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 SAERA TARGARYEN on Aug 22, 2017 14:58:35 GMT
In Braavos, when the old Sealord died, the many lords and ladies of Braavos would tear eachother to pieces until a new Sealord was named. Saera always considered their path of succession a bloody and undignified affair. It would seem, as she watched her house clash against the Ironborn attendants, that the dragons were no more graceful than the cutthroats and corrupt politicians across the Narrow Sea.
Saera nodded and excused herself from conversation with her uncle as the voiced got louder and the emotions even higher than that. "Pardon me, my lord."
Rather fluidly, she snaked her way through the crowd in such a manner than Saera would avoid those within the sept that were most likely to engage her in conversation. She wasn't her for court chatter. Saera, like her mother, had come to mourn the passing of the king.
She seated herself next to her mother wordlessly, nodding politely at any nearby lords and ladies and murmuring polite greetings. Saera reached out for her mother's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she once again fixed her eyes on the body of her grandfather.
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 22, 2017 15:36:21 GMT
Everyone had systematically turned her father's wake into a joke. It was like it was in the noble Lords' and Ladies' blood to make an absolute shitshow out of all of this. Arkas and his wife had refused to listen to her in some sort of stupid display of open rebellion against her claim, but Alysanne was seemingly the only one who had left politics at the door. Her daughter, Saera, sat next to her.
Alysanne couldn't help it when her tears began falling.
This man raised her, showed her how to be a good person. She loved him more than her mother. Had he been alive, he would have told her not to cry. To only exude strength. But it was impossible when the man she respected most laid dead before her and everyone else turned his funeral into an absolute joke.
So she cried, and she did nothing to wipe the tears away. Listening to the choir, she allowed their harmony to drown out the sounds of noblemen chatting about their irrelevant lives.
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.
The more she cried, the more wine Alira drank. It must be so horrible for a Princess who has literally never faced hardship to lose a father who lived to an impressively old age. The stupid cunt couldn't fool her with her crocodile tears. In fact, this wake now irked her and was no longer fun.
She left wordlessly, and if asked, would say it was because she felt ill.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 16:25:53 GMT
Ah, he was in trouble wasn't he?
Oisin smiled weakly as his father spoke- weakly but still politely. Those who were looking at the lad would notice the color draining from his face. He quietly turned to go sit down as his mother dragged him along. Oisin didn't resist what so ever when he sat down and the services properly began. Even as the choir sung and the words of grace were said, the boy couldn't concentrate.
He was too worried about what was to come afterwards.
Sighing inwardly, the prince of the North merely looked on. A sole pillar now acting as support, the man’s shoulder connected the two as he peered out into the dysfunction that had become his Grace’s wake.
A Birdseye view afforded the lone wolf some solace. Knowing all was left to his all-seeing perception, Jeren merely collected the various personalities and adventures that coexisted before him. The queen’s candidate, overwhelmed by all that had transpired, wept tears of sorrow; still, if Lady Stark was asked, she’d pass them off as more falsehoods held by the crown. What was more startling was the lack of support or rebellion from her brothers. The three-headed dragon, ever-constantly struggling against one another for governance, their aspirations or intentions were as vague as fog. Still, the young man could only empathize with the woman who suffered the pain of loss. Fortunate to still have both parties, the inescapable demise of either would trigger something in the boy unrivaled. Or at least, he’d tell himself.
The Baratheons finally quelled as rancorous flames simmered into nothingness. Lord Greyjoy had made his ‘peace’ and exited, though not before passing along words and parchment to his son. From his arrival and outburst, the Salt Reaver was of some fascination to Jeren, and his actions hadn’t prove his intrigue ill-placed. As he moved, so did the citrine eyes of the heir apparent. He felt off in the loosest sense. While others mocked, ridiculed and belittled the ruler of the Iron islands, Jeren merely saw him for what he was: a threat.
Peering over, the eldest of three looked on, eyes warming at the mere sight of his beloved sister, who carried on despite the mutiny of words. She was by far the best of the three in every aspect, and while innocent was probably dated, her purity remained unbroken. Hell, even Ayden had finally made his presence known, albeit at the expense of the flower lord’s company.
Removing himself, Jeren fused into the crowd, disguised by the masses as his presence vanished in response to Lord Greyjoy. Taking identical action, the young man would exit the Great Sept of Balor, mirroring, though at a comfortable distance, the reaver’s own actions, though to a less disruptive extent. Scarlett and Dyzun may be of importance in due time.
‘Finding an animal nest was no impossible task. One just had be willing to follow its stench”
Last Edit: Aug 22, 2017 16:28:31 GMT by JEREN STARK
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 16:57:06 GMT
Ah, her father finally spoke up properly.
Well, that was good, she supposed. Aoife let out a soft sigh at the sight of her brother being dragged off. She was having flash backs to his younger years. He use to take after his mother in terms of temper. It was funny how much her mother disliked someone acting like she did to others. Aoife turned back to LORENT TYRELL before taking a seat quietly after calmly bowing her head.
As she sat, her sea blue eyes shifted to eye the Greyjoys. Men like him were relics of an old past- a past where thousands died instead of a mere handful in royal conspiracies. Her eyes narrowed quietly as he pulled out a book and handed it his son. How interesting... As the man turned to begin leaving, a small smile came to Aoife's face. What a pitiful tantrum. He seemed to be trying to imitate a boy's rendition of a storm.
But storms always had a calm before them. The greatest storms had the eeriest silences. The Greyjoys were nothing but children standing in a play room making whooshing noises as they imagined ships carried off by hurricane winds. Still, he wasn't something to ignore or belittle. Her eyes narrowed softly. A child with a canon could do quite a bit of damage.
Post by SELYSE BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 17:06:44 GMT
Events like this were not for her, yet she was forced to attent either way due to their family connection to the Targaryens. It would be disrespectful not to show, Selyse knew that much. Hands clasped together behind her back, she walked up to her family - her mother, father and siblings.
She was late, yet she wasn't even trying to give them excuse. She was in time for the actual ceremony, which was all that mattered to her. She simply offered her family a greeting and was done with it, sitting down next to them and folding her hands together on her lap, violet eyes scanning the people present.
Selyse didn't like any of them, the scowl on her face making this clear as she waited for this all to be over already.
She was still but a young dragon, it seemed. "But of course".
He followed the two women towards the open chairs, taking a seat to the left of the Targaryen while the Tully sat to the right of her. He placed his glass of wine between his two legs before straightening his torso and keeping his attention divided to all things. "Where was our Lord?" Though an old man in age, his stature and energy were still one of a kind. It wouldn't be a surprise if he was just somewhere listening in the back, observing the situation in its entirety.
Lords came and left, as the wake was now coming to an end. It had been lively, to say the least. Many have showed their actions, allowing Lukas to carefully assess which piece of the puzzle they were. He noted the actions of the ones who spoke, who did not, and those that keenly observed from the security of company— like himself.
A unique voice close to his person caught his attention, causing him to subtly twist his neck as to find the source. It was the son of Lord Stark, not Jeren, but the other one. What was his name again? Ah, it did not matter. As he gazed at Vivaenne, Lukas's own ice blue eyes gazed back at the Stark assessing his shy demeanor. He was here to speak to his sister for now, and while that went on Lukas turned to the Targaryen next to him, while softly resting his hand on her dress covered thigh.
"Are you alright? I'd like an honest answer."
Lukas knew people covered how they truly felt, and masked themselves from the world— it's how he was growing up, and since he threw away that guard it had only made him stronger. "I'm okay" was the last thing he wanted to hear, because in a room where almost no one showed their emotions someone had to be hurting. Lukas felt a pain in his chest for the man who died, but he was not family, just an inspiration to him and somewhat of a guideline to follow in the time to come.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 21:24:08 GMT
Oisin smiled softly as he saw his sister walk into the Great Sept of Balor. She was... pretty late. Frankly, at this point it may have been better if she hadn't showed up at all. At least then it could be said something drastic happened and she was too ill to attend. Instead, she had just been late. The final member of a train wreck to arrive.
Fantastic.
As the ceremony ended and people began to clear out, Oisin stood and turned to face SELYSE BARATHEON. His gentle smile didn't move from his face as he spoke. ”Ah, I'm glad you were able to come sister.” If he noticed the scowl, he didn't show it. Ah, yes, Oisin had made it a talent of his to willfully ignore his sister's scorn.
Not that it really mattered. In the grand scheme of things, she was soon to be wed off and he wouldn't need to see that disgusting scowl anymore. So, he just kept a polite smile and continued speaking.
”The ceremony was beautiful, yes? A fitting send off for such a magnificent ruler.”
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 22, 2017 21:28:13 GMT
Oh.
Her sister showed up. Well, at least she missed the idiocy of the Greyjoy. That was good. Aoife couldn't imagine her sister not having anything to say about that. Her eyes rested on the brunette Baratheon before shifting to observe the other guests. Aoife could see her sister's scornful scowl anytime she wanted. The others were were people she rarely got to spectate. Some were leaving, others were not. Everyone seemed either bored and ready to leave or genuinely grieving. Then her eyes landed on the deceased's daughter.
And that hand on her thigh.
Aoife's expression didn't change as she watched the exchange quietly. He was feigning sympathy. Of course the men would see the princess as vulnerable and attempt to take advantage of that. Aoife was curious as to how she would react. Would the woman even react?
Post by Carmilla Lannister on Aug 22, 2017 21:37:39 GMT
And Lord Quellon had left the scene unscathed and unharmed. Well done, Lord Quellon! Carmilla thought to herself. Lord Greyjoy managed to say whatever he wanted, and he left the Sept without letting the Targareyns mount a payback against him. There was going to be war, for certain. Carmilla could see it in his eyes when he walked by across the hallway to get out of this place. For a moment, she shifted her gaze towards Alysanne Targaryen who was accompanied by one of her daughters. Honestly, Carmilla found herself sympathizing with the princess; she was the only one among her kin who was crying for the death of her father unless that was an act of sorts. Still, Princess Alysanne tried to stop Lord Quellon's statement when her brothers didn't do anything about it. Carmilla had to respect her for that. Perhaps, she could try and visit princess Alysanne if she ever had the chance. And there was another matter as well, Carmilla didn't know what her mother had in mind. Her mother must have a plan of sorts; she wouldn't leave a ripe chance to further and consolidate the power of House Lannister. Whom her mother would support for the throne? Alysanne, Dearon, or Rheagar?
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 0:21:24 GMT
The noise in the sept had grown deafening. The braying of the Ironborn ass had drawn the attention of nearly the entire assembly. Like flies to shit, the lords and ladies alternated between indignant and infuriated faster than Daeron cared to keep up.
Biting his tongue again, Daeron heard the words of Maester Crowin from his youth.
"Fools fight other fools."
As he watched Rhaegar grovel to the King of Crags, he reflected on another truth: the weak fear each other the greatest.
Rhaegar had proven himself no coward, to be sure. Challenging Daeron to a duel had been no small bravery. Though they shared statue and features (they were oft mistaken to be twins as adults), Daeron had been the better fighter since childhood. The younger had always challenged the older, as do all brothers, but their rivalry had a different, darker flavor. Rhaegar was a dragon without caution, ambition without prudence. His naked lust for power had trust between the two. Even so, Daeron knew he could never lay his brother's body on the cold stone slab as he had the old man's.
"Uncle."
Saera was no longer the niece Daeron remembered. The timid girl had become a woman. Her steady voice spoke words of ice, not fire. The lines in her face made her appear wise beyond her year as if she had lost many nights of sleep deep in thought. Her knitted brow pulled fair features into an intense gaze. She looked at her grandfather's corpse as she spoke with apparent indifference. Daeron could not help but miss the innocent niece he once knew.
"Yes, father fought to the very end."
He wanted to say more. Something consoling, something complimentary, but the words were not there. Jaehaerys was not a brave man, and calling his pitiful end "fighting" was already a fib. But she was already done with him, leaving brusquely with a "Pardon." For greener and more transparent pastures, he supposed. She was needling to see his reaction, wasn't she?
"Steady."
It was easy to be paranoid. A king-and-kin killer would spend a lifetime looking over his shoulder.
"Best not create more enemies than the ones I already have."
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 1:39:30 GMT
As the ceremony ended, Daeron watched his brother approach, child sleeping softly in his arms. The girl was tiny and looked fragile carried by Rhaegar's massive frame, but even the smallest dragons grew to rule the world.
"Was he bringing her to me to gloat?"
A trueborn Targyren child and legitimate heir to the throne after the three siblings passed, something Daeron's wife could never bear. But if Daeron became king...
"Aerys."
The thought of Daeron's missing son came without warning or reason, as it did often. The boy, taken from his parents so long ago, was still alive in his heart. His half-blood mother mourned for years but eventually resigned to accept her son's death.
Daeron had never given up. When the boy disappeared, he sent spies across the seven kingdoms. They found nothing but cold leads and false rumors. He then sent ships and men across the Narrow Sea. Every slave ship they came across was searched. Every city prison was turned upside down. Men were bribed, threatened, and tortured for information, but returned nothing of value. Many tried to tell the prince Rhaegar murdered his son, but Daeron knew his brother too well.
A man who loved his own daughter as Rhaegar did was incapable of murdering the child of another.
"You spoke well today, brother, but the Ironborn must pay blood for their treason. It is the only price dragons will accept from such men."
Post by SAERA TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 1:48:26 GMT
Any child who saw their mother weep understood the pain it caused. Saera remembered her grandfather fondly, but one could only be so close to a king. She had not seen the old man in seven years, turning her once feelings of affection and love into a unfortunate sense of indifference. But watching her mother's tears fall for him, Saera felt compelled to cry herself.
"Oh, mother." She murmured gently. Saera's hand tightened around her mother's, and she cursed decorum for a moment to pull her mother into a fierce hug. "He is in a better place now, I swear it. He's with the Seven."
The other lords of the kingdom could rip themselves apart for all that she cared. They were all cunts in her eyes for allowing their base emotions to turn the funeral into a pissing contest. Saera wasn't even sure if she believed the words, but she had to offer something to her mourning mother.
With her mother's head on her shoulder, Saera cast a sorrowful look at the body of King Jaehaerys.
'Curse you for leaving this world, grandfather. Look at what you have done.'
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 23, 2017 1:57:54 GMT
The sound of incoming footsteps gave Aerys reason to pause. His eyes darting towards the entrance with a paranoid hand resting on the hilt of his longsword. A breathe of relief escaped through pursed lips whenever he saw Vaely's face. Though his jabs at Aerys's appearance once got the young prince flustered, instead of responding with a retort of his own he pulled his cousin in for a hug, patting him on the back with more force than necessary. "It's been too long, Vaelys." It was nice to see a familiar face and it wasn't the only one he would be seeing as Cassius followed Vaelys down underneath the sept.
"It will come back..." Aerys said with a groan after hearing the second comment on his shaved head. His brief frown was replaced with a cheeky grin, standing before Cassius Stark at nearly eye level. "You're both shorter than I remember." Aerys said with a snicker, having grown to a height of 6'4 since they last saw one another. The Targaryen was still shorter than Warden of the North but he nearly towered over Vaelys. As much as Aerys wanted to sit down and catch up with these two, he was here to get the Stark's assistance.
"By now I take it you've seen what Vaelys had predicted months ago." Prediction was one way of putting it. Vaelys wasn't often wrong about what he saw. In Aersy's eyes, his cousin might have well been a oracle. "The Targaryen house is fracturing as the three heads aim for the crown." Aerys spoke in a low voice, his eyes narrowing onto the two. "Even the North felt the damage the last Targaryen civil war did." He said, shifting his attention towards Cassius who would have otherwise been indifferent to the events to come. "When the heads of the dragon turn on one another, the entire Realm will be pulled into the chaos that follows. A war is inevitable, but we can minimize the scars of it if we act now." Aerys was certain he could count on Cassius to lend him a hand, but even so he hesitated before continuing.
"We'll disarm them of what could be their greatest weapons. The dragon eggs."
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