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Greetings, in light of my reflections, I find myself compelled to extend a proposal for a union between our Noble Houses. After careful consideration, I believe that a marriage with Alys Frey, your eldest daughter, would be mutually beneficial. Having observed her on several occasions, I am confident that she possesses the qualities necessary for a harmonious and prosperous partnership.
With the blessings of the Seven, I earnestly await your considered response, eagerly anticipating the prospect of uniting our houses in both name and spirit.
Greetings, in light of my reflections, I find myself compelled to extend a proposal for a union between our Noble Houses. After careful consideration, I believe that a marriage with Alys Frey, your eldest daughter, would be mutually beneficial. Having observed her on several occasions, I am confident that she possesses the qualities necessary for a harmonious and prosperous partnership.
With the blessings of the Seven, I earnestly await your considered response, eagerly anticipating the prospect of uniting our houses in both name and spirit.
My good Lord Mallister, I would be honoured to marry my daughter to you in the light of the seven who are one. For courtesy's sake, I propose that you spend 3 months betrothed to one another before the marriage takes place. This would give you both the added benefit of getting to know one another better.
The unimportant intrigues of the unimportant lord
The recent past. 106 year mid 3 months.
Dawn was coming. The sun had just peeked out from behind the horizon, coloring the eastern part of the sky in pink tones. The warm southern wind brought delicious moist air into the lungs. Seagulls, the rats of the sea (however, old sailors like to joke that rats are land gulls) flew over the water and over the large tent camp.
Gormund Goodbrother, accompanied by a squad of bodyguards, limped through this elemental labyrinth, desperately trying to pretend that walking did not cause him pain. If this had not happened to him, he would have quietly laughed at the whole story. Not a single scratch in the biggest battle of this century! The Drowned God himself guarded it, turning aside pirate arrows, swords, and throwing spears. High-quality chain mail, personal skill and loyal people around, (and of course the ability to enter the battle on time) all this brought him out of the battle of Viserion unharmed. But as soon as we started setting up camp on the island, one tongue-tied bastard was found.
"Goodbrother and his henchmen stood by like a cowardly dog while real men fought in the fiery hell." Unfortunately for him, he had the talent of a skald; unfortunately for Gormund, this was not his only talent. An unhealed wound on his thigh has been keeping him in a terrible mood for the second week now.
Having reached his work tent (a small trick with two tents was enough so that no one could disturb him at night), his mood did not improve. In front of the entrance, guarded by the night shift of guards, stood a very necessary and at the same time annoying person. Sister's husband.
Having let the first guard go to sleep and the other to take up post, Gormund entered the massive dark blue tent.
Having somehow hobbled to a comfortable chair taken from one of the captured ships, Gormund allowed to call his captain.
The man who entered looked a little different from the rest of the ironborn. Torgar "Red" always stood out for the worse. A fat man with a big belly, a well-groomed beard, small eyes and an eternal stupid smile. The first impression caused a contemptuous grimace from all the inhabitants of the islands and not only. O Drowned Lord! How wrong they were. If this ball with legs had been the nonentity that everyone thinks of, he would not have become related to the Goodbrothers, would not have been loved by his team and his words would not have been listened to in many families in the west of the Iron Islands. A cunning actor, a cautious captain, a charismatic fat man, a fierce warrior. Exactly the one who was needed for one delicate task.
- I won't delay you for long. You, Torgar, will have to work in the interests of the family, - a hint of confidentiality, - in the interests of our family, - Torgar's eyebrows rose, expressing surprise, before he was not allowed into the inner circle.
- I hope I don't have to sail to Tyrosh again, brother, - the call, impudent in other circumstances, remained unanswered, Torgar was at a loss.
- You almost guessed right, - "Red" really frowned at these words, he really didn't like this Free City, - Tirosh's sister Myr is waiting for your attention, brother, just like my sister is waiting for Lord Sedar. You. - the bets are made, the hook with bait is thrown and the fish has no opportunity to refuse such a juicy dish.
- I'm listening attentively, Lord Gormund, - Torghar's facial expression and tone acquired the respect they lacked.
- Have you really remembered to be polite? Insolent. You are floating in Myr this very second. Dress up as best you can as a merchant. The purpose of your mission is to find out the situation in the Triarchy and create a network of people loyal to us...the Ironborn.... Additional information on the method of communication is in this letter. You will open it in the sea, after which you will burn it. The local wind carries words far.
- I will start immediately, my Lord. -Torgar was in such a hurry to get to his ship that he unconsciously began to move surprisingly fast for his size.
- Fair wind in the sails, - Goodbrother said quietly after returning to pressing matters. He had to organize a line for water. Soon routine consumed the place.
To King Viserys Targaryen of House Targaryen, King of Dragons, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Crownlands, Blessed by the Seven: @Sneakyflaps
I humbly address Your Majesty with the utmost respect and reverence. It is with sincere devotion to the Crown and the welfare of the realm that I venture to present my son, Heir Alan Caswell, for your esteemed consideration as a potential match for the Good Princess.
As a lord of modest standing, I recognize the privilege of even daring to propose such a union, and I do so with the purest intentions of serving the Crown faithfully. My sole ambition lies in safeguarding the Princess and upholding the honor of our realm, devoid of any personal aspirations for power or influence.
I assure Your Majesty that my allegiance is unwavering, and my loyalty to the Crown is steadfast. I offer not only my son's hand but also the entirety of my resources, connections, and lands to ensure the Princess's security and well-being. Furthermore, I am in the process of establishing a Hold where she may find solace and sanctuary, albeit humble compared to grand palace like the Red Keep or Dragonstone
I understand the weight of your decision and the importance of selecting a suitable match for the Crown Princess. Should Your Majesty deem it necessary to explore other options or reconsider this proposal in the future, I will accept your judgment with grace and understanding.
Thank you, Your Majesty, for your gracious consideration of this matter. May the realm prosper under your wise and benevolent rule.
Ever your Obedient Servant,
Lord Casper Caswell of Bitterbridge
To Her Royal Highness, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Dragonrider of Valyria, Lady of the Seven: @Velasco
Your Royal Highness,
With the deepest respect and admiration for your grace and wisdom, I write to inform you of a matter of great importance. It should come to your attention that an offer of betrothal has been extended to His Majesty, the King, on behalf of my son, Heir Alan Caswell, as a potential match for you, the most esteemed Crown Princess.
As a humble lord, I wish to assure Your Royal Highness of the sincerity and purity of my intentions. This proposal arises not out of presumption or ambition but from a genuine desire to serve and protect both you, our beloved Princess, and the realm you shall potentially one day rule.
I understand the weight of such a decision rests with His Majesty, and I wish to convey my unwavering loyalty to the Crown. But I feel that it should be more than acceptable to inform you of the offer. My commitment lies in ensuring your safety and well-being, shielding you from the political intrigues that often accompany your esteemed position.
In addition to my son's hand, I offer the full extent of my resources, connections, and lands, including the establishment of a new Hold where you may find refuge and tranquility. Though it may not rival the grandeur of palaces like the Red Keep or Dragonstone, it shall nonetheless stand as a bastion of security under my family's guardianship.
Your Royal Highness, I trust in His Majesty's wisdom and judgment regarding this matter. Should he deem it necessary to explore alternative options or decline this proposal, I shall accept his decision with grace and humility.
I humbly await any further instructions or guidance from Your Royal Highness or His Majesty and remain, with the utmost reverence,
Ever your Obedient Servant,
Lord Casper Caswell of Bitterbridge
It hadn't taken long to convince the others to go down south. To Dorne. And why would it be? Edwyn hadn't been the only one to see how uncle Walder had ridden out in search of gold and glory. He had won a lot more than that.
His uncle had been a known knight before but now he was famous. Every Lord and peasant knew who brave "One-Eyed" Walder was. More than that, he had been given lands by House Arryn, and from the letters written to him and the others; friendship with the Prince himself, Daemon Targaryen.
He knew he had to take his shot when news of the Dornish campaign. Edwyn was the son of the second son, and while he knew for a fact that he would have a place at the twins until his death —his friendship with Forrest ensured that, but he wanted more that to be just the master of arms. He wanted a taste of that glory and honour his uncle had been granted. Dorne was his chance at that.
When he had talked about the idea of going south with the others they had been hesitant. Benedict questioned if they'd be even allowed to stay in the camp. Edwyn had simply said that they would take all the swords they could. He wasn't completely sure that was the truth but it seemed to be enough to convince Eric and Bywin. With the other joining in Edwyn was able to convince Benedict to join, if only for loyalty's sake.
Benedict was good like that. Loyal, but not in a stupid way. Edwyn liked that, despite the fact that it made it more difficult to convince about stuff like that.
They agreed to leave at on the second day of the week, when they all were in the eastern castle for lessons in the yard. It was a lot easier to get the weapons they needed and to get out of doge that war, as they didn't need to cross the bridge then.
So that's why he found himself in the stables, ready to get onto his horse when he heard a little creak from the door. He didn't have time to move before he heard the voice bellow him.
"Why are you leaving?"
Edwyn nearly feel from the saddle before he saw who it was, or rather who it wasn't. Forrest. If it had been a guard then he wouldn't know what to say. But he could deal with Forrest. Looking town at the ten year old was a young boy, only ten. He was a bit small but that was natural at that age. He'd probably considered tall by some, but Edwyn could only see that youthful judgment in his eye's.
"Who's said I'm leaving Forrest? I'm just taking a ride, I'll be back before Uncle or father knows it." He knew lying to Forrest wasn't a good move, the little kid always knew when you weren't saying something to him. But the shadows of the castle would hopefully keep him satisfied today.
It didn't.
"I saw you take out the swords from the armoury. You know you aren't allowed to do that."
Edwyn nearly fell off his horse for a second time, before catching himself. He couldn't panic, there was still a way to save this.
"You know you aren't allowed to be in the armoury Forrest— what were you doing there anyways? Playing hide and seek?"
The way Forrest looked down at the ground made was enough to confirm that.
"That's cheating Forrest, and you know it. Besides, me and the others are only going to be training a bit." He jumped off the saddle and crouched next to his cousin.
"You should go to bed little man, you know your mother do like you being tired at breakfast." Forrest seemed to budge a little, looking uncertain. And Edwyn knew he had him. That was before Bywin had to come and ruin it."
"Hey, Edwyn, what's taking you so long?! We both know that Dorne— hey Forrest, a bit over your bedtime?"
"Could say the same to you too," Forrest said, a cheeky look on his face, and if looks could kill, then Edwyn would have been a murderer in that instant.
——————————————
"So to summarise: you and your friends tried to stole—"
"We were going to give them back after—"
"Stole—don't patronise me Edwyn, from the armoury to hear of to Dorne. Is that the gist of it?"
Edwyn hadn't often faced his father's fury. Emmon Frey didn't have a reputation for having one. Siting in his uncle's study, Edwyn wondered if he was getting one. The walls weren't that thick, the guards outside were probably hearing every bit of his dress down.
"Yes, that's the gist of it father" he said. Denying the truth hadn't made for any good defence, so Edwyn just admitted defeat instead.
His father looked at him, his blue eyes looking directly into his own. When his father sat down Edwyn heard what he could only be clapping from the corner of the room. And sure enough, his Uncle, Lord Brynden Frey was standing there, clapping.
"You have to admit Emmon, not even Walder would have done something like that," Uncle Brynden looked at him
"That's because father would have had him throw in green fork, that's why."
Brynden ignored him, rather walking straight over to Edwyn, the more jovial appearance fading away until his more serious one, the one he used in public.
"Edwyn, despite appearances, your father is mad at you. Not me either, to be clear," he leant over the table before he continued, "We are mad that you did not go through us first."
"W-What?" Edwyn said, too stunned to say anything else. His uncle continued on.
"I shall not have a Frey gallivanting down south as if he was some lowly hedge knight. No, I have written to Walder. And he has pulled some strings."
"What strings?"
At that, both his father and his uncle began cracking a smile.
The setting sun cast the room in a red light, reflecting off the shimmering, calm waters of the Bay of Crabs. Jeyne felt the loss of Ser Luceon Grafton most keenly at this hour, for in the past two years he alone was able to mediate the mutual dislike between Lady Jessamyn Redfort and Lady Elys Arryn. The most important people in Jeyne's life silently glared at each other while nursing cups of mulled wine. The two principal advisers of Lady Jeyne had been joined by Septon Robert and Maester Hubert who had come from the Eyrie to Gulltown in the party of Lady Elys and Lady Jessamyn. Her own little small council had assembled to decide a most important question.
"It is a good match regardless of the other circumstances. With Arnold plotting and Rhea Royce planning vengeance against the Princess we need Lord Corbray on our side more than ever." Lady Elys spoke brazenly. She had been hotly contending that the path forward was a marriage to Leowyn for the better part of fifteen minutes.
"Was not this whole military production propaganda to secure Jeyne's position in the face of not marrying!" Jessamyn spoke. Her objections were couched in political terms but the tone of her voice made it clear to all present that the matter of Lady Jeyne's marriage was of personal importance.
Elys shook her head, "Before the Princess performed that little mad stunt it was all well and good to wait but that is past. If Lady Rhea ties her cause to Arnold we may be finished. The men of the Vale love their gallant rogue Daemon. You may have made yourself a martial figure and image of song Jeyne, but we need a hero for those knights to rally around. Lord Selwyn is that hero, he led your left in the mountains and unhorsed Prince Daemon at your tourney. He, no less than Daemon, wields a Valyrian steel longsword of legend. It would signal unity after the division of Gulltown."
"And does Lord Selwyn also ride a dragon like the Prince? No? Tell me, Lady Elys, how are the Corbrays to aid us if Rhea brings the Rogue Prince and Caraxes upon our heads?" Jessamyn shot back.
Jeyne's head hurt. She hurt all over in fact. Five minutes ago she had begun to stare at the sea. She could no longer stand to catch the gaze of her lover. Jess's eyes and expression told of a deep pain and anticipation of betrayal. When first Jeyne had told her what Lord Corbray had proposed she had laughed. When Jeyne did not laugh that first long stare almost killed her. Jess had spoken in a flat tone, near devoid of emotion, "You are considering it."
It was like a dagger. A single and simple accusation, something that would not have been remarked upon if it was overheard by a stranger or acquaintance but held such meaning. Sorrow and betrayal were the foremost emotions, but Jeyne was sure she detected a hint of disdain. The accusation was not just that Jeyne was now planning to break her promises, but that she was doing so out of weakness. Once in the halcyon days of Jeyne's youth, when Jess and her did not yet understand their feelings for one another Jeyne had fallen in the garden. She scrapped her knees, tore her dress, and received some cuts from the thorns upon the bush that she fell into with no hint of lady-like grace. Jess had laughed and laughed, even while Jeyne cried. Jeyne petulantly demanded her to comfort her and cease mocking her and Jess pulled her into a huge and stroked her hair, "Calm my little falcon, I will defend you. After all I'm your red fort."
The memory brought bile to Jeyne's throat. The conversation continued about her even as she ceased to listen, the words becoming a low drone in her ears as she imagined she could hear the gentle lapping of the waves far below. She had never liked the sea, preferring instead the mountain vistas of her home, but in this moment she imagined taking Jess from this hall and climbing aboard the first ship she could find to sail to lands she had never seen, to Dragonstone and beyond to Essos. She would drink wine in Pentos, buy the finest dresses in Myr, witness the great fires of the Red Temple of Volantis, and debauch herself among the silver-haired courtesans of Lys. But she would never be happy. It would be an act of pure rebellion, simple spite against all the aspects of her life and world that she hated. It would not solve anything, just give delight to her foes and lead inexorably to her sad, drunken, and dishonorable end. She was an Arryn and her words were "As High as Honor" and her aunt and regent had not failed to drill that into her brain a thousand times over.
"Septon Robert, you are a good and honest man to not judge me harshly for my sins. You feign a blissful ignorance but you cannot look at this scene and not know, I think?" Lady Jeyne spoke at last, returning her attention to her little council.
The septon nodded, his face only slightly grimaced, "I have ministered to many lords and a few Arryns, my Lady. All of them have been pious and have sinned. I think it is the same with you."
She smiled, "Quite so, but when a pious noble who has sinned comes to you to confess does he not intend to cease his sinning? I am afraid that I have no such intentions, good septon."
Septon Robert laughed, which was a rare thing and it held little true mirth, "No, my Lady, I have seen too many lords and knights to count who have confessed to murders or licentiousness who have scarce cleared the walls of the Sept before they have sinned again. As I said, I think you are no different than any other man or woman."
"Do they teach all septons such charming non-answers?" Jeyne spoke.
"Only those who shall serve the nobility." Septon Robert countered, "I was born the fifth son of a landed knight in the service of House Waynwood, after all, my Lady."
Jeyne laughed, "Very well then. I trust you two are agreed that it is the right decision for me to marry Leowyn Corbray."
Both the septon and the maester nodded and their faces were suitably grim for the occasion. Jeyne wondered if they had affected that countenance for her sake, to please her by feigning a sympathy for her dreaded duty. It did not matter in the end, she appreciated them for it. It was at this point that Aunt Elys could see the victory in her grasp and thus began a masterful retreat from the triumphal argument to the considerate aunt. Jeyne did not doubt that this change at the least was genuine. Jessamyn may have disliked Lady Elys for her long insistence that Jeyne find a suitable match, but Jeyne knew that Elys did this out of love and fear for her safety, particularly now that Ser Luceon was dead.
"I am sorry for you two. It is no comfort I know, but sweet niece you are alike to most of the lords of the realm who must needs marry someone that they would rather not." She paused and looked at Jess, "And I am sorry too for our contentions, Lady Jessamyn. If Jeyne had been a boy you would most like be her bride, but we must make do with the hand that has been dealt. I have regretted at times our estrangement and rivalry for the household. Perhaps if the matter of the marriage is decided we may at last have harmony again, as when you two were young and inseparable from each other and me."
In the course of this speech Jess had begun to cry. Jeyne nodded to the three others who took their leave. As soon as they were gone Jeyne kneeled in front of Jess, taking her hands in hers. As soon as the attempt began Jess rose up, a fierce look on her face and wild eyes, and she slapped Jeyne hard across the face. She was shocked, her face smarting and red, but she supposed she deserved it and did not protest. Immediately after the blow was struck Jess's savage countenance softened into regret and pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Jeyne shook her head, "No don't be, my love, I cannot fault you. I would strike any who came to steal you from me the same."
"I was hoping we would be riding to the Redfort so you could marry me! You made me a promise, Jeyne. Where has your precious honor gone?" The rays of the setting sun in her hair danced like tongues of fire and the tears in her eyes made them sparkle like the finest peridot.
"It was a dream of youth. A beautiful dream that was never to be. We may blame Rhaenyra but the truth of the matter is that the only blame may fall with this world which forbids this sacred love we share. If I am to be damned for loving you, then I am the most sickly sinner in all the Seven Kingdoms. But for all the fire which burns in me for you, I am weak. I am weak and have ever needed you for my protection. I wish I could place the blue and white cloak of my house on your shoulders and marry you before all my vassals. I would ban the men from the wedding feast and only the women would get to enjoy the bedding ceremony. But this is a world of men and our cruel life forbids this pleasant dream."
Jess had ceased to cry and stared silently at Jeyne, "I shall have to send to the Citadel for books on magic. You must have put a spell on me, for I cannot resist your sad, blue eyes. I think the moment I saw you when my father brought me to the Eyrie I knew that I would never part from you." She sighed, "I will not lie to you, little falcon, I am hurt. You have hurt me. I have not yet forgiven you. But I also love you. So take me back to our castle in the sky and hope we never come back to this city again."
Jeyne nodded and let Jess leave for her own chambers, which Jeyne was sure her lover had spent no more than ten minutes in the whole long time they had spent in Gulltown. Jeyne would have liked to cry and thrash and seek the physical comfort of her lover, but the criminal did not seek the comfort of the victim to assuage the guilt of their sin. Only now that she was alone and the red sky filled her sight did she let herself cry and release a sullen sob.
To Her Royal Highness, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Dragonrider of Valyria, Lady of the Seven: @Velasco
Your Royal Highness,
With the deepest respect and admiration for your grace and wisdom, I write to inform you of a matter of great importance. It should come to your attention that an offer of betrothal has been extended to His Majesty, the King, on behalf of my son, Heir Alan Caswell, as a potential match for you, the most esteemed Crown Princess.
As a humble lord, I wish to assure Your Royal Highness of the sincerity and purity of my intentions. This proposal arises not out of presumption or ambition but from a genuine desire to serve and protect both you, our beloved Princess, and the realm you shall potentially one day rule.
I understand the weight of such a decision rests with His Majesty, and I wish to convey my unwavering loyalty to the Crown. But I feel that it should be more than acceptable to inform you of the offer. My commitment lies in ensuring your safety and well-being, shielding you from the political intrigues that often accompany your esteemed position.
In addition to my son's hand, I offer the full extent of my resources, connections, and lands, including the establishment of a new Hold where you may find refuge and tranquility. Though it may not rival the grandeur of palaces like the Red Keep or Dragonstone, it shall nonetheless stand as a bastion of security under my family's guardianship.
Your Royal Highness, I trust in His Majesty's wisdom and judgment regarding this matter. Should he deem it necessary to explore alternative options or decline this proposal, I shall accept his decision with grace and humility.
I humbly await any further instructions or guidance from Your Royal Highness or His Majesty and remain, with the utmost reverence,
Ever your Obedient Servant,
Lord Casper Caswell of Bitterbridge
A reply is soon forthcoming, bearing the Princess' seal.
***
My Lord of Caswell, we receive your letter most gratefully and take great consolation in your kindness and true knightly gentility towards us. We are at present far too young to give much thought to marriage and present you with a final answer, indeed, we give our heart and mind now over to contemplation and religion, as we yet navigate the death of our sovereign mother the queen and the conclusion of our royal education. Should you so wish, we would gratefully receive Ser Alan, together with whatever other gifts you should like to so send us, in the eventuality that Ser Alan should wish to join our Princessguard, swearing to us his leal service and accompanying us in the trying days ahead.
Like a cat, Toron Greyjoy woke with a yawn and a stretch.
Lying on a blanket on the beach, she stretched her limbs out to full, digging fingers into the sand, and blinked several times as she knocked the sleep from her eyes. She was where she had left herself the night before, some ways away from where the ships had weighed anchor before the move to Bloodstone, and delightfully alone for once. She could feel the hollow where someone had slept next to her, the grooves in the sand beneath the blanket and the warmth that had not yet faded from the fabric, but nothing else which pleased her.
Sometimes men did not know to vanish before the sunrise and it always annoyed her to beat them until they learned otherwise.
Rolling over, she drew a leg up and took a breath. The clouds overhead kept the sun out of her eyes as she continued to wake, a process that was always laborious after nights like the last. Not because of stiff limbs and stale sweat though, rather it was because it took more and more time for her to go from her to him these days. The more at ease she was with who she was, the harder it seemed to yield to reality and be as she was meant to be at any given moment. It was as though her sense of self did not agree with the Drowned God's will on that one.
Feeling around, she searched for the things that would put her back to rights. She felt clothes scattered here and there, the functional tunic and breeches that best suited the Stepstones. Somewhere around her feet, her toes managed to dig the string she used to tie up her hair out of the sand, a fine thing of leather that she had affixed little fetishes to to add something interesting to her otherwise simple stylings. Only her axe was missing and that was purely because she had left her tent as a woman, thus demanding she go unarmed insofar as she could ever truly be unarmed.
With a growl, she launched herself into a sitting position before immediately falling back down onto her back. She would repeat the effort several times before it finally stuck and Toron found herself halfway to her feet.
She blinked again, annoyed that she was still she in the moment, and looked around. She was still alone, as if it mattered, and exactly nothing had changed in the few moments since she had first woken up. Somehow this was disappointing but she dismissed the thought as quickly as it came. In the distance, far off down the beach, she could see ships being put to sea, and little figures she knew to be her Ironborn hard at work with the morning duties.
Right, of course, Bloodstone. She was going to conquer Bloodstone. She was going to kill another Pirate King - had she even killed one yet? - find her bride - her husband? - a magic sword like they'd asked for and carve a path out to King's Landing. She was going to bathe in blood, take a new saltwife, swim in gold, and remind everyone that he was-
He.
Another blink. Toron was never able to pinpoint when the shift happened, if it could even be described as such, but it pleased him that he was at last he again. He disliked returning to camp as a she, it somehow felt far too... vulnerable? for him to countenance in daylight. Nobody would have noticed the difference, ignorant of the Drowned God's design as they were, but he would have known and that was always enough for him to despise it. Pleased that all was in the correct order, he hopped up to his feet and swiftly dressed, eager to return to his ship and go to war.
And oh how he longed for war.
For the rush of battle and the demonstration of his strength. For the way everyone looked at him in awe, all as women in his presence for fear of his overwhelming fight.
Tying his hair back so that his bangs were left loose, the dark hair framed his face too well to tie up completely, he smiled to himself and imagined that he was looking at his reflection in the mirror. He could all but see his graceful figure and beautiful face, eyes that were as dark as the Blackwater, and a body that was both strong and could tempt anyone to sin without even an ounce of effort on his part. Perhaps someday he would get himself an actual mirror so that he could actually look at himself.
But then, she did prefer the way others would trip over themselves to describe Toron for her. No, not prefer, she delighted in it. Some would call it vanity but she knew it was just a humble acknowledgement of the truth of her looks. She couldn't help that there was nobody alive that could compare to her.
She wondered how the Princess would compliment her compared to the others. She would need to find out eventually, otherwise that marriage would prove to be a-
Wait.
She.
Shit.
Kicking the sand, Toron made a mental note to ask if vanity was a weakness. She'd need to figure that one out before-
No. Fuck that. Vanity was a strength and she was deeply tempted to pick a fight with the Drowned God for implying otherwise.
She'd rather go a lifetime as a she than a day without being reminded of the gifts the Drowned God had given her.
Or even half a day.
Or a bell.
Honestly, she could do with a compliment right now.
The girl's named rolled off Lord Hobert's tongue like a particularly arcane curse. Crumpling Otto's letter in his fist, he angrily threw it into the fire, wondering how his fool of a brother had been as incompetent as to fuck this up. The Lord of Oldtown could never doubt his younger brother's intelligence, but sometimes he deemed him an imbecile, too caught up in his own pride, ego and petty ambitions to obediently serve his liege and house as he was meant to. Mayhaps he has forgotten his place, Hobert mused darkly. The place of a second son, a single candle in a greater chandelier.
Yet, as angry as the Lord Hightower was at his useless little brother, it could not compare to the ire that he directed towards Viserys Targaryen. The situation with the Princess Rhaenyra had been insulting enough, but this far outclassed it.
"So, the King thinks it is in his rights to fornicate with my niece, to use her, and discard her when she is no longer convenient," he uttered indignantly, staring into the fire where the crumpled letter was being consumed, imagining the beauty of the hearth if the flames had been green. "He makes a whore out of a daughter of Oldtown, a common courtesan, the comeliest highborn lady in the Seven Kingdoms, learned, cultured and sophisticated, and rather than take her to wife he chooses a little girl with an attitude. Or have I misread the letter, Abelon?"
"You have not, my lord," Maester Abelon pondered gravely, "though the Hand does remain resolute that the Lady Alicent remains innocent."
"Of course he would," Hobert scoffed in reply. "I assure you, Abelon, that there no longer is anything innocent about my niece, not anymore than my fool brother. He and the King, the wise fool and the fat fool, what a duo they make."
The lord's eyes narrowed in contempt.
"It is a disgrace, an insult to common decency, a stain upon the immaculate honor of the House of the High Tower. The King takes my niece for a bedwarmer, without a second thought to her virtue or to the standing of her house. I will not tolerate it any longer. We were kings and princes while the Valyrians still bedded sheep!"
He shook his head.
"Otto has only brought shame down upon us. It is time I took matters into my own hands. Alicent must be removed from the court at once. Compensation is due."
He was done with half-measures. His honor and standing had been directly implicated. The King may have forgotten about the lofty standing of House Hightower, but he had not. Mayhaps the Dragon needs a reminder.
LORD HOBERT HIGHTOWER
Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel, Beacon of the South
Long has the alliance between Oldtown and Highgarden been the foundation upon which the prosperity, opulence and honor of the Reach rested and grew. From the times of Lord Lymond the Sea Lion to the present, Highgarden has been the solid shield and just magistrate that enabled Oldtown to become the shining beacon of the Seven Kingdoms, sublime, exalted and heavenly, lighting the way to all the Faithful and to the Knights of the Mind.
It is high time our bonds of friendship and kinship were renewed. To this end, I propose the marriage of your eldest son and heir, Gawen, to my noble niece, the Lady Alicent Hightower, beloved daughter of the Hand of the King, the Light of the South. A maiden nubile and immaculate, the Lady Alicent is obedient, learned and pious, imbued with the sophistication of the courts of Oldtown and King's Landing. I have the absolute confidence that my niece would serve as a most excellent consort to Highgarden when the time comes.
We shall await your reply to fully establish the terms of the betrothal and her dowry, which I assure you will be more than appropriate to the troth of a daughter of Oldtown.
We Light the Way,
Lord Hobert of House Hightower
Lord of the High Tower, Voice of Oldtown,
Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel and Beacon of the South
We send unto you our sincere congratulations for the announcement of your impending wedding. May the Lady Laena provide you with bountiful fruit when she blossoms. Truly, there was no one more adequate to sit as your queen and consort than a daughter of the famed Sea Snake and the Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.
In addition to extending you my best wishes, I write to you for a different matter. Perhaps Otto should have been the one to present you with this offer, but he is your Hand, not my envoy to your court. It would be unbecoming of me to treat him as such and provide him with instructions, when he is in your service and not mine.
Regardless, it is my understanding that, even as the future of the House of the Dragon looks prolific, the Princess Rhaenyra still lacks a betrothal. The incident at Gulltown may have sullied her to the disloyal and the tattletales, but her standing remains as high and sublime as ever in Oldtown, in spite of what some perceived as a slight and a snub by the princess when she flew off to the Vale rather than come enjoy my hospitality. No matter. These things happen. House Hightower is not easily insulted. After all, long has the alliance between Oldtown and the Iron Throne been the foundation upon which the prosperity and opulence of the realm rested, from the times of the Conqueror, who received his anointing in Oldtown and elevated House Hightower to the privilege of kinship with the House of the Dragon, to the present day, as Oldtown remains an obedient vassal and my brother loyally serves Your Grace as your Hand, and the Old King before you.
Therefore, I do not think it unbecoming of me to wish to renew our alliance and our kinship with another offer of marriage between our houses. In behalf of my eldest son and heir, Ser Ormund, I humbly request the hand of the Princess Rhaenyra in marriage. I assure you that the bride price will be satisfactory and that she shall be treated honorably in Oldtown, where she may, additionally, satisfy her intellectual curiosity and calling.
It is my sincerest hope that you grant us the honor of binding our houses as one once again, proving to the realm the intrinsic bond between Oldtown and the Crown. May the blood of the dragon flow in the veins of all the future generations of House Hightower, as a reminder of our friendship, kinship and utmost allegiance to the Iron Throne and the Conqueror's dream.
In the Light of the Seven,
Lord Hobert of House Hightower
Lord of the High Tower, Voice of Oldtown,
Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel and Beacon of the South
I am dispatching my goodbrother, Ser Humfrey Hightower, Lord Admiral of the Whispering Sound, as my envoy to the meeting in Casterly Rock. I trust that the debates shall be lively, enlightening and intellectually engaging, as we have come to expect from the West.
We Light the Way,
Lord Hobert of House Hightower
Lord of the High Tower, Voice of Oldtown,
Lord of the Port, Defender of the Citadel and Beacon of the South
To King Viserys Targaryen of House Targaryen, King of Dragons, King of the Seven Kingdoms, Lord of the Crownlands, Blessed by the Seven: @Sneakyflaps
I humbly address Your Majesty with the utmost respect and reverence. It is with sincere devotion to the Crown and the welfare of the realm that I venture to present my son, Heir Alan Caswell, for your esteemed consideration as a potential match for the Good Princess.
As a lord of modest standing, I recognize the privilege of even daring to propose such a union, and I do so with the purest intentions of serving the Crown faithfully. My sole ambition lies in safeguarding the Princess and upholding the honor of our realm, devoid of any personal aspirations for power or influence.
I assure Your Majesty that my allegiance is unwavering, and my loyalty to the Crown is steadfast. I offer not only my son's hand but also the entirety of my resources, connections, and lands to ensure the Princess's security and well-being. Furthermore, I am in the process of establishing a Hold where she may find solace and sanctuary, albeit humble compared to grand palace like the Red Keep or Dragonstone
I understand the weight of your decision and the importance of selecting a suitable match for the Crown Princess. Should Your Majesty deem it necessary to explore other options or reconsider this proposal in the future, I will accept your judgment with grace and understanding.
Thank you, Your Majesty, for your gracious consideration of this matter. May the realm prosper under your wise and benevolent rule.
Ever your Obedient Servant,
Lord Casper Caswell of Bitterbridge
To Her Royal Highness, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms, Dragonrider of Valyria, Lady of the Seven: @Velasco
Your Royal Highness,
With the deepest respect and admiration for your grace and wisdom, I write to inform you of a matter of great importance. It should come to your attention that an offer of betrothal has been extended to His Majesty, the King, on behalf of my son, Heir Alan Caswell, as a potential match for you, the most esteemed Crown Princess.
As a humble lord, I wish to assure Your Royal Highness of the sincerity and purity of my intentions. This proposal arises not out of presumption or ambition but from a genuine desire to serve and protect both you, our beloved Princess, and the realm you shall potentially one day rule.
I understand the weight of such a decision rests with His Majesty, and I wish to convey my unwavering loyalty to the Crown. But I feel that it should be more than acceptable to inform you of the offer. My commitment lies in ensuring your safety and well-being, shielding you from the political intrigues that often accompany your esteemed position.
In addition to my son's hand, I offer the full extent of my resources, connections, and lands, including the establishment of a new Hold where you may find refuge and tranquility. Though it may not rival the grandeur of palaces like the Red Keep or Dragonstone, it shall nonetheless stand as a bastion of security under my family's guardianship.
Your Royal Highness, I trust in His Majesty's wisdom and judgment regarding this matter. Should he deem it necessary to explore alternative options or decline this proposal, I shall accept his decision with grace and humility.
I humbly await any further instructions or guidance from Your Royal Highness or His Majesty and remain, with the utmost reverence,
Ever your Obedient Servant,
Lord Casper Caswell of Bitterbridge
I thank you for the congratulations. It is a time of good fortune, happy news and a time of prosperity both for the crown and the realm at large. This union shall surely bring about it a new dawn, which shall secure the great peace that the Seven Kingdoms have seen, and cement it for another century. The knowledge that Oldtown stands with us, to brace for this coming golden age, is not just welcome but very much never in doubt.
As to the matter of the Princess, and the ties between the crown and the House of Hightower. The Princess will for the coming years be finishing her education with the Silent Sisters, not far from Kings Landing. As such she shall be entertaining any courting prospect until such a time that she returns to court in a few years from now. At such a time as her return to court, we should be happy to host the future Lord Hightower, so that he may pay his court to the Princess.
The Princess Rhaenyra will be spending the coming years, completing her education with the Silent Sisters. At such a time that she returns to court, we shall be happy to host your son so that he may pay his court to the Princess.
Johanna Swann peered up, open-mouthed, at the horrifying visage before her. It was an adult female, posed like she was swimming against a strong current. In the light of two hand-held torches, the statue seemed nearly alive, shadows slithering and moving oddly across it, catching and bending around finely detailed fins on the woman's tail and in the curly and dense plume of her hair, whipping around in a spray of immaculate stone.
The woman's upper body, the 'human' part, was pale and veined: marble, and polished to a sheen. Not even dust settled on it and the finish of the statue almost mimicked skin, the way light made it glow. 'Her' tail, with every single scale picked out, was from some dark green and black stone. The membranes of each fin were so thin that as Criston Cole circled around to the far side, Johanna could see his torch shining through the wafer-thin stone.
The effect was beyond eerie and it prickled hairs on her neck. The pale marble and the dark green stone highlighted how inhuman the woman's lower-half was, appearing more like some devouring aquatic monster halfway through the process of devouring a beautiful young woman.
They'd followed the spiraling corridor they found whilst sheltering after the ruin dealt to their party when trying to cross the Sorrows, which was about at the 'seventh' level of the temple, past another two sealed shut doors. The hall sloped into a wide frame, without any doors closed or otherwise, that opened into a long, rectangular hall. Criston raised his torch higher, its golden and warm light reaching out to reveal…the statues.
The woman was hard to pull her eyes away from. Johanna kept seeing Lyseni features in its stone face. The other statues were far stranger.
Across from the woman was one of a man, arms folded across his broad and muscled chest. Where the woman's torso ran into the fish-like tail, the man's lower body was similarly scaled, but far, far longer and more evocative of a giant snake, curled up and up and up on itself. Like the woman, the human-half was done in that same pale marble, the lower, snake-like part in the green-black soapstone. Where the woman looked to be swimming, the snake-man was carved in a meditative pose, with his head tilted back and eyes closed.
Then there was another: a woman, but her lower half was that of a spider with eight legs, whose knobbled knee joints reached up over her head. Unlike the other two statues, this spider-woman didn't have a perfectly human upper body. Her face somehow fit another pair of eyes, slitted and smaller and where eyebrows should be. Criston panned his torch over her marble face and Johanna winced at a hint of long, needle-like teeth between parted stone lips.
A man with digitigrade legs raised clawed and four-fingered hands aloft as if praying. Green-black soapstone was carved to look like sleek fur along his legs and ruffling the backs of his arms to the shoulder. A woman's arms blended into a huge wingspan of green-black feathers, each finger tipped with a ferocious talon. A man bore a rack of antlers and legs that ended in thick hooves. A woman with hands clasped before her had long, wild hair that was more like a mane, green-black and thick and running down her back where it met a canid tail that hung low.
The hall was filled with these hybrid statues, marching in eerie rows on either side like some kind of honor guard. Johanna knelt next to one of the statue's plinths, her torchlight catching and reflecting dully off of something tucked right against the stone. It was a little chisel, the kind stonemasons used to leave their decorative marks. Wire-wrapped handle with a spade-shaped iron tip maybe an inch long. It fit comfortably in her hand. Weird.
"I've never seen anything like this," Criston murmured and Johanna had to defer to their much greater experience with, well, adventures? Criston paced back along the left-side row of statues toward the first pair of statues, chewing on his lip and clearly thinking hard. Criston rubbed fingers along the plinth of the spider-woman, tracing carven text that was still crisp and sharp.
Johanna noticed color for the first time and found that behind the rows of statues, the walls of the chamber were neither carven nor plain, but instead painted in massive, flowing murals. The pigments were faded a little, smudged or scratched here and there and occasionally there was a water stain, but were pretty intact. And surprisingly beautiful.
She followed the right-side mural back to the start, where they entered the chamber. Ziggurats rose up out of jungles and there were humans hauling slabs to raise them to the stars. There were more of them with arms held up standing on top of the ziggurats - obviously, the lords of these humans. It had to be the founding of Rhoyne, but Rhoyne didn't have jungles.
The jungle gave way to stark ice and snow. The humans weren't there, replaced instead by green figures in the dozens. They were wearing what looked like skins of some kind. Some were sitting around a fire, some were plucking berries from bushes, some were chasing an ox and waving spears.
Walking alongside the mural, Johanna watched as these green figures, perhaps the Children of the Forest, hunted and built huts and - she blushed hard - did things and raised families.
Raised families?
These weren't the same! They were human! The murals had to have more answers and she started jogging along, not noticing Criston joined her, curiosity piqued.
The humans started hunting all the animals she knew best, even the predators like lions, wolves, and boar. They were good at it too, if the piles of bodies meant anything. Things got weird, then. The murals turned into something stomach-turning, not showing day-to-day life but constant feasts and rituals. The humans didn't wear skins anymore but were naked all the time, but given how much red paint was used on them, they might have just decided it wasn't worth cleaning all the blood out of their clothes.
That's when a figure started appearing. It reminded her of the figures atop the ziggurat back at the start. Like those figures, it always had its arms uplifted as if preaching, and the makers of the mural made sure to embed little gold pins where its eyes would be. Some sort of octagonal halo shone behind its head each time it appeared.
Things got even stranger until the mural showed the humans picking up parts of the animals they hunted and wearing them. Some kind of ritual reason? Did this other figure force them to? Humans strapped antlers onto their heads or ran around with wings of feathers. It was like they were trying to become the animals that they hunted and massacred. Always that figure kept looming over them all, until-
She reached the end of the mural.
"I have no idea what any of it means…" Criston declared. Johanna jumped, remembering she wasn't alone.
Johanna glanced back at the mural, at the last part. There, a human hacked a great turtle out of its shell, spilling its guts out, before climbing into its shell.
There was still another door, further steps to take, an escape to make, and prayers that they might see the light of the sun again...
Caring nothing for talk of "protecting his heir", Toron Greyjoy has ordered that his brothers, Balon and Rodrik, depart for the Stepstones to join in on the fighting. Commonly known as the Half-Twins due to their closeness and similarity despite having different mothers - Rodrik being Toron's full brother and Balon the son of a saltwife - the pair have departed aboard the Silence for their older brother's campaign. With the Half-Twins goes a growing and periodically ruthlessly enforced view of the world passed down from the Black Kraken to all beneath him. Preferring to consider those who have fought with him as brothers and those who shun his campaign as weak, the Half-Twins have also been instructed to weigh anchor in the Shield Islands and the Arbor and pay the Lords there his respects, Toron having come to view the Shield Islanders and Arbormen with a good deal of fondness thanks to the Battle of Vyseryon.
Lymond Mallister, the lord of Seagard, strolled through the bustling town square, his piercing gray eyes surveying the lively activity around him. The salty breeze from the nearby Ironman's Bay tousled his dark hair as he moved gracefully among the market stalls and clamoring merchants. The rhythmic sounds of hammers against anvils echoed from the blacksmith's forge, providing a background melody to the vibrant scene.
Seagard, nestled on the rugged coastline of the Riverlands, was a bustling maritime town known for the castle of Seagard which was built to defend the coast from ironborn reavers, especially Greyjoys from Pyke . The distinctive aroma of freshly caught fish mixed with the earthy scent of the surrounding pine forests, creating a unique olfactory tapestry that defined the coastal settlemen
As Lord Mallister continued his leisurely stroll, the townsfolk respectfully bowed their heads or exchanged nods of acknowledgement. Lymond was a respected leader known for his just rule and unwavering commitment to the prosperity of Seagard. His attire, a mix of practical leather and rich velvet, reflected both his martial prowess and noble lineag
Approaching the harbor, Lymond paused to admire the majestic ships docked along the wooden piers. The Mallister fleet, with its distinctive silver eagle sails, stood as a testament to the naval power that guarded the waters of Ironman's Bay. Seagard's strategic location made it a linchpin in the defense against any maritime threats that might arise, although the few ships he currently have isn't enough to protect his territory from any possible threat.
The lord's attention turned to the shipyard, where craftsmen meticulously worked on the construction of a new vessel. Lymond engaged in conversation with the shipwrights, discussing the intricacies of the design and ensuring that every detail met the high standards set by House Mallister. He took pride in the maritime prowess of his people, understanding the significance of a formidable navy in safeguarding Seagard's interest
The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted through the air as Lymond made his way toward the town's bakery. The baker, a plump woman with a warm smile, greeted him with a curtsey. He indulged in a loaf of freshly baked bread, enjoying the simple pleasures of life in Seagard. The bustling atmosphere of the market square, coupled with the picturesque view of the bay, reminded him of the symbiotic relationship between his house and the thriving tow
As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across Seagard, Lymond Mallister felt a deep sense of connection to his ancestral home. The town's heartbeat echoed in the laughter of children playing in the cobblestone streets, the rhythmic clatter of merchants haggling over goods, and the distant waves crashing against the cliffs. Seagard was not just a stronghold; it was a living, breathing entity, and Lymond Mallister was its steward, ensuring its continued prosperity in the ever-changing currents of Westerosi politics.
From: Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen
To: Lady Jeyne Arryn @Fingon888
Dear cousin, I pray you shall do me the mercy of reading this my message and not immediately consigning it to the flames. I write to you, first and foremost, to thank you for your kindness, your hospitality and your generosity towards me, then and now, as always. I am bound to you and your service by both blood and bonds of friendship and gratitude. On the matter of Lady Rhea of Runestone, I maintain my innocence before gods and man. What happened was an unfortunate mix-up deriving from me confusing one fine wine for another. The bottle I had prepared for "a wanton woman" being, mistakenly, poured out for Lady Rhea.
To prove that I am not the "wanton woman" in question, I have asked to be inspected by the Grand Maester and such other maesters as may be thought necessary, so that there be no doubt that I remain as pure, virgin and intact a maiden as when I first ventured to the Vale.
To do penance for what happened at Gulltown and expiate what involuntarily guilt may have besmirched my name and soul, I have hereunder undertaken to finish my education with and under the guidance of the Faith of the Seven.
It shall, therefore, be likely some time before we see each other again. Know my affection for you remains as true as ever.
My Lord of Hightower, Seven blessings. You will no doubt have heard of the many turbulences and upsets Our life has endured in recent times. What was intended as a brief detour to spread my mother's ashes among Alyssa's Tears has snowballed and escalated into scandal, violence, threats. We must therefore first and foremost apologize for all inconveniences the non-fulfilment of our original project of spending some time in Oldtown may have occassioned, either to your household and/or the learned men of the Citadel. We must additionally apologize that we will not be proceeding there any time soon either, having being encouraged to do penance and expiate our conscience in service to the Faith, which we were prevented from doing in Oldtown, as was our first request and choice.
Nevertheless, we hear with gleeful heart of Ormund's courtship of our hand and do encourage it. While we shall be scarce at court in coming days, we shall be present at the King's marriage and perhaps other occassions such as birthdays and new year's celebrations - should the brave young knight be in the crowd at such moments, we would surely look for him and seek to make his acquaintance.
All this aside, we would offer places in our household for a son and a daughter of House Hightower - your committment to the Faith and Crown is legendary and we would be honoured and feel all the safer should a champion from Oldtown, and suitable lady companion, be sent to join us in these years of penance and reflection with the Faith.
Dear cousin, I am gladdened to receive word from you and to hear that you are well after events had forced your too swift departure from the Vale. On the matter of the incident at Gulltown I promise you that I shall relay to all my court and vassals your account of events, emphasizing my full belief in the veracity and integrity of your words and person. Furthermore, I will commend to all who shall hear my voice that you have confessed before Septon and Seven the sins that have been committed, by accident and by intent. To do sacred penance is a thing which is most honorable and expected of all of us who are faithful. My own confessor has oft told me that we are born in sin but are called by the shining light of the Seven-Pointed Star to walk the long road to salvation, barefoot upon the jagged cobblestones of this world. I trust and have faith that you and I, sinners though we may be, shall walk the hard road and act ever in the interests of the righteous and noble.
I also wish to inform you that I have engaged to marry Leowyn Corbray, the son of Lord Selwyn Corbray of Heart's Home. The lad is near your age, a year or two younger than you are and though I have not met him since he was near a babe I am told he is becoming an honorable knight. Between you and me, Princess, I do not care very much. I shall marry him for his father's army should my dastardly cousin Ser Arnold or your uncle make trouble in my lands. Lord Selwyn is a friend of the Prince of the City but he will be my good-father, so I think I have mitigated the fallout of certain ill-understood actions on your part and won for both of us a political victory. I fear Lady Jessamyn shall give you an ill look upon your next meeting however.
As for when we shall see each other again, I think it may be sooner than you think, Princess. Provided my realm remains tranquil I plan to travel to King's Landing for the wedding of your father, the King. I was too young to remember the marriage of your parents and I hope to see for myself a royal wedding. If all goes well we shall meet there and may speak further on matters as they will have progressed. Remain brave and penitent and remember the words I have spoken to you in the tents of my army, I remain true to them and exhort you to wise and conciliatory action.
With affection,
Cousin Jeyne, Lady of the Vale and Your Admonishing Friend
The King's only surviving child and obvious heir by Andal law, known as the Realm's Delight.
*
Her governess, SEPTA MARLOW, a Valewoman chosen by her late mother,
Her chaplain, SEPTA SYBELL (b. 83, a. 24), born a Hightower of Oldtown.
Her ladies-in-waiting, her daily companions in exile:
Lady ALBA Massey, a daughter of Stonedance,
Lady GENNA Brune, a daughter of Crackclaw Point,
Lady MELUSINE Darklyn, a daughter of Duskendale,
Her sometime best friend and childhood companion,
Lady ALICENT Hightower, missing, non-responsive, rebellious, a sullied and shamed woman, rumoured to be expecting a bastard, temporarily apart from her mistress,
Her handmaiden,
Lady CARACOLA, a daughter of the Free Cities, an erudite woman well-versed in Valyrian language, fashion and history, responsible for wardrobe, hair and finances,
Her sworn swords and shields, posted nearby,
GEDMUND GREAT-AXE, otherwise Ser Gedmund Peake of the Kingsguard,
His squire, SWEET LAUREL, otherwise Laurent Redywyne of the Arbor,
BRYNDON THE BOLD, otherwise Ser Bryndon Hightower (b. 88, a. 19), a son and champion of Oldtown,
LUCKY LUKE, otherwise Ser Luceon Massey, a knight of Stonedance.
[Vacancies] - the Princess is permanently recruiting.
Her Grey Guard, posted elsewhere,
REGNAR THE CAPTAIN, their spokesman,
HARWYN SEADVIL, otherwise Harwyn Break-Bones, a fighting master, poet and sycophant of the Black Kraken,
Twenty-eight other Ironborn veterans.
Her prized possessions, gifted to her by her dear friend Toron Greyjoy,
The Young Balerion, a longship with a figurehead of the Black Dread,
The dagger Fang, made for a woman's hand,
An arsenal of weapons, including swords, axes, bows, and boarding spears,
A chest filled with gold, silver, and other precious gems,
Myrna made the remark in Bastard Valyrian as she watched the Silence slip away from her bedroom window in the Bloody Keep. There was a playful smile on her face as the last of Toron's male kin departed Pyke for the Stepstones. Even though it was temporary, she was as free as any saltwife in the Iron Islands could be now. Freedom she intended to enjoy for as long as she could.
"Well, mostly abandoned, poor old Theomore is still here but he is blind so..."
Her smile widened, the radiance of it filling the room as possibilities ran through her mind.
"We can practically do anything and everything we want, Senya."
Unlike Myrna, Visenya hadn't wanted to watch the Half-Twins depart. Instead she sat where she often did when she was in Myrna's chambers: on a warm chair of Northern make, needle and thread in hand, her eyes narrowed in on her embroidery. Whereas she was all too keenly aware of her captors, of the prison she was in, Visenya had long since tried to forget it even existed, Greyjoys and all.
"They'll be back eventually," she reminded her quietly, fingers working swiftly with the needle. "Him included."
Tutting loudly, Myrna turned around and advanced on Senya. Her smile still shone bright on her face as she moved, swaying with each step, her head tilted downward to try and catch her gaze.
"Eventually. Eventually could be a day, it could be a month, it could even be years, Sweetling. Years where the only person who can tell us what to do can't even find his way out of his own room without a half dozen people guiding him."
She leaned down and gently took the embroidery from Senya's hand.
"Years where it's just us."
Her hands now unoccupied, Senya could only stare at the empty space between her hands, her mind jumping through a thousand different thoughts.
"It'll end eventually though," came the counter from Senya. "I don't think... I don't know if I'd survive going from happiness to misery like that."
Closing the last of the distance between them, Myrna sat herself on the arm of the chair and reached out to stroke Senya's cheek.
"I promise you, it will all be fine, Sweetling. We'll fill these days with joy and take advantage of everything they have left us; we'll eat their food and sleep in their beds; we'll buy ourselves the finest dresses and the most beautiful jewels; and when it is done, when we see black sails on the horizon again, we'll make sure we have everything we need to make our escape. A ship crewed by dependable souls, a sack full of coins, and someplace where it's warm with orange trees and sunlight for us to live out our days in."
Tilting her head upward with a finger, Myrna pressed the gentlest of kisses to Senya's lips. She let it linger there for a moment, enjoying the faint taste of apples and the sweet smell of some foreign perfume stolen from some unlucky merchantman. Only when she'd had her fill, when she felt Senya relax and lean against her in search of relief, did she finally stop.
"You just need to trust me, okay?"
There was a brief silence as Senya rested her head to Myrna's chest before she felt her nod against her.
"I trust you."
"Then come and eat with me. We've enough food here to outlast a siege and I for one intend on trying all the nicest things before everyone gets back."
Lord Baratheon, we grieve for your loss, and you should well know by now that the King does not condemn your efforts. Prince Daemon's arrival has been to some perturbance, given the recent news and his sudden recall, however know that the King still supports you, and I have been authorised to give remit for a thousand well-armed mercenaries to join your ranks as Daemon's personal vanguard. In light of the events, I will give you stipend to recruit the mercenaries yourself. They will be underneath the Prince's command, should he return to the marches.
There is another matter of note, and that is the location of Morne. The old castle was once a fortification by which the Old Kings of Tarth could exert control over the Stepstones, and is doubtless why the Myrish exiles chose it as a the base of their operation when they came upon the shores of the isle those decades ago. It is the Master of Ship's opinion, and my own, that it would be the ideal base of operations for a flotilla of the Royal Fleet, especially in light of the recent War in the Stepstones.
With your backing, House Tarth may cede the grounds for a royal expansion, and with Velaryons' funds the Navy could see the spot become a real port and dockyard of note. Given the lack of the Stormlands in much naval might of note, this would be to the Crown and Stormlands' mutual benefit the utilisation of this site.
We thank you for the sympathies Lord Beesbury, as of right now I am on campaign but from where I stand I see no reason to refuse this request, provided you speak to House Tarth about the seceding of the land.
I do have on request. It is of my understanding that the Master of Coin can issue loans from the crown no? This war has recently strained our finances and with the wedding of my eldest son and heir on the horizon, I feel a few small loans in exchange for the land would be a fair trade no?
We thank you for the sympathies Lord Beesbury, as of right now I am on campaign but from where I stand I see no reason to refuse this request, provided you speak to House Tarth about the seceding of the land.
I do have on request. It is of my understanding that the Master of Coin can issue loans from the crown no? This war has recently strained our finances and with the wedding of my eldest son and heir on the horizon, I feel a few small loans in exchange for the land would be a fair trade no?
I thank you for your timely reply. As the Grand Uncle of the King, you are dear to his heart, and he holds the wedding of your heir, the brave Borros, to the lovely Elspeth Tyrell, in high esteem. We eagerly watch for your success on your campaign, and the dornish vipers shall feel your heel, of that I have no doubt.
On your request of a loan, I shall underwrite such by my own hand, and given you are close kin I see no issue with the offer of a line of credit. I have the authority to carry out the Declaration of Armament as I see so fit, and to secure the base of Morne and to give your finances some relief I have no great concern that this debt will be repaid in kind when the time is right.
Your liege lord has given his allowance for a proposal that I hope to find you amenable towards. With the urging of the King and at the behest of the Master of Ships, I write to you now to seek out your assent towards a Royal project in the direction of Morne, which serves as a natural harbour and has been in disuse for centuries. While I have no doubt you keep lighthouse or tower there, with the action of the Stepstones near to mind and with the dreadful blight of the Myrish Bloodbath a decade prior, may the Seven bless Prince Aemon forevermore, I believe it shall serve as the ideal fortification and bulwark against further aggression from the vile Three Daughters and any excursions they attempt on your lands and more in the southern Narrow Sea. And so it is that I come to you to ask for your allowance for a royal dockyard and naval outpost be built on your isle, near or on the site of Morne, and hereto we may discuss contracts for the men of Tarth in it's construction.
I will share with you a map containing the parcels of interest towards the King. If you require further information, a flotilla shall be based out of the Bay of Crabs and your own island, with a smaller squadron near the Cape of Wrath and of course, the might of the Fleet now stationed at Driftmark. This coincides with the call of Armament across the realm, and though I am aware your island may not contribute much in such, this could serve as the figurehead of the whole operation. I am sure you read the declaration, and it was my full intention to reach your ears as soon as I had your liege's approval for the project.
If you have any remaining hesitancy, I have just the man in mind to be appointed the Harbor-General, a brave mariner of the House of Farman, with experience in dealing with scoundrels and pirates..
I trust you know your responsibility,
Lyman beesbury, Master of Coin
Lord Treasurer
A Missive is Addressed to Ser Lyle Stone
You show great potential, Ser Lyle. The Gods have affirmed it, you strike with the heart of justice, more than a man there at that paltry council of full of quislings. Office and glory await you, should you chose to accept it, you need only return with my party on the journey along the Gold Road back to the capital.
A dear admirer,
Your friend,
Lyman Beesbury
Hail Ser Lyle, even here in Dorne I have heard of your marvelous deeds of valor and strength of arms. Two Ironborns of not-so-little name were slain by you with you being none for the worse. I noticed that you yet have a surname for a mighty knight such as yourself and thought it a pity. If you are willing to accept my gift from my admiration and respect, I wish to dub you Ser Lyle Ironbane, Slayer of Ironborns, Defender of the Coasts. May the Seven bless your sword forevermore, Ser Lyle.
Iron Lords!
Lords of water, rock and iron.
I am addressing you.
Since the time of the Gray King, the Ironborn have always respected the Law of Hospitality. Even on the verge of death, even dying of hunger, we did not raise a hand against the guest and did not allow murders among the guests. The Lannisters forgot their duty. According to all written and unwritten laws, I, Lord Gormund Goodbrother, nicknamed "The Faithful," am obliged to take revenge, I am obliged to call you to take revenge with me, because they insulted all our people. My soul is eager to fight, but I am not a Lannister, my mind remembers my duty to the Greyjoys, to the King, remembers my own oaths. We cannot abandon our sacred mission. Our campaign in the name of justice. Therefore, my grief, my shame is immeasurable. I hope the following measure will show at least a tenth of my indignation.
The Goodbrothers announce a ban on trade with the Western Lands. Not the slightest piece of iron will go to these criminals. I urge all Lords to support this decision.
Gormond Goodbrother the Faithful
Truest of all Ironborn
Lord of Great Wyk
To: Lord Stark, Lord Dustin, Lord Glover, Lord Ryswell, Lord Flint of Flint's Finger. (@ATerribleWriter)
Winter Lords!
Lords of forests, hills and ice.
I am addressing you.
Our common history is older than the Andals, our blood is thicker than theirs. We traded, married, entered into alliances countless times. Yes, of course we fought. But each of us could guarantee that the Guest at the negotiations, or at the feast, no matter where, is inviolable! The Lannisters were unable, or rather did not want, to show decency towards us Ironborn.
Therefore, I, the head of the house of Goodbrother, have declared a ban on trade with the Westerlands.
You have always been our good trading partners. Expect an influx of iron, tin, copper and other goods from the Iron Islands.
Let our two ancient peoples grow rich.
Let there be peace forever in the waters of the two kingdoms.
With all due respect.
Gormond Goodbrother the Faithful
Truest of all Ironborn
Lord of Great Wyk
From now on, the presence of Westerlands traders in the Pirate Extermination War zone is unacceptable. Every Western ship seen must be notified of the danger of being in these waters and the activity of desperate pirates here. We do not want, we must not, we cannot ensure their safety.
May the Drowned God protect their souls.
Gormond Goodbrother the Faithful
Truest of all Ironborn
Lord of Great Wyk
To: Lord Stark, Lord Dustin, Lord Glover, Lord Ryswell, Lord Flint of Flint's Finger. (@ATerribleWriter)
Winter Lords!
Lords of forests, hills and ice.
I am addressing you.
Our common history is older than the Andals, our blood is thicker than theirs. We traded, married, entered into alliances countless times. Yes, of course we fought. But each of us could guarantee that the Guest at the negotiations, or at the feast, no matter where, is inviolable! The Lannisters were unable, or rather did not want, to show decency towards us Ironborn.
Therefore, I, the head of the house of Goodbrother, have declared a ban on trade with the Westerlands.
You have always been our good trading partners. Expect an influx of iron, tin, copper and other goods from the Iron Islands.
Let our two ancient peoples grow rich.
Let there be peace forever in the waters of the two kingdoms.
With all due respect.
Gormond Goodbrother the Faithful
Truest of all Ironborn
Lord of Great Wyk
While some in the North still harbor grudges against Ironborn, I at least do not. I sympathize with your position and welcome more trade along our western coasts. Though, anything more will have to wait for my brother to arrive back home with news of the Council in the West. Reports are currently contradictory.
A collection of letter-carrying riders are sent from Ashemark Castle, first to the Banefort, then to Starpike, the Crag, and various other castles, addressed from the lord of Ashemark, one Manfred Marbrand.
I write you as a humble seeker of knowledge, a minor lord of no distinction nor great pedigree. No great feat of arms nor vast wealth can I boast. But what I do possess is an endless thirst for knowledge, a desire to know all I can, especially of the Higher Mysteries, these arcane arts of which wonders and terrors have been wrought. I desire to know magic, my lords.
And if you have received my ravens, I believe you have an interest in the arcane as well. I believe that in the Higher Mysteries, we can learn to shed political ambitions and greed for influence and power, and even if that does not happen, we will still be made the wiser for it. We are not old Valyria, where the darkest of eldritch arts was made manifest in the blood of slaves. We are Westeros, a land of rights and responsibilities, a land of laws, honor and learning. I believe we can handle these mysteries with care.
Therefore I am forming a new order of magic-seekers. I am calling it the Luminous Order of the Wise Seekers, or Luminates for short. I have invited you, and any other seeker of knowledge to aid our cause, regardless of their politics. I believe we should be above such matters, or at least keep our secular ambitions from interfering in the quest for the higher mysteries. I eagerly await your response to these letters, and hope to keep in correspondence with you.
My ancestors who raised the Banefort upon the shores of Ironman's Bay practised well the arts of which you speak. The Valyrians had their blood magic, and the Qartheen had their warlocks, and the distant lands of Asshai-by-the-Shadow practised stranger feats still. Even those who follow R'hllor in the Free Cities boast of fire magic they call in R'hllor's name. The Baneforts of old were not dragonlords or fire priests. The kingly crowns they bore were not fashioned from splendid gold, and the thrones they sat were not forged by dragonfire. But this did not prevent the Banefort kings from practising the traditions handed down to them from the Old Gods.
History and tradition records that the Banefort tradition of magic ended with the death of Morgon Banefort, who cursed his slayers as they died and carried out a terrible vengeance against King Loreon from beyond the grave. It is not by accident that Loreon is remembered as Good King Loreon in the annals of House Banefort. For even as a conqueror, he allowed we Baneforts to keep our lands and titles. And his Septons ended decisively the abhorrent practise of thralldom. For the Banefort kings in their hubris forgot the teaching of the Old Gods who taught that to hold a man in bondage was a grave crime.
But this tradition did not, in truth, end with the last Hooded King. But rather, it simply persisted in other forms. The peaceful land of a united West was no place for the dread curses or fell necromancies of King Morgon. Such knowledge, which had been passed down to him by his father and by his father before him, was set aside as kings became lords. But the magic endured: through tales and songs, even through the writings of Septons and Maesters who through their chronicles inadvertently preserved many aspects of the very tradition they sought to stamp out.
I agree, Lord Manfred, we are not the dragonlords of Old Valyria. My love of the histories and other forms of scholarship has been a great comfort to me in my old age. But the higher mysteries have always called to me, perhaps the blood within my veins calls me to it or the Old Gods still watch my deeds from the eyes of their heart trees. It is thus that I would invite both you and your lady wife, my loving granddaughter, to sup with me at the Banefort where we may discuss these matters in greater detail, for there is much to discuss that I feel cannot be properly conveyed by raven.
I would like also to invite my granddaughter and heir to join us for this discussion. She shall be Lady of Banefort after I have gone, and I would have her know my affairs and dealings so that she may better rule the Banefort.
We Herald the Night,
Lord Reynard Banefort, Lord of Banefort, Bastion of the Bay, Bearer of the Hero's Horn
The Household and Offices of The Vale of Arryn As High as Honor
Lady of the Eyrie: Lady Jeyne Arryn
Heir to the Eyrie: Ser Arnold Arryn (Presumptive)
Seneschal of the Eyrie: None (Formerly Ser Luceon Grafton)
Maester of the Eyrie: Maester Hubert (Formerly Rivers, of Lord Harroway's Town)
Confessor of the Lady: Septon Robert (Formerly Swindon, Landed Knights in service to Lord Waynwood)
Head of the Household of the Eyrie: Lady Elys Arryn
Head of the Lady's Ladies-in-Waiting: Lady Jessamyn Redfort
Ladies-in-Waiting: Lady Alys Sunderland, Lady Lisa Frey, and Lady Jayne Frey
Lady's Sworn Shield: Ser Denys Egen
Keeper of the Gates of the Moon: Ser Symond Moore
Knight of the Gate: Ser Uther Ruthermont
Commissioner in Gulltown: Ser Donnel Donniger
To Lord Grafton, sire of Gulltown and its surrounding lands and waters:
By the power invested in us through our office, let it be known that the Maester in service of your House is hereby summoned at the capital for a Royal Inquiry. He is to be present at the Red Keep within a month since the sending of this letter, by order of the Master of Laws.
All Hail King Viserys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
- Lord Marvion Stokeworth, Lord of Stokeworth
by the Grace of the Seven and the Will of the Dragon.
