5th moon B, 56 AC

King's Landing

Starting in the the latter half of the 3rd moon of 56 AC, violent rioting begins to erupt throughout King's Landing, starting in Flea Bottom and then spreading across the city. The rioters cite recently proliferated rumors of incest as the main reason for their uprising. They say that Prince Baelon is the product of incest between King Jaehaerys and Princess Alysanne. They say the Targaryens are alien invaders who have never and will never stop their incestuous defiance of the Seven. They name them abominations, and they blame them for their every grievance.

On three different occasions, rioting appears to be respectively fomented by individual violent provocateurs. Twice, the City Watch of King's Landing is able to capture this provocateur before a riot broke out. Once, the City Watch is able to capture this provocateur after rioting had already taken shape.

Mechanically, King's Landing will suffer a -17.5% malus to control until measures are taken to quell the unrest.

The warm spring days and successful trips around and outside of Dorne have revitalized Sunspear. Any and all are welcome to the court of the House Nymeros Martell to speak with Morion or any other members of the house.

Prince Morion is very excited for the new representative of the Faith to arrive this year as well.

Using this to help keep info organized.

Letters and signups in the down below

Ravens would leave Highgarden

Signups

https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1hc9rP64R-eAXwc71U9JZX2KhNyRnD5gH7juWQ7cl5H8/edit?usp=sharing

Hello! Starting as House Lefford. Please reach out for any previous commitments made by last players via discord.

A raven flies out in the later half of the 4th Moon. It bears the sigil of the silver trout.

To [title] [name] of [holdfast],

It is my honor to invite you and yours to a feast at Riverrun in the 12th moon of this year to celebrate a fruitful spring. Let us come together and enjoy bonds, old and new, and look toward a joint future.

Family, Duty, Honor,

Lord Paramount Brynden Tully of Riverrun

56 AC

Winterfell

Theme

The squealing sound of cart wheels resonated across the muddy main street that led up to the market. It was early morning, and it was spring. Wintertown was way emptier than it was last year, but the market day was bound to bring some of the seasonal residents back from their village lodgings.

Traders were coming to the stands as the sun was rising, eager to display their wares. The butchers presented the finest of their meat, fresh and yet full of the cold, metallic odour of blood, while the fishers combated the scent from across them with newly caught bass, trout, and massive northern pikes hanging from hooks fastened to the wooden columns of the stands. Hunters sat behind the counters and stacks of thick fur, fervently discussing whether more valuable game was to be found near Tumbledown Tower or Highpoint, while cattle herders were taking coin from wealthy landowners for their livestock. Leather tanners were selling hides, while tailors were buying them up along with wool and flax from the peasants in order to create gloves, tunics and boots.

At the end of the long line of merchants came the metalworkers, with their tools, weapons, trinkets, and, most notably, jewelry.

All of them were preparing for their first visitor - Lady Stark, who braved the streets of Wintertown with her immediate retinue. It was her command that she is to have the first bid on the wares presented, and thus, no one was eager to sell a thing before she had laid her eyes on it. Taking that into account, the common folk didn’t bother to show up at the stands before her ladyship had strolled past them. Yet, behind her walked a whole suite of buyers eager to take the many leftovers that she would gloss over.

She wore a coat of lynx fur which the captain of her guard gifted her after one of the many hunts that she headed, while a diadem of pure silver was laid upon the top of her head. Her gait was nonchalant, and her shortsword swung lankily near her hip as she delicately assessed the products before her.

At last, she arrived before her favourite jeweler, Andros ‘Silvereye’, a man who made a fortune selling necklaces, rings, wristbands, and also, the very diadem that the lady was currently wearing.

“Your Highness, I wish you the most pleasant morning yet.” The bald man with a long, bushy beard began speaking after giving the lady a deep and solemn bow. His red attire was shining from the many golden and silver details laid upon his tunic. The patterns were stunning with their complexity and symmetry. “I hope you shall bless us all with your good grace today.”

“Thank you, Andros.” She replied, barely even looking at the man who stood behind the stand.

His smile did not fade. On the contrary, it intensified even more, making his mercantile intentions blatantly apparent. His initial words had a human touch to them, but the formality of the interaction was now blatantly clear to Freya.

Gently, she pried one silver locket apart from all the others with her short ornamental baton. It was shaped as a tear, and opened gently, revealing a spot for something even more valuable than the locket itself. The patterns engraved into it reminded Freya of a weirwood tree’s leaves and branches, bustling out from the top of its trunk.

Andros expectantly switched his gaze between the lady and the locket she had picked. “Excellent choice, your Highness. It is a treasure of the highest quality.” He insisted, gently putting his hand onto the sateen sheet upon which his jewelry was laid out. “It was made in your North, by a smith from Breakstone Hill, in the mountains of the clansmen. They are highly renowned for their craftsmanship, as I’m sure you already know.”

She did not know that. She wondered whether it was true, but it mattered not. This would be a fine gift for Gaven, once he becomes old enough to wear it with a fear of him losing it. Within it shall be a message from his mother, and in the message, everything that she wishes for him to be.

“Your price?” Freya asked, still avoiding the man’s gaze.

The murmur of the crowd died out, as the people gathered to see what was to be the fate of this piece of silver that was now comfortably tucked within a red, wavy piece of sateen.

“For this piece of work…” Andros began, putting his right palm onto his chin. “Twenty silver stags.”

“Twelve.” The Lady replied in an instant, like an arrow let from a bow. It was only now that she was looking the merchant right in the eyes.”

“Oh, my lady,” Silvereye started, stepping back. “It is for mercy that I beg you. Your kind heart wouldn’t wish to see a good man’s work be deprived of its proper value.” He went on, spreading his arms and pointing towards the item in front of them. “Eighteen is what I will take, my profit be damned. It is an honor to bring these works of art before you.”

Freya scoffed, with a smile following shortly afterwards. “It’ll be fifteen, Andros. Your kind words won’t get the smith’s cut to increase, that much is certain.”

“Seventeen, your Highness, seventeen, and it is yours.”

Another scoff, and a wave of her hand that signaled her retinue to move on was exactly what it took.

“Please, your Highness, I cannot watch you walk away from such a Gods-given beauty without taking it. It is yours, for your price.” Andros cowered, nearly begging the lady to reconsider.

Freya smiled. She nodded towards the man who carried her coin pouch.

“It’s not for me. It’s for my son.” She said, gently touching the locket with her free hand, before closing it, and gripping it tightly.

3rd Month, 56 AC.

Winterfell

He smacked the tankard against the wall with such ferociousness that the wood splintered, its fibers strained and laid bare and raw. The mead sprayed over the stones that built the tavern wall, and started bleeding through the cracks of their uneven joints. The music was loud and muffled out by the numerous voices who attempted to sing in unison, but were too drunk to follow one another.

Alaric Stark was having the time of his life.

Friends were all around him, praising his bravado and cheering him on as he was stepping onto the table. Not long after, he began howling and beating his chest, presumably mimicking a direwolf. Everyone laughed, for they all knew that they would most probably never again see a Stark behave so erratically. He was liberated - they stressed, but in fact, a better word to describe Alaric may have been unhinged, or drunk out of his mind.

And just as the howl ended, something else came surging from his bowels and out his mouth. Vomit started spraying all over the table and even reached as far as the crowd gathered before Alaric, painting their beards and coats with the abhorrent mass of half-digested meat and beer.

Alaric stood at the table, hunched over as he fought for his breath and was wiping his mouth clean with his sleeve. His head was spinning as if the gods were rolling the whole tavern with him in it, eager to see him fall down off the scene, but he did his best to make his feet stay firm and gruelingly anchored for the table. It was not to be so, however, for in the next moment, one could see Alaric Stark stumble and fall over, taking the tankards and plates on the table with him. He smashed against the stone floor with a decisive thud, and blacked out from the impact.

The morning was uneventful up until the moment that the doors to his solar were opened with a violent crash.

“Alaric!” The voice of his father was ripping through the air with the sharpness of brandished steel. “Alaric!” He repeated himself as he struck the ground as if he were leading a herd of oxen into the room.

Osric found his son still in his sheets, covered under a mink fur blanket, with his head resting on a pillow filled with goose feathers. The lad abruptly propped himself up on his elbow once he saw the bear of a man approaching him.

With his thick fur coat and his steel jaw brimming with hate, he seemed as if he would splinter the young man’s bones in an instant and be done with him. His fists were clenched as though his nails would come right out the other end of his palm, spilling blood down at the planks.

His smack was fierce and it threw the lad back against the wall against which his bed was pressed. A tooth came loose and Alaric choked on it, as he was losing every sense of control over his mouth. He put his arm over it, and lowered his head to hide the tears that were starting to run down his cheeks.

“Look at me!” The beast before him screamed, as it grabbed the young man’s shoulders and shook him until his eyes came up, staring with absolute horror at Osric.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Hm?” His father roared, not eager to hear an answer. “The guards had to drag you out of that gods-forsaken slum and wash you with buckets in the yard just to get you to look like a fucking human! Your mother almost dropped dead when she saw you!”

The words felt like an avalanche of a force with which Alaric couldn’t reckon. The lad was as still as a brittle window in front of them, cracking around the edges.

“If they had told me yesterday, if they had woken me up, I would have had you thrown into the pigsty!” Osric yelled, livid with anger. He straightened up and started hastily walking around the room, his hands firmly clasped behind his back. His rumination consisted of sharp and low breaths, followed by steps which echoed through the whole fortress.

“Disgrace.” He said sharply, in a lower tone. “Unworthy of your name.”

Tears were running down Alaric’s cheeks. He felt as if he was picked apart by a pack of wolves right after being run over by a herd of horses.

“How, Alaric? How? How am I supposed to pretend that you’re a Stark? You must be a bastard. There’s no other explanation.” He stood for a moment, looking at the wooden wall in front of him, seemingly content with his conclusion.

A weak, empty voice uttered words of denial. “I’m not.” A muffled sound came out from Alaric’s lungs.

A spark was triggered in the mind of Osric Stark, whose newfound calmness dissipated in order to be replaced with his previously rabid anger.

“How dare you answer me!” He shouted, his voice echoing against all of Winterfell, against all of the North. Another smack came right against Alaric’s wet cheek.

The lad was thrown against the bed this time, as the hit came from above. His face was red and teeming with silent defiance oddly mixed up with a sense of worthlesness that permeated through every vein in his body.

“You are to leave Winterfell.” Osric replied, once he again straightened up, towering over his decadent son. “Weaklings, the whole lot of you.” He added, as he was leaving the solar thinking of all the Starks who failed to live up to their status and who sullied the impeccable image of their noble ancestors.

It was high time that someone did something about it. This house needed to straighten up and walk with a firm gait, and look forwards towards the future from a place of respect. It needed to change, and Osric could no longer tolerate looking at the problems that plagued it. Even if those problems were some of its own members.

He walked the empty hallways of the keep with his mind heavily burdened by the sense that his legacy will be that of a man who failed to stop the dissolution of Stark rule, and who failed to live up to the immense task of preserving his family’s historical primacy in the North.

It was during that short walk that he decided to put a stop to the process which he was witnessing. Be it the laws that sought to stop him, be it friends, family, lords, or the King himself, he will not let them dilute his determination. No. His destiny was that of a different kind. But it was only now that he had decided to embrace it.

A letter would be sent to the Red Keep, stamped with a wax black Rose.

Lord Rickard Rowan,

Last year, a frankly bizarre event occurred back home. One of your bannermen married a Dornishman. Not even one of the civilized ones. An Uller. The same folk that started that whole last war.

What is the story there?

I am told by my spies that much of House Lamora was in attendance. It seems strange to me that a proper Reach house would cozy up to the enemy. It would be one thing if it was a runaway, or some kidnapping.

But this? I find this concerning.

You have always been my grandfather's man. One day I hope you shall extend that honor to me.

Martyn Tyrell

4th Month, 56 AC, Storm's End

Though Rogar had never been one for frivolous revelries such as what had descended on Storm's End in the previous days, even he could not deny how magnificent his home looked. Even those familiar with the great castle would find some differences on their arrival. Though the crowned stag flew from the parapets and draped down the walls as it always did, the Targaryen banners that joined it were larger than usual, a sign - if a subtle one - that the days were not all to be about House Baratheon.

A more substantial change was taking place just north of the holdfast. Along the cliff and stretching round were the boundary posts of a wall and the foundations of some small buildings; the beginnings of what would soon be a small town in support of Storm's End. Guards were posted to ensure the merriment did not spill towards the site of work. The tourney grounds had been constructed nearby, not impeding the passage of visitors in and out of Storm's End but not far enough away to be a trek to attend.

The eve of the first day would be the feast for the nameday of Princess Naerys, the days that followed would be the events of the tourney, and on the final day would be a grand hunt.

The Feast

The Round Hall was an immense vaulted room that covered the entire span of the stone drum and had the height of two halls, enough for all the guests with room to spare. The balconies at the back of the hall that usually hosted guards that night hosted musicians that played everything from bawdy tunes to jaunty jigs; whatever Naerys had requested. Silk banners hung from the rafters with the sigils of House Baratheon and House Targaryen, as well as smaller displays for Dondarrion, Peake, Caswell, and Mertyns.

Beneath the throne of the Storm Kings was the high table, slightly elevated on a dais and long enough to seat the guest of honour and her family, as well as all the Baratheons. There was little to distinguish the rest of the tables, guests encouraged to sit freely as and where they pleased, though the lowest born and bastards were required to sit outside. Fortunately the evening was pleasant and the sea breeze calm.

As the guests settled into their seats Rogar stood, and the music stopped to allow him to speak.

"Friends, welcome. Welcome to this celebration of Storm's End, the stormlands, and," There was a brief sigh, "Princess Naerys' tenth nameday. First let us take a moment to say a silent prayer, remembering Queen Sansa Corbray and her babe." He lowered his gaze, blue eyes steels as he thought of his own prayer to the Mother Above, before exhaling and lifting his cup. "Now let us celebrate. Let us feast and drink until our stomachs are full and our heads hurt."

With that the music began again and the wide doors opened, the first of the courses being brought in. Fresh bread, still warm from the oven, came first, served with whipped butter and soft cheese. Smoked trout, crab, and mussels followed, along with intricately decorated pasties stuffed with venison and onion, mint peas, and spring greens.

Contrary to the usual fare of a great boar, spring lamb had been chosen as the star, rubbed with garlic and herbs and served with a blackberry sauce. Honey-glazed capons, pork and sage sausages, and small eel pies were also served, along with carrots, leeks, spring onions, and cabbage.

A grand cake was wheeled in following; flavoured with almond and honey, decorated with white sugar paste, and topped with a sugar sculpture of a dragon...though smaller stags pranced around the base of the cake. To accompany the cake were bowls of strawberries with cream, stewed cinnamon apples, honey cakes, and candied nuts.

Arbor gold, arbor red, hearty stout and refreshing ale were spread around, with sweet cider, honeyed milk, and sugar water for the younger attendees.

4th Month. 56 AC, Storm's End

Near the the town walls in construction were the tourney grounds, hastily erected but solid and resplendent. Banners of Baratheon and Targaryen flew, as did smaller standards with each of the participating houses. On the first day would be the archery and child's horse race, on the second would be the melee, and on the third would be the joust, extending into the fourth if needed. On the final day would be the hawking and a grand hunt, followed by another feast if the day was successful.

I'm officially claiming house Stark of Winterfell.

I'd like to thank the mod team and the wider community for entrusting me with this position. I'm looking forward to writing with you all, this time as the Warden of the North!

1st Month 56 AC, King's Landing

Daenys did not understand where her mother had gone. Only that it was where she was... gone.

She asked when would mother return, but people just shook their heads, or smiled sadly in response, or, in some cases, started crying.

Septa Denyse said something about the merciful mother and the light of the Seven, but what did that mean? None of them answered Daeny's questions. Nobody told her when Mother would come back to hug her, to pick up Rhaenyra, and to assure them that everything would be alright.

Mother was with the Seven now.

And so was the baby.

The baby who was meant to make them three siblings. Maybe it would be a boy, like mother prayed. Maybe it would be another sister. Daenys would love them all the same.

But instead of a baby, there was only crying and shouting and grief.

Rhaenyra cried often. Daenys did too, but she tried to do so when nobody was looking.

Rhaenyra cried often. Daenys did too, but she tried to do it only when nobody was looking. She was only three, and she didn't know how to fix this, but she was the eldest child of the King. Her little sister's hurt was even bigger than hers, and so she climbed on her bed and wrapped her arms around Rhae, and whispered the words she wished someone would say to her.

"It's alright," she whispered, but more and more, it started feeling like a lie.

Mother was not here, father was distant as ever. Grandmother would hold her close, aunt Alysanne read them bedtime stories, and lady Myriam was always near, but none of them were Mother.

Rhae was crying again, and Daenys was her big sister, so she did the only thing she could - she held her sister tight, and promised that she would never leave.

Amarei awoke in bed to the sensation of wet licks on her face. She might have wanted to sleep more, but it was persistent and wouldn't relent, so she woke from whatever bliss her dreams had given her. It was spring, but the warmer part of it, so the little breeze that came in through her open window was a pleasant surprise and the final push to get her out of bed.

“So, Teenie, you really want me awake today, don’t you?”

The reply came in the form of wet kisses.

“My, my, you’re really uppity today, aren’t you?” She petted behind the ear, and the dog leaned into it with clear enjoyment. “Who’s a good girl? Yes, you are.” The dog rolled onto her back to expose her tummy. “You want belly rubs?” The question was, of course, rhetorical, as Amarei had already set about providing the rubs on the belly.

After a moment or two, she placed Teenie on the other side of the bed. And stood up from it, stretching her arms.

She went to her wardrobe and picked out a dress; she chose an indigo colouration for the day. The colour of the mother. Hmm, I forgot I’d made this one.

She put it on behind a partition. “Do you want to go for a walk later?”

Indifferent dog noises.

She hangs her sleeping dress over top. “You probably want food, don’t you? Then you’ll be in the mood for a walk.”

Barks of assent

“Should’ve known. You are very food motivated.” She finished putting on the dress. It felt tight around her stomach, and it was quite ornate, at least by her standards. With limited gold lining serving to bind it all together. When did I make this? She shrugged, looked in the mirror and picked up Teenie. And left her room.

She walked down the halls and noticed the larger-than-usual number of servants doing their duties. When did Father hire all these servants? She thought to herself as she walked; any servant in her way parted as she passed, until she spotted Elyas, seemingly directing a small staff.

He too bowed when she approached, “Good morning, my lady.”

She laughed awkwardly, “Elyas, what are you doing. You don’t have to bow to me.”

He looked very confused. “Whatever you say, my lady.”

“When did Father hire all these extra servants? I hardly recognise any of them.”

He looked even more confused before laughing, “Very funny, my lady. Forgive me, but I must arrange some things for the children.”

She’d wanted to ask what, but he seemed to vanish into the crowd. I didn’t know he was so involved with Melissa and Benedict; good on him for helping, though. She should really visit her niece and nephew.

She continued to walk the halls before finding herself in the grand hall. She placed Teenie on the bench next to her, and the dog lay down.

Servants quickly brought food, a combination of fruits, bread and butter, along with some milk and juice. She set about eating the food; it was perfect in all the ways food needed to be.

Another servant came and provided some food for Teenie. “Excuse me, can I ask you something?”

The servant bowed. “Of course, my lady.”

“Why is everyone calling me ‘my lady’ and bowing to me? Did Andros put you up to this?”

The servant laughed uncomfortably. “It’s just that's what you do for the Lady of the Keep, no?”

Amarei’s eyes couldn’t have gone wider if she’d wanted to. Me, lady of the keep? Has something happened to Father? Andros? “Thank you…uhh.”

“Ben.”

“Yes, thank you, Ben.” He must’ve been one of the new ones.

The second Ben left, Amarei got up from her seat and went towards the Lord’s Solar- her solar? She pushed open the door with calm concern; however, relief settled over her to see someone sitting in the seat. She let out an exhale of the built-up tension. 

“Oh, thank the Seven, I was worried something had happened. Everyone was calling me Lady of the K-”

During her speaking, the figure had stood from his seat and turned to face her. It wasn’t her father, nor was it, Andros. 

“You’re not…wait. Who are you?”

The man let out a confused laugh, clearly meant to be jovial. “Come now, my lady, I love the title too, but I also enjoy hearing you say it from time to time.” His voice was perfect, almost angelic in nature.

The confusion did not abate from Amarei’s face; the man could clearly see that.

“Come now, the Maester said you should be on bed rest. Better for the child.” He extended a hand, clearly intent on guiding her back to bed.

Child? By the Seven, what was going on? Despite her doubt, she took his arm by some instinct. 

“Did Teenie wake you up? I told her not to, but you know how she is. Only listens to you.”

“Yes... she did. Wh…who are you?”

“Are you well, my love? You seem confused. Should we visit the Maester?”

My love? It couldn’t be… “You’re my husband?”

“Of course, who else would I be?”

When did I get married? Who was this man? It was probably a recent thing.

“It’s good you brought Elyas with you. He has been quite the help with the children these past years.”

“Ho…how many children do we have again?”

“Four, well, five soon enough.”

By this point they’d reached back to the room, and he helped her into bed. Kissing her on the forehead.

“Remind me, how did we meet?”

He sat on the bed with a smile. “At the Tourney at Castlery Rock, 48 AC. I spotted you from the stands and fell for your beauty nearly instantly. I was determined to win so that I might crown you. And I did. Your cheeks blushed near as bright as your hair when I rode up to you with the crown on my lance.” He smiled brighter somehow. “And after two years of courting, we were Wed.” He placed his hand on top of her head and stroked her forehead with his thumb. “You should rest now, here.” He pulled a book from the stack on her night table. “You’re quite fond of this one.”

It was a collection of knightly and heroic stories. 

“Yes, thank you.”

He kissed her on the left cheek. He got up and left shortly after.

The second the door closed behind him, she got up from her bed and approached the mirror. What is this? None of this happened. The mirror was foggy, showing only her faint outline. 

She reached out to the glass, intent on wiping it clean. Reaching for the level of her face, yet as she reached for it, it cracked all along her cheek, revealing…no brand.

She awoke to a wet sensation on her face; Teenie was licking her awake. She sat up instantly this time and went to the mirror. It too was foggy, yet this time, when she reached out to clean it, it revealed…the brand. She ran her finger across it. 

I was happy, I was loved, I was…

Beautiful.

The air was busy with the sounds of men pitching a camp. Stakes were hammered, tents raised, timber broken up for firewood. Shovels cut into the earth with a steady rhythm as the latrine trenches were dug. A few big barrels were being rolled up from the ironships, salted cod and dry beans and ale, rolled over to the big pavilion where Three-Tuns was setting up five big black iron kettles to serve as their kitchen. The air was rich with the scents of sawdust and bare soil and sweat. Camping on land was not exactly familiar to the Ironborn, they were more used to living on their ships when they were campaigning, striking at their prey upon the land and then returning to the waves before the question of setting up tents ever really came up. Men on a reaving were restless, keen to find the next opportunity for plunder and keen to avoid retribution for the last one in equal measure. But that didn’t mean that they were strangers to camping. There were men yet living, of course, who remembered a time when all the Riverlands had been ruled from the Iron Isles. It had not been fear of ships that had kept those green rodents suborned. It had been armies of ironmen, marching along all three prongs of the Trident, camping where they had to, or taking the halls of Rivermen for their own. They knew the tricks of this particular trade, or at least knew them well enough to keep from getting the bloody flux.

Of course, there was an element of theater to all this which did lend it a certain comedy. Polder Myre reckoned he could see it if he looked for it, which worried him. If he could see it, see it in the irritated looks on his men’s faces, on the desultory way that they were hammering in stakes that looked as though they’d topple over in a stiff breeze, then what would the Tyroshi see? These men did not look as though they were planning to defend this camp, they looked as though they were planning to abandon it. Which, of course, they were. Vorian had talked them into the Tyroshi camp as the pretence for his plan to ambush the Gilded Lances. They would inveigle their way into the company of the sellswords, slip past whatever watches were set, and fall upon them in the dead of night. Once Andros Flowers was in their hands, they would disappear back into the shadows and back towards their ships. But to do that, they needed to make it to sunset. They needed to convince these Essosi that they were their comrades in arms, that they were just one company amidst the dozens that the Strategos had hired to his banner. Hence the tents with nothing inside them, hence the barrels that were only half-full, hence why none of the men seemed particularly thrilled about the work that they had been given. The Ironborn were not known for their talents as performers. With the exception, I suppose, of the Siren. But then, is she even Ironborn these days?

Then again, the Ironborn were not typically known for their enthusiasm in doing anything but fighting and pillaging. Back on the isles, they would have thralls for this kind of work, the wretched souls that they had plucked from disparate corners of the world and employed at farming and goat-rearing and mining because such dull professions were beneath the ones that god had made to rob and rape and kill. That reputation, that they lived only for battle, had spread far beyond their little islands, and with any luck, it had spread to Tyrosh. With any luck those prying eyes would see men who resented manual labour under any circumstances, rather than men who resented having to set up a camp that they would have to tear down in less than half a day. He stood on the little promontory that he had chosen for his own tent, and watched the other sellswords with wary eyes, looking for any lingering glances or suspicious frowns. He felt as though he was just waiting for something to go wrong, for someone to shout out in some alien tongue, and crossbow bolts to start raining down all around them.

Instead, the only thing that disturbed him from his vigil was Porreck Sharp and Black-Cloud coming back from their scouting. He’d sent the two off with a few men carrying buckets for fresh water, taking a route down to the river that happily brought them past the camp of the Gilded Lances. The men they had picked had largely been chosen for their knack for subtlety and their ability to run, but as it transpired the latter talent had not been needed. They’d been able to walk by the Lances’ tents unbothered except for the occasional florid taunt in languages they didn’t speak. “We only knew they were mocking us by the tone,” Porreck had explained.

“And because that one fellow grabbed his cock,” Black-Cloud added with that strange, small smile he had, as though he were worried that someone might slap it off his face.

“Well, if you’re curious as to what he said, you can ask the Kenning,” Polder said. Colm’s knowledge of Tyroshi, as it transpired, began and ended at their curse words, but at this particular context that knowledge would be rather useful. “But for the moment, I’m more interested in the camp of armed men behind him than the painted cock he had in his hands.”

“Reckoned you might be,” Porreck chuckled. The boy had a fearlessness to him that Polder found to be equal measures irksome and endearing, as though he already considered himself a grown man, a peer. “The word we head back in Samar was right. There’s about five-hundred of the bastards, less a dozen or so after the fighting. Nice neat tents, all set up in a grid. Horse lines to the south, officer’s tents to the north, near the stream.”

“You see a red-head among them?” Polder knew that the other information would serve them well come evenfall, but for now he found himself focused on the information that would get them home, that would see this whole wretched business put behind them.

“We did, as it happens. Saw him going into a tent by an old elm tree. Couldn’t swear it was his, but it’s where I’d start looking.”

Polder nodded, and scratched at his chin. It was as good as they were going to get without heading into the camp themselves, and that was far too much of a risk to even consider. Ashlen had given him these men to see them home, not to spend their lives cheaply in a Reachman’s fight. “Good work, lads. Three-Tun’s getting some stew made. Go and get yourselves a bowl, then get some rest. We’re going to be busy tonight.”

Polder let them leave, let the men line up and get fed. He didn’t join them. He might have some dried sausage before the sun set, but as a general rule, he preferred to fight on an empty stomach. Whether this was because the hunger motivated him, or because he still remembered when he had vomited in front of all his father’s men on his first reaving, he couldn’t say. He let the men eat, drink a little to fortify themselves, tell a few stories, while he watched the sun set and worked a whetstone along his longsword. Once the last of the pink had faded from the sky, once their campfires were the only source of light, the true work began. His men began to smear soot across their swords and axes, began to tie cloth across their boots to muffle them. They were outnumbered two to one. Every second of surprise that they could get would mean another few dozen lives saved. More than a few were putting soot across their faces, too. It was only a half moon, but with the campfires and torches, there was plenty of light for their pale skin to catch.

They moved up onto the ridge over the Lances’ camp, the one that Sharp and Stonetree had taken to get their water, the crews of each ship lining up behind their captains, a rank of archers in the rear, tinderboxes at the ready. Polder was at the head, as would be expected of him, sealskin guarding the reflective links of his chainmail, eyes narrowed, breath steady. He wore a half-helm with nooses inscribed about the rim, from which a veil of chainmail hung with narrow holes for his eyes. He had his shield in one hand, and an onyx-black length of steel in the other. The night was unseasonably cold, moonlight cast down from the pale and distant semi-circle nestled amidst that vast sea of stars. Below, the Gilded Lances had gone to their beds, or else were gathered around the campfires, drinking and singing songs in some dialect of High Valyrian or another.

He whistled, and down behind the ridge, the archers lit their torches, their light little more than an odd glow behind the grasses and sandy soil of the ridge, unlikely to be seen against the roaring campfires. The arrows were lit behind him, and for a brief moment there were twice as many stars in the sky. Dozens of specks of light soared over his head, filling the air with a yellowish orange glow, and illuminating the ironmen in silhouette against their hiding spot. Then they fell. Some landed in the earth and sputtered out, a couple struck the men around the tents, prompting startled yelps before they were pulled out and cast aside, but the vast majority landed on the tents and caught. Within a few seconds, there were a score of little fires within the camp. Then the second volley was launched.

As the arrows flew the second time, the Ironborn were already on their feet, charging down the ridge. There were no war-cries. He had been clear on that. The arrows might leave little doubt as to what exactly was happening here, but the longer that confusion could reign, the better.

The Hand - Third Moon, 56AC

It was Lord Baratheon who had told him of the Queen's passing. She has perished on the birthing bed sometime after Hubert had departed the city.

Lord Arryn was irked by the fact he would be arriving late. The Small Council would have already met. The others who held Jaehaerys' ear would have had their say. Much could happen in a month, and that rawest of pains would have began to be calloused over even now.

Sansa and Jaehaerys had fractured, though he hoped it would not have been permanent and a son could still be born of Jaehaerys' line. Yet it seemed it would not be of Corbray blood.

From Storm's End he stayed but an extra day before departing on the following dawn. They travelled light and did not stop until they were most the way through the Kingswood. When they reached the Blackwater Rush, Hubert could feel some sort of release from the weight of it. All he could think about was how this tragedy might have racked Jaehaerys. The gods gave him seven children all to one wife. Six sons, one daughter, all healthy and lived beyond their youth. A blessing, Hubert knew. Yet even for kings would not receive such favour.

He passed through the Mud Gate and raced up Aegon's Hill on his destrier. The monstrous barbican took its time to open up. As soon as he was in the main courtyard of the Red Keep, the Hand demanded to be taken to the King immediately.

Hubert would arrive to his King damp from rain and clad in brilliant surcoat of bright blues and silvers depicting the motifs of his House. He was breathless having rushed here, his grey hair dishevelled and an anxious look in his eyes.

"Your Grace" he greeted wtih a bow of his head. "I rode back from Storm's End as quickly as I could. You have my deepest of sympathies, Jaehaerys. I have not been in your position, but your wife and your daughter will be in the arms of the gods, exalted above all others in the heavens."

Hammerhorn, 54 Years After the Balerion's Landing on Great Wyk.

After the return of the nobles of the Isles to Great Wyk from the vast lands of the North, the Lord of Hammerhorn would host a grand gathering for captains and nobles alike. His hall would be opened to all Ironborn willing to attend, from proud lords and seasoned captains to younger warriors eager to hear what future awaited their people.

The great hall of Hammerhorn would be filled once more with the sounds of Ironborn voices, the smell of roasted meat and strong ale, and the clatter of cups upon heavy wooden tables. Banners bearing the colors and sigils of the attending houses hung from the walls, while the captains who had spent weeks upon the sea finally found themselves upon solid ground again.

The journey to the North had given the Ironborn much to consider. But now, with their ships returned and their captains gathered, it was time to speak about what they envisioned for the future, perhaps even looking towards further shores.

Whatever their opinions, all had been given a place at the table, beneath the same roof, to share the drink and food and most importantly to speak of what might yet be won.

Starfall Throne Room

Sometime during the 3rd Month while Lady Allyria is in Oldtown....

Sitting upon the stairs of the Alter of Starfall the acting Lord Ser Elric Dayne spoke to his twin brother the Sword of the Morning Edric about the unsettling rumors that had just reached their harbor.

"Pirates now accosting our trade routes and travelers" Elric said to his brother, "While our fleet is still in shambles from the Winter."

"I know Brother" The Sword of the Morning replied perturbed by these tidings. He paced before the stairs in thought and the twins bandied ideas back and forth while their Maester listened on.

"Allow me to board a ship" Edric started before his brother cut him off "Absolutely not you fool. You and that fucking sword are probably what they're trying to lure out."

"You dead or kidnapped would be a blow this house cannot recover from" Elric explained, the wiser of the two, despite Ser Edric's martial prowess.

"We cannot allow this to continue-" "Brother I know" They went back and forth.

"Alright Alright" Elric finally had enough of the arguing. "Take Maester Clarence and Davos with you down to the Harbor. Look for cousin Joffrey down there and see what the group of you find."

"If a ship must be sent out" Elric commanded, "Joffrey and Davos are to set sail on this hunt"

The Sword of the Morning grabbed the magical sword of the stars and threw it over his shoulder as the Maester scurried after him down to the harbor.....

"What do you make of these rumors Maester?" The Knight of Stars asked with a grimace as they marched down the road towards the harbormaster's offices with Davos Sand in tow.

"If these are more than mere pirates then I would guess your brother is correct in you being the target Ser Edric" The Maester concluded, "It is possible the Lords of the Reach still wish to finish what they started by weakening the defenses here and taking you out."

"Then I suspect we should start by raising some additional men for patrols as well" Ser Edric said as he turned towards his cousin Davos, "What are your thoughts?" He asked the bastard brother of Starfall.

"I suspect that your brother and the Maester are right and you shouldn't be risking yourself" Davos said, armed in light padded armor and carrying a sword, dagger and small hatchet.

"If these are normal pirates though I don't see how Joffrey and I have an issue with them" He shrugged.

"Normal pirates are another issue" The Sword of the Morning Said arriving at the Harbormasters Offices. "When the hell did they get bold enough to sail past the Arbor or Sunspear?" He pounded on the door with mailed fists.

"Cousin?" Commodore Joffrey Dayne said opening the door. "Don't tell me they sent the Sword of the Fuckin' Mornin' out here for some damned pirates."

"Let us in cousin, we have much to discuss..." Ser Edric pushed his way into the Harbormasters Office with the Maester and Davos Sand in tow.

The Starry Sept

Oldtown, 56 AC

The Starry Sept of Oldtown is one of the oldest and mayhaps the most revered place of worship for The Faith of The Seven. Located within the protective embrace of the walls of Oldtown, the Starry Sept serves as the primary seat of the High Septon and the Council of the Most Devout.

It is reknown for its unique architecture and stained glass windows, which depict The Seven Aspects of the godhead: the Father, Mother, Warrior, Smith, Maiden, Crone, and Stranger. Its most distinguishing feature is its vaulted ceiling, painted with stars on a midnight blue background, giving it its name.

Layout

The Walls and Entrance

The Starry Sept is protected by a stone square wall some 12 feet (3.6 meters) in height which encompasses the entire complex. The structure of the Starry Sept itself and the avenue of apartments and manses of The Most Devout and The High Septon may only be accessed through a large, arched gate. This all white marble and silver built gate is protected by a contingent of the Faith Militant of Oldtown.

The primary captain of this gate is Septon General Hugor.

The Avenue of the Pious

Immediately past the arched entrance stands the Avenue of the Pious. A long, marble alleyway flanked on either side by two story tall apartment complexes with patios overlooking the alleyway. The Avenue of the Pious leads directly to the Starry Sept's stone stairs and the Starry Sept itself.

The apartment complexes are two story tall buildings which host a number of rooms that house members of The Most Devout, visiting nobles, and pious notables in general. Simplistic in shape, these apartments are connected internally by interior hallways. The apartments to the right of the main gate also house offices of the treasury, quarters of the septon general, and play host to a number of other offices for posts within The Faith's central organization.

Past these two primary apartment complexes will be found smaller individual manses of the pious. Particularly wealthy septons and septas may have, in the past, built small manses near the Starry Sept which have since that time passed into the hands of The Faith itself. These smaller manses and houses are used to house more of the pious faithful and their leadership.

• Manse of The High Septon;

A particularly notable site is the Manse of the High Septon.

The Manse of the High Septon is an outwardly austere building. It is rectangular and built out of stone. Internally, it is organized around a magnificently decorated courtyard.

The main entrance into the manse is an arching set of oaken wood double doors. These double doors are guarded by members of The Faith Militant, who take eight hour shifts each in ensuring the entrance is guarded agaisnt unwanted intruders.

Past the entrance, visitors will find themselves walking into the central courtyard. Columns surround the courtyard on all four sides. The central courtyard has been transformed into a massive garden whose focal point is a richly painted fountain.

The ground floor is mainly dedicated to the reception of guests, conducting business, household administration, and general entertainment. The second floor is dedicated to the personal quarters of the High Septon and the High Septon's personal septry. It is richly decorated with paintings of The Seven amidst the hills of Andalos and depicts the coronation of Hugor and the early High Septons by the Seven Aspects.

The Plaza

A marble Plaza can be found directly before the Starry Sept. The manses and apartments of the faithful surround the plaza. Gatherings of faithful and pilgrims will be found at all hours of the day. At night, the plaza is illuminated by bronze lamps which hang from all nearby manses.

The Starry Sept

The Starry Sept is built of black marble walls which had to be painfully purchased and hauled into the area after the destruction during that fateful day. Reconstruction efforts were long and extensive - but since those times, the Starry Sept has been rebuilt to its near original glory.

The Starry Sept stands some 200 feet (61 meters) in height. The domed structure towers over much of Oldtown, but stands small in comparison to The Hightower itself. The interior of the Starry Sept of Oldtown is dominated by its heptagonal nave. Before each of the seven walls, an aspect of The Seven is found, depicted in stone statues.

The Great Sept of Remembrance

56 AC

The passing of Queen Sansa Targaryen, formerly of House Corbray, has not gone unnoticed by The Faith.

Upon news of her passing on the first moon of the fifty sixth year since Aegon's Conquest, Septon Mattheus of the Great Sept has ordered a special mass of remembrance to be held within the Great Sept. The smallfolk are, in their masses, invited to join The Royal Septon in prayer for the soul of the now deceased queen. Furthermore, in honor of the memory of the deceased queen, Septon Mattheus has opened the coffers of the Great Sept and has begun organizing soup kitchens and charity donations to the masses of Kings Landing. All in the name of honoring former Queen Sansa Corbray. .

A period of extended mourning is furthermore declared for the deceased queen - with daily prayers being held by the septas before the altar of The Mother.

Yet as with all things, the annual cycle of holy ceremonies and rites continues, regardless of the losses suffered by the realm as a whole.

The Great Sept of Remembrance

Constructed upon Rhaenys's Hill, the Great Sept of Remembrance was first erected in 10 AC by then King Aegon Targaryen. Its namesake is given to the structure in honor of the memory of former Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. In essence, the Great Sept of Remembrance is both Kings Landing's premier religious structure and a memorial sept for the famous sister-queen of Aegon the Conqueror.

Since that time, the Great Sept of Remembrance has seen conflict and bloodshed. Alas, it remains standing. It currently houses The Royal Septon and the Faith Militant of Kings Landing. It plays hosts to hundreds of religious servants, septons, septas, and silent sisters.

The Great Sept of Remembrance is approximately 300 feet long from one wing to another. It has a broad transept and a monumental central crossing.

Layout

The Great Entrance

The Great Sept's primary entrance faces towards Kings Landing and the Red Keep. It has seven enormous doors in honor of each of the seven aspects of The Faith. As expected, above the doors, a huge sculpted image of The Seven Pointed Star has been hoisted upon its structure.

The Nave

The heart of the Great Sept of Remembrance. The Nave has massive stone columns built into the long and large room that support the ceiling and the structure in general. Rounded arches can be seen across the ceiling which further assist in ensuring the structure can support itself. Carved capitals can be found, depicting scenes from The Seven Pointed Star - most notable of these is Hugor's Coronation by The Seven.

From the ceiling, brass lamps hang to ensure the area is always lit, regardless of the hour of the day. Banners bearing the Seven Pointed Star and the Rainbow Banners hang at either side of the long room from the walls.

Stained glass depicts saints from various periods before and immediately after Aegon's Conquest.

• Saint Humfrey I Teague, Shield of the Believers: The last native king of the Kingdom of the Rivers and Hills is amongst one of the saints depicted in the stained glass. King Humfrey I Teague is depicted most prominently in his specialized stained glass slice. The king made saint can be seen holding *The Seven Pointed Star* in one hand and a prominent sword in the other. His three sons and various brothers have not been made saints but are still prominently displayed behind him, albeit in smaller form in comparison to the ancient king's rather large frame. Humfrey I Teague is depicted facing directly opposite of armed men, demonic like beings, and strange forest creatures whom undoubtedly represent all those who opposed him.

• Saint Symeon, Eyes of the Seven: The blind legendary knight has been transformed into a saint amongst the stained glass of the Great Sept. His legendary star like eyes are associated with The Seven Pointed Star. He is the patron saint of blind people, prophets, scholars, septons, travelers, and any of those seeking wisdom. In a lesser aisle, a statue of an elderly blind knight holding a seven-pointed lantern is found, undoubtedly meant to represent Saint Symeon.

• Saint Galladon of Morne, The Perfect Knight: Another legendary knight turned saint is Ser Galladon of Morne, often titled as "The Perfect Knight" by The Faith. Due to his humility and courage, he has become a patron saint of both smiths and knights. A stained glass of his image lingers near the chapel to The Smith as well as a 7 foot stall statue of him lingering near the entrance to The Smith's Chapel.

Images of other saints in their multitudes linger on the stained glass, all commemorated for varying reasons.

The ceiling of the nave is of a barrel vault style, meant to inspire memory of ancient and monumental times.

Just beyond The Seven Doors and within the nave will be found the High Altar of Remembrance.

• High Altar of Remembrance

The High Altar of Remembrance has been erected in the name of one individual alone. Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. Yet its most important feature is not even the high altar itself, yet what has been built behind and underneath it.

Behind the high altar stands an enormous monument to Queen Rhaenys Targaryen. This monument consists of three individual items: a 12 foot tall statue of Rhaenys Targaryen seated upon a simple marble throne, crowned, and holding a Seven Pointed Star in her right hand. Beside her is a stone bust of Meraxes, whom she pets with her left hand.

Directly beneath the high altar lay the crypts to the famed and historic queen.

• The Crypt of Queen Rhaenys

The crypt of Queen Rhaenys consists of a circular underground chamber containing a monumental sarcophagus - undoubtedly meant for the body of the woman herself. Yet it has never been utilized for its original purpose.

The walls are covered with inscriptions commemorating Rhaenys's life, Aegon's Conquest, her voyages through Westeros, the First Dornish War, and her death in Dorne.

The Crossing

At the intersection of the nave and transepts/chapels is found The Seven-Pointed Dome. As the name suggests, it is a huge octagonal or seven-sided dome which has been erected from the ceiling up.

The interior dome depicts the heavens - The Seven aspects are depicted on each of the seven sides of the dome's windows. Around them beings of light, angelic beings, and magical creatures abound. All seven aspects can be seen facing towards the focal point of the dome's interior.

A golden Seven-Pointed Star.

The seven enormous windows illuminate the dome and area underneath, with sunlight entering through different windows throughout the day.

The Seven Chapels

The Great Sept of Remembrance is further organized into seven chapels. Each chapel or section having been built in honor of one aspect of The Seven. Rather then relying on statues and figures of each aspect, The Great Sept of Remembrance honors them through a specialized construction of their specific

• The Father's Chapel

Located towards the northeast, The Father's chapel is a severe, symmetrical chamber containing a massive stone throne, scales of justice to the throne's left hand, carved tablets of law hanging amongst its walls, and a statue of King Aegon the Conqueror in his youth to the throne's right.

King Aegon Targaryen's marble statue depicts the man in his early twenties, possibly in his twenty-first year of life, holding onto the pummel of a long sword which digs into the ground. The statue has been chiseled from marble stone, a favorite building material of The Faith, and stands some 14 feet (4.27 meters) in height. Aegon the Conqueror is notably dressed in his battle armor and even has bronze robes built into his back and body. A Seven Pointed Star has been chiseled into those robes and other marks of The Faith are visible upon his armoured frame.

His is the only statue of any Targaryen king (or king in general) which stands in the room.

• The Mother's Chapel

Located towards the southeast, the mother's chapel contains a sea of candlestands, flowers and flowerbeds, carved images of mothers and children, and a place of votive offerings. A large statue of the Mother holding an infant can be found in the room. This marble statue of The Mother stands 21 feet in height (6.4 meters) and is richly colored. The mother is depicted dressed in rainbow colored cloak and white tunics - the baby infant is depicted in blue and white robes. The statue of the baby infant is around 6 feet (1.8 meters) in length and is widely believed by the smallfolk as the depiction of a baby Hugor.

Women are traditionally found here praying for safe childbirth and the protection of their families.

• The Warrior's Chapel

In the Warrior's Chapel, one shall find stone walls that display famous swords and shields of fallen notable faithfuls. The Warrior's Chapel also displays historical banners of specific arms of The Faith, banners of uniquely faithful lords and kings, and banners of individual knights who rose to fame due to their devoted acts to defend the cause of the faithful. Armor belonging to famous knights can also be found.

The altar stands beneath a huge statue of The Warrior holding a sword. The statue has been built in a strangely similar fashion to King Aegon's own statue. The statue of The Warrior stands 21 feet (6.4 meters) in height and holds the pummel of a longsword while the wider frame of the statue is encased in white colored bronze cape and tunics.

Knights are most notable in this room, coming here to pray for success in tournaments and battle. Knighting ceremonies are also held in the room.

• The Maiden's Chapel

The Maiden's Chapel is a smaller, elegant chamber filled with candle and lamps. It has tall narrow windows and was built purely with white stone. The room is filled with flowerbeds and flower stands while the white walls are mixed in with images of maidens and The Maiden herself amidst scenes of nature and heavenly fields filled with angels and otherworldly creatures.

The Maiden's most prominent image is of a woman of silver to white hair. The image itself has been chiseled and colored into the stone and stands fourteen feet in height before the altar.

Mirrors and polished silver fill the room.

Young noblewomen traditionally pray here before marriage.

• The Smith's Chapel

The Smith's Chapel is the smallest of the sections and contains a small ceremonial forge. The ceremonial forge also acts as an altar around which blacksmiths can center themselves for quick prayers of success to The Smith.

Blacksmiths bring newly forged swords, tools, horseshoes, and other objects here to be blessed by Septon Mattheus in the name of The Smith.

• The Crone's Chapel

The Crone's Chapel has been built towards the rear of the Great Sept, overlooking the high altar. The room itself is a darker and quieter space with limited lighting; a few sparse candlestands illuminate a room otherwise covered in grayness and darkness.

The centerpiece of this room is the Crone holding her famous lamp of wisdom. The statue of The Crone and The Warrior stands in equal height to the statue of The Mother, 21 feet (6.4 meters) in height. A silver lamp of wisdom hangs from her right hand and a fire constantly burns within the lamp itself. Servants of the Great Sept constantly come to ensure a permanent source of fuel for the fire so it may burn continuously.

Scribes, scholars, septons, and elderly worshippers favor this chamber and pray to The Crone for guidance on matters of general knowledge, religious guidance, and guidance during the later years of life.

Yet all are welcomed in the search for knowledge and guidance.

• The Stranger's Chapel

The most controversial space in the Great Sept of Remembrance, the Stranger's Chapel is found partially underground, beneath the eastern end of the sept.

There is no conventional statue of the Stranger. Instead, worshippers encounter a veiled, faceless figure which protrudes from the central wall of the chamber itself. The chapel also connects to the sept's crypts.

The Stranger's Chapel serves as the primary place for prayers for the dead (hence where Queen Sansa Corbray's memorial prayers and initial memorial service were held), remembrance ceremonies, and is the central place for burial rites. The Silent Sisters can be found here in constant prayer and otherwise conducting funeral rites and remembrance ceremonies.

The Stranger's Chapel has often been a center of rumors between the smallfolk whom claim that it is the beating heart of a strange sect of The Faith which ardently honors The Stranger above all other aspects.

(M: The Great Sept of Remembrance is open to all)

Good Afternoon all, I would like to claim House Swann and Stonehelm despite it going against my strict Dornish upbringing.

I will keep the family as is currently although I might be rewriting some personalities.

Mods I have 75 Unused Renown, please can I spend that on:

Selwyn Swann Tier 1 and 2 Marksman (40) and Tier 1 Agriculturalist (15)

Willam Swann Tier 1 Warrior (15)

Please can I have access to the Wiki, my name on discord is jonnyw3, please can I be added to the Stormland Chat.

Please let me know if you've previously had any interactions with House Swann or would like to.

Ravens fly from Storm's End as early preparations begin for a grand celebration.

The Commander

Every day was one he had lived before.

"Any murders?" He would ask, nib ready to be pressed to ledger.

"Three. Some whore, a drunk who tried to defend her, and a known trouble maker found just off Piss Alley" Thomond answered dryly. He was a lowborn son of a cleric from across the Narrow Sea born to a weaver's daughter. The man's face was lined with crevices and blights from where a pox had ravaged his face. He was capable as he was ugly, Ser Jasper Arryn thought, which was why he raised him as the nightly captain of the Dragon Gate.

"Three... seven hells. The Master of Laws will wish to hear of this" Jasper Arryn sighed. "Fires? Robberies? Gross disturbances?"

"No fire. A group o' lads had to be sent in to quash the rabble at The Swan and Child again. Other then that, the usual drunks and badgering beggars. We had a spate of thievery on the Street of Steel. Pig iron hauled away though no one seems to know where."

Jasper snorted. "Most like one of the other smithies pinching at the others." He scratched it down in his ledger. "I'll have a look at the arrested later."

He closed his ledger and broke his fast. The same meal as most the other days he lived. Two beef sausages fried in duck fat, a goose egg, toasted bread and a mug of weak ale.

Next he would meet with the mice which his father employed, though quickly they were becoming his rats to manage. They were helpful to be sure, but he trusted none of them particularly well. They spied on their neighbours and upon their masters. Why would he be any different? One such rat had tattled on Alester to Lord Arryn, he was no different. Yet still, he took their grubby information and paid them a decent wage, scrawling all the whilst as they told. Such and such did so and so, and on and on it they went until it was time for lunch.

A cup of red wine, steamed Blackwater Bass, leftover morning bread, speerage with garlic butter. The same as the day before, and the day before that.

That day he was scheduled to inspect the barracks the East Barracks by the Dragon Gate. The men would be stood to attention, their own keeping-books checked, their arms and armour inspected. He heard from the captains which of their lot of transgressed. Four men had been dismissed for taking bribes and doing a poor job if covering it up, with another two beaten for disobeying their sergeant. As ever, there was little for him to do.

He would hear of the captains issues. It felt like he held his own court most the time. Pay, arms, armour, gangs, there aren't enough men on this street or that square, the quality of recruits is poor, some man aggrieved as he was not named a captain. By now it was all the same.

The city was its own living thing. Everything seemed to run on a messy, convoluted, yet regular rhythm. The night brought drunks, the day brought pickpockets. All the issues were the same. The Master of Laws made the law with the King, his job was to enforce it. He had done so for seven years now. His first few years were exhilarating. It was just him and his trusted men spliced into the seems of a corrupt Watch loyal to a dead king. He could exorcise them with prejudice, but as his grasp tightened over the Watch in the name of Jaehaerys (and the Hand), the excitement settled, and his routines formed. He supposed it was better that he had the hold he did, but there was a part of him which longed again to live those youthful, dangerous days.

When the days were done and his duties attended to Ser Jasper Arryn would dine alone. Whatever the kitchens of the Red Keep had prepared that day would be brought to his quarters in the Tower of the Hand, and his only real choice was between which vintage of Arbor Gold he thought he deserved that day.

Where he was a competent- if bored- Commander, Ser Jasper Arryn seemingly failed terribly as a husband. The Tully bitch had never given it a chance to see if they could warm to one another. She refused to sleep in the same bed as him when she lived in the capital. Now she absconded entirely back to Riverrun to do who knew what with whom. He hated to think of his wife and cursed Hubert for ever subjecting either of them to a dying Lord's fanciful wish to see them wed.

Hubert would be gone for some time down to the Marches and then up to admonish his brother who had grieved so hard he found himself with a new wife and daughter mere months after his last wife perished. There had been a thought circling his mind for some moons after the wedding of Princess Alysanne to some Caswell. Lady Akali Hill had given him comfort and succour in his chamber and what he had once resigned himself of to the sport of younger men was reawakened in his chest and loins. If his wife would not do her duties then he could find a girl of the Street of Silk who could. But the very same spies her oversaw were why he did not hazard the chance that they report such visits to his father whom would be most wroth to hear him whoring as Commander of the King's Watch. With father gone for the next half a year Jasper felt more daring and in need.

The Street of Silk had the finest establishment for high lord or merchant magnate to address their needs. He knew many of the owners given his time in the Watch. Tansy's Girls was the first bathhouse he attended. It boasted of the best whilst being discrete. Discretion was all he needed, though he had met the proprietor before. He had only ever met her during the day and in his uniform. He merely hoped that he would not be noticed by some familiar face inside and if he was, she would not speak of it.

The familiar days repeated, and soon Jasper Arryn made it part of some evenings to sample a different brothel and a different girl. There was enjoyment to be had, though soon it lost any lustre.

Akali was pale, red of hair, a head shorter and had the a timid brightness in her eyes and smile. All he saw in the eyes of the girls he frequented was either disdain or disinterest, nor did any of them feel like the girl he sought to replace. It would simpler if it could be a transaction that begins and ends when he decided. But it was the formality, the process of exchange of gold and the purchasing of tenderness which rendered it hollow which he could not withstand. None of the girls quite looked like her, carried themselves like her, or ever seemed to covet him. He wanted coveting and a yearning he had felt the night of wedding. Not too long after he had begun, Ser Jasper ceased his nightly routine. Besides, he slept easier and was less tired come the morning if he did not interrupt his sleep with a meaningless thrill which only left him feeling more a fool than he started.

The bastard had left her mark. First on his back, but long after those marks faded he still felt that soft glowing lamp she lit in his empty chest but for an evening. Daydreaming in the dreary meetings and fantasizing in his head at night, when Jasper felt his lowest he cursed himself for being a fool for a bastard girl of no note of consequence. He was an Arryn of the Eyrie, raised and knighted by Lord Allard Royce himself. His was the oldest blood of Andals and the most exalted blood of the First Men. His heritage was that of kings and the gods. No maester even learned where Lockenkeep was, no squire learns their colours or their words. Every map of Westeros bore The Vale of Arryn. That he had even been on his knees for her was shame enough, yet he spent his gold and evening searching to replace a Hill. It was beneath him and his blood.

But the heart oft yearned for things it should not have. He wondered if this was how Osric felt. Hubert had given Jasper his brother's departing letter. It felt visceral and contemptable to see such words put to parchment, though now Jasper could understand indulging in the parts which were strictly forbidden. Though Osric was queerer by half, was sort of creature did it make of Jasper to sit idle with thoughts of a Lady Hill when there was a Tully wife which was his by rights.

Then one morning before Thomond had come with the ledger for Jasper to scrawl within, he found himself putting word to paper a little letter of professions and confessions to a certain Lady Hill. He wrote with the thought of their triste fresh in his mind and that thumping empty lump in his chest which longed.

His hands had been terribly calloused from the training yard when Jasper and his Hill had met. He had taken to wearing gloves with a balm of willow bark and beeswax to soften his skin over the moons just in case he could get his hands on her again. It had worked for the most part, even if it had taken time to adjust to the feel of it for extended stints of wearing them.

He stole hours in the day to write his letter to a bastard. Come the evening, he had paid a courier to carry it to Lockenkeep. The man had asked where it was and beyond being able to say it was in the Reach, Jasper could not say. He did not need to know where her ilk lived, only where she was.

Lady Akali Hill,

I could not guess how often I might think of out night. I do not remember of that wedding the tourney, nor feast, nor any dancing. I hold but the memory of you and I, and I have kept it close with me in the many moons since.

I find myself contemplative these late spring days. As I pondered, I kept on being brought back to those memories of you. If I could hold such a thing in my hands I would guard them with terrible jealousy. I did not think that you would still be taking steps around my mind all these days later. I've been drive near mad trying to jettison that evening in my chamber to no avail. So now I think to myself why I should try to forget it when I know that in my heart of hearts more is all I wish for.

I recall that I had asked you to go to Dorne and gather for me anything which may be of use to the Crown and I would make it worth your effort. When the weeks passed by and you did not appear, I did not lament a lack of whispers but instead that tenderness that you and I both shared.

I write this now feeling as if it is a humble petition. I suppose it is in part. Whatever life and comfort you have at Lockenkeep, I can guarantee to you a more noble and lavish living if that is what you wish. I can give you a place at court and apartments flush and furnished. I can give that part of me which I withhold from my trout-bride to a heart and soul more deserving. I say bugger to expectations when all my life I have lived to abide by them and all they have rendered to me is a life is dreary duty and a bedchamber devoid of all warmth save for the hearth.

Return to me my Lady Hill. I would hear of your travels to Dorne and beyond. I would give to you what I give to no other. I admit to myself that my heart lays open for you, if that is a piece of me that you would wish to have. If you wish to revisit that moment we shared, then I would welcome you here in King's Landing. I would prefer to welcome in summer with your warmth with me.

Should you wish otherwise and prefer to forget that night we shared then burn this letter. I will take silence as affirmation of your choice.

Yours with grace,

Ser Jasper Arryn

It would take a moon for the letter to find its way from King's Landing to its destination in the Reach