A Dragon of the North VIII
All right, new thread! If you're just dropping in a for a peek...
All right, new thread! If you're just dropping in a for a peek...
User | Total |
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Droman | 30 |
You've.... you've been busy.
So busy, that you've forgotten the last time you've had sleep. It might have been yesterday.
Might not.
But to be fair, you've gotten a lot of things done.
In a matter of weeks, you'd orchestrated, ordered and overseen a variety of plans and projects to take place in your absence.
Harrentown for instance, had seen your personal attention for the first time in seasons. As they stood bewildered outside their homes, they watched as your hired laboured saw fit to demolish the walls that constrained and protected them, that had sheltered them from the ravages from war.
So really, when you just went and did that, while servants and retainers and men-at-arms sworn to your person could only speak of the glories that where being built within Harrenhal... they got the message.
Or at least, some of them did. Mostly the Crownlander lot, but a fair few Riverlanders as well.
Considering how that was all going along even as you continued to transform Harrenhal, well...
It's feeling damn good, to see the changes happening.
(Harrentown Wall demolished, +1,200 people in Harrenhal, -1,200 people in Harrentown, +200 gold dragons per season, further Harrenhal residential construction completed, -1250 gold dragons)
All as your other initiatives continued, including the expansion of your patronage to the Faith of the Seven. A fact much pleasing to your maester you knew, who had taken great pains to oversee and help administrate the program. Across your lands, there were well over three hundred honest septons and septas, men and women of the fait who had deigned to preach to their brethren, who had tended to the hose in need. With your money grants (and donations from the wealthy), several septs had even been built across your land without your direct initiative, directed from the seminary within Harrenhal.
Truly, one of your better initiatives, in terms of accrued effects.
Enough so, that when Maester Tucker had come to you to discuss increasing the current religious budget, you had given it serious thought...
[] Yes - Increase religious tithe to 200 gold dragons per season to maintain current socio-political benefits.
[] No - Leave religious tithe as is, necessitating reliance on donations to make ends meet regarding new responsibilities and priorities.
(Peasant Happiness upgrades to Happy , Public Order upgrades to Calm, Peasant Health upgrades to Good)
A fact which had annoyed Yohn slightly, for all that he acknowledges the benefits brought by cooperating with the Faith.
"We're of the Old Blood," says Yohn to you "And the Old Ways. For all that I sound like my father, our traditions should not be kept aside for mere benefit and solution."
With that in mind, he'd taken over the matter of the weirwood bows himself, intent on shaping and preparing them himself, as Forley looked to oversee the preparations of the wedding gifts for House Stark's wedding.
"They'll be property of House Stormcrown," he said to you quietly as he began working the lumber "Given to only the most trusted of the household, as an honour."
"Admit it, you just love your ceremonies."
"Maybe," he says with a cheeky smile "Who doesn't like a bit of pomp, after all? And I might be able to make some little trinkets from the scrap left over from the bows and your gifts. Maybe make a couple of toys for Logain and Yolanda."
"A toy sword," you mull for consideration "And a couple of horses?"
"That's an excellent idea! Only..."
"Only?"
"What will I make for little Logain?"
(Hounds of Harrenhal formed, a 24-man elite archer unit armed with weirwood bows commanded by Ser Robin Locksley of Harrenhal. Wedding gifts for next season readied, including 12 macua longswords, 2 obisdian daggers, 4 obsidian & gem necklaces, 1 necklace of moonstone, Needle for Arya, 6 weirwood longbows and 12 Bracken foals. -3000 gold dragons)
As you committed to the matter of the "Hounds", you also looked to arrange other elements of your council. With Logain dead, the position of Captain of Guards was vacant, one which needed to be rectified. With the changing nature of your seat as well, it would now be as good a time to do so, especially in lieu of your frequent departures.
After discussion with your inner circle, you had come to a conclusion, and made your changes accordingly.
(See A Dragon of the North: Source)
Though to be honest, directly administrating Harrenhal had been the least of your concerns. Prior to your departure to Oldtown in the King's company, you had taken great strives to make use of every waking moment. Rising with the dawn, you would see to Valonqar, spending time in his company, slowly getting him more and more used to obeying your commands, to meeting your expectations...
Until one day, you saddled him.
Until one day, you had him fly off the tower.
Gods.
Gods, it was wonderful.
He was young yet, still not quite ready to bear you as a burden for great distances or periods of time, especially not in armour. But still, you flew.
You flew.
(Skyrider Trait gained, Jon can now fly Valonqar for intermediate period of time, Valonqar loyalty at Trusting)
...Which Arlan did not absolutely give a single iota of care about.
"Bah," he said to you atop the Lord's Tower after you had landed back down "You should have waited until he was as large as the Dovah. You would have enjoyed it more."
"No," you say thoughtfully "I don't think I would have."
From beneath you, Valonqar roars.
You'd like to think it was in agreement.
"Zeymah," said Arlan as he stepped nearer to you "You spoke before, of these .. Others?"
"Yes," you said in confirmation "Creatures of myth, of ice and frost. Enemies to my mother's bloodline, long ago. Enemies of humanity, really. Were it not for Brandon the Builder, all of Westeros might have frozen into their grasp."
"Indeed?"
"Yes," you say with a sigh, as you look over your lands "A frightening thought, Arlan. A world of ice."
"I should show you something of Atmora," said Arlan in amusement "So that you might truly see a realm locked in ice. But that is not your lesson for the day, boy."
"Lesson?" you say curiously in question "What lesson-"
MINDOVAAT
Suddenly, your mind explodes in agony, as a thousand images flash before your eyes, as you See, Understand, Comprehend... utter destruction.
Utter annihilation.
Utter devastation.
Utter... destruction.
Destruction.
HAAV GRAL AHKOS.
Suddenly, you are back at Harrenhal, away from the carnage, away from the death-
"Arlan," you say as you gasp for breath "What was that?"
"The battle of Firsthold," he says to you gruffly "My first attempt to force a personal incursion upon Thalmor soil, after the conventional fleet landings had failed."
"You... you did that to a city?"
"I did it to an army first. Then I destroyed the city. One in a thousand of the Thalmor died that day."
"Gods..." you mutter to yourself, as you dully lean over Valonqar to vomit "Gods."
"You are not to use that Speech against anything that is remotely human."
"I won't be using it at all," you retorted back, almost disgusted by his attitude "That... that was foul. What hells did you plunder to learn such evil?"
"The hells of Oblivion, boy. The hells of Oblivion."
"Arlan..."
"Enough. We will practice your healing now."
"... Yes, Zeymah. We will."
(Kopraan Muz Haas perfected, Haav Gral Ahkos acquired)
You hadn't spoken much to Arlan after that for a while, trusting yourself only to use the bare minimum of words, lest the thoughts that consumed you be spoken.
How he could willingly learn and use such brutality was beyond you. Yes, the Thu'um was power, it was strength, it was ferocity.
But it was life, creation as much as it was destruction.
Only Arlan had seen fit to excise creation, remove everything that might have once mattered to the Way of the Voice, that old make of Jurgen Windcaller. In a single revelation, he had gone from companion, from mentor, to ... a stranger. More than you'd ever thought he could be, even at the beginning of his coming to Harrenhal.
What had happened to him?
--
Unable to ask the question, and unwilling to spend any more time regarding the Shouts with him, you had instead thrown yourself into a largely different aspect of lordship.
Reading.
In what very well takes you back to fonder memories of Winterfell, you sit with Maester Tucker for two hours a day, discussing various books that he had acquired for your personal library, books of rare quality and varying nature.
Books like the Obsidian Tablets of Skagos, transcribed from their guttaral dialect of Common into Southron vernacular. Largely indecipherable, it spoke significantly as to the Others, of the "enemy from beyond the graves, beyond winter frosts and winter's coming". Of obsidian's worth, of a thousand ways and one as to fight the Others, written in flowing script, as if poem or song.
Had they written this orally at first, so as to remember it?
Whatever their reasoning, it had proven interesting, and lingered on your mind as you moved on to other studies. You'd spent time debating the concepts of The Unseen Gods with Maester Tucker, the two of you trading points as fiercely as you would sword-strikes. This might very well prove to be the first time ever you've actually seen the maester so invested and offended by something, as he cast claim after claim upon the Old Gods and the Faith of the First Men.
It's more than a little softened by your revelations in seasons prior, of the Long Night coming, but he makes his position very clear (and that of the book), that these... gods of yesterday, these inhuman deities were not meant to be worshipped by humanity, that said worship was a chain, a millstone around the people of the North.
"As opposed to the Faith of the Seven?" you'd asked, curious at his passion "Where a High Septon is held up as the holy representative of the gods?"
"A High Septon can be cast down," said Tucker dismissively "Held accountable, by gods and men. These tree-folk, these spirits and children and wood-dancers... can you say that they are by any standard friends to us? House Stark fought them for generations, my lord. Your own ancestor, Brandon of the Bloody Blade, saw fit to put paid to them and the giants of the Reach."
"A Reachman favoured myth," you note politely "Not one held so strongly by the North. Considering they also hold Lann the Clever to be a grandson of Garth the Gardener, I would consider their mythological claims with a grain of salt."
"Bah," he says with a shaking of his head "I've spent several years trying to map and explain the historical inconsistencies between the various regional mythologies. Durran Godsgrief and Elenei, the Grey King, Brandon the Builder, the High King of the First Men and the First King at Barrowton. It's as much lies as it is myth, I grant you, but there's some kernels of truth in there to be found."
"When you find them maester, do take heed to inform me."
With another relationship tested, you'd looked to other matters, claiming books to take with you upon your journey south to Oldtown.
These books would serve you well in the dull moments to come, you hoped. The Wars of Yesterday and the Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Two of the finer military history records in the world, if your maester's praise was any indication.
(Logistic III, Siege Breaker II, Siege Maker II, Strategic Intelligence II acquired, in effect after season's end. Theologically Aware is acquired! Skagosi Cultural Awareness acquired!
--
Besides that, you'd also managed to put some other practice in...
Particularly, in the realm of archery.
You had been given one final command by Ser Brynden, after all.
What hours had not been spent by reading or dragon riding (though to be fair, you'd oft combined those together for the sheer sake of it), you'd spent training alone, atop the Lord's Tower, your own targets the high flying birds of the Riverlands.
Training, and training, until the time had come for you to leave for Riverrun, to attend upon Lord Ryman Roote, the Lord Protector.
But first had come another summons, one from within your own home.
A summons by Ser Robin Locksley.
"My lord," said the Riverlander knight to you in greeting as you stepped into the Hall of Hundred Hearths, now long since turned into your garrison building "I've gathered the finest archers in your household at last. I was hoping you might enjoy a demonstration..."
With a nod, you both turned to the corner of the cleared hall, where two dozen archery targets stood. At the other end of the hall, as far as they could be without leaving the building, stood your candidates. As you stood and watched, they each fired three arrows at command, as fast as they could manage. When Locksley bid them to stop, you headed to the targets, to inspect their impacts.
"Good, good..." you mutter to yourself as you look them over "Not a bad mix, Ser Robin."
"My nephew is amongst them, my lord. In interests of honesty."
"He as good as you?"
"He's getting there, my lord. I dare say he'll be the equal of any man in the Riverlands before he turns thirty."
"Hmm. Fetch me my longbow, Ser Robin."
With a nod, he did as bid, heading to the armoury with key-keeper in hand. In his absence, you walked up to the men and men who would comprise your newly elite archery unit, shaking hands and speaking amongst them, setting them. at ease until Ser Robin's return.
With a thank you, you took the weirwood longbow from his hand, demonstrating it before your applicants.
"This will be your weapon of grant," you say with all sincerity and honest "My mark of trust and reliance upon you all."
As you say that, you take up three arrows from an abandoned quiver, drawing them against the bowstring. As they step away, you draw and set loose,
Each arrow finds itself positioned in the other's rear, following in quick succession to hit a bullseye.
"If you can hit that," you declare to them all "Then I'll know you've earned that reliance."
(Elite Archery acquired, Ser Brynden's expectations met).
--
While on the subject of faith, it would be best to bring in more Old Gods worshippers while Harrenhal is still a nascent city. Once enough people have settled down the civic culture will be harder to steer toward a multicultural/cosmopolitan nature.
It'd be nice to have another White Harbor culturally instead of just another Southron city with an outnumbered 'heathen' lord. Even if the quest will end long before that point, I'd rather our descendants not convert to the Seven in order to fit in better.
[Andy's Paranoia Intensifies]A fact much pleasing to your maester you knew, who had taken great pains to oversee and help administrate the program.