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 AEMON TARGARYEN on Aug 31, 2017 16:02:09 GMT
283 AC.
Great crags, haphazardly arrayed in division of Westeros. Crimson earth like that of staggered claws grasping for the fleeting heavens without respite. Both indeed beauteous and omen harrowing, a telling of the true plight of the land, for the great play's downfall is always to be the discordance of its actors. Still, not all is so jagged.
Further down, at the base, entrenched yet more in the hearty soil of the Stormlands, there lies nestled 'tween humble foothills dotted by greenery; Summerhall. A name wholly befitting.
Words otherwise cannot describe the land's certain idyllic nature for true.
Not nearly so grandiose as that of the Red Keep, or even Storm's End, and yet a castle it remains in it's well worked stone and halls, ever a testament of man's stubbornness even if it resembles more a residence than the fortification it is in fact. Some would argue, the lords of this very court no doubt, that Summerhall in truth holds something far removed from that of its 'superior' brethren. The peace, the silence, therein lies the beauty that other constructs of rock and mortar nary hope to rival.
Were that it not tainted so by mottled blood. . .
". . . And one toast yet more, to my 'little dragon'."
A voice, gruff and beleaguered by festivity reverberated within one such quaint hall. Fair lit by waning daylight, what shadows were left cast by goblets half-emptied are eked away by waxen flame.
From the head of the table laid-bare, its progenitor rose their drink for others to follow. The day ran down as it ever does, and what guests remained merely meandered of their own volition, while those of Duncan's blood found themselves congregated at last to finish off their personal merry.
With little more than a sip, the elder man clad in finery, a frill or two to gauge the import' of this day, gazed momentarily at each member of their line, though few they may be. At last, those sunken orbs lay rest upon the young child, his child, seated just beside.
"A boy grown now, tenth name-day no less! Practically a man, and such a man. . ."
Perhaps a hint of sap made itself known within his voice, palming through a slick head of silver-black hair the patriarch spoke again, this time directed solely toward his own son.
"Naerys, I understand you have already received much before your parting, still, I hope you won't fault an old man for vanity when I've a final gift yet to give." With that, an oft' stoic face wore a smile warm, 'fore turning again toward the rest, "Of course, we needn't worry overmuch on that now, no, let us enjoy this moment."
Of course, the stained Targaryen knew well how to light the fires in his heir's eyes, perhaps it was merely a game to see how long the inquisitive child could stand for ceremony. Nevertheless, surely the boy's sister or even their aunt would have words now to weave for he.
Post by ALURA TARGARYEN on Sept 1, 2017 13:26:08 GMT
HOPE AND POSSIBILITY ARE BORN FROM BAD LUCK AND MISFORTUNE
The walls of Summerhall were welcoming and vibrant compared to the dreary prison that was Harrenhal. Her years spent in the gray wet and ruined castle have all but erased her youthful optimism, leaving her spirits broken like the waves that beat against the rocky shores of King's Landing.
Alura's smile did not falter though, still shining like the gentle rays of sunlight that peaked through the stained window glass in the great hall. It was her nephew's name-day afterall, a day of joyous celebration, -- it's not everyday that a young boy turns a decade old. He was growing to be a handsome youngman, a man at that.
Her soft hands echoed in her applause at her brother's speech, displaying her appreciation over the words said in Naerys honor. She always did approve of her brother’s ability to give verbal speeches so easily; certainly being the product of his proper tutelage given to him by father.
A smile slowly turned into a grin as she moved to pull in the young Taeil who would most likely show reluctance in being plucked from her chair at her age. “You are both getting so big!”
“I pray you are not giving your father a hard time and behaving for your Sept. Tell me? Oh forgive me I keep forgetting that you are a lady now!”
A loving chuckle passed her lips as she turned to her nephew, “Do not fret little one, I have left your gift in the stables. Tell me, have you learned to ride yet?” she asked, hoping that giving Naerys a horse was not out of the question. Her eyes lingered on him as she recognized the similarities between himself and her son Aerys. Dragons all took on the same likeness... With different traits, such as her eyes were grey and not the lovely violet of her father.
Granddaughter from the Duncan branch, she is not only seen to have tainted blood, but also a tainted personality. Other than beauty and flowers, Taeil doesn't care much about the highborn life.
Post by Taeil Targaryen on Sept 2, 2017 7:56:48 GMT
Since the butt crack of dawn, preparations were in way and continued until the mid afternoon. Through the bustling, the light feet had flitted from room to room, curious about the progress and fishing out which spots she should linger in. It was her brother's nameday, a more significant one to recognize, and Taeil let herself grow excited for the celebration.
It wasn't everyday that their halls would be filled with guests, tabled with food, and accented with decor. It wasn't everyday that she'd make herself elegant, style her hair up, live in beauty. But it also wasn't everyday where she'd have to put on a facade, exercise her manners, and act like a lady.
The festivities came and gone, the most of the night’s work done. A few remained, though not deeply in interaction. Then it was primarily the family left for a final toast, for the conclusion. The hours felt longer, and Taeil wished to retire, but once more she was led over to her father and brother, trailing behind her aunt's grasp.
“No hard times, milady. I've been behaving…”
The inclusion of courtesy and honorifics was foreign on her tongue, although not as bad as when the night first started. As for her and her brother, however, they both were growing up quite quickly. It was a bit odd to see Naerys progress over the years, fulfilling expectations and knowing more day after day. Was it yesterday when they were playing in the courtyard together?
But now he was entering manhood, just as she had entered womanhood a few months ago, her first bleed. Their time spent together were little enough, but it was soon to be no time spent. The boy with plans of departure as a squire, the castle would only get more boring that it already is.
In a circle they stood, and the feminine hands were clasped neatly in front as they congregated. The two adults had their own celebratory comments, but Taeil didn't wish to be repetitive. She came up with her own words, with her own blunt personality.
“Congratulations on surviving to your tenth year, Naerys. I hope that everything continues to be well for you, since I don't think life really gets easier as you get older. Good luck on your journey, and return with some good stories! If you could.”
The other's had also seemed to prepare gifts for her brother, and the girl felt a bit empty handed. She didn't know what to give, nor what boys liked. Although, there was probably a necklace or a coin purse she could spare?
Post by NAERYS TARGARYEN on Sept 2, 2017 19:37:09 GMT
Namedays were always big events when you were a highborn, especially with the blood of old Valyria coursing through your veins, tainted or not. As a babe tumbling about Summerhall in blissful ignorance, the yearly shower of gifts was always loved and desired. As he got older however, it lost some of its luster. As a boy bearing the Targaryen name, whatever he might need was provided for him, whatever wants that might catch his eye could be his.
When you could have most whatever you wanted, the tug of desire just wasn't as strong. Now, for his tenth year, young Naerys did his best to smother his embarrassment with humility. Every well wish on the accomplishment of emerging from his mother's vagina was thanked with sincere appreciation. In the grand scheme of things, sure, he could have died before he ever knew life. He could have been born to a lesser family, or to the smallfolk. The gods had put him here however, with the fallen dragons.
And he wouldn't have it it any other way.
At his father's behest, he took his cup in hand, filled with the same sweet beverage most all in attendance enjoyed and had a sip as well. The flavors tickled his tongue, and the slightly numbing effect of the wine helped him feel a little less awkward. Little dragon. A term of endearment or a subtle comment of disappointment about his meager height? While he was still young, it didn't exactly seem as if Naerys would ever measure up to the stature of his father.
Still, he forced a smile onto his face, like he always did, lifting his rosy cheeks, still chubby from his youthful fluff, blushed from the fine arbor red. It faded into a look of intrigue at his father's words. Yet something more? What else could he possible ask for? However, the man did not say. His lips pressed into a thin 'smile' of sorts. Old Aemon wanted to see him squirm a little, eh? A boy like any other, he couldn't resist some competition. He couldn't resist stubbornness.
Since the Prince of Summerhall wasn't spilling the bean yet, his sister, Naerys' aunt piped up. His plastic smile stayed plastered on his face at her first words. She was a woman, and could not resist squeeing at the two little dragons, as all female's adore the babes of any living thing, man or beast. Still, having seen his tenth nameday almost over, should he revel in such coddling? After doting on his sister she revealed her own offering. A steed.
''Aye, Lady Alura, I can ride,'' the answer was accompanied by an enthusiastic nod. ''Is it a mare or a stallion?'' There were at least a dozen words for horses based on both their gender and age, but such vocabulary was not one of the things the boy had read up on. ''Is it one of those destriers I hear so much talk of?'' He couldn't recall if it was a Dornish horse specifically, though that may well explain why he had he heard talk of them given the proximity of the Stormlands.
''Oh.'' His sister brought him nothing but words, which he had expected to a degree. They were not bad words, and dug how the boy really felt about all the festivities. Of course, she would know Naerys' heart better than any at the table, as she had walked the path he had before him. Only now, those paths would soon diverge. Westeros did not offer the same road for those with either cocks or cunts. ''Thank you for the well wishes Tae,'' he smiled genuine again.
''I'll try to bring you real stories instead of tales from a book.'' It was a promise.
Post by AEMON TARGARYEN on Sept 5, 2017 5:32:30 GMT
"Yes. Yes, well-wishes indeed."
So spoke the house's head with no extraneous intent more than filler, if not agreement for the day's certain character. A moment this was, the kind one reads of, the kind desire dredges forth. And so, truly, the fallen dragon could feel the sulfurous bubbling of contentment within the pit of filled stomach. 'Twas exactly moments as these that stayed Duncan's ilk from their deserved birthright, or so some cornered spot in the man's mind told of, begging for adversity continued.
Such was not their lives, though bloodied a line, what could Aemon want for? So was the thought, as those sunken eyes wandered in slighted bliss.
From his sister, so bright a light for her niece and nephew, and no less for he as her words wrapped about either child. To his daughter, so entrenched in the very same footsteps as her grandfather that a reincarnation would not be out of the question. And though it pains Aemon, Taeil taking her own reigns so is a source of pride just as well.
And of course Summerhall's heir, his son. For whom, perhaps unfortunately so, drew the man's attention most of all. Those eyes of his pierced through the child's veil, and were that it not so. For the boy's anguish reflected untoward his father, his faith dwindled. . .
"A steed then, say you?" To bring himself out of the dread he spoke, feigning some form of shock, long aware and approving of the gift already. "Excellent is it not my son? You may very well ride from Summerhall to King's Landing beside ser Arkas himself no less!" Ever in his graveled tone the elder continued with some spirit, he trails off with a few more words, "Such a nostalgic thought. . ."
More to it still than that, hope for their future rest burdening Naerys's lithe shoulders. Lost somewhere in ponder, Aemon longed for those days of yore, in which he himself stood in the exact road as his son. . . And yet here they remain, doomed perhaps to repeat this failed branch unto it's withering day.
At last, the half-dragon flashed to the reality before him, gazing once again at emptying of cups, and the sight of his many loves. For moments more they mired in the silence of their bounty. . .
"Dare I say that my patience wears thin, I cannot hold out much longer in-fact." Or so the silvered drake began, addressing the remainder of their small party. "Indeed I may very well be more excited than young Naerys. Haha!" Stifling a chuckle, the elder man first looked to his son, then to Taeil and Alura. He steadied himself in tone and stature, "Will you not all join me in the arboretum for the final gift?"
Post by ALURA TARGARYEN on Sept 8, 2017 2:18:17 GMT
HOPE AND POSSIBILITY ARE BORN FROM BAD LUCK AND MISFORTUNE
With each passing generation, children seemed more eager to grow into adulthood, so easily pushing away the memories of innocence to be made. Naerys was just barely reaching a decade old, and was already displaying how mature he was as he inquired the details about his gift. Alura smiled in return, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass before she answered.
"Though you are a man now, you have no need for such a charger. Perhaps at the end of your squire years when you can strike down a man in a joust. But for now, I have given you a stallion fit for even a Dragon, which has been smooth gaited fit for long riding and nimble maneuvering."
In fact she had even groomed the horse for him; spending the last week with the beast to ensure its glossy coat and well fitted harness. It had actually been one of her most productive weeks in this year, and even the weather permitted her own time spent riding outside the walls of her family's holdfast.
It seemed her brother was well excited to spoil his son's last gift, wanting them all to accompany him to the gardens within Summerhall's confines. Her brow raised in curiosity as to what the man could be hiding in the large expanse, eager herself to find out, and she lifted from her chair.
With cup in hand she smiled and looked to her niece and nephew, "Brother you are full of surprises. Come Naerys, lest your aunt may run off with your gift herself. Oh and I have something for you as well Taeil; it may not be your nameday, but it has been some time since I have seen you, and I felt that a present would be appropriate for such a reunion," she said before taking a sip from her chalice, "Once we return, I will send for it."
Granddaughter from the Duncan branch, she is not only seen to have tainted blood, but also a tainted personality. Other than beauty and flowers, Taeil doesn't care much about the highborn life.
Post by Taeil Targaryen on Sept 9, 2017 2:16:34 GMT
A wide grin at the promise that was given. When not causing trouble for the household, a vivid adventure story was her second favorite pastime. Possible inspiration for what other paths she may start following on. Summerhall was growing smaller and smaller every week that passed.
From the sounds of it, Naerys would be kept busy for the years coming, as expected for being the firstborn son. It was an optimistic thought, that her brother was already making leaps and strides towards success, although the details also worried her. Battle was a common thing and there was no avoiding it, but the girl did her best to suppress her worries of any unfortunate changes to their family.
With the help of her aunt, her thoughts were fully captured elsewhere. A stunned look on the small face, Taeil turned to the older woman with her reaction unsure.
“A gift…? You shouldn’t have, I- I don’t know what to say. You have my many thanks, Lady Alura! I feel a bit undeserving of this generosity…”
Now she had to behave.
Which should be easier with the proposal that their circle of kin relocate. Just the slightest bit of stimulation was enough to make the girl content, and moving to one of her favorite places would make it much easier to breathe. She nodded to her father and followed suit to their next destination.
Post by NAERYS TARGARYEN on Sept 11, 2017 13:20:32 GMT
When his father said his patience wore thin, the boy tensed. He wondered if he had done something wrong, invoking ire in either his own words or actions. However the elder lord's cheery disposition and indeed his continued words instantly assuaged Naerys' worries. Ever the leader of the family, as was to be expected, he sought to relocate for the coupe de grace he seemingly had planned. The young dragon wondered if the gift's size required larger environs.
The child was intrigued and his face said his much, his violet eyes said more. Pushing himself away from the table to stand to his pitiful height, he smirked in amused embarrassment at his aunt's quip. Even if it were a jest, he half believed she would really do it. The woman was full of surprises which is why he was caught equally off guard by the gift Alura had brought along for his older sibling. Was it disrespectful to gift another on one's nameday?
Part of him felt as it might be an affront, but Naerys pushed such negative notions to the side. Perhaps he was just being unreasonable. Just because Taeil got something on his nameday surely didn't mean he would get any less. Besides, this would mean that on Taeil's nameday he could reasonably expect the same, could he not? After all she seemed elated at the news when normally she wasn't satisfied unless she was being a nuisance.
Following as his father led the flock of dragons, Naerys let his eager curiosity push everything else to the side.
Post by AEMON TARGARYEN on Sept 15, 2017 13:44:03 GMT
A little procession of footfalls, some bounding, some stiff, old, young. . . Six in tandem follow down the leading two, cascading with some grace, some life, across the ever-traveled tile-work of their disgraced hall. Sun's peaking rays trading their glow for the flicker, the sputter of candle and lamplight, a collection that grew without fail upon every shelf and store whence the day waned to dusk. So, again, wrapped in the dull umbra of their home, Duncan's ilk drove forth to be rid of.
To cast it aside as Aemon wrest the threshold for he and his heir abaft.
Luminescence fading, orange light of the waning star above floods inward by the screech of twin doors. Their first breathes, pure and clear, Aemon gingerly takes a few steps yet more, flanked on either side by flora the world over. Each and every flower, bush, and tree so cared for stood to attention, saluting the dragons as they entered.
Yes, even the man slicked black, though he too stood with some reverence. Those slit eyes wandered to the open skies above, the beauty of their walled gardens ever struck a chord of whimsy in a methodical heart. And perhaps it was that very whimsy that drove him to call his only son over.
To each they all, their gazes discerned no grandiose giftwrapping, no strange beast from a faraway land obscured by ribbon, nay even a new species of flower to flaunt. Rather, the observant drake may have noted recently upturned soil, a small, central circle of stones beside which lay a discarded spade.
'Twixt berried bushels, Aemon fell to a knee, his own sunken orbs level with that of his child's. Without so much as a word, the elder took hold of his boy's thin palm. Softly outstretching, Aemon at last placed his own atop, first leaving and then closing the little dragon's around a rather tiny something.
"Naerys. . ." It was not quite so often that the muddled name graced the man's lips. "Your family, we will mourn your leaving the nest most assuredly." His voice was low, directed solely toward the now decade old boy, a smile grew warmly upon his face. Further, a hand almost larger than the child's own head moved to run through that pure silver hair. "And just so, we are more proud than any grand house could attest."
For a moment there lay silence blanketing overhead. Aemon blinked once, for some time, drawing away from their shared gaze. He chuckled lightly, "Such passion akindle 'neath those eyes, nary may an old man stare so long. . ." With that, the half-dragon gestured for the vacant plot 'fore thumbing the boy's puffy cheek, and dredged a few more words, 'fore a droplet watered an eye's corner. "Give us now, something to look upon and ever recall that flame."
More a selfish act than any perhaps, at last Aemon stood, wheeling around his son, just out of view. His gift, produced itself at last in those hands, almost as if from thin air itself. Standing tall, a sheath, gleaming and gilded, shone 'neath the orange light, contrasted by its near black, so pure in shade. So too, the hilt of which sparkled, a symbol of the great Targaryen's stamped for all to see its pedigree.
There, there Aemon stood, holding the sheathed blade so grand in either hand outstretched. Awaiting to catch Naerys's eye. The man's expression displaying clearly both his pride, and expectation.
Post by NAERYS TARGARYEN on Sept 18, 2017 13:34:32 GMT
Following his father along, the boy certainly couldn't help but wonder what prize lay in store. His aunt had already plied him with an animal, so an exotic beast would seem a tad lackluster. The gifts of the day had covered a variety of wants, which left his wordless curiosity growing at every step. Finally the remaining party, dragons all, emerged in father's chosen garden. The gorgeous environs on offer under the sun’s dying light didn't escape him.
The Red Keep's own flora wasn't so stunning in his humble opinion. To be the branch that was forsaken, they had certainly been awarded with the most lavish castle to be irrelevant within. Perhaps in his early youth, he didn't appreciate it, until he saw a few of the other keeps. Dreary and plain, the lot of them. Despite that, Naerys still wondered why his father had chosen here rather than their previous seat. Surely, the man wished to make a point.
As they grew nearer to the destined spot, the young dragon could see some preparation had been made. But still, the gift was not obvious. As the lord of Summerhall came to a halt, so to did he. When he turned and crouched before him, Naerys was impaled on his gaze. The sudden and level eye contact almost caused the boy to retreat a step, yet the little dragon did not shy away yet. Already, the old man was going about his strange ways.
He had been right to suspect that his father was to put on a show. Still, he voiced no complaint. What could he say while entrapped, enraptured? Aemon spoke sullenly of his son's departure. He too felt the tug of apprehension at his father's dramatics. It wasn't as if he would be that far away. Westeros was dangerous however and surely every lord thought that their children were safest with them. Life could not be so simply guarded against however.
The poor child, stunned by such a rare display of sincerity, could muster no words for his father as he continued, nearly moving himself to tears. That puffy cheek he was lovingly caressing was surely growing redder by the moment to soon match the roses nearby. How madly discomforting. Aemon wasn't so cruel to keep him imprisoned in such an alien landscape. Finally, he got on with it, producing a sword. Blinking, flabbergasted again, his slender fingers reached to grasp its hilt.
''T-Thank you, father,'' he whispered, volume burdened by disbelief. But if course such a gift made sense considering his coming vocation. Clasping the scabbard with his left, the boy drew the sword, a healthy 'swing' heralding its arrival, orange rays of the sun painting its polished blade as well as it had its grip. Even his virgin eyes could see the quality craftsmanship within the weapon. Despite the lineage his name commanded, Naerys felt undeserving.
Post by ALURA TARGARYEN on Sept 20, 2017 0:59:56 GMT
HOPE AND POSSIBILITY ARE BORN FROM BAD LUCK AND MISFORTUNE
Following the procession that led into the acreage, she eagerly awaited to see her brother's gift for Naerys. It was like him to be so dramatic, yet she sensed some amount of remorse at his son's departure. Alura knew how he had high hopes for his children, much like she had for her own, even though the entire world stood between them and ambition.
A smile decorated her lips as the magnificence of the blade was revealed. A gift that had more meaning than one, to Naerys it may mean trust, but to Alura, it represented the responsibility he now carried.
A gentle hand found its way to rest on the young girls shoulders, knowing that one day she would receive a gift of equal importance.
"I pray you learn well as a ward of Lord Baratheon, he is a strong and noble man. It will do you, and our family favorably to do your best."
The woman shifted her weight closer to Naerys, a hopeful expression painting her optimism for the young boy. To see the dreams of their branch fulfilled, that weight was placed upon his shoulders, as the death of her son forever forged failure for her own bloodline.
Granddaughter from the Duncan branch, she is not only seen to have tainted blood, but also a tainted personality. Other than beauty and flowers, Taeil doesn't care much about the highborn life.
Post by Taeil Targaryen on Sept 30, 2017 3:49:11 GMT
A length of shining silver and an item to behold, more so than the process that was taken to present the gift. The fact that her brother could give a response was a feat in itself, she thought.
Taeil had always liked gems and metals, but the blade had a different and intense aura of presence to it. There was the beauty to it, the intricate adornments and accents, but there was also the purpose that the gift was to serve. To fight, to serve, to protect, to accomplish. They were not mere children anymore.
A hand on a shoulder, it felt like the physical representation of what burdens she should be expecting in the future. And words, she should be giving encouragement and advice to her brother right now, but it wasn’t easiest to organize the rare pressuring thoughts in her own casual mind.
“Quite a sight, is it not, Naerys? I’m sure you’ll wield it handsomely in your battles, just promise me that you wont be careless with it. I would prefer it that my little brother remains intact.”
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