A Dragon of the North VIII: Whispers of War

Droman · May 2, 2015

170: The Busy Business

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).
--

Droman · May 2, 2015

171: The Summons of Riverrun

"What do you want me to do with your would-be knights?" asked Wulf gruffly "There's already a few of them here, drinking and eating."

"Hold the tourney once you think we've had enough," you say with a nod as you put on your riding gloves "If any of them cause trouble, throw them in the goal until I return."

"You want me to offer inspection? Over these lowlander knights?"

"Over these lowlander warriors," you correct "And who better to see to them than the first warrior I ever beat?"

"Bah," said Wulf as he poked your side "As old as I am, I would still give you a good fight."

"Yes," you say with a smile back "You would."

"But I would lose," he acknowledges with a huff "I'm too old to do more than give you a few minutes of trouble."

"See to the men, Wulf. Pick out the ones you think best, and a few more besides."

"So desperate for hanger-ons?"

"A lord must have his retinue, his able swords. And enough of your kinsmen are looking to other past-times that I must refill my ranks with fighting men."

"You need another Logain, you mean."

"... Yes. I need another Logain."

"Hmph."

"Have Forley see to the convoy preparations to Oldtown, if you could. I expect to be arriving with as much haste as possible."

"Don't wish to miss your king's celebrations?"

"Lord Arryn sent word not two days hence," you admitted, reluctant to discuss the matter in public "Of matters left unresolved. I've friends coming from the Vale, Wulf. "

"More knights?"

"Yes."

"You bring home to many knights, little wolf. I had thought once that the Rosby would be the last."

"Olyvar?"

"Yes, him. He is well, I hope?"

"He is well. His sister is in talks to marry someone in the Stormlands, I think."

"Not that Harte boy?"

"Not after he failed to claim Stokeworth, I think. Lord Perwyn sees fairer prospects for his siblings, now."

"Who rules in Stokeworth, then?"

"The land was split up. Perwyn received the richer half of the lands, while House Chelsted claimed the rest, along with Stokeworth itself."

"How very unfortunate for the Harte boy, then."

--

After that, you'd ridden out of Harrenhal, turning west from the northern gate. As you travelled across the breadth of your lands, further and further west along the Trident, into Bracken and Lolliston lands, you could not help but reflect.

Only a few years hence, you had come to these lands as a landless knight, with nothing to your station but an illustrious sword and a pack of mountain marauders.

And now you were a mighty lord in your own right, related by blood to the ruling lord of the lands.

How times change.

Even the trail leading up to Riverrun had, a frown put upon your features by memories of Ser Arthur Dayne, of your first encounter.

You should have killed him here, all those years ago. You might have saved yourself years of agony, of insidious whispers.

Of having to take his life after it had begun to actually matter to you.

"My lord?"

"I'm fine, Threetrees. Just remembering a knight I looked up to once."

"Once?"

"Once."

--

Upon your arrival within Riverrun, you recieve a most welcome surprise.

"Jon!" said your young cousin as he threw himself into your unexpecting arms "I knew you'd come!"

"Bran," you mutter in surprise "Aren't you supposed to be at Seaguard?"

"He is," says the familiar voice of Ryman Roote nearby "But Lord Jason and I agreed that Bran should make frequent visits to Riverrun, so as to be kept aware of my conduct and rulings."

"How prescient of you," you say, a small frown on your lips "I take it he'll be joining us for whatever this summons is?"

"Yes," confirmed Ryman Roote is a soft smile "He will."

--

"You're sure of this?" you question immediately upon final revelations "Of all of this?"

Next to you, Bran looked on, his mouth agape at his regents claims.

"Yes," said the Lord Protector of the Riverlands "I've proof for it all."

"How?" you say in follow up "How did you recover any of this?"

"Spies," he says with a shrug "Spies left in their households for over a decade now."

"You've.. you've been spying on them, for over ten years? " said the Lady of Stone Hedge in surprise "What could-"

"Spur me to do so? This, lady Barbara. This is what spurred me on. House Blackfyre had it's loyalists for five rebellions. How could anyone think the Targaryens would be less resilient."

"So before the Lord Arryn even gave you command-"

"I was collecting information. Weapon shipments filtering through Darry into the Point, various meetings and affiliations, marriages that had occurred prior or after the Rebellion."

"Have you ever heard of the word paranoia, my lord?" japed the Paege knight representing his family "Though I suppose your discoveries spare you that affliction."

"Why didn't you share this earlier?" said Lord Jason Mallister in disgruntlement "We might have avoided the king's near death this year. The destruction of the capital, the madness at Dragonstone."

"They hadn't done anything earlier," Lord Ryman points out "And I would have had nothing but word-of-mouth and claims to substantiate myself. No, I needed to wait, wait until they revealed themselves."

"What of House Whent," you say suddenly, attracting attention back to you "What involvement did they have in this?"

"The Lady Shella had little to do with anything, near the end. But I had suspicions regarding her castellan, and the Proudmoores..."

"The Proudmoores."

"They've ties to other Targaryen loyal families in the region. I suspect them to be as guilty of treason as anyone else."

"Do you have proof?"

"Nothing conclusive, I'm afraid. Only strong suspicions. They're yours to deal with as you wish."

"So what are we to do with the others?" questioned Ser Dafyn Vance "Name them to the King's justice?"

"Lord Arryn entrusted me with the authority to investigate and prosecute any and all Dragonsworn within the Riverlands," Lord Ryman said bluntly "An authority invested in my place as regent to House Tully. With Lord Brandon's blessing, I would say we go to war."

"Go to war," said the Lady Bracken dubiously "Against Darry, Mooton, Ryger, Goodbrook, Lolliston and Deddings? They've a fifth of the Riverlands levy under arms. The fact that there are not more lords in this council says to me that you intend to keep this fairly equitable, for obvious reasons."

"Yes," admitted Lord Ryman to the Lady of Stone Hedge "you've the right of it , my lady."

"You want to take their land," said Bran quietly, realizing what his regent was intending "You want to take their lands."

"Yes, my lord. These rebels must be put to flight, and their lands and wealth denied them. Denied them, and shared out amongst more loyal lords, such as those here."

"Bracken, Hawick, Lychester, Mallister, Paege, Roote, Stormcrown, and Vance," you mull to yourself, as you count off the assembled nobility in the solar "We're to split the lands between us, then?"

"Yes," explained Lord Roote calmly, as he gestured to the maester to bring forth a map "The Lady Bracken, Lord Vance and yourself shall divide the lands of House Lolliston between you. Lord Vance, yourself and Lord Lychester will divide the Goodbrook lands as well. The Deddings lands will go between House Lychester, Paege and Ryger-"

"The same Ryger who are our enemies?" Bran asked in curiosity "I don't understand."

"Ser Robin Ryger has served loyally in House Tully's service for decades," explained out the Lord Protector "In service to your grandfather. He will be named as head of House Ryger in replacement to his kin, and be given custody of their children."

"And Darry and Mooton?" you ask pointedly "To whom shall those riches go?"

"To myself, of course." said Ryman Roote "As reward for my role in discovering this foul nest of vipers."

"I seem to recall amongst those of my household," you more determindely state "The next in line to House Darry. A fact you know well yourself, my lord, for how oft you've asked for their hands."

"An asking I make again," he says to most clearly "For all the lands south of the Trident as gift in exchange for the hand of Amerei Frey and Marissa Frey to my eldest and youngest sons, and Walda Frey to my base-born nephew Rolland Rivers. Meanwhile, those north of the Trident will go House Hawick in gift, for their aid in settling this rebellion."

That set everyone aback, as they looked more carefully at the regent of Riverrun, who raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I know my limits, and my place. I serve as loyal regent, and little more. The lands of Darry and Mooton are unclaimed however, and I would see them mine. But I will not overstep, and so I will surrender the lands I already know as mine. So, the Frey girls for my land, and if I've chance, a Mooton girl for my second-born."

"So your lands will go to him," says the Lady Bracken with a nod to you "And Hawick? House Bracken would not turn away such gifts."

"Such gifts go to a dragonlord," says Ryman with a shrug "And brother to our own lord and master. And Ser Harys Hawick's men are most needed, and he has given me no prior objection to my offer."

"No," said the Knight of Hawick with a greedy smile "I've no objections to that offer. Though I wouldn't mind a lordship as well from Lord Brandon, to better reflect my ready sacrifices."

"You'll have to make due with lands alone," said Lord Roote coolly "For any matters between you and House Cox will remain adjudicated by Riverrun."

"Bah, Quincy's as good as dead, Ryman. Give me this little courtesy-"

"No. Now, any questions, my noble lords and ladies?"

"I've but one," you say as you stand to your feet "What good will my dragon be, when I go south to Oldtown with it?"

"The threat of it will help, though it is your levy I care for more. Four thousand men are about as good as a young dragon, if not better."

"And these lands are your final offer, for us all?"

"They're as fair as I can make them, and unless Lord Brandon wishes to offer his insight, I cannot think to change them. My lord?"

"Uh..."

[] Accept Lord Ryman Roote's Offer - You will receive portions of the lands of House Roote, Goodbrook and Lolliston, in exchange for your significant presence and involvement during this campaign. You will receive House Roote's lands south of the Trident in exchange for marrying your guest Amerei Frey to his eldest son, her sister Walda Frey to his bastard nephew, and promising their youngest sister Marissa to your page Samwell Roote. Effects: Expanded land rights, open access to the Trident, new neighbours.

[] Decline Lord Ryman Roote's Offer - The lands offered to you will be given unto others, with the political makeup of the Riverlands changed without your input. Effects: Obvious.

[] Appeal to Brandon Tully (Write In)

--
Author's Note: Yes wins, I believe?

Droman · May 2, 2015

172: Justice

You had stayed a couple of days after the council of war was concluded, to spend time with Bran. Much to Lord Mallister's fear, you had taken him riding on Valonqar, despite the dragon's disapproval. Together, the two of you had ridden him over the Red Fork, back and forth in sight of Riverrun until the young dragon had grown too tired of your weight.

When you'd landed, Bran had nothing but secrets to share. He confided in you of what Arya had written him, and how jealous he was the two of you had had chance to have dragons and he did not. He also revealed to you the mysterious sword he had spoken of prior in letters, having one of Lord Mallister's attendants bring it from the chest it was being held within.

The sight of it took your breath away.

It had been reworked, you knew. With fresh leathers, coatings of oil to take away what grime and rust there might have been. No doubt some blacksmith had taken quite significant care in restoring it, intended for Brandon as it was.

"It's a beautiful sword, Bran. Truly."

"The body and armour with it was all rusted," Bran said to you excitedly "And one the Mallisters had to cut open his hand to pull it free. Lord Jason said it was meteor-steel, like the one House Dayne has. He said it was well made, too."

"Anything else he had to say?"

"Only that it might be really old," said Bran to you with glee "Old, like House Mudd."

"House Mudd?" you said in surprise as you looked upon the weapon with closer interest "The old river kings?"

"We found a crown," said your brother in confidence "But it was so rusted over, you could hardly tell that was what it was. The blacksmiths tried reworking it, but it just fell apart. The metal was too old, they said."

"House Mudd," you mutter to yourself "The Hammers of the Riverlands."

"Kings of the First Men," Bran added in awe "It's incredible."

"Aye," you say as you pull Bran closer for a hug "It certainly is."

Even as he pulled away to reach for the sword, you couldn't help but frown slightly.

The blade... it'd felt quite cold.

--

Unfortunately, your time together was coming to a close, as you'd needed to return to Harrenhal in preparation for travels further south. With a big hug to him and hearty handshakes to his guardian, you'd departed from Riverrun once more, riding over your men upon Valonqar's back, the young dragon taking more and more of a liking to lengthier flights.

Eventually, you'd made your return to Harrenhal, where you'd made the near future known to your war-council. You'd charged Wulf with command of Harrenhal as castellan, entrusting him with defence of your castle, and disposition of your men in the small war to come. When he asked of House Proudmoore however...

"Send invitation," you'd decided "To Lord Proudmoore and his family. Place them under house arrest here at Harrenhal, until whatever part they have to play in this disturbance is resolved."

Otherwise, reactions had been as expectant. Amerei had been pleased that she and her sisters had received their promised marriages, though Walda was more than disgruntled at being given a bastard for husband. Marissa had blushed quite heavily at her promising to Sam, a blush he himself had shared.

"I suppose a Roote will do," Amerei had said to you "Though I might have much preferred a Blackwood. Lord Tytos I understand is not short of sons."

"I might have arranged that," you say with a shrug "Had I had time to see to it in more detail earlier."

"A pity," she says with a small smile "But one that couldn't be helped."

--

"My lord," said Ser Robin Locksley to you in presentation "Those selected from the tourneys and trials. By way of Dorne, if I might present to you the brothers Ser Mors and Ser Mallor. They are of the orphans of the Greenblood, and both are trueborn sons of those people."

"My lord," said Ser Mors, the older of the two "We would be honoured to enter your service."

"Tell me of yourselves, sers."

"Our extended family are proven knights in Dorne, my lord. Our cousin is sworn guard to Prince Trystane, the second son of Prince Doran Martell. We've served in half a dozen sellsword wars in Essos, and have three years of service with the Golden Company."

"And you wish to enter my service?"

"We've made a few enemies in Pentos, my lord. My brother and I thought it would be best to seek employment nearer to home for the near future. We would give you our oaths and service for a year, if you would have us."

[] Accept both men into your service - Acquire Ser Mors of the Greenblood (Impressive Sword & Board) and Ser Mallor of the Greenblood (Average Sword & Board)

[] Decline their joining your service - Do not acquire these two Dornish knights.

After they had stepped aside at your proclamation, a third Dornishman had stepped up, one of most familiar features...

"I present Ser Darahmir Sand," announced Ser Robin Locksley "bastard-born heir of House Dayne of Dawnstar."

"Dawnstar," you say quietly "I do not think to know that branch."

"A poor one my lord," says the young man cheerfully "One given to bastards quite frequently. I should think my heritage to be pedigree enough, but I am quite a master of the greatsword."

"Oh?"

"The Sword of the Morning is a title currently defunct," he says with a shrug "I hope for deeds and a valour high enough to see me so named by my trueborn cousins."

"So you will not be entering my service permanently?"

"The Sword of the Morning might follow any lord. If that lord proves true. I cannot say if you are that lord."

[] Accept him into your service - Acquire Ser Darahmir Sand (Elite Two-Handed).
[] Decline him joining your service - Do not acquire Ser Darahmir Sand

On and on it went, with more presented before you. There was Ser Thomas Gaunt, distant kinsman and relative to the Gaunts of Godric's Hollow, who swore his intent to serve in your household as loyally and as long as you desired of him. From the North came Ser Theodan Wells and Ser Roderick Snow, two errant knights of differing faiths who had known of your person, both seeking to enter your permanent service.

[]Acquire as many as you wish:

- Ser Thomas Gaunt (Impressive Sword & Board)
- Ser Theodan Wells (Impressive Two-Handed)
- Ser Roderick Snow (Impressive Two-Handed)

There were quite a few hailing from the Reach, most bastard knights born of highborn lords. Each gave claims of loyalty and obedience, wishing to be taken into your illustrious retinue.

[] Acquire as many as you wish:

- Ser Gaheris Gorse (Impressive Dual Wield)
- Ser Melwyn Oakenshield (Impressive Warhammer)
- Ser Symon Flowers (Impressive Sword & Board)
- Ser Shadrich of Shady Glen (Impressive Sword & Board)
- Ser Willis the Stork, Ser Byron the Beautiful and Ser Tallad the Tall (Average Sword & Board)

There were those of the Riverlanders as well, two men of noble and common birth respectively. Ser Grover Rivers, distant kinsman to House Tully, who had boldly professed his desire to rise high in a fellow bastard's favour, while his companion Ser Joss Quickbow only spoke of his skill with his attributed weapon. Behind them had come Stormlanders, hoping to enter your service, bearing seal and letter from their kinsman Ser Narbert Grandison, who appealed to you to take them within your household for at least a year, in respect to former fellowship.

The Westerlanders... well, you had little idea of why Westerlander knights would enter your service, but the elderly knight and his bastard son had merely said they hoped for opportunity. Finally had come some knights of the Vale, much to your own surprise. Ser Jon Redfort, the third son of Lord Horton Redfort, having come with two fellow knights of his father's lands, a Ser Jasper Stone, and a Ser Ronnel of Redstone.

"My father's temper has not soothed," he tells you bluntly enough "But Lord Arryn's words have tempered his judgment, enough to allow me and my fellows to join your service."

"You would join me?"

"And rise high, if I could."

[] Acquire as many as you wish:

- Ser Grover Rivers (Impressive Archery) & Ser Joss Quickbow (Impressive Archery)
-Ser Durran Storm (Impressive Warhammer) & Ser Orys Storm (Impressive Warhammer)
- Ser Loren Lantell (Impressive Sword & Board) & Ser Hugor of the Hills (Average Sword & Board)
- Ser Jon Redfort (Impressive Sword & Board), Ser Jasper Stone (Impressive Sword & Board), Ser Ronnel of Redstone (Average)

Finally, as the day had drawn late, one last knight stood before you.

He was old, perhaps of an age with Wulf, or Jason Mallister. Yet as you looked upon him, you could tell that the passing of time had not warped him so, weakened his vigour and loosened his strength.

"My lord," said Ser Robin Locksley "If I might introduce to you Ser Balon Thrallmar, formerly of the Iron Isles."

"Ser Balon," you sway with a nod to the knight "You are a rare thing, I think. There are not too many reavers with knighthoods to match."

"I am no reaver," he says to you gruffly "For all that I keep the iron price."

"Oh?" you say with a little chuckle "That being the price which is taken by iron, by strength of arm?"

"That being the price which can be earned by iron, by strength of arm. I have plied my trade for twenty years, my lord. I have yet had found myself in straits because of it."

"Your name," you say in consideration "Thrallmar. Was your father a thrall?"

"Yes," admitted the Ironlander knight freely "Him and my mother both. They gave themselves to the Drowned Men when I was twelve, to free me and my sister. Lord Greyjoy took note of their sacrifice then, and took myself and my sister into his household."

"Lord Balon Greyjoy?"

"Lord Quellon, his father. I served him for four years, before I angered his sons and left for Harlaw. I served there under Lord Rodrik Harlaw for several years, surviving the Rebellion Lord Balon had sought to win. After that, I travelled as I wished, and served whom I wished."

"How came you to be knighted, Ser Balon?"

"I won a tourney in the Stormlands, my lord. The tourney lord in question offered me a knighthood, a bastard daughter, or a horse. I took the knighthood."

"Not the horse?"

"I have little love for horses, my lord."

"Hm. And is there a reason why I should accept you into my service, Ser Balon?"

"I've a keen axe to split heads with in your service, my lord. I don't rightly know what more you need from an old sellsword."

[] Write in - Do you accept or refuse the service of Ser Balon Thrallmar (Elite Two-Handed Axeman)

--

It was three days later, when you'd prepared for your departure down to Oldtown.

When your companions of old had ridden south.

"Robar," you shouted in greeting as you hugged your friend "What are you-"

"You didn't think Jon Arryn was sending Archay and Dannett south alone, did you?" said the Lord of Runestone with a laugh "You're not the only one looking to settle accords, Jon."

"So this is it, then?" you said questioningly "We're settling it all?"

"As soon as Lord Arryn directs it," said Uther Upcliff in lieu of greeting, as he clasps you firmly by the shoulder "He spoke in letters of needing something from the Citadel of Oldtown, something that would help regarding Joffreys' actions. Whatever it is though, I cannot say."

"Still," you say with a nod "The time is coming. Vengeance for Mya, and Myranda, and Waymar."

"I'm glad to hear you so insistent," said a familiar female voice "Though perhaps not as wistful in remembrance."

"Myranda?" you say in surprise, before hugging your childhood friend "Is there anyone not riding south for this?"

"My father," admitted Myranda Royce to you "And Albar as well. His wife has finally gotten with child, and he dares not leave her side."

"That lovestruck, is he?"

"You'd be disgusted if you could see it. He waits on her hand and foot. But I suppose little sisters are never happy with their brother's happiness."

"I suppose not," you say with a smile, one slipping slightly as you see her betrothed behind her "Ser Harold. I hadn't expected to see you with everyone."

"Lord Stormcrown," said the Hardyng heir politely "An honour, as always."

"Is there anyone else?"

"Marwyn's somewhere around, bringing up the remainder of the convoy. Lord Horton's second son is with us as well, and Ser Andrey Arryn is here as well."

"A mighty host," you said contemplatively "to ride south."

"But ride south we will," said Uther in assurance "For justice."

"For justice."

Droman · May 2, 2015

172.1: Travel Time

The time has come for you depart for Oldtown. Due to the distances involved and your lack of owning a fleet, you must travel south past the Gods eye down the Blackwater, before disembarking to head overland to the Mander, from where you will sail down to Oldtown to take part in the festivities. At best, this will take a month, and considering you've never directed a travel convoy before...

- Roll 1d100+20, DC 80 (Timely Arrival), DP allowable

As well, being the lord in charge has made you responsible for the complement of your party. Arriving as you are as a highborn lord, there is a certain expectation of pomp and circumstance. While you hardly care for all that, you do have certain people you'll be bringing with you.

For a total of 50 people, pick from:

(Required) Vale (3 Vale lords, 4 Vale knights, 1 Vale maiden, 2 Vale prisoners, 15 Vale retainers)

Household Knights (select from 25 recently available household knights, plus Rudd Threetrees)

Household Retainers (Yohn Featherstone, Maester Tucker, Samwell Roote)

Hounds of Harrenhal (24 archers, includes Robin Locksley)

Dragon (counts as 10 people)

Roll requirements will follow depending on choices.

Droman · May 3, 2015

173: Travelers

Your travels were remarkably boring.

You'd have thought something would have happened, some small engagement or concern or distraction or something...

But no.

Even Valonqar was acting abnormally polite.

Valonqar.

Oh, Yohn had been furious with you for thinking to bring him along, but it had worked out all right.

He didn't even bite anyone.

Really, much better than what you could have hoped for.

Ho hum.

--

When you had finally docked at Oldtown (having taken ship from the mouth of the Mander around the coastline rather than go overland), you were left more than a little agape.

Oldtown...

Oldtown is certainly impressive.

Very impressive.

As was your attending hosts at the landing.

"Lord Stormcrown," said a knight standing upon the docks, surrounded by Hightower guards "You are him, yes?"

"Yes," you warily confirm, your hand slipping to Blackyre's hilt as you address him "And I have the pleasure of speaking to..."

"Ser Humfrey Hightower, my lord. One of your hosts for the festivities to come."

"Ser Humfrey," you with a polite bow of your head "Your family's generosity honours us all."

"Would that my father be alive to hear your words," said Humfrey sorrowfully "Then we would all be of much lighter heart."

"Your father?" you say curiously, your hand dropping away from your hilt "Has something happened to Lord Leyton?"

Hesitating slightly as he looked at his men, he bid you to join him a little way apart.

As you joined him, he spoke further.

"In a manner of speaking," revealed the youngest of the Hightower sons "He threw himself into the sea from atop the Hightower, dashing his skull upon the rocks. My older sister Malora, is also dead. Another suicide, my lord."

"My condolences, ser. I cannot profess to know to have known them personally, but I too have lost loved ones."

"My thanks," he says with pursed lips "But I have not come for your condolences."

"Ser?"

"Your name was found scrawled upon the walls of my sister's room. And my father's quarters. And those of a maester in the Citadel, whose remains had been scattered across his quarters. Scrawled in their own blood."

"My name?"

"Yes," said the Hightower knight "Stormcrown."

"Stormcrown."

"Arlan?"

"I... I don't know."

"My father, my sister," said Ser Humfrey carefully "Were fond of the occult, of ancient books and half-written spells and the like. My sister was born mad, my lord. A madness that fixated on such heresies and claims. They both consulted quite frequently with maesters of the Citadel, including the deceased. An archmaester Marwyn, a fringe scholar on such matters. All of whom are now dead, with their blood in writing upon walls, naming you. Or your surname at least."

"Ask him if anything was taken."

"Arlan?"

"Do it."

"Was anything taken," you repeat dully "Weapons, gems, priceless possessions?"

"No," said the Oldtown knight carefully "Nothing but books."

"Books?"

"Arlan-"

"I've ideas, boy. Terrible ideas... We must help this man, and his family. Whatever- Whoever had a role to play in these deaths... they will not have gone far."

"Are you sure?"

"Very sure."

[] Offer Assistance - Though Arlan is as mysterious as ever, you will offer your services to House Hightower in getting to the bottom of this. Roll 1d100+20, DC 40 #Assistance Accepted, DP applicable

[] Say Nothing - You're really not sure what assistance you can provide, and Arlan's reluctance isn't helping. You'll keep your mouth shut, and try to leave it at that with House Hightower. Roll 1d100-20, DC 20 #You'reInvolved, DP applicable (failure desirable)

--

With that matter... sorted for the time being, for lack of a better definition, you and your party head further into the city. While many lesser knights and lords have elected to camp outside the city and closer to the tourney grounds, many of those more esteemed in the royalist circles had acquired (however temporarily) manses within the city.

Which is what brought you to Lord Arryn's manse, deep into Oldtown.

Much to Valonqar's displeasure, as the bullish dragon resigned himself so close quarters for the time being.

"Lord Stormcrown," said the elderly Lord Hand by way of greeting as he clasped your arm. "Lord Royce. Lord Upcliff. Lord Belmore. Ser Brightblade. Ser Redfort. Cousins. Welcome to Oldtown."

"Lord Arryn," you respectfully say as he continues to personally greet the others of your party "Am I correct in assuming..."

"Yes, yes." he says to you "But it'll be discussed in a moment, if you'll allow me that."

"Joffrey?"

"And more. Much more."

--

"You're sure of this?" said Lord Uther doubtfully "Enough to bring this before the king?"

"I was not the first to consider it," admitted Jon Arryn to those assembled "That much was done by the Spider."

"And considering his allegiances," suggested Robar Royce "This seems quite suspect."

"But very possible," pointed out his overlord "Enough that I would bring this before Robert's purview."

"The Queen," said Marwyn Belmore distastefully "And her brother..."

"Which makes the royal children bastards," you mutter in concern "Including Myrcella and Tommen. Dare I ask what is to happen to them?"
"Joffrey is of an age and culpable for the actions done against Mya Stone, as well as House Royce. Execution will be his fate. As for his siblings... I cannot hope to guess what Robert might intend. His tempers have been mixed of late. He might well call for their deaths."

"I cannot stomach that, my lord." You protest, even as your mind flashes to days long passed, to men now only memories "I cannot."

"Swear to me, Jon. Swear to me that you shall forswear your claims and desires upon the Iron Throne, that you will not challenge Robert nor his children nor even his children's children."

"Only three generations?" you scoff dryly as you seat yourself "You think I can't wait? I've seen things, uncle. Dreams of darkness, of dead men who darkened the barrows and rose to fight the living. Of gods once forgotten and returned. Kings in rags returned to splendour. Even if Robert's children and their children have a thousand more children, I could still claim the throne. "

"No, I will not allow this, Dayne. I do not, and I will not condemn the murder of innocents. If I am to claim the seat of kings, then it will be through battle alone."

"There is yet time to persuade Robert," Jon Arryn says kindly "Hiding them amongst the faithful might yet prove prudent. Lives away from House Lannister, from the throne."

"How likely are we to have them to even decide that?" pointed up Ser Sturm Brightblade, the elderly knight having sat in a tranquil rage at revelations of royal cuckolding "Their own kinsman sits as Master of Whispers at Dragonstone as we speak. He could well steal them away before the king's return north."

"Ser Lyn Corbray stands as Kingsguard at Dragonstone," revealed the Lord of the Vale "A man of our own and skilled enough to see any moves by Kevan Lannister stymied. The children will not be leaving Dragonstone, I assure you."

"So what now?" you asked, still uncomfortable with the entirety of this discussion "Where do we proceed from here?"

"There is a book that I seek," said Jon Arryn patiently "That I have need of, before Robert meets with the new High Septon. There was meant to be a copy at Storm's End, but the maester there professed no knowledge of it, and I did not find it in Dragonstone. It is a genealogical record, listing the various marriages between House Baratheon and Lannister through the years, and their descendants. I hope to use it as part of my argument and evidences when I approach both the High Septon and Robert with this."

"Accusations of incest, casting aside the Lannisters, denouement of the royal children," you count off to those in the room "We'll be at war with Tywin Lannister in less than a month."

"We'll have too many hostages for that. His grandchildren, his son, his nephews, his brother at Dragonstone, several of his nieces... No, he cannot act against us, not with half the realm ready to put Casterly Rock to ruin. Especially not if House Tyrell sides with us."

"... You're looking to give them the king?"

"Or Renly, if Robert proves too ungrateful. As it is, I half-fear he'll legitimize his Florent-born bastard if given opportunity. Though perhaps Edric and Margaery would not prove too difficult a coupling..."

"My lord... what is it you wish of us, then?"

"Three matters most important. The first, that the prisoners be kept under guard at all times, in order to assure their presence when needed. The second, that this book, "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children", that it be acquired from the Citadel grounds immediately. The third, well.."

"Lord Arryn?"

"Until the voting for the High Septon is resolved, Robert's attention will be on the festivities, which buys us a few weeks to prepare ourselves and keep everything in order. Upon the High Septon's naming, he and Robert are to visit the Starry Sept together to pray, a sign of the continued support the gods keep in House Baratheon. Afters, the negotiations regarding loans, grants, the new religious seat in the rebuilt capital, a whole bevy of things are to be discussed... including the annulment. It is there however, that I will bring to light our own charges. When Robert is persuaded and the High Septon gives his blessings, you'll have charge to take the Crown Prince into custody, along with any of his retinue who dare resist."

"I-"

"I trust that last will not be too difficult?"

"No," you say with a small smile as you struggle to restrain your joy "No, not too difficult at all."

--

[] Attend the first bracket of the Jousting Tourney of Oldtown
[] Attend the first installment of the grand melee
[] Attend upon the Hightower murders
[] Attend upon the Dornish
[] Attend upon the Lannisters
[] Attend upon the Redwynes
[] Attend upon the Rosbys
[] Attend upon the Tyrells
[] Attend upon the Valesmen
[] Attend upon the incest allegations
[] Travel around Oldtown (Business)
[] Travel around Oldtown (Religious)

You may select 4.

Lord Uther Upcliff (1d100+13) vs. Ser Lucion Lannister (1d100+13)
Ser Theodore Tyrell (1d100+18) vs. Ser Narbert Grandison (1d100+23)
Ser Peter Plumm (1d100+13) vs. Ser Imry Florent (1d100+18)
Lord Lucias Vyperen (1d100+13) vs. Ser Balon Swann (1d100+23)
Ser Gunthor Hightower (1d100+28) vs. Ser Dennis Plumm (1d100+13)
Ser Loras Tyrell (1d100+38) vs. Ser Robar Royce (1d100+13)
Ser Olyvar Rosby (1d100+13) vs. Lord Bryce Caron (1d100+13)
The Fawn Knight (1d100) vs. Ser Creighton Redfort (1d100+13)

Droman · May 4, 2015

174: The Seekers of Truth

The day after your arrival, you'd immediately gotten to work.

While your friends and companions had filtered across the city, you had taken Valonqar on a sky-ride to the Hightower, landing atop it's doughty peak, where Ser Humfrey Hightower awaited you.

"You could have come by boat," he said over the fierce winds caused by Valonqar's flapping wings "That was a possibility!"

"Valonqar gets irritable if he doesn't have a chance to fly," you shout back, as the young dragon lands at last "And I couldn't leave him in the manse. He'd have got out and clawed the place to pieces."

"You could have left him in Harrenhal!"

"...Why would I do that?"

"Because.-" said Ser Humfrey before he sighed in resignation "Never mind. Just come in already."

--

"Arlan," you thought to the spectre "Anything at all?"

"Something..." he whispered back "I can taste the lingering remnants of magicka. He said his kin were involved in the occult?"

"So..." you said to the Hightower knight "The occult?"

"An old tradition in my family," said the Reachman distastefully "For those too eccentric for the Citadel, too cautious for exploration, too generous for trade, or too peaceful for knighthood."

"You don't sound as if you approve."

"My father was a good man, Lord Stormcrown. My sister had her moments of lucidity as well. Yet I could never understand their interest in these... arts. It wasn't as if they ever worked, that Malora was binding shadows or seeing into fires, as those mystics in Essos are said to do. My father had warlocks and pyromancers and maegi and all manner of charlatans come to Oldtown, to demonstrate before himself and Malora. He even recommended some of them to my good-uncle, Lord Randyll Tarly for his son. Nothing ever came of it."

"I'm surprised you can speak so openly of it," you murmur with a nod "Being folk of Oldtown, one would expect a more ... pious sensibility."

"Oldtown had its faithful, myself included. But it is a very old place indeed, Lord Stormcrown. And there have always been those who have dealt in... baser intellects. But if you mean to ask of my family's reputation... little more than rumours have ever escaped the Hightower. Officially, my father's death is to have been of age, and my sister's has not yet been announced."

"No?"

"It would look too suspicious," he affirmed "And Baelor does not need such attention when he hosts the King himself. And as much as it shames me to admit it... Malora can be easily forgotten."

"Found it."

"Arlan?"

"The magical taint, I would recognize it anywhere."

"What is it, Arlan?"

"Seekers."

"Seekers?"

--

At your confusion, Arlan begins to explain, telling you. Of his experiences with these demons known as Daedra, creatures of chaos and disorder, inherently opposed by their nature to the well-being of men and mer. Of the first he had slain in the battle of Markarth, defending a fallen Vigilant of Stendarr, turned champion of Molag Bal.

His acquaintances with them had been brief, he says, limited to brief interactions in the years prior to the Second Great War, when his attention had been turned to other concerns, such as fighting the Clan Volkihar, and wooing Serana.

Serana.

Even as he says the name to you, you sense a great grief and sorrow, one that threatens to break your composure before Ser Humfrey. Yet even as you play innocent and continue to "examine" the rooms, Arlan tells you his story, such as it was that you had not uncovered.

He tells you of the days following the Stormcloak Rebellion, when he had met the Emperor of Tamriel. An aging general, he had come to Skyrim to celebrate the end of the war, after Arlan had led the Legions to victory from Hold to Hold, after he had engineered through alliances and trickery the ascension of Jarl Baalgruuf the Greater to High Kingship. The Emperor had attended the ceremonies, casting his own weight and that of Cyrodil over the proceedings. And yet, when assassins had come calling, seeking the life of the elderly rule, Arlan had acted, had fought to save this unknown man's life.

He succeeded, and thereafter, the two had met, and become common allies and friends in all matters that concerned the Thalmor.

"I am an old man," he had said to Arlan "One whose heirs are many, who I know to be targets of high priority once the war begins anew. Targets that I must allow, sacrifices I must endure. The line of Mede will end with me, Dragonborn. And the line of Stormcrown shall return with you, as it did with Tiber Septim. You will succeed me as Emperor, as is your birthright. As is your duty."

So Arlan had been burdened, granted commands and duties superior to all but one. In the days after the assassination, he had hunted for the would-be killers, blazing through false trails and associated affiliates from Haafinger to the Rift. A thieves guild had fallen there, their membership scattered or put into the mud, with Arlan extracting what he needed. No less than three attacks followed after that, as Arlan assaulted the hidden compounds of this dark brotherhood.

"I had killed them all, and claimed a mighty steed for my troubles. Shadowmere, he was called. But in doing so, I had attracted the attention of their patron, and many others."

"Others?"

"Vampires. Bloodsuckers. Favoured of Molag Bal, if there is truly anything that monster favours."

He spoke to you then, of the Battle for the Dawn, of how these vampires had begun to emerge to attack the common-folk, how he had been forced to make common cause with a brotherhood of warriors known as the Dawnguard to see to their defeat. How he had hunted vampires, had sought to steal their intended prize before they could recover it. How he had thus found Serana.

Serana.

A beauty of the ages, he'd said. A kind-hearted, but lonely woman. Together, the two of them had investigated her father, had searched for the truth behind his deeds. Together, they had seen to the deciphering of scrolls, scrolls that bared to them answers.

Answers that had led them to the Soul Cairn.

A realm devoid of life.

A realm ruled by the Ideal Masters-

"Arlan, could you get to the point?"

"..."

"... Please?"

"I made a binding contract with a Daedric Prince for knowledge unknown by most after Serana's death at the hands of Thalmor assassins during the early years of the Second Great War. Embittered, I then used that knowledge to destroy and obliterate an entire civilization, with little left of their bloodlines and culture that I did not personally allow to exist. These daemons that have been summoned here were amongst his prized servants. I knew them as Seekers, for they served him by seeking the truth in all things, the knowledge known and unknown in existence."

"Creatures of knowledge, in an entire world completely unknown to them... how much damage could they do?"

"Quite a bit. Many of the accepted rules of existence from Tamriel do not seem to be in effect here. Magic in particular."

"You said they desire knowledge, yes?"

"Yes. It explains the lost and damaged books. They would have scoured them for every detail of information, and prepared to rework them when they returned to their master."

"Seekers of knowledge... Arlan, they would be within the Citadel. There are enough learned men and repositories there to feed a thousand of these things."

"Then there we go."

[] Head to the Citadel alone, ahead of Ser Humfrey Hightower and your combined retinue. (Travel there only by dragon)
[] Head to the Citadel together, collecting Hightower and Stormcrown guards as you go (select up to five Stormcrown retainers brought with you, not including dragon)

Droman · May 5, 2015

175: The Citadel

"We need to head to the Citadel," you decide, snapping out of your internal discussion with Arlan to address Ser Humfrey "Immediately."

"What-"

"Ser," you patiently say "there may be a time for questions and answers later. But right now, we need to get to the Citadel, before a tragedy occurs."

At your words, Ser Humfrey's face hardens, and his hand drops to his sword-hilt.

"You're right, yes. I'll have a boat ready to take us to the Honeywine-"

"It'll be faster for me by dragon."

"... Go then. We'll try to make good time and reach you."

With a nod, you made to leave-

-Only to be restrained momentarily by Ser Humfry, who takes you by the arm.

"Lord Stormcrown," he says to you seriously "Be careful."

"Yes boy," echoed Arlan's words through your mind "Be careful."

--

As you soar into the sky upon Valonqar's back, nearing closer and closer down the Honeywine to the Citadel, you begin to see panic at play.

Not of you, though you can see many disturbed by the sight of an actual dragon gliding down the river above ships and riverboats.

No, not of you.

But from within the Citadel.

With a hard pat to Valonqar's right sight, you angle into a restrained landing the grounds before the Gates, sighing as Valonqar roars a challenge.

A challenge not answered or heeded to, as too many people flee past him, running away from what lies within the walls of the Citadel.

"Where are they?" you shout to an elderly maester, one directing younger students to the exists "Where?"

"Monsters," he mutters, more to himself than you "Monsters..."

Cursing, you dismounted from Valonqar, moving around to his front to stare him in the eyes.

"Take to the skies," you tell him "and stay in sight of me. If you see anything, you'll lead me to it."

He roared in challenge at that, flaring his wings high as he stood upon his hind legs.

You merely quirked an eyebrow, before he settled down, grunting to himself.

"In sight of me," you tell him, for all that you wonder how he understands your words "In sight of me."

At last, he roars in acquiescence, before turning around and galloping to take flight.

"Just don't burn anything down," you mutter to yourself as you unsheath Blackfyre "Just... just don't."

With that, you turn around, and head into the heart of the ensuing chaos.

--

"Any suggestions, Arlan?"

"They are curious creatures at heart, boy. They will not attack first."

"That doesn't explain the deaths they've already guilty of, of writing your name in human blood."

"The Seekers are tied to Hermaeus Mora, as he is to them. Each one of them has an intrinsic link to him, one that acts as cushion, as support, in some sense. Making their way to this pale world, unequipped, initially alone, ignorant... I am not surprised they lashed out."

"You sound like you pity them."

"Perhaps I do, in some small part. Many of those that serve the Daedra... they are not complete creatures, Zeymah. Some are bred for pleasures, others for war and battle. In their own way, they are extensions of their masters' wishes and desires."

"And these ... Seekers?"

"Students, of a most obsessive bent. Ever interested, ever curious, ever seeking. I have seen some spends days do nothing but read their favourite books, weeks spent upon singular projects issued to them by Mora or each other. Their ways are alien, yes. But also... child-like, if I dare say it. Their intelligence is not a reflection of their maturity."

"So they're like children?"

"Yes."

"I'm to kill a bunch of mentally child-like book demons?"

"Killing them is not the first suggestion I would make. Child-like they may be, killing a Seeker is a difficult thing. Especially in groups. They've abilities beyond the ken of men or mer, ways to avoid sword-strikes and rushing enemies, ways to plunge their suckers into your neck without ever showing you what counts for a face. Tread softly, Jon."

"Why is it that the more you tell me of what I did not see of your life, the more disturbed and troubled I am?"

"Because you are only human-"

"Arlan?"

"I sense them," he said to you with regret "Three of them, ahead."

"Arlan-"

"Tread softly."

--

... Gods.

They're pretty hideous.

"As you are to them, I imagine."

Before you stand three of these ... Seekers. Fleshy and monstrous, tentacly and not. Their backs turned to you, you can see the pages of a thousand books ripped out and read and folded and unfolded and read again and reattached...

"They're making a mimickry of home."

But it isn't that that catches your eye the most.

No, that would be the three corpses before them, each ... exposed in layers.

Layers of skin.

Layers of flesh.

Layers of bone.

Layers of organs.

Gods, what's worse...

They're not corpses, not if the expansion and contraction of their ... lungs, is any indication.

[] Do you attack (Write In)?
[] Do you try and open discussion (Write In)?
[] Do you try and withdraw, in favour of waiting for Ser Humfrey?

Droman · May 6, 2015

176: Seeker, Seeker

"Arlan-"

STORMCROWN

Fuck, they've noticed you.

"Careful, boy."

NO. NOT STORMCROWN.

Are... are they arguing?

IS TOO.

They're actually arguing.

IS NOT.

"This might take a while."

IS-

BUT-

-AND IS NOT.

With that emphatic statement, the third of the Seekers turns to you.

ARLAN.

"Guess they want a show. Do you mind?"

"Go ahead. It might even help."

With a slow, cautious gait, you turned Blackfyre's edge upon your cheek. Your eyes unblinking, unflinching, as you cut your right cheek lightly, shallowly-

A cut that burns, that writhes and boils into red mist, a red mist that expands, coalesces, forms...

Into Arlan Stormcrown.

"Seekers," came the words booming out of his voice "I am here."

--

STORMCROWN.

STORMCROWN... AND STORMCROWN?

... INTERESTING.

NEED TO UNDERSTAND. NEED TO-

BE PATIENT. PATIENCE.

"Seekers. I am here."

SO YOU ARE.

"As are you," you say in intercession "And you do not belong here."

BUT HE IS?

"He is here by my leave and permit."

AND WE WERE BROUGHT HERE BY OTHERS.

"Others you've killed."

WE NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND.

"Who are you?" you said, as you tried a different tack "Arlan called you Seekers."

WE ARE SEEKERS. WE ARE-

-A SEEKER OF BODY.

-A SEEKER OF MIND.

-A SEEKER OF SPIRIT.

"Why are you here?" you enunciate slowly "What do you want? And these people... are you torturing them? Or... studying them?"

WE WERE SUMMONED.

AN ACCIDENT.

THE MAID HEARD OF DRAGONS AND WISHED FOR MAGIC.

THE HIGH LORD WAS CURIOUS.

THE WISE MAN WAS FOOLISH.

THEY DID NOT EXPECT US.

WE DID NOT EXPECT THIS.

IT WAS ... TRAUMATIC.

FOR ALL INVOLVED.

"Three people are dead."

MORE.

"More than three people?"

YES.

WE WERE CURIOUS.

WE WERE IGNORANT.

WE ARE LEARNED.

"Who did you kill?"

DORNISH.

SALT DORNISH.

SALT. NOT STONE. NOT SAND. NOT GREENBLOOD.

SO MANY KINDS.

SO MANY DIFFERENCES.

SKIN COLOUR.

HEIGHT.

TEETH.

BONES.

THIS MUST BE RECORDED.

"You can't keep cutting people up," you say through gritted teeth "And I don't want you to. What will it do to make you stop?"

WE MUST LEARN.

WE MUST KNOW.

WE HAVE NOTHING BUT TIME.

NOTHING TO DO.

NOTHING TO PASS THE TIME.

WE MUST LEARN.

"Why did you write Stormcrown on the walls," you say, desperately trying to gain some insight into their mannerisms "Why?"

IT WAS AMONGST THEIR THOUGHTS.

THE ONLY WORD THAT OFFERED HOPE.

STORMCROWN.

THE DRAGONLORD.

THE DRAGON.

THE DRAGONBORN.

WE HOPED.

WE DARED.

WE WERE RIGHT.

ARLAN.

"Arlan," you mutter under breath "Anything would be wonderful."

"I don't know. I've never had to bargain with Seekers, boy. You could fight them... you could try to bargain with them. You could leave them be."

"Leave them be? They're killing people. They've killed people."

"Dare I point out the obvious-"

"Dare I point out the obvious!"

"No. But the decision is yours."

WE ARE LOST.

WE ARE ASTRAY.

HEIR OF AKATOSH-

GUIDE US-

TEACH US-

AID US-

OR LEAVE US TO OUR WAYS

[] Decide to bargain with them (Write In)
[] Decide to kill them (Write In)
[] Fuck it, you're out.

Droman · May 6, 2015

177: The Final Gift

"I am sorry," you say to them, a sigh passing through your lips "I am so very sorry."

PLEASE-

TIID KLO UL

--

Their deaths were quick, if difficult. Despite your mastery, their own abilities looked to deny you. Even as you looked to slow things down, they moved, reacting in attempt to flee. As they sought to turn to blackened mist, you claimed one of them with Blackfyre's edge, choking on disgust as the blade's strike left a trail of fire behind it, setting alight the Seeker. As it writhed in pain, you had struck with other Shouts, burning it, hurting it with further sword strikes, ones enhanced by speed inhuman.

Arlan dealt with the other two, as you turned to their human subjects...

Only for sorrow to greet you, for as you had struck the Seeker, it is as if the strings holding up the people behind them were cut.

The corpses had fallen to the earth, spilling out upon the floors as if to be loose sheets of parchment.

If you were of lesser constitution, you might have already thrown up.

As it is, you've enough dignity to walk away far enough before your stomach pressures you into the inevitable.

"It is no easy thing, to see the work of Daedra."

"Why did you think of saving them, Arlan? After all they've done?"

"They and their like were companions, once. In a time where I was more pained than now. As well, they cannot help themselves. No more than a Dov can help his."

"A dragon's intentions are primal... not clinical, not ... detached. I don't know what I could have done for them."

"If you do not know, then you could not have done anything."

"How did they come here?" you muttered to him "To this place, to this time?"

"We are creatures of time and space, boy. With our every moment, we affect and determine the health and future of the cosmos around us. Their accidental arrival was unsurprising, if unexpected."

"So I caused this, then?"

"Not intentionally. It might have well be hunters of Hircine, or barrow-warriors of Alduin, or atronachs of the magi. It could have been anything, benign or malevolent."

"Seven people are dead, Arlan. I don't know what else to think but that."

"Think what you wish, Zeymah. A thought does not make it reality, no matter if it concerns us."

"They're dead now, yes?"

"Their bodies would have normally dissipated by now. They must have well and truly been severed from the Prince."

"A prince with whom you have had dealings."

"Yes."

"I can't say I understand, Arlan. I had such respect and admiration from you before we met. The great warrior, the dragonslayer, the prophecy-breaker. What.... what happened?"

"I found love. I found peace. And then war came again upon my peoples, and I rode forth to war. For a time, I was sane, at peace and as loved as any could hope to be."

"Serana."

"Yes. And then they took her from me. Took her and a hundred thousand other souls, all on the same day. Killed them all in a blink of an eye, her a little slower, a little more personal. I lost myself in battle-grief after that. I desecrated the remains of half a dozen Thalmor armies, armies of mer and khajit alike. But the war was a stalemate, no matter my contributions. Losses were bloody on both sides, and there was talk of another ceasefire. The deadlock needed to be broken."

"So you struck a bargain."

"I struck a bargain. Hermaeus Mora gave me the knowledge needed to change the outcome of the war... and I fed him the minds of three hundred of the most powerful magi that lived across my world. A brotherhood of sorcerers, called the Psiijc Order."

"You-"

"Fed them to him, yes. For power and knowledge, enough to see an end to the war. I left my advisors to rule in regency for me, my generals to command in my name, the dragons that yet lived to range forth at call. I'd led a series of attacks across the front prior to my disappearance, to leave them on edge. And then I left, to spend a year amongst the Seekers, to study at the feet of Hermaus Mora. When I returned, the war had turned close to a reversal, the Thalmor looking to advance again. I looked to put a stop to that."

"What did you do?"

"Many things, both cruel and terrible."

"Arlan-"

"You would not wish to know the particulars, Zeymah. Do not ask again."

"Fine," you say with a sigh as you turn in hearing the sound of approaching footsteps "So what now?"

"Now?" said Arlan in resigned amusement "Now I look to see how this will be explained."

--

"Demons," muttered Ser Humfrey Hightower dully "Demons in Oldtown."

"Three," you revealed "Three at the least."

"You think there's more?"

"I think we should make sure," you say smoothly "Before any more make their way across the city."

"Demons..." he repeated in shock "Actual demons from the deep. How my father ever managed to do this..."

"An accident, I should hope. I've not found indication in what accounts for readable books here of anything he or your sister could have done intentionally. It seems to have been a tragic accident."

"What small mercies the Seven bestow upon us. One of the maesters my men found called these things squishers, from the legends of Crackclaw Point. Another named them Deep Ones, from the tales of the Ironborn. Do you know? Can you offer any guidance into this madness my family wrought?"

[] Write In

"One more thing, however..."

"Yes?"

"How did they know to write your name in blood? And how did you know that they would come here? And how did you even kill them? I can't hope to understand any of this..."

[] Write In

--

Chivalry Acquired! [Demonsbane] - In 299 AL at Oldtown, you slew three Seekers of Truth, servants of the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora. Most however are unaware of the truth, though rumours swirl around you have in fact slain demons of the deep. All they can say for sure is that you visited both the Hightower and the Citadel atop a dragon, and that neither party is saying much as to why.

Dragonbreak Effects! - You have slain three of Mora's servants. Though the particulars of their arrival elude you, you realize that there is something wrong in your world, something tying it and the world from which both Arlan and these Seekers hail.

Relationship gained! [House Hightower: Acquaintance] - They can't hope to pin the deaths of their loved ones on you directly, but this whole affair hasn't made for easy interactions.

Droman · May 9, 2015

178: A Wolf in Oldtown

He sighs again, at your words.

"Perhaps what you say is true," he says to you "I find it in me to believe it so. And our family owes you a debt of thanks for avenging my father and sister, Lord Stormcrown. But that will be my brother's ruling, I think. And Balor has enough on his mind as it is."
"I do not expect reward, Ser. These things... their death was necessary."

"Indeed.... Indeed."

"Ser Humfrey?"

"I must leave you now, my lord. I will have my men take these corpses back to the Hightower for exhumation. Perhaps there might be something we might glean from their remains. And there will be a few more men set to scour the remainder of the Citadel for any of their ilk. Until then, the Citadel will be restricted from the general public."

"I would ask for leave, then. I had an interest in the Citadel... before all this misfortune. Would it be possible to be granted leave to enter and exit, at least for the next few days?"

"Were it anyone else, I might say no outright. But considering your aid... and the matters I know face, I cannot deny you your wish. I will let the City Watch know that much before they take over the embargo."

"My thanks."

--

Little was left to be said after that. You had retired to your manse for the remainder of the day, troubled and wearied as you were by the incursion of these ... Seekers. A part of you couldn't help but wonder at Arlan's past, of the wars and deaths he had seen, things you yourself had been lucky not to witness in dreams.

The things he must have done...

You had slept a troubled sleep that night.

--

The next day, you had returned to the Citadel, given entry by guards of the City Watch, even as you passed through an assembled crowd of onlookers, merchants and small-folk, all curious as to the embargo. Passing through and entering, you had quickly set about to acquiring the massive tome, haranguing one of the few maesters allowed free roaming access to help you in the endeavour. He had found it for you quickly enough, though not without some complaining as to your "unnecessary haste".

Still, you'd acquired the damn thing at least, and quickly at that.

"We'll send this on to Lord Arryn's manse," you said to Rudd Threetrees "And stand guard there until Lord Arryn returns from his meeting with the new Lord Hightower."

"You expecting trouble?"

"I'm always expecting trouble these days. And since Ser Franklyn Underpoint is currently contesting in the melee, I'd prefer to remain on watch."

"Aye my lord. You heard him lads, move out!"

--

When not fifteen minutes later you were attacked on the street, you'd figured you'd made your point clear.

"Death to the usurper's dog!" shouted a man armed with an axe as he charged at you from a side-ally "Death!"

With one swift movement, you had flipped him over your head, sending him hurtling across the remainder of the street into another alleyway.

"To arms!" shouted Rudd Threetrees "Stand and fight, you lowly lot! If any of you get killed by these cretin, I'll feed your remains to the damn dragon!"

A good near twenty men swarmed out of the alleyways, armed with axes and maces, protected in leather jerkins and wielding oaken shields. A pitiful sort, if met face to face. But they were fighting in cramped quarters, and your men were bulkier, restricted by their own armour as well as the tightness of the street as to any free movement.

"A dragon for every one of these scum put into the mud!" you shout, as Blackfyre's light rings true "And woe to the man who claims no foeman!"

Ducking underneath a wildly swung mace, you neatly pierce his ribcage, impaling the bulk of his frame down to Blackfyre's very hilt. As he screams in agony, you lift both him and your sword upwards, moving forward and away from your men to launch him at several of his fellows charging down. Thrown off your sword, he crashes into them, delaying their joining their companions. As they struggle to recover, you wipe down and sheathe your sword.

"I've killed my man, lads! Don't make me have to kill yours!"

--

Thankfully, you didn't have to.

Your men had held their own well enough, so much so that half of those who had looked to attack had faltered and fled before they had ever deigned to cross weapons with your men. Six men had been laid low, including your own kill. None of your men had fallen thankfully, though one or two sported broken bones that would need to be tended at the manse, men who would need to recuperate in the near future.

"Your men have done a great deed for king and country, Jon." said Lord Arryn to you in gratitude "Robert is still attending the melee, and I wager he'll be going drinking in the taverns later on. You said these men were dragonsworn? Are you sure?"

"Does anyone else refer to the king as a usurper?"

"No, I suppose not. I'll have to give order to Ser Balon and Ser Mandon to remain at the King's side most loyally. And perhaps a few of my own men as well, as drinking companions and bodyguards. This matter will need to be raised with House Hightower most quickly. Perhaps it has something to do with the death of their lord father and lady sister..."

You say nothing at that.

"Ah, you need not worry about that. I trust that recovering the book was not difficult? One of my men said something about the Citadel being on lockdown?"

"Several residents had been found dead," you say in lieu of outright lie "The City Watch and House Hightower are investigating. I'm given to understand they might already have the murderers in custody."

"Good, good." says Jon Arryn with a firm nod "I should hope they will be repaid in kind. Killing men of letters.. there is no need for such savagery."

"You seem... quite angry, my lord."

"I studied at the Citadel when I was younger, for eight summer months. Not quite long enough to get around to forging links of metal, but enough to have an appreciation for their efforts. The maesters teach our children, send forth our letters and bring forth the lesser mysteries of our world. This and more they do, without hope of heirs or glories to leave behind them."

"I'm sure Grandmaester Pycelle would have been touched to thought of so highly."

"I'm sure he would have, if I counted him amongst their number. The man was more a Lannister lickspittle than anything else, though he had his insights and intelligence when it suited him."

"Oh?"

"Much of the evidence I collected regarding the queen came from his quarters," revealed the frowning Lord of the Eyrie "The records of tansy and other abortatives being made, records I've managed to correlate with stillbirths or early miscarriages Cersei "suffered". All the while she birthed her brother's abominations."

"Ser Jaime has still not returned from his hunt for the Dragonsworn," you mull to the Arryn patriarch "Neither him nor his men."

"I half-suspect he's fled to Casterly Rock, to be at his sister's side."

"But the dragonsworn-"

"We hardly had proof they were dragonsworn. There were the rebels in the capital, no doubt. And those in Crackclaw Point. But we had little chance to confirm the assassins as such."

"... What are you suggesting?"

"A group of assailants attempt to seek the king's life in the Kingswood. If the king is killed, then who benefits?"

"You think the Lannisters tried to kill the king? My lord, we went down this path before regarding Lord Stannis's children."

"And we were proven wrong there, introduced as we were to these resurgent Targaryen-lovers. But that does not automatically lay every blame at their feet."

"Nor does it allow for it to be laid at the Lannisters. Especially without proof."

"If they were truly Dragonsworn, I would have expected the Kingslayer to have arrested them by now, or returned to the King's side or at the very least sent word. He has not, meaning he has either abandoned his duties, or he is dead. There are only a handful of people in the Seven Kingdoms who could kill a knight of his quality, my boy. None of them can be said to have been anywhere near the area where he was last seen. At least, not according to my trackers."

"Still..."

"It matters not for now. Either he's dead, and we're rid ourselves a foeman. Or he's alive, and sheltered at Casterly Rock. Either way, a matter not yet pertinent..."

"My lord."

"You're meeting with Tyrion Lannister in a few days, aren't you? Something regarding his cousin's hand in marriage?"

"I look to see my friend, Lord Arryn. Though Lord Tywin has been most... generous with her dowry."

"More generous than her own father could have been alone, certainly. Lord Tywin grows desperate."

"I suppose you find it farcical to pursue such a betrothal, with our current plans?"

"A little. But I see to isolate Lord Tywin from the reigns of royal authority, not rouse him into revolt immediately. A golden bride and a golden dowry with one of the King's most stalwart swords should prove balm for now."

"For now?"

"If he chooses rebellion instead of acquiescence, then a wedding need not happen. Or it might proof suitable, for a rearranging at Casterly Rock."

"My lord?"

"The Lannister line of inheritance is a complicated one, currently. Your friend Tyrion is technically heir, but Ser Kevan is known to hold his brother's favour. But with Ser Kevan and his eldest two sons as hostages, there's left only Kevan's younger sons as heirs. After them, Frey cousins, through Lord Tywin's sister. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that Frey cousins supplanted a main branch of the family."

"You speak of Rosby."

"Yes. If there's one thing that could be said of the late Lord Walder Frey, it's that he certainly looked to his family's prospects. There are enough bloodlines south of the Neck with Frey cousins to take up name and sigil, should the worst come to pass. Waynwood, Blackwood, Swann, Royce, Crakehall, Darry, the names go on and on. If a proper war broke out as that of Robert's Rebellion, his family could have found itself in a dozen castles and keeps."

"How fortunate then, that we are not at war."

"How fortunate indeed."

---

The next day, you left the manse at Valonqar's back. Far behind you on ground, came Rudd Threetrees with a dozen of your household knights, mounted in order to keep up with your chosen travel plan.

The Tyrells had sent you an invitation through Lord Arryn, one delivered on the behalf of Lady Alerie Hightower, wife to Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden... and sister to Ser Humfrey Hightower.

An incredible event, and one you're not quite sure how to explain, a statement you'd voiced blatantly to Lord Arryn at the time.

He'd only smiled, and pointed out that a newfound dragonlord was a person of great interest, as would be any prodigious knight.

"Perhaps," he offered, "they hope to discuss your marital future? They do have several unwed cousins, as far as I know."

"Why do I feel you approve?"

"A Tyrell marriage would be easier than a Lannister, in the times to come."

"Perhaps. But not so impossible."

"That lies in you and your future, wife, I think. I've been married three times my boy, and it took me quite a few years before Lysa and I found ourselves in the quite comfortable state we are now. So do believe me when I say that an arranged marriage is no easy thing."

--

"Lord Stormcrown," said the Lady of Highgarden most kindly "I've the pleasure to introduce you to my lord husband, Mace Tyrell. Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach, Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Mander."

"Is it the Mander or the Reach?" you questioned with a friendly smile "I've never quite known which to be the case."

"The Mander is the more prestigious term," insisted the oafish Tyrell patriarch "Owing to its status as the longest flowing river in Westeros."

And not the high lords who so strongly ruled across it, you think. What Lord Wyman must think of all this...

"Then the Mander it is," you say in mock surrender "Your word is law, my lord."

"Yes," he said as he looked to you with some suspicion "Yes, it is."

... Okay, now you're just confused.

"My lord?"

"I'll have you know-"

"Father," said a handsome man as he limped to the Lord of Highgarden's side "Grandmother was hoping to speak to you both, something regarding the funeral arrangements later this week."

"Your grandmother can very well-"

"Mace," said his wife warningly "We will see to the matter of the funerals."

"I... Of course dear. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," she said with a kiss to his cheek "You didn't mean anything by it. Lord Stormcrown, please see us again if you've the time."

With a sigh and a slight frown, he shook your hand, before leaving his wife guiding him away.

"Forgive my father," said the lamed heir politely "But he didn't take kindly to my mother inviting you to what was meant to be a ... family gathering. Though to be honest, he doesn't care very much for how high you stand in the King's esteem."

"No forgiveness needed," you say with a shrug "Though I can't say I was expecting an invitation. Jon Stormcrown."

"Willas Tyrell," says the Reachman as he shakes your hand politely "To be honest, it was Mother's intention from the start. Father didn't quite agree, and neither did my grandmother. And there might be a few of my cousins about who've chosen to follow their lead."

"But not you?"

"You've a dragon," he says to you with as friendly a smile as he's given you so far "Have you.... No, of course not. Allow me to say then, that I'm a student of animal physiology. In particular, horses and other equine species. It's something I spent quite a few years learning in the Citadel after my injury in the tourney lists, something I've made my own."

"And the dragons come in how?"

"What better and nobler steed than horses is there than a dragon?"

"You want to ride a dragon like a horse?"

"I'd just like to ride a dragon in general. And to study one, as well. Muscles, bone structure, just how they breath fire, gender differences, egg-laying, all of that. We've a few records left over from when House Targaryen still had them, but dragon lore is so rare these days, barring a few books from Essos. As far as knowledge of such materials exist, you're sitting on a living treasure trove."

"Don't tell him that," you say with a bit of wryness "Otherwise it'll take ages to put him in his place."

"Temperamental, is he?"

"Quite. I often have to give him a good smack to remind him he's the dragon and I'm the human."

"How curious..." said Willas thoughtfully, before shaking out of his reverie "Well, you'll have to forgive me, but I do have a few other guests to greet and meet. Please, do try to enjoy yourself and mingle. I'm sure we'll talk again quite soon. And a word of warning... my grandmother doesn't think so highly of you."

With that, he left, leaving you and your knights standing there.

"Orders my lord?"

"Have the kitchen staff feed Valonqar something, to get him a little sleepy. Two of the men will stand guard near him, to make sure no one bothers him greatly. Have them given wine and food to keep them busy, and switch them out on the hour amongst yourselves. Unless someone comes near him with me, they're not to disturb Valonqar."

"And you, my lord?"

"And me... I suppose I'll mingle."

Choose three (and then write up to two major discussion points) and place in order of descending order of occurance. You will define your plan under [] Plan "Username". If you do not abide by this simple rule, I will murder a Stark.

[] Interact with Ser Willas Tyrell
- Write In
[] Interact with Lady Dowager Olenna Redwyne
- Discuss House Redwyne
- Discuss House Tyrell
- Write In
[]Interact with Lord Mace Tyrell & Lady Alerie Hightower
- Write In
-Discuss House Hightower
[]Interact with Ser Garlan Tyrell & Lady Leonette Fossoway
- Write In
- Discuss knighthood
[] Interact with Ser Loras & Lord Renly Baratheon
- Write In
[] Interact with Margaery Tyrell and her handmaiden Sera Durwell
- Write In
[] Interact with the Tyrell cousins (Alla, Megga, Alinor)
- Write In

A Dragon of the North VIII: Whispers of War

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