The year is 286 AC. King Jaehaerys II has just passed, leaving the throne without a rightful ruler. While his three children fight for the crown, Winter creeps closer, and unimaginable darkness looms.
Not all alliances will be so typical this time. In fact, many people have a crucial effect on the way this story is told. As for the ending, we only hope there are enough people left alive to tell it after its passed.
Events
Join us for our first event, the wake of recently deceased King Jaehaerys II.
Updates
AUG. 19: So we are now officially open to the public. We have a mini-event flashback thread going on, and our main event just began. Feel free to make a second canon if you can keep both of them active enough.
Don't hesitate in pestering staff with questions; it's what we're here for! Let's raise a glass and make a cheer toward a successful launch of Winds of Winter.
i'm only after success don't need a relationship
the acorn had fallen from the tree, and it had fallen onto her lap, as she sat watching the leaves fall from the trees in the courtyard of storm's end. it had landed on the page of the book she was reading, her eyes fixed on the details of the acorn, its texture. the stray pieces of parchment on the side of her book betrayed the notes she had written, from the books. an hour of rigorous studying, followed by her custom to shoot arrows. once over with the book, she'd had a servant put the book in her study, and she'd gotten her faithful bow and arrow.
it had been ten years since she'd stolen the weapon. they had callused her hands, made her arms ache. discipline had been the thing that guided her into truly owning the bow as her own. pain and patience had made her this person. she pulled the string of the bow, as far as she could, silent for any sign of wind in the distance. the target practice dummy faced her straight-on. it was a moment. between her and her target. the wind. it whispered round her ear.
she pulled tighter. sweat trickled from her forehead. focus. focus, alayne. discipline had tamed her to become this person who she was now. pursed lips, and her knuckles tightened. she exerted more force to pull the string. wind. then she released the arrow - and she watched it speed in the air. now, where would it land? alayne drew her breath; for this was the deciding thing.
ohh. the arrow landed on the bull's eye. she allowed herself to smile, and give herself a mental pat on the back. this was a job well done. years of rigorous archery were not for nothing. useless to try for a future that yielded no optimal results, after all. she continued more target shooting - and after twenty times, she gave it a rest, and had the servants arrange and clean the courtyard. wiping her sweat with her handkerchief, alayne wore the bow on her back, eager to rest after a long day of intensive study and training.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 15:28:14 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Wind whistled from the courtyard below, and Daemon had glanced over the stone ridge to observe his young daughter at her work. Not many southern lords entertained their fiercer daughter’s wishes to practice with bow, lance, or sword. Daemon did not care for those foolish sentiments. To deny anyone the opportunity to enhance their worth when it could prove beneficial to his house seemed ridiculous – and he wanted all of his children to excel. He began his descent down the winding stairs and passageways to meet Alayne in the courtyard, and by the time he had arrived she had concluded her practice.
His young daughter wiped off the sweat from her brow, glistening proof that she had poured effort into her marksmanship. Daemon beamed proudly at her. All of his children bore the strength and stone-thick resolve of his house, Alayne as much as the rest of them. She took much after him as well, relishing in trading logical arguments and sizing up the worth of others. And she worked consistently with great determination to better herself. She would make for a strong and exceptional lady of any noble house one day, though Daemon knew that she would find such an admittance repulsive. The prospect of marriage did not sit well with his thirdborn, he feared, no more than it had her mother.
“I think you’ve gotten better,” Daemon called out to her, his cane gripped tightly in his right hand. He had no need to pretend dependence with it while in his own castle, but he always had it at the ready for unexpected visitors. Even if he did play the part of weakened lord, he expected Alayne knew better than to fall for the façade Daemon created for other people. “Though that’s not saying much. Your skill with a bow far surpassed mine when you were still a child. But now you truly are a woman grown. Has your mother seen your skill?”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 16:32:50 GMT
Alayne's lips curled and she found herself giving her father a shadow of a grin gracing her features.Nothing else but the best for her father. Her father knew her best - the Storm Lady herself was no joke to deal with. Commitment from her work; a strong drive to make things happen and a diet of ambition had been cultivated in her. Discipline was something personal. Alayne had soft spots reserved for the people who she loved with all her heart and her father was one of them. He had given her the support to nurture and nourish her skills in argumentation and rhetoric and had let her grow up happily. He had given her freedom with her upbringing and she revelled in her studies once and for all. Unfortunately her mother was a different story. Ten and eight was a hard age to deal; there is always something about the boredom of teenaged girls.
It was not that Alayne did not love her mother. She did love her mother but it... It was rather so complicated. What would Mother say? Mother was a creature ruled by the heart - passionate and overly emotional at times. Smothering. It made Alayne twitch. Yet what could she do? Nothing. Mother was Mother after all and Father was Father. Everything had its place after all. For all Alayne's drive and spunk, she was aware she could be extremely troublesome. The Seven had let her be born a girl. And it was awful. Very awful. Alayne resisted marriage; the idea was puke-inducing. Orders were orders. Duty was duty. She would be lucky to have a match who actually liked her. Master and Lord Tolerable. Yeah right.
"Hmm. I do not think so, Father. How was your day, Father? I trust that it was good and productive?" She walked closer to her father, features relaxing. No one could understand her nature other than her father. The same love for rhetoric. The fondness for debate. The love of learning. She adored her father as a child and now, she still looked up to him, a young woman eager to protect her kin and people. Her dark eyes glazed over at his cane and she allowed herself to take his arm, the pat of a daughter caring for her ailing father. It was a facade; Father knew how to rule and maneuver well. No big mess on that. "I... Truth be told, I never really told Mother about the archery."
Entirely reluctant on her part, was this. Her words.bore the truth. Her father deserved a dutiful daughter yet he had gotten a driven girl who liked studying and patrolling the stormlands for any sign of hadm to its lands and people. A dutiful girl with tweaks. She was not perfect after all - she had suffered bouts of sickness fromovereating, had been corrected for her bluntness by the septa assigned to her. Father deserved the best. He had a standard that left to be lived up to. She was not keen on falling out of favor with her father after all.
"If I told her... What if she would judge me? I don't think she will like it." Might be. She knew she was different. Too unruly. Too blunt. Too strong. Too man to be woman. "Oh, I really do not know what she will think about it."
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 17:21:01 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“My day’s been good to me, for now. Merely another one occupied with duties. But good, child, for I love watching your archery,” Daemon replied softly. He submitted willfully to Alayne’s hold on his arm, and the two inched forward slowly as they talked. Seeing Alayne full of pride, energy, and humility shocked him slightly. He could remember when she was not even half her current age, a young vixen then, and every bit as eager to prove herself and grow. A typical lady’s life never suit her, nor did it align with her elder sister, Alynne. It felt otherworldly to Daemon that he should look upon her now and see an adult woman, ready to proudly represent the stag that was now his, as it had once been his father’s and his father’s before him.
Daemon listened silently as Alayne admitted reluctance to talk to Althea about her archery. It surprised him that she feared her mother’s perception of her skills. Althea came to him from the North, where woman could end up every bit as rough and independent as the esteemed women of Dorne in the very south. Daemon could not believe she would look unfavorably on her daughters if they displayed even an inkling of aptitude with martial skills. Why, she would probably love if Alynne and Alayne could fight on par with Daemon’s best knights, were it not for the dangers combat brought. But merely training in the courtyard? No harm would come to his daughters within his walls.
“Your mother judges a great many things, me most of all,” Daemon admitted, chuckling. “But not all judgments need be harsh. Your mother is a strong woman, not just in tongue but in mind and body as well. That you fear she would scorn your skills surprises me, Alayne. You have nothing to fear from your mother, not on that front.” He patted the hand of the arm Alayne had laced around his own, reassuring her. “You should show her sometime.”
No one's opinion mattered more than the opinion of her family. Euron's approval at her political play, and her father's constant mentoring. They mattered the most. Predators did not care for the opinion of lambs. At the end of the day, while she did not seem like it, Alayne Baratheon's best interests lay in the advancement of her family. A safer place for them out there, a better place for the Baratheons. They mattered. No one else did. Her interests, and her family's interests. She would work, she had told herself, to put them at the top. Her father understood her the most; she had taken after him after all.
So her mother may understand. Althea Baratheon had come from the North, after all. The women from the North were a strong bunch, and her mother certainly had some parts of the North embedded in herself after all this time. Women here... They were not supposed to hold weapons, were they? Spill blood on her hands. Throwing knives and now archery; archery had been her best forte. On the Baratheon girl's shoulder this proved to be a temporary relief. For once, she and her mother... She and her mother may have some common ground after all. "I should show her that at a good time. Perhaps tomorrow, I should plan it. I've already mastered the bow. Maybe it's time I should start holding a sword; I still prefer knives, though." She gave a laugh, a young woman of ten and eight again, arm around her beloved father, full of affection and loyalty. "I just hope it won't scare away any suitors at all!" More of the irony; Alayne herself preferred to go shoo away all those ninny idiots hankering for House Baratheon's heiresses. She had ruined her disposition entirely, had she been born in House Tyrell, with books and archery. More the irony.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 28, 2015 14:04:49 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“Indeed you should,” Daemon agreed, patting the back of his daughter’s hand once more. “If your mother gives your skills her blessing, perhaps I can arrange for lessons with the Castellan. Just imagine, were you to fight with a sword the way your brother does. Perhaps that’s too lofty. You’ll excuse your father for having great expectations for his children.” And Alayne laughed, a hearty laugh full of life and love, supported by strength and a burning fire within. She took after him alright, but entering the world a woman had given Alayne more cause to prove herself than Daemon had as a child. She did not stand to inherit Storm’s End and lord over the Stormlands. Nevertheless, she would demonstrate to all that she remained a proud Baratheon, worthy of their words.
Daemon snorted at Alayne’s remark on suitors. “Do you really think your father would agree to marry you to a spineless boy? I will make the right decision for our house, when the time comes. And then, you must do your duty. But I will make sure than any man or woman who desires the hands of my children must have the strength to match them, in one way or another. Strength of arm, strength of mind, strength of heart. They must prove their worth.” He had not said the same to his older children, but he sincerely hoped they knew such. Euron would not care either way, as the nature of his wife would not change his stance to succeed Daemon’s titles. Alynne though, she needed a husband worthy of her own fire, one who could earn her love as her father had earned her mother’s.
“Perhaps I should also take you hunting some time. I had no idea that you achieved such skill with a bow. Have you practiced your riding as well, or has the Septa gotten in the way of such? I’d figure she would relent by now.”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jun 29, 2015 7:40:11 GMT
IT'LL BE HELD AGAINST YOU
IF HEAVEN'S GRIEF
BRINGS HELL'S RAIN, THEN I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I KNOW YOU'RE BAD NEWS. JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I WANNA TEACH YOU A LESSON IN THE WORST KIND OF WAY. STILL, I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY
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Patrolling around the Stormlands was enough excuse to go practice her riding. If she could, she would gladly ride out, to her heart's delight. Her duties held her down, so she had no choice but to submit like a good girl should be. Ironically, she hardly considered herself a good girl. Good girls didn't have tremendous wills of their own. They listened to their fathers and did whatever was asked of them. Marriage was hardly a thing on her mind. Singularity, she liked it. Wearing dresses, looking nice for herself, it gave her a strong sense of identity.
Her father's promise gave her a ray of hope to look forward to. Her father was better off to be trusted in such a term. She'd like someone who was well off and someone who would worship the ground she walked on, as shameless as that was. Like some man would actually have the nerve to stand a girl like her.
"Oh, patrolling gives me a good excuse to practice my riding," Alayne assured her father. "The septa has already relented, so it is fine. I can ride fine. I can ride as well as any man, so please do not worry too much. I'd really love to go hunting, too, Father." She gave him a toothy grin.
"Do you... have anyone in mind for me as a match, though?" Her curiosity was piqued. So who were the good options for her? Better look at who was available. "I want someone smart... and a bit well-off," she admitted.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 30, 2015 2:22:37 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
She did not surprise him, for a girl as willful as Alayne would not let a septa heed her way. Alayne possessed vision and the drive to help her achieve her goals. Surely, in his duties as Lord of Storm’s End, he had missed her sharpen her skills. Perhaps, if he took her hunting and on patrol, he’d see a woman more trustworthy than a typical sworn sword – though that thought only passed through his head as a fanciful hope. Still, he enjoyed the idea. Regardless, the outing would help him bond further with his daughter. “Excellent. I’ll see to it that you join me shortly,” he replied, smiling back at her toothy grin.
His smile succumbed to a sterner, more troubled look when Alayne asked him about marriage prospects. In truth, Daemon had several potential suitors in mind, though he still knew little about all of them and had not yet even discussed the matches at length with his wife. Rather than reply with a name, Daemon chuckled at Alayne’s insistence on a smart and well-off man. Did she expect her father would pair her with a half-wit, or some poor peasant’s bastard?
“Have faith in your father. I will choose someone worthy of both you and this house. I have families in mind, Great Houses like ours. You need not worthy about their education or their status. But I still need investigate their worth as matches for you. That, and your older brother and sister must come first.” Daemon did not mean that because of favoritism. Euron and Alynne had several years on Alayne, and the window to wed narrowed with each passing moon. Alayne had more time, and choosing her husband felt like a less stressful endeavor than securing matches for his eldest children. “Have you any that you fancy, my dear?”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jun 30, 2015 7:43:53 GMT
IT'LL BE HELD AGAINST YOU
IF HEAVEN'S GRIEF
BRINGS HELL'S RAIN, THEN I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I KNOW YOU'RE BAD NEWS. JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I WANNA TEACH YOU A LESSON IN THE WORST KIND OF WAY. STILL, I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY
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Of course. Euron and Alynne were the top priority. She was the thirdborn, and she would wait. Not that she minded. Let it be some good man, not some dumbass. At the sudden question, Alayne was quick to reply, sharp as she was. Little interest in marriage; she had destroyed her disposition entirely with her fondness for books and martial things. They were not supposed to belong to her but now they did. Books. Bows and arrows. Could any House accept her? She had great many things; youth, the energy and the vision to commit to a goal and work her butt off for it. Managing Alynne and Euron's betrothals were not bad at all; it gave Father some stress, though. Expect Father to be a bit stressed with it.
For now, her priority was to keep working for her House. Friendly alliances with other Houses. Perhaps they would do for now. She was not intent on becoming a lousy player, anyway. Keeping Euron's back safe from any political backstabbing was also another priority. Patrol the Stormlands, and stabilizing it with her own force was the way she was used to. Keen eyes the patrol had given her, and a sense of duty. Hunting was a game. Catch the target. Take it for yourself.
"I do not fancy anyone at all. I do not have time to fancy boys. And boys are disgusting," replied the Baratheon girl, blunt in her assessment. Romance was the furthest thing from her mind. Between her travels of patrolling the Stormlands and her training and occasional errands, did she even have time to bat her eyelashes and flirt around? Maybe. But no. Not in a million years.
Alayne Baratheon wanted to have anyone hankering after her crawling on the ground. They'd beg. She'd make them beg and crush them with the heel of her shoe. Predator and prey. The biome demanded it. They were just sweet summer children. Boys. Boys who deserved the step of her shoe and the humiliation of having her beat them at archery and cyvasse.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 1, 2015 0:06:23 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Daemon sighed, though he still bore a smile on his face. Alayne was hardly the only girl in the Seven Kingdoms to have held such an absolutist view – but she certainly came across as an oddity for still harboring it at her age. “Aye, some boys are,” her father began. “But some might surprise you, if you gave them the chance. I cannot force you to fancy them, and to be frank that ultimately won’t matter. But I expect that you’ll do your duty for your house, as I have, and your mother has.”
By now the two had shuffled along the courtyard and passed raised walls of stone, and their subconscious wandering had led them to the entrance of Storm’s End’s Godswood. Daemon did not keep the Old Gods, but the wood proved a beautiful and secluded place to gather one’s thoughts. It would serve as a nice setting to stroll through with his young daughter. And it only further reminded him of his northern wife. He chuckled to himself before sharing his thoughts with Alayne.
“Your mother didn’t like me when we first wed, you know. Oh, I’m sure she fancied boys, but still she wasn’t entirely unlike you. After we consummated the marriage, she’d spend an abnormal amount of time away from me. I had my lordly duties to manage and couldn’t always keep an eye on her, but I knew she was trying to keep distance from me. She married for her family, but once she became my wife she resisted with every bit of northern toughness that she had. That she still has. And yet I would be the greatest fool in Westeros, and a dirty liar, if I told you that we do not love each other. Your mother warmed to me, as I her, and we’d die for each other. What I’m trying to tell you, Alayne, is that you might be surprised with the joys of love...what it can do to you, over time. You might think sharing so much of yourself with another makes you weaker, even if it brings greater status and power to your house. It won’t, I can promise you that.”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 1, 2015 10:14:37 GMT
IT'LL BE HELD AGAINST YOU
IF HEAVEN'S GRIEF
BRINGS HELL'S RAIN, THEN I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I KNOW YOU'RE BAD NEWS. JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I WANNA TEACH YOU A LESSON IN THE WORST KIND OF WAY. STILL, I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY
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Father talking about Mother that way, the way he spoke of love, it made Father a man complex like the layers of an onion, peeling one layer off to find another. The Lord Baratheon she knew was a loving father, a politically astute man and the most honorable man she knew. The moment he talked of her mother, his gaze softening, Alayne realized something. This is the way I want to remember Father, she thought. The way her father talked of her emotional mother. His voice laced with affection, the sincerity and love in Father's eyes as he thought of and talked of his wife, whose love he had earned, who he had married for duty, and grew to warm up to. A rational man loving an emotional woman. Daemon Baratheon must truly adore his wife.
A husband who adored his wife. Alayne paused to think. So it was possible....? She inwardly struggled, trying to be rational. I do not need a relationship, she had told herself. Relationships and flings are for idiots. Would it interfere with her work? As much as she wanted to believe so badly in Father... Well, marriage would advance their House politically.
But would she be happy? A man who could just worship the ground she walked on sounded nice. Lord Tolerable. Lord Tolerable, her husband who tolerated her. No. She would not settle for Lord Tolerable. She would have a lordling who kissed the ground she walked on. Was it all a test? She felt like the worst, truth be told.
"I will do my duty, Father. I can assure you that. I will not settle for anything less than what you expect and want from me, Father."
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 2, 2015 14:42:11 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“...I do not doubt, Alayne,” her father replied softly. In truth, he had expected his daughter to respond more passionately, more selfishly. He had shared the truth of the start of his marriage in hopes that it would influence Alayne’s own feelings. It did not seem to change them, however. Instead, Alayne insisted that she would meet her father’s expectations and fulfill her duty. Indeed, Alayne acted so very much like him in his youth. All the more reason Daemon hoped that she would come to love another man one day – love had only made Daemon feel empowered and more whole. It would undoubtedly do the same for a daughter with his likeness.
Their walk took them past various trees, some bent and some tall, with leaves of varying shades of green and yellow. But then the Heart Tree came into view, its white bark clashing against the darker surrounding trees like a candle light in shadow. The blood red color of his swaying leaves matched the strange streaks that streamed down from the eyes of its carved face, one that appeared to frown. Daemon had never come to understand the tree. Even if his wife held the Old Gods, Daemon himself would continue to find the Wierwoods strange.
He continued to speak to his daughter as they slowly inched past the Heart Tree. “I want you to do your duty, Alayne. Admittedly, that is most important. But I want you to be happy as well. My goal is that we can find a worthy union that will achieve both of those for you.” A brief pause in his speech, but not his step, and then Daemon posed an unexpected question. “By the way, Alayne, tell me true: has Domitan gotten into any new trouble? He seems to keep out of sight since his last scuffle.”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 3, 2015 8:05:57 GMT
IT'LL BE HELD AGAINST YOU
IF HEAVEN'S GRIEF
BRINGS HELL'S RAIN, THEN I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I KNOW YOU'RE BAD NEWS. JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I WANNA TEACH YOU A LESSON IN THE WORST KIND OF WAY. STILL, I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY
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Anything for her father, for the advancement of her family, this Alayne had in mind. No one she really fancied. The idea of going ga-ga-ga for some idiot hardly made her feel good. Father was absolutely devoted to Mother, and she wondered what her father thought of her strong desire to please him. So he only wanted her to do her duty. Being the thirdborn child and the secondborn daughter left a lot of taste to be desired in her guts. It was hard being a daughter – she could not rule, she could not do a great many things that men could openly do. Things. Maneuvering plots, and making implementations. They were more of what Alayne desired.
It was a source of annoyance in her side to just be the thirdborn daughter expected to marry well and just be happy with her lot. Alayne knew what others said about her, if anything. Ungrateful girl, riding out to patrol in the Stormlands, making sure that things were in order. She could make aims for 200 arrows every day, leaving marks on her fingers, and feel tired, and kick the wall, but nothing would stop her. She had the drive to achieve things, and being stuck in a girl’s body was awfully disappointing. She’d wait, wait for the day when her father would come home and tell her who was going to marry her, and then, childhood would be over. She didn’t doubt her father’s wish for happiness; his smarts were good enough to run the House.
It was a relief, when finally, her father turned to the subject of Domitan. Finally, it was no longer about her. Domitan was a stag, a specimen more troublesome than Alayne. He had none of Father’s political ambitions and Euron’s need for the Baratheon name to furnish the politics of King’s Landing. Instead, they had a rambunctious stag who fought alongside and for his friends. Their closeness in age was a thing that created tension between them. He’d go home, bruised and battered and Alayne would accommodate him, bandages around him. It was foolish; he was young after all. Domitan could be so much – and yet he was this boy, who believed in his values.
“Domitan tells me nothing,” came her swift reply. “He wants me off his back, Father. He goes to brawls, fights for his friends and takes wounds for what he thinks is right. He thinks he is doing the right thing, doing that. He acts and questions later. We have been fighting as of late. He doesn't want me protecting him.”
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 3, 2015 13:49:48 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Alayne wasted little time in telling the truth to her father. Anyone could clearly recognize the aggravation in her voice. Daemon listened carefully to her words, as she would reveal to him more about his son than Domitan himself would ever share. While Daemon went from day to day managing his lands, holding court and planning for the success of his family, Dom continued to fight friend and foe alike. And when Alayne mentioned that he fought for what he thought was right, that only annoyed Daemon further. What important values could stir him to consistently brawl against others that they needed so constant defending!? Daemon did not raise his son, fourthborn or no, to become a brute. Two fingers squeezed the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes in a gesture of frustration.
Even though Alayne said Dom did not tell her anything and wanted her off his back, Daemon could not help but fling more questions her way. “And what does he even think is right? To bloody and bruise himself and tarnish the name of his house? Baratheons have always been warriors, but I will not stomach my son turning into some impulsive and arrogant brute. Seven hells, he needs think more of his position. I suppose I’ll have to give him an earful later,” he bristled, then sighed. He continued to slowly traverse through the Godswood with his daughter, letting a brief moment of silence devour his rising anger and allowing him time to cool.
“Never stop protecting him, Alayne,” Daemon finally spoke up. “Just because he remains ignorant of his fortune does not mean we should leave him to his own devices. There are far too many out there who could benefit from his injury and harm to our house. We must always be vigilant, and always look out for one another. If he tells you to bugger off, you do anything but. You understand, sweetling?”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 4, 2015 6:35:14 GMT
IT'LL BE HELD AGAINST YOU
IF HEAVEN'S GRIEF
BRINGS HELL'S RAIN, THEN I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I KNOW YOU'RE BAD NEWS. JUST ONE YESTERDAY. I WANNA TEACH YOU A LESSON IN THE WORST KIND OF WAY. STILL, I'D TRADE ALL MY TOMORROWS FOR JUST ONE YESTERDAY
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Her father was right. She didn't want to give up Dom to his values. Weaknesses had always been meant to be exploited. If anything, Alayne could only sigh and get angry at the recklessness her brother had been doing. Come at him with a plate and break it over his head. Kick his ankle and scream at him on the top of her lungs. Hit him with her fists. The real reason why Dom would not even let her protect him was simply because she was a girl. Dom had her pent-up annoyance in a nutshell. Their closeness in age only made the whole thing more complicated.
"Oh, I will definitely protect him. He doesn't like it but I care not. He's young and reckless, and he probably doesn't know what will happen to him if he keeps on going at it. It will harm him and all of us one way or another. He needs to pull his act together. I will remind him of that later when I see him."
And hit his head and kick his ankle, she thought bitterly. There were shards on the floor that Domitan had already given out, never to be taken away. Another matter at her head. At best, she needed her father's permission for this.
"Father, I need your permission for something. Would you mind if I also started playing the game of thrones? I'd look for good suitors and allies. I know it seems so sudden, but I need to do my job. It's the least I can do for you."
Look for possible good mates. Make more friends. She had to settle in the political climate of Westeros quickly. Her training was to be tested inevitably. Father was aging and he could use all the help he could get. A self-imposed mission, but she had her eyes on the prize. The endgame.
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