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 Guinevere Tully on Aug 24, 2017 7:33:42 GMT
[nospaces]
[attr="class","biggieno"]
[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme [break][break] The girl was certainly comely in every regard; Aoife had a snow white mane, although short, it glimmered in reflection to the shafts of light that managed to pass through the colorful windows of the Sept. Aoife had bright cerulean eyes, they had a certain glint about them. This girl was young, but she spoke like a lady; whoever brought her up made a job well-done indeed. Guinevere restricted herself from hugging the girl; the priestess of R'hllor loved children above all else. Children had this innocence about them, an innocence adults failed to have. Gwyn managed to make a quick shift of her gaze passing between Dalton Greyjoy and Aoife Baratheon. "How old are you, Aoife?" Guinevere's lips curled into a sweet smile, or she really tried to. "You speak like a refined lady who flowered years ago!" The priestess intertwined her hands, her fingers mingled together. "I am quite surprised to see a Baratheon who doesn't have a charcoal-like mane!" It was kind of strange of Guinevere to remember this, but she happened to recollect such a fact. All Baratheon had darker than black hair, and all Baratheon had the brightest of blue eyes; all Baratheons had a mercurial temper. "You must have a lovely looking mother!" Gwyn hummed. Although the Baratheon's seed remained strong, she told herself. [break][break] "It is a sad thing," Gwyn commented on the matter. "Hopefully, nothing bad will come out of it!" Gwyn had a bad feeling about the matter. Nobility squabbling with each other didn't mean anything good would come out of it. "What do you think, Lord Greyjoy!" At least, Gwyn managed to catch up his name from his previous interaction with the young Aoife. "Do you think nothing bad can come out of it?" Gwyn didn't know him or his father, and she wasn't there when Lord Quellon made his presence clear in the sept. [break][break]
Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Aug 24, 2017 8:09:55 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand]
[attr="class","likedo"]
[attr="class","likedotitle"]
[attr="class","likedotitle2"]MY PRIDE
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Leading the Princess away in order to share a few words in the confidence of silence, the Hand of the King contemplated. Arkas had lost a father as well. For most people, this point in their life comes. And while a curse, is not a parent losing a chid an even more insurmountable amount of grief? Arkas hadn't liked the tone of the Princess, but compared to the actions of his wife, it hardly measured up.
"I can't apologize for my wife. I don't command her. As outlandish as that might seem to you, your claim foots on an insight for such a detail, does it not?"
He had been there, of course, when the dying King had made a decree. With her. But what might have seemed justified to her, and rightly so, for it had been the words of a father to a daughter - had sounded differently to the ears of Arkas. A dying man's wish was not often filled with reason. Arkas had been called to the city to keep the King's peace. Placing a crown on Alysanne's head would make that peace crumble like a dry field to so much as a spark of cinder.
The Seven Kingdoms would burn. Every single one of them.
Arkas served not Daeron.
Not Rhaegar.
Not Alysanne.
He served the realm.
"My role was clear from the start. I wasn't my father's heir. I was a soldier. All my life I was trained to deal with losses. You move on. You function. You raise your blade to be ready for the clash." He hadn't been born as the Lord of Storm's End. He was a second son. Until his brother died. But up to that point, he'd lived the life of a soldier. Not a ruler. But dealing with the Dornish had taught him a lesson about not being lured out of a defensive position.
He wanted to say a thousand things. Her father's goodness had enabled him to find personal joy and love. It wasn't good that they were being separated by the quarrel and fierce words. It wasn't his point to lecture her. "You lament the fury of my wife, and you have a point. But a King, or a Queen, is above those lamentations. The King - or be it a Queen - commands the Hand. And the day of coronation is not yet here."
Post by Dalton Greyjoy on Aug 24, 2017 8:17:47 GMT
Maybe there was some truth to that, maybe. But just because having some ruler was preferable to anarchy did not mean that it was good and should never be changed, in his opinion. Not that either of them could change it, of course. Hatred was the one emotion that humans could nigh ever quell. It was just as irrational as love was, just as intense. A priestess of the Summer Isles had one told him that most men hated one other man for every woman they loved – but that woman were capable of much more hate for the children they loved. Maybe he would understand that one day, when he had trueborn children of his own. Right now though, he was a man that grew up without a mother, saw the mothers of his sisters slaughtered and experienced little love from his father.
So of course his mind was dulled in that regard. “Whatever her faults, you are lucky to have a woman caring so much for you to be your mother,” he simply added, but otherwise took the risk of being yelled at more. Even though said risk was, ironically, lessened by a Tully. A mane of red, a surprisingly chipper attitude for a wake and the brazenness to just join their conversation, all of those described the newcomer. He extended his smile to her as well, in a way doing what Ashe had told him. “Yes, our parents seem to be eager for conflict. And to answer your question, my lady Tully, I fear that bad things will come from it. Neither of them are the kind of people to just forget a slight like that. I do not doubt that my father was ready to die if it meant not buckling down to lady Baratheon.” Dalton sighed, really not looking forward to what was going to happen. Then he returned to the younger girl. “A nobleman’s squabble has purpose when there is a good king to resolve it. That good king is dead now. The one truly worthy to succeed him is the one who could resolve this squabble without bloodshed. And yet, neither of them truly tried. Thousands might die just because of that.”
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 24, 2017 12:55:43 GMT
[nospaces]
[attr="class","biggieno"]
[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme: Go back whence you came [break][break] Looks like so much had happened Gwyn was unaware of, due to the nature of her affliction; she wasn't capable of relating so much of what had been said. Sixteen years ago, Lord Quellon wasn't Lord Quellon. Sixteen years ago, none of the three dragons matured into three claimants of the throne. Sixteen years ago, King Jaehaerys the second was still alive. Sixteen years ago, Gwyn visited Essos trying to find a cure for her husband; she fell from a horse and knocked her head on a rock. So much had happened in these years, and certainly, she was in a dire need of catching up with the current events of the political scene. How far did Dalton's father go to insult the other noblemen? Gwyn wasn't there to witness the incident; she was unsure of the situation's severity. Did that mean there was a quarrel of sorts between the Aoife's mother and Dalton's father? It was kind of sad to see how willing the children were to communicate while the parents were preparing for an all-out war. Gwyn didn't have the required information to make a good judgment of the current circumstances. [break][break] "Well, you are quite right!" Gwyn turned around, her scarlet tufts of hair followed at a lazy pace; Gwyn's emerald green gaze fell upon on the contenders who claimed that the throne was theirs. They were all siblings, and they were all handsome. She didn't understand why couldn't they talk the matter down and try a peaceful solution? Didn't they have the same old valyrian blood coursing through their veins? Didn't they share the same father? Did they forget the ol'good days they had shared together? In fact, they could reach a peaceful solution; Gwyn hoped so, for the sake of the common people who were about to get slaughtered if they chose a violent path. [break][break]
Post by VAELYS TARGARYEN on Aug 24, 2017 19:43:35 GMT
As suspicious as the First Man was, he seceded to Aerys' plans. Vaelys wasn't sure if it was his ambition or earnestness that attracted the crowd; especially when that crowd was the spectacle of a man like Cassius. Nevertheless, Vaelys enjoyed then picture it created, and it wasn't as if he could change the future he saw. A grand painting, and these men were but just two of those in its frame. While he could not see its entirety, as the pendulum of the grand clock swung, the fog on his vision slowly cleared.
"Your Aunt Alysanne and our dear, sweet cos' Vivaenne? I'm not sure what would be worse, lying to the mother and drawing ire, or creating a truth with Vivaenne," Vaelys pondered with a hand on his chin. "You know how much I dislike being involved, this one will cost you in the future. I s'pose I'll need to try my had at culinary alchemy. Maester might say I'm an expert at poisons with my lack of skill with the chef's knife." Of course he had no intention of truly harming his cousin, but even simple stomach pains was enough to summon the worried attention of a child's ultimate proctector.
Vaelys extended a finger to the flickering darkness, a pillar snapping into vision with each whip of the flame. "It will be tight, but check the best at the base of the pillar. You must really stop growing, plate mail isn't as flexible as fabric, and you can never just settle on robes as a disguise. Anything else? Maybe a you'd like a clean shave and a fine blush to appear your best before Princess Alysanne, Lord Stark?" Vaelys finished with a daring smirk, his words with a rhetorical embellishment of tone.
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Aug 24, 2017 21:42:25 GMT
It had been many years since the three of them had met like this. Daeron's wife was not allowed to court, so Rheagar and Rhianu graciously let him join them during official events. He recalled the nights of drinking in the Red Keep, wasting away the hours swapping family legends.
The brothers told stories of Valyria, handed down for decades now. Family history had become myths and fables, moral lessons all young dragons heard. When he was a boy, Aerys would often join them in the keep, listening to these tales well past a reasonable bedtime. He would sit on Daeron's lap and lean forward on the table, face propped in hands and eyes unblinking in awe.
Rhianu also had her own stories from Sunspear and the mysterious lands of Dorne. Her favorite was "The Wraith of the Red Dunes," a demon who took travelers during sandstorms and left their innards strewn in the shape of a grinning face. This tale was always saved for the end of the night since it sent Aerys screaming from the room to bed the second he heard the name.
How they had changed. Ambition had driven walls between the three, pride had undermined their common purpose.
The girl had shifted to nuzzle in the crook of Daeron's arm, making small sounds as she found a welcome home. The despairing prince felt hope as he looked the girl. She and her brother represented a new reason, a new cause for the three to unite once again.
"Let us not discuss this here. Many walls mean many ears, as you have rightly warned. We have much to discuss. Shall we plan to meet in the Keep tonight?"
"I propose we renew our old agreement: You and I, brother, shall bring the cups if your lady agrees to share some of her delicious Dornish Red?"
"The House of Roses! I should've known by your elegance," Ayden chimed. "I've never met anyone outside of House Stark, aside from the stories my father informed me on the other houses. Though, my attention to detail is but a farce, I simply took a guess. I didn't think you actually were an archer; what caught my eye, in truth, was that you looked to be from an intriguing house and we looked to be of the same age. Therefore, I wanted to speak with you." Ayden stated.
"And now that I know you're of House Tyrell, I'm even more interested to speak with you privately; well, actually, together with my dear sister and hew new companions over there." Pointing toward Ashe, Vivienne, and Lukas, he would continue as crystal blue eyes returned to meet the Tyrell's own, "I want to speak you about the future of our houses, as potential future rulers." A determined gaze did not waver, paired with a cunning grin that foretold that, behind his lips, resided impertinent information that could possibly intrigue the Tyrell. "Would you do this dog the honor of being heard?"
Post by RHAEGAR TARGARYEN on Aug 25, 2017 0:29:43 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
What had robbed his brother had blessed him in life. Watching Daeron support his daughter eased Rhaegar's heart. The children they both had did not deserve the wars to come. It was for that reason he desired the Iron Throne for himself.
" Father understood mercy, it was what kept the realm at peace."
Explaining to Rhianu that taking the route that his brother proposed would only lead to further bloodshed. The thought of his children being taken or killed as payment for the Greyjoy Lord was not one he desired. Though his house could not simply take this dishonor and slander either.
Though his brother suggested a night together, sharing drinks with the other to discuss the future that both valiantly fought for. Getting a laugh from him upon the choice of drink. The exotic flavor of her homeland could not be replicated here in King's Landing. It had been far to long since they spent a night together.
" Would you believe Rhianu is the better drinker. I doubt even you could beat my little red sun. Though I would be honored to accept your invite brother. It has been far to long since we drank."
Teasing them both with a smile that had all but vanished with their fathers passing.
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 25, 2017 0:52:19 GMT
☀ ☀ ☀
She loved the brothers dearly, just as she adored the entire Targaryen house. Well, nearly the whole house. Rhianu had largely spent the remainder of her years as a young woman with Rhaegar and Daeron, finding that she fared her husband’s brother better than he did. The relationship between the three of them was greatly coveted in her heart; their conversation striking up nostalgia that brought a fond smile to her face. They were opposing one another but her heart could not help but inflate at the sight of the two interacting.
It seemed for one more night they would be allowed to enjoy the presence of the others, as if the death of Jaehaerys had never occurred.
Nothing more than a folly, but tonight her heart would remain full in the company of Rhaegar and Daeron. An endless amount of Dornish red would also ease any tension, but drinking was a favored pastime for the trio.
“The twins need to be put to bed and I desire to tear this stuffy dress of my body. Once we’re settled, I promise to keep the wine flowing until daybreak. Thank gods I’ve purchased enough of it to last my lifetime and that of our children. We'll see who is the most apt to drink once this night is through,” Rhianu remarked in agreement, the grin on her face lightening the formerly sober mood. She leaned into Rhaegar, their forms melding as if they had always intended to become a single whole. With Ryllan slumbering in her arms, they appeared the epitome of a content family.
This wolf was hearty in his approbation and lavish in his praise. Although Lorent perceived all such offerings as superficial tactics, that did not mean he would not enjoy having his ego stroked for a short period. Besides, he found Ayden's explanation rather amusing and could resist the opportunity to return fire.
"Even if you are not so perceptive, you surely have an abundance of wit about you," he offered with a light laugh. As Ayden described the group of friends, Lorent's eyes would focus on Lukas. His elder sibling seemed to be departing and, in the moment that they locked eyes in passing, he knew that his brother departed with purpose. He would not nod or wink, or display any other obvious signs of comprehension.
"Ah," he began before giving a nod to Ayden. "Well, this would be a grim affair if I were left to my own devices. You've swayed this rose, sly wolf. I shall hear you out."
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 25, 2017 4:06:00 GMT
Alysanne had planned to forgive and forget. But Arkas's words drove her over the edge, and she could no longer hold her tongue. "I did not ask for pity. I did not ask to be able to cry for weeks on end. I simply wanted a peaceful wake for my father so I could properly mourn." She stepped closer to him, almost threateningly. "Do not lecture me on getting over things. I got over the death of my mother. Over the death of my husband. And I will get over this. But do not think that you taking the spotlight away from my father and all the wonderful things he did for the Realm is something I will forget. You were not in the right today."
"I can expect as much from your wife. I can even empathize. But you are Hand of the King. You are in charge of the Realm during such a chaotic and bubbling situation. You of all people should have held your composure and de-escalated the situation before it could even arise. But you did not. I was forced to intervene."
Another step, now leaving no space between them. Alysanne was not armed, nor did she know how to fight. But she still projected her anger quite well with narrowed eyes. "Enough with the "you are not yet Queen" lines. I never once pretended to be. In fact, even if father had never tried to name me heir, I would have still acted this way. Do you know why, Arkas Baratheon?" She straightened her shoulders. "Because you were out of line, along with your wife, and along that that damned Greyjoy. You looked like a fool, unable to control his wife and letting a Greyjoy actually get a rise out of you."
"Do better." Alysanne did not pretend to already be Queen. In fact, she had accepted the fact she would never win. Her attitude was entirely her and nothing else. And if Arkas thought he could dangle the situation over her head in hopes of alleviating the blame from himself, he was fucking wrong.
Post by AOIFE BARATHEON on Aug 25, 2017 5:31:05 GMT
Aoife quietly studied the Tully as she spoke. When the woman suddenly started to compliment her, the girl glanced down softly. The slightest beginnings of a blush could be seen across the corners of her cheeks. Quietly, she responded. ”I am fifteen Lady Tully,” There was a pause in her voice before she gave a soft bow of her head. ”Thank you... and yes... I take after my mother.”
She went quiet as both Guinevere Tully and Dalton Greyjoy spoke their opinions on the event and what had been said. Her eyes quietly went down to the ground. Honestly, Aoife didn't have anything to add to the conversation.
Post by OISIN BARATHEON on Aug 25, 2017 5:35:44 GMT
When he found his sister, she was speaking to a tanned man and a red haired woman. He wasn't entirely sure who the woman was, but he knew the man. He was Dalton Greyjoy- the son of the man his mother had tried to stab. Oh, this wouldn't be fun if she caught sight of his sister chatting with him. The lordling let out a soft sigh before approaching the three with a soft yet polite smile on his face.
”Pardon me, Aoife, our mother wishes for us to take our leave,” he explained to his sister. He reached to gently take her hand. As his arm shifted from the cloak, the two may have been able to see a silver shield attached to his other arm through the small shiftings of the cloak. Aoife didn't resist as her brother took her hand. She merely gave a soft bow of the head.
”I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting either of you. My name is Oisin Baratheon. Hopefully, in the future, we can speak at length, but now we must go.”
And with that, the twins returned to their mother.
Post by Guinevere Tully on Aug 25, 2017 8:04:28 GMT
[nospaces]
[attr="class","biggieno"]
[attr="class","textieno"] Aoife brother came to take her, and he was just beautiful as his sister. "It is an honor meeting Aoife's brother!" She smiled back at OISIN BARATHEON. "I bid you farewell, Aoife!" if AOIFE BARATHEON should allow it, Gwyn would take her for a gentle embrace. Probably, the duo left their presence. "It was nice meeting you as well, Lord Greyjoy!" She stood up nodding to him. "Let's hope it doesn't come down to manslaughter!" Gwyn left Dalton Greyjoy to his own devices. There was nothing more to see there, it was time to leave and chase her memories else where. [break][break] ~Exit~
Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Aug 25, 2017 17:58:19 GMT
Arkas decided to move on.
The Princess' and her sorrow had made their stand.
Defiant and unobtainable.
But such is the heart.
"You are a soldier, Princess. You haven't fought with swords but with negotiations, agreements and the voice of reason. Without you, your father's peace would have collapsed before this day. His last day. Seven blessings on his soul."
What should he have done - cut down his wife and the Greyjoy? Next the Stark boy and his own son?
Looking across her shoulder, Arkas gaze beset Daeron and Rhaegar, her two brothers were having a friendly talk at the other end of the Sept, weren't they? Introducing families and sharing worries about sons. Certainly some symbol of unity.
Arkas could have told Alysanne to kill her mercy, otherwise she'd remain as unheard as her pleas. But he didn't want the realm to spiral into a conflict, did he? Unity was the soothing medicine for the confusion the Krakenlord had spread.
"The small council will conjoin in the morrow. I trust I'll see you there."
There were important decisions to be made. Or rather, they were to be announced. Arkas had been in the city for a month. Untouched by sibling rivalry and sorrow of a father's passing, his machinations to keep the peace had begun long ago.
Princess Alysanne had defended her father's peace diplomatically. And while he was not opposed to that approach, he was, in the end, a soldier. Sword in hand, the peace would stand, or Arkas would fall.
They could all cry, rage and hiss in heedless anger.
WINDS OF WINTER is the original work of AARON, AERIE and WINTER. Any and all content is copyrighted to WINDS OF WINTER.
Copying, altering, or stealing any of the site's content is prohibited.
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.
