graildraft

by Hankton

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3. tridentreforged3

Jun 15, 2018

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#805

Book Two

5 BCE

Dragonstone

No words actually came to mind to describe the castle that dominated the landscape among the island that he was heading towards.

Despite the warmth and light of the warm sun on this clear, bright day, Dragonstone looked grim, grey and foreboding the closer they got. Lyam thought of everything he had learned about the castle from his conversations with Jaime.

The maester had told him that the castle and the sentiment around it was as close to Westeros the Valyrians had ever ventured before suddenly stopping and not expanding any further east. Seeing the castle now as it was, standing tall and proud and defiance in the shadow of the volcano, even Lyam could tell that it was not of Westerosi origin.

Neither First Men or Andal could have built the monstrosity that dominated the entrance of Blackwater Bay.

From a distance, it had seemed like the castle had been wrought and formed into the shape of some creature or another and as closer and closer they got, his assumptions had been true. The castle was wrought into the shape of some creature, a dragon to be more precise.

Lyam swore that he had never seen a castle that had wings before nor a castle that needed wings for any reason either.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be." Willem Darklyn muttered as he moved to stand next to him.

Lyam spared a glance at the young squire who had been loaned to him for this particular diplomatic mission by his cousin. "It does seem rather prodigious in size."

The king's squire smirked a little. "Though after seeing Harrenhal, I don't think it will make as much of an impression on me."

"On that, I think we can agree."

It had become something of a habit amongst anyone who has seen the ode to Harren's over-inflated opinion of himself to be underwhelmed by every castle that they saw there afterwards. To him, Seagard had always been one of the greatest and largest castles in the realm. His ancestral home held a special place in his heart but in comparison to the size and wealth that they had found within Harrenhal had made Seagard look little more than a beggar's house.

If that was a possible thing.

His thoughts were stopped when a shadow skirted the water before rising back up just as quickly as it had made itself known.

Lyam hadn't been the only one to be startled by the shadow as the ship rocked from side to side by the ripple of waves. "Gods, what the hell was that?" Willem asked, clutching the gunwhale tightly as if he would fall overboard.

The youth probably had a good mind for such precaution with the way the ship was rocking but Lyam cooled himself that he did no such thing. Somehow, he had taken to his cousin maxim of 'never letting them see you sweat'.

His somewhat strange cousin had dictated for some strange reason that Lyam Mallister was to be the lordling that would travel throughout the world and make ties with other polities. In other words, he had come to quietly realise how he held himself not only reflected on him but the kingdom he represented.

This ship might be that of the kingdom, crewed by good, honest rivermen, but he was the one ultimately in command and who they looked to for leadership. He had to show that whatever... whatever had caused the ripples in the water did not at all perturb him in the slightest.

"A dragon, me thinks."

Lord Darry mused as he walked across the deck not at all disturbed by the rocking of the ship.

"My lord?" Young Willem asked, his hold on the gunwhale a little looser now that the ship was steadying itself.

"A dragon, my lord." The lord indicated that their attention should be placed to the sky. They followed his gaze and soon enough, they saw a shadow dancing in the sky, followed by a gout of flame. "Never thought I'd ever see such a sight in my lifetime." The ploughman said with a voice full of wonder.

The beast was too high up in the sky and the sun to bright to make out any details but they could definitely hear it roar before it made its way toward the castle that bore the name of its species and the seat of its masters.

Willem steeled himself up straight. "There's nothing to be impressed by, my lord. That mindless beast could have very well caused our ship to capsize."

The older lord looked at the younger one with a mirthful expression on his face. "Ahhh, but it didn't."

"He is right." Lyam couldn't help but agree with the older man. He turned towards the castle and island of Dragonstone were two more shadows, larger than the one that had nearly gave his heart a fright, dancing in the sky. "I suspect this is some sort of greeting from our hosts."

Willem's expression was sour. "What kind of greeting was that?"

He couldn't help but shrug. "A Valyrian one...?" He offered as a suggestion. "The people of the east have strange customs and even stranger manners." He had been subjected to those strange customs and manners in his time in Braavos and Pentos.

Thankfully, it seemed as if the people of the east respected guest right just as much as the people of the west did.

The Justman and its escorts soon slid into the docks of Dragonstone with a smoothness that bore to the skill of the men that crewed her. Lyam was the first to lead the procession of envoys that had travelled with him down the gangplank the moment they had docked in.

Walking down the pier towards dry land, it was easy to notice their escorts. Armoured men on horseback in black enamelled armour that bore the three headed dragon of the last of the dragonlords.

Lyam nearly lost whatever deportment that he held himself in when he saw her.

She was... she was... Lyam Mallister, heir to Seagard, was for the first time in his life, lost for words. After all, how could he describe the inhumane beauty that stood in front of her. It barely registered to him that she wore clothes better suited for a man than a woman.

Her hair was long, the colour of flowing gold mixed with silver to make an impossible colour, her eyes the brightest of amethysts. To call her beautiful did her no justice for the word could not describe her for she was just something else, even if her beauty was somewhat austere and harsher looking.

Purple eyes gave them a once over and her full lips moved to smirk confidently. "Is this what rivermen do when they come to new castles, ogle at the women?"

Her words brought Lyam out of his reverie and a quick look around told him that the entirety of the delegation that had come with him was, for no better term, actively oggling and perhaps, even drooling at the lady in front of them.

He tried to keep the redness out of his face as he coughed into his hand to try and compose himself. "Apologies my lady, it is just that many of us have never seen such a beauty as yours."

Willem moved to say something, his mouth opening but no words coming out before closing, his eyes still transfixed on the lady. Lord Darry graciously elbowed the young squire gently to bring him back to the world so that he could observe his courtesies instead of undressing the lady with his eyes so blatantly.

"Charmer." The Valyrian lady said, her smirk still planted on her face. Why did he think that this was something that was going to not be forgotten anytime soon. Her eyes roamed over the three lords for a moment before nodding. "I suppose greetings are in order, my name would be Visenya Targaryen, sister-wife of the Lord of Dragonstone, Aegon Targaryen and dragon rider of Vhagar."

She finished with something that Lyam could only take as a mockery of a bow with a flourish of the hand. Lyam didn't exactly know how to take this woman, she dressed in man's clothes and... actually carried a sword at her side.

Was this custom amongst the Valyrians? He didn't read anything about such a thing in works relating to that ancient people.

No matter, he had introductions to make. "Greetings my lady," he replied courteously with a bow of the utmost respect. There was no need to make worse the first impressions that had already been made. "I would be Lyam Mallister, heir to Seagard and envoy of my liege, King Edmyn of House Tully."

His companions were then next to introduce themselves, Bennar Darry introducing himself then followed by Willem Darklyn.

Visenya Targaryen, dragon rider took their measure and nodded. "Come then, I suppose my brother would be rather interested in what you have to say to him." Though she said her words with warmth, it did not escape his attention that the warmth seemed put on instead of genuine.

The look that passed between himself and Lord Darry was more than enough to tell him that the lord had picked up on that as well. He didn't quite know why his cousins seemed to dislike the older lord but Lyam was grateful that he was here.

With the both of them here, perhaps they would be able to notice things that one would miss and come to learn a many great deal about these Valyrians.

As she had said, Visenya took them to see her brother... husband who awaited them in a great hall, sat upon a seat of the same flowing black stone their castle was built out of to the side of him, another woman that shared the Valyrian features like the one that had led them here.

Once more, they were struck by what they saw. Lyam felt that it was so... unfair that perfection such as this could exist in a world that was not perfect at all.

What was it that one of the Pentoshi had said to him when talking about their forebears...? Ah yes, the Valyrians were above the laws of gods and men.

Perhaps the Pentoshi was onto something.

The man that sat upon his seat could only be Aegon Targaryen. Even in his current posture, it was easy to see that he was tall and exuded a power that Lyam doubted anyone could match. His entire presence demanded your attention.

Despite that, it was still difficult to miss the slender beauty that stood beside him with a warm smile that greeted them the moment they entered the hall. Unlike her sister, he beauty was warmer and graceful.

Oh, how am I going to look at another woman after being graced with such sights? The Seagard heir lamented to himself in amusement.

"My lord, my ladies," Lyam spoke up, stepping forward and bowing in respect towards the lord of the castle. "I offer my greetings and that of the Kingdom of the Trident & Hills."

His cousin might prefer calling his kingdom that of the Trident and nothing more but it was a surer and safer wager not to give others ideas about claims to be made about their Blackwater territories.

"Should Cracklaw Point be added to that title as well?"

Lyam eased himself to stand up straight as he looked towards the owner of the voice. "My lady?"

"Please," her voice was playful but a melody to the ears. "Call me Rhaenys."

Lyam smiled. "If the Lady Rhaenys wishes, then it shall be so."

The Lady Vinseya seemed to hold back a snort as she stood on the other side of her brother-husband, leaning on the seat that her husband sat on. Lyam didn't quite understand the situation here. Did the casualness she held herself in mean that she was closer with her brother-husband than he had previously assumed?

Granted, it was still early days so...

"We have heard about your kingdom's exploits in the Point." Lady Rhaenys glided behind the seat that her brother-husband sat upon, a finger tracing its outlines. "One of our kin and bannerman have claims to that land as well."

"The Celtigars." Lord Darry said smoothly as he came to stand next to him. "And that is precisely the reason why we are here though to be honest, we had expected to be wined and dined first before business was seen too." He finished with a light-hearted chuckle.

Aegon Targaryen had yet to say a word as he sat, his queer eyes eyeing the three of them.

A coquettish smile crept upon Rhaenys lips. "In truth, I wouldn't mind some dining and wining as well but alas, my siblings prefer to get to the crux of matters quickly with no fuss and pomp."

Visenya regarded her sister with an even look before it was turned back to them. "In other words, some of us have things to do."

That took them all back.

They were envoys of a foreign kingdom and it seemed as if these Targaryens disregarded them as annoyances. At the very least, one can appreciate her bluntness. She would get along well with Edmyn. Lyam decided.

"Sister." Rhaenys said, sounding almost appalled but not appalled enough to be genuine. "You can't just say things like that."

"I can say what I want, whenever I want."

Rhaenys still held the smile as she turned her attentions back to them. "I suppose things could be going much better than they are going right about now, yes?"

"Of course-."

"Yes." Willem replied with something sour.

Despite it all, the lady took it well as she laughed melodiously. "Ah, to be young and impetuous."

"He has more balls than the lot of you." Visenya remarked, eyeing the king's squire as if he was fresh meat for appraisal. "You want something but yet you are playing with your words. Things could go about faster if you were just honest."

"It's not about honesty," Willem said with something hot in his belly. "It's about courtesies. Manners. Something it seems, you lack."

Oh, gods.

I should have told him to keep his mouth quiet. Lyam thought until he realised something. We have yet to be offered bread and salt.

Visenya stood up straight, a hand dangerously close to the sword at her hip with an equally dangerous smirk on her lips. "Grab some steel then boy, I'll show you exactly where all my courtesies and manners."

Willem turned his head away, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm a knight-to-be and heir to the Dun Fort and Duskendale. It would be improper and not exactly chivalrous for me to fight a woman."

"Is that your way of saying you are scared?"

Willem bristled some but before he could say anything more, Lyam calmly moved into his path, hiding him away from the clearly deranged woman. And that was him being civil in his appraisal of her.

What sort of insanity would make her think that it was a good idea to fight a man, let alone a squire well versed in the arts of combat? Things were bad enough as it were, if harm came across the lady, things would most assuredly be worse.

"Peace, please." He begged with the utmost honesty he could muster. This was not why he had come here. His eyes drifted from that of Visenya who eyed them like meat and Rhaenys who had watched the entire spectacle with amusement in her eyes Mad, the both of them. To Aegon who continued to seat and say nothing. "Perhaps the Lady Visenya was right. Instead of bandying with words, we should have been direct with them."

Lyam was prepared to continue talking but he stopped when he noticed that the seated dragonlord nodded once and the muscles of his strong jaw made to move as he opened his mouth and spoke, quietly but with a gravitas suitable for a king. "No, the apologies should be ours. We did not conform ourselves to persons of our station and lineage." With those words, he pushed himself up from his seat and it was then that Lyam noticed that Aegon was indeed tall. Taller than him. "But that is for later, for now, I think the Lord Darry had the right of it, it would be discourteous of me to not delight you in the warmth of Dragonstone."

"By that, I hope you don't mean the volcano." The lord japed with a good-hearted smile. "That would be a little too warm for some of us."

A thin smile crept among the dragonlords lips but a smile nonetheless. "Really? Us Valyrians find the heat quite welcoming."

"I'd expect no less with such bold words like those of 'Fire and Blood'."

"Not at all bold, my lord." The Lady Rhaenys spoke up from the side, idly playing with her hands. "Just nothing but truth in those words."

Her words aside, Lyam was rather glad that things did not at all turn into a disaster but he definitely knew that he was going to have some words with Willem when they were later alone.

Last edited: Sep 21, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

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TryingToBeKuw

Jun 15, 2018

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TryingToBeKuw

TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Jul 4, 2018

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#888

Book Two

5 BCE

Stoney Sept

This one liked to talk.

And talk she did.

"We don't have many people come from the south 'ere, milord." The whore said as he dressed himself.

Now the man thought that was a load of bollocks. He was more than well aware that Stoney Sept saw a reasonable amount of traffic coming in from the south. After all, the town was very much the gateway into the riverlands proper for the Reach and that of the westerlands if one came through the Deep Den Pass.

If she was trying to make him talk about himself, she would have to try a little harder than that.

The man looked around for where his woollen shirt had been thrown in the frantic first moments of love-making. "How did you know I am from the south then?" He asked absentmindedly.

"The way you speak milord." She replied, twirling a strand of hair idly. "It's different, even for a lord."

"I'm no lord." He had not been a lord for... how long was it now? Nearly two decades now that he thought about it. "Just a traveller passing through."

"Truly?" There was a certain innocence to the whore's charm, much more so now with the way she cocked her head to the side. Her lips thinned a little in thought before she spoke. "I'd have never guessed you were a merchant. You speak well proper."

"Well." He corrected her. "I speak well."

She had a look of triumphant on her face as he threw on his shirt over his naked torso, letting the cloth wrap itself around his body before he moved onto the doublet. "A lord is the only one who would care for how proper I speak!"

Poor girl, she didn't understand a lord would not care for how well she spoke. He would only care for the cunny between her legs and that would be all.

"A well taught merchant would very well care." He said as he went for the flat cap and satchel that had been thrown to the side. "A good man does not begrudge himself the company of well taught individuals."

She frowned. "I'm not stupid, milord."

"I never said you were."

With that, he left her. He kept the peak of his cap low to shadow as much of his face as much as he moved through the hallways of the brothel he had found himself in, clutching his satchel as close to his body as possible.

Numerous times he had to weave his way through strumpets leading drunken patrons to empty rooms to be seen too whilst at the same time, evading the calls and grasping hands of others that wanted to lure him to have a taste of their wares. Some had barely even servicing a patron before they had called for him.

Disgusting truly.

He at the very least liked his to be bathed and decent before taking them.

The matron of the brothel said something to him as he walked past but he did not stop to pay attention, instead, he headed for the exit and stepped out into the cool night of the town.

He took a moment to taste the clean, crisp air of the night before releasing it in one long breath before quickly turning on his heel and heading back towards the sept that the town was named after. The brothel he had just been a patron of was located in one of the quarters of the town were the modest lived.

He could not risk heading towards one of the more wealthier and up-scale brothels of the town for risk of being discovered of who he was. The people of these lands already disliked the men and women of his order for reasons of dubious veracity and some that were actual truth.

Although members of his order had already been discovered or rumoured to habitually break the vows they served, the scandal was minimum at best and best served with the banishment of the member back to Oldtown. But in his case? The scandal would be far too large to just simply be swept under the rug.

Considering his position, both in the court of this kingdom's king and who he served underneath when it came to the Faith? Banishment would not be the only thing he was risking.

Byron knew all this but he was a weak man and he had gone long enough without enjoying the warmth a woman could give.

He could not risk breaking his vows back in Riverrun, knowing that there would always be eyes on him within the confines of the castle and its surrounding lands. The people of these lands did not trust outsiders easily, he had come to learn.

It was nearing the hour of the wolf and many stores had long since shuttered their windows and closed their doors at day's end but there were still people moving about. Some drunken revellers making their way back from some tavern or another or going to the next one no doubt. Occasionally, he would nod his head in the direction of the town watch guards as they made their rounds.

He had learned long ago that pulling his cap down to try and hide his face would just make him suspicious but, in the event that he was called upon, he would be glad to spare some coin to make them forget about the encounter and him and with some luck and prayer, that would be the last time he would ever run into such company.

Byron knew that it was a strange thing indeed, to pray to the gods to help him break the vows he swore to them but he always told himself that they were vowed that he had no choice in taking.

After all, what was there in life for the third son of a lord's brother? Nothing truly and the houses of the Reach did like spreading their seeds as far as possible.

The septon was able to make his way back towards the accommodation he was staying in, slipping through the back before making his way to his rooms. Tomorrow was to be an important as day could be as he would be meeting with his master to talk about the state of the Faith in this new kingdom of Westeros.

No doubt that the Most Devout would love to hear good news about the work of the Faith in the Kingdom of the Trident & Hills but it seemed as if things were going to be more difficult than they were going to be. The people of these lands did not trust the Faith nor what was asked of them to show their piety.

Byron could at the very least understand why they would not turn to the gods.

It might have involved the gods but as far as many of them were concerned, the gods were not involved in the brining of the ironborn low in these lands of theirs. Despite all the attempts of himself and many others to try and convince them otherwise that their new king had been the god's very own champion.

It would be a lot easier if the king endorsed us. The poor septon thought to himself. Edmyn did endorse the Faith but not as loudly as Byron would have liked. Byron did not want Edmyn to be shouting his belief in the gods from the rooftops but at the very least, he would have liked it if the king was a little more vocal than he was at the moment.

It was these sorts of thoughts that stayed in his mind as he said his night prayers before heading to bed, ready for the day in the morn.

He might have made for a poor septon who broke his vows but he always found a certain sort of peace when he made his prayers.

"A beautiful day." The Most Devout said, smiling broadly as he sipped some lemon juice. "the people seem so happy and content. I believe great things are in the future for the people of this kingdom."

Byron moved for the cup of lemon-flavoured tea as he gave a single incline of the head. "So, there is nothing to be worried about in the future?" he asked, thinking of some of the more... pious brethren in the organisation he belonged to.

"They more than understand the difficult nature of the work set out before us." the Most Devout replied with a smile weathered by age. "When our forebears crossed the seas from Andalos, it took them decades, no centuries to truly bring the light of the Seven to Westeros as a whole."

He raised an eyebrow in interest at that. From his working knowledge of the College of the Devout, such an argument would not broker much faith in them considering the differences of that time to now but he took his master's words. "That's good to hear. I feared that I would have to pressure the king more when he dislikes us as much as he does now. Though young, he very much understands that he needs the influence that the Faith can offer him."

Willas nodded his head in agreement as he looked to the side, eyes staring into the distance. "It's a rare thing indeed to come across such prudent thinking for a king as young as him. More often than not, most kings only come to learn of the measure of power the Faith holds later on in their reigns."

To that he nodded.

He had been made witness to such showings of the power of the Faith himself on occasions. He had even abused it for his own wealth and pleasure.

He was a weak man to be true and a false shepherded but at least he tried to be better.

It was not as if he had seen himself as a septon when he was young.

The older man's eyes scrunched together though in mild thought. "Still though, my fellow devout might very well be willing to wait some of them unfortunately do not have the virtue of patience and I cannot promise when they might start petitioning the High Septon for more decisive reports when it pertains to the riverlands especially when the High Septon is so advanced in age..."

Byron frowned. "I suppose the acceptance of the Faith would be quite the achievement to have come the next choosing."

The older man nodded once, sipping his lemon juice. "Just so."

Byron was quite for a moment before something came to mind. "This king is a strange king." he said, gaining the attention of his master. He stirred his lemon tea with some movement of his hands, looking at the swirling pattern shown. "A very strange king."

"How so?"

"There have been many kings that have looked to the welfare of their people it is just... this one somehow takes the traditional notions of good kingship to strange levels that have never been reached before or even touched upon." He looked up to stare at his master. "Though literacy is in the realm of those highborn or of the merchant class, Edmyn has been seeing to it that as many as young children, no matter the status of their birth, have an education of some kind."

It was strange. He could still not understand why Edmyn seemed to value education so highly that he deemed it necessary that he acted to have children taught their numbers and letters. What could he possibly gain from it?

"Not only that," he continued. "but he seems to be trying to gather as many learned people in the knowledge of health so that their knowledge can be best helped with the smallfolk. Midwifes, woodswitches, bonesetters and the likes."

The Devout's eyes glistened as he caught onto what was being said. "I see..." he sipped his juice once more. "I shall see what I can from my end and you make the offer."

Byron inclined his head. "As you will, Your Excellency."

He might not be the most pious of people but at the very least, Byron prouded himself on his ability to do what was required of him.

106AD (-5AC)

Dragonstone

The duke had not been pleased with him at all after the showing he had made in the lord's solar.

Willem was no child and he quite understood looking back on it that his action had not been at all courteous or even lordly, especially in the presence of another lord who might as well have a been a king. He stopped his wondering in one of the vast hallways of this dark, foreboding castle and thought about it.

How was Aegon and his... the thought sickened him to think about, but how would Aegon and his sister-wives be addressed in polite company? As lord and his ladies or king and his queens?

This sister-marrying Targaryen was most certainly not of Westeros yet the island he called home was considered a part of Westeros. He had bannermen who owed their fealty to him yet Aegon himself did not own fealty to anybody.

There was no one above Aegon Targaryen in social status in the domains of Dragonstone.

Did that make him a king then?

"Yet His Grace and the lords refer to him as a lord and he had been addressed as such and he said nothing about it..." Willem shook his head and continued walking through the halls of the castle that shared the same name as the island. The whole thing would probably make him think back to that time yesterday where that strange woman had tried to make a fool out of him.

…

Had made a fool out of him. There was no denying that.

He had not only embarrassed himself but that of the kingdom he represented, especially when he had been entrusted to such an honour as an envoy to a distant realm when he himself was only recently a man grown.

The thought of that incestuous goddess smirking stirred something hot inside him.

"Can I help you?"

Willem was jolted out of his thoughts when he noticed that he had come to stand inside a room with a tower of a man dressed in black. He looked around and noticed that there were two others in the room, others that had spared him a single look before going back to their work on a table of some kind.

The man looked at him for a moment and Willem did the same and noticed the same powerfully built figure that was somehow similar to Aegon Targaryens yet this man's figure seemed to exude... more. His shoulders were broader and his arms thicker judging by how strained his woollen shirt was in keeping his arms covered. The man also held the same handsomeness of Aegon but his not so inhuman with black long hair and a long beard cut neatly.

Apparently, he had been staring for too long and the man spoke up once more. "You must be Willem Darklyn then. You came with the envoys from the Kingdom of the Trident & Hills, yes?"

Willem blinked, turning his attention to the man once more and registering his words. He nodded. "Aye, that would be me." he remembered his courtesies. "Apologies my lord, but you are?"

"Orys Baratheon." the man replied softly with an incline of the head. "If there is anything you need, please do not be afraid to ask."

Willem stood up straight and made his way towards the man at a sedated pace. "Thank you for the offer my lord, I shall be sure to ask for you if I am in need."

Orys smiled though it was difficult to tell with his beard in the way. "I'm no lord." he replied with suprising humility.

Willem corked his head to the side then. "A knight then?"

Orys politely shook his head. "Not that either."

Willem found himself at a loss of words. If the man was not a knight or a lord, then what was he? He held himself far too well to be just a man of wealthy birth. "I'm very confused right now."

The giant of a man chuckled with good mirth. "I suppose that would be the result of a clash of cultures then."

"Aye," the heir to Duskendale and squire to the king licked his lips and nodded uncertainly. "I think that would be the case." It would not be a lie since he did find many practices in this castle and the island very strange indeed.

He tried not to think about the man that shared his bed with his two sisters. The thought was sickening and enough to turn him green.

Now though, if the thought was of him and said man's two sisters...

He turned his attention to the table that the two men had been silently working on and he recognised it immediately. He leaned in close, admiring the detail. "This is Westeros!" he said in awe as his eyes travelled from the truly coloured southern parts all the way to the still unpainted northern Westeros.

Orys had come to stand beside him and when he spoke, his voice registered a little lower than it was to before. "That it is. Do you see your home?"

He nodded excitedly as his hand drifted towards where Duskendale was so very nicely painted. "There is even a model of the Dun Fort!" he shook his head. "the amount of detail that must have gone into this thing is simply amazing, but why make this of Westeros? Would it not make much more sense to make one of Essos?" he asked, leaning back away from the table.

"Why do you ask that?"

"Is Essos not the home of the Targaryens? The Valyrians? The blood of that ancient civilisation flows strongly there." he asked, his voice trying to hide the fact that it was the most obvious thing in the world. The Targaryens were from Essos after all. Everybody knew where they came from. "I mean, for all I know, a second table with a map of Essos could very well be next to be made."

Orys looked thoughtful for a mere moment before he nodded his head. "That is true, a second table could be made to pair with this. Perhaps even a third of Sothoros and may haps a fourth for Ulthos."

Willem frowned as he took in the words. "Those are distant lands and hardly known."

"That is true but on the back of a dragon, what could be far could be very near."

Willem was about to say something when the door that led into the room they were in burst open and footsteps thundered confidently of the black stone floor. "Orys!" a very unforgettable voice cried out in greeting before the voice's owner seemed to register his existence. "And the little boy from yesterday."

I have a name. He thought to himself as he turned to face the figure of Visenya Targaryen who once again, had something of an infuriating look on her beautiful face. He tried not think about how leathers she wore hugged the curves of her curvaceous body. "Lady Visenya." he greeted politely, remembering his courtesies and the telling off he had received from the duke and Lord Darry the night before. "Apologies should be made about my behaviour yesterday, it was unbecoming for an envoy and a lord."

The lady looked at him curiously with her queer coloured eyes before her full lips widened into something resembling a smile. "That must hurt you to say those words but I suppose how truthful your words are, I shall take them as sincere."

"Visenya." Orys breathed, exasperated.

The Targaryen woman fired a look in the direction of Orys. "What did I do wrong then? I accepted his apology did I not?"

"A simple 'I accept' would have sufficed. There was no need for any more words to be spoken." Orys glanced in the direction of Willem before turning his attention back to one of the ladies of the castle. Willem still found it downright odd that brother-would-wed-sister. He was not of the Faith but, urgh. "You wanted me?"

"I was going to ask you if you would like to the training yard with me and go a few rounds. I am in need of a good sweat." her eyes then flickered back to Willem, the young squire noticing something glimmering as she looked at him. "but I just think I might have thought of something a little bit better to do than that."

"Visenya." Orys breathed, dryly.

She rolled her eyes at the words of the other man despite Willem's confusion about what they were talking about. The strange woman's eyes rested on him for a moment. "Tell me child, have you ever seen a dragon before?"

Willem blinked, that was an easy enough question to answer and one he had not expected. "No. No, I have not."

"Would you like to see one?" Visenya asked, her eyes taking his full measure, like that one of a prey just about ready to be eaten by some predator.

"Visenya."

It seemed as if calling out the lady's name had become something of a new favourite for Orys.

The lady waved the man's concern's away easily. "He was going to see them eventually. Not today perhaps, not even tomorrow but most certainly before they left Dragonstone. After all, it would make us poor hosts to not show guests the famous creatures that built the greatest civilisation known to the world?"

That was funny. Willem wondered how she would react if the king replied to that statement by pointing out to the civilisation of the YiTish in the far east of the known world?

Visenya continued talking as she motioned a hand in his direction. "And look at the boy, he is definitely curious to see the creatures. Are you not?"

Willem's mouth was shy to open before he licked his lips and spoke. "That I am." he found himself admitting to the truth. He might have said some words about the dragons but even he was curious.

He had grown up on the stories of Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield and his legendarily slaying of the dragon Urrax.

She grinned toothily at the dark-haired man that stood next to him who sighed once more, in exasperation. "Very well, just let it be Vhagar then, I doubt Aegon would be pleased with the showing of Balerion without him there."

"I know that." the lady replied casually as she waved him over, ready to lead him to where they kept her dragon. "I wouldn't want to make him lose his wits all at once seeing the entirety of the majesty of our dragons."

Willem doubted that he would lose his wits.

Dragons may perhaps be some of the greatest creatures in the world but they could still be killed. Ser Serwyn more than proved enough of that. The legendary knight had shown the world that no matter how mighty the beast, a beast was still a beast and could be felled by any valiant man ready to take on the challenge.

Walking with the Targaryen lady was a strange and awkward situation if he had to say so himself. The only one who probably didn't think it was a strange situation could very well possibly be the Targaryen lady herself who held herself in a manner that he had difficulty placing on a woman. There was a confidence to her, one that said to the world that there was nothing in it that could at all make her quake in her boots in fear.

Willem knew that Visenya was inside the halls of her own castle and thus it could very well explain how she acted so he couldn't help but wonder how she would act out in the world outside these very halls they walked through.

"That was a nice... table." Willem said, awkwardly.

She shrugged as they left the illuminated hallways of the castle and out into the dreary outside world of the island. "It's a hobby of my brother-husband." she said, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. "that makes your skin crawl doesn't it? That my brother is also my husband."

Willem pursed his lips. "It will take some getting used to, I admit. It's just so strange from what I am used to from where I come from. I will not lie to you my lady, your... marriage would make a whole lot of people uneasy and disgusted, perhaps less so in the east."

"I suppose it would." he certainly didn't expect the lady to agree with him in the thoughtful manner that she did. "Your candour is much appreciated, young lord. Carry on like this and I might just change my opinion of you." she brought her fingers to her lips and let loose a high-pitched whistle that pierced through the air and above the distant sounds of waves crashing onto the shore and cliffs of the island.

"Hopefully, that change would come before I leave your beautiful island, my lady. I would love to leave the island knowing I have made a friend, one as beautiful as you as well."

She snorted then and somewhere in the distant, the beating of wings could be heard. "Did I not say this before but flattery is not for me. Rhaenys might be more accommodable to your ministrations."

Willem blinked before his eyes widened a little. "I did not mean anything of the sort by that, my lady!" his first meeting aside, he did not want the rumour to go around that he had tried to woo the lady of a lord they were visiting.

He would never hear the end of it.

The beating of wings was getting louder and closer and he checked to see where it was coming from before a large form swooped down from the direction of the Dragonmont. The earth seemed to shake when the beast made its landing, so much that Willem had to quickly re-adjust his feet so that he wouldn't embarrass himself by falling flat on his arse.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" Visenya crooned as she walked towards the beast that seemed to come to a height with the already massive, draconic curtain walls of the castle that they were in. The dragon bent its neck down so that its head could be caressed by Visenya. "Just look at her."

Willem was looking and he was having trouble closing his mouth.

How the fuck did Ser Serwyn beat one of these things?

She was massive truly with scales the colour of emeralds that the scales could very well be confused for emeralds by how deep green they were and how they shone in the little light on the island. Perhaps the scales were as valuable as diamonds as well, perhaps even more valuable.

Visenya turned to face him, nonchalantly leaning on the great dragon. "Come little knight, come say hi." she said and the dragon's attention was turned to him, great orbs of gold on black with slitted pupils shifting from Visenya to him in a moment and blinked.

Just looking at the beast, he could feel his legs weaken as he tried to will himself forward.

Once more, the question came through his mind, how the fuck did Ser Serwyn beat one of these things?

Last edited: Sep 21, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Jul 11, 2018

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#959

Book Two

5 BCE

Riverrun

"When was the last time you actually slept?"

An eyebrow rose up. "Is that a trick question or...?"

Zhoe huffed as the legs of a chair scraped on the wooden floors as it was pulled back. "Husband please, by now you should know better." I stared at the documents in front of me which were the initial estimates into the costs of setting up a salt foundry in the lands surrounding Saltpans. "Edmyn, look at me."

Oh, she was using her serious voice, I should probably look up to her.

So, I looked up and gave her a smile. "Have I told you that you look absolutely ravishing today?"

The urge to roll her eyes was strong in her I could see but she resisted the temptation and instead stroked her swollen middle. "You need to sleep."

I know I needed to sleep but I was worried that if I took a day off, I would somehow find myself coming back to a pile of paperwork amongst other administrative nightmares that would need doing just lying on my desk. Leaning into my seat, a sigh that I didn't even know I was holding escaped from the back of my throat. "I'll sleep later, at the moment, I have to deal with this. Have I ever told you that I sincerely regret ever taking Harren to task? Who knew kingship was so tedious."

"Better men than Harren, I suspect." this wife of mine returned as she eyed me with a hint of worry. "The realm does not need a king who works himself into an early death. You made a vow to stay by my side until the end of our days. I would love for those days to be several decades-."

"Shhh," I cut her off abruptly. "Don't finish that sentence. You might very well tempt the fates to fuck with me. I will not have the fates fuck with me."

Zhoe gave me a look then, a look that could very well be taken as somewhat dry or more likely, the look of someone who occasionally dealt with some weird shit daily and was tired of it. I don't really know where she picked up that particular expression since I was anything but weird.

Strange? Yes.

Weird? No.

The Queen of the Trident (& Hills) smoothed out her dress from where she sat before pulling out some letters from the middle of nowhere. "I ran into Jaime on my way here. There's been another letter from Dragonstone." she said as she held out a hand to pass it to me.

"Neat." I said with all the amusement that I could muster. The first letter from my little diplomatic delegation to the island of that particular incestuous family did not bring the sort of good news that would make me go to sleep without dreaming of dragons trying to roast me. "I wonder what joys are held within its content."

Zhoe's lips thinned a little as I took the letter out of her hand and unrolled it. "I know Willem should have held himself better but Lyam does say that he was needlessly provoked."

"It was a diplomatic mission, my lady. Willem should have been able to let whatever insults, real or imagined, fly over him."

"He's still a boy."

"He's six-and-ten, a man grown by the laws, customs and traditions of every kingdom from Dorne to the wall." I shook my head before taking in the words written down on the small piece of paper. My thoughts on the actions of my squire and his punishment for when he returned suddenly took a back seat as I re-read the scroll to make sure that I had not misread it.

"What is it?" Zhoe asked with a hint of worry in her voice. "Dark words?"

It took a moment for her words to register with me and even a little more time for me to respond to her by slowly shaking my head. "No. Good words actually. The Targaryens have accepted the annexation of the lands of the Boggs and Brunes."

Zhoe clapped her hands together in excitement. "That's excellent news!"

I'm sure it was for Zhoe and House Mooton.

House Mooton did lay a claim to Crackclaw Point. All of it. I doubted that just taking the lands of the bordering houses would be enough to stop Lord Mooton from trying to push for further expansion onto that peninsula.

I really did not want to expand into that peninsula.

Truth be told, any sort of expansion was really not on my mind. I had more than enough on my plate.

The Boggs and the Brunes were about as expansive as I got and even then, I would have been more than willing to relinquish the land if no agreement was made with the dragonriding sister-fucking incompetent that lived across the road.

But something was off.

It was just well, too easy.

Lyam had wrote nothing of what the Targaryens want in return. There wasn't even a hint of it in the letter and I had read it several times enough to make sure that nothing had passed by me.

"There's got to be more to this." I blurted out loud, still somewhat stupefied, an emotion that was slowly turning into paranoia as I wondered what Aegon was planning. Or maybe it was his more competent family members that was actually doing the planning?

I didn't know, but I didn't like the thoughts that were coming into my head.

"More to what?" Zhoe asked, confused. "The Targaryens recognise our kingdom right of conquest. It still puzzles me as to why you even needed to see to them in the first place."

"Dragons, my lady." I answered for the umpteenth time. "They have dragons."

"Dragons can be killed, much like any other living creature."

It still astounded me the sheer Westerosi arrogance to anything that was Essosi in origin. By now, Zhoe should know the the east was heads over heels more advanced in certain areas than Westeros but she still looked down upon anything to do with that ridiculous large continent.

"I'm sure the Ghiscari thought the same thing, my love. I doubt they share similar thoughts now." whatever is left of them anyway.

"Don't mock me," she replied with some heat in her voice. "and we are not the Ghiscari. We are better. That and the fact the Valyrians had thousands of dragons. These Targaryens have three and from all accounts, they were the lowest amongst their own people."

If memory served right, they were the lowest of the dragon riders. They got lucky with Daenarys the Dreamer's visions. That had been more than enough to save their asses when the Doom came along and turned an entire peninsula into some twisted, eldritch infested Pompei.

"I wish I had that confidence." I really didn't but she didn't need to know that. I closed my eyes in thought. "The Targaryens have to be playing some sort of angle here either that or they really don't care much for their own bannermen."

Weren't the Celtigars of Valyrian descent? I'm sure more than a couple of Celtigars had been appointed to the small council during canon.

The Targaryens did value the blood of the dragon after all... or did that only include people of Targaryen descent and not those of Valyria? This was all very confusing and vague on my part that made me wish that I had paid attention to canon a little more.

"Or maybe they recognised there is no point in putting their little realm against ours."

Oh, you would think so, Zhoe, you would think s-.

Oh.

Ohhhhh.

Man, am I an idiot.

I can now see why the Targaryens are pretty laissez-faire about this entire thing. They were going to conquer Westeros in a couple of years' time, have free reign to do whatever they want after the conquest. So, what would be the point of making some noises before they were ready?

Just sit and do nothing on their little island and build up their forces and intelligence of the affairs of Westeros.

"What is it?" Zhoe asked, her eyes locked onto my face. "I know that look, you just had some sort of realisation."

There was a smile itching to stretch across my lips and it was a hard battle to keep it from forming. A knowing smirk is all I would allow. "Oh nothing, my love. Well, not nothing. I did have a realisation that would finally allow me to be able to sleep far more comfortably for the foreseeable future."

A delicate eyebrow rose up on pale, soft skin. "You are not going to share this realisation are you?" It kind of hit me then and there that Zhoe had the sort of features of an English rose. That amused me more than I thought it would.

"I'm afraid not, my lady. This is one is just for me." I said, the smirk a full-blown grin now. The smiles were difficult for me to stop on a normal day, even more so when I truly enjoyed something. "Though I will tell you in the future, on that I promise."

Zhoe left me to my amusing afterwards, in something of a huff but not before extracting a promise that was basically me doing nothing for the next couple of days, which I was more than ready and willing to do. Especially after the sudden realisation that I didn't have to deal with angry Targaryens any time soon and that canon was right on schedule.

To be honest though, I would admit a part of me was a little sad that canon was going to go down the rails or maybe happy.

Canon happening meant that a lot less work was going to come in my direction. The canal from the Bay of Crabs to the Bay of Eagles? Not going to happen unless I want the Targaryens to make their new centre of Westeros right in the middle of my kingdom.

Yes, I was now possessive of the Trident.

I mean, the progress that was happening had made me proud and I had become attached as I lived and spent more time with the people of these lands. It wasn't as if I could go home, now could I? I didn't even know how I ended up here.

The Targaryens setting up shop in the centre of Westeros might very well help them in the administration of this continent but that meant them removing me and I would rather not know how they would try to remove me. The scenarios that went through my head did not sell a pretty enough picture for my liking.

Not a lot of things sold enough pretty pictures now that I thought about it.

Amazing.

"What?"

His cousin corked his head to the side a little. "I said 'Alright, thank you for your service.'"

They were in the king's private solar, Lyam, Axel, Jaime and the king himself. They were discussing the implications of news of paramount importance that Lyam had brought back from his time on the island of the last of the dragonriders.

So far, the reaction of their king had not been something he had expected.

It was most certainly what Lyam had been expecting.

"Oh good, so we didn't mishear you then." his other cousin, the younger one remarked with a certain dryness to the tone of his voice.

Lyam looked at the king with an astounded expression. "You are taking the knowledge of a potential invasion by these Targaryens rather well." he paused for a moment and decided to revise his last words. "Of a certain invasion by the Targaryens."

The Targaryens were planning to invade.

That was why they had so readily not pressed the claims of one of their own vassals or had made any sort of demands of concessions on their part. Not even gold or hostages. Nothing of the sort. They had hemmed and hawed about this and that but they had never actually put a foot down and they had drawn and re-drawn their lines before they had out of the blue, simply accepted the new suzerainty of lands on the Point to Riverrun.

The Celtigars had not even been present to make their case to their liege lords.

Why would they? To them, at the end of the day, the Targaryens would not only receive Crackclaw Point but the entirety of Westeros.

Even now, it was difficult for Lyam to wrap his head around it.

The entire notion of the conquest of an entire continent was ludicrous. Not even the Storm or Reach Kings had come close to such a feat. The Storm Kings had come close but even then, they were soon over-stretched and vulnerable to the other kingdoms as they acted to right the balance of power once more.

No-one had ever been successful in conquering Westeros.

No-one.

And yet, a small voice to the back of his head whispered quietly that perhaps, the Targaryens, the last scions of that ancient civilisation could very well do so. Lyam knew that they did not need large armies, no, all the Targaryens needed was to wield the power their dragons afforded them.

After all, that was the only reason that he could think off as to why Aegon had made a show of allowing them to witness House Targaryens dragons in their full splendour the day before their departure. Aegon had wanted them to see the sort of thing that he would be able to rain down upon the hosts of Westeros.

The king shrugged with an ease that was bordering on insolent. And that was saying something about his cousin. He was taking this all too far well. Where was the paranoia? The panic? The immediate calls for plans to be made?

He expected more from his cousin and king.

More than... well, whatever this was.

This nonchalance.

"You don't know that though." he replied calmly.

Lyam allowed his face to form a frown. "The signs are all there. This 'Painted Table of Westeros', the dragons, everything else." he shook his head. "I would be a fool not to notice the signs. Others take me coz, even Axel believes me! Plans have to be made! Action to be taken!"

Edmyn held up a hand to calm him down and Lyam found himself near blushing at realising that he had just about shouted at his cousin and king as well. "Coz, I am not taking your words to heart. In fact, I take them quite seriously and already have a plan in mind."

Lyam sighed with relief. More relief than he would have liked to felt but relief nonetheless but why did his cousin like to make things difficult? He could have just said so earlier if he had something in mind.

Axel leaned forward, resting an elbow on his thigh. "Then how are we to pre-empt the Targaryens then?" he asked, eagerly yet his expression set in stone. "The bastards in their arrogance revealed their plans to us expecting us not to catch on. We have to make them pay for that."

The king snapped his fingers. "Our plan is to do... nothing."

He blinked.

Axel blinked.

Then Lyam swallowed as the words sank in. "...We do... nothing?"

The king nodded his head once more. "We do nothing. There's not much we can do anyway. They have dragons." he finished with a shrug of acceptance, as if this was an already decided outcome made long before. "Three dragons, yes, but dragons nonetheless. When Aegon decides to invade, we shall make overtures of peace, in fact, such overtures shall be made beforehand. Less chance of people dying unnecessarily."

Axel blinked incredulously at his older brother before his mouth bared open and fangs were flashed. "You would kneel to those slaving fucks?"

Edmyn seemed taken aback by his younger brother's strong language. "They have slaves? I did not know that but should be expected I guess. Aegon hasn't exactly gone to the Faith just yet..." he trailed off quietly.

Axel rose up to his feet so suddenly like a geyser. "You would surrender without a fight?"

The king considered his brother carefully for a moment. "If we fight the Targaryens, it would not be a fight. It would be a slaughter. A slaughter I would not be willing to put my people through."

There was a tension in the air as Axel glared down from where he stood at his brother. "The very same people that you promised will never have to kneel before an invader ever again?"

That took the king by surprise as he blinked and grimaced. "Shit... I did say that didn't I?"

"In front of hundreds of your lords, your grace." Lyam said, thinking back to that pavilion so many months ago. "...I do not think many of those lords would look kindly upon the bending of the knee after such rhetoric." Lyam grimaced a little as he saw the wince from the king.

"I did not think about that." he admitted suddenly. "I didn't think that far ahead in time or how my words would come back to bite me. Axel, you want me to fight, it's obvious enough, but how would you suggest we fight? Dragons are rather difficult creatures to kill I hear."

The Duke of Oldstones frowned for a moment before he moved to open his mouth. "The riders..." he stopped as he closed his mouth and shook his head, lowering himself back into his seat. "No... that would leave dragons without riders and I don't know which one is worse."

"The Faceless Men?" Lyam suggested before smiling ruefully. "though that is if we wish to beggar our realm to the point that there would be no recovery." and they had been doing so well as well.

"Exactly my point as to why we surrender." Edmyn rose up from his seat and walked towards the window. "I know the words I said are firmly in the minds of the lords but surrender is the only option that I see that would spare the realm suffering."

Lyam frowned as he realised that Edmyn might have a point.

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not think of a suitable enough way to kill off those magnificent beasts without thousands dying. The one Aegon called Balerion the Black Dread was a creature that defied all thoughts of dragons though.

That creature was completely something else. From where he had stood, the creature might as well have taken up the entirety of the island of Dragonstone and its scales were more than impervious enough to arrows loosed in its direction.

Axel refused to believe that there was no hope though. "There must be something that we can do. We have worked so hard for this realm of ours... to free ourselves of tyranny only to be forced back into it by some foreign sibling-fuckers?" he had never heard the younger Tully sound so defeated before but yet, here he was, hearing him sounding defeated.

A silence came across the king's private solar then. No-one spoke as a heavy pall hanged all around them, not releasing them from its clutches. He doubted that anything he could have said would have forced the pall of their being.

It was then that the Grand Maester made himself known by clearing his throat. "If routes of violence are unavailable to us, why not those of the mind?" Jaime asked, his linked hands resting easily on his lap and his chain glinting in the midday sun.

"Grand Maester?" Lyam prodded, refusing to let hope take hold of him but nonetheless interested.

Jaime shared a calm look between the entirety of them before he spoke once more. "Dragonstone is the furthest that the Freehold ever expanded in its thousand years of history. Maesters have debated as to why this is, especially considering the fact that Valyria seemed to always hunger conquest and wealth."

The king had turned his attention to the maester and had a frown on his face. "I don't understand."

"Then at some point, I must re-educate you on the favourite pastimes of the ancient Freehold then, your grace." the Grand Maester chided the king softly before continuing to speak of the subject before. "Though Valyria had many successful and wealthy colonies, its main source of wealth were the seemingly inexhaustible mines of the Fourteen Fires that sustained them the most. The tax records of Volantis, Lys, Myr and the other Free Cities attest to this. The amount of taxes for centres their size and of their wealth does not make much sense otherwise. To some, the children were not intended to be economical in any sort of way just places of convenience to send off the unwanted or the common folk after the Lands of Always Summer grew to crowded."

The king nodded. "Okay, so what does this have anything to do with Dragonstone and getting the Targaryens to stop trying to burn us alive whenever they feel like it?"

Lyam would admit that he was getting rather winded by the history lesson. He did not care for the history of Valyria, he merely cared for whatever idea the maester had about stopping the Targaryens.

"Westeros is rich in many precious ores and jewels..." the maester began slowly, perhaps irriated by the lack of respect being shown. "yet the Valyrians never went further than Dragonstone."

Axel frowned. "That's easy to think about. They risked over-extending themselves. Ruling a realm so large."

At that, the Grand Maester snorted. "You should know better than this Axel. I taught you better than this. Your royal brother has in his possession, several items that would have made the rule of such a large empire possible. A far better method of communication than ravens."

They all blinked then. "The glass candles."

At that, the maester nodded, his chains clinking gently with the movement. "Conquering Westeros was well within their rights and capabilities. They did not simply because of, well, prophecy."

"Prophecy?" Lyam and Axel said at once, taking a moment to share a look between them before turning their attention back to the maester. It was Axel that spoke. "Prophecy was what stopped them from invading Westeros? Surely that can't be it."

Lyam was nodding his head when he saw from the corner of his eye the strange expression that was on the king's face. Well, not strange. It was an expression of realisation but one that screamed that he should have somehow known this.

How Edmyn could have known about this prophecy was beyond him except if it somehow included the green men of the Isle. Had the king taken a trip there when he had been away and spoke to the people of that island?

"People do strange things when prophecies are concerned..." the king said strangely, speaking up out of the blue. He slowly lowered himself into his seat with a distant expression on his face. "Let me guess, this prophecy somehow said something about Westeros and gold being the end of them?"

Jaime looked on nonplussed at the king and gave a single, firm nod. "Not in so few words but the sentiment is much the same."

Edmyn's lips twitched as he rested his head on his fingers. "Well, I suppose we have to think of a way to somehow bring this news to the Targaryens." the king looked around the lot of them. "well, let's start hearing ideas people."

They did not leave the solar for hours.

Last edited: Sep 21, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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322

TryingToBeKuw

Jul 11, 2018

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Jul 29, 2018

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#1,136

AN: Thanks to some rather knowledgeable fellows in this thread, I shall be revising the total population of the KoT to a healthy 2.7 million since my last numbers was a little too low. Anyway, enjoy this next instalment in the story.

Also, I'm kinda shit at describing clothes unless they are jeans and t-shirts, so think of them wearing togas or the Greek himation. I'm trying to go for a Greek aesthetic when it comes to the inner palaces within the Black Walls in terms of visuals and culture.

2 BCE

Volantis

The sun was at the zenith of its power as it burned brightly in the clear, blue sky. The heat from the burning object made the air shimmer which was even more noticeable on the pristine, mosaiced marble courtyard that Ilyria Maegyr walked upon, the slave standing at an appropriate distance with an ornate Yi Tish fan to keep the slave's better cool. Another slave was nearby, holding an umbrella to shield her from the sun directly.

How long was Lysander going to make her wait? She had been stood out here for far longer than the heat would allow her to tolerate but nonetheless, if a little sun was what she had to suffer to make sure that the last of her sons did not die in some meaningless battle at the fronts was more than a price she was willing to pay.

Behind her, a horse snorted and neighed as it failed to dig its hooves into the courtyard. From the corner of her eyes, a slave made its way around her to the horses with a basket of apples on its persons and the two slaves near her continued to protect her from the sun and its attack on her majesty by heat.

At last, Lysander Maegyr finally made his appearance from the depths of their palatial home. Just like his brothers before him, the sight of her son looking so powerful in his armour had caused her heart to miss a beat and her breath to be caught inside her throat.

Lysander laughed when he saw her. "Mother please, if you stare any longer, a fly will take a gander into your mouth!"

She frowned at his words as Lysander made his way towards her with short, powerful strides. "By Balerion Lysander, what have I told you about that mouth of yours?"

Though only of six-and-ten years of age, Lysander Maegyr towered over her by more than a foot. He was of a slim built, all her sons were, but their built belied the strength of their arms that they would be able to bring to bear on any that challenged them. Like many of the Old Blood, Lysander was tall, pale and his eyes like shining amethysts with flowing silver-gold hair.

'When did he grow from such a tiny hatchling to such a powerful dragon?' She thought to herself, her mind drifting back to the time of his birthing.

It was a painful memory as all her births were. Painful memories that were filled with love, joy and gratefulness that Meraxes had blessed her so.

Her son ran a hand through his long hair with an airy movement. "That one day, it shall get me into trouble. That day has yet to still come." He made a motion with his hand and a slave scurried forward to them, head kept low avoiding looking at them with a goblet of wine in hand that her son took. He tasted it a little and smiled. "Excellent vintage, mother. Is this from the Paenymion's vineyards? They always do make the best wine."

The slave backed away after giving the goblet to her son with a grace that told Ilyria that it would be in need of some remedial training at a later time. Until then, she put her atttention to her son.

"The finest for such a special day as this." She replied, her smile thin.

Her son laughed. "Come now mother, we both know that me going off to war is the last thing you have ever wanted for me. Most like, you would have liked it if I just stayed at home and spent the best of my youth drinking and gambling."

"I'd much prefer it you spent it looking to the interests of our family but I would take drinking and gambling over war any day."

"Fret not mother, Aerion and Lyssarion write that much gambling and drinking is done within the hosts." He said, a coquettish, impudent smile on her youngest's face. "I'll be doing what you wish for me to do... though not exactly what you wish for me to do."

She closed her eyes but had to quickly open them when images of her sons bloodied and broken, much like their honoured father entered her mind, much like an unwanted guest. "Of that, you are very much correct."

Lysander took a long sip of his wine, tasting the deep, royal purple liquid upon his tongue before he spoke once more. "Do not worry, my honoured mother. Your children shall return home with great honour and glory for our family as well for Volantis!"

Ah yes, the dream that was Volantis.

The Old Blood spoke of it within the Senate.

They spoke of Old Valyria and how with her passing in the fires of the Doom, it had befallen upon her first and oldest child to inherit what was once hers. With nothing but ambition and dream, they had let loose their slave armies upon the other children of Valyria.

At first, it had gone so well for them. Their might armies and great navies broke the backs of Lys and Myr and the other children were sending reeling. Tyrosh was only safe for the walls that protected that city was made of the same magical fused dragonstone that kept the lesser from their greaters. Norvos and Qohor were too far north to take meaningful action whilst they still had enemies near.

Then in the last couple of years, things began to slowly go wrong. Lys and Myr began to rebel with aid from the other daughters along with that of the bastard daughter. A barbarian from the west had come to the aid of Tyrosh and Pentos and had caused the greatest defeat on land in Volantis' memory.

Soon enough, the numbers of their slave armies started to dwindle that for the first time since the founding of Valyria, freeborn citizens were conscripted to serve. Something that had been unheard off, especially as scions of the old blood were no longer exempt from the conscriptions.

It did not take a fool to see that things could not go as they were.

If they did, Volantis would surely break and that would be such a disaster for the civilised world. If not for Volantis, who would keep at bay the gnawing darkness and barbarity brought forth by lesser peoples?

"At least ride in the carriage." Ilyria said as she watched her son climb onto one of the most magnificent steeds that the Maegyrs held within their stables. "I'd rather not you share the same breath as those without the walls."

Her son smiled down at her, his teeth a brilliant, sparkling white. "An affront I shall bear with dignity if the plebs are to know my face. It wouldn't do for them to not be able to recognise the face of the man that will bring great honour and glory to Volantis!" He said with a laugh as he raised the reins of his horse. "Do not wait up for me mother, I shall be back sooner than you realise. All of us."

With a flick of his hands, the reins were snapped and he dug his spurs into the side of his horse and began to make his journey to Selhorys to join the host of men there. The daughter of the blood watched the form of her son make its way down the courtyard, his companions in close order laughing and talking amongst themselves before he disappeared beyond the gates of the palace.

The great doors slowly closed shut before she spoke. "I shall hold you to that." She said before she made a quick prayer to the Fourteen to look over her hatchlings.

With him gone, Ilyria realised that she was the only one of the main Maegyr family within their ancestral home. She realised that with that revelation she would have to make sure that she kept an eye on her lesser cousins lest they begin to form ideas about reaching for something that was not theirs and well beyond them.

Before doing so, she remembered about the slave and had her taken away for its remedials. It had whimpered some as two guards had led it away but its whimpering did nothing more than displease Ilyria and annoy her more.

It seemed she was going to need to have words with its previous owner she had bought it from.

"Ilyria my dear," Valarr Iranios greeted with a warm smile as he took to kiss the back of her hand. "Still as radiant as the sun, I see."

"Valarr," she replied with a smile of her own that was truly genuine at seeing an old friend. 'For my children, my sons, my stars and Volantis.' "your tongue is still fair with words, I see."

Valarr Iranios was one of the old bloods much like her and could trace his line all the way back to Old Valyria herself. Just like her own family, he was descendent from the legionaries that had been stationed in Volantis when the Black Walls were first erected.

Unlike the Maegyrs that had kept themselves to mostly martial pursuits with limited mercantile interests, the Iranios had turned away from their origins and had invested themselves into creating a vast merchant fleet with an untold number of interests. It was said the only family with more interests than them were the Paenymions.

What made Valarr Iranios a good ally to her was not his wealth though, it was the fact that him and her shared the same opinion when it came to the future of Volantis. Ilyria knew she had come to her conclusion from time spent thinking about their situation and Valarr more than likely from the deteriorating revenues of his merchant empire.

Strange times made for strange bedfellows.

She led him towards sofas that had been set up for them on the terraces, the slaves having set up a large palate of fruits, breads and meats for them to feast upon whilst they talk.

The man tsked as he spread himself on a gestured sofa, hand reaching out to grab a bundle of grapes. "I think not really, Ilyria. You still look like a maiden of four-and-ten, I must know, how do you keep yourself as radiant as you do?"

"Good eating and exercise, Valarr, perhaps you should try it some time." She said good naturedly.

The man laughed as he patted at the silks that covered his growing middle. "I fear those times of good exercise are behind me. The Senate does not leave much time to pursue personal hobbies." He popped several fat, red grapes into his mouth, the juices running down from the corners of his mouth. "I hear the last of your sons has left to join the legions."

She nodded as she took a sip of sweet wine. "Yes, Lysander has gone to join the legion underneath Jentys Narholis."

"Narholis? A good man and capable. I think he shall be in more than capable hands."

Ilyria knew that her sons would be in the hands of capable commanders for she had made sure they would be placed with people who actually knew the business of warfare instead of the glory seekers that had garnered their positions through the influence of their name in the Senate. She did not risk her own so willy-nilly.

"Narholis in the north though along with that Lyseni Saan..." Valarr shook his head, taking a moment to dab a cloth at his wet mouth. "I wager that we shall be moving on Norvos and Qohor soon enough."

Ilyria frowned as she had missed that session of the Senate due to illness of health but from what her allies and sources had told her, the Senate of the Old Blood had passed a motion to strike north for Norvos and Qohor. It was why they were mustering their forces in the north at their northern most holding.

"Foolishness, I say." She declared with certainty. "the barbarians from the east threaten our borders and instead of moving to face them, we go north? We should be fortifying or facing these barbarians to our east. Look what happened to Sarnor."

"The tigers believe themselves to be better than the Sarnori and I have half a mind to believe them. You shall not see us ignore a problem until it's too late." A delicate silver-gold eyebrow rose up Ilyria's brow as she looked at Valarr, much to the man's amusement as he chortled. "Well, I might have chosen the wrong words to say but I still believe very much in the sentiment." He waved for a servant to cut him a piece of ham and cheese.

"At the rate things are going, we might very well go the way of the Sarnori. The fools in the Senate seem intent on seeing Volantis brought low with their own hubris." She sighed as her goblet was refilled. "do they not understand that there are other means of conquest other than war? It is almost as if the Senate is filled with nothing but children who lack the means of understanding the greater notions."

Valarr chortled some more, a wandering eye appraising the curves and grooves of one of the female servants... or was it the male? She had long since lost interest in such things. "Most of them are rather young, my dear Ilyria. I do believe we are amongst the eldest."

"And yet, they do not wish to hear the words and wisdom of their elders unless it is what they want to hear."

"Our voice has become louder as of late. Our words and wisdom are listened to within the walls and outside them."

"Too slow, my friend, too slow." Her head was shaking as she said the words. "you must see that if we do not act quickly, Volantis shall go the way of Sarnor and with it, the last true ember of Old Valyria and civilisation shall go with it."

There was a moment of quiet between them as they sat, Valarr continuing to eat some grapes and Ilyria enjoy the wine that was in her hand. Around them, she could hear the gentle stream of water from the fountain that was located within the gardens of her palace and singing of birds.

It was a peaceful day indeed, beautiful even.

A day she would have enjoyed with her sons close to her but instead, here she sat, talking of ambitions and the doom that hanged all above them with little to nothing they could seemingly do about it.

"Perhaps there might be a way." Valarr began, quietly.

Ilyria found herself leaning her head a little forward, interested. "Such as?"

"I have many contacts throughout the world and they tell me that Pentos and Tyrosh mean to approach Aegon Targaryen for aid."

At that, Ilyria laughed and it was not just a quiet one but one that was loud enough that it seemed to trample the tranquillity in the gardens. "We have approached the Targaryens several times since the Doom, they have rebuffed us with each turn. Why would the cheesemongers and dyers expect anything else other than us, the true children of Valyria?"

"Who knows?" Valarr said as his shoulders rose up and down underneath the smooth silks that he wore in a shrug. He took a long sip of his wine before taking a bite of his ham. "But in the case that Aegon does aid our wayward cousins then I fear whatever grand ambitions that we hold would most literally, end up as nothing more than ash and smoke."

Ilyria's face was pale all the children of Valyria but at Valarr's words, her face became even paler as she realised what his words meant. If Aegon did act for the cheesemongers, she wouldn't even be left with anything to bury of her children.

She looked into the reflection that was cast in the still liquid within her goblet before taking one, long drink. The wine was sweet to her tongue but burned the back of her throat at the sheer volume going down it. "I would say kill them but I doubt it would be all so easy."

It was frustrating how little knowledge they held within their libraries of how to tame dragons. The Lords Freeholders of Old Valyria had kept that knowledge to themselves and themselves alone.

Even the most powerful of magics.

"It would not and the assassins of the Bastard Daughter would more than likely ask for more than we would be willing to give them." The smile that was on his face caught Ilyria's interest and he continued to smile when he saw the questioning look on her face. "Recently, I have come to make some friends that wish for the same goals as us. Well, it would be accurate to say that their goal is in line with our goal but for various different reasons."

"Have you been holding out on me, old friend?" She asked with a laugh. "What functions have I been missing to see you make new friends?"

"Oh, this and that." He replied vaguely as a gentle wind went through the gardens. "Ilyria, I would very much like your help in sending another envoy to the Targaryens to beseech them to return home. To the land of their forefathers."

"The land of our forefathers is a ruined, cursed wreck that no-one ever returns from." She pointed out to him in deadpan. "For that alone, I think I would feed you to a dragon if I had one."

Valarr laughed, loudly. "I suppose I deserve that. Instead of Valyria, Volantis instead after all, we are the closest to Valyria." He stopped laughing and smiled at her, his violet eyes shining. "If things go well Ilyria, I think we might finally be able to turn the tables on the tigers and remove them from power before they bring doom upon us all."

"And how will this happen?" Ilyria was interested but she would not throw her support behind him if she did not know what he was going to do. They couldn't exactly embarrass themselves to the Senate of the Old Blood by failing with dealing with a Targaryen once more. Especially after the thirteenth try. "and what exactly do you need my help with?"

"The Maegyrs have one of the oldest libraries in all of Volantis, some of it even from Valyria itself. All that I'm asking of you is to see if some of that ancient lore speaks of the sunset lands and Valyria." He then faltered for a moment. "If not, we shall need to find a someone especially skilled in the art of forgeries. Someone better than a master."

Ilyria was confused. "I can do as you ask but I do not see how this would help us."

"I do not either," Valarr admitted with a shrug of the shoulders. "but if things do go well, it would be a good thing that we went with it, no?"

Last edited: Sep 21, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Jul 29, 2018

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Jul 31, 2018

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#1,155

1 BCE

Aberton.

That's what I had decided to call it.

It had been a close-run thing really. So many combinations of words that spelt out different names had run through my head as I tried to think of a suitable place name for this place that was going to be the centre of the kingdom.

I didn't have much of a head for names but I would like to think this was a relatively good one. The name was simple since it simply described the place that the city was going to be built on the confluence of the Trident, that was where the 'Aber' came from and well... the 'ton' was pretty much self-explanatory.

I could honestly see it in my mind. A great city that stretched out for as far as the eye could see in every direction. It would not just be the centre of the Riverlands, it would end up being the centre of Westeros if I have my way with it which I genuinely planned on doing.

It could even go on to rival the Free Cities in terms of sheer size if things went well enough.

But unlike the previous centre of Westeros in King's Landing, I will not have that stinking shit pile of a city or anything like it within the borders of the kingdom. I just will not have it. I liked my nose not being assaulted by a stench that could apparently be smelt from miles away.

The city will have well maintained sewers. It will have public baths. It will have everything. Schools, hospitals, one or two universities for the competition, especially for the one that was already developing at Riverrun. Nothing will be left to chance.

It had come to me as something of a surprise that had left me in one of those bemused bewilderment at Martin at the notion of letting such a prime piece of real estate go on undeveloped. With all the trade that passed through the Blue and Red Forks of the Trident, I was surprised no-one had planted a castle and gone 'Mine!' just to take command of the sheer mercantile value this place possessed.

Hells, if it grew large enough, it might even go on to command the last of the three forks of the Trident some few leagues north of here.

I was getting giddy. I couldn't help it. I did love me some city building games.

I was definitely getting really giddy even though I knew that some of my major plans of development rested on whether the current intrigue that I had set off across the narrow sea would actually work. From my recollection of that fateful day I had learned how long I was going to be stuck in an Aegon-less Westeros, by my reckoning, I probably had near or less than two years left before the Conquest occurred.

There was a time when I would have been celebrating like mad for the sweet, sweet, sweet safety of canon. Now I had invested myself too much into this place to just give the keys over just like that to a dynasty that was just less than mediocre in just about all aspects. A barely functioning road in nearly three hundred years? That was just poor. And I wasn't even taking into account that I had said words that would very much put people that I had come to care for in danger one way or another.

The cold winds of winter kissed my exposed skin and I let out a breath of air that was visible to my eyes. We had come to stop at a hill that overlooked where the planned settlement was located, the journey up the small hill itself rather tiresome due to the snow that had come to settle on the ground.

"There's potential to it, I'd say." Lord Symon Harroway said as his eyes squinted over the land and the rivers that ran through it. "You have an eye for this, your grace. With the rivers and the canal, I'd wager this place could very well go on to rival the size of Oldtown given enough time. Maybe even larger."

He was saying exactly the same sort of things that I had come to think. "I'd wager larger at the end of the day."

There were already some buildings erected but these buildings had been built to house the workers that would be seeing to the construction of the city. The actual buildings of the city itself were nothing more than the foundations of the actual city itself.

The Romans had been the inspiration of the city that was soon going to be standing here in a couple of years. But in this world, the city planning that I was embarking would be said to be inspired by Valyrian city planning.

The basic plan of the city was simple enough, with a centre that would be the home of government and other city services. All around that would have been orderly, compact streets that would be wide enough to allow easy travel of people and wagons and carriages without causing unnecessary traffic jams. At the end of the day two large throughways would run through the city from north to south and east to west meeting at the centre to reduce the travel times.

Oh yeah, I shouldn't actually forget the curtain walls that would probably end up being erected at the end of the day.

It was strange. I thought city walls were expensive to maintain but to Westeros, any sizeable settlement of any kind needed big-ass walls that curtained the entirety of the settlement. And that was only one such wall. Some of the planners wanted to make sure that there were a couple more walls inside the city to just be safe.

As if the forts that would serve as garrisons inside the city limits wouldn't be determents enough for some people.

Though I was a bit worried about the deluges that would come with spring. Though quite a network of barriers and other protections had been built, I was still worried about a flood happening. The only good thing that I could say about this winter was that it was relatively mild and thus the floods that would follow should be manageable.

It was the harsher and colder winters that worried me more than anything else. It was at times like this that I really wished that I had paid more attention in Geography when it came to the subjects about floods and the various protections that could be used to keep the damage to a bare minimum.

Lord Harroway laughed at my words then, even as he pushed the furs of his coat closer together to keep the kiss of winter away. "On that, I don't doubt at all sire. After all, the people within my own town are spilling out of the town's walls! I swear, I have never seen more whelps running around on the streets in my life."

A smile played at the edges of my mouth. At the very least, the septons and septas were being of use when it came to being midwives and health professionals. I'll give the Faith that. "Those whelps we'll be in need of their own homes when the times comes."

"As you say, sire." The lord replied with a tone that told that he didn't care all that much about the housing needs of his smallfolk. "It'll most certainly be a costly endeavour to try and expand outside the confines of Harroway's Town. Best let them build their own buildings outside the limits and leave them at that. They'll survive, they always have."

The lord was more than welcome to let his smallfolk see to their own housing needs but I was of the mind that if they learned that some rather proactive lords had some land with housing available? Said smallfolk would definitely take to the roads.

Voting with their feet if I remembered the idiom correctly.

It would be the lord's fault in truth if that were to happen but I wouldn't end up being all that surprised if he started complaining about it to someone, me most like, because all of my lords like to complain to me about something.

The Charltons liked to complain about the Freys. Something, something about them having land that was rightfully theirs. The Blackwoods certainly didn't like the fact that the Faith was out and about throughout the kingdom but they kept them well out of their lands so they didn't complain all that much. Lords this and that grumbled (complained) about something in the civil code that they all willingly agreed to follow without any hint of coercion on my part. The most ridiculous out of all the complaining as far as I was concerned was that Lord Goodbrook thought I read too much.

Read too much.

I genuinely had no idea how to respond to that one apart from to just smile and nod.

The sounds of snow crunching attracted my attention as someone approached us before I felt a snowball get introduced with my face. I blinked away the snow and kept my cool as I wanted to very badly curse at the fact that I felt like ice cold water had just been poured all over me.

The culprit that had dared to attack me as such laughed uproariously at my misfortune. She laughed and continued to point.

I wiped away some snow that had found itself stuck in my hair. "You are going to pay for that later." I declared in a low voice full of certainty.

Cirilla Tully could barely keep herself from laughing but she held a defiant look in her eyes that just screamed 'try me!'. "You say that father, but I don't think I will."

I was going to say something until another snowball hit me in the chest. "Really Alfie? I thought me and you were on the same side here."

The heir flashed a smile that showed all of his strangely perfect ivory coloured teeth as he bent down to make another projectile to throw at me. "You were right sister, this is fun!"

"Prince! Princess!" The beleaguered Septa Marcella cried out as she ran through the snow up the slope of the hill, her skirts hiked up. She came to a skidding halt and transitioned into quite the bow. "Apologies your grace," she panted with as much grace and dignity as she could muster. "I looked away for a second and they had run off."

A second? It seems my children were somehow related to the Wests. They did after all have red hair.

Coming to a sedated and controlled stop just a little way to the side of the thoroughly embarrassed septa was a boy of an age with Ciri with hair as black as midnight, eyes as blue as the sky and a pale complexion. Said boy just so happened to be Jon Harroway, my courts newest page and betrothed of Ciri.

Alfie noticed the presence of the boy. "You're slow. You were supposed to throw a snowball with us."

Jon glanced at the heir then to where I stood with his father and shook his head. "I don't think that would have been a good idea. Why would I throw a snowball at the king?"

Despite the benefits that would more than likely come to Lord Harroway's Town with the building of Aberton, the lord did not let go of this particular land so easily as he viewed it as a threat to the wealth of his own lordship. Other houses that controlled land around the confluence of the Blue and Red Forks had been brought over easily enough with a couple appointments of pages, squires, ladies-in-waiting to ease the grease on the wheels.

But not Lord Harroway, he wanted more.

He was just lucky that I recognised the Harroways as one of the houses that I wanted to bring into the orbit of House Tully. With the Harroways aligned with us through marriage, that meant that I had the lords of Maidenpool, Seagard and Duskendale in the orbit of House Tully and that wasn't taking into account that I had influence with House Stokeworth through my former squire, Perwyn.

Lord Harroway was just lucky. The beleaguered septa that was more than likely questioning whether it was all worth it being harangued by children in the service of the Faith was finally able to take control of the children and lead them away from the adults.

Lord Harroway chuckled in good nature as they made their way down the hill. "She's a lively one. Don't worry though your grace, I'm sure Jon will be able to bring her to heel when they are lord and lady."

Yeah, Lord Harroway was a very lucky guy.

I found Lyam in my office, a bottle of Arbour wine in one hand and two goblets in the other.

He had a rather large smile on his face.

He didn't need to speak for me to see what he was trying to tell me. Lyam had been the point man in the intrigue that we had started against the Targaryens. He had been the one to contact some Volantene old blood through some of the contacts he had developed on his journeys to the east to Tyrosh, Pentos and Braavos.

"East?"

"East."

The goblets kissed and we drank the contents within even as I knew that from here on out, I was truly heading into uncharted territory. Territory that I didn't know the blueprint of yet despite all of that, I was rather happy and relieved.

At the very least, it was nice to know that the Targaryens still did stupid shit no matter the generation when prophecy was involved.

Now to the future and all of the surprises that it would bring, both the terrible, bad and middling cos I doubted it was ever going to be good.

And you know what? I was fine with that.

Fine with all of it.

Last edited: Jan 9, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Jul 31, 2018

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Threadmarks National Anthem of the Trident New

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Aug 3, 2018

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#1,207

Dear land of the Trident, of rivers, plains and hills,

Made rich by the sunshine, and lush by the waters,

Set gem-like and fair, between mountains and seas,

Your children salute you, dear land of the free.

Green land of the rivers, our heroes of yore,

Both bondsmen and free, laid their bones on your shore.

This soil so they hallowed, and from them are we,

All sons of one Mother, Trident the free.

Great land of the Trident, strong in our people,

We're born of their sacrifice, heirs of their pains,

And ours is the glory their eyes did not see,

One land of people, united and free.

Dear land of the Trident, to you will we give,

Our homage, our service, our sacrifice, each day that we live;

The old and the new guard you, great Mother, and make us to be

More worthy our heritage, land of the free.

National Anthem of the Trident and Hills that was written and composed by the Royal Riverrun Orchestra in 105AD on commission by His Grace, Edmyn I.

Lyrics and music by Leonard Gladstone.

Hope any Guyanese don't mind me ripping of their national anthem. It just looked so perfect though when I saw it. :3

Last edited: Aug 5, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Aug 3, 2018

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Threadmarks Polities of the World - The Targaryen Freehold New

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Aug 7, 2018

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#1,223

The Targaryen Freehold

It is said that the Doom took Valyria from the rest of the world in a single night and in that night, the greatest civilisation to have ever graced the world with its dragons, magic and dragonlords sunk into the waters of the Smoking Sea.

The Doom of Valyria sent reverberations throughout the known world.

With no Valyria to look to the east, the Dothraki barbarians fell upon the Kingdom of Sarnor and its grassy plains and though Sarnor had been a long and ancient civilisation, their internal problems saw to it that they fell to the Dothraki with nary a whimper. In Qohor, one of the last remaining dragonlords, Aurion, took flight upon his dragon and declared himself the first Emperor of Valyria and with legions of tens of thousands, he made to reclaim Valyria but neither he nor his legions were ever seen again.

It was his expedition that rose to the popular refrain that those who journey into the ruins of Valyria are never seen again.

With Valyria gone, the last of the dragonlords were in fact, the Targaryens that had left their homeland for the furthest of their holdings in Dragonstone. It is said that Aenar Targaryen had foreknowledge of the Doom due to the dreams of his maiden daughter Daenys though this is merely superstitious theories by lesser men. It is more than likely Aenar Targaryen had left Valyria in disgrace due to some intriguing of sorts by the Lords Freeholders of Valyria.

The exile might have very well served as a source of shame for the Targaryens but with the coming of the Doom, it was truly a blessing in disguise. And with the disappearance of Aurion and his legions, it could be said that from then on, the Targaryens with their three dragons, were the most powerful family in the known world.

Something Volantis recognised as the First Daughter of Valyria made numerous attempts to force the attentions of the Targaryens to a new empire in the east and with them, at the head of it. Thirteens times they tried but it wasn't until the time of Aegon Targaryen that their attempts finally bore fruit.

It is not known what words Ilyria Maegyr and Valarr Iranios said to the young dragonlord but whatever they said or promised was more than enough to convince him what many others had failed to do in the past century. And so, from a single desolate island in the backwaters of a once great empire, Aegon Targaryen built their own Freehold from the ruins of its children.

Volantis was quick to accept the dominion of their new ruler with open arms and joyous celebrations.

The Targaryens did not spend time celebrating as they soon went to work to build their empire.

Visenya Targaryen, the first of Aegon's bride took upon her dragon and flew north to Lorath and gained their submission with nary a fight for their freedom. Some tried to defy the dragon rider but her beast Vhagar made short work of them, bathing them all in dragon fire. The smart ones though, they bowed and accepted their new rulers of the last of the dragonlords and Lorath's feeble might was added to the growing strength of the Targaryens.

Rhaenys Targaryen though took flight to Pentos and with sweet words and honeyed wine, she won over the Pentoshi without blood being spilt.

With many of the Free Cities brought to heel and yet without having fought a battle, Aegon turned his sights towards Qohor and Norvos. Orys Baratheon, his rumoured half-brother marched north to capture the two cities, Rhaenys providing support upon her own dragon, Meraxes. The two cities having enjoyed their independence fighting against Volantis' expanionism did not accept the domionion of the Targaryens easily. The two cities brought their forces together and much like the Spice Wars of past, they fought against the dragons on the great riverbanks of the Rhoyne.

Unfortunately for them, the Qohoriks and Norvosi did not have the supposed water magics of the Rhoynar and thus like the Rhoynish themselves, found many of them burned by dragonfire and the rest slaughtered. It was not long afterwards that the cities soon sued for peace and accepted their new reality.

With that, the Daughters of Valyria had all been brought to heel. Afterwards, Aegon tasked Orys Baratheon to take a host and capture the settlements of Valyria that had never been true to carry out their own affairs. With a host of forty thousand men on his back, Orys marched east. Despite the threat posed by the barbarian Dothraki that roamed the grasslands, Tolos, Mantarys and Elyria fell to Orys' army nonetheless.

Back in western Essos, Aegon with his sisters and assembled men of influence and repute in Volantis and proceeded to debate on the need to invade the bastard daughter of Valyria. The fogs of its hills made it impossible for the dragons to fall upon the city like they had done with great success. The Titan protected the only path into the lagoon that Braavos lay in. The hills of its territory too treacherous to be fought and taken by land.

And there was the greatest threat of them all, the Faceless Men.

Above all else, the Targaryens feared the famed assassins of the House of Black and White. Upon their dragons, they were invincible, even on land, they were protected by able men, Aegon and Visenya themselves able warriors of great skill and note. But all the protection in the world would not be able to protect them from a blade in the night with the face of a friend, a lover or a supporter.

So Braavos was spared from the predations of the dragons.

With his Conquest done, Aegon was crowned Aegon, the First of His Name, Imperator of the Targaryen Freehold and his wives, Co-Empresses. Ilyria Maegyr and Valarr Iranios were granted positions of power and influence within this new Freehold for the service they had done in bringing the Targaryens back to the land of their forebears and in the span of a year, an empire had been born, that some said was only rivalled by the far-off land that was known only as Yi Ti.

Aegon's first act as Imperator, was to declare Volantis the capital of his new found Freehold.

Though Aegon had now a crown and an empire, he soon came to learn that the conquest was the easy part. It was the ruling that would come to demand of him the most for still he had many enemies and many of them balked at the thought of bowing down to an emperor after being free for so long.

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Extract from Tristan na Ezder, Archmaester of the University of Clawton, The Defining Moments of Recent History.

Throughout all of time and history, there comes a time when the course of history and the world is changed by the actions of individuals or great moments. These individuals or moments would then go out and affect history through their actions or the after effects of the moments.

There have been many such noted individuals and moments throughout recorded history such as the founding of Valyria and its Freehold. Garin the Great who led his people to their doom and Princess Nymeria who rescued the survivors from that folly and went onto be a decisive factor in the founding of a unified Dorne. Dorne itself is one such result of the actions of a great person of history for who is to say that without the actions of Nymeria, the Dorne we all know today would exist?

I do not have the answer to such a question but it would be this writer's opinion that Dorne would not be unified and be perhaps split between several kingdoms that would maintain a balance of power between them much like how the kingdoms of Westeros maintain their own balance of power on the continent.

In all honesty, there are far too many such moments and individuals that have left more than their mark on history to go through in this work. Instead, this text shall be looking into recent history, more specifically, the last two hundred years since the founding of the Targaryen Freehold, an event so momentous that the recording of time has been reset to the founding of the Freehold itself.

Of course, there are many of my fellow scholars who would argue that the touchstone should further go back to the founding of the eighth kingdom of Westeros but I put that to nothing more than patriotism interfering with their duties as historians and learned men. There are also others that would say that using the Doom as a touchstone is more than sufficient enough as many other civilisations in the known world used the fall of that ancient and great civilisation to record their own histories.

Many great points are made but with the rise of Targaryen dominance despite the many, many, many failings of that great state over the years, more and more works and datings of work have used the standard Imperial Calendar of After Aegon's Conquest or Before (AC and BC respectively).

Curiously enough, it should be taken to note that the standard Westerosi calendar, pioneered by King Edmyn, the First of His Name, the Common Era (C.E.) seems to, strangely enough, mirror that of the Imperial Calendar to the letter.

Extract from the un-edited memoirs of Jon Merchant, Northern Endeavours

Contrary to popular belief, the founding of The Honourable North and East Trading Company was not motivated by the pursuit of empire.

The baseless gutter-talk that the company was built to be an organ for the expansion of the Trident was and continues to be one of the most asinine, ludicrous things I have ever had the pleasure to hear. I continue to laugh, uproariously I might add, every single time those people who find themselves holier than thou bring it up.

By now, it should be taken to note that our late king was perhaps one of the most anti-expansionist kings to ever grace Westeros, hells, perhaps even the entirety of the world. It took the killings of thousands (This needs to be changed to some words that are a little more agreeable, Jon.) for him to finally get off his ass to act and bring order and civilisation to the barbarians of Crackclaw Point.

Politics aside, the lands beyond the Wall are not claimed by any of the kingdoms instead by the various savages that roam those frozen wastelands. In fact, apart from rudimentary maps, knowledge of the lands beyond that wonder are scarce and bathed in mysticisms, exaggeration and legend.

For all anybody knew, there could have very well been potential of great profit just waiting to be harnessed and that was something that the late king realised when he handed out a charter to a group of brave merchants and adventurers willing and ready to face all manner of snarks and grumpkins for the sake of riches.

Well, considering the success of this honourable company, in my personal opinion, everything worked out all for the better for our personal wealth and those of savages that actually got civilised. In these memoirs, I'll speak of everything, from the landing at Hardhome, the first interactions with the wildlings and all the greatest feats and lowest moments me, my fellow adventurers and the company saw.

I would most certainly say this, it shall be interesting for whoever means to read these memoirs of an old man.

Extract from The Complete Genealogy of House Tully.

Edmyn I Tully b. 27 BCE m. Zhoe Mooton b. 25 BCE

-Princess Cirilla Tully b. 8 BCE m. Jon Harroway b. 8 BCE

- Axel Harroway b. 8 CE

- Forrest Harroway b. 8 CE

- Matilda Harroway b. 10 CE

-Prince Alfred Tully, Prince of Riverrun b. 6 BCE m. Esmerelda Frey b. 6 BCE

-Prince Henry Tully, Prince of Fairmarket b. 4 BCE betrothed to. Arabella Cave b. 5 BCE

-Princess Triss Tully b. 2 BCE

-Prince Jon Tully, Prince of the Point b. 1 CE

Axel Tully, Duke of Oldstones b. 25 BCE m. Alys Darklyn b. 22 BCE

- Edward Tully b. 6 BCE m. Louise Piper b. 7 BCE

- Celia Tully b. 6 CE

- Liam Tully b. 3 BCE betrothed to Jeyne Vance of Atranta b. 5 BCE

- Gregory Tully b. 1 BCE

It was times like this that he truly enjoyed.

Alfred rode in the company of good men and amongst this company, even greater friends and family. It felt good to forget that he was the heir to a kingdom that was nearly as old as he was. It felt good to ride away from all the happenings and intriguing of court, especially now.

The heir to a kingdom that was only older than him by a couple of years thought himself dutiful but even he needed respite every now and then. And this was his respite.

A breeze from the east set his red hair asway into his eyes. Bringing a hand up to set the loose hair behind his ear, Alfred reminded himself that he should have it cut some point soon. Perhaps as soon as they made it back to the city.

For the past two years, he had been used to keeping his hair shaven close to his head. It almost felt rather strange having all this hair in truth.

"That was bloody good fun!" Polliver Bracken said with a roar of a laughter as he rode next to the cart that held the contents of their days hunt, three does and a very large boar that required lifting by several men. The stocky lordling looked around. "You have to all agree that was bloody good fun, yes?"

Polliver Bracken was just one of several of his companions and friends that had joined him on this hunt. There were many more in truth but he would say that the lot around him where the closest of friends that he had.

In their group, there was his goodbrother, Rickard Frey, a gregarious enough fellow but sometimes a little too much on the nose. Rickard happened to be in something resembling a lively conversation with Josua Rosby and Endrew Buckwell. A little way back, sullen Jadon Blackwood seemed to be in quiet conversation with the prince's cousins, Edward Tully and Robert Mallister.

Rickard spurred his horse forward to ride level with them. "Quite good actually and now that I think about it, you do owe me five pounds for that wager you made earlier."

Polliver made a show of looking confused. "Wager? What wager are you talking about?"

His goodbrother gave a look in the direction of the heir of Stone Hedge. "Don't play simple with me, Olli. There's no point, everybody heard you when you made that wager about getting a kill. You didn't get a kill. Now pay up."

There was a moment of silence before Polliver let out a roar of laughter. "Fine, fine. I was merely japing with you Rickard, there's no need to get your smallclothes in such a bundle!"

Rickard merely blinked before shaking his head. Josua Rosby rode up to join us then. "Now how much do you owe everybody here, Olli? It has to be a significant amount..."

"Around a hundred pounds, surely?" Rickard asked the others. He then brought up his hand and began to list off the wagers that the young lordling had made. "Let's see, the horse racing, the football, the cervasse and I'm sure you owe Jadon for paying that whore for you in the Kingfisher. Have you paid him back yet?"

Polliver waved them all away. "You'll have your money, I'm that good with my word, lads. It's nothing to worry about. Have I not ever paid any of you back?"

Alfred thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. "No. In truth, you have paid all your wagers."

Polliver grinned widely. "Exactly. I am a man of my word, after all, the king himself said that a man without his word is no man at all!"

'I don't think father has actually ever said anything like that.' Alfred thought to himself, a thought that was echoed by the others who questioned their fellows' words. Though he did give to Polliver, what he just said was somehow something that father would probably say.

The group of young men and lords rode towards the great river of the Trident and the city that lay at its confluence. Though they were still a great distance from the great city of Aberton itself, it was easy enough to notice the great building of stone and marble that was the Palace of the Trident that dominated the landscape of the city and its surroundings.

But their destination was not the great city or the palace itself. No, their destination was one of the many satellite settlements that had sprung up in the city's surroundings. In their case, the town of Queensport, given its name due to the fact that his mother spent most of her time outside the city in that particular town.

Truth be told, there were numerous other such settlements named after his mother or something to do with his mother in the surroundings but Queensport was the most prestigious for that fact and that fact alone.

Situated amongst the Trident proper, Queensport saw modest traffic in the form of barges that made their way towards Aberton but it wasn't truly a centre of commerce. It was more of a pleasure town and retreat more than anything else with the veritable number of brothels, inns gambling dens and various other entertainments available that attracted the attentions of the wealthy to travel down from Aberton or up from Harrowton.

Alfred couldn't help but think that there was something to be said that his royal mother's favourite pleasure resort had somehow found itself a home to various homes of vice as the holymen and women would declare.

The septa had been most aghast the first time that he had come here back in his younger days.

The group of lords rode through the gates of the small town, the guardsmen at duty saluting them as they passed and rode up towards the paved road towards their main residence that they had requisitioned for the time they were going to spent here.

The Queenscrown, the castle that controlled the port town was small even thoug Alfred knew that the castle itself was grander than many castles in the realm. It wasn't exactly the castles fault that it had the likes of Riverrun, Oldstones, Seagard and the Trident Palace itself to go against.

It was a castle that had been built to be beautiful to the eyes but not at all lacking when it came to its requirements of protecting the city. It was why it had a nice, deep moat that surrounded it and spitfires and mangonels were located perched upon its strong, pale-white, vine covered walls.

"My prince!" in the courtyard of the castle, they ran into something of welcoming party that was in the form of his wife, Esmeralda Frey. "Welcome back, the castle is yours." she finished, leading the rest of the court that had followed him unwanted to Queensport to bow or curtsy at him.

Alfred alighted himself from his horse and made to his wife. "Thank you." though he questioned the veracity of that statement. He was rather sure that the castle was his mother's and she wouldn't like that statement at all.

"What? Nothing to say to your brother, Esme?" Rickard asked as he walked up to them, a large grin on his face. "I'm disappointed."

Esmeralda smiled daintily at her brother. "It's only proper that I greet the prince first, brother but it is nice to see you. It has been a while." She finished as she embraced him, an embrace that Rickard returned.

Of at the side, Josua had taken to directing the castle staff to take their game away and be prepared for what was likely going to be a feast of some kind tonight. When he had gone on this hunter, it had been to relax in the company of good people then come back and drink and sing and mayhaps go enjoy the delights of Queensport but that seemed to be something that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

It was at times like this that he wished he was back at Harrenhal. Everything had been so simpler at Harrenhal.

He actually envied Rickard that he was soon due to be going back to the castle.

"I don't think you are going to like this my prince," Esmeralda began. "but Lord Charlton arrived not long after you left."

Alfred winced and once more really wished that he was still at Harrenhal. Hopefully though, it was a good thing that his grandfather had been left in overrall in charge of affairs of the realm whilst his parents were away in Braavos. "Truly?"

She nodded once. "Truly."

Rickard snorted lazily as he dug his hands into his pockets. "What does that cunt want?"

"What he always wants, brother." Lady Esmeralda replied with a sigh of fatigue. "Truth be told, it was the reason that I left the capital for Queensport. I feared that if I stayed there, some sort of incident might happen amongst our courtiers."

Rickard straightened himself up. "You ran?" he almost hissed. "From a Charlton?"

"She might be your sister, Rickard but she also happens to be my lady wife and your future queen." Alfred said, looking at his friend from the sides of his eyes. "Do watch the tone you use."

That got him to calm down a little as he slouched a little bit more and something resembling an apologetic expression flashed across his face before it disappeared.

If the tone her brother had used with her had affected the lady in anyway, she didn't show it. "I didn't run, I stopped some pointless argument or another from starting."

"No doubt that the cunt would use your lack of presence in the palace as some sort of victory to him or something..." Rickard muttered.

"At the end of the day it doesn't matter." Alfred said with a sigh. "The Prime Minister would have seen to it that the lord doesn't try anything stupid. Him or his retinue. Grandfather likes to keep a nice orderly house and everyone knows what happens to those that disturb the peace of the capital and that of the realm whilst he is in charge."

"That's true but I would have rather not taken the risk." Lady Esmeralda said. She looked thoughtful for a moment. "People do the most foolish of things at times when they think they have been wronged in one way or another."

On that, Alfred couldn't help but agree with her.

Last edited: Sep 21, 2018

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Dec 9, 2018

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#1,338

Starry Sept, Oldtown, 12CE

His ascendancy was near, Florian was more than assure of that.

His fellow holy brothers and sisters were already aware of this. The respect and adulation they usually plastered him with had increased some tenfold ever since it became common knowledge among those who mattered that the High Septon was in his death throes.

Though the old, decrepit bastard could at least have the decency to let go of the grip he had on life and do the world a favour by embracing the Seven the man so professed to love.

Sitting opposite him in his private chambers away from any prying eyes, Robert Tyrell, his useless and unambitious brother eyed him through tired and weary eyes. "For the love of the Seven, Florian," he began, massaging the bridge of his nose. "how much more gold do you want? Father has already given you more than enough."

It took great will and effort on his part to not sigh at the naivety of his brother. He was genuinely surprised that the man who sat in front of him was the man who was going to become the next High Steward.

Florian cursed at the fact that their Father did not have the courage to do what needed to be done and sent him to the Faith or the grey rats instead of him, the more useful sibling. "Assurances have to be sought and made for, brother."

Did Robert not know that there was no such thing as 'more than enough gold'?

He worried for the future of House Tyrell with him at the helm.

Florian reached for a grape that sat at the table between them. He mildly paid attention to his brother's words whilst he thought of what next to do to make sure that his ascension was more than set in stone.

Out of the College, his only real rival to the position of High Septon was that brought forth by Willi's patsy, the useless Byron. It would not be much of an assumption to say that he was a distant rival considering the fact that the man had proved himself to be utterly incompetent in his assignment to the court of the Tridentine king.

The tithes from that particular kingdom have been... lacking to say the least. Nowhere near as much as those lands from underneath his own purview.

The smart Devouts more than knew that the safest and smartest wager for the future of the Faith lay with him but unfortunately, Willis has been in this particular game for more than a few decades and had built up enough resources and friends that could very well change things for him.

No, Florian would not assume anything. That way lay ruin for him and his ambitions.

"Bought." Robert began with something sour in his voice. "You mean assurances have to be bought. What offices are you selling? Gods, I hope it's only offices that you are selling."

Florian looked at his brother in askance. "You would accuse me of such a thing?" he had the right of it but he didn't need to have his brother mouth him to their Father. 'Though I doubt Father would care. He would more than understand that it was all just part of the game.'

Robert's expression was that of surety. "Because I know you."

He wasn't able to stop the snort that escaped from the confines of his mouth. "Know me?" he asked, incredulous. "You barely write to me and only visit when you want something. I doubt you know me all that much brother."

Letting that outburst lie between the two of them, Florian moved his mind to more important things such as the Dornish. Thankfully the particular representatives of the Faith in that savage land were of the Stony variety, the more civilised of their ilk.

Florian supposed that he would have to appeal to their baser natures with food, wine and trollops, 'They can't be of the common street variety.' he realised much to his despair that he might actually have to see to other exotic pleasures and his stomach churned as the next thought came through his mind. 'Men as well. Or boys. Perhaps both. Animals, all of them.'

At the very least when he broke the vows he made, he broke them in the right and proper ways as how the gods had intended it to be for men and women to copulate. At the end of it all, Florian realised he might very well need to wash himself of this filth from his conscience with good wine and food.

"That's what you assume, little brother." Robert replied with a shrug of the shoulders that radiated that his brother knew something that he didn't.

That immediately set his mind racing. "You've been spying on me?" he hissed, names of any potential spies already running through his head. It couldn't have been any of his closer fellows, they knew better.

They knew their rise was dependent on him and only him.

He had made sure of that.

His brother raised a single lone eyebrow with bemusement. "And you don't have your own spies within Highgarden?"

The Most Devout's eyes hardened as he looked at his brother and scoffed as he threw himself into the back of his seat. He decided to leave his manoeuvring for later and deal with the annoyance that sat in front of him for now. "As family, shouldn't you be supporting me in my endeavours to rise as high as I can?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Robert admitted with such bluntness, it took Florian back.

"What?"

"You heard me," now it was his brother's turn to reach for a grape. "If it was anybody else, I would have been more than happy with supporting you for whatever position. Hell, after seeing you, I'm going to see Lorent and see if there's anything I can do to help him rise up in the ranks of the Citadel."

Florian offered his own advice on that particular mention at their other brother. "That's easy, find a Hightower and suck his cock. Don't fuck their women though. They get pissy about that." he smiled toothily at his brother. "Should be easy for you, sucking cock comes easy for you doesn't it?"

Robert did not rise to the bait. "Shouldn't you be sucking Hightower cock as well? Their support could prove invaluable to you for the position you so much want."

The man of the cloth frowned. "Lord Manfred is a devout man."

His brother had a grin on his face. A grin that he did not like. "So, he can't be bought then?"

"Do you have addled milk for brains? Nothing I offer would have swayed the Lord of House Hightower... or any Hightower in truth."

Even if Lord Hightower was of a more agreeable inclination, what could he offer the man that he would not get himself? Wealth? House Hightower was the richest within the Kingdom of the Reach. Land? They had more than enough of that. Prestige? Honor? Fame? Yeah... what could... he...

Robert blinked for a moment as his eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing but I want to thank you, brother." Florian said as he rose up from his seat. "You were right, I should have seen if I could woo Lord Hightower for his support." he said as he walked towards the door of his chambers.

Robert was on his feet, following him like a lost dog. "But he's a devout man. You can't offer him anything that he cannot get himself and frankly, I'd wager he'd be more than a little insulted at you trying to bribe him."

"It's not bribery, brother." Florian replied with a sigh as he opened the door and showed the exit to his brother. "Now if you could, leave. I have things to do."

"Whatever you think you're going to do, stop." the future High Steward of Highgarden demanded, arms crossed across his chest. "It's not going to work the way you think it's going to."

"Why brother, I never knew you were a prophet."

"Florian..."

He gestured to the door once more that led into the hallway and away from his private chambers and offices. "Leave brother, some of us actually have work to do." 'And letters and reports to read.' Sometimes, the Seven-pointed Star was banal in its teachings but the Book of the Smith was correct that sometimes, being proactive was good and healthy for the soul.

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Dec 25, 2018

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#1,386

Aberton, 12CE

It was the singing of the birds that woke him from his slumber. It had been a pleasant slumber as well, warm and soft, though Alfred suspected that both of those attributes would more than likely be equally shared between the bed he slept in and the company that shared said bed with him. It had taken him a couple of moments before he was finally able to blink away the haze of dust that nestled in his eyes before came the task of removing himself from the entanglement that he was in with Esme.

'This is becoming far too common.' the prince realised as he tried to slip his arm from underneath. At the very least, he was becoming a little better with each and every moment he had to try this. 'I haven't disturbed her enough to wake her nine days running,' Alfred thought with some pride as he finally untrapped his arm from his wife's dark clutches 'Ten now.'

With that achievement done and added to memory for prosperity, he turned himself so that his feet touched the warm Myrish carpet that decorated the floor of his personal chambers, his feet sinking into the softness beneath him. He then carefully brought himself to his feet, still feeling the signs of sleep at both the edge of his eyes and mind.

Grabbing the gown that had been laid at the side, he dressed himself as he made his way towards the water lectern and splashed some well needed cold water that felt needles of ice stinging into his face. That had been more than enough to banish whatever drowsiness he felt far from his mind and cleared it as well.

His bedchambers were dimly lit with some light piercing through the thin curtains to his left, great clothes of red, blue and grey that occasionally bathed his bedchambers in the most interesting array of colours when the day was bright. They hadn't exactly been his choice of colours but the colours had felt right though he made a note to have thicker curtains be installed.

Sometimes, that rainbow of colours bordered on the absurd and made sleep difficult for those willing to seek it during the day.

Alfred pulled one of those curtains back slightly to look upon the city beyond them.

Aberton was a sight to behold, a city that did not yet know of its limits as it continued to grow. There was a beauty to it, of blues, reds, gold, silver, greens and whites much like a midsummer's day haze. Perhaps it had something to do with the bright colours that many of its buildings had been painted in? He didn't know but he suspected that they added to the beauty.

There never seemed to be a day when the waters around the city were not filled with all kinds of waterborne vessels making their way up and down the Blue Fork. He didn't even need to look that the same would be said about the Green and Red Forks but the middle child was by far the most used, the quays along its banks filled to bursting with all manner of ships loading or unloading their cargo by teams of men that all in all must have numbered quite the army of working men.

There was a soft stir from behind him. "Hmm... my prince?"

Alfred turned to face the bed were Esme was slowly but surely rising, light from the window hitting her body in all the right places. He blinked and closed the curtains. "Apologies, my lady. I didn't mean to wake you."

"There's no need," his wife replied as she stifled a yawn, sleep clearly still having her within its midst. "it was about high time that I woke." she lied.

The lie was amusing considering her current state. "I doubt a single hour has since passed since dawn." he told her, thinking of the city he had seen below. It wasn't as busy as it should have been if it was later on in the day. "No-one would blame you if you caught a few more hours of sleep."

"And you?" she asked, a questioning brow raised up her delicate forehead.

He didn't even need to think about it. "There's things to be done. Documents to be read, tasks to be seen to. Might as well get a start on them."

A slender hand reached out towards him, clasped itself gently around the collar of his gown and pulled him towards its owner. "That will be for later or when you're summoned," she said, her voice all husky and alluring. "for now, let's spend this early morn productively, yes?"

"B-but my letters..."

"They can wait," she said before pouting in both mock hurt and confusion. "or are your letters far more important than me?"

"To be honest, I'd have wagered you'd want to rest after last night..." they had been at it for a good long while before actually letting sleep claim them. "It was rather rough."

She shrugged as she threw her both her hands around the prince's neck, their noses near touching. "But enjoyable."

"I did not know you enjoyed it quite so."

"Neither did I... I learn more and more about myself with each passing day together." she pulled him closer. "Now come on, let us have at it once more."

Unknown to him, a hand had gone to pull her body closer to his. "Why the rush? As you said, we've got some time. Why not enjoy ourselves at a slower pace?"

"Matters of state rarely give persons of import time to fully enjoy themselves."

Alfred stopped as he looked into Esme's dark eyes for a moment and reared his head back a little. She had answered far too quickly for his liking and now that he thought about it, all their love-making had been rather quick and straight to the point. There hadn't been any foreplay as his uncles and father had said to set the mood.

"What is it?" he finally asked. "What is this all about, Esme?" the prince felt like he was missing something or not knowing the entirety of the picture when it came to his own lady wife.

The Frey scion raised an eyebrow in coquettish pique. "Is there something wrong with a wife wanting to love her husband?"

Alfred shook his head slowly as he answered. "No... but I do fear that you just might be hiding something from me. We did swear vows to never keep secrets from each other."

There was a silence from her as she took in the prince's words. Perhaps she was thinking back to the day of their wedding, Alfred didn't know but he liked to think so. It did make the most sense considering the subject he had brought up but the longer she was silent the more it dawned on him that she was keeping something away from him and something that was probably of grave import.

Eventually, Esme sighed as she unlinked her arms from around his neck and relaxed onto the bed. "How long have we been married, husband?"

"How long...?" Alfred couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in curious interest. What a strange question to ask. "Near three years, I think."

"That's about right." Esmeralda Frey turned Tully replied with a sigh, brushing back hair that had found itself near her mouth. "We've been married near three years and yet, I have no child to show for it."

Is this what she was worried about? Alfred couldn't help but nearly laugh. "My lady, we have rarely seen each other over our marriage. I mean, we have seen each other more times in these last few moons than the past three years combined. I was doing my duty serving in the army of course."

"And yet we saw each other enough times that a child should have been conceived by then, if not, by now." she replied, a hand going to her middle and a slight look of worry on her face.

Alfred moved to sit next to her and threw a reassuring arm around her shoulder and brought her close. "We still have more than enough time, my lady. There's nothing to worry about. What brought this on anyway?"

"I am not the only one in court to have noticed the length of our marriage and the lack of children born from my body." Esme answered him, with some fire and anger that he had not been expecting to hear coming from her.

The prince sighed. 'Great... I suppose the court did need something to talk about nowadays. Couldn't they find a more interesting topic?' He tried to ignore her words and how they seemed to bring the failure of any children to her. 'Slander by an enemy of hers?' He assumed and he could already make a guess as to who would be petty enough to try and slander his wife. "Nothing more than gossip. Ignore it. The courtiers will say their things but at the end of the day, it is not them who are privy of the details of our marriage."

Alfred and Esme did not have much time to spend together before one of the castle stewards had come for him. One of the earliest lessons the king had taught him was that matters of state did not wait for anybody, not even a king or a prince of the blood.

And so, reluctantly, he removed himself from the embrace of his wife and the worries that plagued her before he saw to himself to prepare for the day that would be coming ahead.

The chambers of the cabinet were not small by any means that said, it could be said that it was not very large at all considering the importance of much of what was spoken within its walls. Tapestries and paintings hugged the walls, with the most prominent being the crowned silver trout of House Tully. Silent suits of armour polished to shine stood sentinel in four corners of the room watching over the business that happened in these halls.

The members that made up of his father's cabinet of advisers and ministers had already arrived and in conversations amongst themselves. Once upon a time, he would have thought that he was late but not this time. He had come to learn a little over the first meetings he had attended that the cabinet was eerily punctual when it came to their meetings.

His goodbrother was the first to notice his presence as he walked towards him, a friendly smile on his face. "Alfie..." Jon Harroway greeted with a nod of the head. "or is it Prince Alfred in circumstances such as these?"

Alfie smiled at the man. "Whatever you wish really, goodbrother. Just be prepared to get a tongue bollocking from grandfather about proper protocol and the likes."

"I'd rather not have one of those again." the heir to Harrowton admitted with a sigh, a single hand running through his midnight black hair. "The last one was more than enough to get the point across."

Alfie gave his goodbrother a nod of the head as he took to surveying the room to take note of who was in attendance even though he already knew everybody by the top of his head by now. He noted his grandfather, Lord Jon Mooton, the Prime Minister, in deep conversation with Lady Anya Bracken and Lord Franklyn Frey. Nearer to a map of the entirety of Westeros that was hung to one side stood his uncle, Duke Tully in quiet conversation with Brandon Blackwood and lord Buckwell and Butterwell. Finally, he noticed the odd figure of Ser Willem Darklyn standing off to the side by himself, surveying the room through half lidded eyes.

Perhaps the lordling had trouble with early morning meetings much like this?

Jon tugged at his sleeve. "Come on, let's take our seats, seems like the meeting is about to come into order."

Looking around, Alfie noticed that his goodbrother had the right of it. The other ministers had started moving to their seats and just like them, the prince moved to take his place at the head of the table. On his way, he passed his goodfather and tugged lightly at the helm of his doublet to get his attention.

"Do you mind if we talk in private after the meeting, my lord?" he asked in a quiet whisper.

The Lord of the Crossing looked at him with mild interest before nodding his head and like that, they carried on with their previous actions like nothing had happened.

The Prime Minister had taken the seat of honour to the right of him and quickly called the meeting to order. "My prince, my lords, my lady, it's good to see you all hearty and hale. Now let's begin, my Lord Frey, I believe you have an announcement to make?"

Lord Franklyn Frey nodded as he allowed an accomplished smile to come across his lips. "My lords and lady, with great enthusiasm, I can now declare the canal that connects the Blue Fork of the Trident to the Bay of Eagles complete as of last week."

A round of polite applause spread through the room though knowledge of the canal's completeness was already well known throughout the court and perhaps the realm by now. It was just a matter of waiting for an official confirmation from the king's court before the celebrations started because if one thing Alfie knew about his father was that when given the chance, he liked to celebrate.

Networking, the king called it.

Lord Buckwell was all smiles as he clapped perhaps the loudest. "Excellent, I can already see what this canal will do to for commerce and the kingdom's own coffers."

"I can already hear the coins dropping into the treasury." Matthis Butterwell mused as he nodded in the direction of Lord Jon. "A good thing for you and the rest of us, surely."

The prince's goodbrother laughed in good health. "For the realm, yes. Has word been sent to His Grace?" he asked, looking towards the Prime Minister.

Grandfather merely nodded his head. "By now he should be well aware of the canal's completion. I suspect we should all be ready for some celebration or another."

The king's brother looked almost despondent. "Hopefully, whatever celebration His Grace decides to throw would be within reason..."

"With you and Her Grace and our dear Lord Minister over there, I think you all have it hand to curb our king's excesses." said the Lady Anya with much amusement in her voice.

Ser Willem motioned for one of his aides to pass out some paper around the table of highborn. "Speaking of celebrations, His Grace had been interested all these parties to said... party we shall be holding for the opening of the canal. This is the list that we have been working at for those notables we thought should be invited to such an occasion."

Anya Bracken took the paper offered to her with a laugh at her lips. "Hopefully, my name is on here."

Ser Willem smiled at the elder lady. "We would be remiss to not invite such a faithful servant of the realm, my lady."

"I'd hope so." the lady said as she scanned the paper, eyebrow creasing together as she took in the names written upon it. "This... this is quite the list of notables."

Alfie couldn't help but think that the lady had the right of it. The list was extensive but some of the names on the list were surprising. He could understand as to why lords from the Westerlands, Reach and the North would be invited. The canal offered them great opportunities to enrich their realm. Braavos was also understandable as that particular city state held shares within the canal for the coin and labour they had sent to help with the building.

What was surprising was the inclusion of names that distinctly smelt of... dragons.

Lord Brandon laughed with something rueful in his tone. "I didn't know we were such good friends with the dragons, my good ser."

The knight sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't say such good friends, my lord but good enough to know that something like this would perhaps make bonds of friendships."

"Bah!" Lord Butterwell scoffed as he slammed the paper down onto the table with a resounding thud! "Friends? With those slave trading fucks? I'd rather be ploughed up the arse by a fucking dornishman than cavort with those godless heathens."

"Those godless heathens rule perhaps the greatest empire in the known world, my lord." the prince's uncle said with a sigh. "it would not hurt us to at least make them amicable to us unless we turn their dragons on us."

Lord Brandon had a one-sided grin on his face. "They say they have the greatest empire in the world, I suspect that Golden Empire of Yi Ti on the other side of the world would very much disagree."

"It's on the other side of the world, my dear," Anya Bracken said, amusement plain on her face. "I don't really think their opinions matter all that much. I'd prefer to know the opinion of the power that is a simple stone's throw away from us."

Brandon Blackwood eyed the lady for a moment. "Your arms must hide quite the strength then, my lady."

"One you wouldn't know."

The two shared a laugh amongst them that the rest of the cabinet did not seem willing to join in. Instead, Alfie was sure that he wasn't the only one to mull over the list of names that hovered in front of him.

The dragons would be a... problem to say the least.

All the kingdoms traded with the dragons but that was through the merchants and the likes. The highborn most certainly did not actively or directly deal with the dragons themselves.

Perhaps it was his upbringing by Septa Marcella but he thought that a certain stigma would be carried when dealing with such powers that willingly partook in the trade of servitude of men.

"My lords?" grandfather asked as his eyes roamed the room. "Your thoughts?"

"I'd wager we withdraw the invitations to the dragons." shrugged the heir to Raventree Hall. "I suspect we don't need to be associated with their kind that might bring rather bad rumour to the other kingdoms."

"Perhaps but Argilac came to the aid of the Sisters and his reputation was not impacted." Lord Buckwell pointed out. "In fact, I'd wager the entire expedition to the aid of those Free Cities helped increase his prestige there and here in Westeros."

Alfred watched the assembled ministers argue between themselves before something of an impasse was reached that saw the cabinet was split into two on the matter. One side didn't want to have anything remotely official with the dragons whilst on the other advocated for inviting them to see the canal for itself. For better or for worse, they argued that the dragons seeing the canal for themselves could very well be the start of generous trade pacts being made by the dragons.

Lord Buckwell was the stringiest supporter of such a thing whilst Lord Butterwell was firmly against it, potentially lucrative commerce or not.

"Very well, the matter shall be left to the king to decide." Grandfather said as he noted that away for later. "Onto the next subject then..."

What followed next was fairly simple business that brought little to no division amongst the cabinet. There was supposed to be two other members in the cabinet as of now but unfortunately both were away seeing to their duties, both involving the armed forces of the Realm. Ser Patrek of Fairmarket was currently seeing another military exercise were nearly the entire assembled army of the Realm trained to test their capabilities of travelling large amounts of distance from one side of the country to the other through the uses of rivers and roads.

From the reports that the prince had read, it seemed everything was going as well as planned although practice was most certainly different for real life scenarios.

The same could be used for both all of the fleets that where being continuously drilled, drilled some and drilled once more just to be on the safe side.

The Archmaester reported on more schools being built throughout the kingdom, something that had been on the top of the priority list of the king. Apart from the canal, Lord Frey reported that resources would now be divided to continue to build and improve upon the already existing road network that criss-crossed the Realm. He even admitted that small canals not to the length of the one that had just been built was in the works to connect the forks of the Trident and the other rivers that were littered amongst the Realm.

Before he knew it, it was long since after noon and the cabinet meeting had come to an end.

Alfie wasn't surprised at all when his goodfather matched his step with him as they made their way out of the cabinet chambers. They made small talk between the two of them before they were assured enough of prying ears that they finally decided to get to the crux of the matter.

"So, what did you want to speak to me off?" Lord Franklyn Frey asked.

The prince glanced behind him and his two shadows retreated a few steps back to give them some privacy but still within reach to react to any perceived threat. "It's about Esme," an eyebrow rose up on the lord's face at the mention of his daughter. "she seems to be worried about some nonsense rumours going around in court."

The eyebrow fell as something of a frown came across the lord's face. "Yes..." he hissed ever so quietly. "I'm well aware of these rumours and who has started them."

"The Charltons?" Lord Frey gave a single nod of the head as his answer. The prince sighed. "It seems Lord Charlton seems intent on somehow alienating the royal house."

"No-one ever said the man was smart. He lets his pride rule him and well... the current changing fortunes between our houses is something that he cannot stomach... especially regarding our recent history."

A history that Alfie had come to be well acquainted with considering how close his family was to the Freys now. Once upon a time, the Charltons had been kings in their own right, one of the most powerful houses within the Trident. The Freys had even been vassals of theirs but time had seen to their power ebb and decay as the years passed and the Freys continue to rise within the Realm.

The Freys were still very much a new house according to anybody who would listen and were treated with a modicum of respect due to their relation with the royal house but to some, they were just up-jumped toll collectors. The Charltons or Lord Caleb Charlton had somehow convinced themselves that the Freys were the reason for their decay.

It also didn't help that in Harren's rule, the lands of the Freys had greatly expanded at the expense of the Charltons.

"I don't really care for his excuses, my lord." Alfie said with some heat to the tone of his voice. He cared for Esme and he most certainly did not care for the slander that was being aimed at her persons. "Unless he stops himself, I shall be seeing to him myself."

"Easier said than done, my prince. Once rumours have been spread, they become difficult to stop. The only way to stop them is to prove said rumours wrong." he finished, eyeing the prince from the corners of his eyes most like.

Alfie had to stop himself from letting a burst of laughter escape his mouth. He glanced towards the outside world and to the sun. From its position, he could make a guess as to where Esme currently was and if not, it would not be all that hard to find her. "Understood, my lord. Until the next time."

Franklyn Frey inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Until the next."

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Jan 14, 2019

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#1,435

Seagard, 13CE

"I don't recognise those sails." Triss said as she adjusted the myrish eye as she looked to the docks.

Alfie stifled a yawn, leaning against the railings of Castle Seagard. "Which one?"

Triss indicated at the docks with the myrish eye... well, what looked like an indication. "That one. Over there in the docks. The one with the black sails."

"I don't have a myrish eye like you at this moment."

There was a smirk that came to his younger sister's face. "Then you should have got yourself one the first chance you got."

"Why should I? Especially when I can share with my darling little sister." the prince said as he reached for the myrish eye in the hands of his sister. He frowned as Triss slid away from him, a defiant look on her face. "Pass it over."

"No." his sister replied, taking a moment to stick her tongue out at him. How juvenile. "Go get one yourself. Don't be lazy. Nobody wants a lazy prince."

Alfie held back a snort at the sheer gall Triss had at calling him lazy. He was a dutiful son and prince and no dutiful son and prince was ever lazy. Not to his knowledge anyway. He looked towards the docks and tried to make out this ship with black sails that Triss was on about but even as he squinted, they were too far away for the human eye to make anything out.

He shook his head. "I can't exactly tell you the name of the house the ship belongs to if I can't see the house sigil now can I?"

That made her pause for a moment before she looked at him with narrowed eyes of suspicion. "Like you know every single sigil of every house in all of Westeros?"

"All of the world." Alfie corrected, he had to make sure that a certain amount of awe was awarded to him by his younger siblings of course and that statement was the sort of thing that would bring him all kinds of awe from her. He smiled confidently at her. "All of the world."

Triss had a hard time believing him by the looks of things. "Don't be silly. There's no way you know of every sigil of every house in the world. I would give you the Trident, I'd even be willing to stretch all of Westeros just a little but the world? I'm not an idiot."

Alfie stared down at his younger sister trying to think where the young girl who always followed him around every single chance she got and hung to every single one of his words had gone to. It just felt like yesterday when Triss always near tackled him into the ground every time she saw him.

There was a laugh from behind him. "Seems like you overplayed your hand there, little brother."

"I didn't over play anything, Ciri." the prince sighed as wind ran across his face, bringing the smell of salt and sea to his nostrils. He turned to face the oldest amongst the royal children. Hanging to his sister's skirts were his twin nephews, Axel and Forrest. He knelt down and beckoned at the young boys. "Come on lads, come and give your uncle a hug."

"No, no," Triss said as she stepped in front of him, spreading her arms wide invitingly. "come give your favourite auntie a hug instead. I promise not to give you sweets later." The two boys blinked for a moment and looked at each other in silent communication before quickly running on their little legs to embrace her. She had something of an annoying look on her face as she glanced back at him. "Well, would you look at this, it seems like I'm their favourite."

"Because you chea-." the words nearly came out as a shout before he controlled himself. He stood as he coughed into his hand. "You pretty much bribed them. That doesn't prove anything. And are you going to let her do that? Giving them sweets and the likes."

"Of course not." quick like a whip, Ciri had appeared at their younger sister's side and pulled at her cheek much to Triss chagrin.

"Stawwwwpppp~." the young princess whined, her words slurred by the pulling of her cheek. "Pweeaassee~."

"What did I tell you about giving them sweets? I should have known it was you. No wonder they always seem to be jumping about like a pair of excited squirrels after spending time with you." Ciri said, each word might as well have been punctuated with a tug of the cheek.

Alfred Tully would have been lying if he had said that he was not enjoying the scene in front of him right now because he truly enjoyed it. And so, did Axel by the sniggering that the little devil was trying and failing to hide at the sight of his supposed 'favourite' aunt being punished. Forrest jumped up, little hands outstretched trying to grab at his mother's hands.

"Mama, please stop!" the little boy cried out, jumping once more. "Don't hate Aunt Trissie! She didn't mean any harm!"

Apparently, that worked as Ciri stopped pulling on Triss cheeks and bent down to scoop the young boy into her arms. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about it sweetling. It'll take more than that to hurt your aunt but the next time she offers you sweets, you say no, understood?" Forrest nodded and satisfied, she turned her attention to Axel who seemed to find the sky oddly interesting as he ignored the looks, he was receiving from Triss. "And what about you, Axe?"

The little lordling kicked at the ground grumbled for a moment before looking up at his mother and gave her the biggest smile that he could muster. So big and wide that it might as well have advertised how fake it was. It seemed that this particular fish did not inherit one of its grandsire's ability to smile naturally. "I will."

Alfie had to snort at the sheer bold-faced lie and it seemed Ciri saw through it but sighed in acceptance nonetheless. "I will definitely hold you to that then, Axe."

Triss poked him in the head. "And I will definitely remember today. Congratulations you little brat, you've made yourself an enemy." Axel looked up at his aunt for a moment then slid away and ran to my side. Triss couldn't help but laugh. "I fear for House Harroway's future."

Ciri shook her head as she let Forrest stand on his own once more. With her son standing on his own feet once more, she looked upon the lot of them and smiled. "Hm, I wonder how long it has been since all of us were together?"

Triss bounded to her side with a skip in her step. "Not that long, really. Only a couple of moons. You're too sentimental or perhaps too old? You have been getting along in the years lately, dear sister."

"If I'm old, what is mother?"

"A beautiful young maiden still in the best of her years." the second princess replied quickly, looking around in suspicion as if wary of something.

Cirilla Tully laughed. "Mother isn't here. You don't have to be so scared."

"I'd rather say the right words than the wrong ones, you never know who is watching or listening." Triss replied, eyeing a pair of twins from the corner of her eyes.

The twins didn't seem to notice the attention that they had on them as they played at the railings, taking turns to peer through the Myrish eye they had somehow got off their royal aunt to the docks below.

Alfred walked towards Triss and put a hand on his sister's shoulders in a reaffirming manner. "Don't be like that. They're good boys." he glanced at Ciri. "I'm surprised you're letting her get away with this sort of nonsense about your own children."

"It's not nonsense if it's common sense." Triss argued as she removed Alfie's hand from her shoulder. A particular strong gust of wind sent her single, red braid flailing. She pointed a finger at the oldest of the lot of them. "And she knows it."

Ciri walked past them to the twins that seemed to have started an argument about the Myrish eye. "Why little sister, I genuinely do not know what you are talking about." she said as she began to calm the two boys down by snatching the eye from the hands of Forrest. "And I shan't fall for your particular tricks."

It seemed that the ship with the sails that Triss could not make out was one that belonged to House Hightower. The fact that she could not put to name the sigil of one of the most powerful houses in Westeros was a great source of amusement to Alfred despite whatever excuses she made about the fact.

Over the coming days, to Alfred, it almost felt like his royal father had invited all of Westeros to see to the opening of the Great Canal. A momentous occasion to be true but one he doubted that Lord Mallister was more than happily willing to host the occasion.

The royal court by itself would more than likely bankrupt and out eat nearly any house into the ground and that was without taking into consideration that Lord Manfred Hightower had brought his own court with him.

And that was just the Hightowers.

What might as well have been the entirety of the Riverlands had also come to settle in Seagard that every tavern and manse was occupied to the point that what was slowly becoming a sea of tents was slowly forming outside of the town walls.

Not to be outdone, Prince Garth Lannister had brought his own entourage as representatives from the Westerlands and not just any lesser lords or knights but highborn that belonged to long, distinguished and famous houses, Brax, Crakehall, Farman just to name a few.

The only guests that seemed to arrive for the grand opening were the easterners who seemed to be a little more understanding as they only brought the bare necessary. Alfie was slowly coming to the mind that the various grandiose manners in which the lords and knights held themselves were something of a source of amusement judging by the glint of amusement that flashed in their eyes every now and then.

The prince found Antaryon Brava, the Sealord of Braavos was the most accepting of all the foreign guests. The middle-aged man was courteous when he spoke and his command of the Common Tongue was quite surprising. Much like his father, he very much shared his happiness at the opening of the canal due to the investment that the Iron Bank and Braavos had made into its building in terms of coin and materiel.

"This canal is very much a boon to not only your kingdom, kind prince," the Sealord had said with a soft smile on his lips. "but to Braavos and many merchants and ships. No doubt the pirates of the Stepstones will see losses in their coffers in the coming times." he raised a glass to Alfie. "A toast to your royal father for having the vision to see this happen."

"Don't let him hear you say that, he's insufferable as it is already." japed the prince as he raised his glass into a toast with the Sealord. "But this entire endeavour would not have happened without the help of your beautiful city, Your Eminence."

Antaryon Brava's eyes sparkled in amusement as he spoke. "I was not aware you had visited the Secret City, my prince."

"Alas, I haven't which is a travesty all on its own and something I mean to rectify as soon as possible. I have heard much about Braavos and all of it good."

"Then I hope when the time comes, Braavos does not disappoint." the older man replied with a laugh.

Ilyria Maegyr and Valarr Iranios were the other easterners that had come at his father's invitation and it would have been an understatement to say that they attracted a few looks here and there wherever they went.

The two highborn of the Freehold were not the first dragonblood that Alfie had seen in his life. Truth be told, he had seen many people of descent from the blood of Valyria, mostly merchants come to sell their wares and the rest being freedmen that had come to settle in the kingdom at the behest of his father. Aberton had a small but growing minority within its walls and all of them fervently... loyal to the king for some strange reason.

But these two-particular highborn of the blood of the dragon were something different entirely. They made the children of Valyria that he had seen seem almost like poor, pale imitations at best in everything they did or looked. Everything. From the hair to the way they held themselves. There was just... something about that made them seem more than men, more than mere mortals.

"Gods save me," Ciri muttered as she walked next to him with both Jon the Elder and the Younger with her. His sister motioned a hand over herself. "I spent the better part of an hour or two dressing for this in the finest clothes that I possess and yet looking at that, I can't help but wonder why I even bothered."

Jon the Elder nodded his head as he spied at the dragons from the corner of his eyes. "There is something rather surreal about them, I admit. Good day, my prince, how fares the evening?"

"Quite well, better now that you're both here." he replied with a smile before waving at his youngest brother. "How have you been Jon? Enjoy the travel to Braavos?"

Prince Jon, often called 'the Younger' to differentiate him from his uncle shrugged his slender shoulders nonchalantly. "Boring really. I wanted to go to see the faceless men but mother said no. I wanted to see a Bravo but mother said no. She wouldn't let me do anything fun."

"I can't help but wonder why." Alfie replied in deadpan at his brother's words. He sometimes forgot about his brother's more peculiar... interests and hobbies. "Well, at least it was... educational?"

"I suppose." Jon the Younger muttered lazily as he made to grab a glass of wine only for it to be taken out of reach by the Elder. The younger of the two Jons cast a glare in the direction of the older one who didn't seem at all nonplussed about it all. "Honestly, I'd say that I'd learn more about governance and ruling if I just set up court in Clawton already."

"And deny mother the chance to see her littlest baby grow up?" Ciri teased. "The seven hells have a better chance of freezing before that happens."

The prince huffed in something that can only be called childish rage as he crossed his arms. "I wish she would stop treating me like a child. I'm nearly a man grown."

"Quite sure you still have a couple of years left before that is actually the case..." Jon the Elder observed.

"You know what I mean."

Alfie smirked as he looked around the ongoing feast. "Strange, I'm surprised I haven't seen your shadow lurking about."

"He'd make a poor shadow if people noticed him then." Jon the Younger quipped. "But if you must know, I told him to go enjoy himself. After all, I am in the company of two noted knights and frankly, it would be stupid for someone to try and attack me in the middle of a feast. In the home of family. In our own kingdom."

"Mother isn't going to like that." said the crown prince.

"Mother doesn't like it when I do anything out of my own will." the younger prince replied with another shrug of the shoulders though a frown played on his face for a moment before quickly disappearing as soon as it had appeared. "By now, I'm sure she has servants watching me like hawks."

Alfie didn't get a chance to voice his own opinions on his brother's frustrations before the other Jon, the older one spoke up and changed the direction of the conversation. He had forgotten that Jon the Elder didn't like being involved in family squabbles unless it directly involved him or his. "I feel sorry for Lord Mallister though. This entire feast will cost him a fortune that could very well ruin him and his house."

"You say that but he seems to be enjoying himself quite well. Look," Ciri said as she guided them with a slender finger in the direction of the high table. At the high table, there the lord sat with other notable guests laughing and drinking and japing. "if he is at all worried about financial ruin, the lord hides it well."

"Or drinking the worries away." chirped Jon the Younger as they watched the lord down one glass of wine before calling for another. The prince shook his head. "I rather envy Henry that he doesn't have to be here and deal with all of this."

Jon the Elder quirked an eyebrow. "You hate sailing."

"It's not that he hates sailing, love," spoke up Ciri. "he just finds it too much work."

"In other words, he's just lazy." finished Alfie with a smirk at his youngest brother.

"That's mean. I'm not lazy, I have yet to find an activity that gives me the suitable amount of-."

He stopped as his attention was suddenly taken by the sounds of a raised voice and what seemed to be the beginning of a commotion. Jon the Younger wasn't the only one as Alfie was already turning his head as soon as the loud voice, the loud, angry or rather, outraged voice had somehow been able to make itself heard above the din and noise of the feast and musicians.

"SLAVES!" the voice bellowed in thundering fury and anger. "GODS BE DAMNED SLAVES!"

Alfie didn't know when he had started moving but he had been aware enough to remember himself making his way through the crowds of people that seemed to be slowly but surely gathering around the owner of the voice.

"YOU BOUGHT FUCKING SLAVES AND THEN BROUGHT THEM TO THIS HOLY LAND!?"

Finally making it to the front of the crowd, the crown prince was greeted with the sight of seeing his father rubbing the bridge of his nose in mild annoyance, the expression on his face fairly recognisable as the same one that he used to give him and his siblings when they were younger when he was tutoring them.

"Freedmen, not slaves." Father said to the man who had been shouting who Alfie realised was none other than Lord Manfred Hightower. "I brought freedmen to Westeros, not slaves, and please, use your inside voice. I'd rather not be a terrible host and have you deafen my guests."

Lord Manfred Hightower was about as red as a strawberry, the veins of his neck bulging underneath his tight, frilled collar. "You mock me?"

Mother moved to place a placating hand on father's arm before he could reply. "My lord, my royal husband does no such thing. He merely asks that we speak of this matter in a civilised manner and a more suitable place." she finished, her eyes having quickly looked around at the gathering crowd that was whispering amongst itself.

Lord Hightower cast a withering glare in the direction of mother as he stood firm in his spot. "No, I think not, Your Grace. There is nothing to be explained... the truth is clear as day. Good day." with a flourish of his half-cape, the lord turned and marched towards the great doors of the hall.

Alfie noticed that the entire court that had come with the Hightower lord was already on its way following after him.

Father watched the lord's back for a moment before shrugging and looking towards the rest of the court and flashed a confident smile. "A shame that the lord had to leave so early," the king spoke, loud enough to be heard amongst the quiet of the hall. "he'll miss the dessert and entertainment but that just means more for the rest of us!" he finished with a raising of his glass to the laughter of the court which was led by Uncle Axel.

As the crowd laughed amongst themselves and the music started playing once more, Alfie was able to lock eyes with his father and it was just at one of those rare moments where his father's eyes belied his true feelings, annoyance perhaps at the whole altercation that had happened and... worry.

That scared him.

In all of his eighteen years of life, Alfred Tully, had never seen his father worried about anything.

He didn't know why but that scared him more than it should have been.

Last edited: Jan 14, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Feb 7, 2019

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Okay, don't know why but I can't upload the map, I'll get back to it when I can.

Spoiler: Trident Map

Edit: And it is sorted, turns out I had to make an imgur account. Dark days.

Went mad with trying to fit everything that isn't even noteworthy into a subpar piece of artwork but oh well, at least its something, eh?

Last edited: Feb 7, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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TryingToBeKuw

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Apr 5, 2019

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The Field of Fire

The turbulent time after the Doom claimed Valyria is known to historians as the Century of Blood, a time of chaos. Although it's called the Century of Blood, in truth it was more or less near nine decades of constant warfare and death between the daughters of Valyria as they fought amongst themselves for either independence for some and unification for one notable daughter of Valyria.

It was during this time that the Dothraki appeared from the eastern reaches of the world.

With Valyria gone, there was a power vacuum that the nature could not allow to go unfulfilled. Khal Mengo, the greatest of these barbarian horselords united the khalasars of his people underneath his banner and made his way west. The Sarnori princes ignored the threat the Dothraki possessed which is quite understandable in truth, after all, what was there to fear of some horselords who did not know the ways of civilisation?

As it turned out to be, there much to fear of the horselords as they razed and pillaged all but one of the great cities of the Sarnori. The Dothraki did not stop there for during the century, they razed Lhazareen towns and cities just as much as they razed to the ground Qartheen and Ghiscari cities.

Nearing the end of the century, the Dothraki though splintered into dozens of khalasars all but rulled the central grasslands of Essos.

The century officially came to an end with the rise of the Targaryen Freehold as the new shining beacon of order and civility after an age of barbarism and chaos. It was then at this time that a Khal by the name of Temmo who commanded a great khalasar of some fifty thousand screamers decided to venture west much like his ancestors had done in search of conquest and glory, more precisely Qohor.

By a whim of fate, it was also during this moment in time that Emperor Aegon still much in the infancy of his rule decided to further consolidate and increase the legitimacy to his rule by reconquering the 'Lost Daughter of Valyria' Essaria back into the rule of civilised folk. Whilst gathering his forces, he came to learn of the news of Khal Temmo's march to Qohor.

It was here that Emperor Aegon saw an opportunity that he could not allow to pass. Defeating perhaps the greatest of the horselords in Khal Temmo, coming to the aid of Qohor and eventually, reconquering Essaria would see a level of prestige to his name and that of his rule that could, perhaps be only be equalled by that of his conquest.

With this in mind, he left his cousin, Daemon Velaryon to rule his Freehold whilst the Targaryens and their dragons and their assembled army quickly made way for Qohor.

When Khal Temmo finally reached the city after pillaging and burning numerous towns, villages and hamlets in the Qohorik hinterlands, probably much to his surprise, he found an army waiting for him, flying three-headed dragon banners. For Aegon had sailed his great army up the Rhoyne and then the Qhoyne that they had made great speed to reach the city before the Dothraki.

It is said that Aegon met the horselord in a field between their two armies and offered for the man to surrender but the horselord barked out a laugh, spat to the ground and growled out something in the animal tongue of the screamers.

"Then you shall burn." Aegon the Conqueror had then replied to the horselord before turning and leaving with his guard retinue back to his camp.

Though Aegon had been able to bring his army with great speed to the aid of Qohor, it had still been in the process of mustering and thus could only muster to no more than fifteen thousand men to the Khal Temmo's fifty thousand but it was not going to be men that would settle the day but dragons.

Not long after the parting of the two leaders did the battle began.

Seemingly not caring for anything resembling strategy or tactics, the Dothraki charged but imperial forces underneath the command of Lord Baratheon were able to hold repel the charge with great losses on their part. Khal Temmo was able to rally his men and charged for a second time, only to be thrown back with casualties of their own but had been able to deal significantly more casualties to the defending forces.

Smelling victory, the khal rallied his men once more and prepared for a third charge. It was here that the dragons took to the sky.

First hand records of the battle from witnesses that had watched the battle from the walls of Qohor or legionnaires themselves say that it had been unusually dry during the time the battle took place, especially for the past few days. With strong winds blowing in the direction of the Dothraki and the grasslands of central Essos dry without any form of nourishment in the form of rain for days, what took place next could have been predicted.

Empress Rhaeyns upon Meraxes first bathed the space between the imperial forces in flame, stopping the charge of the Dothraki before doing the same to their flanks whilst Empress Visenya upon Vhagar bathed the rear in flames. It was then the Black Dread itself fell upon the encaged Dothraki and wreathed them in black flames so hot they melted the metal of the steel they held.

It was said the screams of tens of thousands could be heard from hundreds of leagues away.

And that was from only the passing of Balerion. When Vhagar and Meraxes soon joined their sibling, what at first came to be a battle became a massacre as flesh and steel burned and melted.

The three dragons danced a deadly death of fire for several moments before even the heat became too unbearable for them and their riders and they pulled back to their camp. For a day and night, the fire continued to burn long after the screams had stopped but it did not relent.

Unbidden, perhaps unwanted, the fire began to spread eastwards into the grasslands. Orys, quickly having seen the potential threat of the wind changing direction from west to east but east to west and putting Qohor in harm's way had quickly seen to it that a great firebreak to be built around the city, impressing not only the soldiers underneath his command but the citizens of the city herself.

The loyal lord did not have to worry much as the fire continued to burn eastwards, leaving nothing but ash and scorched earth in its wake.

And in here something amusing could be found. Aegon had set forth to Qohor to save it and defeat Khal Temmo then from there, reclaim Essaria. Of those three objectives, he had been able to secure two of them and they were rightly applauded. Of the third? When the fire had finally spread a safe distance into the interior of the grasslands and reinforcements had been sent from all corners of his Freehold to share in this coming victory, Aegon marched his army for Essaria, only to find the city nothing but ash.

It seems even the Valyrian gods enjoy their little japes upon mankind.

The Chancellor, Council and Fellows of the Royal Society of the Trident for Improving Natural Knowledge, also more commonly known as the Royal Society is a learned society of scholars, healers, messengers and scientists that was founded in the year 5 BCE. It was granted a royal charter by King Edmyn I Tully as 'The Royal Society' as one of the many institutions that was brought into existence during the king's reign that fulfilled a number of roles and duties: promoting the natural philosophies and their benefits, recognising excellence in the arts, supporting outstanding scholars and their work, providing loyal and expert advice to the monarch and encouraging education and public engagement within the kingdom.

The society is governed by the Council, which is chaired by the Society's Chancellor who also sits on the Royal Cabinet of Government as the Grand Maester, according to a set of statues and standing orders. The Society itself is composed of numerous smaller societies such as that of the healers, alchemists amongst others that work together for the good of the realm.

The Society takes an interesting place in history as an institution that directly went and challenged the monopoly that the Order of the Maesters in Oldtown held over knowledge within the continent of Westeros as during the time of its founding, the Citadel was the only font of knowledge and learning throughout all of Westeros. This fact alone did not sit well with King Edmyn, long may he rest in peace, who believed that education should be for all instead of a select few.

Second Empire of Ghis

The Ghiscari of Slaver's Bay have a queer notion of... warfare if it could be called that.

Whatever thoughts the Ghiscari had of war, the Dothraki changed their minds for them. No, it could be more accurate New Ghis changed their mind of war for them.

When Aegon and his sisters, with their great flying beats of flame and death prowling the skies over Volantis declared the founding of their Freehold, the histories of the world changed. Once upon a time, the Dothraki had been a threat and constant bane to the eastern frontiers of Volantis, Qohor and Norvos, with the savage screamers having burned hundreds of towns and cities, crushed kingdoms and empires and killed and enslaved hundreds of thousands.

Atop their horses, it seemed as if no force in the world could stop them. Even the Sarnori, united could not stop them as the Field of Crows can attest.

But atop their dragons, the Targaryens were invincible and on the ground, Orys Baratheon was a general of immense talent. With all of these factors in play, is it not a surprise that the Field of Fire turned out the way it did? With Khal Temmo and tens of thousands of Dothraki found their deaths through cold steel or the great heat of the dragon fires.

Though it took the burning of a couple more khalasars for the news spread, the Dothraki learned that the west was not so green a pasture no more and thus, they turned elsewhere... Ghiscar.

Like an unstoppable horde, the Dothraki fell upon the lands of the Ghiscari doing what they did best, raping, pillaging and burning all that stood in their way. Meereen was the first to fall, razed to the ground by the Dothraki and its inhabitants either killed or enslaved.

Those with the means to fled, to Yunkai, Astapor and some further afield to New Ghis.

With Meereen nothing more than trampled upon rubble, the Dothraki horde continued further south seemingly with a great haste to waste all that was left of Old Ghis. The Wise Masters of Yunkai pleaded with the Good Masters of Astapor for aid and in a great show of unity that is incredibly rare for the region, the Good Masters agreed. Their legiions set forth from the city but to the surprise of the Wise Masters, the Good Masters of Astapor did not come alone.

The legions and fleets of New Ghis had also come with them.

Rosnan zo Lordaq, the newly elected Tyrant of New Ghist had offered the Wise Masters of Yunkai the same offer he had given to the Good Masters, recognise New Ghis as their new overlords and they would be saved. If not, zo Lordaq would leave them to the mercies of the savages at their gates.

The offer did not give much of a choice and thus, Yunkai admitted to the rule of New Ghis. With the subjugation of the Wise Masters, Rosnan zo Lordaq took to battling the incoming horde of Dothraki.

Though Rosnan held little faith in the slave legions of mongrel Ghiscari of Slaver's Bay, he was confident in the true lockstep legions of Ghis would carry the day ahead of them. In command of the this great united Ghiscari army, he positioned his army with its back to the sea and the fleet behind them, for this tactic dissuaded anybody from fleeing for there was nowhere to flee;

He had given orders for his fleet to kill any deserters that thought they could swim to the safety of the ships or the sea itself.

When the Dothraki came, Rosnan made sure his army was prepared. Stakes were dug and trenches were built. What came next was a bloody affair.

Though the Dothraki had rained an uncountable number of arrows upon their ranks, most of the arrows found little in the name of flesh amongst the properly armoured legionnaires of New Ghis, though not much could be said for the slave regions dressed in their flamboyant silks and feathers or not dressed at all.

The Dothraki seeing their arrows do little damaged then soon charged, surging forward like a great wave of thunderous, screaming murder.

That is when Rosnan's cunning came into play for the fleet that he had anchored off the sea unleashed its deadly arsenal of ballistas and catapults into the charging and hollerings ranks of the barbarian horselords.

From the furthest ranks from the front lines of his legions, Rosnan's very own archers returned fire, not at the prodigious pace of the screamers, but more than enough to whittle them down effectively for the horselords detested armour and this was to be their bane. The screamers also looked down upon infantry with such arrogance that without even little care, they charged the steep tipped pikes of the legions ranks.

Strange really, for it is said that Orys Baratheon had used pikemen as well in his battles against the Dothraki, one would assume they would learn something from their previous engagements with such units, but barbarians are barbarians, what can one do? And the screamers are perhaps the most savage of all barbarians.

For an entire day, the battle raged before the Dothraki started retreating, though many men wished to give chase, the Field of Crows was fresh on Rosnan's mind and he kept the ranks of his troops. He kept ranks for the next day and the day after, sending scouts to search for the Dothraki until news came that the Dothraki had left Ghiscar altogether and had turned their attentions to more pliable prey, that of the Lhazarene.

With a great victory to his person, Rosnan zo Lordaq was more than eager enough to declare the new birth of the Ghiscari Empire and let lavish praise of him as a 'Hero of Ghis' and the Successor to Grazdan the Great himself he marched forth with great popularity to recapture Old Ghis herself and declare the city the centre of Ghiscar civilisation once more.

The sun was bright and the sky clear but that still did not do much for the chill that hanged in the air. Thankfully, the wheelhouse kept the worst of autumn to the outside world, even still, Zhoe felt the need to bring in the furs closer to herself for that little bit of warmth. Outside, the hoofs and foot drops of their escorts as they made their journey south could be heard, the occasional horse neighing or snorting.

The silence was soon broken by the only other party in the wheelhouse.

"I don't care much for this."

She smiled as she stopped playing with the needles in her hands and looked across her. "I know, you've said as much." Many times, in truth. Edmyn was an affable man, friendly to all he met but his cynicism quite took her by surprise when she much learned of that side of him.

It was somewhat difficult to put that particular trait to the man, with all his belief in how the things he does will make the Trident great. If all what he said did not reek of nothing more than pure, unadulterated optimism, then she was at a loss.

"I feel like I should say it again," the king said, his elbow resting on the windowsill of the wheelhouse, eyes looking into the distance with a certain intensity to them. "I don't care much for this and I'm still of the opinion this is all rather pointless."

The queen looked down at her hands and gave a long appraising look to the braid work in her hands as she spoke. "At least give it a chance. You don't know if minds have truly been settled and not... rigged as you said."

"That's the word."

"Rigged." repeated Zhoe Tully. "This could very well be a much-needed opportunity to spare the realm war."

A very much needed opportunity the queen had to admit.

After the theatrics by the Hightowers at their fete that nearly ruined the entirety of the celebrations, Edmyn had been quick to conjure up some scheme of some sort by the Hightowers that they had set to motion to bring war to the Trident for one reason or another. Now, Zhoe was not the paranoid type but her time as queen had more than told her that it would be rather prudent to always keep an open mind and the actions of the Hightowers had been odd.

Dare she say, it almost felt planned, with the way that the Lord Hightower had seemingly searched out for her husband, especially when all the attention was on him.

Her suspicions were all but confirmed when the ravens from the Reach started flooding poor Jaime's tower with demands of explanation about the supposed 'slavery' and accusations of 'heresy' that was apparently rife within her kingdom to the surprise of herself. Zhoe knew of the supposed subject of 'slavery' but not this 'heresy' they were also being accused off.

Edmyn had decided to ignore the messages, having already resigned himself to warfare coming to the realm for the first time in some years. Having already decided on the course he was set on; he had been away at Harrenhal with the most martial of lords and the captains of his armies toiling day and night at plans and worst-case scenarios as he called it.

Zhoe on the other hand had decided to not ignore the messages and had instead seen to it that the messages were responded with denials and explanations... though there was only so much that could be fit onto the small slip of paper that could be carried by a raven.

It was good news indeed then when the Faith had decided to send a message to hold talks so that the Tullys could come and defend themselves from the baseless accusations thrown at them by the Garderners and their Hightower cronies. Zhoe was of the mind that, powerful as the Hightowers were, even they would not act as they did without the backing of their overlords.

'It seems as if Byron has finally made use of himself.' She thought to herself rather happily. At some point, the coin they had spent in supporting his endeavours in Oldtown had to reap some sort of benefit for them.

"One of the things I love about you is your boundless optimism," Edmyn said with a cheer and a laugh. "always keeps the black thoughts in my head nicely constrained and in check."

"I wouldn't say you are as cynical to call your thoughts black... may haps a little grey with silver lining," She leaned forward and gave his knee some playful pats. "If they were as black as you say, I doubt I would have been able to live a man so dark and brooding."

"Dark and brooding?" her husband and king asked, his head cocked back playfully. "I am quite sure that I have been doing a lot of brooding in Harrenhal. A few people of note would attest to it."

Zhoe returned to her knitting. "As long as you keep it at Harrenhal, I care not for your brooding."

After that particular exchange, the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence. Zhoe returned to her knitting whilst she was sure of it that Edmyn soon returned into overthinking things. He might have been well versed in hiding his inner thoughts through false smiles and blank expressions but he did have a tell when he was deeply in thought about something. He tended to smile a little less and a distance came to his eyes.

Glancing up at him, she was glad that the distance in his eyes wasn't as large as it had been from the day that they had set off for Stoney Sept from Aberton. It was good to see that he was at the very least not giving much pause to his darkest of thoughts.

There was a knock on the shutter of the carriage. Edmyn's clothes rustled as he moved to open them. "Your Graces," the young face of Ser Armistead Percy peeked through the window. "Stoney Sept is within sight. We'll be there before the end of the day."

Edmyn nodded. "I suspect that we have already been spotted?"

Her husband's former squire nodded. "Aye, your grace. If not, a rider has been sent forth to tell of your highnesses coming."

"Good work, Armie." the king replied with the pet name he had given the squire. "Ready my horse before we reach the cities limits. I suppose it wouldn't do for a king to ride into the city in a wheelhouse."

"A horse for me as well," Zhoe said, speaking up. She eyed the two men who had taken to look at her. "why not ride in together? And Stoney Sept is ever a lovely city. One can't see its beauty within the confines of a wheelhouse." A side-ways glance at the young knight told her all she needed to know about how her words had impacted him.

Red-hair rustled as Edmyn laughed lightly. "A horse for the queen as well, Armie, if you'd be so kind."

Ser Armistead brought his hand to his chest. "It'll be done, your grace." he said, dipping his head forward before pulling on the reigns of his horse and heading to the back of their train.

Edmyn closed the shutter once more, a pleased look on his face. "Bringing him along was such a good idea. I wonder why no-one ever congratulates me on my good ideas?"

"Are you still genuinely worried about the loyalty of House Percy?" She asked, almost exasperated. Frankly speaking, Edmyn's paranoia was somewhat absurd at times. "They have proven themselves loyal over the years and Axel has not brought up anything about their loyalties being in question."

"That he hasn't," the king agreed, bobbing his head up and down. "but see, it never hurts to be safe rather than sorry."

To the queen's eyes, Stoney Sept had grown larger than the last time she had been here. Though considering it had been a couple of years since she had come to this particular corner of the world, the city might have grown larger in that time.

The city was located at a rather profitable trade route from the south and south west, the Deep Den pass and the Kingdom of the Reach being so close to it.

Zhoe couldn't help but muse that it must have grown fat and wealthy from the merchants that came from the west and south. And that wasn't including some of the support it had been given by the Crown to help with its growth.

Like they had planned, they entered the city on horseback, heralds, horns, trumpets and bells played loudly to announce their arrival to the cheering of the masses. Young children rushed ahead of their procession, eagerly skipping whilst throwing all sorts of coloured petals in their path.

If she could say one thing about the Percy's, it was that they certainly knew how to greet their royalty.

Before they had even reached the outer suburbs of the city, they were greeted by what most likely was the entire court of the Percy's most like, dressed in their finest silks, wools and furs. When they neared the formation, one of them kicked their horse forward to meet them.

"Greetings, your graces," the Percy man greeted as they came to a stop just a few distance away from each other. With his salt and pepper hair, it was easy enough to recognise the man from the last time she had been south.

The king had a wide smile on his face and greeted back the lord with the same amount of enthusiasm he greeted everyone. "Lord Percy! It's been far too long!" Strange, wasn't it just a few moons ago that Edmyn had been visited this part of his realm? Zhoe wondered if her husband was already becoming senile. "How have you been? Has Lady Alyss given birth yet?"

"Quite well, sire." the lord replied good naturedly before a truly good-natured smile came across his face at the mention of his good daughter if she remembered correctly. "That she has sire. A boy. Healthy as an ox and loud as one too!"

"That's good to hear!" Edmyn replied with a laugh before motioning for Ser Armistead to come forward. "Did you hear that ser? Seems to be that you're an uncle, if you need time off to spend time with your nephew, I'd be more than willing to give it."

Ser Armistead looked flustered as he vigorously shook his head. "I'm honoured, sire but my duties to you take priority. I'll be sure to visit my nephew in my recesses."

Her husband cocked his head to the side just a little. Zhoe had to hold back rolling his eyes, she could see what he was doing and he was doing it quite well. "Are you sure? I truly don't mind."

"It's fine, your grace," the elder Percy said stepping in. "My son knows his duty."

The king nodded. "Very well and I must apologize in advance for hoisting ourselves upon you once more." he apologised in the direction of Lord Percy.

"Nonsense, your grace." the lord replied as he reared his horse round and began to lead them towards the city prosper. "I'm more than honoured to hold such an event in my holdings. There is nothing more than one could hope for."

"Then once more, me and my royal husband are within your care." the queen said, speaking up for the first time after allowing the men to have the talk amongst themselves.

"And we are glad of it."

As they neared the lord's court that had accompanied him to greet them, Zhoe couldn't help but notice that she did not see the seven colours of the Faith amongst the assembled courtiers. Or even that of any other houses that would have come with them from the Reach to bear witness to the coming proceedings.

That was... quite the insult.

But she decided to let it lie. Nothing good would come from thinking and reacting to it. No doubt that it was a move designed to unnerve them or something of the likes. If that was the case, then these foreigners quite clearly did not understand who they were simply dealing with.

"I swear that thing got bigger." the king was saying in hushed tones to her, his eyes rooted onto the distant sept sitting atop the low rising hill. "Is it me or did that thing get bigger?"

Or perhaps not.

Zhoe followed his eyes and rested them on the sept that she had wed the man next to her. She cocked her head to her side. "I believe it did." It certainly did look bigger from the time of her wedding and the last time she had come to Stoney Sept.

"Dammit..." the king cursed quietly enough underneath his breath yet still spotting a smile and waving to the crowds. "I bet you the Faith allowed that... but why would they go to the Faith? Why not ask me to renovate that place? I would have been more than willing!"

"Husband, happy thoughts." she said simply, accepting a red rose from a young child that had run up to her. "Thank you." she said to the girl, impressed by the lack of thorns on the stem of the flower and gave her a pound for her troubles.

The girl beamed before running back into the crowd, the queen absently noted that was probably more coin the girl would probably ever see in her entire life.

She looked back to the sept on the hill and held back a sigh.

Over the years, ever since the Faith first decided to settle themselves in this part of the Trident, a war of shadows of sorts had been going on between the Crown and the Faith for the loyalty of the populace, both of high and low birth. The Faith made the first move in choosing Stoney Sept as their seat and Edmyn retaliated by throwing a city charter in the, at the time, town's direction, then proceeding to match daughters of House Percy and other highborn in the city to Tully loyalists.

Ser Armistead Percy was just one recent example of this shadow war.

It some point, she wondered if it was beginning to look a little silly and pointless.

Stoney Sept, the high and lowborn of the city had prospered underneath the king's rule and she would find it in bed taste and stupidity to even think that they would spit on the hand of the patron that had allowed their recent ascent of prosperity.

They made their way through the city; Stoney Sept's city watch laced with House Percy's own guardsmen lining the streets for a straight and clear path to the city's castle itself. Although she had difficulty actually measuring what was proper when it came to a royal procession, Zhoe had always been of the mind that the Tully's procession was unusually 'light' from how the books spoke of such things.

Due to this, they always made good time when travelling to various parts of their realm though they always did find themselves slowing down to almost a crawl when it came to being escorted inside settlements. The lords of said settlements always almost felt like they had to bring their entire court with him.

It was procedure, that she would not deny and anyone not doing such a thing could always be mistaken as an insult... to any other king other than Edmyn. He simply did not care.

An absurdity of his that she still had trouble accepting every now and then.

The Last Charge was a sturdy enough castle, impressive though she was always of the mind that Maidenpool was the most impressive of all castles within the Trident. Harrenhal was just a monstrosity that deserved of being recognised of the monstrosity that it was.

The castle had strong, stout, double curtain walls laced with murder holes and spitfires and all other sorts of defensives. Defences that such a lady as she would not be able to recognise. It was within its courtyard that the other guests of honour decided to reveal themselves.

One of them stepped forth. "Greetings, your graces," the man spoke with the tone of a snake with a ridiculous looking crown of crystal sitting atop his head. Was this the High Septon? He smiled at them warmly but whatever warmth he tried to portray was lost on her. He wasn't even bowing or anything of the likes. "I would be the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, Father of the Faithful and Voice of the New Gods on Earth. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have heard much about you."

Edmyn swung himself off his horse and moved to help her off her own horse. Hand in hand they met this High Septon united. "And us of you as well, Your Eminence." the king replied politely, his eyes going over the assorted company that had come with the High Septon. "Though I must admit, I'm honoured to have you travel all the way to meet little old me, I worry for your health."

The High Septon blinked for a moment and chuckled. "Ahh... you speak of my predecessor. Unfortunately, he finally joined the gods up in the seven heavens. May he rest in peace." he finished with a touch of the centre of his chest.

A gesture that was repeated by all in the court.

Though Zhoe had done the gesture absent mindedly as she looked at the High Septon and realised something. Byron had failed in his bid to become High Septon. She quickly looked at the assembled septons and septas and noted that a small number of them clearly wore cloths-of-gold that a simple septon and septa would not.

'The Devout?' if they truly were the Devout, where was Byron?

She had been of the mind to ignore her husband's ramblings about being trapped but a hole beginning to form in the pit of her middle.

"Right, I suppose we should get things going then." Edmyn said after a moment.

"Yes," the High Septon said with a nod of his head. "I suppose so. Well then, Your Grace, what do you say of the charge levelled by you by Lord Hightower of practicing slavery?"

Edmyn was blank faced when he replied. "Not guilty."

The High Septon merely nodded. "Then what of the charges of bribery of a person of the cloth and heresy?"

Edmyn blinked. "You what now?"

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Jul 4, 2019

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#1,690

Growing up in Seagard, Lyam had long since been used to the sounds of seagulls. Learning to tolerate the birds was as much a valuable skill as any due to the constant racket they made on the coast of the riverlands.

The seagulls also told him something that was easy enough for anybody to discern, they neared land; they neared Sunspear.

The Mallister lordling rose up from his bed and stretched. He was used to boats and the rocking of the sea but he never did think that he was ever going to truly get a good's night sleep on a boat. Gods, he tried and he continued to try and will continue to try but unlike some savvy deckhands who slept in far less comforts than him, the luxury eluded him.

There was a knock on the door and someone entered. He didn't even have to look up to know who it was. "Ned, we have talked about this," he said to his youngest son. "you cannot just enter my room without waiting for my permission."

"Sorry father," the young boy blushed or was he trying to keep his wits about him amongst the rocking of the seas. "just wanted to tell you that Sunspear is in sight. Captain says we'll be docking soon enough, long before noon he says."

The lord nodded as he glanced around his cabin for a suitable doublet to wear. No doubt, they would have an honour guard of some sort to greet them as etiquette would demand. Quite the few things were said about the Dornish but Lyam was of the mind that even they respected etiquette. "Have you seen to the surgeon yet? Wouldn't want you to lose your breakfast."

"I have." Ned replied, a pinched expression on his face. "And you needn't worry father. To lose my breakfast, I need to have eaten it first."

There was a sigh that needed to be held back. "You'll have something to eat when we make land." the young lordling nodded at his father's command. "You can rest in my cabin for a bit, I'm sure that the captain won't mind."

Ned shook his head vigorously. "N-no, I'm fine. Honestly."

"Very well." with that, Ned turned and left just as quickly as he had left, Lyam watching in amusement.

Dawn had only come a less than two hours before but as far south as he was, the sun might as well have been near blinding from when he stepped out of the hold of the ship. It took a few blinks of his eyes for them to adjust as well as to rid of the black spots that plagued his vision.

The deck was full of movement as the crew made the necessary preparations to dock into the coming port. He didn't even need to guess that the other ships of their little flotilla were more than likely doing the very same. It looked like chaos to him as he took in the deck but he was sure that it was the sort of organised chaos that only came with the benefit of training and years of experience.

Lyam let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding as he made his way to the prow of the ship. The lord figured that he might as well enjoy the sight of Sunspear coming closer as they made port. It didn't hurt that as the sun rose from the east, the sails would cast a shadow in the direction of the prow from their approach.

He might have travelled to Dorne a few times in his tenure as foreign minister but the weather was something, he doubted he was ever going to get used to. Their food on the other hand, that had taken some time but he had quickly found himself accustomed to the spicy foods the dornish delighted in.

"Thinking of the battle to come, my lord?" said Prince Henry Tully though the young prince's title did not mean much on the ship that he served on. The young prince had been serving in the Royal Navy for two years now and Lyam could tell that he was surely taking on the properties of someone who spent most of their time out at sea.

Lyam wondered what the young prince had first looked like out at sea, considering his rather pale skintone. Red as a strawberry he figured. The image in mind was amusing.

"I wasn't aware I was about to ride off into battle." Lyam replied before taking a moment to correct the prince on a personal matter. "And I was of the understanding that you were to call me uncle?"

Henry smiled bashfully, eyes looking around. "Not in an official capacity, uncle."

The older man looked around at the flurry of activity. "I don't think they can hear us and I doubt they would even care. We do share blood, no matter how distant it is."

"Maybe so," the young naval officer laughed. "but I think it's good to be professional in settings like this. I mean, that's what father has taught me."

"I suppose it would be something about maintaining an image or something of the likes?"

The prince nodded. "The very same." he responded in good humour.

Lyam shook his head. Sometimes, he figured that his cousin asked much of his children though it was not his place to tell a man how to raise his own. 'Then again he must be doing something right,' he thought to himself. 'None of them have seem to act in a manner unbefitting of their status.'

Sunspear loomed over them now from where it was perched on the cliff. Though he had made this journey more than a few times now and seen the castle in just as many times, he couldn't help but take in the sight. With the way the light of the sun shone off the sand coloured stone that the great castle was built out of it, it made it seem as if the castle was made out of gold and it glittered like gold as well.

A peculiarity about the stone that had been used to build the castle he had been told at some point during his last visits.

"Your first time seeing the castle?" Lyam asked as he noticed his nephew look up in dulled awe.

The prince nodded. "It's something else."

"It is..." Lyam smiled a little. "I think you will be the first of the Tullys to visit the castle proper."

"I suppose I can't stay back on the ship?" Lyam's only answer was to give his nephew an amused look. Henry sighed. "I thought so. I suppose it would be too much for the Martells to just ignore my presence."

"Yes, it would very much be too much for them to ignore your presence."

The HMS Benedict eased into the wharf of Sunspear to dock, it was near noon but not quite noon just yet. Looking upon the busy docks and wharf, it was quick and easy to spot the knights and guardsmen dressed in the livery of the Martells. Their escorts and honour guard.

Lyam made himself scarce for a few moments and disappeared back into his cabin in the holds below. When he reappeared not too long after his disappearance, he was dressed in an attire much more suiting for meeting their opposites. Taking the weather into account, his clothing was light but still represented him as a scion of House Mallister and a servant of his liege, the Tullys.

Lyam led the disembarkation of the party onboard, Prince Henry and Ned flanking him just behind with other knights that had made the journey with him. A youth of near an age dressed in robes of burning red and orange greeted them at the docks. "Hail there, my lord of Mallister!"

"could that be you, Prince Morgan?" Lyam asked with faint surprise.

The youth made a grandiose bow, the orange sash tied around his waist flowing freely with the movement. "The one and only. Can't be helped you can't remember me, I had yet to come into my own."

"You had yet to come to my waist but look at you now." Lyam replied taking in the dark haired, olive skinned youth. "You have grown quite well."

A wicked grin came across the Prince of Dorne. "I shall thank you for the compliment. And who may I ask, are these young fellows that travel with you?" he asked, his eyes having drifted over to his son and his prince.

"Ah, my apologies, I got a little ahead of myself." Lyam brought Henry and Ned to the front. "May I introduce you to Henry Tully, Prince of Fairmarket and my son Edward Mallister."

Prince Morgan took them in one fell swoop, a smile still on his lips as he strode forth and held out a hand for them to shake. "Pleasure to meet the both of you. I look forward to us coming to know each other in the coming days, however long your stay is."

His opposite was the first to take his hand into his own. "The same, my prince." Ned returned the gesture.

Lyam took no time in introducing the rest of his party though he would have been the first to admit that only the prince and his son were the most notable out of his group. The knights that had come with him were all of his own retainters and many of them did not have the weight of name of the likes of the Tullys or Mallisters.

Prince Morgan soon led them towards Sunspear, taking the direct route through the Three Gates that surrounded the many courts and bazaars of Sunspear's shadow city. They made small talk with the prince saying this and that but not much to reveal anything of import. From what the prince said and from what could be picked up, one could say all was well within the sands of Dorne.

Lyam took his word for it. He was a diplomat and most certainly not a spy.

Before he knew it, they were soon in an audience with the ruling Princess of Dorne herself, Deria Martell. They bowed, "Princess, it has been sometime."

Princess Deria was as olive skinned as her son but had blue eyes instead of the dark brown. She was more handsome than beautiful and the signs of age were beginning to show by the beginnings of a crow's eye forming around her eyes. "Greetings, Lord Lyam, it has been sometime." she said as she waved for the stewards to bring the bread and salt.

"Quite some time," Lyam replied as he accepted the bread and salt. "I've quite missed your beautiful castle."

A wry smile came across the princess' lips. "Ever with the sweet words but I suspect your sudden appearance in my realm has little to do with you missing Sunspear." Princess Deria rose from her throne and made her way down the steps. "But come, let us go for a walk. Morgan, if you would be so kind to take our guests to their rooms."

Prince Morgan bowed. "Yes, mother."

Princess Deria linked her arm with Lyam's as she began to lead him for a walk through the castle's hallways. "Is something the matter?" the princess enquired after they had walked away from the main hall.

"I'm sorry?"

The princess still had a wry smile on her lips as they continued their walk. "A raven brought a news of your arrival and not long after, you arrived. Strange thing is, your sudden appearance is a bit out of character. You didn't even give us time to get everything ready for your arrival." she glanced back in the direction of the main hall. "And you brought a prince and your son as well!"

Lyam smiled at her words. "Perhaps you might be reading into things a little, princess."

"I doubt it," Deria replied airily. "Dorne might be the black sheep of Westeros but that does not mean we do not hear things."

"Such as?"

There was a coquettish tone to her voice when she spoke."Oh, I don't know, something along the lines of your king dabbling in slavery, heresy, blasphemy... well, all kinds of things really." It was easy to tell that the princess was enjoying this, especially with the way she looked at him from the corner of her eyes.

She wanted a reaction out of him.

Too bad Lyam felt like disappointing her. "Lies, lies and more lies, princess. Just like all in Westeros, we despise slavery and its institution. The Trident would never partake in that foul tradition."

"So, the good and honourable Faith lies in their accusations of your king?"

"All my king is guilty of is giving people their well-deserved freedom. If the Faith thinks something foul of that then I suspect they would be working for some ulterior motive."

Deria allowed herself to laugh just a little. "I must say, this is the first time I've heard someone blatantly and openly accuse the Faith of something nefarious."

Lyam near paled when he realised what he had said but he had said the words and it felt a little too late to actually try and change them. So, he decided to stand by them. "They accuse a good man of heinous crimes; one cannot suspect that something else is at play."

The Princess of Deria lightly touched at his arm with her free hand. "Don't be so stiff, my lord. You can speak freely here. Dorne is no friend of the Faith. They quite dislike some of our... cultural heritage and practices."

Lyam had near forgotten about that. Dorne might worship the Seven but from his understanding, their worship was most certainly rather queer compared to the worship that the Faith in Oldtown championed.

"Apologies, princess, but I must ask, having been at sea for so long, I'm rather behind on current news, what came of the supposed trial my king went through?"

"Oh, he was found guilty."

That nearly knocked Lyam of his feet. "What?"

The princess smiled once more. "The High Septon after much deliberation found King Edmyn of the Trident guilty of heresy and blasphemy though he was acquitted on the charges of slavery... though the man was smart enough to declare so long after he was safe back in Oldtown."

Lyam wondered if the colour was running from his face. Hopefully, it wasn't running from his face. He had to remain strong. He stiffly nodded. "Thank you, princess. It seems I'll need to be on my way back to the Trident as soon as possible. My king and the realm would be in need of me."

Deria stopped, bringing him to a stop as well. She looked up at him with an eyebrow raised. "You would leave so soon without carrying out your duty? You did come here for some other reason, no?"

"I did but you might say my priorities have quite changed in the last few moments."

"Then more so the importance of carrying out your duty."

"Even if I deem it to be something of a lost cause?"

"Surely it can't be that lost a cause." the princess replied.

"Very well," Lyam replied with a shrug. He stood straight and looked directly at the princess. "Princess Deria, I come from Riverrun on the command of King Edmyn, First of His Name, to ask if you would be willing to lend your son's hand in marriage to his daughter, Triss."

Princess Deria's lips quirked upwards a little in amusement. "My, my, that sort of request does require quite the bit of thought and time. I can see why you decided to leave."

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Sep 8, 2019

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#1,778

The Order of the Trident

There have been many recorded knightly orders in the histories of Westeros. What made the Order of the Trident or the 'Blackfish' as they became to be more popularly known was how different they were to their fellow orders.

In some respects, the Blackfish were not a true knightly order. They are more along the lines of a military order than that of a knightly one. In this respect, they somewhat share something in common with their hated foes and rivals, the Faith Militant in their make-up though with enough of a difference for the two organisations to be different.

Whilst the Faith Militant makes it a point to show the difference between the Swords and Stars, no such difference exists within the Blackfish's ranks. Knights are just as likely to serve amongst footmen of humble birth which is the result of the recruiting method that the Order employs.

Men of high and low birth can serve within the ranks of the Blackfish, serving as the royal protectors of the royal family and as one of the finest units of the Trident that can be thrown into battle. It is said that the appearance of the men in the dusky grey plate of the Blackfish and their tridents have been known to inspire fear in their enemies and courage amongst their allies.

For the men of the Blackfish, if they remember, do not ask how many of the enemy they face but where.

Harrenhal had always awed Alfred.

The young prince would not deny that the monstrous castle was well, truly, monstrous. It's halls, corridors and chambers were larger than anything he had ever seen. He remembered some small memories of his youth here, travelling with his royal father to inspect the troops and feeling as small as an ant within the walls of the castle.

He still felt small, but not as small as an ant since he had grown some from the days of his youth. Now, the prince would say that he felt a little more like a beetle.

It was also difficult to believe that of the thousands of men that called Harrenhal home, many of them could be fitted into one of its great yards. An entire sea of tents the colour of copper, the sky and silver. Grandfather had told him once upon a time that such a large group of armed men would have come bearing the sigils of the lordly houses they swore fealty to but here? They all swore fealty to the Crown. To the Trident. His father.

It was a sight to behold.

There was a constant noise. Alfred looked around and saw nothing but soldiers, hundreds, thousands of them and each every single one of them was in motion doing one thing or another. To the untrained eye, it was nothing more than chaos but he had spent time here and had come to learn that the chaos he saw was the kind of chaos that could only be described as ordered.

An unusual way to describe chaos, true but it was the way the chaos unfolded itself.

The men were not running around like headless chickens doing nothing of import. No, they were all doing something important, a task that had been drilled and hammered into them relentlessly by the sergeants and officers.

He glanced back at the tents and noticed that their number had decreased as carts and wagons were loaded with everything ranging from arms, armour, food and water. Everything an army would need on the march for they were marching to war.

Well, a war that had yet to be declared but father wanted the regiments to be ready to move out as soon as he commanded it.

Ser Patrek had a look of pride on his face. Though the knight had seen all of his hair turn grey with the passing of time, he was still powerfully built and it was said that he could still give as much as he would get in the training yards. Alfred believed the tales. One would look at Ser Patrek and see a warrior. A man not to be trifled with.

Father looked small next to the knight even as they rode side by side through the main throughway of the camp. "Could you be more pleased about yourself?" he asked, jokingly.

Ser Patrek allowed a chortle of laughter to escape from his throat. "Don't begrudge an old man his pride at seeing the fruits of his handiwork, your grace."

"I'm not begrudging you anything, ser. I'm just worried that after all these years, you might finally get a little too big for your boots." father replied as he looked straight ahead. He nodded. "But nonetheless, I always knew that I had chosen the right man to turn farm boys into soldiers. You've done more than fine work, ser. After all this, I think it-." father abruptly stopped before shaking his head.

Ser Patrek turned to look at him a little. "Your grace?"

"Nothing." father replied with a shake of the head. "Just ignore my last words. I think I was about to jinx it all. Alfred, you can go back to your unit, re-familiarize yourself with your men." he said as he turned to face the prince.

Alfred nodded. "Yes, my king."

The prince dug his spurs into the side of his horse and rode away. He supposed that father and Ser Patrek were going to have talks that were above his knowing, strategies, tactics and the disposition of troops. He might have been a prince of the realm but when it came to the forces, father had made sure that he learned that he was his rank first and not a prince of the realm.

And his rank in the forces did not give him privilege to learn of the higher talks between the command staff.

The prince rode through the paths that had been pathed by the engineers that made ease of travel in the camp. More often than not, he would have found himself at his regiment's barracks quicker than usual but with all the activity that was happening, sometimes, he had to make way for caravans or troops of soldiers marching.

It might have taken him longer than he would have liked but eventually, Alfred found himself where he had wanted to be. He smiled at the sight of someone he had not seen in what had seemed forever.

"Colour Wood!"

Colour Sergeant Forrest Wood stopped for a moment to look in the direction of the man that had called him, stared for less than a moment before immediately snapping himself straight and saluting. "Lieutenant Tully."

Alfred threw himself off his horse and led it towards the man. "At ease, colour. How have you been?" he asked as he neared the man that had shown him around when he had been assigned to the regiment.

The colour eased as he relaxed, crow's eyes softening as he looked up slightly at the prince. "As well as can be, el-tee. Truth be told, we had not been expecting you back considering your other duties."

Alfred smiled as they began to make their way deeper into their regiments staging area. "Nonsense. I would have to be dragged away kicking and screaming to be pried away from a group of good men such as you all." he said as he saluted other soldiers that recognised him, stopped what they were doing and saluted him.

"You aren't at Court anymore, el-tee, the flattery can stop."

Alfred smiled. "And I missed you too, colour."

Lord Alec Hunter hated this.

He hated to be in this room with these men. He would rather be anywhere else other than here. It just had to be his luck that his mother had decided from an early age to throw him into the game of thrones.

Oh, Alec knew that a war was brewing in the Vale. A civil war, the worst kind of war no less.

Would he like to not be involved in the civil war? Yes, he very much would like not to be involved but he doubted that the powers that be would find it acceptable that House Hunter sat out when the realm needed it. He didn't begrudge his mother of trying to keep the peace or even better, trying to make sure that House Hunter somehow came out unscathed or better yet, improved when the fighting had stopped and the bodies had started cooling.

Alec did not begrudge his mother that. He just wished that it was somebody else other than him.

He most certainly did not want to be amongst the dead when the fighting was over. The Seven-pointed Star could preach all it wanted on the Seven Heavens but by that very same book, he was sure he was damned as damned can be.

Alec had a wife but he also had bastards and the Seven-pointed Star was very clear when it came to bastards and how they were begot. Even if he did not recognise them.

Once again, he felt like swearing to the heavens, the gods were cruel cunts.

He thanked the Seven for blessing him with the virtues of beauty, martial strength and knowledge but he cursed them at the same time for these virtues made wenches throw themselves at him. There was only so much temptation a man can resist, especially when the wenches looked much better than the ugly sot of a cow that was his wife.

It was an abomination in truth, that some lowborn, peasant cunts would be more pleasing than a highborn lady of the Vale with some of the finest Andal heritage that one could ask for.

Still, Lord Alec hated this.

Looking around the room that was filled with the closest supporters of King Ronnel Arryn and Prince Jonos Arryn, he didn't know which was worse, a civil war at home or a war in some foreign land.

He cursed the gods once more and if he could, he would have cut off the head of this Most Devout that brought this proclamation about this Edmyn fellow and his backwards Kingdom of the Trident.

But then again, Alec doubted the gods would be all that pleased with him killing one of their messengers. He needed a drink. A good strong one, perhaps served by that wench with the dark hair. She had been tempting him with easy smiles and coy eyes.

Damn the gods for not giving women the needed self-control of their wily ways.

King Ronnel looked down at the proclamation that had been given to him by the Most Devout. "It's such a shame for one so highly talked off to fall so far from the Grace of the Seven."

The Most Devout had an expression that was very much sombre in its outlook. "Yes, it very much is. We had such high hopes for the young king but it seems the years underneath the rule of the ironborn has led many of the good folk of that kingdom to go astray."

"Even the lords?" Lord Caster Grafton called out, apparently appalled.

Alec didn't know what the man would be appalled by. These so-called lords of the riverlands were of barbarian stock, nothing like that of the Andals. No-one of true Andal stock would have fallen to the deprivations of some up-jumped pirates.

Honestly, the entire history of the kingdom was nothing short of embarrassing.

The Most Devout nodded his head. "Even them. It saddens us to know that many of them do not even bother to worship the Seven."

Prince Jonos spoke up then. There was an easy smile on his face as his eyes looked across the room yet to Alec's eyes, it did not seem like he was looking at any of the lords but his brother instead. "So, not only heathens, heretics and blasphemers but unbelieving atheists as well? This cannot be allowed to stand my lords. Westeros was promised to us, my lords. We would be poor followers of Hugo the Hill's will if we let our fellow believers go astray!"

"Hear, hear!" the lords cried out together, feet stomping the stone floor or hands banging the nearest desk. Ser Yvain Templeton, the Knight of Ninestars, jumped to his feet. "By the sights of all the lords here and the Seven high above, I'd foreswear all of my holdings and possessions if it means this heathen king can be cast down and his blasphemy with it!"

Alec squinted a little as he noticed that Prince Jonos seemed to have something of the faintest smiles on his lips though perhaps that was nothing more than a trick of the light but it seemed as if the brothers were clearly locked in some sort of silent conversation. Ever since this meeting had started, none of them had looked away from each other for more than a moment.

King Ronnel spoke up then. "A noble sentiment, my good knight," the king made a good show of not showing his pain. The Knight of Ninestars was amongst the most prominent of supporters of King Ronnel, both a shield and a sword to any who would question the king. "but I cannot let you do that alone. We lords of the Vale are the purest of the pure in our heritage and faith. It would do us no good if we did not act to right this wrong."

"So, we march to war then?" Prince Jonos asked.

The king returned a look at his brother, unyielding. "We march to war."

Lord Alec Hunter held back a wince and once more, he cursed his mother for throwing him into this mess. He nearly cursed the gods then realised that it would be more beneficial for him to pray to them for salvation for he most certainly did not plan on dying in this coming war.

But most importantly, he cursed these two feuding brothers in front of him for putting his life at risk. If they could only get along.

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Oct 12, 2019

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#1,877

Second War of Independence

The Second War of Independence served as a foretelling of the events to come in the histories of Westeros. Though the war itself can be studied as an event of its own, it's accepted that the war can be considered the first amongst the Wars of Faith that ravaged the continent of Westeros for the years to come. Although to the Kingdom of the Trident and its people, this was not a war of faith but that of the protection of their right to self-autonomy amongst their own people from the greed of the foreign powers who wanted to take their blossoming wealth for their own...

Extract from Blood In The River: A History of the Trident by Edmund Wright-Vance

16 CA

Aberton

It was called the Globe Theatre.

That was what Edmyn had decreed for the mummer's playhouse to be called. No, that was a mistake of her own. It was now a theatre not a mummer's playhouse. The king had been very particular about this from the moment that he had decided for this pl-theatre to be built.

With the Crown's own patronage of the venue, the theatre had quickly found itself becoming amongst the most visited of attractions in the capital. Lords, ladies, rich burghers and the likes paid dearly to see the plays that were shown in this building. It had gained enough influence that even troupes from across the narrow sea found themselves traversing the waters to play at this theatre or at the very least, tour the kingdom and play at other theatres that had been built by other lords in emulation of the Crown.

The king had wanted his kingdom to prosper and it had, both in terms of culture and wealth.

Though called the Globe, the theatre itself was a large half circle. The flat end of the shape was where the stage was located on a raised platform with enough light to for it to be seen by everyone and everything. In front of the stage was a standing area where the less wealthy and those who could not afford seats could come and watch the plays. Beyond that were the seated areas, rows and rows of tiered rising up to the private boxes for the most honoured guests and patrons or simply those who could afford them.

The royal box was the finest amongst the private boxes within the theatre. From where they sat, they could look straight onto the stage and see the play in all its glory without anything blocking their view.

That was especially a good thing for the more vertically challenged amongst the group that had accompanied Zhoe to see this particular play. Anna, Axel, Celia and Forrest sat as still as statues enraptured by the tale that was being woven in front of them. One of the very few times that the children would sit so still for so long before rushing off to do something.

The elders of the group sat a little further back, Triss and Ciri were to the left of the queen, taking mind to involve themselves in conversation but still keep an eye on the play happening below. The other company that had accompanied Zhoe for this particular play was her goodsister and brother, Axel and Alys along with her blood sister Joanna.

"Dear," Joanna began, shaking her head. "I swear I just saw this mummery back in Rosby just a few days ago... do we have no other material as of late? Florian and Jonquil? The Unmasking?"

"Play, sister." Zhoe replied with a small smile. "If you want mummery, I'm sure there's a few of them happening somewhere in the less reputable parts of the city."

Her sister leaned on the armrest of her seat. "I fear one way or another, it will just be another variant of what I'm seeing right-."

"Quiet!" Axel shushed quietly fiercely, his head turning around so quick to face them with narrow eyes. "The best bit is about to happen!"

Zhoe laughed as Joanna blinked. Truth be told, she should have known better. The children loved this play. A story about heroes and villains. There might not have been dragons, evil warlorcks or the likes, but there was certainly knights, lords and most importantly, ironborn.

Zhoe turned her attention towards the play happening down below. To be honest, she didn't actually have to pay much attention for her to quickly realise that they were into the final act. In fact, the play was quite close to its ending, just a few more lines and then that would be it.

On the stage, a tall backdrop drew the eye as it was painted in vivid colours with the backdrop of Harrenhal in the background along with the drawings of a mass of huddled flesh that was designed to make it so that more people than the actors on stage were about to watch the event unfold that was being re-enacted. The playmaster walked onto the stage then in vibrant colours garnering the attention of the on-watching crowd.

"Listen closely, o people of this great land!" the man began, his voice carrying throughout the Globe. "For the last act of this tale, we learn of the prices that had to be paid in blood for the freedom we enjoy from the tyranny of the ironborn! Of heroes and legends risen! The finale of a man who said no more!"

Well, that was one way of viewing the events of that time. Zhoe was one of the few that had quite come to learn that it was less of a patriot fighting for his home and its people and more of his husband seeing an opportunity and taking it. Though she doubted that many people would actually believe that telling of the tale.

The finale act was slower than the ending of the middle act. No great battle amongst the ironborn and the high and lowborn of the Trident outside the castle walls or even upon them. No instead the mummers went about congratulating themselves for a hard-won victory with the red-haired mummer that played her husband having an introspective monologue about the losses they had suffered, about the future, about what comes next for the Trident.

The crowd hollered and hooted at his words. Clapped their hands and stomped their feet. "Tully! Tully! Tully!" they shouted. "Trident! Trident! Trident!" was another shout, this one even louder as the children joined in, jumping up and down on their seats.

"I swear this story gets more ridiculous the more I hear it." Axel muttered to himself but just not quiet enough to be heard by others.

Alys gently nudged her husband in the arm. "Why dear, are you saying this is not what happened at Harrenhal that fateful day?"

There was blood in the water and the sharks pounced. "What would the people say if they learn that the great victory is based on nothing but lies?" Cirilla added from the queen's side, quite amused by what was being said.

"Well," Axel shifted in his seat, trying to make himself comfortable. "I wouldn't call it lies."

"Then the tale is quite true then, goodbrother?" The queen asked, an eye on the children who were still clapping excitedly as Harren was brought onto stage in iron to face judgement.

The mummer's Edmyn started making some sort of grandiose speech that Zhoe had always thought was a little bit too much. She had always been more partial to the Braavosi telling of her royal husband's greatest victory. There was more nuance to it and less... fiction.

Though the more lively depictions seem more popular among the people, the Braavosi telling amongst the court was widely considered to be the superior telling of the tale.

"More or less." Axel admitted. "Just I don't remember any sort of speech by Edmyn. He isn't one for speeches."

Joanna laughed but not her usual booming, loud laughs in respect of her surroundings. "Can't be helped then. Mummers have always been known to exaggerate the facts. I hear it's something of an honour when they don't have to... invent scenes."

"I'll agree with the lady, my lord." Alys said. "As long as the story is true to the original, then what does it matter?"

Axel sighed. "Nothing, I suppose. Just... it's so... ridiculous."

They laughed at that.

It was good to laugh in such times. If one wasn't aware of it, it would almost look as if the kingdom was not currently at a war footing of any kind. That thousands would be marching to fight.

It was even more apparent in the streets. Men, women and children from all walks of life went about their business as if nothing amiss. Zhoe did not think the people were being ignorant, she was more than sure that they knew that a war was afoot. She doubted even Axel could hide the news of a war from their kingdom's subjects.

The play had finished to raucous applause and cheer from the viewers, with many of the crowd demanding an encore, an encore the troupe were more than willing to give despite the lateness of the night. The children were amongst those clamouring for an encore and the adults had surely made enemies when they had denied said children the chance to watch the play once more.

Zhoe surmised that they would surely pay for that choice later on but the day was long and it was well past their bed time.

"So, do you think we'll win?"

"Hm?" Zhoe hummed as she turned her attention away from the window of the carriage to face her sister. "Sorry, did you say something sister?"

Joanna rolled her eyes. "You heard me, sister."

"It's obvious that we're going to win, aunt." Triss replied for her mother as she stroked the head of the sleeping Celia on her thighs. "It's father."

The Lady Rosby inclined her head in a nod for a moment before replying. "And your father is nought but a single man."

"A great man." Triss corrected.

Zhoe giggled quietly, mindful of waking the sleeping children in their carriage. "With other fine men who want to protect us and this kingdom that he's built."

"Against the chivalry of the reach..." her sister muttered before shaking her head. "would it have been a little too much for him to just bow to the whims of the Faith?"

Cirilla yawned from her place, mindful of the sleeping heads of her sons. "Father and pride do not go together. Anyway, father did as much as he could to bring the Faith and his lords on side. Correct me if I'm wrong aunt, but didn't House Rosby refuse to donate lands to the Faith for their septs and all?"

"That was my fool of a husband's notion. Nothing to do with me." Joanna waved the enquiry off. "Believe me, I tried to make him toe the line but well, you know how Harrison feels about his treasury."

"Can't say I do, to be honest."

"Well, now you know for future reference." she turned her attention away from Zhoe's eldest and turned her attention back to the queen. "Then again, you didn't answer my question. Do you think he'll win?"

"Yes." the answer had come out of her mouth without a moment of hesitation. It wasn't that she had absolute faith in her husband which she did but it was merely an answer that had come out of her mouth on reflex. Years at court had told her that hesitation when it came to some questions did not inspire much in the way of confidence. "And I say that not out of some misplaced confidence or loyalty towards Edmyn but because I know him. He does not rush to do things without thinking them through. He always makes sure that he has a plan for whatever occasion that might come."

Joanna was quiet for a few moments. A few more moments passed before she nodded her head. "Any particular reason why he hasn't called the banners then? I know of that army of his that camps out at Harrenhal but I doubt that's enough to take on the entirety of the reach and the westerlands!"

At her sister's question, all Zhoe could do was smile. "Unfortunately, matters of war are something that don't interest me much. I rather leave such details to more learned men than me."

"Fine, don't answer then." Joanna said with a sigh of defeat. "I suppose the only good thing about that is that my husband and sons won't get themselves killed in some battle." Zhoe and Cirilla held back the wince but it was noticeable on Triss. Joanna noticed that and immediately looked apologetic. She reached over to the young red-headed woman and placed a hand on her knee. "Sorry sweetling, my words were ill thought. Your father will be fine."

Triss tried her best to smile confidently but the smile that came to her lips was weak and unsure but she smiled and nodded nonetheless.

Zhoe wondered how she would be able to tell her children that the reason why so much of their clan was in the capital for the coming moons was not because that she wanted to be alone in the coming times but because Edmyn worried about his chances of success at turning back the enemy? Even now, the Eastern Fleet remained at its bases at Marineford and Maidenpool awaiting to evacuate the royal family and others to Braavos if things went pear shaped.

Zhoe had never been one much for prayer but she prayed to the gods that it would not be the case.

With that thought in mind, she couldn't help but wonder why her husband had not called the banners if he thought the odds of victory were so low?

"Is that a fire?" Triss asked as she looked outside.

The women in the carriage shifted slightly to look outside through her window and indeed, the night sky was illuminated by burning oranges and reds of flames. By the time that they had returned to the palace, the fire had already been put out.

And her father was waiting for them in the courtyard.

"Lord Minister," Axel greeted his goodfather with a nod of the head. "something must have happened for you to be meeting us at this late an hour."

Zhoe and Joanna moved towards their aged father ushering the drowsy children along to be taken by their carer, the circles plain to see around his eyes. "Father...?" they said at the same time.

Lord Mooton spared his daughters a thin smile before he quickly turned to his lordly disposition. "There have been riots in the city. Thankfully, the watchmen were able to put them down with minimum casualties."

"I was wondering why it seemed to be so lively..." Axel commented dryly as he turned to look back at the city in the direction they had come from. "What would they be rioting about though? I have yet to hear any particular crisis that could cause riots."

"Apart from the war?" Alys asked.

Axel cleared his throat. "That hasn't been officially announced just yet."

Lord Mooton stepped closer. "The septs. They burned and looted them."

No-one winced at the news. No-one in the courtyard would particularly say they were an adherent of the Faith but the news was most certainly not welcomed by Zhoe. "This was bound to happen at some point. It can't be helped at the very least, that land will actually be used to build something of use to the people. Clinics, hospitals and watch stations. Things like that."

"When the Faith learn of this," Axel began, sighing heavily. "they will use this as propaganda to garner more aid for their vendetta against us."

Joanna's hand slipped to hold hers and tightened. "This was expected though, no?"

"Very much." Lord Mooton confirmed. "But not so soon. The Faith has very little friends within the realm."

"But too many eyes and ears." Zhoe said.

Axel turned to look at her. "My queen...?"

"The septons and the septas." she began. "they need to be confined lest they doom us all."

Last edited: Oct 14, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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TryingToBeKuw

Oct 12, 2019

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TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Oct 26, 2019

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#1,950

16 CA

South of Tumbler's Falls

Blackwater Rush

Ser Hugo Brax of Hornvale

The Blackwater Rush was the only distinguishable aspect that marked the borders of the Kingdoms of the Reach and Trident.

It was the only interesting thing about the geography of the land that had been chosen as the rendezvous point of the allied armies of the Westerlands and the Reach. For if not for that great body of water, it would be nothing but flat plains upon flat plains for miles on end without seemingly stopping.

Though this hill might have hidden the army of the reach from sight, it had most definitely not hidden the sound and smell of tens of thousands of men. And indeed, it was tens of thousands of men. As he crested the hill, Hugo Brax couldn't exactly make out an exact number but it most certainly had to be in the tens of thousands just judging by the number of tents that had been pitched up.

It was a veritable sea of colours and sigils.

Just a quick glance from the heights of the small hill, he could already tell that House Gardener might as well have brought most of its extended family with it on this campaign. Apart from the green hand on white of the Gardeners, Hugo made out the chequered lion of the Osgreys, the golden centaur of Caswell, the silver caltrops on black of Footly, the golden grove of Rowan, the spider of Webber and so, so, so many more.

He even spotted the rainbow sword and star of the Faith Militant in that mixture as well.

If Hugo was a fool, he might have thought that King Mern in his old age had brought the entirety of the chivalry of the reach with him just by the numbers. It was a sobering thought to know that this was only a part of the greenhand's strength.

No doubt the old king would have left strength behind to protect his kingdom whilst summoning an army to not only just strike at the Kingdom of the Trident but also that of the Iron Isles.

Still though, knowing that the chivalry of the reach would be joining with the pride of the west, Hugo couldn't help but wonder one thing, wasn't this all a bit too much? Especially for one measly kingdom.

"Well, this a godsdamn shame." Adrian Sarsfield remarked as they made their way towards the large encampment.

Hugo spared a glance towards his fellow lordling. "And why is it a shame?" he asked, more or less already making a guess as to what the lordling would say next.

"With so many people in front, I doubt there is little in it for us to get some glory." Adrian sighed with disappointment proving his words true to Hugo's own predictions. Adrian did not lack much in bravery but Hugo did always think the lordling was always a little too eager for a fight. Or proving himself. Or what other reason. "If I'd known I'd have so many competitors on the field of glory, I would have asked my lord father to take me with him with his banners to the isles."

When the ravens had spread word of the coming battles to come, many a houses in the west had found themselves with two choices for fields of battle. The Iron Islands to the west or the river kingdom to the east.

For Hugo, the choice was easy and rather smart as far as he was concerned though he kept his reasoning to himself. No doubt some people would accuse him of cowardice if they learned of his reasons but he thought it wasn't cowardice but mere wits. For the past several years, the ironborn may have been content to fight amongst themselves every now and then to seat one of themselves upon the throne that Harren had left but Hugo was well aware of the danger they still posed, especially amongst the sea.

Throughout history, the Iron Islands have been invaded many times but what most histories don't tell is the amount of times such invasions usually failed rather than succeeded. It was a rare thing for an enemy fleet to actually make it to the shores of any of the great islands of the raiders.

With the might of the Reach and the Rock at the fore this time, such a thing shouldn't be much of a worry but as far as Hugo was concerned, why risk it? It would be simply easier for him in the long run to take the safe land route where at the very least, if he was to fall in battle, he would have made it to battle in the first place. Fighting on solid ground instead of rocking floating wood atop the seas.

The stench of so many men on this hot summer's day soon became near unbearable, even from some hundred or so yards away, maybe even more. Hugo's nostrils flared as they tried to take in fresh, untainted air but it stung too much and instead, the Brax lordling breathed through his mouth, thankful to the gods that he, at the very least, couldn't taste the foul emanations within his mouth.

As the westerling party rode through the camp, now composed of only lords and knights of excellent repute, the levies and the rest having broken off to set up their own tents and the likes, Hugo noticed that the camp did not look like much of a camp at a war footing. They were men singing, banging instruments, drinking, gambling even... fucking judging by certain lines of men he spotted.

Now Hugo was no expect on war, he had yet to even see twenty years to his name, but his lessons on war by his maester, his father and the castle master-at-arms had taught him many things that he was not seeing right now. Why were there no sergeants, officers going about drilling the men? Getting them into shape? Yes, they were encamped within the borders of a friendly realm with a clear view of their surroundings, but truly, no trenches? Palisades? Ditches or any other defensive works?

The lack of anything but apparent hedonism made him very warry.

The Brax lordling took a moment to gather his breath, nearly chocked at the vileness of it before clutching at the star that hung around his neck and the favour of his lady wife that was tied around his blade. Hugo knew that as a scion of one of the more principal houses of the west, he would no doubt be given a command of some sort, perhaps with outriders, he did not know. What he certainly did know was that Lord Roland Lydden, the commander of the westerling forces would certainly be brought into the principal war councils and he would take some or all of his captains with him into them. Hugo did not know if he would be one of them but he might have been able to leverage the weight of his name to bring up some of the worries that he saw.

"My lords of the west!" Someone crowed as they neared upon the centre of the camp, dominated by a large tent that was bigger than any war tent had the right to be. "We were beginning to wonder if you would show."

Adrian stood in his saddle a little to try and have a look at the man who had called out to them. "Who the fuck is that?" he asked, squinting and trying to look past the others in front.

Hugo didn't reply and instead focused on something that amazed him. At first, he had thought he was seeing things but after blinking, he realised he wasn't. Several men, dressed in colours and bearing sigils that could only come from the Stormlands.

"Fuck me," the lordling mouthed as he eyed the winged black heart of the Toynes. The Haystack of Errol. The griffons of Connington, Buckler, Mertyns, Cole but none compared to the one that led them all. "Durrandons and Gardeners working together? Gods have mercy..." he had been worried about not seeing any battle on favourable ground if he had gone to the isles, but now he worried about seeing any battle at all.

"Fuck me," Adrian echoed though his words were more of a curse than surprise, his voice tart in his throat as he saw what Hugo saw. "Fucking Durrandons and Gardeners! The Reach and the Stormlands! This Edmyn fellow must be quite the fool to somehow have garnered such houses as foes to himself!" the Sarsfield lordling bellowed in laughter.

Others glanced to look at him but more or not, they too were stuck in sheer surprise at the sight of such sworn enemies seemingly ready and willing to fight together. Hugo took the sight of such a union of these two ancient and old enemies fighting side by side that the coming campaign was ordained by the gods themselves. A sign of good fortune.

Though he wondered why they were here.

Though maps weren't as detailed about such things, he was quite sure that it was somewhat of a general common knowledge that a large crossing existed at the mouth of the Blackwater just beyond the Wendwood. Yes, the lordling knew that some sort of town or fortification of some sort had been built by the river king on their side of the border to guard that crossing but surely, they could have found another one further inland?

Another thing to put at the back of his mind and think about later on, Hugo surmised.

They were led into the great pavilion that had been set up by the gardeners and inside, much a feast was going on with dancing, music, wine and food. The scent of rich pig fat being turned over a great spit drifted into his nostrils, a blessing considering the other smells that had been wafting into his nose.

"Announcing the presence of Lord Roland Lydden, Lord of the Deep Den, Warden of the Deep Pass!" …was that a herald? They actually brought a herald with them? Hugo couldn't believe it, seeing the man announce their presence that he almost missed hearing his name being spoken out. "...Lord Hugo Brax, second son of Lord Quentin Brax of Hornvale!"

Adrian gave him a nudge and he thanked the youth for it as he walked forward. An attendant was already waiting for him and he was led towards a seat. He took stock of where he sat and nodded. He was at the front but not too near the higher lords but just not too far.

Not a bad a place to sit considering the large gathering of lords of the allied realms in this particular endeavour. Taking his seat, he looked around at the raised dais and tried to take stock of who was who. It was easy enough to see King Mern, aged as he was but still powerful looking with the slowly fading colour to his air and his queen, Meredith. The crowns made it easier too. His sons as well, Princes Edmund the Heir, Gawen the Gallant, Garth the Brave and Greydon.

Now that he thought about it and took a better look, there was quite a great many that wore the green hand of the Gardener or a variant sigil upon their persons. It was whilst he was trying to make sense of this that someone next to him decided to give him a helping hand.

"King Mern has brought his entire court with him..." a bearded lord to his left said in quiet whispers as he tore into some meat. "or so the tales say. Though I wouldn't past him to be honest, the Gardeners have a reputation of always being a bit too up their own asses."

Hugo took a moment to study the man and spotted his sigil and then it clicked. A stormlander. No wonder his words came out so easily though he seemed to like their largesse quite well enough judging by the food. "I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced..." he trailed, searching for a name.

"Raymund Connington." the man greeted himself, wiping some grease from his beard. "I'd offer a hand in greeting but..." he wiggled his fingers and they glistened in the light, slick with grease and juice. He grinned widely at Hugo. "wouldn't want to make your hands all slippery like. Sort of ruins the feel when they get all like this."

"Hugo Brax." the lordling introduced himself with a slow nod, not exactly knowing of what to take of the man. "The...feel?" he asked. The feel of what? The meat? Food?

He got his answer as a serving wench walked by and Raymund took a great big squeeze of her arse that set her to jumping so high like she had been stung by a bee to the laughter of men gathered around. "The. Feel." he replied, a look of satisfaction on his face. "The grease makes it too slippery to actually enjoy touching anything. You won't have much a firm grip as you would like."

Hugo blinked, unsure of what to say. "...Okay?"

Raymund took a moment to look at him. "By the gods, tell me you've felt a woman's embrace?"

"I'm married." the reply came out of Hugo's mouth faster than he thought possible.

The Connington lord took a moment to look around and spread his arms wide. "And so is near about everyone in this room but look around. That isn't stopping them."

Hugo didn't need to look around to see what he meant. He had been at enough feasts and the likes to know what happened at these sort of events. What he most certainly did know was that for some strange reason, it was very... demurred for such an occasion.

Yes, many a bastard would be blighted upon this world tonight and the coming days of this war, but he noticed that the lords were very controlled in their actions. No lord went to strip some poor wench of her bodice or lift her skirts. None of the sorts.

He could only guess that it was in respect to Queen Meredith and the other Gardener ladies who sat upon the dais, watching over everything.

"It just isn't the queen, you know." said Raymund, getting Hugo's attention once more. He inclined his head to the dais were someone who wasn't a Gardener sat next to the king, whispering in his ear about something. "That there would be the all mighty High Septon himself. Wouldn't do to be seem to be breaking vows and the likes within the presence of the gods very own representative on this world."

Hugo frowned at the lord's words. "Men are not such shallow creatures. You make it sound as if we need a minder to keep our baser natures in check."

Raymund was sucking at the juices on his fingers. "You'd be surprised though to be honest, most of the lords here will definitely be behaving and kissing arse of the High Septon simply because they want to be in his good graces when it comes to dividing up the plunder. It's easier to have a larger portion of the pie when the cutting is being done by a friend."

"I am not fighting for land," Hugo replied, dusting invisible dust of himself. "I am fighting to rid a kingdom of a heretical kingdom and bring the light and mercies of the Seven upon those who have strayed."

That was another reason why he had come east instead of west.

Truth be told, he had thought that those of the Faith had failed the riverfolk. When the blackhearts of the Iron Islanders had fallen upon them, the kingdoms should have put aside their differences and come together in aid of their fellow believers.

The fact that they did not was a black mark Hugo thought would stain their souls when it came to being judged by the Father when the time came.

The griffon lord raised an eyebrow in interest as he studied him for a few moments. He then wiped his hands clean and then held one out. "Don't think I introduced myself properly back then. Lord Raymund Connington of House Connington. Lord of Griffin's Roost."

Hugo blinked for a moment before quickly taking the lord's hand by instinct not wanting to cause an unnecessary trouble by slighting the lord. "Ser Hugo Brax of Hornvale, second son of Lord Quentin Brax." the hand shake was firm and strong, much a judge of character as it was a greeting. "Though my lord, I'd admit, I'm surprised at the presence of stormlanders and reachfolk mingling together so cordially."

"Truth be told, I'm surprised as well." the lord admitted freely as he looked around. "I half expected a few murders here, a couple of fights there and quite the few duels of insulted pride and honour but honestly? For the past three days that we have been here, we've only had a score of deaths between us."

How was Hugo to reply to that? "That's... good?"

"Better to be honest though our queen did give us strict instructions to be on our best behaviour when we rode off." Raymund shook his head. "they say that Argilac was a bull of a man with no equal within the realm. Her Grace isn't so much a bull but she definitely has his temperament."

Queen Argilac.

She was something of a tale among the people of the west. When she was crowned, many did not think she would last long, after all, only the Dornish and their strange, foreign ways had proven themselves willing to have a woman lead them.

Argella Durrandon was not supposed to have lasted but she persisted despite ruling over the proud and militant stormlands, despite her sex. Hugo knew that she had married well and that her royal father had his most loyal banners swore sacred oaths to his daughter and that he had retreated from public life in his later years, pushing his daughter to the front of the matters of the realm. A move that saw to it that the princess proved her worth.

But the birth of her son to a Boiling more or less secured her throne as there was now a male heir that would soon come into age.

A male heir that Hugo suspected that he was now seeing.

"Would that be Prince Arlan then?" he asked as he eyed a dark eyed dashing giant that seemed to tower over everyone else around him.

Raymund glanced in the direction that Hugo had nodded in and smiled. "Aye, that would be our future king, here to win himself some glory for his royal house and the realm."

"Hmm..." was all Hugo would say on the subject. He simply did not want to interpret the lord's words for something else entirely. He smoothed out his doublet. "I look forward to fighting with you then when the time comes, my lord."

"If there is any fighting to be done." the lord replied. "I hear you lot brought about five thousand men? With another ten thousand coming through the Golden Tooth? With the fifteen thousand that we brought; we have sixty thousand troops all together. Sixty thousand levies and knights. If I had any lick of sense after seeing the size of this camp, I would try to come to terms or take my hide and run." Hugo looked at the lord I askance and all he did was shrug. "My goal in life is to live to a ripe old age. That doesn't happen if I do things that could be considered stupid. Ser Hugo, this is one hell of a host and Mern's been smart about it as well, living it out in the open for all to see. By now, word should have reached Tumbler's Falls about how fuckin big this host is and that my friend, is going to give us one hell of an advantage when it comes to the thick of it."

Hugo mulled at the lord's words for a few moments before he spoke. "Numbers alone do not certify victory."

"No," the lord agreed. "but they bloody help."

Last edited: Oct 26, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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338

TryingToBeKuw

Oct 26, 2019

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TryingToBeKuw

TryingToBeKuw

I used to care, then I discovered Dark Souls.

Oct 27, 2019

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#2,032

16 CA

Tumbler's Falls Ford

Ser Hugo Brax

From their side of the Rush, Hugo could make out the walled town of Tumbler's Falls. It was a little too far away to make out any precise details but he could see that it had strong sound walls to it. Walls that were going to be a bloody business to take.

And that was if they could make this crossing first.

The ford was wide and stable enough to allow the crossing of this great host and if it was to be believed, the riverfolk had actually seen to improve it by steadying the earth underneath the waters. Hugo didn't think that their effort into making a suitable crossing for merchants and the likes would soon be turned upon them to be invaded.

At the very least, he supposed that they had been smart enough to at the very least, build some fortifications on their side of the border though not enough to wary the lords in the south as something of a military build-up. The particular fortification seemingly being some wooden guard tower that commanded the ford.

Lord Raymund scoffed at the sight of the wooden tower as men formed up in front of the ford, part of the first wave of men that was to be sent forth to try and take control. "That's all they have for this place? You should see some of the forts they built on our border."

Hugo didn't know how it came to be about, but apparently, the young lordling had found himself in the good company of the griffon lord. He was yet to decide whether this was a good thing or not. It wasn't as if he learned much of the state of the Stormlands from their... well, acquaintance and Hugo was tight-lipped on the matters of the west.

"Isn't it that town or something? What's it called, Blackmouth? Baywater?" Adrian Sarsfield asked as he chewed out of an apple, watching with boredom as levies took their positions at the barks of sergeants. Hugo had been half surprised that Adrian had not jumped at the idea of being amongst the first to charge into the riverfolk.

"Blackwater Bay." corrected Raymund Connington, scratching at his arse as he did so. "By the looks of things, quite the town. Strong to with big-ass walls and apparently, a permanent garrison of some professional militia."

Adrian waved the lord's words away as he eyed the other the human hedgehog that had firmly planted its arse on the other side of the ford where they meant to be on. The points of the halberds glimmered in the morning sunlight, firmly planted in the ground ready and willing to turn back the attackers with crossbowmen at either side to shoot at the flanks.

"Everyone knows a good charge can sent any infantry scurrying back between their mother's legs." the Sarsfield scion remarked. "The only reason why we are not doing that here is all this water in the way would blunt our charge."

Raymund Connington let out an amused sound as he surveyed the area as the last of the first wave of levies formed up. "Well, I suppose there is some wits about you then, my lord. I'd have wagered out quiet friend here was the thinker of the two of you."

Adrian scoffed and Hugo found himself coughing for no particular reason. Whatever was happening, he most certainly did not want to be a part of it but if they were to be talking of strategy as of now, the lordling thought he might as well share his thoughts. "We should be trying to find other crossings. Trying to take this one alone would be madness."

"Madness it would be." the griffon lord agreed with a knowing look upon his face. "It's a good thing then that we are doing exactly that. I don't mean to be rude my lord, but amongst the captains, we've been in our fair share of battles. We know what we are doing."

Adrian laughed out loud as Hugo batted away the heat that threatened to come to his cheeks. "Apologies my lord, I did not mean to question you or the other lord captains' competencies when it comes to war." apologised Hugo, bowing his head as he did so all the while thinking, had he truly been so arrogant to not think someone would have not have had the same thoughts as him.

"It's nothing to fret about, good ser. I remember being young and impetuous and bold, oh so very bold. That drive and fire got me where I am."

"I thought it got you where you were because you were the firstborn of your lord father." commented Adrian dryly.

The lord chuckled in good humour. "That it did, no point in denying the fact. A good sword arm and head also helped a little bit but being the first male to slide out from my mother's cunt certainly did settle it for me!"

The cries of the wounded and dying suddenly filled the air, garnering the attention of the attended lords and knights that had decided to watch the proceedings from a raised swatch of land. Instinctively, man had gone to grasp at the pommels of their swords in preparation of an attack.

Hugo was amongst them as his eyes darted here and there in search of such an attack. "There!" someone shouted from somewhere in the group. Hands raised to look in the direction of the ford where the first battle was just about ready to begin to cross the ford and take it. "Arrows!" another one shouted as form the sky, black pin pricks fell from the sky, catching unarmoured flesh sending men screaming in pain or the last of their death throes.

"Bugger me," Raymund Connington said, blinking at the sight. "that's some range on their bows. The fuck are they using?"

No-one answered as more and more arrows fell from the sky, felling even more men and sending the first battle into disarray. What had once been an organized battle had become a haphazard battle that had no discipline to it with far too many gaps for anyone to like. If the riverfolk charged now, that would have been the end of it.

But the riverfolk did not charge, instead, they continued to let loose arrow after arrow after arrow.

The first battle was largely composed of levies from the farms, hamlets, villages and towns of the northern reach and very few in the first battle had shields or armour that was strong enough to withstand the blows that arrows gave. Only a company amongst the first battle was armoured men-at-arms, professional soldiers to give a bit of steel and confidence to the smallfolk.

It was the men-at-arms that saw the least amount of casualties and even then, they were positioned at the rear of the battle, to encourage the levies to move forward and not back. Even now, they pushed them forward, urging them.

But too many had died and many more wounded. The levies did not want to take another step forward, even more so when another volley of arrows fell down from the sky.

Adrian blinked. "Who's in command of the van again? I don't think anybody actually said anything."

"Lord Wilbur Osgrey." answered the red-haired Lord Connington. "Though the Osgrey's have been waning for some time now, they still hold a respectable name. If he fucks this up though, the Rowans are going to be all over him."

"He should send the second battle in." a lord commented from somewhere within the watching crowd. "with the armoured steel and send it to charge."

"Those crossbows though would take quite a meal out of them. I think another battle composed of peasant should be sent to charge. Make these riverfolk waste their arrows. No point in sacrificing good men." said another lord to the agreements of others.

Lord Osgrey seemed to have decided on a course of action. Another battle was sent in, this one composed of seemingly equal men-at-arms and levies whilst he brought up his own bowmen to try and skirmish with the defending forces on the other side.

The second battle immediately surged forward, picking up speed as they walked before letting out a bellowing of war cries that seemed to shake the air as they ran through the ford towards the riverfolk, arrows still raining. Lord Osgrey had settled for a charge, to get as many men across the ford as quick as possible before the arrows took their tow.

His bowmen though where not having the best of luck by the looks of things. The Blackwater was a wide river and very few arrows seemed to make it across. The few that did stopped being a threat to the crossbowmen on the other side when they simply retreated several paces back but still within range to harass their attacking forces.

Hugo took one long look at the battle happening in front of him and noted that it was still very much early in the morn and pulled at his reins to head back to camp. There was no need for him to be here this particular time for there was nothing for him to do.

His time would be better spent in the yard honing his skills or resting.

16 CA

Aberton

Marcella

Marcella was alone in the sept.

No, that was a lie.

In truth, she was not alone within the sept. She had the presence of the Seven-who-are-One within this holy place to communicate with whenever her spirit needed their succour. But that was only in the realm of the spirit for in the physical realm, she had her minder.

She did not need to look behind her to know Ser Edmund Hestion watched her like a hawk. Noting every move and every breath she took. If there was one thing she would note about these 'new men' is that they were fanatically loyal to the royal house that had seen to their freedom.

In truth, Marcella figured that she was one of the lucky ones compared to many of her brothers and sisters of the Faith that had found themselves arrested on the orders of the Queen and her Cabinet. She had been outraged in truth, to think that a child of the Faith would be treated as such. But as she learned and understood the reasons as to why such a course of action had been taken by her hosts, the wisdom of the Crone began to make her understand.

No.

It was more accurate to say that Marcella understood.

She understood as to why this had happened. She understood very much that it pained her heart to know that she could not blame them. She could not blame the people of these lands for their mistrust of the Faith.

Ever since she had learned that she was to be assigned to the royal household of this new kingdom, she had been ecstatic in that she would be bringing the light of the Seven to folk that had been denied it for too long. What she had not understood at the time that they had been gone for so long that the people, still to stay in touch with their gods had adopted practices that differed to those of the norm amongst the Faith.

The Dornish Faith was barely tolerated by those of the Starry Sept and the same could be said for what little they knew of the Snowy Sept in White Harbour but they were allowed to fester for reasons of distance and politics and that they still stayed true to the practices and the doctrines of the Faith and the Seven-pointed Star.

The Faith that had become to be born in the riverlands did not so much do as that. The only way that Marcella could understand it was that folk had more or less decided to take every single thing they liked about other faiths of Westeros and add it into their own. The simplicity of the old gods of the north and gods have mercy, drowned god of the Iron Isles. With the Faith being banned from the riverlands during the rain of the Hoare kings, folk still needed to pray but they had no septs to pray at so they had simply copied what the Blackwoods and their old god followers did.

Seven faces in a heart tree.

Simple in procedure and simple in practice.

Funeral rites amongst the nobility had seen less lords being seen to by the silent sisters but by being laid into boats that would then be set alight as it travelled down a river. Something the ironborn had left to the people of the riverlands despite the cruelty of their occupation.

All in all, practices that the Faith did not agree on, especially when it came to their ordained rights.

It had been quite difficult for her to understand exactly why the people pushed back so hard on the idea of indulgences amongst the people of this land. It was only when she understood that for the vast majority of the people of this realm had never paid for such a thing that it became clear to her that some of the practices of the Faith would not be well received amongst the people.

And she had been right.

Amongst her fellows, many were attacked when they asked for donatives and when sinners came to repent and ask for salvation, they reacted quite... strongly to the idea of indulgences.

Taking that into all account and the other... activities of her brothers, no doubt that the Faith did not endear itself to the people of this realm. Marcella knew she was one of the lucky ones in how she was treated despite her house address and that was in thanks to the mercies of the princesses that she had raised since they were naught but babes.

She had learned that when news of the edict arresting all sisters and brothers of the Faith had spread throughout the land, some had not been so lucky to be confined into cells but had found themselves meeting mob justice.

Despite all this, she could not find herself to be wroth. She was simply at peace.

Perhaps despair had come to take her one night and did not know it or maybe a blessing from the Crone, that she did not know either.

What she did know at the end of the day was that she could not blame the people of this realm for what had transpired. She had been born into the Faith and knew that it was as weak as the human flesh that governed it despite all the good it did. Corruption and sin, she had seen it first hand within her beloved house but neither had the power nor understanding to root it out.

Now? Perhaps.

She placed her beads away and rose to her feat, glancing in the direction of the Crone once. "Ser Edmund?" she called out, knowing he would not reply to her call, but she did hear the silent creaking of his armour as he put his attention on her. "Would it be too much of me to ask to speak to the queen at her earliest convenience?"

The knight did not reply but she knew that he would pass on the request nonetheless. As a written or spoken report, it did not matter, as long as it was passed on.

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Oct 31, 2019

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#2,169

King Mern's hand smacked the great table between us with such force that everybody could hear the protestations of the furniture. "Two weeks! Two bloody weeks!" the king bellowed, his face red with seething fury. "We've been here for two bloody fucking weeks and we still can't cross that ford!?" His words were directed towards Lord Osgrey.

Lord Osgrey looked like a thoroughly defeated man as he shirked underneath the weight of all the eyes that were on him, awaiting to whatever platitudes he would say today. To say the man had been walking on a thin line since the third day would have been an understatement.

Hugo was surprised the man had been able to make it two weeks in command of the van.

"Sire..." Lord Wilbur Osgrey licked at his lips as he tried to find words. "just a few more days and we shall be on the other side, this I swear!"

Lord Reginald Rowan seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the sight of his rival squirming. "I'm sure if you throw enough bodies at them, we're bound to make a dam to stymy the Rush."

"And bloody my army." King Mern grumbled at the lord, seemingly not amused by the jape. The king took to his feet. "No more. Lord Osgrey, you're relieved of your command."

Osgrey's jaw dropped and his eyes darted here and there around the room, seemingly trying to find someone to defend him, even amongst the foreigners. He couldn't find anyone willing to speak up for him. The man had proven to be a completely unimaginative commander.

"S-sire!" the man stammered, his tone near begging. "Just a few more days is all I need."

"You've had a few days more than plenty!" Mern snarled, baring teeth like a rabid, angry dog.

"Peace, your grace." the High Septon finally spoke up in the proceeding from the other head of the table that the war council sat or stood around. Heads turned to look at the man of the gods. "We are all friends and allies here fighting for a righteous cause. There is no need for us to fight amongst ourselves."

Prince Edmund stood and placed a hand on King Mern's shoulders. "His Eminence is right, my king. We cannot fight amongst ourselves in this gathering of friends from all across Westeros." Hugo thought the meaning behind the prince's words were a little too late.

Everybody had seen the Gardener king lay into one of his own and remove him of command so publicly. Yes, Lord Osgrey needed to be relieved of duty but not in the manner that had just occurred.

If King Mern had wanted to show strength, he instead had shown weakness... or perhaps strength at how willing he was to eviscerate one of his own in the presence of others?

The Reach king took a moment to breath in some air and took to his seat once more. "This stalemate has become an annoyance; I want it ended." Hugo nearly snorted at the man's demand. How exactly where they supposed to end this stalemate? It wasn't even a stalemate really. The rivermen were winning considering they kept the alliance on this side of the river and not on their own. "I've had riders sent to Tumbleton to have barges be brought in from there. If we can't ford our way across, we'll simply sail our way across. I'd like to thank Prince Arlan for the idea."

The young prince smiled brightly as he sat up. "Nothing to it. I can't wait to see how the rivermen react to seeing the barges."

Lord Lydden leaned onto the table. "When will these barges be here?"

"Eager to get to grips with the enemy, my lord?" Prince Arlan asked, all smiles.

Lord Lydden cheeks stretched as he smiled but his lips hidden underneath a great walrus like beard. "I came here to fight a war, not sit on my arse." he paused for a moment. "and to bring the light of the Seven back to the faithful."

The High Septon smiled some, Hugo thought, but it was too small a thing to actually tell. He put it to a trick of the light. "Though we have hit some delays, friends," the High Septon began with a weary sigh. "It cannot be helped. Though the gods are bountiful in their generosity, even the greatest laid plans of men are subject to their divine plan but to bring news from the west, the islands of Pyke and Saltcliffe have fallen to our forces and it even said Lord Walter Farman led a daring raid to burn the heathen site of Nagga's bones!"

The news set to cheers amongst the gathering of lords and captains as they banged on the table or the nearest furniture. Some just simply took to clapping or stamping their feet. Hugo was one of them. Lord Walter was his goodbrother after all and the success of House Farman was the success of House Brax.

"All the more reason we can't be stuck here now!" Prince Garth the Brave cried out. "I've half a mind to just charge at those rivermen and smash them with the fury of a knight and his horse." Garth the Brave or Garth the Reckless? Which one was it, Hugo wondered.

"What of the Golden Tooth then?" Lord Connington asked as the noise died down.

His Eminence's eyebrow furrowed a little before he released a sigh. He shook his head. "From what I hear, Prince Norwin's force have found themselves halted at Wayfarer's Rest."

Hugo raised an eyebrow at those words. Wayfarer's Rest? It was a sound castle but nothing that should have stopped the host that had passed through the Golden Tooth underneath Prince Norwin. He had heard talk amongst the people in the markets of Hornvale that the castle had been improved upon but he didn't think it would be by that much!

Lord Connington smiled ruefully. "At least it's good to know that we are not the only one's struggling."

The High Septon smiled knowingly at the stormlord. "For the nonce, my lord but there are many of the faithful those within and without who have stirred and are acting as we speak."

The red-headed stormlord looked at the High Septon for a moment in quiet, as if in thought, before smiling and nodding his head. "As you say, Your Eminence."

There was something afoot, Hugo surmised and the High Septon had set whatever it was into notion. The lordling couldn't help but wonder exactly what that was.

Wickenden was something of an oddity amongst the holdings of the Vale of Arryn. This was simply because the town was on the wrong side of the Mountains of the Morn.

Nearly all of the holdings of the Arryns was located beyond the Mountains of the Morn but Wickenden, poor, old Wickenden was the only mainland holding of the Arryns that was located on the wrong side. There had been many a theories about this amongst maesters, with the most plausible that the town had once upon a time been a riverland holding only for it to fall to the Arryns.

Bryndon Mooton didn't actually know since it was said that any member of House Waxley would ever deny such a link and would always protest the Waxleys have been knights sworn to House Arryn since the Age of Heroes. It was just merely a matter of geography that Wickenden now found itself under attack.

It seemed that all the kingdoms apart from Dorne and the North had joined together to come attack his goodbrother's kingdom. A great fleet of ships had sailed from Gulltown, splitting into two. One to attack Maidenpool and the other to said up by the Trident and strike for Aberton.

Thankfully, Lord Blackwood had been dutiful in his duties as a spider and had been well informed of the strange build-up of ships within the realm of the Arryns and taking into consideration everything else that was happening? It did not take much thinking to know that the Arryns were to also join this... Alliance of Faith that had been formed against them.

The attack on Maidenpool failed for half of the eastern fleet had been stationed there with most ships out in the water. They had raised the alarm and held the enemy back whilst the rest of the fleet gathered. The other half of the Arryn armada? Well, they found themselves breaking their teeth at Marineford.

The Braavosi had the Titan and the rivermen in turn, had Marineford.

Though still, he did not know how much to make of this.

When they had turned back the Arryn fleet, they had moved to retaliate. They could have struck for Gulltown but the town would be too well defended. Too strong. So, they had settled for Wickenden.

Though it could barely be called a town and more akin to a slightly oversized village, it provided a port, small as it maybe, to the valemen to land any levies and knights they wished. That couldn't be allowed.

In the grand strategy of the realm, it would be easier amongst the fighting forces of the realm to have the valemen for once trying invading another through the mountain paths they were so proud off. To see them try and break their teeth on the fortifications on the side of the riverlands.

So that was why Bryndon had found himself here, standing upon a beach, six of his knights with him flying a flag of truce meeting the lord of the town. A lord who did not even seem to be a man grown yet.

A lord who was not yet man grown challenging him to a duel.

"Can you repeat that?" the request was so absurd, Bryndon just had to make sure that he heard it correct.

Warren Waxley simply nodded, face betraying nothing and repeated his request. "I challenge you to a duel, Lord Mooton." to show it, the young lordling removed his gauntlet and threw it between the two of them.

"You're serious." Bryndon gaped at the sight.

Warren's face was like a statue as he replied. "Deadly, so."

Eyes panned down to the thrown gauntlet. "Are you even a knight?"

"I'm the Knight of Wickenden, inherited the title when my father passed." the youth replied, undoing the tie that held his mace. "That should suffice, so draw your blade and let us fight."

Brydon couldn't help but be curious. "Why?"

The boy stopped for a moment and turned to look back in the direction of his home. "Because I'm the Knight of Wickenden and it is my duty to protect the people of Wickenden from undue suffering. I have studied war, my lord. I can see your ships in the water, the men that are landing, Wickenden cannot hope to hold out if you assault our walls with all you have. I'd rather avoid any needless sacrifice and bloodshed. I believe you'll need all the men you can get in this coming war therefore, if you win, there's only one casualty and Wickenden is yours. If I win, swear by your honour that you'll turn back and go whence from where you came."

The lord couldn't help but wonder if young Waxley actually thought he would win. The boy was small, just coming up a little above his waist. Surely, he knew that his chances were next to nothing?

And even if he did win, there was no guarantee that he would abide by the agreement.

"Do you not have a champion I can fight that won't make me feel bad for killing a child?"

The boy winced at the words for a moment before grim resolve came to him. "No, it must be me."

Bryndon sighed as he removed his gauntlet and threw it down. He was bound to have quiet the words spoken about him when news of this spread but it didn't matter. The boy's bravery was something that should be respected.

And he was going to come at him an equal.

Warren took a moment to look down at the gauntlet, his lips murmured for a moment and he put on his helmet and held up his shield. "Will you get ready?" the boy asked when he noticed the lord crouching down on the beach.

Even now, he was courteous.

Bryndon looked up from the sand covered ground and smiled. "I don't think I'll need it."

"Then your arrogance shall be your end then." the boy rushed forward, poised to strike.

There was no war cry as Bryndon had expected from one so young. He remembered being his age and crying out whenever he striked out until the habit was beaten out of him.

Warren Waxley did none of that.

Commendable really.

When he neared, Bryndon grabbed some sand and threw it at his head, the boy stopped and stuttered before the air was knocked out of him as he was tackled to the ground. Too small to wear plate but big enough to wear some chainmail and gambeson.

"Master Waxley!" his retinue cried out as he struggled from underneath the older lords weight. His squirming stopped when he realised it was futile and he glared defiantly. "Go on then, finish it."

"Before that," the lord began. "why all of this? It couldn't just be about the people of Wickenden. There has to be more to it." he just found it hard to believe that a boy so young would willingly want to die for people he hardly even knew.

"My lord!" one of his retinue slid to his knees. "Please spare him, kill me! Any one of us! Apart from the young master! He's only doing this to protect his family and people!"

Ah, it was about family.

It always came down to family. With that, Bryndon found himself satisfied. "I'll be taking your town and castle and don't worry; I shall treat your family as if they were my own."

Truth be told, whatever this duel was, it was now and void. The boy was no knight and no doubt that by playing along, Bryndon had diminished his reputation but at the end of the day, he had just captured himself a valuable hostage and most likely, the city with no bloodshed.

Now that, that was a success and very little people would say anything about that.

Last edited: Oct 31, 2019

Stories of mine you can read at your own pleasure.

Forged In The Trident [ASOIAF AU]

ATIF: Surge of Storms [ASOIAF AU]

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Nov 2, 2019

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Wayfarer's Rest

The hour of the wolf, 16 CA

In a different world, perhaps even a different time, Wayfarer's Rest could have proven itself to be to be a mighty castle and town. Located at the entrance of the Golden Tooth, the seat of the Vances had been intended to serve as both a castle to protect the western riverlands from attack from the heathen Lannisters and perhaps if the legends were true, a base for Armistead Vance to launch attacks of conquests into the west.

Armistead Vance had died long before he could see to those plans but when he had left this world, Wayfarer's Rest had been amongst the finest and stoutest of castles within the realm he had carved out. Unfortunately, the whims of the world had not cared for this little nugget of information.

Following his death, not many rulers were able to meet the high standards of the great Andal conqueror and constant wars and raids from the west had seen the Vance's of Wayfarer's Rest stretched thin that their castle could now be said to be an ode to a greater past than it held now. With all that in mind, the castle should have fallen earlier but there it stood and the Vance's within, stubbornly resisting.

Reginald Reyne found this to be nothing more than annoyance, an annoyance that had slowly come to be an irritation that should have been scratched by now.

Instead, they had found themselves besieging the castle for... how long had it been now? A month? Nearly a month? Maybe more?

Gods, the monotonous routine that he had found himself lulled into had dulled his perception of time if he couldn't figure that out.

The siege had been exciting at first, some strange reason, the Vances knew the westermen where coming and had set up their vanguard to delay and delay whilst they most likely got their defences ready at the castle. Reginald had been amongst the van fighting steel to steel against their van, had counted himself felling half a dozen men though none of them being of any note. No lord, no knight, no squire.

That should have been an ominous sign of things to come if he was the sort of man to believe in that sort of things.

When they had eventually come to Wayfarer's Rest, they had found the castle ready and waiting for them. How ready? It seemed they had somehow plundered all the lands surrounding the castle bare of any grain or livestock.

It was said that even the villages were empty.

Not that anything like that even mattered really. Their supplies where well in hand with the Golden Tooth behind them but he suspected that Lord Lefford would be happy about that. Most of that grain would probably be coming from his land and he had yet to see anything resembling a reward for his largesse into feeding this army.

And the longer they took to being held up here, then Lord Lefford in all honesty shouldn't expect much if the advance from the south started moving.

And that was a massive if.

There was much to be said about how the largest of hosts assailing this kingdom seemed to be held up on a river and by all accounts from what he could learn, not even the main host of the riverlands, which beggared the question; where the bloody hell was the river king and his main host?

Their main intelligence had mostly been supplied by the Faith through its many faithful within the river realm but that had gone silent as of late. It wasn't until recently that they learned that this was due to the fact that a warrant of arrest for every member of the Faith had been issued throughout the realm.

The thought of arresting members of the cloth was something that Reginald had a difficulty wrapping his head around. Even during testing times between kings and the Faith, he doubted any of them had actually gone the step to arrest them.

That sort of action would have seen faith lords, peasants and even other realms turning their ire towards the offending king's realm. Let alone the ire of the gods, for kings may rule through divine right through the gods own favour.

Reginald had held no animosity towards the riverlands or its people but with the actions of the king and his queen and the way that the people allowed men and women of the cloth to be taken in chains was something he could not agree with.

As he walked through the main encampment, a friend face came into view. "Hail there, Ser Reginald!" Ser Roger the Ready greeted as they neared.

The two clasped hands tightly together when they were within distance. "Cousin!" Reginald laughed by way of greeting. "It's been too long! I didn't think you would be here."

Ser Roger raised an eyebrow as they released hands, one dropping to the hilt of his sword. Even now, the man lived true to his name of being ready. It was nearing the hour of the wolf yet he walked the rounds in full armour, as if awaiting an attack from somewhere. "Where else would I be? The High Septon called for the Faith Militant to march and we march."

"Not to the Iron Isles?"

Ser Roger shook his head. "No. Most of my brotherhood was dispatched there but some of us were sent east. The location does not matter in the end as long as we do what the god's ask of us."

The Reyne lordling waved a hand in the direction of the castle that defied them. "Think you can ask the gods for me to let those walls fall already?"

His cousin laughed mirthfully. "I'm afraid mere men cannot ask the gods to do something for them. All we can do is live lives worthy of them but fear not cousin, this is a holy endeavour. With the gods on our side, we shall strike our enemies from the field."

"I wish I had your faithful optimism cousin." Perhaps that was the reason why he had not joined the Faith Militant when he had had the chance back in his youth? No... that wasn't the reason. The occupation of the frugal knight was something that didn't agree with him. "So, what have you been doing this night?"

Ser Roger turned towards the directions of the camps of the lowly levies. "Walked and talked amongst the men and led some prayers. Afterwards? Walked the perimeter to make sure everything was sound."

He shook his head at his cousin's words. "Diligent of you cousin though your diligence maybe misplaced. Apart from our journey here, we have yet to see any semblance of a rivermen counterattack. Nothing in the slightest."

"The absence of an attack does not mean one won't come, even then, we should always be ready. I, for one, do not want to be caught with my breeches down."

"Your breeches down doing what exactly? I was under the impression your vows neutered you."

"Hilarious, cousin."

His attention was suddenly taken to the direction of Wayfarer's Rest where the night sky seemed to have suddenly illuminated in a colour of fiery orange. Reginald looked on, perplexed. "Did something catch on fire in the castle?"

His cousin shook his head. "No, it's coming from behind the castle." He didn't question it. Roger always had the better sight between the two of them. If he was not named Roger the Ready, it would have surely been Roger Hawk-Eye, or something like that. "Cousin, you wondered about what the rivermen will do, it seems like now we know. You there!" he barked at a guardsman that had been sitting down, enjoying his drink. "Sound the alarm, we are under attack!"

The guardsman blinked as if trying to process the words. He looked around unsurely and seemed to see nothing amiss. "...We are?"

"Just do it!"

The drink might have slowed the man's wits about as of now but it seemed that he was well enough aware to recognise the order of a knight. Passing his drink off to a fellow near him, he wondered off towards the bells, though the man seemed to take his merry time doing so.

Something Roger did not appreciate in the slightest. "Faster, you dolt!"

That seemed to be the kick up the backside the man needed as he actually started making a go of it.

After that, he left his cousin to his business and headed back towards his tent. All he had on his persons at that moment was the clothes he wore and the arming sword on his hip and if it was true the rivermen had finally started to do something, he needed to be ready.

"Hmm... my lord? Coming back to bed?" a sensuous voice hummed out from the corner where his bedding was located. Another one soon followed as his squire hurried to his feet. "Ser!"

Reginald addressed his bed warmer first, some wench he had taken a liking too whilst Lord Lefford had feasted and hosted them some days back, as she took to sitting up. "Not at the moment, my sweet. It seems a battle is to be afoot and I'd like to be armoured and ready for it."

His words brought different reactions from the two people within his tent. It was Orton, his squire who reacted first. "Battle, ser!?" he might as well have been bouncing up and down on the spot he stood. "I'll get all your arms and armour ready, ser!" he finished as he ran off to another part of the tent where his armour stood ready.

His bed warmer thought was more demurred in her reaction. "Will it be dangerous?" she asked, the fear could be tasted.

Reginald wondered who she feared for, herself or him?

Orton had come back holding his ser's chain mail and began to help him put it on. "As dangerous as any battle." he replied easily. Orton had been his squire for long enough and with that time, came experience as he was soon helping him with the main parts of his armour. "There is nothing to worry about love, we'll turn back the enemy in good time. So why don't you just go back to sleep? I'll be quite alive by the end of it all and in need of some celebrating."

"I can't possibly sleep with the thought of you risking your life, my lord."

He wondered whether she actually meant that or whether she knew the right words to say? The smallfolk always did surprise him whenever they showed an iota of wit about them.

Reginald smirked, checking that his vambraces were on properly. "Then, don't be too tired by the time I come back. Orton, are you ready?" asked Ser Reginald as he looked to his squire who had put on his on arms and armour.

The boy eagerly nodded his head, dressed in his jack of plates and half helm with a surcoat of in the colours of House Payne. "As ever, ser."

"Good," nodded the knight. "then let's go."

They exited the camp to scenes of what seemed to be chaos and confusion going on in the camp in the distance. The sounds came from the distance but he could recognise them nonetheless. It was the sounds of battle, which made no sense.

How the hell had the riverlands quickly gone from attacking the rear camp to the main camp so quickly?

Horns started being blown from seemingly every direction and Reginald gnashed his teeth together. He quickly made for his mount as others around him dazed around in their confusion. "Onto your mounts you fools!" he shouted as he hoisted himself up, hoping that his words would shock them into some action. He knew the day was late or more accurately, the morn was early, but that did not give excuse for the sheer lack of urgency that he was seeing. "Your horses! Mount up! To arms!"

He spurred his horse in the direction of the of where he could see the most chaos and thus the most noise. He didn't need to look back to know that Orton was following quickly behind on his own mount, ever eager the little bastard.

At some point as they rushed towards the front, they nearly ran over their own men as they rushed about, trying to organize and trying to arm themselves. At the very least, these were more urgent than the ones that he had left safely back in the rear.

The pair soon came to join other mounted riders that were heading towards the front. Reginald blinked when he noticed the standard of Prince Norwin who led the company of knights and mounted men-at-arms.

At that, a silly little grin came onto his face as they thundered towards the battle.

Reginald Reyne had wanted action and he was to finally have it. The gods were surely smiling upon him tonight and perhaps, with a prayer on his lips, for the rest of the campaign.

Wayfarer's Rest, after all the trouble and irritation it had given to him was beginning to look rather lovely as a seat of his own. Mayhap impressing the prince and entering his good graces would help with that endeavour.

And nothing builds a bond much like that of men fighting side by side.

A holler left his lips that was joined by others as they rode forth, bells, cries, shouts all going off around them.

Last edited: Nov 2, 2019