Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

“Then I shall take you to her.” Jocelyn spoke, with softness.

Suddenly, a knight of The Kingsguard appeared. Ser Steffon. He was a handsome man, with features similar to Aegon. Their noses are almost identical, Jocelyn thought. “No need for an apology.” Jocelyn began, “You are, after all, here now.”
I had forgotten he was assigned to me. Jocelyn smiled at the knight. The Kingsguard have had hectic schedules since Aegon’s passing. “I assume you know of Ser Steffon Rogers, Prince Qoren?” Jocelyn asked The Dornishman.

As the gentlemen greeted each other, Jocelyn smiled in silence. ‘Till she spotted a tall man in the corner of her eye. “Alexander!” She said, enthusiastically. She pecked his cheek with a weak kiss. “It is so good to see you, brother.”
Her reaction to Alexander was almost entirely different to that she had with Jon earlier. Jon is no Alexander though. “And I more than assume you know of Lord Alexander Baratheon, my young brother.” Jocelyn announced to Prince Qoren and Ser Steffon.

“Now, let us go and see my granddaughter.” She said, “We can talk whilst we walk to her quarters.” And with that, the group began said walk.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

Tyland shook his head as Willam’s stone skipped along the water further than his own. “You little shit.” Tyland said with a laugh. “But yeah. You should try and say something to her when you are able. I doubt the Gods even know what that girl is going through.”
He picked up another stone and hurled it at The God’s Eye. However, this time, the stone sank. Tyland swore, playfully.

His mind did turn towards Princess Elaena though. A girl of sixteen. Without a mother nor a father. Nominated for The Iron Throne. He watched as Willam threw his second stone.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio
JPTheWarrior
ACHA
Yarrow

 

[ReverseTex]

Gaheris Coran
Were all liars here... I’m just better.
Akio - Laena Martell
​

Gaheris was just as content as the Dornishwoman was about the silence, he knew she had been analyzing the encounter just as much as he had. However, his experience did prevail, as he never led to much on with his questions or answers. When Laena inquires about his thoughts upon the votes, a sly smirk almost broke his collected composition.

“I cannot speak for the other houses, but I assure you everyone here is trying to outplay on another... Who can convince the Lannisters or Tyrells to fund their ventures? Who can sleep with who? Everyone here is planning something... So that is my answer your question Lady Laena.” His eye’s shimmered momentarily with amusement, this game of words always a thrill for the man. “And I am led to believe you would agree?”

 

[Dread-neck]

Lucas the Ashen Blade​

A very normal block for a very normal attack...however Lucas' assault didn't stop even as their blades clashed. The singing of steel signaled their connection and though the attack was solid as was the block, Lucas dragged his blade along the prince's, dancing to his right side. With Ryden's blade distracted, he disconnected their blades and aimed the tip of his into the prince's right side and keeping the broad bit of his blade as well as the crossguard high enough to defend himself if need be. The gash if it connected wouldn't be deep enough to permanently damage or harm him enough to put his life in danger, it would however do him the pleasure of giving him a nice little scar to remember Lucas by as he had done Lucas.

 

[Abendrot]

[class=Notes] //So this is an older code that I tried to fix up to look nicer// //Forward slashes are comments // //and do no show up in the final design,// //these are to help you find everything easily// //and explain some code as well // //These comments must be with in a class or script tags// // in order to be hidden, from what I know. // //Long URls are images// //# followed by letter and numbers are Hex codes// //or color codes// //this code does not show breaks unless is shows the
code. // // when typing responses to rps, be aware that when you press ente// // it will not show that you did. you'll have to use the
tags// [/class]

[class=Notes] //The background image// [/class]

[class=Notes] //the image in the cirlce and the border// [/class]
EMRYS

[class=Notes] //the transparent with background and the border and below is the text// [/class]
Even after spending so little time here, Emrys was already becoming acclimated to Harrenhal.

He'd been strolling about the camps with intent, mapping out areas of interest in his mind, making himself aware of the more talkative lowborn cliques. Most lords and ladies took care to discuss their matters in private, but the grooms and the scullery maids had no such qualms. Gossip flowed from their mouths rather freely, and Emrys made certain he took paths throughout the expansive campgrounds that allowed him to overhear a few bits and pieces here and there. The servants were alert and bustling about, prepping the day's meals and seeing to the linens or their lords' belongings. Guards dipped their heads as he passed. While some did not recognize his face, they could still discern that he was at least reasonably well-born.

After a leisurely stroll checking in on a few matters, (there was still the issue of which people would be loyal and trustworthy enough to be worth his time, after all) Emrys began making his way back to his tent at the Dornish campgrounds, pulling his dark fur coat tighter around his shoulders.

[class=Notes] //Below is the purple box and the content meant for tags// [/class]

Interacting: idk
Located: Harrenhal
Mentioned: n/a

code by AgWordSmith

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag

Jon had decided that he had done enough and it was now up to young Darron to take what he had and run with it. Giving a slight bow to the small group Jon spoke up "Please excuse me my lords, my lady I was on my way back from sparring and I need to freshen up I bid you good day and I shall probably see you later"

With a smile, Jon left the group, continuing on his initial path back to the Stormlands encampment. Reaching his tent, he shed his tunic and let it fall. Pouring a glass of wine, he sat down and took a drink. He began to draft the letters he was going to send out earlier. His quill scratching in relative silence as he wrote out personal letters, instructions to his people and coded messages to his friends in Essos.

His thoughts went to the coming council, all of the major players were here. He mentally ticked off the Sigils he had spotted. The green and Gold rose of House Tyrell, the Red and Gold Lion of House Lannister, the yellow and Black stag of House Baratheon, the white and grey wolf of House Stark, the blue and white falcon/ crescent moon of House Arryn and the Trout of House Tully along with the spear of House Martell.

With every major player here, the game was going to reach a new high that many had not seen in a long time. But with this change in the game came the biggest fear of all, a complete break out of war. While many grasped for power, only a few ever went to war for it. Whoever came out on top in the vote would have to have a large majority vote.

Jon felt for the first time uneasy. While Eleana was his great niece and the oldest Legitimate Heir, Jon knew Daeron for most of his life since Jocelyn had invited Jon to court. It was not an easy choice to make but Jon stood by family first and foremost and nothing was going to change that. His biggest thought was why Daeron suddenly decided he wanted the throne for himself.

Shaking his head, he fixed his wax seal to his letters and waited for one of his own men to arrive to dispatch the letters. Hiding them away, he locked the box and kept the key in his pocket when the sounds of a guard announced someone was looking for entry so Jon looked up

Akio
Rusty of Shackleford
Little-Fox ​

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Bryce nodded as Jon left, saying, "Oh, finally. Never have been one for idle chatter. Anyway, do you want to dance, boy? I won't make you." He sighed, smiling at his daughter widely. While he wouldn't arrange marriages for you daughter's, he would help then get married at the very least. He did want some more grandchildren, after all. And for his children to be happy. Mostly the latter. He looked around, sighing deeply as he patted Willow's shoulder, saying, "Well, you gonna dance or what?"
Little-Fox
Akio
​

 

[Little-Fox]

Willow Stark
Daughter of the North​

What a mess. Lord Martell couldn't form a cohesive sentence and now Lord Baratheon was heading off after he'd dealt his damage. She watched as he started off, only offering a nod and a soft 'enjoy your evening' before she looked back up at her father. Can we leave now? She wanted to ask. She could see his relief that the one had left, but she never expected him to sacrifice her to the carriage again as he asked the Martell about dancing. If I come across that Baratheon man again, I swear... No, that was impolite. Ladies shouldn't swear. She reminded herself, her lip finding it's way between her teeth absently as she glanced back at the brightly dressed man. He was the epitome of what most saw in Summertime. Dark skin, dark hair, vibrant colors of the sun. His entire appearance spoke of warmth. She on the other hand was Winter's child. Fair skinned and blue eyed, her hair offering the only colors of warmth against the dark navy blue of her chosen dress for the evening.

Her father's question to the Martell had been bad enough, and then he turned it onto her. She blinked up at him like a doe caught in torchlight as that tell-tale flush of pink crept across the crests of her cheeks. "I-I..." She glanced back at Lord Martell for a moment before looking back up at her father. If he was encouraging this... was that to mean that she should at least try to accept? "I can try. I really am not m-much of a dancer." She finally conceded, her gaze flinching away from either of them as she tried to let herself cool down a bit.

Rusty of Shackleford Akio

 

[Akio]

Ryden Martell

Ryden went at him with a clash of steel only to find he did near the same thing as he had. Only to hit blade squarely he dragged it down and danced to the side even as Ryden had swung at his shoulder. He threw himself to the side, making his blow awkward and feeble and it didn't even carry him entirely out of the range of the sword as he hissed as the blade cut into him though perhaps even less then Lucas had planned as he rolled away and brought himself into a kneeling position with his sword raised to skewer Lucas if he had tried to follow him. But if he had just let him go he would stand up, looking at his side. It would leave a scar and he felt a bit of frustration. If he had been wearing armor like Lucas had been then he would not have taken this wound at all and the disadvantage was biting him now. While small the blow was irritating whenever he moved and not wanting Lucas to take the advantage against he slid forward and swung a flurry of heavy blows with both hands while keeping somewhat of a distance. He was hoping this could give him time to react as he tried to batter Lucas's defenses and try to tire him some by forcing him to blow several heavy blows while he remained at just enough of a range to react to a counter attack.

Laena Martell
​

Laena seemed to consider for a moment before answering his question in a quiet but confident tone. "I agree with you Lord Caron that everyone could indeed be planning something, such is the nature of free will. However to consider everyone is scheming exclusively for themselves belays some of the confidence of choice. Everyone has different goals. Protect their family and their land, make alliances, maintain their honor, defend the weak, obeying their liege lord, believing in the rightful heir. All of these are reasons someone might make their choice and none of them are right and none of them are wrong. Of course neither is going for personal power necessarily wrong as well but while everyone wants something, to demote their motives to just scheming for themselves denies the complexity of the people I've met and what they might want." She said before turning her intelligent eyes towards him. "As for my thoughts on the rule by blood, it must be Elaena, at least for the moment. If the Tyrell girl gives birth to a boy it changes the succession for most... But not by dornish law, and while that law only holds in Dorne many in Dorne would support her for blood and that reason alone. If Daeron was legitimized then perhaps that claim could be made... But without him being legitimized many won't support him, even in Dorne where bastards are treated better than most of the seven kingdoms. My father won't support the Tyrell girl either, he will see it as too chancy. As for my personal feelings... I want to support my cousin, but thats my own personal selfishness, no other reason. I just want to help her where i can."

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Bryce nodded, saying, "Alright. I won't force you, dear. It's your choice." He smiled, rubbing her shoulder as he said, "If you are going to dance, do take care of my daughter, Lord Darron." He walked up to the man, saying, "Or I'll hang your mangked corpse from the walls of Winterfell like a ragdoll. Understand me, Lord Darron?" His voice was completely serious, not a shred of a joke or coyness to be found in it. He made sure this boy would treat his daughter right. He wouldn't be a Stark if he didn't.
Little-Fox
Akio
​

 

[Saavedra]

Lady Astora Arryn
Lady of the Vale

​

The falcons were beautiful, flying in lazy circles above as they looked for prey in the grass around Harrenhal. Lady Arryn watched them without a smile on her face. This would have made people curious as to her mood without understanding that the Lady did not smile easily. She was as happy as she could be atop her horse, watching her birds calmly floating in the morning air. The simple pleasures in life she once thought beneath her had acquired a new taste once Dollen had taught her about it, and that had been a long time ago. Falconry, literature and serving justice were now her favourite activities. It was a pity the three could not be combined. Or rather, she had not found the way to do so.

For this little outing, she wore simple clothing: pants, a shirt and boots, all in dark colour and covered under a shadowskin cloak. While a great lady, Astora was not above dressing practically, or riding in the same manner. Riding side-saddle was too much style and not enough function for her, and who would dare criticize that anyway? The only concessions to her station were the braid bun on the back of her head that still left plenty of blonde bangs to frame her visage, and the small vine-shaped silver pendants on her earlobes. Both features were to her liking, not something she wore with distaste.

Her coming to Harrenhal had been something quite different.

A sudden breeze blew over the prairie, pushing the hawks in the air, the grass on the ground and pale thestrands of Lady Astora´s blonde hair... pushing them all in one direction. The Lady turned her head, her cold eyes seeing where the winds wanted to go. She was unsurprised to note that it was towards that sad, emaciated fortress. Old and frail, but still standing tall. Not dignified, perhaps, though in Astora´s eyes, simply standing despite the grievous wounds suffered was worth having some pride. Let others prance and dance around you, Harrenhal. You stood strong once against your enemies, and that is all that matters. The thought made her wonder for a brief moment if she was talking to Harrenhal or to herself. My, the dance has not begun and we are already tired?

The blonde noble shook her head and raised her gloved arm. The man standing by her horse did likewise. He had been told to watch his lady more than listen to her, for she was silent most of the time and gave orders through gestures more than through words. A few seconds later, the two hawks descended. One larger and with a black head, the other smaller and white. It was the larger one that landed on Astora´s glove. He did so softly, but it was still a heavy bird. She looked into his eyes and he returned the gesture. She whispered so low that the man at her side hardly understood her. "No luck this morning, I see. Tomorrow, perhaps?" With her free hand, the Lady reached into her pants and presented her bird with a piece of meat. It was a mouse that some child in Harrenhal had caught and cut in half by her well-rewarded request just last night. Her fellow falconer gave the white bird the other half. Two men approached with small perches for the falcons, and waited for the birds to eat before pushing them closer. Lady Astora caressed both birds gently before the two hopped onto the perches and the men hooded them. Turning to the rest of her retinue, Lady Astora tilted her head toward the Arryn camp. The order was given.

The group numbered over a hundred subjects of the Arryns. Knights, squires, a maester and his apprentice, and several servants. A large group even for a Lady of the Realm, but one that she could easily afford and which covered every need or whim she might have when on her daily outings. Also, it had another advantage of sorts: none in Harrenhal could ignore her comings and goings. This was not the first time she passed by the fortress, but every time it was the same. The Lady rode at the head of the column, with her knights just behind and to her flanks, and those who inhabited the ancient castle watched her. The group rode past the gate, and there was something to see for every interest. Those interests were well represented thanks to those that lived in the walls or outside, and those tending to their business as they walked or rode in and out of the fortress or of the camps set up around it. The children marveled at it all in general, though the boys would look at the knights while the girls´ eyes were drawn to the Lady´s shadowskin cloak and her amazing height. Measuring 5´8, Lady Astora was quite the imposing figure, and the least imaginative had already stated that she was like the Eyrie so often that they didn´t bother doing it anymore. Men of different trades would make sure to have a good look at the knights´ armours in case they needed mending or at the small cart that housed Astora´s personal library and wardrobe so they could offer their services in setting them straight if they looked even slightly wobbly. The women had no shortage of young, handsome men to look at, and said men also wore clothes that may need a stitch here and there. And finally, the Lady herself was quite the sight for those with romantic (or base) inclinations. Two bards of some renown were earning good coin singing to her beauty, her cold demeanour, or her story, be it the death of Lord Dollen, Lady Astora´s vengeance, or the love they had shared. A third had tried to sing about all of that in a single night, but his inability to switch tones appropriately had seen him pelted with rotten produce twice and desisted.

That was the commoners, of course. The nobles´ impressions about her were more varied, and not all friendly. Things were bound to get worse with time, but there was no helping it now.

Lady Astora felt a sudden impulse. She made a gesture for the column to halt, and rode her horse at a trot toward the walls of the fortress. Everyone watched, nobles and commoners alike, as she stopped by the walls still blackened by Balerion´s breath. The Lady took her glove off, and touched the dark stones with her bare, pale hand. She felt a strange sort of kinship with the wounded, decrepit castle. A sigh escaped her lips, wondering if that feeling was an omen, or some strange nostalgia that she could not quite explain. Perhaps she had made a mistake not bringing her son Allester with her? He had to stay in the Vale, though, in case anything happened to her. And yet, it was not just that... it could not be.

It was not a new thing for Astora to feel something special for objects, animals and places more than for other men or women. But seldom had she ever experienced such a strong emotion.

Well... I suppose we´ll see each other again soon. One of her handmaidens had followed her Lady to attend to her. Astora handed over her falconry gauntlet, and received the glove that matched the one on her other hand. The exchange done, they rejoined the group and continued their march. Lady Arryn´s heart still pulled her toward Harrenhal, and unease numbed her to the world as the group made its way back to the camp.

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

“Good evening, your grace.” Larys greeted her. Jocelyn curtsied. The lanterns are a light, and the lords and ladies have gathered. She linked her arm with Larys and they began to stroll. Soon, the council will commence.
“So, your grace, are you at all excited?” Larys asked, his arm hooked with hers. I swear to The Seven. If one more man asks me this question. She smiled, “It is hard to be excited when I know the outcome of this council already. Elaena Targaryen on The Iron Throne.”
“We would be so lucky.” Larys said.
“We will be.”

They walked through the rows of tables and chairs. Jocelyn looked up at the sky, now a mixture of dark orange and purple. Dusk has set in. A bard strung the strings of his lute and sang ‘The Bear And The Maiden Fair’.
“He is quite good.” Jocelyn commented to Larys.
“He is.” Larys replied, “One of my brother’s favourites.”
“And where is your brother? I haven’t seen Lord Walder all day.”
Larys sighed, “Oh, he has been awfully busy. Last I saw him, he was with his Pinkmaiden.”
“Hm?”
“Nothing, your grace. Just a jape.”
Jocelyn smiled at Lady Estermont, wearing an awful green gown. I never thought that a simple piece of clothing could make that woman more ugly, but here we are. A fire juggler was surrounded by a group of people watching him perform. Such children. Jocelyn thought. Captivated by twirling colours.
“Good, isn’t he?” Larys asked.
Jocelyn waved at Loren Lannister before answering, “Very.”
Everyone was here. Jocelyn nodded towards Lord Royce and Lord Serret. She smiled at Lord Dayne and the daughter of Lord Uller. She stopped to chat with Lord Redwyne and Lord Stark’s daughter. She even saw Jon again and gave him an approving nod.

Then they arrived at the middle canopy. The one that I wanted. Jocelyn smiled and unlinked arms with Larys. Symond Rosby was sitting down with his son, both picking pieces of ham from a platter. She sat down in the seat next to the one that would be Elaena’s.
She was feeling confident.
“Forgive me, your grace. It has been a pleasure but I must attend to some duties. I am, after all, my brother’s castellan.” Larys spoke, charmingly.
Jocelyn shooed him with her hand, “Go, my lord. Do not worry about me. Wine will keep me company.” As she said that, a servant came over and poured her a cup of Dornish Red. Larys bowed before leaving. Jocelyn sipped.
“And now, The Song Of The Seven.” The bard announced. There was an applause. Finally, something less bawdy.
Jocelyn sipped.
She looked over at Symond and his son. The chatted cheerfully. She sipped. Elaena was nowhere to be seen. She better not still be in her quarters. As Jocelyn drank, she thought of her earlier talks with Alexander and Qoren. Elaena, once she becomes Queen, will have quite a choice of marriage candidates. Jocelyn swirled the wine in her cup. Though I would prefer if she wed one of her Dornish cousins. To secure their alliance. Marrying Ethan Baratheon, like Alexander suggested, would achieve almost nothing.
“Girl,” Jocelyn clicked her fingers at the servant.
“Yes, ya grace?”
“Bring me a platter of cheeses.” Jocelyn commanded
“Right away.”.

Jocelyn looked past Rosby and saw Daeron Waters just as the bard finished his song. “And now, The Dance Of The Dragons.” The bard said to cheers. She stared at the bastard as he talked with some lordling. It may have been the wine but her blood began to boil.
Bastard.
She hadn’t seen him in some time, and her life was lovelier because of it. She thought of Aegon’s words, “He’s just a boy, Jocelyn.”
A boy vying for your granddaughter’s crown.
She gripped her cup.
When Elaena wins… he will be gone for good.

She sipped.

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

She sat in her room, waiting. Her hands in her lap. This is it. A knock came. This… is it. The door opened and in walked Gawen Tyrell.
“I guess it is time?” Elaena asked, a faint smile formed upon her lips.
Gawen nodded. He looks grim.
“Are you alright, Gawen?” She asked as she stood up. Gawen Tyrell was a knight of The Kingsguard and her personal one at that. He had been watching over her for almost seven years. “I am. Do not worry, Princess.” He spoke, his voice soft.

The two began their walk.

Down the hallways of Harrenhal and into its largest courtyard. The atmosphere was a joyous one, but Elaena did not see the appeal in being joyful. She just wanted all of this to be over with. She spotted the canopy she would be sitting under. Her grandmother was always seated, along with Lord Rosby and his son- Ser Robert.
“Listen to me,”
Gawen said suddenly. He stopped and looked down at Elaena. “All will be well. Be confident, Princess. You will get your crown. You will.”
What is with him? Elaena was puzzled. Maybe he and his father have been arguing again? “Are you sure you are alright, Gawen?” She asked, once more. But, he quickly reassured her that he was. They then continued toward the canopy. People bowed as she passed. Do their bows mean that I have their vote? She wondered. Or are they just pitying me?

She shook her head of such thoughts.

They got to the canopy and Elaena took a seat in a tall chair.
“There you are, my girl.” Jocelyn said smiling. A cup of wine in her hand. Elaena tried to smile back at her, “Good evening, grandmother.” But, Elaena’s smile was a solemn one. She found it hard to hide her true feelings tonight.
A servant soon arrived and placed a platter of cheeses on the small table in-front of Elaena. “Finally.” Jocelyn said, delighted. She offered her a piece, but Elaena declined. Elaena normally had night terrors, but cheese enhanced said terrors.

And I already doubt my sleep will be terror free tonight.

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

The Grandmaester shuffled over to his seat, next to the one Elaena sat in. Is the old kraken on our side? Jocelyn popped a piece of cheese into her mouth, whilst her cup was filled with red. “Boy.” Grandmaester Harren said as he pointed at Symond Rosby’s son. He gestured for him approach. What is his name, again?
The young man sprinted over, ‘til he was by Grandmaester Harren’s side.
Was it Raymont?
“In my study inside. There is a display case with a crown inside. Bring it here, my boy. I would do it myself but my legs stiffen with every step.” He said with a chuckle.
Or… Robert?
“Of course, Grandmaester.” Robert said, before breaking back into his sprint. Jocelyn watched him run. He is a very fit young man. If the Gods are good, he won’t gain the weight in which his father has. Jocelyn sipped her red.
Once Raymont disappeared, Grandmaester Harren turned to Elaena and Jocelyn. He smiled.

Jocelyn’s eyes found their way back to the bastard.
“A boy, Jocelyn!”
I know, Aegon. A boy.
She watched as Daeron Waters talked with his aunt. Astora Arryn. The bitch. Jocelyn looked around for Astora’s whore sister, Shiera. Though she was nowhere to be seen. Jocelyn however spotted The Tyrells in the third canopy.
Baelor bellowed like an oaf, whilst Melessa sat in silence. Clutching her child. I cannot wait until they hear the truth. Jocelyn sipped. Melessa Tyrell couldn’t close her legs whilst within King’s Landing. Thus, the babe inside her is just another bastard… trying to take Elaena’s throne. Jocelyn was ready to tell all.
If she were to go down, she would go down kicking and screaming.
Luckily, there will be no going down.
She sipped.
The Grandmaester’s crown would be placed upon Elaena’s head. The crown he had sent Robert to go fetch was a faux. The real crown was in The Red Keep. This crown was a simple one, made of silver and steel. When the votes were tallied, Harren would place the crown upon the victor’s head.

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

Gawen stood by Elaena’s side. One hand on her shoulder, and the other on the hilt of his sword. Something is not right.

She thought back to earlier, when Rhaenys walked in on Daeron and her. I was glad to see her. Elaena thought. Though I don’t think Rhaenys was glad to see him. Daeron excused himself and smiled at Elaena before leaving. This left Elaena and Rhaenys alone, together. They talked about life. And how it had been so long since they had last seen each other.
Rhaenys left too.
Elaena sighed. Well, she didn’t intentionally leave. Things were just… busy on Driftmark. This council, in a way, was a good thing. Because it let Elaena see those that she hadn’t seen in some time. It is nice. Elaena blinked,
But also terrifying.

The courtyard was now full and noisy. The Great Houses sat at their own tables, in-front of the three canopies. Except for House Tyrell and House Arryn, who sat under Daeron and Melessa’s canopies respectively.
“That was The King Without Courage.” The bard said as he finished his song. Cheers. “Evening, my lords and ladies.” He excused himself. His last song?
Suddenly, it began to quiet down.
Here we go.
Ser Robert Rosby returned with a case in his hands. He handed it to Grandmaester Harren, and then sat back down with his father. Elaena looked at the crown within the case, and then at Daeron across the way in his own canopy. She smiled at him, though he didn’t see her. Grandmaester Harren held the crown in his hands and cleared his throat.
It is time.

“Lords and ladies.” The Grandmaester said, loudly. “Please, if you haven’t already, sit.” Elaena looked at the large crowd. She spotted Rhaenys, and Rhaenys spotted her. The two smiled at one another. She told me to be brave.
Elaena looked at her grandmother with worry.
As did my grandmother.
The Grandmaester moved in-front of Elaena. The crown in his hand. As did my father. “By the morning, one of the three claimants will wear this crown.” Grandmaester Harren spoke. “Who the crowned claimant is… depends on you. Your votes will determine them.”

Be brave.

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

“You will each get your say. Claimant and lordling alike.” Grandmaester Harren spoke. “But before you, good men and women, get to say your piece- we must introduce our claimants.” Jocelyn clicked her fingers at the servant girl, who in turn filled her cup once again.
The courtyard was now silent. The only sound was The Grandmaester’s voice and the evening wind. The slight breeze caressed Jocelyn’s cheeks.
She sipped.

The Grandmaester turned to Elaena and gestured for her to stand. She did. Jocelyn smiled as she did. “Princess Elaena Targaryen. Granddaughter to King Aegon VI.” He announced. She soon sat, and he moved on.
“The unborn child of the late Jaehaerys Targaryen. Previous heir to The Seven Kingdoms. Carried inside his widow, Melessa Tyrell.” The Grandmaester introduced Melessa. The whore. “And last, but not least, Daeron Waters. Bastard to King Aegon VI.”
That is all he is. The bastard.
“Before each claimant says their speeches, would you like to say anything Lord Rosby?” The Grandmaester asked.
Rosby sat, silent. His hand holding a piece of parchment. Containing? “I will remain silent for now, Grandmaester. Though I will say, that these three claimants are all fine candidates to replace our King Aegon. He was like a brother to me, though we were only cousins. And, though these three candidates are great, I hope to fulfill Aegon’s final wish and put a worthy successor on The Iron Throne tonight.”
As Rosby finished, the crowd cheered.
That worthy successor being Elaena, I am sure.

“Well said, my lord.” Grandmaester Harren said as the cheers calmed down. “Now, Princess Elaena- stand and speak.”
Jocelyn placed her cup by the cheese platter and stood up in her granddaughter’s place. “Before Elaena speaks, I would like to say a thing or two.”
The courtyard was quiet.
“Look around, my lords and ladies.” Jocelyn began, “Three claimants stand before you. Though only one carries the name Targaryen. Elaena Targaryen. Her competition is a bastard and an unborn. Though I have proof that said unborn will also be baseborn. For Melessa Tyrell was not faithful towards my sweet son. I know that for a fact.”
The crowd began to chatter. Jocelyn looked over at Baelor Tyrell to see him fuming. “The reason Elaena hasn’t already been crowned is because she is a woman. And some of you think that a woman ruling over you would be the end of an era of prosperity. But would those same some of you prefer the rule of a bastard instead?” Jocelyn asked. “Having a bastard on The Iron Throne will ruin the foundation that Aegon The Conqueror built. Whilst having a woman on it will only alter that foundation.” Jocelyn stood proud and stood tall.
The lanterns flickered in the wind.
“And I, for one, welcome an altering. Elaena Targaryen is a Targaryen through and through. Her two opponents are not. So think on that. Thank you.” Jocelyn sat down. There was a scatter of applause. I did well.

“Elaena?” The Grandmaester asked.
She stood.
“I may be a girl and I may be young, but I know a lot. Thanks to my teachers. My grandfather, grandmother, and father taught me various things throughout my short life. How to be helpful, how to be stern, how to be heroic, how to be studious, how to… how to parry- even.” Some laughs came from the crowd.
“I think I would be a good ruler. Because I am compassionate and kind, but also tough and just. I may not be able to show you these traits here at Harrenhal. But I will be able to show you them once I sit atop The Iron Throne. I am my father’s daughter, and my grandfather’s granddaughter. And peace will continue under mine rule.”
She spoke a little louder,
“I know it will.”
Jocelyn burst into a chorus of clapping. The crowd followed. Cheers and claps. That’s my girl.

“Thank you, Princess. And now, to Baelor Tyrell.” Grandmaester Harren spoke softly. The cheers came to a halt and Jocelyn picked up her cup of red. She sipped from it and smiled. “You did great, my dear.” Jocelyn whispered to Elaena.
“Was that true? About Melessa?” Elaena asked back, in a hushed tone.
“It was. I am sorry I did not tell you, my girl.” Jocelyn replied.
Elaena went quiet.
And Baelor Tyrell spoke...

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Braddington
Hypnos

 

[sellswordwarrior]

Ser Rupert Crabb
The hedge knight band had camped outside the walls of harrenhall, they had come from the vale, hunting mountain clansmen to make a living, they had come here to seek a better employment, maybe finally some of the knights could find a lord to serve as sworn swords, if not they could still go back to the vale, or maybe head south to the kingswood, their leader, Ser Rupert Crabb was a somewhat renown figther, having won his fair share of local tournaments and melee's and being the most distinguished of the knights in the group,despite being only 19 years old he was aleredy leading them, Rupert was taller than normal, standing at 7 feet tall,the next day after they arrived, he ordered a figthing square to be setup in the middle of the camp, where they would train their martial skills and try to impress the nobles, Ser Rupert Called one of the knights which was named Ser Lyonel "You there! Ser Lucas! up for a spar of 3 hits? i could sure practice a bit!" Ser Lyonel nodded and grabbed a blunt sword and put on a practice armor, as did rupert, they started the practice, Ser Rupert clearly having the advantage of skill from the start, the fight was short,with Ser Lyonel getting his oponent overwhelmed and hit thrice Ser Rupert let ser Lyonel leave the training ground,and asked if anyone else was up for it​

 

[Hypnos]

Melessa Tyrell
Widow​

It was finally upon them: the moment of truth. It felt like eons had passed since the announcement of the grand council, though it truth it had only been a few weeks since King Aegon’s passing. To Mel, every day since had felt like an eternity. She had been paraded around like a prized bull, her father insisting that she let every lord in the realm see the child that she was carrying in her belly, the prince who would bring an end to this petty squabble between girl and bastard and secure the throne for it’s rightful owner. Mel wasn’t entirely sure she was convinced by this mentality, but she wasn’t about to disagree with her father. In the past fortnight, Lord Baelor had gone above and beyond to ensure her safety, and the safety of her child, barely letting her out of his sight. The only time she’d been more than a few metres from her father’s presence had been her earlier jaunt into Harrenhal’s gardens where she had spoken with Lady Visenya, though even then she had been accompanied by a personal army, and once her father had found out that she had spoken with one of the bastards, he had made it apparent that he would not be willing to let her run off again. It was only a temporary arrangement, Mel knew that, and her father had reassured her that as soon as her child was born she would be allowed to travel around to her heart's content, though it still pained her knowing that she would have to endure this suffocation for the next two months.

Mel felt a warmth as her father wrapped a hand around one of her own, his large, strong fingers intertwined with her small and dainty ones, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright Mel, the Lords of the realm will see sense, they won't fall for the trickery of Symond Rosby and Jocelyn Baratheon. Your little one will be crawling around the halls of the Red Keep before you know it.” His words fell upon deaf ears. Mel knew that her father was desperate to see her child sit the Iron Throne, and she herself had to admit that she found the idea of being the mother of the king to be an appealing prospect, especially if it meant she could stay with her child rather than being married to some far off lord, though she couldn’t see any possible way that her father would be able to push his case. Baelor Tyrell was a gregarious man, and he could be very charismatic when he needed to be, but he was not universally loved by Westeros’ aristocracy. Having all the lord of the realm dragged out here to Harrenhal only to tell them that they would have to wait two months before they received their king did not seem to be the ideal way to start the reign of King Jaehaerys II. ‘If the child is even a boy’

“I know father, I’m just… A bit nervous, that’s all.” Mel looked into her father’s eyes, ‘how is he so calm’ she thought to herself ‘he’s about to address all of the lords of the realm, yet she’s smiling like it’s his wedding day.’

“Be strong for me, girl, be strong for all of us. We’ve got a long road ahead of us, but between you and I, I think things are starting to look for House Tyrell.” Baelor let out a chuckle, giving Mel a large hug. “We should be going. If Lord Rosby isn’t willing to wait for your child’s birth to crown a king, I doubt he’d be opposed to starting the council without us.”

Still hand in hand, the father and daughter made their way out of the Tyrell tent and towards the large pavilions which had been laid out to accommodate the three claimants to the iron throne, the centre of which, was already occupied by Princess Elaena. As they walked they were accompanied by a large procession of her father’s men, knights, squires and lordlings alike, all surrounding the Tyrells to form up an impressive looking honour guard, likely her father’s way of reminding everyone present who it was that commanded Westeros’ largest army. In the centre of it all, Mel was dressed up to a t, her father insisting that she looked her best infront of all those gathered. Whilst she was no longer able to fit into most of her old gown due to her pregnancy, her father had seemingly managed to conjure up a whole new wardrobe of clothing for her to wear, and prior to the council he had brought in several dozen handmaidens and servant to help do up her hair and make her look presentable. Her dress was black, the colour of mourning since the death of her husband, Prince Jaehaerys, was still so fresh in everyone’s minds, though her father had insisted that her hair be tied up in ribbons of red, so as to remind everyone what name her child would bare. In all honestly, she felt more like she was going to a ball than to a council, and she was uncomfortable about all the stares she was getting, though she would not say a word in complaint, her father had worked hard to make sure this council went in their favour, and she was sure it was all part of his plan.

Initially, they sat down in silence, selecting the pavillion just to the right of Elaena’s and allowing others to speak, listening as a bard played various old songs. ‘Is this meant to be a time a celebration?’ Mel wondered. To her this whole thing had been nothing but worry, and she had a hard time coming to grips with the idea that some people considered the selection of a new king to be a happy time.

“Okay Mel, when things start up, let me do the talking, alright?” She nodded at her father’s words, glad that she wouldn’t have to worry too much about addressing all of the lords, though she knew that no matter who was doing the talking, everyone’s eyes would still be upon her and her child.

The Grandmaester got up to speak, though Mel could barely hear him over the sounds of her own heart beats, which had sped up majorly as the council became closer. As the Grandmaester announced the candidates, Mel gave Elaena a half-hearted, but friendly smile, even if her child was king, she would still have to see the Princess (unless her father had some nefarious plans which she was unaware of) and there was no point in making enemies.

Elaena’s faction got up to speak first, and almost immediately they managed to hit a nerve. Jocelyn Baratheon, her own mother-in-law and the grandmother of the child in her belly accused her, in front of every lord in the realm, of adultery against her husband. She could feel her face going red. There was nowhere to hide here in the pavillion, and she could already hear the whispering of lords as their eyes looked over her as if she were a prized ham. ‘They can’t really believe this, can they?’ She was thoroughly shaken. She had never touched any man who wasn’t her husband, and the whole idea of her having an affair seemed preposterous. She looked to her father for guidance, though he seemed unphased by the whole ordeal, still as jovial as ever.

Mel shifted her gaze to her feet, unable to look in the eyes of all those who now thought her a whore.

“That’s quite enough of that, Jocelyn.” Her father stood tall, resting one hand upon her shoulder, whilst raising the other to signal for silence. “You’ve had your say woman, now sit down. Before you say something else you might come to regret. Ladies and Gentlemen, I will not stand here and listen to this baseless slander against my daughter.” Despite his words, Lord Baelor still had a smile upon his lips, it seemed as if there was little that could disrupt his jolly demeanor. “I care little for whatever lies that you can conjure up, or whatever vile whores you can pay to testify for you. I am sure that if you had any real concerns about my daughter’s fidelity, you would have brought it up much sooner, rather than waiting till now. Showmanship is all well and good for mummers and playwrights, but you’ll find we’re dealing with politics here, your farce is out of place.” Mel could see her father’s eyes meet with Jocelyn's. “I am sure that Jocelyn is simply confused. Lying in front of every lord of the realm is a grievous sin. Mayhaps the woman has let her fantasy seep into reality, I am surprised she enjoys tales of infidelity so much, considering her own position.” Baelor’s eyes shifted between Jocelyn and the bastard.

“Anyway, despite appearances, I am not here to involve myself in petty feuds, I am here to speak the simple truth. This whole council is farce. Lord Rosby, our hand, has conspired to keep the throne away from its rightful owner. Two months is all it would take for my grandson to be born, and then, and only then, would the kingdoms have a heir. The whole idea of hosting this council now is spitting in the very face of the law. A bastard cannot inherit the Iron Throne. A woman cannot inherit the Iron Throne. These are all simple truths, yet for some reason we have all lost our reason.”

“Last time a woman attempted to claim the Seven Kingdoms, a civil war broke out that not only killed large swathes of people, but also sealed the fate of the dragons in Westeros. Last time a bastard claimed the Seven Kingdoms, it ended in a dynastic conflict that has persistently caused chaos in Westeros for decades. Do we really want to risk this again? I am not asking you to crown my daughter’s womb. I am asking you to wait. I am pleading against this rash mindset that means we will be left with a king or queen who was not born to sit that chair. Two moons is all I ask for. Two moons and my grandchild will be born. Then we can decide who should sit the Iron Throne. And we shall not decide through arbitrary speeches, we shall decide through the law, how it should be, how it has always been.”

“I sat the small council of King Aegon, I know what the king wanted, better than most, and I will not allow the ambitions of certain lords tear away at his legacy. We need to stop these vultures. Elaena and Daeron will only bring instability. I don't want a temporary king, I want peace, I can see no way of achieving that here. I know some of you think that I want my grandson to sit the throne simply so I can claim power for myself. Lies. Circumventing the law simply because you do not like your sentence has never been the way of Westeros. I would ask, who would you rather see guiding the realm, a true born Targaryen son, a bastard, born of sin, or Jocelyn Baratheon?"

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron had sat himself in his canopy adorned with a three tier set of banners, at the top flew the red and black banner of House Targaryen naturally, and then his own Dragon in the colours of blue and white. Finally the Arryn banner flew at the bottom which signalled his main supporters, a reminder to the Lords of the realm that he was not to be easily dismissed. On his right sat Lady Arryn, as stern as ever, scanning the great Lords in an almost intimidating fashion ready to scowl anyone who so much as gazed at Daeron in a disapproving way. On his left sat his sister Visenya wearing a flowing dress that would have given the great Targaryen Princesses of old a run for their money, looking as beautiful as ever with a smile that contrasted deeply with Lady Arryn. The three of them together made a rather odd mix, Visenya was sweet and reassuring, Daeron was uncomfortable yet oddly determined and focused whilst Lady Arryn was stern and scornful.

Daeron just sat, his eyes darting about the room as his mind began to realise this was actually happening, that he could be King or fall from grace in a few hours notice. As the crown came into the room in the hands of Lord Rosby's son, a man he realised was nothing like his father physically, he finally saw the object and a dark wave of ambition came over Daeron. His eyes lingered on it as it made it’s way to the Grand Maester with a heavy gaze. He moved his eyes to Elaena slowly before moving back to the crown in an hypnotic fashion. That’s the key that will unlock so many doors, when its mine we will finally be safe . As he looked back to Elaena once more he felt guilt for but one second before he saw Jocelyn, a figure his mind had previously blocked out. There is the bitch, that whore will not get her way. I will not allow It. If she wants me dead then the craven can do it herself. This single figure was the manifestation of all his hatred as if she had been put on this world by the gods as a conduit of his anger. All hesitation he had dissipated as he looked at her, imagining the hundred and one ways he could humiliate her as King. He would make her get on her hands and knees and kiss the feet of her monarch or be sent to the Silent Sisters so no one could hear the lies that spewed from her whore mouth anymore.

As the Grand Maester stood and delivered the introductions a second wave hit him as he was called bastard, the insults of past came to him and his anger grew to new heights as the old Maester became the second target of his ire. I will show you all bastard, no one will dare slander me or Visenya again, the spineless nobody Lords in their worthless castle and worthless clothes will do nothing but humbly beg me to not show them the wrath of a Dragon, this is MY time and they will all see just what a bastard can do to their “pure” bloodlines.

As Elaena began her speech that glint of doubt manifested once more but was once again blocked out by the ambition and desire to be King. Everything she was saying was perfectly adequate of course but to Daeron it was everything wrong with Elaena’s claim, she was a timid girl with whom her grandmother would have her way with. It sickened him to think of her smug face as Elaena was crowned Queen, no it was not going to happen, he was his father’s son and he would be King. When the speech ended and Jocleyn burst into applause it took all his effort to not jump at her right then and there and dash her head against the walls of Harrnehal, his anger was absolute and only common sense stopped him from doing something he would regret. As the commotion died down and Lord Tyrell was called to speak next he calmed and glanced over at Rosby who sat smiling with a piece of parchment in his hand, pulling lightly at its unrecognizable seal.

Lord Tyrell then stood and started a tirade against Jocelyn for her previous statements, it didn’t surprise him that she would stoop so low but he also couldn’t care less for Tyrell’s so called emotion. As he carried on it struck Daeron that Baelor had just wasted his speech pleading to the Lords to give him some kind of legitimacy to be standing there right now. It wouldn’t work of course, it had come too far now and non of the other factions and their supporters would stop now, not with the crown right there, so easy to touch. Perhaps if this was done a week earlier then a delay could be accommodated if and only if a majority of Lords supported it, something that would take weeks to discern properly. But alas they were all here now and Lord Rosby had done his duty in his capacity as regent and Hand of the King.

As Tyrell finished his speech and applause once again rang up it was finally time for his turn. Daeron didn’t even wait for the Grand Maester to announce him before he stood up with a jaunt and made his way to he centre, in the view of every Lord in Westeros. At least those that mattered. Then with an oddly disturbing grin he began, smirking at Lord Tyrell.

“I thank you Lord Tyrell for your months old speech you probably should sent to every Lord upon my father's death instead of wasting it here because your time is up and you have no claim.” He then turned his gaze to the crowd “Look at you all, what is it we are debating here? You may all look upon me and see a bastard but in doing so you spit on the memory of your King. I was born a Prince of the realm, the bells tolled for my birth from Dorne to the Wall on my father’s own command! Through multiple court sessions he announced me as his son and a Prince of Westeros. At age 16 I was made Prince of Summerhall by him, how can anyone here gaze upon me here and now wearing the coronet Aegon the Sixth had made for me by personal request and not see the rightful heir of your King? What is the alternative?

On one side you have my niece, a girl I love with all my heart but also someone who is sadly never going to be Queen, her grandmother would hold that honour. Jocelyn Baratheon would impose her twisted and sick will on the Seven Kingdoms and every soul here knows it, through my niece she would issue her vindictive edicts that spit in the face of my father. She knows it herself, it’s why she looks at me now with seething hatred. She is a woman filled with vile blackness directed towards the Targaryen dynasty all because my father, your King, didn’t love her.
Then we have an unborn child, need I say more my Lords? This would take puppetry to a whole new level. We don’t even know the child’s gender for Sevens sake, who here is fool enough to vote for a child that could have no claim at all? Not to mention a 16 year regency headed my his rotundness himself, Lord Tyrell. It’s obvious he just wants to abuse his position for personal gain, so he can play King for the next 16 years and wave his power over all of you here assembled no matter how much he honourably denies it. It is simple foolishness to vote for Lord Tyrell because mark my words you are voting for no child.

These are your choices my Lords, a bitter old woman with a hatred for all things not her own, that includes children, or a 16 year long Tyrell regency for a puppet child that has a 50% chance of being a girl. I implore the Lords assembled to support my claim, we cannot let these puppeteers spit on the memory of my father for personal gain so they have the smug satisfaction of controlling you all. Vote for the son of the King, the Prince of Summerhall and you shall continue the legacy of my father’s reign and fulfil his wishes for a hundred year peace. For what is a better acknowledgement of my father than that? I can’t promise you the world, my Lords, not even Aegon the Conqueror could do that but what I can offer is glory and the preserving of your ancient rights that have governed Westeros for 300 years.”

Applause rang around the area, especially from the Lords of the Vale and the North who had already pledged their allegiance to Daeron in some form or another. He sat back down next to his sister who patted him on the back, seemingly happy he had finally come to accept he wanted the throne before becoming silent with a furrowed brow that would give Lady Arryn good competition, all the while he starred at the damn parchment. His eyes met with those of Lord Rosby for just one second and he received a smile and a telling wink in return. This didn’t ease his already troubled mind.

 

[ACHA]

Ser Steffon Rogers
Knight of the Kingsguard​

"My lord." Steffon said in a loud but gentle tone, and slightly bowed his head to acknowledge the Dornish nobleman. Steffon has not seen that many Dornishmen in the capital and back in his home of Amberly, let alone a prince.

It didn't take long for Lady Jocelyn to call upon another person. This time, it was her brother, Lord Alexander. "I don't believe I've had the honor, your grace, not personally." he answered Lady Jocelyn's query. "I've only heard of him, though I believe Lord Alexander would be more familiar with my father and brother, given that my family, House Rogers, has long served the Baratheons in the Stormlands. I was often told that I closely resembled my father in his younger years, so he might recognize him." he explained.

Ser Steffon spoke the truth. House Rogers has always been loyal bannermen to House Baratheon. Loyalty was one of the virtues that was strictly instilled to him by his father. There was only one acceptable reason for Steffon to disregard loyalty, and that would be the pursuit of what is just.

---------

Ser Steffon Rogers just silently followed Lady Jocelyn throughout her short walk within the halls of Harrenhal. Such was the duty of the Kingsguard: To be there, but make your presence hardly felt. He was merely there to protect the lady. In time, they've arrived to where the great council was to be held. Lady Jocelyn took a seat at the middle canopy, where she was shortly joined by Lady Elaena, and one of Steffon's brothers in the Order, Ser Gawen. Ser Steffon quietly took his place, standing beside and behind Lady Jocelyn's seat.

He could see almost everyone from where he was standing, while he was being obscured by the attention the people who were seated in the canopies were given. He saw where all the Stormlords were gathered, and easily saw where his brother-in-law, Lord Dondarrion, was positioned.

"So he is here" Steffon thought to himself. Lord Edric, quite the pleasant man. It was fortunate that Steffon's sister was married to him.

Grandmaester Harren began the council after Lord Rosby's son passed him a case. This also signaled the beginning of Ser Steffon's vigilant watch.

Lord Edric Dondarrion
Lord of Blackhaven​

The atmosphere was thick, and tension easily filled the air. Though some tried to lighten up the mood with chatter and jokes amongst themselves, Lord Edric chose to stay silent and focus his attention in front. This great council could very well decide the fate of this country, moving forward.

He looked in front, and saw three canopies. Three candidates. And though all three claim themselves to be the rightful Targaryen heir, Lord Edric saw a different picture. What he saw were not the Targaryen dragons on the banners, but the falcon, the stag, and the rose. Lord Edric was wiser and sharper than what most people give him credit for.

It didn't take long for Lady Jocelyn, sister of his liege lord, to make her case for Lady Elaena's claim to the throne. Immediately, she made pointed accusations of Lady Melessa's fidelity. "It seems age hasn't soften her" Lord Edric thought to himself. Her accusations were scalding, and Edric could see Lady Melessa shrink. Her accusations, however, were irrelevant. As far as Edric was concerned, Lady Elaena has always been the rightful heir. A bastard has no claim. An unborn child of remotely dubious origin should not be named heir.

Lord Edric continued to listen as the other claimants try to make their case.

Lord Albert Reyne
Lord of Castamere
​

Albert thought that this great council was nothing but a waste of time. A formality before the entire country is torn apart. One way or another, someone isn't going to be satisfied. That someone will be of great power and influence, considering the banners that are up with the Targaryen banners. If anything, this also served as entertainment for Albert, seeing such powerful lords and ladies make fools of themselves for everyone to see. Albert just chuckled.

Lady Jocelyn Baratheon had just finished saying her piece, and things got heated quickly. There wasn't even a preface to what she just said regarding the Tyrell woman's fidelity. Albert found the woman all the more amusing.

Obviously, Lord Tyrell wasn't going to take this sitting down, as he immediately rebuffed her statements. While Lord Baelor Tyrell seemed amiable enough, his case was faulty. It hinged on the chance that Lady Melessa's unborn child was a boy, and that's assuming Lady Jocelyn's accusations are false. While Lady Jocelyn doesn't have any proof, her candidate is already there. Lord Tyrell asks an entire country to take a chance on something random, rather than a choice that is already there.

That considered, there was another candidate. Someone whose claim to the throne maybe the least, if any, of the three. Albert sat quietly as he listened to the King's bastard son, to see what kind of man he was. Things were starting to get interesting.

 

[TheFool]

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

Elaena was hurt. How can they say such things? She looked at Jocelyn. Her grandmother’s face was like a melting pot of malice and morose. With a sprinkle of severe animosity. “Are you alright, grandmother?” Elaena asked, interrupting Daeron’s speech. Jocelyn shook her head, “It is fine, Elaena.” Daeron’s words finished and applause rained. Elaena wanted to stand and say something else, but she did not know what words to use.
Daeron sounded so… different. She thought. Something in his voice was more vigorous than ever before.
She sat in her chair, confused. She looked up at Gawen, who was still looking stern. I wonder what he thought of his father’s words? Elaena glanced at her grandmother once more. She felt awful for her. And she wanted to comfort her… but she couldn’t.

Just as Elaena was about to reach her hand over and place it on her grandmother’s, Grandmaester Harren cleared his throat. “Thank you, claimants.” He said, “And now we get to the-”

“Stop.” A voice called. Elaena looked to her right to see Lord Rosby stand up. Her eyes widened. What is he doing?

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

She was already angry enough. Symond Rosby standing up and waving his fat arms around did not help soothe said anger. Jocelyn gripped her chair. Staring. What trick will this fool try? Jocelyn wondered. Whatever it is… I bet it is in that parchment.
Rosby had been holding a small piece of sealed parchment in his hand for the whole council thus far. He waddled over to where The Grandmaester stood, in-front of the three canopies. “I have something I’d like to share with you.” Rosby announced.
Protect us, Mother.
Jocelyn reached over to the cup of wine. Half-empty.
What is in that parchment?

“My lords.” Rosby began,
“I know The Grandmaester and I called you all here for this, uh, council. But I am afraid I must apologise to you all- and to Harren.” Rosby severed the parchment’s seal. The dried wax dropped down to his boots below. Jocelyn gripped her cup. The whole courtyard was quiet in confusion. Jocelyn put the wine to her lips and sipped.
“I, King Aegon Targaryen, the sixth of my name, declare Daeron Waters to be named my son and heir in the hour of my death.” Rosby read out. Jocelyn spat out the wine. The crowd erupted into gasps and gossip. “For he is my son. For he has always been… my son. And let it be my last wish- that he is named Targaryen and given his rightful seat atop The Iron Throne. Signed…
...Aegon Targaryen. King Of The Andals. The First Men. The-.” Rosby was interrupted when The Grandmaester grabbed the parchment out of his hands and stared at it.

Jocelyn wiped her lips of wine. No. She let go of the cup, letting it fall to the floor of the courtyard. The remaining wine spilling out of it to form a puddle of dark red. Rosby looked at Jocelyn. A grin on his face. A mischievous gleam in his eye. That… that… that son of a whore! Jocelyn stood up. She looked around. Everyone was muttering and whispering.
How dare he? The document must be forged. It… it must.
Jocelyn looked at Elaena, who sat there. Defeated. Jocelyn then looked at Ser Gawen who stood above Elaena. His hand on his sword.

“This… this is Aegon’s signature.” The Grandmaester assured, handing it back to Rosby.

No!
Jocelyn felt as if she was about to faint. She tried to look at him. The bastard. But she couldn’t bare it. Rosby walked over to where the crown lay, upon its casing. As he walked, his eyes never left Jocelyn. How could he?
Rosby picked up the crown.
How!?
“So may I announce to you all,” Rosby spoke.
Jocelyn sat back down in her seat. Almost lifeless. I must stop this.
“Your new King.”
Rosby looked at Daeron Waters. Who seemed to be in as much shock as the rest of the crowd. “King Daeron Targar--”
Before he could finish, a sword impaled Lord Symond Rosby’s back. The blade cut deep and came out through his chest. His blood spurted. There was one scream. Followed by twenty more. Rosby coughed up more blood, before letting the crown slip from his hands and fall to the courtyard floor. The sword, having been inside him for several seconds, slid out. The steel wet with red. Jocelyn’s jaw hung open. Her eyes wide. She looked at the wielder. Ser Gawen Tyrell.

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

Elaena shut her eyes tight. She felt vomit tickle the back of her throat. For several seconds, the world went silent. The only sound audible to her was the beating of her own heart. Her eyes opened. Lord Rosby collapsed, clutching his wound. A river of red splashing out. From the crowd came roars and screams and shouts and cries. Everyone had stood up, panicked. What… what just…
Elaena’s eyes found Gawen. He stood still. Several people in the crowd drew their swords and rushed towards Rosby’s body. But, The Kingsguard and a few soldiers formed a circle around the canopies. As to not allow anyone in.
“Keep everyone back!” Elaena could hear the voice of the Lord Commander call out. She looked at him and saw his face filled with his own expression of fright and shock. He doesn’t want anyone to harm Gawen? Elaena thought. Is he in on this… or… or does he want Gawen safe and sound before being trialed?

Gawen knelt down over Rosby. “Get away from him, you bastard!” Ser Robert roared at the top of his lungs. Two soldiers held him back. Gawen used his sword free hand to pick up the parchment and the faux crown. He then walked over to Elaena.
She shut her eyes again. No…

“Listen!” Gawen yelled. The screams and shouts became silence. “This piece of paper? Lies.” Gawen dropped his blood stained sword and tore the parchment in two. “The words of my father and that bastard? Lies.”
Gawen clumsily placed the crown on top of Elaena’s silver hair. “This… is your ruler. Elaena Targaryen, the first of her name. The Queen… of The Seven Kingdoms.” He announced. Elaena shuddered as the crown lay nestled in her hair. She stared at Rosby. His corpse twitched. No…

“Long may she reign.” Gawen Tyrell said, as the crowd reignited their horror and dismay.

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

Jocelyn stood up immediately as the crowd begin to make more and more noise. Everything happened so fast. Jocelyn pushed Gawen aside and gripped Elaena. “We must go. Back to King’s Landing. Quickly.” She said, in a panic.
Elaena did not say a word. She only nodded. A tear slid down her cheek. Symond’s son broke free of the soldiers’ grasp and sprinted at Gawen. “You I'm uncultured!” He screamed, before punching Gawen in the jaw. Gawen stumbled back and then picked up his sword. Several people broke through the barrier, pushing and shoving. A soldier was knocked down against one of the lanterns. The lantern tumbled towards the Tyrell canopy and set some of its fabric on fire.
“Ser Steffon!” Jocelyn called out.
The Kingsguard looked at her as he tried to stop several people from getting past him. “Ser Steffon- we must go. The Princess is not safe here!” Jocelyn shouted. The Tyrells rushed out from under the canopy as it became a blaze.
“Ser Steffon!” Jocelyn screamed.
Gawen stabbed Rosby’s son in the leg and then tossed him aside. He then grabbed Elaena. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Gawen, no! Let go of me.” Elaena tried to break free.
Jocelyn watched on.
Seven...
“We must get out of here, your grace.” Several soldiers wearing Targaryen colours said as they were let through the barrier. Ser Steffon was with them, wielding his sword. “Let go!” A soldier shouted at Gawen.
“I’m coming with you.” Gawen said, letting go of Elaena.
“No. You will stand trial.” A soldier said.
Jocelyn blinked. People tried to fight the wild flames in the corner of her eye. “Let him come.” She managed to say.
“Your grace-”
“I said… let him come with us.”
“Yes. Your grace.”

And so they fled. Leaving the blood and the fire and the panic and the shrieks all behind.
Mother.
Protect us...

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag

Jon had made his way to the pavilions with other lords and took his spot close to Eleana. Folding his arms, he remained silent as he took on what each claimant had said. He did not have a vote, so he did have the privilege of breaking down each claimants arguments and weighing their merits. Once Jocelyn and Eleana finished speaking, Jon was shocked at the claim Jocelyn had made against Melessa Tyrell but true to form he showed no reaction to the news, as if he had known all along.

Personally Jon felt it dangerous for Jocelyn to speak before Eleana, the girl would have to show her will should she wish to be crowned. But of course Jon had no way of relaying this to his sister. Luckily enough most gathered seemed shocked at the accusation so it was forgivable enough, Jocelyn was a very adept player of the game.

As Baelor Tyrell spoke he heard very little regarding why his grandchild should be the chosen heir and more along the lines of refutting Jocelyn's earlier accusations. It seems his sister got her desired wish and that was the Tyrells on the defensive already. He took the time to look at Melessa and saw the shock and if he was being honest upset, as though she felt betrayed. Seeing this, he felt a surge of pity for the girl.

Jon turned, as the rest did when Daeron began to speak. He was as shocked as any who had known him growing up, that Daeron seemed so interested in the throne. Seeing the raw hunger for it had Jon shocked. From what Jon remembered of him, he was happy enough away from his sister. He glanced at lady Arryn and could see her input all over this. It may have been Daeron's hunger for it, but it was Lady Arryns "guiding hand" behind it.

The debates were about to begin when the late kings hand stopped the proceedings. Jon could feel a cold dread go down his back as he began to read the proclamation. Jon had seen the unfamiliar seal and was ready to argue against the validity of the will when suddenly there was a flash of white and the hand was dead, with Gawen Tyrell standing over him. Jon was ready to defend Eleana when the Kingsguard (to the shock of everyone) crowned Eleana Queen of the seven kingdoms.

Jon moved in close to Eleana and his sister, his twin swords now in his hands. He heard his sister declare they leave so Jon stuck close to them, stopping briefly to have one of his men sent off to Maidenpool with a letter. He feared this would happen so he had friends in the east ready to be called on and now seemed like a good time.

Staying close to Jocelyn and Eleana, Jon sheathed his swords and kept walking. Seeing Eleana shaken, he whispered to her
"Stay strong your grace, try not to show weakness. You must remain Stoic, hide your emotions"

TheFool

​

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Bryce eventually heard the speeches starting, sighing as he said to Willow, "Come, dear. Let's hear them out." He stood in the canopy, sighing as he somewhat listening to what Elaena and Baelor had to say. But the die was cast, and Bryce would follow Daeron. He clapped at his old squire's speech, a small smile forming on his face afterwards. He watched them bicker, saying to Willow, "When is this over? When do the vote?" Then Rosby came out, parchment in hand as he read Aegon's words. Bryce sighed in relief, happy that he at least chose the right side in this whole debacle. Then the sword went through Rosby's chest, and Bryce's instincts kicked in. He grabbed Willow by the shoulder, saying, "Run to the carriage. Now. Go!" He grabbed one of his personal guards, ordering him to escort Willow to the carriage whole the rest followed him to help Daeron get out. Bryce drew his sword, pushing his way through the crowd as he ordered to his men, "Protect the Prince! Form a wall!" They all complied, forming a shield wall around the Prince as he asked Daeron, "We need to get you out of here, My Lord. Where do you need us to go?" He briefly bowed before Daeron, saying, "Or I guess it's "Your Grace" now. Anyways, we need to move before someone does something even more idiotic."
Little-Fox
Braddington
​

 

[Little-Fox]

Willow Stark
Daughter of the North​

Throughout the speeches, Willow could only listen politely. She pitied the entire lot to be honest, all of them fighting over a dead man's hat for all she cared. It was almost shameful how Jocelyn would claim poor Melessa as a whore, the way she seemed to carry so much malice towards the newly widowed. Power does that, she decided. Elaena's speech was... soft and quaint. The speech a young girl gives her father when she is trying to be brave rather than a woman trying to stake her claim for the Throne.

Rosby's proclamation, unfinished as it were, still gave a very distinct and clear meaning. Unfortunately so did the sword through his chest. Pale freckled features lost most of the rest of her color as the dark crimson began to pour and coat down his front, bile rising in her throat as her breath caught. Sea-blue eyes were wide as her father shook her out of her shock. She couldn't hear what he said, the sound of her heart beating thundered over everything else as she ran towards the tent she'd been brought to to meet her father when she'd arrived.

Screams could be heard among the commotion, people panicking and rushing to defend or attack, depending.

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Ryman Tully
Distraught at Harrenhal

'This could not be going much worse.' Lord Tully thought to himself, sitting in the spacious pavilion that he and his men assembled. The generous Lord Walder Whent had some of his own servants accompany Ryman's to construct their sitting area, halfing the time it would of taken Lord Tully's own men. This was to their benefit, considering how late they were arriving. One of many things that irked his lady wife. Pia was, as expected, hoping to mingle with her fellow ladies of equal status, but the recent rains near Riverrun held them up. Ryman wasn't willing to risk the safety of his family or men by forcing them through tough and muddy roads, no. They waited until the Sun came and baked the mud into finely cracked earth. Naturally, the late hour made it difficult for Ryman to meet with either Elaena or Baelor Tyrell - which caused another lecture from his lovely wife on how much of a lost opportunity that was. It was to be expected, he nodded and gave her a kind smile. She took that poorly, taking their daughter and marching off to find their room. With little time at his disposal, Ryman was conflicted. Trying to squeeze in a quick word of support to either of likely claimants was tempting, but it might make him seem weaker. 'I don't think so.' Tully mused over what his wife would think. 'Pia would consider it rude and a display of weakness, alright. Late to your own vassals castle. Able to only toss in a hopeful murmur.' This made him frown. Truly, would lords Tyrell or the princess care too much over that? The twisted visage of Pia in his mind told him they would, deeply.

This didn't come to pass, however. His sons, Edmure and Ryman II, were lost as they began to mingle with others in their age group. Knights of some renown or their vassal lordlings, leaving Ryman to oversee the construction of their pavilion in record time. His smile fell from his face. "It's crooked." He commented to one of the men digging the spikes into the soft earth.

"M'lord?" Pox ridden face and balding, Ryman guessed he wasn't yet 50.

"The trout." Ryman squinted, seeing the sigil of his house distorted. "The trout is crooked. The symbol of my House." The red-brown haired man commented again, looking at the man expectantly.

"M'lord. ." The peasant stepped out from under the tent, looking up at the front of the tent. "Aye, m'lord. ."

"Well?"

"M'lord?" He echoed. A word that Tully quickly grew to dislike.

"Could you fix it?" He requested as kindly as possible.

"Ah. . I'm not sure how, m'lord. Tis no sew'r." The peasant awkwardly commented.

Huffing, Ryman nodded. That made sense. . He didn't like it though. "What should I do?" He inquired, looking at the peasant pensively. "This is the honor of my House. Of my ancestors and descendants. I cannot let this stand."

A silence filled the air. The other fifteen smallfolk worked to secure the lines to the spikes drilled into the ground, another found a raised wooden platform to fill the middle of the pavilion with, before rushing off to find chairs for the family and their closest retainers to sit in. All the while, the pox marred man and Lord Ryman stared at the crooked, distorted sigil with growing animosity.

"Do we have another?"

Blinking, the peasant resisted a smart comment. Lord Walder Whent had been sure to inform the villagers nearby to be on their best behavior. This wasn't the crowd to make jests of fecal materials or a horses cock around. "Aye. . Aye. No." Ryman's jaw set. "No. . .No idea, m'lord. I could look, but the others are all sittin' already." Pointing, Ryman turned to face the other Houses and their tents. Each grand, some greater than Lord Tully's. His frown deepened.

"Then what will we do?" Ryman refused to accept this trout as his. It was maybe the sigil to house Telly, or house Torry. Not House Tully.

" 'Ave you ever fished, m'lord?" Risking a comment, the man averted his eyes from the red-brown haired Lord Paramount. "Sometimes t'ey get away. Maybe this Trout's a survivor? Lil' injured?"

The frown broke. The sentiment almost broke his composure as laughter threatened to spill out of the Lord Paramount. "A survivor!" He repeated the statement with enthusiasm. "Yes! Like all Tully's! We're strong. This is an example of our ability to withstand adversity and rise to any challenge! Thank you. . ."

Not missing a beat, the pox marred man introduced himself. "Waldar. Waldar Rivers."

A bastard. "Well. . That was an uplifting idea. I thank you, Walder Rivers."

"Aye. Me son'n I fish often. Though, we're not always so successful, you see. . .The Tully trout is tough to snag." He grinned.

Ryman nodded, his chest puffing out at the fact. "Here." Reaching into a coin sack tied at his hip, two silver stags rolled into his palm. "For your family. Never let it be said this Tully Trout is so averse to benefiting his vassals."

~ ~ ~

Lord Steffon Dayne
Harrenhal

The caravan from Dorne to the wet Riverlands wasn't an unpleasant one. Nor unfamiliar, especially not to Lord Dayne. Much of his youth had been spent traveling several kingdoms in Westeros, the Riverlands being a frequent stop due to how central it was. A young knight and heir, Steffon and his now late father, Gwayne Dayne, must've passed the mighty fortress a dozen times. Later, Arianne Fowler and Lord Steffon even stayed at the imposing fortress, taking up Lord Walder Whent's hospitable offer amidst a rainstorm. Seeing it now, traveling through the blackened stone, scorched by lizards hundreds of years ago, Steffon could hardly muster much interest in the castle to make all others envious. His days of adventure, glory seeking and adolescent ideals of chivalry have been buried for years now. He wasn't here for some adventure or to participate in a tourney, least not to dine at the table of Lord Walder Whent. He was here to play politics. To see Lord Martell snake his way into power, no doubt using his niece to inject his venomous fangs into the very heart of the Seven Kingdoms.

Steffon Dayne didn't have a very high opinion of Qoran Martell. He was amicable enough, they were also bound by mutual unions to House Fowler - though his expired, he still frequented the House of his late wife every so often. But, Qoran was not a man Steffon would ever describe as kind. Just a look in his eyes and Lord Steffon understood this man's true nature. He was the very image of a serpent, concealed in a human visage. Cold, calculating eyes that seemed to deconstruct every person in a room, analyze a threat or muse over a potential asset. It was a detached coldness that he rarely showed, intentionally at the very least, but slipped through that made Steffon wary of this man. Qoran was not to be crossed. And this entire Council meeting - neigh every lord in the realm being called together - would see Qoran using his vassals expertly to contrive an outcome that was favorable to House Martell, possibly at the expense of the rest of Dorne, if it was deemed acceptable by his liege lord.

'It's a large mummers show.' Steffon thought, sitting next to several other Dornish Lords. House Dayne, a noble house, despite being lesser in quality compared to Houses Lannister or Stark, might've earned itself a table to themselves. If Lord Dayne had brought his mother, or remarried a year ago, or had a family as large as the Tyrells. As it stood, Steffon was a solitary creature now. The Sword of the Morning had no desire to wed another, his heart remaining buried in the bedrock of the Red Mountains. This forced him to be near to others, which he might not of minded, in other circumstances. But this was a show, they were dolls to be played with by the major players in this game, Lord Dayne recognized. He - and all other Dornish lords - were to make Lord Martell appear stronger. 'It's my duty to support my lord.' Steffon admitted to himself. 'But I am no fan of being used like some prized horse.' It might've also been the sour relationship between Lord and Vassal, but Dayne felt himself succumb to a dark mood. His eyes were on the great banners ahead of them, the seven major houses of Westeros all nearest to the front of this meeting. As to be expected. His eyes first traveled to the Targaryen Host, seeing Lady Jocelyn rise up, beginning to speak on behalf of her granddaughter. Never had Steffon thought too poorly over the woman, but she seemed of closer breed to Qoran than a man such as himself. She had smiled at Steffon earlier, which he gladly returned. But now, listening to her talk? Steffon felt himself grow distracted. Her voice was not compelling enough to ensnare Dayne, nor was the girl that spoke next - the half Martell princess. Grasping his cup firmly, Lord Steffon brought it to his lips. This couldn't end quickly enough. It didn't matter what Dayne thought of these candidates, who would be a righteous king, who was the right king. He would vote for whoever Lord Martell did. It was an illusion of power, of the ability to influence the election, nothing else. Why should he even bother listening to Lady Jocelyn, Princess Elaena, the bastard Daeron or Lord Baelor? His vote was sealed, no matter how his heart was swayed. Bringing the rim to his lips, Dayne inhaled the Dornish red, his mind wandering. . .

A hollow feeling carved out his chest, one that wine could not fill.

'The last time I was here, you were with me.'

~ ~ ~

Lord Ryman Tully
Harrenhal

The speeches were already beginning, Lord Tully sat anxiously, peering at the two empty chairs under his banner. His eldest, Edmure Tully, had joined him shortly after the pavilion was put together. Lysa, his recently wed wife, sat to his right with little Walder Tully in her arms. Ryman had offered to hold his grandson, his eyes constantly on the babe, but the mother politely declined the offer. Ryman could understand, the child was adorable, who would ever give up such a blessing from the Seven? On Ryman's other side, his second son sat, Ryman the second, with his eyes on a woman from House Celtigar. The Lord Paramount smiled softly at his second son. 'Go, talk to her.' He wanted to say. But, the Queen Dowager was speaking, passionately at that, on why Elaena Targaryen should be crowned queen. Ryman felt conflicted with that statement. He originally thought the same, who else would both former king and prince elect, if given the choice? He hadn't gotten much exposure to the princess, but he was confident in his abilities to judge a person. Princess Elaena was a gentle soul, smart and confident, who would be able to broker peace between even the most bitter of houses. He wanted to vote for her, he did, but Pia would never allow it. Instead, he would support Lord Baelor Tyrell. . . A man that was entertaining, who exuded confidence like no other. Tully was envious of that quality. But, the lord was also ambitious and proud, no doubt supporting the Tyrell's would burn many bridges. Ryman wished dearly to not paint a target on his back or give reason for anyone to mistreat the Riverlands. On the subject of his lady wife. . .

Pia Tully came along the side of the pavilion, her blue-red dress sporting several wrinkles. Their daughter, Meera Tully, trailed after her mother with two house guards behind them. Pia had been late. Most unlike her. 'I hope finding their room wasn't too difficult.' He'd have a talk with Lord Walder later, expressing why the ease of entrance into Pia's room was essential. She was not an old woman, but he didn't wish to burden his lady love with any unneeded steps. He smiled at her, half tempted to quip on her absence. He decided against it. "Things are all well, my love?"

Her brown eyes were on him. Oh, how his heart fluttered, excitement building deep in his chest. He smiled, unable to contain his happiness.

"The trout is crooked."

Blinking, Lord Tully nodded. "It's a survivor." He informed her, mimicking the sentiments that Walder Rivers told him not long ago.

Blinking in surprise, Lady Tully did not step onto the pavilion. "A survivor?" Confusion danced in her gaze, looking to her son and daughter in law, as if they had anything to say on the matter.

"A tale that father heard." Lysa Tully mentioned, quick to turn from her in-laws to the now standing Lord Tyrell. Ryman would've liked to hear from the man, but Pia would not relent.

"A tale. I'd like to hear this tale."

Ryman knew the gaze in her eyes. It was a dangerous one. Was she upset? The proportions were off, true, even Lord Tully recognized that. But he thought the excuse he was given made for a wonderful story. "A peasant helping us assemble our tent told it to me. How he tries to fish trout regularly, but they get away. He said this could be a very similar trout to one he tried to catch." Her eyes smoldered. Ryman gulped. "It. . It is crooked because it survived. It's strong. Like House Tully."

Silence was what greeted all of them. Ryman II looked uncomfortable, Edmure found it harder to focus on the speeches of the claimants, and Ryman forgot why they were even here.

"It's crooked. In front of the whole realm." She repeated. "You would dishonor us for a whimsical tale of smallfolk? Should the Targaryen's chop off a dragon's head and proclaim it survived a slayer's strike? Dear Husband, do not look away." Her voice dripped sweetness, though her eyes promised a painful confrontation later.

"Pia. . Please." He murmured. "Now's not the time."

"No. You're right. Now isn't the time. For neither this discussion nor your humiliation of our Great House."

"My lady. I meant no disgrace."

"You never do. But it always comes. And now at the most important meeting in our life time. Truly, Ryman, have you no sense?"

"Pia." His words grew weaker.

"Ryman." She growled, moving up the steps of the wooden platform, her daughter trailing behind. "I cannot believe you."

"I'll. . . No one will notice."

"Not notice?!" Her voice was shrill, her attempts to keep the commotion to a minimum failing. "They will not notice House Tully? They see us as no great house to envy? Not to respect? Our peers would turn a blind eye to us? That is how you choose to comfort me after your most recent blunder?"

"Mother." Edmure's voice was hard. "Stop." He commanded. Ryman managed a weak smile in the direction of his first born.

"Do not tell me what to do and what not to do." Pia retaliated.

"Mother. . Stop." Edmure warned again.

"You're not old enough to order me around, Edmure. Neither are you lord of Riverrun nor Lord of Darry."

"No! Stop!" Edmure pointed at the ceremony taking place.

Ryman blinked. He'd been oblivious to everything going on around them, the argument with his wife taking precedence over the council. "Why are they crowning Daeron Waters?" Ryman wondered, the heated discussion with Pia Tully all but forgotten now. Lord Tully leaned forward, trying to decipher the puzzle before them. Had they missed the vote? No, impossible. . . They couldn't of finished debating each others claims yet, but somehow Daeron was being crowned their king? The bastard? "What's Rosby up t-LORD ROSBY!" Ryman felt his heart thump. A blade! Through his back! Pia's shriek was impossible to ignore, the gasps around them all too loud. Was that. . "Tyrell?!" Was. . House Tyrell revolting over the news? Ryman stood, his legs shaking as he watched different lords and sers mob the front of this ceremony. Ryman felt sick. He felt vulnerable. Who was in on this plot? Who was going to be killed next? Eyes to his family, Lord Tully quickly grabbed his wife's arm and pulled her up. "We're leaving. Guards, see to our escape." The carriage would be their best bet. It couldn't hold all of them. . "Find us horses too!" His flight or fight instinct taking hold of Ryman, the only thing he could think of was escape. For his family and himself.

~ ~ ~

Lord Steffon Dayne
Harrenhal

Stabbed. Heart pierced. Gawain Tyrell of the Kingsguard. The hand of the king, now regent, dead. A pool of blood collecting around his corpse. Steffon Dayne felt numb to it all, sitting with his chalice of red wine. He was shocked, but he never felt impending doom like the claimants would, or some lords, he noticed as they began to flee with terror in their eyes. House Baratheon and Tully were the most noticeable. The Sword of the Morning sat, flabbergasted by the quick events that unfolded before him. He was snapped from his musings when Daeron came on stage, fire erupting from his mouth as if he were a genuine dragon. Following Daeron, Rosby rose, handing off a sealed parchment note. Only for both Rosby and the Grandmaester to confirm that it was valid, and Daeron Waters was now Daeron Targaryen, King of Westeros, the Andals and. . The rest of that. 'It's not real.' Was his first thought. 'It's a ruse. A clever ruse.' Why would Rosby wait so long to show the letter? For the shock value? Why not do so sooner, call on House Arryn to support their bastards claim? Whatever Rosby was playing at, it didn't unfold as he hoped. Pierced, a sword cut deep, cutting flesh and bone as it penetrated fully the man of an advanced size. Shocked, Lord Dayne remained seated, watching as Ser Gawain Tyrell and the other kingsguard formed up. Chaos was unfolding all around them with each claimant on the move.

A king was named, apparently, and he who named Daeron was immediately cut down, with a Queen named afterwards. The embers of war engulfed Harrenhal. Steffon sat, understanding that he was not a target in this soon to be bloodbath. Any danger he was in was secondary. Morbid curiosity forced him to sit, to stay, watching the mummers show devolve into chaos. 'Two dragons named king and queen, a third in the womb and a council that has resolved nothing.' Steffon Dayne wasn't a scholar, but he knew his history well enough. This seemed to be some bastard blend of the Blackfyre's and the Dance. If the Gods were kind, they would've resolved the matter of succession here and now. It seemed they wanted all of Westeros to bleed for the sake of a few. 'And how will Lord Martell react to this?' He pondered, his own fate now held in the hands of others.
​

 

[ACHA]

Ser Steffon Rogers
Knight of the Kingsguard​

What unfolded next was dizzying and quick. Everything was a blur for most people, but not Ser Steffon. Immediately his instinct lead him to draw his sword and stand in front of his charge, Lady Jocelyn and Lady Elaena. His brother-in-arms, Ser Gawen, had just stabbed Lord Rosby in the back. The moment his other brother in arms came to stop the incoming mob, Ser Steffon joined in. He tried to hold back anyone that tried to push through, with sword in hand. His attention shifted from the people behind him to those in front, constantly, watching as discord started enveloping the gathering.

Ser Steffon heard Lady Jocelyn's pleas. "Ser Steffon!" she cried out. Steffon pushed back the people in front of him for one last time before he moved back. He immediately sprinted to Lady Jocelyn and the Princess- No, the Queen's- side.

Steffon looked at his brother. He felt a mix of emotions that ranged from disgust to pity. Ser Steffon felt the need to speak with Ser Gawen. He would, later, at a much more opportune time. For now, the Queen's safety came first. "Step away, brother." he warned Ser Gawen as he tried to stand between Ser Gawen and the ladies.

At declaring his intention to accompany them, Ser Steffon was skeptical of Ser Gawen's intentions. But seeing as things were starting to become hectic, Lady Jocelyn agreed, and by extension, Ser Steffon was forced to agree.

"You grace, follow me." Ser Steffon said as he lead their way to their escape from this horrific scene.

Lord Albert Lannister
Lord of Castamere​

Lord Reyne's amusement immediately turned into shock, and then urgency. He quickly looked behind him as he reached for the dagger strapped to his waist behind him. He saw a blonde boy, his brother, and quickly held his head near to tell him quickly. "Gather the men! Have them ready to leave at a moment's notice." as he finished saying what he had to say, he pushed his younger brother back. Alton seemed dazed, and confused at what he had just witnessed. "Go, brother!" Albert yelled. Alton's senses quickly came back to him and immediately sprinted off.

Lord Reyne's heart was at ease, and he became calmer than just a few moments ago. He stayed, and was fully aware of what was happening around him, despite the chaos. He had to stay if he was to know what he was going to do next. His hand still at the hilt of Liontooth, he was quite aware that this was a dangerous situation, although of a relative scale in his case. He tried to scan the room. "Where are you, you imbecile." he thought to himself as his eyes searched for his other brother Jason. In all likelihood, he was still hanging around Lord Loren Lannister's younger brother, Tyland Lannister.

In the midst of all this ruckus, Lord Albert's mind slowly shifted to another person. "What do the Lannister's think of this?" he asked himself.

 

[Saavedra]

Lady Astora Arryn
Lady of the Vale
​

Lady Astora sat silent and cold like a black iceberg topped with gold as she listened to the speeches. They were unimpressive and worse yet, disappointing. Baratheon and Tyrell crafted their words well, but one was childish and low, the other defensive and with a sense of humour that was annoying rather than endearing. The Lady Arryn cared little for them, because she knew Daeron had the best chance from a practical point of view, and her own speech would point that out. However, she saw his inability to remain cool and collected. He was passionate and angry but without control. Lady Astora understood his reasons, but they were irrelevant. So was the applause he garnered. Daeron´s speech should have shown him to be a potential monarch from a realistic perspective, centered not on slights, provocations and technicalities like the other two, but in what he could do for the Seven Kingdoms once he sat on the Iron Throne. He should have talked about the stability he meant, not about his worthiness from tradition or that of his opponents. In her eyes, he was immature and angry, the last thing a king should ever be.

While others applauded, Lady Astora remained unmoved, dark thoughts swirling in her mind as she watched Daeron return to his seat with a look that he would hardly interpret as encouraging. Perhaps Daeron was not the right candidate to the crown after all, but... who else? The unborn child? The one that was subject to control by that bitter woman, Queen Jocelyn? No. There were no better candidates, and an imperfect one would have to do. The Lady realized she was thinking very coldly about her own nephew, a boy she had learned to love through her husband´s efforts. That simple thought did not serve for her to forgive Daeron´s lack of statesmanship, but it did settle down her insecurity about him. He was still worthy of her support, if only he could grow into his role.

Lord Rosby stepped forward, and revealed the legitimisation of Daeron by the late King. That settled the question, but Lady Astora´s golden eyes swept the gathered crowd. Something made official hardly meant it would be accepted. What were people´s reactions? Most were shocked. A few showed clear signs of relief. Others of anger or panic. She expected trouble from them... and then the screaming started. Her eyes turned back to Lord Rosby´s murder, and they opened wider. The Lady had expected treachery of some sort, but this was not within her expectations. It was brazen, shameless, and illogical. Even as she stood up, a small part of her admitted that it was brilliant. The sort of thing only a bold young man that had risen to the ranks of the Kingsguard would dare put in motion in the face of everyone present. Only the chaos ensuing from such a sudden act of violence could help him escape with his life... and so it did. The Baratheons were on their way out of the tent, surrounded by armour and swords.

Speed was of the essence. So the Lady turned to her nephew, her hand clasping his shoulder with the strength of a falcon´s claw, holding him in place. Even as the screams of panic and yells of orders resonated around them, even as the Starks approached to form a wall around them, her voice came as quiet, direct, and supernaturally noticeable as if he had been in a battlefield, watching the arrow destined to kill him come at him. The sensation her words caused would perhaps be quite similar. "Daeron. You will take your knights, mine, and the older squires with mounts, and pursue the Baratheons. Detain them, follow them, arrest Ser Gawen... do what you can, but do something. No one must say you ran for safety when the Realm was in danger."

It was as she said that last sentence that the canopy ripped behind them. A large man in full armour with a massive, two-handed sword cut through the fabric then pulled it apart with his hands. He was in his late thirties, with brown hair done in a ponytail and a respectable beard to match. Daeron recognized him as Ser Beneger Moore, Lady Astora´s favourite knight and protector, who had been her defender and champion since the very moment Lord Dollen, her husband, fell while facing the mountain folk. Two men at arms followed him, surveying the situation and immediately taking position to protect them. More warriors sworn to House Arryn waited outside. Lady Astora pointed at Daeron. "Daeron has been legitimised as the King of Westeros. You are now under his command. You will follow his orders."

After that, she turned to Bryce Stark. The man had been quick to defend Daeron, as could be expected from one of his main supporters, and now one of his main subjects. "Lord Stark, if you join your forces with mine under Daeron, we can perhaps put an end to this rebellion before it starts. We cannot allow the Baratheons to reach King´s Landing without answering for this crime."

Having said her part, Lady Astora gestured at Sir Beneger to follow her. One of the men at arms began jostling Daeron toward the opening ripped in the tent while Lady Astora walked calmly and fearlessly toward Lord Rosby,together with Sir Beneger and the other man at arms. Most of the crowd was fighting to get out, so by the time she began moving, the area immediately around the unfortunate Hand was mostly clear. Only those closest to Rosby or courageous enough to offer their support remained around the man, and though at first they were apprehensive at seeing Lady Astora approach (as was anyone, given the perpetually cold aura she possessed), they understood she meant no harm. After all, the Hand of the King had favoured her and her nephew greatly not even four minutes ago. The Lady of the Vale kneeled at his side, noting the remains of the parchment torn in two a few feet away, in front of where the Baratheons had sat. Ser Beneger pointed out those remains to the soldier, who hurried to pick them up. While she addressed those with Rosby, Sir Beneger kneeled by his son. "May I have a look at your wound, Ser?"

Astora Arryn, in turn, kneeled by Lord Rosby. The man was dead, and his blood stained the Lady´s skirt. She took little notice of that. Her eyes turned sad as she surveyed Lord Rosby´s body and the vital ichor leaving him. The man was dead already, or perhaps had a few more seconds of life. Only the Seven could have saved him at that point and, if they had intended to, they probably would not have allowed this to happen in the first place. But the sadness in Lady Arryn´s eyes wwas not just for him. The chaos now could very possibly mean a civil war in Westeros. Even if her nephew managed to arrest the Baratheons, and she was not sure at all that that would happen, the Tyrells might still decide to go to war. The Realm was a nest of vipers before the council began, and now... now, all the vipers were twisting and turning faster. That was all. The man at arms kneeled by his lady and showed her the parchment. It was trampled, torn in two, and stained with drops of blood, but it still had the seal. She would need to have a good look at it, but Lady Astora thought it could be read, sort of. Still, would anyone care about the document after this?

"Gods curse that traitor." Lady Astora stated firm and loud, closing the late Hand´s eyes.

 

[JPTheWarrior]

Alexander Baratheon
Lord Paramount of the Stormlands
​

Lord Alexander sat next to the other lords of the Stormlands. His vassals stood either next to him or behind their lord paramount, forming a rather big crowd representing their kingdom. To Alexander, the lack of interest Jocelyn showed when her brother suggested a marriage between Elaena Targaryen and Alexander's son, Ethan Baratheon, was a letdown. The lord wanted his House to grow in power and wealth by becoming royal, but it appeared Alexander's sister had other plans in mind. Nevertheless, Alexander's disappointment damaged his will to support his granddaughter, since while he still believed Elaena was the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, waging a war against the gods knew how many kingdoms wasn't something he was looking forward to. The Reach held the biggest army and allied with House Lannister it was a force to be reckon with. The Stormlands' army was powerful and feared by many, specially with Alexander himself leading it, but when opposed with armies from two kingdoms combined... Alexander assumed victory wouldn't be so easily earned. Participating in a warfare, risking the life of his family, many civilians and soldiers of his lands and not gain anything in return was a bit, if not completly, foolish.

A melody would fill the room, played by a bard like this meeting was some kind of celebration. The musician was rather good, but entertaining lords and ladies before one of the most important councils history would record felt like a dreadful not amusing joke. Alexander looked around, the place finally getting crowded, happy to see that Jocelyn had finally made her appearence sitting next to Elaena. By Elaena's side, there was a knight from the kingsguard, Gawen Tyrell, pretty ironic since one of Elaena's opponents was from House Tyrell. Since all of the contestants were here, this tedious council could finally begin, officially starting when the Grandmaester introduced the claimants, even though every single person here already knew them. A forged crown was in his hands, serving as a symbol of dominion over the Seven Kingdoms, until a real and official coronation took place in King's Landing.

After the introduction was set and done, finally the contestants could start their speeches and try to convince others to become their advocates. Of course, the words spoken would do little change on a lord's opinion. Afterall, most if not everyone had already decided who they wanted as Protector of the Realm. Still, Alexander listen carefully to what they all had to say. Unfortunately, it was Jocelyn that spoke more than Elaena, proving to others the lack of independence the Targaryen girl had. To make things worst, his sister decided to reveal outrageous information about Melessa Tyrell, calling her directly a whore and committing adultery against her husband and Jocelyn's son. Alexander's jaw dropped while he heard to such statements, not beliving his sister would be capable of accusing a woman and strip her of any honor the little flower could have. To make things worst, she didn't show any proof. Alexander's hands clenched into fists, furious with Jocelyn tainting House Baratheon's name with such dishonorable declarations. If it wasn't for his wife whispering in his hear to for him calm down, things might have gone south. Her next arguments, however, were quite good. Elaena was the only one with the Targaryen surname. Elaena could now finally speak, but the little dragon's presentation was not memorable, only mentioning that she is cultured and just. For Alexander, those were traits a ruler should have, but against the many other lords of Westeros it was not enough. You need to show them why they need you. You must explain how your rule would prove to be profitable for them Alexander thought.

The following speech was disappointing. Instead of the mother of the child doing the talking, her father got up and decided to speak for her. From Alexander's point of view, Jocelyn's comment was actually a strong hit against House Tyrell. Half of the man's speech was him defending his daughter from the accusation and the other half was even more laughable. The man was begging vipers to wait for two months before they could feed. It was ridiculous if he believed that would have worked. Next was Daeron, who really caught Alexander's attention. The man's personality was quite different from what Jocelyn had told him. The man was being quite agressive and vicious, kinda hiding his empty words with it. He said he was born like a prince, but if that were the case, he wouldn't be a Waters. And instead of attacking the other contestants, he should've tried to explain better why a bastard should sit the Iron Throne.

When everything was set and done, it was time for the lords to reveal their allegiances and opinions. Alexander was about to get up from his seat so he could have the first word, but his movements were interrupted alongside the Grandmaester's speech by Symond Rosby's voice. Alexander sat down and listened to what the man had to say. The information the man revealed was so shocking that even Alexander didn't know what to say. Rosby slowly moved his way towards Daeron, about to crown him. Alexander's eyes shifted from Rosby to Jocelyn, whose face was of pure wrath and burning rage. Suddently a scream called the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands attention and he looked in its direction.

His body paralyzed from the sight, the display of Gawen Tyrell holding his blade firmly while it was piercing Rosby's back, it's point surging from the noble's chest, dyed by the bright red color of blood. Alexander acted quick, and before Gawen withdrew his blade, Alexander was already up calling his vassals and soldiers to go to his camp. Alexander grabbed Lilith's hand and told her "We need to get my cousing and our children. Fast" it was almost like an order. His family's safety was at this point his priority. A commition of soldiers of House Baratheon surrounded the Stormlands' lords and ladies. "Let's go! Everyone go to the camp!" he ordered and left the room with the group. While one bigger squad lead the nobles and Alexander's wife to the Baratheon camp outside of Harrenhal. Alexander went with a smaller group to the rooms where Evelyne, Ethan and Elaenor were staying. He also took his time to put on his armor and sword, with the help of one of his personal knights.

The corridores were already filled with nobles and soldiers running around in panic. Alexander needed to act even quicker before people blocked Harrenhal's gates. He wanted to find Jocelyn, but his kingdom was what he needed to focus on. He would travel to Stormlands and send a raven to Jocelyn. That way he would know what to do next. A war will start because of this. Gods please have mercy upon my family and my kingdom. He silently prayed as he got out of the fortress and entered the Baratheon camp, where everyone was packing their things. Most of the things Alexander and his family brought stayed in their rooms inside Harrenhal and they would probably be lost forever.

 

[Hypnos]

Melessa Tyrell
Widow​

Everything had happened so fast. One moment there had been peace, the next, anarchy. Mel had been expecting something to go wrong. Before the council, she had gone over a hundred different problems that might occur in her head, but never in her wildest dreams could she have predicted this. Her own brother; a murderer. When Rosby had initially got up to say his peace, she had been puzzled, then, when he revealed his true intentions, she had been angry, after all, he had dangled the hope of her child being king right in front of her nose before unceremoniously taking it away again. Then, it happened. A flash of different emotions hit her all at once.

She had barely been paying attention at the time, looking to her father to see his reaction to the legitimization of Daeron Waters, but Baelor Tyrell had bigger issues to deal with. It seemed as if the Lord of Highgarden could not even see the Lord Hand, instead his gaze fell upon his son, Mel’s brother, a sword in his hand and pure unbridled rage upon his face. Mel would have screamed, but the sound got caught in her throat, and she could do nothing but watch in silence as the blade cut through Lord Rosby like a knife through hot butter, the once proud and strong Hand of the King reduced to little more the a pin cushion. Mel tried to catch her brother’s eyes, her face terrified and confused at the same time, though it seemed that he looked right through her. Gawen Tyrell had eyes for only one person, and that was Princess Elaena.

“Mel, listen to me…” Her father’s words were cut short by a scream from one of the surrounding servants. The Tyrell canopy had caught fire. Perhaps it had been a stray lantern knocked onto the floor, perhaps it had been something more malicious. That didn’t matter right now. Mel barely had time to collect her thoughts before she was tackled to the floor by one of her father’s knights, the brave man attempting to push her away from the fire and towards safety.

“Run, my lady. Run.”

Would that she could, but she was heavily pregnant, and now that she was on the floor, her gown was caught upon a stray tent pole that had previously been supporting one of the surrounding canopies. She looked around for help. She could see her father, sword in hand, shouting at the surrounding men to form up and protect his little girl. The knight who had saved her from the burning canopy seemed to be stuck under the flaming cloth and she could do little but watch in horror as he writhed around in pain, the flames engulfing him.

“Here girl!” She was practically lifted to her feet, her beautiful gown torn at the seams and left to burn along with the rest of the Tyrell canopy. Mel looked up to see Ser Eustace Lyberr, the captain of her father’s guard, his face masked behind an iron full helm. “Get to your feet.” It was was easier said than done, and the knight had to almost drag her along as they made their way away from the large crowd and towards where Lord Tyrell had kept the horses. “Can you ride girl?”

“I think so.” She said, worriedly. She hadn’t rode a horse since she had first become pregnant seven moons ago, though she didn’t feel like now was the time to say such a thing.

“Good. Take the black destrier, he’s the fastest, and ride for Tumbelton. Don’t look back. Once you’re there, have Lord Footley’s maester send a raven to your brother in Highgarden, tell him what’s happened here. For the love of the seven, don’t stop under any circumstances.”

“And what about you Ser? Will you not come too?”

The fear in the man’s eyes was apparent even through his helmet. “I’ve got to find your father. Now go! My men will accompany you. Me and your father will follow behind soon.” He didn’t sound certain, but there wasn’t enough time to question him now. Mel stumbled towards the horse that had been mentioned, Eustace helping her to mount the beast before yelling some orders at other Tyrell men and kicking the horse into action. She couldn’t even look back at the man to see what became of him as she was quickly whisked away from the action, a dozen Tyrell knights following her tail, ensuring that they made it past unimpeded and that no fool attempted to attack their Lord’s daughter. ‘This cannot be good for the baby’ Mel thought as she attempted to control the animal underneath her, though she was having a great deal of trouble. ‘Though I suppose that is the least of it’s worries at this point.’ She continued to ride, not looking back.

Eustace Lyberr
Captain of the Tyrell Guard​

Eustace watched in silence as Melessa Tyrell rode away, his hand wrapped firmly around his sword. ‘I should have gone with her.’ He thought with a frown, ‘or better yet, I should have abandoned her whole damn family to the pyre, let the fat bastard get what’s coming to him’. In truth, he knew that had never been an option. Baelor Tyrell was an old fool, and Eustace had spent much of his waking life cursing the man’s name, but he did not deserve to die like this. No one did. Rosby included. He had known Gawen Tyrell, the two had sparred together when Gawen had been a boy, and Eustace could even claim credit for teaching him how to thrust and parry, ‘if only I’d known what exactly he’d use those skills for’. Watching Gawen stab Lord Rosby had been like watching the realm tear apart right in front of him ‘so much for peace’ it was almost comical. Every lord and lady in the realm had gathered together to watch the crowning of a new monarch, yet with all of their combined power, none of them could stop that blade from pushing itself through Rosby’s back.

The knight ran back towards the carnage, ignoring the fact that almost everyone else was running in the opposite direction. He had to find Lord Baelor, and then the two of them could get the fuck out of this god forsaken place and hopefully return to Highgarden with all their limbs intact. He was not optimistic about their chances.

Lord Tyrell was still surrounded by chaos, the middle-aged man looking out of place surrounded by all of the young warrior and knights, trying to usher him off to safety. “Where is Mel!” Eustace could hear him shout. “Is she alright? Is the child alright? I will not leave here without her!” The panic was clear in his voice.

“Mel is gone, my lord!” Eustace yelled back, “she rides for the Reach! We must follow her!”

Baelor Tyrell looked him in the eye, “is she safe?”

“Aye, my lord! She’ll be back in Highgarden before you know it. She’s got our best men watching over her.”

Baelor nodded. His own sword held aloft. “Men of the Reach! To your horses! Let us leave this place!”

For the second time, Eustace found himself running towards the horses, though this time he did not find himself dragging a pregnant woman along with him. Lord Baelor was surprisingly quick for a man of his stature, which was lucky, since Eustace did not think he could lift the man up the same way he could with Melessa.

The party managed to make their way to their horses relatively unscathed, and Eustace quickly mounted his horse, waiting for everyone to be ready so that they could move off as a party, ‘there is safety in numbers’ he thought, ‘though hopefully the girl has a small enough escort that she will evade being tailed.’

They rode away, leaving the bloody mess of Harrenhal in their wake.

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag

Jon had broken away from Jocelyn and Eleana once they were with the Kings Guard. Reaching his tent, he had a squire help him fit his armor. Soon he was suited and equipped with his swords. Now he had to find his brother and join the Stormlords, Gods damn that man for slicing down The hand.

Finding his brothers tent, Jon stepped right past the guards who were on alert. Coming inside and seeing his older brother Jon spoke
"Have Lillith and the children been sent to Storms End?"
He asked knowing Alexanders first concern would be his own wife and children.

Jon knew that the more pressing concern was getting the children out, Eleana had her Kings Guard. Gripping his swords in his hands, he paced as his brother finished getting ready. Jon tried thinking about what alliance would take the blame on this, The Baratheons or the Tyrells.

Jon tried to formulate a plan. As of right now, the Stormlands were surrounded by enemies, what with the Reach and Vale bearing on the Stormlands and crownlands and Dorne remaining Neutral as far as he knew. Hopefully his friends in the east would be able to solidify their own defense.

He perked up when his brother explained he would be going to Kings Landing, to ensure our family would have representation. Nodding, Jon returned to his tent and burnt anything incriminating. He stepped outside as the panicked shouts echoed, mounting his Sand Steed. Prompting the horse, Jon took off to catch up with his Sister and the knights and lords.

Feeling wind whip against him, he charged ahead, thankfully his horse was light on its feet so after a time, he had caught up to his sister. Throwing a glare to the Tyrell knight, he turned to Jocelyn

"I am here to get you to Kings Landing as quick as we can"

TheFool JPTheWarrior
​