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[WinterIsComing]

" Westeros...


Founded By Aegon The Conqueror In 1AC - The Seven Kingdoms Have Been Almost Forever Ruled By The Targaryen Dynasty... The Dragons. But; The Last Dragons Are Long Dead And The Targaryen Dynasty Are Losing Their Grip On The Land They 'Rule'.


With "The Cruel King" Growing Old, And, With His Sanity Slowly Disintegrating- The Great Houses Of Westeros Have Decided To Play 'The Game Of Thrones' Extra Hard.


The Iron Throne Is Up For Grabs.


Can You Raise An Army? Can You Ally With Your Neighbors? Can You Win A War? Can You Become The New Ruler Of The Seven Kingdoms...?


It Won't Be Easy.


You'll Have To Cheat, Kill, Lie, And Steal- But, It'll All Pay Off... Right?





And,


The Summer Sun Is Slowly Fading- 'Winter Is Coming', And A Much, Much, MUCH Bigger Threat Is Coming With It. "

 

[WinterIsComing]

Sunspear, Dorne . . .


Sol awoke in her bed. The sun lit up her room and she tried to bury her head in the covers to try and avoid it. After about a minute; she decided she couldn't return to her slumber. She threw the covers off and dressed herself in a long, white gown made of silk. She stared at herself in a mirror, whilst combing her brown hair which had become a mess due to her sleep. When she was finished grooming herself, she called for her servants to prepare a breakfast for her downstairs in the hall that looked over the gardens of Sunspear. Sometimes she thought to herself why she even had servants. She wasn't a noble, she was a bastard. Isabel, one of her servants returned a few minutes later and told her that the food was ready for her. "Thank you." Sol said softly, before she made her way downstairs...


She entered the sunlit hall and sat on a patio, which lead to the green gardens. A plate of food was laid down in-front of her, and she begun to eat. She picked off a piece of a bread loaf and popped it in her mouth while her eyes darted throughout the garden. She could name every plant that was in the garden, thanks to the time she spent studying at The Citadel, in Old Town. She longed to go back there someday, but, she probably never would. If anything; she'd probably be cooped up in Dorne for the rest of her life. She didn't want that though. She wanted to see more of the world, especially Essos and other strange lands she had only heard of in songs and stories.


She finished her bread and sighed. She saw many a people in the gardens, more than usual. She saw Amets Wyl, the heir to House Wyl. She wondered what he was doing in Sunspear. 'Maybe business with my family?'


That seemed like the most logical answer as to why the handsome young heir was visiting the capital. He caught her glanced and smiled at her. She smiled back. Sol was fairly popular with the men of Westeros, but, due to her 'heritage', she had yet to be offered a proposal of marriage.


She finished her breakfast and left the hall. She didn't know what to do today. 'Should I take out Quicksand for a ride around the beaches, or maybe should I just stay in and read for a few hours?' She didn't know what she would be doing today, not at all.


She wandered around the halls, trying to decide. She met a few other noblemen who were visiting Sunspear. They were all here to see members of her family about certain issues, whether it to do with food supply, or the recent bandit attacks on the borders of Dorne.


She had heard that the bandit attacks where actually attacks by Tyrell soldiers, but, she didn't pay much mind to it. The Martells and The Tyrells had always had a... bitter rivalry. There has been many attempts to broke an alliance of peace, but, none have been successful thus yet.


After some wandering; Sol decided that she'd go for a ride around the outskirts of Sunspear. She went to the stables, greeted the stable boy, and attained Quicksand- who was busy eating hay when she had come to get him.


She petted his mane, before she walked him out of the stables and dressed him in riding gear.


Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


Emmett yelled at his men as they prepared his ship for docking. They had been sailing around The Iron Islands for about a week, checking in with all of the lords an' ladies. Emmett usually did this trip once every six, or seven weeks. He was very strict and felt it his need to routinely check on his underlings.


The ship, known as "The Black Kracken", slowly docked into Lordsport. Lordsport was one of the largest harbors in all of The Iron Islands. It was always full to brim with stationary ships, but, they would always make room for Emmett.


Lord Edmond Botley stood upon the dock in which the ship was stopping at. Emmett and Edmond had known each other since they were younglings. Edmond was around Emmett's age, if not a little older. The two were good friends and they oft got drunk together in taverns and inns around the world, whilst sailing. "M'lord!" Edmond badgered.


Emmett smiled widely and hopped off of the ship, even though it had yet to fully stop. Emmett and Edmond hugged each other.


"I assume you've had a safe trip? Edmond asked.


"As safe as it should be." Emmett replied, his smile still plastered on his face. "How has Pyke fared in my absence?"


Edmond thought to himself for a moment, and then laughed. "The whores have been crying out for your company, my friend."


Emmett laughed with him, and the duo begun to walk into the heart of Lordsport.


"My siblings have been well?" Emmett asked another question.


"I do believe there was a spat in Molly's Inn the other night that involved one of them, but, besides that- they have been fine, same goes for your bastard."


Emmett turned his head to look back at his ship, which was now fully docked. He breathed in a breath of fresh air. The air on Pyke always smelled of salt, sea, and sweat. It would turn the stomach of any visitor, but, Emmett loved the smell.


It was the smell of... of home.


Emmett and Edmond talked for a bit longer about some of the current events happening in The Iron Islands, and in Westeros. They talked about how most of The Blackfyres had been decimated in the recent rebellion. Edmond told Emmett how a few of 'em fled to Essos, but, besides that, they were no more. After some more bantering they said their "goodbyes", and Emmett and his crew gathered their things and made for the castle.

 

[Tzun]

Riding North from the Crownlands


"What am I going to do?"


Kyllan could only think of one thing as he gazed out upon the rolling fields of green and white. These days, the snows began to fall harder, and more often than not, would continue even after the sun had rose. The roads were made even harsher by this fact, and navigation became difficult. However, it was a wonderful sign that Kyllan was finally approaching his true home, the Dreadfort.


Several of his men passed him, all on horseback, some carrying supplies, but most flew the flayed man on cloth, the Bolton banner, as a marker for the arrival of the true heir to the Dreadfort. Kyllan had hoped that he was not completely forgotten by his subjects in the surrounding territories. How could he be? Well renowned for his work within the capitol, he had imagined that the name had passed far through Westeros, even into the North, where most considered themselves independent of the Crown's reach. But he was their lord. Their leader, by blood right. Perhaps they hard grown fond of Larris. No, never could they love a child so, his reforms were not even his. The lands he 'rules' are not his. Surely the people realize this. Not that the squabbles of kings and lords are their business. The winter and coming destruction is. All the higher powers can do are ensure their protection. It was a constant battle between Kyllan and his feelings for his brother. They were never particularly close, but he trusted Larris more than the others on the council.


"No more." he thought.


This was a plague, burdening his mind. When would he be able to make time to wage war on both himself and his family, if the lords of the North were already to begin that? Kyllan requires family now more than ever. The strongest of ties to whom he can trust are going to play a vital role. He needed to call the banners, and never would the sworn houses to the Boltons be rallied by a child. They expect a battle tested and intelligent leader to command them, to know that their cause is worth more than the lives of their men. That the blood to be shed is worth more than the gold to be spent.


Kyllan arranged himself once more atop the saddle of his onyx mare. Grabbing the reigns, he made a slight kick into the horse's side, digging heel into flesh, and the steed began itself with a snort. He rode alongside Asten Crook, the once squire to his father, now Captain of the Guard, anointed by Kyllan himself. Asten stared at Kyllan, scraggly brown flew behind him, bouncing as he rode. His black cape, covering the ringmail below, was mounted itself by wolf pelt, and kept him warm within the snow.


"Asten." Ser Kyllan began. "Ride to the villages, spread word with your guard, inform the magistrates there that we have returned, and to make steady provisions for storage at the Dreadfort. We must remember the last siege of the Dreadfort, when the Starks of Winterfell starved us until we bent the knee. Never again shall we need to garrison in fear."


Asten nodded in compliance, and waved at the men behind him to follow. He rode East, and was gone within the haze of snow.

 

[WinterIsComing]

The Castle Of Pyke was quite a walk from Lordsport. Lloyd, 'The Master Of Horses' at Lordsport, offered Emmett a horse, as it would be a faster journey- but, Emmett rejected. He was great at sailing a ship, but, not so good at riding a stead.


Emmett didn't mind, as he enjoyed walking. Emmett and his troop of a sailors all climbed up a hill, which would lead to another hill, which would lead to another hill, which would lead to another hill... and so on, so forth- until they'd eventually reach Pyke.


"Do ya need 'elp, m'lord?" Jory, a young sailor, asked. Emmett laughed in response. "I'm not that old, boy." He jested. Jory apologized at once and continued to walk over the road of hills which led to the seat of House Greyjoy. Emmett looked up at the sky; it was a dull, grey colour. It looked like it was about to rain, but, Emmett had a feeling it wouldn't. The air got less, an' less salty as they traveled to Pyke.


The Castle was right by the sea, but, its dock wasn't as busy, or crowed, as Lordsport. Emmett usually docked their, but, he did like to harbor in Lordsport now an' then. Emmett walked and climbed some more, until he and his men arrived at the main gate into Pyke. The guards opened the gate and let their ruling lord in.


Quicksand galloped along the long strand of beach outside of Sunspear. It was empty, as usual. The air was warm with a slight breeze passing through every while. The sun was now high-up in the sky and it shone brightly down on the waves that crashed onto the beach. This part of the beach was almost always empty. Sol never knew why it was, it just was. She would always come here for a ride... or a walk. It would help clear her head.


She pulled Quicksand to a stop when she realized that she was close to 'The Water Gardens'. Sol smiled softly and tapped Quicksilver with her hand, so, that he'd start to trot. He did. In a few minutes, she was at The Water Gardens.


Sol loved to visit this place, it was a large garden filled with exotic fauna and architecturally beautiful fountains and statues. She also had fond memories here, as well. She used to play in these gardens as a young girl with her siblings...

 

[Venus]

Moira Tyrell : Highgarden


A Light sigh escaped the Infamous Webspinners lips as her mismatched eyes watched over the horizon , The gleaming sun shining bright in the sky exuding warmth and comfort...Course this pleasantry was soon to be lost as the Stark saying goes "Winter is coming" and it truly was. Though the Tyrell's hardly had too much trouble when it would hit , They produced food en masse regularly and were a large supplier for just about every house disregarding the Tully's who produced enough food on par with the Reach.


Her eyes went through the paper one last time , containing gathered information about the other houses and current situations. Rolling her eyes slightly as she went through the last sentence...They had lost more men to those bloody sand people back in Dorne.."Why does my Son Insist on sending them to such a useless place.." Mumbling to herself she quickly made her way through the lovely garden that the Tyrell's were known for , Handmaidens quickly bowing their heads and offering assistance course she denied every single one of them with a blunt "No." She might be old but she wasn't a decrepit bag of bones yet and was far from helpless. Swiftly making her way into the castle.





"Handmaiden , Where are my children?.." The lowborn maiden quickly spun around and bowed her head , greeting her with a M'lady. Moira simply responded with a roll of her eyes , she never saw the point in such formalities they wasted time and were bothersome. "I believe the Lord and his brethren are still asleep M'lady.." Grumbling slightly she just waved the maiden off, who scurried away quickly. War was obviously about to happen because of that senile old fool called the king and his little Incestuous mad house known as the Targaryen's were becoming unpopular among the other houses...that and the rumors of his insanity were beginning to grow in severity and her children were sleeping soundly as if nothing was going to happen...Highgarden was pretty to look at but she didn't appreciate the fact how soft it made people who commonly let their guard down because it was all colors and flowers.





"Erugh I might just have to visit Dorne for some peace talks..My sons ineptitude is simply souring conditions with those snakes.." Sighing she just seated herself under a Gazebo in the large garden that decorated the High tiered walls of Highgarden itself , going through a book as she waited for some sort of entertainment happen or maybe her children would finally realize the oncoming storm and confide in her like they usually did...

 

[kira blackthorn]

Kilian Stark: Winterfell


Dressed in a light fur coat, a gift from a Doe, Kilian walked from within the shadows and tense air of the castle Winterfell and out into the warm sun, chilly air, and bustle of the crowds as servants and commoners went about their business. Despite the tense air that has began to rise as rumors of approaching war spread they all still had lives to live so in the day they would go about their business and in the night with warm stomachs and loose mouths they will discuss the rumors where higher ears will not hear. His arrival was greeted with bows, from the more formal, and smiles, from the more familiar. They all knew of him and knew that he was not one that enjoyed being treated upon his status. Instead he was treated as he wished. Like another commoner.


Light feet pushed him swiftly threw the crowds and sunlight caught upon his hair, tied up in a braid, illuminating the red in it like a beacon as it trailed behind him. Twinkling light grey eyes assured everyone of his curiosity and as he passed all knew not to disturb him. When a hound is on the hunt it is best not to interrupt. Instead all they did was give him find smiles. They well knew of his curiosity as well.


Soon Kilian came upon the thing he seeked. A stone tower that was crumbling at the top. A display of its age. Small but strong hands, tough from handling weapons and yet smooth from young age and little need, gripped the cracks within the stone and the ivy that grew up the wall, fingers turning white from how tight he gripped, and slowly small bare feet, rough with childhood, followed as Kilian edges his way up the tower. Keen eyes kept watch. He knew if his mother ever found out where he was he would be punished. The woman was wise and knew how to deal punishment to her children if they disobey her. Especially deliberately.


Lady luck was smiling on him as he safely made it to the top and crawled toward the hole at the top. It was crumbling at the edges and he had to tread carefully to peak within. Rumors surrounded this tower that a spirit of a common woman haunted within its walls. The wife of a old baker that found her husband committing adultery within it and after loosening a child went crazy. She killed him within the tower before dying grief. Though outwardly he shrugged it off as rumors, a foolish village myth, inside his well known curiosity blossomed and today he wished to seek the truth.


So with determination and curiosity fueling him Kilian began the dangerous climb into the midst of the tower.

 

[Tzun]

The Dreadfort


They rode for several more hours, and the snows began to get thicker, until they evened out. Though, it was still much less than what lie in the North. The real North. However, even through the unending stream of ice that fell from the heavens, Kyllan could make out the stones and cobbles of the Dreadfort. The true seat of House Bolton. It was directly West of the Weeping Water, both a bane and a blessing to the Boltons. An easy access point for enemies, and could be seen only by the highest perch, as the cliff face blocked most of it, but is also assisted in trade, commune, and the catching of fish, to be salted and served. Too many luxuries to dam the place. Not that the Narrow Sea would allow such a thing to happen, rushing streams would surely break anything set there. It was known to be a violent water in these times.


Smoke rose to the sky, clambering through the gusts of wind, until it finally dispersed above the halls. Several pillars lined the way, where flayed men were generally perched as a warning to those who marched on the gates. There were none on the entire length of the road. All stone was barren of flesh. As they, the mass of Bolton guards and armsmen, approached the gates, several horns sounded the welcome of their true heir and Lord of the Dreadfort. Oaken walls swung open, banded by iron and steel, they could hold back heavy attack. Supported by towers that flanked both sides of the entrance, arrow fire would black out those that dare come to siege.


As Kyllan entered the keep, all bowed before his presence. It was planned as well, noticeably by the way their heads curved downwards before the gates had even opened fully. There was not a whisper, not a sound. Not until Kyllan dismounted, and walked past the crowds that welcomed his arrival. There, at the end of the line, was someone whom he barely recognized, unbowing, and dressed in formal attire, bearing the same clasp on his cloak as Kyllan himself.


"Brother."


he said, like a small child, wanting to sit with the adults, practically begging to be as they were. Larris looked nothing like he did before. Pale like the rest of his lineage, but bearded. It was a light stubble, but enough to mark that he was becoming a man. His hair, which was once in the same fashion as Kyllan's, was now cut short, and lighter than he had remembered. Especially so, Larris had gotten much taller, and certainly wider.


"Larris. I hardly recognized you, not the child you once were, clambering at my feet like a dog." he remarked, voice stern in the silence.


"You have been gone for far too long, many things have changed here. I'm surprised that you returned in one piece, and have not been driven mad like your beloved Targaryen family." Larris's voice was dry, and certainly provocative.


"I can see that you have changed, changed what we stand for as well. Why were there no flayed enemies of the state? Where do you put them these days?" Kyllan knew that Larris had not done any himself, and was squeamish at the sight of blood. Lest he flay someone, he might faint.


"With your absence and father's malign intent for the Starks gone, we have had peace here at the Dreadfort. The same must not have been true for you in the Crownlands. Ser Kyllan Bolton, the Dreadful." He meant to disrespect, but it came to no fruition. This was a remark that Kyllan was all too used to.


Kyllan looked around, and placed his arm upon the hilt of his sword. Resting there, and taking a stance of ease. The rest of the men and women gathered around were no longer bowing, but staring at the exchange.


"Perhaps we should take this into the Great Hall. You've always enjoyed an audience, I know, but there are more important matters right now."

 

[WinterIsComing]

The Water Gardens, Dorne . . .


Sol tied up Quicksand to a post and proceeded into The Water Gardens. She was greeted by a few guards who stood by the entrance. She didn't know their names, but, they all looked familiar. She begun to stroll through the gardens. She felt truly peaceful as she walked past the luscious flowers and fauna. Unlike the garden at Dorne; she couldn't name all of these flowers. She could only name a few, the rest where a mystery to her. 'Could these flowers possibly come from Essos and beyond?' She thought to herself as her fingers lightly brushed off of various petals and shrubbery. She stopped to rest at a magnificently structured fountain.


She sat on an edge and placed her hand in the water. It was cold, and clear. She sighed and closed her eyes. Sol wanted to relive the days in which she played in this garden with her siblings. Although a bastard, she was always treated kindly by her half-brothers and sisters. They used to play 'Maidens And Monsters' in this garden at night, but, after a while they'd get caught by Mahir Mahdi, the captain of the guard. Mahir would take them back to Sunspear, and they'd get a lecture from their parents, and be sent to bed. It was worth it though.


Her eyes opened and she looked around the garden area by the fountain. It was a simpler time when she was young. Now, the country was on the brink of war and bloodshed. It was inevitable.


The Castle At Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


Emmett entered The Great Hall. It was dimly lit, and there was a dampness in the air. Home. He looked at a young boy and commanded him to fetch a flagon of ale. Emmett sat in his personal 'throne' in which he'd use to give out important commands or listen to Ironborn complain about whatever. He looked around the hall, it was built with black an' grey stone. It had no windows, but, there were holes scattered throughout the hall that let glimpses of light in. A large hearth sat in the middle of the hall, but- no one had lit it yet. The young boy returned with a flagon, full to the brim with drink.


Emmett gave him an approving nod before he raised the flagon to his lips. He gulped down about half of the flagon in a matter of seconds. He loved ale; it was dull, sour, and stingy- but, he loved it all the same. He placed the flagon on a small stool by the throne, and wiped his ale wet lips with his hand. It was good to be home. He had only been away about a week an' a bit, but, ever since becoming a 'Lord', Emmett would get home sick a lot more then he'd used to.

 

[Tzun]

Inside the Great Hall, The Dreadfort





The Great Hall fell silent, save for the clash of oaken doors against stone, and finally the switch of steel to confirm their stronghold as secure. Calm as a sept, the air was thick enough with the tension of two brothers, that one could easily slice themselves a part of it with their sword. Breathing became the new chatter as Kyllan stared at the hall once more with awe. It had just been finished as he left for King's Landing, to stand in it now, worn from time already, was astonishing to him. It was a world that he never thought he would experience again. But here he stands, feet on the ground once more in the North, to reclaim what was lost before the Age of Heroes.


In the Great Hall, chandeliers of candles dripped and swung as sterling silver, until lead to a chair, a singular chair, more ornate than the rest of the room itself. Tables lined the sides of the room, pushed slightly to the corners, and lead up until the steps that lead to this chair. Who was to care? A place where one could sit and command. It did not give Kyllan pride to sit on or near one of these. Nor was it a delight so sit next to a mass, several times as large as him, of pure steel and iron, forged in dragon flame by the Conqueror himself. Why do they care? It is not on a field, it does not help one better command men, it does not assist in the power over territory. It does nothing but give the false men pride. That's what they all were. Not lords, not kings. False Men.


However, even for the Bolton's traditional architecture, this was a gloomy place. The windows that had been placed strategically, carved just about the curvatures of the stone, were still covered by the Bolton's banners. It was surprising to find that his brother had not taken them down, by the way that he had grown both in body and mind while Kyllan was away, Larris could have become soft. It appeared that way, with his empathy for others that would only wish to do him wrong. Especially so if any other Northerners had seen his weakness. It was most likely the same weakness that would not draw him to take down the banners of his house, the banners that bore the sigil and practice that he was always against. There was never any use training him to be a swordsman nor a lord. If one could have ever presumed him to become either, all the work that was put into molding what could have been a fine man, was now wasted, and gone. Larris could do nothing but sit in his chair and watch the world fall around him, ignorant of what would happen outside of his Hall until it came down upon his head.


The minutes seemed like hours, they always did. Though, before Kyllan could react or respond to any of Larris's past mentioning points, he was already eagerly taking his seat, hands grasping at the folds of where the arm rests came to a rounded stub. Red velvet padding his sweet arse, and a jet velvet holding up his otherwise painful stature. The Boltons always supported Larris. Even in metaphor.


"You believe that you can arrive here, now, from your flowery seat in the South, and think you can just return as Lord of the Dreadfort? I have taken this title. You have given me this title."


"Yet you do not deserve it. You do not work for what you have been given, brother. The differences between you and I are vast, but I always had hope that perhaps you'd grow and mature."


"And how would you know? You left me. I was nine years old. Mother dead and father captured by the Starks because he was stupid enough to challenge their reign."


Kyllan could not feel guilty, could not show weakness. It was all true, he had left and expected a child to rule in his name. But what was there to do for him? He needed to make a name for the Boltons in the South. To gain allies...


"I'm sorry, Larris. I cannot make up for my shortcomings, I know that, I really do. You were given a chance to mold yourself, I thought you were ambitious, powerful, knew the man you wanted to become."


"I did know. I still do."


The words echoed before Kyllan could respond. He was hearing his brother all around his head.


"I wanted to be nothing like you and father."


The heavy doors opened once more. Creaking and breaking the ice that had already formed on the hinges. A face protruded from the winds and frost.


Asten Crook came bearing several pieces of parchment in a sack, and looked behind him to assure the guards had closed the entry before he began.


With a whistle and a wave of his hand, Kyllan motioned for the doors to be closed, and they were.


"M'lord" he stated, to Kyllan, and gave a nod to Larris.


Kyllan rose a hand from beneath his coat and grabbed one of the scrolls, each bearing different colors of sealing wax, different imprints. There were just about nine sitting there on the table.


"Messages, ser. We rode and received these from your sworn bannermen. They still support your cause, and recognize your return as Lord of the Dreadfort. And the rightful Warden of the North." He looked at Kyllan with a sense of content. Happy to serve his lord as he does.


"Very good, Ast, please, take these to my chambers." responded Kyllan, with the same look.


"Kyllan, I have taken over the king-quarter. Your room should be how it was. The unexpected arrival... It was not cleaned." Larris felt embarrassed about the way that he acted in front of Kyllan's sworn men.


Before Asten could leave, Kyllan shouted back.


"And have someone tidy my chamber as well! I'll need plenty of candles, pen and inkwell." He said as Asten left.


"Until next time, brother." Kyllan added as he left behind Asten.

 

[kira blackthorn]

Kerith Stark: Winter Town


Soft emerald green fabric swished with each step as Kerith gracefully walked threw the halls of Winterfell castle, each step light and soundless. Her gray eyes glinted with familiar determination and her hair shined in the sunlight that filtered threw the Windows that lined the wall illuminating her bright red hair that was tied tightly in a twisting braid.


She had a mission in mind and a young son to find. One who couldn't seem to keep himself out of trouble. Walking into the bustling streets of Winter town she ignored the bows and greeting she received focused on hearing whispers of her son's were abouts. Gossip could be as useful as it was troublesome. Hand brushing the mane of a passing horse pulling a wagon of vegetables a pleased smile lifted her lips as sharp ears caught two passing childrens gossip. Found you.


Quick steps led her out of the bustling part of the streets and into the older part where stone structures crumbled and where lost to the green claws of nature. Graceful feet carefully tread through the wild tresses and toward the stone tower the villagers had named 'widows stop' there she was unsurprised to hear curses and banging from inside. Finding the door that was hidden by ivy she pushed it open gently and came face to face with her young son covered in dust and dirt. Hands on her hips she quirked a brow at him. "Really now. You couldn't stay out of trouble for a few hours?"


A sheepish smile was her answer.


....


Kilian Stark: Winter town


Light steps reminiscent of his mother's carried him carefully threw the halls and rooms of the tower and he was disappointed to discover that even after a hour no ghost showed up. In fact no one showed up. Not even a rat. Turning in a circle he searched for a way out of the tower. He wasn't very eager to go back out the hole.


Finding a small opening that led to stone steps he carefully tread them wary of age and was relieved when he made it safely to the bottom where a door sat. With its old age the stone tower seemed ready to crumble to dust. Reaching out he grabbed and turned the handle lightly pushing it open as he readied himself to move. The door stopped hitting something and he frowned in confusion and growing realization as he tried to push threw the thing blocking the door. No. No. No. He couldn't be stuck. In a moment of desperation he shouldered the door and didn't have time to feel relieved when it went flying open as he was sent reeling forward. Dust clouds went into the air and his lungs causing him to cough and sneeze as he hurried to get up now stained with dirt and dust. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!"


He froze growing silent and tensing with excitement as the sound of old hinges creaking reached his ears. Is this it? Is this the ghost? Turning an excited smile on his lips he promptly froze again when he found himself staring into the familiar grey gazed his mother. Damn it.


"Really now. You couldn't stay out of trouble for a few hours?"


He could only smile sheepishly.

 

[WinterIsComing]

The Wolfswood, The North . . .


Rory clung to a frost covered evergreen tree. He had his eye on a lil' bird that was fluttering from branch, to branch. He slowly let go of the tree and balanced himself on the sturdy branch he was fitted on. The bird had permed itself in a shitty nest on an adjacent evergreen also covered in icy frost. He loaded his ironwood bow with an arrow and raised it. He took a deep breath and slowly... slowly... slowly...


"I got one!"


Rory lost his grip on his bow, and, his grip on the branch. He stumbled and fell. He landed with a thump on the frost tipped grass below. He groaned and tried to sit up, but, he only fell back down. He had definitely pulled... something.


"Gods, a... a- are... are you okay?" Una Tallhart asked, stunningly. Rory attempted to sit up again and he succeeded. "I'm... urgh... fine." Una knelt down in-front of him and traced her hand along his shoulder. He winced. "I can take you back to Torrhen's Square an' get Maester Wode to-"


"No. I'm... I'm fine. I mean it." Rory interrupted. He put his hands on the cold ground and pushed himself up. Una gently put her arm around him and helped pull him up. "Are you sure, Rory?" She asked, her face displaying a startled expression.


"I am." He replied angrily.


Una looked him up and down.


"What did you get?" Rory asked her as he bent down to pick up his bow. If it were an average bow, it would've been marked... but this was an ironwood bow.


"Oh, I got a boar. It's a small thing, but, I got it." She smiled. She picked up the dead baby boar off of the ground and held it up. "Did you get anything?"


Rory arched his head up, trying to spot the bird in its nest, but, it was gone. It must of flown off after all the noise and corruption.


Rory looked in her eyes and shook his head. "No." He said gruffly. He was angry, but, the anger would fade away eventually. He could never stay mad with Una. She was one of his only true friends after all.


Una could tell by the look on his face that he wasn't happy with her. "I'm sorry Rory. But, it has been the first kill I've made in so long. I just wanted to tell you." She muttered. Rory sighed and took her hand in his. "Don't fret. I'm not mad at you." He lied. Una slipped her hand from his and grabbed his collar. She pulled him forward and kissed his lips.


Rory was taken by surprise at first, but, he went with it. He placed his hand on her thigh and pulled her closer to him. They had been friends for a long time, but, this wasn't the first time they had done something like this. The two of them gently fell to the grass, entangled in a passionate kiss.


Rory was on the verge of undoing her hunting gear, before a skinny rat-faced man interrupted them. "Sorry, m'lord... um... m'lady, but, I have news from your father. Rory sat up and saw a scroll in the man's hand which was embroiled with a direwolf's head...


Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


"Lord Stark." A plump, young man knelt before Hal.


Hal sat on his seat in The Great Hall. He had his councilors by his side in smaller seats. The man in-front of them all was a Cerwyn... Lord Cahal Cerwyn. "What brings you 'ere, my lord?" Eoghan Karstark asked, in his thick accent.


Cahal looked at them, gulped, and opened his small mouth.


"I've come bearing news from House Blight. As you may know- my daughter, Cait, is the wife of Lord Blight's eldest son. And, not so recently, she wrote to me of... of her father-in-law's plans."


Hal stared at Cahal. Cahal had stopped talking, for whatever reason. "Continue." Hal spoke gently. Cahal twiddled his fingers nervously.


"Lord Blight has declared Lord Kyllan Bolton... th-... The Warden Of The North."


Hal's eyes lit up. He didn't want this to happen. But, he knew eventually that The Boltons would try another rebellion. He couldn't jump to conclusions though. Lord Kyllen seemed like a reasonable enough man, maybe Lord Blight was acting out on his own?


"This... THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!" Torin Stark yelled. "Lord Cerwyn, are you sure of this?" Torin asked as he stood up from his chair. 'He was always quick tempered' Hal thought to himself.


Cahal nodded his head almost fifty times. "I am very sure, m'lords. And I have heard word of other Bolton banner men sayings similar things."


They discussed it some more and not long later- Lord Cahal was sent away and thanked for his valuable information. Hal stood up and headed for his chambers. As he climbed the stairs he was stopped by Torin, who's face was still red with rage.


"Brother!" Torin called after him.


Hal turned his head and stared at his brother with his grey eyes.


"What?"


"What!? What do you mean 'what'? The Boltons are going to rally against us, again!" Torin growled.


Hal didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to enter another war. He didn't want thousands more to die because a Stark and a Bolton were unhappy with one another. He just wanted to live his last years in peace and tranquility...


But, he knew that would've never been the case.

 

[Tzun]

Kyllan's Chamber, the Dreadfort





He had read it all. Every single one of the pieces of parchment. Over and over again. It seemed like a haze, unreal. He read them again, but this time just the numbers. Just barely over 50,000 men. This had not even factored in the 10,000 that was factored in by the Bolton reserves themselves.


The room was dimly lit, a single candle of black wax illuminated the table and the accessories to it. Several stacked pieces of parchment, ink and pen, and two separate pieces of vellum. These two papers were going to be the determining factor of the next few years. Whether the Bolton family would live on or crumble to dust. Kyllan dipped the pen into a bottle of blue-black ink, and began scratching words into the hide. Detailing request of aid and men, supplies, arms, soldiers. The royal crown would be asked to supply what they could to tame the North, to take it back while the Bolton's had the trust of a king while he was in function, before he deteriorates into nothing.


Coranys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of Dragonstone, King of Westeros, Shield of His People, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.





I, Kyllan of House Bolton, request a royal conquest of the North, once more lead by House Bolton. In congruence with the conquests of my father, Daltis Bolton, I ask that the Royal Crown support our cause, and allow us to restore our House to the former glory that the people of Westeros expect from House Bolton. As before the Starks of Winterfell reigned over the North, it was the Targaryen's by birthright. Wishing to campaign in your honor, it would be only right to have your men and arms at our back. Knowing the Targaryen and Royal armies are some of the most powerful in the Realm. Now, of all times, you must secure and reunite the rest of Westeros under one rule. The Starks may be illegitimate rulers, but their words are true. Winter is Coming.


-Kyllan Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort





Kyllan felt wrong saying as he did, but this was a conquest that needed to be achieved. He tried to convince himself that it was for the greater good.


"Winter is coming, and when it does, who will the Starks protect but themselves? Who is to winter better than those who are prepared? It is to save a legacy, a family..."


Kyllan knew what he needed to do to secure the South. He took the other piece of parchment and began to write.


Moira, Lady Mother of House Tyrell...

 

[WinterIsComing]

Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


"We don't even know if what Lord Cerwyn said is true, Torin." Hal argued. They had been going at it for more than a few hours. Torin stood by The War Table; which was covered in a roughly drawn map of Westeros, and The Free Cities. Torin glanced at the map. "We have proof, brother."


Hal looked at his brother. "The only 'proof' we have are rumors. Do you really think Lord Blight would be foolish enough to mention war plans in-front of a woman who's family serves us?"


Torin slammed his fist on the table, which was made of oak and painted with a grey varnish. Hal's eyes lit up. He had only seen his brother get this angry once or twice before. Torin looked up from the map and focused on his older brother. "How can you be so blind?" He snapped. Hal walked over the table and stared his brother down. The two of them had always gotten along, but, they didn't see eye-to-eye when it came to certain matters.


Hal didn't particularly like The Boltons; but, he tolerated them, and he had always given them the benefit of the doubt after the rebellion. But Torin...


Torin hated them all with a fiery passion.


"They will attack us again and you will not see it coming. Just like our father didn't see it coming." Torin began, his eyes staring into Hal's. Hal had old, grey eyes- but, Torin had a shade of emerald. "Who will they kill this time, hm?"


Torin continued to stare.


"Will they kill you? Kerith? Will they take your youngest son and returned him flayed... just like... just like K-Kiera?" Torin's green eyes started to water. Hal lifted his hand and placed it on his brother's shoulder.


All these years on, and Torin was still hurt. Hal still hurt from time to time, but, he had accepted it. Torin did not.


"If w-we do not strike first- the Bolton scum will get the upper hand." Torin managed. He patted his eyes gently, removing all tears. He was an emotional man, but, he hated being emotional around others, even his own brother.


"Torin." Hal mumbled.


"I will send a group of men and women to deal with The Boltons. There won't be any sort of combat. These men and women will deal with them diplomatically, without bloodshed. If Kyllan Bolton wishes for a war, then he should be man enough to tell me so. I will sort this out, Torin. Even if I have to go myself. I will sort this out."

 

[kira blackthorn]

Karith silently held out her hand as her expression smoothed out to the one she used for business. Calm and serious. Seeing it Kilian knew that his mother wished to discuss something serious. Though she rarely dealt in politics the happenings within the family was another matter. Brushing himself off as best as he could he approached her and held his own arm out. Sliding her hand in the crook of his elbow the two began walking back through the wild part of Winter town in silence.


They were both aware that the matter Karith wished to discuss was sensitive and was best spoken within the walls of their home. The villagers immediately noticed their slight tension and let them pass in silence. Their journey threw Winterfell was much the same and it was only when they reached Keriths personal office, which she had insisted on, that the silence was broken.


"So mother what is it you wish to discuss with me?" Kilian inquired as he took a seat in one of the high back chairs seated in front of the fireplace. Leaning back in his seat carelessly he watched his mother sit in the seat across from him back straight and posture poised. Staring into the flames as she contemplated how to best explain silence cast it's spell upon the room once more until, finally, she broke it. "Last night I had a dream."


Straightening Kilian grew a lady. He grew up with the knowledge that dreams were sometimes powerful things and knew his mother believed so as well. Opening his mouth to inquire about the dream he shut it at the stern look he received and waited for her to speak. His mother would explain on her own time no else's. Taking a deep breath she continued. "This dream spoke of a hard time nearing and of fractures being made. I believe this is a glimpse of what is to come and wish to be prepared. "


Head tilting to the side slightly his curiosity overcame him. "What do you wish to do?" Gray eyes glinted grimly and met his own. " For now watch. Make sure your father nor brother does anything rash and wait until the reason behind this reveals itself. Most of all prepare yourself. As my youngest I worry for you the most. You are still learning and growing. I know you can care for yourself on some level but you are still vulnerable. "


"Understood."

 

[Venus]

Moira Tyrell : Highgarden


A Sigh escaped her lips as her eyes watched over the great plains and farmland below , a string of gossip coiling itself around the Gardens as her fingers tapped against the arm rest of her chair. Course her contemplation was suddenly interrupted as a Hand Maiden quite suddenly came running along with a letter of seeming importance , fingers clutching it tightly as she bowed her head down in respect. Taking the letter from the shaking hands of the Maiden and quickly waving her hand in dismissal. Mismatched eyes scanned over the seal covering the Parchment and it seemed to be of Bolton origin , raising an Inquisitive eyebrow in response as she opened it. She had never been the best friends of people in the North , though she did frequently export food supplies to them because of their harsh environment , House Tyrell usually just keeping a neutral stance upon the Northerners.





Reading over the letter hastily a faint chuckle escaped her Lips...Ah she never was truly interested that much in the North but that Man did seem to know how to coax her into cooperating. She knew she was much too old to have any "true" power but her children..They were relatively young and still blossoming. The Promise of such a Title for both her son and herself though was equally as tempting , to achieve such glory would be quite great...If it worked out anyway...


Ordering a piece of Parchment and Ink she quickly wrote in response , a faint smirk slowly forming over her lips. This would either work out in two ways for her , Win it all or lose a hefty amount of supplies and face some backlash from the royal family...though the reward seemed slightly more promising than the punishment , Writing a letter of agreement back to Kyllan.

 

[Tzun]

The Dreadfort, Kyllan's Chamber





Kyllan awoke the next day, blissfully as the start of a new sun rose above the crest of the world, and finally, into view from the window. Scattered light ran through the slit in the stone and revealed the entirety of the Dreadfort. It had been two days now that he had returned, and was already making preparations within the walls. The first day that he had rode past the walls, Kyllan was hit with the regards of his brother. The second day, he had spent sending letters and organizing men. Asten Crook no longer was the Captain of Guard, but was named Master-At-Arms. He fit the part, but was not knighted, and made him unique in that respect. However, Kyllan trusted Asten with more than his life, and found it appropriate to assign him to such duties that would require trust and faith to be put into such a man.


Kyllan drew himself from bed, and donned his clothing, cloak, and broadsword. The halls were empty, just like his room, it was large, but barren. Withered by age, the decorative items that were placed within and on the walls were more than ragged pieces of cloth and rotted wood. Nothing of this place was his anymore, but that was just an impetus for Kyllan to restore his knowledge to its former glory. Just as such, the banners that hung loosely from the stones that folded and coalesced to form archways for the hall, all bore his sigil, his family's sigil. It was still their home. Just no longer his. As soon as he began to stride down the corridor, a handmaiden arrived with fresh linens. Her dress, if it could be named so, was an aquamarine color, tied together by a white covering, stained with grease and other undesirable fluids. She must have been taken from another house.


"Bring those to my quarters, if you would." Kyllan demanded, but kept a pleasant tone.


In a quick riposte, she responded. "These are meant for your brother, m'lord." Bowing her head, not to make eye contact.


"Then get him more when you are finished." A stalwart reply that did not allow for her to respond, as by the time that she could, he had already taken off.


He was down the stone steps to the Rookery, where he would hope to find Maester Gravven, even more so, with a response from Lady Tyrell. As he walked along the walls, slick with snow and ice, his men nodded of his presence before returning to their duties. The crowing got louder as he approached the rookery, and there he did find Gravven, searching through the vellum, as he generally did with his time.


"Maester Gravven." Kyllan greeted the man, who was sheltered by only a roof, the walls were non existent on all sides of him but one, the wall that held cages of ravens to be sent, eager to escape their enclosures.


"Lord Bolton," he started, shaky with some age, he must have been nearly sixty now. "I have just received a letter for you, bearing the mark of House Tyrell. I do not recall, even with my age, of you ever sending a message..."


He revealed a hand, wrinkled, and bearing the parchment, with a green seal. The rest of his body was just as fragile, but masked by the grey robes that most maesters wore. He, of all maesters, had very few links added to his chain. Gravven was certainly one of the lesser Knights of the Mind, but still was what House Bolton could acquire.


"Thank you, maester." Kyllan added, as he took the message. Disregarding what Gravven had mentioned earlier. He unraveled the paper, and began to read.


Lord Bolton





I have acceded to your inquiries, and agree that to them. I myself will never sit upon the throne, but my sons in the South will make good use of the power, if you make good use of my daughter, Lorraine in the North. Furthermore, I will send with her, several of my guards and servicemen. They will be bearing supplies to last themselves a good while, and extra for the Northerners. Teach her, learn her of what it is to live in the cold and snow.


Moira Tyrell





This was how Kyllan had expected his plans to play, but she had hasted in the agreement, and had thought little on it, as the writing would appear. If her sons sit in King's Landing, all will be well, and the Targaryens run out from their lands. The shaping of a dynasty in Kyllan's hands, if he played the situation correctly, and had lest haste in planning than Moira Tyrell had with her agreement.


When shall they be arriving?





Kyllan had to think of this, as he had not yet informed Larris of his plans. Still yet, should he have?

 

[SeaTea]

The Eyrie, High Hall of the Arryns


The cold blast of mountain air still shook him to the very bones, even in this time of summer he could still feel the presence of that dreadful visage of winter. He found it somewhat disheartening to have no one else share his bead and help stave off this cold, but as the third born son, his prospects had always been limited, and anything that he had managed himself always ended never becoming more. Even with his Arryn blood and arrangement of fur clothing, he could still feel a chill and wondered if he didn't have some stark blood somewhere in his line, because he most most definitely felt as if winter was coming. Bruce regarded the opened moon door, casting his gaze out onto the bast of the Giant's Lance and all along the peaks of the mountains of the moon. He did not dare look straight down through the door, not for a fear of heights, but in the vain hope that he would not remember how much grief the moon had brought to him and his family. Of course, Bryce seemed to be the only one still hung up on the death of his brother Mason Arryn, and rightly so, or so Bryce would say. All the others that inhabited the white towers of the Eyrie; extended family, various banner men having made the trek up the Giant's Lance, all the staff that moved the inner workings of the keep, all had made it known that they honored his death, but that was all that they would do. So Bryce sat in contemplation of the door during the early morning hours, having its bronzed door open in the vain hopes of somehow reaching a conclusion by way of miraculous strike of thought, or maybe Mason himself would arrive in a vision by way of the seven of the south, or by the face Weirwood spirit that lingered in the central garden. It was in this deep concentration that Bryce did not hear the singular set of footsteps approach him.


"There are very good reasons the sky cells have been known to drive men to madness." The voice spoke in almost in a whisper, but still somehow made it heard over the roaring of the mountain wind that emerged from the moon door. Bryce did not have to turn and look to know that his father, Richard Arryn and he who was "bearer of the Vale" in his time as Lord Arryn stood in a simple set of heavy woolen clothes with a slight smirk as if he could see what Bryce was thinking.


"It is also not enough that you would darken the high hall with this cold blast and your dark thoughts."


Bryce tried to not rise as he would normally would, with a shout and a challenge. That is exactly what could not happen in this instance.


"What does a man know of madness and darkness without having seen it first hand." His father did not hesitate, as he never would.


"What do you know of the cold and of death when YOU refuse to leap yourself."


Bryce felt a sting at that, but he could guess that was the intention. Already he could feel the rushing of blood into his cheeks as he imagined the sight of his eldest brother broken upon the lance as if a common criminal or dishonored sell-sword. Then again, that was more than likely what his father was picturing at this exact moment as well, and the image both drove them to a heated state, Bryce more so. However, he knew that despite his anger, his father was not so far gone as to not present wisdom with his words, and that he too wanted to see the family Arryn remain as strong and stalwart as the Giant's Lance, as it had always been. So, Bryce did not raise to the challenge of anger, he simply ordered the closing of the bronze gate of the moon door, followed by the extra sealant of stone that he had ordered placed until such a time that he could find extra measures to lock the blasted thing. He nodded to his father as he passed which he seemed to simply stare back as Bryce moved onto the seat, no, his seat, as the Lord of house Arryn. In conjunction a shadow stepped out of the corner of the hall and moved toward him. The slick hair that seemed white as fallen snow and trimmed to the skin beard brought on a recognition of Gregor Stone, a bastard of one his father's oldest bannermen and now one of the oldest men Bryce himself knew, not that his physical appearance would ever portray that as Gregor still remained physically strong and very agile, as any man of the Vale must be. It was said Gregor had served his father, and even his father's father briefly, and it was his council that brought up his service to Bryce's attention, and how much he would need it where he to take full standing as lord of the Vale.


"Another one that seems to know what I would think before I do." Gregor's specialty was that which was one of the most important aspects of the politics of his land, that of knowledge and secrets. Bryce had never trained truly for such undertakings, that was the place of his brother Mason, and even his coward brother Brandon Arryn, whom had still managed to evade any attempts of Bryce to find him. Bryce was not so proud as ignore his need for help, as a third born son thrust into the seat of the lord was want to need, he simply just wished that he could take more matters into his own hand. Bryce vowed to himself that he would, but he decided to turn his address to Gregor himself.


"I have been isolated upon this seat for too long Gregor, and I find myself of intense need to know what occurs throughout the realm and what it means for myself and the Vale." Gregor simply nodded with a small smile, as if he expected no less. He could only imagine what he and his father had discussed in that dark corner before his father approached him, it made him uneasy, but many things did that these days.


It was then Gregor spoke, in a baritone much like Bryce's own, but with the weight of years upon it. "Of course my Lord Arryn, there are a great many whispers that arise from the ground, many things moving and turning throughout the land; the fair gardens to the south, our beloved king's court, the lands beyond the neck up to the brothers of night on the edge of the world. A great many things have been heard, but so little comes through."


"Damnable Man" Bryce thought, he had no patience yet for this two-speak that was brought along with the politics he was expected to throw himself into as if it were a hunt. The smile he noticed on his father only served to foul his mood. "Then Gregor, speak to me quickly of what must be known, and then I will speak on where your skills must be best applied."


Gregor smiled and offered a bow to his new Lord Arryn, his father smiled as he observed their exchange. Bryce would smile too, but there was something in the mountain air that seemed to suck the joy from his face like the warmth from a body, a broken body, a body 600 hundred feet below...

 

[WinterIsComing]

Outside Of Torrhen's Square, The North . . .


Rory and a group of men he had brought with him rode back to Torrhen's Square. Torrhen's Square had been the seat of House Tallhart for a long, long, long time. It was an old fortress, and House Tallhart was very well respected amongst the other houses that made their home in The North.


Una Tallhart, Keven Umber, Fechin Flint Jr, and Finley Flint were amongst his travelling companions. Keven was his cousin and a very good friend. Fechin was also a close friend, although, they had a bit of a rivalry when it came to 'who was better' and 'at what'. Finley, who was Fechin's younger brother, was a repetitively new friend to Rory. He was also a boy of fifteen and served as Rory's personal squire.


"I heard Lady Tallhart an' you were very close together in The Wolfswood." Keven jested. He was a very large man, like most of House Umber. He was also very big- not in a fat sort of way, but, a muscular sort.


"And where did you hear this, friend?" Rory asked as their horses trotted through the grassland which lead to the square.


"You wouldn't believe how fast word can travel through a make-shift hunting camp." Keven smiled. His teeth were a yellow colour.


Rory laughed. "Well, it wasn't the first time we were... 'close'."


Keven laughed, as well. "You dog." Rory and Keven talked for the rest of the journey about a matter of things. And after a long conversation and an even longer ride they finally arrived at Torrhen's Square.


The Water Gardens, Dorne . . .


Sol walked through the gardens some more. She had been at The Water Gardens for a few hours now. She was overwhelmed by all of the fauna that she had lost track of time. The sun was still high in the sky, and if she looked it, it'd stare right at her. She heard some chattering and went to investigate. It was her older half-brother, Darius amongst a flock of women who fawned over him like some sort... some sort of... cute kitten.


She rolled her eyes and approached her half-brother, who had yet to even acknowledge her.


( @Venus )


The Castle At Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


Emmett chugged his ale down, until the flagon was completely empty. The hall begun to fill up with visitors, who had come to celebrate Emmett's return to Pyke. Edmond was one of 'em. Others included; Wendelyn Wynch, who was sometimes known as 'The Sea Witch'. Benjiir Sharp, who was one of the most eligible bachelors on all of The Iron Islands- although, people suspected he purposely turned down the offers of women due to his preference of men. There was also the entirety of Edmond's family, which was a very large family.


Emmett commanded that the servants instruct the cooks to prepare a great feast for his people. The servants set out tables and stools for everyone to sit on. The hearth was lit. And, in a matter of ten minutes the hall was full and bustling with life and laughs. A young bard even set up his gear and started playing famed tunes such as; The Bear And The Maiden Fair, and, The Last Of The Giants.


As he sat and talked with his peers- a certain loudmouth caught Emmett's eye. A younger man who was in a heated argument with a serving boy. Ewan Greyjoy; the younger brother of Emmett.


Ewan was a few years younger, but, just as strong. Ewan was almost barbaric when it came to fighting. He had a quick temper, and when he lost that temper all seven hells would break loose on those who angered him. Emmett sighed and got up off of his seat. He knew that if he let this argument go on any longer, his brother could possibly murder someone in cold blood...

Spoiler

Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


Hal sat in his study, in deep thought. He had to handle the situation involving The Boltons very carefully. He promised Torin that he'd send a dispatch of men to diplomatically deal with the problem-... but, he wasn't sure if that was the way he wanted to do things.


He still had to give it a lot of thought.


Davir Cassel, his squire, poured some wine into his cup. Hal looked up and opened his mouth. "Davir, I want you to fetch my lady wife. I need her council."


Davir put down the jug of wine, nodded, and flitted out of the chamber.


Hal cared about everyone's opinions, but, he would oft listen to Kerith in a time of need. He truly didn't know what to do. They had no proof The Boltons were truly set on rebellion- apart from a rumor. He needed to discuss a plan of action with the person he trusted the most.


( @kira blackthorn )

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, Lord's Hall...





A small wind went inside the Lord's hall at Storm's End. The magnificent structure, who stands tall and defiant against the harsh weathers of Shipbreaker Bay, has little to show for, as it looks untouched by the storms and waves, each hitting it with such force, the sounds echo through the halls. Some raindrops get in through the window too, falling on a yellow/golden looking carpet leading all the way to a throne. A throne witch was built using stone, the same stone that built the outer walls, but its handles were shaped as a deer. On the throne, a man, with gray hair and a gray beard, standing in it, hands on the deer heads, and looking in front of him, a small frown on his face. His wrinkles he had gathered all these years were showing, and one of his hands slowly went over where his beard parted, where his mouth was. A soft sigh escaped his mouth. This was the king of House Baratheon, Durran Baratheon. Beside him, two guards, each dressed in armor and holding spears, were looking in front, not one breaking their position or taking their eyes off the one who stood in front of them.


A small man raised his head and looked at the man on the throne with fear. What could have possibly scared this man so much? Was it the storm outside? Was it the guards, who watched him like a pair of vultures? After a moment of silence, the king rose from his throne. "This doesn't sound good, does it?" Durran said, his deep voice ecoing in the hall. "You say lost two commercial ships on your way here, have you not?", the kind uttered, as the man nodded slowly. He looked more tanned than any other person in Westeros, even compared with the Martels. "W-We lost them, just outside your harbor m-my king." the man dared to say, as Durran drew closer. He moved with such ease and grace, it was like watching a deer approach a lake. "Do you think I control the storms, or that I am responsible for this?" The king said, calmly as ever. "N-No my liege! I-I taught-" He was interrupted by Durran who put his hands around his collar, grabbing them. The man started to whimper, as the king simply smiled. "Relax my boy. My, my, what a fine silk this is. Anyway, you were saying what about your ships? Surely you must have a reason to come in my castle, and demand I pay you for your clumsiness."


After these words were uttered, the man took a small breath, and then opened his mouth, now dry and shaking. "I-I brought the goods a-all the way from Essos, and we demand to be p-payed in fu-" At this point, Durran grew to look more irritated, and when the thunder crack, he opened his mouth. "Do not take me for a damned fool! I may speak with a soft voice, but not when I am taken for a push-over street vendor by a damned bastard of a whore mother!" His words eccoed through the halls like a thunder. The man cowered and, when Durran let him go, he fell on the ground, looking up. The stature of the king was still intimidating, his hands shaking of fury. The guards went near the king, and Durran closed his eyes, letting out a small sigh. "You will be payed for your boats, and only for the goods on it. I will not pay for your mistakes. You knew the risks, and you accepted it. Guards, escort him out of the hall." He then turned his back and walked slowly to the throne. As the guards grab the man, Durran looks at them, thinking. "Actually-" The guards stop, looking at the king. "- take him to the gallows. Have him hanged, then throw his body off the walls, where his ships sank. You will be reunited with them."





As the man is dragged out, he starts yelling and cursing Durran, cursing his name. Durran sits back on his throne, putting his shaking hands on his face, starting to breath heavily. He looks up and starts to think of something. "We need allies. We need to assert our power." He says to himself, scratching his beard. His shaking stopped and he breaths a sigh of relief, as he raises from his throne and goes to the window.

 

[kira blackthorn]

Winterfell, the North


Kerith watched bemused from the large window adorned in her study as her youngest son headed toward winter town. Some things shall never change and when tense Kilian shall always go off to play. Chuckling lightly she sat back in the armchair she previously occupied and down at the half made dress stood in the corner whistfully.


While pregnant with Kilian the signs told of him being a girl and she had already began working on a dress for her when she was older. After she was born and revealed to be a him she stopped and hasn't worked on it since. Maybe if he had been a girl then he wouldn't be so troublesome? She thought knowing the answer already. Kilian would have been the same even if he had been a she. Its just the way he is.


A knocking on her door drew her attention from her wistfull thoughts. Who could that be? Straightening she called out lightly barely above a whisper. "Who is it?"


"It be Davir Madam. " My husbands squire? He must have summoned me. Standing she walked toward the door and opened it revealing the familiar face. Stepping into the hall she closed the door behind her a gesterd toward the hall. "Lead me to my husband."


Nodding Davir began leading the way to her husbands study. Her face smoothed out into a calm smile Kerith began to wonder the reason behind this. While not unusual for her to advice her husband he knew she proffered that he find the answer himself. To sharpen the mind. However when it concerns important matters she was happy to help. I hope this does not concern my dream.


Davir stopped at the door of his study and knocked on it like he did hers. " It be Davir my Lord. I have done as you requested and gathered your wife."

 

[SeaTea]

The Eyrie, High Hall of the Arryns


Bryce could feel an ache of the mind set upon him with a vengeance, only compounded by the lack of as much oxygen of all of those damn lowlanders. Gregor Stone had brought to him more than he could have hoped for, and while it was a great boone for him, what he read only set him into another set of dark thoughts that lingered over him during his time dealing with business of his realm. A dispute over trade ships between houses Royce and Melcolm of Runestone and Old Anchor respectively was resolved well enough, but what really drove him forward was an envoy from the three sisters that had deigned to meet him in private on immediate business from House Sunderland. What he heard confirmed the rumors and whispered words brought to him by Gregor as in House Sunderland had heard from various sources that the North was rife for a scrap to begin. House Bolton, with their small but loyal gathering of banners against the age-old wardens of the North, house Stark. He knew no specifics beyond that, or even if there was destined to be a conflict; but there were too many unknowns, as he council was quick to point out and so he sat in an emptied high hall with a piece of parchment and quill in front of him as he considered his council's view.


"Bolton would be fool to try and poke the direwolf again, even they would not be quick to forget the losses they took the last time they did so, and those that lived through the starving of the Dreadfort would not either."


Spoken as blunt and rough as he voice betrayed, Maester Roland, a middle-aged man that only took to a thick mustache and a shaved head to avoid grey hair, spoke first and most true out of any in the room so far. Although it may not be the best decisions or subtle opinions to emerge from the dark eyed man, he knew that he could always count on the Maester to speak the truth in a dire situation, if he was bit conservative in his suggestions.


To his left sat his father Richard, who had remained silent as he contemplated the same quill and parchment Bryce was, instead a voice to Bryce's right, his proud mother Lorelai Arryn, "You must not know the family of Bolton as well as you know then Maester, the dreadful hand reigns in that home, and he is not one to suffer Stark lightly, or with any patience."


Bryce spared a moment to consider his mother, she seemed rather relaxed despite the topic of conversation, and as ever she was a mite better aged than his father with only traces of grey making their presence known in her dark red hair. She held that ever present inquisitive look about her as she turned to face Bryce.


"You may have only laid eyes upon him once son, but even that glance should have been enough to show you who he was." It was true that he had only seen the one called Ser Kyllan Bolton, the current head of house Bolton, along with the many stories that have been told of him in the gossip around King's landing and the Eyrie. If only half of the were true, then Bryce would be one to approach any matter with him cautiously if at all possible.


Bryce sat in silence for a moment, but then quickly went to writing out a letter he hoped would be a proper first step. It was then his father spoke up as he saw him write.


"You surely cannot be serious!" Richard spoke as he leaned upon the table they were sat at. "You would think that, that old bastard of a wolf would be the one to consult, especially with his family smack in the middle of the whole damn affair?" Bryce had to admit to that writing directly to Tuathal Stark had a certain air of uncertainty. His father had only spoke of 'Hal' as a crotchet that could not be trusted as far as he could swing his sword, but then again Bryce also thought his father bought too far into house Sunderland's account about the 'War across the Water' and Bryce himself had never corresponded with the man, which he figured now could present an interesting opportunity in judging the man for himself.


"Until such a time that I hear from the king himself, house Stark is still the warden in the north, and he shall be treated as such when I seek to address problems that could arise between our lands." Bryce hoped he was speaking with an even and clear tone, because he did not want to take blow-back for such a simple decision. no one in the chamber resolved to speak, so Bryce went about finishing his letter.


Lord Tuathal of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, Warden of the North, @WinterIsComing


You may not know me, but I find myself in need of creating a correspondence in order to address a growing concern that has been brought to my attention. While it has been seen as nothing but a whisper to many, more than a fair share have brought the same report, that there is a build up of hostility in the lands beyond the neck. I do not deign to know what this conflict with the Dreadfort entails, and I will not press for information. However, I feel it is my duty as keeper of the Vale of Arryn to gain a greater insight as to what could threaten our lands. I would judge that any conflict sparked would drown the north in blood you could not suffer to allow, and I also have no doubt that this blood would flow south, and be able to flow uphill toward the seat of the Eyrie if it got out of control. I remember the last time such a northern rage was brought to my home, and I will not suffer another 'Worthless War' in times like this. I cannot promise anything, but it would be in my best interests to keep the peace in the realm, and at this point that remains in maintaining the status quo, with you as Wardens of the North until such a time that I am informed otherwise. I can only hope that whatever is done will be done with the interest in mind of the realm. In the end Lord Stark, I hope to find that the tales my father have spun about you will turn out to be utterly false, and I wish for you and your families continued health in these trying times.


Signed in kindness, Bryce Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and House Arryn, Warden of the East.





He regarded the letter as he finished his writing, "Thus, my steps begin. That will be all the council I need today, you are all dismissed." he was glad to hear all three sets of feet move off and out of the hall. He called for a servant as he pressed and sealed the letter with his family crest and ordered it delivered down to the blood gate and beyond as quickly as it could go. He now once again sat alone in the hall, as he did earlier that day as he contemplated another parchment on the table in front of him. He began another letter to another place that worried him a great deal more than his previous one, but he did not stop himself from slowly writing at least the beginning.

 

[LittleWolfie]

Storm's End, The Stormlands


Meera stared out of her window, watching some of the guards sparring outside and wishing so much that she could be out there in the middle of it all. Alas it was not to be and she knew it, she always knew it and most of the time the girl put these thoughts out of her mind but occasionally they surfaced, if briefly. With a shake of her head however, they were back in their box where she did not think about them as she turned away from the window and started to walk through the castle. Meera was a girl and as such her duty was to marry for alliance purposes to whom so ever she was told to whether she liked him or not. After all, she was just a pawn in the game of thrones after all, nothing more, nothing less and that was her cross to bear. The main question for her was who was she going to be married off to. In the end, there was no way to predict who her father would choose to make an alliance with unless you were a mind reader. Her husband could be any number of people; he could be as far away as a member of House Stark to create an alliance spanning between north and south anywhere in the middle or closer to home with House Martell in order to keep peace between their own people and the people of Dorne for all she knew.


Descending the stairs towards towards the main area of the castle, she allowed her hair to fall in front of her face slightly, having not bothered to style it this morning which she liked. Meera preferred to not dress up as much as other noble girls but pushed herself to do so often enough to keep her father happy but today was just one of those days when she'd chosen a slight deviation by her own choice. Her dress was still fancy and elegant with it's deep jade colour and golden swirls but her hair, well today her hair was her own and not all twisted about as it often was. If her father saw her then he would just have to deal with her slight rebellion today because she wasn't about to change it. Thinking about her father got her worrying slightly. Meera knew something wasn't right with him, she just hadn't figured out what yet but she was treading lightly around him to say the least.


As her steps carried her into Lord's Hall by the side door, the young lady stopped for a moment, spotting her father by the window. Meera watched him as he stood there, her worries briefly evident on her face before the look vanished again. Slowly walking further into the room with a slight nod to the guards there, she stepped closer towards her father before stopping again, not too far out of the shadows that danced around the edge of the room. "Father?" Meera called out to him softly, not wanting to startle him.

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, Lord's Hall...





Durran heard a small voice calling his name behind him. He slowly turned and saw his daughter standing there. A soft smile took his face, and his joyful disposition took over again. "Meera. My sweet little flower." Durran said, as if he recalls an old song, long forgotten and abandoned. He was proud of his kids, but he always kept an eye on his daughter Meera. She always held a special place in his hearth. Although there was a storm outside, the sheer sight of his daughter made the skies all the brighter.


He took a look at her dress, and he smiled a little. "Green is for Tyrell my dear. We wear yellow." That gave him some ideas. The Tyrels were near them, so an alliance with them would be all the more perfect to protect from attacks both from the south and from the north. But, he needed to send envoys to reach an agreement, and then to plan an event. But what would the event be?


All this time, his stare was vacant, and he stood still, looking at the color of the dress, not flinching. Some could say he turned to stone. He always did this when lost in his own thoughts. It was a scary sight, as no one never knew what he had in mind, or what things could pass through his mind.

 

[WinterIsComing]

Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


"Thank you, Davir. You may go and get yourself something to eat." Hal said softly. Davir left the room, closing the door behind him. Hal stood up from his seat and looked at his wife. "I have heard rumors, Kerith." He started. He rubbed his scruffy beard and moved closer to his spouse. Even in her mid-age, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. "Lord Cerwyn tells me that The Boltons... they... plan to rebel, again."


( @kira blackthorn )


The Castle At Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


"Get your fookin' hand off of me, ya' scum." Ewan yelled as he poured ale down his throat. The young boy looked familiar. Emmett tried to figure out who 'they boy' was, until, it triggered in his head. Jory, the young sailor who had accompanied Emmett on his trip around The Iron Islands.


"What is going on here?" Emmett asked, as people began to stare.


"What's going on 'ere is that this lil' twat tried to lay a hand on me!" Ewan said in a drunken state. He clearly had one too many. And, he was so drunk that the ale he drank wasn't even traveling down his throat- no, it was being spewed out of his mouth every time he opened his lips.


"Please- M'Lord... I... I was jus' trying to get some ale. But, 'e was taking it all." Jory said, helplessly.


Emmett grabbed his brother's collar. "You must calm down, Ewan. Now."


Ewan's face grew red, and, he moved back a little. "Thank you, m'lord." Jory said happily. Jory extended skinny his arm to get a flagon of ale- but, Ewan roared and grabbed Jory's arm as it crossed his view. Jory yelped. Emmett didn't have time to react- he was about to grab his brother, but, it was too late. Ewan placed his two hands on Jory's arm and snapped it like a stick. Jory's yelp instantly turned into a scream, which echoed throughout the hall...

 

[kira blackthorn]

Kerith: Winterfell, the north


Kerith watched her husband send Davir away and approach her warely. Already a bad feeling was beginning to weigh down her heart as resignation set in. I had thought I would have time before the event in my dreams happens however it seems that was not to be. Just how big is this threat that makes my husband worry so?





"Lord Cerwyn tells me that The Boltons... they... plan to rebel, again."


Breathing in sharply she moved to sit in the nearest seat and looked at her husband. Is this the event in my dreams? If it is that the attack comes to pass then my children are in danger. My Family is in danger. If that is the case then I shall not rest until the threat is dispelled. Face relaxing into a calm look she nodded to herself. " And what is your take on this? I assume you already have some plan of action. "


Kilian: winter town, the north





Face cast in shadows from his red cloak Kilian moved threw the busier part of Winter town where the Armory's and training ground was located. Here it was not as busy as it was mostly populated by knights and blacksmiths who were busy training or making swords. It was one of the dark shops, hot from the constant blazing flames, that he headed toward. There a man gruff and scarred from a long life full of work and hardships was busy working on what seemed like a sword. Hammering it into shape.


Waiting by the entrance Kilian watched the man work with interest. It was not often he got to see such a thing and he found the sight eye catching and sort of calming. Maybe I will become a blacksmith? He thought curiously but then thought of the long hours he would have to work and immediately tossed the thought away. Not enough time to have fun.


"You going to stand there all day blocking the way in or tell me what you are here for." The man asked-no demanded not even looking at him. Resisting the urge to jump as he was startled Kilian moved from the entrance and closer to the man. Now he could see the piercing eyes as silver as the metal he was wielding. Keeping his posture authorative and calm Kilian nodded. "I wish for a sword."





The man snorted finally turning to look at him with a smirk. Setting the metal and hammer he was wielding down he brought out a dirty rag and began wiping his hands off. "That's obvious little lord. However I'm afraid I need a little more information then that."


Going on guard Kilian watched him warily. How does he know my status? Is that all he knows or does he know of my identity as well? "What other information do you need?"


"Oh, you know. What type of sword is it that you wish for? A broadsword, short shord, etc. Is there a specific metal you wish it to be made of? The length. The width. Etc. Etc. These are things that are important to know when I need to make the sword. As even though I heard you were strong Lord Kilian I doubt with your young age and build you can handle a long sword. " The man said making Kilian twitch at his arrogant tone even as he tensed. So he is aware of my identity. How? I took measures to disguise myself. " How are you aware of my identity? "


"I wasn't completely sure of your identity but it you just confirmed it." He chuckled making Kilian curse. He had allowed himself to be tricked and now his identity was known. Pulling off his hood as it lost its use and he began to grow warm from the fire he glowered at the man which just seemed to amuse him more. "I'm afraid that a hood, especially one as well made as that, is not a very decent disguise. Now do you wish for a sword or not. Don't worry I won't tell let word get back to your father if you don't wish it."


Kilian bristled. "Who are you to be so arrogant? You are just a lowly blacksmith. Yet, you dare insult me. A Prince. "


"As far as I'm aware you prefer to act like just another commoner. Playing in the dirt and learning to bake and sow like a wife. Trying to learn more skills as you age. Tell me if this is true. Or are you just another posh Prince who only knows how to demand for things?"


Kilian flushed suddenly growing ashamed as his actions were thrown back at him. It is true that I have learned to bake and sow like another commoner. I am aware that they are skills that one can need at any time. It is also true that I prefer to be treated like a commoner so why is it that I came in here acting like one I am not? Perhaps I let his arrogance get to me. I shall not let that happen again. Relaxing he let his face smooth out into a calm expression similar of his mother's. Nodding at the man he spoke. " I am sorry for how I have acted. You are right. I do prefere to be treated like a commoner. Please accept my apology and agree to make a sword for me. "


"That's better." The man nodded. "Now tell me what you want and I'll see what I can do."


Nodding Kilian began to describe the sword he wished for.