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.
King Jaehaerys the second had passed away, the blossoms of his life withered and died rather abruptly. His rule was marked by peace and excellence as Westeros managed to flourish and prosper. Carmilla Lannister came to offer her deep condolences, and she didn't come alone. The nobility came in groups to do the same, and Carmilla had to wonder if their intentions were to offer the same sentiment. The young Lioness doubted everything, and she was obliged not to take everything at a face value. Carmilla came to hear the gossip; she came to see the nobility with her own eyes; she came because she had to. All noble houses had to come and show their respect for the dead. Then again, the dead was going to get buried six feet under. No, wait for a second! She thought about it remembering the lessons she had taken from her Maester. The Targareyns were used to cremating their dead; by then, she remembered. Still, Carmilla didn't attend because of the charity and the good will of her own heart; she even doubted the visitors to have pure intentions either. The high ranks of the nobility were known to be misleading and deceitful; everyone came to serve a certain selfish purpose.
Clad in a simple dark dress, Carmilla wore a black mantle of which a chain made of pure gold connected them from the collars. Young in age, she didn't expect to attract the interest of any of the attendees; she didn't have the same reputation her older siblings had for themselves. Actually, she was depending on being anonymous. Among the many individuals who came to visit, she tried her best to keep presence unnoticed. Eventually, she began to observe her surroundings. Of course, they were many Targaryens about; they were the main players of the political scene. About three hundred years ago, Aegon and his two sisters came to conquer Westeros; their endeavors were met with success, and thus began the Targaryen dynasty. An old story everyone knew. As of recent, The Targaryens suffered from a few crucibles. The dance of dragons helped put a dent in their numbers and killed their dragons or the most of them. Indeed, the Targaryens used to be gods among mere men. And now look at them, they were fighting amongst each other; each had a claim to the throne, and each one was willing to kill for it. Divided, the Targaryens were vulnerable. Carmilla gathered much from the scene unfolding before her. The Targaryens didn't how to deal with the Greyjoys, the Lannister concluded. They didn't understand what it meant to be an Ironborn, and Carmilla didn't blame the Ironborn for sticking up for their creed. The Ironborn were fearsome warriors, they laughed against hardship and welcomed the concept of a good death. Carmilla knew much because she was a Lannister, and the West shared borders with the Iron Isles. Picking a fight with the Lord paramount of the Ironborn wasn't a wise move, and brandishing Dark sister in a place of mourning wasn't wise either.
This could have ended in blood, but Alysanne Targaryen decided to put an end to it. Would the other men still their anger? Carmilla crossed her arms, her bright amber eyes examined the event with deep curiosity. Was this Lord Stark barging in? Well, he did kneel before Alysanne. Could this be taken as an indirect declaration of support? The Seven kingdoms weren't adamant about putting a queen on the throne because men were the ones to inherit. Carmilla sat silently, analyzing the situation at the best of her ability.
Post by YULIYA LANNISTER on Aug 20, 2017 21:34:44 GMT
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Even on the day of Jaehaerys’ wake, the Master of Coin was unable to tear herself from financial concerns. Donning a sweeping dress of black fabric, the golden lion was cloaked with somberness as she scowled at another question regarding the steep cost of the funeral. She was all too aware of the current state of the crown’s monetary position and it was going to drastically alter over the course of a single day. A day that was intended to be dedicated towards the celebration of the esteemed life of the deceased king.
Finally, the Lannister woman snapped and remarked she would hear no more talk of gold.
Agitated that she would be entering the sept only a brief amount of time before the funeral was scheduled to begin, the tiny woman stormed along. Her entry went largely unnoticed given the turmoil that seemed to be occurring between the Ironborn and the rest of nobility, namely Lady Baratheon who appeared to be seething. Silence was the best weapon for Yuliya to wield as she skirted around the edge of the room towards a familiar presence.
She couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief as Alysanne stood to dissolve the tension that stifled the air. Finding a seat beside her brother, she gave him a morose smile before her sapphire hues scanned the nobility of the room. “It appears I’ve missed quite a bit,” Yuliya spoke lowly, eyes finally settling on the casket that held the beloved ruler.
Alysanne is one of the three Targaryen children who purport they have claim to the throne. The now-dead King decreed Alysanne be Queen, and the unorthodox mother of three plans to become one.
Post by ALYSANNE TARGARYEN on Aug 20, 2017 21:56:44 GMT
Alysanne had many friends, many family members, and many leeches. However, among all the people she knew, Lord Stark was the person she trusted most in this world. Her closest confidant and friend. "Thank you for traveling so far, Lord Stark." She would have merely referred to him as Cassius had people's eyes not been glued to them. She locked eyes with him, conveying everything she wanted to say with one look. We need to talk.
He had nodded and left, disappearing to the back. Alysanne refocused her attention on Daella. "I'm not speaking as Queen or Princess. I'm speaking as a child who lost the man who raised her. And you will show some respect. I expected this much from a Greyjoy, but not from the Hand of the King's wife."
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 20, 2017 22:46:37 GMT
“ I didn’t know that the Lord Hand was controlled by a Targaryen wench.” Quellon’s eyes fixed itself on the Arkas. “I find it interesting that the late king left this realm under the authority of a woman too stupid to know when to shut her fucking mouth, and a weak-willed Greenlander who can’t even keep peace at his funeral.”
Quellon looked around him, to the other lords gathered. “Maybe the other two heir apparents could weigh in. Should we get the valuble council of Daeron Targaryen, who chose a common whore over the Iron Throne? Or Rhaegar, who stole and raped a Dornish princess into being his wife before showing? They seem to be as intelligent or capable as that bitch of a wife you have, my Lord Hand.”
And then, finally, Quellon’s gaze fell on Daella. Stupid, ignorant, baleful, angry Daella.
“Draw your steel, wench. Bare Dark Sister on me.” Quellon spread his robes open, exposing his bare chest. Unarmored, defenseless—a clear shot to the heart. “Go ahead and make your cut. Let my Ironborn loose on Westeros. Together, the six remaining kingdoms can quell them, but it will bring me joy, Daella Baratheon, to know your children will be lying in the same crypts as your king because of your fucking idiocy.”
To hear her brother's voice directed towards her once more after all these years was blessing enough, though she truly wished she could have enjoyed more of his company if possible... The only regret she had then was how she couldn't have just asked him how he was doing before watching him join the adults in their discussion. Adult... Jeren had always been the adult as far back as she could remember strangely enough. Happy days spent with her siblings were nothing more but a distant memory buried beneath a longing that seemed trivial to her now... Maybe she should visit Winterfell after this... If she could that is.
As he spoke of their father, she'd almost reached out to lightly pinch the side of his hand as she would've in their youth, only to look at him to remind him how he'd work too hard for him. How he'd scarce have time to spend playing anymore... Maybe that was the reason why she could not really remember the days they played happily together. She was far too young. She'd nod towards his words, smiling towards herself at the thought that she might see Lord Stark one more time after so long. It might not be the reunion she'd hope for but at least she'd get to see her family once more.
And thus it was back to her small conversation with Vivaenne, only to be interrupted by a rose who stood out in his beauty. She gave the young bud a curtsy before greeting him at his approach, looking to Vivaenne for but a moment to asses how welcome the man was. "I believe it's her way of saying you're welcome to stay." She chuckled softly just before Vivaenne suddenly straightened up like a knight being called forth to attention. Her gaze crossed the field only to find the old king's daughter looking at her own child, understanding immediately what could have caused the other to straighten up. After all... she could see herself doing the same should she have caught a glance of her own mother... Not like it needed to be her mother.
Immediately after she caught sight of her father's bulk, walking straight to where the old king lay. She felt relieved to to see he arrived safely, and immediately wondered if Lord Tully had arrived with him, though just as Vivaenne had straightened up to exemplify dignity, Ashe only felt an instinctive need to bury her head beneath her hood which she did not wear today, as she felt her father's gaze on her, momentary it may be.
As many more important people converged, Ashe had begun to lose interest, up until it sounded a bit more... threatening... turning to the other two in hopes that they'd agree with what she had in mind. "Would either of you find it rude for us to relocate somewhere... away from this crowd? Maybe a small area where we can talk without having our elders possibly glancing in our direction. I admittedly do want to talk with those of my age for a change..."
Alira is the Lady of Winterfell, although her southern roots leave her with a bad attitude and sharp tongue. She cares for her children more than anything, and some people even suspect she may care for her husband.
This funeral was getting lit. Alira found herself sitting at a back table, watching the commotion unfold. She sipped her wine and even chuckled a bit as a damn near fight broke out.
She had children here, but she left them to their own devices. When her husband arrived and kneeled before Alysanne, Alira sneered. Had her chalice of wine been glass, it would have broken. She stared daggers at the two until Cassius departed from the princess.
'That's what I thought.'
Last Edit: Aug 20, 2017 23:03:35 GMT by ALIRA STARK
Post by LORENT TYRELL on Aug 20, 2017 23:05:39 GMT
The event was posed to be rather dramatic when one considered the various houses that gathered in respect of the late king. Lorent had accompanied his eldest brother, Lukas, in show of the bond shared between the Tyrells and the Targaryens. He even told himself he would reign in his personality during the bereavement for the sake of those in grieving, even if he knew that others would not be so gracious. Although he only emotionally valued the bonds he shared with his immediate family, he still held an objective respect for King Jaehaerys II and his accomplishments. In that aspect, it was indeed a life worth celebrating.
"Mm," he sounded lowly with his usual smile as the drama arose. He took up a glass of wine like his brother, in hopes of promoting the usage of the soothing liquid. Although he never drank to be inebriated, he could always count on royal gatherings to have something pleasing for his palate. His attention focused on Lord Greyjoy, whose demeanor exuded an aura of superiority. Whether it was fact or not, Lorent was interested in the rationale that bred such an attitude, so he tuned into the discussion. After all, even though he had become more known for his ever present and sometimes inappropriate smile, his true defining trait was his attention to detail. Roaches and salt castles, fools and posturing imbeciles. Lorent sighed, as the conversation dulled from meaningful facts to emotional drivel.
His amber hues began to seek other sources of entertainment, and his eyes rested upon two familiar faces: his brother Lukas and their old acquaintance Vivaenne. He recalled meeting the Targaryen princess in a much more peaceful setting, when King Jaehaerys II's declining health was not as apparent. As nice as the reunion may have been, he decided to forsake the interaction in order to meet a more unfamiliar visage. There sat a slightly younger woman who he saw a bit of himself in, though he dare not say it. While men his age were seeking worthy wives with families who influence were of interest, Lorent just wanted his boredom alleviated. He made his way over, though he did not take a seat next to her. Instead, he stood before her with his usual smile.
"I need a break from all of the theatrics," he began before giving a glance to the commotion once more. He then devoted his full attention back to the young Lannister, taking a small sip of wine before he continued his address. "Unless you find me a nuisance, of course! I wouldn't take it to heart at a time like this."
martell by blood, targaryen through wedlock. fiery and unkempt, the red sun will go to any measures to assure her beloved is seated upon the iron throne.
Post by RHIANU TARGARYEN on Aug 20, 2017 23:09:07 GMT
☀ ☀ ☀
Alysanne’s attempt to quell the instigation Quellon incited did not work as planned. Daella spoke once more, her words meant to slice through both the Targaryen heiress and the man from the Iron Isles. Rhianu bit down harshly on her lip, wishing to cry out in assertion at Lady Baratheon’s claims. She aligned herself with the woman’s beliefs but it still not time for her to voice the opinions swimming furiously in her mind.
Until Lord Greyjoy found it fitting to turn his wrath onto her husband and second heir of the late king. Her eyes were blazing, ire coursing through her body as she stepped forward to allow her tiny form to be seen beside Rhaegar. A tight hand clutched onto Ryllan’s, who glanced around with a look of obliviousness at the haze of fury that had settled upon the wake. “Lord Greyjoy,” the Dornish native’s voice was tense as she finally spoke, her tone reverberating in order to draw the kraken’s attention onto her.
“I have no interest in the animosity you wish to unleash on the Targaryen family or the insistence of violence towards Lady Baratheon. But one fact that seems to have grown hazy to you will be brought to clarity this instant. You will not make accusations of kidnapping or rape towards Rhaegar, especially if you were not immediately present for the events that occurred twelve years ago. I hope your mind has gained lucidity once more, my lord.” Her stare remained fixated upon the seadog, rubies glittering with rage while her other hand tethered to Rhaegar.
Post by LOGAN LANNISTER on Aug 21, 2017 0:02:38 GMT
Lady Baratheon did little to try and return the situation to normal, immediately turning her attention to Alysanne while Quellon's antics only escalated the affair further. Logan briefly remembered the chat he held with his mother at Casterly Rock, vividly aware of the choice of words they shared. He could feel it beginning.
Not even a month had gone by, and already there was animosity between houses. There were those who remained neutral to the circus however, discovering that at times it best to simply watch rather than soil one's hands.
King Jaehaerys II's would have turned over in his grave had he been buried. The pages had skipped over act one and had abruptly reached a climax. With Quellon daring Daella to strike him through the heart, Logan noticed a young girl who caught his eye.
Carmilla studied the situation, and Logan was fully aware of it; something she'd picked up from their dear mother. Instead of welcoming his little sister to sit beside him, he only nodded before being greeted by yet another familiar face.
Logan greeted his sister with a smile. "It's good to see you, sister." He turned, glancing to the theatrics over yonder. The better part of him wanted to interfere, to stop the charade for good. "This display at a funeral no less is distasteful," he whispered before they were interrupted by a young face.
"Ser Lorent," Logan bowed his head, knowing the familiar face. Although only twenty-one years of age, Lorent was a promising young knight. He happened to be the nephew of Morella Lannister, his mother. "Please, sit," he offered, moving over so he could speak to his sister Yuliya.
Post by YULIYA LANNISTER on Aug 21, 2017 0:29:45 GMT
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Her attention no longer centered on the theatrics occurring as the main event of the wake, not the lifeless man off to the side of the room who rested in a casket. While the sequence of events did not sit well with the secondborn Lannister, she had no authority in the situation. She attended to affairs regarding the crown and not heated tensions spurred from the heedlessly spoken options. And if the supposed queen couldn’t subdue the situation then she was assured her words would be futile.
With this conclusion, her gaze also fell upon the youngest Lannister girl seated closely to her siblings. The gleam in her eyes was one that Yuiliya recognized immediately, causing a knowing smile to find its way onto her face. Whatever was churning through her mind at the current moment was a gift handed down to the lion from their mother, Morella. It was best to leave her to her own devices, which seemed to be a conclusion that Logan reached as well.
The smile donned on her face was then directed towards her brother while she reached out to clasp his hand endearingly for a moment before letting go, placing her folded hands back into her lap. “I’m glad to see that you haven’t gotten yourself involved in the madness unfolding, brother,” Yuilya softly remarked, cerulean stare flickering over towards the cluster of nobility exchanging fiery words.
Another nobleman appeared before them: the familiar face of Lorent Tyrell. Mimicking her brother, the little lion bowed her head as a greeting before speaking, “Lord Tyrell.” She spoke no more, seeing that his interests were invested in their younger sister.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 21, 2017 3:05:22 GMT
Was this a funeral or the prelude to a war?
Honestly, at this point, what was the difference?
Oisin sighed softly before smiling weakly. If things kept up a fight would no doubt break out. The Princess, Alysanne Targaryen, had done her best to quell it, but it had been nothing but a display of power over the others. The Iron Born didn't respond kindly to commands. Furthermore, the fool was testing his mother. Storm's End had enough defenses to withstand the meek power of the Iron Isles, however not without cost- a grave one. Furthermore, now Lord Greyjoy was lashing out at all the heirs apparent. He had been standing towards the back, originally intending to simply let the adults deal with this on their own.
Clearly that wasn't going well.
Oisin moved to step in between his mother and Lord Greyjoy. His dark green cloak with golden and black trims fluttered softly. The emblem of the rampant stag pinned his cloak to his collar. He kept a kind smile across his face as he spoke calmly.
”My dear Lord Greyjoy, you surely are a fearsome man. I enjoyed hearing what you think of the other guests, and I do understand. Our dearly beloved king has just recently passed. He truly was a magnificent man to inspire such emotions. Almost everyone in this room was either his relative, his friend or a companion in battle. It's only natural emotions run high, from all involved parties.” He shot his mother a glance, still smiling. ”I understand you have concerns regarding how your dear friend's passing was handled, however may I implore you bring up these concerns at the council meeting as my father suggested?”
The young stag leaned forward, speaking softly but still loud enough for most to hear.
”They'll have to sit quietly and let you talk there- no matter what you say. It is a council meeting after all, and you were invited to say your piece. I am sure your words of wisdom and advice would be taken much better there rather than at the wake of our beloved King. If you like, I am sure father can send for knights to escort you to the council meeting when it begins so you do not miss anything at all.”
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 21, 2017 3:34:07 GMT
This was beyond idiotic. The adults were being fucking dumbasses. Were they too stupid just to let the mad dog bark and leave it be? Instead they were all bickering with each other like morons. They ruined a perfectly good wake. All Aoife wanted to do was pay her respects to a man who had helped her mother earlier in her life. Instead, her mother herself was disrespecting the wake of the man who was supposedly so incredibly important to her. Still, Aoife couldnt be angry at her. Her mother was an emotional creature, and this was no doubt a time when emotions would run the highest. It didnt help that the glorified fisherman was antagonizing her.
Furthermore, he had a really stab-able face. It was miracle her mother hadn't started a war already. When they were in private, Aoife made a mental note to congratulate her mother for holding out so long against such an unpleasant man.
Ah, there it was.
Her brother was trying to play mediator. What a show off. Aoife slowly shifted her gaze from the scene before her towards the one group who didnt seem too invested in the chaos. With their golden blond hair and beauty, it was clear they were the Lannisters. Quietly, the girl walked over towards them. Her black lofty dress swayed softly as she gave a polite bow of the head. Her voice was gently and quiet.
”Pardon me my Lords,” she began, glancing to LOGAN LANNISTER and LORENT TYRELL. ”Do you mind if I remain here... It is much quieter with you all.” Her eyes shifted to the sister Lannisters before she gave them soft bows as well.
Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Aug 21, 2017 6:08:38 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand]
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[attr="class","likedotitle"]
[attr="class","likedotitle2"]CALM FURY
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]"You are part of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord Greyjoy. I invited you to the Small Council sitting in the morrow. That will be the time to talk of politics. For the time being, I'll believe that every slip of your tongue was motivated by your desire to keep the realm at peace." Eyes turned from from the One-Eye to his wife. There was a leveling stare for his wife and son. "As I believe my wife spoke out of inner pain at the loss of not only her King but companion. The sword at her side was given to her in order to protect him. Can you fault a loyal heart to extend that protection to the last day dedicated to his memory?"
They say that love is the end of all duty. And it is true. Daella had made him understand it. She had not made him less a dutiful man, she had given purpose to his duties in the first place, transforming something inside of him with her passion. But that raging emotion could be a firestorm unleashed, and in the dealing with Lord Greyjoy, she had overstepped - not her role as a woman, but the tact required for such an affair. And so had his son. Glaring at the two dragon-featured Baratheons, he could only hope that they knew better than to do anything but sit with the most well-behaved daughter in the world.
The gaze wandered on, this time not to Daeron, but to Alysanne.
For all her appealing qualities, his wife lacked political tact. Princess Alysanne didn't lack that kind of insight. But she seemed to be lacking the voice to make her demands known. Was that because her voice was weak or because the world's ears had been trained to hear the barked orders of male voices? Either way. He said nothing beyond a disappointed look of sorrow.
They were all fools. A big ceremony for all the realm to come together in a weeping of peace — Had anyone ever expected that to work? They were the reckless knights of Daemon I Blackfyre, charging across the Redgrass Field in order to unleash their fury. But it had been another bastard to stop the first of the Blackfyre line. Cold steel had rained from above upon Daemon and his two sons, show by cowardly archers. There was no glory on that day. Only ruthlessness, primed in order to succeed. And did the boisterous hall in its raving think that Arkas had come any less prepared?
With the King dead and there being no clear choice of an heir, Arkas was the Protector of the Realm, Lord Regent. He could make Kings. But he didn't. He could make a Queen. But he wouldn't. These screaming people before him would make the next King, gathering in the months to come - hopefully. Until then, Arkas would defend the King's peace. And if another spoke a word, he would dispense the King's justice. But he was not a blood-thirsty man. He had brought a weapon that would break all their voices, no matter how loud they wanted to be.
Arkas nodded a signal, the High Septon took his place at the head of the coffin, palms spread in the gesture of prayer. The Sept of Baelor had been built in favour of the Seven Gods. Even though there were some in the realm that favoured the Old Gods, namely those under Lord Stark and Lord Greyjoy, even they would not be able to deny the all-surrounding voice of the Faith.
Shaped like the Seven Pointed Star, every corner of the building offered an in-turned balcony that over-looked the ceremony floor. Upon each of the seven high stands, there stood eleven Septas, forming the uniformed number of a choir of seventy-seven gods-blessed vocalists.
Louder than the yapping of King's Landing all together. And they sang, drowing out the voices and noises with the holy spirit. The voices echoed in holy hymns for hours, seemingly, until the people sat in silence. The High Septon was an old man, clearly he could not be expected to remain in prayer pose forever.
"We have gathered upon this day of sadness to culminate our sorrow: His Grace, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, has passed. The Father blessed him with justice. But also did he know mercy at the hands of the Mother. The Warrior filled his heart with the courage of not raising a sword. The Smith gave him strength, ruling the realms of men with steadiness. The Maid blessed him with a daughter and many grand-daughters. The Crone gave him the wisdom to trust in the Gods and be without fear - for at the end of every life there comes the time of the Stranger."
And indeed, the Stranger had taken Jaehaerys. And by the time the High Septon had finished the royal ceremony which included the reciting of the Sonnet of Seventy-Seven from the Seven-Pointed Star - every stanza followed by the sept-filling holiness of the Septas' voices, the Stranger was going to have a busy day...
Clearly no one could have stayed on their feet during the religious ceremony, let alone awake. Arkas himself longed for an arrow in his chest, if only to fight off the heaviness of eye-lids. The High Septon finished the ordeal and removed himself. The Septas quiet. The seating having scattered all those with their little feuds across the arrangement, certainly they would meet other people in the Great Sept of Baelor on the second tilt.
Arkas sighed, words for his wife and son. "I'm glad you're not conspiring to kill any members of the royal family. Just me."
A genuine smile caressed Carmilla's lips when both of her older siblings nodded to her; she waved back gently, her slender fingers were gloved and hidden. Of course, they knew why she was sitting a bit far from the main group; Carmilla was studying how this political scene was going to unfold. For many, this situation might have seemed a dull affair which soiled the wake of a good king. But no, there was much going to happen depending on the interaction of the main players who dictated the affairs of Westeros. Alysanne's relationship with Lord Stark seemed cordial and warm, at least to the point where her dear aunt Alira was going to break her wooden chalice into bits of splinters. Lord Quellon's rebuttal left Alysanne's reputation unscathed, which was kind of interesting; he brutally attacked the other Targaryens, though, even the women. Was he a man of anger and wrath, Lord Quellon? Or was he playing with words to serve a certain purpose? The wake did include many of the nobility, and his words were bound to be heard. Although Carmilla found his profanity to be distasteful, still she had to admit he commanded a very powerful presence. Even the Baratheons who were known for their 'fury' chose not to unveil their legendary trait; the Baratheon's Scion confronted the Greyjoy with eloquent words, and indeed the Scion would become a good political figure in the future; however, from her point of view, Oisin was mistaken in his approach. Dark sister had been brandished a few moments ago, and Lord Quellon answered with quite the heavy statement.
If she had been in Oisin's shoes, she would have gutted Quellon's belly with a knife. At this point, politics be damned. War wasn't going to happen; war has already been happening. From a strategic view, Lord Quellon shouldn't be allowed to leave the seven walls of the sept. It might be a dirty tactic to kill the man right there, but they could put a dent on the Ironborn's fleet denying it such a powerful leadership that was Lord Quellon. But they didn't, they were not going to do it, and they were going to suffer from it. Politics was a necessary evil the nobility had to exercise, by the right of blood. Lord Quellon wasn't a noble man, and that's why they were not able to deal with him at this point. Regardless, Carmilla's train of thoughts came to a gentle halt when she was addressed by Lord LORENT TYRELL whom she smiled at his visage. Oh, they shared the same color of eyes! Did they share the same thoughts towards this meeting? "Have a seat, if you do like to join me!" She didn't find him a nuisance, not at all. In fact, she was curious what kind of a person he was. Carmilla did her best to blend in, but he managed to spot her. Still, it was his decision to make. He was invited by her older siblings to join them, and there was Aoife Baratheon who might prove to be a candy in the eyes of many. Carmilla nodded back at Aoife with a smile; Carmilla was far a bit from the group, though. Lorent had to make a choice, though! He can't be at two places at the same time.
It was quite interesting to find how Rhianu Targaryen defended the honor of her husband but did the Dornish share the same views as her. And in a savvy move, Arkas Baratheon commanded the gospel to begin their chant in honoring the passing good king. They brought the king's coffin, and the High Septon began to preach. Did the Targaryens believe in the Seven? After all, they came from a far place where the Seven weren't worshipped. Still, it was a good tactical move; it would break the tension, at the least for the moment.
Post by LORENT TYRELL on Aug 21, 2017 16:47:29 GMT
The young Tyrell found his attention stolen by a familiar face as he was addressed by none other than Logan Lannister. If there was ever an individual in the current generation that commanded enough respect and admiration from Lorent that he would actually consider them worthy of their prestige, he would easily admit it was his cousin, "Ser Logan Lannister."
And this was the opinion of a man that was self-absorbed to the point of autosexuality.
Lorent bowed his own head in response to his cousin's greeting, and it was one of the few times that it was out of sincerity and not a formality. He took a moment to mentally kick himself for an oversight in detail. Logan and Yuliya were present, meaning the woman that he had initially approached was Morella's youngest cub, Carmilla Lannister.
"Lady Yuliya Lannister," he continued before lifting his head. He understood that her greeting was a courtesy and not an invite to conversation, so he would not take any more of her time.
"Ah, Lady Carmilla Lannister. You have blossomed so much since I last saw you that I almost did not recognize you," he began before looking at the offered seat. He was not a glutton, so he prepared himself to sit with the grace of a noble. "And I am grateful to all of you for your kindness."
He was just about to seat himself when Aiofe made her presence known. Lorent's unfading smile remained as he offered a nod of approval.
"I would not dare deny m'lady the joy of good company," he teased before drawing the seat that Logan had previously offered so that Aiofe may take it. If she did, he would secure his own seat beside Carmilla, pleased to see that the commotion was being reigned in.
"I wonder if the council meeting will be so tame," he said with a soft tone and smile that both betrayed and highlighted his sarcasm.
Last Edit: Aug 21, 2017 23:51:21 GMT by LORENT TYRELL
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All of WINDS OF WINTER characters are the original work of their owners may not be replicated or stolen.
All images and graphics belong to their rightful owners and WINDS OF WINTER does not claim to own any of them.
The skin was created by TIMELAPSE OF WICKED WONDERLAND.
