A CLASH OF FIRE

[Thiccroy]

OOC
DISCORD

TURN 1 STATS


TURN 1: "Dark Wings, Dark Words"
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DARKWINGS, DARKWORDS
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Eddard Stark, having been in captivity for some time, has finally budged- accepting discussion of terms in the matter of his failed coup. As word of his son's gathering of banners comes to King's Landing and the Royal Fleet abandons the city to sail east to the Prince of Dragonstone, the heavy feeling of responsibility has descended on the shoulders of the Small Council of the now official Regency of the Queen Mother- Cersei Baratheon nee Lannister. Due to the King's factual (and brazen) immaturity, the standing Small Council of the ate King Robert, excluding of course the Hand of the King, Master of Ships and Master of Laws, now stands at a fork in the road of their decisions.

There are many aspects in how to deal with Lord Stark. Pardon is off the table- his crimes are high treason against a lawful King of the Realm, and as such, must be punished. As such, they must decide what to do, and quickly. The speed of the gathering forces, according to the Spider, Lord Varys, that is gathering at both Winterfell and Dragonstone is dangerous, and the situation in the Riverlands, though controlled, could spell disaster if the Riverlords learn of a possible relief that may come from the north. The court itself is privy to the acts of Lord Tywin's army- the atrocities of the Mountain That Rides and the brazen occupation of Riverlord lands. Ever since rumors of a battle between the soldiers of House Clegane and the Sons of Fire, the wyrmfoot force loyal to the late King Robert and sent out by the former Hand, Ned Stark, to quell the wild Mountain, the situation of the Realm has been further confused.

The vassals of the boy who now sits the Iron Throne are beating each other bloody. For now, a few scraps and such, but even worse may come if the Queen Mother does not act quickly. As such, the Grand Maester Pycelle would comment, there are but two options, if the Queen does not want to risk the fallout of a Trial for the Hand. The Wall, or death. The Wall is a pardon, yes, but it would be a symbolic banishment- exile to the farthest reaches of Eddard's accursed northern lands to freeze to death amongst rapists, cowards, thieves and murderers. A fitting end, Cersei would muse. Better than to execute him.

Many at the council table would agree wholeheartedly that execution was too risky. Execution would mean angering his family, which not only ruled the North, but had ties to the Vale and, of course, the Riverlands. It would give the North a suitable casus belli against their southern overlords, and could spell a disastrous, long and costly war. A war Cersei knew her father could win, but a war nonetheless. And with Stannis obviously rearing to claim his brother's throne and Renly having disappeared on the eve of Eddard's coup, the expansion of the front that Lord Tywin had to deal with would be too arduous to handle.

Unless, of course, she wished to risk it. A trial, the Wall, or death. She would decide, with due council and thought.

Though the only thing going through Prince nay, King Stannis Baratheon's mind was the letter he had received from Eddard Stark, hailing him as the rightful King and showing him the truth of Ned's discovery made too late of the boy that now sat the Iron Throne. Of the incestuous treason committed by the so-called Queen Mother and the so-called Kingsguard Jaime Lannister. Traitors rooted themselves in King's Landing, and if he could, Stannis would swipe down upon the city in an instant. But Stannis knew better than to charge into combat, unlike his elder, now late, brother. Though they shared no love for each other, the Destroyer of Pyke nonetheless respected Robert. Though Stannis had always groused and gnawed upon the indecent fact of the matter that after decades of service, he was still not rewarded his rightful seat at Storm's End. If he could have it now, the worries he had on his mind would not be upon it.

Renly was nowhere to be seen. As far as rumors went, he was far away in the west, in the home of his most trusted friends, the Tyrells. Another reason as to not trust his little brother- a weak mind that had forgotten the banners outside the walls of their hearth and home that starved them to the point of eating rats, horses, dogs and leather. Thinking of those days, Stannis reflexively looked to the side of his council, to Ser Davos, who sat attentively, awaiting his lord's order. The knight had long been a loyal servant, and while many said that Stannis Baratheon brought the New Age of warfare to Westeros, Stannis had always believed and said that it was Davos.

Such a fact was ignored, of course. He was simply the Lord of Dragonstone and Master of Ships. And now a futile force of a few thousand had gathered on its shores. The stage was set, and if Stannis wished to take his rightful place on the Iron Throne, he would have to think harshly on the matters ahead. While he could easily take the Narrow Sea with his fleet, it would mean nothing if King's Landing was not squeezed from both land and sea. He had the fleet, now he needed the army. He had one, but it was small, and already fragmented.

Ever since her miracle in the healing of his little Shireen, Melisandre had ingratiated herself with his wife's family and other knights and lesser lords in Stannis' court. Much like Thoros of Myr, Melisandre used the Blastingpowder of the far east in her rituals, explaining that R'hllor, hr heretic fire God from the east, had brought the blessings of fire to Westeros and the power of R'hllor was through the New Age. The New Age, they called it, and yet as far as Stannis knew a true battle had not been fought between two great armies using the tactics he had begun so long ago in the Sunset Sea. Nonetheless, Stannis, ever neutral in the machinations of religions and godhood, allowed Melisandre her ravings and missionary work.

Gods would not decide if he sat on the Iron Throne. It would be his own will and command. They shall all bend the knee, or he shall destroy them.

That must be what Stannis was thinking right now, thought Renly, as he rode on his steed to Highgarden. Flanked and backed up by a force of Baratheon men bearing his royal colors- the Stag with a crown around its neck- he approached the seat of House Tyrell with trepidation. Escaping King's Landing had been easier than thought, and it was quite apparent to Renly that the Queen knew of his escape even before Eddard's coup failed. Word of the Hand's imprisonment had reached taverns along the Rose Road faster than Renly had driven his convoy down it, which both worried and perplexed him.

He had warned Ned. If Eddard had simply accepted his proposal of crowning him as King of the Seven Kingdoms, they would both be standing over the headless corpse of Joffrey Baratheon now. Baratheon- what hogwash. Renly had his doubts but they were confirmed by Eddard's actions. Joffrey Waters is a more apt name for that inbred weasel that now sat in his late brother's seat. And if Renly played his cards right, neither he nor Stannis would seat it. Renly was sure of that, when he saw Garlan Tyrell gallantly riding out with the golden rose at his back to greet him.

Renly put on his best smile and greeted the knight from afar, riding faster to meet him. House Tyrell, though old 'enemies' of his House would turn the tide. And perhaps, with the Old Lion distracted by the Tullys and soon the Starks, as far as he had heard of Robb Stark's actions, he would get a clear chance to act against King's Landing. The Throne would be his. It was his right, his destiny, to be a good king. Though one thing that worried Renly was the power of Stannis. Not his ships or that heretical God his wife had taken on, but rather the true power that even gullible little Renly knew would decide the wars to come, Gods willing. Blastingpowder was a horrifying thing. He had seen it shown off once.

And he prayed to the Seven-That-Are-One that he would never be on the opposite end of a wyrm or drake.

The South had now forced his hand. Robb Stark was buttoning and stringing his doublet up by himself, as he looked on at his blurred visage in the mirror with a heavy sigh. Soon, many Houses would be gathering in his Hall after having come with all the men they could muster. Houses like Cerwyn, Bolton, Dustin, Mormont, Umber, Karstark and many more. But every moment he spent dawdling with his subjects, his father was wasting away in the dungeons of Maegor's Holdfast.

Robb had shaken in his breeches at the raising of the banners. When asked if afraid by his friend Theon, he had said he was, and Theon replied that he was smart for it. Only a fool does not fear death. But what Robb feared more was the responsibility that came with being the Lord of Winterfell. Though his father still breathed, his mother was far off in the Vale, still traveling back home. His sisters are now captives in the Red Keep. And his little brothers were less fit to rule in his stead when he would march for war.

He wished Jon was here. His half-brother always had a clearer head on things. Sullen and brooding, but clear. But Robb had Theon. The last of the Greyjoys, if stories of Asha's daring escape were to be believed. Robb had doubts about her surviving, but the energy that it had given the usually spiteful Theon was immense. Theon was among the first voices to suggest war strategies and how to march south as quickly as Robb could to join his Uncle Edmure's forces that were said to have gathered to combat Tywin Lannister, last time they heard. But news comes late to the North. Robb only hoped that his mother's family's lands were not mauled and gruesome too much by the Old Lion.

He had heard and even been taught of the massacre of the Reynes and Tarbecks. And of the sack of King's Landing. If Tywin truly had thirty thousand men rushing against the Riverlords, Robb only hoped that his own forces could help in the conflict, and together, free his father and sisters. Robb scoffed. He could only hope for now. For now, it was time to meet his bannermen, those men he would lead and march alongside to war in the South.

He urged Grey Wind forth on his legs and walked with the Direwolf through the hallways, clasping his fur cloak around him as evening descended.

Tywin Lannister himself clutched a cup of wine as he looked out from his raised tent to the farmlands across the horizon. Farms, rivers, gullets and the odd hamlet. That was the rich countryside of the Riverlands he often saw when traveling, either in peace, or now, in war. This campaign of retribution had sadly escalated due to the foolish actions of his children. First, the attempted killing and subsequent maiming of the Hand of the King and then said Hand's imprisonment during a failed coup against his grandson, the rightful King.

What Eddard Stark imagined would happen baffled the Old Lion, but his children baffled him more. One was foolishly captured, the other maimed the second most powerful man in the Kingdoms and ran and the third one is now sitting on a keg of Blastingpowder, armed with a torch of wildfire. Once more, Tywin Lannister would have to act in the protection of his House and legacy. Already, most of the resistance in the Riverlands had been swept aside. Not crushed, simply swept, to his annoyance.

The Mountain scoured everything south of the Red Fork but was halted at the Mummer's Ford, forced to let the Brackens gather a small force some ways north of their now sacked holdfast. Jaime had rushed toward Riverrun, as instructed, but had not planned to fight over three wide rivers, allowing his forces to be carried from the walls of the castle by wyrms and drakes long enough for the soft-hearted Ser Edmure Tully to get whatever he could inside the castle and flee north.

Was he going to the Twins? Not possible. Frey would not risk the blood tied between him and House Lannister in, no doubt, fear of retribution. Cunning he may be, but the actions of Tywin's father had secured that front. Edmure, if he was fleeing to the safety of the Starks, would find himself blocked by his own bannermen, no doubt. But Rivberrun still stood, and Jaime was trying his damned hardest to siege a most impregnable fortress. At least, Tywin thought, it would keep the Tullys busy, especially the force gathered by Bracken.

Tywin had it on good will that Riverrun's garrison was held by the Blackwoods. He was no idiot on Riverlord feuds and as such oftentimes found himself smirking at the fact. Tywin would sooner surrender to Stannis Baratheon than see a Bracken ride to the help of a Blackwood. But… the possibility existed that Edmure would return. Tywin had to make sure those two forces did not unite and smash against Jaime's south and north flanks. Tywin would not allow himself to be backpedaled in this conflict. By the end of this, the Old Lion mused over his goblet of wine, he would be hailed as a hero that crushed a rebellion. He was sure of that.

Then Tyrion entered the tent, and Tywin sighed again. He would have to deal with him now.

Edmure hissed as a Piper knight tied the bandage tightly around his forearm. It stung like hell. A wound suffered when Jaime Lannister had narrowly met him on the field and almost cut him down, if not for the bravery of a few men-at-arms who pulled him from his horse. But as far as he knew of the survivors he had ridden out to the north with at break-neck speed, the Kingslayer was not dead- still besieging his father. Luckily, Tytos Blackwood had taken command. Edmure was happy about that, indeed. But as he passed hamlets and villages northward across the Trident, the looks of worry from his people made him shiver.

He was fleeing his family home's entrapment. And last he heard, the Mountain That Rides was still at large south of the Red Fork. The Riverlands was being molested freely, like a harlot for hire, and the rage within him drowned the pain that he had from the wounds he had suffered both at the Golden Tooth and under Riverrun's walls. Ser Edmure, though a knight, had abandoned the fight. But those around him said he was smart for doing so. Around him were knights and cavalrymen, those quickest that could have gotten away from the fighting alongside him. The Houses Vypern, Blanetree and Ryger, and what was left of Piper and Vance after the Gold Tooth. Marq Piper himself tied the bandage around Edmure's arm.

Hopefully, forces south of the Red Fork have gathered and are set to alleviate the burden of Riverrun. But without due information or a suitable plan, Edmure cannot possibly march back down south, he knows this. While he may not still be chased by the Kingslayer, he is sure that his path is watched. Perhaps, Edmure thought, the Sons of Fire have survived Clegane's slaughter, and as dutiful men of justice, they would join alongside whoever is gathering to battle the Lannisters. Edmure sighed, peering up at the camp around him- tired men with tired horses licking their wounds and doing inventory.

Edmure knew he had to seek help. Further north. But who shall come to the aid of his lands in this dire time, if they have not already?

Asha had been wandering for a while now. Befriending the -annoying- sister of Tywin Lannister was not easy, but Asha had done her best. And during an opportune moment, she had fled into the crowds of Lannisport on an impromptu walk along the harbor. Ever since then, she has fled. And always felt eyes in the back of her head. Perhaps she was feeling guilt, but the deaths at Mummer's Ford felt like her fault. Indeed, by the time it happened, Asha felt like she was being chased. Every village she went into, selling and paying for whatever she could carefully, and threatening those who got handsy with her skills with the knife, that village was a long tendril of smoke rising in the air on the horizon some time later.

Her fears were later realized after she stayed near the Ford, when the Sons of Fire, as these greenlander wymrfoot called themselves, met the forces of the man who had seemingly been both hunting her and wreaking havoc across the Riverlands- Gregor Clegane. Asha had become an impromptu soldier in the fight, and had fired her first wyrm, killing one of Clegane's men. The shot reverberated through her skull harder than the drakes that destroyed her room in Pyke. By the time she came to, shaken awake with wide eyes by one of the Sons whilst bathing in the bloodied waters of the ford, she almost killed the man, if not for the others holding her back and being reasonable with her.

Unlike other greenlanders, they didn't look at her in weird, leering ways. They felt like priests- like warrior monks. Praying to the corpse of their captain when she came to the realization that the battle had been won. It was a victory, because when the one-eyed corpse of Captain Dondarrion rose up under the prayers of the drunk priest, Asha knew she had left the comforts of silken dresses and golden jewelry for blood and havoc.

Despite these nutters throwing around magic as much as they threw around bullets, Asha chose to stay. These greenlanders would give her what she wanted- revenge against the Lannisters and the Iron Price. They just didn't have to know she was Asha.

'Yara', would do.
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WESTEROS, Turn 1
The Twelfth Month of 298 AC.​

 

[Carol]

RENLY - I
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The coronation of Renly Baratheon could be nothing but grandiose. He had arrived in the Reach as an outlaw; the deadly game he played with Cersei Lannister in King's Landing had turned against him. It was through his past connections with House Tyrell, especially his relationship with Loras Tyrell, that allowed him to recover his fortunes in their verdant lands. The old house had agreed to set him up as the rightful king of Westeros and married him to Margaery Tyrell. Ravens were sent for the chivalry to come and pay homage to the couple. Many across the Reach and stormlands did so. They were treated to delights long thought extinct since the time of the Targaryens.

None doubted Renly's strength when he rode from the extremity of Highgarden, past the labyrinthine walls of legend, and into the castle's innermost sept. There, the septon, a man well-respected in the Faith, had anointed him with the seven oils, crowned him in ornate fashion, and declared him: "Renly of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Next was Margary to be treated as his queen.

The new few days were spent at the tourney. Feasts were plentiful for the high and alms redoubled to the low. Renly, who shared the dashing cut of the old king at his prime, had a winning personality. Neither haughty nor timid, he could and did make friends easily with Margaery next to him. While they did not consummate the marriage, they knew to play the part. A proclamation followed the tenets of his newfound role.

1. His nephew Joffrey Baratheon was ill-suited to rule the Seven Kingdoms in these troubling times. Not only was Joffrey too young, he lacked the temperament to guide the ship of state, being easily influenced in a court of evil counselors. The queen mother Cersei and her father Lord Tywin had made a mockery of the king's justice, imposed unjust punishments on the nobility, and oppressed the smallfolk. What was done to the north, the riverlands, and Dorne by the Lannisters had to be redressed at once. Accordingly, liberty for Lord Stark, justice for Lord Tully, and revenge for Prince Martell.​

2. While Renly loved his brother Stannis Baratheon, the older sibling was too compromised by an eastern religion, one foreign to the ways of the seven kingdoms. The Faith required someone of stout and unquestionable reputation. Indeed, the Seven had seen fit to punish Stannis, despite the interceptions of Renly, with a fruitless marriage that would no doubt risk the integrity of the realm should he become king. With that said, Renly wished for Stannis to join him as a vassal, receive his inheritance of Storm's End, and ensure that justice is done upon the wicked.​

 

[Mortis Nuntius]

Cersei I
A joint IC with @CobaltCloyster​

When Sansa was led into the Queen's ballroom she found Cersei sat alone dressed a gown of pale yellow cut with white myrish silk and pearls, a diadem artfully balanced atop her golden curls. The girl looked at the queen with wide, nervous eyes.

The table before Cersei was laden with an assortment of fruit in a golden bowl and a half dozen lemon cakes on a silver platter. Cersei had noticed that Sansa seemed fond of them. Such a small detail, but one which would make the child think that Cersei cared.

"Your Grace," Sansa said with an obviously well-practiced curtsy, "It honors me to be permitted to dine with you."

Cersei smiled wide, revealing her perfect white teeth. "I know it does, you are such a polite young Lady, little dove. I wished to thank you for the letter you wrote and the words you spoke, you were perfect."

She patted an empty seat beside her, "You have done our family and the realm a great service Sansa."

Sansa's eyes widened slightly. It galled Cersei to call her family 'our family,' As if the foolish girl in front of her could ever truly be a Lannister.

"I only acted as is proper for a future Queen, your Grace."

Cersei grimaced slightly but her smile returned in a fraction of a heartbeat.

"Of course you did."

Sansa stared down at the table in front of her, saying nothing. Several moments passed during which neither spoke.

"Your Grace. I know that Prince Joffrey is merciful and kind. And that he spared my father. But I still worry. The Wall is quite cold, and the Wildlings- Oh. And Robb will have to rule in his own right. I know that he will serve Joffrey ably, but he-"

Sansa stopped speaking. Cersei smiled at her, and beckoned her to continue.

"I am sorry, your Grace. I know it is all quite silly. You do not need to listen to my worries."

Cersei nodded. "You are eleven Sansa, some silliness is to be expected. Though it is King Joffrey now. Remember that. Robert is dead. Joffrey sits upon the Iron Throne, we can't have anyone misunderstanding your lapse of memory for a lapse of loyalty." Cersei intoned levelly whilst restraining a snarl.

Sansa flinched. 'Good,' thought Cersei.

"But you do have a point, last I recall your brother was a boy playing with swords in the yard, a few years behind Joffrey but perhaps that is for the best, young men can be quite reckless…."

Cersei paused again thinking quickly, the dolt did raise a point if only by accident, with Ned safely frozen on the wall, dead in law if not in fact lands, titles and armies were in the hand of a boy with a Tully mother to whisper in his ear.

"Sansa, you may have much to learn but your heart is far more advanced than your brain and for that I thank the Gods, you are right of course, sending your father to the Wall is a harsh punishment and in his current condition he is unlikely to survive…but we did not reach that decision lightly, he is a traitor, mayhaps a traitor driven mad with grief but a traitor all the same. The Wall is one thing but if we were to show yet greater mercy, at a time when Renly and Stannis and your uncle and even your own Lady Mother seem to conspire against Joffrey from all directions, what message would that send? I fear that there is nothing to be done, unless…"

"Unlikely to survive…" Sansa looked startled at the suggestion, "I- I worry for him, but I know that he can- He has my uncle. And Jon. He can survive at the Wall! This is- Joffrey is merciful, your Grace."

Sansa's fists were clenched in her lap. Then she spoke again, sounding unsure.

"My mother, your Grace? I am certain that whatever occurred between her and your brother. With Lord Tyrion. Certainly it must be some manner of misunderstanding. I cannot- My mother cannot be a traitor, your Grace."

Sansa had begun to cry by this point.

"I am sorry, your Grace."

Cersei frowned in distaste before slowly pulling the girl into an embrace. Sansa began crying harder.

"Sansa, you need to be strong and brave. Misunderstanding or no, your family and many others have committed grave crimes against the realm and only you can save them. I will speak with Joffrey and the Small council and see if we can move them to show yet more mercy towards your father. But all of that will come to naught without you. You are going to be Joffrey's bride, mother of his children, a Lioness in your own way, like me."

She wanted to slap the stupid child and her own words tasted of sick. But needs must, there was an opening here she felt.

"So I need you to be brave, clever and above all else loyal. Can you do that my sweet girl? Can you proudly stand with your love, can you say and do and think everything you must in order to protect him? Even if you have not a moment's peace or rest until all know the Truth and Joffrey sits easily upon his rightful throne? Can I count on you to be a heroine of our own song? Even if it means standing against your own blood until they see reason?"

The Queen pulled Sansa closer, rubbing her back encouragingly.

"Yes," Sansa managed to say between sobs.

"Why?" Sansa asked. When Cersei did not answer, she continued, "Why did my father do this? So many people are going to be hurt. So many people have been hurt! Why did he lie about Joffrey?"

'Because he thought me weak and craven.' Cersei thought.

"Because he has suffered so much," she said instead, "He and Robert were close, brothers in all but blood and I think Eddard wished they could be even closer. And with his leg broken and milk of the poppy clouding his wits…it can be understood if never condoned that he became confused. Then Renly, Robert's mirror in so many ways, was on hand to whisper treason in his ear."

Cersei shook her head angrily. "I feel such anger at the thought of a good and noble man like Lord Eddard laid so low by love and fate. I only hope we can save him together, daughter."

There. Was that enough of a pretty song for the stupid girl?

"Closer, your Grace?" Sansa appeared confused, "Did he wish to be brothers by blood, as well? How would lying with Renly bring him that?"

Cersei looked away, "I cannot tell you, you are too young, too pure…there are some secrets that it is our burden to keep from those we love Sansa."

She hoped that Sansa could not see how close to laughter she was.

"Mayhaps, mayhaps it is enough to say there are different kinds of love and they drive us to do things many would consider unnatural."

"You can tell me your Grace, please! If I knew how Lord Renly deceived him, if it would help save him, even from his own treasonous actions, we could tell the King! Surely that could move him to mercy! You said that my father lied because he loved King Robert! Perhaps Joffrey would understand!"

Cersei beckoned a servant.

"Wine, two cups." She commanded. "This is not a conversation to be had unfortified." She warned somewhat incredulous that it had come to this.

For the briefest of moments she doubted herself but as always banished the unworthy weakness from her mind, this would work, it was a good plan and Cersei Lannister always triumphed in the end.

 

[Simpli]

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=} Crobant and the Lord of Light {=
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The cold wind was picking up and Corban would have grimaced, if every movement of his jaw didn't sent a new jolt of pain through his face. Something fierce was burning under his skin and if he was a betting man he would wager that the barber must have missed something when cutting through his singed beard and flesh. Three fortnights had passed since the day his drake had blown in the wrong direction, the blasting powder spilling forth from the hole for the fuse. Instead of barking its load towards the targets set up for his unit, the barrel had deformed and been blasted apart. He could scarcely remember it now, nothing but bits of metal, smoke and ash filling his lung as blood dripped over his face filling his dreams. What he did remember was the pain, the burn of the alcohol as he was bound down on the bed and the barber cut through hair and skin to find the bits and pieces of the shattered metal that had carved their lines through his face, only narrowly missing his eye.

They had called him lucky then, many men had clapped his shoulder and many more had praised the gods when he had recovered without wound burn carrying him off. And still, his every waking moment was pain, every breath, every gulp – even talking sent new flaming hot pain through his face, turning him even more taciturn than he had ever been before. Maybe that was the reason had had fallen out with his old drinking buddies, maybe it was because whatever was going on with the Lord and the Fleet was upsetting the taverns and groups he was usually part in – but before he knew he found himself drinking to forget the pain, drinking to forget the thunder of the explosion that had robbed him of his ear and part of his hearing.

They said he was lucky, but he thought he might have been better off with less. The barber could not help, getting drunk enough to forget the pain was emptying his purse and the Seven were a cold comfort. And thus he found himself shivering on the beach of Dragonstone another of the little dragon man at his side, a youth whose eyes shone with something fierce and who had proclaimed that he should accompany him to these nightly fires. He couldn't see the appeal, a sept was at least dry and warm most of the time – the smoke was biting, the fire was filling his whole vision in the darkness and the refrain of the red priestess was echoed all around him in a deep, dark and thoroughly off-putting manner. He could feel a shiver running down his spine, a sense of something seeing him, something filling the fire before him as the words of the priestess washed over him, flowing into another, slipping into the dark, before returning with the words that the whole gathering repeated again and again:

"The night is dark and full of terrors"

Maybe it was just him but time and time again it was said and then repeated, the shadows growing longer and the fire growing brighter, the lights of the castle diming as nothing but the blazing fires licking tall and eagerly. He wasn't going to turn and run, there were too many around him and he saw something hauntingly similar to the flames in their eyes, something that made him stay, made him mouth the words even as he wished for nothing more than another pitcher to drown these new fears and his old pains…

…and he would have if this hadn't been the moment the priestess stopped, her red eyes mirroring the flames more closely than anyone else. She stopped and stepped closer, the fire behind her as if she was stepping out of it and only when she was close did he see how tall she was, an observation that was as off putting as the light smile of her lips and the hands reaching out – and grasping his face before he could turn away. He was unable, unwilling to move, those eyes peering into him and something hot spreading through his face as those fingertips felt his scars, traced over his torn ear and still, the smile did not waver. Instead, her voice begun strong and reverberating in him, her touch still present:

"…and the day will be bright and beautiful. For R'hllor is the light, the beauty – he is hope and he stands behind Azor Ahai and those that follow him!", Corban wasn't sure what she was talking about, but he couldn't ask, couldn't move, as if frozen on the spot even as his face was consumed by fire. His eyes were tearing and that hand still wouldn't leave. "The world is caught in a battle between Light and Darkness, R'hllor and the Great Other that seeks to destroy all. Fear not, for in life the Lord of Light watches over you. Rejoice for in death he will welcome you at his side where all things and all souls of beauty reside!"

Corban wasn't feeling beautiful, he was feeling like a melting candle and he became aware of the dagger he had strapped to his belt when his hand twitched and the smile in front of him never wavered even as pain consumed him, feeling as worse as the time he had woken up under the barbers knife. He was going to move, he was going to…

…the hand left…

…and so did the pain. He could only stumble backwards, his comrade catching him, rightening him, speaking to him. But Corban couldn't answer, the heat had left with the hand and his own reached up to touch his cheek, feel the ridges left by the metal, feel the torn remnant of his ear, feel the wasteland of his cheek: and there was no pain. There was no pain. No flames, no pain in his jaw – not even as he laughed, not even as he collapsed running his hands over his scars again and again, not minding the worry in his comrades eyes, not minding the wonder growing in others – only looking up at the unwavering smile directed at him and those firm but gentle hands that had taken away the pain that had plagued him so.

Crobant had felt something – and he would come again. Would come and again as he tried to capture this feeling, tried to understand and was captured in turn. He would bear the flame and the drake, he would return to his drills with his pains gone and he would praise the Lord of Light for this recovery…

=}+{=

​

Leaving her in official honour guard of knights and ladies behind, Melisandre moved through the castle of Dragonstone without hurry, not minding the gargoyles nor the austere halls she traversed. Only when she reached her rooms again did she reach for the small basin of water and oils she had prepared, dipping her right hand into it and rubbing off the remnants of the poison she had coated her fingertips in. The liver of the fish had been perfectly preserved, the poison diluted only by its small doses: enough to kill off any feeling in the skin she touched forever – enough to make it seem effortless.

Using a towel to dry her hand she thanked the Lord of Light for his blessing and saw his wisdom in using her thus for this mission. The poison could not harm her, the cold did not bite her and the small meal left for her joined the poison streaked towel in the fireplace as they blazed merrily, banishing the darkness as she directed her vision towards the dancing flames – seeing the sails of ships and the shapes of men in what was to come…

…and among them all: the smoke and thunder of the little dragons that Azor Ahai had brought with him to the west, the tools necessary to fight the Great Other in the battles to come.

The night is dark and full of terrors.

=}+{=

​

 

[Carol]

RENLY - II

A LETTER TO THE HONORABLE ROBB STARK
@Karen
​

I wish we could have corresponded under better circumstances. Your father was a friend of mine during the time we spent in King's Landing. He was captured and put on trial because he knew the truth. Robert Baratheon, my brother and our king, was murdered by the Lannisters to inaugurate their own dominion over the realm through an enfeebled character like Prince Joffrey. Those loyal to the queen's party were able to silence him before he could announce it far and wide. They hold his daughters captive in order for him to confess to false charges. It is horrid blackmail.

One must see in the devastation wrought upon the innocent riverlands the terrible principles governing the Lannisters. They are one part duplicitous and the other homicidal. Their agents make mischief of peace; they think of gold as a suitable replacement for virtue. Your father has wounded them by cutting past the masquerade into their true face. It has earned both him and your honorable house their worst ire. The plans they have for you can only be that of absolute humiliation.

I know the Starks value duty and honor above all. I have raised my banner in opposition to the Lannisters through the inspiration provided by those hearty concepts. We owe it to the living and the departed. I also know that they must be earned. Words are wind without action.

I will not ask you to immediately declare in favor of my cause. But know this: it was my great shame that I failed to save your father from unjust chains. I will free him should the queen see reason. I will avenge him if she does not. ​

In solidarity,
RENLY​

 

[Wade Garrett]

JONOS I: DOGS & MEN
High Heart, The Riverlands

The camp is in...tolerable order. That is to say, it's a hustle and bustle of clamor and clangor, grim faced veterans hammering dents out of plate and pressing politics to limbs, smooth faced boys and bewhiskered grandfathers being screamed at by landed knights and petty gentry, all the sounds and smells of ostlers, sutlers, wagon drivers, butchers, blacksmiths, camp followers, horses, mules, cattle, chickens and dogs crammed in close with one another but the the watch post atop High Heart is manned, the barrels of blasting powder are well away from the cook fires, and someone's dug a shit trench at some distance from the watering hole. Say one thing for the Brackens, say they if they know anything at all, they know how to crawl away and lick their wounds.

The little knot of men standing amidst the bare stumps are silent, each one nursing his own private grievances and his own solitary wounds, hands kept close to the hilts of daggers and hunting knives even here, even among each other. Especially among each other, House Bracken and its vassals breed for feuding, for chewing over slights and wrongs like yellowed bones gnawed for marrow and then erupting in sudden red tinged fury, and just because they'll stand together against a Blackwood doesn't mean they'll forget or forgive one another's misdeeds, real or imagined. It's a rare Bracken gathering that dissolves without at least one roaring brawl of spurs raked over ribs and thumbs jammed into eyes, but for now they're silent, all their attention focused on the orating septon and the small, still form behind him, draped in sack cloth and laid on a pile of kindling.

".....the ending of all pain and sorrow, carried safely past the dark and into the Mother's loving arms for all eternity, so may it be for each and every one of us." His part done, the godsworn steps away from the pyre, and Jonos Bracken steps toward it, a dog following close at his heels. It's a brute of an animal, slablike muscles rippling under fur tinged with silver where it isn't bared by old scars, sire of many of the occupants of the Bracken kennels and a companion of Lord Jonos' longer than almost all of the assembled mourners, brought to the muster in the same wagon as his wife and daughters.

"Easy, Gripper, easy now...." his hand brushes over the hounds flattened wedge skull with genuine affection, head tilted towards the cloth wrapped body. The Lord of Stone Hedge's features are ill suited to the softer sentiments, a heavy brow and deep set eyes under dark shaggy hair more accustomed to scowling and glowering, and so he frowns at the sight and then begins to speak.

"Harry was a good boy, never gave much trouble to the septa or the master at arms, took more after his mother looks wise, but he was a strong lad, could whip most of the boys in the practice yard, I reckon he would have made some girl a good husband, been a holy terror to the Blackwoods when he was grown." As he grumbles his words, Jonos kneels, wrapping one arm around Gripper's neck, bracing himself against the hound nuzzling him back. His other hand slowly draws a long, broad bladed knife from its scabbard, sunken eyes focusing on the dog, measuring, weighing, this has to be done clean...

A flash of sunlight on steel, a spray of red, and a pitiful whine as the big dog crumples to the ground, its lifeblood draining onto the sackcloth and wood, Jonos eyes glittering now as he clutches the hound close, but he keeps them fixed on the dog's, on the confusion and dawning betrayal in its eyes. Not one of the mourners says a wood, not even the septon, as dark haired and scowl faced as any of his kith and kin. The Brackens keep to the Seven these days, keep to them close, not like that passle of heathens and heretics at Raventree Hall, but they keep their own traditions too.

"Never Die Alone." Jonos says, the Bracken House Words repeated again and again by every man present as their lord muscles the stiffening body of the dog into a position beside that of his bastard son...his only son. In the old times that meant die fighting and with at least one enemy dead in front of you, but even the Brackens couldn't manage for every member of their family to pass like that, so it was the custom to sacrifice a prisoner at every family funeral, a Blackwood prisoner, if it could be arranged. But the Seven don't hold with that, so in these times it's a horse or dog, maybe a cat or a falcon for a woman or someone the family collectively agrees did not amount to much. He contemplates the two corpses entwined on the pyre and then he claps his bloody hands together and turns his back on the whole affair.

"That is that done, Brother Nolan can catch up the fire, Harry and Gripper can get on along to the Heavens without any prying from the rest of us, come along now." And with that he's ambling on his way, cousins and nephews trailing after him, dogsblood still staining his hose as he gripes and grumbles.

"Lord Tully in the wind with the Kingslayer on his trail, godsdamned Tytos hemmed up...odd how that was arranged, him behind all those walls and rivers with the rest of us locked out, every Westershit ever crawled out of Lann's cock squatted in Stone Hedge or in front of Riverrun, the damned Cleganes, and not a word, not a Father mount the Mother word from a soul...it will not do. It simply will not do."


Jonos Bracken, Lord of Stone Hedge, Warden of the Septs, Marshal of the Red Fork (disputed)


Gripper of Stone Hedge, pride of the Bracken kennels, in his prime

 

[Karen]

Lord of Winterfell
​

He was beneath the castle walls. Moving quickly in the torch-lit dark, Robb broke line of sight with the great walls of his fath— no, his castle. Ned, father, he is a prisoner of the Lannisters. He'd called the banners earlier in the day, while Lords Mormont and Bolton were there in the moment. Theon's face practically lit up, Robb remembered, when he referred to him as 'Lord Greyjoy', though the apprehension he felt in his gut hit like a punch. This is war, a thing Old Nan told him in stories, a violence of scale incomprehensible to Robb, who, at his age, should be play-fighting under the watchful eye of Ser Rodrik, not this.

That doubt vanished as he crossed the old bridge where he'd found the pups that so represented his house, the stars visible above a fog-straddled sky. The serenity of the North had always been one of Robb's favourite things. He enjoyed the few times they had been south, Riverrun, the Eyrie, but the North is home. Leaping over a discarded tree alongside the road, he continued deeper in the woods.

The chill didn't pierce his coat as the low-laying stream splashed against his feet. He felt free, wild, the mercurial thoughts of war and peace melting away as nature savagely gathered around him. He recognised the wolfswood quickly enough, the tall evergreen ironwoods dotting it were unique to this part of the North. The invaluable material had been stripped from most of the land during the years of bloody war that had dominated his house's ancient history. The few that remained were both artefacts, and also highly prized. Though they'd regrow in time, and once more cover the north in thick forest, when the Starks and the other houses are all but mud and bone in the ground.

In a thousand years? In one hundred? In ten?

Robb felt the cold now, his chest tightened, he looked up, and the eyes of the weirwood stared back down at him. He didn't know how quickly he'd gotten back to the safety of the Winterfell godswood, nor that he was looking up at the squatting, ancient weirwood that watched his every motion. Eyes painted on, yet they seemed more alive than any. Stepping forth, he looked down at the sheen-black pool.

And yellow eyes stared back at him.

---

A LETTER TO KING'S LANDING
To whomever has commit this unlawful crime
​

To the self-proclaimed regency of Cersei Lannister, Queen Mother,

The action taken by the House Lannister is unlawful and in high contradiction of the wishes of King Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, who desired that my father, Lord Eddard Stark, act in capacity as Hand of the King. The illegal assault on the person representing the King and his Court is both a violation of the sacred alliance that keeps the realm under the Iron Throne and a heinous act of cowardice on behalf of House Lannister. In conjunction with the assault on the lands of House Tully and it's vassals, it is clear that the Lannisters have conducted a coup against the crown and mean to seize power on their behalf. Therefore, the North, in all capacity, must respond thusly;

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand the release of all servants, men-at-arms and members of House Stark, not limited to, but including Eddard Stark, Sansa Stark and Arya Stark. This includes all subjects of House Stark hailing from other houses.

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand the release of all servants, men-at-arms and members brought to King's Landing by His Excellency, the late Lord Jon Arryn.

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand the return of all treasury and material taken from the above subjects in this unlawful seizure of power.

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand the end of the assault on the Riverlands and provinces, the end of the siege of Riverrun, and the immediate arrests of Ser Gregor Clegane, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Cersei Lannister the Queen Mother.

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand the dismantling of all Westerlands Armies in the field loyal to, and under the pay of the traitor Lord Tywin Lannister.

We, the LORDS PROTESTANT, demand that an investigation, headed by a Regent of the Crown, in our recommendation either Lord Stannis Baratheon or Lord Mace Tyrell, is to take place to determine the circumstances of events that transpired in the capital.

If these demands are not met in two weeks, the united lords of the North, the LORDS PROTESTANT, will be forced to march to King's Landing to end the unlawful arrest directly.

ROBB STARK
Lord of Winterfell on behalf of Eddard Stark

ROOSE BOLTON
Lord of the Dreadfort

WYMAN MANDERLY
Lord of White Harbour

JORAH MORMONT
Lord of Bear Isle

GREGOR FORRESTER
Lord of Ironrath

THEON GREYJOY
Lord-Apparent of Pyke

 

[Red Robyn]

STANNIS I
A FLURRY OF RAVENS


A LETTER TO THE REALM
To be spread through skiffs, fishing cogs, galleys, and ravens. ​

All men know me for the trueborn son of Steffon Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by his lady wife Cassana of House Estermont. I declare upon the honor of my House that my brother Robert, our late king, left no trueborn issue of his body, the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen, and the girl Myrcella being abominations born of incest between Cersei Lannister and her brother Ser Jaime the Kingslayer. By right of birth and blood, I do this day lay claim to the Iron Throne of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Let all true men declare their loyalty.

Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

A LETTER TO WINTERFELL @Karen
Delivered by raven to the heir to Winterfell and all the bannermen sworn to House Stark
​

Lord Stark,

Before his unlawful arrest by the hands of the Lannister usurpers, your lord father sent a letter to Dragonstone hailing me as the true King and denouncing the illborn children of Cersei Lannister as the abominations of incest they are. I pretend to have his letter safely delivered to Winterfell so that you may attest to the veracity of my claims. Be well assured that while I am no friend of his, by all means, I intend to have Lord Eddard freed and restored to his seat in Winterfell.

Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

A LETTER TO THE EYRIE
Delivered by raven to the Regent of the Vale and her son's bannermen.
​

Lady Arryn,

Cersei Lannister murdered your husband to hide her vile crimes and bewitched my brother Robert to deny your son the title that by custom and tradition should have been rightfully his. And now her father puts the lands of your birth house to the torch and the sword. As the one true King, I will no longer allow Tywin Lannister and his daughter to ride roughshod over House Arryn's honor. Jon Arryn will be avenged, as will Robert.

Lord Robert Arryn, the Warden of the East and Defender of the Vale, is hereby commanded by his King to gather his banners and march into the Riverlands to succor House Tully in its moment of need.

Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

TWO LETTERS, TO HIGHGARDEN AND STORM'S END @Carol
Delivered by raven to Renly Baratheon
​

Brother,

Bend the knee and bring your bannermen to my cause and I will confirm your rights to Storm's End and raise you as my Hand of the King and Prince of Dragonstone until I produce a trueborn son to sit the Iron Throne after me.

Done in the Light of the Lord, under the sign and seal of Stannis of House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

 

[Zioneer]

House Tully, the Besieged Trout
​

To Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms @Red Robyn :

Your Grace, I am Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun and the Lord Paramountcy of the Riverlands. I speak on behalf of my infirm father, Lord Hoster Tully. I will be to the point, as I know you are not one to enjoy flattery and empty words. I cannot speak for my sisters, but Riverrun swears fealty to you as rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. However, things are bleak here. Lord Tytos Blackwood commands my forces, as Jaime Lannister wounded me in battle. Clegane's deprievations upon the Riverlands have led even Lord Jonos Bracken to put aside his feud with the Blackwoods for now, and the two currently have sizable hosts between them. Unfortunately the Lannisters ravaged my host and I have been forced to lead a fighting retreat with few men and blastingpowder.

I beseech Your Grace to send what help you can to end the Lannister threat here, and perhaps mount the heads of the treacherous lions upon the walls of Riverrun. For my part, I will direct my banners to do what they can to hinder Clegane and the Kingslayer's hosts, and I will attempt to convince my sisters and their heirs to swear fealty to you. I will do so even if you have no men to spare to send my way, for it is my duty to persuade my family of your rightful claim.

In the sign and seal of Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun.

To Lord Robb Stark of Winterfell and Lady Catelyn Stark @Karen :

Nephew, and sister, I am sure you are sending your hosts south to help relieve Riverrun, but I wish to inform you that I have declared my allegiance to Stannis Baratheon as rightful king on the Iron Throne. I would advise you to do the same, but applaud your quick thinking with the Lords Protestant. While Stannis is a prickly man, he is also an honorable one, and I believe he will seek to relieve the suffering of the Riverlands and the North as soon as possible. I believe his claims that Joffrey is a bastard born of incest; for why else would the Lannisters seize a good man like Eddard on such a thin pretext? Renly I do not know well enough to swear allegiance to, and his claim is of a second son's besides.

I am sorry that the North has been dragged into the intrigues of the South once more, but I ask you to follow Stannis, for honor's sake, for a king that will not tolerate the lions, and for a Westeros that will have justice for the Starks and Tullys alike.

In the sign and seal of Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun.

To Lady Lysa Arryn, Regent of the Eyrie, and her son Robert, Lord of the Vale and the Eyrie: @Thiccroy

Sister, I know you are preoccupied with the care of young Robert, and so I do not ask much of you. I only ask assistance against the lions. They seek to destroy us, sister. Why else would they arrest our goodbrother on spurious charges? Why else would they threaten the life of our sister's son and then seek to cover it up? Stark, Arryn, Tully, it does not matter. I fear they intend to inflict another Rains of Castamere upon those whose power threatens theirs. But we can bring them to heel if we unite, if we break their Mountain with our own indomitable Vale. Let the riverlords, valelords, and northern lords shatter the claws of the lions. They won't ever threaten any of us again.

If you agree to this, I do not expect you to leave your son defenseless or motherless, so I would suggest appointing a commander amongst your loyal bannermen to lead whatever force you can spare for Riverrun. Lord Royce, perhaps? I would not have him strike against his son in Renly's camp, but his blade can surely strike true against a lion.

Regardless, I wish good health upon you and young Robert. May your regency be wise and just, and may he grow up to be a strong and even-handed lord.

In the sign and seal of Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun.

To Lord Jonos Bracken, Lord of the Stone Hedge @Wade Garrett

I'll be blunt, Jonos. Stannis is our man. Renly is too far away and an unknown player besides, while the Lannisters are burning down our homes and setting the Mountain upon us. We cannot survive alone, and Stannis, while a sour and prickly man, is known to be honorable to a fault. I have sent letters to him and my sisters, asking them all for help against the lions. I know that your house's feud with the Blackwoods is long, ancient, and bloody, but I do ask you to not get into violent fights with them while the Kingslayer and the Old Lion feast on our smallfolk. The feud will still be there when the last of the lions drown in our waters.

Regardless, do what you can to hinder the Lannister advance. Strike at their supplies, capture or send their wyrms into the rivers, pick off stragglers, make their lives here worse than the Seven Hells. And, if get the chance, I'd like to see what happens when a Clegane's twisted heart has a wyrm-shaped hole in it.

Also, I am sorry to hear of the loss of your son. I know he died bravely, as any Bracken would. May he torment his killers in the next life.

In the sign and seal of Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun.

 

[Raitisan]

"Mud and Shit"

​

"The weather might get us all before the rivermen get their chance" Jaime lets out a drawn-out sigh while observing the construction of his siege camp on top of his horse. The Lannister soldiers struggle to move around the muddy soil that has formed due to the recent rainfall, only made worse by the thousands of soldiers and horses tenderizing the soil. The once regal lions were now covered in mud, huffing and puffing while fighting the elements. The Kingslayer knew that if the enemy descended upon them, his army would be easy pickings and the cavalry would make little difference. The best they could do was to entrench themselves and hope that the siege was a brief one.

Despite the initial success of his forces, Jaime had already noticed an air of unease and tension amongst his men. A feeling like something foul might soon fall upon them. It's not surprising, since most of them (including Jaime) were hoping for a few decisive battles and it will all be over. But now, it dawned on them that things will not be as simple as that.

A soldier approached Jaime, his face contorted due to exhaustion. He took a few moments before addressing the Kingslayer "Your tent has been set up Sir" he pointed towards a crimson-red tent with golden embroidery, a bit further down the camp "And your orders have been relayed to the officers". Jaime gave the soldier a quick nod and rode off towards his tent.

Dusk was approaching as multiple officers gathered inside Jaimie's tent. They all patiently waited for the young Lannister to initiate the conversation. None dared to speak up unless spoken to. Jaime calmly poured his cup full of red wine, intentionally making the process longer than it should be. After a long drawn-out gulp of the Dornish red, the Kingslayer finally acknowledged his officers and gave out an annoyed "So?".

One of the officers stepped forward and spoke confidently "The preparations are moving forward and the Drakes should be ready to fire by the brake of dawn"

• "But---" The Kingslayer cut off the officer before he could continue his train of thought.
• "Well...the weather has made things quite difficult. Wagons are practically useless and moving everything by hand has set the construction of defenses back somewhat"
• Jaime took another sip of his wine as his green eyes dug in like daggers into the officer "Well that just won't do. It seems like the men will have to turn native to get by. That nice armor won't help moving logs around this mud bowl. Right now, setting up defenses is more important than looking presentable."
• The officer stammered for a bit before responding. "But... what if the garrison sallies out to meet us sire?
• "Well, then it will make things simpler for us and I am willing to wager that the rivermen can't walk on top of mud and shit, so this fucking problem will be theirs as well." He chugged down the last of his wine and pointed to the entry of his tent "Now piss off and lead the men by example."

The officers hastily walked outside the tent like whipped dogs.

Jaime dropped into the nearby chair and stared off into the distance, mumbling under his nose "Piss drinking Riverlands..."

 

[Swordswain]

TYRION & TYWIN I
​

The thick folds of the tent's entrance flap swung aside, allowing the sound of army life to filter through. The grunts of low-ranking soldiers digging latrines and ferrying supplies, the whinnying of horses, the clanging of camp smiths at work, and of course, the terrible sweat-smell of thousands of men and animals crammed in together with the mud of the countryside. The sliver of daylight that crept through served to highlight the silhouette of perhaps the luckiest dwarf to ever live as he strode in like he owned the place, boots still covered in shit. "Thank you Bronn, that will be all." the flap is dropped closed behind him.

Without asking he strode up the low table off to one side of the tent, helping himself to a goblet of arbor gold, voice merry and almost sing-song as he speaks. "You know, I've had quite an adventure these past few weeks, you should have come along. I went to see the wall, and pissed off the top. You know they say it's the end of the world? End of anything that matters, I suppose." He turns around, striding towards the only other occupant of the room, humming as he swirls the wine. "Then, I was kidnapped by lady stark. Not the fun kind of kidnapping, unfortunately, along the way I quite heroically defended her from the terrible wrath of the mountain men, only to be rewarded by being thrown to the mercy of her rather less attractive sister. You know the Arryn boy is still suckling at her teat? Kids these days, such a shame. They tried to have me killed, almost threw me out the moon doors, until Bronn -thats my new friend, he's just outside right now- until Bronn killed a vale knight in single combat by dropping a statue on him. He's only after gold, of course, but that's the kind of greed one can trust. Anyway, on the way out the mountain men attacked again, and not only did we escape with our lives, but I managed to recruit them. My own little army. And now-"

A pause as he takes a sip, savoring the taste after so long on the road. "... Now, I'm here, father dearest, and I've brought you reinforcements, even! If that's not worthy of praise, I don't know what is."

Leaning over a map of the seven kingdoms and the known and believed locations of the other Houses' forces, Tywin Lannister raises his head to gaze upon his deformed spawn.

"Yes I've seen the breed of allies you've made and I'm honestly less surprised they are what you chose than I was to hear you had actually fought and failed to get yourself killed. Congratulations, maybe you're actually 3/5ths of a man instead of merely half. Now I am guessing you will be needing me to pay them as you no doubt promised they would."

Tyrion nodded, seating himself down across from his father. "Indeed. Not with gold, though. I promised them fire-wyrms with which to slay their enemies."

With a look that was stuck somewhere between sucking on a lemon and stepping in a cow pie, Tywin looked at Tyrion with disgust. "Of course you offered them, a bunch of mountain barbarians, the newest most expensive infantry weapon we have available. And I have no doubt they have a bunch of experience with them and any sort of tactics which wield them. Offer them this, either only half of them get a Wyrm but each comes with enough powder and shot to fire 80 times each or all of them get one but each only has 15 shots. I won't spend more on your tribal friends than need be."

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Very generous of you, father. They barely know how to count so I'll take the weapons for all of them and skimp on the shot. Now, on to more important matters, exactly how you plan on winning this war. In case you haven't noticed, we're quite outnumbered."

"Oh how could I forget that the only way of winning is with more men to throw at your enemy?! You're right we should just pull all our forces back! Well if you are anymore tired of making dumb remarks as I am of hearing them, then I have troops to redeploy to keep your Brother from getting encircled." And with that Tywin dismissed Tyrion and went back to looking at the map.

Spoiler: Authors

Co-Written by myself and Chaptermaster who plays Tywin

 

[Karen]

Lord of Winterfell
​

Robb sat, the flapping of wind against his tent deafening as those last dying gasps of summer raged against him. They were on the Kingsroad, now, with six thousand Northmen behind him, and more coming in by the day. Three letters sat on the improvised table that had been set aside for him. He'd broken the seals, but those weren't hidden away, or trashed; a stag, a trout, and a burning heart. Robb ran a hand through fiery locks, sweat beading on his brow, and he sighed.

They had struggled to find him, the chains of sleep, and he found himself once more sitting before each scroll. His finger ran across the vellum of one; each one represented the state of their writers. The tattered barely dry thing Edmure had sent him had almost been lost to Lannister archers, no doubt, while the subtle hints of gold and eastern perfume decorated that of Renly and Stannis respectively.

His dreams had become more vivid since they'd come to the Neck, as if the old gods were more powerful, more dangerous here. He'd hunted down a reptile of some kind, right on the edges, before the forest turned to swamp. A thing of bright amber scales, studded with black like sunflower seeds. An omen, not that Robb understood it.

His mother's return had been a moment of quiet joy, arriving with a force from the White Harbour, they'd embraced, and he had urged her to return to Bran.

I have two families, Robb, she had said to him, one in Winterfell, and one in Riverrun.

---

To Storm's End, @Carol ​

Lord Renly,
I write to you in respect to your late brother and your role as a peer to my title of lord paramount. My place is not to cast judgement or throw my banners behind another claimant. It is my place to march south to save my family from the clutches of those conspiring to commit treason against the Realm. As far as House Stark and the North is aware, Joffrey is king, and until I am certain of your character I cannot commit to any claim, sword or banner, only my own. The Starks will honour their alliance to House Baratheon.

Robb Stark
Acting Lord of Winterfell​

To Dragonstone, @Red Robyn ​

Lord Stannis,
In honour of our alliance and in respect to your titles, I will speak candidly. Without evidence presented before me, these claims of adultery, incest, are quite steep indeed. To the North, which comes south to safe its Lord and family, I do not believe it is our place to declare for a King and his god. The old gods will give strength to your arms in your cause, I have no doubt of this, as they are loyal to any friends of House Stark, but as far as we know, my father is still Hand of the King, and should be reinstated as regent on behalf of King Joffrey until he comes to majority.

Robb Stark
Acting Lord of Winterfell​

To Riverrun, @Zioneer ​

Uncle Edmure,
My lady mother bids you well and prays for your strength at arms. The North marches south in force to recover the riverlands and free my father from his unjust arrest. As for this claim that Stannis is rightful king, I believe it is a foolhardy move, unless Stannis musters an army and marches on Casterly rock on your behalf. The North moves slowly, and premature declarations may see our houses brought to ruin. Allow us to break the siege, unite our armies, then we can see what the matter of this or that claimant is.

Robb Stark
Acting Lord of Winterfell​