the seven kingdoms // game of thrones // open

[baenerys]

EAMON GREYJOY;

Eamon didn’t want to speak of the dead any more. The wound of Fergal’s death was still fresh and stung at the thought. Rhaenys seemed to be handling her grief well, but it was impossible to tell with her sheltered nature. When she said that Driftmark would provide aid should the Iron Born ever need it, he couldn’t help but feel like the evening was due now to turn to strategy tactics for the inevitable war to come.

At the mention of wine and food, Eamon’s stomach seemed to hear the statement and made a bold rumble - their journey had been long and he was glad for Rhaenys’ hospitality. He laughed at his stomach rumble and nodded, following the Lady up the hill towards the castle. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, picking his words carefully, “Things will change now when Osric comes south to claim the Iron Throne. Father will no doubt send ravens claiming our independence the day I return home. He’s been waiting on it for a lifetime.” The Greyjoys had not been on the best of terms amongst themselves, particularly since Fergal, but Eamon and his father both at least had the sense to not fight against each other. The Iron Islands were sturdy and harsh, much like its inhabitants, and if they picked fights amongst themselves then they would never achieve independence. “He thinks that Osric will have bigger fish to fry when it comes to the lions anyway - neither will care for the Ironborn if we announce independence.” Eamon added, and he knew there was truth in his father’s words, though he did not like it. Sooner or later, a King would cross the sea and force them back into the Seven Kingdoms. And Eamon would much rather support a king and demand reward than simply wait for war to come to their doorstep.

[baenerys]

PERCY RIVERS;

Percy often wondered what his life might have been like if his mother had married his father and produced a legitimate heir. Sometimes he would think that it wouldn’t make a difference; father was as uncaring towards Will as he was towards Percy regardless of which of them was legitimate or otherwise. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if the situation had been different and it was actually his mother who was the lady of Riverrun. Not that he knew who his mother was anyway; that situation was a bit trickier to imagine considering he didn’t have an inkling what she had been like. He wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. Father never talked about her. Whoever she was, she had left little of herself in Percy; he was the spit of his father, red hair and blue eyes, true Tully colouring. When he was little, Percy had thought that maybe Will was the illegitimate child, but of course that wasn’t true.

Today Percy wondered, as he often did, about what place an illegitimate son might have in the world. Will had always treated Percy kindly, almost as an equal, though the two knew that could never be. He had certain assets that were useful to father - a skilled rider, a strategist, quick with a knife and sure with a sword. He was of more use to father in Riverrun than in some small holdfast on the other side of Westeros, or wherever mother’s family resided. Father knew this and took advantage of Percy when it suited him.

He was pulled from his thoughts when little Orian Lannister came racing into the yard as Percy was caring his mare’s saddle into the tack room after a good morning ride. “Percy,” he chirped, bounding to the Rivers man’s side to keep up, “Your Lord Father is looking for you in the council room. He said it’s about the King and you have to go at once. He says the King has passed on and the Tully have much to talk about.”

Percy shushed the young cub - he was only 8 years old and was a chatterbox. “Shouldn’t you be at lessons with Maester Alwyn?” He asked, as he entered the gloomy tack room to return the saddle to its place. “We got interrupted when the raven from King’s Landing arrived, so now I’ve got the rest of the day off!” The young boy seemed delighted with this and didn’t seem to be bothered or even surprised at the King’s death. To be so young and naive, Percy thought, must be a curse and a blessing.

He left Orian in the yard with some young squires and the master of arms, and carried on through the stone archway towards the heart of the castle. Tully banners ran like licks of fire along the wide corridor leading to the council chamber, where father would be waiting. Two guards were posted outside the ancient door and admitted Percy to pass through when he approached. When he entered the chamber, it was only him and father at the table. There were 6 chairs in total; for father, Will, the maester, the master of arms, the stewart, and the ship master. Today, only father sat at the head of the table, a huge map of Westeros set before him with wooden markers carved into lions, wolves, fish, and all the other sigils for the noble house of Westeros. Will was nowhere to be seen, and father did not so much as lift his head in greeting as Percy took his usual seat near his half brother’s place at the end of the table. And then they waited, in silence, for the true born son to arrive.

[baenerys]

EDRIC PENROSE;

The King’s death had been startling to say the least. Even though Edric knew to expect it, he had not thought that the poison would work so quickly. He had put the poison in the King’s wine almost one week previously. The Myrish woman he had bought the vial from said that it would kill him in two months; that left plenty of time of Edric to plan ahead. The timing therefore was not ideal, as there was no plan in place. He had been in the throne room when it had happened, counting the costs involved in the small folk and lordly issues being presented to the crown. His shock had not been acted out when the king had fallen back into the throne and died then and there.

He was just finishing up writing some letters to Iron Bank in Braavos to outline the current situation. He was sugarcoating it, of course. Warm sunlight filtered through the open shutters into Lord Penrose’s study, bathing him in a golden glow as he sealed the letter with the bronze quill of his house. He added it to a pile for the ravens and was about to start his next letter when one of Kiyara’s spiders knocked on the door and bid him go to the council chamber.

As he stood from his desk, Edric smoothed over his bronze doublet and set his quill aside. He spiralled his way down the tower steps, through the courtyard, and into the council chamber, where sure enough Kiyara sat waiting for him. “Lady Harlow,” he greeted her. “Our friends at the Iron Bank will not be pleased to hear if another Arryn sits the throne - they’re running the Bank’s coffers dry at this rate.” He said as he took his usual seat at the table. As he spoke, he rested his hands on the smooth mahogany of the table, pressing his thumbs together. “And the King’s death is most untimely.” He commented, pursing his lips just slightly. “We were not so well prepared for these circumstances.”

[undertheweather]

──────── vaenessa targaryen ♛ dragon princess of the seven kingdoms ♛ twenty three ♛ in braavos ♛ tags; rhaenaris and valonqar

white hair came flying down the stairs, tumbling in curls over narrow shoulders as vaenessa landed on the bottom floor. she had been on the roof, one of her favorite places to be as of late, when she had received the scroll from stokeworth. she had been contemplating whether or not to burn a little ant, and the raven had landed right by her. she never really understood how those pesky birds worked, but she was grateful for them today.

rounding a corner, she finally spotted her brothers, their own silver locks making their presence known. her footsteps were heavy and her head was high as she strode toward the room, a smile playing on her lips. rheanaris seemed to spot her first, turning his head ever so slightly toward her. her older brother had always been stoic and cold. nessa had always thought it an odd temperament for a dragon, but she supposed they needed the balance. she was much hotter and uneven tempered. three of her would be nothing short of explosive. valonqar was somewhere in between the two extremes of his older siblings, often calming them both down and getting them to an agreement. he was cool, until he wasn’t. now however, as he stood up straight and looked at his sister, he seemed his usual self.

vaenessa entered the room and closed the door behind her before slamming the scroll down on the table in front of them. “the king of the seven kingdoms is dead. the lord of stokeworth is upholding his oath to the targaryans, and has asked us to sail west,” she said, each of her words pointed. the princess could barely contain her excitement over the development. she had always believe she belonged on a throne, insisting it was a birthright for her and her brothers, and now her assertions could finally come to fruition.

she was pacing back and forth now, impatiently awaiting her brothers to read the correspondence. she stopped abruptly, placing both hands flat on the table and speaking with a fiery spark in her voice. ”don’t you understand what this means? we can finally take what was always meant to be ours!”

[baenerys]

VAERA DOXOS;

Vaera smiled at Irri, happy with the girl’s progress in her languages. In the short amount of time that they had been working on her Westerosi, the girl had picked up a tremendous amount, and Vaera did not doubt that she would be fluent within the year. She commented that there was “no real heir”. Vaera could just about contain her satisfaction at the statement. Then the child mentioned that others might want the throne, and Vaera nodded - how clever this little girl was to have such a grasp of the world already. She saw the confusion in the girl’s eyes about the burial of the King. “In Westeros, people die and are put in a box called a coffin. This goes into a crypt - most noble families have crypts - and the septon blesses the burial. It is not like the Dothraki way. The common folk bury their people in coffins which are put into graves in the ground - in fields, on hills, anywhere really. In the North, many houses still worship the Old Gods, but the idea is similar. Beyond the Wall, the wildlings burn their dead so they cannot rise and walk again.” Vaera explained, gesturing to a map on the wall as she spoke to show Irri the places she was talking about. “We will do some lessons on religions as well, so that you can understand the people here better.” She added, “It is good to have an understanding of these things so that you have a more open mind.”

It was at that moment that Mihal and Tobias entered the study. Her two golden boys. She treated Toby like he was one of her own, and so he could have been - the resemblance was so uncanny. “The King has died suddenly.” She said, smooth as silk. “Irri has just commented that as the King had no sons or daughters then others may fight to sit on the throne.” Mihal’s jaw looked ready to hit the floor, and she tapped his chin to tuck it back. “Bring your sister home, Tobias. I will send men to collect my sons and you ought to do the same for Renei. When they are all safely home, call the banners.” She brought Mihal close and set him on her lap, stroking his blonde hair away from his face as she kissed his forehead. It would not do if any of the Lannisters were held captive. She did not doubt Rhaenys Velayron - she had much more to lose in betraying Vaera, and they were long time trading partners. But the Tullys were a different story. Orian has only been at Riverrun for a year and Vaera did not like it. It had been Stefan who sent him there, ignoring her counsel. “Mihal, why don’t you take Irri to the stables and show her the horses. Perhaps Ser Renoid will permit riding, if he has the time to supervise.” Mihal opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut it when he saw the glare in his mother’s eyes. She arched a careful brow at her son and shushed him on towards the door - she had more private matters to discuss with Tobias.

[baenerys]

AMERIA MARTELL;

Ameria watched her mother head back through the courtyard and into the main building to rest for the afternoon. Her gaze drifted back down to the map, to where she stood by Sunspear. As Vorian spoke, she raised her head and grimaced at her brother. “I don’t know what we would do without her, Vorian.” The Princess murmured, looking back down to the map. She trailed her way north towards King’s Landing, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

It was difficult to know what to do first. She watched her brother trail his spear across the map and rest his chin on the blunt end. “If it were me,” she said carefully, “I would send a raven back to King’s Landing telling them that Dorne is now independent. Arryn will have more than enough to deal with considering the Lannisters are poised to take the throne and the Ironborn are certain to declare independence. But mother says we ought to do nothing.”

Ameria couldn’t help but feel that her mother’s instincts were wrong this time. It seemed foolish to sit by and do nothing. And there was the matter of the Targaryens as well. “The dragons have made nest in the Free Cities,” she replied, casting her gaze across the painted sea beyond Westeros. “No doubt Stokeworth will send for them no that Arryn is dead. He always was loyal to them to the point of naivety. And the Lannister woman, well, it’s common knowledge that she has had dealings with them in the Free Cities as well.” It was difficult to know when the three dragons would appear but Ameria did not doubt that they would come. They were eager to reclaim what had once been their birthright. “Mother would have us be alone, but I think we need allies if we want to break away - and the surest allies will be those who have a common purpose. The Ironborn may be reavers but they hate the Iron Throne as much as we do. And we are not the most honest of subjects either.” Of course she was referring to their well-known use of poisons in combat and otherwise. Looking up to her brother, she sighed. “I just know that we can’t do this alone.”

[undertheweather]

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

benjen entered his chambers with a huff and took off his training garb. he quickly entered the basin and poured water over himself, immediately sending chills all over his body. the weather had been temperate as of late, but the stark words rang in his head. winter is coming. the cool air he felt as he stepped out of the room told him that their mantra might be coming true in the near future. but these were all irrelevant thoughts. right now he needed to focus on the task at hand. after drying off, the lord slipped on some more formal clothing. taking a glance at the fur cape in his wardrobe, he decided to put that on as well. a little unnecessary maybe, but thoughts of winter still danced around in his mind like snowflakes.

as he made his way toward the strategy room, he stopped by the kitchens, asking the cook to bring send some refreshments up. he had a feeling this may be an extended discussion. he entered the room and spread out the map on the table, carefully placing each wooden figure in the realm to which it belonged. after a moment of staring at the arrangement, he decided that something was missing. reaching into a drawer, he pulled out three, long unused pawns in the shape of dragons and placed them on the general area of essos. placing his hands flatly on the table in front of him and leaning his form over the map, he began to consider possible scenarios.

before ben could ponder too much, he was pulled from his thoughts by his younger sister cautiously entering the room. “you summoned me, ben?” she questioned, using the nickname he had come to love so much. it used to bother him when others would not call him benjen, it was their grandfather’s name after all and a reminder of the stark family. but over time he had come to quite enjoy the familiarity and even asked some of his friends to use it. since their father’s death, the name endeared him even more.

“yes, i did,” ben replied curtly and gestured for his sister to sit, his mind still on the shapes in front of him. he thought that they should wait for their uncle to begin, but there was no doubt the warden of the north had received the news even before ben himself. surely, torrhen would arrive soon. it could not hurt to discuss the matter with Lyra while they waited. “king frederick is dead,” he continued, “and he has left no word on who is to be his successor. there will no doubt be unrest amongst the kingdoms, if not war. I thought the family should discuss the north’s stance.”

benjen knew there were many houses that would have something to say in the matter, whether a claim for independence, lands, or the throne itself. they needed to decide who those houses were likely to be and if the starks would be among them. the dark-haired man looked to his younger sibling, curious to hear her reaction to the news. she was after all, in an interesting position with her betrothal to a southerner whom ben was almost sure would be among those making a claim for the iron throne.

[baenerys]

COSETTE OAKHEART;

Words traveled around Highgarden like the wind. News of King Frederick’s death was impossible to keep a secret, especially where one could find a ring of ladies gossiping. Amongst the women was Lady Cosette Oakheart. Today she was sitting on a rich Myrish throw on an ornate Lysene bench topped with plush Pentoshi cushions, eating plump purple grapes from a golden dish, in the warm afternoon sunlight. The Tyrells were a wealthy family and their court boasted all the benefits as one would expect of a place with rich harvests. The courtyard they were currently perched in was a rose garden, reflecting on the Tyrell’s golden rose Sicily. The other ladies delicately nibbled on cheese and sipped summer wine as they babbled. “I heard that the King died on the throne,” one whispered, “Lady Tarly was there and saw herself!”

“It is a wicked throne to sit upon,” another lady added, “It would be no small wonder if he had died upon it.”

As the ladies chattered, Cosette popped another grape into her mouth and pondered on what might happen next. The Reach was rich and prosperous despite the King’s spending habits. The Tyrells boasted rich harvests to feed the nation and with this came the associated power over lords and small folk alike. The Lannisters were rich in gold but what use would gold be when winter came and the people were starving? That’s what the Starks would say and Cosette thought that they weren’t far wrong. She knew that she would be safe in the Reach, at least for now, while the higher lords squabbled over a cursed crown.

“Please excuse me, ladies,” Cosette announced, pushing the golden plate of grapes aside, “I fear I have lost my appetite with all this talk of death and misery - and the summer warmth drains me.” The lady stood from her perch and smoothed her skirts - deep green silks adorned with gold. Her golden earrings shaped as oak leaves jingled as she took her leave, welcoming the shade of the archway as she left the rose garden. Her clothes in truth were some of the lightest she owned - fine, with a fully open back and a deep v down her chest, with thin straps over her shoulders. She sandals were fine, supple leather and even her hair had been pushed back from her face and up from her neck in a plait. In truth, she grew tired of the meaningless gossip and sought any excuse to flee.

She was just passing the council chamber doors when she heard the word ‘Targaryen’ beyond the heavy wooden doors. Only a moment later, those doors opened and the guards stood outside straightened up as Lady Valetta Tyrell made her exit. Cosette curtsied, as was expected of her. “Lady Valetta,” she greeted her, soft spoken and polite, “A letter arrived from my Father at Old Oak just this morning. He reported another prosperous harvest of summer fruit and he is sending a wagon to your family as thanks for your kindness these past few months since my Mother’s passing.” Cosette’s mother had died only a few months ago from an infection in her lungs, so the maester has said. The Tyrells had been among the noble houses of the Reach to offer their sympathies.

[winterfell.]

─ ❅ -- ( ＬＹＲＡ ＳＴＡＲＫ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : winterfell ] [ title : a lady of winterfell ] [ tagged : benjen ] [ 385 words ]


- - - - -Quickly, Ben responded, gesturing for Lyra to have a seat. She obeyed, but her brows were knitted in confusion as she sat at the table, Atla laying down at her feet. It wasn't extremely common that Benjen asked for her in the middle of the day. It was even stranger that he called her to the strategy room. It was usually reserved for questions of Northern defense or times of war. As far as she knew, the North wasn't in any real danger at the moment and the country was not at war. Unless there was something she didn't know. She was beginning to think the southerners had done something stupid again. It was only a matter of time before the North would be forced to get involved.

- - - - -Then he said those words, words she should have anticipated, but that caught her by surprise anyway. King Frederick is dead. She swallowed at the statement. She had no love for Frederick Arryn, but she did not think he deserved to die, especially so suddenly and without an heir. Worse than that, however, was the guaranteed fallout of Westeros, one that the North didn't care for, but would surely be caught up in regardless. Unrest in the realm almost always called on the North to pick a side, and fast. A secure alliance with the North is crucial to a successful reign in King's Landing. But the Northerners did
not care. They did not like bending the knee to southern kings. "He had a nephew, didn't he?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. "No doubt he will be named king soon," she said.

- - - - -Worse than all of this, however, was that their side in the war was essentially already chosen. She sighed deeply at his last comment. The family needed to decided their stance. "Is our stance not already decided?" she asked, a rhetorical question. "Tobias Lannister will try to claim the throne with the Westerlands at his back," she said, disheartened. "And he will expect me to rule by his side. In King's Landing," she said. "Tell me, Ben, when I'm by the Lion's side, will you stand against me?" she asked, knowing for certain that her brother would not join a war and fight on the side that wants to see her dead.

─ ✧ -- ( ＫＩＹＡＲＡ ＨＡＲＬＡＷ ) ─────────────────────────────────
⇉ [ location : red keep ] [ title : master of whispers ] [ tagged : edric ] [ 427 words ]


- - - - -Kiyara did not sit. It wasn't often that she legitimately sat down at her seat at the table. She favored standing, pacing, gracefully making her presence quietly know each time she spoke. It felt more powerful to be on her feet, yet not as invasive as sitting with the rest of the small council. Besides, she knew that, even among the small council, she was an outcast. The Ironborn didn't typically belong in places of politics. It was much too pristine and respectable for their kind. Her heritage wasn't the only thing that made her different. Being a Master of Whispers meant that her specialty was grounded entirely in deception, intrigue, espionage. The title itself meant that she was rarely trusted. Perhaps this is why she found it so oddly pleasant that the Master of Coin, Lord Edric was willing to work with her.

- - - - -As Lord Edric entered the room, she clasped her hands in front of her, watching as he took his usual seat. He spoke of the Iron Bank, the whole reason Westeros was still afloat amidst the disastrous reign of Frederick Arryn. She pursed her lips at that. They needed the Iron Bank at their back. No one knew that better than Edric. If he was concerned, Kiyara felt she also needed to be concerned. She pondered for a moment, wondering how to navigate the situation. The fact of the matter was, an Arryn would sit on the throne until someone took it from them. But, that Arryn was Osric Arryn, young naive. "Perhaps the Iron Bank truly has nothing to fear," she said. "Osric Arryn will take the Throne soon. He is young, much more malleable than his predecessor," she stated simply. "Will the Iron Bank approve of the boy if they can be certain that you are the one who is actually in control?"

- - - - -Edric's next comments caused her to quirk an eyebrow. "Is anyone ever truly prepared for the death of a king?" she asked, a rhetorical question. "Apparently so." She couldn't help the small smile on her features. "Because I've heard whispers of assassination plans. Someone was definitely more prepared for this than we were," she said. They could use that, for blackmail if nothing else. "Someone who has ambition, someone who wants our beloved Iron Throne more than they want the safety of their own uncle," she tacked on, making it obvious that they would use this information against young Osric if they had to. Information, knowledge was just as important -- if not more important -- than money these days.

[baenerys]

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ＴＡＲＧＡＲＹＥＮ
exiled claimant of the iron throne // mentions: valetta, daeron, kiyara // tags: vaenessa, valonqar

The house in Braavos had become their home this past year. Three dragons made their den in comfort within a relatively wealthy part of the city, thanks both to the kindly benefactors who believed there to be some degree of power in being associated with the blood of old Valyria, but also due to the wealth of their father, and his father before him. The Targaryens now had not known the street life their past relatives had lived and for that, Rhaenaris was always grateful. There was power within their grasp - not a lot by any means, but enough to keep them alive and well, without posing a threat to the usurper kings of Westeros.

He was midway through writing a letter to the Magister, who had kindly allowed them to live in one of his house at 'small' fee, when Vaenessa came swooping into the study. She was all wild white hair and words of fire today, he thought, as she spoke rapidly and passed him a scroll delivered by raven. As he leaned back in the ornate mahogany chair to read the letter, he could not help but feel uneasy about the news. All his life, he had been waiting for this opportunity - but now that the time had come, he found that he was not so pleased as he once might have been. The Arryn King was dead with no sons or daughters to take his place, only a nephew who no heirs of his own either. Rhaenaris pondered on how to respond to his sister's passionate words of vengeance and looked sideways to Valonqar. Little Brother was the rock that kept the two older siblings grounded and level. He passed the scroll to their brother so that he could read the news for himself in all the detail provided by Daeron Stokeworth. They had never met the man in person, and only ever communicated by envoy or raven. Sometimes, Rhaenaris wondered if their 'allies' in Westeros were even real, for none of the three dragons had ever see them in the flesh. But father said they were real, and trustworthy, and that was enough for them to place faith in these 'foreigners' in a land they had never been to.

Leaning back in his chair, he looked to his sister, almost blank and measuring. He ran his thumb over his palm in thought, deep violet eyes steady on Vaenessa as Valonqar read the scroll. It seemed that their sister would have them drop everything in Braavos and take the Seven Kingdoms now, by force, with one confirmed ally by their side. He brushed off his plain white tunic as he stood from his seat, about to address his siblings when there came a knock at the door. Standing in the frame was one of the serving girls - Moreah - with a letter in her hand. She entered the room upon his nod and passed over the note, bowing as she made a hasty escape. There was a tension in the room that even a serving girl could sense. Rhaenaris traced the rose seal on the parchment and tucked a finger underneath to open the letter from Lady Valetta Tyrell.

His eyes trimmed over the words, written by her maester, declaring loyalty, should the Targaryens want it. Now, Rhaenaris mulled the thought over in his head. Two confirmed allies were better than one, but they weren't prepared to leave and fight a war. Not yet, anyway. As he passed the note to Vaenessa, he could already sense the fire in her. She would sweep to Westeros now and proclaim herself queen if only it wasn't so physically impossible. "We cannot take the Seven Kingdoms with the aid of two houses," he said, firm. "No matter how loyal and true Tyrell and Stokeworth are, we are not prepared. Need I remind you that Aegon the Conqueror swept the land with three dragons? Dragonblood we may have, but dragons, evidently not. I will not risk this flight so foolishly when we have no plan in place. We would be in the lion's jaw or the falcon's talons before we could even set foot on Westerosi soil. You think the spider in her web wouldn't know of our coming? For every friend we have in Westeros, we have another thousand enemies."