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Westeros has more than one...royal family.
And now you can be one of them!
Anyways, Brandon the Broken despite having a great story turned out not to be a great king and now everything has gone to seven hells.
This is a time limited spoof game and will likely have three turns at the very max cause it's April Fools bullshit.
Anyways, everyone have fun doing stupid illogical shit.
Edmure Tully jolted himself upright. He wasn't in the Godswood where he had decided to rest after a long, hard day. He was in a dark void where an old man's voice was haranguing him.
"Finally, you're up! To think you're the best the House produced this generation. By the Gods..."
Edmure interrupted his ranting, "Who are you? What is this place?"
As he looked around he got a sight of the old man. He did not recognize him but he was clad in Tully colors. "Don't you know to respect your elders. I taught your grandsires better than that. Or perhaps it was your great-grandsires. Anyway, we've been waiting for someone to sleep under that tree for centuries."
Edmure would not be deterred "Who's we? Who are you."
The apparition snarled, "We are the House of Tully, and I am the last of this House to be worth a dang, Kermit Tully. So I'm the one who has to advise the family whenever they commune with the godswood."
Edmure was confused, "But we worship the Seven."
"Yeah, it was a shock to me too. But since we can't go back under the waves, the godswoods were our next best bet."
"What?"
"Long story involving an aquatic soldier of the Merling King, a redhead, and a touching love story. Don't worry about it. We lost the gills millennia ago anyway. And the Darklyns are gone too now, so no point in it. What's really important is that the Starks have screwed up everything for everyone harder than they did last time!"
"Last time? Was that Ned Stark? Robb?"
"No, Cregan. Cost us the victory we won in the Dance. But that's not important. What's important is that you need to get your house in order. Now Harrenhal, and Darry are still vacant right?"
"Yes?"
"Good, send troops to secure them now. I'd also tell you to take the Twins for your Frey wife, but there's a PC up there. Can't do it. Not now anyway."
Edmure was now totally baffled.
"Anyway, once you've got more land than the rest of us ever had, go to Oldstones with some fresh sap from a weirwood. Eat it. It'll knock you out and let you see something. The first Lord... no, the second... one of the early ones left something there a while back. Took it off King Tristifer IV, as he laid dying. Time to dig it up again. Once, you have it, you'll know what to do. Also, you know how you never got to sleep with that Frey wife of yours?"
Edmure nodded. Being robbed of his wedding night was merely the least of the indignities he suffered but it still hurt.
"She's a nice girl. Don't feel like you have to get rid of her. I think my... mother... or was it grandmother was a Frey. Anyway, just remember, I want descendants. DESCENDANTS!"
Edmure finally jolted awake. Well, he had orders to send, sap to find, heirs to sire, and apparently, a ghostly ancestor with a grudge. Also he might be part f... no, just focus on what needed doing. His family did not have a weirder line than the Mormonts. He repeated this a few times before he got to work. Troops, Oldstones, wife. Troops, Oldstones, wife. Troops, Oldstones, wife.
Manfrey stood in his solar. The last Martell. How had most of the great houses fallen to such low numbers? He couldn't blame the dragons for this, or anyone really. Still, Manfrey 'The Nameless' was Prince of Dorne. On the value that a bunch of Oberyn's bastards had slaughtered the rest of House Martell out of vengeance against the Lannisters. He wondered what Oberyn would have thought if he still lived to have seen it. Would he be proud of his murderous little vipers, or enraged they turned their fangs on family.
Regardless, their dead, Manfrey was Prince, for all of the issues it brought. To prevent Yronwood from doing anything, he need action, and fast. And Manfrey had a plan. It either go really bad, or really good. The Broken King gave the North its independence, but now the Northmen fought amongst each other. Without his most stalwart supporters, and by letting a region go from his authority, it weakened it immensly. Besides, the dragons were dead, and they were the only reason Dorne swore allegiance to the Iron Throne.
Yes, it was best for Dorne to break free of the wolf and return to what it was prior to Aegon's and Daeron's times. The Sun will not set easily on Dorne, or on House Martell. Espically since he needed a bride, and with Beric Dondarrion's death, he had an opening with House Dayne. Oh yes, it was all coming together. Time to get Yronwood and Wyl on board for this.
Name: House Hightower of Oldtown Head: Lord Leyton Hightower Monarch: King Baelor II Hightower Seat: The High Tower, Oldtown Origin: First Men Religion: Faith of the Seven Ancestral blade: Vigilance
Family Tree The Senior Line of the High Tower
Lord LEYTON HIGHTOWER (b. 236 AC), Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port, Lord of the High Tower, Defender of the Citadel and Beacon of the South. Known as THE OLD MAN OF OLDTOWN for his age and elusiveness, Lord Leyton had not descended from the High Tower for over a decade until he showed himself in the Starry Sept at the coronation of his son, falling to one knee and pledging him eternal fealty and obedience. Once a splendid tourney knight and great lord, it is said that Leyton now only confides in maesters, sorcerers and their ilk. He is currently married to his fourth wife, the Lady Rhea Florent.
King BAELOR II HIGHTOWER (b. 257), the Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, wielder of Vigilance. A handsome knight of good repute known as BRIGHTSMILE, Baelor is now also known as THE KING IN THE HIGH TOWER, following his coronation as King of the Seven Kingdoms by the High Septon in the Starry Sept. He is married to Rhonda Rowan, of Goldengrove, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,
Prince Ottomore (b. 302), a boy often known as Otto, Prince of Dragonstone,
Princess Margaery (b. 304), named after her late cousin,
Princess Alicent (b. 305), named after the late Queen,
Malora Hightower (b. 258), the Mad Maid, a recluse like her father, rumored sorceress,
{Alerie Hightower} (259-304), Lady of Highgarden, incinerated in the Great Sept of Baelor together with her husband and children,
Ser Garth Hightower (b. 262), known as Greysteel, a martial man, newly-named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,
Denyse Hightower (b. 264), married to Ser Desmond Redwyne, a love match,
Leyla Hightower (b. 266), head of the Bank of Oldtown, married to Ser Jon Cupps, w. issue,
Alysanne Hightower (b. 268), married to Lord Arthur Ambrose,
{Alyn Ambrose} (284-304), incinerated in the Great Sept,
Lynesse Hightower (b. 271), married to the late Lord Jorah Mormont, a love match, now living in disgrace as a concubine in Lys (Daenerys kind of forgot to liberate Lys),
Ser Gunthor Hightower (b. 275), a learned man and sea captain,
Ser Humfrey Hightower (b. 281), the youngest of Lord Leyton's children.
KING BAELOR II BRIGHTSMILE
King of the Seven Kingdoms
The Small Council
Lord Mathis Rowan Hand of the King
Grand Maester
Gormon
Lord Warryn Beesbury Master of Coin
Lord Arthur Ambrose Master of Laws
Lord Paxter Redwyne Master of Ships
Lord Orton Merryweather Master of Whisperers
Ser Garth Hightower Lord Commander of the Kingsguard
Even as the white ravens fly out of Oldtown en masse to announce to Westeros the end of the shortest and mildest winter in living memory (and, indeed, perhaps in all of recorded history), the beacon of the High Tower burns GREEN.
Oldtown has called its banners to war, to defend the reign of King Baelor, Second of his Name, reclaim Highgarden for its rightful owners and cleanse Westeros of foul sorcery, kinslayers, kingslayers, lowborn villains and demonic tyrants, before the Year of the False Winter is over.
All Hail His Grace Baelor of House Hightower, the Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, divinely-crowned and anointed by the High Septon in the Light of the Seven.
Let all true men and knights of the Seven Kingdoms proclaim their loyalty to the true and Seven-anointed King!
KING BAELOR II
Bowing his head in humility before the Starry Sept
Edmure had returned to the void. "I'm resting in my solar, nowhere near the godswood."
"You tried sampling some of the sap, didn't you?"
Edmure did not reply.
"Good, makes it easier to talk to you. So the Hightowers have finally dropped the pretense and are trying to claim the throne outright. This is a problem."
"Let me guess, you have a grudge against them too?" That would seem logical for Kermit's ghost.
"Yes. But that's not my concern. If he was just trying to take the Reach, that'd be one thing. But he wants to restore the Seven Kingdoms."
Edmure blinked, "Don't you want to do that? You did that once."
"I did. And for the suffering of the Rivermen, a Mooton sat as a useless Regent while the rest of us did not get so much as a clipped copper to buy a shroud for our dead. Do you actually think there is a king worthy of the name in Westeros right now?"
Edmure opened his mouth.
"Besides you? And if the Hightowers would dispute that, whose to say the Lannisters, the Baratheons, and the Hardyngs won't do so as well?"
"The Hardyngs? Not the Arryns?"
Kermit's specter grimaced, "I hate the idea of leaving our Arryn kin in the lurch but Hardyng is in a strong position. We don't have a navy to force our way in."
"The Bloody Gate is still open."
Kermit nodded, "Yes, though that could just end with the Rivermen being bottled up to be slaughtered. And right now we have more important tasks for them. Let me know as soon as we hear back from Harrenhal."
With that Edmure awoke again. The raven from Oldtown had come while he had been reviewing old papers from past Tullys. Kermit had a lot of bitterness in his later years that never reached the histories. Also House Tully had perfected a formula for safely mixing wine with Milk of the Poppy, as a cure for stress. That was increasingly appearing worth looking into.
I write to extend you a hand in friendship and offer you an alliance, for the restoration of the Seven Kingdoms and the reestablishment of peace, justice and lawful order in the land.
We did not attend the council that elected Bran the Broken as King of the so-called Six Kingdoms. We were not invited, for some reason. We do not recognize his authority, or his claim to the molten ruin of the Iron Throne. We have heard that you attended the council, however. It pleased us to know this, as we had heard nothing from you since the Siege of Riverrun. We heard how you put your name forward for the election. Perhaps the day might have turned out differently, with a worthy king seated upon the throne, had an uncle not been humiliated by his own niece. Lord Edmure, make no mistake. We recognize that you were by far the most honorable and qualified of the great lords who sat the council in the Dragonpit. You have ruled the Riverlands well and you are the only person alive to have bested Tywin Lannister in the field of battle. You had the lineage, the name and the experience.
What you lacked, however, was the devilish impulse of the Imp. Twice a kinslayer, twice a kingslayer, the Imp's honeyed words somehow talked the Council of the Dragonpit to elect Bran the Broken as King of Westeros, for who had a better story? What are claims, rights, honors, piety, faith, virility and prowess when compared to a better story, after all? Now a faithless crippled boy with no claim or right claims to reign over all of us from King's Landing, with the Imp ruling as his Hand. I do not know whether it is the Imp who rules the land through a puppet king he installed through his vile words, or if it is true that the Broken King dabbles in sorcery and wielded the Imp to bewitch the few men of honor who sat in the Dragonpit to get himself a crown of ashes.
It matters not. Now the spell is broken. A sorcerous cripple cannot be the King. A kinslayer and kingslayer cannot be his Hand. His Small Council is a joke to the realm. A deserter of the Night's Watch who forged no links and abandoned the Citadel as a common thief sits as Grand Maester. The Imp's plaything, an illiterate and baseborn mercenary with no knowledge of bookkeeping or good governance sits as Master of Coin, after having been granted Highgarden and the paramountcy of the Reach by the false king. The baseborn Hand of Stannis Baratheon and Jon Snow sits as Master of Ships, with no ships to command. And who knows who the Master of Laws is, and who cares? We cannot expect the good administration of justice from King's Landing.
No more, I say. The High Septon has crowned and anointed me King of the Seven Kingdoms in the Starry Sept, under the Light of the Seven. It is not an honor I wished for, but it is a burden I will bear in order to preserve the legacy of peace and justice of the Seven Kingdoms that Aegon the Conqueror forged into one, after receiving his own crown from the hands of the High Septon in the Starry Sept. By divine right and acclamation, I claim Aegon's crown, at the face of the extinction of House Targaryen and the trueborn line of House Baratheon.
What I request of you is a great ask, but a necessary one. I know that Bran the Broken is your nephew, and that Sansa Stark is your niece, though they have forgotten to give you their filial obedience. I also know that the Seven Kingdoms demand good governance, and that a King needs leal bannermen to enforce the King's peace and the King's justice. Join us, give us your fealty, and I pledge to you that we shall see the Seven Kingdoms restored. King's Landing is a ruin, the Iron Throne destroyed, the very place haunted by dragonfire and the deaths of a million innocents. I have no intention of ruling from that smoldering wreck. For eight millennia, Oldtown has been the beating heart of Westeros, the seat of the Faith and of Knowledge, and it shall be the seat of Kings again. A new Crownlands shall be carved out from the Southern Reach. I shall have no need of the old one.
Lord Edmure Tully, if you pledge your fealty to me, I would name you Warden of the Blackwater. Let the Riverlands reign over its natural and historical borders again, from Ironman's Bay and the Neck to the Blackwater Rush. The high seat of Harrenhal lies vacant. Make it your seat to rule over such vast domains, if you desire. The choice is yours.
I aim to restore the Seven Kingdoms, and to restore the King's peace in the land, by the grace of the gods. I plead with you to join me. Should I fail, should the Seven Kingdoms remain splintered, the Riverlands may once again become the battlefield of warring kings in the great game they play. I play no games. That is no future to be desired.
We hope, with all our heart, that you shall take our words into consideration.
We Light the Way,
Baelor of House Hightower, the Second of his Name,
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men,
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm
I have received your letter, and noted your compliments towards me. I cannot deny the generosity of your offer, nor do I doubt that if I asked for Lordship of the lordless castles of Darry and the Twins that you would grant such along with whatever your seat on your Small Council I should ask for. I confess no greater aspiration than the lands you have thus offered combined with what I have outlined above. Nor do I have any great love for my Stark kin, after my imprisonment and my humiliation, both of which you know very well. But as to your request that I accept you or indeed anyone as King of the Seven Kingdoms, my response is no.
The Rivermen have long shed blood for crowns that cared little for them, from the Durrandons, to the Hoares, to the Taragaryens, to the Baratheons, to the Starks. I have no desire to add Hightower or any other to that list, especially when even Highgarden remains beyond your realm. The Rivermen shall seek to be free as their fathers were in the lands that were once held by us.
If you seek me as brother monarch, then you shall find no firmer friend but should you come as you are now, with bold claims but little achievements to back them, then we must be enemies.
Edmure Tully,
Lord of Riverrun, Harrenhal, Darry, and the Twins
I have received your letter, and noted your compliments towards me. I cannot deny the generosity of your offer, nor do I doubt that if I asked for Lordship of the lordless castles of Darry and the Twins that you would grant such along with whatever your seat on your Small Council I should ask for. I confess no greater aspiration than the lands you have thus offered combined with what I have outlined above. Nor do I have any great love for my Stark kin, after my imprisonment and my humiliation, both of which you know very well. But as to your request that I accept you or indeed anyone as King of the Seven Kingdoms, my response is no.
The Rivermen shall long shed blood for crowns that cared little for them, from the Durrandons, to the Hoares, to the Taragaryens, to the Baratheons, to the Starks. I have no desire to add Hightower or any other to that list, especially when even Highgarden remains beyond your realm. The Rivermen shall seek to be free as their fathers were in the lands that were once held by us.
If you seek me as brother monarch, then you shall find no firmer friend but should you come as you are now, with bold claims but little achievements to back them, then we must be enemies.
Edmure Tully,
Lord of Riverrun, Harrenhal, Darry, and the Twins
Then I shall have to prove myself worthy of your service, my lord, and hope that you reconsider your stance when the time comes for all true men to declare themselves. Until then, I will pray to the Seven to light our common path.
A Raven Arrives from Castle Black with a Unknown Seal of a Red and Orange Sun and a Black Griffon facing inwards Side by Side on a White Field
By the Grace of the Gods, Old and New, First and Last,
By Grace of R'Hllor and the Sacred Fires, By the Seven and the Septons of the Far North Styr, Son of Styr, Second of His Name, Magnar of Thenn, King of Bronze and Ice,
Emperor of the Godswood, Emperor of all Valyria, Lord of the Kingdoms,
Lord of Meat and Bone, Feaster of the Fallen,
King of The Stepstones and Slaver's Bay,
Night's King of the Night's Watch, Lord of all that is Metal,
Heir to Bran the Builder, Great King of Winter and Summer,
True Husband to Daenarys Targaryen, Last Monarch of Westeros
Men of the South, I am Styr the Golden, Lord of the Skull Throne, and I proclaim Myself now, none shall escape my Gaze, None shall escape my Teeth, I shall claim All that Exists. Do Not Fear, For I am a Graceful and Merciful Man, all that bow before the Skull Throne shall be spared and all those that Deny my Kingship shall be consumed as Fuel for My Golden Aura.
As my First Act, I declare Edmure of the Tully as Commander of Ten Thousand Legions and King of the Fishes and Men of the Trident
As my Second Act, I declare Baelor of the Brightsmile as Watcher in the Dark and King of the Mermaids and the Men of the Southlands
As my Third Act, I declare Manfrey of the Martell as Lord-Admiral of the Whales and King of the Men and Scorpions of the Far Southlands
As my Fourth Act, I declare Bran the Broken as a False Abomination of Winter, He is Neither King, nor Man, He is a Worm that has taken possession of the Position of Three-Eyed Crow, Thus I declare Bran The Broken as Attainted and his Lands as Open Season, May his Line be Extinguished and his Head be Split Open.
As my Fith Act, I declare Cannibalism as a Sacred Right of all Men, Those who are Unworthy of their Station and Manhood shall be consumed as nothing more than Meat and Bone.
Styr The Golden with his Golden Aura unleashed
(Dramatised Painting done by his Greatest Supporters)
"Fools!" Thought Walder Walderan, King of the Trident, as he monologued to himself. "Fools, the lot of them!"
A hoard of would-be royal wannabes that were all playing petty games, and not a one of them that recognized who he truly was.
King of the Trident. He was the F'ing King of the Trident!
"Do not a one of them even know what Trident even is? It's like wielding three spears at once! And I am it's king!"
"Well, I'll have the last laugh and expose those fools for the fools they really are. And then I will rise from the ashes, recognized as the true King of the Trident as I am worthy, and so shall come to pass the Age of the Trident as the Kingdom of the Trident dawns upon these lands!"
Walder Walderan, the KING of the TRIDENT, laughed to himself as he plotted and schemed.
"Yes, I'll leave these fools to have at one another, and while they do, I shall go off and gather forces to force allegiance by all who remain and slay those who resist. And I do it with a Trident, too, just to make sure they get the points! Muah ha ha ha ha!"
"Yes, I'll show them all. And I'll show them in such a way that it will be remembered for all times! A LEGEND SHALL BE BORNE!"
And so Walder Walderan, the KING OF THE TRIDENT(!), snuck off to set his devious plans in motion.
In the dimly lit chambers of the High Tower, as the hour of the wolf reigned in the black sky outside, Lord Leyton Hightower presided over a clandestine conclave, his inner circle gathered around him like specters in the night. From the clouds, all of the city could be seen, although it was engulfed in darkness… as was, as it happened, much of the realm. They were a curious conspiracy, as far as the Voice of Oldtown was concerned. News from King's Landing had been swift to arrive, although, of course, their arrival had not surprised him at all. The glass candles had shown Malora much of what had occurred, and his daughter had shared her visions with him, though not with the others. One had to be careful about how much to share when the glass candles burned. She was with them now, her eyes flickering with an intensity that mirrored the flames burning atop the obsidian candles, surrounded by maesters, septons and other senior officials of the High Tower.
"The false election of Bran the Broken has brought a shadow upon the realm," the High Septon declared, his voice resonating with authority through the secret assembly. "He is a heathen, a follower of the Old Gods, and worse yet, a sorcerer. Such darkness has no place in the world we seek to build."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the assembly, the septons of the Faith nodding solemnly, while the Archmaesters of the Citadel exchanged troubled glances.
"The Iron Throne cannot be entrusted to one who dabbles in forbidden arts," declared Grand Maester Gormon, his voice trembling with conviction. A Tyrell of Highgarden, Lord Mace's uncle, he had not taken kindly to the cripple who had granted his ancestral home to an illiterate baseborn sellsword. "We must act swiftly to protect the realm from the clutches of this sorcerer king."
Archmaester Vaellyn's eyes gleamed with a fervent light as he stepped forward, his voice ringing clear and resolute. "We must not falter in our duty to Westeros. The time has come to rid the realm of this abomination, this broken king, and restore order to the Seven Kingdoms."
But even as he spoke, Lord Leyton spied as Malora's gaze wandered to the glass candles that stood in the center of the chamber, their mystical flames flickering with ancient knowledge, their only source of light and beacon of hope in the entire room. She had spent countless hours gazing into their depths, trying to glimpse the future, to divine the path that lay ahead. Yet the visions remained elusive, like shadows slipping through her grasp.
Her thoughts turned to Drogon, the last of Daenerys Targaryen's dragons, a creature of immense power and mystery. The Hightowers had sought to track his movements, to harness his strength in the struggle against the darkness that threatened to engulf the realm. But try as they might, their efforts had been in vain, for Drogon remained as elusive as the winds that swept across the Narrow Sea.
"We must find Drogon," Malora whispered, her voice barely audible above the crackling of the flames. "He is the key to our salvation, the weapon that will tip the scales in our favor."
"If he cannot be tamed, then he must be destroyed," Archmaester Perestan stated wisely. "We have done so before, we can do so again. History shows us that dragons are a force of nature that men should never have trifled with. They are too strong to be entrusted to those of an unreasonable mind. Like magic, they are a double-edged sword."
Lord Leyton nodded in agreement, his gaze sweeping over the gathered assembly. When he raised his hand, announcing his intention to speak, all fell silent. "We shall forge alliances, rally the faithful, and strike when the moment is ripe. The fate of Westeros hangs in the balance, and it is our solemn duty to ensure that light triumphs over darkness. We will light the way."
As the flames cast long shadows upon the chamber walls, a sense of determination settled over the assembly. In the heart of the High Tower, a conspiracy was born, its roots reaching deep into the very fabric of the realm.
"But to whom shall you declare, my lord?" asked Archmaester Ebrose. "The Targaryens died with Daenerys Stormborn. The Baratheons survive only in a bastard who is more a blacksmith than a knight, let alone a king. Even the heirs of King Joffrey are gone. Who shall be our king, if not them? The royal lineage is broken."
Murmurs of agreement and concern broke out along the round table. Could the Seven Kingdoms survive without a king? The realm had to stay united. That was their only option. Only then could peace, justice, faith and knowledge prevail over the entire continent. Aegon's dream, Lord Manfred's prophecy… all needed to be upheld. But amidst the fervor and resolve, there lingered a whispered truth, an unsurmountable reality that threatened to unravel the carefully woven threads of their plans. For while Lord Leyton was the mastermind behind the conspiracy, it was his heir, Baelor Hightower, who held the key to their success.
Baelor Brightsmile was everything his father was not: gallant, honorable, the very model of knighthood. He was beloved by the people of Oldtown, revered for his bravery and his unwavering sense of duty, and he was of impeccable lineage, even counting with the blood of the dragon in his veins, even if thinly and dispersed. And it was Baelor who Lord Leyton had chosen to lead their cause, to rally the forces of Westeros against the sorcerer king who sat upon the Iron Throne, to ensure that Aegon's dream did not succumb to the nightmare they had been living in since the seasons past.
"Baelor shall be our king," Lord Leyton declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "He alone possesses the strength and the honor to lead us in the days to come."
"My lord, but you-"
"I am but an old relic of eons past. No one would follow me, and why should they? I am the grey warlock, the Old Man of Oldtown, the Man in the High Tower. I no longer belong to this world, septon. I have never belonged to it. Baelor shall be our king. People will follow him. And I will watch them as they do, and watch those who don't."
His gaze met Malora's, whose eyes flickered uncannily under the light of the glass candles.
He knew that their path would not be easy, that they would face trials and tribulations beyond imagining. But with Baelor at their helm, they could forge a new destiny for the realm they loved.
"The Seven stand with us, as they will stand with Baelor Hightower," the High Septon announced without hesitation. "He will be crowned and anointed in the Starry Sept, as Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator before him. All the symbols of legitimacy, those who are left to us in this time and age, shall be his."
Lord Leyton nodded with satisfaction.
"Grand Maester Gormon, the time has come," he said, giving him and each of the archmaesters a stern, but reverent, look. "Your Order has been preparing for this very moment since King Urrigon Hightower bestowed his gift upon his brother Peremore. Do what must be done."
Yet unbeknownst to them, the glass candles held secrets untold, their flames flickering with whispers of a future fraught with peril and uncertainty. And as Malora continued to gaze into their depths, she wondered if their visions had been flawed from the very beginning, if the Hightowers had been preparing not for the Long Night, but for a darkness far more insidious and profound. She and her father had spent over a decade preparing for the Great Winter that would take Westeros by storm, for the song of ice and fire that had been prophesied by the Conqueror and countless others before and after him. She had looked into the glass candles and seen only death, the blue eyes as they claimed the world of the living and the great kraken that had been awakened from beneath the waves and come crashing down on Oldtown, toppling the High Tower as if it was a child's toy.
Yet none of her visions had come to pass, none of their theories had become a reality, and all of their expectations had been subverted. The winter had gone away as swiftly as it had come, and the waters of the Whispering Sound remained as calm and tranquil as ever. Could it be that they were wrong yet again? Could it be that the candles were showing them events of a foreign world, or of a time that could have come to pass, had it not been for a faceless young girl with a sharp knife and quick feet who had seemingly single-handedly done in a single evening what she and her father had spent most of their lives preparing for?
She knew not. All she knew is that the glass candles contained the answers for their turmoils, both past, present and future. And as she gazed into the depths of the glass candles, she whispered a silent prayer, a fervent plea for guidance in the dark days that lay ahead. For in the shadows of the High Tower, the fate of Westeros hung in the balance, and only time would tell if their cause would be crowned in victory or consumed by the darkness that threatened to engulf them all.
The Lord of the Riverlands has been taken with an interest in his realm's past. How else could one explain his expedition to Oldstones, where he had servants dig the muddy grounds as he "contemplated" the history of the Mudds. The end result of this is that Edmure has taken to wear an ancient helmet that was found and restored. No dare however to point out to king/lord Edmure that the bronze helmet would likely not resist a sword strike. For some reason Edmure seems especially happy all the time lately. This happiness was only increased when a healthy set of twins were born to him. His mood however would take a turn for the worse soon after however. He had sent out troops before his departure to Oldstones and now they had returned. While the keep of Darry had struck its banners and thrown open their gates to his emissaries, the gigantic sore that was Harrenhall once more has proven difficult. Left unoccupied and forgotten for years the gigantic empty halls attracted rats of all kinds. In the caverns and caves of the mountain of molten stone something new formed. A collection of foreign forgotten mercenaries, forgotten starving and raped peasants, people inspired by the faith and actions of the Brotherhood without Banners and Green Men has gathered under the banner of the goat, a heathen demon they worship. They live in sin together, knowing no lord and servant, no husband and wife. They share all they own and have organised across the different crooks, halls and corridors of Harrenhall into small local associations that help one another mutually. They do not even vote for anyone to speak for them as the men of Essos do, but due to all that they need being easily attainable locally they just all as a village or building complex vote on issues at hand once a week. Truly the peasants have gone mad.
To House Yronwood @JBO
From: Prince Manfrey Martell
Secret, Lord Yronwood's eyes only.
My Lord. I will be honest here, you are one of the mightest lords of Dorne, and someone I need on my side. Lets be open-minded about this, the council that elected Bran was a farce. Even if I could of voted for Edmure, the Stark's dogs would still have put the cripple on the throne. But the cripple just gave us an opportunity. He let the North leave the Seven Kingdoms, allowing Sansa's citing of different culture and too much northmen blood loss for it. Dorne was independent even when the dragons came to Westeroes, we only bowed after long negotations. And the dragons are dead. I see no reason for the us to bow to a crippled wolf or a kinslaying lion. I believe Dorne should go independent once more. And that independence needs to be shown. Perhaps you and Lord Wyl might be to raiding the Marsh lords, who already are angry at their bastard lord for not taking the throne? You would of course have my full support for these raids.
To House Dayne @JBO
From: Prince Manfrey Martell
Greetings to the House of the Sword of the Mourning. I send an offer, and an apology. An apology to the young lord who lost his mentor to R'hallor's madness and to war, and to a lady who lost her finance. And this apology and to honor House Dayne, I offer a marriage pact between myself and House Dayne. I am without a bride and I do not wish to see House Martell fall like the dragons, nor see with my death Dorne collapse into civil war. I hope you will accept. And I promise upon my sword that I shall treat her ladyship most kindly and with the duty and honor.
To House Yronwood @JBO
From: Prince Manfrey Martell
Secret, Lord Yronwood's eyes only.
My Lord. I will be honest here, you are one of the mightest lords of Dorne, and someone I need on my side. Lets be open-minded about this, the council that elected Bran was a farce. Even if I could of voted for Edmure, the Stark's dogs would still have put the cripple on the throne. But the cripple just gave us an opportunity. He let the North leave the Seven Kingdoms, allowing Sansa's citing of different culture and too much northmen blood loss for it. Dorne was independent even when the dragons came to Westeroes, we only bowed after long negotations. And the dragons are dead. I see no reason for the us to bow to a crippled wolf or a kinslaying lion. I believe Dorne should go independent once more. And that independence needs to be shown. Perhaps you and Lord Wyl might be to raiding the Marsh lords, who already are angry at their bastard lord for not taking the throne? You would of course have my full support for these raids.
To House Dayne @JBO
From: Prince Manfrey Martell
Greetings to the House of the Sword of the Mourning. I send an offer, and an apology. An apology to the young lord who lost his mentor to R'hallor's madness and to war, and to a lady who lost her finance. And this apology and to honor House Dayne, I offer a marriage pact between myself and House Dayne. I am without a bride and I do not wish to see House Martell fall like the dragons, nor see with my death Dorne collapse into civil war. I hope you will accept. And I promise upon my sword that I shall treat her ladyship most kindly and with the duty and honor.
From Ynis, heir to Yronwood
While the Wyls no doubt have started raiding before you even asked as it is their nature, I am hesitant to trust easily words uttered in secrecy. You speak of an independent Dorne, yet forget who once ruled as its High King. What place would my father, would I one day have in such a realm? I am wed myself, but I am sure we can find a woman worthy of you related to our family.
From House Dayne
Indeed the loss of her fiance has thrown our dear aunt into great emotional turmoil and ruined what finances she had held in her own name even with her dowry intact. I would be most thrilled to give her away in marriage to you if you would allow for her to enter your bed without giving the usual payments.
LORD BRONN OF HIGHGARDEN, LORD MARSHALL OF THE REACH
THE OATH OF INVESTITURE AS LORD OF HIGHGARDEN
By the Father, the Warrior, and the Seven Who Are One, and by Garth Greenhand the Undying Lord, I swear to maintain the Lordship of Highgarden, to guard its stores against any who seek to sack it, and to distribute it with generous hand to all who are in need of it within the demense of Highgarden I pledge to maintain its just laws as they were before me, and to maintain all privileges of its landed kinghts. I hold this office by selection of the Council of King's Landing and the Acclamation of Reachmen, and when I die, the lordship of Highgarden will follow to my heirs. THE OATH OF INVESTITURE AS LORD MARSHALL By the Father, the Warrior, and the Seven Who Are One, and by Garth Greenhand the Undying Lord, I swear to maintain the Reach of Garth Greenhand against all its raiders and conquerors, as long as I live, as Lord Marshall of the Reach. I pledge to maintain its just laws as they were before me, and to maintain all privileges of its lords Loyal to the Crown and the United Kingdom and the King's Peace, which for much of three hundred years allowed for its great prosperity. I hold this office by selection of the Council of King's Landing and the Acclamation of Reachmen, and my heir as Lord Marshall shall be selected by the Acclamation of Reachmen when I die, or when 15 years have passed.
The above Letters are to be distributed to all lords, ladies, and major landed knights of the reach
To the people of the demense of Highgarden: Oldtown seeks to usurp rule over Highgarden and the kingdom, bringing the men of Oldtown rule and dominion over you and your land. To maintain the Highgarden as Prince of Lands and Lordships in the Reach, I call on the peope of the lordship to raise banners and to gather a host at Highgarden to defend themselves and their land and their crown against any attackers.
To Lady Arwyn Oakheart: I have been declared lord of highgarden by the acclamation of the realm in King's Landing, but I find it unconcsionable that Highgarden will long stay under a house without descent from Garth Greenhand. Your house is the greatest in descent and majesty in the Reach, and you the fairest lady in it. I wish for a betrothal and marriage with you, who should succeed me in Highgarden, Jure Uxoris, should I fall heirless. As well, with House Rowan in rebellion, I would like to appoint you as their heir as Lady of the Northmarch, and grant you authority to gather and reward knights and lords from accross the north with lands in the northmarch as you see fit as chief commander in the northmarch. To the Fossoways: Of all the houses in the reach, House Fossoway alone remains great, loyal and intact-despite the depredations which have affected it due to its loyalty to the previous King, Stannis I Baratheon (known to be Azor Ahai). I shall appoint its lord as my second, and when I return to serve in King's Landing as Master of Coin, a Fossoway shall be my deputy in the Reach.
To Lady Talla Tarly, Lady Melessa Florent, and all lords and men of the Westmarch and of the Great Meadow of Brightwater
Lord Alekyne Forent being a heretic, Lady Melessa Florent is the rightful lady of Brightwater, with Lady Talla Tarly and her heir. . She and Lady Talla Tarly both being unmarried, they are advised to raise their banners, and join with allies to claim and secure themeslves and their posterity their lands.
To Houses Costayne, Beesbury and Bulwer,
You are lords of houses great and legendary. The Beesburies, Bulwers and Costaynes trace their dynasty to the first of days, and the sacred king Garth Greenhand. Your fame exceeds that of any house of the Stormlands or Westerlands save the very greatest of Marcher Lords or Crakehall, and in wealth and strength of arms eclipses all of them. No other house of your caliber would fail to have immediacy, and certainly none would be so ignored as you are- for your overlords have not married with you for over a generation, and only one of you has been granted a position on the council of your lords usurping son. I offer you the chance to change that, and to claim your rights as lords and scions of Garth Greenhand, equals to any other lord. To Lord Paxter Redwyne:
The arbor and the peace of the reach depends on the realm's unity-and whatever Hightower thinks, he has no chance of rebuilding the entire realm by force. If the great council is overturned by force of arms, the age of the united realm and of peace and trade will end forever, and the Arbor will likely be conquered by ironborn, dornish, or eastern invaders in the tumult. I will allow a council of reachmen to decide on my heir as Lord Marshall of the reach- with a good number of victories against the ironborn, the Tarlies and Florents near-extinguished, the Hightowers defeated and the Rowans brought to heel, the Redwynes are nearly certain to be my next heirs. Besides, You know your wine is better than that garbage from the arbor. To Lord Peake:
The Ambroses occupy your ancestral lands. Join with me, and destroy them.
No doubt word will have reached you of my coronation in Oldtown as King of the Seven Kingdoms, by the grace of the Seven, having been anointed with the seven holy oils at the hands of His High Holiness the High Septon himself, as Aegon the Conqueror before me. I write to extend you a hand in friendship and offer you an alliance, for the restoration of the Seven Kingdoms and the reestablishment of peace, justice and lawful order in the land.
We are aware, of course, that Your Highness attended the Council of the Dragonpit, and gave your oath to Brandon Stark as the council elected him King, seduced by the words and spells of the vile Imp, the twice kinslayer and kingslayer. His spell is now broken, however. The High Septon has denounced Bran the Broken as a sorcerer and abomination, who tricked his way onto the throne by bewitching the select few lords of the realm who attended his mummery of a council. Let us rejoice, then, that the High Septon has seen fit to relieve those lords of their oaths to Brandon Stark, the spell now broken, with the same voice that he wielded to crown me King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Westeros stands at the brink. The dragons are dead, as are the stags, and the gods have chosen me as their champion to restore the King's peace and the King's justice in the land. The realm still weeps and reels from the day when Dorne and the Iron Throne were at odds. Untold death and destruction looms in our recent history. I have no intention of repeating the Dragon's mistakes. The Seven Kingdoms have been torn apart by war; it shall take a war to set things right, but wanton bloodshed is far from my mind.
I thus come to you with an offer of alliance between Oldtown and Sunspear, to be sealed in matrimony between our houses, on the condition that once the wars are over and the King's justice is restored to the realm, negotiations shall take place for House Martell to give their fealty, as Princes of Dorne, to me, the rightful and anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms. The unity of the realm is of paramount importance for the preservation of peace in the Red Mountains and the promotion of trade between our lands. I am prepared to uphold every right and privilege my predecessor, King Daeron the Good, confirmed to Dorne, and to grant new ones as needed and requested, for I know that the health of the Seven Kingdoms has friendship and kinship with Dorne as its solid foundation.
Let us join together, as brothers, to keep Westeros from falling apart.
We Light the Way,
Baelor of House Hightower, the Second of his Name,
King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men,
Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm
We write to you at the behest of our stepmother, the Lady Rhea, your sister, who has grown gravely concerned with your latest actions. We have regretfully been informed that you have scurried away from our court, after we so generously granted you safe harbor and refuge at the wake of the late Lord Tyrell's punitive campaign against you and yours, missing our coronation and failing to pay your fealty as Lord of Brightwater Keep. Furthermore, it has been reported that not only have you called the depleted banners of Brightwater to arms to seize Highgarden by force, but also that you have proclaimed yourself the King of the Reach, following alien gods.
To have done so is treason.
Were you not our uncle by marriage, we would not offer you this mercy, but out of the love we bear for our stepmother, we offer to welcome you back to the King's peace unimpeded. We command you to lay down your arms and publicly renounce your crown. We order you to let go of Lord Stannis' Eastern heathenry and reembrace the gods of your forefathers. We summon you to Oldtown immediately to bend the knee and swear fealty to us as the rightful and anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms. We invite you to use this opportunity to present your petition to our Royal Grace, so that your claim to Highgarden may be duly considered.
Should you refuse our generosity, we shall declare you a traitor of the realm and an enemy of the Crown, attain you, strip you of all titles, lands, holdings and incomes, and denounce you as a false knight.
We Light the Way,
Baelor II Hightower
King of the Seven Kingdoms &c.
We write to Horn Hill to offer our reassurances and guarantees concerning the station of House Tarly and to request your fealty, as the rightful Lady of Horn Hill, to us, as the divinely-crowned and anointed King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Much has been said of the controversial actions of your late father, the Lord Randyll Tarly, when he joined forces with Cersei Lannister after the wicked queen had murdered our goodbrother, Lord Mace Tyrell, his liege lord, and our nephews and nieces in cold blood. Lord Randyll not only failed to avenge his murdered liege lord, but also marched on Highgarden itself, sacking the castle and putting the Dowager to the sword. For his crimes, he was executed by Daenerys Targaryen. His son, Ser Dickon, should not have been made to share his fate. For this, on behalf of the Crown, I offer you our sincerest apologies.
Lord Randyll was censured for his actions in life. No further censure shall be placed upon House Tarly. We welcome you back into the King's peace, and confirm you as the legitimate Lady of Horn Hill. Additionally, in exchange for your fealty, we offer the following reassurances:
First, that when Heartsbane is recovered, the sword shall be returned to the rightful ownership of House Tarly. Last we heard, it had been in possession of Ser Jorah Mormont, who fell in battle in Winterfell wielding the blade. It had been given to him by your brother, Samwell Tarly, who had in turn stolen it from your family holdfast.
Second, further concerning Samwell Tarly, the Mother's mercy knows no bounds, and so must the King's. Samwell Tarly is a known oathbreaker and deserter of the Night's Watch. That alone would have rendered capital punishment upon him. He is also a common thief, having stolen not only Heartsbane from your lord father, but also rare and precious books from the Citadel when he abandoned the position of Novice, which the Order of Maesters had so generously granted him. That would also merit a sentence of death. That he would furthermore impersonate the figure of a Maester and usurp the authority of the Citadel by declaring himself Grand Maester is the gravest of crimes. If you bend the knee, we shall find it in ourselves to be clement, and commute his triple death sentence to taking the black, and returning to the Wall, a post he should never have deserted from.
Third, that should your ladyship desire further assurances, we would be open to negotiating a marriage between yourself and our brother, Ser Gunthor Hightower, or one of our bannermen of your choosing, should you so wish. House Tarly would live on through such a union, guarding the Marches and doing your ancestors proud, washing away the dishonor brought upon the house by the recent conduct of Lord Randyll and his eldest son Samwell.
May the Crone grant you wisdom and the Maiden grant you grace.
We Light the Way,
Baelor II Hightower
King of the Seven Kingdoms &c.
"Well, in the end I should've known better than to trust your namesake. A man who robbed a King's corpse would exaggerate his haul. Still, once the helm is properly identified it will serve us well. Or perhaps it is a sign..."
Edmure had grown used to Kermit's digressions, which only increased now that he had the helm and waited for him to continue.
"...Regardless, the heretics at Harrenhal have given us an opportunity."
"To call the banners?"
"And to have them in a position to strike south. Duskendale must be forced to submit before we move on King's Landing. And before that the Lords need to see you are strong."
"A siege of Harrenhal will be very difficult. But I think I know how to break it."
"I pray it doesn't involve..."
Edmure hardened his lips, "Drop it. You know that wasn't by choice."
"Very well," Kermit sighed, "Continue."
"The heretics lack discipline and there are still godly men in these lands. Once they are in their ranks, they will ensure we have an opening."
Kermit's specter nodded with approval. "Well done. Give my best to Roslin, Oscar, and Tristifer."
To Edmure of the Tully, Commander of Ten Thousand Legions and King of Fishes and Men of the Trident @Ceslas
King Edmure, I congratulate you on the Strength of your Seed, may your Line be further blessed by Children.
As you are no Doubt aware King of the Tully, I am Styr the Golden, you no doubt received my previous Letter. Alas I write to you on more complex Grounds, I wish for you to be my Eyes and Ears in the Southlands, Baelor of the Brightsmile is a Staunch Vassal in his quest to Unite the Southlands, but alas, I can't go that far South on my own, I must first fight the Sun-Wolves and the Rest of my lesser Kin.
I am in my many ways sadly unable to send Support to the Fisher-King. You must take the Fight to Bran the Broken yourself, if the Field of Battle proves fortunate you may receive support from some of my Troops, alas I cannot guarantee anything.
Thus I wish you a fortunate Future and may your Collection of Meat and Bone grow. May your Blades stay sharp and may they take the Great Monstrosity of the Ironborn swiftly. I would further request a Stable Line of Communication between the Two of Us, you need not worry, I have no wish to kill your Niece. Thus there should be no conflict of Interest betweem us.
Your Golden and Divine Liege,
Styr the Golden,
By the Grace of the Gods, Old and New, First and Last,
By Grace of R'Hllor and the Sacred Fires, By the Seven and the Septons of the Far North
Styr, Son of Styr, Second of His Name, Magnar of Thenn, King of Bronze and Ice,
Emperor of the Godswood, Emperor of all Valyria, Lord of the Kingdoms,
Lord of Meat and Bone, Feaster of the Fallen,
King of The Stepstones and Slaver's Bay,
Night's King of the Night's Watch, Lord of all that is Metal,
Heir to Bran the Builder, Great King of Winter and Summer,
True Husband to Daenarys Targaryen, Last Monarch of Westeros
Kermit sat secluded in the void, where he remained until he was linked to his descendant, and looked over Edmure's shoulder at the letter he was reading. Finishing, he turned back towards his father and mouthed a single sentence. This sentence and the knowledge of what caused traveled up the chain, up the line of the Tullys back to their aquatic beginning. They had seen everything that had happened, felt everything that could've happened but still...
The situation in the North is a mess. Skagos has declared themselves independent once more, the Wildlings have taken control of the wall and all its castles and Harrion is marching south on Winterfell. Queen Sansa has rejected offers by her cousin to wed and make peace to repel the barbarians and instead send word to Riverrun, not to ask, but to demand her uncle march north to her aid. The smallfolk do not hold any love for either of their monarchs, but they hate the wildlings, who rape and plunder their lands even more. Yet, there is a small trickle of smallfolk who chose to test their luck by joining the invaders. It remains to be seen if that will make a difference.
The Reach
But for his appeal to House Tarly (who stayed neutral and focused on the Dornish) and the direct Hightower vassals the appeals of Lord Bronn have been successful as the Reachmen are a jealous, cowardly lot. Few doubt that many of the mercenary's supporters are already sharpening their knives to stab him in the back. This has saved lord Bronn's rule as soon after the Florent's army arrived at Highgarden and putting it to siege. Yet, after merely a week the Oakhearts arrived to dash the Florent army. Lord Florent himself was killed, while all of his forces mysteriously disappeared never to be mentioned again.
The Westerlands
King Daven has successfully unified the Westerlands under his rule. This is not because nobody focused on it, but simply because he won when nobody was watching. Trust me.
Dorne & The Stormlands
After wedding a cousin of House Yronwood called Ysabel and providing House Dayne with a truly generous dowry for their lady out of his own coffers, Prince Manfrey Martell has proclaimed Dorne to be independent once more. Houses Wyl and Yronwood, Dayne and Fowler have all resumed their traditional raiding of the Marshes. This has caused issues in the other kingdoms. Lord Gendry Baratheon had raised his banners in support of king Brandon, which had already displeased his subjects, but this was a step too far as even with the attacks in the south he was determined to march on King's Landing. The Swanns and other marcher lords rose in rebellion declaring for king Baelor II while not making any signs to do anything but defending their own lands against the Dornish menace. Gendry did not focus on them though, marching on King's Landing instead to shore up king Brandon's regime. Yet, he was too slow. The people of the tortured city rose once more in rebellion and took justice into their own hands. King Brandon was found dead from his strange magic juices, Ser Brienne died defending the Red Keep and the imp himself was torn apart by the hatred of the masses. Upon his arrival Gendry expected the city to meet him with the same hatred. Instead, the people threw open their gates to him and hailed the son of the city as king and true heir of Robert "The Peace King". Still, there is little hope that this bastard regime will last any time as after all, the realm is dead, it just has not learned it.
I have learned full well of your recent drive north. While I acknowledge its idealism it is clear to me as to everyone else that the concept of Seven Kingdoms is a dead institution. The Trident is thus securing its own future. Once Harrenhal is free of rebels we are marching south to reclaim the lands lent to the Iron Throne for our protection, a protection it can no longer provide. These include all lands north of the Blackwater, including your capital. I do not seek war with you. if you will withdraw south of the Blackwater, I will recognize you as King of the Stormlands, as your forefathers were, allowing you to save yourself from your rebellious vassals in the south by presenting them with the Stormlands' acient holdings to the north. However, should you remain north of the Blackwater, the need to protect my people may compel me to try to drive your back across it.
Edmure Tully,
Protector of the Trident,
Lord of Riverrun, Darry, and Harrenhal
You chose to insult me after I suffered in prison, forced to see the deaths of many of my lords, who I considered my friends. Even ignoring the Frey rebellion and our own war to reestablish the Trident, which makes any effort to reinforce the North impossible, neither coin, nor blade, nor man will head north. You asked to be free of southern entanglements. So you are. Make peace with your foes yourself.
Edmure Tully,
Protector of the Trident,
Lord of Riverrun, Darry, and Harrenhal
Congratulations on your ascension. Seeing as I do that the Seven Kingdoms no longer exist I ask that we both recognize each other as independent powers, no longer bound to the will of a monarch who does not care for us.
Edmure Tully,
Protector of the Trident,
Lord of Riverrun, Darry, and Harrenhal
Edmure growled, "He was my nephew! And whatever you may think of the Starks or what he became, do not forget that."
Kermit was almost startled at the reaction and eventually nodded, "Of course. They can't all be like Cregan."
Edmure continued "I'm not fighting this war just so you can avenge a century-old grudge. I am here to make sure my people survive what comes next. Now I need your advice on Gendry."
Kermit pursed his lips, "I had hoped to avoid a fight with him. Battering down a corpse is one thing. Besieging a city with a full host within is another. And even if Gendry can't get any of the Crownlands to support him, which he will, we'll have to face a force just as large if not larger than our own."
Edmure thought for a moment, "So we'll need to draw him out."
"Exactly," Kermit nodded with approval. "You already have some skill there, which is more I had. Now, you tell me he;s a bastard? Never commanded a battle before? No real training?"
"I can't say what his in-laws taught him but it seems likely."
Kermit gestured to a map which Edmure began to unroll. "Does this lad seem hot-headed, like a Baratheon usually is?"
"No, actually. And I don't want to burn the lands I plan to rule."
Kermit nodded, "Hopefully, you won't have to. I see three ways of getting him out. Hurt the people until he feels like he has to respond, cut off food to King's Landing until he has to risk the anger of the mob by remaining, or taunting him enough until he feels he has to engage you."
"Again, he's not that hot-headed."
"Yes, but an untrained boy looks to the tales for strategy and they always glorify the aggressor. Who knows? He might march out before we finish here at Harrenhal, where we'll have the opportunity to select our battlefield. Otherwise, do you know of any sore spots for him?"
"...I think he might've slept with my niece. And she rejected him."
"After sleeping with him? Those Northerners..."
"Focus."
"Yes, romantic failings are always useful. Also, he's bound to have a lot of issues regarding his father. Was he a typical Baratheon?"
Edmure smiled a little, "Like a Borros who loved wine, women, and could actually read and fight."
Kermit grinned "Now, that will do. Once, Harrenhal is ours make sure not a day goes by without a new message. He'll come running. Then, remember the Kingsroad: force him to a battlefield, get him to overextend past your hidden units, and crush him. Then on to King's Landing."
"Assuming he cooperates," Edmure pointed out.
"If he wasn't, he wouldn't have done all this. He thinks the Seven Kingdoms can be saved. That will be his undoing."
The North remembers? The Proto Nationalism of the Crisis of the Early Fourth Century
To contemporary eyes, Westeros is a united continent as it was for millenia. Periods such as the Renayseyance and the ever accelerating techno-magical advancements since then, the colonial age set off by the brutal conquests of Arya Stark and others or the sheer continued seeming advancements of members of the Westerosi Community (WC) over rising powers such as the Collaborationists Council of Yi Ti (CCYT) make ideas of Westerosi exceptionalism or worse Valyrianist genocidal supremacy all too appealing. This however would be a gross simplification of our shared histories. Especially at times that the Hot War is cooling down ever more between Oldtown and the Heart of Winter, we are once more reminded about the fact that both Superpowers have Possibility Weapons. It is therefore I think once more important to remind ourselves of our history after the Second Cold War. To see how disunited we were and are, but also how this disunity did not prevent our union with rights for all sapient beings in a democratic, maestrocratic government.
As the Second Cold War and connected conflicts are some of the most well known narratives of history ("Now is the Winter of all our discontent" as Stackspear put it in Stannis I) I will abridge the more crucial moments of the Wars' origin in the War of Five Kings and the great clash with the Crystallex at Winterfell. Instead I will focus on the small window frame after the Hightower ascension in Oldtown and Gendry "The Hammer"'s ascension to the Iron Throne. Having been crowned more by the mob against his will Gendry had no love for either the crown or renewed war. Neither did most of his bannermen as they too were prisoners of the people and their own armies desperate for some semblance of stability. It is therefore understandable that the warlord chose to leave the city in order to free himself and his followers from the control of the city mobs. Indeed many later commentators have opined that the entire march to the Trident was nothing more than a move to put distance between himself and the city. This so called "Redstag Theory" purports that indeed the Bastard wished to submit himself under Edmure and king Baelor. What truth lies in this theory none can say. What is known is that Gendry Baratheon and Edmure Tully met on the southern shores of the Bay of Crabs near Maidenpool (1). While the contemporary bards named it the "Second Battle of the Trident" to mirror the fight of Gendry's father, modern excavations have very much confirmed the battle's location.
In this we see how far Dracocracy had already gone towards creating a common Westerosi identity beyond the regional nationalities. Both Gendry and Edmure after all still went to war in the name of one king. The terrible bloodshedding on that terrible still defies logic and sanity. The Stormlander nobility, lead by the Swanns would initiate the fighting and soon found that the Green Trouts were able to repel them using bows and arrows. This early dominance in the battle would however not last, as at noon the Tully suffered a devastating attack. Modern magistorians still debate if the Possibility effect took effect during this maneuver as it seems so impossible. Unknown and Unseen by the Tullys through all their rapid march south, the Freys somehow crossed the Trident and attacked southwards with the noon sun in their eyes. Seemed lost as the youngest fries of Riverland nobility was cut down by Walder Waleran and his people. There is no textual attested record of his speech before battle, but in local legend a general canon was established: He declared, that his great-grandmother had been raped by Walder Frey, her daughter by Emmon Frey, their daughter by Stevron Frey, his father, making him a bastard of Lord Walder Frey's heir. But he did not make that claim. He claimed to be king of the Trident for all commonfolk like him. His kingdom would be one of equals, without lord or peasant, no rape and theft, where men and women, First Man and Andal, Seven and Asshai sorcery were all equal. While this is not attested, this event's telling likely inspired Lulsil's writing on the state. Still, the day would not be carried by the Frey common folk.
For as the day went on another surprise attack occurred as Baelor Hightower fell into Gendry's back. As the later Prince Bronn of Lys had by then already stolen away with most of the Tyrell riches, the king Baelor marched his army north. Most magistorians agree that a Expid Narato took place here as no natural army of that technological development could have covered that distance in so short a time. Nevertheless King Baelor found himself the winner that day, with both Lords Baratheon and Tully paying him homage. Once again, Dracocracy had bound the continent together. While the capital moved to Oldtown and the exact borders between the kingdoms shifted, with the Blackwater being established as a clear southern border of Edmure "The Grand"'s later kingdom (2), the overall unity of the kingdom was maintained. Indeed Lord Gendry, unlike Lord Edmure, remained a lifelong loyal vassal of the Seven Pointed Throne as did Lord Daven Lannister. It is important not to disregard this legal continuity and sophistication of maestrocracy at this proto stage to bind together a Westerosi identity against renewed cultural rise of First Men and Old Gods. So, as the Holy Andal Empire of First Men initiated by Empress Stark and her Styrenese spouse laid claim to being "beyond" cultural markers, while remaining firmly Second Men for the most part, the Seven Pointed Throne, while religiously clearly Andal in nature, in its legal codices maintained a pan Westerosi canon.
Indeed, I would argue that while the Empire and the High Kingdom of the Vale do represent the more notable shifts of the map of the continent and would dominate the next centuries, the secession of the Iron Islands and their subsequent colonisation of Àthaluä ("Atlanteros") and the Three Dayne Wars that Baelor would fight over his long reign were the more immediate events of his realm. The split of other realms from the Throne do indicate that the general trend was not simply a Primo-Andal split. It simply was a period of reduced power of a central authority, both politically, but also spiritually and culturally. Old Gods proliferated all across the continent with many houses going so far as to import Weirwoods at high cost (3). There simply was a general collapse of old orders. This is not to be confused with arguing in favour of such laughable ideas that the discovery of the magical method and a continent to plunder had prevented a collapse into chaos. As magical progress travelled slowly, it would take centuries for the wall to be heated.
I argue that these smaller realms were simply the mode of government best suited to the post apocalyptic order after the Second Cold War. Small realms were agile and able to immediately react to any crisis they found themselves in, while the Seven Pointed Throne remained a slow giant. Overwhelming and still until the battle of 478 the greatest power of the land, but too lumbering to overwhelm all their rivals. Who all prospered. Dorne, Vale, North, Riverlands, all experienced a stability they had not known for centuries as they could settle into themselves and tend to all the ruins the Cold War had left behind. This is what I believe to be the option best suited now too to the issues facing the Government in Oldtown. The Westerosi Community is nearing its first centennial. We are one people united in peace, democracy and scientific progress. I believe in the seven principles of thought and in sapient rights as any other writer. Indeed when the future Supreme Maester Leonard Lulda did his closed eyes experiments he was also writing of the equality of all humans in his We Are All The Same.
And therefore I believe that peaceful solutions are possible for any dispute. Across Millennia the people of Westeros have united and split apart many times. And I do believe that this principle of unity finds its origin here as in the Narratavis Saltio of the Second Cold War and the vast societal jumps and incongruities connected to this moment of magic chaos. As we had come once more together no matter our difference. I believe that these principles, while often still burdened with the strain of many -ism are universal. And it is important to remember that we are drawn to be united as we are all one people beyond any markers we might have, be our skin white, black, brown or pale.
(1) Note: I am not including in this digression the destruction of Harrenhal. Enough has been written about Harrenhole by now as the most magically studied object in history.
(2) An argument could be made, that his later coronation as King of the Trident could run counter to my argument, however recent analyses of his skeleton have made many identify his abuse of magical substances to have lead to either Magolomania or late onset ancestral possession. Given this medical diagnosis I therefore see it as complicated to identify Edmure as really responsible of many of his decisions in later life.
(3) Compare Sylchas Royne, Red Coins, Red Woods: The Early Modern Weirwood Trade And The First Economic Bubble,, Lannisport: Pycelle Books, 1009ff.
