SYOC Open. Aegon Targaryen went east, not west. Now, discontent fueled in the Riverlands makes vast parts of the continent on the brink of war. One King bred discontent. Seven Kings could do worse.

Kingdom of the Reach: The Queen's Garden

Queen Melessa let out a deep breath as she twisted in her soft, silky blankets that coated the wide expanse of the queen's chambers. A gentle breeze came in through an open window, with the sound of birds melodiously chirping in the sweeping gardens below. Her skin, a soft pale-lightly tanned color was visible, for the queen hadn't been the most...monarchical in recent years.

Her manicured fingers ran lightly among a muscled arm draped along her shoulder. Not her husband's, no, not the King of the Reach's. A member of his Order, though. Melessa laid a soft kiss to the knight's shoulder before she got to her feet. A Rowan by birth, Melessa had married into the Gardener family, as many queens did. Now though, she was as much Gardener as the children she had bore for her husband.

Melessa smiled as she slid on her clothes for the day, a soft yellow dress of her choice, with bright gold sun insignias inlaid into the dress. Her blonde hair matched just as well, falling down her shoulders to the middle of her back. At forty-and-two, Melessa was not the youngest, but still held an air of youth to her, as though the Maiden was still holding her to her breast.

Her tryst of choice that night? A young guard, maybe two decades her junior, but eager, oh so eager to please beneath the sheets. When she had ensnared him, he was all blushes and denials, but once she climbed onto him, he was trapped. Garlan Fossoway, he was a younger brother to the lord at Cider Hall, and a close ally of her husband the king. She could've chosen easier prey than the guard, but it was the thought of such a difficult conquest that excited her, not the innocence of his eyes or the fuzz on his cheeks.

Normally, Melessa would have awoken the poor knight, but she pitied him with how late their dalliance had lasted. His agility nearly outdid her own. Instead, she ran her hand along those soft brown locks and let go, making her way from her own chambers. She still worried that leaving him there was a possible breach of the secrecy she commanded from her husband, but Melessa was growing more confident in her abilities to hide such things from her Gardener King.

She didn't hate her husband, no, quite the contrary. He was skilled enough in the sheets, but what was between his ears was not up to what Melessa had in mind when she married him. It was as though a fog commanded him, and didn't think twice about anything. He had a heart in there somewhere, he was gregarious as all men she had ever met, but when he had made the first bastard, her piety went out the door.

"My Queen," She heard the feminine voice first once she had exited her chambers, and at first a cool sweat went down her spine, thinking someone had been listening.

Melessa smiled when she saw the face. Riana Vyrwel was one of her closest companions, and knew everything about her, just as Melessa knew everything about her. Riana, Alys Serry, and Clara Fossoway made her closest webbed vines.

Everyone in the Reach knew about "the Garden" or "the Queen's Vines". It was a web of alliances, favors, and friendships that spread throughout Highgarden. You could hardly talk to anyone within the palace without it being passed up to the Queen at some point. Most didn't even know they were in the web until they saw the spider's fangs.

"We keep this one from Clara, right dear?" Melessa grinned and roped her arm around Lady Vyrwel. Not technically a lady of her own house anymore, she had been widowed by her late husband. Although she bore none of his children, they had consummated the marriage. A close friend from her childhood, Melessa had gladly taken her to Highgarden.

Riana let out her shrill chuckle, swatting her arm lightly. "I doubt our little apple would care. She'd probably be jealous."

Melessa just tutted a little bit and smirked, walking down the hall with her. Highgarden was a maze, and Melessa used to get lost at every turn and twist. Now, she knew everything and more than her husband did, mastering rooms that had gone vacant for generations, tunnels that had long since been forgotten. The Queen ruled in Highgarden, and anyone who thought differently was kidding themselves.

That made it so that when Riana spotted the King's Herald heading towards them, neither of the women were surprised. Most of the time, information came to Melessa first, and what she thought the king needed to know, he would know. The herald was a balding man in his fifties. His son had bright blonde hair and soft eyes, and she had won the herald's trust when she gave his son a lesson on women, and promptly assured his father that he would be the herald once he retired. She had secured both the allegiance of father and son in one fell swoop, without doing anything but opening her thighs.

"What is it, Clatton?" Melessa clasped her hands in front of her.

"A raven." The herald replied, sweating profusely from his forehead and swiping at it with a dirty rag. He held out the letter to her. Riana reached to grab it for her, likely remembering what Melessa had said about the man's clammy hands touching her arm at the last dance.

Clatton frowned when the Vyrwel reached out to grab it. "For the eyes of the Queen only." He impressed upon her.

Melessa felt a pang of irritation but she smoothed it over with a smile. "Lady Vyrwel is my closest confidante, if you would please, read it, Riana." She squeezed the elbow of her good friend as she broke the seal.

Melessa recognized the seal and her heart went cold. Her teeth bit down on her lip nearly painfully so. The ship. The raven. The tree. The grapes. She let out a shaky breath. House Hoare.

"It's an invitation," Riana said, glancing at the Queen's quickly-blanching face. "To a marriage of the Crown Prince of the Isles and Rivers to an unknown bride. The Hoares will be taking applicants with the completion of Harrenhal castle."

There were few in the Seven Kingdoms that the Gardeners feared. Even the Martells and Durrandons who plagued their borders were usually no more than a nuisance. But the Hoares, with their conquered Riverlands and longships - they terrified her.

"Tell the King." Melessa murmured to Clatton, giving him the letter. "He needs to know."

With a wave of her hand, Clatton was off puffing towards the King's chambers to alert him of the news from the north. Melessa walked wordlessly with her advocate and ally, holding onto her arm loosely as they made their way through the expanse of gardens that Highgarden owned.

Soft greens contrasted with bright yellows, reds, oranges and more as flowers dotted in the hedges. A warm breeze was coming up from the south, but the way it hit her made her back go cold. It was as though the weather was responding to the queen's mind, and she could see clouds gathering in the far west of her vision. "Looks like rain today." Riana commented blithely.

Sometimes it irritated her how idiotic some of her vines were. None of them were as smart as the one who commanded the web, and the queen reacted poorly to it sometimes. Riana was no different. Loyal and unyielding, yes, but she had no mind for politics. Clara was much better at that, and yet she was trying to spend her day with distance, after she had put her brother between her legs the night before.

Still, Melessa wanted someone to talk to about the new developments. House Hoare was an ancient and powerful house, but an ironborn one. They would be expected to come. Anything else and it would be a slight upon the house, and potentially provoke a war between Gardeners and Hoares.

She worried for her family, most of all for her sons and daughters. It wouldn't be long before Harrenhal's eye turned to Highgarden. The Riverlands were discontent, and she'd heard of burnt harvests. The Hoares were only growing in power, with little to check them. Her husband had let a once-close alliance with Casterly Rock fall into disrepair. Help from the West was far from secured. The Durrandons cared not for the Hoares, but cared little for Highgarden either. Plus, the Stormlands were unofficially Westeros' fading power.

Alliances would have to be made with her sons and daughters. She had spared them for as long as she could, but spare them longer she could not. Some would no doubt be thrust into loveless marriages, maybe even cruel ones. Melessa would try to make sure that wasn't the case, but she could never be sure.

Her worry was cracked when a member of the outer-rings of her Garden was seen talking to her friend Alys Serry, the length of a garden's hedge away. Cool confidence surged in her and she stalked towards them, her green eyes facing ahead as she moved towards them. The hedge knight was talking in a low voice to Alys, so much so that when Melessa laid a hand on his back, he jumped.

"Something to report?" Melessa asked, glancing at the two.

"Yes, yes," Alys said, the talkative girl about to ramble on for days, and something about the hedge knight's look made it seem like it needed to be discussed immediately.

"Not now, Alys." Melessa cut her off, and the Serry fell silent. "My dear knight, please enlighten me."

The hedge knight was clearly uncomfortable, shifting on his feet in front of the Queen of the Reach. Clearly tongue-tied, Melessa plucked a goblet of wine from a nearby table and handed it to him. Graciously, he downed it in a few seconds. She hardly imagined the taste was pleasant after sitting out for as long as it was, but she waited anyway.

"Ser Fossoway informed me this morning of his...transgressions against the King." He said. "He planned to tell him this evening and ask forgiveness."

Melessa sighed. It was always the young ones that failed her. It wasn't the first one, and wouldn't be the last either. "Thank you, dear knight." Melessa placed a kiss on his cheek and released him. "I'll see that you are rewarded for this bit of information. Have a good afternoon, enjoy the gardens."

The Queen gave Riana curt instructions to gather three knights loyal to her and persuade the dear Fossoway into one of the storerooms. They were usually empty, and a good place to convince Garlan of his misgivings. The girl ran off. Despite the gravity of the situation, Melessa's mind still turned towards the news of the Hoare wedding rather than Fossoway's treachery.

She made her way down to the storerooms an hour later, guards stationed outside. Melessa opened the door and saw him inside. His eyes had a touch of fear in them, and was a clear flight risk. Melessa was no match for him physically, but she had a way with her words.

"My dear ser," She said as she took a seat on a barrel that sat beside him. Her manicured fingers ran through his curly locks of hair. "I was told that you were going to see the King."

"I-I wouldn't, my Queen, I swear it to the Seven…" Garlan said in a hollow voice.

Likely story. Melessa thought, but saying it would turn him away. "I know." Melessa whispered, letting her teeth tug at the edge of his ear. "Lying to the gods...now that would be a matter worse than a night of fun, wouldn't it?"

"I-yes, yes, my Queen." Garlan agreed readily, and she could feel him leaning back towards her.

Treachery was not rewarded with another night, my knight. Melessa knew a soft caress to his crotch would bring him into her fold for years. It was more fun to watch him agonize, and catch him again. The game was more fun than victory. "This had best not happen again." Melessa whispered into his ear.

"I-it won't, my Queen." The knight swore. Good. Melessa thought and walked from the room. The Garden grows.


Kingdom of the North: Snow in the South

Alaric Stark spent hours of his day in the godswood. It was so often that the King often supped outside, leaving his poor wife and children alone in the halls and fortunately giving his eldest a chance to play at ruling. He heard much more interesting things from the wind than he did from his lords and lady wife. The old gods were strongest in the North, and he liked to think they were strongest in Winterfell.

The wind played games, it was true. Not everything the old gods said was true, nor all that they said would end out with good fortune. But King Alaric Stark would listen regardless. If they said it, a way could be made for it to be done.

Alaric Stark was a pious man. He would never let another lay in his bed that wasn't his wife. He believed in the old gods with a fervor that many southron men didn't feel about the Seven. He listened to the godswood, to the trees' symphony and words. Few in the North felt as strong a connection with the gods as Alaric. Many played it up to the death of his mother when he was young. Alaric didn't agree, but he didn't feel it necessary to argue.

The trees were telling him a strange tale tonight. Snow was whipping around him, and a blizzard was soon to follow. The wind howled, and voices were yelling. "The time has come!" He could hear clear as day, the voices of the gods, the voice of the weirwood.

"The time has come." Alaric echoed. His long black hair whipped around him, but his grey eyes were clear. Thirty-and-six, Alaric had followed the gods' advice and married young. Many had said the man was lusty when he was young, for he had his wife pregnant when he was just six-and-ten. He wasn't, he was just devout. The gods had told him the time had come to have a son, and he had listened.

The snow leapt around him in a crescendo, cascading down his back as some fell from the limbs of the trees. Alaric didn't move, nor did he call for guards. He had installed men who knew when to get the King from the godswood, and that was only when he was slumped over in the snow.

"A return of the old!" The shout felt as though it were right beside Alaric's ear, and he could hear it with a clearness that sometimes he couldn't hear the living.

"A return of the old." Alaric echoed. He felt as though saying it aloud beckoned a response more than listening at times, and he felt as though it were an important night. He had felt moved to go outdoors that night, long past when supper had ended. His kids were surely asleep by now, only his anxious wife waiting for him in their warm chambers.

Time fell into silence, but Alaric did not grow weary. Ten minutes likely passed with nothing more but howling wind. Alaric was a patient man, he could wait. "For weirwoods to take root south again." The voice was but a whisper this time, but Alaric knew. The wind died down more, and Alaric got to his feet.

He was bundled in furs around his bulky body, years of muscle having accumulated from ventures far to the north. Alaric had always been good friends with the Lord of Last Hearth, despite their difference in personality. Alaric was quiet, Lord Umber gregarious. Still, they got along well.

Alaric didn't need to consult his maester to know the importance of the words. He suspected his maester was a leal follower of the Seven, maybe a plant of the High Septon himself. When Alaric had told his wife, she laughed. It sounded strange, that he knew, but he felt something was off about the man.

Like everything the gods said, there was more left unsaid. It was up to him to interpret it as best he could. A return of the old, for weirwoods to return to the south again. That filled him with excitement, giving him more warmth in his heart than the opening of the doors to Winterfell castle. A day before, he had received a letter, a raven from Harrenhal, boasting of a grand wedding in the biggest castle in all of Westeros.

His advisers had long warned of the threat that Harrenhal posed to the North. The longboats could invade from the sea, unlike the other southron armies that would crash into Moat Cailin. Needless to say, it was related to that.

The Riverlands were a land of good people, southerners, still, but swayable. For years they had lived under the Mudd Kings, First Men, they were. They were the closest thing to something that the North could reclaim and turn back the tide of time.

Alaric threw some of his furs onto a table, allowing servants to gather them and clean them. He ignored his chambers for that night, and went to the solar, where the map of the northern portions of Westeros lay. Years ago, his grandfather had paid his maester to fashion one, detailing lands from Casterly Rock north. Fortunately, it included all of the Kingdom of Isles and Rivers - what he needed to see in the first place.

He was looking for one place specifically - not Riverrun, not Stone Hedge, not High Heart, not Maidenpool. Raventree Hall. Home of House Blackwood, which thousands of years ago had been chased from the North by Alaric's own ancestors. That wound had long since healed, with Blackwoods and Starks marrying interchangeably through the years. The Blackwoods claimed to be Kings in the Age of Heroes, ruling a wide portion of the Riverlands as their own. Restoring them to power could turn the tide in favor of the old gods, something that Alaric had only dreamt of doing.

"Yes." Alaric proclaimed, marking the spot on the map.

He had a tendency to overlook problems. House Hoare controlled the Riverlands, proclaiming the Blackwoods Kings would create all out war between the North and Isles. Alaric brushed some snow off of his boot and gave a slow nod. Yes, this would do. A chance for Alaric, King of the North, to make his mark on history.


Author's Note:

Thank you all for reading A Summer's Squall. This is the first intro chapter that I have planned. Unlike some other Game of Thrones stories, I am focusing this on specific kingdoms. That is, namely: the Kingdom of Isles and Rivers, the Kingdom of the Reach, Kingdom of the West, Kingdom of the Stormlands, and Kingdom of the North. Only those regions will be submittable.

What is this story about?

This story is, in essence, a tale of if the Targaryens had never taken over Westeros, taking place fifty or so years after the Conquest would've happened. We focus this story around the Riverlands, which are a prized piece of land coveted by the Reach, West, Stormlands, and North. Currently it is held by the ironborn Hoare family.

However, that is not the whole part of the story. There will be inter-house drama with each kingdom, as well as inter-kingdom events with minor houses. So a wide cast of characters would be desired, with minor houses filled as well as major ones.

My updating schedule is planned to be Tuesdays and Fridays each week, sometime between 11am and 5pm central time. I plan to publish the last two (Stormlands and Westerlands) intros (of my characters) on Tuesday.

The characters I make are not the only ones to have POVs. In fact, some may not have one after this chapter/intro phase. I plan to make this story as realistic as I can regarding Westeros. Therefore, it will have M elements like ASOIAF does regarding themes and violence. It won't get too graphic, but some mentions are possible.

The list of characters will be on my profile. I will put on there when houses are closed and open, as well as which positions aren't claimed. Rules regarding characters are found below.

Rules on Characters

Only one King per person. That way, we have multiple others.

Maximum of two people in the same house submitted by a single person. This cannot be a King and Crown Prince, or lord and his eldest son. This applies to both major and minor houses.

Follow the ages of other already-created or claimed members of the house. If your Kingly father is 36 (like Alaric) and doesn't have any kids older than 20, don't make a son that's 28. It doesn't work.

Dynamic characters encouraged and welcomed. We like evil characters, we like gay, bi, straight characters. We like plotters and schemers, we like innocents and we like leaders. We as a group of readers and authors want a dynamic cast to make the story most enjoyable to you. In order to facilitate this, discussing characters with me prior to submission is encouraged, but not required.

Minor families are just as fun as major ones. Redwynes, Manderlys, Reynes, Tullys, Vances, Blackwoods, etc. are all going to be major parts of this story. Not having them will be a detriment.

Number of characters that are accepted is infinite. Forms don't need to be overly long, but just need to have the right information contained. I encourage everyone to make as many characters as they want, because the more you create, the more you'll see your characters from chapter to chapter.

More information

Follow my profile and check it frequently! I try to post updates there when I can about the writing process, character subs, what I want and what I need. It's helpful to watch.

Thank you all for reading, and stay tuned for more before very long. Form is below and on my profile.

King Blackfyre

Form

Name:

House:

Gender:

Sexuality:

Age:

Weapon (if applicable):

Position/Titles:

Appearance:

Backstory (paragraph at least):

Personality (paragraph at least):

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Fears:

Ambitions:

Potential betrothals (just House name is fine) (if applicable):

Plot ideas (2 at least - may not be used but to get a better idea of character):

What do you want to see from them:

Odd Facts about them (examples - favorite food, favorite location, memories, etc.) (3):

Other: