ASoIaF: The War of the Five Kings (IC) [Open]

[Nuxipal]

A Song of Ice and Fire
The War of the Five Kings


OOC

The Tournament celebrating the Ascension of the new Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, following the death of the previous Hand, Jon Arryn, has just ended. The gathering of nobles and knights in King's Landing drew a vast quantity of wealth to the capital. Visitors from as far away as the Summer Isles had come for the festivities, as well as a chance to catch the King's ear. However, in the days following the event, the Hand began to uncover the truth of Jon Arryn's death as well as the secrets he was close to uncovering. Evidence was beginning to point to a salacious plot that could result in the death of the Royal heirs, the Queen, and a member of the Kingsguard. However, during all of this, King Robert continued to hunt, drink, and whore while reminiscing with his old friend on the days of their youth. With the King due to leave on a Royal Hunt in two days time, the pieces of a grand conflict begin to fall into place.

---

Eddard Stark
Tower of the Hand, King's Landing

The tourney had worn on Eddard. Only days ago he had been investigating the death of Jon Arryn, and now his own wife had snuck into the capital to see him, just before returning back north claiming the knife that had been used to try and assassinate his boy belonged to Tyrion Lannister. So many things were happening around him, but at least one of his daughters was happy. Arya had been discovered with her sword and set up to work with a Braavosi swordsman. While at first, Eddard had felt this may be the wrong way to go about this, he soon learned that Arya enjoyed the lessons and that it was keeping her out of the usual trouble she got into. Because of this, and other things, he was making plans to send Arya back to Winterfell with her new 'dancing' instructor.

He felt that he was getting closer to discovering what Jon Arryn had been looking into. Just a session or two more with that wretched book and he is sure he'd see what Jon was looking for, or perhaps what he had found out from the book that caused his death.

[Dragos Bee]

Ser Zakar Moonspring

The stink of King's Landing offended him; Volantis' subject towns were much better, larger, and more prosperous, despite their dependence on the vile practice of slavery. Nevertheless, Zakar Moonspring, sellsword and temporary agent of the Iron Bank, had continued to shake down minor lords for the cash they owed to the Braavosi, collecting a large sum of gold which he handed to his employers' people in the docks of the city. Like the dutiful 'hireling' of Braavos that he was, he didn't keep any of the cash for himself, but rather waited for the Iron Bank's agents to give over a portion as his 'finder's fee'. The portions he was given were very generous, so he had no cause to complain, come to think of it.

In Westeros, especially in King's Landing, he and his company were the equivalent of the blind and the deaf, dependent on local gossip and what the Iron Bank's senior agents were willing to tell. He did not envy his intelligencer, Regro of Pentosh, nor did he envy his folk, whom the Iron Bank had housed in clean lodgings close to the Street of Silk - Not that the latter compared to anything in Lys. In fact, he had made a point of confining himself within said lodgings after his shakedowns and his payment from the Iron Bank's agents.

How dare you, a mere hedge knight and sellsword, act thus to an actual lord?

I'm not afraid of the Iron Bank when its dog is but a child, boy.

You're rising above yourself; know your damn place.

Insults from the Westerosi lords whom he had collected debt from, whom he had shaken down money through words harsh and fair, blandishments and threats. As he paced the solar of the large house - larger than a hovel, smaller than a proper manse - which was at the center of his company's lodgings, Zakar thought about how he'd much prefer to be back in Essos, away from this place and the incompetent, whoremongering King who had taken the throne and did nothing with it except drink himself to a stupor. Not that he didn't keep those thoughts private; no one else knew what he did not speak out.

Three knocks on the door, the strength behind the sounds was just like Ser Dannel of Vaith's; that meant his second-in-command had news.

"Come in," Zakar said, his right hand near his sword-hilt but not holding it just in case this turned out to be a foe instead of Ser Dannel or if the latter had betrayed him somehow - Some measure of paranoia was needed to survive in this cutthroat world.

It was Ser Dannel, still wearing his armor - which had been polished anew at the Iron Bank's expense - and Regro of Tyrosh, in the light brown robes he preferred. Their faces - Ser Dannel wasn't wearing a helmet - were grave, and Zakar snapped out of his brooding over how he hated Westeros to recognize that they had stumbled on something serious.

"What is it?" he asked, already dreading the answer.

Regro was the first to speak, "Anyone with half a brain can guess that the Iron Throne has been taking out one loan too many from the Iron Bank, but the rumors of that have been ramping up lately due to the tourney, and there's one more bit of tattle about said tourney you should know - That the King's Hand now knows about the debts and is going to do something about them. As the King's Hand is a Stark, it's probably going to be something faithful and loyal but also incredibly foolish."

Zakar nodded and said, "I know about the Starks; savage, stubborn, cruel, and yet honorable. They're much like my own Dorne except for the 'honorable' part. Keep your eyes and ears open - The King's Hand will either prevail against all odds or disgrace himself and his family after a fall. Either way, there's profit as well as stink in the air."

He then mused, "King Robert Baratheon is known to be a whoremonger and a whoremonger has bastards if the whores fail to drink moon tea. Make discreet inquiries to find the King's bastard children; the unacknowledged and baseborn ones who nevertheless resemble him, and recruit them to our company if they're old enough or into our camp followers if they're too young. In these inquiries, we'll probably attract the Hand's attention, and once we do, we'll ask for his pardon, talk our way out of potential charges of treason, and then find a way to work with him if he prevails."

Ser Dannel finally spoke up to add, "We'll be attracting other eyes if we do that. Eyes which would look at our actions with a more jaundiced eye than our honorable Hand."

Zakar's retort was simple, "Then get ships and an excuse ready for if we have to flee. We've done our job for the Iron Bank; we have some goodwill from them. But just in case we can't count on anyone, we'll escape to Myr or another Free City..."

[Nuxipal]

Lucerys Seasmoke
Serpent's Jaws, Near Bloodstone, The Stepstones

Two Days before The Royal Hunt

Thirty-seven, Lucerys thought, Thirty-seven damn pirates sunk or captured and we still haven't made a dent. He was looking out over the remains of a Ship out of Gulltown as some of his men were rescuing sailors. The early reports were that the ships that struck this merchant were either Tyroshi or Lyseni in origin and made base here on Bloodstone somewhere. What made this difficult was the number of inlets and natural harbors on the island to shelter the pirates from being spotted by any sized fleet. Lucerys had come south with fifteen of his twenty ships. He had lost a pair of galleys, but captured two replacements and a merchant vessel he was using to store their spoils for now. The survivors being plucked from rocks and driftwood would help crew that ship and it would join the merchant fleet of House Seasmoke at some time.

Turning to one of his officers aboard the Serpent's Jaws Lucerys simply said, "We should move and find the pirates responsible. Their hiding spot should be somewhere nearby. We take them down and collect whatever loot they have and can go make port in Plankytown or Weeping Town. We need to get back in touch with my brother and get news from the Realm."

The ships finished collecting the survivors from the wreck and sailed towards the western side of the island. A sail was spotted in an inlet, followed by another, and then three more. They were docked at a small pirate settlement and in a bad position to try and fight back. The Seasmoke colors, inverse of Velaryon, were run up the ships as they approached the inlet. Pirates could be seen rushing to their ships to try and cast off to defend the settlement. Those that didn't make it were still arming themselves and looking to defend the town. The five ships barely had time to leave port before the Seasmoke ships were firing on them. Scorpion bolts ripped at the sailors and the ships themselves.

The sea engagement never closed in as three of the ships sank in the channel and the other two crashed into the sinking vessels as they were trying to leave. Lucerys debated not even attacking the town, but his men urged him on. They continued to fire the scorpions and fire arrows onto the sinking and crashed ships until they set ablaze. Men fled for all they were worth. Most of his crew were born in Hull, though he had recruited men from Kings Landing and even Essos. The landing party would consist of nearly 400 men from his ships. They were armed with swords, shields, spears, bows, and anything else that sailor preferred. However, Lucerys had his handpicked assault force. A dozen ironborn, two other knights, and twenty men at arms with swords and shields. The group of thirty-five would form the core of any formation or would at least provide a focal point of the attack. Under the protection of a hundred archers aboard the ships, Lucerys and the four hundred men set themselves ashore to take the pirate settlement and any loot these pirates had claimed for themselves.

---

Three hours later, the fighting was still going on in the settlement. What resistance was put up at the edge of the settlement collapsed quickly. One of the ships that had crashed into the sinking galleys managed to free itself and extinguish its flames. It returned to a dock and its crew tried their best to defend their homes. Lucerys was more comfortable fighting on a ship, but these pirates weren't the greatest fighters in the world. The ironborn and his knights were like a spear thrust into any defensive attempts the pirates made. Lyseni, Tyroshi, Dornish, Andal, and many other ethnicities were present among the pirates. Wherever the pirate's captain was, they didn't have control over the battle at all, Lucerys hoped the man hadn't burned on the ships, but it was likely he died early in the battle. Already his men controlled most of the settlement, save the docks around the last ship and the inner bastion. With the inlet blocked, that ship wasn't going anywhere so Lucerys didn't bother with it as much. He set a rear guard and moved his force towards the Bastion.

The gates were shut and the only stone structure of the settlement looked formidible. Though, its walls lacked any kind of defenders atop them, just a handful of men behind the walls firing arrows blindly at the attackers. "Ladders!" cried Lucerys, "Find ladders in the town and lets get over this thing." It only took a few minutes to find ladders on the sides of some homes. Axes freed any from moorings or fasteners keeping them in place on these homes. Many of those who did not sail had already fled the town others hid in their hovels. Ten ladders were rushed forward by teams of four men each. They were put into place and the men began to climb them. The stone wall was narrow, explaining why it wasn't manned at the top. The ironborn were some of the first over followed by dozens of other men trying to quickly enter the bastion. Before long, the gates swung open and Lucerys and his knights strode inside. No captain was found, just a half-dozen archers trying to intimidate his men from attacking their fortress.

"Alright, lets clean up here. Execute the pirates and anyone who resists. Collect the treasures you find. No captives are to be taken back to the ships unless they were prisoners from Westeros. Lets get to work boys."

Lucerys urged his men into action. The fight was won, but the prize must be taken now. Coins, jewels, silks, and equipment were looted from the bastion and the settlement itself. The settlement contained a surprisingly high quantity of wealth. Eventually his men were able to set the ship in the harbor ablaze with arrows from the town's defenses. Its pirate crew doing their best to flee the ship only to be shot at by the Driftmark Archers. By sundown, Lucerys and his men had made off with a nice haul, mostly in trade goods, but also in gold and weaponry. As they left Lucerys planted a banner in the rocky shoreline near the inlet's mouth, still visibly blocked by sunken galleys. The blue sea-dragon on a white banner flew, the colors were inverse of their overlord the Velaryons, but the sigil itself was reminiscent of both House Velaryon and House Targaryen, the original progenitors of House Seasmoke over a hundred years past.

[Arlye Austros]

Lord Renly Baratheon. Master of Laws.
Maegor’s Keep.

His eyes examined the dagger with interest. It wasn’t a fine steel-craft. But it had small ornamental sapphires embedded in the handle, making it rather uncomfortable to wield. The three eyes looked back at him from their leathery lids. Renly chuckled and left it on the table, thinking of Ser Hugh and the way he had died.

It was his job to expedite any enquire and investigation attempt after the King’s Tourney. Injuries and death were no strangers to this affair, yet Renly had people report the details of any situation that might pitch noble against noble for compensations. Ser Hugh’s <<unfortunate impediment>> was the grimmer one. But luckily it seemed unlikely anybody in the Vale would claim any reparation for his death. He signed a declaration laying on his table, establishing that Ser Hugh of the Vale, recently knighted and former squire of the late Hand, had been killed in a jousting accident of which nobody could be blamed. Maybe his mother would protest. But unless she could gather Lady Lysa’s support that would lead to nothing.

Lysa Arryn… Now that was something that Renly felt he needed to keep an eye on. The woman left the capital in the greatest haste she could muster. Fearing for her small child? Perhaps. The Vale wouldn’t be in the best feelings with the Crown after Robert decided to name Jaime Lannister Warden of the East.
At least that scroll was signed. He rolled it in a leather band and sealed the band with his sigil of office. Then his mind went off somewhere else.

He was aware of the Hands questions on Robert’s bastards. If the Gods granted him two lives Renly suspected he wouldn’t be able to unmask them all. He remembered his own ward. Edric was safe at Storm’s End, and no doubts he wouldn’t be used by anybody to advance a position on Throne.

So was the Queen. Whether in full or in part, Renly couldn’t be sure. But his sister-in-law was antagonized with the Starks since Darry, and that antagonism had seemingly grown since their arrival at the city. Alas! The Wolf would never support setting the Queen aside in favor of Loras’s sister. Petty.

He walked out of his chamber with a small scroll for Storm’s End, instructing Ser Cortnay to double Edric’s watch and to make inventory of the fortress’s weapons and supplies. He imagines sending some blacksmiths from the city wouldn’t hurt. After sending the raven he went to his own personal armory to check his spear.
“Bah! It’s in such a bad condition!” He protested upon looking at the tip. The captain of his household stood behind him.
“You never instructed us to take care of your hunting weapons, my lord. After Ser Loras left your service… well.”

As incompetent as it sounded, he preferred to have his thirty armed men keeping watch, not polishing spears.
“I will have to find a page or a squire, then. One that is actually here.” He sentenced, taking the spear to the courtyard to have it polished by a royal page. “Find Ser Loras!”

[Ormata]

House Fysher of Greenwater

---

House Fysher
Lord Aden Fysher
Greenwater, The Reach | 298 AC

The study was small, occupied at one end by an oval table of oak, and a wide window opened to the daylight sun. A robed figure sat against the window, the sea breeze catching at the wisps of his beard, his face hunched down into a book. A letter sat on the table, folded neatly as could be managed. He somewhat disliked its contents, though there could be a glimmer of light found between the words. The Lord Eddard Stark had been named Hand of the King, the words said, announced as it were at the tourney. He could find no simple way to define his feelings about the matter, the ancient writings of Maester Lucas sliding past his attention like oil on water. The Starks were northerners, true, far flung and concerned with their own affairs. They were simple, too, compared to the more complex politics that strung the Crownlands, the Reach, and elsewhere. He suspected the man would find himself at odds with the lying nature of such nobility. And yet, despite such misgivings…there were few who could be called as honorable, as forthright, or as plainly just as the Lord Eddard could. He was a good man in a place where good men were drowned by the bad, buried by the cowards with their silence. Nothing could be more of an injustice than that.

Padded feet announced a visitor, a deep yawn low to the floor giving the Lord some sense of who the visitor was. He barely looked up from the tome on Mereenese architecture, leaning off to the side to let a veined hand drop down, limp. Hot breath, a whine, and soon enough fur pressed up on his fingers as the old man scratched at his dog. He panted easily enough, a small smile cresting the corners of Aden’s mouth. There was something wonderful about just losing yourself in that moment, and yet…his mind still turned to the real world, to the natures of it.

Lord Eddard Stark had been named Hand. This would likely cause some sort of disturbance at King’s Landing; there was no dearth of intrigue and underhandedness at that poor place between the various nobles. They might become emboldened by the new Hand’s perceived northerner simplicity, seeing an opportunity against him where there had been none before with the Arryn. He somehow doubted that Lord Eddard would be so simple, all things considered. He had proven himself capable during the rebellion and the conflicts which had followed, as well as keeping the various dysfunctional groups in the North under leash. And so, the Stark would invariably uncover some sort of plot or another, some sort of issue, and thus a disturbance at King’s Landing would be made. How severe it may be…Aden could not guess. He doubted the Hand would concern himself with more minor matters. A House may be implicated in total and exiled, or some underhanded dealing by Lannister hands might come to light. Lord Aden had no doubt that the Lannisters had several plans in place. They would doubtless find a greater issue with the Stark than the Arryn.

He’d heard word that a mercenary company from the south had begun operating in that same region. Ravens from his daughter had confirmed their existence. They appeared to call themselves “the Sandstorm”, which somehow brought a shadow of a chuckle to Aden’s lips whenever he recalled it. It was strange, to liken oneself to an event which the Dornish weathered constantly, and stranger still as he could not figure out what individual soldiers might call themselves to show that they were a part of the company. Perhaps they simply referred to themselves as mercenaries. That was likely it. In any case, as Lord Aden withdrew himself from the more humorous aspect of it, the mercenary company was quite large at just over a thousand men. He found it uncomfortable, especially considering they were apparently hired by the Iron Bank of Braavos. Money-hunters, that’s all the company might be. Apparently they were well disciplined. Somehow Lord Aden found the idea questionable, considering the skirmishing nature of the Dornish. There were apparently Myrish among their ranks. They were a far-ranging sort, one which somehow smelled more coin outside of the Free Cities with the Iron Bank. Aden sensed a history there, something that was out of place. It would likely not matter.

Loras Tyrell had been knighted some years back…or perhaps it had been only one year. Aden turned his head slowly, reading over a list of past events before stretching out his hand to turn the pages up. Yes, it had been just a year. He’d sent the letter to the Tyrells, and to Loras specifically, some months after that, proposing that young Toman would be sent in replacement of Loras. The letter had been extensive, with a portion written by Toman himself. He could only hope that a bright, if early, education would entice Loras in recommending his grandson. To be a squire under Renly would serve Toman well, if not purely by the education and training he would receive then by the connections and friendships he might acquire among those in the Baratheons. It would offer him more opportunities than Aden had, and that was something which could be supported. The risk was there, though, considering the number of nobility he might come into contact with…and yet, somehow Aden doubted Renly Baratheon would allow his squire to be injured or threatened. It would weaken his own position and, better still, Renly was a good, young man as far as Aden could discern. He genuinely felt a moral need to perform the act. It was a good thing, to be completely understated.

A knock on the door, Aden turning himself about in his chair and his hand coming briefly off his hound’s head. One of the servants, Auster, stood in the doorway with a wooden tray, briefly bowing as steam seeped from a kettle. A heavy weight pressed down on the Lord’s hand, a reminder, and it was soon again held hostage in pets. The young man set his tray down on the table carefully, settling tea leaves in the strainer as he poured the hot water. The smell of it soon enveloped the room. A quiet “Thank you” seemed to echo as the servant left the room in a similar small bow.

Neina was in the Vale. She had made good progress on finding the merchant group which had been lost some months prior. Few had given her and the regiment trouble; the neutrality of House Fysher was not a recent event and they marched fast. The ravens had been sporadic, however, sent whenever they could be sent. Aden and his cartographer could only guess where they were at in their hunt, though prospects looked good. They had most certainly entered The Bloody Gate, where the last letter had been sent from, but otherwise not much could be said. A pang of discomfort as Aden hoped she was fine. A letter from Oldtown said her children, adopted though they were, were missing his daughter. The septas were taking care of such things, true, and yet…he hoped she would return well. A glance up at the shelf, one particular work by Archmaester Abelon, and Aden wished he’d never let her read the work.

And yet, all seemed out of his hands and the Lord of Greenwater simply sipped his tea.

[Of the Quendi]

King's Landing
Ser Loras Tyrell

In the Year 298 AC

The knight of flowers was in a fine mood after the Hand's tourney and why shouldn't he be? Aye, he had not won, having chosen to forfeit the final joust in favor of Sandor Clegane but what mattered it. In magnanimity there was its own sort of glory, Loras thought and none could deny that he had looked splendid at the tilts, with his jeweled roses adorning his armor and his cape of actual woven roses trailing behind him. That last garment he was still wearing though he had exchanged the jewel encrusted armor for a bright green silk doublet embroidered with exquisite roses made of actual gold thread. The cape was held fast by a golden rose brooch, and all in all Loras' garments matched those of Renly superbly.

The young man was prancing through the great hall of the Red Keep slowly, generously allowing prince and pauper alike a good chance to get a long look at all his flowery finery, before his departure. In truth it was a bit of a bother, but that was the price of being the a celebrated knight; one had to give the people a chance to perceive all ones greatness. Loras was quite confident that he had managed to make more than a few maiden's hearts quicken in their breasts today; lady Sansa and that mysterious Valyrian beauty certainly came to mind.

Yet it was not fair maiden's that kept his attention, nor even how sharp a dresser he was; no for he had been summoned by Renly. Renly, Renly, Renly. Who could think of fair maidens when Renly summoned one? Certainly not Loras, and the moment he had left the great hall and no more needed to permit the small folk to get a good long glimpse of their hero his steps quickened. He had already half forgotten that he had promised his brother Willas that he would ask Renly if some Tommen, grandson of Lord Aiden of House Fischer of Greywater, or some such, might be permitted to squire for Renly. What was such triviality when one was summoned by Renly.

Ser Loras almost half ran to Maegor's Holdfast. From the courtyard he heard that most wonderful sound, of Renly's voice, he marched rapidly into the courtyard. "You summoned me my lord." Ser Loras spoke with some formality as there where people in the courtyard, as he approached his master.

[Nuxipal]

Eddard Stark
Tower of the Hand, Kings Landing

A strange visitor has come to the Red Keep seeking out the new Hand. A man that Eddard has met many times in the past and one that he is unlikely to dismiss, Yoren, a recruiter from the Night's Watch. Eddard sat at his desk, going over the reports he was receiving. It seemed that someone else had been taking an interest in Robert's Bastards. However, greeting the man from the Night's Watch was a little more pressing to the Warden of the North. He figured the man would ask about scouring the dungeons for recruits as well as taking anyone who wanted to tag along to the wall. Eddard figured this would be a quick meeting.

"Yoren! It's good to see you again, take a seat. Would you care for a drink?" Eddard offered the man a cup for wine, which the wandering crow rejected as he sat across from Eddard and asked, "What I have to tell you may be sensitive information. No one will have heard it just yet in the city and likely the first reports will find their way to the Queen's family sometime later today." Eddard was confused, typically the Night's Watch wouldn't provide any kind of political information to any side, they were to remain neutral. This must indeed be dire news.

"Go ahead and speak freely Yoren. I trust Jory here with my life and he has been my captain of the guard for eight years." Behind Yoren, Jory simply closed the door to give a little extra privacy to the conversation that had taken a turn towards the secretive. Nodding and moving closer to Eddard regardless, Yoren spoke softly to him. "I saw your lady wife on the road back in the Riverlands. She was at the crossroads inn with her own guard. There was also another notable figure. Tyrion Lannister."

Eddard remembered how his wife had told him that the dagger belonged to Tyrion, the dagger that a man had tried to use to kill Bran while he lay in his bed after the accident. Feeling this story was going to take a bad turn he looked to Jory and said, "Go ahead and get Arya on that ship today. Gulltown or White Harbor, whichever is sooner." With that Jory left to quickly retrieve Arya and take her back North. Yoren waited until the door closed before he finished the report. "She took Tyrion captive and headed for the Vale with a dozen knights of the Riverlands swearing loyalty to her. This is surely going to cause some distress in the capital and wider Kingdom soon."

Understanding the ramifications at hand, Eddard then stood up and started writing a note for Yoren while saying, this time a little louder, "I understand the situation. Feel free to go through our dungeons and the lower districts to meet your quota. I'll send a Raven back to Winterfell, there my son will make sure you are re-provisioned and granted access to our dungeons there as well. While the crown can't send coin north, I'm sure a few of the northern houses will remember the service your Order does for Westeros." With that he nodded and sent Yoren on his way. Time was of the essence, but there was a Small Council meeting to be held soon, and he would need to be there for that.

Yoren left the office to scrounge up what vagabonds and criminals would be willing to join the Night's Watch. Eddard had another day he was to visit with one of Robert's Bastards, however, with the Small Council meeting having been called so suddenly; Eddard was wondering if this information had already reached the ears of the King. He would need to write many letters in the coming hours and this meeting might have made those letters more urgent.

---

Alyssa Seasmoke
Nearing Greenwater, Southern Reach

The merchant fleet of House Seasmoke had docked in Oldtown and at Greenwater. Some of the more valuable cargo was to be sold at the docks of Oldtown. However, most of what was needing to be sold could be sold off at smaller ports along the same inlet. Some of that cargo was simply just transporting things for others, wines from the Goldwyne estates on the Arbor. Or lemons from Plankytown. Alyssa had heard there was a minor house in the region that held their men to a strange military standard and somewhat specialized in delivering highly trained soldiers to their liege lords. She was uncertain as to who the lord of this house was, but upon making the docks the Lady of Hull walked with a pair of her guard to request a meeting with the local lords. She was simply curious as to the customs and history of the Lords of Greenwater.

Meanwhile, behind her, the ships continued unloading its stores. Barrels of wine, fine metals from further east, and finished pearl jewelry from Hull. While the Jewelry probably wouldn't sell here, making a showing of it at smaller ports would raise some awareness inland.

[Ormata]

House Fysher of Greenwater

---

House Fysher
Lord Aden Fysher
Greenwater, The Reach | 298 AC

“My lord.”

Auster stood at the door, hands clasped behind his back as he slightly bowed. Aden did not turn to him, his head instead upon a vessel slowly making its way into harbor. The sails about her turned muddled by the distance and his own eyesight, a light blue blur mixing into the white, though by such a mark and by the cleanliness of the vessel, a far contrast from the usual cargo runners Greenwater was paid visits by, told him that it was some sort of noble house. Someone had decided to visit. A smaller craft, her sail laid up and riding high in the water, soon rowed out to meet the larger and guide her in. It had been decades since they had laid any pyramids in the shallows, but still they claimed a few unfortunates every year. The vessel in the distance seemed to be moving slow enough, low enough, that mistakes would claim her as well if they weren’t careful.

“That vessel in the distance. The one who is coming in now. Her sigil…I do not recognize it. Who owns her?”

The floorboards creaked as Auster shifted his feet, leaning just a little into the room to catch sight of the craft. “House Seasmoke, my lord. A wandering, trader house which lays claim to lineages of House Velaryon.”

Velaryon. Now that was interesting. He’d never been so far as that place of the Crownlands, though he had read something of them. They themselves laid claim to the blood of old Valyria, a destroyed empire far, far away over the narrow sea, though other than that his knowledge of Velaryon was muddled. They were old, though, old and respected in the Crownlands. The way Auster had said it, though…they were not a cadet house, no. Lays claim. Such words implied bastardry of some order or another and, in the years of Targaryen rule, there was no shortage of bastards who rose to create their own houses. The Targaryens did as they pleased, raised as they pleased, lowered as they pleased. It may have been warranted, but then the origin no longer mattered.

“No lands, then?”

“No, my lord. No lands, though I believe there are a few properties scattered in port towns.”

Properties. They had some amount of wealth to them…possibly no more than merchants heightened in their stature, possibly more than able to rival the Redwynes in their fleets, though of course Aden doubted that much. He’d never heard of them before, and so they would be at best middling in stature. And yet, still…it presented an opportunity. Such a trading house would be amicable to neutrality, far more in line with the Fyshers than most others of the Reach, and an alliance with them could prove profitable. Perhaps then House Fysher could gain properties elsewhere. Perhaps then House Fysher could grow, just a little bit every year. Perhaps.

“Curious. If her master is…actually of that house, invite them to dine. Might do some good.”

He took a sip of his tea, nodding to himself at the idea. Even if they were unwilling to create an alliance…they might have interesting tales from further away than he had ever been or heard of, news of recent developments that had not yet reached him. They might. The possibility was more than enough to wager the small cost of a meal.

“By all means, my lord.”

“Tell the Maester to read into House Seasmoke, Auster. Anything of recent importance. And have the cooks prepare another seat. And to prepare wine. Even if the master doesn’t come. It’s better to be prepared than not.”

“I will, my lord.”

Auster moved off and away, his feet slowly pitter-pattering into the distance. Aden allowed himself a small smile at the thought. Guests. He would need to dress a bit more formally. He’d need to put on a fresh pot of tea. There were more things to be done, true, but the cooks would take care of it. The smile stayed at the corner of his mouth, his chair and bones creaking as the Lord of Greenwater rose up. In the distance the pilot craft had come alongside the larger Seasmoke ship, the pilot climbing aboard, and still it languidly moved into the harbor.

Some Time Later…

Lady Alyssa Seasmoke, white hair and tan eyes marking her well, moved through the streets of Greenwater with her twin guards. The crowded nature of those streets, cobbled in some places and tiled elsewhere, the height of the buildings as they slowly marched beneath the cliffs, and the sconces which lined many of the buildings more than likely came as some amount of a surprise. Colored tarps hung over most of the stone structures, casting reds and greens on the streets below. The people were largely healthy, bustling about Greenwater to pass by the three foreigners with little comment or ceremony. Hawkers in the far-off markets echoed their voices down the streets. In the distance were the towers, banners flying free in the wind. They did pass by Fysher soldiery, plate-armored men in twos and threes with blades in scabbards, blue-white-blue shields resting easy against the earth and leg, helmeted eyes which followed the three. The Fyshers offered little ceremony as well, keeping to their posts or their patrols, though some gave salutes with armored gauntlets against the breastplate.

Eventually, however, the three found themselves approached by a plain-clad servant and two Fysher soldiers. The woman bowed low, not rising as she said in sing-song tones, “Welcome to Greenwater, Lady Alyssa Seasmoke. The Lord Aden Fysher wishes to invite you to his table.”

---

House Fysher
Lady Neina Fysher
E. of The Bloody Gate, The Vale| 298 AC

The forest seemed to melt into the mists, the black smoke of the hill tribe campfires rising up far above it ahead of them all, and along a shallow defilade lurked over a hundred Fysher soldiers. Their armor was grimy, dusty as they crouched in their cohorts. The banner was furled, bannerman crouched alongside Neina. Her own helmet sat in her knee, eyes unfocused as they waited on the scouts. Birds echoed further off, shapes becoming smaller and smaller above them. The road lay far behind the regiment, half a day’s march, and they’d taken significant pains to avoid detection by the locals once they had entered the Vale. Marching only at night was not something Neina relished.

It had taken little to find the hill tribe responsible, once they had asked about. These were apparently more daring than the usual, trying to push the limits of what they could do, trying to demonstrate to the others what the Valemen were unable to stop. Apparently the local Valemen were unwilling to act, the ground chosen by the hill tribes unsuitable for cavalry with a gently sloping hill, perforated in several locations by log spears to force horses elsewhere while the forest about the hill tribe fort had remained, cutting-up a cavalry charge to disorganize it. Neina was unsure on the precise nature of the fort itself, however. Few had tried to trek the forests to learn about it. None of those, to her knowledge, had returned to the Bloody Gate to tell the garrison there the findings.

Footfalls before them. Archers peaked up over the rocky edge, arrows ready to be nocked, one giving out three short whistles. A long whistle came in response, tense shoulders falling down as two men jogged down from the hill and out of the mist. They jumped down, moving slowly to come alongside Neina. One of the men began to sketch what they saw in the nearby dust

“Roughly two hundred feet from here. It’s a roughly oval fort, mainly palisades with two towers on either long end. A shallow trench is…here, enclosing the whole thing about twenty feet from the palisade. It’s not filled with anything, but just steep enough to break horses we reckon. Perhaps four, three hundred people inside, maybe half able to take arms. Seems to be normal hill tribesmen, too, from what the Bloody Gate lads told us.”

Neina took a moment, looking it over. It was a good defensive position, if you were worried about cavalry and Vale levies. Luckily the hill tribes had never met Fysher regiments before.

“And the palisade itself? Thin or thick?”

“Thin, ma’am. It’s collapsed in several locations, though that’s in their rear to us.”

“Thank the Seven. Go and get the sergeants, quickly now.”

“Ma’am.”

[Dragos Bee]

I did not expect to come so close to success, Zakar thought as he met with Ser Dannel and Regro of Pentosh in his rented house's solar, which he had ordered double-checked, and triple-checked for any convenient holes and thin walls/ceilings which could be used by eavesdroppers. I was expecting to be intercepted by the Hand of the King, called to answer for potential charges of treason, then talked things out with him by saying it was all to attract his attention so that I can offer to help him in doing something about the debts Westeros owes to the Iron Bank. I did not expect to risk being saddled with a bunch of young children and their mothers... Assuming they don't tell the King or his agents about my plans to 'recruit' them.

He said as much to his two friends, preferring to lose face in private than conceal potentially dangerous blunders from them that would blow up like Wildfire in his face in public.

"To be fair," said Regro of Pentosh, "Your entire plan involves the Hand of the King being like Cregan Stark, but not too much like Cregan Stark, so it's best that your 'gambit' didn't go as planned. Also, you do realize that if the Hand is distracted from something so important such as your company trying to recruit the King's Bastards, that means that deeper intrigues are going on which we would do well to keep away from..."

Ser Dannel of Vaith added, "And to be fair, we uncovered the identities of a handful of bastards and I understood enough of your orders to know that if we did not attract the Hand's attention, that we should not try and get our hands on them. So I made sure to wait for your orders, from your mouth, before starting any move."

Zakar nodded and said, "We sit on the information from now, then. Send a rider - two riders, actually - as messengers to our Company's main force in the Kingswood. Tell them to stop hunting bandits and outlaws within the next two weeks, and then be prepared to depart for the coast at full speed; we'll meet them at either White Harbor, Planky Town, or Braavos itself. I won't be resting until I send the messengers myself, by the way."

Ser Dannel then asked, "What about the Iron Bank? It seems we've shaken down the last Minor House they need us to shake down?"

Zakar nodded again, before saying, "Yes. Our obligations to them have been cleared, although it's still a month or so until our contract formally ends, to be renewed or not." Then he decided, saying to his friends, "I'm personally staying, albeit with the information on who the King's younger bastards are. The Hand may yet catch wind of what I was doing and its sudden halt, or something might happen between him and the King after all... Or the Queen; I've heard rumors about her which do not bear elaborating."

Regro of Pentosh said as he straightened his brown cloak, "Are you really sure that something will happen, Ser? You've been making conjecture after conjecture from the pittance of knowledge I was able to bring you; is it just that you're seeking an excuse to abandon this uncivilized land as soon as possible?"

Zakar answered simply, "If that's the case, then there's no harm in that. We've got enough coin to keep ourselves running for the next year or so, after all. And anything can happen in a year... But by then, we'll have returned to Essos."

[Dentali]

The Violet Keep
The Riverlands
Edmure Tully

The Violet Keep was an impressive structure, perhaps (At Least in Edmure's mind) the most impressive built in recent memory. So many of the great castles and structures of Westeros were build by engineers and rulers long since dead, many with the aid of magic or at least were constructed so long ago that any secrets to their design might as well be magic. This castle was built in Edmure's lifetime, using the best knowledge and engineering of the day and the area's natural advantages. It was not Winterfell, or the Eyrie, or Storm's End, it would not go down as some great work of art or ever acquire some mythical status in the minds of the people, but it was relentlessly practical and effective.

It was built similarly to Riverrun, a roughly triangular layout a the place where the Red and Blue Forks of the Trident met, guarding the heavily trafficked crossroads. On two of the three sides of the castle were the rivers, on the third was an easily floodable moat. Behind the Rivers and moat was a curtain wall enclosing an outer bailey which had towers and a gatehouse, a winding road leading up to the gate presented angles which caused attackers to twist and turn to reach it. Towers and walls had stone machicolations for dropping rocks, boiling liquids and other cruel implements on attacks. Inside this outer wall was a large hall, kitchen gardens, and spare living quarters.

An Inner Wall and Keep had large stores, living quarters, an armory and most of the most vital buildings. It was a low lying keep comparative to the walls but was an stout structure meant to withstand a long siege and house an immense amount of supplies. In addition it served as the tax collection office for the Eastern Riverlands, and collected tariffs for the many trade vessels which passed through the canals of the Trident heading east to west.

Outside the walls and the Violet Keep were a village that had been there for as long as anyone could remember, but which had grown leaps and bounds since the establishment of the castle. A half dozen barges ferried people back and forth across the Blue and Red Forks. It was here Edmure found himself, returning from the Hand's Tourney and occasion he was entirely disinterested in. Edmure made an appearance certainly, congratulated his brother-in-law, and met his nieces, all of which was enjoyable on a personal level, but he was disheartened by the royal family itself.

King Robert becoming more and more detached from his duties, an ascendant Lannister family, an heir to the throne that seemed cruel and arbitrary. Eddard at least was a good man, with a good head on his shoulders... But as such he had no place in King's Landing.

[Arlye Austros]

Lord Renly Baratheon. Master of Laws.
Maegor’s Holdfast.

Admittedly, Loras’s appearance was a bit too much for court. Renly, nevertheless, smiled because of it. It amused him to see the young man keeping formalities while dressing the very definition of standing out. He even had to struggle to drown his chuckle in a semblance of seriousness.
“Ser Loras! I am glad you came so quick.” He said realizing they were in the heart of the Queen’s territory. He signaled him that they had to head out and walked towards the drawbridge. Once over the blanks he spoke.

“Hunting… My brother decided to hunt. I won’t comply, Loras. It is just a very bad timing.” He ranted softly, keeping his poise as some women were eyeing the pair. They both turned left and approached the Traitor’s Walk but then turned right, alongside the walls of the Red Keep and near the Godswood. “I would be calmer if that that frog of a Captain wasn’t in charge of the Gold Cloaks. But alas! That is something else Robert won’t listen.”

Some people walked by them and he changed the subject: “You should have taken the price at the tourney. For all I care, you deserve to be the winner and not the Prince’s Hound.” Renly smiled and nodded as a couple of old men walked by.

[Revlona]

Prince Joffrey Baratheon
First Trueborn Son of the King and the Heir apparent to the Iron Throne

Joffrey sneered as he waited for the small council members to start streaming into the room, the boy prince having taken one of the large seats from the table and moving it into the corner. His legs were barely touching the floor in the seat and he sat near the edge to ensure it stayed that way, his dog stood menacingly behind him, that damned snarling helm a frightful sight even here where the Kingsguard held reign. If asked why he was there the Prince would give a simple answer, if he deigned to give an answer at all in the face of such a disrespectful question. He would tell them he was there to learn, if the truth was he was really only bored and curious.

Surprisingly, Joffreys father was the first to enter the council room. To Joffrey, who had learned from a painful experience in the past, it was easy to tell that his father Robert had a sense of Anger about his person, it was a quiet one and that terrified the boy all the more. He was used to the drunken bellows and bawdy rage his father was accustomed to, they didn't scare him nearly as much as this mood did. He could imagine the Demon of the Trident now, the young man his father had once been must have had this aura of danger.

"What are you doing here boy?" Robert said gruffly as Joffrey slid out of his seat and ducked his head to his father, the King.

"I am to be the next King father, and, well, I thought it best that I start to sit in on council meetings, to learn.." Joffrey said, his excuse sounding less and less likely as he spoke.

Robert didn't seem to care however and shrugged his shoulders, "If you feel that way I won't stop you." He said before muttering to Ser Barristan the Bold, who stood behind him, "Boy wants to watch us count coins," before breaking out into a hearty chuckle. He then took his seat and awaited for the rest of his small council to file in. Joffrey took his que and did the same, a wicked sense of mirth alighting his face as he realized the seat he had taken was the Grand Maesters and the old fool shuffled in and bemusedly looked around for his seat.

This was fun, Joffrey thought to himself as they awaited the Hand of the King to arrive and allow the meeting to start.

[Nuxipal]

Alyssa Seasmoke
Greenwater, Southern Reach

Had quite enjoyed exploring the town of Greenwater when she finally received the invitation to dine with Lord Fysher. Accepting of course, she followed the servant up to the Lord's keep. As they entered she looked around at the regalia and how the soldiers were behaving here. She would follow the servant to Lord Aden and be introduced by the Servant.

"Lord Fysher, this is the guest from the port, Lady Alyssa Seasmoke from..." The servant's voice fell off as she wasn't given a location to introduce the lady with. To which Alyssa put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Hull. House Seasmoke keeps itself at a manor in Hull until we can finish repairs on High Tide." She smiled as the servant bowed and stepped away letting Alyssa continue speaking. "I thank you for the gracious invitation Lord Aden. I had hoped to get to meet you or someone in your family during this visit."

---

Eddard Stark
Red Keep, Kings Landing

Arriving at the Small Council Chambers, Eddard notes that the King's son Joffery was seated in the Grand Maester's chair. He didn't say anything directly to the boy just then. Instead turning his attention to Robert and Ser Barristan. "Your Grace," Eddard said as a greeting, "Lord Commander." He then looked to Joffrey, "Prince Joffrey." He makes his way to the Hand's seat and sits as he speaks and asks, "Bringing Joffrey to Council meetings now Robert? He's only a boy, though it may do him good in the long term. Its never too early to learn your duties." He nodded to Joffery as he finished his sentence. In fact, Eddard has just taught his son Bran one of the most important lessons of being a Stark. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword, a First Man belief that could extend far beyond just executions. A sense of, doing it yourself kind of learning always helped to instill a sense of what was right and wrong in a young man.

Seeing Joffrey here meant that what the King had to say was either not so dire as the summons made it sound, or the boy invited himself and the King was simply too bothered to try and have the boy removed. Either way, Eddard had a feeling that Joffrey would hear about more problems in one meeting than he could imagine the Kingdom having in a whole lifetime.

---

Jacaerys Seasmoke
High Tide, Driftmark

Unlike his older brother, Jace had quite a liking for the castle his ancestor was gifted. Sure, it was a burnt wreck and the once white stones were scorched, but they were intact. What his family was repairing primarily were the outer walls and the other infrastructure around the castle. The castle itself was still, aside from the roof in several places, still perfectly usable. Just look at House Whent with Harrenhal: They lived in the largest ruined castle in the whole Seven Kingdoms! The major downside was the docks near the castle were lacking. What should have been able to house hundreds of ships for the Velaryon fleet during the time of the Sea-snake, now was barely capable of housing the five ships that his older brother had left him. Hull may be where the activity was, but High Tide was the only true holding worth defending to Jacaerys.

Entering its great hall, Jacaerys sat upon the wooden seat that had been commissioned a generation ago, before the Usurper's war. Made from local lumber and parts of the burned Driftwood throne, the seat had no formal name, but Lucerys had joked that it should be the "Burnt Throne" as the charred parts of the Driftwood throne seemed to be more prominent when someone was seated on the chair itself. Jacaerys looked out over the empty room when he heard footsteps, soft and deliberate.

From the far end of the hall he heard a familiar voice. "You know that's not your seat." The young woman put her hands on her hips looking at her brother. "Luke might not like it, but its his. Father had it made for him to rule over a court with." Rolling his eyes as he stood up to face his sister, Jacaerys simply said, "He doesn't come here ever. Luke really prefers his ships and Hull. I doubt he'd even sleep in the Castle if it were finished." Walking up towards Jacaerys and the throne, Baela responded, "He would if we weren't spending so much money on its repairs and could spend them on, anything else. Household Knights, standing men-at-arms, comfortable furnishings, and anything like that. Instead, he's pouring all the coin into his ships and a few repairs a month. He wants to get real replacements for the silver roof top."

Jacaerys knew all of this and had also argued against a silver roof, saying a normal rooftop or even a dome over the towers would suffice for now. However, unless their brother didn't return to Hull anytime soon, the younger brother would have to wait his turn, or disobey his brother's wishes. "Unless... we just did it ourselves. Funnel the money he wants to spend on replacing the wood gate with a metal one into getting the roof repaired and then we can at least keep a full-time presence within the Keep itself." To this, Baela smirked. "Exactly." She said knowing full well Lucerys would hate them for it at first. "Then we can convince him to repair the damage to the Spicetown docks as his pet project instead, something that should be significantly cheaper than replacing the gate and rebuilding the third tower."

The two siblings immediately went to work. Jacaerys keeping watch over the castle while Baela went back to Hull to re-invest the gold that was meant to rebuild the third tower and replace the wooden gate with a metal one. Instead, putting a roof over the other two towers and the main keep.

[Ormata]

House Fysher of Greenwater

---

House Fysher
Lord Aden Fysher
Greenwater, The Reach | 298 AC

The dining hall was by no means built for the purpose. Low of roof, with characteristic, triangular supports, light filtered in through a number of slit windows. Where shadows began to creep, olive oil lamps stood in their sconces already slit. A woven scene hung from one wall, a scene of the Trident and all which happened there, dull in its color and meticulous in its detail. Lord Aden stood at one end of a rectangular table in the center, a murrey-colored vest about his white, blue-trimmed robes. Two pups, old enough to not be so rambunctious, dozed in the sun near one of the slit windows. At the door stood a singular Fysher soldier, his blade sheathed, his helmet closed.

Knocks on the door, three to be precise. Aden smiled. They were here. He raised his cane, tapping it onto the stone floor where two carpets joined, and the oak door swung open. As Lady Alyssa and his servant, Olira, entered the room Aden took a quick inspection of the former. White hair and pale features drew the Lord back to images of Targaryens, and her choice of clothing did little to dissuade that. He’d heard she was master of the vessel at harbor, true, but he did not expect a sailor’s cloth. They were in the same colors as the vessel’s sails, something he’d gotten a chance to look at once it was actually in the harbor instead of further out and away. There was something in the woman’s eyes as well, a sharpness one might see in a crow. Curious, he mused with an inward smile. Some part of Aden suspected the Lady would have enjoyed meeting Neina.

"Lord Fysher, this is the guest from the port, Lady Alyssa Seasmoke from..." The servant's voice fell off as she wasn't given a location to introduce the lady with. To which Alyssa put a hand on her shoulder and said, "Hull. House Seasmoke keeps itself at a manor in Hull until we can finish repairs on High Tide." She smiled as the servant bowed and stepped away letting Alyssa continue speaking. "I thank you for the gracious invitation, Lord Aden. I had hoped to get to meet you or someone in your family during this visit."

High Tide, High Tide…he recalled it from history. It was an old castle, one which had burned in the Dance. That they were repairing it after so long was surprising, to some degree, though Aden doubted repair was the right word. At best they’d be wholly constructing it, save for some of the surviving stonework. The Lord had not received much word for how much it had been so reconstructed, nor even that such had begun. The events of minor houses in Blackwater Bay were rarely commented upon by his sources at King’s Landing, after all. As for the Lady’s other comment…she had hoped to meet someone of the house. Why? Why had she wanted to meet a Fysher? Perhaps it was something involving the regiment at the Shield Isles. Some sort of news from there. He was unsure. Such thoughts, brief as they were in sprinting through Aden’s mind, were kept from his face. He smiled a gracious smile.

“I thank you for accepting the invitation. Guests are well to have and seldom take exception to a given meal. I enjoy hearing of further lands...though I am curious as to why you had hoped to meet one of my family. Please, sit. You ship, she sailed from…where, again?”

[Nuxipal]

Alyssa Seasmoke
Greenwater, Southern Reach

Took a seat at the table provided by Lord Aden. She then said to him, "It is always an honor and privilege to meet the lord of the port that I am docked at. I like to know who I am doing business with, even if its indirectly. She had her own guards wait outside the room. No reason to crowd the Lord with foreign guests on such short notice. Besides, should anything befall Alyssa, her ships would be heading back towards Driftmark soon enough and there was always the citadel they could visit to dispatch a message faster than the sails could take them.

"In truth, mostly from what I have picked up in rumor. I know the Fysher family is known for a particular style of warrior, or I guess, a tactic of warfare. There are very few books on the subject and I suspect that may be on purpose. However, I don't wish to pry family secrets if that is not what you are willing to disclose. Instead, my wishing to meet a Fysher today was more for an economic purpose. My ships come and go from Oldtown plenty throughout the year. Summers are longer down here and when the ports up north are frozen over, I have my ships work out of the more southerly ports. I would like to start having regular trade between Driftmark and Greenwater. While Hull doesn't see the same traffic it did before the Dance, it still is a large town. We have plenty of incoming ships from the east and north that can carry goods southwards to here. And of course, carry goods back to Hull for sale to northern and eastern ships for return trips. I feel it would benefit both of us if you would grant me and my ships the permission for more regular visits. We could even provide transit to Oldtown or the Arbor during any of our transits to your town."

She watched the man as she spoke, hoping to gain some kind of insight as to how her pitch was faring with him. She'd heard that, like many wars before, the Hightowers and those near them didn't really partake in the Usuruper's War. However, one knight of the Fyshers joined the Rebels at the Trident, making a name for herself and now was still fighting against injustices elsewhere in Westeros. Like her own family, the Fyshers may be small, but some members of their family easily out reached the family's small prestige.

[Revlona]

Prince Joffrey

Prince Joffrey said nothing as the Hand entered the small councils chamber and greeted him, last of all he noted, politely if not respectfully. No bother, he couldn't do anything about the wolf lord and his wolf bitches at the moment anyways, he was already promised to one of them as it stood and ever since that day in the Riverlands he had wanted nothing to do with them. He snorted at the thought of the smaller ones, Arya was her name, face when the bitches pup was put to the sword. It had almost made the pain worth it, almost.

His snort earned him an angry glance from his father, but nothing more. Whatever was on his mind seemed to draw him away from his momentary annoyance at his son. What it was soon became apparent however.

"The Whore is Pregnant..." Robert growled out, directing his anger at the hand now.

Joffrey sat up in his chair, interested now. Who in the Seven Hells was the "Whore". Was his mother having another child? No, he knew his father and mother rarely got along, but he had never spoken of her like that, at least not so publicly...no it wouldn't be his mother. Maybe he had sired a bastard, but would that necessarily need to be stated as a Small Council meeting? Maybe, thought Joffrey, completely oblivious to the truth.

[Antimersia]

Euron Greyjoy
Captain of the Silence
Braavos, 298 AC

The Silence, a ship aptly named. Its bow cuts through the waters of the narrow sea and scantly makes a sound. It’s crew, all mute. Their tongues removed by the ship’s own Captain, Euron Greyjoy. The sails do not bear the golden kraken of the Greyjoy banner. The Silence’s masts unfurl green sails with two crows and one large red eye. The crow’s eye, the banner of Euron himself. A banner that has created a reputation from the sunset sea, all the way east to the shores of Asshai. A reputation that follows the Silence as it sails under the Titan of Braavos, making port within the waters of the city. As many sailors in Essos know the dangers of incurring the wrath of the Crow’s eye.

The day is stormy. Dark clouds fill the sky and rain falls in drops big enough to fill flagons. Lightening Crackles along the clouds as Euron steps out onto the deck of his ship. He adjusts the taught leather eye patch wrapped around his face. Making it more comfortable. His hair begins to mat down against his head as it quickly soaks from the rain. His scaled armor somehow glistening even without a single ray of sunshine in sight. He walks off his ship, each heavy step of his boots producing more sound than all his combined crew, descending onto the docks. A squirrely looking man walks up to Euron boldly. He is wearing purple Braavosi robes, indicating his wealth and standing. And he carries a stone slab with parchment affixed to it. His crooked nose and far too close together eyes perturbs Euron. Before the man can even speak, the Crow’s Eye scowls and berates him.

“You must be one of the ugliest things I’ve had the misfortune to lay my eye on.” He says, his voice gruff with disgust yet with a hint of a joyously mocking tone beneath. “You have the face of a punched owl.”

“Is that how you greet every dockmaster? Oh what else am I to expect from such boarish Westerosi.” The dockmaster’s voice is high pitched and squeaky. Harsh to the ear and without any weight behind his words. “If you intend to anchor in this dock and unload any goods, you must pay tax to the Sealord of Braavos.” He looked at Euron with an unearned significance.

“No goods, punched owl. I’m here to spend coin, not earn it.” Euron replied, growing annoyed. Though the dockmaster would not show it, Euron’s mockery did cut at him. And his stature, being half a foot taller than the Braavosi only deepened these feelings. Euron suddenly turned to face the same direction as the dockmaster. Wrapping his arm around his shoulders and pulling him in tightly. The scales of his armor poked into the side of the Braavosi uncomfortably. But he would not dare speak of it. “I like you Punched Owl.” Euron had chosen this man’s name for him. And Punched Owl does not have the gall to correct the Crow’s Eye. “You know your place in this world. And you do your part to the best of your ability.” Euron slowly leads Punched owl to the end of the dock, looking over the right side into the water. The rain was just beginning to let up and the clouds we thinning up above. “The world needs men like you. People who play their role. Stick in place so everything runs smoothly. Everyone always thanks the gods for good fortune or their daily bread. But no one ever thanks you for maintaining the port that the wheat came in through.”

“You are very welcome ser. It is my noble duty in this great city.” Punched Owl replied, his voice becoming shaky in confusion.

“I wasn’t complimenting you.” Euron snaps. “You see people like you are just wheels rolling along so the wagon can get wherever it pleases. You’re integral to how the world works. But you’re replaceable.” Euron pulls a dagger from his waist and plunges it into the belly of Punched owl. He exhales suddenly, his eyes go wide and his purple robes darken with the flood of blood as Euron rips the dagger free from his flesh. “The Sealord won’t miss you. Someone else will be standing here, doing your job, before the day is through. No one will remember your name. No one will mourn you. And yet, without you, this city struggles to function.” Punched owl looks up at Euron, seeing a wide cursed smile spread across his face. The Crow’s Eye shoves the bleeding Braavosi into the water. Watching him sink to the bottom of the port like a sack of rocks. Euron looks around for Braavosi Justiciars. But, with the rain and lightening, the port is nearly empty. Euron strides along the dock, whistling contently as he makes his way towards his destination, The House of Black and White.

_______________________________________________________________________________

Balon and Asha Greyjoy
Pyke, The Iron Islands
298 AC

Lord Balon Greyjoy sits in the great hall of Pyke. His Seastone Chair, large and made of oily black stone, seats him. The kraken shaped chair has stone carved tentacles sprouting from it, twisting is multiple directions. The walls behind him are adorned with the Greyjoy banner. A golden kraken on a sea of black. And before him lays several long tables that stretch along the length of the great hall, within the great keep of Pyke. The smokey dim room lays empty, sans for Balon, who taps his fingers against the arm of the seat impatiently. His mood is sour, as is so often the case. And his anger grows with each moment that he is made to wait.

In time though, his wait ends when the doors connecting the kitchen keep of Pyke to the great keep, open. In steps a short lithe woman with shaggy black hair. It’s length reaching only her ears, with bangs that partially cover her eyes. Her clothes are worn and almost ragged looking. One could easily mistake her for a common woman. Yet Asha Greyjoy is no commoner. The lone daughter of Lord Balon walks towards the head of the room, taking a seat at the end of one of the two long tables. She sits oddly, her bare dirt blackened feet resting on the wooden bench as she hugs her knees close to her meager chest. She does not even acknowledge her Lord Father in the moment. She simply reaches onto the table grabbing several pieces of fruit that has begun to turn. As well as a leg from a whole chicken that’s skin has been so thoroughly cooked it is near blackened. She greedily begins to stuff her face, knowing well that her father is becoming annoyed.

“You took yer sweet time getting here, girl.” Balon sniped at her. His voices hoarse and aged well beyond his years.

“Aye I did. I ‘ad to change. Gonna summon me like a commoner, might as well dress like one.” Asha replied. Her words carry a deep worldly dread behind them. One that can only come from a life of raiding and raising within a world of blood, raze, and rape.

“I’m treating you like my daughter. When a damned Lord tells his damned daughter to appear before him she best fucking appear.” Balon snaps at her.

“I’ve appeared.” She replies, unphased by her father’s anger. “Why was I demanded to appear?” She asks, growing impatient herself.

“I have need of you. There’s a parchment and quill in front of yer seat. You need to write a message for me.” Balon commands. Asha looks and indeed there is a long thing strip of parchment weighed down by a quill in an inkwell. Asha looks at Balon incredulously. “Don’t look at me like that you witch I know you can write. I know all about that filly from Dorne that taught you. Just write the damned note.”

“Why not have Maester Wendamyr write this? Why I am ‘ere to write?” Asha asks, pulling the quill and parchment closer to her. Holding the quill in her left hand as she prepared to write.

“I don’t want any of those damned chained pricks knowing our business. Just write.” Balon commands.

Asha writes as he father commands. She mispelled a word, crossing it out messily before continuing. When she finishes, she rolls it up herself and listens to her father. She takes it to the gatehouse of Pyke, where the ravens are kept. It is deep into the night so Asha moves quietly throughout the building to the ravens roost. Maester Wendamyr keeps banners to each of the great houses beneath the ravens perch that flies to that castle. Asha finds the one with the banner of House Stark of Winterfell, the wolf on grey. She affixes the note to its leg delicately and sets it off. Flying north, towards its intended recipient.

To Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell,

I Lord Balon of House Greyjoy, am writing to inform you that I am disinhair disinheriting Theon. He has no claim to Pyke, the Iron Islands, or any place in my family. I revoke his name, and call him Theon Snow, as he is a boy of the north.

- Lord Balon of house Greyjoy, Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaver of Pyke.

[Ormata]

House Fysher of Greenwater

---

House Fysher
Lord Aden Fysher
Greenwater, The Reach | 298 AC

Aden politely listened, leaning back ever so slightly as another servant entered the room to set down a wide platter. She mentioned their style of fighting, references to the regimental system; he was somewhat surprised by it. The Fysher system was unique among the Reach, true, and even unique among the neighboring kingdoms, but he had never expected nor had any wandering traveler come and ask for information about it. Most who were too small lacked the income to purchase the equipment for, train, and retain such a professional force while those larger houses could simply utilize large numbers of hedge knights while levering their levies to overwhelm smaller forces. For the majority, it simply did not work. Commenting on it, however, would need to wait. There were more interesting concepts at work.

The Seasmoke was interested in creating some sort of economic alliance with them…just as he’d before thought. It was for different reasons than he’d expected, however, instead of concerns on allegiances and loyalties the Lady was concerned about the stationing of her ships. Mentions of further trade abroad, of the towns and people to the east and north, garnered little outward reaction from the old man. Inwardly, he felt his heart lighten just a fraction at the concept. Aden felt little connection towards greed, but the potential economic opportunity dropping into his lap, with no issues or potential liabilities, now that was a tempting thing. Some part of him felt it off. There had to be something else.

“I would agree with you…trade between Driftmark and Greenwater would indeed be profitable. I would, however, like a more…permanent sealing of such an agreement. Alliances based upon words, upon simple agreement and common cause, seem to mean less and less as the years pass by. The Lannisters are the most recent, and indeed most extreme, examples of such lesser faiths and loyalties.” He placed a hand up, adding, “Not to liken your loyalty to the Lannisters. I understand you to have more faith, more loyalty than they. But we are smaller Houses in their great game, yes? They are far vaster mechanisms, with far more influence than we would like to think. In the future, there might be temptations elsewhere. Eventually, there might even be temptations to use your ships and access to…affect Greenwater poorly. Again, not to liken your loyalty to the Lannisters or worse. I would guarantee a certain number of our exports…to be agreed upon later between my advisors and yours, I expect…for such a permanent agreement. Unless an alliance by marriage is unsavory to you.”

Lord Aden swallowed. That was the heart of the matter. Kaelys was getting to the right age for marriage, though prospects among the other Reach families had become suspiciously sparse. Many were already spoken for, pledged to more powerful families. Others were simply not interested in marriage towards a so-called lesser house. She was a fine girl, intelligent and creative with a penchant for hawking, and he saw no reason why she should remain a maid. A nudge towards the right direction was all that was needed. At least, that was the hope. Aden had no interest in forcing her into a marriage without a hope of love, or care, or even affection at all.

[Of the Quendi]

King's Landing
Ser Loras Tyrell

The knight of flowers followed his former ser out of Maegor's Holdfast, a warm smile grazing his handsome countenance. In Renly's presence who could be downcast? As the pair crossed the drawbridge leading out of Maeagor's Holdfast Really began walking towards the Tower of the Hand. Ah, a council meeting, how dreary, thought Ser Loras. As Really spoke the Knight of Flowers listened intently to the words of his master; fully inclined to be upset by what upset Renly; to be happy by what made Renly happy and to in worth and deed sympathize with the Lord of Storm's End.

As such the Knight of Flowers scoffed and sneered at the King's desire to abandon his capital and his government to go hunting in the King's Forrest with every bit of contempt that Renly could possibly require; even as he found the time to give a slight but very courteous bow towards some ladies of court that was eyeing him, producing no small amount of giggling and blushing as he paraded before them. "Your brother is not half the man that you are. Either of your brothers!" Loras declared with gusto. "If His Grace is so contemptuous of governing he should have made you his hand when Jon Arryn died, instead of Lord Stark." Insisted the Knight of Flowers. "You would govern better than any man. You would see cretins like Slynt and Littlefinger and all the rest of them put in their rightful place." Spoke Loras.

As they approached the King's tower Renly however turned to a more pleasant subject and Loras blushed just a little at the memory of his own gallantry towards Joffrey's unfortunate looking Hound. "I hardly needed the coin." Loras said with what he thought was modesty. "And the Hound was rather helpful. I dare say I could have unhorsed him as easily I did that brother of his, but I didn't think it proper to defeat a man who had just render me so generous, if of course entirely unnecessary, service." Loras said, waving aside Renly's remarks. Even though they warmed immensely.

The thought of the tourney made Renly half remember something. Wasn't there something he was supposed to talk to Renly about? Something about tourneys? Horses? No, not horses. Armor, then? No it was not that either ... Even if his own armor had sustained some damage and would need to be repaired, at least according to his squire, but what that had to do with Renly, Loras could not ... Squires! "Oh, yes, before I forget." Said Loras as the pair reached the Tower of the Hand. "My brother, Willas wrote me yesterday. Apparently some lesser lord of the Reach ... Fysher I think it was. Well his ... Some relative of his; I forget which, he would like to offer this youth as your squire." Said Loras, but even as he spoke his fair features was contorted as if he smelled something unpleasant. Some Fysher boy as the replacement of the Knight of Flowers? Not at all appropriate, thought Loras, half offended that Willas would even suggest it. So he followed the request with some commentary of his own. "I can't imagine you would be much interested in some undistinguished lord's runt; you are certainly worth better fare, but I did promise Willas that I would mention it." Loras, almost petulantly, said.

[White Bluff]

Orianna Qarlarys,
King's Landing,
The Red Keep

Orianna sat in the shade of the weirwood tree in the Godswood of the Red Keep, she was thumbing through a tome about The Dance of the Dragons, wondering how the Targaryens fought and bled the realm, while also killing off their birthright and source of power. Her mind often wandering away from the book as she thought of the news she had heard from one of her Uncle's contacts, Lyseni ships had been attacked and raided by Westrosi ships captained by a sliver haired man according to survivors. She would go to the king about it, but she felt that he would not be very interested in aiding her right before his hunt. There was the new Hand, Lord Stark, her Uncle seems to admire him and has told her of his just and honourable nature. If he was anything like his ancestor and former Hand, Lord Cregan Stark, then the corruption at court should fear this new possible Hour of the Wolf.

As she sat in the garden she could hear hushed voices, one that sounded familiar, she stood up and dusted off her lavender coloured silk dress and headed for the sound. She peeked around the corner and saw the Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell, and the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, Lord Renly Baratheon. She listened to part of their conversation, This borders on treason, she thought to herself, Though I could use this to help my case, and it seems that Lord Baratheon is on his way to the small council, she reopened her book and walked around the corner with her nose in the book, and walked into the pair.

She looked up at the pair with a slight look of shock, "Ser Loras, Lord Baratheon, I apologise for my clumsiness," she gave them a curtsy, her voice thick with her Lysene accent, "I should have been watching where I was going, but I may have gotten carried away into the stories of the Dance. Reading is always a nice way to distract one from her troubles."

________________________________________________________

Ser Adrian Whent, Harrenhal

Harrenhal, the greatest castle ever built, a disastrous cursed ruin, whatever the story it ends in tragedy for anyone who lays claim to the melted twisted towers. King Harren's Curse had claimed Adrian's father, uncles, aunt, grandfather, and nearly everyone to live here before him, all but his grandmother, Lady Shella, his sister, Lady Victoria, and himself. House Whent was dying, it was his job to stop that, with that thought an older man appeared in the door way, "Maester Tothmure."

"You sent for me, My Lord," the Maester walked in, his chains clinking and tinkling with his movements.

Adrian nodded swiftly, "I did, you wouldn't happen to know of any Ladies of high standing that are unwed?"

"There are some, Lady Asha of House Grayjoy, Lady Kaelys of House Fysher, the Ladies Alyssa and Baela of House Seasmoke, Lady Brienne of House Tarth, House Royce has several, need I go on, My Lord?"

"No, thats enough to already think about. You are dismissed for the time being," he watched the man leave the room before running his hand through his hair, at least he had already decided on a possible pairing for his sister. Normally decisions like this fell on the head of the household, but his grandmother had been slowly pushing more and more of the duties onto him since he returned from his tutelage under Ser Barristan the Bold.

He sat and wrote a letter to the Lord of Raventree Hall, Lord Tytos Blackwood, offering his sister's hand to Blackwood's son and heir, Brynden Blackwood.

[Antimersia]

Euron Greyjoy
Braavos

The House of Black and White is just as Euron saw it in his dreams so many years ago. He still remembers the dreams. Ones where he would fly high above lands that he had never before seen. Many that he didn’t believe even existed. He saw palaces that were larger than all of King’s Landing. He saw jungles filled with beasts that looked like feathered dragons. All while soaring above. It wasn’t until his exile, when Euron sailed the seas to go as far east as east can go, that he discovered that all of these places had been real all along. The House of Black and White was no different. The massive temple, looking fit to house giants, has the same angular and sharp dark grey stonework that he remembers from those dreams. The large wooden door, adorned with a visage of the many faced god spewing green flames from its mouth. On the left, the door is weirwood white but half of the face is black. And on the right, the inverse. The door is ebony wood black but the half face is white.

“The many faced god seems rather lacking. Only two to show, and how they look so similar.” Euron says to himself aloud. His disdain for belief in such things ever present. He ascends the twisted steps to the door. The storm having made the stone slick, he takes his steps with care. He reaches for the door to push it open but is perturbed to find it barred. He bangs his fist on the ebony side of the door repeatedly. He doesn’t pause his knocking. Slamming his balled fist against the wood rhythmically and endlessly until finally the weirwood door is pulled open.

The man in the doorway stands shrouded from total view. The darkness within the temple, along with his hooded robes partially obscures his visage. Though, what Euron can make out is merely the general shape of a man, a priest of the Many Faced God. There is no distinct feature or noteworthy aspect to the face in the slightest. It appears almost as a blank slate before him. His robe is woven wool, dyed black on one half and left a dingy grey that was likely once white long ago. The different dyed parts split the robe perfectly down the center. Almost as if someone too a black robe and a white robe, cut them and half and sewed together one half from each. He stands there, expectantly, awaiting Euron to speak. Euron greets him with a crooked smile.

“Valar marghulis.” Euron says plainly. The High Valyrian phrase meaning that all men must die, a common phrase shared among many Essosi. People of Braavos saying it to one another in particular.

“Valar Dohaeris.” The man from the temple replies. There is a silence after. Euron stands there, expecting to be let in, or for something to happen at all. Yet the priest says and does nothing for nearly a full minute. The priest stares in Euron’s direction yet his face makes it appear as though he isn’t looking at anything at all.

“I am here to speak with a man with no face.” Euron says, hoping to progress. He knows the Faceless men operate out of this temple. Though he has never spoken with them before. And his own ignorance in procedure is making him grow irritable.

“Does a man have a name?” The priest asks, cryptically.

“A man might.” Euron replies, snarkily. Throwing the priest’s cryptic wording back in his face.

“A man might speak it. So that a man might seek it.” The priest replied. It was at this moment that Euron understood what was being asked. The priest was asking for a name of a target.

“A man’s name, is Balon of house Greyjoy.” Euron stated, smiling wide so that his stained teeth show.

“A man speaks a powerful name. Can a man pay a powerful price?” The priest replies. The faceless men are known for their expensive services. Costs that only rise along side the size of the name. And one of the seven most powerful lords in Westeros is a very large name.

“A man has coin, and a man has lives. What does a man ask for his price?”

“A man cannot have enough lives to pay for the name given. So a man will pay coin.”

“Coin it is then.” Euron pulls a sack from his belt, one filled with gold coins of several different mintings. Some golden dragons of westeros. Some are minted with a rising sun. And others bear the harpy of Mereen. The sack is heavy, weighing no less than ten pounds. Euron tosses the sack to the priest haphazardly. The priest catches with ease. He bounces it in his hand, peering inside the top of the sack to be sure that it is in fact gold and not simply a sack full of rocks. Though even upon confirming its authenticity, the man’s disposition remains unchanged. His face remaining so still that it seems almost paralyzed.

“A man needs more, for the name he speaks.”

“A man has more. But a man will give more, when Balon Greyjoy is dead.” Euron says, losing his patience.

“The Many Faced God does not bless the Faceless in exchange for promises and good will.”

“Do not be deceived. I gave you a promise. I did not give you good will.”

“A man tries patience.”

“Yes, you do.”

“A man’s patience wears thin.”

“It will get thinner if you don’t tell me how much more needs to be offered.” Euron snaps, getting close to cutting off this man’s face just for the sake of sending a message and venting his frustrations.

“A man requires double.”

“Double? You lot better be worth your price. If I have to kill Balon myself I’ll bring every Ironborn back to this rock and slaughter every one of you Faceless fucks.” Euron snaps. “I’ll return.” He continues, taking his leave to get more gold. He has plenty of it and has little need for any of it. Euron has no desire for wealth. But revenge on his exiling brother is something that fancies him greatly. And with the Faceless assassin’s costs soon to be paid in full, he can rest assured that that revenge will come swiftly.

[Nuxipal]

Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy
Winterfell, The North

1 Day before Robert's Hunt

It was late, the sun had already gone down when Maester Luwin arrived with a letter. "Young Lord, my apologies for the hour. However, this cannot wait. Once you've finished reading, I must make a copy and send it to your father in Kings Landing." Robb takes the letter from the Maester's hands and reads it over. He pauses and looks across the dining table towards the man he'd been calling brother for sometime now. What was on the letter would change Theon's life forever. He hands the message back to Luwin. "Maester Luwin, can you make a dozen copies of that for me. Send one to my father. Then send one to each of the Wardens. Make sure that the Raven for Kings Landing leaves first. I don't want everyone else knowing before my father and King Robert do."

With that the Maester went back up the tower and began working on what the young Lord requested. In the main hall, Robb pulled Theon aside and began to let him know what was going on. Soon enough, Maester Luwin brought down one of the copies and handed it to Robb for Theon to read and keep for himself. The young man had been raised on Pyke the first half of his life. He then was raised in his maturing years at Winterfell. He became a man here, he felt his first real winter, his first woman, his first of many things. Now, his father has disowned him. Or claimed to at least.

Robb for his part let Theon work over the emotions for a moment before he embraced him. Theon had always been like an older brother to both him and Jon. Now, with Jon having left for the Wall, Bran having fallen from the tower and become crippled. Theon was all the more important to Robb. Someone his age to spar with and someone he could trust beside him. "Theon. You are a true born Greyjoy. Your father can say all he wants that he doesn't want you as his heir, but you are the heir of Pyke and the Iron Islands. I know my father will say something about it. I am sure the King will as well. I hope this isn't your father's way of starting another rebellion. I'm already calling my father's bannermen just in case. Those closest to Winterfell first with others to assembled when they are able. In two weeks time we should have a few thousand men to move south with and instructions from my father on what to do next."

Nodding, Theon was just hugging back. "That man never responded to any of my letters. Never said a word to me all this time and now the first letter from Pyke is him disowning me." Theon looked hurt, "He said to call me Theon Snow, not even Theon Pyke. I... I need some time to think Robb. This isn't what I was expecting from the first letter from my father."

With that Theon and Robb when their separate ways. Theon angry trying to put the pieces together in his mind. Part of him despising his father and wanting to kill him for this. The other wanting to throw this in his face and make a life better than what he could as the ruler of such poor islands. For his part, Robb was thinking more in terms of what his father would want him to do now. It was entirely probable that Balon was already getting ships prepared to attack Lannisport and Seagard again. Letters needed to be drafted and sent to the Flints of Cape Kraken, the Ryswells near Stony Shore and up to both House Mormont and House Glover on Bear Isle and the Wolfswood respectively. And of course, those closest houses to Winterfell, sworn directly to Stark would need to be called up immediately.

---

Alyssa Seasmoke
Greenwater, Southern Reach

Listened to the older man. She was unsure of what kind of men his sons, or grandsons if he were that old, actually were. Alyssa herself had never put the thought of marriage too far forward in her mind. Her family was typically too small to warrant such high needs as marriage alliances. Blood, however, did bind them to the Velaryons and from the Velaryons to a few other nearby houses in Blackwater Bay. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to bind their house in marriage to gain a lucrative contract, that being said. It would have to be sufficiently lucrative for them. There were only four Seasmokes. None were married, but that was apparently by design. Lucerys had said he'd consider their marriage options very seriously, especially for himself.

"Lord Aden, I can't speak for either of my brothers, but a marriage alliance would be a good way to cement our familial relations. It would be a matter for my eldest brother, Lucerys to agree upon himself. Last I saw him was in Plankytown. He's been in the Stepstones for the past month or so sinking Pirate vessels and burning their ports to sell the goods they've stolen at Plankytown and Gulltown. He should be growing tired of the whole thing soon and making his way back to a port for awhile soon though. RIght now its just my other older brother Jacaerys and my younger sister Baela at Hull keeping the family businesses running. Once I return to Hull, I can get the information passed on to Lucerys and we'll be able to formalize any sort of marriage pact then. Who was it you had in mind in your family for marriages if you don't mind me asking. None of us are married just yet."

She hoped to get some more information for Luke, though she knew he was probably going to try and find himself someone of Valyrian blood just to keep the family an option for the Velaryons if necessary. Or to take over for the Velaryons should they die out. She knew that despite Lucerys having a fairly short fuse when it came to the Usurper's brother, he seemed almost fanatically loyal to the Velaryons and the idea of restoring some kind of Valyrian to the Iron Throne one day. She just hoped he wouldn't try and do something foolish in that regards.

[Arlye Austros]

Lord Renly Baratheon. Master of Laws.
Small Council Chambers. The Red Keep.

Renly chuckled as Loras had recounted his reasons to grant Sandor Clegane the victory in the Tourney. He understood it, but deeply knew how much Loras wanted to distinguish himself in the capital, and feared a similar chance wouldn’t come too soon. Unless Lady Stark gave that prince Joffrey a son before anybody else expected. He also noticed his friend’s discomfort with the request for a new squire.
“I do need a good squire, Ser Loras. To be fair, I already have one. But young Edric is more a ward of Ser Cortnay Penrose that of mine.” They stopped just outside the Godswood, the women far enough to be out of ear’s reach once more. But he was too late to scheme while the Small Council was to meet. Perhaps he would have to think about Janos Slynt later. “Tell your brother I appreciate the gesture. He may send the lad over to test him. I am sure you will help me decide if he’s word half your brother’s words, my good fr- friend.

He stuttered as he saw Lady Orianna coming out of the Godswood and walking towards them, seemingly unaware of their presence until she snapped out of her reading.
“Lady Qarlarys…” Renly bowed his head with a smile, quickly remembering who she was associated with and who she was in court. “There is no need to worry. Ser Loras and I can step aside for you. But I suggest you keep your eyes on the road.” His voice ended with a cheerful remark, as he often spoke to women. “It only takes to distracted walkers to break some pottery.”
Renly turned to Loras. “I should probably run, Ser Loras. Please look into that for me. Would you? I will see you in the evening as I have some ideas for Storm’s End that I would very much like your opinion on.” He said before parting.

Renly’s mind tried not to think too much of the prospect of seeing Loras in the solitude of his chamber that night. He needed his mind clear now. He needed to get rid of Janos Slynt. But that would require to undermine his patron. And Lord Baelish was untouchable as of now.
He crossed the yard into the Tower of the Hand and then turned towards the council chambers. The guards there nodded as he passed through and made his way towards the Meeting Hall. After climbing the stairs he graciously waited a couple of seconds, feeling his airflow calming down, and once satisfied, he entered.

They seemed to be talking already, which quickly annoyed him. But he focused on a face he didn’t expected to see there.

“Nephew! I see you grace this humble Council with your presence.” He said without announcing himself, and walked towards the table passing behind the Hand. “Lord Stark… Your Grace.”
As he sat Renly quickly noticed there was something that either infuriated or discomforted his brother. And knowing his brother’s fury, it wasn’t his younger sibling. “Has something happened?” Renly decided not to pass a joke to disarm the tension that walked around the table. “I hope the hunting trip is not interrupted.”

[Nuxipal]

Eddard Stark
Small Council Chamber, Red Keep

2 Days before the Hunt

Eddard knew immediately who Robert was talking about. This 'whore' had been the topic of conversation during a long portion of their journey back south to King's Landing. Sure, this would be troubling news, but the child of a Dothraki Khal and a teen Targaryen should be the least of their concerns, the latest reports were having them traveling east into the Great Grass Sea, whoever was sending the information back was probably going to be out of contact with them for some time.

"Who cares, she is barely older than a child and whatever child she bears can not harm you here. I thought that we'd agreed not to worry about this. We may never hear from a Targaryen ever again if we just let it go."

With rage in his voice, Robert responds to Ned before any others on the council can. "There are still some who call me Usurper. We need to kill the whore, her baby, and her brother. Nothing else will settle this problem. Until the day every Targaryen lay dead, the realm is at risk." He looks to his son, "Remember that boy. The Targaryens are monsters, marrying brother to sister and trampling on the lives of everyone around them."

Ned was not having this discussion again. He talked Robert down from killing the girl before. He had to try again one last time. "We are not going to stoop to the level of murdering infants. We are better than the Mad King, we don't have to kill infants to protect ourselves."

It didn't take long for Robert to raise his voice again, just before Eddard could finish his plea. "I won't have it. Ned, how long until that babe is grown and leading his own army of Dothraki Screamers to stake HIS claim to the throne? Or better yet, how long until the Begger King convinces the Khal that the lords of Westeros are easy pickings and gets the Whole lot of them to ship over here, and The Seven knows that the Free cities will gladly use their ships to send them over. Less Dothraki on their borders means more money in their pockets. We are doing it Ned."

Robert looks to Varys, who had been sitting quietly in the room, having already provided his information to the King before it all. Littlefinger, sat in silence as to not disrupt what could be a very powerful divide between what he thought was an unbreakable block of power in the way of his plans. Renly, having just arrived was likely to be shocked from how the two, best friends, were arguing just now. It was then that Eddard put a hand over the badge. He pulled it off and tossed it onto the table in front of Robert.

"If this is what it is to rule beside you, you can do it without me. Jon wouldn't have done it this way and I won't be a part of it. You can find yourself a new Hand."

With that, Eddard left the Council Chambers, Robert yelling at him to stay as he walked through and out of the doorway.

As he was leaving the chambers, his own household guard met him as they were meant to nearby. Against his better judgement, he would still investigate one more of Robert's Bastards before leaving. "Jory, have some of our men start packing up. We are leaving."

The Captain of his guard, Jory, nodded and said, "I take it the meeting went well then. Good news then, Arya and her dancing instructor are aboard a Braavosi Merchant ship heading for White Harbor." This was news that lifted a weight off of Eddard's chest. "Excellent. That's one less daughter to worry about. Sansa may be heartbroken to leave the Capital, but she cannot be alone here." He'd seen the attention she gathered, and if her betrothal fell through, she wouldn't have anyone at court to help defend her.

"Lets get on to that brothel and see the latest claim of having one of the King's bastards. Maybe we can piece together what Jon was looking for." With that Ned left a furious Robert, whose yelling was audible down the stairs they descended.

[Of the Quendi]

King's Landing
Ser Loras Tyrell and Orianna Qarlarys

The Knight of Flowers nodded sullenly as Renly spoke of his need for a squire and of the King's bastard at Storm's End. There was undeniably sense to it, though Loras was not prepared to concede that some fish was a suitable choice for the squire of the noblest lord of the Seven Kingdoms. But if Renly was determined it would have to be so, Loras accepted. At least if the fish wasn't up to scruff Loras would see him of fast enough, no matter what Willas felt.

About to state as much, Loras was interrupted by the arrival of a strikingly beautiful Valyrian looking woman. The Knight of Flowers quickly recognized her as one of the young maidens he had given a rose at the tourney of the hand. The woman curtseyed and apologized for her intrusion to Loras and Renly, but the Knight of Flowers was not fooled by this for a moment. No doubt she had contrived to meet him. Bold, but hardly unheard of. The young maidens at court often lost all semblance of a sense of propriety or wit in his presence, the poor things. Clearly this Valyrian maiden was strongly affected. Why else would she nervously ramble about her reading books? Hardly a desirable trait in a maid, Loras thought. A shame he could not remember the fair maiden's name; usually he was good at remembering these things but hers escaped him.

But of course it didn't escape Renly. Not only the noblest and handsomest man in the kingdom, the Lord of Storm's End was knowledgable and clever as well. Qarlarys, of course, that was the name. Renly bid Loras and the Qarlarys woman farewell and Ser Loras gave a reverential nod to his master; "I shall my lord." He said, already eager to see Renly in the evening, and just about ready to look into the tedious matter of the fish.

As the Lord of Storm's End departed the Knight of Flowers, reluctantly, turned his attention to the Qarlarys woman. Unaware of her first name and her family relation to the Master of Whispers he did not for a moment suspect her of possessing any ulterior motive beyond wanting to be near to him and he was perfectly willing to be gallant. "So you are reading about dancing Lady Qarlarys?" The Knight of Flowers asked politely; she had after all mentioned something of the sort. "I should think you might be better distracted from your troubles by simply doing it rather than reading about it." He declared.

The girl let out a small laugh, a smile on her face, "no, Ser Loras, it's about the Dance of the Dragons, the Targaryen Civil War between Aegon II and Princess Rhaenyra." She looks down at the book then back up to him, "I'm quite a fan of the histories, I find they have lessons to teach us."

The Seven save me, its like talking to Willas, Loras thought, privately quite bemused, as the Qarlarys woman declared herself keen on reading history. That particular topic had never much interested Loras, and only his brother's and the maesters of Highgarden and Storm's End insistence had ensured that Loras had learned what he needed about the Dance of the Dragons, the Dornish Wars, the Faith Militant uprising and all the rest, and he certainly never deduced any useful lessons from it. Still he smiled politely. "Ah, I see." He said. "I confess I am not much of a reader myself, I never can seem to find the time. My brother, Willas, on the other hand is quite the scholar. Can give you the names of all Fourteen Flames of Valyria or the forty four sons of Hugor of the Hill and the Seven only knows what else if you should ask." Loras laughed.

"I've heard of your brother, my grandmother made me study the different noble houses of Westeros as a child. Her family was originally from here." Talking about her grandmother brought a sad smile to her face, "I would greatly like to meet him, Lord Willas, that is. Maybe when you and Lord Renly leave for Storm's End, I would be so bold to ask to travel with you, I would also greatly like to see Westeros in person versus in a book." She let's out a soft sigh, "that and, I do not believe I could possibly go another day of this city's stench".

The Knight of Flowers broke out into another laugh, rather taken back by how forward the Qarlarys woman was. Inviting herself to travel to Storm's End and speaking openly of the rather unfortunate odor, was not exactly the behavior of a demure maiden. Clearly this Lysene was more audacious than the Westerosi ladies Loras was acquainted with. Then again very beautiful woman, regardless of culture or nationality could afford to be bold. "Yes, the smells of King's Landing does make me wish Highgarden. It is a beautiful place to be sure, perhaps the most beautiful castle in the Seven Kingdoms, and I hope you may one day have occasion to see it." He said politely. "For my own part I am not sure I shall be there, or in Storm's End anytime soon. Lord Renly has his work as Master of Laws and I am not needed at home presently. Still if my duties should lead me to Storm's End soon you shall of course be most welcome to enjoy my protection on the journey my lady." He declared gallantly.

The Valyrian woman smiles, her purple eyes shining, "then I shall await your word," she gives him another curtsy, "in that case I shall be off, I had planned to see the city today, unless you wish to join me Ser."

The Knight of Flowers bowed politely. "Then I shall bid you goodbye my lady, and wish you a pleasant day, for I have promised Lord Renly to attend to some matters that do not permit me to have the pleasure and privilege of escorting you today I am afraid." He gallantly declared, as he determined he might as well write Willas and resolve the matter with the Fish boy; tedious as it was, bidding Lady Orianna goodbye.