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Fandom A Game Of Thrones - NOW OPEN!

The Red Keep, King's Landing


"We all miss Maeryn."


Even though he was a bastard known for... known for... . Aerea stopped thinking about her cold, dead father. He was never good to her. But she put up with him for a whole eighteen years- all the same. She let Vladan maul at her hand. Vladan had begun talking about sending Aerea away from the capital. She stopped shedding tears. She didn't want to leave King's Landing, but, she could possibly gain allies elsewhere in The Seven Kingdoms that would help her take The Iron Throne for herself.


"Do what you think is best, Maester." Aerea croaked, as a duo of guards came in with Vladan's supplies. I would also be out of my sister's grasp, if I was indeed sent away. He gave her a cup filled with milk of the poppy and instructed her to drink from it. She did as she was told. She sipped it and she suddenly felt a little woozy. Her vision blurred slightly now and then. Vladan started to remove the tiny fragments of glass planted into her hand. Aerea sighed and closed her eyes.


Highgarden, The Reach


Filicity smiled slightly as Ser Morath spoke. When he finished his song, she got up off her seat and put her hand on Adair's shoulder. "Come on, we should be getting back." He gulped down the last of his drink and rubbed his mouth. A shadow of hair had begun to form around Adair's jaw. He needs a wash, and a shave. Adair got up, clumsily. But as soon as he was on his two feet- he fell. Filicity caught him and pulled him up again with all her strength.


"T-Thanks..." Adair hiccuped. He begun shuffling towards the door that lead out to the village outside of Highgarden. Filicity tried her best to keep him from falling over and breaking something. "Come with me for work, if you wish." Filicity said to Morath. He looked slightly reluctant. When they got to the door of the inn, Adair pushed it open and stumbled onto the street.


"Oi, WATCH IT!" A commoner said as Adair brushed against them. He apologized, kind of. Tripping over his words as he did his feet. As Adair said 'sorry', Filicity turned around and looked at Morath. "My father is still in King's Landing, but my brother will be able to find you work- just the same." The silver haired hedge knight looked at her a little funny.


"My name is Filicity Tyrell. Youngest daughter to Lord Hollis Tyrell." She finished.


@TheAncientCenturion
 
Storm's End, Shipbreaker Bay, Westeros.


Walder barely had time to return Breadon's greeting, before the Stag of the People drifted off to converse with his elder brother, a good move in Walder's eyes, but it did hurt a tad, to come all this way and not receive so much as a thank you. There would be plenty of time for reunion later, when they were in the safety of Storm's End, though reconciliation with a long lost brother, that was something that happened once in a life time, in Walder's experience, especially if that brother happened to command the second strongest fleet in Westeros and the greatest tactical position to crush your enemies.


"I wonder how long it will be until they're at each other's throats," Walder gave a slight chuckle at Wendel's words, appreciating his attempt to lighten the mood, he had always been troublesome as a child, though it seemed like fine wine he matured with age, certainly more refined than the awkward teenager Walder had once known.


"Let us hope that they save their bickering for after the real enemies have been dealt with" Walder replied quietly, so that only Wendel could hear his words "Normally I would relish in a good family reunion but you could cut this tension with a knife, I trust Breadon and Rory both to make the right decision here and to not act rashly, blood runs thick and no matter how different they think they are, they are still Osmund's sons, your father may have been foolish at times, but he was a good man, he raised good men"


Walder turned his attention away from the brothers for a second, offering them a bit of privacy, or as much privacy as an open cliff side would allow "But enough about such dark matters, how are you Wendel, it has been an age since we last spoke" Walder said, attempting to draw the conversation away from Breadon and Rory, there would be time to discus such things and far worse when they arrived at Storm's End, for now he just wanted to take his mind off of the thoughts of war and have a pleasant conversation with his friend's son.


@JustWhipIt @Archon

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Riverrun, The Red Fork, Westeros.


"I apologise dear husband, but I am weary after the ceremony, it has been a very eventful day for me" Agnes replied sombrely, this time making sure her face remained dry and impassive, even smiling occasionally at any lords that looked up, though it didn't take a genius to see that it was empty, void of all happiness. As if one cue, the moment that Rowan mentioned the dance Lady Gwenys Tully walked into the centre of the hall dragging behind her a half drunk Ser Alester Blackwood, the two beginning to sway slightly to the music, though it appeared that Gwenys was doing most of the work, Ser Alester almost lying passed out in her arms.


You bitch! Agnes thought to herself as Gwenys shot her a meaningful look, clearly mocking her for not only the lack of participation in her own wedding but also for the tears she must have seen during the ceremony, the girl taking after Lady Barba and having no mercy when it came to weakness.


"Ser Rowan?" Agnes spoke up finally, watching a few more people move into the hall and begin to dance, a few offering quizzical looks as to why the couple were not up their themselves, leading the dance as tradition dictated "I'm afraid I feel a bit uneasy, perhaps it would be best if we were to go up to the chamber now and finish the wedding, so that we can spend out first night as husband and wife" Agnes's stomach churned, she had dreaded the bedding ceremony for her the entire the night, this would truly be the the end of her single days, the consummation sealing the marriage in the eyes of the gods.


Normally a bedding ceremony would be her elder with much joy and rowdy laughter, people telling bawdy jokes as they stripped the clothes from the couples backs and carried them upon their back up to the wedding chamber, though it seemed no such thing would take place tonight, Agnes' father had disappeared somewhere since the ceremony, and her grandmother had been conspicuously absent all night, even her uncle's Lothar and Walder had seemingly vanished from the services, as had a few others in the party, including Ser Alester Blackwood, Gwenys now swaying on her own, much to Agnes's delight. Lord Helyon Tarly didn't seem the type of man who enjoyed such unorganised affairs and the soldiers and common folk thankfully wouldn't touch Agnes without her family in sight, giving the couple a chance to run off without all of the drama, Lord Walder's bedroom prepared (though not to his knowledge) for the two to consummate their marriage, his bed laid out ready.


@WanderingJester @National
 
Feast Hall, Riverrun, the Riverlands.





Rowan nodded kindly, gently offering his hand out to Agnes. When the now Lady Tarly took it, he led her quietly out of celebrating hall. Being careful to avoid a large scene, he didn't notice his lord father's eyes follow them closely as they exited. Rowan then held her hand, but let the red hair woman led him towards their destination, being more familiar with the castle out of the two. Even a blind me could see how unhappy his new lady wife was, and it gave Rowan a feeling of helplessness unfamiliar to him since his early childhood. The Heir of House Tarly inwardly berated himself about not considering Agnes' feelings earlier, only thinking of himself and how he should fulfill the duties laid out to him by his father. The Fair Tarly took a stance: he would not pressure Agnes to consummate their marriage tonight if she should not wish it. If Lord Helyon Tarly wasn't happy with the decision, then to hell with him.


They went into a masterfully decorated bedroom, with a king sized bed and with plenty of things that clearly delineated that the room did not belong to Agnes, but rather her father or grandfather. The various hunting trophies, from the skin rugs to the heads mounted to the walls. Several weapons hung at ready besides shields painted with the House Tully's trout on them, each sharpened and ready as the day they came out of the forge. Rowan looked to Agnes, who sat on the bed, expecting him to perhaps push her on to it and be done with it. He steadily took off his armor, and unlatched the weapon and shield he had on for the wedding and feast after, before going to the bed and taking her hands into his. Trying to convey the emotions within but finding his lack of eloquence to be a hinderance, Rowan looked to his wife in front of him.


"My lady- Agnes, if we are to be married, I will to be honest with you, and I hope you will do the same to me. I can see the pain of this union within your eyes, and while I cannot undo or take back my vows, even had I wanted to, know that I will never hurt you willingly. If you don't want me to sleep in the same bed tonight, let alone touch you, I will gladly take the floor." He looked to the fireplace, lit to keep the couple warm. Rowan knew the wedding must be crushing to her, it being nothing of what they were said in the stories. No cheery celebration amongst lords and bannermen, no jaunty crowd to carry the couple to their wedding beds and taking their clothes before leaving them to their business. The fire hypnotized him for a moment, as though forming shapes impossibly similar to things he knew, as though a dragon's head...


Snapping out of it, Rowan looked back at Agnes, a certain fire lit in his eyes as well. "If I must, I will tell our fathers that we consummated our marriage tonight, and your virtue now belongs to me, even if we do not." Rowan hated lying, as well as liars, but for his lady wife, he would resort to dishonesty for her.


Yes, only for her.


@Hypnos
 
Benjicott watches the marriage, and he was listening intently to the words. This was definitely a large day for the Tully's, a day that they unified with a powerful house. Benjicott was already thinking of how much the armies would be with their forces combined. All of this in his mind drowned out the pleading words of his poor daughter. He didn't know that she didn't want it to be rushed. He didn't notice, he was too consumed to have the houses binded. As the ceremony continued, Benjicott looked around, before seeing the younger brother, Orion. Benjicott continued to scour the crowd before finding his wife, which he stands next to.


"I do hope the two are happy with the marriage."


@Hypnos @WanderingJester
 

Rory Baratheon


Storm's End - Cliffside

Rory's stern eyes glanced over his younger brother, the older Stag studying the other closely; an attempt at reading the emotion on his face; the duo examined each other, and Rory felt his tongue tighten - he offered no response, the realism of this meeting finally settling in. Braedon spoke up once more - his voice firm, the essence of authority surprising even Rory. Yet his words were insulting, his brother hadn't even spoke of his plan to claim the throne to Rory - nor requested his help, as it was, Walder had to do it, and the older Stag was beginning to see why. Even as Rory stood here, of his own free will, prepared to offer up his fleet, army, and tactical mind - he was unappreciated, spoken to like some stranger.


"Had you wrote to me, it would not be so." Rory reminded back, his own voice booming with power and immediate authority - it would be a lie to claim he was not disappointed, and slightly angry at this point. Is this truly my brother?

Braedon offered no response, even Rory could read his discomfort - which left a feeling of hurt in the Lord of Dragonstone's heart. For all his stoic, unsocial ways, years living on a miserable pile of rocks with few friends, no family, and no purpose gave birth to the bright gem of hope - and as time continued to be wasted away, that hope had grown stronger still. Walder's arrival; and the news he brought was the catalyst that Rory needed to attempt to reconcile with his siblings... Yet he was a stubborn man, one who would not budge. Rory had hoped - foolishly - for a warm welcome.


Braedon then turned, clearly with intent to head to Storm's End. Yet it would be too much to ask, for a silent journey.


"We can talk inside - you must want to see Storm's End again after all these years, don't you?"


Rory went rigid on the spot, his face burning with anger - yet it did not show. The words cut deeper than Dawn ever could, that sweet gem of hope that'd had grown over the years was shattered in an instant, Rory wasn't wanted here. His gaze focused on Walder for a moment, the eyes holding a glint of betrayal - the Trout had brought him here for his ships. Not him. It took all the Lord's strength to remain composed, he had a burning desire to strike his brother down on the spot, and an even stronger desire to sail back to Dragonstone without another step towards Storm's End.


By some miracle however, the Baratheon remained silent - and composed, his feet miraculously moving towards his rightful fortress. but internally his heart ached with sadness, and burned with fury. He'd been a fool to believe Braedon would possibly want to see him, this journey had been a waste of time - and Rory had a newfound dislike for the Tully he'd once adored, for dragging him here with desire only for his assets. Braedon knew very well the value this fortress held to Rory, and he knew very well how Osmund's designating Braedon as heir was against the very ways of Westeros.




Oaths, and honour be damned. If the meeting in the castle was even a fraction as bad as this exchange, Rory would have no part in this war. He would not lend his life, his soldiers lives, and his fleet to a cause led by a man who despises him, and a man in his rightful place.

@Hypnos @JustWhipIt
​
 
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CORBIS TARGARYEN


The Dragon Pit, King's Landing


Games, Part 1



​



Corbis Targaryen sat upon his carved stone throne, hungrily eyeing the fighters below him. His throne was placed at the very top of the wooden standings surrounding a small, blood-stained ring inside the ancient Dragon Pit. Dragon Pit, he mused, There is no name more fitting for it truly, with a fierce dragon inside, with all the bloodshed it could possibly desire. Corbis had spent years orchestrating the... "Repurposing" of the Dragon Pit, to make it more like the Fighting Pits he had heard of in Slaver's Bay from the tales of the Maesters. Here, he was a King. The commonfolk were happy to die for him, just like they would a real king. Since his teenage years, he had bribed the poor and desperate of Flea Bottom to come to the Dragon Pit in secret and fight for his entertainment. In exchange for blood, the survivors would gain rations of food, or even, if Corbis was feeling particularly generous, the grand prize of a Golden Dragon. Today, fifty ragged, sickly souls stood in the center of the pit, hemmed in by wooden walls, wearing nothing. The wrinkles and boils decorating pale skin stretched too tight over fragile ribs all too visible to those in the audience. All around them lie rusted, broken weapons, all too ready to maim and slaughter. He had chosen such a large number of fighters today in "honor" of his sister's coronation, although it had already past. Kuvira was his lovely sister after all, whom deserved every honor and kindness, and they all knew how the little brown-haired whore loved honors and kindness's. Almost as much as she loved cruelty, especially upon their sisters. Kuvira had rarely been kind to Daenna or Aerea, and was particularly vicious to the latter. However, Corbis was never targeted by his sister, as he wa- IS the rightful heir after his father, Maeryn Targaryen. Or perhaps... maybe his sister feared him. She claimed to be the Dragon, fearless and powerful, who took what it wanted and was denied by none. But yet... dragons have platinum hair. And yet, she did not. She and Aerea both had other hair colors, meaningless Westerosi colors belonging to the bottom feeders who lived in constant squalor and filth. He had long heard the rumors, and perhaps was starting to believe them too. If they were true, what claim wouldn't he, the TRUE son of Maeryn Targaryen, have upon that precious Iron Throne?


He was distracted by his thoughts by the bloodthirsty howling of the audience, the poor of King's Landing whom were only slightly above those in the ring, hungry for bloodshed to fill the aching insignificance of their meaningless lives. He couldn't help but giggle, rubbing a pudgy hand through his greasy platinum neck-beard.





"LET THE GAMES BEGIN!"





He shouted out, as the crowd began to roar and the bloodshed began.


Near the end of the combat, he heard a voice cry out in the audience after a little boy no older than 10 had his eyes gouged out with a crooked sickle, his screams bouncing off the wooden walls of the "Arena" as the crowd screeched for more. He turned to locate the voice, to see a mother standing up, yelling at the top of her lungs with a dagger clutched in her yellow-tinted fingers. The crowd quieted down, and even the fighters paused for a moment to watch her wailing, as she hurled accusations at Corbis, calling him "Demon", "Other", "Child-Eater", and even "Bastard". Corbis watched her carry on for a whole ten minutes until she had run out of breath, standing there shivering, her glazed, terrified eyes locked on Corbis's own. He let out a laugh just as she started to wail again, before calling out, "The first of you to shut that bitch up gets three Dragons for it!" before he had the pleasure of watching as the woman's mournful wailing turned to agonizing screams as the crowd tore itself apart to be the first to end the woman's life.
 
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Adele


I guess the conflicting times have hurried Uncle and the Tarly's to commence with the ceremony as soon as possible. Good, the more allies in the coming times the better off we will all be. Watching the ceremony Adele hands began twisting together nervously as he noticed his cousin's mood. She was hiding it well but used to reading others as he is he saw that she wasn't happy. Likely shocked and angered by how quickly the wedding came to pass. Uncle will be getting an earful later. Either from she or Lady grandmother. Watching the two leave Adele grabbed a glass of wine and began to mingle. Spiking conversation with the members of house Tarly and getting information at the same time. It's best to ensure my cousin will one day be happy even if it isn't today.





Tomas & Klanna


Sitting high upon one of the wall's of Winterfell Klanna and Tomas watched as the world passed by below them. Never noticing their presence high on the wall, never looking up. Sighing in a rare moment of contentment Klanna turned her gaze to the passing clouds swinging her legs absently as Tomas cloak weighed heavy on her shoulders, upon the wall she found a sense of peace that calmed her nerves. She was inexperienced at climbing and found it near impossible with the heavy dress she had worn. She stripped to her legging's and simple white dress underneath before allowing Tomas to help her up to their hiding place. There she was handed his own cloak to fight off the cold. Tugging the cloak more securely around herself she found her thought's turning to present times without her biding. Outside of Winterfell.


Are the houses preparing for war? Are people being slaughtered currently? What will come of the recent event's other then bloodshed? Such thoughts troubled her and it was clear on her face as her thoughts turned to her own place in the war. What alliances will be made? Will I be expected to participate? Surely uncle wouldn't marry me off to secure an alliance. No, that's exactly what he would do. Probably to the first man that can promise him an heir. She thought bitterly. Whatever danger I would be put in would be ignored and I would be forced to leave the place that has become my home. Am I selfish to think such things or will Uncle be selfish for no doubt doing them?





"Your thinking to much." Tomas's soft voice broke through her thoughts. Looking up in surprise she found him staring down at the people passing by below. There was no hint he ever stopped unlike she. Though long since used to Tomas's habit of people watching and his strange ability to read her Klanna followed his gaze to see what held his interest. A young man carrying a bucket crossed the yard. He wasn't interesting, mediocre in fact, so what held Tomas interest so? Shaking her head at her friend's strangeness she was grateful to find that she no longer lingered on what ifs or possibilities of the future. Turning to sit sideways and cross-legged on the wall she found Tomas looking at her. His next words almost sent her falling in shock. "We will likely die in the years to come. "


Blinking wide eyes she stared at him bewildered hands moving to steady herself. He went back to watching with a peaceful look on his face despite the words he recently spoke. Licking her lips nervously she approached him. Her mouth suddenly felt dry and her words heavy." Why do you speak such words? To frighten me?"


"Of course not," Tomas answered briskly not sparing her a glance. "Does death frighten you?"


"Of course it does," Klanna answered taken back. Doesn't death frighten everyone? "Are you saying it doesn't frighten you?"


"Don't be afraid of death." Tomas advised quietly finally looking at her through eyes that suddenly seemed older. As though they have seen countless acts and came out wiser. "The event's and pain that will likely lead up to death is what one should fear. Death itself is a merciful end to one's suffering. Accept it and learn not to fear it for it shall come for any regardless. "


Klanna gazed into Tomas's dark eyes and saw the truth before averting her own. His stare suddenly seemed pressing, as though he was 'seeing' her and knew everything she loved and feared. Saw her past and present. Saw her death. A man who doesn't fear death? Is such a man really a man at all or merely the bravest of us? Looking down at the normal man carrying the bucket she wondered if he felt the heavy stare that had watched him. Did he feel as though death itself was watching?
 
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Arren - Highgarden Dining Hall


Arren nodded, cupping his chin with his hand, and resting his elbow on the table. He remained in this position, listening to what the others had to say about the Queen. He would have loved to attend the coronation in person but as it turned out, he could only hear second hand information from others due to his health. A long time ago he would have rallied against that in a rage filled tantrum but now, he was more or less resigned to it. "I suppose there was another way she could have handled the situation regarding her assassination attempt, but I daresay it probably only occurred to her later. I would not have blamed her for acting on fear and anger, though she would need to learn to make decisions without her emotions clouding her mind." Which was, of course, easier said than done from personal experience. He took his hand off the table and reached for his wine goblet, pulling it to his lips and taking a sip of it. "All the same, if she was even a slight improvement from her father, Westeros would be far better off for it," he muttered to himself. Maybe he should not be so forward with his disdain for the late king, but he was not on his guard, surrounded by family as it was.


And the Queen would need all the help she could get, keeping the Great Houses from being at each other's throats. But for now, Arren did not see the need to switch allegiance from the Targaryens. It was not his decision to make anyway, it was the decision of his lord father to support the late king.


"My Lord," This time, it was one of the Guardsmen commanders. He hurried into the dinning hall, and Arren immediately picked up that it might be something serious if it required that urgent a run. "My Lord," the man repeated, stopping at Arren's right hand side. "Lady Filicity and Lord Adair have been spotted in a nearby Tavern, speaking to a man with very light hair." The man's hair color had indeed been emphasized by the commander, and it was enough to cause Arren to actually start. So the rumors were indeed true, and worse, were now having a direct impact on his family.


He stood from the table. "Ready my horse and fetch my cloak. I should like to see this man for myself." Very rarely did Arren leave his castle, and it would probably come back to bite him in the arse sooner or later. But if there was a bastard from the Targayen family in his lands, he wanted to ascertain for himself exactly that the man was doing there.


Arren - Highgarden: Courtyard


It took less than ten minutes for Arren to fasten his cloak and get on his horse. The sudden drop in temperature caused him to cough (it was getting quite late, after all) and took him some medicated water to calm the coughing fit down, but Arren was still insistent on seeing the man for himself, much to the misgivings of the guardsmen acting as his escort. Though he did bring along a small phial of medicated water, just in case.


@TheFordee14
 
Standing on the docks Roland looked sternly at a short, fat, hairy man who wore an odd hat. "Two dragons and that's my last offer" Roland spoke as the fat man nodded with a smile "Hop on board!" he said as he began waddling his stumpy body towards his ship. It was a rather large cog, making its way to the Arbor to do some trading but its captain had agreed to take Roland, his knights and their horses to Fair Isle first for a small fee. "Come on boys, starting packing ut all in" he said as they all began loading their horses and equipment on board. It did not take long and they had embarked on their trip only an hour or so after sun rise and thus would make land fall around noon. The ship was surprisingly fast, gliding through the sea as if it were a galley, much to Roland's surprise. The crew seemed to be hard at work and knew exactly what they were doing, always on time where they needed to be for specific tasks.


It was on the deck that the knights spent most of their time, either gambling with cards and dice or drinking ale among themselves and a few deck hands every so often. Time passed quickly and so did the sun, rising high into the air to bring down scorching heat that was only fended off due to the constant breeze that seemed to be around. "Lands close" John spoke as he walked over to Roland and the others "You heard him, everybody get your shit together before I shove a thumb up your asses to get you moving" roland said to the amusement of his knights. It only took another thirty or so minutes before the ship had docked and Roland's men were beginning to unload their supplies, equipment and horses. From the side of the ship Roland looked over the docks and the town further inland. To his surprise it seemed mostly deserted, only a few dozen men around the dock picking up bodies and carrying them away, likely to graves other men were currently digging farther off. As for the Ironborn however it seemed like the men were avoiding them completely, likely planning on just throwing them into the water later.


This would not do Roland thought as the last of the horses were brought off the ship. Stepping onto the docks himself Roland spoke "John, take four men and go to the castle to assure us passage inside. Myself and the others will stay here and help the smallfolk with their work". As John trotted off down the road Roland and his fourteen knights would get to work, grabbing bodies up and carrying them to graves quite a distance off. They were large pits in fact, as the towns people had not the time nor the energy to bury people individually. "By the gods" Roland spoke as he shook his head, now fully understanding how large of a raid this must have been on the island. From what he could tell there were easily a thousand dead between Lannister soldiers and the smallfolk thrown in these hole only to be forgotten. This only angered Roland, increasing his hate towards the Ironborn who so often raped and pillaged the coasts of Westeros.


After nearly four hours of work the bodies were nearly all within the ground, the exception being the Ironborn who still littered the docks and town. Roland calling his knights to him would speak "Take the Ironborn, behead them and place them on spikes on the coast on both sides of the docks and let them rot. As for the bodies, do not let them join their drowned god, build pyres and burn them to ash". His words filled with malice he wished not to grant them their final rest as none of them deserved it. Mounting his horse Roland would ride for Faircastle, entering the gates that were secured by two of his knights to see a man in noble clothes with several men-at-arms standing behind him, as well as what seemed to be his wife and children. Dismounting Roland would approach "Do you have business with me?" he asked simply, the older mans face twisting into a scowl. "Our lords body isn't even cold and here you come riding in to the castle as if you've owned the place for generations. Have you no respect for the ancient Farman line?" the getleman questioned with obvious distrust. "I respect the Farman and their isle enough to bring them eight-hundred knights and squires, I respect them enough to give them a proper burial and take care of their people. I respect them enough to make sure something like this never happens again". The man looked displeased to say the least, his scowl always present as he walked away, waving for his wife and children to follow.


Shaking his head Roland would simply proceed into the Great Hall of the castle where a middle aged man revealed himself. "Hello, I am Maester Merek, I assume you are the new lord of this land, yes?" he questioned "I am" roland responded. "Then I will serve you as faithfully as I served the Farman family. "Thank you Merek, if you could fetch some parchment and a quill I would appreciate it". Striding to the throne at the end of the hall he would sit, gripping the oak arm wrests firmly, relishing in the feeling of being a lord. "Thank you" Roland spoke as he Merek returned with the parchment and quill and Roland began writing immediately.

Tiber Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport, Lord paramount of the Westerlands and Warden of the west


I have arrived at Fair Isle and require assistance. If at all possible I would like to request a small fleet to carry my men across the straight where I could better use them to help in the repairs of the castle and docks. If this is not possible I thank you for your time and I shall use what ships remain at anchor to bring my men across in several trips.


Roland Wilds, Lord of Fair Isle
 

The Red Keep, King's Landing


POV: Vladan
​



He watcher her carefully as she drank from the cup, her words still in his head. "Do what you think is best, Maester." His lips parted, plans already forming, adjusting from earlier thoughts. He wasted no time speaking his mind or picking at the largest piece of glass lodged in her hand. It came out, crimson coated. He dropped it on the ground and got to work on the next one. "Maeryn wanted you wed soon. I believe it's time for such ceremonies to be had. The only problem is finding a suitable husband." That was the truth, but only the part he wanted Aerea to know. To keep her safe in mind and free from any anxiety or stress. 'Let her believe it's true love when she is married, instead of an alliance in the works.' The list of men who could marry Aerea was small. Conn Greyjoy was a lord with a vast fleet at his command but the Ironborn had savage customs and a violent history. He'd consider it if they were desperate.


Martyn Lannister came and went quickly. A second son was no match for a princess. 'The Reach has Arren Tyrell, unwed and heir to Highgarden.' He was a sickly man without much passions, he'd learned that long ago. 'I wouldn't need to fear him abusing Aerea.' He pulled a third, fourth, and fifth shard from Aerea's hand. Most were smaller pieces, making the process harder. "Arren Tyrell is a romantic man, they say. A brilliant rose in a beautiful garden. Mayhaps I'll send a letter on Kuvira's behalf, ordering a wedding between you two should he make you happy." It wasn't a matter of her happiness, Maester Vladan acknowledged. The wedding needed to happen to gain the strength and crops The Reach offered. "There." He removed the final shard, letting her hand go. "Wash it off and then cleanse thoroughly with wine. I'll bandage it up afterwards."


Highgarden, The Reach


POV Morath son of Myraen
​




Morath noticed the smile the lesser Tyrell wore, finding himself grinning back at her after he finished. She wasn't unattractive, he'd admit. But she seemed young, yet to reach full maturity, which kept him from sinking into more depraved thoughts. 'She's taking to me well enough. The Westerosi are much friendlier than I remembered.' He let out a single chuckle at the situation.


"Come on, we should be getting back." The Tyrell girl spoke. Myraen's son recoiled in shock. 'She hasn't even addressed me yet and she's. . Leaving with the drunk!?' Annoyance boiled in him, smoldering fast into anger. Viserys of the Golden Company wasn't known for his anger or outbursts, but the girl found a sweet spot to hit. 'A lack of sleep and rest hasn't helped either.' He thought, violet eyes still wide in shock at her blatant disregard to what he said. Blackfyre itched, nay, hungered in that moment. Morath or Viserys, whichever it was, needed steam to let off. Be it with a whore or with a knight. His eyes narrowed once they stood up, the drunken companion struggling to move coherently. 'I should of went to the Tullys.' Morath was prepared to order yet another drink, wine instead of ale, when the girl spoke again. "Come with me for work, if you wish."





The hedge knight was unsure if he should follow her in that instance. He felt insulted still, 'Mayhaps it's just. . my journey getting the best of me.' He wasn't quite sure, but Morath would blame it on his long hours of horse riding for now. 'I've dealt with more annoying critters than this girl.' He told himself, but she was his. All of them were. One doesn't ignore their king when he talks to you, the dragon doesn't go unattended. 'She doesn't know yet. She will learn.' He stood, smiling back at her, holding in the offense. She would bring him to some lord or landowner, and that was a start. The knight held Blackfyre's scabbard firmly in hand, following the red headed woman as she escorted the pitiful knight through the inn.


"My father is still in King's Landing, but my brother will be able to find you work- just the same." Morath looked at her skeptically. 'Her father must be someone important in the Tyrell manner. Brother to the current lord, mayhaps commands a holdfast.' The mention of her brother he shrugged off. It wasn't too important to him. At least until her next words stunned him for a second, leaving his lavender eyes to stare at her blankly, partially in disbelief. "My name is Filicity Tyrell. Youngest daughter to Lord Hollis Tyrell."


"Lady Tyrell, forgive me I had no notion of who you were." Morath spoke them instinctively, but the excitement was coursing through him. What fortune was that? Filicity Tyrell, daughter to the Lord of Highgarden would personally see to his employment. 'I get in her graces and the Reach may be mine.' He wasn't quite sure when he would reveal himself, he'd inquire about the Lannister Wedding later. 'It'd be easier to discuss my reign with more of the realm in attendance.' In the meantime he'd earn the Tyrell's trust, they'd at least vouch for him by the time any outside forces came into play. "You're positive that you might find a place for me? You're a kind and lovely woman." He spoke, perhaps the first truthful thing he said to her yet. "Let me help you with him, my Lady." He strode forward, boldly grabbing hold of one of the drunken knights arms and tossing it over his shoulder, meaning to help steady him on their way back to the keep.


@TheFordee14
 
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Siegfried, The Sunset Sea.


Siegfried was taking in the atmosphere, it was nothing like he had ever felt before, sure he had been on countless raids but none of them could be compared with what was about to take place, sailing with the Iron Fleet was something Siegfried dreamed of as a boy, now by its side he would take the Shield Isles under the name of King Conn Greyjoy.


The whole thing was rather overwhelming but he managed to compose himself.


The Bloddy Flux sailed by Sea Song and a few other ships while the rest of the fleet was with the main force.
 
The Lord's Chamber, Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.





Tiber had just finished breaking his fast when Maester Kallen walked in. The elderly man had gotten more physically frail as he progressed in age, but when it came to the numbers and accounting, his mind remained as sharp as Valyrian Steel. He was also one of the few who help Tiber's mother tend to him and his siblings, outside of Tytos' notice. Tiber had always remembered and appreciated the economic management lessons the kind maester schooled him in, especially during his first few weeks and months as lord. No doubt his own failure in mismanaging the wealth of the Westerlands would have rivaled his father's had it not been Kallen's patience with Tiber's lessons. Now, when other lords might discard Kallen's advice or delegate him to some meaningless posts in Casterly Rock like Tytos Lannister, Tiber continued to keep the elderly man close at hand, seeking his wisdom in particular when it came to the matter of gold.


Wobbling in, the maester gave a small smile, bowed and said, "Good morrow my lord, how goes the breaking of your fast?"


Tiber got up and waved his hands dismissively. "Pish posh Kallen, what have I said about formalities? You've known and help raised me since I still wet my trousers. How may I help you?" He got one of the more comfortable spare chair from the side, and placed it down across from his where he sat for breakfast. The tinier old man smiled appreciatively and sat down. He look to the Lord of Casterly Rock.


"I still thank the Mother everyday for your similarities with Lady Jeyne my lord, and the opposite with your father. I thank you for your kindness, and will not take up much of your time. A raven has come from the Lord of Faircastle addressed to you. It didn't seem urgent, but I thought you might want to see to it before you start your day." He handed a letter over to Tiber, who quickly opened the seal of Faircastle on the envelope before scanning its content. His eyebrows furrowed, but the Lion of Lannister didn't look displeased. This was to be expected, though he hoped that it wouldn't cause similar issues on the way back when they begin marching.


Tiber spoke up as he read the letter. "Maester Kallen, would you be so kind as to-" He looked up to see the Maester already pulling out some parchment, and writing utensils. The Warden of the West moved the tableware from his breakfast to the side, placed a sheet out in front of him and began writing, with Kallen calmly and respectfully observing next to him. The response would be crisp and to the point, just like the new Lord Wilds.


Letter to Roland Wilds:





To Lord Roland Wilds, Lord of Faircastle and Fair Isle,


You have my permission to use any Lannister ships passing through the strait to move your men to your new holding and seat. However I trust that you would not delay their patrol schedule by requesting more trips than whatever they can fit in with their assigned duties. I regret to inform you that I would not be able to divert anymore ships to provide transportation through the strait of Fair Isle, as they are needed to patrols the other shores of the Westerlands in our current state of war against the Iron Islands.


I hope that you find your new home to your liking and the repairs to it expedient. I trust you to arrange the logistics of having what men you can spare from the defense of the Isle back to the mainland by the time of my wedding, as the other bannermen of mine. We will likely need to move out from the Westerlands quickly after.


Hear Me Roar,


Lord Tiber Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West.




@Leusis


As he signed his name on the bottom, a knock on the door diverted his attention away from his work. As Tiber turned to his door, Maester Kallen took the letter and began folding it, placing it within an envelope and getting the candle ready for the sealing wax.


"Come in." Leanne Brax walked in with a smile on her face, followed by Edwyn Lannister, who looked more composed. Leanne hurried to her future husband's side and placed a kiss on his lips, before showing him the stack of letters in his hands. Evidently she had busied herself from her own thoughts of him while he was away with the updated invitations. Going through them, Tiber paused at the one addressed to Storm's End. He still had not had a reply from the Baratheon's yet, which meant that the doe in his house still haven't written to her brothers. It would not do for them to burn down King's Landing just yet, especially under the pretense of ignorance of their sister's whereabouts. Turning to Leanne, he smiled. "Thank you for all your work darling. Do you mind if I just make a quick edit to one of them?" Seeing the address on the envelope, she widened her eyes slightly but otherwise kept her smile and pose.


"Of course my lord." Tiber returned with his own warm expression and took it over to the table, withdrawing the letter within. The Warden of the West quickly sealed the first letter he finished, handing it over to the maester, before turning his attention on the next matter. He could not directly convey the message, in fear of its interception. Still, it must have plausible deniability but be clear enough to let the Stags understand the situation. At the end, Tiber only added a single extra line at the end from the rest of the parts, which were identical across the updated invitations.


It read:





To Lord Baratheon,


We, the soon to be Lord and Lady of Casterly Rock, would like to first and foremost thank you for appearing for our day of union and celebration our new home. We would like to inform you of a change in the date of the wedding, and apologize for any inconvenience you might have due to it. The date of the our event have been moved up a month, due to the uncertainty of our current times and we trust that you may be informed so that you may arrange adequate transportation as well as RSVP to our updated invitation. We understand if the change in time prevents you from attending the ceremony and reception, to which we apologize again, but hope that the Seven will keep you well.


Our Regards,


Tiber Lannister and Leanne Brax.


P.S. We've found a very beautiful lost young doe that had been separated from her family. We hope for every opportunity that her pack might return and we may reunite her with them. Until then, we intend to keep her safe within the hospitality of our home.




@Archon


@JustWhipIt


When Tiber finished, he placed the letter back into the envelope and began reaching for the candle as well as his seal, when Maester Kallen spoke up. "Oh don't worry about that my lord, I'm headed up to the rookery anyways. Perhaps I might trouble your betrothed to accompanied an old man on a walk through a large castle?" It seemed that the old man would like to serve his lord as much as possible still, especially a competent and kind one. Leanne smile, and patted Tiber on the hand.


"Don't worry my lord, I can finish up with the invitation." Tiber nodded and handed her one of House Lannister's seals, which Leanne took gingerly before turning to the old man. "I would be honored to accompany someone as wise as you, Maester Kallen. My lord speaks highly of you when we talk about his childhood." They began heading out of the room together, towards a side office to finish sealing the invitations then to the rookery to send them. Just before their voices disappeared, Tiber could hear Maester Kallen's kind chuckle.


"Well, he wasn't always so polite and a lord. Why, I remember when he couldn't even reach the top of the table and I had to help him climb into his seat in the Great Hall..."


Tiber smiled at the old man's reminiscent of the days before his father nearly ran Westeros into the ground between his incompetence and cowardice, and King Maeryn's madness, before the Westerlands nearly tore itself apart in the War of the Lions and before the near successful sacking of Fair Isles by the Ironborn. Funny how nostalgia makes the past seemed like the "good old days," even though in reality they were just as bad, if not worse than those they live in now. Snapping out of his philosophical thoughts, Tiber stood up and went to his uncle, and without a word both of them left his chambers and headed to a room near the center of the castle.


Pushing open the double doors, they entered an almost cluttered room. The only furniture within were candle holders, tables and chairs. In the center a large table was set up, similar to what they had done at King's Landing, but the map of Westeroes here showed much more details, with more than a few knives stabbed into the various regions, with the most around the area of land where the Neck ends, the Vale begins and the Riverlands connect. Coins still stacked around different kingdoms within the land, but this time indicating the economic powers instead of the general ones back in King's Landing, while model ships sat on top of blue paint showing the last known positions of each fleet beyond the shores of the Seven Kingdoms. Studying it, Tiber listened as his uncle talk.


"If the North moves, unlikely at this point, a lot of armies will meet within the Riverlands. We've had reports that Walder Tully still haven't returned to Riverrun, which means he's either changed his mind about the Queen, unlikely with what you told me of his words and actions in King's Landing, met up with the Baratheons, which is more likely the case. Had Kuvira any sense, she should've captured and imprisoned him before he got a chance to declare for the Stags, but send word to Riverrun of his need to stay due to his declining health."


Tiber shook his head, "She lacks the experience or political mindset of an seasoned ruler. I might be her age, but at least I had to clean up my father's mess, something she's in the middle of doing with hers. If the Stags march for King's Landing, it will burn." His eyes wandered over to Dragonstone. "What of the older son, Rory?"


"Reports that his ships have moved out to the South, but no update on his destination or current position." Could he go back to the Stormlands? Would Braedon welcome his brother back or would their swords do the talking for them? It seemed unlikely they would come to blows so quickly. The Stormlords might have their fury, but they aren't kinslayers. The Lord of Lannisport spoke up again.


"What of the Black Dragon from Essos? He could be trouble down the line, especially if he lands an army on shore." He looked at the parts of Essos included on the main map, which included many of the free cities between the Narrow Seas and Qarth. "Would he be a possible candidate for us to back?"


Tiber picked up a knife nearby, and began twirling it in his hand. "The only dragon with teeth and fire, but still gaining his wings. We can't do much until he gets closer, and I will certainly not waste time chasing around Essos for a possible threat." He thought for a moment about the second question. While his blood and appearance, if he has the blond hair and purple eyes, would give him legitimacy in regards to the claim on the throne, there remained the problem with dealing with the Baratheons. "The stags won't rest until every dragon is dead for what Maeryn did to their father, and their subjects loved their old lord too much to just forgive the children for the sins of the father. No, backing a dragon would require the subjugation of the Stormlands, they have too much power even alone for that to be a quick and easy option. Besides, it would negate whatever goodwill I've built between our houses."


"Rumor has it Braedon's made a claim to the Iron Throne himself." Tiber smiled.


"Good, now with his sister safe, his ambition and need to avenge his father is all that drives his troops to King's Landing. Unless Kuvira does something foolish, which I won't discount, like invade the Stormlands, Braedon will only have past vengeance to drive forward. If I know the Stags, it'll be more than enough. Still, we may be able to use the situation to our advantage without overtly declare for the Baratheons..." He looked forward, at the equally large and marked map with pins and threads on the wall in front of them. "I believe our next steps resides in the Riverlands, whether we are to help our new family, or take a piece of it for ourselves." Turning back to his uncle, Tiber quickly gave out orders. "Sends more scouts around the Riverlands out of Golden Tooth. I want up to date information about the possible three armies that might clash there, also have House Lefford prepare their seat in case we need to move the army through quickly to the east."


Edwyn nodded and wrote down the orders to send out later in the day. "Would the Baratheons really care so much about the Black Dragon? He's a Blackfyre, not a Targaryen, at least not anymore."


Tiber shrugged. "A dragon's a dragon, what matters if it's hide is red or black? It's not like one's flame will roast you and the other's won't." Edwyn Lannister raised his eyebrows at his brows at his nephew, who had a calculative smiled back at him. After a while the older man spoke, his words carefully considered.


"I believed the last Lord of Castamere said something very similar to you back when we laid siege to Tarbeck Hall."


"You know something uncle," Tiber's smile widened, and a flash of the lion appeared in his eyes. It was these moments, when Edwyn reminded himself why his nephew became the Lord of Casterly Rock, and the Warden of the West, instead of him. "He was right. Why did you think I killed every last one of the Red Lions that day?" Edwyn was a seasoned veteran, commander of thousands of men on the sea and on land. He had fought through battles and wars and seen men gutted in front of him. The Lord of Lannisport had seen and sometimes even done things that would have lesser men wake in the middle of the night, screaming, and still had no problem closing his eyes every evening. Still he couldn't help but swallowed a bit when he heard his nephew's words. Nodding shortly, the two turned to gaze at the map directly in front of them.


The detailed map of the Riverlands stared back at the two lords, with everything from known defenses, supply routes and possible troop maneuvers, garrisons, house loyalties to terrains and best approach to Riverrun.
 
Lord Walder's Chamber, Riverrun, Westeros.


Taken aback by Ser Rowan's words, Agnes was speechless, the room descending into an uncomfortable silence, the unease clear upon the Tully's face. She was lost for words, or at least lost in thought, her mind running faster than the red rivers that flowed below their very feet, weighing out the possible outcomes, each ending in disaster.


Rowan seemed like a nice lad, though in truth she felt nothing but indifference towards him, their was no love between the pair, no passion, not even attraction, or at least on Agnes' side and if he were to be struck down as they sat together on the bed, her reaction would be nothing but positive, though she felt a twinge of remorse for these thoughts, he hadn't done anything wrong per say, no, on the contrary he had been nothing but pleasant and charming towards her, and was even now offering to sacrifice his right as a husband, to take her maidens head, just so as to please her, but there was just something, wrong about the whole thing. She had grown up hearing about tales of Ladies and Knights, of romance and true love, and of lovers so close that only the strangers embrace could break them apart, call her a fool, but she felt nothing towards the man in front of her, her husband, she didn't even have the will to hate him, his face looking at her concerned, likely surprised at her lack of response, the room still masked in silence.


She looked him in the eyes, her green, to his blue, a single lonely tear flowing down her cheek, soon to be joined by another, her eyes soon glistening with salty tears, her expression falling into sadness. She didn't say a word, her hands still in Rowan's, dropping all pretences of strength she had previously displayed, just wishing that she wasn't here, or more accurately that Rowan wasn't here, allowing tears to fall onto her grandfathers fur sheets "I-I'm sorry Ser I-I..." She couldn't even construct a sentence properly, let alone speak, shaking uncontrollably.


I hate them, she thought to herself, I hate them all, father, grandfather, Gwenys, Malissa, Helyon fucking Tarly, they all knew how she felt, yet they had just stood by and watched, allowing her to give her life to the man before her, who would soon carry her off to rot away in Horn Hill, sitting by as her husband would leave for war, expected to birth his children, it was too much, especially for a young woman of Agnes' standing, she had never been taught to deal with something like this before, all she could do was sit and weep and she hated herself for it, so weak, so powerless.


"I-I just need some time..." She spoke at last, trying to regain the composure that had already vanished, her eyes red with tears.


@WanderingJester

---

​



Riverrun, The Red Fork, Westeros.


Olenna Mallister gave her husband a reassuring look, a smile on her lips "Do not fret dear, I have little doubt that Agnes'll adjust to the situation in due course, there may never be love between the two, but she's your daughter after all, she's stronger than you give her credit for."


@National
 
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Lord Walder's Chamber, Riverrun, The Riverlands.


Rowan sat there, stunned by the now melancholy strucken Lady Tarly in front of him. Socially nervous and possibly inept he might be, the young man could tell that those weren't tears of joy flowing down her angelic face. Clearly while she had been taught the mannerism and ways of a lady, as well as the importance of honor, virtue, and family that were the foundations of House Tully, her mentors and parents didn't reiterate the need to complete one's duty, even as distasteful it might be. Was he that repulsive that a woman would burst into tears after marrying herself off to him? Rowan frowned at the thought, but shook his head. If his face be plain, so be it, better a plain faced and honorable man heading House Tarly in the future than a handsome, unjust craven whoreson.


The heir of House Tarly looked at his bride, a mix of confusion, hurt, frustration and appreciation in his face. Even as she tried to talk through her sadness, Agnes Tarly was an undeniably beautiful woman, perhaps even more beautiful than he deserved. Rowan may have to fight several duels of honor in the future, when the inevitable accusations of her ulterior motives for marrying him comes up. Let them come and say what they like. They would taste Tarly steel, just like the countless buzzards that prey on unsuspecting and unarmed travelers in the Red Mountains. He briefly considered his options at the moment, as Agnes babbled and sobbed in front of him. There was a chance he might make things worse with action, but Rowan thought that, like in battle, indecision was the worst decision.


Reaching out, Rowan placed a hand on Agnes' shoulder before pulling her to him. He could feel her stiffen at his touch, as though her body was confirming what she suspected all along, that he would take what was his, regardless of what he had said moments ago. The Fair Tarly merely pulled his wife into an embrace, while reclining on the bed and drawing the sheets over them for warmth, even with both of their clothes still on. He would have to lie to his father tomorrow, for the first time in his living memory, but Rowan pushed aside the thought. He had given his word, and he would not force himself on this poor girl, for the first time revealing her fragile self to him.


His breathing evened out as he felt his eyelids beginning to slid close, the fact that Agnes had at least began to relax in his arms barely registering in his mind as he fell asleep.


Main Gate, Riverrun, The Riverlands.





A man rode hard up to the night guards at the entrance of the ancient fortress, out of breath as much as his tired horse. He wore the coat of arms of House Redwyne, though his horse bears the insignia of House Tarly. While the guards up in the walls couldn't tell, up close the man looked sleep deprived, with bloodshot eyes and dry lips in his mouth. At the speed he came at the entrance, some of the Tully guards had their weapons up, with at least one loaded crossbow aimed in the rider's direction. If he noticed the concern on the Tully guards' faces, the man didn't show it. One of the night guards shouted down at him.


"Halt! Who goes there?"


The man, with cracked voice, called back up to the battlements. "Is Lord Tarly and his sons within? I have urgent news for him!"


The guards on the wall looked at each other, before calling back down. "What business is so urgent that it can't wait until morning? You still haven't answered my question!"


"I'm a messenger from House Redwyne. Please open the gates! We've not much time!"


"You're a long way from the Reach and the Redwyne Straits, soldier, you lost or something?"


The man took a few deep breaths to collect himself in his anger, then yelled back up to the guards. "Tell them Lord Luthor Redwyne has an urgent message for Lord Helyon Tarly. Tell them that the entirety of Iron Fleet's been spotted and it's heading for Reach!"


@Hypnos


@National
 
The Shield Islands, The Reach


Conn Greyjoy and The Iron Fleet approached The Shield Islands as the sun arose over The Sunset Sea. "My Greyjoy." A young man with dirty yellow hair hummed. Conn knew his face, but, he didn't know his name. "I'm sorry, you are... ?"


"Evander Sunderly."


Conn looked at his armor, detailed with a drowned man being eaten by fish. Ah, yes. Conn smiled. "What is it you want?"


The young man scratched his nose. "Captain Merlyn would like to have a word with 'ya."


Conn responded with a nod and pushed past the blonde boy. Murrough Merlyn's was on the main deck; shouting commands at his underlings. "Here he is, now." Murrough chorused when he laid his eyes upon his King. "My Greyjoy, I would like to introduce you to some of my men before they go out and get killed for you." He said whilst stroking his long grey beard. Murrough was known for his facial hair. It reached his knees and was tinted with bits of seaweed. To symbolize he was a godly man. Conn nodded.


"This here, is..."


Murrough had begun to name off every man aboard. The Ironborn gave Conn a greeting and swore that they'd fight like The Ironborn of old. After all thirty nine men aboard 'The Skinned Tail' were introduced- Conn and Murrough walked to the port side of the ship where The Shield Islands lay.


"The Skinned Tail, and fifteen other ships will be attacking Greyshield." Murrough began. "Several other ships in The Iron Fleet will be headin' for Greenshield. Whilst about twenty of our lesser vessels will be going to Oakenshield." He finished, his eyes glared at the lumps of land sitting atop the blue and orange sea.


Conn was happy enough with that. "What about Southshield?"


Murrough spat into the ocean. "I believe Alby Goodbrother and a few of his ships will be attempting to take Southshield. However, he requested we send him a few more before he actually begins the raid."


"I thought Goodbrother was with Ciar Myre?" Conn inquired.


"Ciar Myre and his men are likely dead, my king. Myre sent Goodbrother and his small fleet to come an' join us when we take The Shield Islands."


Conn sighed. I knew I was possibly sending him to his death when I told him to cause havoc at Fair Isle. "He and his men will be remembered forever." Conn proclaimed. He looked at Murrough and added: "What is dead may never die."


Murrough put his fist to his armor. "What is dead may never die."


But rises again, harder and stronger.


As they sailed closer to The Shield Islands. A small flame lit on one of the islands. Greyshield, I think. "They know we're a coming. They've lit their beacons." Murrough said, gruffly. He left Conn's side and roared at his men. The Ironborn lined themselves up. Barclay Botley. Dermid Sparr. Thomas Of Lordsport and his cousin, Tuathal. Murrough's own son, Muir.


"Listen up, you shits. They've lit their little beacons and in a day or two- Redwyne will be on our asses." Murrough yelled. His voice was hoarse, but loud. Murrough looked up at Conn and gave him a look. He wants me to talk.


"Some of you barely know me, and yet I call myself your 'King'. You fight for me even though I have never fought for you all." Conn began. "I thank you all."


Some men smiled, whilst others remained sullen. Conn fiddled with the bag around his shoulder. He took it out. The egg.


"This is a dragon egg." Conn gave a shout, he held the egg high in the air. The Ironborn a board looked speechless. "I'm going to hatch this egg, and the monster who emerges from it will help us destroy The Seven Kingdoms."


The Ironborn gave a thundering cry.


"But first I need all of you to set up base here in The Shield Islands and keep The Reach busy." They all cheered again. He lowered the egg and placed both his hands on it. Its scales were green, with hints of blue.


"So I need you all to kill, fight, and fuck every last person living on these islands until there are no more people to call them home." Conn said, loudly. The Ironborn roared and cheered, once more. Many raised their weapons and pointed 'em into the red sky.


"Today, is the beginning of the end of The Seven Kingdoms!"


Conn finished. He raised the egg again and the ship erupted with cheering and chanting. "King Conn, KING CONN, KING CONN!"


And then, they came up on the beach'd shore of Greyshield. Dozens of ships, some belonging to his Iron Fleet whilst other were owned by the various lordlings around The Iron Islands. It was only a matter of minutes before Conn Greyjoy heard the first scream . . .





@Lancelot


@Hypnos
 
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Benjicott bites his upper lip, sighing.


"You are correct, my love. She is from royal Tully blood. However, I feel remorse. I hate seeing the children sad."


Suddenly, one of the knights from the wall runs into the feeding hall. While no one payed mind to the knight, Benjicott motioned him over.


"What is wrong young lad? You look panicked?"


"My lord, I have grave news. Helyon Tarly, his home is going to be attacked!"


Benjicott's eyes widened, curtly nodding.


"Bring the messenger to my quarters immediately."


The young guard nods before running back to the messenger to bring him in. Benjicott quickly searches for Helyon Tarly before finding the older man.


"Lord Helyon, there are some urgent matters to discuss. Please, follow me to my quarters."


@Hypnos @WanderingJester
 
Lord Benjicott's Chambers, Riverrun, the Riverlands.





When the gates finally opened, the rider's horse slowly trotted in, before collapsing in the courtyard. The messenger himself looked little better than his steed, struggled to get up from falling off the now dead horse. Several of the Tully men helped him up, yet he had to lean on one in order to stay on his feet. Together, the Tully men half walked, half carried the Redwyne messenger to their destination: Lord Benjicott's Chamber. Unlike Lord Walder Tullys, this one had less trophies in it. There were some maps, and weapons and shields still on the walls. However the bed was slightly smaller, and someone brought in more chairs. The Redwyne soldier's legs finally gave out, and he fell into one of them.


After given some food and water, and a bout or two against the creeping unconsciousness, he looked up to see Benjicott Tully and Helyon Tarly, along with their advisors and sons entering the room with them. The Tarly Lord looked unimpressed with the situation, looking over the rider as he stood next to the chair offered to him, waiting for the message to be delivered. With weak hands, the messenger reached inside his bag and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment with the Redwyne seal on it, and handed it out to Helyon, which Orion quickly went and got the message to his father. Opening it, Helyon read over its contents while the tired man explained himself.


"My lord asked me to ride with all speeds to Horn Hill after one of our scouting groups within the fleet got ambushed. Fortunately, one of the ships managed to escape while the others sacrificed themselves to buy it time, and we got news of the Iron Fleet headed south. The sheer amount of ships at hand indicated that it was likely the majority or possibly the entire fleet. Lord Redwyne had already begun to muster their fleet when I left, I expected them to be gone from the Arbor by now. I had reached Horn Hill only to find out that you had left for the North, and so the Castellan there gave me an extra horse and I've been riding nonstop here since for two days straight. My lord asks you to make with haste to the Mander with your host, where we may get a report on where exactly the Ironborn have struck, and counterattack."


When he finished the last sentence, the man passed out in his chair, and several Tully and Tarly men picked him up and carried him out of the room. Considering his options for a moment, Helyon remained quiet. Finally, not being able to take it anymore, Orion spoke up. "We should ride for the Reach father! The Ironborns can-" Helyon silenced his second oldest with a look.


"Your brother needs until the morn to consummate his marriage, and he will get the time. We will ride then." Turning to Benjicott and the rest of the Tullys in the room, he continued. "It would seem that the Reach, and by extension House Tarly, is now at war. As per our alliance, I now ask House Tully to join us in this conflict. How long will it take for you to summon your full host before marching South?"


@National


@Hypnos
 

Haelga Greyjoy, Pyke, Iron Islands





THE ESCAPE Part II



​



Haelga moved quickly and quietly down the stairwell, the guard following behind her without the same degree of caution. The sound of boots reached her ears before she stopped, pulling back her axe, preparing to throw. A shadow of a man appeared against the wall, and as soon as she saw his sword come around the corner, she threw the axe. The unprepared guard took the axe full in the face, the axe's blade having pierced through his simple leather helm. His entire head jerked back with the force of the impact, neck cracking as it did so before the guard slumped to the ground. She ripped her axe out of the man's head, sliding a dagger out of his belt as well, the axe dripping with blood as she ran out into the hall. Haelga slid open the door of some guardsman's room for a moment, pulling her rescuer inside, shield and axe still at hand as the guard closed the door behind them. The man was about to say something when she shook her head, leaning a little closer, blue-green eyes burrowing into his. "Tell me your name and how many men like you there are in Pyke," she commanded in a voice that betrayed nothing. The soldier, stood in surprised silence for a second or two, before he began to speak.


"I'm Kottyr Pyke," he said simply, before adding, "An' I can definitely gather a dozen men t' ya, although maybe I can manage a few more," he explained, as Haelga simply nodded, running chances and outcomes through her head. "I and them, we all had our fathers n' brothers die in the last Greyjoy Rebellion, and we all think this one will turn out just the same. We are willin' to help ya' if you can promise t' us that you won't desert us once ya' get your men out."


Haelga briefly nodded, clapping her hand on the man's shoulder. "I promise you, Kotty Pyke," she said with a steel in her voice, before she turned towards the door. "Go and find your men. Make your way to where my men are held, I'll meet you there." she ordered, and Kottyr nodded before opening the door and departing. A few moments later, with a guard uniform tucked behind her elbow, she opened the door as well, jogging in the opposite direction, letting it close behind her.





Giaou Jiang'Ye



​



Giaou sat in his cell, humming softly as he made graceful, rythymic movements with his hands, using the light of the room's window to make shadow puppets on the walls. His shadows made graceful shapes upon the walls, animals, plants, and even people. He remembered when he was younger, and dabbling in an emerging style of performance known as the "Shadow Dance". A group of performers would lead their guests into a large, dark room with only one window, allowing light to shine upon the far wall. The performers would be positioned near the window, where, silently, they would move and dance, making emphasized, mime-like movements to play out their roles, with no props other than what they could make using the shape of their hands. It was certainly a.. curious art style, but caught on quickly in Yi Ti. Giaou himself had not enjoyed it much, as he much preferred being able to see his audience, but his wife had loved it.. she had loved everything even remotely artistic, even the things that Giaou could not enjoy. The guards had taken the ornamental dagger he kept on him at all times, but had left him with his supplies, hurling insults at him for carrying "makeup" like a maiden, something which only made him smile. They fail to realize that I could become them with the greatest of ease, and not even their family wou- his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots outside. The sound of something light whirling through the air was heard, before a cut off cry, and a body hitting the floor. He had known there was two guards in the hallway, and it seemed one was already dead. In this section, there were less guards as it had been deemed that they were the least "Dangerous" of Haelga's company, allowing most of the guards to position themselves near where the Mussovians were kept, and the other armed men of the company. The other guard ran forward with a battle cry, and Giaou could hear the sound of metal biting into wood, before something thumped against his door, heavy enough to likely be a body. A few lighter fabric sounds were heard before his suspiscions were confirmed as blood seeped under the door, which opened a few moments later to reveal the face of Haelga Greyjoy. Behind her, he could see both of the dead guards, one with a deep gap in his neck that could only have been made with an axe, and the other with a knife through his eye. Giaou felt a smile cross his face as she tossed the outfit of a guardsman to him, aswell as a simple sword and shield, with a smirk and a look that seemed to say, You know what to do. Haelga dragged both of the bodies inside, before simply shoving one of them out the window. "Good luck," she murmured, before leaving.


Before she had even walked out the door, he was opening up his pack, pulling out a small pot. He opened it up, scooping out a pile of white-colored powder, beginning to sprinkle it across the bloody floor. Within minutes, the blood was mostly gone, allowing him to wipe the rest up with the last two of his cloth squares he kept in his bag, wiping up the now-red powder as well, before tossing the evidence out the window, letting it fall to the salty sea below. He dug into his bag, pulling out his materials, a devious light shining in his eyes. "Time to work," he murmurred, using the remaining corpse, the definite smaller of the two as a guide as he began to change himself, before that body too left through the window.





Gorgan Halfshield


Guardsman



​



Gorgan let out a sigh as he entered the small, cramped hallway housing a few of the King's sister's weaker men. "Oh for fuck's sakes Daegon!" he bellowed, seeing the younger guard turn to face him from where he had been leaning against the wall. The man looked half asleep, and bored out of his mind, which only filled Gorgan with spite. "You lazy fuck, our KING ordered us to be GUARDING the prisoners, not fuckin' sleeping on the hallway like some whoreson greenlander!" the man bellowed, getting closer to the smaller guardsman, attempting to intimidate him. "And.. where the hell is Orgo?" the man asked, turning his head to peer along the hallway. "Shouldn't he be on duty here too?" the guard captain asked, glaring back down at his subordinate.


"Yes, he should be," Daegon shrugged "But he left to go see to his salt wife," he answered, eyeing the older man idily for a moment, seemingly unsure why the older man was even asking.


Gorgan shrugged, muttering curses under his breath. "Fucking shit... go find him then you worthless rat, since it seems that even guarding some measly greenlanders is too much for you. I'll stay here to keep the prisoners guarded, and once you two get back, I'll beat him harder than he's ever beat that little pretty Westerlander of his," the man threatened, causing Daegon to gulp in sympathy for his friend's future, before he ran off, making his way to the larger hall where the more dangerous prisoners were being kept.


 
Siegfried Harlaw, Greyshield, The Shield Islands.





The Bloody Flux and Sea Song followed behind The Skinned Tail while the Iron Wing and Headless Jeyne sailed up at the front of the fleet, no doubt that they would be the first to dock, by the time Siegfried docked the battle had already started, Siegfried raised his axe and shouted in a booming commanding voice.


"Today men I ask you to fight for victory, fight for blood and fight for your King! For Conn Greyjoy the King of the Ironborn! Today we take this land in his name so all I ask of you is... Slaughter any Greenland bastard you see!"





Siegfried's crew responded with a roar and they began to charge from their ships onto Greyshield.
 
Roland slowly walked through the great castle he now held as his own, studying it as closely as possible to inspect damages and its defensive ability. It was impressive to say the least from a defensive standpoint and well made, which was expected considering it once housed a king of its own thousands of years ago. And despite being raided so regularly by the Ironborn it had only been occupied once by the raiders. It had an outer and inner wall, the outer wall being an octagon in shape, standing at forty feet tall with fifty foot tall towers at each point. Gates were facing east and west, limiting the number of gates that could be breached to allow for a better defense. Dirt roads extended from both gates allowing for ease of travel and trade to the port to the east and many roads branched from these to each of the small towns across the isle.


The distance from the outer wall to the inner being nearly two-hundred yards allowed for a small villa to be built between them where smiths, craftsman and people of many trades lived and housed their wears. The inner wall was square shaped, with a single gate facing the east and a tower at each of the corners. The wall itself stood sixty feet tall, and the towers seventy, allowing for archers to fire at enemy soldiers atop the outer wall while retaining the high ground if they fired back. Within the inner wall was the great hall, placed against the western wall where men would come to feast and Roland would go to rest in his chambers farth back in the building. On the southern wall was the barracks where the house knights would stay and the stables on the northern wall.


It was easily one of the largest castles in the Westerlands though much smaller than the likes of Casterly Rock and easily defendable as it sat atop the largest hill on the isle and thus from the towers one could see for dozens of miles on a clear day. The damages to the castle were minimal at best, most of it being in lives as many of the folk who lived in the castles walls were killed, though not nearly as many as the port due to the much larger garrison. Rebuilding the garrison would likely be the most difficult part of all of this, as according to Maester Merek there were only two-hundred surviving men-at-arms that could be pulled in from around the entire isle.


It was with this on his mind that Merek handed him a letter from Tiber, already going to fetch parchment for a reply. Reading the letter carefully Roland would begin writing his reply.


@WanderingJester

Tiber Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Castamere, Lord paramount of the Westerland and Warden of the West.


I thank you for your support in aiding me bring my men across the straight. I will ensure that no boat is forced to waste its time bringing my men across and that they will continue their patrols unaltered. As for the wedding, I assure you that I will be in attendance with as many men as I can spare.


Strength and Honor


Lord of Faircastle and Fair Isle


Ending his letter Roland would look up to John who slowly approached him "Gather as many ships as possible and take them to begin bringing our men across to the isle. I will stay here and begin the repairs and rebuilding of the garrison". John would simply nod, surprised at how serious Roland was being lately, though not too much, as the man needed to assure his lordship would not be swiped from him by anybody. "I'll see ye in a couple o' days then" John spoke as he went to the stables and left, galloping to the docks.


Walking to the Great Hall Roland would enter the council chambers where a large table sat in the middle of the room. Taking a seat he would begin writing several letters that messengers would carry to all edges of the isle. They were simple, ordering the nobility of the isle to meet at Faircastle so that their new lord Roland Wilds could speak with them. The meeting would be simple to say the least, as he simply wanted to ask for their support in recruiting five hundred men to garrison the castle.
 
Storm's End, The Stormlands


(Wendel Baratheon)


Wendel nodded at Walder's words. The man was right - even from a distance, you could feel the tension in the atmosphere. He didn't expect for the meeting to go smoothly in the slightest, Braedon having held something of a grudge against his older brother throughout the years. It was more than likely that their father had a hand in it. It was also a personal matter, so Wendel never really pried Braedon about it. But, it was of no concern to him at the moment. Instead, he took the moment to converse with the Lord of Riverrun, whom he had appreciated and taken more of a liking to in the recent years.


"Ah, yes. I've been well - besides the coronation of course. 'Twas a little bit stressful, if I do say so myself," he commented, recalling the night of the celebration. It was the wrong direction to turn the conversation to, however, and would almost certainly lead to talks of war. Trying to change the topic, Wendel looked up into the noon sky and smiled. "We've had quite the nice weather in the Stormlands for the past few days, wouldn't you agree?"


"But how have you been, Lord Tully? I hope you haven't worn yourself out too much, it must have been an incredibly long journey for you," he said, giving the lord some time to respond before he continued.


"I've heard news of your granddaughter wedding a lad from House Tarly, is that correct?" He'd read about it in another letter that he "borrowed" from the maester, finding the marriage fairly interest-piquing. If war was to occur and the Tullys would join the Baratheons, the assistance that House Tarly could provide was more than welcome. "Do give her my congratulations the next time you meet."


In the midst of their conversation, Wendel had completely forgotten about the existence of his two other brothers only a few yards away - only reminded when they had approached him and Walder, seemingly ready to enter the castle. Given the fact that the two weren't speaking among themselves, it was safe to say that they hadn't rekindled their relationship yet.


"If you would all follow me to the map room," Braedon spoke, turning to face Wendel and Walder before entering the fortress.


Wendel leaned forward, getting himself closer to Walder. "Looks like we've got some work ahead of us," Wendel whispered into his ears before walking to the castle entrance and motioning for their guests to come inside.


"After you two."


Storm's End, The Stormlands


(Braedon Baratheon)


Braedon's tease might have been uncalled for and a tad immature, but it was still a satisfying feeling nonetheless. Even Wendel would have been proud of his remark, were it not for the implications of the meeting. As he continued through the halls of Storm's End, he took a glance back every once in a while, making sure that his company was behind him. Having been in the castle countless times, he didn't doubt that Walder knew his way around the place - perhaps even Rory remembered the inside layout of the building. Regardless, he still kept an eye on the two visitors.


When the party had finally reached the room in question, Braedon was the first to enter, holding the door open for the others to follow. The room was spacious, though nowhere near as large as the hall he had occupied some minutes ago. The wall opposite the door had a window - this one looking over Shipbreaker Bay as well. The other two walls on either side of the room were mostly entirely covered by bookshelves, all of the books on them neatly organized and taken care of by the servants of the castle. They were your typical Westerossi history and war strategy books, some of which Braedon had flipped through in the past. The areas of the wall that were not concealed by shelves were done so by maps, for which the room was named after. The rather detailed maps depicted various locations in the Seven Kingdoms, some even of Essos and the Free Cities. The room's main attraction though, was the long table squat in the middle. With several chairs on either side, it was more than capable of seating over a dozen individuals. Nearly the entire surface of the table was covered by a map of Westeros - a requirement for every great castle in the continent, it seemed. Hopefully, it would prove its worth in the times to come.


As his guests poured into the room, Braedon took a seat, beckoning for them to do the same. As everybody else got seated, his eyes were still focused on Rory. He wondered what was going on through the man's head - stepping foot into the castle he once called home again.


When they were all settled, Braedon cleared his throat, signalling that he was about to speak up. "Well, you two have obviously come for some reason," he started, knowing very well what their reason was. It was why he had chose this room as the site for their meeting, after all. "How may I help you?" Braedon asked, though he interrupted himself not long after, remembering the sacred tradition of guest right.


"Oh, yes, but before we start - shall I have the bread and salt prepared, or do you trust me enough, brother?"


@Hypnos @Archon
 
Arren - Highgarden: Courtyard


Arren was just about to start out of Highgarden Castle with his escort when a shout stopped him. "My Lord! My Lord!" A young man, dressed in the colors and bearing the sign of House Redwyne, galloped into the courtyard atop a panting horse. The horse hung it's head while the man jumped off and approached Arren. Arren immediately did the same, but the man reached him first. From the looks of the exhausted horse, this sounded extremely serious and already Arren was fearing the worst.


"What is it," Arren asked quietly, doing his best to retain a calm tone, knowing that the other man probably needed to calm down first before he could get his words out. "Get some water for this man," he said to one of the guardsmen, who hurried off.


The young man immediately began speaking, "My Lord," he said, a harried tone in his voice, though not as panicked as Arren would have expected. "A fleet of Ironborn ships have been sighted at the Shield Islands. At least 100 strong, estimated to be their main fleet, or almost all of them, with the intention of taking over the Reach. Lord Redwyne of the Arbor has already assembled his feet and are sailing for the Shield Islands as we speak. House Tarly, the majority of whom are in Riverrun at the moment, are also being notified."


A stunned silence filled the courtyard, as all eyes turned onto Arren to gauge his reaction. Arren, for that matter, turned quite pale, while a look of anger crossed his face. On most accounts, Arren should not be worried. The Redwyne fleet were one of the strongest fleets in the whole of Westeros, as well as the largest and the greatest, with 200 warships under their command. Unfortunately, the Iron Fleet was just as strong, though not as numerous. In terms of land too, the knights of the Reach were numbered among 80,000, the greatest amount of soldiers that could be rallied throughout the whole of Westeros. House Tyrell was quite possibly the strongest of the Great Houses with their fleet, their sheer numbers of soldiers, in addition to the their fertile fields in which they kept the majority of Westeros fed.


Yet, it was still like Arren to worry about the worst possible scenario. The worst possible scenario would be that the Redwyne fleet loses against the Iron fleet, in which case a land battle would occur. Which House Tyrell could turn to their advantage because on both land and sea, House Tyrell had the advantage in numbers. He took a deep breath, and his voice took on a commanding tone. "Very well, we will send men to support the fighting on Shield Island. I want 30,000 troops rallied and sent to the Shield Islands, with another 20,000 at the foot of the Mander, in case the fighting turns inwards. As for the rest of the troops, I want them notified and kept on alert, in case we should need them."


Men hurried off to do his bidding, to send ravens to various parts of the Reach in order to rally troops. Arren turned to his guard captain. "I find that I am unable to peruse my curiosity regarding the rumored Targayen bastard. Hence, I ask you to send men to bring Filicity and Adair back to Highgarden. Meanwhile, I will need to write a letter to my father to inform him of these events."
 
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"Yes of course now would be fine." She said taking her seat on the throne. "I would like to think you bring good news.' She began to take her fingers on the throne. How she wish she just executed ser james and Aera when she had the chance. The blood spilling from their decapitated heads could have brought her ease. Don't think like that, there will be bloodshed soon but for a better cause.


She started to drift off into her thoughts. Realizing kindness wasn't getting her anywhere but down in the dumps. Maybe she could send a fleet of ships to meet her so called 'brother' half way and give him an 'lovely' welcome to westorsi by sinking his precious ships. It sounded lovely by the thought of it.golden company fleets drowning at sea. She shifted back into reality before giving a soft smile. Not by the presence of her guest but for more 'entertaining' reason.



​



 
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The Red Keep, King's Landing


Aerea nodded. A Tyrell? I would not mind. A guard helped her up off her bloody bed spread. She walked over to a small pail of water and dipped her hand in. It was cool. She still felt disorientated from the milk o' the poppy. "Kora!" Aerea gave a small shout.


Her handmaiden rushed in; a bottle of Arbor Red in her hands. Aerea wondered where'st Lisa was. She is probably off crying somewhere.


That made Aerea smile. As Kora begun rinsing Aerea's hand in wine, Aerea looked at The Grandmaester. She still felt a little lightheaded. "Thank you, Grandmaester Vladan." Aerea said, sweetly.





"Thank you very much."


Highgarden, The Reach


"Thank you, ser." Filicity said as Morath helped with Adair, who was still talking to the man he bumped into- even though the man was no longer there. She followed behind The Hedge Knight and Adair. They walked through a back street that lead up to the walls of Highgarden.


The roadway was wet and mucky. Filicity's brown leather boots were caked in dirt and slop. Several street lamps had been lit, but the area they walked through remained quite dark. The sun was now missing from the sky entirely.


It couldn't be that late. Filicity thought as she peered up at the night sky. An ocean, dotted with white and yellow stars. "I feel..." Adair freed himself from Morath's grasp and puked onto a stone doorway leading into a bathhouse. Gods. Adair spurted out a pale orange liquid. Filicity looked away as it spilled out of his mouth. As she looked away she saw six horses galloping through the mud. The horses were dressed in Tyrell colours.


What now? Filicity thought to herself as the horses approached her, Adair, and The Hedge Knight. "My lady, your brother has sent us to look for you." Ser Jon Osgrey said, as he sat atop of his horse. "Darrin?" She asked.


"No, Arren."


Filicity nodded. She looked back at Adair and Morath. Adair rubbed his mouth with the sleeve of his tunic. He had finished getting sick. Morath stood beside him, his silver hair seemed to sparkle under the moonlight. Filicity looked at the horsed men, once more. They seem weary of Morath. "Alright. We were just heading there ourselves, Ser Jon." Filicity spoke.


"We?" He asked. Filicity couldn't see his face under his helm, but, she knew he was making that weird face Jon Osgrey always made when he was confused. Yes, we. "My companions and I." Filicity gave a response.


"Adair Fossoway and Morath Of King's Landing." She added. Her eyes studied the guards carefully. There was Ser Jon, but she couldn't recognize the others in the poor light. "Fossoway is always welcome in Highgarden, but..." Ser Jon stopped and looked back at his peers. "Maybe it is better he find a bed for the night?"


"He will find a bed for the night. In Highgarden. My home. May I have to remind you who my father is, Ser Jon?" Filicity snapped. Ser Jon gave a nervous cough and nodded his head. His helm jingled as he did. "Of course, my lady. Follow us."


Ser Jon's stead began to trot away, along with the others. Filicity looked at Morath. Then they followed...





- - - - -


@HuorSpinks
 
Riverrun, The Red Fork, The Riverlands.


Scribbling furiously upon a stack of of crisp, yellow parchment, Lady Barba Bracken putting the finishing touches to her final letter, a frown finding its way onto her lips as she wrote, only fading slightly as she dotted her last i, placing her feathered quill back into its ink pot. She had, had to do a lot of writing in the last few days, her job of Lady Regent keeping her fairly busy within the castle giving her little time to mingle with her family and discus current events, Benjicot for one was completely in the dark about the governing in the castle and Lothar only knew because of his position as Lord-Steward, his signature being needed to sign off on the expenditures that Barba needed.


"Maester!" She called at last, her voice gruff and hoarse, she was still tired from the previous night, her work among other things keeping her up until the early hours of the morning, her sleeping schedule taking a huge hit after she had heard about the coming presence of the Tarlys, the Lady of Riverrun, spending countless hours plotting and scheming about how to deal with the problem that was Helyon fucking Tarly, and whilst she hadn't come up with anything that was to her liking, she still had a few measures put in place to make sure that Lord Tarly was more agreeable "Please would you send these letters to the rookery, I want them unopened and unaltered, especially the one addressed to Lord Tiber, my sister will not be happy if I miss her daughters wedding" The Maester nodded as he walked into he chamber, gathering up the parchment ready to be sent off "Speaking of weddings I trust Agnes' is over, I have little doubt Helyon Tarly will have made sure that his sons stuck his cock where it needs to go"


"You haven't heard my Lady" the Maester said, with mild sunrise "Lord Helyon and your son are gathered in Ben's chamber, they just received word from the Redwyne's that the Shields are under attack, Lord Tarly is not doubt going to march in their aid and take Tully men with him, as per the contract signed by your son"


"He fucking what?" Barba said, more annoyed than angry, it wasn't the Maesters fault after all, though her son would certainly be receiving a beating "On whims authority did he sign this contract"


"His own, my Lady" the Maester replied unphased by the increasing presence of red in Barba's face "An alliance agreement between the Tullys and Tarlys, a foolish choice if you ask me, but I doubt poor Ben thought about it much"


Barba didn't say a word, simply raising silently from her desk thanking the Maester with a gesture and exiting her chamber with the ferocity of a thousand bears, she would be having words with her son, though that could certainly be postponed to a later date, right now all she wanted to do was grab Helyon Tarly by the throat and stick her dagger right into the man's Kidneys, let us just hope that he doesn't expect us to honour this false contract, she thought as she moved down the corridor towards Ben's chamber, her posture as ladylike as she could manage, Ben has no authority over the forces of Riverrun, nor the House of Tully, in the case of the absence of the Lord of Riverrun, the duty of ruling should fall to his regent, why the fuck didn't he bother to tell me, she finally arrived at Ben's room, knocking twice before she entered, though she didn't really wait for a reply, moving straight past the Tully guards who had been posted at the door, both of whom let her past with sheepish grins.


"My Lords" she curtsied politely "I was informed of some trouble that occurred during the wedding and a message that was received by my household, perhaps this is something that should concern the acting lady of Riverrun, I am after all in charge of all decisions that my house decides to make, is that not so Benjicot?" She didn't wait for a reply as she walked straight into the room, taking a seat below the head of a particularly ferocious looking bear, smiling at Lord Tarly "So, where were we?"


Letter to Lord Tiber Lannister:




Lord Tiber Lannister and bride.


I am very happy to hear of the advance in the date of your wedding, true love should never be delayed, the House of Tully will of course still be in attendance, and shall certainly not miss the wedding of their cousin the Lady Leanne Brax for something so simple as a change of date. However it brings me little joy to say that His Lordship Walder Tully may not be able to be in attendance for this happy day, Lord Walder has unfortunately fallen ill after his travels from King's Landing and has been forced to stop with his vassals the Whents of Harrenhal, being unable to travel in his current state, I assure you that he would not miss this lightly and has even had to skip the wedding of his darling granddaughter Lady Agnes Tully, whom he loves dearly.


Let us pray for Lord Walder's speedy recovery and drink to his health during your wedding celebration.


Barba Tully, Lady Regent of the Riverlands.


P.S. I am informed by Lord Vance that a few men from the Golden Tooth lost their way and found themselves in the Riverlands, fear not however, they have been escorted back to their rightful place within their own region, let us hope they learn to better follow a map in future.


@WanderingJester

---

​



Greyshield, The Shield Islands, Westeros.


Much to their surprise the Ironborn met little resistance during their initial assault on the islands of shield, the ships that at first appeared to be a menacing fleet instead being nothing more than a few ill placed fishing vessels, their inhabitants no more than old men and a handful of green boys, nothing like the formidable force that the raiders had been expecting, nor the famed combatants of the shield isles, known for their remarkable defensive skill. On the contrary Greyshield appeared to be empty, devoid of almost all life, houses lying deserted, their inhabitants clearly leaving in a hurry, the food still warm on the surface of their tables, and clothes strewn across the floor.


---


Grimston, Greyshield, Westeros.


Lord Bonifer Grimm looked down from atop the walls of Grimston castle, stroking his bright red beard as he squinted to see the Ironmen below, a massive smug grin decorating his lips, clearly very pleased with how things were going. He had evacuated the island as soon as he had heard of the iron fleet's eminent arrival, a force so large alerting the men within Greyshield's watchtowers almost immediately, the great stone beacons that decorated the coastline of the Reach being lit upon first sight. The majority of Greyshield's smallfolk were used to the sensation of having to quickly vacate their homes due to Ironborn Raiders, most of them now located safely within the castle, the fleet being used to get as many non warriors to the main land as possible a technique well practiced within the isles, often used against assault, Grimm's ships now headed to join the Redwyne fleet in the Arbor, Bonifer knowing he couldn't stand alone against the ironfleet.


The Lord of Greyshield gazed at the Ironborn below, happily burning down the empty villages, uselessly sacking nothing, "Good luck taking a castle without fucking siege equipment assholes" he yelled down, raising his middle finger "You'd need a fucking dragon to get through these walls!" He threw down a rock for good measure ducking down to avoid any arrows that may be coming his way, the castle had enough supplies to last for months, years if they hadn't taken in the smallfolk, all they'd have to do now is await the arrival of the Redwyne fleet, rescuing them from the ironborns clutches.


@TheFordee14 @Lancelot
 
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