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.
Oh my, how things drastically got worse as time went on. But, did anyone truly believe the wake of the former King of the Realm would be any different? Surely Quellon's gall was abrupt, but not unexpected from a man who constantly felt belittled just for being born somewhere others deemed inferior.
The Lord Greyjoy was a Lord just like all the others in this room. In fact, he possessed a frightening fleet that almost matched the size and strength of the Redwyne's own, which truly belonged to the Tyrell's.
He foresaw the coming "Dance of Dragons" and likely didn't want his Ironborn being used as fodder in the Targaryen's race for supremacy. Lukas shared a similar sentiment. Being a genuine friend of the Targaryen's he knew it was only time till one of the candidates for the throne approached him or his family about their claim to the throne.
Though Lukas knew of his Grandfather, and his obsession with duty and honor and maintaining that "Graceful Rose" image the Tyrell's worked hard for. The young Rose knew that sometimes sacrificing your image for the betterment of your kin was needed, and necessary. Lukas had no desire to put any one of those three candidates on the Iron Throne, how would he benefit? All they would want from him is his land, resources, and loyalty. Loyalty they already had, but he wasn't going to be used as a pawn in their little games.
His blue eyes had been focused on the center of the attention, watching numerous individuals expose themselves in response to Quellon's brash attitude. Ah, those fake personas they loved to use in the public eye were being shed in light of the anger displayed by Lord Greyjoy. How wonderful. Lukas didn't expect to learn this much from a wake of a man he truly respected.
"Oh King Jaehaerys, just mere days after your death and here they are squabbling for power. I'm sure you knew this would have happened, I wonder what plans you left in motion before your timely death."
His mind coming back to him, he focused his attention back on the females in his presence, noting the arrival of his handsome brother sitting along with some quality individuals. Taking a small sip from his cup of wine, he nodded at Ashe and Viv and awaited their movement.
"Ladies first." He smirked, extending his arm forward to hurry the process.
Last Edit: Aug 21, 2017 16:51:33 GMT by LUKAS TYRELL
The wolf had said his peace. Pulled into a struggle that didn’t involve him, the young Stark gave opinion when asked, and at the first opening, he retreated from sight. It appeared reason was overshadowed by emotion—which was expected. The youngest in this squabble, Jeren’s own experience with the late king paled in comparison to the others. Experience trumped all and the moment lady Baratheon expressed herself, it was evident her husband couldn’t even quell her fire. It was foolhardy to assume a child of the north, with the least life experience could yield any other result.
What had also transpired to his sourthern verge brought an earnest sigh to his features. Late, the true Lord of Winterfell arrived and without distraction, presented himself to one of the three king’s candidates. His actions, all impulsive and with loyalty, navigated the assumed intention of the North to it’s preferred option. It would be viewed as a political move but Jeren knew better. A brilliant swordsman and a warrior unrivaled, his father didn’t make a political move, for be hadn’t the political mind. Jeren trusted and followed his father above all others, and on the battlefield, wanted no one else to guard his rear. Nonetheless, when it came to matters of government and these games of throne, Cassius was the personification of brawn over brand. Still, perception was reality and his gesture of gratitude would rub someone the wrong way.
Still, it was a matter better corrected later than now. His grace’s funeral had been compromised enough. As the High Septa arranged for the commencement of the true purpose of everyone’s gathering, Jeren motioned for a less volatile vantage point. The event itself would be long, enduring and taxing on the mind, body and spirit. The Stark would rather spend this in the company of his sister. Ashe was an interest of his notable reasons and years separated their last encounter. Conversing with his sister was of the ut-most importance to him. Nonetheless, if Cassius’s visage appeared first, Jeren didn’t mind sharing words with his impetuous father.
As the Prince of Dragons and once in direct line to inherit the Iron Throne, Aerys's Targaryen's sudden disappearance from Westeros was a loss that hurt his family in more ways than one. After five years in Essos, the Prince has returned to his homeland with hopes to prevent another civil war.
Post by AERYS TARGARYEN on Aug 21, 2017 23:36:59 GMT
Home sweet home.
That's what King's Landing was for Aerys Targaryen. Only it was more bitter than sweet. His disappearance into Essos had been a mixed bag as he returned with as many questions as he had answers, but the time spent away from his home was not wasted. The discoveries he made, growth he had undergone, and the connections he formed would be crucial in the days to come. His timely arrival was none other than the result of a letter written to him by his cousin Vaelys. The sole member of Aerys's family that he had remained in contact with through his years abroad, having relied on his cousin's visions for further guidance during his journey.
The temptation of walking up the steps before him and entering the Great Sept of Baelor to see his family and pay respects to the late king was difficult to resist, but he heeded his cousin's advice to remain out of sight. With his full head of silver hair pulled back and tied in a knot prior to his arrival in King's Landing, Aerys kept his purple eyes to the floor while concealing himself with commoner's clothing and a hooded cloak. The prince circled around the massive sept and let himself into the pathway that took him underground.
With a dimly lit torch in hand, Aerys paced back and forth in the vast, empty chamber directly underneath where the lords of Westeros had gathered to see Jaehaerys II off. With second that passed without Vaelys's arrival, Aerys grew increasingly uneasy.
Post by DAELLA BARATHEON on Aug 21, 2017 23:42:10 GMT
There were too many damned people. Before she knew it everyone was proclaiming their defense, or on the offensive, or simply walking away from what was broiling in the room like it was perfectly reasonable to try and find their future wife all the while a Greyjoy had just insulted all three members of the royal family, her name, her husband's, and the entire wake as a whole. And that somebody was about to get shanked. But nevermind. Everyone else could just scoff and dabble in their own internal affairs, doing nothing.
Somehow the procession continued and the High Septon stepped up, and be it that Daella could not travel back in time she merely planted a great gobule of spit into the ironborn's gaping maw. And woe be to anyone that tried to chastise her for that, seeing as he had literally just called her a stupid fucking wench.
She sat down with husband, dragging Oisin along with her with a vice grip that would surely remind him of the times she had smacked the shit out of him for being insolent. He and her sister, though the latter merely thought insolent things and never spoke them aloud. And where in the seven hells was Selyse? Mother be merciful. For all their sakes.
"Letting that Greyjoy do as he pleases," she spoke quietly back to her husband once the room quietened down somewhat, "made the crown weaker than anything else we could have done."
Post by LOGAN LANNISTER on Aug 22, 2017 1:11:04 GMT
"A lion does not lower themselves to such a level, dear sister," Logan said with a smirk. It was both meant as a joke to try and break the tension filling the room, yet was a trait molded into each of the Lannister children from a very young age. Morella spoke with Logan prior to the wake, pleading with him to remain steadfast, neutral and support the crown. In the meantime he would not interfere in the affairs of others no matter how distasteful and disrespecting their actions were; a true testament for the respect of his own mother.
Watching the young Baratheon girl make her way toward them, when she pleaded to sit, Logan obliged almost instinctively. While her mother and father continued their heated exchange with Quellon, Logan saw no harm in letting their child be safe and out of harms way from the bite of the sea dog. "Of course, please," Logan extended a hand, offering her a seat. "Join us."
Once everyone was situated the ceremony finally had gone underway, and the long, drawn process of paying their respects to their fallen king had commenced.
Many wept while others were seemingly carved of granite, unmoved by the song that rang through the walls.
Logan's thoughts soon washed over him, his blank stare piercing through the crowds of people, contemplating the future. Arkas had called for a council in three months time, yet Logan knew the moment they departed an unraveling of ploys would lead to the realms sanctity in jeopardy.
Their king was dead, and an heir had not been claimed.
No matter the position, whether it be Hand of the King or a position on the council, the Houses of Westeros would not sit idly by and not try to assert themselves onto the thrown. King Jaehaerys II had traversed into the unknown, lead into the other world, leaving behind a kingdom torn asunder. Already Logan could feel the ground tremble beneath his feet, cold steel clanging into the harsh winds which bit at your face, a roaring fire bearing down onto the battlefield...
A Dance of Dragons was the least the world had to agonize over, for soon the entirety of Westeros would be plunged into chaos whether they liked it or not.
Returning to the choir as the sang in unison, his eyes drifted toward the High Septa. Lord, save us.
An arm snaked out from underneath the cloak, an offering to Lady Tully. She seemed to have shrunk in on herself momentarily, followed by an offer to leave the wild mix of disaster that the funeral was turning out to be. Normally, she'd do just so if only to leave and be somewhere less life threatening. As it stood, though...
The Hand of the King seemed to have put his foot down on the whole fiasco. He'd already said his piece, stamping down on the uprising emotions that were building between the inhabitants of the room. Already, one would be able to tell just who would be 'looking after' whom.
She didn't wish to find out just what would have happened if he hadn't called for the rites to begin. Him moving up, and everyone moving towards a seat led them with no choice but to take a chair and take part as well in what would be a long, lengthy day of listening and sitting.
Already her back ached.
"Perhaps if the offer still stands, after we finish here?" She'd be skinned alive and hung out to dry by her mother or anyone that happened to see her leave. Vivi tilted her head towards the chairs, "Shall we?" A look towards the Tyrell, who she expected planned on joining them from his prompt to set the pace forwards.
This really didn't feel like a good place to be in, with threats being thrown and with Quellon Greyjoy no less... She could feel her heart beat a tad bit faster at the thought, distracted until she noticed Vivaenne's outstretched hand. "Of course." Though she'll have to visit her family first, see how they were doing... it has been years after all, and though she rarely thought of it, she did miss them. That could wait for later though, hopefully...
Ashe followed Vivaenne, finding her seat by the other's side. So far she hadn't seen even the shadow of Lord Tully in this gathering and was starting to wonder if he'll be missing it. Maybe he fell ill? Maybe he was late? Or maybe he was here, dodging her gaze. He seemed to have a knack for it after all.
Post by ROBERT BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 3:52:21 GMT
Reach out your hands Don't turn your back Don't walk away How in the world Can I wish for this? Never to be torn apart Close to you 'Til the last beat Of my heart
This world of Westeros appeared to be in turmoil, for the last ten years he had been across the Narrow Sea learning about the other side of the world. Not that it was by choice. Coming into this room of dragons and krakens was a world changer for Lyon Reyne.
Was this what his companion encountered on the daily. It was no wonder she had troubles finding sleep. Financing this madness would have driven him to sleepless night. Lyon wandered through a crowd of stranger faces until he encountered the little lion.
Retreating to the side of the one soul he knew, sapphires darting from silver hair dragons to bellowing krakens. Reyne kept his head low respecting the dead king that had given his family peace for so many years. This man truly had died to early. They owed him a great deal.
" Everyone has grown up since I've been gone. What was your mother feeding you golden lions? "
In accordance to his eldest sibling's arrival he, too, followed in footing. His first thought had been to meet other households that caught his interest; such as a child of the Lannister or a prestige Targaryen. But his heart was set on something far, far more important: his sister, Ashe Tully. He missed her ever so, and it had been so long since father sent her away. And though the secondborn child, Ayden Stark, of House Stark thought it be best to about sniffing around. His heart just had been too set upon seeing his loving sister.
Where his mother and father were at odds with one another in secrecy, unbeknownst to him, and his brother, possibly, searching for their younger sister also. Ayden decided to go upon the hunt for his sibling, only to find a girl beside that of a Targaryen (Vivaenne Targaryen). He wasn't sure from behind if that were his sister or not, but from the side did he see a woman of beauty that made his heart suddenly skip a beat. His heart pounding. It felt as though his mind was racing, almost as if he'd never seen such beautiful hair that leaked the essence of a Targaryen in physical form.
He wanted to say hi to her, but that wasn't until he saw his sister alongside the woman, "Ashe..." as they made way to sit down after the commotion that Ayden had not seen. He fled through the crowd to visit his sister, wanting to exclaim as loudly as he could but had to remember just where they were. Ayden arrived only to prop himself behind Ashe Tully and Vivaenne Targaryen, ignoring LUKAS TYRELL, and tapping his sister on the shoulder. Had she gave him the time of day or not, he would say, from behind, should LUKAS TYRELL not interrupt him, "Care to grace me with your time, my dear sister?" Ayden spoke softly, soft pure ocean eyes setting upon the one he longed for so. His sister, Ashe Tully; his heart and soul. "I missed you ever so much, sister," he added. His gaze, taking a quick glance over to Vivaenne Targaryen before drawing them back onto his sister. He would give Vivaenne Targaryen a nod and a soft, almost shaken, smile before having returned to his sister with a light laughter in an attempt to calm his nerve.
Post by RHAEGAR TARGARYEN on Aug 22, 2017 4:34:03 GMT
Reach out your hands Don't turn your back Don't walk away How in the world Can I wish for this? Never to be torn apart Close to you 'Til the last beat Of my heart
Daella had played with the life she had help give to this world with her efforts. Handing his child back to him after shortly enjoying her company. With her in his arms he heard Lord Greyjoy tear into the heirs of the late king. Had he not a child in hand nor at his fathers wake this ironborn would have reaped blood from the seeds that Quellon sowed in conversation.
Rhianu though did not hold her tounge, lighting up into the kraken with, scorching flames mused for her lips. Rhaegar did his best to hide his smile, the dornish viper had venom like no other. Stepping before his wife the hand spoke up at last. Bringing the start of the ceremony that would give his father rest at long last.
It was a long event, bringing sleep to the eyes of the young dragon in his arms. Softly moving to the ebb and flow of the chore. Keeping the little soul asleep in his grasp. Hoping that his daughter would remember the last time she had seen her grandfather for the rest of her life. What was about to unfold with his fathers passing, he had to protect his twins from.
Upon the ceremony end the younger brother would approach Daeron. Though they had their differences in how they wanted to change the world he had spent many years with him, loving the man to the end of the seven kingdoms. Even his beloved sister that the stark had knelt before moments ago shared a portion of his heart.
" It is good to see you brother."
Knowing that this night be the last one that he shared peacefully with his kin.
Post by VAELYS TARGARYEN on Aug 22, 2017 4:35:07 GMT
Vaelys was ever the spectator, eyes dancing between rambunctious voices. There was a spectrum of emotions though most took to two sides: anger or sorrow. While most his family shared the latter sentiment, Vaelys had said his farewells long before. Jaehaerys was never a man in health, and his death had not come overnight. He lasted much longer than his dreams had led him to believe, and even longer than the maesters expected. Though perhaps Vaelys just expected poison to work faster than it had. Maybe if he held some semblance of greater responsibility, he would use what he knew to make ripples in the water, but a watcher was what he was. Although watchers were sometimes required to act.
A septon navigated around the third pillar, stoking the torch against the ash-stained ivory column. It was all too familiar, the second time he'd seen that exact instance. He'd have only waited an hour more before deciding it would have been another day - but the young Targaryen was too familiar with his own feature. It was time to act as foreseen.
While voices escalated, Vaelys moved with unintentional subtlety, weaving between groups and finding himself at the shoulder of a wolf twice is size. "Lord Cassius, the sun from the south must be treacherous for such cold skin. I'm sure you'd find much better shade below, I hear it has a much more comforting touch for such delicate Northern skin.," he cooed impishly, giving a sharp glare before dancing off.
There was no time to waste when it came to keeping up with fate, and he echoed the distant footsteps of his fleeing cousin, descending into the darkness behind him. It was easy to follow the pacing flame, and as he entered the light, Vaelys bowed in jest, "Apologies septon, I didn't realize this room was occupied. You look terrible with no hair." Vaelys offered a sly smile as he rose.
Frankly, Cassius found all the venomous words and light threats to be disgusting. He could hear them bickering from behind him as he re-positioned himself within the chambers; Lord Quellon, always the one to speak his mind even when most in the room preferred him to keep quiet. Lord Arkas, one of the few in the room to have garnered Cassius' respect, almost lost all of it by taking such disrespect to the face without any repercussions. His wife, perhaps even more of a loose canon than all of the Greyjoys, openly threatening a Lord while in the presence of the highest representatives from each Kingdom - again, with no repercussions. And their son, stepping into affairs no child should, with no sense of where he belonged on the pecking order of things. Disgusting, Cassius couldn't help but think.
And then there was Daeron and Rhaegar. Their silence, even in the face of all the veiled threats and disrespect to their late father and the House Targaryen name, spoke volumes of their ability to lead. Were these really the men His Grace had left in charge of the realm? How pitiful.
"Perhaps it would be wise to get some air." He simply answered Vaelys, the true intent of the Targaryen's words not lost on him. As the High Septon was ushered forth to begin the proceedings, Cassius moved even further out of sight. Already towards the back of the chambers, he'd offer nothing short of a curt nod to his eldest as he disappeared from the Sept of Baelor. All the guardsmen were too fixated on festivities to pay him much of any mind as he too, in the steed of Vaelys, descended into the darkness. It was dangerous leaving on his own, sure. But his guards knew better than to follow him, and anyone bold enough to attack him was stupid. Still, he remained vigilant even as he entered the lit room below.
"What is the meaning of all this?" Stepping fully into the light, he quickly took note of the man he hadn't seen in years - but one that he very much considered an extension of his family. "Time has not been kind to you, son."
Post by Dalton Greyjoy on Aug 22, 2017 9:06:52 GMT
The Dornish girl still had quite the fire, hadn’t she? Of all the people around, she had drawn his interest the most. Possibly because she was an exotic beauty, but mostly because she was not what his father had said. Heck, the man had repeated it just now and had been rebuked. Dalton, too, had to update what he thought of the lady. He had seen women being raped, beaten, broken. And this was not one of them. Maybe she had been kidnapped in the strictest sense of the word. But he, too, had had women asking him to kidnap them, take them from their fathers and usher them into a new and more interesting world. It was certainly possible, and he gave the lady a subtle, but genuine smile.
Which faltered very quickly when the actual event started. The high septon had an authority that any lord here could refute normally, but since he was officiating the late and good king’s wake, part of the latter’s presence was reflected in him. The Baratheon wench did not take that lightly, but even she subsided, insulting his father even more. Dalton knew that this would not go unanswered, but said answer would have to wait until later. For now, it was important to not escalate this further. “Savagery is but one tool of many,” he echoed, quietly, to his father, seeking to draw him away for the time being.
The man was still subject to ire and his anger was not likely to subsist on its own and very fast. Dalton all but expected that the Baratheons would see some kind of comeuppance for this, but he was eternally grateful that the dire words of the kraken had not come to pass. Having to deal with an incident like this in a terrible position such as the one they were in right now, it would have been the worst. “So, I guess you used it for a reason. Next time, tell me ahead of time though. Didn’t know whether to contrast you or to align.” It was better not to stand next to the man when he goaded someone important into assaulting him, after all – but at the same time, he could not just leave his father alone. Something smelled fishy about all of this. But this was not the place to explain any of that, so he kept things vague and brief.
Post by Carmilla Lannister on Aug 22, 2017 9:48:05 GMT
Ser Lorent Tyrell remembered her! A brownie point for him. Carmilla's mother was a Tyrell as well, and thus she was the fourth result of a communion between the Lion and the Rose. Eventually, both of the two noble families had to meet on multiple occasions over the years. Eighteen as she was at the time of the Wake, Carmilla used to be younger back in the day and she didn't match the beauty of her matured sister. Now that she flowered and blossomed into a woman, Carmilla was more than capable of standing on her own. Beauty was a relevant thing, of course. Still, Carmilla enjoyed Lorent's words of praise, although she doubted such words to a certain degree. After all, Carmilla doubted everything and everyone. "Lord Lorent Tyrell, your words are soothing like a pot of honey!" It was a strange choice of words on her part, but she liked honey and Cinnamon the most. She was mostly sure he wasn't there to exchange pleasantries; Lorent was seeking the ones who shared the same likeness of mind and stance towards the wake as a whole. "The nobility has a pinch to tame every situation or conversation trying to be civil, and then they will conspire in back boardrooms on how to backstab the opposition. It is the conundrum of the Nobless Oblige, Lord Lorent!" If anything, the events happened in this event displayed how weak was the crown. Sometimes actions weighed more than words, and the Targaryens offered nothing but gentle words or unexplained ignorance towards Lord Quellon's statement. Lord Greyjoy soiled the ladies of House Targaryen reputation with quite the profane words, except for Princess Alysanne. Carmilla was more than sure that the Targaryens and their loyalists were going to orchestrate Lord Quellon's demise as Lord Greyjoy succeeded in making so many enemies this day. But they were bound to do it somewhere else, far away from the wake. "And you, Lord Lorent! Who, do you think, is going to claim the throne?" Carmilla was curious about Lorent's insight regarding the matter while being relieved that her older brother didn't try to involve himself in this mess.
Post by THE REAVING KING on Aug 22, 2017 14:13:26 GMT
Underneath the rainbow light of the Grand Sept, where seventy-seven voices sung of seven great gods, Lord Quellon Greyjoy was spit on by Daella Baratheon. It splattered against the corner of his mouth. He smiled. This was a victory for him.
The people here were predisposed to see him as a monster. But all nobles in Westeros were monsters of a kind; they sharpened their claws and gnashed their fangs behind perfumed doors, playing ruler while also looking for the next man to exploit and kill. The wheel had to be broken.
The wheel had to be broken
Underneath two and a half centuries of Targaryen rule, Westeros had forgotten what it meant to have true rulers. Watching the once mighty Starks bend the knee to southern lords, or the would-be Green Kings of the Reach watch on in the shadows, was deplorable. For a moment, as Quellon redid his robes, a flash of anger overcame him. An anger so bright that one of his buttons snapped off and became a spinning gold coin at his feet.
Daella and Arkas were already talking to themselves now. The lords of the wake were ready to move on past the “Greyjoy Incident.” Quellon wiped Daella’s slime from his face with the back of his hand, and then approached his son. It took only instinct to know where he was; Quellon’s blood would always call to him.
“Son,” Quellon began, “Give this to Lord Stark when he reappears.”
Quellon pulled a black-bound book from his robes. If Dalon opened it, he’d see that it was a history of the Kings of Winter—the Starks of old. If he really spent time reading through it, he’d find a message.
IRON SOON COMES TO WINTER. FOR A DAUGHTER TO RISE, SHE MUST BE DROWNED AND WOLF-EATEN.
And then Quellon, turning his massive size away, left the Great Sept of Balor. He strode through the crowd, shoving nobles and servants alike to the side. Every step he took up the stairs was thunder, and his face the head of the storm.
The people of these green lands were not afraid of House Greyjoy.
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