Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[TheFool]

A Game Of Thrones :
The Exalted Council

Spoiler: OVERVIEW

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King Aegon VI is dead.

Now, his throne is empty- and The Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of turmoil. Aegon’s “hand”, Lord Symond Rosby, is currently the realm’s regent. But he cannot rule for long. An heir… must appear. There are three possible choices : Aegon’s granddaughter, Elaena Targaryen. Aegon’s unborn grandchild, being carried in the womb of Melessa Tyrell. And, Aegon’s bastard son, Daeron Waters.
To decide which one of these ‘heirs’ will wear Aegon’s crown, Symond Rosby and The Grandmaester have called council.

The Exalted Council.

Now, all of the lords and ladies of Westeros have arrived at Harrenhal to chat, drink, and voice their opinion on who is the next ruler of Westeros. But, foulness is at play. People have been bribed and bought. The lords and ladies may not come to a consensus. And if a consensus isn’t reached, the smallfolk fear another Dance will grip The Seven Kingdoms.

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MAP

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CURRENT DATE :
Early Autumn, 299AC



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​

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

She began her morning with prayers to The Mother. They had stopped at The Ivy Inn, just south of The God’s Eye. Harrenhal was in its distance. Jocelyn got out of her bed and dressed herself in a golden gown embroidered with little grey does. She left the inn as the sun raised its head, and found a spot in the woods- which was peaceful and secluded. It was there that she prayed. Grant us good fortune. And grant us safety. Protect us…
Mother.
Protect us...

“Your grace?” Her handmaiden called out to her through the foliage and shrubbery. Jocelyn opened her eyes and looked at the girl. She was fair, but frail. Tyana Fell. A simple girl. The granddaughter of an old friend of Jocelyn’s father.
“You would interrupt a woman whilst she speaks to her Gods, Tyana?” Jocelyn said whilst bringing herself to a stand.
“Apologies, your grace. It is just that… well, we are to be leaving soon. His lord Hand asked me to come and tell you.” The girl said.
Nothing would likely give Lord Symond Rosby more joy than leaving here without me. “Of course. Now, go on and make sure that nothing valuable of mine is still in that shabby cupboard the inn keep calls a room.”
Tyana nodded and then scurried off to do as she was told. Leaving Jocelyn Baratheon alone again. Jocelyn placed her hand against an elm tree and looked up at the sky above. The sun was higher now. How long was I in prayer?
She took a breath.
They would be arriving at Harrenhal this afternoon. And that would be when the council commenced. She took her hand from the tree and decided that she was finished with her worship.

When she rejoined the host, they were all outside the inn. Ready to go. “Your belongings are all in their rightful place, your grace.” Tyana told her with a curtsy. Jocelyn thanked the girl and dismissed her. Jocelyn looked around at the crowd. She was trying to find her Elaena, but she could not see her. Where is she?

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

She’d always been fond of that sound. The sound of two wooden sparring swords smacking together. She had been sparring for what seemed like forever, though it was likely only an hour or two at best. Her sparring partner, Jon, was telling her about the art of the ‘parry’. Elaena listened to him go on and on. Even though she knew already what parrying was. She just wanted to be polite and take in the boy’s teachings.
But that sound. That sweet sound. It had been a long time since she had last heard it. Back when my father and I sparred in the courtyard of The Red Keep. She smiled to herself. It was about four days before he and Melessa announced their betrothal…

“That’s it, my little Valyria.” Jaehaerys Targaryen told her as she shielded his sword with hers. “Now parry!” He yelled as he swung back his sword. She did. She parried. And he was proud of her. I hope he was proud of me.
“Let's sit for a bit.” He said as he threw down his sword and wiped sweat from his forehead. He sat on a step and patted the part beside him so that Elaena would come sit with him. “I have to tell you something, Elaena.”
“What is it, Jaehaerys?” She said slyly. I would always mock him that way.
Elaena sat down beside her father and he ruffled her silver hair.
“I want you to be accepting and open minded when I tell you this.” He said.
Elaena gulped.
“I am to remarry.”
Elaena remembered it well. The feelings she had at that moment. Anger and confusion, and sadness too. “But what about mother?!” She recalled screaming. “I thought you still loved her. And that you would never… you would never…”
“I do, my girl. I will always have your mother in my heart. But I must marry again. A son must be born to me. There must be an heir.”
“I can be your heir.” She said, her voice cracking.
Elaena remembered his face. He had a sad smile on it. “My girl-” He repeated. But Elaena refused to listen. She shouted and shouted, before fleeing to the comfort of her pillows and her cat.

The wooden sword hit her upper arm. “Ouch!” She said, dropping her own weapon. She clutched her arm.
“Do you even know what a parry is?” The boy, Jon, asked her.
“Of course I know what a parry is. I am not daft.”
“But you are a girl.”
“That shouldn’t matter.” Elaena said, still holding her arm. It would surely bruise. I should have been paying more attention and not have been so haunted by that day.
The boy grinned, “Well it does.”
Elaena huffed. “I may be a girl, but I am, first and foremost, a Targaryen. So remember who you’re talking to- stable boy.”
“I’ll remember who I’m talking to when you ‘member when to parry.” He said, laughing. Elaena looked at him angrily, but she couldn’t stay that way. She, too, ended up laughing. “You are very annoying. Do you know that?” She told him.
“Course a girl like yourself would find a man like me annoying.”
“There is nothing man about you, Jon.”
“Wow.” He said, still smiling. “You may not know how to hit with your sword, but you sure can with your words- Princess.”

The two sat down in the grass, which was wet with morning dew. “Won’t you get your dress wet?” Jon asked her as he peeled an apple and gave a slice to Elaena.
“I have more.” She took the slice and slipped it into her mouth. “Where did you learn how to handle a sword?” She asked him.
“Right here. At our inn. We get a lot of interesting folk. Many ‘ave thought me a trick or two.”
Elaena nodded in response. He handed her another slice, and asked her the same question that she had asked him.
“My father.” She said, softly.
“I’m sorry about him. It was a shame when he died. My ma cried her eyes out. She always said he would ‘ave been a magnificent King.”
Elaena smiled.
A sad smile.
The same smile her father would smile.
“He would have been.” She said to Jon. He handed her another slice but she refused it.

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

“Have you seen Elaena, Ser Gawen?” Jocelyn asked the knight, as the two stood outside The Ivy Inn. But before she could get an answer out of him- they were interrupted. “There you are, Lady Jocelyn!” Lord Symond Rosby said, boisterously.
He walked up to her with his entourage at his backside.
“We thought you had fallen into The God’s Eye itself.” He laughed. His entourage laughed. Jocelyn grimaced.
“And a good morning to you too, Rosby.” Jocelyn greeted the man. She gave Gawen a look that said ‘go on and find the Princess’. Gawen excused himself and did so. “It is a fine morning.” Rosby replied. “The finest. You wouldn’t think that we were on the brink of Autumn.” Jocelyn said with a thin smile.

A servant boy walked towards Rosby and his gaggle of gentlemen with Rosby’s horse. Rosby petted the steed, before mounting it.
Poor thing. How its back doesn’t break under Rosby’s weight is miraculous.
“So are you excited?” He asked as he sat atop his animal.
Jocelyn raised an eyebrow, “Excited?”
“For today, my lady.” He said, “For what the council may bring.”
“And what may the council bring, Rosby?”
“Many a things, my lady.”
It irritated Jocelyn that the man wouldn’t address her as ‘your grace’. He should stop calling me his lady. Aegon’s body may be cold, but I am still Rosby’s Queen. I am still everyone’s Queen. “It will bring one thing.” Jocelyn stated, “And one thing only.”
Rosby scoffed and reined in his horse. “And what would that be?”

Elaena appeared out of the corner of Jocelyn’s eye. She was being escorted to the carriage by Gawen. Her dress was slightly stained. Hmm.
“A crown on my granddaughter’s head.” Jocelyn told Rosby.
“The lords of Westeros shall decide who gets the crown, my lady.”
And the ladies.
“So be ready.” Rosby added.”
“I always am ready, Rosby.”
He scoffed once more and looked at his entourage, “I somehow doubt that, Dowager Queen.” A voice called out, signalling to everyone that it was time to head for Harrenhal.
How dare he…
“Now let's be off, and hope that we have a safe and smooth journey ahead- Gods be good.” Rosby said.
Jocelyn looked at him with another thin smile, “They are.”

The carriage ride was reticent. It was just Jocelyn and her granddaughter. Jocelyn kept looking at her. What was she doing?
There was a bump in the road and Jocelyn clung to the sill of the carriage’s window. She looked out of said window. At the countryside. Rows of trees, each a different shade of green. And the sky. Thank The Mother for this sky.
The scenery was so admirable that she wished to paint it as soon as they returned to The Red Keep. She looked away from the window, and back to Elaena.
“What is ever the matter, my dear?” She asked, finally breaking the silence.
Elaena looked at her, “Nothing.”
“Do not ‘nothing’ me, young lady. I am your grandmother. I know when nothing is nothing. And I know when it is not.”
“I…” Elaena began, before stopping herself. Jocelyn could see the sadness on her face. She is still in mourning. We all are. Maybe I shouldn’t pry at her?
“I am worried.” Elaena said.
Jocelyn frowned, “About what?”
Elaena shifted in her seat. “I am worried that… I don’t know. That something bad will happen.” Another bump in the road. “To you, to me, to all of us.”
“My dear-” Jocelyn started.
“I don’t want this council to cause something bad.” Elaena added.
Jocelyn scooted closer to her granddaughter.
“Look at me,”
Elaena looked at her.
“It won’t.”
Another bump in the road.
“Nothing bad will happen. You are the rightful heir to The Iron Throne. And whoever does not see such rightfulness- is not worthy of the reign you shall bring.”
Jocelyn lay a kiss upon Elaena’s forehead.
“A reign that continues the peace and prosperity that your grandfather’s rule was so blessed with.”

The driver smacked his hand against the carriage. We’re here. Jocelyn looked out the window and saw Harrenhal. Standing tall.
Jocelyn placed her hands on both of Elaena’s shoulders. “Be brave, my dear. And be regal.”
“I will.” She replied, firmly.
Voices called from outside, and the carriage came to a hault.
“That’s my girl. Now put on your best smile. Your lords and your ladies await.”

Elaena Targaryen
Claimant To The Iron Throne


​

Elaena listened to all of the commotion coming from outside of the carriage. The door opened, and a ray of sunshine poured in. Elaena used her hand to shield her eyes and crawled out of the carriage. “My Princess.” A man, with a black bat on his tunic, greeted her.
He took Elaena’s hand and helped her out.
“I’m sorry. I do not know your name.” Elaena said as she saw his face.
“I wouldn’t expect you to, Princess. I am Larys. Lord Walder Whent’s younger brother.”
“Oh,” Elana felt her cheeks flush red. “My apologies, ser.”
“It is quite alright.” He chuckled. “Welcome to Harrenhal!”

Elaena looked up. It is little more than a ruin. Its walls were black and harrowing. The castle looked odd in the bright sunlight. A dark overcast would suit it much more.
“It is some sight, no?” Larys said to her.
Elaena gave a small nod, “And you… live here?”
Larys chuckled. “I do, I do.”
Elaena smiled, “It is charming.”
“In an ugly sort of way, yes.” Larys said.
“I won’t say I envy you.” Elaena giggled.
“Don’t be so cruel, Elaena. Harrenhal is a mighty castle. House Whent should take pride in her.” Jocelyn said as she elegantly climbed out of the carriage.
“Your grace.” Larys said with a bow of his head.
Jocelyn waved her hand at him, “It is a pleasure to see you again, Larys.”
“And you, your grace.”

Elaena’s eyes lingered on Harrenhal as Jocelyn and Larys talked about trivialities. I wonder how many times my father had visited Harrenhal? She smiled to herself. She had been thinking about him a lot today.
I wish he was here. Holding my hand like he did when I was a child. Telling me not to be frightened. She shook her head.
Well he is not here. And I am not a little girl anymore. I am a woman. I am a Targaryen. So be brave. She told herself as she stared at the ruin.

Be brave.

“Looks like we’re some of the first to arrive, eh?” Lord Symond Rosby bellowed as he walked up to Elaena, Jocelyn, and Larys. Elaena smiled at him. He was a jolly man. She had kind memories of him and her grandfather drinking and laughing together in the grand hall. Rosby and Larys exchanged a firm handshake.
“You are, my lord. Though we just received word that almost everyone else will be arriving shortly.” Larys said, grinning.
“Good,” Rosby said. “The early bird gets the worm.”
He and Larys laughed.
“And I am sure you shall get yours.” Jocelyn said. Elaena looked at her. I don’t think grandmother likes Lord Symond too much.
Rosby ignored her comment. “Lead the way Larys. Let us begin.”
“Of course, my lord.” Larys said with a bow, “Follow me.”

Elaena took a deep breath, and one last look at Harrenhal.
Be brave.
She thought to herself as she walked through the gate, surrounded by decaying stone and sad memories.



-

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron was having the dream again as he did everytime he slept, he was flying, he couldn't tell where exactly but it looked like Westeros and everything was on fire. He saw soldiers marching with unknown banners and villages burning as far as the eyes could see, this was it he thought to himself, this is what I will cause. He could see a mountain in the distance, this was usually where his dream ended and just as expected he was startled awake by the screech of Artys and the sound of horns. “Shut up you dumb bird!” he shouted, throwing a cushion at his cage with a response of more sounds of claws banging against metal “It can't be that late already, I will get up in another hour” This hour was cut short by the entry of a guard dressed in full armour sounding like a waterfall of metal, he got on one knee as Daeron rubbed his eyes and stared at the guard with a mix of annoyance and unwillingness to get up. “Your grace, the camp will be departing soon for Harrenhal and the Grand Council, I have been charged to inform you that breakfast will be served now before we leave as Lord Whent….wishes to not bankrupt his house further by serving breakfast to all the realm as well as hosting them all in his home.” Daeron couldn't help but laugh at this as the guard dared not lift his head to meet his eyes “Thank you, I will be there as soon as I am dressed properly.” he responded remembering his proper manners. With that the guard left the room as 3 servants charged in and had him dressed before he could even question whether they were real people, he opened Artys cage and the bird jumped onto his shoulder as he normally did and he reluctantly exited the tent.


All around were banners flapping in the wind, his own banners and that of the Arryns. Every step he took was one step closer to civil war in his mind, he never wanted this and never has. If it were his choice he would bend his knee to Elaena as soon as he got through the gates of Harrenhal but no matter his protests the people around him would do nothing but push and push, even Lord Rosby kept insisting he attend as a claimant and not a Lord for some unknown reason. He was stuck. Still, maybe civil war could be averted with this Council? Surly the Lords would not risk another Dance? Was the only thought that gave him comfort ever since his father died. He wanted to run away, get on his horse and ride to the mountains never to return, who would stop him? But still he walked forward, only forward with no hesitation. Maybe I do want this, maybe I am an ambitious bastard with claims above my station? If I weren't why am I still walking forward? Was all he could think about as knights and men around him bowed with respect as he walked past them, just like they did his father, he had to admit he liked the attention instead of the snickers and looks of disapproval. These thoughts were cut short by the thought of his dreams however, All these men will be dead before the years end, their wives will weep and their children will die poor all because I want to feel like King. When have they ever felt like a King? Why should I get better than them?.


He entered the breakfast tent, sat down in a quiet corner and waited for his sister who he suspected would be here shortly or perhaps even Aenar, one of the few friends helping him through this. Hopefully they could calm him down.

ailurophile
Obi-Wan Kenobi

 

[ailurophile]

v i s e n y aiiiw a t e r s

as her brush snagged in her hair, visenya winced and let a muttered curse slip from her lips. the young woman had only just woken up, but she hadn't woken up in the best of moods. there were a variety of factors, grief of course, but also much more trivial ones. visenya was cold, for one, and she loathed the cold. to make matters worse, her hair wasn't complying, and that minor inconvenience was almost enough to make her ill tempered. not quite, though. a smirk graced her lips as she set the brush down, remembering how her hair had come to be such a mess; tumbling around with a knight the previous evening. she couldn't recall his name, but he'd been rather good fun. not good enough to keep her interest for too long, however-- like many a man, he'd been tossed aside like a discarded toy the moment visenya had gotten her satisfaction and decided she was tired. nobody ever seemed to live up to the image of a real man that she'd built up as a fantasy in her head.
it wasn't much further to harrenhal, that was a small consolation, and it was enough to lift her spirits. visenya did rather enjoy a bit of excitement, and seeing all the lords and ladies of westeros? well, that was almost too much for her to bear. as if their presence wasn't enough, the purpose of the meeting almost pushed visenya over the edge-- to decide who would take her dear father's throne. visenya knew exactly who she'd pick, given the choice: daeron, her brother. it couldn't be her, so it had to be him. besides, he'd make a wonderful king, she thought. then again, if the crown went to elaena, visenya would be disappointed but not upset; although she'd been bitter for years, jealous even, she couldn't bring herself to dislike the girl. and she'd be a good queen, although perhaps she was a little young. but then again, visenya was only two years elaena's senior, and if someone had implied that she was too young for anything, she'd be outraged. the third claimant barely held a spot in visenya's mind. an unborn baby? why anyone would choose that over her darling brother was a mystery to visenya.
although perhaps the young woman was blinded by pride.
hopefully somebody of interest would already be awake and eating. the thought of sitting alone didn't appeal to visenya, she was a social creature by nature, preferring to keep company rather than be left to her own thoughts. as she slipped into the breakfast tent, her fears were banished; there was daeron, sitting in the corner. a fleeting frown crossed her face when she noticed her brother wasn't as happy as she'd hoped. worrying, she supposed, about the verdict the lords and ladies would reach? she'd try and comfort him, she decided. after all, with their father gone, daeron was essentially all visenya had left, for the time being. she wanted to protect him. she wanted what was best for him. although, perhaps what she thought was best wasn't what he wanted at all.

"brother!" her exclamation was bright, cheerful, her playfulness sweeping in to banish all traces of her previous ill temper. she slid into the space next to him, folding her legs neatly beneath the table, and gave his forearm a squeeze. "i do hope i haven't kept you waiting too long. you know i don't enjoy waking up." with a laugh, she swept her long hair over her shoulder, to cover the marks on her neck-- evidence of her misadventures during the night.

Braddington

 

[Hypnos]

Melessa Tyrell
Widow​

If given the option, a carriage would not be Melessa’s first choice of transportation, nor in fact would the thought of staying cooped up in the sweltering heat even grace her mind under ordinary circumstances. She may have been a woman, a royal princess even, but the idea of sitting inside an enclosed box listening to the clip clopping of hooves against a stone road was not one that appealed to her. She had even vocalised this opinion to her father, begging him to let her ride by his side on horseback so that she might watch the rolling hills and pleasant greens of the Riverlands as they rode past, but as was often the case when they argued, her father had won out in the end.

“It won't be too long now before you’re riding again, Mel” he had told her with the same self assured grin that accompanied all of her father’s words. “We just want to keep you and little Jaehaerys safe and out of harm's way. That’s all.” Jaehaerys. Her child hadn’t even crowned yet and they had already given it a name. Her father, in all of his infinite wisdom, had seemingly gone over the heads of the seven and predetermined that she would be having a boy, much to the outrage of the court of the late King Aegon. For such an accomplished lord, Baelor Tyrell could really be obtuse sometimes, never knowing when to keep his mouth shut. Mel loved her father dearly, but she wished he would stop being so antagonistic towards his peers. Just a week prior she had heard him speak openly about arranging plans for the coronation of King Jaehaerys II, something which had not won him the love of Lord Rosby or the rest of the Small Council. Her child had thus far been seen as little more than joke, a third horse in a race where the fan favourites had already been decided years prior. After all, Rosby had not wasted any time in waiting for the birth before calling this grand council, ignoring the Tyrell faction entirely in favour of the girl and the bastard, which, incidentally, was why the Lords of the Reach were marching a safe distance behind the Hand’s retinue, lest, in her father’s words: “Lord Rosby lower the prestige of the entire party.”

Mel herself wasn’t sure what to think about the whole issue, she had never had a problem with Rosby before, though she would not pretend that she had not been a little insulted when it was seemingly decided that her child would be passed over in the succession. Sure, it may very well be a girl, but if it were a boy? Her son would be king, would he not? For a trueborn son comes before any daughter or bastard, at least that was what her father had told her. “I wont have you insulted like this. I wont have us, insulted like this. I don’t know what game Rosby is playing that he can’t wait a few months for his Prince, but I’ll be damned if he gets the one over on us. When your son is king we can finally have him tried for gross incompetence, perhaps then the fat bastard will sing a sweeter tune.” Lord Baelor had never been one to mince his words.

As they drew closer to Harrenhal, Mel’s mind began to shift to what would finally happen when they arrived. Or more importantly, what would happen after. She knew that her father had some grand plan to keep the lords of the realm waiting until her child was born, but she was uncertain he would be able to pull it off. Baelor Tyrell had many enemies and the bastard and the girl had many friends, she would not be surprised to see words quickly exchanged from swords. What then? What if the bastard did take the throne? Or the girl? She did not suppose she would be welcomed back to King’s Landing after that. Her brother Garth had japed that “if the bastard sits the iron throne then your whelp will be carved up and served at the coronation with a side of honeyed trout,” and whilst she was fairly sure nothing that extreme would happen, she could not shake a feeling of dread.

Melessa got her first signal that the party had arrived in Harrenhal when she heard a loud cursing from her father from outside, something about Lord Rosby no doubt. As the carriage ground to a halt, Mel tried to peer outside, hoping to catch a glimpse, of something exciting after the long journey of nothingness, though all she could not make out anything of note

“My lady, let me help you.” As soon as the door to the carriage opened, Mel could see at least half a dozen concerned faces, checking to make sure she hadn’t died along the journey. Clamouring to be the one to help her take the single step from the carriage to the floor. Was it her they were concerned for, or the child?

“Please, that’s quite alright. I’m fine. I can do it myself” That wasn’t strictly true, she had been having problems moving around for a while, with the baby so close to arrival, but she still didn’t want to led around by a man twice her age whom she had never met. If only they had remained with the royal retinue she would have had her handmaidens to keep her company. Another victim of her father’s pride.

Speaking of her father, Lord Baelor seemed to be annoyed that they had not been first to arrive, and was having what seemed to be a heated discussion with a Whent regarding where they were going to pitch their tents. Mel just left him to it. She was excited to finally be here, scared, but excited. She stepped out of the carriage (on her own) and took a deep breath of fresh air, she didn’t know what was going to happen, but whatever it was, she just hoped it was over quickly.

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron was right in his prediction, his sister was there not too long after. He smiled slightly as she squeezed his forearm before Artys squarked indicating he wanted another piece of chicken, which Daeron gladly provided. He saw she was trying to hide her neck but didn’t want to ask lest he regret the answer and because he didn’t particularly care right now, his mind was elsewhere. He was happy to have her here though, she was the only true family he could rely on now and her presence calmed his worries for reasons he could not fully explain. “I know, I almost kicked the knight who woke me up this morning but I thought I better not, wouldn’t look good before this Council now would it?” He stopped for a second gathering his words, he had to get his fears out to someone and there was no one he could trust more than his sister. “Sister, I’m worried. You know this won’t end well, if I win then Lord Tyrell will not suffer such an insult and I haven’t seen Elaena since our brothers funeral. I don’t want the crown, I don’t want to endure through the misery it brings and the death It causes simply being placed on my head.” He was about to breakdown before he snapped to attention to finish his thoughts “What do I do, Visenya? Is this what father would have wanted? Should I sacrifice so many so I can wear a metal hat?”

ailurophile

 

[TheFool]

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

“You know, I’m going to miss you.” Sebaston said, as he lay upon the sheets of a bed in a Lannisport inn. Tyland was sitting up, putting back on his red doublet. “Really?” He said, cheekily. Sabaston hit him gently with the back of his hand.
“Yes, really. Contrary to what you may think, Lannister- I actually enjoy our evenings together.”
Tyland turned around so that he was facing the flustered young man. “Look at you… getting all hot and bothered.”
The two men stared at one another for a time.
Sebaston grinned, “Why are you putting back on that doublet of yours?”
Tyland gave a shrug. “It is my favourite doublet.”
“Is it now?” Sebaston asked.
Tyland leaned forward. His and Sebaston’s lips touched. They kissed. And Sebaston followed the kiss with the undressing of Tyland’s doublet. “Stay with me. Just for a few more hours, ‘till the sun begins to shine.”
Tyland kissed him, again. “As you wish. I am nothing if not a generous soul.”
“Oh shut it.” Sebaston said with a grin. The pair wrapped their arms around one another, and allowed their lust to take its hold.

Tyland.
“Tyland!”
He was awoken from his daze. They had been riding for a few hours along The River Road. Though from the looks of things, they were about to hit the point where it hit The King’s Road. “Are you okay there?” Alester Swyft asked with a slight chuckle.
“I’m fine. Just deep in thought.” Tyland replied, smiling.
“Very deep.” Alester smiled back.
“You diggin’ for gold, Ty?” Roland Foote japed, as Gawen Greenfield snickered.
Tyland put on his best grin.
“Something like that, fellas. Something like that.”
Gawen cooed, “He’s thinking about digging into your sister- Roland.”
Roland threw his waterskin at Gawen, and all four men erupted into elated laughter.
Tyland reined in his horse and looked ahead of him. The road was packed with men, and horses, and carriages alike. Everyone who was anyone was on their way to Harrenhal. It isn’t everyday that an exalted council is called. He spotted his brother up ahead, talking with a Brax and a Bettely. “How’s everything with you two?” Alester asked as his horse trotted alongside Tyland’s. “Better than ever.” Tyland replied.
A lie. “Well that’s good. The last thing The Westerlands need is its two main men butting heads like bulls.” Alester said, softly. Things were bad. The last time Tyland and Loren talked was almost half a week ago. And said ‘talk’ quickly turned into an argument. I can’t even remember what we argued about… but we did. We always did.

They stopped outside of Darry for about an hour, so to give their steeds a break. Tyland drank a cup of ale. Though it tasted slightly off. As he wiped his lips, he watched his brother’s host. People were eating and drinking and laughing and shouting. It was only noon and some men were already on the ground, clutching their livers.
Tyland sat himself next to his friends and took another swig of ale. “All I am saying is that she’s a woman. Not even a woman… a girl. She has no place sitting on The Iron Throne.” Alester said, sternly. He was a handsome fellow, who treated his body like The Sept Of Baelor itself. He didn’t imbibe, nor did he eat anything that may sate his sweet tooth.
“Oh blow it out your arsehole, Swyft.” Roland spat, “So you’d rather a bastard or a Tyrell in her stead?”
“The bastard? No. But a Tyrell on the throne isn’t the end of our days.”
“Horse shit.”
“I squired in that viper pit of a capital for three years, Roland. I know what’s best for it.” Alester tried to continue, but Roland wouldn’t allow it.
“Horse shit. Your opinion is horse shit.”
“Calm down, fellas.” Tyland said as he and Gawen watched on in amusement. “Well then what do you think, Ty?” Roland asked, his ale spilled a bit with every hand movement of his.
“I haven’t given it much thought.” Tyland responded.
“Horse. Shit.”
“Really, Tyland?” Gawen asked.
Another lie.

Tyland had thought about the coming council quite a bit. By the end of it, Westeros would have a new monarch. One was a girl, Elaena Targaryen. Currently the only person in the realm with the Targaryen name. Tyland pitied her and how she must have felt- her father dies, and then her grandfather, and then she is shoved towards a pointy throne. He took a swig. Poor thing.
Then there was the bastard. Daeron Waters. The last time Daeron and Tyland interacted was at a tourney about six years ago. He had heard good things about the bastard, but he was, after all, a bastard. Would those at the council really vote for a baseborn? Tyland knew that Loren definitely would not.
And finally, there was the unborn child of Jaehaerys Targaryen and Melessa Tyrell.
Melessa Tyrell.
Tyland took another swig.
“Let’s go, men!” Ser Morgon Yew yelled out. Their rest had ended. And they were now Harrenhal bound.
Roland stood up, “I cannot believe ya’ want House Tyrell running things.”
Alester stood up with him and frowned, “Better House Tyrell than a little bitch and a boy fucker.”
Tyland finished his drink.
And sighed.

They came upon Harrenhal whilst the sun was high in the sky. Tyland had gotten sick of his friends and their ‘poor company’. So he decided to ride the rest of the way with his nephew. Which also meant riding the rest of the way with his brother.
“And there she is. Harrenhal. In all of her glory. Or should I say… former glory? Tyland said, his eyes studying the ruined castle. There were dozens and dozens of colourful tents set up outside its black walls. Which was quite a sight.
“It’s amazing,” Tyland’s nephew, Gareth, began. “I can’t believe this is the first time I’m seeing it.”
Tyland smiled. “Your father and I were here long ago, when I was just a ‘wee lad. Weren’t we, Loren?”
“Indeed.” Loren said, stiffly.
“It was a few years after you were born to that… woman.”
Oh joy. He’s in one of his moods.
“Yes, Loren. A few years.” Tyland said in agreeance. He had learned to just agree and agree when it came to talking with his brother. If I voice my own opinion, then it will end in anger.
“Do you remember much about being here, uncle?” Gareth asked.
Loren looked at him and then back at Harrenhal.
She is still quite intimidating.
“Hm. Not particularly.” Tyland said, “I remember… being afraid. Of what I am not sure.”
“Afraid?” Gareth said, his eyes wide.
“Yes, Gareth. Afraid.”
They stopped inside the gates and unmounted from their horses. Gareth looked stunned. He’s enjoying himself. It is nice for him to finally be away from The Rock.
The courtyard, while large, was brimming with people. He saw so many different suits of armour and so many different banners.
“She doesn’t look as scary as I remember her.” Tyland said to Gareth as some stable boy came and took his horse away.
“Are you sure?” Loren began, “I remember you almost wet yourself when I told you about the ghosts of Harrenhal. The ones who preyed upon young boys who couldn’t lift their swords.” Loren had a stone cold look on his face.
A look that made Tyland mad. “Careful, brother, you don’t want to frighten your own son.”
Loren scoffed, “Luckily, Gareth is more brave.”
“He is.” Tyland agreed.
“I can see why you were scared, uncle.” Gareth said with a small smile on his face. Loren placed his gloved hand on his son’s shoulder, “And more wiser.”
“Well Gareth. You’ve got nothing to be frightened of.” Tyland began, “We’ll be here for a day or two at the most. Then it’s back to The Rock. Back to halls that don’t happen to be haunted by gnarlish ghouls.”

Twenty minutes passed, and the Lannister host’s camp was fully set up. “Who do ya’ think is the most prominent girl here I can fuck?” Roland asked as he finished pitching the last of the tents. Tyland and Gawen looked around.
“Maybe that fine mare over there.” Tyland said whilst pointing at a tanned horse tied up to a wooden post.
Roland kicked him, playfully. Tyland and Gawan laughed. “I think you’re pushing it at Audrey Spicer.” Gawan said.
“She’s my fuckin’ cousin, you piss stain!” Roland spat.
Tyland and Gawen laughed some more. “Oh, so she’s your fucking cousin, eh?” Tyland tried to say through his and Gawen’s guffawing.
“I’m going to get my cock wet. Fuck you both.” Roland said as he stormed away. Tyland lay on the grass, wiping tears away from his cheeks.
“Tyland.” Loren’s voice appeared.
Tyland immediately stopped and got up. “What is it, brother?”
“Walk with me.”
Tyland gave an awkward glance to Gawen and then nodded. “Lead the way, Loren.”
As they walked through the Lannister camp, they spoke of trivial things. Like who was who and how the weather was. Until Loren said,
“Hopefully we’ll be able to find you a match here.”
Tyland stopped in his tracks. “I had a match.” He said as he crossed his arms. His voice was almost drowned out by the noise of the men around the camp.
“Yes. Had.”
“Well, it won’t be too hard. I am the most charming man in Westeros, after all.” Tyland said, smirking. There was the hint of a smile on Loren’s lips. “If you weren’t so old already, I’d set you up with Princess Elaena.”
Tyland laughed, “You speak as if my hair is greying and not yours.”
Miserable old lecher.
“And,” Tyland added. “I doubt the Princess would want such a devilish rogue as her husband.”
Loren shook his head. “I am glad you said it first. You’re not good enough to marry her anyway.”
“Are we done?” Tyland asked.
Loren nodded and waved his hand at him, as to tell him to go.
Does he think I am some servant of his.

As Tyland turned around, Loren got in one last dig. “And don’t go fucking any girls here, please. I don’t need you sullying our family name even more.”
“Of course, brother.” Tyland said.
“We’re already at a low with that bastard brother of ours parading around The Rock.”
“Of course.” Tyland repeated, before walking away.

He sat on a rock, by a small stream that led into The God’s Eye. He thought about things. About the council. Which would soon commence. About his brother… and what he said. About Melessa Tyrell. Poor, sweet Melessa.
He hoped he would be reunited with her. Not so that they could rekindle anything. He didn’t want her… in that way. I enjoyed her friendship, that is all.
And then he thought about a few nights ago in Lannisport. About Sebaston. “Stay with me”.
Tyland threw his head back and looked up at the sky. Some slightly grey clouds moved over him. Roland had the right idea.
He stood up.
Frustrated.
Maybe he was never afraid of Harrenhal herself. But what she brought. Trouble. He looked off into The God’s Eye.
And loneliness.



-

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Bryce was finally in Harrenhall. It took him a whole month to get here, and he wished his wife came with him. The redhead had stayed in Winterfell with her children, wanting to help her daughter-in-law with her pregnancy. The Lord dismounted his horse, the animal being led to the stables as he stepped inside. He looked around, asking a servant if he could bring Daeron to him. He missed the prince, and he wondered how he was doing. He did squire him, after all. The Lord stood in the main hall, towering over most of the nobles with Ice by his side. Since Theon didn't use swords, Bryce could use the blade longer. He quitd liked the blade, and couldn't use any other at this point. The heat was getting to him, and he had to adjust his plain tunic several times to keep the sweat off, and his current squire removed his cloak as well. He hadn't been to Harrenhall since he was a boy, and it was... different. Strange. He shook these thoughts out, smiling as he waited for the prince. Mean while, his son was scheming and making allies, just in case the bastard king made trouble and threatened the Starks. It was his goal in life, and nothing would stop him. He was a Stark, after all. Even when completely out of their league and home, they overcame, overtook, and persevered. It was there way, and nothing could change that.
Braddington
​

 

[Akio]

Ryden Martell​

If there was anything that Ryden hated more then being stuck with a slow-moving convoy he wasn’t sure what it was. They had broken they're fast earlier that morning and now were once again set at a slow pace to Harrenhal. He could already see the great castle in the distance but it would likely take them at least another hour to reach it at this pace. He looked around in a frustrated manner, his Sandsteed tossing its head to look at him like it could sense his frustration. Up in front was his father, Dorran, and most of the Great Lords of Dorne in animated conversation. Except for his father, who said little and heard much, speaking only when he needed to. He knew what his father was doing, sensing out the intentions of his lords, at least what they were willing to say out loud. His brother seemed quite as well, though more likely out of fear to say anything rather than his father’s planned silence. His brother had been stepping in his father’s shadow from the day he was old enough to notice it, and never wanted to say anything that contradicted him. He was boring and tried too hard to be his father. Ryden didn’t think he succeeds. His father didn’t speak because he knew it was better to listen than to speak, Dorran didn’t speak because he was afraid to. There was a sharp difference in that.

Ryden turned his gaze to the other great lords. He had seen them many times in the Sandship and they all were different. Some were warriors, others were fat and diplomats. Some were loud and others quiet. Some were even woman, as per Dornish tradition any child could inherit. When he was young he had always been curious about the different customs between his home and the rest of Westeros. This lead group could have likely been at Harrenhal by now but behind them lay wagons, carts of goods, and other things. The ball and chain that kept him on this damnable road. He looked at them distastefully till a voice broke his thoughts, a quiet laugh in her tone as the familiar voice washed over him. “Staring at it won’t make it go any faster little brother.” He turned to regard his sister, riding up behind him with her usual brazen smile on her face. She had been making rounds through the cavern the entire trip, talking to highborn and lowborn alike and seeing too many of the little problems on the trip so her father didn’t have to deal with them. Some days he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be a better lord then his brother but he quickly turned his mind to her words rather than those wandering thoughts. “I don’t think anything will make those bloody wagons go faster, once this trip is done i would quite like to tear them all apart piece by piece. The clanking of those damn wheels gets on my nerves as well.” He said as he turned back to the wagons with distaste. “I don’t even know why we need so many wagons, near every house, has sent their lord or their heir and we’ve got all these spares. Not to mention the wagon full of goods. Isn’t our host gonna feed most of us? And most of it is not even food. Why do we need such things?” He said irritably as just seeing the long procession already pissed him off.

Nevertheless, his sister's answer came as calmly as ever and acted as a balm on his nerves as her soft words made it hard to keep a temper. “You know why, they are gifts, after all, Elaena is there and we haven’t seen her in awhile, and we have to give something to lady Whent for housing us, and then they’re other matters. With as many, we are bringing this is the minimum we could bring.” She said and Ryden snorted but let it go. He doubted that was everything, his father never did anything by half measure but that meant little in the end. “So buying friends, hardly anything new.” He said with a shrug as he turned his gaze to the great castle growing larger in the distance. “Who do you think will win?” He asked turning his gaze to his sister who was watching him carefully. She also turned to look at Harrenhal, her deep green eyes focused on the ruined towers of the bastion of greed. “Well, Elaena has the best claim right now if that Tyrell girl gets born a boy that might change but considering the timing of the council I don’t think they will wait long enough for it to be born. The Tyrells will still support the girl of course, and father will likely support Elaena. I hear the Arryns put up Daeron and that the Baratheons are behind Elaena as well. But many other great houses have not made any indication of their vote. It's just hard to tell right now.” She said to his disappointment. It seemed there were no answers yet. “Well this better not take long, the last thing I want to do is be interacting with has been lords and wilting flowers.” He said turning his horse around and riding out of his sisters speaking range as he started heading towards the back to check on Taemarr who leads his own guard. He knew his sister would not be offended by his sudden departure, nevertheless, he could not help but feel slightly guilty leaving his sister behind. He focused on the land as he rode toward the back of the caravan. The land was rich and fertile. Compared to Dorne the lands they passed through had been quite something to see, even if it was nothing he hadn’t seen before the rich lands of the Reach and the Riverlands. Everywhere he could see life growing while in Dorne life was a precious and tenacious thing that fought for survival, where here it thrived and flourished in a brilliant scheme of color. Beautiful in its vibrancy. But the abundance of life almost made him think that it cheapened the struggle to survive many plants and animals in dorne faced. Or perhaps it was the reaches lack of struggle which cheapened itself.

He went to one of the wagons seeing Taemarr, a tall unsullied warrior with Toren, Halemark, and two other spears leading the wagon train. He rode up to them, stopping just in front of them as the horse whined and seeing him Taemarr came to salute. “Greetings prince.” He said bowing to him, it had taken some effort at first to break his habit of calling him master but now Ryden smiled at him like an old friend. “Hail, where is the rest of them.” He said peering back trying to see more of his comrades. “They went to dice in one of the wagons prince Ryden.” He reported to him, his voice as stiff as always which caused Ryden to roll his eyes. “Aye? Perhaps I'll go join them in a bit, these damnable wagons are so slow I've been thinking about riding to the back for some wine and just drinking the rest of this trip away.” He said drawing up his horse next to them. Taemarr was stiff, most of the unsullied he freed were given their training but he was easy conversation and the others pitched in as well as he allowed the lands to fade into the background.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Qoren Martell​

No one on a throne sat easy and that was true for the prince of dorne. At the very least, it had not been easy to sit in his saddle all the way up to Harrenhal. Since he had allowed the Lords to ride with him every single one was giving their opinions, offering their advice, arguments, and strategies for the upcoming grand council. The council had stirred the ambitions and ideas of every lord in Dorne. Many supported Elaena, they argued that she was of Dornish blood and placing her on the Throne would increase their influence at court. Some argued that Daeron had the support he needed and they might fall into his good graces if they supported his legitimization. Very few supported the Tyrell girl but they still existed, though he had done his best to at least sway them from that option. As for the others he had listened to their opinions, not because it would make up his mind but simply to know where his vassals lied. In truth, he didn’t even know who he would support. While his niece was the obvious option it was not the only one and he meant to weigh his options carefully before making a decision, not to mention hearing what they had to say. He turned his gaze to the great castle, they had finally just arrived. Some of the lords had turned to their guards and servants to make the final preparations to pack, interrupting the discussion that had been raging on since morning. He himself just looked up at the castle. There was little more he could think about without seeing what was coming. “I will go first to arrange our campground. Dorran with me.” He would say as he kicked his horse's sides, speeding up his pace and after some seconds he heard a second pair of hoofs following him. No one had raised any objections, they knew how he was by now. It made it easier.

He would come up to the gates of Harrenhal. Already there was a flood of people trying to come in, giving orders and speaking with those at the gates. He looked back at his son, who seemed to be looking around with a bit of panic, a bit lost about where to go in this situation. Qoren sighed, it had been some time since his oldest son left Dorne and it showed. “Calm yourself Dorran. Let's go to the front and introduce ourselves.” He said and after a moment he turned to him and nodded, trying to compose his features. He succeeded, for the most part. Satisfied with that he rode to the gates of Harrenhal to organize the campground even as the many banners of Dorne closed onto Harrenhal, annoying their presence louder than he ever could as he began speaking to a quartermaster about where to go.

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

She looked out the window, that of which towered over Harrenhal’s primary courtyard. “Will you be needing anything else, your grace?” Tyana asked. Jocelyn waved her hand, thus dismissing the girl. On the outside, Harrenhal was in utter ruin. But its interior was much more pleasant. Jocelyn turned around and looked at the room she would be staying in for the brief amount of time that she’d be here. There was a large bed to her right, a mahogany table and cobble stoned fireplace to her left.
It wasn’t home. But at least it wasn’t that Gods forsaken inn.
She strut over to the table and poured herself a chalice of Dornish Red. As she did, there was a knock on the door.
“Present yourself.” She said.
The door opened with a creek and a handsome head popped out from behind it. “It’s your favourite brother.” He said with a smile.
Jocelyn rolled her eyes and put the chalice to her lips. “I was unaware that you would be gracing us with your presence.” She muttered before taking a sip.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for all the gold in Casterly Rock, my sister.”
“Wine?” She asked him.
“I mean- an exalted council? They’re as rare as snarks and shadowcats.” He said, smiling. “And, thank you, but I will pass. The drinking comes later.”
“For some.” Jocelyn said, taking another sip of her ‘red. They stood in silence. No noise between them but that of the fire’s faint crackling.
Jocelyn downed her wine, “Is Alexander with you?”
“I think he is still on the road. I had ridden ahead, like I always do.”
Jocelyn forced a smile, before she walked back over to the table for a second filling of The Dornish. “Are you excited?” Jon asked.
Jocelyn poured the jug into her chalice, “If I hear that question one more time…”
“Hm?”
“...Nothing. I am excited, yes.”
“Nervous?”
“Why would I be nervous?”
“Well, you’re about to go out and sit by your granddaughter’s side and proclaim her as the only protector of the realm.” Jon spoke, “In front of almost all of Westeros. Well, almost all of Westeros that matters.”
Jocelyn chortled. “I promise you, brother. I won’t spit out my wine. I am confident in myself, and in my to-be Queen.”
“Then I wish you all the luck a man can wish. I best be off.” Jon bowed. “We will talk tonight?” Jocelyn continued to smile-
“Of course we will.”
Like that, her brother had left. He seems well. The last time Jocelyn had met with her baby brother, he cursed her out. He was a handful when they were growing up, and even more so now that he had matured into a man. If you could call him a man. She looked out the window. Hmm.

She changed out of her golden gown and into a slim black dress that went down to her toes. She draped her shoulders in an even blacker shawl, and stared at herself in the mirror. A mourning wife. She thought.
She then proceeded to leave her quarters.
She had some last minute things to say to some… influential people.

“Prince Qoren Martell.” She said, delightfully, as she walked towards him. Even though she was draped in her darkest colours- she still managed to exude radiance and elegance. The Prince was just by his horse. He turned around to face her and she put out her hand for him to kiss.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell​

Qoren looked up from his discussion with the quartermaster as he turned to regard a certain voice he recognized. He had needed to speak with her but he didn't think he would have seen her so soon. Deciding there was no reason to avoid this he got off his horse and slid to the ground as he dismounted. He would turn to regard Jocelyn, she was dressed in dark attire, a slim black dress, and an even darker shawl, playing the opposite to his own robe which was colored a dull gold with the sun and spear of house Martell proudly displayed on his back. Their clothing played parrals of light and dark but he wasn't thinking about that as he walked over to her and raised her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed it. He was certain and clear in his movements but the kiss itself was little more than dutiful. Yet that was to be expected, as from she knew of him in the past was much the same now and he never liked bothering with gestures he saw as without meaning. "Greetings your grace, I am sorry for your loss." He said getting the condolences out of the way. Qoren had not seen her since her loss and while the condolence was in many ways meaningless to both of them as it would not change things it did mean something to those observing. "Your grace, I trust that my niece has been well." He asked somewhat pointingly given her public support of her and he would look at his son and call out to him. "See to the arrangements Darron, I wish to catch up with the Lady Baratheon, it's been some time since we have seen each other." He said knowing that was the most likely wanted since she had come to see him, rather than waiting for him to find her. There were too many ears to talk here as they needed too.

 

[Little-Fox]

Anaya Uller
​

The monotonous sound of hooves beating against the earth would have been cathartic had it not been for the creaks and whines of wagon wheels and the din of comraderie, men and women chattering alike. Some were jovial and some were argumentative, few were quiet and all too many were tired of this venture. The caravan of Lords, Ladies, and their entourage seemed far less interesting to the Uller daughter. Too many times she'd slipped off to be on her own, taking to the quieter spaces in the outlying vestiges of the camps that had been set up along the way and each time she'd been half-heartedly scolded for it by her 'keeper.' Sea-green eyes flicked towards the sounds of a few men starting to get a little rowdy as she gave a huff of irritation and dug her heels to get her horse to move a little faster. As much as she wanted to go join whatever mischief had been started, she knew better. Maybe on the way back. She promised herself, grimacing down at the dress she'd been forced to wear. Sure, it was comfortable and pretty, but where was the practicality? At least they'd given up on trying to make her ride side-saddle, her legs instead straddling on either side of the horse's flanks with her embroidered skirt hitched up around her thighs. It had gotten at least a few looks, but she didn't care. Let them look.

Olive-tanned fingers combed back a few wayward strands of brown, the red-inked tattoos marking her face making her that much easier to identify for any and all who knew her. She'd seen Laena flitting from person to person, socializing in a way that she couldn't imagine trying on her own. She was sensible, responsible, mature. Everything that Anaya's father had ever wanted her to be. Instead, he'd gotten her... stubborn, brash, too prone to going her own way rather than holding to the ties of her station. A problem he'd hoped would be rectified when he sent her become Laena's handmaiden. Of course, he'd hoped for more, that she would eventually catch the eye of perhaps one of the Martell sons so that their house would benefit with a rise in power. Anaya however didn't wish that for herself, she wanted to join either one of the military outfit or perhaps even a mercenary group. She'd been sparring with her eldest brother since she was five years of age. Well, before she was sent to Sunspear. This trip represented most everything she hated about her family, the rules, the airs of nobility, the falsehood that they were better than anyone else. She resented it and the shackles it placed on her.

One day, I will make my own path.

The darkened towers of Harrenhal had been long encroaching on the horizon and only now was she out of her brooding state to really take a good look at them. For someone who's entire nature thrived on freedom and the warmth of the sun, this place felt and looked like a prison. A walled city with all the color of a grey-scaled slate. Her people looked out of place here in their vibrant yellows, reds, and golds. All she could think about was the oppressing sense that they were riding into a prison, they weren't even at the gates yet and it felt as though claustrophobia had already begun to set in. Yet another mark to add to her further darkening mood.

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
The Dowager Queen


​

“Ah. You are far too kind, Prince Qoren.” Jocelyn pulled her hand away after he had kissed it. “Shall we walk?” She asked him. Though she wasn’t really asking him. More like commanding him. She began to walk away- and she assumed he would follow.
He did.
“Your niece is well. Though she is still in mourning. Like many of us. It is a terrible thing for a girl so young to lose her father, grandfather, and mother in a span of several years. She thinks of your sister everyday. She tells me so.” Jocelyn told Qoren as they strolled.

Canopies were being set up. Three to be exact. All of them of considerable size, and colour. The middlest one was black and red. I will make sure that one is Elaena’s. It is only right that the true dragon gets the colours of House Targaryen.

“And I am sure your sister looks down upon her. In whichever of the seven heavens she is at rest in.” Jocelyn added. They passed groups of servants setting up countless amounts of tables and chairs. Some of them had even begun to light the torches. Even though the sun still shone down, brightly. Jocelyn looked up to see the sky still as beautiful as it was this morning. There were a few more clouds of the grey variety, but still… beautiful.
“Did you love your sister?” Jocelyn said. It was quite a loaded question. But she said it with grace. “My Prince?”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell​

Despite the brashness of her words, Qoren would follow without complaint. He could feel his sons gaze on him as he walked away with the once queen of the seven kingdoms. He found his gaze resting on Jocelyn, she had changed a bit from when he last saw her. She still carried much of her elegance he had last seen but she seemed harsher now as if she was full of rough edges now. The elegance he had seen in her younger years was not what it once was, the capital had done this to her. He wondered what it would do to Elaena if she took the throne. Musing this he followed, listening silently as Jocelyn spoke of his sister. It had been some time since his sister's death, a day he still remembered in grief though he only grieved in silent, and private moments. A lord of Dorne could not appear weak and even when he had come to the funeral he hadn't been allowed to cry. He had mourned her death more than he would ever admit.

So when Jocelyn tried to use his sister against him he felt a shot of cold rage and his face seemed to harden slightly realizing her intentions as he composed his mask, cold and emotionless with his eyes a piercing blue, the coldness in his gaze the pure opposite of the warm sands he lived. He turned his face half away from her as he spoke calmly. "Of course I did, when she was younger I protected her and in the absence of our father I was the one to walk her down the aisle. We lived different lives but I loved her like any brother would." He said his voice cool and collected. "However I've made peace with her death and she is not why we're here is it Jocelyn?" He said using her name pointedly as he turned to regard her. "You wish me to support Elaena for the succession to the throne, do you not?" He said cutting through the preamble, not willing to waste time anymore as he forced the conversation to come to this point, as he knew it would eventually.

 

[Dread-neck]

Lucas the Ashen Blade​

Following a caravan of nobles all the way to Harrenhal was probably not his best idea, but then again, Lucas didn't really have many of those in his twenty eight years. It hasn't gotten him killed yet, so he figured why not. Besides, he was one man. Even if he had planned something nefarious, it would take a lot more than just him, his horse, his sword, and the luck that he so loved to tempt. What could he say? It kept one's senses sharp and their sword arm, or arms in his case, practiced.

He'd done a little scouting when the caravan stopped, looking at the guards, their tow. He was impulsive to be sure, but he wasn't stupid in the slightest. And he didn't want to go toe to toe with those spear toting ones. Not in a group at least. It wasn't like he was trying to be subtle anyhow. No coverage for the smoke of his campfires, no sneaking about when curiosity got the better of him; he was wide ass open to say the least.

He wasn't overly fond of Lords and Ladies and their petty squabbles, but they paid decently enough. Lucas was simply a traveling sell sword who held no loyalty to any lord. Not yet at least. He was hoping that wherever this band of pompous fops was going, work would follow. Someone in that group of nobility was likely in need of someone to watch them when they went out on the town, drank at a tavern, fucked at one of the whorehouses...an easy life wasn't a life well lived in his opinion. And if the pay was good, hey, a little time with some stuck up lord or lady was a small price to pay in his opinion.

He rode up a little ways on his horse as he watched the nobles go about their business, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He brushed his brown locks from his face, the ashes that covered his pale face making a chevron for this design. He'd change it sooner or later, but for now, his attention wasn't on some silly habit of redesign. It was fixed on the caravan itself. During his trip, curiosity knocked on the doors of his mind, begging him to venture closer. It always helps to get to know your potential employers. One of them in particular had always piqued his interest. One of the little girls that traveled with them, an olive skinned little one always seemed to want to leave the group only to be called back every time. At least he thought she was a little girl at first. Children didn't exactly posses the...assets that she did. And they most certainly did not wear leathers like he'd seen her in. He was going to feel like kicking himself if she actually did turn out to be a child...Still, she didn't seem like she wanted to be part of the group and that's what piqued his curiosity at first. It was almost like she didn't like being on the upper tier of society. Or she had carriage fever from riding in the damn thing for so long.

"Maybe it's time I check things out..." he said as the curiosity nagged at him once more. He pushed his mount forward, riding to see what the end of this trip held for him.

 

[ailurophile]

v i s e n y aiiiw a t e r s

though visenya laughed at her brother's admission, her lightheartedness was short lived; when he began to divulge his concerns, the bright smile fell from his face. as she listened, she pursed her lips, taking in what he was saying and mulling it over. for a moment, the young woman was torn. she wanted him to be king, and he didn't. in fact, he was worried. how could she pressure him into doing something that caused him distress? but then again, she needed him to become king. without her father, daeron was her last hope for a protector, unless she suddenly got married, and that seemed fairly unlikely. with their father gone, the future was somewhat uncertain, and visenya didn't like that at all; she liked to be able to plan ahead, to think, to prepare herself. that was impossible in the current climate.
"half brother." she reminded, almost unintentionally. for a moment or two, her lip curled. "i loved jaehaerys, of course. but do you think it matters? do you think everyone will see us as true family. i feel that with father gone, it's only a matter of time. my dear brother, i'm afraid."
that sort of confession was reserved only for the people visenya trusted most, as the young woman had never been one to admit fear or defeat. she kept her hand on her brother's arm and continued, softening her voice in an attempt to comfort him. a quick pause to collect her thoughts, form the words in her head, words she hoped could help.
"you," visenya began, firmly, "are the best option to take father's place. elaena is lovely, and in time she may grow to become a wonderful candidate, but as of now i fear it'd put too much power in the... queen dowager's hands." her lip curled in distaste-- visenya's opinions always tended to be fairly extreme. "and the tyrell? brother, it is a baby, and an unborn one at that. don't you see? it has to be you. you are his son."
visenya leant back, hoping her little tangent would do something to help daeron, or at least make him more willing to consider his options. in truth, given the chance, visenya would consider taking his place in a heartbeat, but that wasn't to be. a bastard was one thing, a bastard daughter was another. no, she was content to remain at her brother's side and help where she could. besides, the way she saw it, whatever helped him indirectly helped her too.

Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron sat back lamenting every word she said whilst looking around at the assembled men around the tent, they all occasionally looked over at him with bowed heads and looks of deep respect. In this moment he thought back on all the moments even common soldiers looked down on him like he was less than them, less than human and no person did that more than Jocelyn. He didn’t know how far she would go but he knew she wouldn’t raise an eyebrow if the two of them disappeared and with her granddaughter as Queen it was almost certain she would be the true power behind the throne which would mean....She’s right, this isn’t about what I want anymore, this is about family and our survival. If I have to become King so those I love are protected from that old bitch then so be it, I’ll wear the damn thing. He had never considered it before, maybe he was just too naive at times? Either way his sister did exactly as he hoped, whilst not eased his mind now had an excuse as to why he was doing this and to him there was no better excuse in the world. Without hardly eating a thing and with Artys full he jumped up from the table and hugged his sister before approaching the centre of the tent. The soldiers and knights assembled remained hushed and silent simply waiting to hear what Daeron had to say;

“Men, I won’t lie to you, the path before us could be quick and fast or long and difficult. The Tyrells won’t back down and the Dowager Queen would sooner denounce the Seven than see me on my father’s throne, but I have hope. Assembled before me are the finest men the Vale has produced since the days of the Falcon Knight, you are warriors of unparalleled ability and more than that you believe. Do you think the Tyrell men can say the same? They are fighting for the ambitions of Lord Tyrell and a unborn child who won’t seat the throne for 16 years! No men, you are the honourable ones here and no matter how much they try to drag us through the dirt remember this, remember your....your... King believes in you! My father would be immensely proud of you as I am now, he would see the same fire and passion from the days of the Age of Heroes is still strong and that that age has yet to come to an end. Now finish your breakfast and prepare, Harrenhal awaits and from what I suspect we must remain united in the face of all those backstabbers and opportunists, make me proud as you do now and we will have this thing wrapped up by tomorrow morning and then all of you can get front row seats to my coronation, just in front of the Tyrells of course. Don’t want base born taking up all the front row now do we?”

The tent collectively burst out into cheers and laughs at his speech and the energy in the room was somehow calm, the men stoppedtheir hushed voices and dropped heads and started to laugh and joke like they did before Aegon died....before Jaehearys died. With nothing left he hugged his sister once more, kissed her on the cheek and then eagerly went to get on his horse. Daeron got on his horse and placed the circlet he was given when he was made Prince of Summerhall on his head, for some reason he found it made him feel more powerful. The convoy was ready and as he rode to the front, denying the luxury of a carriage and letting his sister have it instead, he greeted the soldiers as he passed them. Once at the front he looked behind him and then ahead to Harrenhal, his destiny, and spoke but one word “Onwards".

The ride was a short one as Harrenhal was but an hour away, from the distance it looked like the others had already arrived which was not surprising. Approaching it the men behind him collectively gasped in awe of the huge structure, Daeron simply laughed, he remembered the first time he had come here, he explored the place day and night to find secrets and vantage points and still hadn’t unlocked it’s immenseness after a week. He always came here every now and then as the go between from Kings Landing to the Eyrie. “You alright there Grafton?” He said back to the knight by his side, the boy had never left the Vale in all his life and seemed to be hyperventilating at the sight of the huge structure, if it wasn’t a ruin he probably would have had a heart attack “I...erm...yes your Grace. How did they do this? If men can build this then what does that make dragons?” Daeron simply winked back to him “Think of them as huge falcons that breathe fire” he said before holding at his arm, Artys then flew down from the skies above to perch himself “Then you should feel better.” He could see Grafton eyeing up the bird as it made a game out of making the loudest screech “That doesn’t me feel any better”.

The men rode through the gates with Daeron at their head and as soon as everyone had made it through he jumped off his horse as a Whent of some description approached him “Prince Daeron it is an honour to have you here, we have arranged a place for you and your guests if you would please fol-" The Whent didn’t have time to finish before Daeron threw his circlet to a Lord in Hunter colours and shouted over to him “Make sure we get a place next to the gate, can’t be too sure and I would rather be close at hand if we need to leave quickly, oh and keep that circlet safe if you would.” Daeron remarked as he began walking away, Lord Hunter shouted back as the Whent looked on with confusion as he was simply ignored “Where are you going your Grace?”, “To have a look around, tell my sister and the others I will be back in time for the Council” was Daerons response. He was going to enjoy this place before he got to politicking.

He adopted a quick disguise as a servant of Princess Elaena and wandered the castle that even after his many visits looked foreign and unknown, men from every house were bumbling about going in every direction and he took note of the Stark tent, a place he wanted to visit before the Council began. Daeron was fascinated by all he was seeing, the sights and the smells from Arbour wine to Dornish spices it was like all of Westeros had decided to abandon their homes and set up at Harrenhal, looking up at one of the huge towers he could just imagine Lord Whent contemplating jumping at the sight of his wealth going down with every gulp of ale. Finally he came upon the place he loved more than any other after walking quite a distance, the Gods Eye and of course the Lannisters had set up there. He walked the edges enjoying the calm waters and serene calm hearing the faint sound of activity in the distance, closing his eyes he did not see where he was heading and with a crash walked into someone wearing Lannister colours, the Lannister fell to the ground and Daeron quickly picked him. Regaining his composure he remembered his persona “I am so sorry my Lord, I did not see you there. I beg your forgiveness.”

TheFool

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

Him calling her by her first name caused her annoyance. However, she remained as composed as ever. “No. Jynessa Martell isn’t why we’re here.” Jocelyn stopped, and stood under an archway of black stone. She looked at The Prince.

“You are right.” She said, her lips pursing into a smile. “Your niece is The Queen Of The Seven Kingdoms. The Iron Throne is hers, by name and by right. Am I being too forward if I assume you won’t deny her the title?” Jocelyn asked. She was still smiling. But her eyes were cold and calculating. She stared at Qoren- waiting for his response.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

Tyland lay on the grass. His left leg had landed on a puddle of muck. Shit. He looked at the man who had slammed against him. “It is quite alright,” He said with a grin. “I was about to go and change anyway.” He stood up, slowly. Then he offered his hand to help the man up, but, he didn’t need it. He looks vaguely familiar. Tyland thought to himself. He’s of Valyrian descent. The eyes gave it away.

“I don’t blame you.” Tyland spoke, “It is such a nice day. Anyone with at least a little bit of sanity would want to get lost in it.”
Tyland looked at the man properly. He is handsome. He saw that he was wearing clothes that’d rather suit a servant than a suave gentleman. The rags were Targaryen in colour, but Tyland couldn’t think of any members of House Targaryen that would wear such things.
Is he a servant? A Velaryon, mayhaps?

Tyland pushed the thoughts aside and widened his smile. “My name is Tyland Lannister.” He said, extending his hand once more. This time for a handshake, instead of a helping up.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio
Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron stood for a second and admired the man he had just casually pushed into the dirt. A Lannister. He didn’t know what to say, there was something about him, he was handsome and that smile did something to his mind. Damn Lannisters, why are they always trying to out handsome each other?. After standing there for about 10 seconds just staring he started blushing, realising he probably looked like an idiot. He quickly took the hand offered to him and instead of shaking it just awkwardly held it before letting go.

“Its...good to meet you Lord Lannister, sorry again about ruining your clothes.” He stated before going into an almost hypnotic stance and blurting out his name “I’m Daeron Waters”. He quickly closed his eyes and shook his head realising there wasn’t much point in a disguise if you tell everyone you come across your name. He then looked down weirdly chuckling to himself. “Yes I agree, it’s a nice day for it and you would be an idiot for not taking it all in...well not an idiot but it would be a missed opportunity...I mean I know this thing is important and all but...” he quickly stopped himself before he ranted on like a senile old man, he breathed in and began anew “How are you today?”

TheFool

 

[TheFool]

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

Daeron Waters? I knew I knew that face from somewhere.
Tyland chuckled as Daeron rambled. “I am well. Stained pants aside.” Was he really well? I haven’t felt well in a while. I keep on putting on all these smiles, but it has been sometime since one was… genuine. “And, how are you?” Tyland asked,
“Nervous at all? If you don't mind my asking.”

What is he doing dressed like this?
Trying to escape the role he has to play, mayhaps?
He is a claimant to The Iron Throne- yet he scarcely looks like one. At least not in these ragged and torn layers.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron would be lying if he said he wasn’t, though he now saw the clear need to act in his families interests for a change instead of running off like he normally did he couldn’t shake that feeling of dread that had been with him since he woke up. Something about the Lannister eased his mind though and he felt it would be better to be honest no matter who he may or may not support, or whether he supports anyone at all.

“I am, it may sound stupid but I haven’t had a single good thought associated with being King. It seems a miserable existence and the path to it is even more miserable. If I am being honest I shouldn’t be here right now, I took some servant clothes and decided to take a walk.” He stopped for a second and just looked at the Lannister, there was something about him underneath that was just sad. Daeron always picked up on these things for some reason, maybe because it reminded him of himself?

“I know I shouldn’t pry or anything but are you really alright? These are the locations I go to be isolated from everything, unlike people nature is genuine and won’t judge you or demand anything off you other than respect. Is that why you are here now? Sorry again if I’m prying.”

TheFool

 

[JPTheWarrior]

Alexander Baratheon
Lord Paramount of the Stormlands
​

The sun had just risen from the horizon when Alexander woke up from his slumber, slowly opening his eyes. Inside the wagon, everything would be covered by darkness, if not for the little sunrays that escaped through the closed windows. Even so, Alexander knew that his wife stood next to him, since he felt her arm around his chest and the warm touch of their bodies leaned on each other. Reluctantly, he gently took the arm off of him and silently got out of bed, almost hitting the cealing of the carriage as he placed his feet on the chilled wooden floor and stood up. He heard the sound of Lilith movements, occupying the space that Alexander left on the bed. She probably had her chest and belly facing the bed and her arms hugging the two pillows like she always did when she slept alone in a large bed.

Today they would arrive to Harrenhal. It had been a small trip, which would contrast with the amount of stress it was giving to Alexander and his family. Everyone knew what this meeting would mean, the consequences it would create if it went down hill. Stormlands was prepared for a war yes, he himself made sure of that, but that wouldn't mean House Baratheon would welcome one. The orphans it would create, the sorrow it would bring to the familes of those who would perish on the hellish battlefield... the Lord would try his best to avoid a bloodshed, unless it meant the ruin of his House and family.

Alexander shooked his head, putting the thought of a bloody conflict away and took a few steps, moving towards the closet. He opened its two doors and searched through the clothes he had brought, choosing a set that would make him stand out from the crowd. Not a crowd of peasants or soldiers, every single piece of clothing he wore would achieve that. No, he wanted to be seen by the other nobles, he wanted those rattlesnakes to respect him and admire his autority and strength. He put on black slacks, adorned with a brown belt that had a silver stag's head as the buckle. For his torso and arms, they were covered with a roasted yellow tunic, which most of it was hidden by a black doublet, ornamented with little stags and does on the arms and a golden version of the sigil of House Baratheon on the chest. Only one thing was left, the necklace given by his father to him. This necklace was very pretty, consisting on a egg shaped sphere of amber inside a crown of antlers. This necklace would be holded by two connected silvered chains around Alexander's neck.

Now that he was dressed up he could leave the wagon and order everyone to pack up and get ready for a three hour journey. But before that he wanted to wake up Lilith so she could put some clothes on and get ready for the special event. He sat on the edge of the bed and curved his body towards his wife kissing her on the back. "Lilith, my wife... the sun has risen and we must start moving again. We are almost at Harrenhal, my love" he whispered at her ear, his soft lips caressing her skin.

ailurophile

 

[TheFool]

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

Tyland listened to him, tentatively. There was something endearing about how Daeron Waters spoke, but Tyland couldn’t put his finger on what that something was. Tyland looked him up and down and put on another smile for when the Valyrian finished.
“I cannot say that I understand exactly how you feel. But you have my sympathies still. It doesn’t sound like a simple position to be in.” He said, “It is only right that you feel… anxious.”
Tyland shuffled from one foot to the other.

Tyland was kind of taken aback by what Daeron had said. Many people ask me this same question, everyday. But something about how Daeron phrased it… hit Tyland in some sort of personal way. “As I said, my lord. I am well.” Tyland spoke. “I only came out here to vent some pent up frustration is all. I adore my family and friends as much as any man, maybe even more so. But sometimes they are too much.” Sort of a lie. Tyland thought. I do love my House, and all the members within. Except for one that is.

“Sometimes you just want to sit on a rock by yourself and watch the water ripple.” Tyland said. His face had grown a bit grim and he realised it. So he smiled his smile. Perfected over years and years of ennui and melancholy.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Daeron Targaryen
Claimant to the Iron Throne​

Daeron knew exactly what he meant, he loves his family and always has but there were times when he just needed a break, a time to spend alone mulling over thoughts or even to escape having to do just that. For reasons he couldn’t explain he was drawn to this Lannister in a way he had never experienced before, he was handsome, smart and enjoyable. During the course of the conversation he even forgot why exactly they were here as he was too busy focusing on Tyland. All good things come to an end however and before he had a chance to respond an Arryn vassal of some description interrupted the conversation “Your Grace, I have received word from Lord Stark that he wishes to see you in the main hall.” With that he was off again, delivering some other message he presumed. There were at least two people he needed to see in his mind, Lord Stark and...Elaena.

He looked back at Tyland and looked into his eyes for a second, almost lost in them before he firmly put his foot down and wrapped up what he really hoped was the first of many meetings up. “It was good to meet you Lor- Tyland, I hope we see each other again soon.” He said, grabbing his hand one last time and feigning a shaking action just so he could hold It. He then turned around and walked off with his heart pounding and his thoughts filled with nothing but gold.

Now Stark. It had been many, many months since he last saw Lord Stark, he used to squire for him when he was younger and Daeron always respected him. He made his way to the hall and was let past by the Stark guards who were unsure who they were supporting but bowed their head anyway. He walked up to Stark and bowed his head low as a sign of respect “Lord Stark, it is good to see you again after all this time. I just wish it were under better circumstances"

TheFool
Rusty of Shackleford

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell​

Qoren matched the Dowager Queens gaze evenly, his own cold, blue gaze meeting her own. She was the true power behind Elaenas claim for the throne, and likely her driving motivation as well. He did not see his sister's daughter fighting for the throne, at least without someone else pushing her to it. She was a sweet girl, too innocent for the throne of blades that had cut up stronger and sterner individuals upon it. Indeed he wondered if Jocelyn had worried what the throne would do to his sister's child... Or whether she had and simply didn't care at all. With that thought hardening his mind he spoke to her. His voice a wave of cool confidence. "That remains to be seen." He said, likely exactly the words she didn't want to hear as he continued on with barely a pause. "The fact of the matter in Jocelyn I have not yet decided who to support for the throne. All the claimants have the blood of the king and with the Grand Council called simply declaring someone the rightful ruler won't change things if two voices shout back," He said his gaze flickering to the archway. "I act in Dornes best interest, if you want me to support Elaena then make me an offer that benefits my people. Trying to guilt trip me with my sister will not be what changes my mind." He declared, calling her out on her actions as he waited for the anger he knew that would follow. He had not denied his support but he had made it clear it was not as assured as she had hoped. He only hoped she had enough mindset to consider actually making an offer, rather than simply dismissing him. For despite his concerns for Elaena, and his anger at her using his sister's name against him a part of him wanted to support Elaena simply to keep her safe from any of the reprisals of the other faction. The last time there was a grand council it had done little to prevent the dance but despite his personal feeling there was more to think about then simply her protection. Choosing a king or queen should not come so easily and he needed to do what was the best for his people