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.
Besides for greetings, and small phrases here and there the young Tyrell would certainly sit quietly amongst the rest of the small council. Even if he was chosen to speak, he would choose his words carefully and tread cautiously. These waters were beginning to get rough, and knowing how to navigate them would take keen observation and precise timing.
A familiar face came through the door after he had taken his seat. Someone he had yet to see in quite some time, but still held strong feelings for. Lukas was a man that cared more about his immediate family than those abroad. But, the relationship he had with his aunt was much more loving and far more developed compared to others that had joined other houses as a result of marriage.
"My, you look just as beautiful as I can remember. I missed you dearly." He exclaimed, moving out of his chair with elegance and ease and embracing her in his arms. "It's been a while." Being that it was a small council meeting and not a family reunion Lukas quickly took his seat after exchanging formalities with his aunt.
His flowing eyes bouncing from one guest to the next as they came in. Though his father would know most of them by name, and most certainly by experience; Lukas needed to rely on the stories his father told him and memories of their features from when he was but a child.
Noticing his Queen come in next, he wondered how she would react. It was clear she was still under a lot of duress. He hoped she would be able to cope soundly and not move as much on impulse instead of tact.
A familiar face, and friend joined him in the seat right next to him. It was the next Lord of Hightower, Edric. "Lord Edric! It's been far too long my friend. I was meaning to pay you a visit after I had returned, but it seemed destiny had brought us together sooner than I expected. My brother is in high spirits, he's also here in King's Landing. However, I'm not sure where my father is. I have only taken his place because he has yet to arrive."
Individuals came and took their seats, acknowledging those they knew and ignoring those they didn't. Highborns certainly had a way of doing things, did they not? The next heir, Daeron had finally come in and taken his seat. Of course, the man lead off with a sour note. It seemed he assumed everyone in the room were his brother's keeper. How entitled The Tyrell thought to himself.
The next man to stink the room up with their lack of class was Edmund Tully. Lukas specifically got a whiff of his less than pleasant smell when he approached Morella. Lukas's attention was fleeting however, never staying on one person or thought for too long.
Lady Martell entered, then Alysanne began with a slight jab at her brother. It seemed this meeting would go just as smoothly as the wake did. Lord of the North, Cassius Stark came by and took a seat next to Morella, which put him right to the left of Lukas. He turned his head to give him a nod of acknowledgement, as he was someone he knew for quite some time.
How many of these people would be present, nay—alive, when the actual meeting three month's from now would take place? Sure, if Lukas didn't watch his back and use his wit and strength in battle to his utmost ability then he would too not survive till then. This just seemed like the prelude to the actual 'game of thrones' that had yet to actually begin.
Last Edit: Sept 2, 2017 0:25:51 GMT by LUKAS TYRELL
A dark little viper followed at his heels, princess Martell grieving over the loss of the king, twas a shame that she hadn't made it to the wake. Dornish wine would have been a welcomed drink compared to these barrels beneath the Red Keep. Alysanne charming the noble snake with the events of the night. Describing the wake as a menagerie, with the wolf stumbling upon the meeting alas. Enjoying just what position the Warden of the North had taken. Oh how it wounded him so, an amused grin painted upon his face.
Though before he could share any quip the Hand of the King began to act, weaving a long story of what had come to be and what was to be. Giving them each a look, how kind of Arkas to spare him the longest of the stares. Knowing just what was to come of it, this was not his first meeting and encounter with the stag. Beyond his motives was the chiding nature the Baratheon savored best. Humoring the thought of a Grand Council meeting in several months time. Just as they would settle down they would have to return to the Crownlands.
" You couldn't summon those two back here and decide now Arkas? Its a fools errand to return home only to ride back to King's Landing days later. You can bring together your grand council but I know my answer. "
Edmund rested his gaze upon the apparent heirs that found the room, the twin brother was not one to miss such a meeting between these lord and ladies. A strange feeling filling his gut briefly as he shifted his attention to Daeron. House Tully would support the firstborn that belonged on the Iron Throne. Only the dragon lords gave a fuck about keeping their bloodline pure, let the man loosen his seed in whoever he liked. The realm needed change, which would come with the son of Jaehaerys Targaryen. The realm would stagnate with more of the same.
The last daughter to the late lord of House Tyrell, Morella knows nothing below luxuriant wealth. As the third golden rose of her group of sisters, she was raised to be cunning and politically savvy. Her new role as She-Lion of House Lannister bestowed upon her an ample opportunity to insert herself into the great game of thrones.
Post by MORELLA LANNISTER on Sept 5, 2017 1:38:37 GMT
One by one the great influencers of the realm filed in through the main door. Exchanges were made, some superficial, some sincere. Morella paid little attention to the mingling as it transpired, focusing her warmth towards no general direction in particular.
No need to let these politicians make assumptions of her role.
Edmund Tully approached her, offering her a choice of words befitting his reputation. She smiled coyly in response, her demeanor always open, always poised.
She made note of the lady Martell. Ashara was very much like Morella, she knew. Though their sexes denied them the simple acknowledgements of power given to their male counterparts, it was known that the strings of their lands fit more so about their own fingers.
Arkas called them to attention, Morella eased herself into a comfortable position. Her gaze passed over the lot of them, lingering on the eldest dragon prince for but a moment before skipping over to the next head in line.
Yuliya was present; her head recently sated with knowledge too sensitive for these walls. Morella did not dwell on the thought. She knew her daughter. The secrets they shared would remain so.
Edmund brought her attention back to the ramblings Arkas spilled before them. Brash as he was, she’d always appreciated his mannerisms.
”Quellon seeks to dismantle the fragile infrastructure and rebuild from the bottom up. He needs to be dealt with swiftly.”
Morella recalled her talk with the kraken in the gardens of the keep.
”His connivery sought to win over the Westerlands. To no avail, we lions are faithful to the crown. Whomever is deemed best to rule shall receive our favor wholeheartedly.”
Her eyes panned to Alysanne and to Daeron. The missing prince did not cross her mind. Her words betrayed her true intentions.
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Sept 5, 2017 6:39:35 GMT
"Questions?!"
Daeron's voice boomed across the table like a dragon emerging from a long winter. He had waited and listened to irrelevant lords and ladies long enough.
"The small council and the Hand serve at the behest of the Iron Throne, Lord Baratheon. You, your family, and all the other high lords and ladies at this table are subjects of MY house. You speak of a Grand Council as if you have place to call one."
Rage burned years off the aging prince's features. He wanted to tear Talon from her sheath and bear the man's brains before the council, but a warning look from Morella brought his temper to bear.
"My father appointed you Hand to support his decrees and commands. Now that he is dead, you no longer serve the Throne, only the dying wishes of the last king. It falls not to the Hand, but the lawful heir to the throne to decide such matters."
The road ahead was treacherous. On either side lay hungry dragons and rattling sabers. A misstep here could be his last, Daeron realized. He paused and rose slowly from his place at the head of the table. Silence hung heavy in the chamber. Every breath waited on his next words.
The Crown Prince walked to Arkas' place at the table, heavy footsteps echoing off the stone floor. Daeron's eyes never left the lord's as he leaned in close. Reaching over the stag's shoulder, he picked up the Hand's map of the Seven Kingdoms.
Daeron began rolling the parchment as he continued, "You are excused from my service, Lord Arkas. Your plotting, planning, and negotiating for my father ends here today, as does his rule."
"The era of keeps and councils is over."
With the last word, Daeron flung the scroll into the room's mighty hearth. The paper disappeared in the orange flames with a crackle. On cue, two of Daeron's Harrangaurds stepped in from the hallway and grabbed Arkas by the arms, pulling the Hand to his feet.
Two eyes gleamed unblinking at the stag lord, like a beast observing its prey's final moments. "The time of dragons has returned."
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 Sept 5, 2017 7:54:53 GMT
If Daeron thought he had been the only one with guards ready to do his bidding, he was wrong. The three siblings had taken to different areas to reside, and Alysanne had made the Red Keep her home. "It's humorous, brother, that you think calling yourself a dragon makes you one." Alysanne stood to her feet and gestured at the armor-clad guards that had been at her behest since she had made the Red Keep her home. "Lord Baratheon has committed no crime. Do not let these men drag him away like some lowborn criminal."
Amethyst eyes shifted quickly back to her elder brother. "You are not the King because no King has yet been coronated. Therefore, the Realm is under protection and leadership by the Hand of the King." Her face was calm, and only a few degrees from stone-cold stoicism. Tension was high as her guards moved to block the other two from forcibly removing Arkas. "Because the late King took an unprecedented leap and altered the laws of the Seven Kingdoms by naming someone else heir, you cannot be coronated until this matter is sorted."
Alysanne approached Daeron, a smug smile coming to her lips so easily that she had yet to even realize how condescending she must have sounded. She stopped an inch away from Daeron, daring him to react. "You're no dragon. A lizard, perhaps. But not a dragon."
[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme: What makes a good man? [break][break] The Small fucking Council.. [break][break] As per usual, Arkas didn't react to Marcus' words. The Lord of the Vale gave him a half smile and nothing else. The Tyrells were represented by a purple haired boy! How could Marcus take a purple haired man seriously? What was fucking happening in Westeros? The other lords and ladies came soon after. There came the Lannister woman, but she was no Lannister; she was just another rose in disguise. Marcus had to wonder why her son didn't grace them with his presence; there could only be one answer, he was a momma's boy. Then Princess Alysanne came, and he wasn't sure what to make of her yet. This setting was supposed to enlighten him about the Claimants of the Throne. Another Tyrell vassal came, a Hightower! Why was he there? This was supposed to be a council meeting, only the wardens and Lord Paramounts were allowed to attend. Probably, Arkas invited him. This only spoke of the purple boy's incompetence. The Tarly was the master of Laws, this was something new. Apparently, Arkas favored the marcher lords. The Lannister girl was there too, the master of coin escorted by a Reyne. What was King Jaehaerys thinking to make a Lannister a master of Coin? The king gave the Lannisters so much fire power, what an incompetent fool! Daeron entered, and he acted like the people sitting the table was his fucking servants. Edmund Tully was an old friend. Marcus sister was his wife until her unexpected demise. Although Edmund married a Northern girl, Marcus' sister would be always the true lady of the Riverlands. Edyn Tully would inherit, and Marcus would see to it. The Dornish lady came apologizing for her absence in the wake; she was quite tame for a Dornishwoman, though. Alysanne managed to put Daeron in his place. And so, praise be the Gods! The Warden of the North came and kept his silence. Well, Marcus had always respected Northmen; he had no quarrel with the man. [break][break] Now, who was going to be the Vale's foresworn enemy? He put his finger inside his nose cleaning it. [break][break] The purple boy kept his mouth shut. At least, the boy was wise enough not to blurt with fool words. Edmund made a point, a good point. Marcus had to agree but for a different reason, but he wasn't going to say a word. The Lannister woman wanted to oust the Ironborn from power; like a serpent, she wanted to use the council to eradicate her foes. The woman's words were eloquent and well-chosen. That's why he didn't believe any words coming out of her lustful lips. Marcus was sure of two things. The first would be, this woman was a fucking liar. The second would be, she was a goddess in a bed. Sixth sense, oh yeah! Daeron dropped the bomb disrespecting the council and trying to remove Arkas from the equation. Aye, Arkas and Marcus were never close friends. Aye, Arkas was no damsel in distress. Aye, Arkas could defend himself. But Marcus had to make a statement; he wasn't a man of many words because he was a man of action. This Alysanne was right. The men in this room bickered like Women while the women were acting like men. The Targaryen woman stepped up against her brother, and so he found her to be fearsome; she had a spine, a strong one. [break][break] Good! Good! He cleared his nose and cleaned his hand sticking the dirt on the table. Apparently, he got an idea whom he was going to support. [break][break] He hopped from his chair. Marcus was a midget, they won't see him coming. Alysanne's guards came trying to block Daeron's guards from doing whatever they wanted to do. Arkas would handle himself, Marcus believed. Nonetheless, the thought didn't stop him. He moved to Daeron's guards' side. Their armor meant nothing because he knew where were the weaknesses. With a powerful kick, Marcus shoved his leg at a guard's knee. The knee was always a weak point, especially if the attack came from a side. Once the guard fell on the ground, his ankle became vulnerable. He followed it with another kick to break the ankle, another weak point. The guard screamed in pain, and Marcus didn't give a damn. The other guard hesitated for a moment giving Marcus the opportunity to grab the first guard's sword to attack him with the blunt side of it, not the edges. A thousand years from now, the people of Westeros would talk about that Lord of the Vale who invented baseball. Hit in the face, the other guard fell. Marcus didn't spare him; He punched the guard's face with extreme prejudice, and Alysanne's guards tried to remove Marcus away from murdering the poor guardsmen. Daeron disrespected the council, and Marcus disrespected him in turn. Eye for an eye, Bitch! [break][break] The small fucking council wasn't boring after all. Actually, it was fun!
Post by EDRIC HIGHTOWER on Sept 5, 2017 17:04:47 GMT
Edric moved to reply to his Tyrell friend, but Arkas' words broke the window of silence he held. In a room of the most important individuals in the realm, Edric felt that he might be overlooked. But the importance of Hightower was not forgotten by a Hand of competence, and the young lord nodded at his words. Not even 30, but he was wise; and with Lord Tyrell not in attendance, his counsel would be invaluable to the younger Lukas.
Time for pleasantries was over, and Edric sat erecf, not daring to show any bit of weakness or vulnerability in the company of peers. A Hightower might not lead a kingdom, but they rivaled each of them in wealth, and some in military might. His road was steeper and more littered with rocks and wood to earn respect from those from further reaches. While the Tyrells understood the impact of his house, others off overlooked it - attributing the success to Highgarden and not Hightower.
He observed intently.
It started in the paradigm of a typical meeting between lords and ladies - but one man found offense in the words of Arkas. What he expected to be a council of words turn to one of action. Guards crashed in from all directions, their colors reflecting several hues - like the tight corridors of a bazaar. Venom was exchanged between the siblings, and his eye caught Marcus in his rush to assault one of Daeron's men. In a flash, arms were in air and tension weighed heavy. Even his digits drummed lightly on the hilt of Vigilance. Young as he was, naive he was not. A scene like this was kindling for something greater.
Edric whispered to his lord, "Ready yourself, Lukas. One nervous hand is all it takes-." It was difficult for him to remember formalities in stressed moments, especially between friends. No longer did he tap the hilt, it was in full grip under the table, his body turned halfway out. He was a lord, but he was also a knight, and his instincts prepared himself for preservation.
With this sort of behavior, a Grand Council seemed the right move. Edric wouldn't say that, not yet at least. His focus was on his weapon and the people around him.
Post by ARKAS BARATHEON on Sept 6, 2017 10:36:32 GMT
[googlefont=Quicksand]
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[attr="class","likedotitle2"]OURS IS THE FURY
[attr="class","likedoinfo"]Arkas sat.
Out of all the dragonspawns, he had expected Daeron to be the most forward about his attempts. There couldn't be any confusion there. He was the firstborn, after all. At least half his life he had grown up as the designated heir. Until decisions had estranged him from that role. Naturally, the entire realm saw it. Most of it, anyway. And it still made sense that Daeron thought of himself as heir, despite his actions. It didn't matter if one considered it a mistake or not.
All these soldiers sitting at Harrenhall, at the doorstep of King's Landing, would become a problem.
It wasn't that Arkas didn't understand.
He didn't allow it.
With firm voice, he argued against the booming dragon. Eyes carrying the steel of defiance.
"Prince Daeron, you're right that the King may remove the Hand. But there is no King. Not yet."
It was hardly one of Arkas' motivations to remain in control of the realm for all time to come. An ambitionless man in that regard, his drive was activated only in the denial of others. He had sworn to keep the peace.
A silent storm, Arkas was a Baratheon. Did people desire to truly test the patience and see the mercurial temper of his bloodline come to the surface?
"I'm willing to extend to you the same kind of understanding that I extended to Lord Greyjoy at the King's funeral." The same kind of leniency he had extended to his wife. Both Quellon and Daella had defied the King's peace.
"There is a table here for a reason. Everyone standing should be wise enough to sit back down. If you should desist, and the table can not hold you in peace, perhaps the black cells below the Red Keep can. Three months is a long time."
And that was the extent of Arkas' peace-bringing tyranny.
"They say that love is the end of all duty. I'm willing to assume that your men disregarded the laws out of love for you, Prince Daeron. But the laws of men aren't all guided by the heart. Stand your men down. Drawing steel in this chamber equivalates breaking the King's peace. It means drawing steel on the law itself. An act of rebellion, surely."
Arkas looked at Lord Arryn and Alysanne's guards as well.
"All of you. Stand down."
But legal matters were one for the Master of Law.
The circumstances proved him right. He had chosen the correct servant of order to support his decisions. Hadn't he?
William is a fair individual, neither particularly headstrong nor explosive, but simultaneously this leaves him isolated from many of his peers. He is somewhat silent, preferring to listen and to observe, rather than to place his opinions before he understands the situation.
Post by WILLIAM TARLY on Sept 6, 2017 12:17:01 GMT
THE PEACE
❝
Lord Tarly remained mostly stoic about all the procedures that went through the chambers. He was expecting clout, egotistical boasting and rants, but he did not expect anyone, least of all one of the participants in the current claims to the Iron Throne, to behave himself in such an embarrassing manner before all the gathered lords of the Great Houses. He folded a neat corner at the top of his script as the situation unfolded, first, the brazen assault of the Lord Hand, and secondly, the immediate response by Lord Marcus Arryn.
William nodded curtly when requested by Arkas, pulling from his pocket a shortened codex of lawful practices. "Prince Daeron, I will remind you of your rights as of this current moment under the practice of our law." William's tone neither displayed any sense of approval or disapproval over the current actions.
"The current subject of law is one Prince Daeron Targaryen, firstborn of King Jaeharys II, Lord of Harrenhal." William turned his attention to the surveying lords gathered at this meeting. "The constituency of the Seven Kingdoms is based on a feudal system of Lordships, by which each Lord within a Kingdom administers a codified form of laws instated by King Jaehaerys I. Each Lord is answerable to its own lands, each House answerable only to its direct Greater House. In no place does the law ever grant a member of House Targaryen outside of the King the ability to rule in the stead of the Small Council over the Seven Kingdoms, even if the individual is Heir Apparent." William's eyes fixed themselves onto Daeron.
"Therefore, your Grace, you are in breach of two acts of law, firstly, by wilfully threatening through physical force and aggression towards the Regency Incumbent, Lord Arkas Baratheon, Hand of the King. And secondly, by attempting to overthrow the very nature of traditions and lawful progression of the potentially elected King or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." He paused, "However, as Lord Arkas has given you leniency in this regard, and because the lines of succession grant a limited degree of justifiable distress towards the unfortunate circumstances of your legitimacy to the crown, you will not be penalized if you do not take further hostile action. Any further hostile intent, act, or otherwise behavior which incites the disruption of these proceedings, will be in breach of Westerosi laws, my city guard will detain you, and all of your men, for the crime of oathbreaking."
Next, though this would be brief, was Marcus's display of assault. "The next matter that needs addressing is Lord Arryn's assault of a Harrenhal Guard." William cleared his throat, "The subject of law is Lord Marcus Arryn, Current head of the Great House Arryn and Lord of the Vale." William turned his page, "As Prince Daeron had ordered the unlawful seizing of Lord Arkas by his guards, the guard by himself commits no crime, but the act of assault upon the guard was in direct response to the situation that Marcus Arryn believed that the act was unlawful, and thus, constitutes an act of defense by first strike. The attempted continuation of striking, however, constitutes a violation of assault, and thus subject to penalty." William observed the damage on the man's face, then looked to Marcus Arryn, "You will provide gold dragons for the reparation of the Harrenhal Guard's face, and you may find yourself a new drinking partner, Lord Marcus." William suppressed a snort, then shut his book.
"Accede to these terms and be at peace, my lords, or be arrested and sent to the gaoler. May the rest of the proceedings be smoother."
[attr="class","textieno"] Post's theme: How You Like Me Now? [break][break] What a bunch of Killjoys!! [break][break] He was having fun, and they chose to piss on his time of fun. But seriously, where were the men? Whey they were doing nothing? They simply kept standing in the background; they stood there contemplating, they stood there pondering, they stood there thinking about what could happen or couldn't happen. What a bunch of pussies! This war was going to be fought and similarly, they would stand doing their own thing; contemplating, pondering, wondering, and thinking. Fuck this shit! He kept hitting the helpless guard and he didn't care about Arkas attempt to tell him to sit down. After all, Quellon insulted his wife and did nothing. After all, Arkas' fine woman insulted the Wake with the brandishing of Dark Sister. Nothing was done! Both of them were spared the justice of the master of law and order. Hypocrites! It didn't matter, though! Marcus ignored his distant cousin, and he settled his grudge. Actually, Marcus waited for the Master of Law to say his words. By then, and only then, Marcus stopped hitting the guardsmen. The Lord of the Vale wasn't willing to give ammunition to his enemies, and he was more than sure he had many in this room. Besides, Marcus was the good guy. He acted when no other man acted, and he defended the peace of the realm in his own way. [break][break] Marcus retreated back a step or two. He pointed at Daeron, and then he pointed back at the Tarly. "What he said!" Honestly, Marcus understood no shit. What was the fuck Lord Tarly was saying? Big words, of course. Law was the art of hypocrisy in Westeros. Lord Arryn preferred action over meaningless words. But hey, Marcus didn't suffer much. The only thing he understood from the whole statement was the Fine. "We in the Vale, we crack heads for free!" Marcus yelled while checking his pockets. "Next time, you are going to make me a discount." Ah, he found it, at last. "Good luck fixing this face, boy!" Marcus addressed the guardsmen; he threw the Gold Dragons after spitting on the ground. "Ya bet!" He told the Tarly. "I will find a partner to drink with, and then a whore to fuck!" He returned back to his seat. [break][break] "Proceed!" Didn't they want to proceed? Let them proceed! Oh, man! Marcus wanted to fart...
The last daughter to the late lord of House Tyrell, Morella knows nothing below luxuriant wealth. As the third golden rose of her group of sisters, she was raised to be cunning and politically savvy. Her new role as She-Lion of House Lannister bestowed upon her an ample opportunity to insert herself into the great game of thrones.
Post by MORELLA LANNISTER on Sept 6, 2017 17:07:38 GMT
The dragon roared.
The pieces fell to chaos.
All according to plan.
Daeron’s thunderous intercede into the otherwise civil beginnings of the meeting were met with reactions Morella expected.
A look to him, subtle enough to be disregarded as mere observation, cooled his rage. The exchange between dragon and rose grounded him, reminded him of his intentions. Morella looked beyond him, feigning shock at the devolution of the council meeting.
She watched silently as the lords and heads of houses began to quarrel, her look of surprise painted perfectly upon her features.
Edmund Tully watched in disbelief. These servants were so obviously defying the rightful successor to the throne. Outrage at the slights to Daeron’s claims, wordless pledges to bring forth justice. Very good.
Lukas Tyrell’s passion seemed to burn for the princess. He eyed her with concern as his vassal lord, Edric Hightower, watched beside him. This would not do. No matter, alliances were easy to rearrange when certain requests were made.
Yuliya reacted in a similar fashion to her mother. Quiet shock as not to betray the truth. She was a member of the council and thus had a role to play. Ashara Martell seemed to adopt a similar response. Mystery swirled about them, cloaking their feelings, hiding their beliefs.
Marcus Arryn was a bit of a wildcard. With little disdain for the tensions introduced by the flood of guardsman, the Falcon lord sought to heighten them further by drawing blood. In his actions, she saw an opening.
At the conclusion of Lord Tarly’s remarks Morella would stand from her chosen seat.
”My lords and ladies. As Head of House Lannister for the purposes of this meeting, I must respectfully withdraw myself and my house from these proceedings. The escalation to supposed violence and the acts thereof by Lord Arryn lead me to believe no civil outcome can be reached in this room.”
Morella eyed Edmund Tully. Then she eyed Marcus Arryn. Though clearly a spitfire, his allegiances certainly did not sit well with the Hand of the dead king. He could be persuaded.
They could all be persuaded.
”I suggest to all sitting Lords and Ladies present to consider my words. Our chosen royal council is in shambles, it seems. Excuse me.”
Her eyes lingered upon a disheveled Arkas Baratheon.
It was surely true that age did not correlate with maturity or rationale. Lukas may have been the youngest seated in a very comfortable position at the table, but that did not make him as foolish as some of these men were. His earlier thought came to light, in which the small council meeting would prove to be far more disastrous compared to the wake.
Entitlement certainly bred problems. Especially when it came to the coronation of the future leader of the realm. If Lukas wasn't acting as a sub in for his father, he'd simply state "doesn't this act of impulsive behavior show just how incapable of a King this Daeron would prove to be". Keeping his wits about him, and his words to himself—the cunning Tyrell simply kept the entirety of the room in his view.
Sitting at the middle of the table allowed for him to get a good view of everyone, and indeed catch the subtle movements that others would not. He had spent a great deal of time during his youth focusing on learning about individuals and how they truly acted. Words lied, actions did not, especially those that originate from the natural being. He noticed things others did not, including Lady Lannister keeping a much longer gaze on the entitled one than the rest. It was also note worthy to witness the glare that quelled the dumb beast from doing anything worse, indeed came from her as well.
Not wasting his time with words certainly provided him with the time to observe. He appreciated Lord Edric's advice; though Lukas had been completely calm from the start. His weapons were on his person and he simply had too much faith in his abilities to allow fear and worry to cloud his judgement.
The era of keeps and councils is over? Was the one thing that stood out to Lukas. The realm would perish if a man with such foolish ideologies would gain the throne himself. Fortunately the Lord Regent and his Master of Law did a wonderful job of containing the situation.
Both sets of guards were detained. Though not before the short little Lord Arryn managed to deal some damage to guards of Harrenhal. Lukas remained seated as he awaited for the rest of the small council to continue. His eyes focused, but not focused—watching and waiting. Morella had decided to take her leave, why, he had no idea. She tried to leave some type of influence on the remaining council, but it seemed like the players would remain and carry it out until the end. The Grand Council could not come sooner.
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 Sept 7, 2017 0:51:04 GMT
Well, now Daeron seemed like quite the imbecile, didn't he? Acting brash and calling himself a dragon. It made Alysanne think back to their childhood. She had never particularly gotten along with Daeron.
Things seemed to be settling down, but not before Morella would try to take an abrupt leave. This drew ire from the Targaryen woman. "Lady Morella, you represent House Lannister at this meeting. By leaving, you are not only going against royal decree but demonstrating your family backs out at the first sign of disruption. This is precisely why men cannot take women seriously in the realm of politics." Pathetic. "Your house's unnecessary abandoning of this meeting has been noted."
Alysanne's guards would stand down and move to the back of the room, staying in the shadows where no one could see their faces. The Princess would tear condescending eyes from Morella and toward Arkas as he spoke. The Master of Laws had said his statement in finality, and Arkas took it from there.
Guards, Guards! These little nobles summoned forth armored knights to protect them from their verbal skirmish. Listening to the realm dissolve, the peace left behind by Jaehaerys had all but perished with him. Watching the Lord of the Vale make short haha work of a guard. These fools were meant to be a display of strength yet one man crippled them so easily. Silently he was proud of his brother-by-law but couldn't express it with more then a smirk. Turning his own gaze to Arkas Baratheon, the stag trying his damnedest to maintain order with Lord Tarly. Though it was all going to hell.
Not threatened by this display of power he enjoyed his stare upon the dragon queen and the loyal hand. Knowing that he could very well be seeing them next upon the battlefield if the realm shattered. This bitch had the whispers of a dying king supporting her, the firstborn son knew his claim. Displaying his authority upon the small council, the dragon prince along with the lady lion made bold statements. Morella withdrawing herself with the hostilities of the meeting. Couldn't blame her, breaking those nails would be tragic after-all, turning his focus back to the princess.
" Do not bite the hand that feeds you little dragon, would be foolish to scorn the house that controls your coin."
Edmund had not played his full hand yet, this meeting was just starting to get interesting. Turning his amber gaze upon the true king of the realm, Daeron Targaryen. The disrespect that Quellon showed at the wake had soured his mouth, to salty for his tastes.
Last Edit: Sept 7, 2017 4:57:08 GMT by EDMUND TULLY
Post by DAERON TARGARYEN on Sept 9, 2017 0:07:58 GMT
The room erupted into chaos as Arkas was lifted from his seat. Daeron watched with secret glee as the nobility around him began to yell and shout for attention. Words soon descended into blows, and the sound of men falling into each other only added to the din. In the midst of the chaos, Daeron focused his attention on the pedestal at the end of the table.
On top of the short stone pillar a red pillow supported a circle of gold. The jagged crown of Maekar I seemed out of place on the delicate satin cushion. Just as it had on Father, Daeron recalled. Jaehaerys rarely wore the crown, just as he rarely sat on the Iron Throne.
"Idols are for heathens," he used to say. His father cared little for the icons of a regent. When he did wear the crown, the sharp points of metal dug into the papery skin of his scalp and his fragile neck often struggled to support its weight. He once fainted from exhaustion while wearing it during a tourney. Daeron still remembered the dark shiny trickles of red which had streaked the king's face.
The dragon prince understood the importance of symbols. To allow the calling of a Great Council legitimized the claims of his siblings. It was a passive acknowledgment of their equal standing before the Throne.
Why not just roll a die?
No, Morella had been right. Although overcoming Arkas was obviously impossible this early, Daeron watched the divisions his carefully orchestrated act of defiance created. A once-unified council now bickered and stomped and read legal prose to one another. His sister argued patience, but clearly no one listened. The unmoving guard was proof of that.
The man was Joseth Mallister, a knight of the Riverlands and a close friend of House Tully. Daeron had promoted the rather dovish and feeble man to his personal guard not a day ago to serve this very purpose. Another deft move by Morella. It will be odd to see the strange runt of a creature who broke Joseth's ankle on a human-sized stake, Daeron mused. Quite a spectacle for the people.
The beaten guards both lay motionless during the dealing of "justice" by the council. No one attempted to help them. Finally, the man without a helmet who was beaten with a sword, stirred. Groaning, the man lifted himself to a sitting posture. Seeing Joseth's twisted body, the man began trying to rise him. The dwarf had beaten the man's helmet into a bloody mess. It took quite a time to remove the mangled and twisted helmet.
Just as Edmund Tully finished speaking, the mask slipped off. A cry of despair erupted from Lord Tully's young page. "Father!" The boy rushed to the knight's side and began sobbing for help. Blood soaked the inside of the helmet. The man was dead.
Daeron looked on with surprise and sorrow. This was not supposed to happen. He had expected a beating, perhaps even imprisonment, but never this. The prince intended to prove the dishonor of the council, not to kill this friend of Riverrun. The prince loved the Mallisters and all the people of the Riverlands. Harranhall and the Trident had become more of a home for the disowned son than King's Landing ever was.
These traitors must pay.
Turning to first to Lord Tarly, then to Arkas, Daeron's face twisted in fury. "May your gold dragons protect you from mine. Blood can only be bought with fire." Before leaving the chamber, Daeron glared at Alysanne for the last time.
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