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 Daemon Baratheon on Jul 5, 2015 21:43:38 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“I knew I could count on you. Thank you, Alayne,” Daemon muttered more softly. Though time barely separated the pair, Alayne had always kept more aware of her status than her younger brother. Whereas Domitan waltzed around with the fiery heart of both his mother and Daemon’s forebears, Alayne had tempered the same fierce resolve with her father’s cooled patience. Her youth and consistent proximity to Dom meant she had the best chance of catching him before the young stag made a reckless decision with inescapable consequences. Indeed, Daemon entrusted her with watching over her hotheaded brother, despite how young she herself still was.
Some silence passed before Alayne spoke up. By then, only the whispers of wind against tree leaves surrounded Daemon and his daughter. In complete confidence, she asked her father if he would mind her inclusion in the ‘game of thrones’, a phrased coined by the shrewd of the king’s court and the soured smallfolk who tired of the nobles’ vying for power. But none typically said it so bluntly. Thankfully, Alayne and Daemon lingered in the Godswood, secluded and safe. He stopped in his steps, turning to face Alayne. His face looked stern but considerate, deliberating as his mind worked out how he deemed most appropriate to respond.
“It’s not a matter of permission, nor when and if. I dislike that term, but we are always playing, Alayne,” Daemon said, lowering his face and keeping himself close to his daughter. Even within his own walls, he planned to keep his words safe from unwarranted ears. “Though I have planned more for the marriages of your elder siblings, I have thought about yours as well. The game, as you say, is already in motion. However, if you mean to take the helm yourself, I respect and understand that. But you might not find it so easily done. Nor am I so willing to send out a young lady of eight-and-ten from my lands to act as some unexpected power broker or reverse-suitor…but I suppose there are others ways you could help before a match is found. As a handmaiden, perhaps? That would not suit your talents very well, I admit, but it is unlikely that most lords would deem your sex acceptable to function as a typical ward. I am content that you have proved capable leading small patrols of the lands nearby…Perhaps we could use that to our advantage in finding a more suitable role for you.
Have you any relations with the other lords of our realm? Or with their children?”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 6, 2015 7:41:23 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
0000
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papa stag
notes
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At the end of the day, her gender was the big issue. If she'd even been born a male, how different would things be, really. Yet, for some reason, she was just this fiery little cookie in a girl's body content to make small patrols in the Stormlands. She had the organizing ability, she could debate properly and articulate her views and opinions strongly. She could memorize verses and texts till her eyes gave out, and she could shoot targets, mastered the bow and arrow. Plus, she sucked at playing the lute and every time she attempted to write poetry, it ended up being too blunt. That was sad.
Father always had logical reasons for the things he said. Alayne could respect that. At the end of the day, she had much pent-up annoyance at herself for her powerlessness. Well, at best, she entertained herself for some time being. Sparring with her bodyguard had been the go, and she found herself sometimes bored without any task to tend to. All her martial accomplishments....
Hmph. "Lord Tyrell's heir, Brynden Tyrell and I are good friends," Alayne admitted. Brynden was a little rose. She knew some secrets. Nothing wrong with twisting a little rose in the palm of your hand. Nothing like putting on a good show. Nagging in Brynden's ear, and beating him at cyvasse to show him she was a good friend and to soothe her own wounded ego.
"I'm just getting started making all the connections necessary. All I ever did was train and read," Alayne noted. So much for a rigorous lifestyle. "Hm, handmaiden doesn't sound too bad, but if I do become a handmaiden, what of Doran? I want to keep him nearby." Her best friend and companion, looking out for her. "In any future trips, I plan to bring Doran with me. It's dangerous in Westeros."
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 6, 2015 20:57:58 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
“Brynden? Ah, Myrcella’s first son.” Daemon’s face looked neither pleased nor perturbed by Alayne’s answer. He was her cousin and the firstborn son of Daemon’s sister, who married into house Tyrell. Myrcella shared their blood and could be trusted more-so than most other lords in the realm, but she had always been more resentful than loyal to her father’s house. However, Daemon’s complicated relationship with Myrcella did not rule out a pleasant bond between Alayne and Brynden. Fostering Alayne at Highgarden at such an older age would serve more to bind the families together based on Lady Tyrell’s old blood, rather than forge new connections. Thus, it had both merits and flaws.
The Godswood seemed to whisper around Daemon as its leaves danced on the wind. Were his wife’s gods listening? Did they plan to watch over whatever path Alayne would set herself upon? Daemon’s mind occupied itself with reflections on his sister, her marriage to Lord Tyrell, the soothing nature of the woods around them. But Alayne snapped him back into a sharper focus when she asked of Doran’s fate. Doran Storm, the bastard of House Swann. Daemon knew him well, and even entrusted him with Alayne’s defense. Daemon did not condemn those of bastard birth unless they proved every bit as deceptive and untrustworthy as their stereotype dictated. However, Doran instead proved himself loyal, strong, and competent – traits Daemon never ignored just because of varying degrees of luck that brought one into the world.
“I should hope you would,” he nodded. “No matter what happens to you, you shall always be my daughter, Alayne of House Baratheon. A lady of a great house does not wander the Seven Kingdoms without proper protection. And Doran has proved himself a viable asset.” If he had not been born a bastard, he might even have been a good suitor for Alayne as the firstborn son of a vassal house. No doubt that match would have made Alayne happy, and solidified Daemon’s strength in his own lands. Alas, such remained out of his control. Only the King could make such a change in fate a reality.
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 7, 2015 11:04:57 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
0000
WORDS
@tag
papa stag
notes
WORDS
The amount of control she exercised over the Stormlands should be an asset, not a liability. Being young, she had her own ambitions to put to reality. A poor thing she was, head buried under the water, eager to do what she meant to with her life. Doran had watched her grow up, and inseparable was the doe from the bastard boy. If Doran was not a bastard, she was certain her father would be too happy to marry her off to him. Reality was a bit of relief. Besides, other boys were pretty gross.
"Doran is most definitely an asset. He and I are just friends, nothing more," said the dutiful doe. "I fear I might be more of a liability. At the end of the day, I want to make myself more useful is all." If I were only a man, she thought, annoyance twitching her smooth brow. I could be more useful to any card Father has to play. What use am I aside from patrolling around and paperwork and marriage?
Exercising guard over things had been one of the tasks she had trained herself to do. Nonetheless, it was sage to bring along Doran with her anywhere she went. Just two childhood friends accompanying each other. Hm. Doran probably needed some time to fool around with girls.
"Oh, I'll bring him when I make trips then," she chirped. "I definitely will. I'm not in a hurry to get married, Father. That's all."
That was the truth. Better be honest now than never. Her relationship with her father was better than her relationship with her mother. Her mother was more emotional. Sometimes, Alayne wondered how it even happened - her father falling in love with his emotional wife. Hm.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 7, 2015 21:18:10 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
He blinked several times at Alayne, suspiciously, but in the end gave her a curt nod. Daemon had faith in his determined daughter. Fierce and independent like her mother, but shrewd and logical like him. She would not fool around with a bastard boy and risk her virtue. Unlike with men, most women would be scorned for sleeping with bastards, and Daemon could not permit that. He entrusted Doran with Alayne’s life and friendly happiness – but not her maidenhood. He could not change Doran’s upbringing, even if he would have liked to, and thus the boy could not have her hand. Alayne’s admittance of fear, of vulnerability, almost came as a welcome change of topic.
“Sweetling, you will have your chance. You’ve already proven yourself useful by helping keep peace near your home,” Daemon assured her. He paused to let Alayne speak up, her tone an interesting mix of dutiful and cheerful. Daemon knelt down so that his face reached eye level with his daughter, his eyes gazing into their own likeness upon his daughter’s young but beautiful face. “And whether as a handmaiden, a bride, or even a fighting woman, I have no doubts you will play your part for this house. And I will not stop you when that time comes. But, for now, exercise patience. I’ll need more time to sort our options out.”
He raised his right hand and rested it atop Alayne’s left shoulder, squeezing it gently but with a sort of compassionate strength. It was a hold that conveyed ‘I hear you, and I’m with you’. “And I’m not in the greatest hurry to marry you off, but we must always be prepared for opportunities to strengthen the house.” He grinned. “Why don’t you worry less about all this and more about presenting your archery to your mother? Give me time to stress the details laid before us, and soon enough I’ll go over them with you and your mother. Can you do that for me?”
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 8, 2015 11:24:00 GMT
ENDINGS WITHOUT END
► it seems paper-thin ◄
Maybe she was overthinking it. Too much overthinking, well, she was a bit impatient sometimes. Her mistake, not her father's - and yet she did feel a pang of guilt at being a source of worry for her father. She did kind of feel bad being some sort of burden for her father, the person she respected the most out of the people in her life. A dutiful daughter; she'd be that and be done with it. Any spirit left with her would have to be distracted to showing off her archery to her dearest mother. Perhaps that would mend some strain in their awkward relationship. She loved her mother, she did, but it was her father, her family, whose opinions mattered the most for her.
They would always matter to her. No matter what. She set her jaw, feeling a bit oddly comforted by the presence of her father's hand on her shoulder, looking at her, listening to her rambling. Her throat felt a bit heavy, yet she didn't want to burst into a fit of sudden emotion. She rarely mastered her emotions; she kept them under a lid, under control for fear they might be abused, that they might be exploited. But she could trust Father.
"I will, oh, I will," whispered the girl. "I guess it is about time I should show her. The odds better be in my favor. I want her to enjoy watching me practice my archery. I'll worry about my archery, watch over Domitan, and I'll make new friends with other people. I assure, I won't neglect my work patrolling. It's not like anyone else is up to the job."
Political arrangements. Strategies. Soon enough, Father would push her name as some bride. She'd do her part. One day, she told herself. One day.
Post by Daemon Baratheon on Jul 8, 2015 23:47:21 GMT
OURS IS THE FURY
Daemon smiled warmly. He could always count on Alayne to hear him out and heed his words. After all, she was as much his daughter as she was her own woman. Daemon patted her shoulder twice as he rose from his knelt position. “I’m sure everything will be just fine,” he reassured her. “If you shoot the same way as when I stumbled upon you a moment ago, your mother should be impressed.” Then, a soothing pause as the winds once again swept through the godswood’s trees. A gentle breeze, and Daemon hoped that good fortunes soared with it through his home and into his family’s future.
“Perhaps Dom should watch your archery as well, as long as he doesn’t get in your way. The man could learn a great bit about discipline from you, since it seems he’s ignored those lessons from me.” Daemon glanced up at the dancing leaves, closed his eyes, and sighed before resuming his relaxed walk with Alayne. Her reassurances brought joy and comfort to his heart. She meant well and had the heart and mind to do well, too. Though she had already made him proud with her small contributions to their house and with her displays of skill, she would one day truly flourish as a strong lady to a great lord. That was Daemon’s hope, at least, though the thought also carried a slight melancholy pain with it.
Post by alayne baratheon on Jul 9, 2015 4:00:44 GMT
ENDINGS WITHOUT END
► it seems paper-thin ◄
The burden of her duties never seemed so light and yet so heavy. She didn't want to fail her father, she really did. Only time would tell if her hard work would produce excellent results. Aggressive actions were needed to produce good results, and in her work, she knew no excuses were meant to be said when it came to preparing things for the future. Eventually, she would leave Storm's End, all that she knew, to make a home somewhere else. Only time really can tell, she thought, as she listened to her father.
"I'll see you at dinner, then, Father." Ever mindful, she gave her father a polite nod. Yes, she could get onto new plans, smaller ones. She'd freshen up, brush her hair, after this. Then, go do some recreational reading and drink some hot tea. At supper, she might see Father again but his schedule truly dictated his location. He was a busy man, with work to do, but he made time for his family. Tomorrow would be another day for early patrolling, and archery practice, as custom dictated it.
Next week would be the new calendar to broaden her horizons. Hopefully, whatever she did, it would make Father happy and proud, not worried. Keeping an eye on Domitan would probably mean resorting to some other tactic - spying on him, and dragging the truth out of him. Definitely, Father would trust her on that.
"Please be safe!" she called, before waving and turning her back. A word of safety, for concern. To be a House Lord was not a joke. He had power. He had responsibilities. If he needed help, she was willing to help him any way she could.
With that, the Baratheon looked ahead. Now, she could rest. Father would go to his business. She would be on her way to hers. Blood would be thicker than water. The Baratheons knew that fact. She began to walk, contented and eager to rest - and face what the future laid ahead of her.
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