Marcola
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VARGAN WATERS
AKA: the irondrake ; LOCATION: king's landing
AKA: the irondrake ; LOCATION: king's landing
Returning to King's Landing strangely didn't feel like a homecoming. Vargan wasn't sure what he'd expected, but feeling a sense of dread as the Red Keep rose from the horizon hadn't been it. He'd spent almost a decade away so even though the city looked the same as he remembered it, he was sure it had changed. He didn't even know if his parents were still alive. His three ships sailed close to the water as the cliffs of the bay morphed into the walls of the city, and any perceptive person would know that there was valuable, heavy cargo aboard. If not from the knowledge of ships, the temperament of his crew gave that away. A Pentoshi merchant flag and a false name got them into the city, with the crew's mixed backgrounds and Vargan's fluent low valyrian being convincing enough for the port authorities.
The lie didn't have to last long - not that anyone was likely to recognise him - just long enough for the sea captain to know what he was walking into. His ships were left under the guard of his crew, with strict instruction not to let anyone or anything on or off the vessels unless he was there to judge on it.
Finding his mother took the better part of the afternoon, though she was never one for living modestly so once he'd found one clue it quickly lead to his standing in front of her manse. A different place than the one she'd had when he was a boy, smaller but no less lavishly decorated. She looked the picture of a greenland Lady, and Vargan questioned why she ever sent him off to the Iron Isles if she was going to spend her whole life here. He doubted she remembered the pebble beaches below the castle at Pyke, the solid black slabs all the buildings were made of, or the sound of the autumn storms. Vargan hadn't spent that long in the Isles really, and his memory of his time there was marred by pain, but some part of him missed it and yearned to return. It was an unexpected reunion, his mother having thought he was lost at sea for the last year, and the way her face lit up and she all but ran to hug him stole the breath from his lungs. It couldn't have been comfortable for her, as he knew he was damp from the sea spray and rain and he still wore his metal-studded armour, but it was so soft and affectionate, so different to how he'd known the world for the last eight years that his composure almost crumbled. Then the moment passed, his mother's embrace was gone and she moved on to demanding that he stay for dinner.
In the end, it seemed that very little had actually changed in King's Landing. The King was still doing as he always had, and the Queen was on her deathbed once again. The Dragonknight had been dead a year, as well. That news brought some pain to him, though he tried not to let it show. He had been fond of Aemon, the uncle who had taught him the basics of the blade and whom Vargan had idolised as a boy. Had he been allowed to squire for his uncle, Vargan wouldn't be the person he was now, and sometimes he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Having dinner with his mother revealed much about the state of the kingdoms, and she had provided him with an interesting option for his stay in the city. After hearing of his ventures to Ghiscar and the Free Cities, his tales of the Summer Islands' swan ships, and the marvels of Volantis, Gudrun Greyjoy sat quietly in thought as she sipped her wine, then proclaimed in a tone that would brook no disagreement that Vargan must share these wonders with his father. "It's been ten years or more since your father last saw Essos, he'd surely find whatever you've brought with you fascinating." she said, "might even reward you for those treasures you'd be willing to part with". Vargan had been meaning to leave the city at the earliest opportunity, maybe sell some silks and spices here before travelling to Oldtown to sell the rest, and take what he couldn't sell back to the Iron Isles. Yet his mother had a good point. He wouldn't have to give away everything, and it could earn him some relevance in the city again (and in turn bring his mother the influence she thrived on).
The specifics of hauling several wagons worth of valuables up to the Red Keep would be an issue for tomorrow. Though that day was fast approaching by the time he left the townhouse, with the western sky stained red by the setting sun. Vargan made his way through familiar streets - though at one point he walked towards a dead end where there had certainly not been one before - with his hand on the blade at his hip, but his mind elsewhere. He knew he would have had to return home one day, though there was a sense of unease with being here. It was as though something was wrong with the place he ought to find so comforting, but it sat on the periphery of his awareness and try as he might, he couldn't bring it into focus. Regardless of his apprehension he made his way back toward the docks, confident that he wouldn't be approached by anyone. Between his armour, his blade, and his well-practised stoic glare, any salesman or common criminal would know better than to stop him.
The lie didn't have to last long - not that anyone was likely to recognise him - just long enough for the sea captain to know what he was walking into. His ships were left under the guard of his crew, with strict instruction not to let anyone or anything on or off the vessels unless he was there to judge on it.
Finding his mother took the better part of the afternoon, though she was never one for living modestly so once he'd found one clue it quickly lead to his standing in front of her manse. A different place than the one she'd had when he was a boy, smaller but no less lavishly decorated. She looked the picture of a greenland Lady, and Vargan questioned why she ever sent him off to the Iron Isles if she was going to spend her whole life here. He doubted she remembered the pebble beaches below the castle at Pyke, the solid black slabs all the buildings were made of, or the sound of the autumn storms. Vargan hadn't spent that long in the Isles really, and his memory of his time there was marred by pain, but some part of him missed it and yearned to return. It was an unexpected reunion, his mother having thought he was lost at sea for the last year, and the way her face lit up and she all but ran to hug him stole the breath from his lungs. It couldn't have been comfortable for her, as he knew he was damp from the sea spray and rain and he still wore his metal-studded armour, but it was so soft and affectionate, so different to how he'd known the world for the last eight years that his composure almost crumbled. Then the moment passed, his mother's embrace was gone and she moved on to demanding that he stay for dinner.
In the end, it seemed that very little had actually changed in King's Landing. The King was still doing as he always had, and the Queen was on her deathbed once again. The Dragonknight had been dead a year, as well. That news brought some pain to him, though he tried not to let it show. He had been fond of Aemon, the uncle who had taught him the basics of the blade and whom Vargan had idolised as a boy. Had he been allowed to squire for his uncle, Vargan wouldn't be the person he was now, and sometimes he wondered if that was a good or bad thing. Having dinner with his mother revealed much about the state of the kingdoms, and she had provided him with an interesting option for his stay in the city. After hearing of his ventures to Ghiscar and the Free Cities, his tales of the Summer Islands' swan ships, and the marvels of Volantis, Gudrun Greyjoy sat quietly in thought as she sipped her wine, then proclaimed in a tone that would brook no disagreement that Vargan must share these wonders with his father. "It's been ten years or more since your father last saw Essos, he'd surely find whatever you've brought with you fascinating." she said, "might even reward you for those treasures you'd be willing to part with". Vargan had been meaning to leave the city at the earliest opportunity, maybe sell some silks and spices here before travelling to Oldtown to sell the rest, and take what he couldn't sell back to the Iron Isles. Yet his mother had a good point. He wouldn't have to give away everything, and it could earn him some relevance in the city again (and in turn bring his mother the influence she thrived on).
The specifics of hauling several wagons worth of valuables up to the Red Keep would be an issue for tomorrow. Though that day was fast approaching by the time he left the townhouse, with the western sky stained red by the setting sun. Vargan made his way through familiar streets - though at one point he walked towards a dead end where there had certainly not been one before - with his hand on the blade at his hip, but his mind elsewhere. He knew he would have had to return home one day, though there was a sense of unease with being here. It was as though something was wrong with the place he ought to find so comforting, but it sat on the periphery of his awareness and try as he might, he couldn't bring it into focus. Regardless of his apprehension he made his way back toward the docks, confident that he wouldn't be approached by anyone. Between his armour, his blade, and his well-practised stoic glare, any salesman or common criminal would know better than to stop him.
coded by archangel_
aeschylus
Name: Vargan Waters.
Age: 19 in the year 182 AC.
Gender: Male.
Titles: Master of Ships of the Iron Throne (after his return to King's Landing). Captain of the ship 'Sanguine Storm'. Sometimes called 'Irondrake' in honour of both his heritage and temperament in battle, it's a title his crew call him exclusively by.
Sigil: After gaining prominence in the city, and especially after being legitimised, he'll use a grey Targaryen dragon on a black background as his sigil.
Appearance: Vargan typically cuts an imposing figure, and is said to look like a mirror image of his father before the wine and food got the better of the King, though he tends to have a sterner visage than his father ever did. He's taller than most, and has a broad figure from his frequent weapons training. He generally dresses in plain, practical clothing, though he's fond of jewelry. Being at court means that he can wear richly decorated earrings that might get ripped out in more violent circumstances, though it's generally the only extravagance he'll allow himself. He usually favours amethysts or sapphires to match his eyes, which are deep blue or violet depending on the light. His hair is typically cut short, a rather wavy texture, and is mostly a white-blonde typical of Valyrian features, with a section of about a fifth on his right side being a similar red to his mother's hair.
Personality: On the surface Vargan is no more than what is to be expected from the Ironborn - violent, impulsive, and power-hungry. He was always impulsive, with an action-oriented personality even as a child. These tendencies have mellowed out in recent years but he's far from being the most patient of people, he does however possess enough wisdom to understand a situation before he leaps into it. He's patient and calm by Ironborn standards but that just makes him a good leader for them, rather than making him a paragon of composure by any other standards. He's more social and charming than some would expect of him but his interactions are generally not genuine, and are instead what responses he thinks would get him the favour of those more powerful than him. To a point. He'll speak honeyed words to get access to someone's trust or their money, but he'll never humiliate himself for it. He is, after all, incredibly prideful and competitive. Below all of that, he's insecure - in his position in the world, in his future, in how he projects himself through violence - and this results in a desperate desire to prove himself in any way he can to those he cares about.
Family:
- Aegon IV Targaryen, father. This was never a secret, though Aegon only really acknowledged the boy as a child when Vargan's mother was favoured by him. Vargan sees value in being close to his father, but would never truly trust that the man actually cares for him.
- Gudrun Greyjoy, mother. A staple at court ever since she was taken hostage; she was at first a foreign curiosity, then a powerful figure as Aegon's mistress, and even now she wields the art of diplomacy and manipulation as well as her only child wields a sword. As a child Vargan clung to everything his mother said, but time away from King's Landing has changed him and he now looks at her with a more critical eye. Not that he would admit this to her, not while she gives him good advice.
- Toron Greyjoy, uncle. The Lord of the Iron Isles taught Vargan the skills to fight and command a fleet, and the wisdom to do so effectively. He feels indebted to his uncle but dislikes much of his policies, most notably the man's hatred and jealousy of the Westerlands, because he feels that's his uncle's blind spot in his wisdom that will no doubt be his downfall.
- His relationships with his half-siblings vary. He's more likely to empathise with those he meets after returning to King's Landing, largely because his mother's bitterness at being ousted from Aegon's favour was infectious for him as a child.
History:
Vargan was born in 163AC, and the answer to the question of his heritage was no secret at all. Gudrun Greyjoy had been taken as a hostage to the Iron Keep in 160, at the age of 15, and had within a year become Prince Aegon's favourite mistress. Her place as the Prince's favourite mistress would last until Vargan was five, at which point she was deposed by a visiting Dornishwoman who had also been one of his paramours. It was a slight Gudrun never truly recovered from, though she was still favoured by Aegon on occasion for another decade. Growing up in this environment, Vargan remembers his childhood with fondness, though it is tinged with bitterness over his father's attention being 'stolen'. He never truly had to struggle because of the noble lineage of both of his parents, though he sought out trouble in the city often enough. Once his father became King when he was nine years old, Vargan became notably emboldened by his family ties and sought to prove himself in whatever way he could. At eleven he all but begged to squire for the Dragonknight, and his mother saw this as a threat to the type of son she wanted to cultivate - he was packed off to live with his uncle before the month was out.
His time in the Iron Isles was tumultuous, and at first Vargan railed against it. He resented being sent to the dull place to live with people who saw him as lesser because of where and how he was born, and his uncle had no right to be so scathing with his insults and punishments! Eventually he would come to see that he was being rather petulant, and that his uncle was teaching him to be strong and follow the ironborn code. Vargan didn't swear his life to the drowned god, but he followed the teachings well enough, and felt alive with the power it brought him.
He was allowed to raid with his uncle from the age of fifteen, and had earned a valyrian steel blade and captaincy on his own ship by seventeen. To prove himself as a captain he planned a voyage to Essos, and stayed at sea for almost three years travelling foreign lands and raiding those weaker than him. His return to King's Landing was initially only one to stop by and see his mother, until she suggested giving some of the loot he'd raided to the King in order to get his attention again.
Notes/extra;
-He wields the valyrian steel blade Nightfall, that had been taken by his grandfather in battle and was awarded to Vargan by his uncle after his first raid. He values the blade more than any of his other possessions, as it's a connection to both aspects of his heritage and the means by which he has acquired power.
-Originally Gudrun planned to place her illegitimate son on the Iron Throne, either by winning the King's favour fully again and having him legitimised, or using the boy's martial skill to start a war and promising betrothals to win allies. This was mostly fueled by Aegon's dislike for his only son and the fact that for a while all of his bastard children were girls. The plan was sidelined around 170AC when Daemon was born, as he would have more claim in being fully Valyrian. She then aimed to put her son on the Seastone Chair, and had him taught by her brother in the hopes Vargan might depose his mentor one day.
-He brought a paramour with him from his ventures in Essos. Darassa na Zhak was a Meereenese noblewoman who was charmed by Vargan and wished to escape a betrothal, so decided to leave with him after hearing his stories of his home. She speaks only Ghiscari Valyrian, though Vargan has been trying to teach her the common tongue (quite unsuccessfully. He's not a brilliant teacher). Tentative faceclaim is Maisie Richardson-Sellers.
-He has five ships in his fleet, though two of those are a merchant ship & its escort ship that trade in his name across the Narrow Sea. He likes to think that a merchant's life could be a backup if all the reaving and politics doesn't work out, but he'd probably die of boredom living like that.
-Can speak common tongue and the low valyrian of the Free Cities fluently. Also passable in High Valyrian, though he's grown to have the accent of the Ghiscari since spending time in slavers' bay.
-I'll probably add more stuff here as I think of it. Just wanted to get this posted before I went to bed tonight.
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