Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

They ran. “Horses at the ready.” A Targaryen soldier yelled at several stable boys who were half-asleep in the hay. Jocelyn held onto her granddaughter’s hand, tightly. The sound of a horn’s blare almost burst her eardrums. She spotted several men charging towards Elaena and her. No. “Steffon!” Jocelyn screamed as the men came closer.
However, the men ran right past. I thought they would try and stop us. Jocelyn stopped for a moment. The tail of her black dress was torn and covered in dirt. “Jon,” Jocelyn said as she turned towards her brother. “Do me a favour. Take the fastest horse and ride to King’s Landing with Elaena.” She grabbed her brother’s arm and gripped it.
Please.
“I know I have never been kind to you, brother. But please, I beg of you.” Jocelyn’s eyes were filled with fright. “Do this for me.”

Elaena let go of Jocelyn’s hand. “Elaena, where are you going?” Jocelyn asked, panicked. Elaena looked back, “I have to go and… and get the book.”
“The book?” Jocelyn was even more perplexed. “What book?”
“I was given a book as a gift and I ca-”
“Princess.” A soldier called out as he came up to them, two horses by his side. Thank you.

“Forget about any book, Elaena. We must get you out of here before… before…”
Gawen Tyrell grabbed Elaena and boosted her up onto the horse like she was a little girl. Gawen then climbed up and took hold of the horse’s reins. I guess he goes with her.
Jocelyn looked at Jon again,
“Please, brother. Go with Elaena and Gawen. Ride to The Red Keep. There… she will be safe.” Jocelyn stared at Jon. Her eyes begging him as much as her words were. “Ser Steffon and I will soon follow you.”

Out of a doorway, Larys Whent appeared. “Quickly, you must leave. This carnage will only worsen.” He said. Gawen put one arm around Elaena, whilst another struck the reins. The horse neighed and began to trot.
“Quick, Jon. Please. Go.” Jocelyn said, again.
“Princess Elaena must be protected.” Larys added in. He now had a sword in his hand. Jocelyn looked at Jon, and then at Larys, and then at Steffon. She shook her head. “She isn’t your Princess anymore- men.”
She looked at the horse Elaena and Gawen sat on, still lingering by Jocelyn and Jon’s side.

“She is your Queen.”
Jocelyn spoke. The line was drawn.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

Shit.
Tyland stood up, swiftly. He picked up Jeyne, and grabbed Gareth by the shoulder. He would not let his niece and nephew die within these dreaded walls. “Tyland, get them out of here- now.” He heard Loren order. For once, he didn’t mind listening to his half-brother’s voice.
“Come quickly.” Tyland said to Gareth and Jeyne.

They fled.

Tyland, with his niece in his arms, ran through the gate of Harrenhal. Leading to the camps outside. The men at the camps were, too, beginning to panic. They have no idea what is happening. Tyland put Jeyne down and let out a sigh.
“Are you alright, uncle?” She asked. Her eyes blinking. Tyland did not answer. He looked up at Harrenhal to see black smoke rising into the purple and red night sky.

“Tyland!” A voice called. He looked to his right to see Jason Reyne and Roland Foote, dragging out an unconscious Alester Swyft. They were covered in soot and fear. “What the fuck just happened!?” Roland asked as he dragged Alester.
“What h-happened to him?” Tyland stuttered.
“The fool tried helping House Tyrell out of their canopy.” Jason said as he held his arm to his mouth. The Tyrells…
“Did Melessa make it?” Tyland asked.
“Is that all ya’ fucking care about? Your former fucking fling?” Roland yelled. Tyland raised an eyebrow, “Don’t be stupid- Roland. I just wanted to know if she-”
“She got out. I saw. Slipped away with one of her father’s men.” Jason said before coughing up a storm.
Good.
Tyland rushed to his friends and helped them with Alester. They dragged him into a tent and then called for a maester. But no maester came. They are probably all burning to death. Tyland sat down on a stump and put his head in his hands. Gareth sat by his side. As did Jeyne. They couldn’t do anything but wait.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Hypnos
Nightblade
ACHA
Yarrow

 

[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​

When Rosby stood Daeron knew something was wrong, or right depending on the look the Hand was giving him. As he glanced over to Jocelyn he could see the anger rising in her and whilst that did give him some satisfaction he was not so sure himself as to why the Hand would interrupt the proceedings. Then came the parchment, he was finally able to make out the 3 headed Dragon on the seal confirming it was from a Targaryen and unless it was from Elaena then it could only mean one thing. He suspected what was coming with dread, whatever was about to happen it would not end well for the realm.

Rosby then began proclaiming the Kings word, the law, legitimizing Daeron and naming him his heir in front of every Lord assembled. For but a brief few moments as the Grand Maester confirmed it he felt a mixture of shock and joy. It was his, the crown, the throne, the Red Keep and best of all the Seven Kingdoms. He was King. Staring at Lord Rosby the entire time he was about to rise to meet him and be crowned right then and there but before he could move a muscle the joy turned to ashes in his mouth. Gawen Tyrell the Oathbreaker shoved his sword into the Hands back ending what was meant to be the glorious start to his reign with the blood of Aegon’s most trusted advisor and friend spilling out onto the floor. Daeron collapsed back in his chair as if he himself had been struck by a non existent arrow and all ambition, all anger had fled from his now pale face as the real Daeron returned to him, the one that had been missing since he first woke up that morning. All sound around him, the panic and the screams seemed so very far away as he just stared at the Hands body on the ground with no emotion.

He was snapped out of his trance when a hand clutched onto his shoulder, through instinct he went for his sword only to realise it was Lady Arryn. He focused on her words even as the Stark men formed a shield wall around them, even as the Baratheons fled the area and even as Lord Rosby's son had his leg skewered. As she finished he nodded to her and before he knew it he was being taken out of the courtyard by men of the Vale, they stopped however for a brief moment when a shout came from behind. “Your Grace!” resonated from the man in a white cloak kneeling before him “I am Lord Commander Royce of the Kingsguard, I served your father now allow me to serve you as his successor.” In the midst of the panic this seemed most out of place but Daeron swiftly moved to lift the knight up “Come Ser Royce, we are hunting Oathbreakers” was his response and so they charged out of the courtyard after the Regentslayer with haste.

To meet them were a dozen dazed and confused Stark men and about the same number of Vale knights who seemed oddly calm about the whole mess. To the front of the group came Lord Corbray with Lady Forlorn in hand and with a few spare horses behind him was a Cassel of some descript, he had to but glance at the group before addressing them “We are at your command, your Grace. If we are to catch them we must be quick or all chance is lost.” Daeron and the Lord Commander quickly mounted their horses leaving the two men-at-arms behind and ordering them to return to Lady Arryn and to make it explicitly clear that Rosby‘s son must be protected. Then with a gallop they were off, the chase had begun.

As they rode through Harrenhal the confusion was plain to see, people were running in every direction trying to get out and it took effort not to trample some poor soul who walked out into the way of the horses. Still they traversed the confusion and came out of the main gate where off in the distance they saw a Targaryen banner and a white cloak. Without hesitation Daeron drew his sword and charged out in front of the group who quickly followed after him. The world around Daeron shrunk to just that one white bit of cloth in the distance and he rode hard, getting far too ahead of the main group of knights but still not making progress. Eventually the Lord Commander caught up to Daeron and pulled the reigns from his hands stopping the horse who looked as if it were about to collapse, Daeron welled with anger and emotion. “Why did you do that? He was right there! I could have got the bastard...I could done something....I need to do something...” The Lord Commander gripped onto Daeron and rose the young Kings face up to his “You wont achieve that if you go off to die at the hands of a better trained knight, listen to me your Grace, this is not your fault, this is Gawens the damned idiot. You are King and that means I must protect you as I did your father, there will be time later to bring justice.” The others caught up as the Lord Commander finished talking and gathered around Daeron waiting for a command, he looked once more in the distance as the white faded into the night and black consumed his every viewpoint before turning around and facing Harrenhal “We return to Lady Arryn and Lord Stark at once, we must make sure they and their bannermen are safe.”

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag

Jon looked to his sister shocked at her request to leave them behind. It made sense of course but that did not mean he liked it. T'was true that out of all his siblings he got along least with Jocelyn, but seeing the raw fear in her eyes stopped him. This was not a player of the game making a move, this was a grandmother afraid for her grand daughter. With a reluctant nod as Gawen got Eleana onto horseback.

"I will see her grace to Kings Landing. Make sure to meet me there"

He re-mounted his Horse and before he turned to leave spoke softly
"Ours is the Fury"

Urging the horse on, the three left Harrenhal in their wake. Jon looked back briefly to suddenly see Daeron chasing them until he was stopped. Letting out a shuddering breath he kept riding hard. Glancing over at Gawen he suppressed the urge to beat the man senseless, it was his fault this all started. Keeping pace with him, Jon spoke.
"We should make for Maidenpool, we will be faster catching a ship, the horses will not last at this pace and we will be stuck walking the rest of the way. I can get us boarded as soon as we arrive"

TheFool Braddington Hypnos ​

 

[Yarrow]

Loren LannisterLoren left the tent of the Tyrells after some more talking to Baelor. Loren still wasn't really sure if he would side with the Tyrells eventually but agreed that they shoul delay the council. Back in his own tent he began to prepare his statement. Since he was the most wealthy lord in all the seven kingdoms he would ofcourse have something to say about this all.

--------------

The day of the council was an early one for Loren. He had difficulty to sleep on these poor beds. He decided to go for a small walk near the God's eye. The fresh air quickly drove all the remaining sleepiness away and cleared his mind. Loren had decided what he should vote. He thought also about his half-brother, Tyland had tried to prove himself, but Loren had always been harsh. Maybe it was time to change.

A few hours later the servants were running around to make sure that Gareth, Jeyne and he looked at their best, something that could be expected from the wealthies lord of the kingdoms. As Loren made his way into Harrenhal, a servant came up to him and lead him to the right table, close to the center as Loren expected. Loren sat in the middle of the table, next to him Willam and his lovely wife Alyssanne. Next to Alysanne sat his two other kids, Gareth and Jeyne. Tyland sat next to Willam. Loren listened to the bard and nodded to all the people he knew who entered, and that were a lot of people.

The council began and Loren listened to all the claimants as they pleaded their cases. Eleana's speech was sweet, as expected from the girl. Lord Tyrell quickly defended Melessa as Jocelyn claimed that Melessa was acting like a whore at King 's Landing. Daeron's speech was good, but Loren had already decided what he would do.
But then things changed when Lord Rosby stood up again and read the letter outloud which said that Daeron would be named the heir of Aegon and thus become king of the Seven Kingdoms. Loren was confused, but it didn't show. Why would Lord Rosby come this late with that letter? Was it just discovered? Or did he need time to copy the signature of Aegon. Loren knew nearly for sure that the letter was forged. Sunk deeply in his thoughts, the came back the reality when he saw a sword poking trough the chest of Lord Rosby and the son of Baelor standing behind it. Loren stood up, drew his sword and looked at Tyland "Tyland, get them out of here -now" Loren's first priority was the make sure his children and wife were save, but he noticed that Willam was already gone, chasing the princess, the girl who he will always protect in the memory of Jaehaerys. Loren smiled a little when he noticed that Tyland took Jeyne and Gareth outside and mumbles "Now you are safe too, brother"

Loren looked at his wife "This way, Alysanne" and they walked in the opposite direction of Tyland and the kids. He first wanted to have a look at the letter of Rosby but came soon to the conclusion that that wasn't going to hapen.

Willam LannisterEleana, was the first thought what went trough Willams head when he saw the sword coming out of the chest of the Hand. He jumped over the table and made his way towards Eleana as fast as he could, but he was stopped by some guards. Willam drew his sword and made sure he evaded the guards as possible. Finally outside he saw Eleana already riding on a horse, with Gawen. It didn't really appeal to Willam that Gawen was also on that horse. The rest of the Kingsguard would come after Gawen and arrest him. Willam didn't wanted Eleana to become part of his fight. He jumped on a horse and rode as fast as he could towards Gawen and Eleana, when he looked over his shoulder he saw the men of the kingsguard already on their horses and Willam whispered "Hear me roar"

Loren LannisterLoren made his way towards the others. He layed his hand on Tylands shoulder and whispered "Well done" Then he looked at the other knights and servants "Men of the Westerlands! We need to get out of this place, take the Riverroad and make sure nobody is left behind" He looked at Tyland and his wife "Willam is gone, he is probably with the princess, Tyland would you take care of him and protect him?" then he jumped on his horse while Alysanne stepped into the carriage. Loren looked around and spoke with volume of a roar "To Casterly Rock!"


Hypnos
TheFool

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell​

The Grand Council had begun at last. All the great lords of the realm were gathered, many clustered around their claimates to the Iron Throne. Elaena with a cluster of Baratheons around her and of course Jocelyn, lording over his niece seemingly calm as she sipped her wine. Still, Qoren knew that she likely had something in mind. She had been too quiet, too passive about trying to draw other lords to her side, even telling him there was no need. Was that simply overconfidence in her cause? Or did she have something up her sleeve? Nevertheless, she was not the focus today and as he turned his gaze to his niece and could see her looking at Jocelyn with a bit of worry. She watched her for a moment and then it was time. He watched Grandmaester Harren, an ironic name considering where they were, start the council. His voice echoed among the gathering as everyone fell silent with eager anticipation and then it was Elaenas turn after a few words from Rosby, who seemed lost in thought which drew Qorens attention. From the start, Qoren was wary of Rosbys intentions as he told Jocelyn and now sitting silently with a piece of parchment in his hands Qoren couldn’t shake the feeling that parchment held some importance. However even as Elaena was called to speak Jocelyn was standing. It seemed she decided now was the time to act, which he felt was a mistake. By pushing herself up there she undercut Elaenas words and importance by placing herself before the one she meant to crown queen. If she had waited till after he felt it might have looked better rather than placing herself as Elaenas voice. But her claim certainly had a point and an uproar of voices and whispers. Yet Qoren couldn’t help but feel this was another mistake. If she had proof of such adultery why didn’t she bring it to the council? She would have undercut one of Elaenas too competitors entirely. Right now all she had was an accusation and while they would stir some lords all it did is made her look desperate. When Jocelyn finally stepped aside to let Elaena speak, while speaking well, she was entirely overshadowed by Jocelyn and Qoren can’t help but feel annoyed by the move.


The speeches continued. If Jocelyn managed to do anything it was made lord Tyrell waste half his speech trying to refute her claims. He tried to call off the council but Qoren knew the die was cast. After bothering to all gather here he doubted that anyone would stop now. It would then pass to Daeron who gave a surprisingly stirring speech. He saw some of the men at his table look at Daeron with reexamining eyes. Qoren looked at the other lords and when they noticed his gaze many looked away, refocusing. Well, it was just about time for the vote, hopefully, they would have- Lord Rosby was standing. Without preamble, he started reading from the parchment and suddenly he legitimized Daeron in front of everyone in a fury of gossip and shock. Rosby didn’t give anyone the chance to protest and even Qoren felt lost of how to counter this. Was Jocelyn’s ambition just gonna die here without a single protest, a whimper of the death of Elaenas reign and the beginning of a King Daeron? Perhaps in another life but suddenly a sword went through the hands back to the shock of Qoren and everyone at the table, several grabbing for their swords as screams echoed around the tents. Qoren watched as Gawen take the crown and bring it to a terrified Elaena and crown her as queen of the seven kingdoms. Then everything erupted into chaos. People were running, the Tyrells tent was burning, and Jocelyn was arguing with several others. Qoren starred for a moment, taking everything in. He needed to act and with the cold knowledge that the war had begun he shouted out his orders. “Back to the camp! Form up riders and prepare to move out the camp.” He said wanting to gather his troops so he could make a move he turned to Ryden and called out orders to him. “Screen our retreat Ryden with your guard, if anyone moves to attack kill them without mercy.” He said coldly as the Martell mass of lords began to retreat. He sent his swiftest soldier to warn the camp and get them to begin preparing to leave as well as gathering horses to mount up Calvary.


When Qoren arrived at the camp the horses were already prepared and he turned to his lords. “Lord Santagar, Lord Fowler, Lord Wyl you will guard the caravan and began moving towards Kingslanding. Lord Dayne, Ryden, Lord Uller, Lord Allyrion mount up with me.” He said as he assembled just about 40 or 50 riders. Most were armed with spears but a few were armed with bows as well. Darron and Ryden were looking at him with anticipation. Darrons face was twisted with worry and Rydens anticipation. Qoren scanned the field, taking notes of peoples positions when he noticed a group of riders pursuing another small fleeing group. There was some distance between them but he could tell the larger group was someone familiar. Daeron Waters, but who was he after? It didn’t matter, if he could catch up to him now he could capture or kill one of the main opponents before this war truly begun. “All riders fall on me! Were going into battle to capture Daeron and bring this to a close!” Qoren commanded. Daeron was already stopping and he would slip away if he waited too long. While somewhat confused at first the lords soon assembled command and even as the Martell wagons started leaving Qoren had his riders thundering after Darron. “Ryden, lead out archers to their left and rain arrows down on them, target their horses. Bring them down and then wrap around them to cut off their retreat! Everyone else staggers out advance till the arrows land then tears into them! With me! For Dorne!” He called as Ryden nodded and broke off about a dozen riders, going towards the left of Daerons group rather than right at them as Qoren slowed his riders just enough to watch the start of the battle as the men with Ryden notched their arrows and without much warning sent them raining down on Daerons group. Then the riders would hit them, the lowered spears slamming into the group of riders as the battle begun as his spear sunk into the first riders side as the shudder of impact ran up his arm.

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Steffon Dayne
Outside of Harrenhal

It didn't take long for panic to spread throughout the camp. Where regal lords, those who would normally try to impress one another with their unflinching stares, now raced for the exit of the castle. Some, he noted, tried to take refuge inside. No one knew exactly what was going on, whether this was a trap laid by Elaena Targaryen or just the result of an overzealous kingsguard. If he had to guess, Steffon Dayne would wager his land on the latter. The shocked expression on the claimants face, not to mention the spontaneous honor guard erupting around the nobles suggested this was not rehearsed. 'Good.' Gawen Tyrell needed to hang for what he did, was Steffon's opinion on the matter already. Whether or not the letter was a forgery, they would now never know. Any justice that could be done to the dying Rosby was robbed from them, given to an oathbreaker. One who, if he were to pull hairs, should have served his grace Daeron Targaryen.

As the Great Houses surrounded themselves with knights and men at arms, drawing lines in the sand as they seemed to glare at one another, Steffon found himself being ordered about by his own lord. They were to go. To return to the camp and presumably escort Lord Martell's niece back to King's Landing, before King Daeron could take his throne. Lords and knights drew their blades, be it sword or dagger, but Steffon remained seated. Beyond the crime of passion they were all witness to, the panic that seized the camp put the lives of smallfolk and lords at risk. The Tyrell colors were burning not far from him, with Grandmaester Harren no where to be seen. The old man was vulnerable, could Qoren Martell truly order Lord Dayne away from him? A defenseless old man who needed help? 'And what of the others?' Everyone was in a frenzy to get out. People would be getting hurt. Someone needed to be there to keep them from trampling some stable boy or making off with a fair faced servant girl. Could he really abandon these people, even under the orders of Lord Qoren?

Steffon's body told him to move, every knightly moral ingrained in his body demanding he lift a finger to help those who were to become the forgotten victims of this event. Lord Rosby was dead, that didn't mean others needed their lives cut short for these pampered lords. As the body wanted to move, the orders from his lord compelled action. Struck at his core, demanding loyalty from his vassal. His frown deepened, the others were already moving, swords in hand. . . There was no time for deliberation.

'What would Arianne want me to do?'

Steffon shut his eyes. Shouts coming from all directions, Lord Qoren's host getting further and further from their pavilion. Gripping the chalice of Dornish red tightly, Steffon blinked and threw his drink back. Loyalty won out. Duty to his lord ultimately moving the Sword of the Morning. Pushing off his chair, Steffon felt his legs wobble, having spent the better part of the last few hours drinking, he acquired a favorable buzz. It took him seconds to regain control over his rebelling limbs, forcing them through the mess that was Harrenhal, trailing the end of the Dornish parade. 'I should stay.' He thought, even as he pressed closer to the Dornish camp. He had no excuse why he shouldn't, apart from loyalty to a viper. His stomach felt empty, a hole had formed with guilt pinching at his gullet insistently. 'Harrenhal is filled with knights. Others will help them.' He told himself. Taking care of these people wasn't Steffon's responsibility, but listening to Qoren was.

'If that were the truth, I would not feel as if I failed them.'

Pushing his way forward, Lord Dayne was nearing the front of the pack as they came upon the Dornish encampment. Servants, not his, were packing up his tent. He made no move to comment. He brought nothing of great value with him. Armor, but the thought of losing it did not burden his mind. Dawn was in Starfall, under the watchful gaze of his unexpected friend, Mathos. The sword of House Dayne was not a banner to be displayed so casually, Steffon believed. Bringing it to the council would only cement himself as an vain man, eager for praise. Maybe a younger Steffon would indulge in the endless admiration from his peers, but Lord Dayne would not. 'Though, it would come to great use now.' Just the sight of the blade might help to deter unwanted attention from the less than savory brought to this meeting of the Houses. Horses were readied for each lord and their sons, Dayne noted, his own saddled with a squire he didn't recognize holding a spear by his steeds side. Making no move forward, Steffon waited for Qoren to speak up before mounting his beast of burden.

"Lord Santagar, Lord Fowler, Lord Wyl you will guard the caravan and began moving towards Kingslanding. Lord Dayne, Ryden, Lord Uller, Lord Allyrion mount up with me." Spoke Lord Martell.

Steffon didn't react to the words outwardly, but his mind raced to come to some conclusion. They were to venture to King's Landing, beat King Daeron to the city and claim it for the princess (or queen), Elaena. But not all of them. Prince Ryden, Lord Ullter, Lord Allyrion, and Lord Dayne himself were all to accompany Lord Qoren, presumptive with their house guards as well. 'That must be. . Thirty or forty men.' All on horse back as well, as Qoren stressed. Growing suspicious, Lord Dayne looked at the squire standing before Steffon's destrier. 'We're going into battle.' It dawned on the Lord. Against who? 'By the Seven. He means to find and kill King Daeron.' It was transparent. Lord Qoren Martell couldn't tolerate the possible forgery that was Lord Rosby's letter. Especially now that Ser Gawen had the regent prematurely executed and the letter shredded. Lord Martell was going to capitalize on the situation and remove the strongest claimant to the throne. The pit that made itself home in Dayne's stomach grew substantially with this realization. Not only was he not dressed for battle, wearing just a doublet with the colors of his house displayed, but he was to participate in an act of war. Aggressively tossing the realm into civil war, if they failed. 'And if we succeed, all the honor of being assassins is bestowed upon us forty men.' Anger boiled in the Lord as he mounted his horse, taking the spear in hand. Words did not slip from his tongue, but the stony expression on his face articulated what he dare not speak.

They were off. Forty men on horse back, possibly more escaping the violet eyes of Lord Dayne as they raced into the darkness. The sound of thunder came from the hooves of their collected charge. Steffon moved further and further to the fore front, spear clutched in his right hand as he leaned forward into the saddle, his eyes on the road ahead of them. The dishonor of surprising King Daeron, attacking a force several times smaller than their own ate away at Lord Dayne. He was not a knight anymore, at the very least he didn't consider himself one. The appeal to the virtues he once held higher than his life dimmed after Arianne's premature death, but this was crossing a line that The Sword of the Morning was afraid to follow his fellow lords past. Lord Qoren devised a plan, simple but effective, as their horses raced around the Riverlands, pursuing the enemy. Aiming to maim and kill a king, one who none living could prove nor disprove. They separated from the main host, to the left, Qoren commanded. . .

'I cannot let this happen.' He decided in an instant. If they were to fight Daeron Targaryen to the death, he had the right to know about it. The darkness of the night did not benefit the figures up ahead, nor did the lack of tapestries displayed above the forty or so knights give a clear understanding of what House raced for his grace. He could assume it to be the Starks, who defended him immediately. The Arryns, who were his kin, or even the Riverland Lords, trying to make peace in their home land. How could he ever expect a Dornish cavalry charge to greet him in the darkness under the castle of Harren the Black?

His voice rose, trying to break past the thunderous stampede of their horses. He picked up the pace, pulling further away from those behind him. The risk of arrows above did not deter Lord Dayne as he shouted. "Prepare yourself, your grace! The might of Dorne falls upon you!" He cried at the top of his lungs. Dayne refused to take the man unawares. The sheer numbers advantage they likely held was enough to poison the Sword of the Morning on this scheme of Qoren's already. If he was forced to fight the smaller host loyal to the newly crowned king, they would be looking at each other when the spears fell forward, at the very least. ​

 

[Dread-neck]

Lucas the Ashen Blade​

Lucas had done it. He'd beaten the Prince of Dorne in single combat! Well, that was as noble as you can make throwing a sack of ashes in the guy's face sound at least. Still, the Prince never set the rules to say that he couldn't cheat, and this was no honor duel, not that Lucas had an issue with cheating in the first place. He was a man of results, not semantics. Besides, as long as what he did got the results he wanted, who cared how they were achieved? He certainly didn't. He wasn't a fan of the little lordling to be honest, but he wasn't exactly one to pass up a good offer either. So after some deliberating, and scouting out the other lords to see what they would offer, he settled on working for the Prince.

Wearing Dornish colors, and hating every damn minute of it, he followed his new boss into the Council and listened on as each entitled prick with a reason got up to share why they should be on the throne. Out of all of them though, the only one he felt truly sorry for was the Tyrell girl. She likely wasn't going to live long and neither was her child. Each of these nobles eyeing her like carrion birds over a corpse. But hey, that was life. And then there was the bastard. Being one himself, he could relate. A name is everything in this world and being a bastard is not something that would help one's cause. Then again here he was working for a prince....well more like being the prince's best paid bitch. It was a collar, but a gilded collar.

He let his eyes wander a bit, taking out a flask and taking a swig. Finally his eyes spotted poor little Anaya. He wandered over to the Lady as things started to pick up. She likely needed a drink too with all this prattle...and then he heard the oh so familiar sound of steel piercing flesh. His eyes widened as the crowd started to panic and Qoren started to bark orders. He just signed himself up for a fucking war... "I'm not drunk enough for this shit..," he sighed as he tipped his flask back and emptied it, tossing the empty flask to the ground. He and rushed over to Anaya. He got there and pulled her to the side, bracing if she tried to strike. "Listen to me." He took out a rather sharp looking dagger. "I know you probably have something shoved up that frilly dress of yours but two are better than one and I don't have time for arguments," he said taking her hand and pressing the hilt into it. "Stab anything that breathes and comes near you but -don't- rush into the fray. Get your little ass out of here." Without another word, he rushed over to Ryden and followed him and the archers. This was going to be a looooong night....

 

[Little-Fox]

Anaya Uller​

Sitting down in the place that had been pointed at as 'proper' to her, the olive-skinned woman looked on to the candidates and their many vassals. While the entire space seemed abuzz with the whispers and promises of what could be a celebration or a shouting match, her mind fell back towards the afternoon. She'd been more than a little pleased when the outlier had struck true and even more amused to see the cloud of ashes as it smokescreened and blinded Ryden. The conversation afterwards had lost her interest as she realized it was time to slip off again before someone found her... except Ryden didn't let her. Oh no, of course the 'Prince of Dorne' had to take notice. It had been like pulling teeth, but he'd finally managed to get her full name, unfortunately... that meant his immediate response was that he was going to take her to her father. The walk back through the camp while less than pleasant had been at the very least cordial, her father had been pleased that she'd been found by a Martell and that Ryden had claimed that they'd been walking helped the illusion that she was at least trying to do what he'd asked of her.

That she'd slipped off again mere minutes after Ryden's departure was a testiment to how well she could sneak off without notice as she'd been standing there one moment and the next she was halfway across the grounds again, very keenly avoiding the direction Ryden had gone. She'd found a nice quiet space to contemplate things for the remainder, only returning to the fray of nobility when the rich colors of eventide began to set in. And now... here she sat. The daydream ended quietly with the beginning of the speeches, the elder woman's words sparking a fire in a few pockets of people while Anaya could only roll her eyes. Really? Is this what it's come to? An old woman accusing her daughter in law of infidelity... How... rich. Elaena's speech held a few points she could agree on, but otherwise it seemed so timid... so quiet and innocent. How could someone rule if they lacked a spine? This is the Martell's niece... well Dorran is not far from that same timidity, truth be told. Malessa did not even speak, her father spoke for her. And in truth, it was a flimsy hope at best. What seer did he have in his trousers that showed the sex of the child? The mental scoff was enough that she turned her attentions to others within the crowd, watching their expressions for the moment. Daeron's speech held fire and spite in her opinion. Fire was good, but that insistence that being a bastard shouldn't matter was a weak point. What is it you wish to do?

She didn't have a whole lot of time to stew on it before Rosby stood and began his speech, the broken seal acting as a bad omen. The tension had already been high in the room and now it was palpable. As those words fell from his lips, those sea-green eyes started to glance around at those gathered once more, gauging reactions. Jocelyn was furious. Daeron was in shock. So... he'd not expected this. Did the old woman know? Is that why she's so - The thought went unfinished as the sound of air leaving the lungs caught with gurgling as Rosby's blood choked his airway, drawing the girl's attention that direction in time to see the look of surprise on the dying man's face and the expanding pool of blood that gushed from where the sword remained stabbed through. People started to move in panic and to mobilize. She heard Lord Stark's command that his men move to protect Daeron - to form a wall. King... She started to move the way she'd came, Qoren's voice audible as several were commanded. They're going to fight... to follow. They're still supporting Elaena... A fire burned somewhere nearby but all she could think about was that this might be her chance to simply slip away for good. Did that make her a coward? She wasn't sure, but she found herself caught up in the exodus of Dornes that pushed their way back towards the caravan, the colors of the sun spilling out into the night. The sudden greeting and the thrusting of a blade-hilt into her hands brought her gaze up to the face of the outlier... well... one of Dorne's newest blades. "I swear, I ever get the chance and you will be the one in a frilly dress." She muttered as she tucked the blade back against her forearm and started out towards the Caravan.
https://www.rpnation.com/rating/list?content_type=post&content_id=8798047&rating_type_category_id=1

 

[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​

Suddenly out of the darkness a rain of arrows came down upon the group from an unknown direction, a few of the Northern men in their leather armour fell in an instant, their horses dying with them as their blood fertilized the Riverlands as men have done for countless generations. In the darkness the sound of charging horses came but who was it? Where were they? Then came the shout from the left, it was all they needed. “Prepare to receive a charge!” came the shout from Daeron as his men turned to face the coming charge now aware of the threat and ready to act. The Lord Commander felled the first Dornishman to come within a meter of Daeron, swinging with such force he nearly took the poor boys head off. Along the rest of the line he could not make out how well they fared as the fighting was now immediate and metal struck metal all around him.

Daeron heeding the words of Lady Arryn to act charged forward into the fray, the first man he came across was around his age but with a cocky grin thinking he could end the reign of Daeron with a swing of his sword, he was wrong. Daeron whilst no master was trained by the Master-At-Arms in Kings Landing and was knighted on his 16th birthday, to him this boy was probably from a guard household and trained only for the bare minimum necessary. One parry of his sword was all it took and Daeron had an opening, using it he plunged his sword into the man’s belly as he fell from his horse, alive but out of action.

Daeron spotted the Martell Princes and knew he had to organise the defence before they were overwhelmed, if they were to win they had to take out the enemy leaders and force a retreat. With the Lord Commander holding back 3 men intent on getting Daeron he rode to Lord Corbray who was in the process of painting a Dornish masterpiece with Lady Forlorn. “Lord Corbray! I’m going for the younger Martell, I want you to get the Dayne.” He stated pointing to the man with the obvious features, no matter how drunk he may be he was still the Sword of the Morning and could do some serious damage “I will get the bastard your Grace, Dorne will need a new wielder for Dawn when I’m done" came the response, Daeron wasted no time and shot Corbray down “No! I want him incapacitated, captured and out of the fight. That man may have saved our damn lives.” Lord Corbray was rather confused but relented, he then threw Lady Forlorn to Daeron which he deftly catched, returning his own sword to Lord Corbray “Treat her well and she will treat you well. Good luck your Grace.” With that he was off in the direction of Lord Dayne whilst Daeron with the Valyrian steel sword in hand charged for Dorran Martell and lept from his horse catching the Prince by surprise and knocking them both down, Daeron quickly picked up Lady Forlorn and readied for the Dance. It could end terribly but he had a chance, especially when Lord Cassal charged straight for Prince Qoren in an effort to keep him occupied.

Daeron shouted to the Martell Prince “This could have been avoided, you could have left like everyone else, but instead you attack before war has even been declared. You are without honour and Dorne should be ashamed to have you all lead it" He then readied into a defensive position, sword held above his head.

On the other side of the battlefield Lord Corbray advanced upon Lord Dayne “Lay down your sword you drunken fool, the King wants you alive and unharmed for your warning and I don’t want to beat down a drunken knight, no matter how skilled.”

TheAncientCelt
Akio

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Once the King was safe, Bryce turned to his former squire, saying, "Good luck, Your Grace. God's be with you." He then ran off, hurrying to the carriage his daughter was in. He did his duty, and he wouldn't put his daughter in any more danger. They were leaving. He had all of his troops mount up, and they swiftly left, Bryce looking back as he said, "And so it begins. Winter has come." He sighed, leaning into the carriage seat as he said to Willow, "We need to get to Winterfell as fast as we can. Get your brother back. We need to prepare." He looked out the window, thinking how similar this was to the War if the Ninepenny Kings. He wondered if he would share his late father's fate. Only time would tell.

Theon and Lana Stark
She-Wolf and Little Wolf

Theon didn't sleep much that night, standing outside their tent as he breathed in the cool air of the Vale. He wasn't much of a sleeper, and preferred to be awake planning his next move. It was the night before the Council, and Theon had no idea that Daeron would be King. He would of course support him, but he didn't know that, so he currently supported the unborn child of Mel Tyrell. He looked around, his bow beside him as he looked back at his sleeping wife. She cradled her stomach as she slept, looking like she would explode any second now. He smiled, looking out again as he saw some of the guards walking by and doing their rounds. "This is good," he thought. "I'm okay with this." He took a sip of the water he had poured himself, wishing he had some idle conversation. He expected to arrive at the Eyrie about the same time Lady Arryn did, and if not, they would wait until she got there. Simple as that.​

 

[Hypnos]

Gawen Tyrell
Murderer​

It was all a blur. Everything. From the moment that Rosby had opened his mouth, to the moment that all the blood drained from his lifeless form, Gawen felt almost nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no remorse, just a burning flame inside of himself, an anger that clouded his mind and removed all semblance of judgement. Only one thought coursed through his brain as his blade impaled itself into the back of the Lord Hand. Elaena.

Gawen had never been a particularly collected man, for the majority of his life he had worn his heart upon his sleeve, never shying away from his emotions and making decisions based upon immediate results rather than some grand plan. Though never before had he done something of this magnitude. He pulled his sword from Rosby’s back, high on the effects of adrenaline. He barely knew where he was. Who he was. Right now he could not fully comprehend the consequences of his decision, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was standing before all the Lords of Westeros, soaked in the blood of the would be kingmaker.

He could make out a scream coming from the crowd, though to him, it felt very distant, he just stood for a moment, stock still, watching as Symond Rosby clutched the gaping hole that his sword had opened in the man’s front, struggling for air as all the colour drained from his face and the life left his eyes. He was dead in moments. Gawen opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Had he truly done this? Was this man’s blood upon his hands? It was too late to second guess himself. Rosby was a traitor, and a traitor deserved a traitor's death. In Gawen’s mind, Elaena had been queen ever since King Aegon had suffered from his tragic illness. She was the man’s granddaughter, the only one to bare his name. Whatever little shit came out of his whore sister’s cunny didn’t matter. Whatever forgery or lie Rosby conjured up for the bastard didn’t matter. The Throne was Elaena’s right, by birth and she was the only one who truly deserved to sit upon that chair.

His eyes met with the Princess, violet to brown. She was scared, he could see that, the young girl was practically shaking. She would have to be brave if she wanted to be Queen, this may be the first of many deaths that she would see within her reign. He knelt down, using his left hand to reach for both the royal crown, which the traitor had tried to use to crown his bastard prince, and for the parchment, the lie which had started this whole affair. “Listen to me!” He yelled out. Another cry could barely be made out in the background, likely another poor misguided soul condemning the death of the traitor. “This piece of paper? Lies! The words of my father and that bastard? Lies!” His sword fell to the ground, still covered in the blood of Lord Rosby. Gawen held the incriminating parchment in both hands, tearing the strangers message in two before discarding it to the ground.

“This… This is your ruler. Elaena Targaryen, first of her name! The Queen.” He moved towards Elaena, with the crown in hand. Was it the murder she was scared of, or was it him? She was shuddering, looking at his with unbridled terror. ‘I did this for you!’ he wanted to yell, but he knew that it would do little to calm her. She may think him a monster now, but sacrifices had to be made for her to sit the Iron Throne. One death to ensure a reign of peace under the Queen was a little price to pay. Gawen nestled the crown upon Elaena’s silver hair. It was still covered in the blood of Lord Rosby, and raid liquid trickled onto the Queen’s face, but that didn’t matter right now. “Long may she reign!” He declared.

If there had been any celebration, it would have been short lived. Almost immediately, Gawen was pushed aside by the Queen’s grandmother, Jocelyn Baratheon, as she rushed to see her little girl. Gawen may have been angry, after all, he was Elaena’s protector, now and always, but he had little time to protest before he felt the hard impact of a fist upon his face. Some knight who Gawen did not recognise was trying to make himself a hero by avenging the traitor Rosby’s death. A foolish move. “You c u n t!” He heard the man yell as he rushed him again. The knight was fast on his feet, but Gawen was quicker. In a single movement of his arm, Gawen was able to grab his sword and slash the man in the leg, likely leaving a wound which would ail his opponent for the rest of his life. Pulling himself up, he tried to determine what to do next. Where was Elaena? What were they going to do? The Princess was still shaking, so he pulled her close, making sure that she was out of harm's way. “We’re getting out of here,” he tried to tell her, but she struggled in his grip.

“Gawen, no! Let go me!” His grip loosened. Why was she so scared of him? Had he not just protected her honour? Had he not just stopped her crown from being handed out to a baseborn with no claim? She was young, and worried, when they got back to King’s Landing, Gawen could explain himself, then she’d under stand. She’d know he did the right thing.

“We have to get out of here!” He heard a soldier shout. “Let go of her!” Gawen looked up to see a soldier with his sword pointed right at the Tyrell’s head. These man had no honour. After what he had done for them, they would leave him here to fight for himself. To die.

“I’m coming with you!” He protested, though it seemed they did not hear him. He let go of Elaena, knowing that he could not possibly fight off so many men with the Princess still in his arms.

“No! You will stand trial.”

‘Trial for what?’ Gawen wanted to shout, ‘for being the only one with big enough balls to stand up for his Queen!’

He was cut off however by Queen Jocelyn. “Let him come.” Gawen was filled with relief. He would not die here today.

He followed as the Queen and her mother were escorted away from the mess, led by his brother in arms, Ser Steffon Rogers towards a place where they could find horses and quickly escape from this whole mess. The mess Rosby and that bastard had created.

As soon as they arrived Gawen wasted little time in forcefully boosting Elaena onto a horse, climbing up just behind her and taking the reins. He would not take any chances. She was a young girl, if she were to ride alone she may move too slowly and be caught. Besides, she was safest with him. He was the only one who truly had her best interests at heart, as had become apparent through this whole ordeal.

They lingered for but a moment, just enough time for the slower member of their party. Jocelyn’s brother: Jon Baratheon to mount his horse and follow them. ‘It would be quicker with just me and the Princess.’ he thought as he eyed up the Baratheon. Though he doubted that any of his suggestions would be heeded at present.

“Lets go! Quickly” He didn’t look back. Gawen knew that if he wanted to make it all the way to King’s Landing he would not be able to put strain upon the poor horse, but at the moment the only thing that mattered was getting as far away from Harrenhal as physically possible.

"We should make for Maidenpool, we will be faster catching a ship, the horses will not last at this pace and we will be stuck walking the rest of the way. I can get us boarded as soon as we arrive” It seemed as if Jon Baratheon was an ideas man. That did not bode well.

“Ride into the castle of a Tully vassal? Do you want to see us all hanged?” As he rode he made sure to keep a close hold upon Elaena. She was everything right now. “No! We ride for Duskendale. Lord Darklyn is a friend, he knows who his real Queen is. We can rest there and gather supplies. Then we shall arrive at King’s Landing.” The last thing Gawen wanted to do was arrive at a city like Maidenpool with all the Lords of the realm fleeing like madmen, it would be chaos.

Gawen continued to ride. He had the Queen, this was his decision. As he rode his cloak fluttered in the wind, stained red from the blood of Lord Rosby. ‘I guess I wont be needing this anymore’ he thought dourly as he unfastened it from his armour ‘it’ll just slow us down.’

The white cloak of the Kingsguard fell to the ground, discarded.

Nightblade TheFool

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag

Charging away from Harrenhal, Jon just nodded at Gawens plan to ride for Duskendale. While Jon was aggravated by the mans actions, a small part was also worried. Gawen appeared for all intents and purposes to be heading down the path of madness, as the Maesters say the road to the seven hells is paved with good intentions. Seeing Willam ride with them made Jon somewhat relieved as at least with three sword arms, they had a chance to defend themselves if they had too.

Jon could hear the faint noises of a scuffle starting but he did not dare look back, they had a job to do and that was get Eleana back to Kings Landing. With any luck the letter he sent would ensure his "friends" arrived at the same time he did.

Riding in silence, with Jon on one side of Gawen and Willam on the other Jon could see the beginning of the sun rise. Cursing the slayer in his own mind, Jon thought about how they could recover from this. Eleana's cause may lose half the crownlands for this, with the in-fighting that would come from this. Luckily enough Dragonstone was Eleanas already and the Velaryons were firm allies of Eleana as well so Kings Landing was soundly protected from a naval seige at least.

The group fell to silence as they rode, desperate to reach safety before the slayers actions doomed them all

Hypnos Yarrow TheFool
​

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell
​

Qoren was no master but he was well above competent with a blade, he had seen it as his duty to learn the mortal arts though it had been years since he fought a proper engagement he found swinging a blade came easily to him. Slashing at the man in front of him he cut him across the face. Sending him reeling back for one of his guards next to him to take straight to the throat with a spear. As the man dropped bonelessly Qoren took a moment to examine the battlefield while his guards protected him. He watched as Ryden with the thundering of hoofs lead his men into the back of Daerons little group and pushing into them quickly. Ryden himself was a whirlwind of violence and death. He smashed one of the Arryn knights off his horse with his shield who got trampled by one of the riders behind Ryden before he took on another, his blade almost wrapping like a snake to find holes in his defenses while the man desperately tried to defend himself only for his son to push him back with his shield and push his sword through his throat with such force the blade came out of the back of his neck. Watching his son carve through his enemies he couldn't help but allow himself a moment to feel a bit of pride. He had been the first one to teach Ryden to use a blade but he had quickly expanded beyond his teachings. His son was not one of the best in Dorne and seeing him carve into Daerons honor guard gave him a sense of pride.

Still, he did not have the luxury to watch his son and looked over the rest of the battlefield. Things were going fairly well, though Lord Daynes warning had complicated things and lead to more of a fight they still had numbers. Never the less seeing more of his men dead on the ground then he needed made him feel annoyed and looked around for the Dayne lord. He found him face to face with someone who could only be lord Corby, by his armor. He was saying something to him though he could not hear over the din of battle. But his sword seemed... Dull for the legendary lady Forlorn? Was he just not carrying it? The same way Lord Dayne refused to carry his? Either way, he couldn't afford to let him fall, no matter how annoyed he was that he had warned Daeron, or suspicious of the motives of his statement of your grace towards Daeron. They were still related by marriage so he still counted as family. "Maerys, take a few men and rescue, Lord Dayne. He already made one mistake due to his state, I do not wish him to fall due to another." He said cooly and one of the two men guarding him left, gathering a few riders towards the back to follow him. He continued looking around and saw something strange, the flash of a sword catch his eye. Naturally, that was nothing special but on closer look, he could see his son struggling off the ground and Daeron Waters, or he supposed Daeron Targaryen if the letter was true, was standing over his son blade in hand. Qoren starred for a moment, Darron was no true fighter unlike his brother, he had seen him come with him but why was he there now? He turned to his other guard and grabbed his arm. "Nathanos save my son, he's fighting with Daeron. Save him and capture Daeron. Go!" He said to him as the man looked at his lord, surprised by the panic he saw his eyes but he nodded and grabbed his few remaining guards and left. Qoren wanted to go to his son as well but he had to command the overall battle. He simply hoped Nathanos could get there in time. For now, he saw someone rushing at him. One of the lords from his tunic. Turning to regard him he raised his sword. The battle was far from over.

Dorran Martell
​

When he heard his brother talk of battle he had always talked about the ruthlessness of battle. Ryden spoke of battle as a tempest of violence and screams, of soaring blood pumping and excitement, of power and strength. But he could have never expected something like this. The roar of battle was around him, the sound overwhelming him in a mix of roars, begging, and death. He was looking around in horror as men he had known all his life and men he had never even met were dying all around him. His eyes were fixated on Conin, a man who had been on the guard since he was 10 get his head chopped off by an armored knight of the vale only for that man to get killed as well as several men sat upon him, overwhelming his defenses. He could feel his breakfast getting stuck in his throat and his sword shook in his hands while pain ran up his arm. He was gripping his sword tightly, some detached part of him knew that but he couldn't loosen his grip. He was afraid, he was a coward. He was nothing like his brother who fought like a demon and could defend Dorne, nor was he like his father who could steer Dorne onto the best course no matter the cost. He could not be like them.

Despite watching parts of the battle still in horror he did not see Daeron come for him at all and when he tackled him could do little more than cry out, caught completely by surprise he hit the ground hard and lost his grip on his sword which flew a few feet from him. Darron groaned and coughed out of a spat of blood as an incredible flash of pain went through his side whenever he tried to move. It hurt, the right side of his chest was on fire and it was all he could do not to whimper as his nails scraped against the ground in pain. He had broken a couple ribs in his fall, a fact he would never know, all he knew was how bad it hurt. Never the less he didn't want to die and when he looked back, the man who knocked him down was already on his feet. He could have recongized him anywhere, Daeron Targaryen. He would scramble for his sword, he didn't want to die and he managed to get his hands around his blade and start to stand. By then Daeron was already above him, sword raised like the shadow of death as he struggled to stand. Daeron could have killed him likely any time during this but still, he tried to stand the mans words compelling him to respond in some way as the anger and the need to defend his family rose within him as the man insulted them so. "My father... Is doing whats best for his people." He said staggering to his feet, shocked that despite the pain his voice was clear as he came to his feet. He had one hand on his side to steady himself and even with immense pain in his eyes, he looked at him squarely with startlingly blue eyes as he tried to defend his family with his words. "It's only a matter of time... How many of my people will be saved if you die here? To end the war sooner, my father had... To try." He said with panting breaths stumbling as he fully came to his feet and he raised his sword, slightly trembling in his hands as he knew that the man he was looking at would kill him, but at least he would be on his feet. A prince at the end even if he had never been a good one in life.

 

[Saavedra]

Lady Astora Arryn
Lady of the Vale
​

It was time to hurry, yet speed was the one factor House Arryn could not rely on today.

Lady Astora ordered Ser Rosby brought up to Harrenhal, where she asked Lord Whent´s maester to treat the wound in his leg. This help was easy to obtain when she clarified to Lord Whent they as soon as he had received some treatment, Ser Rosby and her House would be leaving for the Vale. The presence of her squires made the deal acceptable, for as young as they were, their presence was more immediate, standing behind their Lady. The maester treated the knight´s wound, and the group was soon rushing down to the Arryn camp, where the soldiers had fortified their position as well as they could. Fortunately, with most other lords and ladies too preoccupied with running away, none had thought to attack her camp. Vulnerable without the knights sent to protect Daeron, the camp would have been relatively easy pickings. Also, the prize there would have been great indeed: one of the two most powerful supporters behind Daeron´s claim to the throne.

However, they could not leave just yet.

Lady Astora sat down at a small folding table. The perches with her two most prized falcons stood to either side, and she looked at each bird in turn. They were hooded and sleeping.

"Would that I could as well", she whispered to herself as she set the legitimisation document down on the table with great care. The parchment was torn in half in a crude manner. If it had been paper, the tear would have been so clean Lady Astora could have reproduced every single word written without a problem. Animal skin was another thing entirely. Even a strong man could not hope to simply cut it in two with his hands. The skin was frayed, making the document legible but difficult to copy exactly, even if the message was as short as the one it contained. The bottom of the skin had exactly three drops of blood on it, which it had absorbed rapidly. The seal was cracked but the whole miraculously held together except for a few shards torn off the edges. She distinctly remembered men and women stepping over the parchment in their efforts to escape, but the virtue in paper being easy to cut and put together again now revealed itself as a trade-off. Animal skin was harder to disfigure. The seal´s endurance had been sheer chance, though. Therefore, the document was legitimate enough. It was sealed by the late king, signed by the late king, and signed in blood by his Hand, so to speak. The question was if anyone would care. It was apparent that it was evidence enough of Daeron´s legitimisation, but evidence was not a sword to one´s throat. It had to be accepted.

And an important factor in that was getting that evidence to every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, which could not be done unless she wanted to see it mysteriously lost as it made its circuit through the Realm.

There was one solution to that, though: to get one´s version of the events out as soon as possible. And that was exactly what Lady Arryn did. While everyone else was busy sending messages to gather their bannermen, ask for support, or warn their own allies of what had just happened, all of them tasks that any servant could do and only required the lord or lady´s seal, Lady Astora would go just that one step further to trump their efforts, if not nullify them completely. She uncorked a small bottle of ink, prepared a sheet of paper, and wrote down her version of what happened, to be distributed not only to the lords and ladies of all the Realm, including even those who supported the other candidates to the throne, but to the people of the Seven Kingdoms. Bards, errant knights, anyone willing to go into a tavern, speak or read aloud for a moment, and receive a modest compensation for their work. Not a single soul in Westeros would be ignorant of what happened at the Council. And the message could not be clearer.

"I, Astora Arryn, Lady of the Vale, do solemnly swear upon the Seven that this which I now tell is the truth and nothing but the truth:

That a council of the lords and ladies of Westeros was summoned to cast a vote on who among the three current aspirants to the Iron Throne was to sit upon it. That these three aspirants were Princess Elaena Targaryen, daughter of Prince Jaeharys Targaryen and Lady Jynessa Martell, Lady Melessa Tyrell´s child (yet to be born as of this date), and Daeron Waters, bastard son of King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth and Lady Shiera Arryn. That after each of these three claimants gave a speech defending their claim to the Iron Throne, Lord Symond Rosby, Hand to the King, presented a document signed and sealed by our late King that legitimised Daeron Waters as his son and, given the current circumstances, heir to the royal crown. That this document was read, shown, and acknowledged to all present.

That at this moment, Ser Gawen Tyrell, member of the Kingsguard, slew the unarmed Lord Rosby with his sword, tore the parchment in two, and declared Elaena Targaryen to be the Queen of Westeros. Then, after grievously wounding Ser Robert Rosby when he leapt to his father´s aid, Ser Gawen took Princess Elaena and ran away in the confusion, presumably to King´s Landing.

This I swear, and to this I add: Ser Gawen´s act is to be considered cowardly murder, despicable treason and evasion of justice. I also add that the legitimisation document remains legal and binding despite the damage suffered, and may be perused on request at the Eyrie until it can be taken safely to King´s Landing. With this document, the matter of the ascension to the Iron Throne is settled: Daeron Targaryen is now King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. Those who support any that would seek to take the Throne from him are to be considered rebels and apprehended for judgement.

House Arryn stands by King Daeron and shall fight for him against any usurper. This, Lady Astora Arryn swears by the Seven."

The letter was simple to write, mostly being an account of what happened and some proper forms. Once she was satisfied, Lady Arryn copied it onto parchment, signed and sealed it with her own seal. The whole process took but a few minutes for someone like her, who managed her own House and its lands without leaving this duty entirely in others´hands. She called for her handmaidens, and while one of them took off immediately to send the first letter by raven to the Eyrie, where the Maester would produce copies to send to the lords and ladies of the Realm, the others set to work. Simpler versions of the letter were produced on paper for commoners to understand, with far less style and more emphasis, if that was possible. Before the night was over, a hundred bards, messengers and volunteers would set out to spread the news of the infamy perpetrated in the council to every corner of the Realm.

And while the girls scribbled away, Lady Arryn sat down at her chair again, put a hand to her forehead for a few moments... and began writing again. This time, other than her own name, only three words were written on the parchment. These three words made her feel sick, but the many paths to the future had now become a single one. Dangerous and costly as it would be, it had to be taken.

Gather my bannermen.

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Steffon Dayne
Outside of Harrenhal

Lord Dayne kicked hard on the flanks of his steed, forcing the strange horse to neigh in futile protest before the canter developed into a gallop. Arrows darted the sky above, the mounted archers having unleashed their first volley onto the unsuspecting retainers of the recently legitimized dragon. They were not great in number, thankfully, cutting the effectiveness of Lord Martell's Dornish archers. In the cover of darkness and atop a constantly moving beast, Lord Dayne was surprised to even hear a few men cry out in pain from the short volley. He, however, did not stop. Fear had no place in the man's heart. Mayhaps the wine he'd been drinking encouraged this behavior, or the fact that the archers would aim to penetrate deeper into the crowd of rival knights. Regardless, Steffon commanded his beast forward, violet eyes focusing on the nearest figure to him. Spear tightly clutched, Lord Dayne once more struck his animal's flanks, charging at the man.

A rebel cry resonated in the darkness beneath Harrenhal as the two forces met. Spear struck hard against a man's breastplate, almost sending the man backwards. With quick retaliation, the knight of the Vale's shorter sword silenced the air between men, licking at the doublet Lord Dayne wore and drawing a sliver of blood. Instinctively, Steffon flew to the furthest reaches his saddle would allow him, mentally cursing as he felt the slight sting of the blade. Lord Dayne was positive he'd down the man, but the darkness of the night or. . Or maybe the wine from the council deceived his senses.

'I'll turn back around.' Lord Dayne thought. Apart from the minor wound he received, leaving a knight to his rear - even if Lord Martell was on the verge of crushing this host from both sides - could spell his untimely doom. Readying his horse, with a single pull on the reigns, Lord Dayne was about to turn to quickly defeat this unknown rival.

Then a voice beckoned him forward. Twisting his head, Lord Steffon's visage was one of momentary bewilderment. Eyes shrank as Dayne focused on finding details off of this man. He recognized Steffon, that much was clear, but Lord Dayne couldn't make out any details of this one. Not in the darkness of the night, or the fog of his drink. Despite himself, Lord Steffon adjusted himself, facing this new challenger. "Drunk or not," He started, the spear going parallel to the ground below. "Lord Qoren has bestowed upon us all his instructions. Who do I face, stranger? The moon-less night obscures your face." Steffon struggled against himself. A rush of excitement pulsing through his body, memories of a hundred tourney's registering, with the familiar sensation of physical risk and great glory dancing at the edge of his lance spear. At the same time, Lord Dayne did not lose sight of what this was. An ambush, regardless of his ill timed warning. Any outcome, victory or defeat, would see that his name was tarnished. No, this was not a joust in the Reach. It was a cruel dance, volunteered for a duty he did not want, Lord Dayne knew the steps all too well. Pushing away any outlandish belief that this could be enjoyable, Lord Dayne focused on his enemy, his lips sinking further. "Worthy enough, if his grace sends you out here."

With his intentions made clear, Steffon eyed the weapon to be used by this mysterious knight. A sword. He had a ranged advantage.

"Here I come, Ser." Spoke the Lord, riding forward with every intention of dragging the spear across this strangers chest.


​

 

[Elucid]

Vaemond Celtigar​

The castle at Claw Isle certainly wasn't the largest of the numerous keeps you'd find dotting the map in mainland Westeros nor was it an impregnable fortress in the same vein as Dragonstone although the two do share similarities in their Valyrian designs and isolated location. What the castle lacks in strength and defensibility however it certainly makes up for in splendor and character. Sheltered by rocky cliffs the castle is surely a picturesque sight for merchants, traders and the like docking at the harbor to sell their varied wares. On the far side of the castle beyond the cliffs lies a continuous stretch of lush green meadows, a view that is most enjoyed directly from the balcony of the lord's bedchamber. Crab's Keep is the central fortified building where all the members of the Celtigar household reside, the insides of these apartments are lined with soft Myrish carpets and silks all the way from Volantis decorate each room a testament to the wealth and opulence of the Celtigars. The inner walls also house a large Grand Hall intended for entertaining guests from the mainland and of course, the sept, integral to every lord's household is just off the castle's inner ward. It is a half-marbled, seven-sided building with no windows. It has carved wooden doors and a domed roof.

Being away from this place for such a long time made Vaemond gain a new appreciation for the castle's and indeed the island's natural beauty and appeal, after his father's very private funeral he had taken some time to tour the lands he was to lord over, met with influential local townsmen and broke bread with his bannermen who not too long ago strongly opposed his succession. The call to attend the council of lords that would hopefully settle the question of succession could not have come at a worse time, with the funeral arrangements and internal matters within Claw Isle to deal with the Celtigars had to send Maester Ortengryn as a representative in their stead. It had already been a few days since they were noticed of Ortengryn's arrival at king's landing but no word had reached of the vote or its results as of yet.

Vaemond had risen earlier than usual this day, long before the local townsfolk had started to go about their daily labors. Like every other day before, he began his morning with a glass of spiced wine and enjoyed the view of the meadows and the bustling town from his bedchamber whilst the working girl from last night collected her belongings and payment and promptly left the room without making any unnecessary commotion. Immediately afterward he made for his desk to work on his translation of a Tyroshi treatise on the production and trade of pear brandy, not that he had any real interest in pear brandy it was simply as it were a challenge imposed on himself to translate such dry subjects into the Westerosi tongue whilst staying true to the source. He'd hardly been able to finish half a page when there was a prompt knock on the door and before Vaemond was even able to ask who it was Edwell walked right in. Edwell was a large imposing man and looked nothing like his half-brother in Vaemond, he had thick curly black hair and an unkempt beard, he'd been made a knight quite a while ago and although he hadn't seen any campaigns yet was considered a skillful tactician.

"Just saw a woman scurry out of the keep in a hurry, If you are going to engage in debauchery at least don't let everyone know about it, and do you have to bring 'em into the keep can't you just get a room somewhere in town?" There was more than just a hint of irritation in Edwell's face, but rarely was there a time when Vaemond cared much about the opinions of others.

Without even looking up from his work for a moment Vaemond answered, "What is it you want brother? I don't have much time for your hysteria at this moment"

"There's a letter from old Ortengryn," said Edwell trying his best to move on and not get into a prolonged argument.

"Well have you read it? what does it say?" This new line of conversation really peaked Vaemond's interest tough and now he was all ears.

"Well, no it's been addressed to you" Edwell continued.

"What are you waiting for then, give it to me" Vaemond then promptly snatched the piece of paper from Edwell's hands tore the seal and started to read, about halfway through his face began to visibly darken.

Concerned Edwell groaned "What is it? did something happen?"

"Listen, I need you to start getting the men battle ready and I need you to get 50 of your best people, dress them up in any shabby old peasant robes you find and bring 'em to me. Oh! and I almost forgot conscript all the vessels you find in the harbor especially trade vessels or fishing jetties don't just take 'em from the people remember to pay them for their troubles and while you're at it tell that harbor master to ready Lady Tide for a ride."

"Wait!? I demand to know what in the seven hell's is going on here !!" Edwell bellowed.

"Claw Isle is going to war."

 

[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 smash from behind rocked the group as it was clear the Northern men were on the brink of breaking, only Lord Cassel attacking the Prince of Dorne himself seemed to give them hope and the actions of Daeron seemed to inspire those around him to fight as hard as they could even if any chance of victory seemed to be a distant and vain outcome. Still they held, clung together as they felled Dornishman after Dornishman even as they themselves were struck down in turn, facing enemies from all angles.

Lord Cassel knew he had but once chance here, the Prince of Dorne needed to fall here and now for the outrage he has perpetrated today. Cassel charged hard, ignoring completely how deep into enemy lines he had become as his view narrowed to the fiend who had cause all of this. As the distance narrowed he raised his sword high and swung with all the force he could muster but the gods played a cruel trick. His horse stumbled for just one second but that was all that was needed, the swing of his sword lost all power and momentum as he was forced to ground to a halt and steady his horse as to not be thrown off of it. Now all he could do was fight the Prince of Dorne, surrounded on all sides as men from all corners of Dorne stared in disgust at him. To his own credit he did not try to flee but spat at the Prince “You will pay for what you’ve done here you scoundrel! If I fall at least I fall trying rid the world of one more evil." Then he went for it, the swing, all the while waiting for the inevitable spear in his side, in his mind all he needed to do was waste time.

On the other side of the battlefield Lord Corbray knew he needed to end this engagement quick, no doubt men were on the way to stop him and he needed his full focus on them. He could tell the Dayne was sloppy in his current state, he had a spear true enough but not the accuracy, he looked to the Lord and shouted “I am Lord Jon Corbray and I am your doom here today.” Then Lord Dayne was off, charging at him like it was some tourney. Lord Corbray Immediately gripped the blade in his hand and turned the sword upside down before charging straight back at Dayne. As the distance closed he could see the spear pointed to his chest and he deftly moved to his side as the spear hit thin air, at the same time the hilt of his sword came upon Lord Dayne’s face with full force as he was sent reeling to the ground with serious concussion no doubt. Corbray looked down at Dayne and shook his head “I suppose this is the calibre of warrior they give honours to in Dorne. I expected better.” Finally he turned to face the men sent to rescue Lord Dayne and two Vale knights appeared at his side, for now the battle continued.

In the chaos and confusion of the battle around him, Daeron stood steel eyed looking at the Prince of Dorne, a slight wave of uneasiness took hold of him before he looked around once more at the death around him, all of those loyal husbands and fathers were dead because of these men and they would be avenged. Daeron had never killed a man before and he had no desire to remedy this, but there was no backing down now, it was his duty to save those around him and avenge the fallen, he was their King. The only interruption came as men sent to save the Prince arrived but Lord Commander Royce intercepted them on route to buy Daeron the time he needed to do the job. As Daeron advanced on the Prince he held Lady Forlorn and just stared at the blade, it was almost poetic that a sword with such a storied history would find itself here and now.

It didn’t take long, whilst as inexperienced as Daeron the Prince was clearly struggling to stand let alone fight, a simple parry with the Valyrian Steel sword knocked the weapon of his enemy to the ground and that was it. The world ceased to exist around him as he focused on this one thing, he held the sword and then drove it clean through the Princes throat. A quick and clean death if ever there was one. As the Prince collapsed to the ground Daeron fell with him dropping Lady Forlorn and receding into a state of shock and panic at what had just happened, the ringing of metal in his ears became amplified and unnatural as he staggered to his feet confused as to where he was and what carnage was taking place around him. He looked down at his hands covered in blood and began to shake uncontrollably and then a loud noise snapped him out of it. In the distance towards Harrenhal a horn sounded and knights were visible as was the falcon sigil, reinforcements had arrived from the Camp. He found the nearest horse and got on it summoning all those around him to come close and they obliged, a line formed as the reinforcements drew closer. Either Qoren would call a retreat or fight to his doom.

Akio
TheAncientCelt

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Steffon Dayne
On the Ground - Outside Harrenhal

The roar of metal struck the air, a beat of battle that intoxicated him.

Air rushed past the man, a feeling of strength flowing through his arms.

A sense of purpose, a familiarity overcame the Stony Dornish.

Daringly, Steffon's eyes were off of Lord Corbray. They were to the darkness, the tree line nearby, searching for a figure.

Where she would normally stand.

She wasn't there.

Everything was how it should've been, for all those years. Arianne was always there, in the stands. Watching him with those large, brown eyes that empowered the Dornish Lord. The rush of nostalgia had fooled the man, or maybe it was the wine, Lord Steffon didn't know. But as he charged Lord Corbray, his instincts demanded he seek her out. She should be there, watching him. The love of his life, mother to his child. His daughter. Those were the last thoughts Lord Dayne had before the world changed. Pain was all he knew as he flew through the air, his body striking the ground with a dull thud, all but mute in the heat of the ambush.Blood poured generously from Lord Dayne's face, a gash open on his right cheek with his crooked nose a wicked tomato color. His eyes went wide, from the tree line one second to the brilliant night sky above. 'What hit me?' It wasn't Lady Forlorn, House Corbray's fabled sword. It was like a hammer crashed into his face.

The brutal wake up call from reality drew a harsh rasp from Lord Dayne as he struggled on the ground, feeling his right side ignite in agony with every attempt to stand up. The crash of metal, the shouts of men, confused and frightened, sobered Lord Dayne up if the blow to his face hadn't already. Noise drew fear, as horses came at Dayne from behind. His spear, where was his spear? He needed to defend himself? In the darkness, Steffon couldn't find his spear, discarded far from where he had fallen, no doubt. Turning to face them, Steffon let loose a breath he hadn't known he was holding. They were Dornish. One of the men immediately leapt from their steed, sword drawn and held tightly in one hand as he helped Steffon up. Lord Dayne tried to conceal his pain, but a moan escaped his throat, rebelling against his commands as he rose to shaky feet.

The insult given to him from Lord Corbray went ignored. Nothing verbal could overcome the biggest insult of them all. With his eyes returning to Jon Corbray, Lord Dayne felt his heart sink. Defeated in the joust, by a man with a sword no less, Steffon was spared an early grave by his opponent. The hilt of a blade had crashed into him. . Was he not worthy for the silent kiss of Lady Forlorn? Violet eyes naturally went to observe the rare Valyrian steel, only for another realization to strike Lord Dayne like a bolt of lightning. 'He does not even hold her.' Shame built in Lord Dayne, shame and rage. He lost and he was pitied many times over by this man. Defiantly, Lord Dayne pushed off of his house guard, stealing the blade from him as well. He wanted to rush out and meet Corbray again, with the outcome changing when their swords joined. 'I am the Sword of the Morning. I am not to be defeated.' Yet he was. Toyed with, one could say. Violet eyes burned at Lord Corbray in the darkness.

Horns sounded in the distance. Horses stampeded across the ground. They weren't Dornish.

"This matter remains unsettled, Lord Corbray." Dayne said, lacking the raw anger he might've wanted. Sword in hand, Lord Dayne understood that the ambush was over. Retreat was coming, with the sigil of a Falcon overhead. They would need to escape quickly or be caught in Prince Qoren's own strategy. "The next we meet, you shall not insult me with a duller blade." With help, Lord Dayne mounted a horse, the previous owner accompanying him a moment later. It was probably for the best, as Steffon wouldn't deny a guiding hand after the blow to his head.
​

 

[diwa]

Cyrenna
Mistress of Whisperers

It was a bitter morning but the excitement, apprehension and curiosity is palpable in the air. Harrenhal now caters most of the powerful people in the land. All was called to determine the fate of the would-be ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The bets were placed and the die is cast, now all they have to do is wait... but not for long.

Cyrenna picked a spot on the far corner of the room; she’s wearing a dark colored dress and durable riding boots and cloak, easily blending in with the crowd while waiting patiently along with others where she scanned her surroundings, particularly the claimants of the throne. It was obvious that the Arryns of the Vale is backing the bastard. The sigil of their house is flying with his own above them. A small smile formed in Cyrenna's lips seeing Visenya Waters looking all calm and collected. If she was nervous, she perfectly hid it behind her eyes. Another thought passed through Cyrenna's mind. Of all the rumors that were told about the bastards, the story about Daeron sleeping with his sister was the most circulated— that and he likes to rub honey on his member while doing the deed. Common people does not care whether the news has logic, but as long as it is preposterous, intriguing and not to mention fun, it will surely go around and spread as fast as the wildfire. Though who's to say it was just a rumor? They have a Targaryen blood after all. Her flitting eyes then shifted towards the Lady of the Vale, and her expression was ever the same. Perhaps it was the only expression she can muster for when Cyrenna went to visit Vale before, it was that same expression the Lady of the House was wearing. But then perhaps being stoic yet at the same time angry is the right expression during the Grand Council. After all there they are, sitting on their assess waiting for a decision that will not be agreeable to all.

Baelor Tyrell was sitting with his daughter, Melessa who looks uncomfortable and fretful but is trying to hide everything under her expensive garb. She still looks like a grieving girl, but Baelor made sure that she looks presentable while doing so. Cyrenna always knew that he is a proud man, the kind of man who values power and would not hesitate to reach it if he has the means. A true lord. And he is probably one of the reasons why Melessa seeks the crown. The girl could always stay in Highgarden, but claiming the throne would silence the rumors that she is nothing but a lowly whore and a temptress and earning the title would gain her power to protect her unborn child.

And the last claimant is the granddaughter of the King, Elaena Targaryen. People say that she has the strongest claim, but then again if the question was ask to the other party supporting the other claimants, they would say different things. Elaena looked regal, nervous of course, but her Targaryen eyes seemed too determined, seemed too determine to please the Dowager queen, that is. The girl is too innocent and pure yet she was thrust into the game for the sake of keeping the power in hand and Elaena has got to play the part and claim the title she earned by birthright.

Finally, the Grandmaester deemed that it was the high time to start the council, and just like that claimants and their supporters shared their piece, she even wanted to applaud at what Lord Baelor had said about having showmanship when apparently, each and every one of them are just mummers after all; putting up a good front to make up a good story. Lord and fools. One is stepping up to prove that he was more than a bastard, the other one wants to prove her loyalty and the last one just wanted to prove herself and live up to her family name. But then apparently another twist came up to be and it sent everyone to spiraling. Lord Rosby showed his piece of the game and just like that, he tipped the board and the new heir to the Iron Throne was determined.

Cyrenna was surprised, but was more surprised when the White Cloak took the matter in his own hands and denounced the will that was allegedly signed the late king. Forging the document is easy, even with the seal of the king. She knew someone who could do such art for the right price. And as soon as the body of the Hand fell with thud on the ground, all Seven hells broke loose. The armies divided, soldiers protecting their liege lords and ladies. Cyrenna's men stood in front of her, waiting for her orders but she said none except to stay put and attack only if necessary. She saw the claimants flee in different directions, others too whose smart enough to protect their lives, for there was a lot of slashing and thrashing about. She was about to go and fetch the letter that was trampled on the ground with the stampede to see the letters for herself and probably have the thing inspected but the Lady of the Vale beaten her to it. And Cyrenna had more than a hunch that Lady Arryn is not going to validate the edict but probably just wanted to spread the news to others about the late King legitimizing his bastard son.

"It’s not politics if no one dies.” Cyrenna sighed quietly before glancing at his men, “Let's move out," She ordered. "We ride to King's Landing tonight." With only her three men surrounding her, she easily dodges the commotion and carefully slipping out of the cursed place. She doesn't have the need to follow all the claimants for now for she's already got her people following them in her stead, people like servants who are tired of being treated like piece of shit by their liege masters, or guards who's tired being a fodder to war and not really given the incentives they promised or perhaps someone who has a huge debt and in need of extra funds for whoring around or whatnot, or even just a common folks living in a quiet village that sooner or later the troops will have to pass by. Eyes and ears are easy to acquire, people just have to know where to look and what to strings to pull.

​

 

[Dread-neck]

Lucas the Ashen Blade​

Of course, it just had to be all out war for his first day on the job. That's about right for the type of luck that Lucas was used to. With the amazing deal that he had cut with the little lordling, Lucas couldn't help but feel that he had just made a pack with some demon with brown hair. With no ashes in his pouch, he took some from his face and smeared them on the blade once more. "From ashes we have risen. To ashes we shall return," he spoke. Readying himself, his eyes snapped to the nearest targets he could find. And with him wearing Dornish colors, it would only be a matter of time before they came for him.

Lucas spotted Ryden carving his way through guard after guard. No need to let the boy show him up, right? He headed over towards the prince when he heard shouting to his left. Lucas brought his sword up with just enough time to catch the man's blade on his. Lucas locked blades with him and slammed his knee into the poor guards groin. The guard doubled over allowing Lucas to dance around and bring his sword around, slashing at the man's neck. Head and body fell to the ground with a heavy thunk. With a grin, Lucas wandered over and snatched up the guard's longsword. "Mind if I borrow this, friend? I promise I'll return it right as soon as I finish hacking your mates up," he said with a chuckle. The blade was a bit shorter than his own, but hey, it's like he told Anaya, two is better than one, and he needed an edge here. Giving the stolen sword a little flourish, he then laid eyes on another would be killer of the Prince. With a grin, he darted off, being thankful he only wore leather armor. Without a sound, he began his work, using one blade to parry the attacks since a larger blade would be heavier to work with and the other as a weapon to gore his attackers with, of which there was a decent supply given that he wore the gaudy tabard that the Dornes loved so much. Without his two handed approach, his attacks were not as strong, but they served well enough to dispatch those that came near him. He stabbed at torsos and slashed at open flesh, going for every dirty move and quick finish that he could. He would only dual wield the blades for a short time though, the shorter blade still making his arm heavy. He he blocked the sword of his current attacker with his bastard sword and used the other one to jab into the guard's leg. The guard went down howling in pain, allowing Lucas to send his foot into the man's chest, sending him to the ground. Lucas then went up and turning the shorter blade around stabbed downward into the guard's chest. He walked away from the gurgling guard saying "A friend of yours wanted me to give that to you. Give him my regards when you see him next." And with that, he returned himself to the fray, blade and witty tongue ready to meet whoever came at him.

 

[TheFool]

2 Weeks Later,





Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

Jocelyn looked out of the litter she sat within. Sunrise was little less than an hour ago and yet King’s Landing was already so alive. Smallfolk stopped what it was that they were doing to praise her as she passed them by. I will thank them for their praise someday soon. “We’re almost there, your grace.” One of the people pulling her litter informed her.
Good.
She was on her way to The Great Sept. Built by Baelor The Blessed all those years back. She had to meet with a man of great importance about a matter equally so. “Thank you.” She replied, late. As she looked out of her litter, her thoughts turned to The Grand Council.

“Quickly.” Larys hurried her. He led her to a white mare that stood still within one of Harrenhal’s stables. Jocelyn got on the horse as soon as she saw it. Mother. She did not know what was happening or what was about to happen in the minutes to come. As she mounted the mare, shrill screams were heard- along with the clanging of steel.
“Go.” Larys urged her again.
It has been a while since I have ridden, she thought as she saddled the horse.
“Go, your grace.”
Jocelyn looked at Larys. “I will write you when we get to King’s Landing.” She then looked behind him to see Ser Steffon climb atop his own creature. She nodded at Steffon, once he was up, signalling that it was time to leave.
“I eagerly await it, your grace.” Larys said before slapping his hand against the horse’s behind, which sent her into a trot. Jocelyn held on to the horse’s reins, tightly. They rode out through the gates of Harrenhal with Ser Steffon at her back. It was then that everything blurred. The ride to King’s Landing was quick and quiet. Her thoughts, however, were not. Throughout the whole trip she could hear the crackling blaze and the wailing women.
Mother.

“We’re here, your grace.” The same voice said, this time with a knock on the litter’s window. Jocelyn shook her head of all of those thoughts. The door to her litter opened and she stepped out. Her gown was black and grey, with bits of topaz sewn into it.
All the way from Dorne, I think?
She looked up.
Dorne…
The Great Sept Of Baelor stood strong and stood bold, with the sun peering out from behind its blue dome. “Wait here.” She instructed the four people who pulled her litter along. I must see Prince Qoren later.
The Prince had been mourning his heir, who was killed at Harrenhal when the battle broke. A foolish move, Jocelyn thought. Someone murders a Rosby and then The Dornish basically declare war. She gripped her gown. Holding it up so that its flounce would not slug against the sept’s steps. Jocelyn took a breath, before proceeding.

She climbed the steps to The Great Sept. Her mind still lingering on the madness that had happened at Harrenhal. Rosby… The man had been haunting her dreams since the day she and Ser Steffon rode through The Dragon Gate. His funeral had finished, but the people still wept.
How they can cry for such an oaf is beyond the best of my belief.
It was true, that Jocelyn and Elaena were back in King’s Landing- but, the city had been in a constant state of tension since the events at Harrenhal became known. In fact, the whole of The Crownlands were tense. Rumours whispered of rebellion and Jocelyn did not like that one little bit.
Hopefully, I can soon soothe the hostility.
She was on her way to see with The High Septon about confirming the date of Elaena’s official coronation as Queen.
A coronation will give the realm a gentle kiss, and assure the lords and ladies that their country is in competent hands. Jocelyn got to the top of the steps. And I am sure the after party will bring an abundance of joy.
Jocelyn did not just want to crown Elaena as so to sooth the city though. Things had been stagnant the last two weeks. Stagnant and depressing. It was time to officially sit a crown on top of Elaena’s silver head and call her Queen.
She got to the sept’s door, where a gruff looking goldcloak stood in silence. She smiled at him and he bowed his head before heaving open the door.

The sept’s interior was, as per usual, quiet. The hall was void of life apart from several silent sisters who knelt before an altar of The Crone, praying. The Great Sept was one of her favourite places in the country let alone the city itself. Baelor’s Sept always brimmed with beauty and decadence. I am certain that The Seven smile on such a construction.
Out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn spotted a septa.
“Girl.” Jocelyn said, serious in tone.
The septa turned her head to look at Jocelyn and then immediately took a bow. “What can I do for you, your grace?”
“I am here to see his holiness.”
“Of course. I will go and tell him that you are here right away.”
“Thank you.” Jocelyn smiled.
The septa scurried off, leaving Jocelyn Baratheon in the company of the silent sisters and The Seven.

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio

 

[Elucid]

Vaemond Celtigar​

Vaemond had felt confident leaving the castle in his brother's hand, he was a deeply loyal man, one you could trust to do his duty and there was a lot of duty to be done. Preparing the men of Claw Isle for a conflict in such a short time was no easy task and besides that, this whole business of conscripting ships would certainly not earn him any favors from the locals. Vaemond, however, didn't have time to worry about things back home, for some time now he'd been trying to get into contact with this group of smugglers that operated out of flea bottom bringing goods into Westeros through blackwater bay. After a series of exchanges, things were finally getting somewhere, the leader of the troupe had agreed to meet him in a secluded seashore somewhere near Rook's Rest. Secrecy was very important it would not do for Vaemond to be seen associating with smugglers and so prudence demanded that he reach the shore on raft leaving Lady Tide at sea for a while.

The meeting place was as promised, isolated. The abrasion cost with its massive cliffs towering overhead provided the perfect spot for a meeting, upon coming closer to the shore you'd see the flames of a small fire burning with five to six men huddled around it. Vaemond had brought with him about the same number of men-at-arms some of whom had been with him ever since his travels in Essos. Immediately upon his landing on the shore, there was a sense of urgency and distrust, two of Vaemond's men stood by the raft while the other's walked by their lord. It was one of the smugglers that first began to speak and Vaemond assumed that pot-bellied balding man with a grey-haired beard to be their leader, "It is not often that we are graced by the company of a lord, my friends call me Gyldayn. Don't be alarmed by the men, they're just some hired muscle a man has to look out for himself these days and in these situations. Now if you will m'lord what is it that you wish of me and my associates "

"Only to do what you've always done, smuggle, but this time you'll be smuggling in weapons, armor, and men. Now before you go on to tell me how terribly difficult it'd be I'd like for you to hear what I have to offer, if you do this for me I'll turn a blind eye to all of you and your associate's operations within Claw Isle meaning that if you were to move your little den there you'd be free from interference from the law, of course, besides this you'd also be heavily rewarded for your efforts in assisting my cause." Vaemond knew that what he'd just said, the offer he'd just made couldn't be refused in fact, you'd probably be mad not to comply.

"You shall be provided with the goods I need to be smuggled in the morrow, I shall expect your ships and men at Claw Isle harbor at the earliest possible time in the morrow, now if there is nothing else." And with that, the party returned to their raft and sailed back to Lady Tide which seemed to be out of place with the cliffed shore in the background.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Back on Lady Tide Vaemond took some time to address the issue of succession and decided to pen a letter to the Dowager Queen in Kings Landing

To her Gracious Highness Queen Dowager Jocelyn Baratheon,
It is hoped that this letter finds the queen and the princess in good health, unfortunate as it is, the seven kingdoms has brought itself into a state of effective war once more and once more house celtigar has the privilege of pledging its support as loyal vassals to dragonstone, to the throne and its rightful heir. Even at this very moment, preparations are being made to take the fight to the lands of those that have openly pledged allegiance to the bastard son and his cronies, with the blessings of the seven we hope to gain swift victory and honor for our Queen.
Signed, Lord Vaemond Celtigar of Claw Isle

 

[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 Eyrie, the single most impregnable castle in all of Westeros and the seat of House Arryn. It had taken 2 weeks of travel but Daeron was finally home, the place he felt safest and the place he felt most at ease. After the battle at Harrenhal there was no doubts now, Qoren Martell had just started a war in some form or another that was now sealed with the blood of his son and heir. Daeron took no joy ending the Prince's life but he had a duty, at least that is what he told himself. The kill had took its toll on him, every night he awoke with a chilling scream that rocked his very soul and each time he wept himself back to sleep consoling himself with the fact he didn’t have a choice. The first of thousands that won’t have a choice. But now he was approaching home and safety.

Looking around the mountains that surrounded him and to Artys flying high above the group he felt oddly serene, like this was just another day and the council had not happened, King Aegon was still alive and well ruling like he always had. But try as he might the mountains that had once been his safe haven only seemed to amplify the death and destruction that was sure to follow. Lord Stark had gone North, no doubt he would now call his banners as would Lady Arryn and the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. Civil War was in the air. For now Daeron blocked it all out, as he had done since the Council, this was all a dream and he would wake up soon, a bucket off water would splash on his face as Jae smiled above him. No water came however as he looked to the group around him, the Lord of Commander of the Kingsguard, his Kingsguard, was at his side for most of the journey and his sister Visenya was with him as well, then came a dozen Lords and knights each of them bowing to him as their King.

He was King now, to him there was now doubt left of this fact, his father had legitimized him and Lord Rosby has died for it, his very son and the new Lord Rosby was now at his side. But he was King of two Kingdoms at best, no one cared about what was legal anymore, that was plain to see. This was all about power now. He wouldn’t have power seekers disgrace his father's last ever proclamation but the desire to fight had been drained from him, Elaena was his niece and he loved her but she was surrounded by the worst of the worst. Not only was there Jocelyn but now there was the Oathbreaker and Qoren Martell as well, a murderer and dishonourable bastard respectively. Although the two were interchangeable at this point.

As the Eyrie opened before them Daeron walked to the entrance where he was greeted by a dozen knights and even more servants, all got on one knee before him and didn’t utter a word. He had seen these men and women before, all had previously ignored him outright or just had the courtesy to give a greeting that was respectable. Now they were all treating him as if he were some kind of deity that could strike them down with lighting at a single notice. He didn’t address them, he didn’t know how, it was all becoming rather surreal and he needed to get away from it all. He turned to the group and Lady Arryn “My Lady, please allow me some rest for the long travel. I believe we should have a council of some description later, we have a lot to discuss no doubt. If it pleases my Lady I wish for my sister, Ser Aenar and Lord Commander Royce to be in attendance. If there are any others you deem to be needed then please invite them.” With that he bowed and turned to Royce “And please get some rest yourself Ser Royce, I think it’s safe to assume there are no Martell ambushes here.” Finally he gave his sister a kiss on the cheek and escaped the crowd as fast as he could almost running to somewhere or someone he could go to and remove the facade. He decided upon his chambers, a place of solitude.

 

[Elucid]

Vaemond Celtigar​

And so it begins, with all the pieces falling into place. The smugglers and their ships had held their end of the bargain, at the break of dawn small jetties with a variety of goods from wine and wheat to other perishable food items landed in the harbor. These jetties would be the ones carrying essential supplies such as armor and weapons hidden in them into Dyre Den and Brownhollow. As for the 50 men Edwell had chosen from his retinue, they'd be tasked with disguising themselves as paupers, fishermen, and travelers and try to gain entry into the inner walls of the castle when the time came. In the weeks prior Edwell had been hard at work training a force of about 600 men that would make their way to Crackclaw point, two weeks wasn't exactly ideal or even enough to drill an effective fighting force but two weeks was what he was given and Vaemond was confident that the force he'd mustered although very green still had the strength of numbers on their hands, enough to be able to take their objectives.

Before the men were allowed to embark, Vaemond ordered the knights and commanders of the armies to gather at the great hall to for the final time go through their battle plans. "As all of you here I'm sure are aware, what we are about to do is going to be a difficult task, many before we have tried their hands at subjugating the men of Clackclaw point and almost all have failed. The houses of these lands are old and proud and ones that can definitely hold their own in conflict. The only way I see of us beating them would be with the element of surprise, we must be quick and decisive and I believe that I have entrusted the command of my armies to the men most able to achieve these objectives. My illustrious brother shall be the one taking Dyre Den and I shall be accompanying the second army with Ser Wyllis here at its head, with the blessings of the seven we shall win victory in the battles to come. Now, enough talk of war, please enjoy the food and wine we have for you, we can worry about dying later."

The 50 odd men and the smugglers were the first to leave, the armies would take longer both for strategic reasons and simply because it took a bit longer for two armies to board onto ships with all their supplies and equipment. The entire claw isle fleet assembled was a thing to behold, numerous ships all draped in the Celtigar sigil with the exotic Lady Tide at its head as the flagship. The fleet followed the flagship as one for a while until it separated into two, one that was to head for Brownhollow and the other for Dyre Den, the journey to Brownhollow was not an arduous one, in fact, it was rather close by but Vaemond hadn't had an ounce of sleep since the men had left and it was getting to him.

Vaemond's feet landed at a beach close to one of the larger villages in Brune lands, the castle wasn't far away. Upon landing the army made no attempt to hide their presence, they didn't need to. It all happened like clockwork, the men disembarked and divided themselves up into small raiding parties each headed by a landed knight. These men then began to make their way towards the village, who'd probably been informed that there was an army approaching because many had already left their homes with some of their most prized belongings towards the safety of the walls of the castle. Those that weren't able to get away quick enough were put to the sword, their houses burnt and their grain seized. All this destruction, although brutal was necessary because for the villagers to be granted entry into the castle there needed to be a real threat. Unknown to them, however, by letting the villagers enter the walls they were sealing their own fate for amongst them would be the 25 men of Claw Isle who'd upon signal would fight their way through from the inside and open the gates.

The plan had worked perfectly and although the men on the inside of the castle had suffered some casualties the larger force that actually assaulted the castle was largely unscathed for many of the enemy soldiers simply surrendered when outnumbered by such an exceedingly large force. The situation was a bit different in Dyre Den where the Brune's had put up a greater fight but despite moderate losses that castle too was taken. As per orders, Edwell was instructed to strip the Brune's of all their titles and condemn Lord Brune to death by hanging for the crime of committing high treason against the authority of Queen Elaena. As for the Brune's of Brownhollow, Vaemond was kinder, they would be able to retain their ancestral lands if they swore fealty to house Celtigar. on the condition that his children renounced all claims on lands held by their father.

The army wasn't allowed even a moment to rest and recuperate after the battles, leaving moderate forces to garrison the castles which would then be reinforced by a new batch of around 200 men coming from back home. The two armies would march until meeting up again to continue their conquest of the rest of the peninsula. The remaining lords of Crackclaw were received with letters proclaiming the authority of "The Hereditary Warden of Cracklaw Point, Lord Vaemond Celtigar" over their lands and promising that if they were to continue fighting and would not submit to the Queen's authority and by extension his, they and their families would face the same fate as Lord Brune.

​

Spoiler: Mentions

TheFool

 

[Yarrow]

Loren Lannister
It had been more than a week since they left Harrenhal in a hurry. While still riding towards Casterly Rock, Loren had is servants write letters to all the Lords in the Westerlands, explaining the things that happened. He had also asked them to start readying their armies, especially the lords at the border with the Riverlands and the houses at the coast.
Today was the day that the most important vassals would come to Casterly Rock for a dinner. Loren would explain his plans and where their alliance would be at why. The Lion had already ordered the best wines to be served and the most delicious food to be prepared, money didn’t played any role.


Loren walked through the castle and smelled the fresh air of the sea. He wasn’t a sailor, but he loved the smell of the fresh air. It was certainly better than the smell of King’s Landing. The Lion noticed many servants running around, making sure everything was ready for the dinner in a few hours. A horn blew, the first Lord had arrived at the foot of the rock, it would still take some time to reach the castle, but now the servants had time to prepare for the arrival. Loren had spoken personally to his personnel, today was an important day and the lords and ladies must feel very appreciated and important. This whole dinner was just a way to ensure their loyalty again, most of them knew it, but they all played the game.

After arriving at his personal chambers, he sat down in the big chair behind the bureau and started sorting the letters. There was a pile for personal stuff, Loren liked to write with others, a pile for things concerning the Westerlands, this was mainly lords asking for aid, and a new pile for everything concerning the unstable position everyone was in now. After the sorting the reading began, and the waiting for the first lord to arrive.