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.
Post by ARGELLA ARRYN on Jun 27, 2015 22:11:24 GMT
She had spent most of her morning trying to read, but her efforts had been in vain. Her lack of sleep was clear on her face in the shape of two black shades under her eyes and, perhaps annoyed by it all, she set the book she had tried to read down on her desk and headed out in search for her eldest brother, Daemon.
Surely, he'd be awake: it was almost noon. Lord Daemon Baratheon. It felt strange to think of him as a lord now, instead of brother. She rarely bothered him, however, as she understood he had other, more pressing matters to deal with, like ruling, and that was no small feat.
So she limped away, stopping to ask a couple of guards about his whereabouts, in the end growing too tired to wander around Storm's End. She was not as agile as she used to be, huh? "If you see Lord Baratheon, do tell him his youngest sister was looking for him. I'll be in the dining hall." With that, she slowly walked to the aforementioned place, with the intention of finding out what her brother was up to and get something to eat at the same time: skipping breakfast had not been a good idea on her part.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 27, 2015 23:27:17 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
His morning had ended pleasantly enough. Daemon woke up early in preparation to hold court. Not many lined up outside of the great hall to have an audience with him that morning. After condemning one thief to a cell, casting final judgment over a dispute between two farmers, and personally welcoming new swords into the castle guard, the Lord of Storm’s End had developed enough of a hunger to warrant a break. He journeyed unaccompanied through his stone keep, his wife tending to her own matters and his children to their own devices.
Upon turning a corner, he almost stumbled into his youngest sister. Curvy and raven haired, Dione looked just as beautiful as the other women of his house. However, an accident in her youth had left her with a limp, which had caused her betrothed’s family to cancel the arrangement. Thus she remained with Daemon at Storm’s End while their sister had since become the Lady of Highgarden. Daemon felt sorry for Dione, but not because he deemed her prospects hopeless. No, he would not give up on her, no matter how many lords would spurn her.
“Ah, Dione!” he greeted her cheerfully, approaching her with a surprising liveliness. “Off to eat, by chance? I’d love to join you, if so. Holding court this morning has left me strangely famished, and I find myself less productive and efficient at my duties when my stomach speaks more loudly than I.”
Post by ARGELLA ARRYN on Jun 28, 2015 19:53:43 GMT
The voice of her brother made Dione look up at him, a warm smile blooming on her lips in return for his kind words. He'd always been kind, Daemon, with his gentle words and his endless search for a suitable husband for her. She felt sorry for being such a terrible burden on his shoulders when he had other things to do. Out of all people, she should have known better than to let him continue in his futile search, but she said nothing: she had grown fond of the idea of getting married. Nine years had passed since her accident and nothing happened, however.
"I've been looking for you, brother. I was headed to have something to eat myself, happy to join you in your quest for food and riches, but mostly food." She chuckled, an attempt at humour, although she wasn't all that good. Often, her attempts to lighten the mood would only make things awkward in the presence of people from other houses, since all they could see when they'd look at her was her defect, the broken wing of an ugly goose. Still, she tried, because trying was the last thing she could do.
"What have you been up to today?" She chirped happily as she moved to take a hold of his arm. It was easier for her, almost painless to walk with the support of someone. Hopefully, he wouldn't mind.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 28, 2015 20:08:31 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“Very good then,” he replied with a smile, lifting his arm closest to Dione so that she could wrap herself around it. Together they walked slowly in the direction of the eating hall. Daemon felt no discomfort from slowing his pace in the company of his youngest sister. He never preferred to rush anything he did anyway. And he enjoyed his sister’s surprising cheerfulness. Whether her good spirits in that moment came from genuine happiness or a front she assumed just for him, Daemon could not readily tell. But he would not pressure her to make that clear to him. Time would tell, he reasoned, or it would prove little matter if he ended up delighting her with his company for however long she had it.
“Aye, where to begin? I opened court earlier today. The guardsmen told of an abnormally large group of smallfolk requesting an audience with me. Their grievances did not differ from the typical, thankfully. I resolved more land squabbles, dispatched a small group of men to rout out small time thieves in the Kingswood. By the time I had to review the newest additions to the castle guard, I had worked up quite a hunger! I’ll be getting to them after our meal. Gives them more time to prepare.”
The two large doors at the end of the stone-floored hall appeared in sight. Cast on black iron hinges and made of thick oak from the Kingswood to the north, they still did little to stop the smell of the kitchens that wafted from behind. The cooks had already prepared food for most of the castle. Their timing could not have been better. “And what has my lady sister been up to this morning, I wonder?”
Post by ARGELLA ARRYN on Jun 29, 2015 16:30:51 GMT
Sometimes her leg hurt, a strange pain that spread higher each time, and often she dreamed that it would swallow her whole, like a monster rising from the darkness, the same monster that took away her sword and her dreams. She had been great, she'd had a promising future, she was certain she'd get somewhere high, high, but to see it all go in one moment, washed away by a river of red, of her own blood, it still hurt. And, from that pain, her insecurities were born, wailing loudly in the first cold nights when she felt defeated, when she felt abandoned.
He didn't leave her alone back then, Daemon, nor did the rest of her family. With their help and their kind words, she worked up the courage and the strength to get back on her feet, pick up other hobbies to occupy her time with, find other dreams. Or, in Daemon's case, he made her believe still in her childish dreams of finding a match.
She envied him sometimes. Jealousy, the ugly monster that sometimes poked around Dione's heart, it always managed to ruin things for her, but she saw it more as a challenge than anything else: if he could do it, then so could she. "Oh, you know, the usual."Hopping around like a bunny. She didn't say that, though, it would have hurt her already broken self-confidence. "I've done some light reading on the customs of the wildlings. Sure, we don't know much, we know very little in fact, but a couple of maesters made up some credible facts. Makes you wonder what they feed the maesters-in-training at the Citadel." She shrugged as she stared ahead of her at the doors that seemed almost ominous. "Hey, you, what're you looking at? Give us a hand here, silly." She spoke to a nearby guard who seemed to have found a new hobby in looking out the window and who, startled by the appearance of Lord Baratheon and his sister. He quickly mumbled an excuse and opened the doors for them, then stood straight next to the doors, waiting for the consequences of his actions.
However, Dione merely glared at him for a moment before leading her brother inside the dining room. "I swear, he's always staring out that window. Makes me think he's got himself a sweetheart in the clouds somewhere." She whispered to him as they made their way to the table, an amused chuckle soon following her words.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 30, 2015 1:27:36 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Daemon’s eyebrows arched in genuine curiosity. Having a limp might stop Dione from following her past dreams of becoming a fighting woman, like Daemon’s own daughters, but it did nothing to stop her mind. “The wildlings? How curious. I’ve read next to nothing about them. Father preferred that my studies related to more lordly pursuits. Our home, our history, that of the Targaryens...I’ve always considered the Wall fascinating. The people and lands beyond must be as well. You’ll have to enlighten your lord brother. I wish I had more time to read these days.”
The spacey guard snapped to attention instantly upon Dione’s command. Even the way she ordered the young lad sounded light-hearted, almost sweet. Fitting, Daemon mused to himself, for she had always been the kindest of his sisters by far. That her crippling did little to take away that which he loved about her only further fueled his determination to find her a suitor. Daemon gave a curt nod to the young guard in passing, taking notice of the consternation that clearly covered his face. He had nothing to fear, though, not from his lord at least.
“Perhaps he does. It’s a curious thing, what a man can fall in love with. Why, I’m just lucky enough that my affections happened to choose Lady Althea. And, one day, I should hope to think that one man will think the same about you,” he stated sincerely, as the doors to the hall roared open. The smells crashed into his nose now, flooding him with a mouth-watering sensation. Roasted poultry and squashes, freshly baked bread – plenty awaited Daemon and his sister’s stomachs. He never lacked for delectable dishes in his own hall. “I must be the luckiest man in the Seven Kingdoms, to be surrounded by such beautiful women.”
Post by ARGELLA ARRYN on Jun 30, 2015 17:33:14 GMT
He had gone through a lot of trouble just to help her and Dione was undoubtedly grateful to her brother for what he had done for her. Back then, when she almost gave up on everything, it was her older brothers who proved that it was still worth it, to go on, to get out of her room and keep walking. Or, well, limping, but that was another matter: she could still go on, head high and pride intact. Her physical defect was no reason for Dione Baratheon to forget who she really was.
"I'll keep reading and tell you about it one day, when you'll be less busy." She said with a smile, even though they both knew that day might as well never come. The monstrous responsibility on his shoulders kept growing with each day that passed, weighing more and more, and she feared he might change in time. But, for now, he was still her beloved eldest brother, whom she had to help, whenever he seemed like he needed help.
She envied his wife, Althea: beautiful, strong, with a certain charm that Dione didn't have. She once was like that. Maybe if things had gone differently, Dione would have been married by now to a lord, maybe she would've had children of her own. But she was in no place to question fate. Not anymore.
"You flatter me, my lord." She fluttered her eyelashes, fanning herself with a hand: a lighthearted jest, nothing more. She was quick to let go of his arm and limp over to her seat, eyeing all the dishes, wasting no time in grabbing a piece of freshly baked bread once she took her seat. "By the time I'll get married you'll have a grandchild, Daemon." She chuckled, then took a big bite from the warm, delicious bread: the cook knew Dione's favourite foods, gods bless him.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jun 30, 2015 23:50:14 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
The long table came into view as Daemon and Dione crossed the great doors’ threshold. Silver plates already lined the sides of the table, though only two had goblets and silverware in accommodation. Upon Daemon’s flattery, Dione fanned herself, and her brother chuckled in appreciation of her humor. That Daemon possessed the least humor out of his siblings came as no secret to anyone, yet they knew above all how to bring the loving and hearty Baratheon out of him – but Althea most of all, whose close intimacy to him revealed to her everything she needed to know to cast aside the walls guarding his heart.
Even though Dione released her hold on Daemon’s arm, he still escorted her toward her seat. When she sat, he began to maneuver toward the plate opposite her. Dione remarked on Daemon becoming a grandfather before her own marriage, to which he replied, “I would hope so, actually. I’ve started corresponding with several other lords for the sake of Euron and Alynne. The sooner they assume their rightful places and grow families of their own, the sooner I can rest easy.” He slowly sat himself in front of a great plate full of breaded chicken, steamed carrots and squash. A basket of fruit acted as the sole divider between Daemon and his sister, filled with apples, pears and peaches.
“I have high hopes for their matches, of course. I doubt Euron will find any difficulty receiving acceptance from other lords,” he stated, slicing part of his chicken and raising the chewy portion to his mouth. He resumed after swallowing. “And Alynne would be a treasure to any worthy man. Though I already have potential matches in mind, I can only hope the issues of those families prove as worthy as my own. As for you, options remain open as well, men from great houses that would be lucky to have you.”
The Baratheon house had four pillars, four people on which it's existence depended on: there was Daemon, the leader, then there was Donald, the silent guardian, Myrcella with her charm and her wit, and then there was Dione, the cripple, the lost and the cursed. But despite it all, she did her best to meet everyone's expectations: she kept up the appearances quite well in hopes that what her brother said was true, that one day she'd no longer be a Baratheon, but a member of another house.
Wasn't that some lovely wishful thinking on her part?
She stopped eating when he mentioned Euron and Alynne, as well as potential marriages. She wished only the best for them, her nieces and her nephews, although she could not help the feeling of envy that settled uncomfortably in her stomach, so she set the bread down on her plate, looking at the stag motif on the edge of the plate. How despicable of her, to be jealous of her own family, she reached a new low. And she felt so utterly ashamed that she could not bring herself to look her brother in the eyes.
"Did you find anyone suitable for them? Got any favourites?" She spoke, her tone clearly a degree more serious than before as she poked at the piece of bread, not seeming very hungry anymore. Her embarrassment had brought along plenty of bad memories and Dione was not keen on letting her brother see that she was vulnerable. "I mean, you and Althea, I'm sure you talked about it in detail. I won't tell, promise."
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 5, 2015 22:07:39 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Odd, her tone sounded...more pointed, serious. Daemon lifted a slice of the steam carrot to his face, chewing and taking note of Dione’s sudden change in tone. Nothing offensive, but worth recognizing. He did not want to discuss the marriage prospects of his children as if gloating about their wealth of options. After swallowing the steamed carrot, Daemon replied with a lighthearted tone, one that did not give away his attentiveness to his sister’s feelings. “Oh yes, we’ve had our talks. Honestly, the real struggle is not finding the matches for them, it’s getting Althea to sanction them,” he joked, chuckling softly. “But, yes, I believe I’ve found several matches worthy of them.”
Dione was his sister, of the same exact blood as himself, more loyal and sweeter than Myrcella. Daemon felt no need to hide details from her inquiries. “In fact, Althea and I have agreed to marry Alynne off to the firstborn son of Lord Stark, if he consents to the match. Sure, this may be a time of peace, but securing a strong bond with another great house could only help our position. Of course, Althea’s own northern heritage has led to bias, but still I remained convinced that the match will serve. Alynne seemed to favor it as well. Odd, as I had no prior awareness she even knew the boy.”
He bit into a nearby loaf of warm bread. “As for Euron, well...he seems intent on establishing the strongest relations for our house. He’s ridden off for Kings Landing to court one of His Grace’s own. Should that fail, I’ve considered the houses Lannister and Martell. Such unions would provide great wealth and strength for years to come, I’d imagine. I’ve even wondered if men from those houses would serve as suitable matches for you as well. I am still considering options,” he admitted. “And I remain open to your own thoughts on the matter.”
It felt strange to talk to her brother about his children getting married. Had it really been that long ago when they poked fun at each other? Had it really been that long since Storm's End was getting ready for Dione's marriage? It had, and the bitterness that those memories brought along, well, she simple swallowed it all with a sip of favourite tea, placed in her favourite porcelain cup. The servant girls knew her likes and dislikes all too well.
They had some matches in mind and Dione looked up at him, expectantly, her steel blue eyes watching him for a moment before a genuine, soft smile bloomed on her lips: oh, did he know how much she envied him? She prayed he would never find out, for that would bring so much shame to her as a person, as his sister. But she brushed it all off once more, reminding herself that she was above all that, that she was still a Baratheon and it was expected of her to act like one.
"If you think Alynne will grow to like the North... It's cold up there." She smiled, although the news of Euron's bold move, to go to King's Landing and ask for one of the king's daughters, made her smile fade, even if just a little, concern taking its place. "You let him go to King's Landing on his own?" She queried, surprised that Daemon wasn't accompanying his son. It was a bold move indeed, something that should have been talked about thoroughly, but Dione figured Euron had a plan of his own. Or so she hoped.
"I'm too old. Let children enjoy their share of love. I've had enough." She smiled a little, the corners of her lips twitching forcibly into what seemed to be a bitter smile. He knew just as well as she did that there were no suitors, that there hadn't been any suitors for her ever since nine years ago. She got used to it, to the feeling.
"Imagine this. You're a young lord, barely Euron's age, why would you marry a crippled, old lady? Hm? And spare me the political stuff, I barely have any influence in Storm's End. Aside from the servant girls, they need discipline." She made a serious face, though she could barely hide her amusement: servant girls always tried to please Dione, for her wrath was not to be messed with. She was, after all, still a Baratheon at heart.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 9, 2015 14:36:09 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Daemon had shared much with Dione, and thus he sat in silence to let his sister absorb the information. He noticed her lips curve into a soft yet somewhat weak smile, her steel blue eyes concealing some strange and conflicted feeling which Daemon could not readily grasp. As he reached for a peach, Dione expressed a hint of concern for Alynne. Daemon grimaced slightly, bit into his fruit, and let its sweet juiciness flow through him. Althea’s blood ran through Alynne’s veins, same as his. Daemon did not doubt her resolve. Perhaps her young woman’s fancy would keep her warm, alongside a man Daemon had not ever met but she seemed to love, if her affections had indeed reached that point.
Dione seemed less pleased with Euron’s actions. Daemon placed his bitten peach down upon his plate, glancing back at his sister’s mildly worried face. His own looked a strange blend of relaxed and stern. “I did. Euron is a capable man, and I have plans of my own which require my presence,” Daemon replied confidently, reaching for a nearby goblet. As he raised it to his lips, he suddenly froze, surprised at its emptiness. He said nothing, instead simply raising his goblet up into the air. The closest servant that tended to the Baratheon siblings shuffled to fetch a pitcher of his preferred red vintage.
Before Daemon could elaborate on Euron or his own plans, Dione spoke up about herself. Her smile returned to her face, but the solemnness Daemon sensed that coated it felt stronger now. It seemed to gradually tug down his own spirits. All of her sweet cheer that accompanied them as the two walked into the room had felt superficial in retrospect, and he worried for her. She was too old, Dione told him, and had enough. Daemon couldn’t even answer in time, for she followed up with a pointed question that tried to address the futility of arranging a match for her. A bit of playful warmth returned to her face as she mentioned disciplining the servant girls, but Daemon’s thoughts lingered on her pained question.
“I suppose it depends on the lord,” he began. “It’s true – you won’t inherit Storm’s End. As a noble lady joining another family, they will not receive any great lands by taking your hand. But spare you the political...stuff, was it? That I cannot.” At that point, one of the servants returned with a pitcher filled with arbor red. They poured for Daemon, who nodded in thanks and took his first sip. “Marriage and politics are intertwined, sweet sister. Even if you don’t stand to inherit lands or titles here, that does not rid you of any influence. You are my sister. That enough serves to tie a lord that takes your hand to me and mine own. A bond like that could be a useful connection both in times of peace and war.
And you’re too hard on yourself. You’re older, but not old. You’re crippled, but beautiful.”
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