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.
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 23, 2017 2:03:06 GMT
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At the close of the ceremony, Rhianu stood to follow after her husband as he decided to approach his brother, Daeron. She would not allow her dragon-heart to be attacked by anymore unfounded claims, even if they were to be potentially spoken by his own blood. Rayna slept soundly in Rhaegar’s arms while the Dornish woman carried the slumbering form of the other twin, Ryllan. The two little dragons would be protected from all of the turmoil waiting to unfold, she would see to it even if she were not a true Targaryen.
“Lord Daeron,” Rhianu softly remarked in greeting as she came to stand by her husband’s side, her stance screaming out of her protective motives but the look in her eyes one of compassion. The Red Sun comprehended the agony all three of the Targaryen children were experiencing and did not wish to further their suffering. She was also mourning, have looked to Jaehaerys as a second father once she had taken up permanent residence in the Crownlands.
Her gaze flittered between the brothers, the words Daeron spoke burning to her very core. Quellon Greyjoy did not remain in good standing with the Dorne native, her own thoughts running parallel with Daeron’s. “Rhaegar, please do tell if you’re in agreeance with your brother. I wish to know your thoughts as earnestly as Daeron, if not more so,” his wife spoke lowly, one of her hands reaching out to tenderly grasp onto his arm.
Post by RHAEGAR TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 4:16:42 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
Conviction that spurred dragon fire within his beloved aunts heart also erupted within his brother. Knowing that he was insulted by the very men that Daeron desired to cleanse from the Sept. Knowing only dragons could sit upon the Iron Throne he did not bother lowering himself to the level of that of a kraken.
" You should not worry about the sea when you are the king of the sky Daeron Targaryen."
Knowing that changing his brother mind might be a futile effort but he truth brought his words forward. Had the Ironborn not bled enough with Quellon as their head. Fingers traced around the shape of his daughters face, playing with the gentle ivory curls that reminded Rhaegar of the mother they shared. Protecting her thought was equally important.
"I want her to know the warmth of your dragon-heart brother, bless her with your fire."
Offering the hold of his child in the arms of his brother. If only once he wanted his older brother to share himself with his child. Knowing that the feeling she felt today was her uncle, not what the streets would whisper in days to come nor what history would record.
Hearing the heat of the sun upon his back his wife approached. Sharing a greeting with his brother before asking Rhaegar just what he thought of his brothers words. Knowing that sharing that they should be executed would only create more hatred between his line and the ironborn.
" Let the seven decide his peoples fate. Father would not want his peace shattered over words from a madman. We are dragons not savages."
Post by LOGAN LANNISTER on Aug 23, 2017 4:43:26 GMT
Some cried.
Others fought.
The daring plotted.
In the coming months, House Lannister would be plunged into conflict, that much was certain. Whether whose side they chose to reside their trust in proved to be up in arms as something as peaceful as laying the dead to rest had turned into a free-for-all. It would not be long until prying hands reached for the crown; it would take men like Logan to cause those to lose their limbs. Watching carefully as the crowd began to disperse, he remained silent to the masses, bowing his head in silent prayer.
Those few who paid their respect to the fallen king had been forgiven, but every one who'd spoken out of turn had been given a mental note. These were the spokes on the wheel that helped turn the wheel of chaos, and were in all likelihood would need to be removed in order for the realm to fashion a strong foundation.
For now, Logan sat in the comfort of the months to come, knowing change was quickly on the horizon.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 4:45:52 GMT
Oisin shifted his gaze from his sister to the Targaryens as they shifted and began to speak. One really had to wonder how this would all end. In reality, Oisin could understand some aspects of all these conflicting dragons. He hoped his father remained neutral as the hand. To get involved in a dance of dragons would only end poorly for them. However... They were attached to the Targaryens no matter what happened. His sister and his' silver hair was proof enough of that.
Besides, Oisin's mother was sure to have a strong opinion. The other lords could posture all they wanted, but most of them would most likely sway to the will of the mothers of their children. At least, that's what Oisin had noticed. He sighed softly before crossing his arms. His father was going to be furious at him for what had transpired.
Still, what was he suppose to do? The Baratheons had been... fucked the moment Lord Greyjoy targeted them. If they reacted with violence, they turned the funeral into a blood bath. If they reacted with guards, they interrupted the funeral with the military. If they did nothing but accept it, they seemed like cowards. The only good option, the one that did the least damage in the boy's eyes, was what had happened. His mother had been very clearly about to stab the man. Oisin stepped in. Sure, his father would be angry at him, but he'd rather have been seen stepping in than not.
Either way, the other lords were going to talk crap. That's what they always did. All Oisin could do was smile and politely nod as they did. After all, everyone seemed to think him only a child.
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 5:15:36 GMT
Violet eyes quietly shifted to the Lannister girl. The older girl had been studying Lord Greyjoy. A small part of Aoife wondered what was going through the girl's mind, but most of her just wanted to know what was for dinner. Her eyes shifted to the eldest Lannister son. They had been observing everything that occurred. No doubt they were plotting, scheming. She quietly studied his eyes as they shifted.
It helped that he was so handsome.
Honestly, with a face as rugged as that Aoife wondered how he kept the ladies of the court away. He probably didn't. Still, it was curious. Why hadn't he married yet? Aoife was rarely curious regarding others, but this was a paradox to her. He was the oldest son of a major house. Why wasnt he married? She would have heard if he had been...
Aoife spoke softly as she glanced to the Sept and then to LOGAN LANNISTER.
”Thank you for allowing me to sit with your kin. I am grateful... If you have a moment to spare, would you mind if I asked what you thought of the wake?”
Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 5:27:41 GMT
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[attr="class","likedotitle2"]MY PRIDE
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Arkas was glad to see the commotion channel itself into a lot of small conversations instead of an all-consuming fire with Lord Greyjoy in the middle, already blackened from the first. All those that had dealt with his impudence on their own behalf, had only come out as scorched as the twisted Ironborn. They called him the reader for a reason. He didn't just read books. He read people and situations just as well.
In a moment of privacy, within the shadow of a large pillar, Arkas cupped his wife's cheek. "The Crown is weak, Daella. But this isn't the kind of problem you can solve with your sword. Call them roaches and vermin - but if you wrestle around with the Greyjoys, they'll roll around in the dirt with you. I'm the Hand of the King. Not the King. I rule only until the decision of an heir has been made."
His gaze softened. Could she not see his reason? Her damned pride. "You've been Jaehaerys' strong arm before I have ever been something as small as his hand. You should know this better than anyone. What care could you have - a beautiful dragon, some creature of fire and fury - before something filthy and salty?"
Crowning her forehead with a chaste display of affection - they were in a sept, after all, Arkas stepped out of the shadows of the pillar and headed to the grouping of his blood. He looked toward his son first. "Since you want to act like a Lord so badly, I'll send you back to Storm's End. You can dispense your qualified wisdom to our bannermen. The season of storm's is coming up. But perhaps not Storm's End. You start them."
It wasn't that his son had been dishonourable or ill-worded. It just hadn't been his place, had it? His mother and father already struggling with the Greyjoy, Arkas had attempted his best to give the Greyjoy not a single point of attack. And the mother and daughter duo had let their dragonblood allowed to get the better of them.
Finally someone of his own kind, but late. "Unlike your brother, I'm not sending you back to Storm's End." So much for that hope, right? "You'll stay in the capital. Pay your respects, Selyse. Then find yourself a boy. Your mother never had trouble with that. Just with not finding trouble."
Leaving his spawn to squabble as they always did, Arkas made it across the sept to the dragon with the silver tears. "Princess Alysanne. A word, if you would."
Post by Carmilla Lannister on Aug 23, 2017 11:31:59 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] There was nothing left there to be seen, or perhaps there was. With the departure of Lord Quellon, the Targaryens turned on each other. Brother wanted to kill a brother for the sake a throne, an uncomfortable chair. There was a squabble between Daeron and Rheagar, would the emergence of a common enemy untie them? Would they cast aside their differences and fight united? At least, Carmilla was true about her assumptions. The Targareyns were going to plot against the Kraken, they would orchestrate his demise; although, after Quellon's immediate leave. After then, their lust of power would turn them one against the other. The youngest Lannister didn't understand why the Targaryens looked down to the Greyjoys. Indeed, Lord Quellon shouldn't have insulted the women because there was no chivalry in such an act. Verily, the Greyjoys pillaged and sacked those who did oppose them; it was their way as they worshipped the God of the Deep. But what about the Targaryens? Didn't they do the same three hundred years ago? Didn't Aegon come atop his dragon with his two sisters to force the Kings to bend their knees? Didn't he kill, pillage, and sack for the sake of a vision come true? [break][break] At this point, within such a moment, Carmilla found that there was no difference between Targaryens and Greyjoys. Dragons and Karaken, they were the same cut from the same cloth. But what are the Targaryens without their dragons, their ultimate weapon? They became mere humans whom, with no doubts, would seek the aid of the other kingdoms to claim the Iron Throne. As for the Greyjoys, Carmilla disliked them. The Greyjoys and the Lannister were never friends, they were always rivals; however, she had to admit that the Ironborn were brave as they depended on the skill of their hands and not mythical creatures which grew extinct ages ago. [break][break] Carmilla stood up leaving her seat. "I bid you farewell, Lord Lorent!" Carmilla's steps took her where her oldest siblings sat. "Logan! Yuliya! I shall take my leave!" The youngest Lannister lips were curled into a gentle smile; she nodded to Aoife Baratheon as well. Before leaving the sept, Carmilla walked to find herself standing beside Princess Alysanne. "You have my heartfelt condolences, Princess Alysanne! May the Mother bestow her mercy upon you, and may the Warrior defend thee!" She turned to find Arkas Baratheon standing at the Princess' side. "My Lord!" Carmilla offered them a curtsy, and then she left the great Sept. [break][break] ~Exit~ [break][break] Tagged: LORENT TYRELLLOGAN LANNISTERYULIYA LANNISTERALYSANNE TARGARYENARKAS BARATHEON
Post by LOGAN LANNISTER on Aug 23, 2017 13:12:27 GMT
Turning to the young girl, Logan offered a warm smile. Aoife was young, naive, and his thoughts on how the wake truly went were too dark for an innocent girl such as herself to understand. "You're welcome, Lady Baratheon." He paused for a brief moment, glancing at Lady Alysanne and her daughter, trying to stir a few choice words together.
"Well, nobody was stabbed," he chuckled, trying to make light of the madness that had gone on prior.
Logan sighed, trying to set a good example for the young girl. Perhaps now wasn't the time for jokes. "The realm will need time to heal and rebuild."
"That all begins today."
There was little left to say.
If he were honest, Logan had expected the wake to be much worse. Harboring every major House in Westeros in the Great Septa of Baelor was no easy feat, out of sheer hostility the Houses held for one another. Had their been a rightful heir, a leader, perhaps the spectacle from before would have never transpired.
Logan knew had he been in a position of power, the moment Quellon, or any other nobleman for the matter dared interrupt the wake, the Kingsguard would have escorted them immediately from the vicinity.
But he was not. At least not yet. While other Houses threatened the other, and words of venom were thrown the House Lannister would remain stoic, never concerning themselves with the opinion of sheep. They would have their day, so long as they remained patient and vigilant. "Carmilla," he nodded as his sister made her exit from the Sept, which concluded Logan's stay as well.
He had paid his respects, but had other matters to attend to at King's Landing. "If you'll excuse me," he stood up, shifting to the side to skirt by those around him. Logan did not wish anyone goodbye or try to mingle, his attention solely on what was to come.
Post by LORENT TYRELL on Aug 23, 2017 13:17:54 GMT
Her explanation earned a chuckle, and not without merit. Lorent was pleased to see that his relatives shared more than a pretty face. The 'noblesse oblige,' as Carmilla described it, was probably the closest thing to a first world problem in such a time period, and it was a cruel disease. Betrayal and revenge ran circles around loyal families as if to be the grounding factor that reminded them of their humanity. It both terrified and intrigued Lorent, as he feared it may one day creep into his own family and devour them from the inside.
"I am inclined to say Alysanne," he responded without hesitation or much sign of thought, probably unexpectedly. He had mulled over the details several times by that point and he had already come to his own conclusions. Many supported Daeron for being the firstborn and others Rhaegar for being the eldest male with pure noble blood, but Lorent saw Alyssane as the one with the strongest mind.
"It matters not what I think. Theirs is a power to rend the Seven Kingdoms through this struggle. People hail this 'Dance of Dragons' with glamour as if it weren't a 'Sonnet of the Stranger,' and as if they are immune to it's repercussions." Lorent paused, taking in some more red tranquilizer through his unwavering smile. His eyes narrowed upon the procession as the hymns ended and his head gave a slight bow to consult a higher power.
"May the Stranger have mercy on the ignorant and cull them sooner than later," he prayed within before processing one more sip.
"And I thank you for interesting conversation," he responded with a nod and wave to Carmilla as she departed before bringing himself out of his own seat. He gave a bow and a simple "Farewell" to the remaining Lannisters before going off in search of his brother.
Last Edit: Aug 23, 2017 13:19:46 GMT by LORENT TYRELL
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 16:29:28 GMT
Rianhu, his brother's fiery wife, had approached while he spoke. She had learned caution and prudence, but the words she spoke through clenched teeth to the Ironborn belied the fury still within. Daeron liked the girl his brother had fallen for, and always considered his sister-in-law as much a dragon as a trueborn Targaryen. He wondered what she thought when Rhaegar handed off their daughter to a man he had tried to kill.
The girl rubbed her eyes, peeking behind sleep to see who carried her. The cold stern face of Daeron was different than his brother's, but the child seemed not to notice. She threw her arms around his neck, nestling into the darkness of Daeron's shoulder.
It took a great deal to melt Daeron's frozen demeanor, but this small creature had succeeded. A sad smile crossed the man's face, stroking the back of her head with a free hand as a father would do. The loss of Aerys made him forget the joys of fatherhood. The lengths one would go to defend family, the purpose of life at its core.
"We must defeat him, Rhaegar. We must teach our children to destroy those who would undermine our family and protect their future. Father allowed our enemies to grow strong while we have become weak. They forget what it means to fear our shadow."
Post by Dalton Greyjoy on Aug 23, 2017 16:41:30 GMT
A book. What? Yes, Dalton knew that his father prided himself in being ‘the Greyjoy that read’, but really? Was that truly necessary? As far as he knew, it was customary to send messages via raven or just hand them over, not put them into books. And yes, that was his first and immediate assumption when being handed this. The son took it and simply nodded his father farewell, but he was not fooled. Quellon Greyjoy was not the kind of man to stir up a hornet’s nest like this and then bother to make presents to other high lords – or to send someone else in his stead, even if he did that. The cat’s paw was truly unbecoming of the lord reaper, at least in his opinion.
Still though, he was now there, stuck at a wake waiting for a lord that had already retreated, holding a book with ambiguous meaning. The young lord’s curiosity briefly made him consider reading a bit in that book to try and find whatever it was that would be exchanged, but he ultimately decided against that. If his father wanted him to know, he would tell him directly. Since he did not, it was either not meant for him, or there might be a use for deniability. Given that the latter would undoubtedly make his life easier, the remaining Greyjoy settled for that latter.
However, that lord had vanished. He had not left the wake, as far as he could tell, but he had departed from his family. Walking around a bit, Dalton checked behind pillars here and there but could not find him. A man like that could not hide, either, so he was likely in some place connected to this. But he would likely return to retrieve his family, so the young kraken simply decided to take the nearest seat from where he could watch and wait. Sitting down, he sighed, not liking to be treated like an errand boy. Then he looked to the side and saw a white-haired girl sitting almost right next to him, alone. Noticing that this could be bad, he swiftly tried to overplay it with something else. “Oh, my apologies. I did not see you there. Are you a relative of the king?” He gave her one of his rare soft smiles. Younger girls tended to get that, reminding him of his sisters, back when they had been somewhat cute.
Post by VAELYS TARGARYEN on Aug 23, 2017 17:10:56 GMT
"Well the trip certainly bettered you to defend yourself verbally, so that much is welcome, Vaelys responded to the jests with amusement. It was true that his cos did grow high and broader in the shoulders; not quite to the extent of the massive wolf in their company, but strong in his own right. If Vaelys ever cared about becoming the prototypical 'see' he'd be jealous of the blood. But, he has his role to play, and a more than sufficient look to play it, big-bodied and strong was superfluous and uncharacteristic of his place in the world.
Aerys had as much trust in Cassius as in Vaelys it seemed, so though hesitant at first, he continued the thought. "Three competent heirs with strong characters, and the fleeting health of a king. Most Targaryens are too proud to admit they have better kin among them," he started. Vaelys shrugged subtly with a brief sigh, "It doesn't help that they all have some stain on their history that the others will attempt to drive a wedge through. Or will have a stain." He had to correct himself at the end, realizing the future hadn't quite come to fruition yet. His company wouldn't give given any tona clues to confirm if he was talking about a truth he knew or not.
When Aerys spoke heroic words of dragon eggs, Vaelys chuckled in a feign of disbelief. "Mighty goals; undoubtedly sharper than swords if the blow it would do to the kingdom," he said impressed. "What say you, Cassius? Should he march into the throne room and swipe the egg mounted amongst the skulls? Too bad the others weren't public, for surely they'd have been easier to get ahold of." he commented rhetorically with a bemused and sly smile. It was truth though, Aegon and Jaehaerys had the other two eggs deep in confinement, with only the third egg for display. It was a reminder that the dragons were never really gone and it expressed the notion that hatching one was entirely plausible if need be.
"If you must go, surely you have a plan to retrieve it? Vaelys asked in false naivety.
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 23, 2017 17:21:09 GMT
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[attr="class","textieno"] Gwyn came, she saw, and she praised the lord of light! [break][break] Was this Westeros? Of course, it was! The fabled land of the west where the blood of the old Valyria ruled the seven kingdoms. Where were the dragons? Ah, there were no Dragons! There were only Targaryens, the remnant of the glory that was. Curious about the wake, she slipped in among the crowds. The priestess of R'hllor wore a red mantle and a hood which hid her red crowned temple. Beneath the mantle, Gwyn's leather garments were hidden as well. Still, she felt something was about. It was as if this place was calling her to come, lulling her to step in. The priestess was nothing but a commoner, and so she did believe. And such was the effect of a long term amnesia which spanned a period of sixteen years. Gwyn forgot she was a Tully, and the priestess forgot she had a home; Riverrun. Regardless, Gwyn remained away from the nobility preferring the company of the low-born; she asked them about the last king, and what did they make of him. They told her, he was a good man. A man who was cursed by a fragile health. A man who ruled well but left a terrible legacy. The land was divided between three dragons vying for power, could this be the work of R'hllor? Or could it be the work of the one whose name shouldn't be spoken or said? Gwyn came to spread the good word, she came to preach the name of the Lord of Light; however, she wasn't going to do that in the heart of a Sept. [break][break] No, Gwyn was going to bid her time! First, she needed to understand what was going on.
The soft call for the female by her side drew a string of the Targaryen's attention from the wound ball of tension. A pair of startling blue eyes, with features that begged to be looked at once more with the verbal knowledge that this man was family of Ashe. Vivaenne's gaze didn't linger on him very long as she searched for the similarities in the nose, the cheekbones. A touching reunion that felt all too personal for Vivi to gaze on without invitation. So her gaze returned, far ahead where the body of her grandfather laid. The same direction that she could see the back of her mother, and Saera just beside.
People had begun to make their way out, one after the other in groups or by themselves. The fighting was over--the yelling and the threatening, a shadow to the beginning of the funeral that would be hard to forget.
"Are you alright? I'd like an honest answer." A honest answer, he asked for. Vivaenne looked down at the hand upon her leg, then back up to him with her mouth in a tightly drawn line. What he wanted to hear from her was personal. Her displeasure in it oozed from the look the young Targaryen had begun to give the Tyrell; a threat and a warning all in one bundle.
Lukas wished to know how she felt, the reason her throat was dry, and prickling with knives that wished to lash out like a wounded animal. Why, for so long that her eyes had felt abused and her words a painful push out through constricted lungs. Mourning was like a man lost in the desert, his lungs choked by the heat of the dust and his person smoldered by the sun. He'd been a great man, no matter how sickly he'd been, or how weak some may have thought this to have made him. King Jaehaerys had been her family.
So no--she wasn't alright, but, "I will be." Vivaenne settled on giving him. Time would tell.
Post by DAELLA BARATHEON on Aug 23, 2017 18:46:24 GMT
Things had calmed some, thankfully, but the entire ordeal left a bitter taste in her mouth. Even there, under the columnades with Arkas, she felt discontent with his words but understood the truth of them. And he appealed to her pride, as he knew to do. "Being Hand has made us complicated. I miss the simpler times. Never would I thought you the Lord Baratheon, nor the Hand of the King. Yet here you are."
She tapped the historied sword by her side. "'Tis a curse, Arkas. It makes me think my body is younger than it is, that I am invincible." Staring at the hilt, she sighed, her next words the harrowing worries she had long ruminated. "I've held it far too long."
She looked down at the kiss upon her forehead. Somehow, disappointing him was the greatest shame of all. "I was never meant to be the wife of one so pivotal to the realm. Ill-suited... I apologize." And then he was gone.
When she returned to the rest of her family, Oisin would not be spared a smoldering glare that was sufficient to make him pale, but a quick temper was accompanied by a quick calm. A wandering hand soon made it's way to Oisin's hair, which she mussed for as long as he was seated there. Selyse had arrived late, and in some kind of fashion between her parents had her father's contemplative silence yet her mother's glower. Not a good look. And though Daella was hardly in a rush to marry of her children, she did wonder at the ways to make her daughter most presentable.
"Oisin, find your twin, will you? I think it best we left soon."
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