Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[Braddington]

King Daeron III Targaryen
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm​

The confirmation of support from Visenya instantly made him feel more at ease, he knew she would say it but hearing it from her made it feel much better. As she continued and came to the issue of legitimisation he felt sad for her, father had legitimized him but not her, it was probably not a vindictive thing he must simply of forgot. Still it needed to be remedied and Daeron would do so. “It feels odd, remember when we used to pretend we were full Targaryens? We would act like a true Prince and Princess and now here we are. I am sorry he didn't say anything about you Visenya, he was dying and he probably hadn’t considered it in the face of succession and the heartbreak over Jae.”

Daeron then produced a letter from his pocket, sealed and all. “Here you go, a letter of legitimisation. From this day forward you are Princess Visenya Targaryen and until a son is born to me, heir to the Iron Throne. I wish it was father who did this but I hope this helps.” Daeron stood awkwardly, waiting for any reaction.

ailurophile

 

[ailurophile]

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

"i remember," visenya smiled, reminiscing momentarily in her head about the game's they'd played as children, "you know, i always thought that one day it'd be true." a fleeting look of regret crossed her face when daeron apologised, but she quickly disguised it with a smile and shook her head, "don't worry yourself about it, now, daeron. i'm not. what matters is that he mentioned you."

when daeron presented the letter, visenya fixed him with a Look of disbelief. her hands almost shook as she took it from him, scanned it once, twice, folded it, tucked it down the front of her dress. for a few moments, she didn't say a word.
and then she launched herself a to her brother, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder.
"daeron, i don't know what to say. you know how much the means to me." when she pulled back, her face was bright with a smile. "we'll do this together, you and i. just like always. and we'll win."




Braddington

 

[Nightblade]

Selene Mallister
Watcher of the sea​

Selene read the note that had been sent by Lady Arryn and could not help the laugh she let out.
If she really thought this would make the seven kingdoms bow to her nephew she was sadly
mistaken. Shaking her her, she walked along with the Castellan she retained for Seagard.

"Does she truly think this will call men to her cause?"

Selene asked in disbelief at Lady Arryns Naivety. She had called her own men to arms when news
of Harrenhall spread, what she had not done however was declare for anyone. She knew her younger
sister was out there and that by declaring for a side it may put her in jeopardy. Looking out a window
to the training yard below, she could make out the men training rigorously.

Looking thoughtful, she approached a rolled out map of Westeros and with the captains of her men,
looked over everything on the map. Pieces laid out for different factions. A small part of her was thankful
that there were no living dragons for this round of the dance.

Letting the men talk strategy, Selene thought back to the letter she had sent Lord Frey of the Twins.
The Riverlands would be possibly torn apart in the fighting and with the Iron Born let loose due to lax
security they faced problems on multiple fronts.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag
​

Jon knew the small council was meeting and knew his older siblings would no doubt have much to discuss.
However, he knew he would not be privy to everything mentioned which is why he had some of his people
listening in. He would not be left blind in this. As he led the westerlanders towards the Red Keep, his thoughts
went to Daeron. Thinking rationally he knew he would be in the Eyrie, which is why Jon made sure that any
information coming from his contacts in the Vale were given priority.

Stepping inside the Red keep, he had servants see to the guests before he moved to leave. Going to the chambers
assigned to members of the royal family along with any extended family. Things were getting tense and Jon knew
it was only a matter of time before blood was spilled.

With a weary sigh, he opened his door and stepped inside feeling decidedly tense. It was looking at his pair of swords
that he decided to go and train rather than stand around like some fool. Picking up the blades, he turned and left.

 

[Hypnos]

Gregor Bolton
An uncle to all​

A pale light glimmered down through the treetops, the faint orange glow shining just bright enough to illuminate the very tips of the animal’s antlers, giving the illusion of a much more ferocious beast. Although large and intimidating, the creature’s movements were slow and docile, and it was clear that it lacked the foresight to realise the fate that was awaiting it. A foolish error. Had the elk been a tad faster, or perhaps a little smarter, it might have heard the rustling of leaves and branches as bows were drawn and speers were readied, perhaps too it might have noticed the subdued panting of the hounds or the clanking of stirrups against the side of a horse. Alas it lacked such survival instincts and was therefore left to it’s fate. Almost a dozen arrows were loosed at the poor creature, and almost a dozen hit their mark. The beast was downed in an instant, the light draining from its eyes like a lantern which had run out of oil. It was almost tragic to see such a majestic creature die for the amusement of a few bored aristocrats. Almost.

Nothing excited Greg Bolton more than the thrill of the hunt. The primal sensation of tracking, chasing, killing and then devouring your prey was one that simply could not be matched by any other activity. Councils and balls had their place of course, but nothing was quite so satisfying as sitting down after a long day’s hunt and enjoying a leg of venison that you had severed with your own two hands. It made Greg almost giddy.

A childlike grin, crossed the face of the Lord of the Dreadfort, though it was concealed behind a mask of wrought iron, covering Greg’s features not only from the elements of nature and the cold, but also the judgemental glances of the surrounding lords, many of whom were not as excited as him to be gallivanting around the Wolf’s Wood whilst there was a war to be planning. Although it was not as if they had many alternatives, since Lord Stark had been reluctant to make use of his vassals after calling their banners. Greg had simply made the best of a poor situation and decided that it might be nice to get out of the castle and receive some fresh, especially with all of the other lords whose company he could enjoy. Whilst he was an avid hunter, Greg barely got the chance these days, especially since the nearest woods to the Dreadfort were past the Last River in Karstark territory. He would use this opportunity whilst he could. Bryce Stark’s war could wait for an afternoon.

He dismounted his horse to get a better look at his prize, kneeling beside the elk and using the tip of his sword to prod and poke at the beast's head, surveying the damage. “It’s a bit on the messy side, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed in the kitchens.” He used his metal hand to stoke the beast’s hide, touching without feeling the wounds that were left behind by the arrows. Were it up to him there would have only been one shot to fell the beast, but with such a large hunting party, everyone wanted a piece of the glory. Greg couldn’t blame to be honest, the kill was his favourite part of the hunt.

Using his good hand to reach for the dagger upon his hip (his sword left discarded upon the floor), Greg drew the blade with a flourish, using great precision to penetrate the beast’s face and seperate it from its antlers. “A souvenir to bring back for Lord Stark.” He stood, clutching the blood antler in one hand, his face illuminated by a grin which no one else could see, presenting his work to the other lords of the North.

Many had come to Winterfell following Bryce Stark’s request for an army, almost every house in the North, and the prospect of marching south was very exciting for Greg. The reign of King Aegon VI had seen nothing but peace, it was boring in a way, though Greg would never admit it out loud. Glory was something he had dreamed of since he was a young lad, though he had never been before been given the chance to achieve it. Hunting was good. Hunting was fun. But the deer of the Wolf’s Wood didn’t put up as much fight as a man.

Greg gestured for the beast to be tied up and brought along with them. The day was still young and there was plenty of time to catch more game before they would have to return for supper. It was certainly a good thing they were catching their own food, for otherwise Winterfell’s pantry would be dried from all of the attending lords. Bolton put his knife back in its sheath, retrieving his sword before once again mounting his horse. “Onward?” He asked around generally, waiting for an affirmative response.

Upon the horse on his right rode Rycherd Whitehill, his cousin and the son of Lord Ryon Whitehill, the vassal who had served as his father’s closest advisor. Rycherd was a friend of Greg’s, and a solid ally that he could rely upon. It had been disheartening therefore when Greg had discovered the great insult that had been levied against Rycherd’s family by the Starks. Gregor Bolton was a loyal man, or at least that’s how he considered himself, but he had to raise an eyebrow when Bryce Stark had told his vassal to ‘fuck off’ when all that had been requested was a match between a Whitehill and Stark’s daughter. It was a poor display of leadership. No matter. Things would be rectified soon enough, Greg was confident about that. He could be very persuasive.

“Cuz, how have you been finding things in Winterfell?” He lowered his voice so he was no longer projecting to the whole group. “Lord Stark has been a right old prick, but I’m sure he’ll come around on your house.” He gave Rycherd a slap on the back with his metal hand.

Grammatic High Moon Whisker

 

[Yarrow]

LorenLoren looked around when the first course was served. Many lords had come to Casterly Rock on his invitation. Loren’s wife, Alysanne, was sitting next to him. On the other side of him Gareth, his second eldest son and next to his wife sat Jeyne, their daughter. Loren overheard some ladies talking about the belly of Alysanne getting quite big, did the former Swyft like the extravagant lifestyle of the Lannisters maybe a little too much or was she pregnant again? Loren grinned, he knew that Alysanne was pregnant again, the signs were clear. It happened a week before the journey to Harrenhal began. Alysanne and Loren had had a very nice evening and things started to get hot and before they knew it they were naked and cuddling in bed. They both had the night of their lives and it showed again how much the couple loved each other.
A servant placed the warm dish in front of him and it brought him back to the reality. He smiled at Alysanne and continued eating. After he was done with this course he would talk to the assembled lords and ladies. Just before the first lords arrived Loren had made up his mind about which side he would fight for. He felt like Baelor Tyrell would be his best choice, the man had always been a good friend and ally. Tyland had spent some time at Highgarden, so he would also appreciate it. The only one who would be upset was Willam, because Loren had the suspicion that Willam was in love with Elaena. It could be a problem, but Loren and Alysanne would both talk to Willam and he would see it was the best option for him too.
The Lion had finished and stood up with in one hand his goblet of wine and in the other hand his eating knife. He tapped with the knife against the glass, so it would make the sound of a bell. Loren looked to all the Lords before he began his speech “Lord and Ladies of the Westerlands. The last two weeks have been two weeks of unrest. A war is forming because of the events that happened at Harrenhal. I have asked you all here so I can explain our plans in person instead of writing a letter. We all will gather our troops and side with Lord Tyrell. Lord Tyrell and the other Lord in the Reach have proven to be good allies and have been very friendly neighbors. One of Lord Tyrells allies is Lord Ryman Tully, our other neighbor. We will show them the generosity and fighting skill of the Westermen when we fight next to them..” Loren looked around, the speech was short, it didn’t include anything about Melessa carrying a child of Jaehaerys or Daeron being proclaimed King. This is what the Lords had to eat for now “… But now, let us continue and spent this evening together, celebrating the riches of the Westerlands” Loren held up his cup to propose a toast.
Whisker
ACHA
ailurophile

WillamWillam didn’t noticed that Jon had greeted them until he was speaking right in front of him. Before he could even react, Tyland already answered for him. Willam was thankful for his uncle being so nice. The group of Westermen. followed Jon to the Red Keep. Willam overheard some of his brothers riding companions talking about the whorehouses. Being in King’s Landing had lifted his mood a little and now he wouldn’t mind visiting one of the more luxurious houses of King’s Landing.
Once inside the Red Keep, Willam was led together with the others to one of the many guest quarters. However, Willam still had his own room in the Red Keep because had been the squire of Jaehaerys. That room was in another part of the Red Keep, more to the center. Willam looked to one of the servants accompanying them and said “Lord Tyland and I wished to be brought to the rooms of Willam Lannister, the others will go to the guest rooms.” Willam knew his room was big enough for them both and it was closer to the center of the Red Keep, like Willam was used to.
TheFool
Nightblade

RichardRichard woke up with still his legs intertwined with the lady he just had slept with. After the deed he liked to have a short nap before going. His status allowed him to do so, and when he entered he had given the owner of the brothel a bottle of very good wine. Richard removed the silk blanket and stood up. A fresh breeze tingled his nether region. He grabbed his pants and shirt for the ground and clothed himself. This was the only time he clothed himself, normally he would let servants do it.
After paying, he took his horse and rode back to the Castle. It was way busier when he left, he didn’t know why but he soon found out that Baelor Tyrell had returned with many other lords. Baelor probably would wanted to talk to all his vassals, it would mean that Richard would experience the long talks his father had always complained about. It was the second most thing his father always complained about, the other thing being Richard his bastards. Richard walked into the castle and walked to his room.
Hypnos

TormanThey had been riding for 4 days now and finally Highgarden was in their sight. Torman had tried to hold conversations with his new brother-in-law Addam, Eddard Rowan, Brynden Oakheart and Artur but it was difficult for him. The other four men had talks about many things but Torman didn't knew how to blend in. Addam was his brother-in-law but Addam was also his nephew since he was married to the sister of Addam’s mother. Family relations could become complicated in the Westerlands. Torman was happy he was finally near Highgarden so he could talk tactics with people instead the chit-chat he was not good at.
Torman had listened to Lord Baelor when he asked to come to Highgarden. However, seeing all the alliances Torman wouldn’t be surprised to hear that his duty was to defend the passes trough the Red Mountains. The Tarly’s have always been one of the most prominent Marcher Lords and Torman would show that. Stable boys had taken their horses after they arrived at Highgarden and other servants led them towards their rooms where they would be able to refresh after the long journey while they waited for Lord Baelor.
Hypnos
WaitingCynicism
Braddington

 

[Grammatic]

Rycherd Whitehill

The hunt had been going rather slowly for a time. Like his cousin, Lord Bolton, Rycherd was a man that enjoyed a simple hunt. So often these days, with the events taking place across the realm, it was nice to relax. Some would consider the death of an innocent animal to be a poor way to relieve tension and frustration. Those people were often the ones that spent all their money drinking and whoring in taverns. Rycherd was a different kind of man, refusing to go near such places. He was not above drinking, but the wanton abandon he had seen people throw themselves at it, and the destructive nature it had on their lives afterwards were all good incentives to keep him looking for other things to do with his time. It also gave him time to master his archery skills.

When the deer they had been tracked was finally found, Rycherd had drawn and fired his Ironwood bow in the blink of an eye, faster then all of the other lords present. On his bow he had fired three arrows at once, one impaling itself in the stags heart, another piercing its left eye, and a final one shooting through the front two legs of the stag, pinning them together as the creature fell to the ground, limiting the amount of movement it could do. As his cousin dismounted to approach it, Rycherd returned his bow to the holster on the side of his saddle. He watched as the creatures head was separated from its body, blood still dripping from its wounds.

A few of the younger lords looked a bit uneasy at the sight, though Rycherd didn't seem to mind. He reached down to the flask at his hip, opening it and taking a long draft from the cold water within. On a hunt, he made it a point never to drink alcohol. It dulled the senses too much, and despite having a strong resilience to its overall effects, Rycherd found it best not to take any risks. As his cousin approached, remounting his horse, Rycherd was still drinking when his metal hand came down across his back. A brief burst of water escaped his mouth as he recovered, his globed right hand coming up to wipe the water away as he coughed the rest down.

Smiling, Rycherd took another quick sip of water to help with the coughing before he closed his flask and tied it back to his saddle. "I'm finding it rather nice I suppose. It is a relaxing place to be, and the game around here is much better then back at Highpoint. And I must be honest, the girls here look much nicer too. Though, my brother is driving me to my wits end trying to keep him under control." The words alone brought a grimace to his face, thinking of his younger brother Talion. Unlike Rycherd, he hadn't inherited or taken to the more noble aspects from his father Ryon. If anything, he had received all the worse traits, while Rycherd had gotten the best. Despite being only seventeen, he had made a name for himself visiting all the taverns and brothels in Highpoint and the Dreadfort. Rycherd had on multiple occasions been forced to go and retrieve his brother, found passed out and drunk in some alley, or in a brawl of some kind he always seemed to lose.

Shaking his head at his cousins words, Rycherd kicked his mount forward slightly, moving to keep up with him. "Lord Stark's decision seemed final on the matter. I would not risk pushing the issue myself at the moment, not with the war coming."

Hypnos

 

[Little-Fox]

Lady Rowan Royce
Fallen Star of the Moon Warden​

2 months ago - Just following the death of the King.

"It's always a pleasure to see you, Lady Rowan." The servant bowed at the waist and stood as he felt the gentle gloved touch at his shoulder, giving her a half-smile as he met her pale gaze. He'd watched her grow up through the years despite her early election to leave the estates, the young girl returning as a young woman only to leave again. He could see what the world had done to her, those overly intelligent eyes carrying a sharp quality about them that showed she knew far more than she ever cared to let on.

"I'm sure it is, Steffon. But enough pleasantries for the moment, where is my brother?" She too wore a weary smile, her pale skin flushed slightly thanks to the last leg of her latest journey home. Behind her, a small trunk and heavy leather bag sat in the foyer after being brought in by one of the stable boys, the lad heading off to put her horse in the stables with the rest of the family's livestock. She reached up to toussle the wayward strands at the tip of her braid as she awaited his answer, slate grey eyes glancing past him into the formal hall.

Steffon knew that look. It had been a little over five years since their father had finally passed through the veil of death and in that time he'd seen Rowan come home twice, this being her third time. "I'm sorry, Lady Rowan... but Lord Nestor has gone from the estates to attend a gathering in memory of the King. He's taken Lady Jeyne with him despite her pregnancy."

"I see..." She stood frozen for a long moment before glancing back at the travel supplies behind her, obviously considering whether or not she should just leave.

"Lady Rowan, if I may offer my advice?"

"Steffon, you know you never have to ask me such a thing. Of all people in this keep, you know I will never see you as anything less than a family friend."

He smiled at that. "Please then, stay the night at least. Rest, see the courtyard and the Aerie, spend some time in your old room... and if you still feel like leaving on the morrow, then leave come the dawn of the next morning. Enjoy a few hot meals that aren't whatever the inn drug up from the cellars and perhaps a proper bath in a place more hospitable than -"

"Steffon..." She cut him off, meeting his gaze abruptly with a look of unease that quickly faded into a more relaxed smile. "I'll stay, even if only a night or two. Perhaps you can fill me in on my little brother's escapades since he cannot even write to tell me that I am to be an aunt." She moved to lift her bags, waving off the servant's requests to let him assist her before finally letting him have the leather bag while she took the small trunk. The pair set off for her room, the all too familiar halls bring a dual sense of warmth and cold to her with all the memories that came with it. The heavy oaken door creaked loudly as she pushed it open and went to set the trunk on the bed, Steffon pausing a moment before moving to follow suit. "So the King is dead?"

"He is, yes."

"Hmm... any word on who will take his place?"

"There is to be a Council, I've heard. Lord Nestor has yet to decide if he shall attend or not since it will likely be close to Lady Jeyne's birthing day."

"A Council... then there must not be a clear heir. That could be messy." Not at all like it was here. She mentally rolled her eyes. "I think I will follow your advice. I will take a walk and perhaps a peek at the Aerie." I have a letter to write. I hope the crow still flies true.

"Very well, Lady Rowan. Dinner will be served at dusk, as usual." He patted her gently on the shoulder and began to make his exit, barely pausing at the door before closing it behind him.

'The moon grieves when the Sun has fallen. The little moon is waxing quickly, a new star to be born soon. No one knows what new Sun will rise. I return to the Golden sea from whence I came.'

 

[Whisker]

Lucion Marbrand
​

The halls of Casterly Rock were blazing and filled with merriment despite the brewing war upon the horizon. Lords and ladies from every House ranging from Crakehall to the Crag were in attendance. The bantam roosters of Swyft mingled alongside the Unicorns of Brax and peacocks of Serret. The black snarling hounds of Clegane were mounted beside those of Tarbeck, Yew, Vikary, and Stackspear. Above all of these was a roaring lion mounted on a field as crimson as freshly spilled blood.

Appropriate, Lucion thought to himself as he selected a chair beneath the banner and fell into it. War would be upon them within the fortnight. A little grandiosity upon the part of his Uncle would not go amiss among the timider Lords. Of course, his Uncle had probably no doubt planned this from the beginning. Lord Loren of Lannister was a subtle man. He knew his role and played it persuasively enough to get what he wanted. It was how he and Lucion differed. If the roles had been reversed, Lucion wouldn’t have bothered with the feasting, partying, and speech making. His speech would have been made in fire and the “message” would have been seen as far away as Dorne.

And perhaps it still will be.

Helping himself to a trencher of thick brown gravy and a slice of roasted pork, Lucion ate in silence, only occasionally calling for the scullion to bring him another round of ale. Fortunately, the dinner was only a short one, as he was partway through his third glass when his uncle stood and drummed for attention with his knife.

“Lord and Ladies of the Westerlands. The last two weeks have been two weeks of unrest. A war is forming because of the events that happened at Harrenhal. I have asked you all here so I can explain our plans in person instead of writing a letter. We all will gather our troops and side with Lord Tyrell. Lord Tyrell and the other Lord in the Reach have proven to be good allies and have been very friendly neighbors. One of Lord Tyrells allies is Lord Ryman Tully, our other neighbor. We will show them the generosity and fighting skill of the Westermen when we fight next to them..”

Reaching for his goblet, Lucion banged it down upon the table enthusiastically before draining the remainder of the contents in a single gulp.

“Then let us go baptize our next king with fire and blood.”

And he hoped sooner rather than later. If he had learned anything of history, war favored those who were not afraid to attack.

Yarrow

 

[High Moon]

TORRHEN KARSTKARK
The Sun of Winter​

He had made his way to Winterfell only Three days After he recieved the letter, He had brought his side Mariah Glover and two sons, Rodrik Snow and Bryce Karstark along with him.his Cavalary and Men-At-Arms trailing behind them, War was ineventible, so it would be a waste of time to not call for his own banners.

He normally wouldn't have brought his wife, nor his only heir but they had important matters to discuss, matters about a future union between the Starks and Karstarks once again. He had brought the best wolf and seal pelts that They had gathered the previous year as a gift to Lord Bryce, He just hoped that it would make the conversation with stern lord would go okay, the rumours about his refusal of Lord Whitehill had spread far and wide in the North.

As much as he disliked Lord Bolton, mostly because of their history and the 'hunting' stories he heard, the one's that took place in his hunting grounds. Torrhen wouldn't refuse an offer to hunt, especially when the alternative was to sit around Winterfell, waiting for Lord Stark to make an appeareance, plus he had brought the kid along, he could use some time to spare on 'fun' activities like hunting soon he was going to be beside him in a battle. The child could live out the last vestiges of his boyhood While They were still in the North.

A few hares hung upon the back of his horse, their blood occasionaly dripping down on to the ground, mixing with the dirt and remains of the snow which was slow to melt away even in the summer months. He had caught three and Rodrik had hit two, making a Grand total of 5 hares, enough to feed themselves For the night, unfortunately he hadn't been able to catch a big hunt like Lord Bolton just did. Between thinking about the possible war and making sure Rodrik didn't stray too far from the group ''Are you going skin the animal yourself Lord Gregor?'' He asked with faked curiosity, the implication evident in his tone. ''Because you see, my son Rodrik needs to learn the fine craft of skining an animal, unfortunetely I don't hunt much, and a hare isn't the best animal to teach the kid how to skin an animal properly. Maybe you could teach him to How to do it before We march down the Neck.''

Rodrik's eyes went wide with fear and dropped down his bow to the ground with shock the moment he heard the words of his father. "I don't think That's a goo-" Torrhen threw a menacing glance towards his son. "I did not ask for your opinion boy." His voice carried finality, "Y-yes my Lord" the teen said. The fear of a possible punishment from his father winning out over his fear of the minor possiblity of getting flayed alive by Lord Bolton.

Shaking his head with in a disapproving manner, he decided it was enough, turning his head his eyes landed on Lord Whitehill ''I doubt Lord Bryce will ever give his daughter to you Young Lord, the man rarely goes back on his words and it looks like he really doesn't want his daughter to end up with you." He slowly rode his horse to take his place besides Lord Bolton and Whitehill "My advice? Don't take it personal, Our Lord has just inherited a bit too much of Stark stubbornes."

Grammatic Hypnos

Mentioned

Rusty of Shackleford

 

[clarinetti]

Garrett Grafton​

Garrett had hoped that the idle chatter might put his mind at ease, offer a sense of normalcy in despite of the circumstances. However, no such reprieve could be found, least of all when the conversation constantly seemed to gravitate back towards the tensions brewing across the Seven Kingdoms. In the past, the Vale had been often spared from whatever petty conflicts arose, in part due their neutrality in addition to their geographic isolation. After the events at Harrenhal though, the man found himself unsure if the mountainous terrain would prove a sufficient deterrent to the grieving Dornish prince and his potential allies. It seemed unlikely that Qoren would be so rash as to invade the Vale, and when asked of his opinion by Lord Redfort he said just as much. But with a freshly painted target on Lord, or rather King, Daeron and the Eyrie which supported him, things which had previously seemed improbable now lingered closer to possibility.

The eldest Grafton was abruptly pulled from his thoughts as a scream cut through the hall. It sounded as though it came a short distance away, but it hung in the air nonetheless, and judging by the hush which took its place, he had not been the only one to hear it. A shiver went through him despite the warmth provided by the hearth, and even as a pair of Arryn guards came in to assure the nobles that all was well, it did little to placate him. The chatter began anew, perhaps more spirited than before, and when a servant whispered in his ear that he had been summoned, it almost came as a relief to escape the repetitive cycle of rumour and speculation.

With a sheepish smile to his peers, Garrett took his leave and made his way towards the war room as instructed. He knew the way well enough, but it still felt strange in some ways to be entering that hallowed place in his father’s stead. Upon his arrival only the King and his sister (The Princess?) were present however, and immediately a wave of discomfort came over him. He got the impression he had stepped in on a moment of intimacy between them, one which can only be shared by siblings, though he was unsure if they had noticed his presence. Yet it would be more awkward still if he left just as they were to have a meeting, and so he hovered at the door, arm outstretched but wavering as to knock and intrude. Finally, the man gingerly tapped on the heavy oak, offering the pair a bashful grin as an unspoken apology before scooting into the room. “Pardon me, your Grace…” He said, trying to keep the meekness out of his voice as he slid into one of the weathered chairs at the middle of the table. The seats closest to Daeron were no doubt meant for Lady Arryn and Visenya.

“Are you feeling better, your Grace? Hopefully you’ve allowed yourself some rest after the long journey.” Garrett continued, glancing at the younger man as he did so. He wished he could claim himself capable of reading the fellow, but in truth he knew only so much about his new King. Before, when his family name had been Waters, he had not seen or spoken much with Daeron. Of course, they had run into each other when he visited the Eyrie for feasts or other affairs, but little else. Despite Lady Arryn’s unspoken endorsement for her nephew, even back then, many of the noble lords distanced themselves from the bastard, and he was ashamed to include himself in those ranks. He personally had nothing against the lad, and on the rare instance they did speak he tried to show the same courtesy he did to everyone else. Yet neither had he sought him out or make an effort to have him included with the others, and in hindsight this was a great embarrassment. Eventually he could no longer hold the gaze and resorted to looking at the gnarled wood of the table.

Regardless of the past though, the man before him was the one whom Lady Arryn had put her trust in as the one to lead the Seven Kingdoms. While the Grafton lord only knew what others spoke of him, he would put his faith in Astora’s judgement and hope to serve their ruler as he is able. In turn, Garrett could only pray that Daeron would prove to be a King worthy of the Vale’s support. If they all kept their heads on their necks, all the better.

Braddington
ailurophile
Mentioned:
Saavedra

 

[Little-Fox]

Nest
Present day Myr​

The sounds of guffawing grated against his ears as the drunkard once more slapped the maid's ass, his eyes a steely green as he shook his head in disgust. "What's the matter, archer? Got a problem with how I treat the ladies? Little bitch didn't seem to mind it. Who knows, maybe she'll warm my cot tonight, hm?" The sound of leather boots thudding across the wooden planks of the drafty tavern drew a silent groan from the man as he remained relatively still, his arms across his lower stomach while his boots were propped up on the table as if he'd been reclining for a nap. "Unless she realizes that I'd at least treat her like a lady. You're just looking for a piece of ass and I'm sure the brothel is tired of their wares coming back with bruises, eh?" The leather of the hood tipped back just a little as he looked up, his hands closing around the hilts of the twin daggers he kept sheathed in his chest armor, his posture remaining mostly loose and relaxed. "Aw come on, Nest. It ain't that bad is it? Some of them ladies like it rough and if you're just gonna pillow talk 'em to death, it might as well be me to show 'em a good time." With a smirk, Nest let go of the hilts and leaned forward, his boots meeting the floor with a resounding thud that matched the pace of the chair legs finally touching the ground once more. "Fine Gerdy." He said quietly as he stood to his full height, patting the man on the shoulder before grabbing him by the forearm and jerking it around to lay it out straight across, one of his feet lining up with 'Gerdy's' as he bent the drunken man forward. Gerdy would have to reach across himself to reach Nest's balls if he wanted to strike and Nest had him bent nearly to where his forehead was against the table. "Gerdy, Gerdy, Gerdy..." He tsked. "Just remember that you so much as lay a hand on a woman without her permission and I hear about it, I will remove your hand bone by bone until you're left with the bloodied stump. If you're incredibly lucky, I'll let you keep your balls and at least a hand to eat and wipe your ass with." Grunting softly he released the man and tossed a few coins onto the table before picking up his bag and starting out the door. Gerdy wasn't a total dick, he just needed a good reminder sometimes, and more often than not it was when he was drunk.

Starting back towards the brothel across the square, he was a bit surprised to see the crow that sat on a post. Glancing around, he strolled over towards it and made a few clicking sounds with his tongue, the bird hopping almost excitedly on it's perch. With a grin behind the leathered mask, he moved to unclasp the tiny metal capsule from it's leg and opened the thin scroll. 'The Ashen Moon moves through the sky following a sea of stars north of the Eye. Travel well.' "Stay." He commanded the bird before wandering into the brothel to the room he'd obtained earlier in the day, flopping into a pillowed seat before taking up a quill and ripping off a strip of parchment. 'The skies are cloudy here. Follow the stars to find out where the Sun rises but keep clear of those that fall.' Rolling it up tight, he stood and made his way out the exit, tossing the first slip into a brazier and watching it burn for a moment before returning to the crow, the black-feathered avian hopping impatiently when it saw him coming. "Shh, I know, I know." He murmured, slipping the mechanism together over it's thin little leg. A single finger slid over it's head before offering it a small token, a shiny pebble, watching as it clutched it's treasure and flitted off into the darkening distance. Returning to brothel for the evening, he greeted his chosen lady of the night and drew her into his room, sounds of laughter and water splashing echoing softly behind the closed wooden door.

 

[Little-Fox]

Willow Stark
Winter's Flower​

It wasn't long after the conversation beneath the Weirwood trees that Willow found herself in a state of rumination. All she wanted to do was be alone and often she'd manage it for long periods of time with excuses of mending clothes or needing to handle a few things on her own. Each and every sock had been darned, any rips tears or even loose seams had been repaired and stabilized and still the young woman couldn't find the peace to settle down. Surely her niece or nephew had been born by now. Surely they'd leave for the Eyrie soon... right? She brought a stack of fresh parchment in to the Commons room where she'd been kiping a sheaf here or there to write a few things down only to crumple it up and throw it to the flames. No letter would be written, it seemed, not one that didn't sound like a child trying to explain how they felt. Instead, she swallowed her emotions as best as she could and went about her business, trying her best to appear 'normal.'

Rusty of Shackleford
WaitingCynicism
(You two can tag others in your posts)

 

[Whisker]

Jaremy Reed​

The morning dawned crisp, cold, and gray. A thin shimmer of pale light could be seen through the pine boughs overhead, but it brought very little warmth to the crannogman as he continued his journey north. With no ability to raise mounts of his own, and with very little coin to trade from, he had been traveling afoot along the edge of the Kingsroad for almost a fortnight. He stayed at the Inns when he could to listen for news and information, but most often he made his camps in the trees and along the leeward side of hills where the wind would not reach his small fires. But the closer he got to Winterfell, the more spread out the people seemed to be. The farmlands and fertile grasslands north of the Neck gave way to rolling hills and dense gloomy forests. There were no villages here, but occasionally Jaremy caught glimpses of the torches of distant riders and the smell of smoke, leather, and blood upon the wind.

This day though had been ominously quiet and broken only by a smattering of bird song and the long, lonely howl of a wolf far off to the west. He had broken his meager encampment at dawn and devouring the last bits of his squirrel from the night before, set off through the dense pines of the Wolfswood. Shortly after sun up, however, the atmosphere of the woods around him began to shift. It began with the distant braying of a hound. When it happened, the crannogman first thought he’d imagined it. But soon the sound was joined by others just like it until the Wolfswood echoed with a chorus. Hounds were soon joined by the voices of men, some laughing and others whooping.

Heart leaping with joy, Jaremy changed course to pursue the sounds. He was rewarded shortly thereafter when, upon descending a hillside studded with briars, he caught sight of a group mounted on horses. They were headed away from him, their backs turned from his position. A stag, freshly killed, was slung across the saddle of a riderless horse. One of the men, large and brown-bearded, remarked, “Are you going skin the animal yourself, Lord Gregor?'' His tone was terse, bored. ''Because you see, my son Rodrik needs to learn the fine craft of skinning an animal, unfortunately I don't hunt much, and a hare isn't the best animal to teach the kid how to skin an animal properly. Maybe you could teach him to how to do it before we march down the Neck.''

Jaremy tracked the man’s gaze to another, this one infinitely more interesting in that his face was encased in a foreboding mask of steel. Intrigued, he watched the man for awhile, until their horses neared a growth that would soon take them out of his sight.

He climbed the rest of the hill to catch up to the party. “Are you returning to Winterfell, my lords?”

Hypnos
High Moon
Grammatic

 

[Elucid]

Vaemond Celtigar
Hereditary Warden of Cracklaw Point​

The journey to King's Landing was not a long one but even so, Vaemond was able to get some work done. Back in Essos he'd been able to get a hold of a few very basic books on High & Low Valyrian grammar & an almost complete copy of Engines of War, a great find, to be sure. He intended to make a gift of these books to the Queen, at this young age it was important for her to learn about the world and her place in it, Vaemond was of the view that knowing how to speak and read High Valyrian was the duty of any Targaryen monarch. In the four days, it took to get to King's Landing he painstakingly wrote down important notes on the usage of High Valyrian and it's colloquial bastardisations to supplement the Engines of War, the idea was that it'd make it easier to read and comprehend, after all the scroll was written entirely in Valyrian.

As the ship neared the harbor at King's Landing, the sheer size of the city left him in awe. He'd been here many times before as a child with his father who for some reason or the other always had to make trips to the capital. Yet it never seized to amaze him how beautiful the capital really was, that is until he'd come close enough to be able to smell the smoke, sweat, and shit. Upon docking onto the harbor he made his men gather the common folk, it was easy to do, his ship was already garnering much attention. Once he'd gotten a sizable crowd to form, Vaemon began showering the crowd with silver and even gold dragons, he called it a "gift to the people of the eternal city". Turns out this gift would cost many their lives, before long there would be a mob of unruly folk trampling over each other to get their share of the gold leaving dozens crushed underneath the weight of a thousand feet.

Spoiler: Mentions

notabot
TheFool

​

 

[WaitingCynicism]

Brandon and Benjen quietly entered the commons room, brushing the snow and ice off of themselves as they approached the fire in the hearth. Warm food and a warm hearth, but then, a sudden rushing.

Willow.

"Lady Willow? Is everything alright?" The two older men approached her, smiling happily as they held hands.

Little-Fox Rusty of Shackleford

 

[diwa]

Cyrenna
"The truth hurts but secrets kill" ​

"Be careful." Cyrenna ordered, dismissing a striking man in his mid-thirties and was wearing an expensive dark silken robes after he delivered some news to her and at the same after she gave him another order. He just bowed curtly and with a small smile, he retreated out of the room. The man was one of her master mummers and one of Cyrenna's trusted couriers. That day, the last group of her mummers will be leaving the city for Essos to perform for almost at least a month or so or until they're needed somewhere else. Her company is actually filled with groups of unique individual that makes her job easier and at the same time lucrative.

It has been days since they all flee the dreaded castle of Harrenhal and the image of the late Hand's murder still plagues her dreams. She was not that fond of the man. He was a loud man who harbored a secret or two. But nonetheless, he was a great friend of the late King and his trusted ally. The council was supposed to determine the future ruler of the Seven Kingdoms but instead, it accomplished nothing and it fully divided the realm. Great Houses were backing up different candidates that they see fit and their vassal has no choice but to follow their liege lord or risk to be labeled as turncoats. News from all the way from North, where Lord Stark called for arms to Sunspear, where nothing really exciting happens, is arriving nonstop. Some are worth hearing while most of them are just plain foolish nonsense. She even asked and sent letters to her sources in a couple of groups of sell swords. Issue this big means war, and war means armies. Trusted or not, everyone will need all the swords and armies they can get.
-
With the help of a serving girl she took a bath and donned a simple yet elegant dress made out of some expensive textile that her lover, a banker in the Iron Bank, can afford. She matched her dress with her raven dark hair cascading beautiful on her back. Satisfied, she then went out of the room and head straight towards the first council that Jocelyn Baratheon is going to hold. Cyrenna was neither a supporter, nor a believer in what young Elaena is capable of doing but she is already in King's Landing. She figured that it is better to participate and hear the news first hand than to ask others. Besides, it will give her some effective point of view of things if something happens and if she decided to go the other way.

And as soon as she arrived, Cyrenna pushed the solid wooden doors of the small council chamber and entered the room quietly. Even with heels in her shoes, she managed to walk quietly towards the most unlikely group of people. "Queen Elaena," Cyrenna addressed the young girl with a polite nod then turned her head to the Dowager Queen, "Queen Jocelyn, I apologize for being late." She then flashes a small apologetic smile before bowing for a second time. Her eyes then drifted towards the sultry looking Prince of Dorne. Her lips were still the same, but the usual glint of mischief yet calculative is ever present in her eyes. "Prince Qoren, it's a pleasure meeting you." Cyrenna bowed. She heard a lot of things about him, and she knew he is the type of person who would do anything to keep things in check base on his beliefs.

Next she greeted the man beside her. "Lord Darklyn," Cyrenna said with a smile. She is quite fond of the man that she didn't need to pretend to smile. He is a funny man, very social and attentive to others. And as per the old Master of Whisperers, she learned that the Little Lord is big on spending the crown's money; both for his benefit and the crown as it seems. Nevertheless, the Master of Coins hasn’t done anything to warrant Cyrenna on exposing this little trivia to others. She then just nods at the newly appointed Maester and finally, her eyes wandered to the previous King's Guard and now a murderer as well. She wasn't sure on how to address the man but seeing that he was still alive, present in the company and the with Queen Elaena, Cyrenna knew that he was being rewarded for the blood he shed. "Ser Gawen." She was not sure on how Lord Darklyn would react to the young man since he killed one of his closest friends and it was something she would like to find out. After greeting the small council members, she found the seat that was allotted to her and just patiently waited for the meeting to start.

TheFool
TheAncientCelt
Hypnos
@notsurewhoelse.sorry.

 

[TheFool]

Elaena Targaryen
Queen Of The Seven Kingdoms


​

It was time. The small council chamber was full. Her advisers sat around her. Her grandmother on her right and Maester Osfryd on her left- still writing letters. Am I ready for this? She asked herself. Once we begin… that’s it. Elaena looked at her grandmother, who showed her a smile. What if I just stand up and go? Book passage to Pentos and start a life of adventure. She frowned. I can’t. I can’t do that.
I just…
“Shall we begin?” Jocelyn said to everyone seated at the table. Jocelyn picked up the two letters in-front of her and gave them to her brother, Alexander. “Read them, and then pass them around.” She said, a coldness in her voice. Jocelyn looked at her. She wants me to speak. Elaena cleared her throat and started,
“One of these letters is from Lord Vaemond Celtigar, who has declared for me. However, his declaration for me has come at a cost. From what Maester Osfryd has told me, Vaemond has attacked Crackclaw Point in hopes of squashing the semblance of rebellion.” A servant entered the room with a flagon of red wine. He was about to pour it into Elaena’s empty cup, but she put her hand over it. He nodded and then poured some in Jocelyn’s cup instead. “We do not know the actualities of it yet, but it is safe to presume that House Brune has suffered. However, I have asked Maester Osfryd to write a letter to Vaemond giving him my thanks for his declaration and also to send Lord Brune’s children to the capital.”
Elaena stopped and watched the servant fill the cups of her advisers. I sound like grandmother. She thought. The words are leaving my mouth, but they don’t sound like my words. “I know Lord Brune’s children. His daughters especially. I would like them to be here in King’s Landing- away from any carnage Celtigar may be inflicting on their house.”
“And,” Jocelyn added in. “While I fear for The Brunes, having their heir here will prove useful.”
Elaena nodded in agreement.
Will it though?

“Sorry for the interruption, but, would you like anything from the kitchens, you grace?” The servant said as he finished pouring drink. Elaena shook her head and he bowed his before dismissing himself.

“The other letter is from Lady…”
“Tully.” Her grandmother interrupted her. “In her letter, as you can clearly see, is a pledge to Baelor Tyrell. Pia and her husband have sided with Melessa Tyrell and her unborn bastard.” Jocelyn spoke, before taking a sip from her cup.
My brother.
Elaena blinked.
“This gives us valuable information that of which we can use to our advantage.” Jocelyn continued. “I was thinking that we write back to Lady Pia, posing as Lord Baelor. It sounds dishonourable but it might be best.”
“I agree.” Elaena said, a softness to her words.
Her grandmother smiled at her.

“Now, before we have a discussion on the two letters, I have asked Elaena to appoint you all properly. Though she has yet to be properly coronated, she is our Queen. And she must make sure her council is in order.”
Jocelyn took another sip and then put something on the table in-front of Elaena. It was a small badge. It took several seconds before Elaena realised what it was. The Hand Of The King. She looked at it. Or… I guess it is The Hand Of The Queen now.
“Go ahead, Elaena.” Her grandmother urged her. “Like we discussed.”
Elaena looked at the people around her.

“Lady Cyrenna,” Elaena started. She smiled at the young woman. She is probably the one I know least, but grandfather trusted her. So I must trust her too. “I name you my Mistress Of Whispers.”
Elaena then looked at her uncle, Qoren Martell. Though he is my uncle, I am not as close with him as I was with… with Daeron. “Prince Qoren. We have much to discuss, but as of now- I name you my Master Of Coin. I know you will competently be able to help me run my kingdoms.”
Alexander Baratheon was next.
An honourable man who has always been kind to me. “Lord Alexander, I appreciate your support. And will reward that support by naming you Master Of Laws. Taking the role from Baelor Tyrell who now plots against me.”
There were two people left. Lord Balthazar Darklyn and Gawen Tyrell. Gawen. It had been the first time she had seen him since they arrived back at King’s Landing. She looked at him with saddened eyes. And it all came back to her,
Symond Rosby’s speech and then his immediate murder. She shook her head of such thoughts and stood up- the hand’s badge in her own hand. She walked over to Gawen and gave him a smile. Or at least she tried to. “Ser Gawen, you’ve protected me for most of my life. There are some things you have done that… cause sleeplessness. Some things I know you aren’t proud of. But, I can’t punish you for those things. I won’t punish you. Instead, I would ask you to be my Lord Commander. To lead my Queensguard and put your life on the line for me and my advisers.”
Elaena looked up into Gawen’s eyes for several moments before she put her hand on his. She soon let go and looked at her grandmother, still sitting at the table. Her gaze went back to Gawen Tyrell and then to Balthazar Darklyn.
“Lord Darklyn,” Elaena began as she walked over to where he sat. “You were a great friend to my grandfather. And a great friend to the previous hand. You are a wise lord whose counsel I will forever value.” Elaena looked at him and then looked at the badge in her hand. She carefully pinned the badge onto his chest.
“I ask you to guide me throughout my reign by being my most trusted adviser. Thus, I name you The Hand Of The Queen.”

When it was all done and her council said their thanks. Elaena sat back down at the head of the table and looked at her empty cup. Maybe I should have taken that drink. She looked up at her councilors. Maybe I should have booked passage to Pentos. She smiled at that thought. It was too late, indeed. She took a breath and opened her mouth,
“Shall we begin?”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio
Hypnos
JPTheWarrior
TheAncientCelt
diwa

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell​

With the arrival of Cyrenna Mallister the council could truly be considered complete though not all positions were certain. Qoren would look up at the young woman and nod, speaking out flatly but with no hostility either. "Greetings Lady Cyrenna, the pleasure is mine." He said incling his head to her as a gesture of respect. She had been on the council since Jaes rule and perhaps it would be due to speak to this reputable woman sometime soon. While many on the council were returning members, likely the most out of any of the factions, many were new as well. Neither he or Alexander had any place on the old council so it was likely some positions were to change. Never the less the first matter discussed was actually one he was familiar with. When Vaemond was brought up and Elaena brought up she lacked details he was already tempted to comment but decided to wait till all the matters currently up for discussion were brought up to council. For now, he did what he did best and simply watched and listened, his piercing blue eyes focused on Elaena as she went over the process of her decision. He could almost hear Jocelyns voice over those words and he knew that this was Jocelyns decision more then Elaenas and he found his gaze drifting over to the Dowager queen though he said nothing. Never the less it was easy to tell that Jocelyn was making decisions for Elaena at least in this.

Qoren took the letter as it was passed to him, reading it passively though he held it for a little longer than he needed too as he took time to memorize the words before passing it on. He found it interesting that the letter was addressed to Jocelyn and not Elaena herself but that was only a small detail. Still, the letter has some things he thought he might be able to use and after a long moment with it passed it on. The next letter to reach his hand was of even higher interest than the last. While the matter of the Crownlands wasn't small it was nothing compared to the impact of the Tullies in the war would be and he read the letter carefully. The last few lines were especially not worthy and Qoren immeditely found his mind turning to think about how he could use this to their advantage. This was no small matter and whats more could be a trap but if played carefully and this turned out to be something they could use then it would lead them to some advantage.

Up until now, Elaena had been fairly passive, only simply agreeing with Jocelyn or saying words that were obviously rehearsed but now Jocelyn urged her to speak and soon it became clear what was the purpose. She first went to Mallister, reaffirming her to the position of Mistress of Whispers. Hardly a surprise and a due appointment. Then his niece was to him and bestowed on him the position of Master of Coin. He had been called to the council so he knew he had been all but affirmed a seat already and while he hadn't minded other seats Master of Coin gave him the seat at the table he wished for and his position would allow him some oversight over the factions fiances and that would work in his favor. He would stand to incline his body properly in a bow to her. "You have my support as both my niece and my liege lord. I will work to surpass your hopes for my abilities." He said calmly before once again sitting. Alexander was made Master of Law which left Lord Darklyn and Gawen. There were only two positions left on the small council. Obviously, it was meant for these two.

It seemed despite his actions, or perhaps because of them, Gawen would be made Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His brow furrowed a little bit but he said nothing. The choice wasn't wrong but he wasn't sure what to think of Gawen Tyrell who had to lead them to this point of rebellion. He would have to speak to him later if he wanted to feel our his motives but either way, for now, the decision would have to serve. He then turned his gaze to Lord Darklyn. He had never met the man before but knew he had been a close friend to the king... And to Rosby. He wondered how he felt, standing next to the man who murdered his friend and expected to serve on the council with him. His eyes rested on Darklyn as the badge of his new office was pinned to his chest and even as Elaena went back to her seat and truly called the council into order.

If he didn't speak now perhaps he would lose his chance and clearing his throat he spoke up, his voice quiet but clear in the small council room. "Then if no one minds I would like to bring up the matter of Celtigar before we move onto the biggest issues." While Celtigar in the grand scheme of things was the smallest issue of the day he felt it had to be addressed properly before the council was allowed to gain too much momentum and blow right past it. "While I agree bringing the surviving children here is a wise move I question whether Lord Celtigar has done anything worthy of thanks. My men have been affirming the situation of the Crownlands. It is not only the Brunes that were attacked but the Crabbs as well and they were even more miserable than the Brunes. According to my scouts after a fierce battle that ended in the death of the Lord and the loss of many men on both sides. In addition, he brought out the wife and daughter and had them raped by his men before being brutally killed. The daughter was no older than sixteen. His letter claims both houses had openly pledged to the Bastard but my men can find no proof of that at all and I heard of no open declarations by either House. All hes done thus far is loss many of his own men attacking houses that were neutral leaning towards Daeron at best and perhaps soon to be ours at worse. While the Greyjoys and Lannisters have no declared yet currently we have the least numbers of any faction and if we reward him it will only look like we supported his decision and brutality and drive neutral factions away from us." He said as his eyes scanned the table.

"Not to mention the Commander of the City Watch is also a Brune who has served the crown faithfully for many years. But actions like this might alienate him even if he wasn't close to his family and until our forces are properly gathered he controls the most spears in Kingslanding and could easily make trouble for us if he wished." He said pointing out these problems before turning to look at Jocelyn, watching her and Elaenas reaction carefully. "I have already arranged to meet with him after council to try and keep the situation under control but even so rewarding a brute like Vaemond Celtigar might only look bad on us. I'm not shy about giving harsh lessons to our enemies, such things are necessary in war, but what he did had little point and even less sense. So I personally think even if we don't punish him directly for his actions we should perhaps not be so quick to thank him either."

 

[Hypnos]

Gregor Bolton
An uncle to all​

Letting out a hearty chuckle as Whitehill spat water all over himself, Greg’s laugh echoed against the wrought iron cage that imprisoned his features, reverberating throughout the little party and giving the illusion of an orchestra of amusement. It was fun. Allowing yourself to get lost in the enjoyment of a hunting trip, an experience he had quite forgotten after all the weeks of slaving away doing his lordly duty. He rarely had time for such flights of fancy any more, and even his personal projects were becoming less and less frequent. Now he was in his element, riding, laughing, playing, japing and murdering with his fellow lords. The eve of war truly brought out the best in man.

“You see cuz, that’s where we differ, you and I.” Holding the reigns of his horse within the iron grip of his metal hand, Greg used his good arm to to reach for the dagger upon his hip, examining it for a moment before proceeding to lazily toss it into the air, catching the handle within his fingers. He repeated this process as they continued to converse. “You might not risk pushing the issue but I certainly will.” Had Rycherd been able to see his cousin’s face, he would have noticed the large grin forming upon Greg’s lips, stretching from ear to ear. “I won't let my own vassal be treated like a common southern whore! No. You’re going to get a Stark bitch and whelp a dozen cute little cubs. Bryce Stark will be loath to refuse. I can be very persuasive.” His own words set off another chain of echoing laughter.

Their merriment was interrupted by the arrival of Lord Karstark. Greg didn’t dislike Torrhen Karstark, the man was amicable enough and he didn’t know him well enough to form a particular distaste for the man, but they were very different people. Different people with different ambitions. Greg turned away from Rycherd for a second to address Karstark, eager to to seize any opportunity for a good conversation. “This little beauty will be donating her pelt to our host, Lord Stark. It’s a shame he cannot be with us today, but I am sure he is busy planning our trip south.” Truly there was not point in killing an animal if you weren’t willing to see the creature through to the very end. The walls of the Dreadfort were decorated with hundreds if not thousands of different animal hides which Greg had taken from their former owners. He considered himself somewhat of artisan at the craft.

“My father taught me how to skin a doe before I even knew how to walk. Your boy’s slow Karstark!” His laugh revealed that it was all meant in good fun. “Of course I’ll teach the boy a thing or two, no blades are sharper than those of House Bolton. Here boy.” He made a movement to toss the knife at the boy, faking out just at the last moment so that the dagger would not leave his hand. It was dangerous to play with weaponry. Greg laughed once more.

As Karstark spoke to Rycherd, the smile faded from Greg’s face, though nothing was noticeable on the outside, one of the benefits of always wearing a mask. “Lord Bryce’s daughter would be lucky to have you cuz, he should be begging you to take their hand rather than the other way around. If Bryce inherited his father’s stubbornness, then I have inherited the persistence of mine. Any tree can be felled if you hit it with enough force, and I happen to be very experienced with an axe.”

Before he could say anymore, a new figure caught Greg’s eye. The man clearly did not belong to their party for he was on foot rather than horseback, though his attire suggested that he wasn’t simply a woodsman or a poacher. “We’re out on a hunt whilst Bryce Stark sits at home drinking himself to death. Care to join us?”

Grammatic High Moon Whisker

 

[ailurophile]

a l y s a n n eaa l a n n i s t e r

in a way that was very different from what one could usually expect of her, alysanne picked at the food that had been placed in front of her, doing little more than push it around the plate and rearrange it. every so often, she'd reach beneath the table to squeeze her husband's hand or leg, a gesture of her affection and general good spirits. despite the conflict, lady lannister had not been without a smile all night, and she practically glowed in the candlelight; as had been speculated, she was expecting yet another child, and it was about the most fantastic news she could have received. needless to say, the excitement had put her in an incredibly amicable mood.
as she listened to her husband's speech, alysanne took the opportunity to break from her haze of happiness and consider the situation. they were backing the tyrells, which she was perfeclt yhappy to do, the only complication being willam. a frown briefly marred her face as she took a sip of her drink, thinking of her son, and hoping he was alright. he was a strong boy. he would be able to survive without her clinging onto his hand for support.
distracted, she was a moment late to raise her glass in a toast.
when loren sat down, alysanne leant towards him, her place now lying forgotten on the table in front of her.
"you've inspired them, my darling." her smile returned, bright as ever. "now, enjoy the night with me."




Braddington

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Amelia and Bryce Stark
Retiring Wolves
Bryce saw his vassals enter the courtyard, then leave to hunt. He sighed, saying, "Great. I'll have to wait until they get back. These fucking people hunt like they have nothing better to do." He sat in the steps, Amelia comforting him as she said, "It's for the best, love. Theon will be a fine Lord." Bryce nodded, saying, "I know. It's just...I wanted to keep you out of this for as long as possible. Though I suppose I failed when that assassin tried to kill him while you were pregnant with Aregelle." She nodded, saying, "But he's a man now. Probably a father. He can do this. We raised him well." She leaned into him, waiting for the Lord's to return as the Northern wind blew threw Winterfell.
High Moon
Hypnos

Theon and Lana Stark
She-Wolf and Alpha Wolf

Theon helped his wife indoors, thanking the maester to the Seven Heavens, even though he worshipped the Old God's. Well, worship is a strong word. It's more he used it as a way to ensure his power. He sat with his wife, tell woman breathing heavily as the baby was ready to leave. She stayed there for hours, nearly passing out due to refusing milk of the poppy, and the sheer strain it had on her. He looked around, asking about the King. He got no answer, deciding that his wife and child were more important. After almost five hours of strain, their baby let out it's first cries, the couple tearing up with happiness. They watched as the maester looked the baby over, the tiny girl having a little tuft of black hair. Her mother panted, her head laying into the sweat soaked sheets as the child was handed to her. She cradled the child, saying, "Oh...oh my God's... she's beautiful..." She began to cry, Theon comforting her as he said, "She is. She looks just like you." They coddled over their new daughter, Lana saying, "We need a name. What about...Lyanna. After your sister." He nodded, saying, "That's wonderful. I love it. Our little Lyanna..." He stroked the child's head, the girl cooing and squirming in her mother's arms. A raven flew by, Theon wondering what the message was. Bryce had sent his message to Theon about stepping g down beforehand, and it was just getting there. Theon was soon to be the Lord of the North. Or even it's King.

Braddington​

 

[High Moon]

TORRHEN KARSTARK
The Sun of Winter
​

Lord Karstark"We don't have much time to hunt Lord Bolton, the Wildlings are as active as ever, washing up on our shores to cause trouble, My uncle Heward Umber almost lost his hand two months back. The raiding parties are getting bolder and bolder." "Not to mention the deserters, So many dishonourable crows are trying to runaway these days, fortunately They get caught by Umber's Men most of the time, and if they get past them, only a few escape Karstark patrols." He said proudly. No craven crow would make it past Karhold, not While he reigned. "I can even sa.." his words were cut short once he saw What Lord Bolton was doing.

Lord Karstark made a move to tackle Rodrik out of the way, but Lord Bolton had already started laughing, with the blade still firmly in his grasp, "You should have moved Rodrik! Soon there will be arrows raining upon you boy! Better get used to it." He said, worry giving it's place to anger. " Right..." His son said, his face still white with fear.

After a While, Lord Bolton had started to talk about the marriage deal with his cousin once again. He shook his head, laughing a bit. "You Boltons never give up... Look What I'll say young Whitehill, If you manage to convince Lord Bryce to give his daughter's Hand to you, I'll give you 5 Seal Pelts, but if he tells you to bugger off once again, then I want I want Three Ironwood shields, decorated with my coat of arms. Deal?" Offering his gloved Hand to Lord Whitehill. But his attention was brought elsewhere once Bolton spoke

He turned to look at who his companion was talking to and saw the person who Lord Bolton had just spoken to. It was a man, short for a Northmen, yet with classic features of First Men evident on his face. "Crannogman." He muttured, So only Lord Bolton could hear what he had said. His eyes searching the man for more details. His clothing was fine, nothing like the tribalistic clothes that common swamp folk wore. and the Man looked too clean For a swampman as well. "Far from home aren't you Swamp Lord!?" He said, with a loud and clear voice this time. "Sorry to tell you but you have missed Winterfell by a few notches. Don't worry, though, Lord Stark has not even faced us yet, Let alone talk about Why he called us!" He shouted For All to hear "... But we All know Why We are here, Right Lord Bolton?" Returning his voice to it's usual tone, He asked looking the man's Iron mask. "We are here because Lord Stark wants to go down south." He answered his own question. Admitedly with a disgruntled tone to his gruff voice.

Hypnos Grammatic Whisker

 

[TheFool]

Leona Bolton
Red Queen


​

The Wolfswood was still and quiet. Leona loaded her bow with an arrow from her salmon coloured quiver. She scanned her surroundings. I can do it. A bush, with blue little berries on it, shook. She aimed her arrow at it and waited. Again, the shrub shook. Leaves and fruit fell to the ground. “Come on.” She whispered to herself. Her arm began to ache, and her forehead began to sweat. Gods. She pondered whether or not she should just shoot the shrub and hope her arrow would pierce whatever was prattling around inside. Until she saw it. With a small hop, the rabbit appeared. Wiggling its nose. Its black eyes unaware of where Leona was aiming. She shot. The arrow swam across the forest and found itself lodged in a fir tree. “Fuck.” Leona said, lowering her bow. The rabbit responded by fleeing from Leona’s sight.
“Fuck.” She repeated. “Fuck.” She decided to follow the tiny fiend. She began to trot through foliage, grass, moss and muck. She passed the bush that the bunny had hidden in. She crept around a cluster of ironwood trees. Eyes looking. Where is that damn rabbit? She heard a rustle, and turned around. She retrieved another arrow and reloaded up her weapon. From behind a fallen tree trunk, came the creature. Its ears wiggled. It hopped a bit until it was out in the open. She drew. I can do it. She shut one eye to try and help with her aim, but Leona wasn’t as proficient at hunting as her lord brother was.
I will do it.
She held her breath for a few moments before exhaling. When her exhale had finished, she fired. The arrow flew for a bit before it landed on the grass beside the bunny. Fuck. The rabbit ran. Leaving Leona all alone.

She heard laughter coming from where she and Lyanna split off from Gregor’s hunting group. “This is fucking foolish.” She sulked. She walked over to the hollowed out tree trunk that laid upon the forest floor and took a seat. Leona placed the bow by her feet and sighed. I could be home right now. She closed her eyes. Sharing a bath with Willam, or fucking outside the stables with Lonnel. Her brother’s hunting companions were… abrasive in their appearances. So there was no one for her to look at and long for.
She opened her eyes and looked up at the sky. What looked like a hawk circled her for a bit before flying west. She perked up when she realised that she hadn’t seen Lyanna in a while. “Lyanna?” She called out, as she stood up from her seat on the log.
Where has she gone to?
“Lyanna?” She called. “Lyanna? Aregelle?” Neither Stark was to be seen. Did they return to the main party? That irritated Leona. Did they just leave me? She laughed to herself and shook her head. She picked up her bow from the ground and began to venture back to Gregor and his hunting companions. But as she passed the bush with blue berries that the rabbit called its home for a short time, she saw the two Stark girls in the near distance. Leona smiled.

“There you two are,” She said as she walked towards the two sisters. “I thought I’d lost you two to some feral wolf. Your father would ‘ave had my head.” Leona said, with a sweet giggle. As she closed in on the girls-
She heard it.
A rustling sound ringing in her ears. She turned around and saw that that damn bush was shivering once more. That fucking rabbit. With a roll of her eyes, Leona turned back to the daughters of Lord Bryce Stark and tried to forget about getting any kind of game this evening.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile
High Moon
Hypnos
Rusty of Shackleford
diwa
Grammatic
@AnyoneElseHunting

 

[TheFool]

Gwyn Greyjoy
NPC


​

Gwyn Greyjoy was sharpening her sword on the decks of her brother’s longship. Clouds greyer than any Greyjoy hung above his sails. A light breeze caressed her skin, and the smell of the sea had planted itself within her nostrils. A commotion soon started, however, when a merchant vessel was spotted. Her brother, Urrigon, decided that it had been a long time since they had had some fun with a passing ship at sea.

As he ordered his crew to cause chaos, he found her. She stood up and looked at him. Her face was filled with a disgust. “You’re a fuckin’ fool. Do you know that?” She said to him as she held an iron sword in her hand. She lifted the sword up and pointed its tip at him. “If our brother heard about this- he’d hang you from the bridge at Pyke.” She stared at him. He stared at her. Until she began to smile from ear to ear.
“That is… if someone actually told him.” She said with a slyness.

She swung her sword and then turned to look at the merchant ship they were about to pirate. “Try to keep up, Urri.” Gwyn said, before spitting on his boots. She winked at him before letting out a battle roar.
It was time to do what Ironborn did best.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio

 

[Whisker]

Jaremy Reed​

It was the man wearing the mask who turned first.

“We’re out on a hunt whilst Bryce Stark sits at home drinking himself to death,” he announced cordially. “Care to join us?”

Jaremy tilted an eyebrow at that. The Starks had a reputation among his people for being solemn, serious folk. While there was nothing implicitly wrong with a little ale now and then, the crannogman hoped for the sake of his people that the man was still half the leader the north thought he was, and not merely an old wolf who had simply grown too long in the tooth.

I hope he understands – no, I will make him understand that if he does not act soon …

Exhaling a small sigh, the chieftain of the crannogs dipped his politely at the invitation.

“I have traveled a long way to get here, my lord. And not through the best of circumstances. Perhaps it is best that I continue to Winterfell.”

Another horse reigned up beside the man in the mask. Seated upon its saddle was a large, imposing man with hair the color of roasted chestnuts and a frank expression. His eyes were dark and his face long and chistled. He was clearly a northerner with a long and pure pedigree. Judging by his height alone, Jaremy figured him for an Umber or a Karstark. Before he could make heads or tails of either, the man muttered something under his breath to the masked figure beside him before looking his way.

"Far from home aren't you, Swamp Lord!?"

Jaremy stiffened his shoulders at that. The man, however, took little notice of his discomfort.

"Sorry to tell you but you have missed Winterfell by a few notches. Don't worry, though, Lord Stark has not even faced us yet, let alone talk about why he called us!"

The dark pines echoed the last sentence back to them as the man’s voice rose to a roar. After a moment, Jaremy saw him turn to look once more at the masked figure, who by now the crannogman figured to be a man of certain authority among the group.

"... But we all know why we are here, Right Lord Bolton? We are here because Lord Stark wants to go down south."

“And he should with all haste.”

Jaremy cranned his neck up to look at the tall rider. Seeing a chance to make his case, he continued further.

“House Frey is massing at the Crossing. More and more recruits arrive each day. Their defenses grow gradually larger and better prepared. They receive supplies from the south daily, and their soldiers drill through the night. They’re building palisades and staking the ground along the rivers all the way back to Seagard.”

He paused and gave each lord a hard look.

“I could not risk sending a bird to Lord Stark. They are easily intercepted, unreliable, and we keep none ourselves at Greywater Watch. I could spare no men of mine, so I’ve come myself. Both to swear once more my fealty to House Stark and ask for his aid.”

And hope that the hour is not too late.

The Crannogs had seen enough of war – what it could do, the loss it meant. His people were not warriors; they were brave, hearty, proud. But ill-prepared to go up against the formidable walls of a siege encampment alone.

Hypnos
High Moon
ailurophile
TheFool
Grammatic
Rusty of Shackleford
diwa