So, I'm kind of surprised by the lack of applications, but I'll work with what I've got. So far, here are the accepted characters:
Prince Draegor Targaryen (23) - Seraphius
Prince Viserys Targaryen (18) – Shin Alter
Prince Aeron Targaryen (22) – Myself
Ser Richard Dayne (24) – Member of the Kingsguard – BlaketheEpicArgonian
Ser Mikal Drake (25) – Member of the Kingsguard – .167
This is just a prologue – something to introduce the story. But, I desperately need more characters. Now, here's what I need:
Starks
Boltons
Baratheons
Tyrells
Lannisters
Now, if you don't like the Lannisters or the Boltons, that's fair, but remember, this story is set before the events on the show by a good 200 years or so. They don't need to necessarily be sadistic or incestuous. You're allowed to submit ONE OC for each House.
Moreover, the story will revolve mainly around these three locations:
Westeros:
King's Landing
Winterfell
Dragonstone
Storm's End
Highgarden
Essos:
Braavos
Yunkai
So, when writing your characters, I'll be placing them at one of these locations. Also, I'd like some more female characters…
The Blind and the Bold
The Red Keep, King's Landing
Lord Ryon Baratheon, Hand of the King
Usually, a prince's nameday was supposed to be a widely anticipated and extravagant event. It gave the poor a distraction, and the noble an occasion to mix and mingle. Not to mention that it also provided an opportunity for the maids of houses to find a suitable match, Gods willing.
However, there would be no such luck. In the years that followed Draegor's blinding, he had become sullen, and withdrawn from most appearances at Court. No longer able to swing a sword in tourneys, or read the histories of his forefathers, Draegor had very little use for anything anymore.
Of course, I had made arrangements for a feast. It was, after all, the first week of summer. And we needed to celebrate our bountiful harvests. Wild boar, crackling pork, the finest Arbor red and gold, honeycakes and lemoncakes, with long tables stacked for miles.
Needless to say, there was only one table that one would think to mention: the table of the monarchy.
King Rhaegon I was absent from the table. In the past four years, he had become increasingly ill. Only a handful of people had been to see him, myself included. Even then, he said his goodbyes to me, and given me his instructions for what would happen upon his death: Draegor would inherit the throne, Viserys would preside over Dragonstone, and Aeron would stay in King's Landing to advise his older brother.
At the table, sat Draegor the Blind, his silver hair warmer than his family's, falling gracefully past his shoulders. He wore long robes of scarlet, resembling some sort of Valyrian Maester rather than a prince. His eyes, whiter than his skin, glanced around beneath a heavy brow as he wrinkled his nose about the plate in front of him, dabbing his fork around his plate in an attempt to find the pork.
Looking over him from the side was his younger brother, Viserys. He had a certain beauty that was only found in Targaryens: with a soft, rounded face and strong violet eyes, Viserys' long hair flowed and weaved down to the back of his neck. But what everyone was abuzz about, was the famous story of Viserys' gruesome scar.
Little more than two year ago, Viserys was commanding a legion of Targaryen soldiers, on a mission to defend a small fishing village from the raiding parties of the Ironborn. Viserys had no place doing this. True, he was talented with a sword, and he was no coward, but a prince had no business dealing with something so small. But, he is known as Viserys the Bold for a very obvious reason. There were conflicting rumours about what happened – some said Viserys suffered the wound from a fight with the Ironborn, others said Viserys was so foolish with a sword, he cut himself in battle. But, Viserys never said a word about what truly occurred. All I knew for certain, was that the night he received that wound, the soldiers adored him more than any other prince I'd read of.
Sat on the other side of Draegor was his brother. Aeron Targaryen. His features were sharp and angular – one might think to cut their hand from striking his cheek. Aeron was unlike his brothers, as he never carried a sword. He was too concerned with his cropped silver hair, his ornate and ruby-encrusted clothes, and the wealthiest nobles he consorted with. There was something off-putting about him. Perhaps it was that, until six years ago, he was Aeron Stone, King Rhaegon's bastard boy from the Vale. He had a true name now, but I wasn't so sure if it would wash out the lust and deceit ingrained into his blood.
"Lord Hand," I turned to see a dark and handsome young man approach me, clad in silver armour, which adorned the Targaryen dragon.
"Ser Richard," I nodded.
"I saw fit to inform you, my Lord, that Her Majesty, the Princess, has not been able to enjoy the festivities today."
"I thought as much…" I was hardly surprised. Rhaegon had been sick for six summers, which had given me his responsibilities to his kingdoms, as well as to his children, "I suppose she's with His Grace?"
"I do not know My Lord," Ser Richard admitted, a hand resting on his greatsword. I looked back to Draegor, who still scratched his fork along the plate. Several of the guests had found this awkward and upsetting, while a few found it humerous. I bit my teeth and grabbed Ser Richard's arm. "Tell Viserys to cut his brother's damned pork."
Ser Richard nodded and began to move towards Viserys' table, and whispered in his ear. Viserys looked over to me; That pink, grisly scar sitting oddly in his skin – it was what people first noticed about him now. 'The Blind and the Bold' the townsfolk called them.
It wouldn't be hard to combat the laughs that Draegor received. My brother in Storm's End would say that these men should be whipped through the streets, but that is because my brother has not ruled in King's Landing as I have. No, I would simply present another side of the Targaryens – the true side. I walked to the front of Draegor's table, and turned around to face the crowds in front of us.
"My Lords," I called out to them, "My Ladies," I bowed my head, "We are here to celebrate the nameday of a man I think of as my own son. As many of you know, Draegor was a distinguished swordsman," I turned back to Draegor, seeing his pale, frozen eyes glance down to the floor as he held the fork loosely in his hand, "But, Draegor had a hand in training his brother, the Prince Viserys!" The crowd erupted into cheers and claps for their prince, who stood up, gracefully bowing his head with a nervous smile before sitting back down. "Prince Draegor suggested it would be wonderful for you all to witness what the tutelage of a Dragon is worth!" I looked around at the Kingsguard, trying to find a worthy opponent.
Ser Richard Dayne, perhaps? The Rising Star, eager to prove himself a shining knight, only twenty and four. But I didn't like the scowl he wore as he examined the hundreds of tables of food and wine. He cast his eyes over it all, wrinkling his nose as though the food had gone foul.
"My Lord?" I turned to Ser Mikal, Lord Larson's Drake's first-born. He was a strapping young man, with curly red hair, and a fiery temper to match.
"Does Ser Mikal wish to duel His Grace?"
"I do, My Lord," Ser Mikal said through gritted teeth. His mismatched eyes peeked out from under his helmet, one sapphire, the other emerald. He gripped his sword, ready for the chance.
"Forgive me, My Lord," Ser Richard stepped forwards, "allow me this honour."
Ser Mikal gave Ser Richard a look of utter contempt. It was hardly surprising, as they were the youngest and newest recruits to the Kingsguard. Ser Mikal was physically dominating, standing an inch higher than myself, and towering above the realm. In battle, he would wield a mighty axe in one hand, his longsword in the other. If he had been born with the name 'Baratheon', I may have grown to like him.
But Ser Richard was a swordsman. The Stars of Dayne had long been a thing of legend, and we all awaited the next Dayne that would ascend to embody their family's noble heritage. And whereas Ser Mikal adored the Targaryens, despite their tendency for madness, Ser Richard was wary of this. He was a true Kingsguard, who would not serve because he wants to, or believes in the crown. No, he would serve because that is his duty. A man like Ser Mikal was far too bold to serve a king. True, it would be incredibly satisfying to watch the petulant and hot-headed Ser Mikal Drake be given a hiding from Viserys. However, one of the greatest dishonours that could be given to a Kingsguard was to be left standing under the canopy, their sword rusting away in its scabbard.
"Ser Richard Dayne," I called, holding out a hand, "come along with His Grace and show us all what two Valyrian swordsmen are capable of!"
There was a loud cheer as Ser Richard smiled towards Viserys, who was presented with his longsword – a beauty with silver wings forged onto the ebony handle which was scaled like a dragon's neck, and on the pommel, was a speckles silver dragonhead. Viserys drew his sword, as did Ser Richard with his large Greatsword. Ser Richard removed his helm, revealing his oak-toned hair, trimmed short with his beard.
Ser Richard held up his lofty blade in both hands, pointing up towards the skies above. Viserys, however, held his longsword by his face, pointing the blade towards Ser Richard. They paced around each other for several moments, examining each other. It reminded me of when I sparred with my brother as a child – Gods, he was a slow learner…
Viserys quickly swept forwards, his blade slicing through the air, and towards Ser Richard's chest plate, only Ser Richard had ducked underneath this, twirling away from him. The crowd gasped and fell silent, a few giggles sounding as we all waited for the two to engage again. Viserys flourished his blade, and struck high, aiming for a shoulder. Ser Richard's blade deflected, and the two began to trade blows, Ser Richard using the weight of his longsword, gliding backwards before Viserys could land a strike. No, Viserys was more of a viper than a dragon, biding his time with precise and vicious jabs. As Ser Richard began to take a step backwards again, Viserys lunged forwards again, eager to finish this show. However, as he lunged, Ser Richard caught his wrist, and turned it until Viserys' sword was about to fall out of his hand. Ser Richard then gently tapped the Prince with the side of his sword.
We all erupted in applause, and I stepped forwards towards the two men, stealing a glance at Ser Mikal's disdain.
"Of course, we are glad to see Ser Richard victorious – how reassuring it is to see a Kingsguard capable of besting a Dragon!" Everyone applauded again, as Viserys let out a laugh. I turned behind myself, to pour three cups of Arbor gold. Handing two to the men, I picked up the third. "But, let us not forget Prince Viserys is still young, and yet to see as many battles as Ser Richard, here." The two men clinked their cups of wine. "To our royal family of Dragons," I raised the up, and turned back towards Draegor the Blind, "and long may they reign!"