Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[Braddington]

Lord Addam Osgrey
Lord of Coldmoat and Knight of Standfast​

Lord Tyrell always did have a love for theatrics, as a boy Addam had spent time at many feasts but this was quite different from all the rest. Whilst the topic was the health of the beautiful Lady Melessa Tyrell and her unborn son, a fact he continued to doubt even if it did not change his stance on who he would support, Lord Tyrell was his liege and an oath is an oath, the conversation was clearly more about the war. Every bannermen in the Reach hadn't come here for a toast and there weren't thousands of men surrounding the castle for a simple wish of good health. In a way Addam was, well, scared even though he looked as happy as he was on his wedding day. This would be a three sided civil war by the looks of it with 3 claimants that in his mind each had reason to believe they were the rightful monarch, this was a dangerous thing for not just now but the future as well. Everyone remembers Daemon Blackfyre and that rebellion, his ancestors fought for the man, and when he was killed and defeated his relatives left the Seven Kingdoms for Essos where rebellions would be fermented for decades and decades to come. Now if one side loses what’s to stop the same thing happening again? What’s to stop Daeron”s sister or even Daeron himself if he escaped from doing the same? Or Elaena, the amount of ships she has they could leave for anywhere in the world tomorrow if they so pleased. The ramifications of this would stretch fsr into the future like they always did, a never ending cycle in Westeros.

Lost in thought for a moment he was surrounded on all sides by shouts of “hear, hear", especially from his overenthusiastic nuncle who had perhaps already drank too much, his chequey lion shirt already covered in splotches of the Arbors finest. Addam zoned in on Lord Tyrells speech but lost him again as he watched Mel. Addam had known her for years now, he considered her a friend and as she sat there, men eager to praise her not for her but what she carried he felt rather sad. She deserved better than this. After all, if she weren't carrying the child of Prince Jaehearys would all of these Lords with fake smiles even care about her? No, of course they wouldn't, because half of them didn't care for anyone but themselves and what got them higher in the world.

When Lord Tyrells speech ended Addam let out a cheer, if just out of courtesy, before taking a final swig of the wine in front of him. He then stood up and even if he was not entirely sure he was allowed to he made his way over to Melessa and the table of Lord Tyrell. Along the way he spotted a number of faces, his uncle Lord Florent, his now brother-by-law and already uncle-by-law Lord Tarly and of course Lord Rowan. Addam might be loyal and they might be connected by blood but one doesn't grow up on stories of Ser Eustace Osgrey without adopting a rather negative attitude towards the Rowans and the title that was rightfully meant to be in Osgrey hands. Still he smiled and didn't betray a hint of annoyance as he looked on Rowans direction. As he approached Mel he saw his cousin by her side, Ser Garlan Osgrey, a knight of the Kingsguard and he simply embraced his cousin in a hug. Any other Kinsguard would probably of told him to bugger off but not Garlan who sat back down without so much as noticing him anymore.

Addam looked at Mel and smiled at her, a genuine smile which betrayed some of his emotions towards the future Queen mother. He bowed to her before taking her hand and kissing it “My Lady, it is good to see you again after all this time. I just wish it were under better circumstances. I shan't take up much time as I imagine you will be bored by a hundred other Lords and Knights that come after me. I just wished to ask, how are you? Not the baby, I can see the baby is doing quite well but how are you? This ordeal must be taking it's toll and I wish to see if I can help in anyway.”

Hypnos

 

[TheFool]

Orson Redfort
The Fool


​

The journey to The Eyrie, seat of House Arryn, was never one known for its length. Orson had made the trip at least nine or so times in his life. Now, he was journeying there on his tenth. This time was different though. This feels less like a visit and more like a march to war. Because that was what Orson was doing. He was marching. And when his march finished, he would be marching elsewhere- with his sword unsheathed.
These are dark times. Orson was handed a waterskin which he then sipped from. I will do all I can to lighten them, of course. He wiped his mouth of water and then held out the ‘skin for his son to take. “I’m alright, father.” Osric said.
“Are you sure? It’s still a little ways away. And when I pass the ‘skin around to everyone, I doubt we’d be getting it back.” Orson said, chuckling.
His son was quiet for a few seconds before grabbing the waterskin and taking a drink. Orson smiled at him. My boy. He was a bastard, but, Orson saw him as his true born heir. His true born son. Osric finished with the water and flung the waterskin to Albar Upcliff. I still remember the day I saw him for the first time. His mother-
Orson’s face soured.
His mother…
He didn’t like to think about the woman who gave life to Osric. She was a buried part of his past that he swore never to unearth. It had been almost twenty five years since he had last seen her. Since he returned to his own mother with a bastard boy in his arms.
Twenty five years only feels like five.
“How are you men doing?” Albar Upcliff asked from behind Orson and Osric. Albar was son to Lord Upcliff and squire to Orson for the last four years. He was nineteen, yet he acted as if his hair was white and his face wore wrinkles. A nice young man but a bit… odd at times. Orson didn’t mind though. He himself was a bit of an oddity. Even though he called many lords of The Vale his ‘friends’, there was a time when they whispered behind his back and called him the ass and called him the fool. “We’re alright, Albar. You?” Osric answered first.
“Could be better. This war will be tedious, won’t it.”
“Aye.” Osric replied.
Orson looked at the two of them, “Once you’re on the battlefield, you’ll be wishing the war was tedious.”
“Do you think we’ll get that far, my lord?” Albar asked.
“I do. I do not know Baelor Tyrell well but I do know that he won’t back down. Neither will Jocelyn Baratheon. They fight hard. But their fight is for a fetus and a girl. Daeron fights for himself. And I think he will lead us well and lead us true.” Orson said, he looked ahead of him and saw The Bloody Gate. And beyond The Bloody Gate was The Eyrie, perched up high on its mountain. This was his tenth journey to there...
And likely his last.
A few hours later, Orson sat in the council chamber. Garrett Grafton was by his side as was Robert Rosby as was Daeron’s sister Visenya. Some others were there too, like Harlan Royce- who Orson never had a fondness for. And then there was some that Orson could not put a name to.
I’m the one getting old. He thought. A smile formed on his face, but he quickly put it at ease and listened to what his King had to say.
“Lords Redfort and Rosby, you will be by my side during this war as my seconds.” Daeron announced. That made Orson smile some more.
His second? The King has faith in me, ha. Hopefully I can show him that he wasn’t blindly putting it there. When Daeron finished, Orson put his own fist to his own chest plate. “It would be an honour to fight at your side, your grace. I will give you the best counsel I can give. I will battle ‘till my last breath. And even then so, I’ll just have to find a way to continue breathing.”
Orson stood up.
He was never one for dramatics but something about Daeron resonated with him. A boy treated like a bastard his whole life, now a King. For years I’ve was treated like a fool, but I arose. Orson looked at his King. For years he was treated like a baseborn, but he arose. He thought of his son, Osric, who had the surname Stone. I care for one bastard already. It will be easy to care for two. He thought to himself, even though he knew Daeron was no longer a Waters.
He was a Targaryen.
A dragon.
“House Redfort’s motto, I don’t know if you know it, is ‘As Strong As Stone’.” Orson said with his hand still holding his chest plate. “I will be strong. I will be stone. I will be yours. You are my King.” He finished by sitting back down in his seat. I probably look like an over dramatic fool. But I do not care.
His gaze fluttered around the room. He could feel himself start to sweat. He was so scared that they’d just break out into laughter.
His eyes finally settled on King Daeron Targaryen, awaiting his response.
I do not care.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile
Braddington
clarinetti
@AnyoneElseInTheVale

 

[Hypnos]

Gawen Tyrell
Lord Commander​

Gawen stood tall. Gawen stood strong. Gawen stood alone. As various lords began to slowly trickle their way into the chamber of the small council, each of them eager to outdo each other in terms of the pomp and grandeur of their arrival, Gawen Tyrell remained upon his feet. Were he to sit, it would imply that he sat amongst equals, and right now he wasn't so sure that was the case. Everytime a new face entered the room he could feel their eyes boring into the back of his head, judging him for his supposed crimes. If looks could kill, then Gawen would have died a thousand painful deaths in the space of only a few minutes, though as it stood, the only weapons available within the chamber were harsh glares and cold demenours. Gawen ignored them. If the worst punishment that he would have to suffer was a couple of scathing frowns from old men and pampered lords, then he would count himself most fortunate.

He was silent as Elaena initially began to speak, his face remaining stoic and unchanging. In truth, her words were of little importance to him, especially when compared to Elaena herself. She sounded regal, she sounded powerful, and right now that was what was important. When they had first met, Elaena had been a small girl, in need of his protection. He had watched over the Princess for many years, and seen her grow into a strong young woman, many things had changed since then but one thing had remained consistent. Princess or Queen, she still needed his protection.

As Elaena began to hand out titles and honours to her supporters, Gawen’s mind began to run rampant. If punishment were was what awaited him, then Elaena certainly knew how to torment him, his eyes following his queen as she moved around the chamber, naming each position one by one, until there were only two people that remained without office: himself and Lord Balthazar Darklyn. Darklyn was one of Rosby’s creatures, though he also knew that the man had connections with his father, Lord Baelor. Given the chance, the little man might run off to the Vale or Highgarden and turn his cloak for another faction. Gawen didn’t trust him. Gawen didn’t trust anyone in the room, but if Elaena thought that they deserved to be here, then he was in no position to question her.

Of the two, the queen approached him first, and Gawen could feel his heartbeat begin to slow. Elaena had been his life for so long now, they had been together for so much time, she wouldn’t punish him? Would she? He knew that some of his action had caused her distress, but they had to be done. He had risked his life for his queen. He had forsaken his honour for his queen. Would she cast him aside?

Then she smiled. And everything was okay.

As Elaena spoke, Gawen met her eyes with his own. Perhaps things would not be so different after all. After everything they had gone through, Elaena was still his friend, and now that he had been named her Lord Commander, he would have to try a lot harder to keep that crown upon her head. As Elaena’s hands touched his, Gawen felt reinvigorated. Harrenhal was behind him now, Rosby was dead and buried, and now all that mattered was making sure his father died a long and painful death, and Daeron too he supposed.

Gawen was barely paying attention as Elaena’s hands left his, the queen moving on to talk to Lord Darklyn. Relief at his lack of punishment and excitement for his new position left him almost giddy, though he maintained his outward composure. Finally, he took a seat. Only one chair remained open at the table, and it was fitting that Gawen would be the one to fill it, considering the fate of its former occupant.

Listening intently as Qoren Martell said his piece, Gawen wondered for a moment if it was his place to speak. A moment ago he had thought that there was a very real possibility that his head could be on a spike at the end of the traitor’s walk. He had avoided that fate for now, but Elaena was kind and just, the same thing could not be said for all of her councillors.

“Commander Brune should be removed.” His voice was rough and hoarse, left unused for several days. “There is nothing to be gained from keeping the man in his place.” From what he had heard, Vaemond Celtigar sounded like a vile character, anyone who would condone the rape of a girl so young deserved nothing but death in Gawen’s eyes. ‘Some would say the same thing about what I have done.’ But this was a war, and he knew better than most that certain values had to be sacrificed, it was better to allow a monster to run wild upon their enemies than to have him do the same to their friends. Of course, he said none of this aloud.

TheFool TheAncientCelt Akio diwa JPTheWarrior

 

[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 first reaction came from Lord Robert who simply nodded to Daeron without saying a word, a look of hard determination mixed in with anger showing on his face. If he wasn't now handicapped, Daeron suspected he would bring down many better men in a blind rage if set loose upon a battlefield. Maybe not the best choice for a second but he had Lord Redfort to balance out his sheer rage and it needed to be shown that Lord Rosby lived on through his sons. Whilst it was no true conciliation for a dead father he hoped both of them would be happy with the rewards and positions they were given by him. In all honesty Daeron knew it was guilt forcing him to reward them so, he blamed himself for their fathers death and leaving them with nothing was not good enough.

Ser Steffon seemed happy enough, though Daeron doubted he was actually paying attention as he fiddled with his white cloak, the symbol of his new office. You couldn't doubt his enthusiasm though that was sure. His Commander was quite the opposite, serious and...well, tired was the best word for it. Harlan had seen decades of service in the Kingsguard and every year it seemed a piece of himself was chipped away, his long years of service rewarded by his former protégés and brothers siding against him for false monarchs. The abandonment had clearly gotten to him, especially when Ser Steffon was named to his current position and he had a look of clear sadness. Another boy thrown into the meat grinder for the rest of his life. Harlan looked to Daeron in approval of the plan however, it was simple but clear and with a high chance of success.

Finally came the reaction of Lord Orson Redfort. Whilst Lord Robert rolled his eyes at the display Daeron couldn't help but show a wide a smile at his sincerity , this was the type of man he wanted at his side. Just as Lord Rosby was about to burst out into laughter he stood and walked over to Lord Orson, looking down on him with a smile whilst clasping his shoulder. “Lord Orson, I can't thank you enough for your support. It means a lot coming from a genuine and trustworthy man like yourself. If you wish it I would name you my Master-At-Arms and offer your son a place as my squire.” Lord Rosby almost spat out his wine before Daeron simply looked at him and shut him down, then the smile returned as he waited for a response.

TheFool

 

[TheFool]

Leona Bolton
Red Queen


​

Lady Lysara Manderly. Leona ran her hand through her hair. Her skin was dotted in dim goose pimples. That arrow almost caught itself in my chest. Manderly winked and Leona felt furious. Though her furiousness was soon soothed. Her and Lysara had a humorous relationship. “Animals? The only animal here is the one who has learnt to shoot.” Leona curtsied, mockingly.

Aregelle began to speak, but Leona did not listen. She was too busy trying to think of some brag to tell Lysara, or a prank she could perhaps pull.

Leona’s eyes lingered, once more, on Gregor’s hunting group. “I would say that we go and rejoin the men, girls.” Leona turned to The Starks for a second and flashed a sweet smile before turning back to Lady Manderly.
“But it seems that they’ve come to join us.”

Orson Redfort
The Fool


​

Orson smiled a wide smile as Daeron replied to his words. I can not fail him now. Orson’s stomach twisted into a knot. The one he would always suffer from when every set of eyes was on him. If I fail him then…
I can’t. I will not allow it.
When Daeron finished, Orson bowed his head. “I am honoured even more, your grace. My son is a bit too old to squire but, under you, I am sure he will jump on the opportunity. Thank you. You have your father’s generosity.”
Orson pounded his hand on his chest again as a salute and then sunk back into quietness. I should let the others say their piece.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

“Willam!” Tyland tried to stop the boy from fleeing but he was too fast. Or maybe a part of me is fed up with chasing him so. When Tyland was left alone in the room he swore. And swore. And Swore. “Fuck.” He finished. His hands on his hips. He stared out the window and saw the Blackwater. I must leave. His eyes drowned in the beautiful sight that was the bay.
I have to leave.
Tyland watched as a boat sailed past his line of sight. It isn’t safe here, it-- damn it Loren. Fucking Loren. Tyland loved his nephews, but they were children of a man who could care less for. They were his sons and therefore were as arrogant and insolent as he was.
No.
The ship had red and yellow sails. Gareth and Jeyne are good. They aren’t like him. Gods. Damn it! Tyland took his hand off of his hip and banged it against a desk. On the desk was a book. A journal. Tyland was tempted to open it and read from its pages. Without much more thought, Tyland grabbed the book and stormed out of the room.

He found Roland drinking himself to death. “Get up. We’re going.” Tyland said.
“Wha-”
“We’re going. The Red Keep is nice but being in Lannisport seems a lil’ nicer to me right now.”
Roland scratched his head, “If you insist. What of Willam?”
Tyland took a breath. He looked around the room. He looked at the journal in his hands. “Willam is a man grown. He can go where he wishes to go. And I won’t do anything more to stop him.”

Matthos Of Braavos
Son Of Fire


​

“Watch the woman.” Matthos gave his command. Xhobar blinked. “Watch the woman.” Matthos repeated. Xhobar’s eyes gaped into Matthos’. He was talking about Vahaza, of course. The old crone who called herself a part of his crew. He looked over at her as she sat in the cart. Her skin like wet parchment. Will I look so disgusting when I am of her age?
She looked over at him.
Hopefully not.
“What is this about women watching, Matthos?” She asked, her voice was frail and wise. Matthos smiled his classic Matthos smile. “I am simply asking our dear Xhobar to keep an eye on you whilst we find a place to-”
“I can keep an eye on myself.” She spat.
She is nearly blind.
“I know but-”
“But nothing. I will remain here by my lonesome until you’ve found your lair.”
The miserable woman. Matthos could not be too angry with her. She was like a mother to him, if a mother just sat around and slowly decayed in the back of a donkey drawn carriage. With a sigh, Matthos decided that it wasn’t worth the argument.
“Watch the woman.” He whispered to Xhobar. Xhobar looked at him and bowed his head.

With a turn of his heel, Matthos looked at the rest of his group. Roach, Shiv, and Tick. “The three of you will come with me. We must find the finest brothel we can to set up shop in.” Matthos told them, still smiling.
“I know just the place.” Shiv said.
“We’re not going to go to whatever hell hole you call a whore house.” Roach added. There they go again. Matthos rolled his eyes and looked at Tick in particular,
“Lead the way, my friend.”
Tick nodded and began to walk.
“What about the sword?” One of Lord Steffon Dayne’s retainers asked. Matthos began to walk behind Tick. Behind him himself, followed Roach and Shiv- still bickering. “Tell his lordship to come find me at…”
He stopped and thought to himself.
“Maerie’s.” Shiv shouted back.
“Thank you, girl. Maerie’s. When he arrives, he will get his Dawn.”

Thus they left Fishmonger’s Square.
It was only a short step ‘till they came to Maerie’s. A place on The Street Of Silk. A whore stood by the door, cradling a child in her arms. A paradise already. In they went. And in they stayed.

“Can I help you?” A lady in a regal looking gown, whiter than Vahaza’s hair, enquired. She was a fair skinned beauty with hair as black as night. But the fire burns them all way, he thought to himself with a smirk. “You must be… Maerie.”
“Lady Maerie.” She answered sternly. “What is you want? We don’t accept common gutter bugs in here. Only the finest of patrons for my fine girls.” The lady looked at Matthos’ companions with a sincere disgust. “Though I s’pose you can stay…” She added in as she looked Matthos up and down. He reached into his red pocket and took out a bag of gold.
“Give me a great room and some great women. For me. And mine own.” He looked back at his people. Where they go, I go.
Lady Maerie went silent for a few seconds before she feverishly accepted the bag.
“Right this way, m’lords.”
She said as she pointed her arms at the doorway that was decorated with beads and fabrics of all sorts.
Let's watch the women. Matthos thought to himself as he and his companions walked through the doorway.

Florys Fossoway
The Fat


​

Florys The Fat continuously clapped. All of the words that left her liege lord’s mouth were never less than magnificent. He is an inspiration. She looked at him with longing eyes, and then those eyes turned to a platter of cheeses that lay upon the table her and her kin sat at. Both the cheese and Baelor Tyrell made her lick her lips. With her fat fingertips, she plucked a piece from the platter and popped it into her mouth. And his cheese. She closed her eyes and savoured its taste. Of course, his cheese is also inspiring. With a flutter, her eyes opened and found themselves locked onto her liege lord. Her Baelor. He was speaking of the war to come, and the child within his daughter’s belly. When he mentioned Melessa, Florys tried to find her in the crowd of Reachmen. When she did find her- she smiled. She has gotten so plump. “Have you seen the stomach on Melessa Tyrell?” Florys whispered to her daughter. Viola Fossoway sat to the right of her mother. On Florys’ left was her youngest son, Tom. My two scoundrels, she thought to herself. Though I love them dearly the cause me such strife. Florys stole another piece of cheese from the platter. “This cheese is delicious.” She managed to say as she delicately gobbled it down. When she finished with her mini-feast, she clicked her fingers for a servant to come and fill up her goblet with more wine. When her cup was well filled, Florys stood up. I wish I could sit all day but greeting must be issued.
“Tom, Viola.” She said to her children who looked almost bored out of their skulls. “We must go around and greet the other lords and ladies. Remember to smile and be merry. Don’t make me look bad.”
Though they may find it hard to so.
She smiled.

First, they went to Lord Florent. And talked of trivial things like the weather and war. Then Florys brought up the food. A topic of true importance, no doubt. Florent soon excused himself to go talk to Lords Chester and Cuy. After they had so rudely left them, they flocked to Lady Redding who would not stop talking about her broken toe. If she continues I may have to request I break the other nine. What seemed like years later- the went to Lord Yelshire and his sister. His whore of a sister. Florys thought to herself as Yelshire’s sister placed her hand on Tom’s bicep. Florys felt like grabbing the girl by the hair and whirling her around until her eyes were sideways.
The bitch.

Finally, as Florys was working up a sweat, they came to Lady Melessa Tyrell herself who was in the middle of talking with… with… Osgrey’s son? “Good evening, my beautiful Lady Melessa.” Florys said with a fierce happiness.
“You look radiant. Absolutely glowing.” She said. “You, of course, know my son Tom and my daughter Viola. They’ve just been dying to come talk to the mother of our future King. Haven’t you both?” Florys looked back at her brood.
“So much so that I think I’m already dead.” Tom snarked.
The idiot. Florys could feel her face grow red, but she took a breath and remained as composed as ever. She wouldn’t let her son embarrass her.
Though I am certain my reputation could handle some embarrassment.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile
Braddington
TheAncientCelt
diwa

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

Jocelyn Baratheon listened to The Prince Of Dorne prattle on and on about Vaemond Celtigar. Jocelyn thought back to the last time she and Vaemond spoke. At Aegon’s funeral, I think? She sipped her wine. Or was it… Jae’s? So many funerals in such a short amount of time. And only more were to come. Wars brought them in bulk. And this- this is a war. Her ears perked at the mention of Martell scouts. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but it didn’t sit well with Jocelyn. Qoren had not told her of this. What else has he not told me of?
“He brought out the wife and daughter and had them raped by his men before being brutally killed.” Qoren said.
Jocelyn looked at Elaena’s reaction. It was one filled with complexity. Qoren then moved on to the fact that neither Crabb nor Brune had declared for Daeron Waters. I’m sure I heard rumours. Jocelyn took another sip from her cup. But rumours are sometimes that. “Forgive me, Prince Qoren-” Maester Osfryd interrupted. “But I had heard from multiple sources that House Crabb along with Boggs, Cave, Hardy, and Pyne all declared for the bastard King.”
“He is not a King, Maester.” Jocelyn reminded him. “If we start giving that title to every man who wears a crown on his head then we will have more Kings by the minute.”
“Of course, your grace.” Osfryd bowed his head.
Jocelyn took a sip before saying, “Maester Osfryd is right. I too heard those rumours. Not to say your scouts were wrong, Prince Martell, but… I believe my own ears.”
“But just because they may have sided against us doesn’t mean children and their mothers should suffer.” Elaena spoke.
My dear granddaughter. Still so pure to this world. Still so pure to war. “Elaena, sometimes it does mean that. This is a war. War is gruesome and the acts of war are almost always… unspeakable.”
“But… no. That can’t be right. I will not allow rape and murder under my rule.”
Jocelyn put her hand on her granddaughter’s hand,
“My Queen. You can not stop every rape this war will bring, nor every murder.” For a moment, the two looked at one another. There was a hurt in Elaena’s eyes. Jocelyn could see it. She has a right to be hurt. But as time passes, she will be able to harness that hurt.

Qoren continued to talk. This time bringing up the commander of the city watch who was brother to Lord Brune, he of which was likely dead. I’ve rarely spoken with Commander Brune but he seems like a fine fellow. She tried to put a face to his name. And when she did she smiled. The smile faded when Gawen Tyrell spoke up however-
“Commander Brune should be removed.” The knight said, his voice hoarse. “There is nothing to be gained from keeping the man in his place.”
Jocelyn mulled his words. “Thank you for speaking up, Ser Gawen. Your words are welcome.” She took a sip and then thought about it for a moment longer. The room in a silence. “I agree. He has done his duty and served us well. But if we don’t do anything about Celtigar, his servitude will turn sour.” Jocelyn said to the people at the table around her.
“So you think we should punish him? Lord Vaemond?” Elaena asked for Jocelyn’s opinion on the matter. She sipped her wine. Her head felt a bit light. “No. I don’t think we should punish Celtigar… yet. He is a bigger ally to us than a middle aged man with no army. Vaemond has men. Men who will prove useful to us. Unless you’d rather us send Boremund’s city watch to go bring back Daeron Waters’ head?” She said as she turned to look at Qoren Martell.
She smiled at him.
Now he’s arranging meetings with the men of the city watch. Next he’ll be whispering in the ears of our castle servants.
She took another sip.
“Elaena?” Jocelyn, then, turned to her granddaughter. Her Queen. The girl’s face was puzzled once more. What is she thinking? Jocelyn wondered. Whatever it is, I hope she is in agreeance with me. Jocelyn thought that her opinion was the right one and that the realm would benefit if Elaena thought that too.
“Let Prince Martell talk with Brune later on. After his talk, we can converse and come to a conclusion on whether it is right for him to remain within his current position.” Elaena said. Her voice was soft, but so regal.
“And of Lord Celtigar, your grace?” Osfryd asked.
Elaena took a moment to think,
“We will not punish Lord Vaemond Celtigar. But we will send a garrison of men and someone we can trust to Crackclaw Point to make sure that he isn’t causing as much havoc as heard.”
She will be the greatest ruler we’ve ever seen. Jocelyn smiled. I know it. “A wise decision, your grace. We all back it.” Jocelyn said, dismissing the ability for anyone to say they did not.

“Now, let us move on to Tully’s-”
The door burst open. It was the servant who was earlier pouring wine. He wiped sweat from his forehead and tried to say something but his tongue twisted.
“Your grace, my lords, my ladies- The Lannisters have just arrived at The Red Keep.” He said, panting. “The steward thought I should tell you all.”
“Which Lannisters?” Jocelyn asked.
“Um… Willam Lannister and his, erm, his uncle.”
Jocelyn gave him a nod, “Thank you boy. That will be all.”
He then left, leaving the room to just the small council once more. Lannisters? What in seven heavens are they doing here?
Jocelyn looked at Elaena and then to the rest of the council.
“Loren Lannister has yet to declare, yes? So I say we meet with his son and make sure that when his father does declare…”

Jocelyn took her last sip. The cup was now empty.

“He declares for Queen Elaena Targaryen. The first of her name.”

Gwyn Greyjoy
NPC


​

Gwyn looked at her brother once they had done their bad deed. “Wow. Look at you, little brother. Eight merchant men dead because of you and your big axe. You really are a terror.” She stuck her tongue out at him and then brought down her sword on an old man whose legs were already have sawn off.
“Plea-” He tried to say. But his words were ended, and so was his life. Gwyn looked around at the carnage and reveled in it. But she had an odd feeling in her gut. One that told her how much her dear Veron would dislike this ordeal.
Suddenly, from the corner of the ship’s deck- an arrow flung. Right into Gwyn’s arm. “Shit!” She screamed as she stumbled to the decking. Dropping her sword. The arrowhead had gotten in deep. There was a merchant who had picked up a bow dropped by one of the archers that had been so easily killed.

Standing up. Gwyn reacted as quick as anyone could react. With the arrow still lodged in her skin, she ran at the merchant. He tried, in a desperate attempt, to reload the bow with another arrow but alas it was too late.
Gwyn had gotten to him. She grabbed him by the neck with the hand on her uninjured arm and then smacked his face against the ship’s partition. After she smashed his head in- she did it again. And again. And again. And again. Until what was left looked nothing like a face. Gwyn flung the body to the side and then sat down.
“Get this fucking thing out of me.” She said. She was calm, but her voice was filled with irritation.

“Now!” She screamed.

Veron Greyjoy
Lord Reaper


​

After he wrote his letter and proclaimed his King, Veron decided to go to his study and let off some steam. All of the emotions he had pent up since they’d set sail the other day. He wasn’t a very emotional person, and this was because of how well he was able to pent it all up. But sometimes, cracks showed. Like today…
I should not have hit Helya. He climbed the stairwell. His hand sliding alongst the stone banister. What if that did something to our child inside of her? Veron worried. But he knew that the child was alright. It was Helya who likely was not.
Forgive me, God.
He looked out a small hole in the wall to see thunderous clouds in the distance. Over the oceans. Drowned God…
Forgive me.

When he got to his study, he found that someone was already in there. Someone that would visit and read from time to time. To read, or to be an annoyance. Veron shut the door to his study behind him and then cleared his throat as to make it clear that he had entered the room.

“Victarion.” Veron said as his uncle sat in a chair watching the flames in the study’s fireplace crackle.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio
Braddington
Hypnos
TheAncientCelt
JPTheWarrior
diwa
Yarrow

 

[ailurophile]

v i o l a bb f o s s o w a y

beside her beloved mother, viola listened to baelor tyrell with keen curiosity, head tilted slightly to the side like a little bird. privately, she found the whole affair rather silly. why crown a baby? it couldn't even wear the crown. the image of an infant struggling to sit up on the throne crossed viola's mind, and she suppressed a smirk, fearing her mother would assume she was laughing at baelor. precious, magnificent baelor tyrell. the young woman rolled her eyes as she caught her mother's expression-- pathetic. in viola's life, she planned to be the baelor, rather than the florys. the analogy made perfect sense in her head..
hazel eyes scanned the crowd and settled on melessa tyrell.
"radiant, isn't she? you really can tell that she is carrying our future king." a voice sweet as honey veiled whatever she might have really been thinking.
viola snagged the servant who had filled her mother's cup before they could slip away, and got a refill of her own. perhaps she'd had a little too much wine already; a flush of red was already blossoming in her cheeks. no matter. the wine gave her something to devote her attention to while her mother exchanged pleasantries with various lords and ladies. every so often, viola would smile, laugh where appropriate, drop a compliment or two, and then shoot her brother a look that conveyed her true feelings. of course, the wine wasn't the only distraction. that morning, viola had carefully chosen a dress with a low, scooped neckline. it was perfect: she could show off plenty of herself, and yet act as though she was blissfully unaware of the display she was putting on. already, she'd offered several lords a fleeting, coy smile, and one or two had even been flashed a wink. it was an entertaining game to play.
finally, though, viola had decided to concentrate, because their conversation partners were finally worth it. that had little to do with the baby in melessa's belly-- though a rare occurence, viola actually liked the young woman, and the compliment that spilled from her plump lips was nothing less than genuine.
"oh, truly." she agreed, nodding eagerly, "might i just say, my lady, you look beautiful."
the osgrey did not escape viola's smiles.




Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Victarion Greyjoy
The Shipbreaker, The Scourge of Maelys, The Red Kraken Reborn, The King That Never Was​

Victarion just sat there next to the fire, basking in the warmth it gave and the feeling of chaotic calm the crackling could bring. So unpredictable yet confined, organised even and never able to do anything more than the same rhythmic crackling and destruction that it usually could. Every time he did this a memory came, often ones he had long since buried and almost always painful in their nature. They came and washed over him like a cleansing flame, purifying him more with each memory he unlocked and each deed he accepted. The only problem was there weren't enough lifetimes to experience and accept the amount of regret he had stored inside him, the amount of pain he caused and the amount of shame he felt. My son, if you can hear me my boy I am sorry. I am so sorry. I am the one who killed you and I hope that one day you will forgive me as I can't forgive myself. My lust for power, my damn bloodlust led to you being taken from me and for that I deserved death many years ago. You were everything I should have been, if I only I had seen it sooner....if I only I cared for you like a father should. You would be here today as would my beautiful daughter-in-law, my precious Asha. Now Harren is missing and I won't abandon him, I can't abandon him, that side of me is buried forever. If I have but a few years left in me I won't go quietly into the night, I will rise with axe in hand to protect my family as I once should have. I promise you this my son, never again will I allow history to repeat itself.

Victarion’s thoughts were interrupted when the fire let out a loud hiss and a soft, almost cool bed of ash landed on his outstretched hands. Victarion rubbed his hands together, covering them in these ashes and turned to face his grandson Theon, his father's son there was no doubt there. “Theon my boy, leave me for but a small while will you? I wish to be alone in my thoughts right now. There's a good lad.” Theon smiled at his grandfather and gave him a hug and a pat on the back “Yes grandfather, I will return when you need me to help you down the stairs. Oh and by the way, cousin Veron has returned. From what I saw of his wife he wasn't in a good mood. I would avoid him for now.” Victarion smiled sadly “If only I could my boy, if only I could. Sadly for me, he is the only one who can give me what I want.”

As Theon left the room he sat back down again next to the fire, he knew he probably shouldn't be here but then again, that's what the Lysene nobles said and it didn't dissuade him anymore then that it did now. He knew Veron’s routine enough by now to know this is one of the first places he would come and he had to talk to him, he had to find Harren. So he sat and waited, like most of his life had been these days. He imagined that would soon change though, a war was coming and that was clear, non of the young ones had lived long enough to experience the Nine Penny Kings. He hoped his knowledge of warfare would prove useful if the Drowned God was kind enough to give him more time. To many the war came as a surprise, but war was never a surprise on the mainland. War was an inevitability and those that thought otherwise were just naive pups. They would be the first to die, like they always were, after the young boys of course.

Then Victarion heard the door move and someone enter the room, he waited for the voice and then arose to greet him. “Nephew, welcome back to Pyke. The castle has been less without your presence, not that the castle was much anyway. I trust your journey was fair? Did the boy prove as good as his great uncle or did he take after his bastard grandfather?” Victarion would keep it civil for now, he was growing tired of the never ending back and forth with his nephew and at his age he couldn't care less for theatrics.

TheFool

 

[Nightblade]

Selene Mallister
The Watcher​

Selene began to look over the missives she was sending out, the usual news really.
All able bodied men and boys were being called to Seagard from all over Mallister
lands. Training provided and coin given. Nodding to some of the men, she watched
as they left to go around the land calling levies and recruit more men.

That wont make a damned difference you know

Turning around, Selene saw the face of her grandmother and the scent of wine hit
like a wave. Selene rolled her eyes before dismissing her maids.

Then what do you propose I do grandmother, we are not in a great position

Selene was worried for her sister if she were to go with one of Elaena Targaryens opponents.

Mention: diwa
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag
​

Jon had returned from sparring and bathed. Standing in his trousers, he was looking through
several missives that he had received from his scouts and found one from Daeron. He was just
getting ready to read it when he heard the door opening. Putting the folded missives down, he
looked up at Willam.

"what was I supposed to do, I could not exactly leave Elaena with that lunatic"

He said scowling at the thought of Gawen, the fool still walking around like it was no problem.
With the Lannisters in Kings Landing maybe he would have the chance to push Gawen out once
and for all.

"I have been trying to get him arrested or something but my sister has let him go free and Elaena is still with him"

Interaction: Yarrow
Mention: TheFool Hypnos Braddington

 

[Hypnos]

Gregor Bolton
An uncle to all​

‘Well that certainly soured the mood.’ Reed’s words hung in the air like a foul stench, perforating the the pleasant spirit of what had previously been a fairly light hearted and jolly hunting trip. Of course, Greg knew that war was to be waged in the south, and he knew that would mean that every southern sissy with any kind of wealth to their name would be preparing themselves for the worst, but he had thought they would have more time. It had not been long since he had arrived in Winterfell, and he had been looking forward to staying a little longer to enjoy the general atmosphere being surrounded by a horde of unruly northman: his peers, especially if he were to convince Lord Stark to marry off a daughter to his cousin, which he suspected would be a lengthy process. It seemed however that this opportunity was to be robbed from him. If the North wanted to have any chance of having a great impact upon the effects of the war, they would have to march, and they would have to march soon.

“Perhaps it would be best if we escorted you back to Wintrerfell little lord. It’s not safe to walk around the Wolf’s Wood on foot, you never know what kind of grumpkins or snarks might jump out at you, though I doubt you’ll see anything as scary as my as Lord Karstark here.” He laughed once more, though this time without as much vigor as before. You could always trust a swmap dweller to put a damper on things. “We should be returning soon anyway. We’ve just caught a big one, and I doubt we’ll see much larger game with all this ruckus. Come now. We have spare horses and clean water. Unless you want to fucking walk the rest of the way. You swamp men are queer folk.” He gestured for Reed to accompany the party. In truth, he didn’t know if they did have any spare horses, but that didn’t matter too much. Worst case scenario, a Lake, a LIghtfoot or some other petty lordling would have to walk back to Winterfell. Not much of an issue for Greg.

“If nobody has any objections, I say we should return to Winterfell. Let us show Lord Bryce all the fun that he was missing out on, perhaps he will finally have time to sit us down and fill us in on this fucking war.“ Greg’s gaze shifted between his cousin, Lord Karstark and Lord Reed, before he moved to sheath the dagger that had remained in his hand throughout the entire conversation, a fact that had slipped his mind. “Oh, and someone get my sweet sister and tell her we’re leaving, the wolflings too. Don’t want to leave our women behind to freeze in the cold.” He took the reigns of his horse and kicked the beast into a slow trot in the general direction of Winterfell. ‘Bryce Stark better have a damn good plan for this war.’ Greg contemplated. ‘Because otherwise half of these buffoons won't make it back for harvest.’

High Moon Whisker Grammatic TheFool diwa ailurophile Braddington

 

[Hypnos]

Melessa Tyrell
Widow​

It was a peculiar situation that Mel found herself in. A paradox where simultaneously everyone wanted to talk at her, but noone really wanted to talk to her. She had tried her best to remain courteous, nodding along where appropriate and offering her own little inputs to conversations whenever they were needed, but for the most part she was simply passive, allowing whomever she was talking to, to lead the conversation where they wanted it to go. She had already spoken to several lords, many of whom were eager to try and curry favour, asking subtly (or in some cases, not so subtly) for honours, titles and offices now that her child was to ascend the Iron Throne. Mel would merely smile at these requests and point them in the direction of her father, the man who would really be making all of the decisions. It was an odd thought for Mel that so many believed her to be a major influence within the Reach. This was her father’s war much more than it was hers, and were she not supposedly carrying the next king in her belly, she had little doubt that she would be shipped of somewhere ‘safe’ for the conflict’s duration and left in the dark about the whole ideal. Whether she would have prefered it that way, Mel could not say.

Not everyone present was an old lord or lady looking out only for personal gain however, and once in a while Mel’s eyes would dart upwards and notice an old friend or companion from when she was young, she had not seen many of them for a very long time. When she had left Highgarden for King’s Landing, she had left almost all of her girlhood friends behind. Lord Baelor had assured her that she would make new friends in the capital, and that had been true, for Mel had been very popular with the other ladies at court during her brief marriage to Prince Jaehaerys, however she still missed those whom she had left behind. One of those friends, Lord Osgrey, who had been but the heir to Coldmoat last time they had spoken approached her now.

Mel smiled, a rare occurrence these days, her face lightening at the sight of an old friend. “I am fine Addam, truly,” she lied “and please there’s no need to be so formal, you do not need to call me your lady. We are friends. I...”

It seemed that their reunion would short lived, for behind Lord Addam, Mel could see another figure sauntering forward, Lady Florys Fossoway, another of her father’s vassals.

“Lady Fossoway.” Mel almost gave a curtsy but stopped herself, her father had warned her against such things ‘you are to to be Queen mother’ he had told her ‘you must bow to no one.’Thank you for your words, my father is truly blessed to have such fine company tonight.” Her eyes darted back to Addam, giving him an apologetic look that their conversation had been interrupted.

“And Lady Viola, you are too kind. Compared to you, I must look like a real mess.”

TheFool Braddington ailurophile

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce and Amelia Stark
Old Wolves

Bryce sat in the main hall, waiting for everyone to come back. He had sent a messenger that told the Lord's to come back for the meeting, and Bryce didn't have much patience right now. He was already in a foul mood due to not being with his son, and also because of his coming retirement. He sighed when they all finally came in, saying, "I would like to formally welcome you all to Winterfell. It's my honor to host you all here." He looked around, trying to read their faces before saying, "As you know, His Grace King Daeron has decided to go on the war path, and by obligation, the North must ride to aid him. I would like to say a few things before we leave. Firstly, I want no raping or pillaging from any of you. You represent the North and it's people. So act like it. Secondly, you will follow His Grace. You will do as he says, and if you have a problem with that, you come to me. Understood?" He was rarely this firm, and he would stand his ground on this. He sighed, looking to his wife for a moment before saying, "And finally, I want to make an announcement. In the event that I am elected the King's Hand, I...will resign as Lord of Winterfell, and my son Theon will take my place. This will also happen when the war ends, regardless. I've served as Lord Paramount since I was barely a man, and it's my time to resign. I will lead our troops in the war as lord while my son rules over Winterfell, but not after. I hope you all understand." He then stood up, having Addam help him unsheathe Ice as he said, "This blade has not been bared since my father used it in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. It will taste blood of the King's enemies once again." He placed the blade to the ground, saying, "For the North! For the King!"

Once his whole somewhat rousing speech was over, he let everyone go about their business. His business was with his brother Brandon, and the celebration in the future. He walked up to his brother, saying, "Brandon. Mind if we talk in private about the celebration? Benjen can come along as well." He smiled at his brother, patting his shoulder as he walked up to his chambers with Amelia, the woman smiling at the two as she followed her husband. Bryce sat down by the fire, pulling two more seats up for Brandon and Benjen, saying, "Please, take a seat. The fire's just warming up." He sighed, poking the fire idly. He looked to his brother, saying, "So, how are you two? Well, I hope? You still look worse than me, Little Brother!" He laughed, punching Brandon playfully as he said, "Just kidding. Anyway, the celebration. I assume you would like to wait until Theon is here? We can double the celebration as one for his child." Amelia smiled, saying, "Not that we don't think you two aren't important. But it would save time. Bryce doesn't have much more time left here in Winterfell, and we need to ration for winter." Bryce nodded, saying, "Indeed. You'll always be my brother, Brandon. Even if they say what you do is wrong. I love you all the same." He smiled, hugging his brother as he shook Benjen's hand and said, "Take good care of my brother, okay? He's the only bit of my part of the family that I have left."
Hypnos
High Moon
Braddington
WaitingCynicism​

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Steffon Dayne
Sword of the Morning

King's Landing

As twilight shot across the sky, the light of the day shrinking back beyond the horizon as a blanket of darkness covered the Eastern Sky, Lord Dayne left the Red Keep. Hours ago he received word that his friends from Starfall had arrived. A group of misfits from Essos and Planky Town, all of whom Steffon knew to some extent or another. Of course, he knew their ring leader the best. 'Matthos.' The Red Priest from Asshai and Volantis, Dayne couldn't recall which one exactly, had somehow wormed his way into Steffon's inner circle. 'Somehow. As if it's a mystery.' A pleasant man, if a little eccentric, Arianne adored his company and stories. Lord Steffon was wary at first, then a devote follower of the Seven, albeit in his own way. But, as time passed, Matthos slowly grew on him. Between his magic tricks and seemingly unending smile, Steffon enjoyed his company more and more. As he rode through the city, two guards on either side of the Dornish Lord, Steffon couldn't fight the smile building on his lips. Those were good times, if ever so brief. Arianne, Steffon and that odd house guest Matthos. Steffon's wife was engorged, a smaller version of herself growing in her belly, but the couple managed to stay active. Arianne hated being couped up, morning and evening rides, when the heat wasn't as harsh, became regular activities of theirs.

The Red Priests many eccentric friends were popular with his house guards, as well. Steffon never approached them as he did the Fire worshiper, but the idea he had more allies in the city was a comforting one. Not that Steffon planned on starting trouble, but his earlier discussion with Prince Qoren nagged at his mind. As one does after an argument, Dayne's mind was filled with things he should've said, would've won him the argument. It was all worthless now, he swore an oath to that reprehensible man and would have to follow through on it. 'Enough of him.' The Sword of the Morning wanted to ignore Qoren's very existence for a few more hours. It was difficult to, considering the quest he was on. He needed Dawn, if only to intimidate the guards that Qoren no doubt were watching his every movement at the Red Keep.

"What's the name of the brothel, Roger?" Hooded, a wood-brown cloak flowing down his body, Lord Dayne looked to the man at his right.

A low grumble, an older man with patchy hair from his chin to his upper lip spoke with an odd melodic tenor. "Maeries, the priest and his ilk said. It's in the Street o' Silk."

The man on his left, younger and infinitely thinner than either Lord Dayne or Roger, commented after. "If they decided to stick around, m'lord. Neither Mat'hos or his company could agree on much."

A low chuckle escaped Steffon. "Not unusual. I can hear them bickering already." As their horses rounded a turn, long stares being given to the three by a pox marred man. Roger adjusted his cloak, revealing a scabbard for the delinquent and his companions to see. They would not be mugged by Gin Alley's finest. "Shiv and Roach were probably the one's at it."

"Aye, Steffon." Roger responded. His face was hard, impossible to read, but his eyes betrayed his demeanor. Humor was alight in them. "The entire trip was'em arguing. Shiv'd say something stupid, then Roach would impress us all n' say something dumber."

Dayne nodded, his smile thriving as the cool night air hit the three. "And I'm sure you had colorful words for them, Roger." Despite what he would say, the Master at Arms of Starfall enjoyed the would-be mummers that Matthos brought along. Before, it was a bleak landscape, even for Lord Dayne and his wife. "Maeries." Steffon pointed to a building, eyeing a sign carefully. With the sky dimming, it was harder to read the letters, but he caught an M and A. "Stay outside, I shouldn't be long." Dismounting, Lord Dayne stepped into the building. Lavender was thick in the air, a cheap attempt to mask the musk of throbbing rods and leaking orifices. Of all the players Steffon was comfortable in, a brothel was not one of them. "I'm here for a friend." He said to the first woman he saw, assuming her to work here.

"A frien'? I can be your frien'." She smiled, revealing two front teeth missing. She was a pretty blonde beyond that.

A polite smile, Steffon shook his head. "A friend who's staying here, not. . . Resting." He corrected. "A man in red." That was a good description, given Matthos' limited wardrobe.

"Aye." Disappointment, the woman turned the corner. "I'll take ye to'em, m'lord."

Steffon wordlessly followed, marching up a staircase in search of the Red Priest of his.

~ ~ ~

Lord Ryman II Tully
Riverrun

"You did what?!" A voice rang out from the master bedroom in Riverrun. Night had descended over the Kingdom, lanterns were lit outside with candles illuminating Lord and Lady Tully's bedroom. The voice, loud and concerned, came from an unusual source. Ryman Tully.

Pia sat in bed, butt firmly planted on a flower filled pillow and a night gown on. Brown hair was down, no longer kept in pristine condition as she readied for bed. "Relax, my husband. You have little to worry about." Lady Tully did all but wave off his concerns, at least physically.

"Pia! You had them detained!" Ryman stood on the opposite end of the room, everything but his small clothes removed. A hand rested atop his hair, matting down the red-brown color as the Lord of the Riverlands shook with anger and confusion. "They were our guests!"

"And they still are." Pia quickly rebuked. "Without my permission to leave, of course. We will feed them well, wash them and their garments. No harm shall come to Lady Rhaenys. Should she not leave."

"Not leave!" Ryman mimicked, the hand atop his head falling to pinch his nose. "What will the other houses think of this?!" Despite the way Pia confronted the situation, Ryman could not calm down. This was a greater issue than she'd like to admit. The trust placed in House Tully could be utterly shattered by this move. Lady Rhaenys and her men taken captive during her third night in his keep. Ryman had found the woman approachable and kind, though his time with her was little. Harren, when not insisting he leave for King's Landing, was what Ryman occupied his time with. Hearing that the Master of Ships was now his prisoner made Ryman's stomach roll.

"Nothing, my dear husband. Sit down and let us rest. In the morrow we'll speak to Lady Rhaenys and see to it that she is a voluntary prisoner, not one of our design."

Ryman refused to step closer to the love of his life, confusion dancing on his face. "I do not follow, Pia." He spoke honestly.

A sigh, Pia pursed her lips, lovely and full, with those eyes of autumn delight staring at her husband with mixed emotions. "Lady Rhaenys supports our good friend Baelor Tyrell."

"She does?"

"Indeed. And, for stating this to the Dowager Queen, she has been stripped of her titles and land."

"I don't. . Recall hearing Lady Velaryon speak of any such thing." Tully said with reasonable suspicion. Pia was not known to be an honest woman, least not whenever she wanted something.

"She said it to me, privately. Me and Lysa, our dearest daughter."

"And then why is she locked away?"

"Husband, do not confuse yourself. She is not locked away, but is merely pretending to be as such. If she is seen willingly helping us, her house will face great penalties."

Silence filled the room. Ryman didn't believe a word of what Pia said, but she was coming up with excuse after excuse as to why this wasn't a poor choice. "My wife. ." Ryman didn't know if he wanted to argue anymore. Instead, looking at Pia, Ryman found his suspicions melting. For her, he would ignore what happened, believe her lies for the evening and talk to Rhaenys when dawn arrived. Ryman moved for the bed, when several knocks struck the door.

"My Lord and Lady," The distinctive croaking of Maester Karl could be heard. "An important letter from the Twins has arrived."

Lord Ryman met Pia's perplexed expression. "Come in Karl."​

 

[WaitingCynicism]

Bryce and Amelia Stark
Old Wolves

Bryce sat in the main hall, waiting for everyone to come back. He had sent a messenger that told the Lord's to come back for the meeting, and Bryce didn't have much patience right now. He was already in a foul mood due to not being with his son, and also because of his coming retirement. He sighed when they all finally came in, saying, "I would like to formally welcome you all to Winterfell. It's my honor to host you all here." He looked around, trying to read their faces before saying, "As you know, His Grace King Daeron has decided to go on the war path, and by obligation, the North must ride to aid him. I would like to say a few things before we leave. Firstly, I want no raping or pillaging from any of you. You represent the North and it's people. So act like it. Secondly, you will follow His Grace. You will do as he says, and if you have a problem with that, you come to me. Understood?" He was rarely this firm, and he would stand his ground on this. He sighed, looking to his wife for a moment before saying, "And finally, I want to make an announcement. In the event that I am elected the King's Hand, I...will resign as Lord of Winterfell, and my son Theon will take my place. This will also happen when the war ends, regardless. I've served as Lord Paramount since I was barely a man, and it's my time to resign. I will lead our troops in the war as lord while my son rules over Winterfell, but not after. I hope you all understand." He then stood up, having Addam help him unsheathe Ice as he said, "This blade has not been bared since my father used it in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. It will taste blood of the King's enemies once again." He placed the blade to the ground, saying, "For the North! For the King!"

Once his whole somewhat rousing speech was over, he let everyone go about their business. His business was with his brother Brandon, and the celebration in the future. He walked up to his brother, saying, "Brandon. Mind if we talk in private about the celebration? Benjen can come along as well." He smiled at his brother, patting his shoulder as he walked up to his chambers with Amelia, the woman smiling at the two as she followed her husband. Bryce sat down by the fire, pulling two more seats up for Brandon and Benjen, saying, "Please, take a seat. The fire's just warming up." He sighed, poking the fire idly. He looked to his brother, saying, "So, how are you two? Well, I hope? You still look worse than me, Little Brother!" He laughed, punching Brandon playfully as he said, "Just kidding. Anyway, the celebration. I assume you would like to wait until Theon is here? We can double the celebration as one for his child." Amelia smiled, saying, "Not that we don't think you two aren't important. But it would save time. Bryce doesn't have much more time left here in Winterfell, and we need to ration for winter." Bryce nodded, saying, "Indeed. You'll always be my brother, Brandon. Even if they say what you do is wrong. I love you all the same." He smiled, hugging his brother as he shook Benjen's hand and said, "Take good care of my brother, okay? He's the only bit of my part of the family that I have left."
Hypnos
High Moon
Braddington
WaitingCynicism​

Despite being a Northman, Brandon never could stand the cold.

Every year during a summer snow, he'd wind up sick with chills and aches in his bones, his throat raw. And evidently that had happened earlier, and Brandon felt like complete shite. He waited back inside by the fire with Benjen, listening to his brother's speech for war.

He smiled as the speech finished, filled with passion and energy. While he had expected his brother to step down as Lord Paramount for Theon and his wife, he was glad his brother would be a letter to focus on family more than he had been.

As Bryce approached him, he smiled and squeezed Benjen's hand as he asked if they could speak in private about their celebration. "Of course, brother."

With that, he got up, and followed his brother and his wife to their chambers, taking a seat next to Benjen and Amelia.

"I've been sick for about a week. Same as it is every time - chills, raw throat, and so on. That's why I stayed inside and listened to your speech from in there. You did a great job for it. Hopefully you can spend more time with the family now." He laughed as his brother joked about him and playfully punched him, taking a swig of wine from the goblet near him. An Arbor red - not exactly what he expected, but it was strong.

"And of course we can talk about the celebration details. I really just want it to be our families - Robb, Cat, Garth, and Jon, as well as Theon. I'd certainly hope I'd still be your brother even with what the gods say. Benjen was the kind of man I needed in my life when Bethany died."

Rusty of Shackleford

 

[clarinetti]

Garrett Grafton
Master of Ships​

Though the Grafton man wasn’t sure if the Kings’ response was an honest one, it was not his place to question it, and so he simply nodded as the others’ began to enter. One by one they took their place at the table; first the Lord Commander, then Lord Redfort, and finally the new Lord Rosby and his wounded brother. Lady Arryn was unfortunately absent- one of the servants’ briefly entering to inform them that she was feeling under the weather and would hope to join them later. It admittedly troubled Garrett that she wouldn't be present; being both Daeron’s primary supporter in the Vale as well as a voice of reason, he would have liked to see how she responded to the King’s words. On the other hand, it did gladden the man to see that Orson Redfort would be joining them, giving a small smile when the older Lord sat across from him. He wasn’t necessarily the most conventional leader in some regards and could be headstrong at times, but his heart was often in the right place, and compared to other less savoury figures, Garrett was grateful to have one of Orson’s character in their ranks.

As the meeting began, Garrett was attentive as their King called them to order. The first couple of topics brought to the table went down smoothly. Following Daeron’s own legitimization at his father’s deathbed, it made sense to make his other baseborn sister a proper Targaryen- should he fall in battle, it would assure that his allies would have a new leader to fall back on rather than splintering amongst themselves. Similarly, the knighting of Steffon Rosby was an easy task- whether the lad’s skills were truly worthy of a place in the Kingsguard was perhaps debatable, but who would question such an appointment following their father’s brutal demise? He suspected it was a title given out of guilt and pity more than merit, but he clapped and smiled with the rest as that white cloak was draped around the lad’s shoulders.

He was surprised when Daeron chose not to name his full council before them all, but less so when he was bestowed the position as Master of Ships. Indeed, Garrett had speculated that something along these lines might happen, being one of a handful of Vale nobles who had been asked to attend this meeting. And from a tactical standpoint it made perfect sense: of the naval forces currently available to them (Including those of the Northern houses), the Gulltown Fleet was the largest and most well manned. In fact, on the continent's eastern seaboard, only the Royal Fleet outmatched them in sheer numbers. Not that they could hold a candle to that of the Crown, nor of the Ironborn or the Redwyne's truth be told, but he derived some small satisfaction from this knowledge and in keeping it in good shape. Yet even still, the announcement brought a small sense of pride welling up within him, though the mild-mannered man hid his feelings well. “Your words humble me, Your Grace. On my honour, I vow to serve you to the best of my abilities.”

Now that all the low-hanging fruit had been picked, the King proceeded to lay out his initial plan to place their foothold in the Riverlands. Garrett was unsure whether Lord Tully had decided whom to side with in this conflict, but it seemed that Daeron wasn’t willing to wait for that. This was likely for the better: if they hoped to march south, the Vale’s forces would need to clear a path so their Northern brethren can proceed through the Twins. From what he could make of it, the plan seemed to be well thought out, and his role was one he felt relatively comfortable taking on. Yet he would defer to the more experienced members of this council before giving a resounding stamp of approval. In the midst of this unspoken evaluation, the Grafton man was roused from thought by Lord Redfort’s little speech. Maybe he was not the most eloquent individual, but you could sense there was authenticity in his words, and seemed unconcerned how this grandiose display might appear to some. And yet in seemed to pay off for the fellow, as the King replied by offering the man the title as Master of Arms. The Gulltown lord doubted this had been the outcome Redfort intended, judging by the initial look of shock and awe, but found some amusement in the situation nonetheless.

“Well said, Lord Orson, and congratulations! There are few as worthy of such a position as yourself.” Garrett replied cordially with a smile and nod, if only to bring the matter to a close and refocus on the task at hand. Glancing back to the pieces on the board, the man shifted his gaze back to his peers. “For such a strategy to succeed, speed and surprise would be of the essence. Give the small folk no time to go to the other lords or for ravens to leave the rookery. But it seems feasible, all things considered…. what say you, my colleagues?”

Braddington
TheFool
ailurophile

 

[Grammatic]

Rycherd Whitehill

Rycherd nodded at his cousins words, grabbing the reigns of his horse and pulling lightly to turn it around. He had been listening quietly to the new arrivals to the hunting party, one after the other. The news they brought, and the opinions they gave, both troubled and annoyed Rycherd, respectively. News of the Twins being fortified and garrisoned was not actually surprising. With the prospect of war o the horizon, any Lord would be wise to prepare his home and people. The fact that the Twins just so happened to be in the way of any Northern army hoping to come south directly only heightened the need for protection.

"Ill go get the Ladies, Lord Bolton. I will return shortly." He switched to using the more formal address for his cousin, now that they were in the presence of others. Riding through the trees, Rycherd ducked his head underneath a low hanging tree, his new height letting him see an arrow stuck into one of the trunks. He pulled it out, inspecting the arrow as he entered the clearing where the three ladies had gathered.

Once he spotted who was actually in the party, his eyes widened slightly, before he dipped his head slightly. "Lady Starks, a pleasure to see you again. The hunt I am afraid has come to a rather abrupt end, and we must return to Winterfell." As he spoke, his eyes regarded the three women, his eyes cold and calculating. They rested on Lyanna in particular for several seconds, before he averted his gaze, looking down at the arrow in his hand. He tossed it through the air to the ladies, before drawing one of his own, with a pure black feathering on the end.

"Your arrows are poorly weighted and made, my Lady. Try one of mine, you might have better luck." A smirk crossed his face briefly as he spoke, his eyes filled with a new light as he regarded the small group, though they lingered on Lyanna.

Hypnos ailurophile Braddington WaitingCynicism diwa Whisker TheFool



Edwyn Frey

Edwyn and the small group of soldiers pushed with all their might against the wagon, sweat pouring down their faces as they tried to get it out of the ditch it had fallen into. With all the preparations being made near the Crossing, a drunk wagon driver had maneuvered himself and his cargo into one of the newly built trenches. Now, they were forced to dig in and drag it out themselves. Nearby, the wagon driver in question was tied to a stake, his back torn and bloody, a wail escaping his lips as another strike from the whip tore into him. Edwyn considered himself a fair man. When the wagon driver was grabbed and held, Edwyn ordered that for every minute it took for the wagon to be removed from the trench, the man would get a single lash. Unfortunately for the driver however, he had done a rather good job of getting it stuck.

Finally, the wagon gave way to the brute force being put against it, crossing over the trench and returning to the road. Wiping a hand across his head, Edwyn turned and nodded to the soldiers near the driver, watching as he was cut loose and crumbled to the ground. He was left where he fell, as Edwyn had no care for him at this point. He had ruined nearly half of the cargo he had brought with him, and it was only because Edwyn was in a good mood that he was even alive.

Detailing a few soldiers to take the wagon and what was left of its cargo back to the Crossing, Edwyn turned to look down at the trench. Several barrels lay broken around and within the newly built trench, with a dark liquid coating large portions of the once clean grass. Seeing it here however gave him an idea.

"I want men with shovels out here starting tomorrow. I want barrels of oil buried beneath the field, close to the surface, but not visible. And make sure our archers know exactly where each one goes. They will need to be ready at a moments notice..."

 

[ailurophile]

l y a n n a bb s t a r k

"my lady, you are much too kind," lyanna shook her head, seemingly amused, although leona's offer had clearly sparked her interest. she was about to add to her comment when an arrow shot past leona, and all that came out was a rather childish squeak. luckily, she was able to compose herself, eager to appear calm and collected to her company. "my lady manderly, what a pleasant surprise. are you alright?" her question was of course directed to leona, although she suspected she already knew the answer. a courtesy, more than anything. at aregelle's reminder of a previous joke, the lady laughed. "ah, yes. that's true."
yet again her train of though was interrupted, but this time by a much more interesting sight, lyanna's green eyed gaze raked over the man in front of the group, taking in the blonde hair she'd complimented, the structure of his face. without realising it, she smiled to herself. though she hadn't actually shot a single of her own arrows during the hunt, lyanna leapt to reply to the lord.
"i suppose they are. aside from a little bit of target practise, i don't tend to shoot much." she admitted, glancing over her shoulder t give her sister and the other two ladies a look that translated to telling them to let her handle it, hoping they'd understand her intention. when she turned her attention back to rycherd, her most charming smile had formed on her face. delicately, she reached out and plucked the arrow from his hand.
"beautiful. perhaps you could tell me more on the way back?" lingering only for a moment, running her fingertip up and down the shaft of the arrow, she then turned around without waiting to see if he was going to follow.

 

[Grammatic]

Samuel Sunglass

Wars were dishonorable things. Oh, the stories told of the glories won on the field of battle. The campaigns and sieges, naval battles and games of wit. All of these went down well in the history books. The best killers would likely never be forgotten. However, history books rarely told of the truths behind wars. Famines, plagues, mass exodus, an increase of crime, all of these things were brought on by war. And far too often, great 'heroes' in history were nothing but butchers who killed the right people. Many used the excuse of war to do as they pleased.

Sitting in the Great Hall on Sweetport Sound, Samuel read through the small message again, before letting it fall from his fingers. "They were children...innocent children." The raven that arrived this morning brought news of House Celtigar's latest battles. And, reports of their most recent victims. Standing across from Samuel was a small cadre of Knights, each hand picked by Samuel to serve as his closest advisors, and his friends in times of need. Now, they watched as the sorrow fell from their Lords face, replaced by barely controlled rage. Standing up from his seat, Samuel stormed across the Great Hall, the Knights quickly moving to follow behind him.

"Muster the men immediately. We march within the hour, I just pray we can get there before he does anything else." The Knights nodded their heads before quickly departing, heading off down several different hallways while Samuel went towards his quarters. While not a large House, House Sunglass's soldiers were all well trained and veteran warriors from the recent Stepstones campaign. They would match up to two warriors of any other House at least, Samuel was certain. He prayed to the Seven he would not have to use them, but knew that if it came down to it, honor demanded he put an end to the Celtigar spree of destruction.

 

[Little-Fox]

Willow Stark
Winter's Flower Starting to Bloom
​

It had taken quite a while since Aragelle truly had eaten the last of the leftovers and so she'd made due with what she had: the chicken in the larder. Willow was not the best of cooks. More oft than not her job in the kitchen was to help with simpler things such as peeling potatoes and cutting things up for meals, not actually preparing them and that was if and when a servant hadn't already done so. Regardless, she'd done her best in preparing a meal of potatoes and chicken for her Uncle and his... she wasn't really sure what to consider him. Was he her uncle too? Was he her Uncle's husband? Lover, at the very least. She frowned slightly, not liking that she wasn't sure what to call him. Family. He is family.

She left the food for now and picked up a bottle of mead and a few flagons, starting to make her way back to the hall. She wasn't aware that the hunters had returned and that the meeting had begun until she entered, just in time to hear her father's words and then witness his departure with her mother and Uncle(s?) She bit her lower lip gingerly and moved to set the bottle and mugs down, staying quiet for the moment as the fall of dark auburn hid most of her freckled features. Storm-blue eyes peeked out to take note of who was here that she recognized, the various Lords here and there as she also looked to pick out her sisters if they were present.

 

[ailurophile]

v i o l a bb f o s s o w a y

a smile spread across viola's face, closely joined by a pleasant laugh, though what she said next didn't come across as quite so sweet.
"you know, my lady, i might just have to agree with you there."
of course, she didn't mean it. not really. in fact, viola thought that melessa tyrell was as 'positively radiant' as she'd noted earlier. perhaps that was why she'd even made the joke in the first place-- after all, she'd never insult someone genuinely unattractive, it'd be cruel. after a moment or so of silence, when viola realised that she was the only one who seemed to find it amusing.
"oh, forgive me, my lady. i didn't mean to offend you. that really did sound a lot more like a joke in my head."
quickly, she raised her cup to her lips and drank deeply, both mentally cursing herself and also making a point of the fact she'd been drinking rather heavily throughout the day. that could be an excuse for her brazenness, surely? she stole a glance back at her mother and found the sight entertaining, and made sure to shoot her a mischievous smirk. sometimes, it was just so much fun to do things to irritate the woman. really, it could be hard to resist.
non-verbal challenge to her mother complete, she fixed melessa with a doe-eyed look of concern, which was fairly genuine, albeit a little exaggerated to make sure it was obvious.
the decent part of her hoped she hadn't upset a perfectly lovely young woman. the more malicious part argued that only a child would be offended anyway.
"i feel awful now. you must take a shot at me. it's only fair."
viola was beginning to panic and she hadn't even had the chance to judge melessa's reaction yet. suddenly she felt silly. there was always the chance melessa wouldn't care at all. then again, if she did, she was carrying the future king. it was a risk. but with risks came excitement.

TheFool Hypnos

 

[JPTheWarrior]

Alexander Baratheon
Lord Paramount of the Stormlands
​

The lord paramount kept his silence for almost the entirety of the reunion. His elbows were on top of the long wooden table were supporting the weight of his body, while Alexander's hands were interlocked with on one another, his dry light red lips leaned against them. His eyes were glancing around, inspecting each of the Small Council members' reaction to his great niece and sister's words. Jocelyn had finally decided to begin the meeting, starting by handing to Alexander letters. The paper wasn't very dusty or dirty, reason why the man guessed they were new and only recently written. Alexander eyes fell on the black words, the smell of ink still fresh. From the contents the piece of paper held and from Elaena's explanation, Alexander understood that Lord Celtigar was with them and not against, although they had attacked House Brune in the process. Alexander let out a big sigh, only mumbering the word barbaric, barely audible for the rest of the lords and ladies in the room. The second letter was one which Alexander didn't know what to think. It seems Riverlands would ally with the Reach, adding many numbers to their already vast army. It seemed like House Tully's letter was meant for Lord Tyrell and not for the Queen. A interesting situation: while it could've been a complete grave mistake from the great House of Riverrun, it could actually be a clever trap for Elaena.

The following topic to be discussed was the role each member would carry in the Small Council. Elaena named him Master of Laws not to his surprise. Everyone here knew of his success in the Stormlands, his fair and just ruling that had boosted his kingdom's wealth and power in just a couple of years. Alexander gave the young ruler of three sevenths of Westeros a little nod. "Thank you, your Grace" he said out of courtesy. Elaena mentioned Gawen's name next. Alexander's eyes started curiously at her expression while she stared at the young murderer. He knew that expression very well. It was an expression of love, not necessary the love between a wife and a husband, but more of a deep tenderness the girl held for Gawen. At least, that is what he could read out of her face. If it was just his brain playing with his mind he did not know. Even so, this affection proved to be poisonous in her decision making. She named him leader of her royal guard, forgiving for his cold act in the process. Alexander did not care to hide his emotions. Everyone could see his disappointment in her judgment, but even so he did not mention a word against her will. Lord Darklyn was named Hand of the Queen, which surprised Alexander. The lord could've only guessed this was to decrease the sorrow and pain Lord Darklyn must have been feeling since the assassination of the previous Hand.

The other part of the council was not as interesting. It was just the Prince of Dorne being the snake everyone characterizes him to be. What really peeked Alexander's attention was the information that House Lannister had made its move and were inside the Red Keep. For what reason could it be? Maybe they wanted to ally? Maybe just check their opponents' state before making an alliance with other faction. Alexander got up and said "Looks like this meeting will finish then. Lord Gawen, I suggest we leave my sister and the Queen have their conversation with the golden lions. If the lords have the intention to add numbers to our armies, I'm sure conversation will be successful without us. Care to have a conversation with me? In private of course?" Alexander asked, staring directly into Gawen's eyes while looking down on him.

TheFool Hypnos diwa Akio TheAncientCelt

 

[TheFool]

Leona Bolton
Red Queen


​

Leona couldn’t help but smile when her cousin Rycherd came over. He was instantly drawn to Lyanna. She could tell. The way his eyes linger. Leona couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. But as she looked at them she couldn’t help but feel a bit of jealousy.
Hmm.
It wasn’t that she wanted her cousin, no. It wasn’t that she wanted Lyanna, a definite no. I just want… someone. Her thoughts brought her back to Calon, off in Essos somewhere. In utter exile.
I miss his touch.
I miss his stare, and how it always lingered on me.

Leona could hear her brother yelling. The horses neighing. She looked up. A darkness had come over them. It is getting late.
“Shall we head back to Winterfell?” Leona asked those around her with a smile. Though there was a sadness to it. Gods…
I miss him so.

Matthos Of Braavos
Son Of Fire


​

Matthos lounged on a cushioned futon. The room smelled like lavender and myrtle leaf. A woman sat beside him, stark naked. Her skin was fair with freckles scattered about. Her eyes were a plain brown. Her hair red. Much redder than mine. “Your accent is so silly.” The girl said, moving closer towards him.
“Where’re you from, again?” She asked. Her hand now placed on Matthos’ crotch. “Where aren’t I from?” He retorted. That made her giggle. Her hand moved up to his bare torso. She began to massage it. “Let’s see…” The girl’s fingers entwined with strands of light ginger chest hair.
“I was born in Braavos.” Matthos told her.
“Braavos?” She said, curiously.
“Home of the terrifying titan.”
“Ooh,” She leaned in and licked Matthos’ neck. “So frightening.”
“I lived for years in Volantis. Under the wing of R’hllor himself.” Matthos wrapped his arms around the whore and kissed her lips. Their kiss was long. His loins burned with a passion. “And then… the shadowlands of Asshai.”
“Tell me about them.” The girl begged. Matthos pushed her off of him and readied her. He leaned down and pecked her back with kisses. “I’ll tell you about-”
“Matthos.”
A voice said. Matthos looked around to see Shiv standing at the door. Her hair filth ridden and knotted. Lord Of Light take her for this interruption. “What?” Matthos snapped. The girl stood up and began to strut out of the room,
“When you want me… find me.” She winked at him and strut out of the room. Matthos stood up and sighed. Shiv still standing by the doorway. He walked over to a table, filled with flagons of wine and bowls of various fruit. He poured himself a cup, before putting it to his lips and taking a sip. Several seconds passed and he turned around to face Shiv.
“What do you want?”

When Shiv had explained it to him, he did not mind her interruption as much. Matthos put on his robes and took hold of the sword. Dawn. “Where is he?” He asked as he examined the fine craftsmanship.
It is exquisite.
“He’s down in the foyer talking with a whore.” Shiv said.
Matthos nodded, “Alright. Then let him come.” He downed his drink and let out a satisfied sigh. He stood by the buffet table. His eyes fixed on the food in-front of him. Hunger beckons. He thought as he plucked a grape from its stem and popped it into his mouth.
His glare soon galloped towards a mirror that hung on a wall to his left. Matthos looked into it. At his ginger hair and beard. At his eyes, a pale blue. He hadn’t put on his robes properly so the slit down the middle showed off his chest.
Has there ever been a more perfect man?
He smirked at his reflection.
“No. There hasn’t.” He said aloud.
“What was that, Matthos?” Shiv asked as she sauntered by the door. He took one last look at the beauty he saw before him and then turned around so that he was facing his friend. “Nothing, Shiv. Nothing.”
Matthos walked over to Shiv until his eyes and hers were not even a foot apart. He kissed her and she kissed him back. As their lips were locked, Matthos opened his eyes and saw Steffon Dayne coming through the door. My lord…

Matthos pulled away from Shiv and wiped his mouth with his wrist. “Lord Steffon.” He said as he bowed, “Such a wonderful pleasure to see you. It has been far too long.” Matthos put his hand on Steffon’s arm and held it there for a moment before deciding to go over to the buffet table.
He got his empty cup and refilled it with Arbor Red,
“Wine? M’lord?”
Matthos grabbed a second cup and filled it, not waiting for Steffon to give an actual answer. “I have missed you and your company, m’lord.” He put the cup to his lips and sipped it. He used his free hand to bring the other cup to Steffon.
“Though I say you’ve missed your sword more, no?” Matthos asked with a wide grin.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

It was sundown. Well, almost. Tyland sat on his horse. The creature itself was still. Beside Tyland was another horse, that of which was belonging to his brother-in-arms Roland Foote. “Gods. I’ve never pissed this much before.” Roland called out in a cantankerous manner, hidden behind some bushes and trees. The road ahead of them was golden. In name, not colour. Tylend’s eyes shut for a second. A yawn soon escaped his lips. I need to rest. “Do you know how far it is to the nearest inn?” Tyland asked his friend.
Roland appeared, still pulling up his pants. His manhood dangling about. Tyland quickly looked away from the sight. “I think there is one ‘bout two miles up. I think some whorekeeper runs it.” Roland said as he began to mount his steed.
Tyland looked out at the road ahead and bit his lip. “Should we try and make for it? Or should we maybe set up camp here?” He asked Roland.
“We can make for it, yeah.”
Tyland glanced over at his friend and grinned, “Alright. But let us hurry. I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”

Tyland watched the forest that they passed. Rows and rows of trees. The scent of fresh pines and sap were in the air. King’s Landing still lingered behind him. As did Willam. I should go back. A thought began to itch. I shouldn’t have…
I should not have left him there.
“Loren’s going to have my head.” Tyland said aloud. He didn’t really mean to say it, but it was too late. He had. And Roland had heard it.
“An’ why is that?” His friend asked.
“We… well you know how it is with us.”
Roland reined in his horse, “Alester was telling me that you two’s relationship was improvin’.”
Tyland chuckled.
“No,” He said. “I’ll be honest, Roland. I… I can’t stand the man.”
“Don’t say that, Ty. He’s your brother. You should care for ‘im like a brother.”
Tyland went silent.
It is hard for them to see my side of the story. I exude confidence. I excel at most things. Tyland blinked and his lip quivered. They all think I’m some… perfect… He wanted to cry. But he couldn’t. I think I have forgotten how to.

The rode in silence for an hour before seeing a small inn. Seems empty enough. He slid off of his horse and then attached it to a post. “I’ll go and see if they’ve got room.” Roland said as he did the same. He walked into the inn, leaving Tyland outside.
Alone.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile
TheAncientCelt
diwa
Grammatic

 

[TheFool]

Joy Baratheon
NPC


​

Storm’s End stood strong. Storm’s End stood tall. Joy Baratheon had lived here for all her life. As she, herself, stood on the battlements in the morning’s sun, she remembered...

“Jon!” A voice called out. “Joy!” It was their mother, Alynne. The day was a chilled winter’s one. The snows had come south and thus Storm’s End was a white fortress. When you saw it from afar, the castle sparkled like a diamond.
Joy sat in the snow in one of the gardens. Her hands were in the middle of moulding a magnificent sculpture. She didn’t really know what it was. In her mind, she had set out to craft a winter stag. Though the creation had ended up looking more like a disgruntled dog. She was never good at anything creative. That was more her sister’s forté.
“It looks stupid.” Jon said to her as he leaned against a tree, bare of leaves. He breathed into his hands as to warm them. He was two years her elder, so they’d always been the closest of The Baratheon children. Jocelyn was too old and already off in King’s Landing, so they rarely saw her. And Alexander had just become a man grown- ready to rule.
Joy ignored Jon’s taunting. Her eyes searched the garden for something. For a finishing piece to her masterpiece. She spotted a patch of green under an old oak tree. And in that green was a single flower. A rose. Its brothers and sisters were dead. And it soon would be too. Joy crawled over to it and plucked it from its stem.
She then placed the rose by the attempted horn atop the stag’s head. “Stupid.” Jon repeated. Joy looked at him with an anger, “You’re stupid.”
Jon stuck his tongue out at her and then kicked the snow sculpture that she had spent hours making. The stag turned to mush. The plucked rose being the only remains, lying in a pile of white. Joy immediately began to cry which brought their mother out.
“What is going on?” She asked as she held up her dress so that it would not trail along the snow. Jon tried to avoid the blame, but Joy only amped up her tears so he could do not do so.

She smiled as she thought of the past. She looked out at The Stormlands. Her home. She placed her hands on her stomach and rubbed the bump in her belly. Before Alexander had left for Harrenhal she found it out from Maester Bryce. “You are with child.” He told her. She didn’t know how to feel at first but Joy Baratheon was soon overjoyed.
She’d finally be a mother, herself.

As she stared out from the battlements, she saw them. Her husband Donnel and his garrison of Caron men were on their horses, coming closer and closer. “They’re back.” She said to herself with a smile. Her hand gently gripped the stone battlement wall, whilst the other gripped her stomach.

She walked down the stairs that led into the main courtyard. Her hand sliding alongst the bannister as she did. In-front of her were the smallfolk and castle servants. All going about their business. “My lady.” Orys Noye greeted her, a forging hammer in his hand.
She smiled at him and continued on.
“Lady Joy.” Another voice came out, this time coming from Septa Ravella. Joy nodded at her and continued on.
A flock of children ran around chasing each other. Playing monsters-and-maidens. She thought of when her and Jon would play that, with Little Willis, their cousin Evelyne, and their sister Alys. Before she died of the pox.
And as her thoughts dwelled on her sweet sister that never made it past ten- Joy spotted the two people she was searching for.

“Lilith, my sweet sister. Good morning to you.” Joy walked over to her sister in law and placed a small kiss on her cheek. She was in the midst of talking with Ronnet Penrose who was acting castellan of Storm’s End.
“And you,” Joy began. “You’ve never looked more gallant, Ronnet.”
He laughed. “I’ve never felt more gallant. I’m freezing my limbs off. I never expected such a cold day to come in the Summer.”
“Well the Summer is ending, good ser. Maester Bryce tells me that The Citadel prepare for Autumn.”
“If they prepare for Autumn then they prepare for Winter as well. Gods.”
Joy giggled, “Do not fret, Ronnet. We will prevail.”
A guardsman gave a shout to the castellan that Joy’s husband was at the gate. They were returning from Nightsong.
“Alright. Excuse me, my ladies.” Ronnet said before bowing and walking off. Leaving Joy alone with Lilith,
“How are you doing?” Joy asked. Her hands now resting, once again, on the babe inside her.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

ailurophile
JPTheWarrior ( Alex & Eve MENTIONED )
Nightblade ( Jon MENTIONED )

 

[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​

Daeron returned to his seat, happy with Lord Orson’s reaction and satisfied with everyone's approval of the plan he had laid before them. The time had come to wrap the Council up, it was getting late from the looks of the darkness that now surrounded the table as servants came in to light candles and Daeron was feeling the buzz off the wine he had been consuming all day, an odd thing for him. He listened to the words of Lord Grafton and gave his final commands of the night. “I agree, my Lord. We must move with haste if we are to pull this off in time. I want you to leave tonight if possible, make haste for Gulltown and prepare for the blockade ahead. Meanwhile, Lord Redfort, you will have to inform your son of his new position and role. I would also ask you to ready the army, we march tomorrow if possible with no delays. Finally, Visenya, I would ask that you also prepare if you plan to march with us, we can discuss your future roles on the march. Gentleman, in but a few weeks time I want to be standing in Harrenhal. Lets make it happen.”

As everyone stood to leave, each bowing in quick succession, Daeron walked to the courtyard of the Eyrie, the very same courtyard Ronnel Arryn had surrendered the Vale in 3 centuries prior. Adorned on the walls of the courtyard was the history of Westeros and the Vales role in it since Aegon’s Conquest. There at the start was the surrendering of the Vale, then came the rebellion of Ronnel’s little brother which led to both of their deaths. Following on was, of course, the Dance of the Dragons in which they had declared for the Blacks, Rhaenyra’s mother being an Arryn and the old King naming her his heir. Daeron did have to admit he styled himself on her a little bit, stealing bits of the design on her banners and taking them for his own. She was, after all, his 11 times great grandmother. There were depictions of many fights with all the great houses which had declared for Aegon, it seemed most of Westeros. Houses such as the Baratheon’s and Lannisters. The Lannisters. The mere thought of the house brought him back to that fateful day at Harrenhal and his encounter with Tyland Lannister. Of all the things that happened that day he found it rather surprising this one kept appearing to him. It was sad in a way, he doubted he would have Lannister support in this war and if this were the case they would almost certainly be fighting in some way. A far cry from but a few weeks ago. He hoped he would see him again, but at the same time, what circumstance would that be in? Putting aside the thought for a second he continued past the Blackfyre Rebellion and to present day. The workers were awfully quick as there was Daeron with Lady Arryn behind him, wearing a crown with the ruins of Harrenhal in the distance. It was his duty to carve the rest of it, the only question was what is to be carved there?

As he finished a servant came to see if he needed anything, he politely declined thinking it would be best to rest for the evening. Tomorrow brought war.

TheFool
ailurophile
clarinetti

 

[Whisker]

Jaremy Reed​

Jaremy looked up at the tall, shaggy northern mounts, then quickly shook his head. The last time he had ridden a horse had been many years ago, sometime before his thirteenth nameday. It was not an experience he was eager to repeat.

“If it is all the same to you, Lord Bolton, I will keep to the ground,” he replied after a moment. “I have made it this far afoot. A few more leagues to Winterfell in good company should be no trouble.”

Nearby, a tall blonde lordling seated atop a lanky courser was wheeling his horse around towards a trail hidden between the trees.

“I’ll go get the ladies, Lord Bolton. I will return shortly.”

Once the rider had split off, the crannogman turned to the remaining Lords, Karstark and Bolton. The former hadn’t spoken much since his announcement. Was he contemplating what lay ahead as much as he was? To the war brewing just off their southern border?

But not today, he reminded himself. Today will be war and council. And by the old gods, I hope Winterfell is prepared for both.

But if the crannogman expected lengthy talks of plans and preparations with the wolves, he was vastly disappointed, for upon their arrival to Winterfell, Bryce Stark was waiting already waiting for them. The pack leader of the Wolves stood at the raised dais in the Great Hall. His features were largely long, lean – the essence of Stark honor and dignity – but fair somehow, like a Riverlands maid. His hair was streaked with grey. He looked tired. Old.

Jaremy grimaced.

Once the hunting party had filed in, Stark began to speak.

"I would like to formally welcome you all to Winterfell. It's my honor to host you all here.”

Servants bustled about the Great Hall, lighting fires in the great braziers, filling the space with warmth. He lowered his cowl a fraction of an inch but kept his gaze upon Stark.

"As you know, His Grace King Daeron has decided to go on the war path, and by obligation, the North must ride to aid him. I would like to say a few things before we leave. Firstly, I want no raping or pillaging from any of you. You represent the North and its people. So, act like it. Secondly, you will follow His Grace. You will do as he says, and if you have a problem with that, you come to me. Understood?"

Jaremy’s jaw twitched. This was not going as he had hoped.

He says nothing of the plan yet. Surely if he plans to march South …

"And finally, I want to make an announcement. If I am elected the King's Hand, I... will resign as Lord of Winterfell, and my son Theon will take my place. This will also happen when the war ends, regardless. I've served as Lord Paramount since I was barely a man, and it's my time to resign. I will lead our troops in the war as lord while my son rules over Winterfell, but not after. I hope you all understand."

There was a rousing toast soon after, but the Lord of Greywater paid no mind to it. He was already winding around the tables, pushing his way towards the front. When he made it to the high table, he found Stark already leaving through the side door.

So, the Lord of Greywater followed at a polite distance. What he had to say could not wait.

He swept along through the upper bailey and towards the tower that held the Lord’s chambers. He might have made it all the way, but just short of the stairs, a spear butt shot out and rapped him hard upon the shins.

“Oi, where’d you think you’re goin’?”

Jaremy looked up to find his path blocked by a pair of guards. One was tall with great rounded shoulders. His hair was a flaming red and a great ugly scar marred his cheek. He carried a bent spear in one hand and a shield emblazoned with the Direwolf in the other. The guard to his left was much shorter. He was armed with a cudgel.

The crannogman squared his shoulders. He had seen armored bullies before. They were usually the ones that sank first. “My name is Jaremy Reed, of Greywater Watch. I have a message for Lord Stark. May … I pass?”

“His Lordship doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“But –”

“Didn’t you hear? Lord Stark is busy and doesn’t wish to be disturbed. Go back to the Hall,” ordered the tall one again, his hand tightening visibly upon the haft of his spear. There was an unpleasant gleam in his eye.

They didn’t believe him.

Jaremy eyed them both solemnly, first one then the other, then took a reluctant step backwards in the direction of the Castle.

“Then, would you inform my Lord when he is unbusy, that the Lord of Greywater Watch has come to see him?”

Though he imagined by the way this day was going, he would not be the only one putting in his request.

Hypnos
Grammatic
High Moon
TheFool
Braddington
ailurophile
Little-Fox
diwa
Rusty of Shackleford

(And anyone else lurking around Winterfell)