Spirit of the West
Kiran II
The king's solar was as tall and opulent as the rest of the royal palace. The castles red stonework seemed to give any lighting the room had, a warm glow. The entryway had Myrish Carpets for guests to clean the mud off their feet, a luxury, not even Lord Quellon could afford, no less for simply cleaning boots. Upon his entry, the room itself was occupied already by the King himself, with many other near equally intimidating notables.
There standing behind the King, was his famed friend and Kingsguard, Ser Duncan the Tall. A man of low birth and high honour. It was said when he was a young hedge knight, he punched a prince to defend a whore's honour. Sitting to the King's right side was the Lord Hand Baratheon and the Master of Ships, Lord Velaryon. The old Stormlord wore a calm, near sombre visage, a stark contrast to Lord Lyonel past reputation. His expression seemed more appropriate to a Northman rather than the famous 'Laughing Storm'. Of course, what he knew of the 'Laughing Storm' was only based on rumour, but now he seemed so distant from those vague descriptions. Quick to laugh and jape, easy to befriend enemies and an aura that drew people. The dour, stark faced man was as far from that description as possible that he wondered who they were talking about at all. What could have happened to him to cause such a shift in personality? Was it age? Politics? War? He couldn't know.
To the King's left side was Lord Quellon and the American lord, Colonel Adam. Lord Quellon have a welcoming smile, a good omen. Colonel Adam seemed more entranced by his writings, he kept reading and re-reading his letter, occasionally editing errors. It seemed most of the lords present so far had paid him no mind, which almost set his mind at ease. Ser Duncan gave him a cursory glance, probably concluding a Maester was no immediate threat to His Grace.
Across from the King's seat were two chairs, one vacant and one occupied. Kiran saw the sitting form of his cousin turn toward him and he had given Kiran a look as if to say, 'Come on then, sit!'. The young Maester took the opportunity to take his seemingly designated seat without wasting his betters time or breath. There were no objections from the King nor his guardsmen, so he took that lack of disapproval as a sign of success. His cousin had given him a courteous nod.
The lords present sat in silence, most were busy nursing glasses of wine while the King himself and the Colonel were busy penning letters. Of what Kiran could only guess. He sat in silence, waiting for his summons to the king.
"Maester, may you be so kind as to translate this treatise.", spoke the King. Several thoughts raced through Kirans mind as his hand instinctively took the letter in hand. 'What is translating? Does it concern the Americans? He didn't know much of anything of the foreigner's new tongues.'
He saw that the text was significantly older than the fresh parchment the King and Colonel were writing on. As he looked it over, he saw it was written in an older form of High Valyrian. Knowing that hesitation brought more scrutiny upon him he began reciting the ancient text into the Common Tongue.
"The reign of Aenar began in hostility against the Rhoynar states. However, by this Archon's twenty-first year, both powers were ready to conclude a treaty, so that they might turn their attention to other problems, such as . . . ", drawled Kiran.
"That's enough. This one if you may.", said the King, handing him another equally old text. A quick once over of the text revealed it to be written in Bravossi. He continued his translations.
"The Free City of Bravos, in conjunction with the Iron Bank on the year of 243 After Doom, do so agree to loan King Aegon of the Iron Throne a sum of half a million dragons to be repaid on..."
"Stop. Now this.", interrupted the King.
A third paper was given to him. It was noticeably newer, seemingly a recent copy. It was a bard's sheet music of a Crannogmen song of all things.
"Ho, ro, the rattlin' bog,
The bog down in the valley-o.
Real Bog, the rattlin' bog,
The bog down in the valley-o.
Well in the bog there was a hole,
A rare hole and a rattlin' h-", sang Kiran.
"Enough. You have demonstrated your capacities exceedingly. The Colonel and I have agreed that several roles must be filled by the Westerosi representatives to the Republic of America. On the recommendations of Lord Quellon Greyjoy, you were selected for one of those roles.
For the time being, the conveniences of the similarities of the Common Tongue and Ancient English, serve all of us well. But the fact stands that America and the realms beyond the Sunset Sea have many more tongues and that Ancient English is only used as a scholarly tongue among the Americans. You demonstrated without due warning or preparations to have rightly translated to our examples of Ancient Tongues, Essosi Tongues and even the obscure of the Westerosi Tongues.
Maester Kiran Pyke, you are to be given the task of transcribing the Tongues of America for the Ironborn Expedition and Iron Throne. Do you accept this honour?"
Kiran knew in his heart that he had no choice at all. It was all a farce, an illusion and he just had to play his part like a mummer. He hadn't bothered even looking at his lord, more than likely Rodrik had already agreed for him. He was Maester, a man whose fate was to be led by the whims of his lord. He was also an Ironborn, an Ironborn bastard no less. He was even less than a bastard in their eyes. It honestly sounded like an adventure, a story his father would have told him. Despite there being no choice in the matter, what Maester could deny the opportunity to be the first to learn of an entire realm of information? His body moved of its own accord and nodded.
"Yes, your Grace. I accept this honour."
The King's most graceful facade almost cracked a smirk. He nodded in turn, happy with the cooperation. He reached for a drawer and had drawn out another letter, closed in the King's seal.
"Good. Your instructions are given here, you will be in the care of the good Colonel for the duration of the trip. That will be all Maester.", said the King.
The King quickly dismissed him, the other lords seemed disinterested and for matters to move on, except for his cousin. He had given Kiran a proud smile for his efforts. He retreated from the room with as much tact as he could muster. That meeting had been the most he was told about his mission; he hadn't been told anything beforehand at all. The rest of the information was enclosed in the letter. Upon reading it, he saw that its contents portended to the matter of cataloguing, organising and researching all languages west of Westeros. He was to find as many individual languages and their groupings. Simple enough, he thought.
As the final day in the Capital came and went, Kiran along with the Ironborn contingent left the Red Keep. With the exact nature of the Ironborn Expedition being kept in secrecy, they were free to leave with minimal pomp from the King. That had suited Kiran fine, he hadn't much liked any attention to himself. Although there was a certain honour to being recognised by the King himself for his linguistic talents, he didn't so much enjoy the scrutiny it brought upon him. Would Lords high and low would look upon him and question why a bastard was recognised while they weren't? Kiran would have preferred to have been left well enough alone on High Harlaw if this was the alternative.
As the Ironborn made their way to the docks of Kings Landing, Rodrik and Kiran split off to meet the Americans. Rodrik had been good to him, even though he did not need to be. Kiran was grateful enough for the hearth and home Rodrik provided for him. Rodrik in the meanwhile couldn't so much as stop himself from looking askance during their walk. It was starting to worry Kiran. Just as they almost reached sight of the American ship, Rodrik stopped them on an unoccupied pier.
"I apologise Coz. I couldn't have told you as much as I would have wanted to. It's my fault really. I didn't ask enough from Lord Greyjoy. Please forgive me.", said Rodrik. The lord was almost short of prostrating himself before the Maester.
The Maester had noticed how he omitted any speak of denying Lord Greyjoy or the King. He had sympathy for his cousin, although he had the titles it seemed he had just as much autonomy as Kiran. Kiran gave his coz a soft smile.
"It's fine, truly. I can see no one here to blame for my fate. There no need for you to be sorry at all.", said Kiran.
"Do you truly feel that way? Would you not rather stay at Ten Towers? You would leave our library in the care of the Septons for much longer than they already have?", responded Rodrik.
"Heh. What difference would it make? They've kept it for a moon, they'll keep it for several more. If anything is out of place, you would sooner know than me.", said the young Maester.
"Ha, that's true. Kiran, if you truly have reservations about this expedition, now would be a better time than any to tell his Grace.", said Rodrik.
"No, no I don't think so. I have for the longest time, learned to simply go with the whims of my leaders, so it's fine.", said Kiran.
That seemed to strike a nerve with his cousin if his eyes were of any indication. His laughing eyes hardened slightly.
"That . . . isn't for the best coz. I suppose it's how you've led your life and that I have been compliant in enabling you. But for your sake, for the sake of my uncle and your father, please keep in mind who you follow and what you're told to do. The task we've been given is a noble one, but please take heed when it won't be."
Kiran had nodded slowly at this. He hadn't seen his cousin as serious as this before, he simply wanted to assuage his fear of Kiran disliking the task he was given. Now he had given him a minor scolding. He supposed he hadn't given much thought to it before. But he had questioned authority figures before. During his stay in the Citadel, the older Maester certainly wanted to get rid of him for many reasons, one of those being he was too questioning for his own good. He had long suspected it was Lord Quellons pressing of the Citadel that any of the Ironborn Maesters earned their chains at all. True, he never voiced his opinions against authority before, but that didn't make him mindless before them. Perhaps this is simply a miscommunication, he wasn't in as much need of a slap of the hand as Rodrik thought. Kiran at this point saw that even his cousin in his own way, thoughtless of him.
Kiran nodded sullenly to his Lord. He then turned and made his way to the American ship. He thought nothing of giving a proper goodbye to his lord, why bother with such when you both share a destination? As he approached the American ship, he came across as the men boarding, it seems he was almost late.
"Ho there! Are you the Westerosi we're waiting for? You seem to look the part of it. Come on then!", bellowed the portliest of the American sailors. The barrel of the man-made a gesture for him to follow.
Kiran walked in tow with the seaman, up the gangplank into the ship. The ship was of a strange make, with its size being comparable to Lord Quellons own, the 'Greywroth'. The sailor seemed to want to make conversation with Kiran. He supposed his research would start now.
"Not many Westerosi seem to want to talk to us at all. The good Colonel gave us orders to keep our fun off the ship, the Westerosi whores seem to love us much. None of the poor folk or the wealthy folk wants anything to do with us at all. It's only the merchants who seem interested at all with striking up a conversation.", rambled on the large man. Kiran made listen anyway, taking note of his accent and their seeming liking of the letter 'R'. He hadn't the vocabulary to describe it properly, as there hadn't been such a person with such an accent in the Citadels knowledge until a few days ago.
"Well Mr Scholar, I'll be taking your luggage to your quarters, it's the guest quarters by the way. Nice room, lucky son of a gun, can't miss it. Was told you grew up on a ship, you should know how not to get in the way, you're free to go wherever then.", said the sailor. He took Kirans a single case. Lifting it wide-eyed, appraising its weight.
"Is this all you've packed? Going a bit light are you, Mr Scholar."
"It's Kiran, my name's Kiran. And yes, I didn't bring much along with me anyway.", said Kiran.
"Ah, so you can talk Mr Kiran! I was worried I brought along the wrong Westerosi. Then again not many Westerosi looked like they were fixed for a trip across the world. Well, Kiran is yours; Abe is mine! I'll not dally then. Goodbye Mr Kiran."
Kiran stood at the port side of the American ship, the 'Grant' he saw painted near everywhere. He stayed to the side for who knows how long, the ship having left harbour for some time. It was a strange name for a strange ship. When he asked, it was apparently the name of a legendary General of one of their Presidents. A man who fought in a civil war in a region that sounded very much like the Riverlands. Although the title of 'General 'Unconditional Surrender' Grant', didn't exactly sound right on his tongue, perhaps the name simply didn't translate well into the Common Tongue, he very much doubted that though.
As far as Kiran could tell from the Americans, a 'President' was akin to a Magister. They were much like the Free Cities in a way, where their leaders were chosen by their own people, like a kingsmoot of a sort. The difference he saw was the scope of which Colonel Adam described America. If he was to believe in saying that North America and South America were continents the size of Essos and Westeros, then the Presidents seemed more like the Archons of the Valyrian Freehold.
He didn't broach much further into the topic of their religion, as Kings Landing had eyes and ears everywhere. Those eyes and ears were bound to have been bound to the Faith of the Seven. He hadn't much sympathy for the faith of the Greenlanders. Kiran during his studies in the Citadel faced frequent enough 'investigations' by the Starry Sept that it most certainly motivated him more to forge his links ever faster if to simply rid himself of Oldtown if nothing else. He wouldn't wish that anyone would be treated in such a manner. In truth, the fact that the foreigners most certainly have a foreign religion could mean that the Faith of the Seven would use any excuse against the Americans anyway.
He couldn't have been sure, but at times, clues given by the Americans made him suspect that the Americans deified their Presidents upon their death. It could simply have been the veneration of their dead but the young Maester and all Westerosi for that matter had no prior references to judge the Americans upon. They knew nothing of the strangers so therefore they must expect anything of them.
Kiran had come to appreciate the 'Grant', it was a broad and tall ship, if it weren't for the way it was shaped, the size of the ship would have made it cumbersome. The ships wooden hull had been stacked in such a smooth fashion that it made the ship cut through the water like a knife through a larder. The hull was lacquered in red, white and blue, a seeming favourite of the Americans, if he hadn't known better the 'Grant' at a distance would have looked like a trout. Its bright colours reflected the rays of the rising sun on the water. The manmade colourings in his mind were an improvement in comparison to the 'natural' colours of the Blackwater.
In his admiration of the ship's craftsmanship, his eyes caught the trail of cloudy brown, near black, the colouring of the Blackwater Bay. Kiran was almost made to gag; a few days' worths of exposure didn't make him immune. The feeling was compounded by the prevailing fresh breeze bringing clean air, only to be shortly replaced by the lingering miasma. He didn't feel comfortable at all with the prospect of dining on any local fish. He felt relief and gratitude for being served Riverlander and Reacher dishes during his stay at the capital. The less to be said of what counted for Kings Landing 'delicacies'.
Even now, with the sight of the city sinking below the horizon behind them, the stench had followed long after them. The odours seemed to cling to them, being carried along not just by the wind, but by the currents as well. He felt glad to be gone off the place, no matter how impressive the city and royal fief had been, the awe did little to mask the stench of reality.
Kings Landing certainly made for an ideal location for the King. At the mouth of the Blackwater, the bay and the river, it was at the centre of the continent he ruled, and the city's walls kept any danger outside of it. There was a certain shame as to the state of Kings Landing; other city's such as Pyke, Lannisport and Oldtown didn't have such issues of filth. Oldtown even had an equally large population, yet it smelled greatly more pleasant than Kings Landing.
Aside from its negligence, the Capital was perfectly located for the most powerful dynasty west of Qarth. Well, if the hearsay were to be believed, they were instead the most powerful dynasty between Qarth and Lonely Light. The purpose of the Ironborn Expedition to the Further West was to give first-hand Westerosi testimonies of these new lands. He suspected the Ironborn were being sent on their own as the Small Council if not the King himself saw the Ironborn as expendable in the situation of the Americans proved themselves, unwelcoming hosts. The entire Crownlander court probably would have agreed with that thinking if they were privy to the plan. He was glad that they weren't, a minor victory in his mind.
He had grown weary of the weather at this point, he had stayed outside for longer than he needed. He had free reign to walk about, within reason, but that also meant he could stay in his quarters as well. He cursed himself, simply sulking about had done him no better. He walked below deck to try and find the guest quarters. Abe had told him it was hard to miss. With the many doors with almost no clear letter, he begged to differ. All the rooms were numbered and lettered in a nonsensical code. '12A, 7D, 18B' Why not simply name the rooms?
He hadn't thought to ask for directions, if Abe thought it was hard to miss what would anyone, he asks to think if not that he was a directionless lackwit. As he came across a door with slightly more carpentry put into its form, he supposed he would try here. Kiran knocked apprehensively. When no response came, he opened the door, cautiously entering.
Empty. It certainly wasn't a guest quarter, in fact, it seemed to be his solar of sorts if the fine glass windows were any indications. It could have been the quartermasters' room, or even the first mate or captains. Kiran made to discretely leave when his eye caught the glint of something on the table. Normally he would leave well enough alone, but almost as if being compelled by a strange force, he walked towards it. There on the table, he saw a small wooden box. Its outside was simple oak, but the inside was lined with red velvet. Then he saw what seemingly caught his eye. Gold? Hair? A strand string? He reached over and ran a finger across it. Well, it was a rope and it looked like gold for certain, but it felt like hair. He touched the chain on his neck and felt the gold chain, it was cold and hard. This 'string' wasn't gold. The golden string had kept him in a reverie.
"Ahem.", Kiran heard behind him. He turned around to see the Colonel standing at the doorway. It seemed he was too caught up in whatever the string was doing that he didn't notice the Colonel entering. He retracted his hand from the golden string and gave a bow to the man. He noticed it seemingly stuck itself onto his right hand and that he unintendedly took it with him.
"Master Kiran was it?", said the Colonel.
"Yes, I am Kiran. And it's 'Maester'"., Kiran responded.
The American seemingly paying the Maesters suspicious actions no mind. Even outright ignoring the fact Kiran had his golden string. Colonel Adam couldn't have possibly have not noticed it? But almost as if for confirmation, the Colonel closed his obviously empty box and put it away.
Then Kiran had noticed the Colonel was looking at him. Although it was more like the man was staring him down. Kiran had been mindful of himself, especially lately and he had done much in the past several days to improve his manners among nobles. He hoped such practice helped him seem less guilty. Kiran had tutored children before; he knew such an act didn't work.
He tried to put on a straight face, but in trying to do so, something had seemingly bit him up to his arm. In the shock of such, he hadn't noticed where the string went. It wasn't on his hand anymore. Where could it have been?
"Pardon my lord? Have I committed an offence to you?", said Kiran
"Hmm. No. No, you haven't. I was simply giving you your first assessment.", said the Colonel. The man's face softened. "Please have a seat Mr Kiran.", he said, offered the chair opposite of him. Kiran sat down slightly relieved and suspicious. The string was nowhere to be found and it seemed the Colonel didn't much care for it or even that Kiran had trespassed. "Am I correct in calling you, Mr Kiran? Apologies if I am not."
"Oh. Well yes, my lord. Thank you. I look forward to working with you. And for further clarity my full name is Kiran Pyke.", he said. What was this turn of events? He should have been the one to apologise.
"Then call me Colonel Adam. And Pyke?", asked the Colonel.
"Pyke, my lord. It's a bastards name.", said Kiran.
"Pardon? Does it matter what a bastard is called in Westeros?", asked the American. He seemed to have forgotten his 'test' for this questioning.
"In each Kingdom, natural-born children are given bastards names. The Riverlands have Rivers, Crownlands have Waters, the North have Snows and so on and so on. Bastards of the Iron Islands are given the name Pyke.", explained Kiran.
"Do you have to keep to the name of Pyke?", asked Colonel Adam.
"Why of course. What else am I supposed to do?", Kiran asked.
"Why should you? Why should anyone be marked with shame for simply being born?", he answered his question with another question.
"A bastard is born outside the bounds of the laws of kings and gods. Therefore, the baseborn should be distinguished from the trueborn.", explained Kiran, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Do you truly believe that you're any lesser than your fellow man?", Adam asked. At this, it was Kiran's turn to raise a brow. He hadn't exactly expected this certain line of thought from the foreigner.
"If you could change the fate of your parents and have it so they were married in the eyes of the law and god's, would that have made your life any easier?"
Kiran thought about his life and how his identity as a bastard shaped much of it. There was merit to the question. And he didn't quite have a proper answer for Adam. If even that situation had come to pass, would Kiran even be the same person as he was now? He didn't know.
"I would need to think about that."
"Hmm. I have been nothing short of truthful with you. I will tell you this much. For the duration of my stay here in Kings Landing...
I haven't bothered holding back from passing gas!", he seemingly japed.
Snort. "Was that an American attempt at a jape? Are you always so crass my lord?"
"As I told you, I'm honest, if not a little blunt. I'd rather the atmosphere between us be comfortable for the duration of your service.", said Adam.
Kiran winced at the thought of his social performance, or his lack thereof. "My apologies Colonel Adam. "
"It is no bother to me truly. My short time around you weren't as uncomfortable as it was with the Crownlanders.", said the Colonel.
Kiran snorted once again. The Colonel was attempting to use humour to make him comfortable. It was commendable since Kiran certainly wouldn't have found a way to do so himself.
"The matter of names with you Westerosi, it's certainly a culture shock for one to hear. It's scarce been an hour since I have learned of much.", admitted Adam.
"Are there not any historical examples of bastards committing the same misdeeds in America as they do in Westeros?", asked Kiran.
"You mean the Westerosi 'Great Bastards' from decades ago?", asked Adam. That was surprising, for the Colonel to have learned of Westerosi history. When would someone have time to learn much in three days?
"They are a prominent example of bastards and their expected behaviour, yes.", said Kiran.
"No, not in particular. I don't think I have heard of rebellions specifically led a bastard with a blood claim to the throne.
In fact, those types of wars happened more with trueborn family members. Maybe we simply preferred stronger claims that bastards didn't have?
Bastards aren't really treated differently. What is typical in America is that all children are taken care of. Children are left in the care of at least one guardian."
"That certainly is . . . different.", said Kiran. He wasn't sure if the Colonel was painting an idealistic view of his people or not.
"Mm. Yes, well I suppose I should show you to where you are quartered. It won't do for you to open all of my crew's doors before the night's end.", japed Adam. He stood from his desk as he led Kiran off to his room.
Kiran winced as he saw it was simply three doors down. As he settled in for the trip, unpacking what little belongings he had, Kiran made to write down his experiences and research so far. He made to itch at his arm where he was stung, forgetting the queer artefact that caused him much stress with his first impression with the Colonel. It was going to be a long trip.
A/N:
Thank you for reading my story, please leave a follow or favourite. If you want to, please share your thoughts with me in a review.
ReinaCS: Thank you! I try to keep my writing descriptive, thanks for saying it is. I'll try to do both a character map and a brief description, I'll do my best. It's all good, I work best under pressure. Great review, I'm looking forward to writing more.
Characters/Relationships Map (Alphabetical Order);
Name; Titles
Relationships
Minor House/Houseless Characters;
Abel; Federal Agent.
Botley; Knight.
Duncan the Tall; Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Former hedge knight.
Squired over Aegon V.
Fergus; Federal Agent.
Jenny of Oldstones; Wife of Duncan the Small.
Tabios; Federal Agent.
William; Federal Agent.
House Baratheon;
Lyonel Baratheon; Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Lord of Storms End. Vassal of Aegon V. Hand of the King.
Father of Ormund. Grandfather of Steffon.
Ormund Baratheon; Heir of the Stormlands. Heir of Storms End.
Son of Lyonel. Father of Steffon.
Orys; Founder of House Baratheon. Bastard Brother of Aegon the Conquerer.
Steffon Baratheon; Grandson of Lyonel and Aegon V. Son of Ormund and Rhaelle. Nephew of Duncan and Jaehaerys. Cousin of Aerys and Rhaella.
House Greyjoy;
Balon Greyjoy; Heir to the Iron Islands.
Eldest Son of Quellon Greyjoy. Brother of Aeron, Euron, Urrigon and Victarion. Husband of Alannys Harlaw.
Aeron Greyjoy; Drowned Priest in training. Son of Quellon Greyjoy. Brother of Balon, Euron, Urrigon and Victarion.
Euron Greyjoy; Son of Quellon Greyjoy. Brother of Aeron, Balon, Urrigon and Victarion.
Urrigon Greyjoy; Son of Quellon Greyjoy. Brother of Aeron, Balon, Euron and Victarion.
Quellon Greyjoy; Lord Paramount of the Iron Islands. Lord Reaper of Pyke. Vassal of Aegon V.
Father of Aeron, Balon, Euron, Urrigon and Victarion.
Victarion Greyjoy; Youngest Son of Quellon Greyjoy. Brother of Aeron, Balon, Euron and Urrigon.
House Gutfreund;
Levi the Liberator; Founder of House Gutfreund. The ancestor of all Gutfreunds.
General Levi XIV Gutfreund; General of New Jersey. Secretary of State.
House Harlaw;
Alannys Harlaw; Wife of Balon Greyjoy. Sister of Rodrik and Gwynesse. Cousin of Kiran Pyke.
Gwynesse Harlaw; Sister of Alannys and Rodrik. Cousin of Kiran Pyke.
Kiran Pyke; Maester of Ten Towers. Maester of Rodrik Harlaw. Bastard of House Harlaw. Cousin to Rodrik, Alannys and Gwynesse.
Rodrik Harlaw; Lord of Harlaw (Island). Lord of Ten Towers. Vassal of Quellon Greyjoy. Cousin of Kiran Pyke. Brother of Alannys and Gwynesse.
House Maxon;
Cesar Valentine Maxon; Current President. Descendant of Abbadon, Jecentius, Svenno and Valentine. Nephew of Dion.
Dion Maxon; Former Madam President. Descendant of Abbadon. Aunt of Cesar.
Douglas MacArthur; General of the US Army. Conqueror of the Pacific. The American Ceasar. A legendary pre-Event ancestor of all Maxons.
Jecentius Maxon; Former President. Nephew of Abbadon and Svenno. Cousin of Valentine. An ancestor of Cesar and Dion.
Rei; Latest Pre-Event ancestor of all Maxons.
Roger Maxon; Founder of Brotherhood of Steel. Earliest post-Event ancestor of all Maxons.
Svenno Maxon; Former President. Brother of Abbadon. Uncle of Jecentius and Valentine. An ancestor of Cesar and Dion.
Valentine Maxon; Former President. Son of Abbadon. Nephew of Svenno. Cousin of Jecentius. An ancestor of Cesar and Dion.
House McCormick;
Adam McCormick; Colonel of Rhode Island. Son of Adam Senior. Member of US Department of State.
Adam the Senior; Former Brigadier General of Rhode Island. Former mason. Father of Adam Junior.
House Targaryen;
Aegon the Conqueror; First King of the Seven Kingdoms. An ancestor of all Targaryens.
Aegon V Targaryen; King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Grandfather of Steffon Baratheon and Aerys Targaryen. Father of Duncan the Small, Jaehaerys and Rhaelle. Squired under Duncan the Tall.
Aerys Targaryen; Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. Second heir to the Seven Kingdoms.
Son of Prince Jaehaerys. Grandson to Aegon V. Brother to Rhaella. Nephew to Rhaelle and Duncan the Small. Cousin to Steffon.
Duncan the Small Targaryen; Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.
Son of Aegon V. Brother to Jaehaerys and Rhaelle. Uncle to Aerys, Rhaella and Steffon.
Jaehaerys Targaryen; Prince of Dragonstone. Heir to the Seven Kingdoms.
Son of Aegon V. Father of Aerys and Rhaelle. Brother to Duncan the Small and Rhaelle.
Jaehaerys the Wise; Former King of the Seven Kingdoms. An ancestor of all Targaryens.
Rhaella Targaryen; Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Daughter of Jaehaerys. Granddaughter of Aegon V. Brother of Aerys. Niece of Duncan and Rhaelle.
Rhaelle Targaryen; Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Daughter of Aegon V. Wife of Ormund. Mother of Steffon. Aunt of Aerys and Rhaella.