Fandom A Game Of Thrones (GoT/ASoIaF RP)

[TheSword]

Westeros


- This In-Character Sections Is For Those Who Are Currently Roleplaying In Westeros. -

* - Westeros Is Shown In The Red.


Current / Upcoming Big Events -


N/A

 

[TheSword]

( Time for us to start, I think! )


@Mikaera


@CAP Ireland


@Gospeller


@jole875


The Red Keep, King's Landing ...


Refella Targaryen sat by her balcony. The sun looked down on her as she sat. It was sunny, but there was a chill in the air. Summer was almost over, that much was clear. And after Summer, came Winter. Effy stared at the city of King's Landing, which was in her view. From her balcony she could almost see the entire shit hole of a city. The air smelled foul, as usual. King's Landing in no way smelled like a bed of roses, quite the opposite in-fact. It smelled like blood, piss, and sex, and shit. Yes, the air was foul, but, the city's residents had gotten used to it.


Effy combed her silver blonde hair with her hand. She had a comb, somewhere, but, she wasn't bothered to go find it. Her eyes were red an' sore from all the crying she had been doing over the past week. Effy never really loved her father, but, he was still her father. And she had lost him. Some bastard had poisoned him on a day where everything was supposed to be cheerful and joyous.


Effy continued staring at King's Landing, her white locks of hair knotted together in her hand. She let go of her hair for a second, only so that she could dry her eyes. After the drying of eyes; she sighed and leaned back in the chair situated on her balcony.


She heard a sound coming from inside her bedchamber. But, she didn't bother to turn her head and see what- or who- was making all of that noise. She just continued staring at the city that she had always hated.


"You didn't come to the ceremony?" A young man's voice asked her. She tilted her head slightly to see her older brother, Renard. She shook her head in response. Her throat was all croaked up from the crying, so, she was trying not to say much. Renard knelt down beside her and began staring at King's Landing with her.


"Why?" He asked after several moments of silence.


"I... I couldn't." She replied, in a sad tone of voice.


"Why?"


She shook her head, once more. Renard sighed and stood up. He lifted her hand gently and held it in his. "Sister. Please..." He begged of her to tell him her woes. Effy sighed once more and wiggled her hand out of his grasp.


"He was a bastard." Effy spoke. Renard looked down at her.


"Father?" He asked.


She nodded, once more.


"He was a power-hungry bastard, but b-but... he was my father." Effy sighed. She felt more tears coming along, but, she had cried too much already. She probably didn't have any tears left to cry.


Renard didn't say anything. He just listened in silence. Effy looked at him and smiled. "We didn't get along, but, ever since his death I keep on thinking about this one memory." She said to her brother. He smiled back at her.


"I keep on thinking about when I was a girl. Father would have me sitting on his shoulders. We'd walk through the throne room and he'd tell me all he knew about the dragons and their skulls." Effy continued.


"I keep on thinking about that moment. And it... it drives me to tears. Gods." She said as a droplet of water trickled down her cheek. Renard began to chuckle softly. He knelt down beside her once more and kissed her forehead. Effy realized how distraught she must of looked and began to laugh with him, as well as cry.


"Your grace, you are needed in the small council chamber." A faint voice said behind them. A Kings Guard was standing at the door, awaiting Renard.


"I will be there in one moment Cedric." He told the guard. The guard nodded slightly and disappeared behind the door.


"Effy, I must go. I hope to see you at dinner, sister." He said quietly. Effy looked at him and nodded. "I'm sad, but, I am also starving. I will be there." She said with a giggle. Renard turned around and began making his way to the chamber of the small council.


Effy sighed once again and turned her gaze back to King's Landing. She dried her eyes once more and stood up. Her father was dead, but, life would have to go on. She took one last glance at the city she despised and slowly walked back into her bedchamber...

 

[CAP Ireland]

Christopher looked at the city as the trees gave way and it became visible.


Kings landing. He'd been here once before. It had been summer then, the air hot and the earth dry. A perfect summer to be outside and yet his father forced him to stay inside. He'd been forced to stand in a large room with lots of people and bow to the king and then remain stationary until everyone had done the same.


And now that same king was dead. Poisoned. Such a shitty way to go. No honour, glory or revenge. Just falling over, grabbing at your own neck until your body refuses you.


Christopher rubbed his own neck at the thought.


He'd much rather be decapitated. At least then it's a spectacle. Recently people said that heads talked after they'd been separated from their body. Christopher smiled at that. The thought of his enemies holding his head up for all to see and him telling them to fuck off one last time appealed to him.


Still, he was sure that he wouldn't find other to debate the topic with him in King's Landing.


Well, maybe his brother would, but preferably not in public. Not that Kross wouldn't, the man cared little for policies and politeness, but because Christopher wouldn't want to be marked for bad behaviour such as that in a place like this. He was a Tyrell after all, roses are meant to be beautiful and unblemished.


Thinking of his brother, Christopher turned to speak to him.


''You alright over there? It's not much further now.'' he shouted to Kross.

 

[Gospeller]

Kross had no plans to seem or be pleasant. His heavy full-plate armor clung loudly as his horse heaved its head up and down in exhaustion - carrying such a massive weight was no simple task, but these horses, bred personally by Kross himself, could handle the weight. His helm was clasp shut, the only expression he bore being plate. 'May the bastard stay dead', he thought to himself in bitter, silent rings that echoed about his mind. "I'm good." He growled back at his brother, though it was not by any means to threaten. Kross was just ... cross at the moment. For such a figure - though a bastard, to have died in such an undignified way. It makes me sick. Poison. The weapon of cowards and politicians. For those who meddle in filthy politics. The large man's teeth grinded like a sawmill. "Why are we wasting our time on this ... excursion?" He shouted right back at his twin. Despite having been told a hundred times, Kross constantly needed some form of motivation ... some stimulus, to keep him going. I could be drilling soldiers. Or drinking. Or both. The thought itself kept him distracted and entertained for a short while.

 

[jole875]

Baveron Debow had been waiting in the tavern for an hour. The Armorer said that he could get the dent from his gauntlet out in a few minutes but he had taken much longer than said. The tavern was filled with the whores of nearby brothels, though most of them recognized Baveron the few who didn't learned fast, he did not like whores he'd rather crush their wind pipe with his bare hands than treat them with respect. Any who approached were turned away by the fear of Baveron's two guards, Boro and Horo two large twins who both carried a sword and shield not including the small hatchets and knives at their belts. Baveron looked up from the table and waved over the waitress, walking over he spoke,"Get me and my two men mead and bread if you have any get us some fruit, peaches if you have them," his voice was deep and raspy. The rest of his group had taken the entirety of an inn across the street, a few familiar faces were in the tavern with him, though a few soldiers from the red keep were standing around demanding drinks he knew he wouldn't have to fight such weaklings. After several minutes the waitress came back to his table with the bread and mead. Looking up from his meal Baveron spoke,"Horo go get my gauntlet from the armorer, if he isn't done go ahead and get them, also go ahead and buy me some peaches too," he said with a smirk while he gave him a single golden dragon, after doing so he leaned back in his chair. This seat towards the back was known as his, whenever he was in between contracts he always came back and waited here until someone decided to have the balls to come and try hiring him, having the Beast doing your bidding was more dangerous than a dragon they say.

 

[CAP Ireland]

''Because he was our king and because I intend to befriend the next king.'' and he did. Christopher had commissioned his gift as soon as he had heard the news of the king's death.


He'd been brought up to be the perfect heir and, eventually, marry into royalty. Unfortunately, his desires conflicted with those of his family in many ways but not in that final one. Politics was fun but Christopher had grown bored of the continuous cycle of the Reach.


King's landing was a whole other world. One wrong move and you were dead. You could be dead for months before you actually died in this city and never know that all that time, every little thing you did, was a step closer to an inevitable doom because you forgot the appropriate prefix.


''Now keep up, I want to get there before dusk!'' Christopher kicked the horse on and it complied, speeding into a gallop. The wagon with the rest of their necessary belongings had been sent ahead and Christopher was eager to get to the gift.

 

[Gospeller]

The knight shook his head left and right. "You're far too eager." A slight grin formed beneath his plated face as he slapped the horse into motion, catching up with his twin brother and riding side by side towards King's Landing. Air - hitting his face - it felt colder. Summer was over, and as the Stark's always remarked, winter was indeed coming. However, the winter could come for all Kross cared. He'd shed it. He'd shed it to tiny, insignificant bits. His thoughts were aggressive as always, and it spurred a fire within him that bellowed deep in his throat.


"Though personally, I think that you went a tad' over-kill on the gift -... But I leave these games to you, brother. I want to see if there are any able-bodied men we can pull out of that pit." If it was possible, he'd love to grab a handful of peasant soldiers, militia, or recruits to take back to their lands. There, they would undergo rigorous training by Kross himself and be turned into able-bodied soldiers. These recruitment were never done too up-front, and usually went through a village elder or community organizers - it was not all too well known that Kross was dragging peasants and young men from other lands to his own at times.

 

[TheSword]

"Tyrells, your grace."


The guard had told Renard as he sat at the table, surrounded by his recently deceased father's councilmen. Renard stared into the guard's eyes and opened his mouth. "Are you certain?" Renard asked curiously. The guard nodded. "I'm certain, sire. A golden rose on a green field."


"That is definitely the sigil of House Tyrell." Hatim, 'The Spider', said whilst looking at the faces of the councilmen. "We haven't received any word from Highgarden since they said they couldn't attend the wedding feast." Dane Sunglass told the councilmen. Renard looked around the table. He saw nothing but aged faces.


The councilmen have held their positions since his father had been crowned. Renard didn't know any of them too well, and it made him nervous to be around such powerful figures. He was a prince, soon to be king, but Renard knew that kings weren't always the ones who held all the power. As the councilmen talked amongst one another Renard studied each of their faces.


Hatim Martell was the uncle of Prince Aziz Martell. Hatim was almost ancient. He had wrinkled, leathery brown skin. His hair was a grey-ish blue. Hatim was more commonly referred to as; ' The Spider ', or ' The Prince Of Spies '. He knew everything about everything, an' everything about everyone.


Then; there was Dane Sunglass. The son of a noble house nestled on The Narrow Sea. Dane was most likely the youngest member of his father's council, but, he was still three times the age of Renard. Dane was in charge political relations- he was the one who would write and negotiate with every house in Westeros.


Renard snapped out of thought when a man burst through the doors of the room. "A carriage belonging to The Tyrells has arrived outside the gate. It is filled with luggage belonging to a few members of the immediate family, including Lord Trevelyan's twin sons." The young man informed them.


Renard stood up and looked at the men seated around the table.


"I want you to organize accommodation for The Tyrells, and whatever host they may have." Renard announced. He looked up at the guard and the young man. "Please inform me when they do eventually arrive." Renard spoke softly. The young man nodded before quickly flitting out of the chamber, along with the guard who had informed them of the Tyrell host approaching.


Renard dismissed the council and everyone got up. They all bowed before him before taking off, except for Dane Sunglass. Renard was about to leave before he bumped into him. "My apologies, your grace." Sunglass apologized. "And mine." Renard got a bit nervous as Dane looked at him. "I hope you do not mind sire, but, I have recruited the help of a mercenary group known as 'The Ghost's Steel'." Dane told him.


Renard looked at him quizzically.


"And- why have you done this?" He asked Dane.


Dane had a stern expression on his face. "Because we lost almost a fifth of the city guard when we took Myron Baratheon..."


Dane went on about how we need as much forces in the city as we can get- and that this mercenary company where highly regarded. After about fifteen minutes of chatting. The two of them left and went their separate ways. Renard sighed as he climbed the steps to his chamber- the day was almost done and he'd love nothing better then to slumber, but, something told him he'd be preoccupied for most of the night.

 

[CAP Ireland]

They had ridden hard and fast and the journey had greatly agitated Christopher's future heirs, but they had arrived at the city walls with no trouble and were escorted to the Red Keep soon after.


Christopher dismounted in the courtyard and looked around. Guards stood everywhere and a few now moved between corridors.


''Ahh, smells like money.'' Christopher smiled. He saw one of the men he'd sent on earlier walking towards him with a chest in his arms.


''Excellent. Put it down.'' Christopher grabbed the key he had on his persona and opened the chest. He retrieved the king's gift and a few pouches of gold before locking it once more.


He stood up and turned to Kross.


''I'm assuming you'll be doing a quick in-out and then ride into the sunset.'' he grinned at that. Being twins he could almost hear what Kross had in mind. He tossed him a sack filled with gold. ''Don't kill anyone...yet.''

 

[Gospeller]

Kross had stayed with his brother arm in arm the whole way, ensuring his safety. Despite his silver tongue being his best weapon, it also tends to get the poor bastard into trouble. The large man shook his head, but grabbed the gold nonetheless. "I will be heading towards the tavern shortly - but first I want to ensure that you are in good company with the royalty. Furthermore, I have to pay my respects. The least I can do." Simply by nodding, Kross' neck gave out a loud, cringing crack. "But let us get on with it. I have no interest in standing about for thrown roses nor' red-carpets." With that, he followed his brother into the royal grounds.


"Hrmpfh -... Like money? More like sweat, sex, shit n'death." He muttered under his breath as they were received, leaving it only for his brother to hear. "But these are all things that come with wealth; work, brothels, waste and -... yeah, death." Allowing himself a light shrug, he removed his helmet. It was not something he did of free will, but rather a simple form of politeness that Christopher had taught him. He carried it in a crooked right arm, his plate letting out an almost thunderous clang with his large steps. Whilst it may not be true, Kross could almost feel the fear oozing from the other guards, as well as sweat forming from their pores. However, this may just have been due to his sense of superiority - he really knew nothing of the capabilities of these guards in particular, though they seemed to be kept in good shape. By who, I wonder ...

 

[TheSword]

"SIRE!"


Renard heard someone calling for him. He was in the middle of washing himself, so he quickly cleaned up and got dressed. He wore a casual garb of blood red and raven black. When he was dressed in new attire, he left his chamber to meet the face of the young lad he'd seen earlier on in the small council chamber


"Lord Christopher, and Lord Kross Tyrell are awaiting you in The Throne Room." The boy said, almost out of breath. He must've run all the way here. "Have the councilmen assembled?" Renard asked the lad. The young boy was silent for a few moments before he nodded frantically. "Tell them I will join them in a moment, I must retrieve my sister." Renard said, and just as he finished speaking- the boy started running back to the hall which seated the throne of iron.


"Wait!" Renard called. The boy stopped and looked behind him. "When you're done, inform the cooks that we'll be feasting The Tyrells and their host tonight."


The boy bowed and sprinted away. Renard sighed softly before he began walking towards his sister's quarters.

 

[CAP Ireland]

Christopher was lead to the throne room by a group of Kingsguard. He stood in the throne room and the memories flooded back.


It looked the same. There were less people now, but it it was still hot in here.


His eyes wandered around the room, the Targaryen banners lining every wall.


A three headed dragon no more I think.


He soon saw it on the other side of the room and almost hit himself for not seeing it sooner.


The Iron throne.


It looked almost too good to be true. Thousands of swords melted together. He almost wanted to have a go on it.


But his day would come.


He walked further into the room, towards the throne.


''Why does it have to be so big? I guess it has to be fit for a king I suppose.'' he continued to wander forward.

 

[jole875]

Baveron watched as Horo reentered the tavern with his gauntlet in one hand and a large basket of fruit in the other. Setting the basket on the table he huffed and handed Baveron his large gauntlet which he slipped on with ease. "That basket is very fucking hea-," Horo was interrupted by a squire who slipped past him and handed Baveron a scroll. Looking at it in a confused manner he almost instantly handed it to Boro who immediately began reading and stated,"The crown wants to hire us for five thousand gold dragons a month," Baveron stood and brushed past the squire almost knocking him down. He could hear behind him Goro,"Help me carry these dammed peaches." Walking out of the tavern Baveron whistled loudly and he heard the men in the inn calling out to one another.


After several minutes a little over a hundred men walked out of the inn and situated themselves. "Hasbed take twenty men and fetch the horses from the stable, the rest of you follow me and look fucking organized or I'll eat your fucking eyes," Baveron said loudly, his company was made up of large men. All of them were 6'4+ and carried weapons that had been crafted by smith's in the company, walking like an organized force of death he arrived at the gate of the red keep and stared down at the guard of the gate who seemed flabbergasted by the large force or maybe how large they were in general. "F-forms for entry, sir," Baveron took the decree from Boro and showed the guard,"Let them pass," he said loudly staring up at the close to seven foot behemoth. Behind them Baveron heard the clattering of his horses, which were large enough to accommodate the large men.


Walking into the courtyard he pointed over to a patch of dying grass and all of his men went over and placed down their supplies and equipment. Horo and Boro slowly walked over and placed down the large peaches then walked back to Baveron's side. The men in Baveron's company eyed the peaches but knew eating his fruit was more than a bad idea.


Walking past the guards to the throne room he pushed the door open and walked through. He could see a man of supposed noble background pacing around like the prissy weakling all nobleman seemed to be through his eyes. Eying him carefully he ignored him and walked to a corner of the room and looked around at the large room. He hated large rooms, archers could easily shoot and run in large rooms, very easy to be attacked and cornered here.

 

[Gospeller]

Having followed Christopher into the throne room, he was quick to put a hand on his shoulder, attempting to stop him from venturing too close to the throne. "Careful, brother. Don't walk too close. You'll agitate the guard. Furthermore ..." the tall man broke down into a whisper, "I have no idea what kind of person this ... Renard is. Perhaps he will become agitated only seeing you close to the throne."





More than anyone else, Kross was always quick to jump to conclusions, and first impressions always had the biggest impact on him. He already knew how calculating he would be the second the prince stepped into this room - and as much as he despised it, he just could not help himself. Kross had a bad habit of marking the way that people walked and talked, as well as pin-pointing what their interests were, or rather, objectives. Shortly after a few thoughts had crossed his mind, he'd happily let his brother go, though giving him a stern look. The last thing he wanted was for Christopher to throw himself on the throne, something he could easily see him doing in his mind. But that was just a dream of any House, of any person rather - but Kross believed his brother to be careless and ballsy enough to do it in person, just for the thrill.


"His highness is taking his time ... t'would be a shame if he was writhing in poison as well at this time." The words were muttered to himself, barely audioable to anyone around as he re-adjusted the helmet in the crook of his arm. His jaw, so damn sharp it could cut rocks, tightened considerably as he stood there in waiting. So ... what kind'a person will dis' king be?

 

[Malachitea]

King's landing


Elaine Lannister walks away from the funeral ceremony with her head held high taking the condolences with sad eyes and an even sadder smile trying to fix some of the damages done when her mother ran off to Casterly Rock without so much as a word. Well if she was trying to seem suspicious then that did the trick. Elaine could feel the stares on her and hear the whispers as she made her way through the castle; they were all wondering if she had played a part in the king's death. She was playing a dangerous game she knew that well enough; if Renard thought her mother had any part in his father's game Elaine was sure to be a hostage. But Elaine played as well as any man and knew the risks, after all - she smirks- if she wasn't there who was going to comfort poor Renard?

 

[TheSword]

Renard nodded at the guards situated outside his sister's quarters. "Effy!" He called. His younger sister came walking down the steps that lead up to her bed chamber. She was wearing a tunic and her hair was tied up in a ponytail that fell on her left shoulder. "What is it?" She asked, her voice was raspy- probably from all the crying she had been doing as of late.


Renard wouldn't lie, he cried the first two nights. But, he had since moved on- as was expected of a prince who was soon to be a king.


"I need you to accompany me to the throne room. The Tyrells have arrived and I must greet them." Renard told her. The look on her face was a look of uncertainty. After a moment, Effy sighed and told the guard to get her handmaidens to clean up her bed chamber. The guard bowed and the two of them set off.


It was a walk of silence to the room which held The Iron Throne.


When they finally got to the throne room the two of them saw how packed it was. The small council sat beside the throne, the kings guard and the gold cloaks where dotted through-out the room, the Tyrells and their host stood adjacent to the throne, and a rugged looking man stood in a corner with a group of equally rugged men.


Although he hadn't had his coronation yet, everyone still treated Renard as a king. The small council smiled as he entered. Renard sat on his throne. Fuck, this is uncomfortable. When he felt as comfortable as he could ever be, he called up his first guest- Lord Christopher Tyrell, and his brother.

 

[CAP Ireland]

Christopher saw Renard enter and sit on the throne but was more preoccupied with the girl he entered with. Her white hair meant she was a Targaryen and, by extension, must have been Princess Refella.


Christopher began to walk forward with more purpose now, closing the gap between him and the throne.


''Your highnesses, I apologise for arriving unannounced. We'd sent a messenger but he was murdered.'' he bowed and came up ''Anyway, that matters little now. We're here for your sorrows and to pay our respects to your father.


Still, there is no doubt in my mind that you, sire, will make a fantastic king.'' Christopher considered giving Ranard the gift now but thought it best to wait until they were better acquainted, when it would seem more personal.


''And I haven't forgotten you either princess. Tales of your beauty are well spoken, but still do you no justice.'' he smiled as endearing a smile as he could then, his eyes trying to find hers.

 

[TheSword]

"You are too kind, Lord Christopher." Effy retorted as her eyes met with his. She blushed slightly before she quickly looked away and spotted the lioness enter the room. Elaine Lannister had stayed in King's Landing when her mother fled back to Casterly Rock. The two didn't get along all too well; her personality just seemed too... fake... to Effy.


Renard stared Christopher Tyrell down before deciding on what to say next. "Thank you, Lord Christopher. Your condolences are much appreciated. I mean that. I've ordered the cooks to prepare a feast for us, and the other guests staying in The Red Keep tonight. I've also set up a large quarters for you, your bother, and your most trusted me, in the guest wing." Renard responded politely.

 

[Gospeller]

Kross gave the mercenary a dirty look at the side. Wildmen with axes, or soldiers? It is hard to tell the difference between someone who carries plate but knows not how to swing a sword, and those who boast great strength yet are nothing but pups. Real strength was tested in battle, and therefore, he reserved his judgement for now. However, the ragged men seemed far too unprofessional to him; it was not a case of wearing clothes fit for royalty, but rather an air of behaviour.


Taking no further note of it, he approached the throne together with his brother. His jaw was tense as steel as he looked upon the two oncoming to the scene. It felt like they were two poor, lost souls stranded on an island - that pedestal the island, where they sat on their throne, and around them, nothing but hungry wolves with thirst in their hearts, to rape this land for all it was worth. Disgusting. Kross bowed his head to the two as a sign of respect. "As my brother announced, we're here to pay our respects for your father - there was no justice nor' God involved in what befell him." With that deceleration made, he nodded at Christopher's statements, agreeing with them, seemingly, whole-heartedly.


No matter how much he wanted to focus on the two, only the large beasts in the corner of the room held any of Kross' attention. Dogs of war ... they ought' nae' to interfere with my recruitments.

 

[CAP Ireland]

''Your grace is too kind. We accept your offer. Before we go to prepare would there be any chance that you and I may speak in private?'' Christopher wasted no time. He knew what he wanted and was ready to get it. His eyes glanced back at Refella.


He'd made her blush.


He hadn't expected the princess to be so young or so susceptible to compliments. This would need to be explored later in greater detail.


His eyes returned to Renard, awaiting his response.

 

[TheSword]

Renard nodded slowly.


"Of course." He agreed. He got up off of the iron throne and told Hatim that he'd return in a bit. He walked down the steps and joined Christopher. The duo walked out of the throne room and into a hallway which led to the hand's tower. His father's hand was Myron Baratheon; who was now chained up in the dungeons of The Red Keep.


The duo stopped in a spacious, but, empty area. And Renard looked at Christopher- waiting for him to speak his mind.


Effy glanced at her brother and Lord Christopher as they walked out. The throne room erupted with the whispers of all the people who had gathered. Effy sighed and looked around. Her eyes flitted past everyone; Lord Kross Tyrell, the small council, Elaine, and the brute-ish man standing in the corner...

 

[Malachitea]

Elaine surveys the area with a keen eye an uneasy feeling in her stomach. On high alert she noticed Renard and oh.. his darling sister. 'Surprise she wasn't out blind drunk and planted in some lord's lap' Elaine snorts quietly at her thoughts, she knew of the princesses' little getaways, to bad Elaine had no proof. Elaine curses when she sees Renard being led away but continues to walk towards the place he was.


" Hello Effy, I didn't see you at the ceremony." Elaine said polity noting Effy's red eyes and lingering blush.

 

[CAP Ireland]

Christopher followed Renard. He hadn't expected the prince to talk to him straight away and was caught off guard by it.


Still, he stepped into the empty space, his stage for the performance to come.


''You suit the throne well Renard. It becomes you.'' Christopher began to move around the area, touching the walls and looking out the windows as he talked ''But even you can't hold the weight of the world at bay. Our families are impartial to each other at the moment. To me, impartiality is being ignorant. If you can't choose a side then you're on a side all by yourself. I'm he-...We are here to aid you in a ny way possible. I thought characters of a similar age to your own may suit your better than the courtiers of your father. I'm not saying you should abolish the small council, just that you may need some friends in the months to come. People you can trust with and also relax with. So, if it's not too presumptuous, I nominate myself as said friend.'' Christopher almost reached for the gift then, but stopped himself. The feast would be the perfect opportunity for it's giving. He turned to Renard and smiled.

 

[Gospeller]

Giving a brief nod, Kross allowed his brother to walk off with the upcoming King. With that in place, his eyes caught hold of Elaine - and for a few seconds, he felt himself speechless. Such ... majes-... However, he rapidly pulled himself together, straightening his back and standing with his head held tall, his jaw tensing once more. With a brief nod to the two ladies that stood on the pedestal of the court-room of hungry wolves, he spun on his heel and made his way out of the castle. Before doing so, he would simply note in a voice as polite as he could manage: "Excuse me, but I shall be off-..." He shook his head for a few moments, still somewhat dazed by the presence of the two. In an attempt to regain his mannerism, he shock tactic'd himself back into a proper mindset. "-... I need to head to the tavern." As he walked off, he muttered lowly. " 'N get drunk'as shite'n fuck'a tree or somethin'." Such stimulus helped him to etch as far away from the noble mind-set and mannerism that had been carved into his brain since birth, which he despised so much. There is nothing beautiful in nobility - not attitude, nor' movement nor' purpose.

 

[TheSword]

Effy's stomach turned upside down as soon as she saw Elaine approach her. Gods, here we go. "Elaine, what a- a pleasure." Effy greeted her. "I wasn't at the ceremony because I wasn't feeling very well. I heard it was a calm and sweet event, no?" Effy asked her. The only reason Elaine was there so she could perhaps provide a shoulder for Renard to cry on, ugh...





Renard listened carefully to what Christopher had to say. He smiled at his remark about 'nominating himself as Renard's friend.' Renard kept his smile on when Renard turned around. "I agree with almost everything you are saying, Lord Christopher." And, he did. Not only a night before; Renard was thinking about replacing the small council with those who are... well... younger.


"I would be honoured to have you, and House Tyrell as an ally to the crown. Especially in times such as these where almost every corner of Westeros is whispering of rebellion." Renard said calmly. Although the subject of 'rebellion' was no calm matter.


"Shall we talk more at the feast?" Renard spoke as the duo began making their way back into the throne room.