villages and towns, thriving off of the rich soil of their homeland, seemed to stretch as their inhabitants took to their farms with plough and hoe and rake. Under the amber of noon they toiled in pastures filled with beasts of burden and fields shimmering with the soft sway of crops.

And in the old mountain holdfast of the Eyrie, Harrold Arryn enjoyed himself a day of rest. It was not often that he could give himself over to his joys. Not since the hairs upon his head had turned to grey, and his skin seemed to sag even when the fat was burned away. And so he sat in the abortive garden that was a reminder for the blind or dumb that they lived among the clouds, a hawk circling overhead.

"He is magnificent," Alyssa called, her ladies-in-waiting looking like boys compared to her beauty.

They had been wed longer than he dared think, her every inch branded into his mind's memory. Sitting underneath the shade cast by the sept's walls, Harrold dared to call her the Good Queen reborn. Her grey hair, pulled tight from her forehead, seemed to shimmer like liquid silver. And though her dress was already a year old, it seemed to glow with the touch of the gods.

He smiled back to her, reaching out for his pet to return to his hand.

Laughter rose like the misting of dawn's dew through the valleys, circling mountain peaks like raven flocks. It was the happiness of peace, the simple pleasure of contentment. They were the cheers of a people who could look to the future with hope and ambition. There had been a time when they could not have dared dream of hope; that to think of a better time was to call down upon the wrath of the gods. But that time was long past now, chased out by the Lords of the Eyrie with sword and plough in equal measure.

And then like a thief, twilight was upon them.

Like the ill omen often associated with their arrival, a dark bird flew through the failing light towards the roost of the Eyrie. The household had been preparing to end the day, servants clearing away the feast held by Arryn for the lords Upcliff, Sunderland and Waxley. Guards were beginning to appear upon the battlements, thick cloaks at hand to aid them should the night steal away the last of the day's warmth. Even the cats had quietened down, slinking away from their hunting grounds towards the warm corners of the castle. And though the raven startled young Maester Lucas, its arrival managed to go without comment among the greater household.

Lord Harrold, sitting alone with a platter of cold meats, glanced through the letter once borne through the skies by his most recent visitor. Trueborn...no succession...line of succession. His eyes widened as he continued, suddenly finding his seat to be excruciatingly painful. "Rhaegar and Lyanna," he breathed, unsure whether to laugh or not. Silence held him in its grip as the words took voice in his head, whispering as if in order to better lay out the claim of the Northman. Stark-Targaryen...

On the tail of Lord Stark's raven came a flock of its cousins. They were Vale ravens, born and raised among the heart of Andal chivalry. And strapped to their legs were letters of House Arryn's leal lords, asking for what their response is to be. Maester Lucas shuttled them back and forth, the laughter of his lord echoing through the empty halls.

Jon Arryn, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon

or those who were foreign to the Vale and her customs, the Gate of the Moon was naught but a humble winter palace, left to waste away as a waystation during the summer years while the high lords enjoyed the beauty of the Eyrie and her seven towers. It was a lie repeated by maesters and travellers alike, even by those who purported to have spent great periods of time there on their long journeys. No, the Gates of the Moon was much more than that. It was a fortress unto itself now, a stone bastion as unscalable as the mountain it rested beneath. In a very real sense, the Gates of the Moon was the door to the Vale itself.

And through this door rode the lords of the Vale. Waynwood was the first to arrive, his column of retainers like an iron snake winding its way up to the keep. On their heels came the rest of the valley lords: the haggard Lord Hunter and the youth Melcolm, ancient Redfort and his adult grandsons. Corbray came after, joined on his journey by an ill looking Lynderly. Jon, as was his honour, greeted each one in turn. Others followed, their own retinues growing in such size that the amassing nobility were getting to have to set camp in the valley floor. Belmore led the northern lords, Coldwater and Templeton and Egen, while Royce brought Grafton and their vassals in tow.

It was an impressive company to keep, all told. The greatest lords and their bannermen, landed knights and men-at-arms, ladies and daughters and sisters. By the time the Lords Donniger and Hersy made their appearance before the Gates of the Moon, all but the lords and their wives had found themselves forced to take accommodation in the valley holdfasts or else make camp beneath the mountain slopes. Every morning saw another dozen tents erected, as the smallfolk came to sell their wares or bodies to the men of the noble households. By the turn of the moon, the valley's throat would become a city all on its own.

Jon was awoken before dawn with news that his father was to call his meeting together. He had delayed for long enough, feasting and hawking with each lord that graced upon his home for guidance towards the raven they had received. And as Jon Arryn, heir to the Eyrie, prepared for his journey up to his future seat, the overpopulated Gates of the Moon began to wake around him. Even before he had made the first steps of the climb, eyes were beginning to open, and mouths repeating what they saw.

Stark-Targaryen, he mused as his mount pulled him ever closer to the Eyrie. What an absurd name.

Alone save for his mute guide, Jon ascended the mountain path towards his home. It was a trip he had made numerous times, though fewer than he supposed he should have. His life was one of a warrior, first and foremost. Let old men and women tend to the running of the household, a son of Arryn, a man of the Vale, had to be wedded to the sword if he were to make anything of himself. It was not coin nor words that defeated the First-Men, nor was it kindness that gave the realm peace. A man of the sword, a knight of the Seven, was what kept the realm prosperous. It was men like Jon that served to let lesser men spend their days toiling in the fields and frolicking with peasant daughters. And he had come to accept that.

The guards of the Eyrie admitted their lord's firstborn in without delay, Ser Benedar Ruthermont the first to greet the man. Benedar wore rich satin trimmed with furs, a small hat resting precariously atop his head to hide the vicious scars he had received during a bandit raid. "My lord," he said by way of greeting. Jon replied in kind, following the man into the solar of his father.

The solar was no great chamber, but it had the space to admit the principle figures of the vale. At his arrival the lords offered him their greeting, as they had upon first arriving at the Gates days before. But before the discussion they had been having was derailed entirely, Lord Harrold called them to order.

"We have this northman to discuss."

"A traitor," Hunter said with a shrug. "I say we have discussed his claim enough."

"What was if-" Upcliff started.

"He spits on the name of Gaemon," Lynderly interjected. "By what right does he claim that Daeron and Jaehaerys are not legitimate? He would call Her Grace a witch who cuckolded the king?"

"He speaks of Rhaegar and Lyanna as his claim," Harrold announced, voice rising to dispel the growing argument. "Rhaegar was wed to the Princess Elia of Dorne, and stole the betrothed Lyanna from House and kin with the aid of his knights. Even if that mad prince arranged a marriage in mockery of the traditions of our lands and the oaths he swore to protect his people, it was a wedding consented to at swordpoint. I would not hear of a young woman willingly wedding the son of a man who had her father and brother butchered, wedding a man who rode off to kill her last living brothers and legal betrothed." Harrold paused, to see that his lords were following. "Make no mistake my good cousins, this Cregan is claiming the throne through a bastard, a child born of the rape of a noble woman. This should be enough to reveal the true nature of Stark. He spits on the nature of Gaemon and his queen, on the laws and traditions of our land, on the gods by which we have been graced with our positions of responsibility. This Cregan is a monster, who would lie about the rape of his grandsire's half-sister and call it ordained marriage for the chance to steal the throne. He will not sit the throne."

Jon felt himself nodding along with the other lords of the Vale, an angry sneer contorting his face as his father's voice reached the emotional climax.

by **Greater Germany** » Sun Jan 28, 2018 8:27 am

Storm's End

Lord Davos Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands

"The King in the North! The King in the North! The King in the North!"

Voices in perfect unison, the chorus of mummers dress in furs, leather and fake mail stood with blunted weapons held above their heads. The audience, noble and smallfolk alike, cheered and and whistled. Though the garb was perhaps too barbaric, the accents rough to the point of being near-farcical, few of the audience had ever been to the North and so the performance was convincing. The actor playing Theon Turncloak was a dwarf wearing leathery rags and holding aloft a bent dagger.

Lord Davos Baratheon took a long blink, then nodded to himself. "The Rise of the Young Wolf" had been a long but enjoyable play. It would not have been his first choice for entertainment but the mummer troupe from the Free Cities did the story justice. He glanced over to his wife. Elaena sat regally but clapped softly, a great grin spread across her soft-featured face. Feeling his eyes, she looked his way and her smiled broadened.

She enjoyed these plays such as she had grown up accustomed to, and so Davos indulged her. Back in her home city of Myr such troupes of mummers roamed far and wide, performing in theatres and in the open air. This troupe had come at his invitation as a name day gift for Elaena.

He thought back to the first time he saw her. It had been in Myr, at the insistence of his father who wished a marriage alliance with the rich Myrish merchant house of Cartagia. They had taken to each other quickly, she with a fascination of Westerosi culture and he with her wits and Valyrian beauty. The Cartagia's were the blood of Old Valyria, and so pride accompanied their mercantile wealth.

Elaena's violet eyes shined. "It was lovely, my lord," she spoke formally, with their children and retainers around them. "Thank you for this gift." Davos took her hand and held it.

On either side of them their children sat. Steffon, now a knight, as well as Devan and Orys to Davos's left, and Cassana, Visenya and Argella to Elaena's right. Only Stannis was absent, serving as squire to the Sword of the Morning.

Steffon appeared lost in thought, his eyes still on the bowing mummers. "The Young Wolf," he whispered. The romance of the story of the doomed king was legendary among the chivalry of the Seven Kingdoms. Orys scoffed, "He should have bowed to King Stannis instead of being crowned." The youngest Baratheon boy didn't mince words when he held an opinion.

"True," Davos commented, leaning towards his sons, "but he had few options. His bannermen did the deed. To refuse it could have been to spurn their loyalty. Remember that. Fealty works both ways."

His eldest son nodded, but Orys shrugged with a rebellious face. Devan had spent the entire time in quiet conversation with a girl who rested both hands on the arm of his chair. Squinting, Davos recognized her as his steward's daughter, Marya. The two were inseparable, it seemed. When the Baratheon sons weren't training, Devan spent much of his time with her. They read stories together, walked in the godswood, or ventured into the castle's town.

He felt his wife give his hand a squeeze, and looked back to her. Elaena's violet eyes held a mother's smile. "How sweet they are, Davos," she said, not missing what her any of her sons did. Davos returned the squeeze gently, his large hand dwarfing her own.

All the Baratheon men were large, Davos at six and a half feet and Steffon catching up quickly. Devan and Orys were both large for their ages, as were their cousins. Davos's own brothers were almost as tall as him, with not a one under six foot. The men of their house were famed for their size and prowess in battle. All his children had the black hair the house was famous for, and all but Visenya had blue eyes. Visenya had taken after her mother with violet eyes that spoke of Valyrian lineage, and an exotic streak of gold-silver in her hair. Bards had taken to calling the Rainwood Rose after her first social appearance at the Mistwood tourney, and the name had stuck among the nobles and smallfolk alike. While Cassana was herself a beauty, the name had caused something of a rift between them.

Davos saw Visenya sitting with Alyssa and speaking of the play, while Cassana sat with Argella in her lap and spoke with his brother's wives. He wondered what could be done to bring the sisters back together.

With the play ending, Davos stood and made to leave the box his family had viewed it from. Smallfolk poured out of the benches set up for them, and knights and nobles left their own seats. A small army of servants moved in to clean and organize.

Just below the castle walls a feast had been prepared. Ahead of him, his son Steffon smiled and exclaimed: "A feast for stags!"

Surrounding his family were Davos's own leal knights: the broad-shouldered Ser Steffon Rogers led the way, with the lanky Ser Harys Caron following, Ser Robin Suggs humming a bawdy tune off to one side, and Ser Jeyne Cobb with his near permenant annoyed scowl on the other side. Ser Benethon Blackberry, easily recognizable with his shock of bright orange hair, walked beside Cassana and Argella. His master-at-arms, the stout Ser Richard Seaworth, remained at the castle.

More servants had been preparing the tables and benches, and a great number of plates filled with sizzling cuts of meat and greens or bowls of stews were awaiting. Davos felt his own hunger rising, and prepared to savor the dinner with his family. But as they took their seats, he saw Maester Osric approaching.

"My lord, forgive me, but I have news. I beg your company." Bald and possessing of a raspy voice, Osric had served the Baratheons for decades. Davos grimaced, desiring a meal with his wife and children. Duty came first, however.

"Of course, maester. Shall we?" Davos helped seat his wife, holding her hand gently as he did so, and warmed himself with her smile. "Lady Elaena, if you'll pardon me," the lord of Storm's End said formally.

"My lord," she replied, inclining her head while her eyes expressed concern. Steffon Baratheon remained standing as Davos walked with the maester, dutifully presiding over the meal in his absence.

Davos and Maester Osric walked towards the postern gate. Jeyne Cobb and Robin Suggs followed, and Davos saw his brother Matthos already there with the master-at-arms. "Brother," Matthos gruffly said by way of greeting. So he must have already known what was happening. The angry look on Ser Richard's face confirmed it.

"Well," Davos began, "it seems my castellan knows. Osric, this is serious? What news have you?" Matthos licked his lips, and Ser Richard coughed once.

The apple in his throat bobbed up and down as Maester Osric spoke. "My lord, we've received a raven from the north. Cregan Stark has claimed the Iron Throne and calls on all 'true men' to declare their loyalty." The maester handed over the message, and Davos read it carefully once, then again.

All true men, Davos thought sourly. The Targaryen brothers competed with each other, mad with ambitions of power rather than duties to their bannermen, while a Stark sought to supplant them all. Davos had his oaths to the Iron Throne, and to him they were as real as flesh and blood. Looking down at his maester, then to his brother, Davos took a deep breath. If the North followed Cregan then it would be war in any case. The Targaryen brothers would never give up their claims. They would call their banners, perhaps even put an end to their bickering.

"Maester, have we received anything from the princes?"

Osric shook his head. Ser Richard swore under his breath.

Matthos looked frustrated beyond what patience could control, his face in the torchlight of the gate reddening. "This is madness. A king at Dragonstone, a king in the Dragonpit, a king in the North. And our brothers in King's Landing"

Davos Baratheon looked from brother to maester. "We cannot follow the Stark uprising. As much as I respect the northerners, Cregan has to know the long odds on his claim."

"And what of the Targaryen princes, my lord?" Osric pressed his hands together. Matthos ran gloved fingers through his dark beard.

The lord of Storm's End thought on it. He thought of his beloved wife, on whose name day this had arrived. Of his children. Of his forbears. "Maester, fetch a quill and parchment, I mean to send a raven to Maric and Robert in King's Landing."

"At once," Osric said, and he made for the castle.

Matthos pursed his lips together. "And after, brother?"

Davos rubbed thumb and forefinger against his own closely trimmed dark beard. "After, Matthos, I return to Elaena's feast. Who knows what this next year will bring?"

Ser Maric Baratheon, Master of Ships

In a chamber overlooking Blackwater Bay, Ser Maric Baratheon stood and waited in a cloth-of-gold doublet with black satin sleeves and onyx studs. The room's wide windos held a grand view of the bay and his fleet sitting at anchor. Each galley had its royal standard dipped in response to the news of the king's death. Eighty war galleys dipping from eighty to two hundred oars each, with a handful of the largest dipping even more.

As Master of Ships he had built and commanded the royal fleet. From the deck of the flagship, Drogon, he had enjoyed King Gaemon's praise and patronage. A position on the Small Council, a manse in the city, the honors were vast. Now the king was dead, and the future uncertain. So when Ser Baelon closed the Red Keep off and attempted to prevent a war, Maric had gone along with him. Better the fleet sit at anchor than be used to start a war of succession.

He eyed his ships as some continued to make their rounds and maintain the King's Peace. It was difficult, not knowing what the princes were doing. And now this news of a Stark king.

A knock on the door brought him back to the world. Turning, he saw his youngest brother enter. Robert wore a black enameled breast plate befitting his rank, and a gold cloak befitting his command. His hair was the characteristic Baratheon black, and like Maric he had deep blue eyes. Both brothers were of a similar height, but where Robert wore a beard neatly trimmed in the fashion of the a bravo, Maric preferred to remain clean shaven.

Maric remained at the window as Robert entered, placed his helm on the chamber's center table, and strode over. The brothers embraced wordlessly, then Robert took a step back.

"Prince Daeron has left the city," Robert finally said. "With most of his retainers, if not all. Some of my men even tried to join." The commander of the city watch seemed troubled by it, as those the situation left him confused. Maric understood.

"Any idea where?"

Robert nodded. "Word spread from his own lips. He means to meet with Prince Jaehaerys. He's taken the road towards Rosby."

The Master of Ships considered this, then waved Robert to join him. They crossed back to the center table and took seats. His brother picked some grapes from a bowl and munched on them.

"No word from Lord Commander Baelon?" Robert seemed on edge.

Maric shook his head. "Nothing as of yet. At his request I've remained here. If I left it might signal that the fleet has chosen a king. When Prince Jaehaerys arrived in the city I gave him some galleys to carry him to Dragonstone. I did not anticipate the succession crisis we would have."

The young commander of the city watch picked a few more grapes before asking, "Do you think it will come to war between the brothers?"

Ser Maric Baratheon didn't answer for a while. When he did, he drew forth a letter from his doublet: "Davos wrote to us, asking me the same thing. He did not say as much, but from his words I believe he is reluctant to declare our house for any contender as of yet. He made a request of us."

"Yes?" Robert raised a black-haired eyebrow.

"Keep the King's Peace. By the will of the gods, between us you command the city's garrison and I the fleet. Every captain and officer of the fleet has been handpicked by me. They'll wait for the word, they're dutiful men." Some were Kingslanders, some veteran captains hired out of the Free Cities, a good many were Stormlanders. All were chosen for qualities such as loyalty and patience. It was his fleet, Ser Maric reflected, and he would not throw it away on a king undeserving of it. Certainly not an upjumped northerner.

Robert gave a short nod, muttering, "Of course, of course. It's my duty to keep the peace. But you draw your wages from duties and tariffs in the bay. My men and officers are paid from the royal treasury. If the northerners stop paying, if some of the other kingdoms stop... what if Davos stops? Have you talked to Lord Commander Baelon about the treasury?"

His brother's concerns were not surprising. Maric responded, "I mean to, today. I won't keep you, Robert. I know you're needed in the city." He stood, and Robert did the same. In thoughtful silence both Baratheons walked to the door, and Robert opened it for him. In the corridor stood different sets of escorts: Robert's own goldcloaks wearing mail and carrying iron cudgels, and marines from Maric's fleet in boiled leather, brigandines, and carrying axes and short swords.

"How is your family?" Robert asked.

Maric spread his hands. "They remain at comfort in Storm's End. The trip for Elaena's name day was convenient timing, or I would worry for their safety here." Robert smiled. He was an attentive uncle and was a constant guest at their manse to tell Alyssa stories or practice at swordplay with Aegon. "You, Robert, we'll have to find you a wife soon."

The youngest Baratheon brother laughed aloud at that. In Storm's End their family was unaware, but here in the capital Robert's reputation for 'patrolling' the whorehouses was an open secret. It was said he had a favorite whore at every house.

Embracing once more, the brothers separated and Robert left for the city with his escort. Maric gathered up his marines and made for Maegor's Holdfast. The Red Keep was an armed camp now, its garrison of Targaryen knights and men-at-arms strictly obedient to Baelon. In the early days there had been concern the garrison might flock to one prince or the other, and put the Red Keep's servants and any other persons to the sword. That fear had passed, but Maric felt the anxious eyes of each man wearing a dragon on his breast as he and his escort passed through the corridors.

Clasping Ser Jate Farring, first mate of the Drogon and head of his escort, Maric commanded him: "Go ahead to the Lord Commander's chamber and let him know the Master of Ships asks to see him." The knight did as he was bid.

Maric continued down the corridor, enjoying the chance to stretch his legs on dry land even as he thought how the Red Keep seemed more and more like a dungeon. Passing a window, he took another look at the bay.

by **Union Princes** » Sun Jan 28, 2018 11:46 am

Carrion's Call

Lord Alfred has just finished his daily routine of drilling and excising with his household guard when his new spymaster, Elmo, request to hold a meeting with him and the rest of the Councillors. The night was young by the time the time everyone has gathered around the dining table. A small map of Westeros lay on the table and already discussion has started on the potential strength between the Great Houses.

"Say if the Great Council refuse to buy Cregan's Claim, and Cregan goes to war..." began Lord Alfred, "Just between the Crownlands and the North, would the fighting be on even grounds?"
Elmo shook his head in correction: "Not exactly on fair grounds, even if it was on a one-to-one duel, the Cregan could muster twice as many men than the Targaryens could. Doesn't matter if the brothers join together or not or if they have the defender's advantage. Unless they have a dragon, Cregan's victory is secured."
"But that's as if the other Great Houses stand by and do nothing." interrupted Marson, the Stormcrow Marshal, "We must include the six remaining kingdoms to see if Cregan stands a chance after all."
"Then who would most likely throw their lot with the Targaryens?" inquired Lord Alfred, pondering on the subject.
"Let's say the Reach side with the Targaryens," answered Elmo, "combined with their forces, a joint Reach-Crownland army outnumbers the North's 3 to 1. And if that comes true, Cregan has no victory to get the Iron Throne."
"That's two houses against one." pointed out Lady Maria, wife and steward of Lord Alfred, "Perhaps the Vale and the Riverlands joins the Starks, just like the Second War of the Five Kings."
"Not a chance," argued Elmo, "but if it does happen, then the odds are even in Cregan's favor. He has to rely on his own strategy and cunning in order to secure victory assuming the Targaryens will do the same 'cause in the end, Cregan needs luck to be on his side."
"What about the Lannisters? wondered Marson, "If we are following the previous engagement in the past, then they will most likely side against the North."
"Now that's the hardest part," said Lord Alfred, "getting the Lannisters to join, on either side. They could muster enough men to tip the balance to anybody's favor."
"That's where you're wrong, my liege." remarked Elmo, "The Stormlands and the Dorne are hardest part to convince. Lord Davos does not seem to be the person to involve himself in other people's affairs and the Dorne has a long history of being neutral in crisis like these. The Lion will intervene but the Stag and Sun will not."
"And Iron Isles?" said Marson with stern eyes gazing the map.
"The Ironborn have no reason to be involved in this claiment war of Westeros." answered Lord Alfred. "Chances are, this will benefit them as they could plunder the shores without risking the wrath of the Iron Throne. Why, I'll wager the Greyjoys would declare independence once war has been declared."
"Cregan cannot win," concluded Lord Alfred, "he does not have enough allies nor levies to combat the combined strength of the Reach, Westerlands, and the Crownlands."
"And the Others?" came a new voice. It was Peter, Lord Alfred's son and heir, clearly snuck out of bed to check on his father's meeting.
"If the Others came back," responded William, after many moments of quietness, "then Cregan is doomed. The North is Doomed. Another reason why Cregan's decision was foolish."

After the meeting was concluded, Lord Alfred went to bed thinking over and over again the scenarios of a Baratheon involvement. Lord Davos will not join in this fray. He has no reason to join. Unless...Unless...unless...

The night was tense and so was Westeros.

by **Saint Ryvern** » Sun Jan 28, 2018 11:47 am

Ser Enton Dayne, Sword of the Morning
Blackwater Bay, Dragonstone

In a small wooden chair, tucked away in a small room in some dark corner of Dragonstone, the Sword of the Morning sits with a wrinkled, stained piece of paper in his hands. Nearby Dawn rests, stretched out on the bed; the mighty greatsword's pale white blade trembles in the flickering candlelight that dances across its wielder's face. Ser Enton sits at the lone chair in the room, the candle resting on a bedside table near the uncomfortable straw-packed mattress that the knight has been resting on recently. At the foot of the bed there is a saddlebag, packed hurriedly as the knight prepared for his journey to Dragonstone. Packed with supplies for Dawn's maintenance, some food and water, and other weaponry. The hilt of a short sword can be seen glittering inside the swollen bag from Enton's perspective; in a nearby corner a spear of Dornish make leans, only slightly longer than Dawn; a dagger waits patiently in the knight's bed stand, placed there moments after his arrival. Ser Enton hardly had any time to pack before he left the capital on the heels of King Jaehaerys, but he made sure to include several of his personal effects contributed to the enormity of his bag.

One of those is the letter the knight now holds, having reread it several times since he first sat down. It was sent to Ser Enton by his brother, Lord Oberyn Dayne, mere weeks after the knight first arrived in the capital. The letter had seen a lot: he had carried it on his journeys North, to the West, all across of Westeros. All that time the letter sat snugly in his breast pocket, kept warm by the beating on his heart and crinkled by the expansion of his lungs and the pressure of his armor. When he stayed in King's Landing the letter stayed near the dagger that he kept in his bed stand, a place the knight planned to place it soon, along with the other letter that he held so dear.

The parchment his brother had written on was beautiful, Oberyn always had a good eye for presentation which was not spared on anyone, even Enton. The words were noble, and inspiring, reminding Enton of Starfall on lonely nights, reminding him what his purpose was and still is.

Sword of the Morning,

Yes, brother, I address you with your title now: Sword of the Morning. You are Ser Enton Dayne, youngest child of Beric Dayne and Catelyn Yronwood. You are the brother-in-law to my wife, Wylla Wyl. You are the uncle of my three children. You are my brother, my only living brother, but you are also not my brother. You are not an uncle, brother-in-law, or child. Not anymore. No one in the capital sees you in that light, and I pity them for that, but you must recognize that fact and always keep it in mind. You are nothing to them but a warrior: the Sword of the Morning. You may make friends, and I encourage you to do so, but first and foremost, even to them, you are the Sword of the Morning.

You do not represent yourself. You represent House Dayne, not only its present incarnation but also the beautiful history of our great house. The sword you wield, the wondrous Dawn, is not the ambassador: you are. Do our house justice; honor us with your mind, with your words, and yes, with your blade. You will do well, I know you will. You stood by my side during your early days as a knight, so I know how honorable you are. I would not have sent you to the capital to represent Starfall if I did not believe in you.

The children, your niece and nephews that you love, have not stopped weeping since you left. They miss their uncle, and I know their uncle misses them. Catelyn seems to miss her uncle the most. I have stolen many things from you. Perhaps I stole some of your early years with how I treated you, and now I have taken away time that you could have spent with your family. I have taken many years of the future from you, but you can give more to us where you are now. The presence of the Sword of the Morning in the capital is necessary, your power and might will resonate throughout that area, spreading the influence of our house. You left our family's castle with honor and duty, you seemed not to waver at all. Continue in that fashion, noble knight. Do your duty, Sword of the Morning.

Your Brother,
Oberyn Dayne, Lord of Starfall

At the first, the contents of the letter had upset Enton. He knew why his brother had sent him to the capital, but he felt the words used in the letter were unnecessarily harsh for the present political climate. Enton was never skilled at maneuvering the atmosphere of King's Landing that caused dynasties to rise and fall, and before Oberyn's letter he had regarded Dawn as the symbol for House Dayne. Clarity, that is what Oberyn's words provided him. Some went to the sept to pray when they needed guidance, and Enton sometimes enjoyed this task, but all the wisdom he needed when things seemed perilous were in the letter.

He had read it before he packed up and left King's Landing, as he hastily wrote a letter detailing his present circumstance to his brother, knowing that the Lord of Starfall should know what the Sword of the Morning is doing.

Brother,

I have left King's Landing and have journeied to Dragonstone with King Jaehaerys. The dragon reminds me of Daron. If you need any further explanation as to why I have chosen to follow him you are not my brother. Say hello to your children for me.

Enton

Brevity was always one of Enton's defining traits, especially when he was conversing with Oberyn. The two knew how to communicate quite well, and the knight had no doubt that his letter would tell his brother everything that needed to be known.

With a sigh, Enton sets down the letter he received long ago. Many letters and their contents filled his mind, he wondered how long he would be able to hold onto this precious document, and if anyone would be interested in it after he is gone. As he wonders, the knight stands, finding Dawn's sheathe and sliding the mighty sword into it. Ser Enton is a formidable man, a sinewy six foot tall warrior, but as he swings Dawn around onto his back he looks small. Gigantic compared to a normal sword, and twice as deadly on its own, Dawn is almost five feet long, its handle higher up than Enton's head and its tip almost seeming to scrape the ground when he carries it on his back.

And he does, stepping out into the hall, looking for something to do in the fortress he has pledged his sword to.

Lord Oberyn Dayne, Lord of Starfall
Starfall

Two letters. Two letters that shook Starfall's ruler to his core had arrived in such a brief period of time. The first was Cregan's, the bold proclamation of a Northern child striving for something beyond his destiny. The second was Enton's, his brother whom he loved dearly, pledging House Dayne to one of the princes by stepping onto a ship. Oberyn understood his brother's reasoning, and he did not question the character of Jaehaerys, but the lord was shaken by how bold Enton had grown in his time at King's Landing.

The brothers maintained a healthy correspondence while Enton was away, discussing official and personal business fervently. Oberyn's oldest child, Catelyn, named after his mother, wrote to her uncle frequently too. In a way, Enton treated Catelyn like a younger sister. After all the age difference between her and the Sword of the Morning was only slightly greater than the age difference between the Lord of Starfall and the warrior. One time Deziel had been picking on Catelyn. Oberyn had never seen his brother so stern as when he reprimanded his youngest nephew that day.

That was a simpler time. A time when there weren't three kings. A time when the lord did not have to call on his knights, like he had as soon as he read the wolf's letter. Such an earth-shattering thing can only be brought on the wing's of a crow, and that is how Oberyn's master alerted the Dornishmen that served Starfall that their lord wished to speak to them.

Oberyn sits as the head of a table, sitting on an ornate chair, his landed knights gathered around him.

"Gentlemen, there is no doubt that these are troubling times," he comments, he has already briefed them on the contents of Cregan's letter, "In the capital there are troubles. In the North a war seems to be on the horizon. My brother, who has long lived in the capital, could provide insight beyond my knowledge. However, I do know that we must prepare. We must prepare for conflict. We cannot be caught unaware when the tide rises. We will not give in to ignorance and sloth. Prepare your forces. Train your commoners, tell them to stockpile their courage. Tell your wives that you may be going away soon, brief your sons on how they must be strong when you are away and stronger if you do not return. Prepare."

There was grumbling as the knights left, but as the last of them exchanged pleasantries with their lord and filtered out the door Oberyn felt calm. He had not told them about Enton's commitment of House Dayne to Jaehaerys. They did not need to know, not yet. Simply knowledge of a fight was enough. It was enough for Oberyn, and he hopes he can follow his own advice.

by **Revlona** » Sun Jan 28, 2018 12:02 pm

The Crownlands,
Kingslanding

Ser Tywin Lannister Kingsguard to King Daeron sat astride his horse to the righthand side of the King while the White Stallion rode to his left.

Tywins face was covered with his helm, forged into the shape of a lions head, though it did not stop him from searching the the crowd the rode through with his eyes, ever watchful for the sign of violence.

He had rode to Kingslanding when word came that good King Gaemon had died, against his fathers wishes he joined Daerons fledgling Kingsguard.

The White Stallion himself, Jonos Bracken, had placed the cloak around his shoulders.

Tywin Buried his fathers disapproval deep in his mind, and covered it with the thought of his duties.

Tywins greatsword, which was almost the length of a full grown man was strapped across his back, while a longsword was on his belt in case the need arised for a smaller weapon.

As they rode on, Tywin thought of ways he could convince his father to support Daeron, though none that would work came to bear.

by **Warg the Immortal** » Mon Jan 29, 2018 10:20 am

Blackwater Bay
Dragonstone

King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm

Jaehaerys stood on the docks of Dragonstone's small port, his personal ship Stormborn, was still moored in place. It's bright paint and well maintained sails seemed out of place compared to the small fishing vessels which usually dotted the seascape around Dragonstone. Behind him stood a retinue of Targaryen guards, their black and red banners blowing erratically from the wind. On one side of him stood Lord Daeron Blackfyre, while on his other stood Ser Damon Marbrand, or as he was also known, "the White Flame", a member of his father's Kingsguard who had stood by Jaehaerys' side when he and his brother both declared their claim to the throne.

A little ways ahead of him, Jaehaerys could see the group of knights he had summoned to meet him. They would soon be close enough that Jaehaerys would be able to put name to faces, though he already knew whom each was by the colours of their cloaks, betraying which house they each originated. At the head of the group, two men were clearly in conversation, both dressed in black and red, while one bore silver hair, the other's was a dark black. He knew one was Ser Rhaegar Waters, the bastard of Lord Daeron, while the other was Ser Martyn Blacken, a cousin of Lord Robert Blacken. Behind them stood two more knights, one in green, the other purple, he knew those to be Ser Loren Baelish and Ser Enton Dayne, one was the son of a Lord Paramount as well as a former member of his father's Kingsguard, while the other was the current Sword of the Morning.

As the group grew close their discussion could soon be heard, but died down to silence once they stood before Jaehaerys and his men. Around them a collection of smallfolk, fisherman and others surrounded them, waiting for Jaehaerys to speak. As the group of knights came close to kneel before him, Jaehaerys stepped forward to speak. "My loyal knights, as you know, we will be returning to the continent. I have summoned you all here because you will be travelling with me. As your King, I cannot be without my Kingsguard. I have called the four of you here, as well as my Lord Commander, Ser Damon Marbrand, to elevate you four to join him as on of my Kingsguard. Understand, that accepting this position requires that you hold no lands or hereditary titles, take no wives, and father no children. If you choose to assume the mantle of the white cloak, then you shall be my sword and shield from this point forward."

He turned to the first man. "Ser Rhaegar Waters, do you accept this oath?" The silver haired man bowed before him before speaking. "Yes, your grace. I accept this oath, and swear to pledge my sword to the protection of your life." After he spoke Ser Damon took a white cloak from the arms of his squire, and removed the red and black cloak from the man's shoulders before affixing in its place the white cloak of the Kingsguard, before rising to take his place behind Jaehaerys alongside Ser Damon.

Jaehaerys then set about doing asking the same oath for the remaining three knights

by **Eraus** » Mon Jan 29, 2018 2:41 pm

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Robert of House Blacken, Lord of The Dreadfort and Head of House Blacken

Robert knew they'd come for him, he expected it from the moment he heard his Lord was pushing his claim through Lyanna and Rhaegar. A pair who'd started a great war, Robert simply hoped such a war wouldn't happen again. At least not while he was in the Westerlands, or a Prisoner for a Lannister Lord.

"Fine, I suppose I'll come along," Lord Blacken said to the Lannister Guardsmen who'd come to his chambers. The man gave him no reply, simply escorting him towards the Lannisters Council Room.

Robert met his son Aenar and his nephew Olyvar as he neared his destination. The boys were clearly enraged, they must have not yet been told why they were ripped out of their beds to meet with a man one of them would now call family.

"Father, Please tell these Guards they must have heard the wrong thing. Why would they want anything from us Blackens? We came here for a wedding, we're to leave tomorrow." Aenar said raising his voice as his father neared.

"It'll be fine dear son, I'm sure Lord Lannister has his reason for wanting to meet us so urgently," Robert said attempting to reassure his kin, while he himself knew what was to come.

The Blackens would be locked within a cell or their chambers until the Great Council, Robert knew that would be the future until they rode for the Riverlands.

It was then the doors swung open, it would be then they met with Lord Lannister to hear what the man would do with them.

The North
Winterfell

Edmyn of House Blacken, Member of the Wolfguard

Edmyn had no idea as to what the future held, he was certain the Southrons would find a way to destroy King Cregan's claim. The Southrons loved to Rule the Northmen but would never allow the Northmen to rule them.

The South would see his legitimate claim as a declaration of war, they cared not for who was the true king, they only cared for who'd push their own interests.

Edmyn was raised to a true Northmen, to fight for what was right and King Cregan Stark-Targaryen was the rightful king. Any who dared say otherwise was not only calling Edmyn's liege a liar but they'd attempt to call Jon Stark one as well. Any who dared say the Northern Hero was one deserved anything and everything the North threw at them.

And House Blacken was not known for its kind and caring behavior, nor did any of them dare claim to be such.

by **Revlona** » Mon Jan 29, 2018 3:16 pm

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Cyrus Lannister sat at his desk, on his Right hand side stood his bastard uncle Robb Hill, on his left stood his heir Robert.

Cyrus was holding Quickfang in his hand, when Robb Hill showed up unexpectedly with the dagger, Cyrus was overcome with pure joy.

When Robert Blacken and the other two blackens where ushered in, he sheathed the dagger, as it was considered a threat to have bared steal when greeting guests.

"Robert, I expect you have heard the news? If so, then you know why you are here." He said

by **Saint Ryvern** » Mon Jan 29, 2018 8:46 pm

Warg the Immortal wrote:
(Image)
Blackwater Bay
Dragonstone

King Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Third of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm

Jaehaerys stood on the docks of Dragonstone's small port, his personal ship Stormborn, was still moored in place. It's bright paint and well maintained sails seemed out of place compared to the small fishing vessels which usually dotted the seascape around Dragonstone. Behind him stood a retinue of Targaryen guards, their black and red banners blowing erratically from the wind. On one side of him stood Lord Daeron Blackfyre, while on his other stood Ser Damon Marbrand, or as he was also known, "the White Flame", a member of his father's Kingsguard who had stood by Jaehaerys' side when he and his brother both declared their claim to the throne.

A little ways ahead of him, Jaehaerys could see the group of knights he had summoned to meet him. They would soon be close enough that Jaehaerys would be able to put name to faces, though he already knew whom each was by the colours of their cloaks, betraying which house they each originated. At the head of the group, two men were clearly in conversation, both dressed in black and red, while one bore silver hair, the other's was a dark black. He knew one was Ser Rhaegar Waters, the bastard of Lord Daeron, while the other was Ser Martyn Blacken, a cousin of Lord Robert Blacken. Behind them stood two more knights, one in green, the other purple, he knew those to be Ser Loren Baelish and Ser Enton Dayne, one was the son of a Lord Paramount as well as a former member of his father's Kingsguard, while the other was the current Sword of the Morning.

As the group grew close their discussion could soon be heard, but died down to silence once they stood before Jaehaerys and his men. Around them a collection of smallfolk, fisherman and others surrounded them, waiting for Jaehaerys to speak. As the group of knights came close to kneel before him, Jaehaerys stepped forward to speak. "My loyal knights, as you know, we will be returning to the continent. I have summoned you all here because you will be travelling with me. As your King, I cannot be without my Kingsguard. I have called the four of you here, as well as my Lord Commander, Ser Damon Marbrand, to elevate you four to join him as on of my Kingsguard. Understand, that accepting this position requires that you hold no lands or hereditary titles, take no wives, and father no children. If you choose to assume the mantle of the white cloak, then you shall be my sword and shield from this point forward."

He turned to the first man. "Ser Rhaegar Waters, do you accept this oath?" The silver haired man bowed before him before speaking. "Yes, your grace. I accept this oath, and swear to pledge my sword to the protection of your life." After he spoke Ser Damon took a white cloak from the arms of his squire, and removed the red and black cloak from the man's shoulders before affixing in its place the white cloak of the Kingsguard, before rising to take his place behind Jaehaerys alongside Ser Damon.

Jaehaerys then set about doing asking the same oath for the remaining three knights

Ser Enton Dayne, Sword of the Morning
Blackwater Bay, Dragonstone

As Ser Enton kneels before his king, the platinum-haired ruler he has dedicated his sword to, the knight removes Dawn from his back, holding the sheathed sword with the tip resting on the ground as he waits to be elevated to the Kingsguard. The blade is almost five feet long, stretching far above Enton's head, the knight lightly gripped the strong leather sheath that he recently had fashioned to hold the ancestral blade. Many things in the world persisted, like Valyrian steel or Dawn's sidereal blade, but other things like kings and sheaths faded with time; the latter required replacements, improvements some would say, with the assistance of the first two.

The Sword of the Morning was proud to be one piece of steel protecting the rightful claimant to the Iron Throne. A small smile broke across his face as the King spoke to Rhaeger Waters, a knight Enton was excited to work with. His joy was twofold: the prospect of being named to the Kingsguard, a position his ancestor Ser Arthur Dayne once held, made his Dayne heart tremble with the weight of history and duty, a weight he is prepared to carry. The second layer of his happiness is simpler: composed of the joy that comes from working alongside other highly skilled people. His time in the capital had been an excellent opportunity for Ser Enton to represent House Dayne on a greater skill, as he was doing now, but it also provided plenty of chances for him to learn from some of the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms.

He spent a good deal of time with Ser Loren Baelish, a knight he respected greatly, but also a knight that Enton held a quiet contempt for. There were aspects of the Baelish's character that Enton questioned in his own mind, never voicing these concerns, not wishing to undermine his skilled acquaintance for a few angry outbursts. The other knights of Gaemon's Kingsguard would certainly know Enton too since he devoted a large percentage of his time to bettering his sword with the help of the greatest living masters of the blade.

Understand, that accepting this position requires that you hold no lands or hereditary titles, take no wives, and father no children. If you choose to assume the mantle of the white cloak, then you shall be my sword and shield from this point forward." That was the oath that Ser Enton would be agreeing too. Defending a king was easy for some men when compared to the mental strength a member of the Kingsguard required to resist greed and lust. He was not worried about never holding any lands or hereditary titles; his brother had many years left on this earth and Catelyn was the rightful heir anyways. No wives...Enton thought of some of the women he had known in King's Landing. As he pictured them in his mind the idea of never wedding any of them did not bring him any pain. No children...the knight needed no children. The endless love he felt for his niece and nephews held at bay his desire for children of his own. Even the care of his young Tyrell page and mentoring his squire, Stannis Baratheon help subside this urge.

When Jaehaerys reaches Ser Enton the knight speaks the words Waters spoke almost immediately, "Yes, Your Grace. I accept this oath, and swear to pledge my sword to the protection of your life." Quickly Ser Enton finds himself being donned with a white cloak, replacing the purple he has worn for most of his life. With a simple motion, the Sword of the Morning rises to his feet as a member of Jaehaerys' Kingsguard. He strides across the floor, taking a spot next to Ser Damon, holding down by its hilt with the point resting between his feet. He eagerly awaits as his soon-to-be brothers take the oath.

by **Warg the Immortal** » Mon Jan 29, 2018 11:14 pm

Dorne
The Torrentine, Starfall

Haegon Blackfyre

Haegon tapped his foot absentmindedly as the Maester spoke in his usual monotonous voice. As had become the norm since his arrival at Starfall he had been studying with the Maester for several hours before spending the remainder of the day in training with the master-at-arms. Outside the window he could see birds making passes around the island. Though the weather of Dorne was much more appealing than along the Blackwater, he missed his home of Dragon's Tongue. He could still remember the tears in his mother's eyes when he had departed to meet the Dayne girl he had been betrothed to. For now only Laenyra and Daemion remained with their mother, while their father had followed uncle Daeron and uncle Jaehaerys to Dragonstone, though Daemion was soon to leave to meet his own betrothed, while Laenyra as well would likely leave as soon as father found 'an appropriate match'. For Haegon it would likely be years before he saw Dragon's Tongue again.

When news of the King's death had reached Starfall he had hoped he'd be able to see his family one last time for the funeral, but then his uncle declared his name for the throne against his own brother, while far in the North, Cregan Stark had sent ravens announcing his claim to the throne from some Stark bastard who lived a hundred years ago. Now Haegon would probably be forced to remain in Dorne, unless Lord Oberyn decided to march forth, though if he did, he would face family members on both sides. Yawning lightly he returned his gaze to where he was pleasantly surprised to find the old Maester had fallen asleep. Grinning, he brushed his messy silver hair aside before making his way to the window and quietly maneuvering his way on to the sill. He'd spent enough time exploring at night to know that there were enough footholds to make it to Beric's chamber from the Maesters study and carefully began to move along the pale stone walls of the castle.

While a few years younger than himself, Beric was the only boy close enough in age to Haegon that his presence didn't bother him. Deziel had only seen nine name days thus far, and Haegon was hardly planning on spending his short amount of free time acting as a wet nurse for the boy. As he shifted his way through Beric's window he did his best to do so quietly. In the room he could see the young Dayne writing something at the table. Moving silently he snuck behind him to whisper in his ear. "Boo."

He was immediately greeted by the younger boy spinning around in surprise. Haegon chuckled lightly before speaking. "Beric, get your sister, we should go exploring while the old Maester is asleep in his study. I've been here for months and still haven't seen the entire castle, and what better time to get a tour?"

Crownlands
Blackwater Bay, Dragonstone

Ser Daegon Blackfyre, Steward of Dragon's Tongue

Daegon kept his usual stern face as the knights King Jaehaerys had assembled began accepting their oaths, rose, and were presented with their white cloaks. Throughout the ceremony he absentmindedly twisted the silver hair of his beard between his thumb and forefinger. He'd always been told his beard made him look like an old man, though he never gave it much thought. Though he was the middle son he had played the part of the responsible brother to Daemon, Daella and Daena, while Daeron wasted his time with harp music and carousing.

Glancing to where his brother stood he could see the hint of a smile stuck on Daeron's face, having a son under the white cloak, even a bastard, was quite an honour. Though Daegon knew it was more a gift from Jaehaerys than based upon the boy's merit. Rhaegar was a proficient warrior, for certain, but the boy was overwhelmingly shy, refused to ride in the lists, and considering at least half the noble bastards in the Crownlands alone carried the name "Rhaegar Waters", he was not exactly memorable among the lords or the smallfolk. The boy even seemed awkward and out of place standing next to seasoned warriors like the White Flame and Sword of the Morning.

Scoffing under his breath Daegon wrapped his clothes more tightly around himself. The cold wind off of the bay sent shivers down his spine, he longed instead to be back at Dragon's tongue, with his wife, Aerea. Though he knew eventually he might be forced to face her nephew, Aegon, on the battlefield, if the twin Kings called their banners to war. Turning his attention back to the knights he could see that Ser Loren Baelish was the last remaining to take the oath, Ser Martyn Blacken having just accepted his cloak, whle the black, red and purple cloaks of their former houses lying on the wood of the dock.

Crownlands
Blackwater Rush, Dragon's Tongue

Ser Daemon Blackfyre, Castellan and Master-at-Arms of Dragon's Tongue

Sweat dripped from Daemon's brow as he and his nephew circled one another again. They had already been sparring for a few hours, but with his nephew having recently earned his spurs he was interested in seeing his mettle, with Daeron, Daegon, Martyn and even Rhaegar gone his choice of opponents was few and far between. Daemion was putting up a good fight, but he was still young and unused to an opponent who truly wished to see him dead, and though Daemon was his uncle, he would not hold back against one who claimed to hold the title of 'Ser'.

The boy managed to keep up with him for a while longer, but eventually his form began to slip and Daemon could see gaps in the younger knights defence. Pressing his advantage Daemion was disarmed with the blunted blade to his throat within moments. The younger knight chuckled, removing his helm to reveal same lavender eyes, a stark contrast to Daemon's own deep indigo.

Releasing his nephew he removed his own helm, grunting in approval. "Good work, we'll finish training for the day." With that he turned to their squire, his other nephew, Aurion, who began removing the pitch black plate armour that Daemon wore, as well as the crimson and gold plate worn by Daemion. Once he had changed once again into his usual black doublet. Before returning to the remainder of his duties as castellan he made his way to the Sept.

Each window was filled with stained glass, from within the sunlight caused it to be filled with a different colours of the rainbow throughout the day. There had once been only a simple Sept in its place, though that was in the time of Lord Daegon, who had never been especially known for his piety. The former Sept had been torn down and rebuilt by Lord Haegon following his treacherous brother's attempted coup. The new Sept had been built with each figure of the Seven to have the visage of a member of House Blackfyre. The Father and Mother had been made to look like Daemon I and Rohanne of Tyrosh (or Daenerys Targaryen, depending on whom was asked). The Warrior had been made to look like Maegon the Magnificent, while the Crone and Stranger held the visages of Dowager Queen Visenya, and Maelys the Monstrous, respectively. Finally the Maid and the Smith were hewn in the visages of Lady Laena and Lord Daegon.

Kneeling before the image of his twice-great-grandfather, Daemon bowed his head in prayer, whispering quietly. "Smith, mender of things that are broken, give me strength, I fear my brothers, and good-brother will bring about a war, and break the peace that King Gaemon gave us. Give them the strength to repair the bonds of brotherhood between Princes Daeron and Jaehaerys, as you gave Daegon the strength to repair the honour of house Blackfyre." With his prayer finished he stood, and lit a candle to each of the Seven, before making his way towards the keep to oversee the castle in his brothers' absence.

by **The Valyria Empire** » Wed Jan 31, 2018 1:59 am

The North

Winterfell, The Maester's Turret

Queen Rhaenyra of House Stark-Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men

The maester's turret was considered one of the coldest areas of Winterfell, due to it's detachment from the hot springs. As she watched the cold air in front of her, she descended the steps from the turret. Having placed her letters in Maester's Huelyn's care she made her way back to her quarters to finally rest. After she had made sure that her husband was sound asleep she had gone about completing any other tasks that needed complete. The first matter of business was treating with the Northern lords that had come to claim loyalty to Cregan. Yet many lords remained unattended, and thus made Robb worry if they could get all the North behind their new King. Once Rhaenyra was finished treating with the lords would attend the Great Council she had started to write several letters.

The first of these letters were to her family. To the Lannisters, Daeron, Jaehaerys, and most importantly, Baelon. Rhaenyra's boots crunched through the snow as she exited the turret, the walls were covered in a light snow. Even in spring, the North never could escape the snow. She gazed for a moment at the sun that had started to set. Eventually making it to the next stairwell, she made her way to the quarters and eventually their room. As she entered, she saw her husband asleep on the bed. A small smile, grazed across her face as she undressed herself. Eventually finding herself looking over her husband. The man who had turned her into a traitor, she could hear the rumors now. "The Wolf King used blood magic to sway the Targaryen princess.". A light chuckle escaped her, before laying down and covering her self with the sheets and furs. Before falling asleep, she moved herself against Cregan's body and grabbed his hand. If she were to die a traitor's death, there's no one else she would rather fight alongside.

The Crownlands

King's Landing, The White Sword Tower

Lord Commander Prince Baelon of House Targaryen, Regent, Lord Protector of the Realm

Baelon had lived in this tower for as he as he could remember. His quarters had been strainted out, and in the center of the room sat his table. On the table lay the White Book, with Baelon writing. Baelon was writing about Ser Damon "The White Flame" of House Marbrand. How he came to join the Kingsguard at the age of 24, butting heads with Ser Jonos "The White Stallion" of House Bracken, before eventually leaving the Kingsguard to join Jaehaerys. He had started work on a letter to Lord Paramount Baelish, requesting the use of Harrenhal as the seat for the Great Council when a knock came at his door.

Baelon slowly rose from the table, and opened the door. He looked to see Ser Vorian hand him several letters silently before departing down the stairs. Baelon closed the door and returned to his seat. He quickly went through each of the notes, reading them with absolute focus. He started with Cregan's declaration, then to Daeron's and finally Rhaenyra's. He found himself chuckling a lot through the letters, though mostly at Daeron's.

He followed suite by grabbing some parchment, and a quill before getting to work.

As Baelon walked to the Grand Maester's rookery to have him send the letters north, and a rider to deliver to Daeron he soon heard of Daeron's departure. He would quickly run to a window to see the small host depart the city and march through the Dragon Gate.

"That foolish boy will be the death of me, I swear...." Baelon whispered under his breath. He sent word to a messenger to find Ser Daric Baratheon and Robert Baratheon to rally themselves a small host and a few ships, and a fast rider to deliver his letter to Daeron. He was going to Rosby to stop this meeting.

by **Nuxipal** » Wed Jan 31, 2018 10:51 pm

King Daeron IV Targaryen

Rosby, The Crownlands

Camping near Rosby, Daeron's small host was preparing for a fight with the Northerners. Daeron himself was in Castle Rosby with his Kingsguard and advisers. He received two ravens while in the castle. He opened and read the first, from his cousin in Winterfell. His wife's own sister wrote to him asking him to stand down. It was infuriating to say the least. He passed the letter off to his advisers, "Look here, my cousin pleads with us to permit the traitor to attempt to usurp the throne. She even goes so far as to threaten the lives of the people of Westeros."

The advisers each read it and it eventually passes through the Kingsguard. While it is going through them all he reads his Uncle's letter, which arrived just afterwards, it is likely that his cousin's letter was forwarded along with his uncle's from King's Landing. He read through the letter and sighed heavily. "My uncle will not defend the Targaryen Throne from the Usurper. We shall wait for my brother then. If he is for it, we can negotiate on our own and come to some kind of agreement before the Council."

The letter is also passed around, Daeron looks to one of his few Kingsguard and addresses him, "Ser Tywin, any thoughts on what your father will do in the Great Council? If there is some way we can convince him to support my claim, when the Council comes together, we will be in a much stronger place if House Lannister supports my claim in its entirety."

by **Eraus** » Wed Jan 31, 2018 11:18 pm

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Robert of House Blacken, Lord of The Dreadfort and Head of House Blacken

Robert stared at the Lannister, of course, he'd heard the news. Lord Cyrus was likely the one who sent his Maester to inform Robert, why he' ask such a question was, of course, unknown at least to Robert.

"Of course," Robert said breaking the silence. "King Cregan has announced his plan to push his legal claim on the Iron Throne."

Words his son and nephew must have never imagined hearing, neither had he until hours ago. "King?" Aenar said perplexed with the notion of Lord Cregan claiming to be such.

"Ay boy" His father replied "King Cregan, an interesting claim of course. Right from Jon Stark, the bastard of Eddard Stark...or so they say. His Grace has proof that Jon Stark was the eldest living son of Rhaegar Targaryen, being as Aegon was of course likely some Lyseni who'd found his way into power." Robert stopped himself before he continued to ramble.

"I suppose you've brought me here to either, imprison me or allow my kin and I to ride north. I'd strongly suggest the latter option unless you plan on harming your guest." Robert knew what his words could lead to yet he didn't expect Lord Cyrus, the man wasn't known for being a harsh man, and even if he was, the killing or imprisonment of a Northerner or even worse a Blacken would ensure the situation worsened.

Robert himself was sure his eldest Denys wouldn't dare let this go without revenge, that was one of the few things his son was good at and clearly the only thing he'd gotten from his father.

"Unless you wished to talk about something else, then we can wait until the morning."

by **Revlona** » Thu Feb 01, 2018 5:46 am

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Cyrus Lannister listened and watched as Robert Blacken said what he said, and prepared to speak when Aenar Blacken said his fill.

Cyrus kept himself from speaking while Robert replied, and then finally said, "As a loyal subject to the crown, I would be well within my rights to apprehend you, you are major vassals of a rebel King." Cyrus said

"It's such a shame that you heard news of your Kings claim and departed for Winterfell before my Guards could apprehend you, my Uncle here even lead a search party after you but could find no tracks." He said in a deceiving tone

"When you rendezvous with Cregan, you will inform him that I received the letter from his wife, and that I will be staying at the Inn at the Crossroads, it would be such a coincidence should Cregan himself appear and we had talks together."

Then Rob Hill spoke, "M'lord has spoken, it's a right shame that we weren't able to apprehend you in time, might be wise if you made use of that time" He said, then giving his head a slight jerk towards the door

The Crownlands
Rosby

Ser Tywin Lannister read the letter as it was passed around the table, scrunching his eyebrows as he read Lord Bealons letter.

When his King addressed him with his question, Tywin said "My Father has sent no word on how he may act in the coming council Your Grace, I have sent him weekly ravens asking him to be the loyal bannerman he is and Declare for you, but I have had no response, as you know your grace I did not leave my fathers presence on the best of terms as he wished for his family to stay neutral in this for now. Though I have no doub the Father will help him see the light and guide him to your service." Tywin said

by **Altegonnia** » Fri Feb 02, 2018 2:31 pm

Lord Victon Greyjoy

Kingslanding

____________________________________________________________________________________

” We’ve got kings above and kings below! Kings where’ver you go! Want to be a king? Sign up today! There’s no true king to stand in your way!”

The chorus would fill the pubs, streets and inns surrounding the docks of kings landing as two hundred and fifty ironborn reavers and sailors pass the time drinking and whoreing in and around any establishment that’ll let them in. As Victon Greyjoy was being barred from leaving the port in order to make sure the iron islands didn’t try to skip the great council, his crew were stuck here alongside him. Amongst the refined and civilized mainlander smallfolk of the capital, the ironborn could be nothing but a nuisance and a menace. Their main activities in the city being disruptive at best and harmful to businesses at worse. The only ironborn failing to cause a ruckus in the city would be Victon himself alongside the five bodyguards following him around everywhere.

However to be fair Victon would be happy to drink and carouse with his men roaming the streets if he wasn’t more focused on dealing with this insult to his person by the regent who “insists” he remain for the council.

He would be perched upon ramming peice on the bow of his ship, The Kraken, peering out at the bay through his spyglass at the ships coming and going. He’d scowl and declare “if it were not for these velvet wearing whores fighting over a pincushion throne, I’d be back home to assume my rule from Pyke already! If they keep me moored in this harbor another night by the Drowned God’s fury I’ll kick down the doors of the red keep myself and melt down that stupid chair!”

His bodyguards would look at each other with faces goading the others to mention how suicidial that would be but in the end none spoke. This was the fourth day that Victon had been in this fey
Mood and they had all right about given up on commenting about his outrageous declarations.

“Yarkon!” He would snap suddenly jumping down on to the deck of his ship.

“Yes Captain?”

“Round up the men! We’re going to send a message about trying to cage in the Ironborn!”

by **Eraus** » Sun Feb 04, 2018 9:00 am

The Westerlands
Casterly Rock

Robert of House Blacken, Lord of The Dreadfort and Head of House Blacken

Robert nearly smiled at the Lannister, he'd not expected this but it was a pleasant surprise. "Yes quite the shame, and of course King Cregan shall hear word of this once we make our way north" he said before beginning to make his way out the Lannisters Council Room.

Aenar and Olyvar followed a few feet away, silent yet ever confused at what was unfolding before them. "Father is my wife coming with us?" Aenar asked, not wanting to leave Myra so soon.

"Unfortunately she's far safer here then where we're heading." Robert said as he made his way through the twists and turns of Casterly Rock towards his chambers "Gather your things, we've got a long trek before us. We've got a war to prepare for, and a Stark to crown"

"Uncle, you've still yet to tell us just what is going on. Yes a Stark is trying to be crowned King....but is this a rebellion or is he trying to use the Grand Council to place him upon the throne."

Robert himself was unsure, he'd only just read the letter or at least a copy of it. He hoped it was the latter, a rebellion was never good for the realm especially the one the rebel ruled over.

"Grand Council of course, but who's to know who'll march on the North once King Cregan wins. I'd bet all my lands the Southrons wouldn't dare let a Stark sit upon the throne, unless he became just like them." Robert said, while he wasn't sure if Cregan would actually win he felt the need to reassure the young boys. They were too young to have an actual understanding of what war truly was, Robert himself was not ready for it either but he was far more capable then the young and impressionable boys that stood before him.

"No more questions, get whatever you need and prepare for our ride. Aenar go talk with your wife and tell her you're leaving, poor girl only just married you"

And with that the Blackens readied to leave the Rock, within a few hours they'd been well into their trip towards the Riverlands not knowing that Denys and the other Blackens had already begun their trip there as well.

by **The Valyria Empire** » Fri Feb 09, 2018 7:11 pm

The Crownlands

Rosby, Castle Rosby

Lord Commander Prince Baelon of House Targaryen, Regent, Lord Protector of the Realm

Baelon entered Castle Rosby in a fury. At his tail was his brothers, and Lord Paramount Victon Grejoy who was forced along. As Baelon entered the great hall he found Prince Daemon among his followers.

"You bloody fool. Are you trying to bleed the realm, before you even sit the damn throne?!" Baelon shouted as he closed the distance. He stood a good foot taller than Daemon, and his white armor was a stark contrast to Daemon's black armor. "Now that I have arrived, I will be ensuring that you and your brother make it to Harrenhal safely. The two of you may speak once we arrive, as Lord Baelish has allowed the realm to use his castle for the Council."

Baelon's frown knew no bounds. Not only had he dealt with a ravage bunch of Ironborn with the Goldcloaks, and was forced to bring Victon with him. He had to keep his nephews from taking up arms against Cregan. The bloody fools... all of them.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Daemon. I need to send some letters. If you need my audience, you'll find me with the maester."

The North

The Neck, The Kingsroad

King Cregan of House Stark-Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.

Three days had come and gone. Cregan had recovered from the fatigue he had suffered, and now the realm had been called to Harrenhal. The Great Council was to come through, and Cregan was allowed to push his claim. The last two days he had gathered his Wolfguard, his close followers and they had started to trip south. It had been several years since Cregan had left the North, and the last he was in King's Landing he had spat at the King's feet. Something those at court were unlikely to forget. The sun, while blocked by clouds, was overhead and Cregan mounted his horse. At the lead of his party was Beric Reed, regent to Lord Reed who was currently bedridden. Beric had been placed in charge in guiding them through the Neck as swiftly as possible. As Cregan rode along, he looked back to see his wife and Lord Commander riding behind him. They had rested little at Moat Cailin, as Cregan wanted to reach the Great Council as soon as possible.

I wonder if Daemon and Jaehaerys have already arrived. They could possibly have several lords on their side... Cregan pondered as his horse stepped in some swampland. I promised Rhaenyra that I would not take up arms, yet... would the lords would reject the truth? Cregan then thought about the small tome tied to his belongings. He had brought several other books in case of thievery.

"Rhaenyra, at our next stop, write to Lord Lannister that we will soon be arriving at the Riverlands. I hope that he still wishes to meet at the Inn." Cregan said as he looked back to Rhaenyra. She nodded and they resumed their ride for a few more hours before stopping.

Game of Thrones: A Dream of Spring [IC] -Concluded-

Game of Thrones: A Dream of Spring [IC] -Concluded-

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