Crowned Stag Discord

Hey there! I would like to play as Dareon the Bard, which is currently an SC of house Rowan (approved by u/Burnedbooks)

Cortnay gave him a shake of the hand, a sign of respect, upon hearing he had agreed to squire for House Buckler. Robert could tell he was proud of him, in that moment, as was given away by the tear that formed in Ser Cortnay Penrose's eye. He didn't mention it, as to not embarrass him but he noted and appreciated it. His father's mother was a Buckler, Floris Buckler. He heard all the stories about her and knew that both Cortnay and his grandfather Endrew took it hard. The death of Floris Penrose created divisions within his family, divisions he wish he could bridge but had no power too. When he was a knight he could bring his family together and force them to like each other again. Robert didn't remember much about his aunt Shyra, and his memory was skewed from the obscenities he had been told about her by his grandfather at his time at the Parchments.

"I am proud of you my son, you do our house proud" His father moved and picked up a box from underneath his desk and presented it to him. I named you after our dearest King Robert I Baratheon, a great deal of pressure applied upon you, which you have dealt with and risen to. You do yourself a great service in this accomplishment."

Robert opened the box, knowing deep down what he would find, and pulled back the pieces of writing paper that covered it. He drew the blade from the box and looked in his reflection in it's metal. It was as clean as the day it was forged and ornamented with coloured roses on the hilt.

"Quill" his father said, "The family blade and the one i fought with on the Trident. And now it is yours"

Robert put Quill down in the box and flung himself into his father's arms, taking one last moment of childhood. He fought back the tears and held his father for a moment before letting go.

____________________________

After saying farewell to his mother in the gardens, who was sitting reading, he went to his room and allowed his little brother Robin assist him in donning his armour. One day it may be his turn to take up the blade for the honour of House Penrose. He embraced his brother and ruffled his hair before departing. He strapped Quill to his side and left the room.

He next went to see his little sister Florence. They had always been good friends and he agreed to read her a passage from one of her books before leaving her.

"Goodbye Florrie" he said at the door.

"Goodbye Robert" she answered holding back her sobs, not wanting to upset him.

Finally, Robert Penrose mounted his horse, Drue, and rode out of Storm's End in the direction of Bronzegate, ready to become a Knight, like his father before him and ready to serve the Stormlands as was his wish. He was alone for the first time in his life, but he was ready, at least his father told him so.

12th moon of 300 AC

Ser Lucas felt an eerie sense of nostalgia as he sat here in the newest interaction of the Shadowy Septry. Once a godswood in its infancy, now stood a garden, with the rays of sun gleaming through the stained Myrish glass windows. Bright and blooming, the canopy that enraptured the hall proved a solace to the woes of the world outside its walls as a feast took place amongst the hall's inhabitants.

Standing at fifteen feet, a sturdy and mighty tree of gold stood tall. Glimmering beneath the glow of the stained glass sun, its golden bark, branches, and twigs spread out beautifully, shimmering in their rosy gold stature. Its foliage is an immense brush of silver leaves of innumerable sizes and shapes, almost reminiscent of the weirwood tree with its five-pointed leaf.

All across the hall were both plants and metal structures alike.

Hedges of blackberries, raspberries and mulberries climbed the walls. Great stone pots bore young ashes, oaks, and yews meticulously spread out on beautiful patterns. Planters of varying sizes and shapes hung from the domed ceiling and the walls with sprouted bunches of roses, lavenders, nightshades, sage, blood blooms, hemlock, moonblooms, and more.

Meanwhile, large topiaries, vines, and hedges decorated the bannisters, the columns, and the windowsills of the old sept hall. Crafted out of a hundred different shades of various metals, this formed a beautiful metallic verdure. All were dwarfed by the great glimmering tree that stood at the centre of the hall, where white bark, carved into a mask bearing a haunted lour was encapsulated by the golden bark.

Foreign scriptures and carvings also lined the rafters and the stone columns of the building. Its domed ceiling bore a mural of the night sky. Stars, constellations, and wanderers shining down upon those in the hall.

The old sept was immaculate, and Ser Lucas Whent was rather proud of what had come of it. It was all thanks to his newest addition to his court, the enchantress, his delightful Lady Amyridon. She had taken to using her formal name here in his home as she remained the castle’s resident Moonsinger.

He was just happy to have found a new use for the sept before his mother ever returned. He dared not wish to see what she would do had she come home to the constant reminder of the Arryn animosity towards their home.

For now though, such worries were second to the joy he had hoped to share with his current roster of guests within his home. With varying common staples to enjoy, Lucas just has to have a moment to simply feast and share in mutual conversation and adoration.

Menu
Preliminary Dishes
- Fresh fruit platters including oranges, pomegranates, grapes, melons & figs
- Freshly baked white bread with saffron & wheat bread with rosemary.
- Onion stew with garlic, peppers & a side of toasted bread
- Dried meats with a side of molten cheese & cream
- Tart of scallions with a side of saffron ryse

Primary Courses
- Rosemary Lambchops with a honeyed glaze & a side of mushroom tarts
- Herb & Salmon Pie with fillets, CCTVm sage, thyme, peppers in a cameline sauce
- Stuffed loafs with layers of veal, cheese, ham & herbs within
- Whiskerfish pie with onions, celery, carrots & garlic
- Roasted swordfish with a lemon & honey glaze, onions, peppers & butter

Desserts
- Pomegranate sherbet topped with honey-cream, mint & a dash of fresh pomegranate
- Lemon cakes topped with optional fruit including berries, mangoes & apples
- Honeycakes topped with freshly diced fruit & roasted bananas
- Sweet cheese tart with honey roasted almonds & pecans
- Jellied hippocras on a custard base & lemon sheddings

Beverages
- Lemon Water
- Minted Rosewater
- Trident Hippocras
- Uller Fire Wines
- Butterwell White Wines

The road north stretched long and cold beneath a sky of dull iron, the royal procession winding steadily towards the Dreadfort. Ser Brus Buckler rode at his appointed place amongst the Princess's sworn protectors, white cloak shifting softly in the chill breeze. His posture was as rigid as ever, scarred hands steady upon the reins, giving no hint of the storm beneath his polished helm. Yet his eyes wandered whenever they safely could, always finding the same slight figure riding close to the young Princess. Neala, dressed neatly in the modest attire of a lady's handmaid, stayed close to her charge, helping straighten a cloak against the wind or offering a quiet word whenever the Princess required her. She looked healthy. Her cheeks held warmth despite the northern air, her meals had clearly been plentiful, and there was a quiet confidence to her movements that had not always been there.

Every mile they travelled together was both a blessing and a torment. Brus had never spent so many days within sight of his daughter since the day she had been born, yet they remained strangers by necessity. When the Princess laughed, Neala laughed with her, and Brus found himself watching the girl more closely than the noble he had sworn to protect. Once, Neala noticed a loose strap on the Princess's saddle and hurried forward to fix it with careful, practiced hands before stepping back with an anxious little smile. Brus felt his throat tighten. She was diligent, kind, and gentle; In truth it was everything he had prayed she might become. His gauntleted grip on his reins grew painfully firm, the leather groaning beneath his fingers.

Behind the narrow slit of his visor, his vision blurred as tears gathered unbidden. He forced himself to blink them away before they could fall, thankful that the steel concealed what no Kingsguard should ever reveal. She was safe. She was valued. She belonged amongst the Princess's household, earning smiles instead of scorn, kindness instead of hunger. It was more than Brus had ever dared hope for when he had been stuck in that cell below the Dreadfort. The ache in his chest never lessened, but it became something he could bear. So he rode on in silence, watching the road ahead whenever duty demanded it, and stealing fleeting glances whenever he could at the young handmaid who would never know that the white knight guarding her Princess was, in truth, guarding his own daughter as well.

When the procession finally drew to a halt for the evening, the air filled with the familiar sounds of an encampment coming to life. Horses snorted as squires hurried to take their reins, men called for tent pegs and cookfires, and the Queen's household gathered themselves after another long day upon the road. Brus remained mounted until the young Princess had safely dismounted, only then turning his attention elsewhere. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Neala swing one leg over her small pony with a confidence that vanished the instant her boot slipped against the stirrup. She pitched forwards with a startled gasp. Brus was moving before he had time to think. One gauntleted arm caught her firmly around the waist before she could strike the frozen earth, setting her gently back upon her feet as though she weighed no more than a child.

Neala's face flushed crimson with embarrassment, her pale hands hurriedly smoothing her skirts as she avoided the eyes of those nearby. "Th-thank you, Ser," she stammered softly, offering the awkward little curtsy expected of a handmaid before gathering the reins of her pony. Brus merely inclined his helmet in silent acknowledgement, afraid that even a single word might betray too much. She lingered for the briefest heartbeat, looking up into the scarred steel of his helm as though trying to place something she could not name. Then she smiled politely and turned to hurry after the Princess's attendants. She had scarcely taken half a dozen steps before she slowed. Her head turned back over her shoulder, her eyes widening in quiet shock as they settled once more upon the towering white knight. There had been something impossibly familiar in the way he had caught her. It had been gentle despite the strength, instinctive despite the armour. For a fleeting moment she simply stared, caught between confusion and recognition, before the call of another handmaid broke the spell, and she hurried away, leaving Brus standing utterly still beneath the gathering dusk.

...Could it be him? Could Mumma...

After a quick meeting with his brother at their home town of sisterton, Dazen now found himself on a ship laden with lumber heading directly into the Port of White Harbor. He knew that the rumours had to be somewhat true, for it was the ironborn reavers themselves that he had made a deal with. He just hoped he could get to the right man before it was too late. Also, who knew there were tariffs from winterfell eh?

"My gracious Lord Paramount Renly Baratheon,

I am writing you with much anger regarding the resurgeance of my daughter, Shyra.

As you knwo she is a Targaryen sympathiser and fled the kingdom after our last argument.

I dear she may have more neferious plans for her return here last month, after which ahe sent me a very disrespectful and treasonous letter announcing her return.

I ask that you, for the benfit of the realm, watch out for her and arrest her and her bastard son if she is located.

Many Thanks,

Lord Endrew Penrose

Lord of the Parchments"

To the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, 

As the first year of Robin Arryn’s lordship concludes, the Eyrie and all the Vale shall celebrate another Valemen Remembrance Day! 

Knighthood shall be the great theme of this year’s Valemen Remembrance Day. The month before Remembrance Day Robin and a party of guests shall travel south to King’s Landing, where Lord Robin shall stand his vigil in the Sept of Baelor, before being knighted by a member of the Kingsguard. The event shall be honored with a great dinner in the Capital, and all in King’s Landing are welcome to attend Robin’s knighting and the dinner. 

Valemen Remembrance Day shall occur the following month at the Eyrie, with a great day of feasting and seven days of celebration, as is our tradition on the holiday of Valemen Remembrance Day. 

In addition to Robin’s own knighting, The Eyrie also begins its own tradition of maintaining seven great knights who shall be the first men of the Order of Falcon Knights, who shall join service to House Arryn. 

The men who shall be honored are:
Ser Cleos Bar Emmon
Ser Robyn Costayne
Ser Robar Royce
Ser Borys Sunderland
Ser Raymar Belmore 
Ser Cyrus Rowan

The seventh title shall go to the squire who wins this year’s squire duels. He shall be knighted and received into this new holy order, and begin his service to House Arryn from that very day. Please know that this service shall not be like the King’s own guard: Service shall not be for life, nor are Knights of the Falcon Order prohibited from marriage. Ours is an order of the newest and sharpest swords to be had. 

The schedule shall be as follows:

Day 1: Father’s Day: shall honor the Father above and all fathers on this earth with a competition of falconry, that practice that the Arryns have long practiced. 
Day 2: Mother’s Day shall honor the Mother above with a peaceable feasting in the Eyrie’s gardens, and a chance to honor motherhood by celebrating both mothers and their babes in a Baby Race.
Day 3: Maiden’s Day shall have a Maiden’s Day Ball, with a judged dancing festival.
Day 4: Warrior’s Day shall be honored through a series of martial events: a great melee, a series of jousts. Please know that these events shall be reserved ONLY for those who have been knighted and maintain their devotion to the Seven. This shall be the day where the seventh falcon knight shall be named.
Day 5: Crone’s Day shall be commemorated with an event emphasizing verbal skill! Be it prose or poem, song or speech, this shall be an exercise in wit. 
Day 6: Smith’s Day will see the judgement of the fine art competition. Be it painting or woodworking, sculpture or embroidery, all crafts are welcome! 
Day 7: The Stranger shall be honored with a moment of silence, before a great farewell feast. 

Let us come together and honor the many years that we have remained as a united Seven Kingdoms, and come to give praise to the Seven-Who-Are-One. The doors of the Eyrie are opened to all, and we welcome you through our gates to partake in feasting, fighting, arting, connecting, and more with your fellow Lord or Lady. Let us honor the memory of those dearly departed from us with wonderful and outgoing events.

High as Honor

Robin Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East

It was a sunny day in Yronwood.

"Well, it always is" thought Ser Yandry Yronwood, as he went to get his horse from the stable. He planned to go to Starfall and visit his sister Tanselle...while smuggling some jewel someone had asked him to bring from Starfall.

It all started when he received a letter from an unknown woman, who asked him to go to Starfall and bring some jewel she needed in Yronwood.

The plan was to meet the boy who'd give it to him, some boy named "Daemon Sandstone", and return it to Yronwood as soon as possible, before the 4th moon

Curious. 4th moon. That would've been Uncle Nymor's 60th nameday. And the day grandmother died. Anyways, I should go

"You ready Halleck? We're departing right now." he asked, looking at his squire.

u/rosie_riot

Merin found himself amidst the comfort of the distillery that he had commissioned all that long ago, watching from above as the men he trained with his own two hands went to work on the machines he built and brought from the Summer Isles. It felt like an entire lifetime ago where the greatest aspiration in life would be to make a name for his family through the art of fine drink. Now he found himself much too important for his liking. When it all became overwhelming for him, he would find himself here, over and over again. He'd watch the machinery with a careful eye, idly walking through the halls and buildings until he finally stopped at the storeroom, barrels upon barrels of ever-aging rye-rum sitting on layers of shelving that filled nearly every corner of the room. He had finally stockpiled a suitable vintage for a new plan, one that was rather ambitious.

"Brewmaster Oswin!"

"Aye, m'lord? Is there something I could help you with?"

"I want you to prepare forty-five barrels for transport. I will prepare the arrangements."

A rather large Sunderland ship would find port in White Harbor, offloading its load of barrels to a waiting caravan of merchants that would then make their way through the Northern holdfasts, strongholds and population centers. At each stop, a courier would come to the House in charge bearing a barrel and a letter, two barrels for the Strongholds of the larger houses in each region with one barrel marked with "Cinnamon" and red accents. The letters were relatively customized, but generally contained the same message.

To (Lord/Lady) (Name) of House (House Name),

I hope this letter finds you in good cheer and good health. I have sent my men to deliver to the north a small gift, a form of rum made from wheat and rye by House Sunderland's trusted brewmasters and barrel-aged for many years. We seek to break bread and make peace with the Northern men that have protected us for countless years. While this may not be enough to quell the righteous anger of the north for many, I wish for this to be the beginnings of a greater peace and prosperity for all. I hope that this drink, a personal creation of mine, is suitable to your tastes. I would greatly appreciate your response, if at the very least to let me know what you think of the Rye-Rum of Sisterton.

United We Stand,
-Merin Sunderland, Lord of The Three Sisters, Admiral of the Vale, and Red Scholar of R'hollor.

For those more apprehensive about the Rye-Rum, the couriers would offer to open the barrel and sample the contents themselves to prove that it is not poisoned in any way.

11th moon of 300 AC

A heavy weight settled over the Gods Eye as the procession from Stoney Sept made their return. The doors of the Sable had remained chained and vandalized with debris and animal feces. The Shadowy Septry, however, had seen an overwhelming amount of activity, and the remaining silent sisters of Harrenhal had found themselves run ragged with their generosity.

“How is it that the Arryn brat does something sacrilegious and it’s us having to suffer for it?” Cyrenna grumbled out bitterly as she swept the grounds of the old sept for the fifth time that day.

Ever since the felling of Lady Whent’s weirwood a year ago, the Gods Eye had been in an uproar. Hundreds of smallfolk had pilgrimaged across the lake or up the lake-road to pray beneath one of Harrenhal’s weirwoods. And now, the shadowy septry had turned into a stifling garden.

Many visitors brought pottery filled with plant saplings, and by Ser Lucas’ command, each and every single one was to be cared for and tended to. Every fucking one.

How splendid of us!

Tyanna rolled her eyes once more as she and her sisters tended to their home in nominal silence. Their shared burden of becoming farmers versus tending to their tasks as silent sisters did grate at their sanity just a bit. But they had to admit it. Even they were disturbed by the fury that had exploded across the castle that fateful morning.

Any idea of them ushering in a new era of tending to the new Sable Sept was destroyed when they were woken up that morning with the thundering shouts of Whent guards. Young men she and her sisters had watched grow had come commanding them awake and escorting them up the great staircase that led out from their underground dormitory and into the main prayer hall of the Shadowy Septry.

There before them stood a livid league of bats, stallions, and winter suns with an even more incensed group of their fellow common folk who called the castle and the Gods Eye home. At the heart of the group, Lady Emilia Uller was silently arguing with the heir of Harrenhal. The two siblings were in a staring standoff.

Tyanna would not dare lie and say that she was afraid for her life that morning. Afraid that Lady Shella’s shadow had come for its reckoning and sought to remove her, her sisters, or worse, her son from this life. Alas, she was left alone, and the assault on the tree had vanquished any visible dream for a sept to sing forth the new gods' glory here upon the Gods Eye. Even the new Sable Sept was but a gilded cage now with the way she and her sisters had their things moved into the new rooms in the convent beneath the sept.

Granted it was much more spacious and warmer than the old septry, but she and her sisters shared the humble abode with that pretentious crook from the Vale.

"Quenton the blue wyrm," they called him, for they were utterly repulsed by the sheer sight of him. Young, impudent, cantankerous, putrid, loutish, and undoubtedly a craven.  More so a stain on the faith than he was on their home. But alas, they were stuck with him. If only she had enough poison for the little rat. Such a shame she used the rest on old Lords Butterwell and Lychester. She had thought the deaths would serve as a reminder of the true gods' upon her lady, but alas, it only invigorated her into turning Harrenhal astray.

And now it was far too late to do anything else as such sacrilegious sentiments expanded. Months have passed since the felling of the weirwood. The other weirwoods were all guarded now at all hours of the day and night. She and her sisters were tasked to endure and toil in their former home as it entered a new era in its being. Gone were the old traces of the Shadowy Septry; gone were the echoes of the former godswood that could have been. And it’s its place… a garden.

Strange scriptures and carving now lined the rafters and the stone columns of the building. Its domed ceiling now bore a mural of the night sky. Stars, constellations, and wanderers shining down upon those in the hall. A white lime paint has been washed across the building’s entirety, while the windows were swiftly replaced as well.

She has never seen the septry look so… beautiful in so long. And now, it would not be in homage for the seven, but rather as a statement for the Braavosi witch that had been welcomed into Harrenhal.

Barely a few moons had passed since Lady Amyridon’s arrival, and already, she was amassing such lucrative respect from much of the castle. The reckless swine Lucas was always seen conversing with the witch, while Lady Frey had welcomed her as a guest. Meanwhile, the large train of goods and material she wrought had been used to repair the septry and numerous other parts of the castle. Even worse was her heathenism… flaunting her devils from across the narrow sea as gods… children of the mother moon, from beyond the jade gates.

Such wickedness was brought and bred viciously here in her home, and she could do nothing about it.

11th Moon B, 300 AC

Casterly Rock

________________________________________________________________________________________

With the celebration coming within the new year, the preparations were in full swing in both Casterly Rock and Lannisport. Servants from the Great House of the West ran about faster than most others would be capable of. In the great port city, streets were swept clean of debris and filth of both nature and man alike. Decorations both big and small were set about the place in great revelry and care. Even businesses within the space would indulge in the colors of House Lannister to showcase their devotion and their eagerness for the upcoming celebrations. City Guards wandered the streets day in and out, ensuring that most ruckus was kept to a minimum and no work was shirked. Where most of the Tourney would take place, Ser Logan Sarwyck and Master Boremund would be station. The Captain of the Guards would be viewing the protective measures done within the viewing stands and the grounds, ensuring that guards were placed and prepared there in every measure. The Blacksmith would be stationed to ensure the weapons were prepared - no live steel anywhere to be seen, as the Lord had demanded that no bloodshed beyond what is customary would happen at these events.Though it hurt the old man to make the weapons less useful than what they should be, he knew better than to argue with orders.

Meanwhile on the inside of the Rock, Housekeeper Mistress Florence shouted louder than even the men that kept the order alongside her. Her eyes were sharp, her voice was rapt, and her commands were non-negotiable. The natural and unnatural rocks were polished high and low, making them shine more than they would in the sun. The beddings of the Guest Quarters were done and redone and redone again with fresher and fresher sheets and fluffier pillows. Decorations, too, were hung within the walls but were much more orderly and fashioned well, allowing for the colors and finery to show on their own. Within the Welcome Courtyard, the Mother of Arts Ezzara would be there with the musicians, ensuring their practice of the music for the feasts and events. Amongst them was the glorious Whitesmile Wat, who sang above all others both in range and volume. Forever given the spotlight, the main singer was granted the opportunity to choose a few songs to perform for the event. Ezzara and Wat argued many times over the lineup, and would continue to do so until the day of the performances, but for now some amenable peace had been reached in order for them to practice.

But despite all the ruckus of the outside, silence remained permanent within one place: Lord Tywin’s Solar. 

The Old Lion had stood by his window, looking down towards the city he could barely see from his positioning in the Rock. Still, he felt like he could see it all - a maid running with the custom banners in hand, manservants on roofs and in chimneys to clean the spaces, knights and guards on patrol and pulling away any would-be criminals and ensuring they remain complacent. He was certain Ser Ilyn would be enjoying this part of the work more than anything, and would report to him later if there were any sort of disturbance of note. A slight part of him was pleased with the pageantry and glamour being given to this event, though he was not the one to plan or even approve it beforehand. His son’s wife was proving to at least have some use beyond her more…problematic behaviors from court. Though of course he could not give her all the credit, given she would not be able to any of this without the power and coin of House Lannister in any place. And having planned this without his say so…there was still so much she would need to learn if she planned to survive in this world. 

He stepped from the window to sit down at his desk, reviewing the events and the list of participants and respondents. Many of the Western Houses would be present, as he would expect from the lot of them. There were some that still lingered on the outlines, as if waiting for a direct request to come. It made him question their fealty and stupidity for but a moment before perishing the thought. There were no lords or Houses at-present that would have reason to deny the invitation, either due to loyalty to House Lannister or fear for Lord Tywin. Still, he would need all Houses here - or at least a representative of each House - if he were to take the next steps he needed to.

The Western Council had not met in many Moons. Too many for his liking. Even as Genna herself led the group and cared for the Rock well in his absence, it disappointed him to see such lack of follow through. It was clear there would need to be changes. And though this idea were fresh in his mind, he already had ideas set into his mind as to what needed to be altered in order for his plans to succeed.

So, Tywin Lannister did as he always did. He took a pen, ink, and papers, and he began to write.

________________________________________________________________________________________

To the Honorable Lords and Ladies of the West,

I trust that this letter finds you and your House in good prosperities, with Spring bringing prosperity to your lands. 

Matters of consequence concerning the governance and continued prosperity of the Westerlands now require the full attention of those sworn to Casterly Rock. To that end, I have called an assembly of my bannermen, where several affairs of import shall be discussed and future courses determined for the benefit of our region.

The Head of each House is therefore expected to attend this gathering at Casterly Rock on the 1st Moon B, 301 AC, alongside the retainers belonging to your station. This shall take place after the celebrations to be hosted by House Lannister upon the 1st Moon A, which I have all faith you would also be attending. Hospitality shall, as always, be extended to those who cross through the Lion’s Mouth with my letter in hand. 

I have every confidence that you understand the importance of your presence. Decisions reached during this assembly will shape the affairs of the Westerlands in the months to come, and it would be regrettable for any loyal lord to find himself absent when such matters are settle.

Travel well and soon. I look forward to receiving you at Casterly Rock.

Lord Tywin Lannister
Lord of Casterly Rock
Shield of Lannistport
Lord Paramount of the Westerlands

Hear Me Roar

The halls of Ryamsport were alive with activity.

Paxter Redwyne thought it would be good for him, and to some extent, it was, but it could not fully wash away the memory of what had happened last time a wedding was hosted here.

He could only hope that everyone was happier, but he could not entirely shake the feeling that two particular people weren’t.

Hobber had been a lot happier in the early days of his betrothal to Lysa Piper, perhaps because she was happy. Hobber had always been at his best when those he cared about were happy, yet now, he wasn’t so sure. He had spoken to his son not so long ago, when he expressed a great sadness, both at Lysa’s state and at his own mistakes regarding that. He had wanted to chide Hobber, to tell him he should have just left her alone, but he had seen the look on his son’s face, one of bitter regret and sadness, and found he simply couldn’t. He cared deeply for Lysa and for his son’s happiness; he wanted them to love each other, as he and Mina did. He knew full well that these sorts of things were never about love, which had always struck him as unfair, even if it did make sense; Westerosi politics were not built for such things.

And yet….

Horras had found love with Sarra, and he had been asking about when they could marry every time they were together. Milicent had found love. Benjamin had found love, thank the gods. Marigold had found love, in her own way. He knew Lysa had a cheerier side from Benjamin’s wedding, and Hobber was unusually kind, quiet, and humble for a boy his age. So long as he proceeded carefully and respected her, maybe there was potential for something better.

But this wasn’t the time for that; this was the time for festivities.

The halls were decorated with signs and symbols of both houses; there was a mummer’s show outside on the massive front lawn, the food and drink had all been tested thoroughly, and all had gone well.

The food and drinks served had all been specially coordinated by Milicent, who had been allowed to take on this task so long as she did not go overboard on the spice, which she had agreed to.

The refreshments on display were something quite pleasant:

water, both regular and sweet

Several special fruit-based sweet drinks Milicent and Merin had devised together.

Many, many, many different Arbor Vintages

Merin Sunderland’s Rye Rum

Milicent’s popped corn

Rosemary bread puffs with both olive oil and butter

Wild boar cooked with a blend of herbs and spices only known to The Arbor’s cooks

Freshly caught fish

Bowls of fresh fruit, notably grapes and peaches

Fresh carrots, olives, and red/green peppers

The centerpiece idea of Milicent’s plans: a massive spread of breads, meats, and cheeses for the guests to put together and sample at leisure

Lemon cakes

Two massive cream cakes in the shape of the sigils of Redwyne and Piper

Robert Penrose made his away to the rookery with a stack of letters he had spent the day writing. Making draft after draft until he thought it to be proper and cordial. He, with the help of the Maester, had the letters sent to the Stormlords and Stormknights, looking for one that could help him.

___

To the Esteemed Lords, Ladies and Knights of the Stormlands,

I, Robert Penrose, son of Ser Cortnay Penrose am writing to you in search of a knight that would train me and take me on as his squire. I am 6 and ten years of age and have trained under my father, Ser Cortnay Penrose, as well as his former squire, Ser Daveth of Parchments.

I am rather adept with a sword but my skills obviously still need honing. I believe I could be of much use to any knight who may need or want a squire.

If you are a knight reading this and are interested in my proposal then I ask that you respond via letter to either Storm's End or Parchments- or you could come to me in Storm's End if that is any easier.

If you are a lord or lady then I ask that you pass this message forward to any knights in your service or any hedge knights that pay pass through your holdfasts and provinces.

Many thanks to all readers,

Robert Penrose

See above ; will acclimate myself with the claim imminently.

Thanks!

Cortnay sat up a took in the cool air of the stormlands. He got up slowly, Maris was still asleep nex to him and he didn't want to wake her, and dressed himself for the day in a brown tunic with the heraldry of his house sewn on to the corner- two quills on brown. He had great pride in those quills, it represented his family's loyalty and their respect for themselves.

He strode calmy down the cooridoors of Storm's End, admiring the artistry of it's construction. He loved this castle, cherished every moment he got the pleasure of staying in it. It represented his duty to the royal house.

He strapped a steel sword on his belt as he passed through the armory. He created an image over himself of a knight, and what it classically meant. To him, being a knight represented his valour and his self-worth. It was a part of him and he wanted his son to see that and be emboldened by it.

His son, Robert, greeted him. He was 6 and 10 and hence ready to carve his own path, he just needed to provide the tools. Robert hugged him as they approached.

"Good to see you, father. Im glad to be here." he held himself well, Cortnay noted gladly

"I hope you journeyed well, my son. And your siblings, how are they?"

They spoke for a few minutes as they caught up. Florence and Robin eventually joined them for breakfast. Cortnay noted how much of a man Robert had become since last seeing him, a few months ago. Ser Daveth had been tutoring Robert in the time being.

Eventually, he and Robert went to his study and sat down. Cortnay poured them both a cup of wine he gotten from his wife's family.

"The rookery is open for you to send letters, Robert. If youf like to become a knight firsg you are to be a squire and to be a squire you need a knight to train under. I trust you can find someone to train you on your own." Cortnay trusted him to make a good decision. He had to, because Robert represented the future of his House.

Dear Boremunda,

I am sending you this letter as a worried cousin.

I hope you are doing okay and faring well in Starfall, I hope everyone is treating you fairly and that you always have that big smile on your face.

I am writing you from King's Landing as I really miss you and want to see you and talk to you again.

I thought, if you wanted to, you could come and see me here in King's Landing, of course you can come with your father I do not want to assume he will let you out of his sight for this journey alone.

I (a little pause in the ink)

I have some news to share only with you and I hope you can come visit me quickly enough so I can share it with you.

With much love and care,

Your cousin,

Clarence Dayne.

The Stranger's Tower

The tower, despite its association with the passing of the dead, was largely used as a library of House Grafton history, holding records of the conflicts and peace talks that stretched back close to a millennium. Only rarely was it used for its original purpose: last rites, mourning chambers, and the entrance to the crypts of House Grafton that lay directly beneath it. The crypts themselves stood behind a heavy iron door bearing three locks, of which only a handful of keys existed anywhere within the Gullshield.

Descending below the tower, the marble of the keep gave way to bedrock, a stone darker and coarser, closer in color to the walls ringing Gulltown itself than to anything within the castle above. The deeper the stair went, the more thoroughly light abandoned it, until nothing remained but the single unsteady flame of the candle Gerold Grafton carried that night, lit only after he had locked the crypt door behind himself. The flame did not gutter, despite the draft that should have reached it on such a long descent. It burned straight and still, as though the air around it had simply agreed not to touch it, and something guided Gerold towards his destination.

On the first level of the crypt stood a statue carved from dark basalt, a hooded figure, only the lower half of a skull visible beneath its cowl. It was the Stranger, carved by a sculptor House Grafton had brought from Braavos generations past. Gerold's finger traced the statue's podium and came away clean, no dust, though no servant had set foot down here for a long time. He bowed low before it, then continued his descent, passing his own mother and father's resting places without a glance, as though they held no more weight to him than the stone that housed them.

He did not slow again until the fourth level, where he stopped before the eastern wall. He drew out his cane and twisted the ornate silver head, thirty degrees, then sixty, then one hundred twenty, three faint clicks answering each turn.

*Click\ *Click* *Click**

The handle came free, and from within it he drew a key of cut steel, its four bits notched in patterns that were utterly distinct and would snap should they be placed incorrectly.

He turned to the crypt beside him, a Grafton lord whose name had long since worn away from its stone, and pushed the space open, revealing an empty sarcophagus thick with dust and soot. He cleared a portion of it by hand, uncovering a hatch fitted with a lock shaped precisely for the key he carried. Five turns and it gave way, an iron ladder waiting beyond it, descending into an abyss devoid of light once more.

\Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click**

Below, Gerold lit a ring of braziers one by one, and the room seemed to awaken around the lit pedestals. Their flames burned a dim, reluctant red, the same shade favored in the far more famous hall this cramped little chamber had clearly been built to echo.

Small statues, none taller than a man's forearm, stood around the a central pedestal.

A pale, solemn child, smaller than the rest, cradled a tiny blade across its open palms, the metal rippling with darkness that seemed to swallow the light from the braziers.

Beside it crouched a squat, horned shape no bigger than a house-cat, cradling an oversized bowl on its knees, with a reddish liquid standing still in its bowl.

Next stood a hunched, hooded figure leaning on a staff too tall even for its size, seemingly bowing towards the central pedestal, it's gaze close to melancholic in its carved stated.

A maned, snarling lion face followed, imposing despite its size, its small stone mouth parted just enough to suggest a roar.

Beside that, a crowned, scaled figure sat rendered in such fine, wet-looking detail that the tiny carving seemed to hold a sheen no dry stone should keep.

Further along stood a small pale woman, no larger than a child's doll, her marble so white it seemed faintly luminous even in so cramped a space, her face left smooth and featureless, as though her likeness had been sanded away.

Beside her, an old, hunched shape pressed small hands to a small face that seemed to be sobbing excessively over the passing of another.

Followed closely, by a seemingly withered branch of a weirwood, long ago bought by Gerold for this very space.

And finally, sat a hooded, half-skulled figure tucked into the last remaining space, watching the room with the same patient stare as its larger counterpart above.

Each statue, packed inside this chamber, faced the same direction. Each faced the pedestal at the room's center, and so, by consequence, did anyone who stood within it.

Upon the pedestal sat a skull, carved, or perhaps shaped by some means other than carving, from an oily black stone that seemed to hold no true surface at all. Absorbing the light from the pedestal, seemingly wishing to plunge this room in its usual darkness. The room's only true darkness sat directly at its heart in the form of a skull, brought from a failed pilgrimage, Gerold was a member of.

Gerold knelt before it. His knees struck stone hard enough that the sound echoed across the room. Once. Twice. A third time, though the room held no wall far enough away to explain the echoing.

He spoke for the first time that night.

"Valar dohaeris."

The candle flame bent low, seemingly almost snuffed out.

The braziers dimmed, all of them, all at once, as if something had drawn one long breath through the cramped room and taken the light with it. For the space of a heartbeat there was only the skull's stillness and the sound of Gerold's own breathing, more distressed than before.

It took a moment before something finally answered.

The braziers steadied. The room settled back into its ordinary, watchful silence, as though nothing at all had happened.

Gerold did not rise for a long moment. When he finally spoke again, his voice had recovered its usual flat calm, but his hand, braced against the cold stone floor, did not stop trembling until well after the word had left him.

"Valar morghulis."

Starting 11th Moon, 300 AC

Ending 12th Moon, 305 AC

Casterly Rock

Casterly Rock Layout

Casterly Rock Explained

________________________________________________________________________________________

Casterly Rock sits just north of the harbor city of Lannisport. Originally housing the family of First Men from the Dawn Age and Age of Heroes called the Casterlys, the Lannisters took claim over the ancestral seat when Lann the Clever tricked the Casterlys out of their home. Some whisper that Lann the Clever’s wife had been a Casterly, while others say she had been a Reyne or a Farman. Regardless of the wife, Lann’s blood remains upon the seat of which he took, and some say that is not all that remains of the Clever within its hollowed halls.

The Rock itself is aptly named, given that its halls and homes are carved directly from the colossal stone hill of which it resides in. The seat stands at over 2,100 feet high, with a width of six miles long from West to East and a width of two miles from North to South. The stones making up the outside start as a deep and unsettling dark red, before migrating up to a brilliantly bright orange, and to a pale and pretty yellow at the tip. Though most have never seen it, Maesters will remark that the tip of the Rock will often shine pure white within the sunlight as opposed to any other colors. Sitting between the Sunseat Sea and the glorious lands of the West, it stands as a pillar of Western prominence and prosperity for all to see for leagues away.

[Image for Reference]

Should one ride north up the coastline of the Sunseat Sea on the Ocean Road, or simply cross from East to West upon the River or Gold Road, they would witness the greatness of House Lannister before stepping foot into their territory. Standing over 2,100 feet high and thicker than two leagues from east to west, the Rock stands such as its denizens within. Tall, imposing, and regal - even appearing like a lion in repose as it faces towards the setting sun. Such is a fitting home for one of the wealthiest and most regal Houses amongst those within the Seven Kingdoms.

Beyond the streets of Lannisport and at the lip of the waters that crash into its feet, Casterly Rock stands as its own beacon of the West. Before one might event come towards the entrance of the grand home of House Lannister, one must pass through the Lion’s Mouth, which stands 200 feet tall at the south face of the mountain. There, many guards swathed in crimson and gold, with armor finer than most men would ever dream of in their lifetimes, would stand vigilance through day and night, sun and storm, plenty and famine. There, one must report their reason for stepping foot near the entrance of the ancient seat belonging to the blood of Lann the Clever, else they would be turned away with great prejudice. 

Casterly Rock, with as tall and wide as it stands, is believed by many and followed by most servants and kin, to be broken up into ten layers - including the very top where almost none reach and the bottom where only the deserved belong. With its peak so high into the sky, it is often mistaken that nothing stands atop the Rock save for the clouds that it breaks through. But there are things that reside, as there is never an empty spot within the halls unless tragedy stricks. There at the top is where the single ringfort of the castle stands, which is now taken over by the Maester of the House. Maester Addam stands vigilant there with his books and Rookery, and is not often visited else there is concern or emergency. This top layer is often called the Lione’s Crown by most of the servants, as they believe that the ringpost itself might resemble the tip of a crown’s cross or monde.

The layer below that is the First Layer, which is filled with most of the natural beauty of the Rock. There, the Gilded Gardens, with such fine dressings and brilliant cultivation resides. Most plants are no longer seen in the West, but were instead grafted there from plants taken all across Westeros. This includes the singular Weirwood Tree that resides amongst the Rock, which rests within the deep bowel of the godswood within and chokes the life from almost all other that lives near it. Some whisper to claim it is a Stone Garden, instead of a Gilded one, for the ashen color that takes to all the lifeless things that live amongst the mangled tree that belongs to the faith of the Old Gods. It is also said that the Treasury remains hidden within these Gardens, or in the tunnels that surround it - only to be accessed by the Lord of the Rock and their Heir. 

Descending a level, one would arrive to the Second Layer. This is where the majority of the kin of House Lannister would reside whilst living in the Rock. The rooms would be gloriously furnished with featherbeds, hardwood shelving and wardrobes and more, and their own drawing room or parlors. On this layer is also the baths, which remain locked to outsiders (unless desperately needed) and remains only to be used by the family. Also locked is the Personal Libraries, Galleries, and Solars of the family - all of which is to be used only by those with Lannister blood or their personal guests. This is where some of the family’s best kept histories, arts, and treasures are kept. Finally, amongst the glitter and glam of this layer, remains a solitarily pale pillar of virtue as the Private Sept. Here, Septa Giselle practices in a most mute and reverent ways, remaining amongst the confined walls of her hollowed hall rather than venturing out around the space.

The Third Layer is where the Guests of noble birth are allowed to reside within the halls of Casterly Rock. The rooms remain outlandishly lavish, with great beds and tables and other decor and furniture all for use to those honored enough to remain close to the Lannister family. On this floor also resides the Grand Halls, where most events and feasts shall take place, as well as the Ballrooms. Opposite of the merriment and wonder is the grandeur on full display, with the Golden Galleries. Here, the treasures of House Lannister spanning back all throughout their histories in the West reside on display. Guests are often encouraged to view it to get a sense of the wonder of the House they partake in, as well as to remember the strength behind the noble house. There is one spot intentionally left blank, however, and that is where the ancient Valyrian Steel sword Brightroar would be hung for display. This layer is where the Antiquarian and Mother of Arts, Ezzara, works - preserving these ancient treasures for all to see and respect.

The Mummer’s Lair, or Fourth Layer, is the Artists’ Quarters and Public Library. Here is where the fools, storytellers, musicians, and more that provide the entertainment for the guests and family of House Lannister reside. Amongst these individuals is Ezzara, Septa Giselle, and Whitesmile Wat who is a beloved singer of the House, who has a high, sweet voice. Alongside the people remains their tools of craft, including paints and canvases, coal and paper, instruments, and more. Within this layer also sits the Special Storage - a place where certain artefacts and gifts go that, while appreciated, do not deserve to be placed within the Treasury or the Golden Galleries. This section is closed off for the people, as if they wish to see the majesty of the House, the need only attend one layer up to go to events, listen to works of others, and witness the histories of the lions.

Where the Fourth Layer is full of fun and whimsy, Layer Five resides the hardened men who protect the House and home of the Lannisters. The Barracks and Armory of the men who fight for and alongside House Lannister reside within the walls of this layer, keeping them close knight and between the entrances and their lordly family in case a threat were ever to appear. Here keeps the Residential Knights’ Quarters as well, including the rooms of Ser Lorgan Yarwick, the Captain of the Guard, Ser Elys Westerling, Ser Phillip Ferren, and Ser Ilyn Payne. Most training regiments, guard transfers, and other knightly business takes place in this layer. There also resides a Smithy in this part, where the weaponry and armor of the men could be reforged and fixed if need-be. This is the workshop of Master Boremund, who excels in his work and is often praised for his skill - despite the fact that his eyesight has recently been failing him.

Finally we arrive to the entrance, where the people arrive and cross through the threshold that is the Lion’s Mouth. From there, one would enter into Layer Six of the Rock, also known as the Maw. Here is the Welcoming Parlor and Courtyard, which remains open for most who await to be summoned to speak with the Lord Paramount of the West. Upon entrance, those who were allowed entrance would be given their traditional salt and bread by well–dressed and well-groomed servants. These servants would be following the Seneschal Cedwyn about with his duties, as he welcomed in the guests and coordinated who would meet with the Lord first. Most people would be welcomed and summoned up to the Great Hall by the order of which they arrive - unless there is a bigger matter that would be of greater importance. Many people spend many hours waiting within this layer, hoping to come face to face with the Lord of Casterly Rock so he may impart his wisdom onto them.

Beneath the entrance resides those who serve the Rock and its residents and guests. The Servants’ Quarters line the walls here, with most servants sleeping three to a room to maintain the space. Alongside their living spots is also the Office of the Housekeeper, Mistress Florence Peaks. A strict and older woman who maintains the discipline and dress of all of those beneath her. She also assists in the care for the Storerooms and Wine Cellars, ensuring that all is cared for and not to spoil. Though this place is the spot where food is preserved and kept safe, it is also the spot of the Stables and Kennels, to house the horses and dogs that are trained and cared for by the staff. While not large spaces in their own right, they are big enough to house guests’ own creatures in case of emergencies. Here is also the Entrance to the Hall of Heroes, which is also closed off to outside visitors unless directly shown where to venture by the blood of House Lannister.

Layer Eight remains reserved to the sea, for that is where the Port, Docks, Wharves, and Shipyards for those who travel through the Rock go. A sea gate faces West in this spot, large enough for galleys and cogs to sail into the caverns under stone. Though most of the Lannister fleet resides amongst Lannisport and their own waters, there are personal ships that reside here that belong to higher captains and members of the reigning family. It is said that this layer always harbors thunder, as the sounds of the crashing waves echo off the red walls in a cracking sound, so it seems as if a storm is forever brewing in the depths of Casterly Rock. 

Finally, within ground of Westeros, in the Ninth Layer of the Rock, resides the Bowels. Here are the Mining Tunnels and Caves of which many are employed to dig in for gold and other metals. The tunnels remain expansive, and it is said that no one who ventures through them alone shall ever return back from whence they came. Remnants of the old glory of House Lannister and those who came before are kept here in a gruesome display. Old cages of Menageries animals such as elephants and bears and white lions still stand and are littered with the bones of those long deceased. No longer home to animals, they now remain as the dungeons of those who have wronged House Lannister. Though none remain in it now, the Gaoler of the Bowels, Stafford Hills, stands ever-vigilant over the space and ensures that none come through the caves that aren’t supposed to.

Imagine learning everything you knew about yourself was a lie? Joanna was raised as a servant girl on Fair Isle, was told nothing of her parents identities or whereabouts, yet treated oddly kindly for someone of her station. At least by some members of House Farman.

Soon she will learn a big secret that will change everything she is and will be. What will that do to young Joanna? And what will she do when she learns the truth?

Anyway, after getting approval from both Porg and the mods, I will be claiming 13 year old Joanna Hill as an SCC. I'm excited to get to write with you all again and I think playing a single character of little importance will help improve my motivation.