the seven kingdoms // game of thrones // open

[baenerys]

AMERIA MARTELL;

“It was the Iron Throne,” Nariel said, dismissive. “I tell you, it’s cursed. And while we all are ruled by kings that sit upon it, we too will be cursed.”

The princess and her daughter walked in the afternoon sun through the courtyard of ponds and lily pads. They each wore golden dresses emblazoned with the sun and spear of House Martell, with daggers at their hips. Golden bangles glittered on their wrists and tiny golden bells jingled in their braids. Mother and daughter, so alike in both looks and nature. They walked with linked arms around the ponds until they came to the heart of the courtyard.

The map painted on the ground showed Westeros from Dorne to the Wall, with all the islands in between. The colours had recently been restored to their former glory thanks to Nariel’s instruction to their cartographer. The head of the Martell family unhooked her arm from her daughter and gestured to the floor. “Daughter, the time will come when you must step forward. For Dorne. For me.” Nariel looked to Ameria with fire in her eyes, “These Kings sit on the Iron Throne and reap our country dry - they govern over us and punish us for our culture, our way of life. They punish us for who we love and who we lay with, punish us for welcoming all our children at court. They take our boys for their armies, take our women for their pleasure. They take and they take and they take, but they never give. Never.”

Ameria took her mother’s hand - it was becoming more frail each day and Ameria knew it would only be a matter of time before her mother passed. The maester said that the sickness was in her bones and no man had a cure for her rare condition. “Then we will take what is ours,” she said, quiet but firm. “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. Those are our words. We have strength in this moment now. The Lannisters will lay their claim for the iron throne and spark war with Arryn.”

Nariel squeezed her daughter’s hand. “Be patient, Ameria. Do not strike until the time is right. The viper must be poised before it attacks. Let Lannister and Arryn exhaust themselves. Do not meddle in their affairs. They both may come begging for help, but do not provide aid.” But Ameria was impatient - it was one of her greatest flaws - and she felt vengeful. Father had died fighting the Lannisters and for that she could never forgive the lions in their den or the falcons in their roost.

It was at that moment that Vorian appeared in the courtyard, glowing in the afternoon sun, having done little else but develop a tan today. Ameria and her mother shared a look and let go of each other’s hands, before turning to Vorian as he approached. “The King is dead,” Nariel said plainly. Her expression was blank and impossible to read. “Osric Arryn is to be crowned in his stead.”

Ameria watched her brother carefully as his mother pulled the letter with the grandmaester’s seal from her sleeve and passed it over to Vorian so that he could read the truth for himself. “The Lannisters will oppose him,” Ameria commented, “And we will side with neither.”

[baenerys]

EAMON GREYJOY;

Eamon trudged up and away from the docks, leaving the bustle behind and heading towards the castle atop of the hill. It was as formidable as the woman who now resided there on a more permanent basis. Ringmail jingled softly under black boiled leather as he walked, dark eyes surveying his surroundings and falling upon a young woman approaching him with a gait he recognised instantly. Rhaenys Velayron walked with a confidence that would intimidate any man.

He gave a short bow in greeting. “I was sorry to hear of your lord father. He was a good man. I don’t doubt that you will live up to his legacy.” He traced his thumb over the hilt of the dagger at his hip and held Rhaenys’ gaze. The passing of her father had brought a distance in her eyes, he thought - but maybe he was just imagining it. He supposed he was much the same after Fergal died. “Anything you need, the Iron Born will provide.” He added, thinking on his own father as he spoke. Lord Aerigal had agreed to let Eamon travel on the condition that he maintained good relations at every port. Driftmark was home to some of the surest sailors in Westeros and they made for a good ally to have, should the need become apparent. His gaze drifted up towards the castle and the thought of a warm fire to lift the chill of the sea air from his lungs was a welcome notion.

[landogate]

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-four xxxhouse. martell of dornexxxrole. prince of dornexxxlocation. gardensxxxtags. ameria

── THE prince wound himself through passageways and courtyards until he found himself in one of the sunnier spots of the gardens, his ailing mother and sister surrounded by their houses guards. from a distance he could hear nariel murmur and hypothesize of a topic he did not know. he approached the sun soaked women standing on the map of westeros. vorian reminisced from when he was a child, jumping from one kingdom to the next, standing on the iron islands with one foot and the other half-way up the neck. simpler times brought him happier memories.

BEFORE vorian could get the festivities out of the way, pre-ripped parchment was shoved into his hand. "always so driven aren't you mother? and to think i came here to chat of things other than the death of kings." vorian 'hmpfed' and opened the letter anyway, seeing a messily written note, clearly written in haste. he listened further to the two women that seemed to rule his life. today was not the day for jokes and jests it seemed.

"IT seems we have a true chance for independence from the grabby kingdoms. finally, sister it will be time to avenge not only father, but the boys they steal from us to fight in their wars and the women they take for their pleasures." vorian's father was a touchy subject and almost always made his blood boil, he loved him and he died fighting in a lions war. "when the lannisters come marching in their metal suits, i pray that the seven boil them alive."

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-two xxxhouse. lannister of casterly rock xxxrole. lady of house lannisterxxxlocation. storms endxxxtags. jaelyn

── RENEI swiftly made the decision to shift over to a small writing space that she had been gifted in her room. now knowing that the king was dead, renei knew she needed to write to her brother. she presumed she could be called back to casterly rock in order to solidify plans now that the floor was open, she'd often heard tobias comment on becoming king when the conversation drifted there, but renei never knew if he was being serious or not.

RENEI pulled a quill from the ink pot sat at the top of her desk and rummaged around for a spare piece of parchment. once she found one that had been stowed away under a pile of other letters to her brother, she pondered what to write. after thinking for a moment, her quill met the paper in delicate but scraggly writing.

tobias,
i have heard of the arryn king's death and while i am visiting storms end and her people i wonder of house lannisters next move.
i will understand if you need me to return home. but while i write to you here, i wonder of our aunt vaera and her children. if you please, keep me informed and updated on her.
i hope to meet with you soon, renei.

STANDING at the knock on her door, renei assumed it to be a handmaiden, or nobleman waiting outside, but she was pleasantly surprised when her eyes met jaelyn baratheons face. she looked freshly bathed, hair still holding some moisture to it. renei smiled softly. "oh hello, milady." renei knew to keep it formal, even though her room wasn't walked by often, renei knew it would be best to keep things formal until the door was closed behind them. not everyone in westeros was open-minded or progressive. renei at this point opened her door fully, but she still hid part of her body behind the frame. she clutched the letter in her hand. "what brings you here?" she half smiled, half smirked.

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋
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xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-four xxxhouse. tyrell of highgarden xxxrole. the lady of highgardenxxxlocation. highgardenxxxtags. open

── THE ocean had been kind to valetta. her ship had rested easy in the calmer waters that resided closer to highgarden. she broke her fast on her ship, dawnbreaker, alone. she relished in the time she got by herself before she was expected to become presentable for the people of highgarden and her court. as the ship docked and the cargo was unloaded; mostly dornish wine and spices from the free cities to suit her own personal tastes, she slipped into her day gown. appropriately it resembled a flower, parts of her torso, back and shoulders were left on display, and lined with gold piping. her dress overall was white and pale blue, cinching together at her waist.

SHE braced the open air of highgardens port. she slipped away from the ship and quickly sourced a way to get up to the keep, where she could rest for a few moments before being called into work by her council to detail anything and everything that occurred whilst she was gone.

WHAT valetta didn't prepare for when she did finally reach the council chamber adjacent to the home of the throne of roses was the death of frederick arryn. her maester asked her of who the reach will allign with next, leaving a bewildered valetta confused as to why questions of who she would become loyal to next took hold. she weighed up her options. she certainly didn't want to follow the lannister lions or arryns to her death, but also felt as though remaining neutral could prove to be important in the coming months as the heir took the crown.

[baenerys]

AMERIA MARTELL;

Vorian was always so relaxed. He sauntered over with such an easy gait that Ameria couldn’t help but smile as he read their mother’s letter. “The death of the King is only the beginning of this trouble, Vorian.” Nariel said, firm but quiet - she didn’t want the household guards standing at the other end of the courtyard to hear their discussion in any great detail.

Ameria nodded in agreement, instinctively setting her palm on the hilt of the dagger on her right side. Vorian mentioned father and she gritted her teeth behind pursed lips. Nariel took her son’s hand and squeezed it tight. “I know that you both will avenge them all,” she said, taking Ameria’s hand as well, “We were fools to ever trust the lions. But they are greater fools for still trusting us still. They will come in their metal suits and we will not follow.”

The three stood in the sweltering Dornish sunshine and Ameria felt fire in her heart. They would do it for mother and father and Dorne. “Vaera Doxos is weakened; her family are her strength and only her sons, niece and nephew are left here for her.” Nariel said, taking her frail hands from her children and walking across the painted ground to the mark for Casterly Rock. “They have wealth, that is true - but who will support them? Baratheon perhaps, since the girl is there as a guest in Storm’s End.”

“Vaera’s sons are wards at Driftmark and Riverrun as well,” Ameria added, walking to stand by the Sunspear. “We hold Dorne. And whispers claim that the Iron Islands shall pronounce themselves independent before the Arryn King is cold.”

“We will do nothing,” Nariel said, firm. “We will strike no deal with the Iron Born. They are reavers and cannot be trusted. Dorne alone is strong.”

Ameria gritted her teeth. “Not strong enough.”

“Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. You would do well to remember our words, Ameria.” Their mother softened and stepped off the map, heading towards the archway leading into the main building. “I must rest. The sun drains me. We will talk of your futures tonight over dinner.” Nariel said, leaving her two children in the warm afternoon sun to debate amongst themselves.

[Dragonheart48]

( ➶ ) │𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬.│xxxxxx❧
i. "jaelyn baratheon" ii. twenty-five iii. female iv. homosexual v. seeing renei v. loc: forest, storm's end vi. tag: renei lannister vii. 266

indentJaelyn smiled at Renei her chest tightened with a brief rush of affection at the soft smile on her face. She tilted her head as if pondering an answer to her question, "Well it is my castle as I recall so what's to stop me from visiting my favorite visitor". She took the rest of Renei in taking a moment to admire the copper gold decorative detailing. It spoke lengths about the Lannister's power and wealth that something of such value was put easily on display. If Jaelyn was less secure in her house and place, it would have been more intimidating.

Her fleeting thoughts of the Lannister house brought the uncomfortable question of whether or not she'd be expected to declare her support for their house to mind. While they'd never talked about it in great detail Jaelyn knew vaguely of Tobias' intentions with the throne and worried that she would get dragged into whatever conflict would undoubtably arise. She didn't know what Renei's personal thoughts on the matter were and it almost scared her to even broch the subject with her. Jaelyn didn't want to hurt her in any way, but she also couldn't in good conscience march her people to war over her own personal feelings.

She noticed Renei was holding a letter and her interest latched onto the subject pushing the worry of a gathering storm to the edge of her mind. "You're writing to your brother I take", she said with an open smile. She remembered her mentioning something a while ago about an aunt possibly coming to visit as well.

( ☠ ) │𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬 & 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤.│xx❧
i. "rhaenys velaryon" ii. twenty-seven iii. female iv. bisexual v. currently single vi. loc: driftmark vii. tag: eamon greyjoy vii. 259

indentThe walk down to the docks was therapeutic in that it gave the Velaryon time to collect her thoughts on what she'd say to an old friend. If memory served her, he'd lost his own brother in the last few years and unexpectedly come into the salt throne as well so he would understand what she was going through better than anyone else probably could. When the unmistakable figure of Eamon came into sight, she smiled offering him a bow to mirror his own out of respect for him even if she technically held rank here as the hosting Lord. She chuckled, "That he was, and I hope to whatever gods are out there that you're right. The support of the ironborn is much appreciated and if you ever need aid, my people are happy to return the support".

"If you'd like to come inside, I've had a few servants prepare some wine and food", Rhaenys said gesturing briefly to the castle. While she considered Eamon to be one of her best friends in westeros and she liked to stay away from "business talk" amongst friends the two of them had some serious matters to discuss. The death of the King left a sour taste in her mouth like she could sense a war brewing on the horizon. Between the Greyjoys and Velaryons they held a large swath of the naval power in westeros, together they would be a formidable opponent and valuable allies but he was also the greatest threat should they end up opposed to one another.

( ♞ ) │𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐞𝐝.│xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx❧
i. "nymeria reed" ii. twenty-three iii. female iv. bisexual v. loc: tbd vi. tag: tbd vii. wip

indenthere here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here here

[undertheweather]

──────── willem tully ♆ lord of riverrun ♆ thirty five ♆ at riverrun ♆ tags; percy rivers

willem walked quietly along the river, keeping an eye on the wildlife as he did so. the birds were migrating this time of year, and ever since he was a boy, will had found them mesmerizing. he saw the freedom in their ability to fly and the grace with which they did so, but also the confinement in being unable to go against your instincts. the birds had no choice but to migrate, despite the fact that they flew directly toward archer’s arrows and people’s dinner tables.

shaking his head, will glanced down at the water, admiring the fish that held a place on his sigil, the same fish that would soon be in the beaks of some of those birds. a noise pulled him from his thoughts. turning, he saw a small form running down the hill to meet him at the bank.

it was one of the boys from the castle that had been awarded the responsibility of a messenger, presumably hear with news from will’s father. or possibly from his half-brother percy. when the boy arrived at his feet, his small form was out of breath. “m’lord, m’lord, i have news. it’s - it’s the king,” he panted out, sucking in breathes between words. will grinned internally at the sight, remembering when he too was an excitable child. ”what of the king?” he questioned, turning his head back to the water. “he’s dead.” the boy huffed.

will nodded his head solemnly. this was, in fact, news. ”inform my father that i will be back shortly. and find percy,” he commanded to the boy. this was going to be a long day.

[undertheweather]

──────── benjen stark ❅ lord of winterfell ❅ twenty eight ❅ at winterfell ❅ tags; torrhen and lyra stark

benjen moved his large form from left to right, carefully blocking each advance made on him. his father had always applauded him for his sword fighting skills, and ever since his untimely death, ben had religiously, some might say obsessively, come out to practice and train every day. he had truely respected his father, despite his cold demeanor. and he had never for a day doubted his fathers love for him or lyra. his sister was a much freer spirit than her brother; no doubt she was off with her hair down and her feet in the cool earth. it could be assumed that their differences would separate them, but benjen respected lyra for all the things he was never capable of. she was one with the north and had a deep love and joy surrounding the region. with ben, it was more like the north lived in his soul, making him cold and harsh, but not entirely inhospitable.

as he brought his training sword down on the the carpenter’s son, an increasing formidable foe as of late, his name was called out to him from across the courtyard. “lord stark!” ben turned his head to look in the direction from which the voice came, identified its source as winterfell’s maester. unfortunately for the dark haired lord, this distraction provided the perfect opportunity for his opponent to hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. ”woah,” he breathed with a cough. “sorry, m’lord,” the other man responded, though he held a smile on his face.

benjen let out a chuckle and laid a hand roughly on the other man’s shoulder in comradely. ”you’ve bested me today, bran. maybe we can have another go tomorrow,” he responded. the man nodded and took his leave as the maester approached. ben put away his sword and ran a hand through his hair, turning to look at the old man. ”what is it?” he questioned flately, tired from his spar.

“it’s the king, my lord. new of his death has just arrived from king’s landing,” the maester responded. at this news, ben stood straight. it wasn’t every day a king died, and even more rare for one to die with no legitimate heirs. there were bound to be repercussions. ”call my uncle and sister to the strategy room. tell them i will meet them there. we must discuss this.” at this, ben made his way to his chambers to freshen up and change clothes; there was chance they would have to address the people of winterfell later, and he did not want to address them in his condition.

[winterfell.]

─ ❅ -- ( ＬＹＲＡ ＳＴＡＲＫ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : winterfell ] [ title : a lady of winterfell ] [ tagged : benjen ] [ 500 words ]


- - - - -Not a day went by that Lyra wasn't surrounded by reminders of her late father. Edmund Stark was a good man. Everyone knew that. But not everyone knew that, as good of a man as he was, he was a much, much better father. He was a loving man with a gentle heart, though the icy stoicism of the North still ran in his veins. In the presence of his family, he was softer than one would expect. Lyra's heart ached for him. She missed him dearly, and thought of him often, and longed to hear his voice again as she wandered the halls of Winterfell. Just once, she wanted to hear him chastise her for not wearing shoes in the Godswood again. As much as she loved her brother and uncle, the remaining Starks after her father's death, nothing could fill the void in her heart.

- - - - -The only thing that made it less painful was the knowledge of their shared connection to their homeland. The Starks of Winterfell had great love for their home. The summer snows seemed to dwell in their very veins. Edmund was no different, and neither was Lyra. She prayed to the Old Gods every day that her father's legacy would live on, that he would be honored forevermore. Of course, she also prayed for the typical things: the health of her remaining family, the safety of the North, and peace among the realm. It was this prayer that she was repeating, a nonstop mantra, as she sat beneath the heart tree, resting her head against the Weirwood in Winterfell's Godswood. Atla was by her side, resting her head in Lyra's lap, listening to the words of the Old Tongue pour from Lyra's mouth. She wasn't entirely sure that she got the ancient language perfect, but she hoped that the Old Gods of the Forest would hear her intention, that believing in her thoughts would be enough to get the message across.

- - - - -After a few moments of repeating her message over and over, hoping that the nameless gods would hear her, she turned around to face the sacred garden. She took a moment to dip her bare feet into the black water pool. After a few moments of silence, of her trying not to think about the ongoing struggles to adjust to her uncle being the new Warden of the North, a voice broke through her thoughts. "My Lady, your brother would like to see you in the Strategy Room," the man said. Lyra dismissed him, pulling her feet from the water and leaving the Godswood, Atla trotting alongside her.

- - - - -She walked through Winterfell, her feet, still wet from the Godswood's black water, awkwardly padding against the stone floor. Her hand rested on Atla's back throughout the journey, as Winterfell was a vast castle and making her way to the room was quite a walk. She cautiously entered the room, first peering around the door before actually walking in. "You summoned me, Ben?" she asked.

─ ♔ -- ( ＯＳＲＩＣ ＡＲＲＹＮ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : the vale ] [ title : lord paramount of the eyrie ] [ tagged : open ] [ 465 words ]


- - - - -Oscric had been fidgeting for the past three days. He didn't go through with it. He couldn't have. He must have stopped it before it happened, right? Hiring an assassin was no difficult task for a young lord of Westeros, but it hurt the Lord Paramount of the Eyrie deeply. The minute he made the decision to target his uncle, to take out the ineffective king from the Vale, he regretted it. Frederick was his uncle. So he called off his assault. He shouldn't hear back that the deed has been done. He only hoped that he was fast enough in changing his mind, that he wasn't too late and responsible for the death of his king-uncle. He couldn't focus on much else, admittedly. He tried to focus on quelling the ongoing Lannister threat, on keeping his people fed by forging alliances with the houses of the Reach. But he couldn't put his whole mind behind anything for the time being.

- - - - -He paced about the High Hall of the Eyrie, glancing out the Moon Door frequently as he circled his weirwood throne. He'd not been this nervous in quite some time. What had he done? What had he been thinking? What if word got out that he almost killed the king? Would he be stripped of his titles? His name? Would his rights to the throne after his uncle's death be taken from him? Could they take it from him? He wished his mother and father were around to council him on such matters, but, alas, Osric hadn't been blessed with many allies. The Vale was isolated by the mountains. The Lords of the Eyrie were fairly secluded individuals. Without an excellent hand in diplomacy, he would struggle. All Arryn lords would struggle.

- - - - -The maester eventually entered the chamber. He was solemn, quiet. "My Lord, a letter from the Red Keep," he said. Osric let out a shaky breath. "Thank you. You're dismissed," he said, desperately attempting to stay calm, though his shaking hands were betraying the facade. The maester took his leave, leaving Osric bby himself once more. He carefully opened the letter, breaking the wax seal that resembled his own Arryn sigil. His eyes scanned over the words and Osric almost tripped and fell out the Moon Door himself from the sheer shock. "The King is dead," he said to himself. Part of him knew he should have been happy. This meant he was the heir apparent. He was to take the throne. He was to be King and sit upon the Iron Throne. Yet he couldn't shake the knot in his stomach. Still, he only had one option at this point. He caught up with the maester quickly. "Ready a party for travel immediately. I'll ride for King's Landing at first light."

─ ✧ -- ( ＫＩＹＡＲＡ ＨＡＲＬＡＷ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : red keep ] [ title : master of whispers ] [ tagged : edric ] [ 390 words ]


- - - - -Kiyara heard from the spiders in her web frequently. That was their purpose. The delivery of information had to be careful, cautious, and entirely confidential. She'd never give the name of an informant and she'd never be so careless with her information that it was obvious. So, it came as no shock that she discovered existing plans to assassinate the sitting king, Frederick Arryn. It also came as no shock to any of her conspirators that she would not divulge details. She would not state who was plotting the sinister act or how she learned it. People simply knew not to question her, as she was rarely -- if ever -- wrong. When this information was presented to her, she knew she had to act fast. A simple poison, one that would make the King's death look natural. Of course, she wasn't as skilled with poisons as her friends in Dorne or the Reach, but she'd have to make do.

- - - - -However, she hadn't expected the act to work as quickly as it did. She expected the King to decline in health, so that his death was not so untimely. She'd hoped to talk with him about naming a proper heir -- anyone from the Iron Islands being ruled out completely -- before he passed, leaving them without a king. But this wasn't the case. King Frederick Arryn was taken from the Seven Kingdoms very, very quickly, leaving even the always-prepared Kiyara struggling to regain her footing. On the outside, she hadn't lost a step. But on the inside, she was questioning a number of things, including her knowledge of poisons and ability to carry out simply assassinations.

- - - - -After a few moments of careful contemplation, she looked to one of the serving boys that stood outside the small council's chambers. "Be a dear and summon Lord Edric," she cooed, sending the boy on his way as she awaited the Master of Coin. Perhaps he had something to say on the subject that she simply hadn't thought of yet. And, if he didn't, they still needed to discuss who would take over now that Frederick was dead. Of course, his nephew would be here soon, but would they work with him or against him? She couldn't know for sure without getting further input, and without learning who else would lay a claim to the Iron Throne.

─ ☆ -- ( ＤＡＥＲＯＮ ＳＴＯＫＥＷＯＲＴＨ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : castle stokeworth ] [ title : lord of stokeworth ] [ tagged : targaryens & co. ] [ 553 words ]


- - - - -The news had reached Castle Stokeworth a few hours ago and Daeron didn't know if he should feel terrified or excited. He settled on a mixture of both, given that both feelings were warranted, at least to some degree. The king was dead. This he could be thankful for. The weak, ineffective Arryn king was out of the way and Westeros was in a bit of a chaotic state as claims were quickly being made for the Iron Throne. The only obvious choice was Lord Osric Arryn, the last living Arryn boy. However, he was not betrothed, had no heirs, and no real experience. His blood was his only tie to the crown and blood simply wasn't always enough. Then there was the next choice, the Lannister boy. Daeron had no real feelings toward Lord Tobias. He didn't seem to have much spine, but he was a Lion of Casterly Rock and the wealthy always won support somehow.

- - - - -If you asked Daeron, however, the obvious choice, the best choice for Westeros and the only righteous choice was to allow the last living Targaryens, outcasts from the land, to resume their rightful place on the throne. He was a loyalist. His entire family had been loyal to the Dragon regimes for as long as he could remember. It was all he knew. What kind of man would he be to betray such a legacy? To allow the seven realms to betray their rightful monarchs yet again. He simply wouldn't allow it. With the king dead, this was the best chance the Targaryens had to win back their home, their throne. And he would do anything he could to make sure that the true rulers of Westeros were in the Red Keep as soon as possible.

- - - - -However, the fact was, the king was dead. The land was erupting with chaos. New 'rulers' were coming forward to usurp the Iron Throne. Other nations were daring to speak of possible independence. Some nations were neutral entirely. How could one be neutral when one's homeland is at stake? How could one justify laziness? Selfishness? He simply didn't understand it. But chaos means fear. Fear means panic. And panic ultimately leads to destruction. He would have to act fast if he were going to make anything happen. He grabbed for parchment and a quill, quickly going to write to his allies.

- - - - -My rightful rulers, Targaryens of Dragonstone,
- - - - -The Westerosi King, the usurper known as Frederick Arryn has fallen dead.
- - - - -The Iron Throne is for the taking once more and the true sons and daughters
- - - - -of Westeros anxiously await your return. I seek to be at your service as you
- - - - -win back your home. I will be your eyes and ears, give you aid when you so
- - - - -require it. Please travel west at once, for you will always have shelter and
- - - - -protection at Castle Stokeworth. My armies with assist you in your fight to
- - - - -free the Seven Realms from Andal tyranny.

- - - - -- - - - -Yours,
- - - - -- - - - -Lord Daeron Stokeworth

Was it an adequately worded letter? Perhaps not, but Daeron was never much for words anyway. He only hoped his true rulers got his message safely, that they would come home and fight for what they deserved. "Send a raven to our allies in the east," he said, handing the message off to his maester.

[undertheweather]

──────── irri octavius-najah ✵ daughter of the khaleesi ✵ nine ✵ at casterly rock ✵ tags; vaera doxos

irri tapped lightly on the desk with the tips of her fingers as the blonde woman she had come to know as a second mother spoke. vaera was a looming presence, with hair like that of the sun and piercing blue eyes, a sight which had originally startled the girl and her twin siblings during their first meeting. she was definitely a woman from far away. her looks, her accent, even the way she thought. even after multiple seasons, the girl found it distant and strange.

every few minutes, when vaera’s back was turned, irri would chance a glance out the window of the room. it wasn’t that she found her lessons boring. quite the opposite really. she found them quite compelling, if not a bit overwhelming. but the small brunette felt instinctively that everything her caretaker taught her held value somehow, like it could somehow be powerful. so irri viewed the lessons in language, geography, and history the same way she used to view her combat training, as a way to gain power and control. and irri was a quick learner. however, it looked quite nice outside, and she had not yet had a chance to explore this new world with its strange plants and animals.

her head turned back to the front of the room when the maester entered, and watched vaera intently as she read what seemed to be an important letter. wincing only slightly when the woman stroked her hair, a gesture she had learned to get used to, and watched as she placed the letter on the desk. vaera then spoke to the maester quickly in the ‘common tongue,’ which irri had been learning since her first visit to qarth but which she struggled to understand as easily as dothraki or valyrian, both of which her mother had taught her since birth.

when the maester left, vaera addresses the dothraki girl directly, first in her native language. “the king no longer sits on his iron chair” irri thought she sense a bit of pride in these words, but she brushed it off. “he will be buried in a box in the holy lace and put to rest,” the blonde said in the common tongue, and irri squinted in confusion. before she could question however, the lannister continued in valyrian, “his nephew will now sit the iron chair.” this part the nine year old remembered from her lessons on the families of westeros. dothraki filled her ears as vaera spoke once more, “do you understand, irri?”

”yes. i think so,” the girl responded in her native language. she attempted to use the common tongue next, hoping it didn’t come out to jumbled. “i recall the king has no sons or daughters, so there is no real heir to the chair” she said, then corrected her self. “the throne.” she thought that this would cause a problem. in the khaleesar, even blood heirs were subject to fight for the right to be khal. “but won’t others want to fight for the throne as well?” she questioned in valyrian. she then decided to clarify her confusion from earlier. she asked the query in dothraki but used vaera’s westerosi words, since she wasn’t exactly sure how to translate them. “and what do you mean ‘buried in a box’? how will they burn him if he is in a box?” they had discussed the idea of other religions in one of her lessons, but irri couldn’t fathom how a person could move on to be with their ancestors in the night lands if they were not burned.

[landogate]

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-four xxxhouse. martell of dornexxxrole. prince of dornexxxlocation. dornexxxtags. ameria

── VORIAN bowed his head and watched as his mother left the courtyard. "she always was the space between out butting heads, wasn't she?" vorian chuckled and sighed. he shifted on his feet, the sun was beating on his back now. noon was upon them. dinner was an awful long time away, but whenever nariel needed rest from her two children, it was gracefully given to her. "what is our gameplan for now then?"

HE stood, his spear in one hand. this one was not his usual double-ended, so he was free to scrape the blade along the map and rest his hands and chin on the blunt end. "this new king will have plenty to deal with now. if not only dorne leaves the seven kingdoms but the iron islands too, what more could arise?" the possibilities were endless.

HE continued "what of house targaryen? i heard rumors with the women that they are with doxos or stokeworth or something or other." vorian knew that if house targaryen was on the throne that dorne would have a harder time leaving the slimy grasp of whoever sat that cursed, metal chair.

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐈 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-two xxxhouse. lannister of casterly rock xxxrole. lady of house lannisterxxxlocation. storms endxxxtags. jaelyn

── RENEI'S smile was soft. "do come in then, milady." her voice was sweet, and teasing. she took the moment to glance upon her lover before turning and welcoming her into the room. it wasn't majorly messy, her shift from the previous day and night cycle lay out on her unmade bed. the trunk that contained all sorts of dresses and gowns sat at the end of her bed, overflowing from renei shoving clothing into it after late nights. few candles were lit, their flames swayed in the bay's breeze. renei chewed at her lip and sat on her trunk at jaelyn's statement of her brother.

"I presume you've heard of the king? i only write to tobias now because i know he has his plans. as his sister it is my duty to support him." her eyes drifted to the floor. easily she could throw the letter into the sea and never have to see her brother again if it made her able to stay with jaelyn. "i pray silently that he doesn't call me home. is that awful of me?" she pondered aloud. the lannister lady quickly feared that she has made the conversation too dark and dramatic too quickly. she had long nights to wonder existentially, renei had no reason to force these ideas on jaelyn now. lightening the conversation up, renei picked up in her body frame, perking up. "how was your hunt?" she asked, more happily now.

xxxxx( ( ── 𝐋𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐀 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐋
────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
xxxxxxxxxxxxxage. twenty-four xxxhouse. tyrell of highgarden xxxrole. the lady of highgardenxxxlocation. highgardenxxxtags. open (mentions targaryens)

── "MILADY?" her grand maester tapped her arm softly. valetta snapped from her trance, she had been consumed by the idea of alliances for the past however long. her maester adjourned the council meeting and waited for valetta to come back to her senses. "alliances are tricky. the reach remains unconnected, and it can stay that way until the new king is sitting on his throne." he gave her a reassuring squeeze on the wrist. he sat with a book open, he seemed to be doing some reading whilst valetta thought and pondered.

"I want you to write me a letter, grand maester." she started slowly. "send the ravens east, send them north, send them south, send them west. wherever the targareyns reside - send word that house tyrell is interested in pursuing an alliance." valetta sat back in her chair, and fixated her eyes on a window of stained glass that depicted the founder of house tyrell on the throne of roses.