I'll let you be the judge of that. Here is a picture of Owen shortly before Gyles' death:
Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR
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I'll let you be the judge of that. Here is a picture of Owen shortly before Gyles' death:
Ah much better traits. Cheers
.....
Well, it appears that the thought of causing harm can do so after all. Least that's an explanation for Gyles dying right now.
Is there anything peculiar that's happened in particular so far that's not too close to the story?
Well, it appears that the thought of causing harm can do so after all. Least that's an explanation for Gyles dying right now.
Is there anything peculiar that's happened in particular so far that's not too close to the story?
Well, Owen at least looks like he can end up being halfway respectable. That's nice at least.
Do you mean something like this?
I laughed my ass off at that AAR, Andrez :laugh:
Owen was the best character in the game so far (Harren the rat torturer is pretty close, though)
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House Targaryen
4: 5 AL - 9 AL
4: 5 AL - 9 AL
The fact that Lord Loren Lannister no longer was part of the Small Council meant that there was a need for a new Master of Coin. The Lion of Casterly Rock had known well how to do his job, but his way of working had cost him his position in the Small Council. Sending his vassal away only because his sister desired that troubled Aegon, but in the end blood was thicker than water. Visenya and Rhaenys had proven time and again their loyalty and dedication to Aegon's cause, and it was only fair that he kept his end of the bargain. There would always be another man up for the task, and so the King turned to another Lord Paramount.
Before Lord Torrhen Stark could arrive to King's Landing, the Hand of the King Orys Baratheon declared he'd be hosting a grand tournament at Storm's End. It was the first tourney where knights from all around Westeros could participate; before the conquest borders between the seven kingdoms had been very strict. Knowing that it was an excellent opportunity to form relations with lords and other highborn of his kingdom, Aegon set sails from his capital and travelled by sea to the Stormlands to both join the lists and to spectate other jousters competing against one another.
Lord Edmyn's loyalty was unquestionable: the man had helped Aegon and his forces to overthrow the Ironborn rule in the Riverlands. He was one of the Conqueror's first supporters in Westeros and an excellent diplomat whose skills had earned him a position in the Small Council. In the capital Lord Edmyn had formed laws for the young kingdom, helping Aegon set boundaries to his vassals and to establish his rule over Westeros. Lord Tully's work had been flawless and his death from illness deeply affected the King. The late lord Edmyn was launched to the sea according to the Tully tradition, and fire consumed his funeral boat as the rest of the royal court spectated, each mourning the untimely death of a great man.
Even though work around ruling the kingdoms no longer interested Aegon as it had once, he wasn't prone to slothfulness. The presence of three dragons in the capital often caused trouble, and more than once some peasant hungry for glory had decided to try to end the last dragons, only to end up as their meal. Vhagar and Meraxes obeyed only Aegon's sisters, just as Balerion did him, yet the thought of what would happen after one of the Targaryens siblings died kept Aegon wake at night. Dragons were beasts, and just at hand was a city full of easy prey. It was common knowledge at Dragonstone, passed down from generation to another, that some dragonriders in Old Valyria used horns to tame and control their beasts, yet not one of those horns had survived past Doom. It seemed that the knowledge of controlling dragons in their natural habitat remained a secret even to those who had won the companionship of one, so Aegon turned to other options. With more money at hand than the Targaryens had ever before posessed, Aegon started drawing plans for a pit where he could keep the beasts under control.
On the way back to King's Landing during a moment's rest, Aegon was brought dark tidings. The brother of his squire Owen, Lord Gyles Tyrell, had untimely met his end in Highgarden. The new Lord of the Reach was by right his younger brother Owen, Aegon's squire, who was blisfully ignorant of the burden that had befallen on him. After a moment of thinking how to tell the boy about the recent turn of events, the King sent a word to his squire, requesting his presence in his tent. The look on the boy's face gave out he thought he'd been summoned because his services as a squire were required. When instead he was told to kneel and the King suddenly proceeded to knight him, both surprise and joy shone on the young Tyrell's face. As a squire he'd knelt and as Ser Owen Tyrell he was told to rise, but before he could utter any words of gratitude to his mentor, Aegon revealed to him the fate of his elder brother.
As the King spoke the words, the happiness on Owen's face first turned into disbelief and then to dismay. What Owen possibly thought would be one of the greatest moments in his life got a turn he couldn't have anticipated even in his worst nightmares. It was roughly a moon's turn to Owen's sixteenth nameday, meaning that his time under Aegon's tutelage was coming to an end anyhow. Aegon wanted Owen to return to Highgarden, his home and seat, not just as his brother's heir but as Ser Owen Tyrell, a knight who'd received his spurs from the Conqueror himself. The reason why he gave a reason for the young lad to be happy, only to snatch it away immediately, was to show Owen that his future life ruling in his own name could well be similar. Life was full of surprises, both good and bad ones, yet if he meant to be worthy of his titles he needed to master his emotions. It was King Aegon's last lesson to the boy. Whether the young lord understood it was a thing the king didn't know, and he sent him away from his tent, knowing that Owen must mourn the dead in his own way. Once their convoy arrived to King's Landing later that day, Owen packed up his personal belongings and left to Highgarden, riding into the night.
Princess Valaena and Lord Owen had both been raised in King's Landing, so they already knew one another. But to make sure that the years apart now that Lord Owen ruled the Reach from his seat of Highgarden wouldn't form a gap between the young, Aegon sent Valaena to Reach to be tutored by Lord Banfred Hightower of Oldtown, one of the strongest supporters of the Tyrells and Lord Owen's advisor in Highgarden. Princess Rhaenys had done what she could in the time she'd been given to prepare her daughter for her duty, and now it was up to Valaena herself to continue on the path her father had chosen for her.
The time he'd spent with Greatheart practicing began finally to show results, and the King proved unmatched. After a long day full of jousts, he met Ser Daeron Velaryon, his cousin from his mother's side, in the finale. But even Lord Velaryon's younger brother couldn't drop King Aegon from the saddle, and after five jousts the Conqueror won.
As Aegon spent the following feast amidst other highborn, celebrating and drinking, he was blissfully unaware of the level of hangover he'd have the next morning - and the dark wings that would arrive, bringing dark words.
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House Stark: Prelude
"Look at me, you're a Stark of Winterfell, you know our words."
"'Winter is coming'."
Heraldry of Lords Paramount of the North
The crown of the Kings of Winter was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought as longswords. My father wore it before me, and before he died he charged me to watch over the North as my ancestors before me. The North was more than land and castles, it was the people and their homes and the honour that warded it from all enemies who would seek to taint or destroy it. When the first Targaryen emissaries came to the North we turned them back courteously yet resolutely. When the armies of the Reach and Rock burnt to ash beneath Valyrian dragon-fire I gathered my armies and headed south into the Riverlands, determined to fight this war away from the lands and people that were the North. We defeated two new Targaryen bannermen when they rashly rode against us independently, but when the great enemy host gathered and I faced Aegon on the back of his great black dragon I recalled the fate of Harrenhal and saw the doom of those that followed me. There was no doubt that my banners and sworn men would have fought to the death for me - but what price my pride against the Dragon? I bent the knee instead, yielding the crown of my fathers to the Dragonlord and led my men home instead; no longer a King but a Lord Paramount instead.
I am Torrhen Stark, 'the King who Knelt'
In years past the Winter Kings warred regularly against the Kings of Mountain and Vale. Before the dragons came I led many an expedition into their lands and received their attacks at Moat Cailin, becoming a veteran commander and formidable fighter. Wielding the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice - nearly as tall as a man - I am just, temperate and authoritative as well as being brave, humble and content. They say we northmen are made all of ice and melt in the southron heat, but the truth is simpler than that. We worship the Old Gods in the North and have no shortage of land - why would we want to conquer anywhere else? It seemed the best course that laid before me was to befriend this Targaryen King. While I would not forget the crown that he took from me, it was through his good will only that I could ensure the yoke would rest but lightly on our necks.
At the time of the conquest I had a daughter and two sons - the eldest, Brandon, was five and already in line for a military education that he may rule well after me while Jorah the younger was still but three. My wife Jonnela would have no part in his education; she was nice enough to be sure and I was grateful for the children she had given me but she was lazy and possessed a short fuse that she unleashed as the whim struck her with no rhyme or reason. The last and worst trait she possessed was a certain... gullibility. That suited her well with honest folk like me, but if she liked a person she was all too ready to trust whatever lies they might whisper into her ear; not something I wanted to risk her passing on to my children. Lastly my brother Ser Brandon Snow, a good and noble man with several admirable traits, one of the few knights among we Northmen and a man I would as lief have helping to raise my sons... but Aegon had an eye for such talents and had already invited him to join a small band of white-cloaked knights in his new city of Kings Landing; the so-called 'Kingsguard'.
There's only one foreign threat I can see in these parts your Grace, but no man can fight the Dragons and win
Aegon named me Warden of the North as well - I asked the Targaryen emissary what exactly that role entailed and he informed me that it meant the King was charging me to defend the North against any foreign threat that should endanger it. Scarcely a year after his own foreign and mercenary army came to the North and forced me to bend the knee. I gave the emissary a moderately old-fashioned look and thanked him for the honour. It was a responsibility I would take entirely seriously; after all, this land and its people had been in my family's care since the Age of Heroes and I hardly needed an outlander to remind me of my responsibilities. From Brandon's Gift in the north down to Greywater Watch in the Neck, the Stark writ held supreme; now the Targaryen King sat higher than all the Lords Paramount, yet within our lands we were still the law as we were before the Conquest.
What fate would the Old Gods bring us in the days ahead?
As it was before, so it shall be again
Prelude: The King Who Knelt
"Look at me, you're a Stark of Winterfell, you know our words."
"'Winter is coming'."
-Lord Eddard Stark and his daughter Arya.
Heraldry of Lords Paramount of the North
The crown of the Kings of Winter was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought as longswords. My father wore it before me, and before he died he charged me to watch over the North as my ancestors before me. The North was more than land and castles, it was the people and their homes and the honour that warded it from all enemies who would seek to taint or destroy it. When the first Targaryen emissaries came to the North we turned them back courteously yet resolutely. When the armies of the Reach and Rock burnt to ash beneath Valyrian dragon-fire I gathered my armies and headed south into the Riverlands, determined to fight this war away from the lands and people that were the North. We defeated two new Targaryen bannermen when they rashly rode against us independently, but when the great enemy host gathered and I faced Aegon on the back of his great black dragon I recalled the fate of Harrenhal and saw the doom of those that followed me. There was no doubt that my banners and sworn men would have fought to the death for me - but what price my pride against the Dragon? I bent the knee instead, yielding the crown of my fathers to the Dragonlord and led my men home instead; no longer a King but a Lord Paramount instead.
I am Torrhen Stark, 'the King who Knelt'
In years past the Winter Kings warred regularly against the Kings of Mountain and Vale. Before the dragons came I led many an expedition into their lands and received their attacks at Moat Cailin, becoming a veteran commander and formidable fighter. Wielding the Valyrian steel greatsword Ice - nearly as tall as a man - I am just, temperate and authoritative as well as being brave, humble and content. They say we northmen are made all of ice and melt in the southron heat, but the truth is simpler than that. We worship the Old Gods in the North and have no shortage of land - why would we want to conquer anywhere else? It seemed the best course that laid before me was to befriend this Targaryen King. While I would not forget the crown that he took from me, it was through his good will only that I could ensure the yoke would rest but lightly on our necks.
At the time of the conquest I had a daughter and two sons - the eldest, Brandon, was five and already in line for a military education that he may rule well after me while Jorah the younger was still but three. My wife Jonnela would have no part in his education; she was nice enough to be sure and I was grateful for the children she had given me but she was lazy and possessed a short fuse that she unleashed as the whim struck her with no rhyme or reason. The last and worst trait she possessed was a certain... gullibility. That suited her well with honest folk like me, but if she liked a person she was all too ready to trust whatever lies they might whisper into her ear; not something I wanted to risk her passing on to my children. Lastly my brother Ser Brandon Snow, a good and noble man with several admirable traits, one of the few knights among we Northmen and a man I would as lief have helping to raise my sons... but Aegon had an eye for such talents and had already invited him to join a small band of white-cloaked knights in his new city of Kings Landing; the so-called 'Kingsguard'.
There's only one foreign threat I can see in these parts your Grace, but no man can fight the Dragons and win
Aegon named me Warden of the North as well - I asked the Targaryen emissary what exactly that role entailed and he informed me that it meant the King was charging me to defend the North against any foreign threat that should endanger it. Scarcely a year after his own foreign and mercenary army came to the North and forced me to bend the knee. I gave the emissary a moderately old-fashioned look and thanked him for the honour. It was a responsibility I would take entirely seriously; after all, this land and its people had been in my family's care since the Age of Heroes and I hardly needed an outlander to remind me of my responsibilities. From Brandon's Gift in the north down to Greywater Watch in the Neck, the Stark writ held supreme; now the Targaryen King sat higher than all the Lords Paramount, yet within our lands we were still the law as we were before the Conquest.
What fate would the Old Gods bring us in the days ahead?
As it was before, so it shall be again
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House Lannister
Prologue: 13-15 AL
Loren
Loren was sitting in his chambers studying some ledgers. He had realised that returning to the Rock might not have been bad after all. When Loren had been dismissed as master of coin ten years ago, he had been both sad and angry. Sad, that his skills apparently had not been appreciated even though he knew he had done a fine work, and angry, angry because the King would put more value in some tavern wench than he did in one of his most powerful vassals. Loren had been replaced by a lowborn woman called Belarra, who, according to rumour, was King Aegon’s mistress. It has been such a sting on Loren’s pride that he had decided to return to the Rock immediately. King Aegon, probably knowing how Loren felt, had sent his daughter, Princess Elaena, to become Loren’s ward. Loren would have preferred a son; nonetheless it had worked well as a minor comfort after being dismissed on such loose grounds. Even though the girl was not fully grown yet, it was glaringly obvious she would turn into a beautiful woman.
He would hopefully get to spend his last days in peace, watching his youngest son grow into a man. Loren had four children, three sons and a daughter. Lyman, his oldest son, had been a squire to Lord Orys Baratheon, Hand of the King. Lyman had grown into a great knight but Loren knew that he was not a leader of men; he did not inspire others to great deeds, as men like King Aegon did. Lyman’s abilities did not extend much further than simply being excellent with the sword and lance. At least he is not entirely incompetent Loren thought to himself. Lyman had left for the Tourney of Highgarden two months ago. Loren was expecting him back any day now, bringing news that would bring honour to House Lannister. He expected his son to perform at the very least within the top three, anything else would be shameful. His second son, Lanselyn, was not as good a fighter, even though he could hold his ground fairly well against Lyman. However, Lanselyn had a great sense for numbers; he had already made himself useful in helping to improve the economy of the Westerlands. Loren was very proud of Lanselyn, who continued to prove himself by suggesting innovative ideas of increasing the taxes without infuriating anyone important. There was not much to say about his daughter, she was a good for nothing. She had her use however, she was married to the heir of the North and was thus the link forging a strong bond between House Stark and House Lannister.
A plated fist knocks on the door. “What is it?” Loren demands.
“Your son is back, my lord. He has requested to speak with you.” The guard replies.
“Very well, send him in.”
After a short moment, Lyman enters the room. He looks every part a Lannister with his golden hair and bright green eyes, clad in deep crimson plate with a cloak bearing the coat of arms of House Lannister, a roaring lion on a crimson red field.
Loren rises “My son, tell me, did you win the tourney?”
Lyman swallows nervously “I unhorsed Ser Arryn Wythers and Lord Steffon Bushy but I did not claim victory, father.”
“Who unhorsed you?”
“Ser Victor Rowan.” Lyman replies, with shame in his voice.
Loren is furious “You worthless imbecile! How dare you bring shame upon our House like that?!” he yells, slamming his fist into the table. Lyman is about to reply but Loren interrupts him “I don’t want to hear any of your feeble excuses, get out of my sight!”
Lyman leaves the room without a word. Loren tries to calm himself down. Why did his son even join a tourney if he wasn’t sure of winning it? It made no sense to Loren. All he asked of his sons was to not bring shame upon the family name and they could not even manage that. Perhaps he should ask King Aegon to let Lyman join the Kingsguard after all. His son had asked him to a year after returning to Casterly Rock and Loren had given him a scolding unlike any before. No, he did not want his son to become a kingsguard, it was enough that his brother, Ser Tymeon, was among the white cloaks. Loren knew that his oldest son was capable of so much more, all he wanted was for him to realise it himself too. He had been so proud when his son had returned to Casterly Rock, sixteen years old and already a Knight, dubbed by the Hand of the King himself.
Lyman
Lyman sat at his bed, thinking of what his father had just said, saying he was a disgrace to House Lannister. Maybe his father was right, he should not have been unhorsed by Sir Victor Rowan, and Lyman even knew himself that he was the better man. Before being knighted and leaving for Casterly Rock he had even managed to fight evenly against Orys during their sparring sessions. Orys would always eventually get the upper hand however. Orys was a beast of a man and nothing seemed to make him tired, his blows would just keep coming, each one as hard as the last. He moved to the table and found a parchment to write a letter to his old mentor.
Dear Orys
I pray that your duties in the capital do not burden you too much.
My father just gave me another scolding, it was not as bad as the time I when I told him that I wanted to serve in the Kingsguard but it was enough to make me think. Maybe he is right after all? Maybe I should strive toward greater deeds? I was so happy the first day I arrived here at Casterly Rock. Father was so proud of me that day, I could see it in his eyes as I rode through the Lion’s Mouth and he stood there waiting for me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said “I am proud of you son, men like you bring honour House Lannister.” That was the only time he ever gave me praise, since then things have gradually been getting worse to the point where I don’t feel welcome in my own home anymore.
The tourneys I have participated in have not gone very well and even though father knows that I’m ashamed of my performance he keeps pestering me about it. I need a way to prove myself to him, is it wrong to hope that war will break out just so that I can get a chance to prove myself? Just like you did in when you conquered the Stormlands. I need to find a way to prove myself and thus I’m turning to you for advice, is there anything that I could do which would make my father proud of me again?
Your friend,
Lyman
Lyman folded the parchment together and sealed it. He is about to leave for the rookery when his mother enters.
She looks at him with her kind, blue eyes and then hugs him. “I heard what your father said… you know he does not mean everything he says when he gets angry. Both he and I love you.” She said.
“I know mother, I’m fine, trust me.” Lyman did not like bothering her mother about his troubles; her gentle heart had enough to bear already. He kissed her on the forehead and continued on to the rookery.
A few days later he received a reply from Orys.
Dear Lyman,
If I could give my younger self some advice it would be this: do not look to hard for your father's approval. Make your own destiny and do not worry how others feel. I had a complicated relationship with my father but I knew that he was proud of me deep down in his soul. I am sure your father feels the same way. How could he not- you are one of the finest knights in all of Westeros. Squiring me is much more difficult then for some fat reach lord. You endured physical punishment daily and simultaneously displayed conduct befitting a knight.
As for your question about war- war is the purest human endeavor. All the hopes, dreams, and fears of a man can be cut down in one second by a single man's blade. The destiny of a man or a kingdom can be decided in a single day of battle. The Freehold and her empire were built from the flames of conquering dragons and the ashes of war. Our reborn empire in Westeros was built in much the same way. But war also imposes a terrible cost. Entire generations and cultures can be wiped from the face of the earth. Bountiful fields can be turned to waste, never to be reborn. Progress achieved over the course of centuries can be destroyed in a single war. Look at what happened to the Rhoynar or the Free Cities during the wars of the Bleeding Years to see the cost of war. Though our kingdom was built with fire and steel, my brother and I endeavor to keep the peace on this continent and end the constant wars that have plagued the former seven kingdoms for centuries. We hope the new kingdom shall usher in an era of unprecedented peace and prosperity not seen since Valyria. But war cannot be avoided for long and our work is unfinished. I cannot reveal much to you by raven but I will till you to keep your eyes looking south. Just remember that war is like a dragon- a very fine and powerful creature that can build civilizations but it can just as easily destroy them if you are not careful.
Keep up your spirits, my young friend, and remember all the skills and valiant qualities you possess. Tournaments do not properly judge a man's skill, courage, or virtue. I will let you in on a secret- tournaments are tools used by lords to control the aggression of their vassals and awe the smallfolk. Do not fret about trivialities or let the whispers of lesser men affect you. Focus on the qualities of your character and ask yourself what you can do to improve the realm instead of seeking empty vanity in the jousting tilts.
Your brother-in-arms,
Orys
Credits and thanks to Andre for writing a reply to my letter
Receiving this reply from his friend and mentor was a comfort for Lyman. He hoped that Orys would be around for many years longer to provide him advice for when he was going to assume the responsibility as Lord of Casterly Rock and head of House Lannister. It was his destiny after all, what he was born and raised for.
House of Arryn
7 AL – 11 AL
A tourney was held in the Scorched Vale, run by Lord Criston of Blackholm. Ronnel entered it himself out of curiosity in regards to how well he would do, after his training with Aegon the Conqueror. As it so happened, Ronnel managed to get far into the ranks of the jousting, but was ultimately defeated by Ser Marwyn Hersy. The blow was rather hard, and from his position on the dusty ground Ronnel could hear the collective gasp of the crowd, and see the panicked look from Ser Marwyn, obviously worried that he had just harmed his lord paramount greatly and would receive a punishment for it. Ronnel, however, took the fall with grace, forcing himself up and waving to the crowd to let them know he was alright. Then he walked over and greeted Ser Marwyn, congratulating him on a job well done. Ronnel had managed to come to third place, receiving many honors and, upon return to the Eyrie, receiving his knightly anointing from Septon Dennard.
For much of his early rule, Ronnel focused on internal matters. He developed more farmland within his desmense, and funded an extension of the defenses at the Bloody Gate. Ronnel had absolutely no desire to extend the influence of the Vale beyond its borders, nor abuse its citizens for his own personal gain, nor conspire against his liege. As a result, the people of the Vale quickly began to love their lord paramount, and much of the nobility around many corners of Westeros began to respect Ronnel as well. The Vale was a part of the Seven Kingdoms where peace reigned and no threat was perceived.
Because of Ronnel's dignity and peaceful wisdom, many in the Vale desired to work directly in his court. Men from all over came and requested to enter into his service. Among them was one Pearse of Wingpass, a middle aged man from Heart's Home, a castle to the southwest of Snakewood, in the northeast section of the Vale. He came to the Eyrie and asked for an audience with Lord Arryn, which Ronnel granted in a private chamber in the Maiden's Tower. Pearse was a man skilled in coinage, with some taste of the martial arts, and therefore Ronnel immediately saw the potential in him.
“By the gods, I have difficulties with Lord Corbray,” Pearse explained, “he doesn't want me to advance. He wants to give his friends and allies such a position! Seven hells, he would not grant me a position on his council if I were Aegon himself!”
Ronnel listened quietly and patiently, nodding every now and then, to let Pearse know he had his ear. He was fairly certain that Lord Corbray was not as bad as Pearse made him out to be, but he could understand how a man would be frustrated not seeing any advancement in his life, after so many years of service. After much more discussion, Ronnel walked over and placed a hand on Pearse's shoulder, saying:
“I understand your frustration, Pearse. You are, of course, welcome here, and I will assist you in your transition here, as well as compensate Lord Corbray for any loss he may have by your move. What's more, I would like to give you the position of Master of Coin for the Vale, if you would accept it.”
“Ah, thank you, my lord,” Pearse said, grinning so broadly his mustache curved into a hair “m.” He knelt down and kissed Ronnel by his ring, which caused the lord paramount to feel rather silly – he was not the High Septon, after all. He quietly dismissed Pearse, wishing him safe travels, and was surprised to find his company with the man immediately replaced by a woman: Rienne, the lowborne courtier who had shown the audacity to grab his groin during the bedding. She was wearing a cloak over her body, and smiling sweetly at Ronnel with a certain gleam in her eye.
Ronnel raised an eyebrow, eying the courtier up and down as he asked, “Yes? What is it, Rienne?”
Rienne gently reached out and shut the door of the chamber, not speaking until it was shut, “I wanted to talk to you about your marriage, m'lord.”
“What of it?” Suddenly, Ronnel was feeling very defensive – much more than he ever had during his training to be a knight. Part of him felt like a traveler on the road ambushed by the mountain tribesmen.
“Oh my, it is hot in here,” Rienne said. She undid her cloak and let it drape in an unused chair nearby – revealing a bodice that was slightly undone at the top, revealing much more than most women would have permitted. “Forgive me, m'lord, for barging in like this, but surely you are not fully happy with your marriage?”
“I am happy as can be, actually,” Ronnel replied.
The courtier giggled to herself, taking a few steps as she held her arms at the wrists, fluttering her eyelashes at the lord paramount, “But m'lord, she is a Tyrell woman. They are made for prancing about the court, not rolling around in the bed. I know that you surely are not having the experiences at night that most men would prefer.”
“There is more to marriage than what happens in a bed,” Ronnel replied. “And Lady Valiete treats me with the dignity a husband deserves.”
“She is nothing but a pretty thing of Highgarden,” Rienne said, moving closer to Ronnel now, “not a mountain woman of the Vale, which I know is what you need. I am looking out for you, m'lord...” Her arms were now going around Ronnel's neck, her fingertips slipping into the strands of his hair, and the lord paramount was suddenly aware that her front was pressing against his own. “I want to give you what you need, when you need...”
Ronnel was a man, and like most men, he had temptations. He had desires. He had weaknesses. Rienne was not an unattractive woman, and here she was, throwing her body at him and saying it was all his for the taking. Her lips were now close enough that he could reach out and kiss her, and his arms could easily rise up and rip open her bodice and proceed with what his body was beginning to ache for. It was all there...
...and yet, he thought back to his wedding day. He thought of how dignified and noble Valiete looked as her haunting blue eyes looked up at him when she said her vows, and how they looked at him as an equal when he said his own. He thought of their first night together, and how, despite both being virgins, it had seemed so wonderful. What was it Septon Dennard had said at the wedding? What were they now? Man and wife. One flesh. One heart. One soul. Now and forever. He thought back to when she had leaned her head forward to accept the bridal cloak bearing the standard of House Arryn: she had done so willingly, and with no demands or pretense on her part.
“What is wrong, m'lord?” Rienne suddenly asked. “Why do you hesitate? Don't you think I could please you...?”
Ronnel's response was curt and audible, “You are dismissed, Rienne.”
Rienne's eyes widened. Ronnel had not slapped her, but her expression acted as if he just had, “W-what, m'lord...?”
“You are dismissed, Rienne,” Ronnel said, gently taking her arms off his shoulders, “his lordship no longer has need of you.”
The courtier's eyes welled with tears, but somehow she kept her composure. She walked over to her cloak, placing it back around her shoulders and leaving without another word. She did not even turn to make eye contact. A tinge of guilt came over Ronnel, as he was certain there would have been more tactful ways to handle it, but he did not want his lust to linger any more than it already had in this situation: a little kindling creates a great fire.
He left the Maiden's Tower and went to his personal chambers. Stopping at the doorway, he looked in and saw Valiete with Myranda. His wife was on the bed, laying face down and resting her chin on her hands, looking down at their several-months-old daughter and saying sweet, gentle things to her, while the infant looked about with curious, wandering eyes. Ronnel found himself leaning against the doorway, studying the scene, and feeling happy for what he had. Slowly his eyes looked up to his wife's face, studying its beauty, its nobility. She was his wife, and he was her husband...and cursed be the one who comes between them...
His duties as lord paramount continued. The Vale was fairly peaceful, but the Seven Kingdoms itself experienced a peasant uprising in December of 9AL. About two thousand smallfolk had risen up in Rayonet, led by a Riverman named Lyonel. Ronnel sent a raven to King's Landing, asking if any help was needed, to which the Iron Throne replied that this revolt would be no problem at all. The Vale sent no troops, though Ronnel kept an eye on the rebellion, and told Aegon that he would send troops to stop them should they draw too close to the Bloody Gate. As it was, Aegon crushed the revolt easily, and the smallfolk army was dispersed in February of 10 AL. While this was going on, Ronnel arranged a marriage between his nephew, Guston Arryn, and Lady Ravella, a young member of the Baratheon family, in order to secure a future alliance between the Vale and the Stormlands.
In June of 10 AL, the High Septon died, and – to the Eyrie's surprise – Septon Dennard was chosen by the highest ranking members of the Faith to take his place. Ronnel considered it a distinguished thing to now have a Valeman be seated in the Starry Sept of Oldtown, even if he would have to no longer refer to Dennard by name (as per High Septon tradition). The new court septon was Septon Jonothor of Godsroost, who was as scholarly as Septon Lucas had been, even if, after a few discussions, Ronnel had the sinking feeling that he was rather eager to tithe the people than educate them on the Seven.
A year later, an interesting conundrum dropped upon Ronnel's table: his wife's palfrey mare had stumbled near the Gates of the Moon, and they were forced to put the beast down. It was heartbreaking for Valiete, as it had been the horse that had come with her from Highgarden, and had been with her for many years. Ronnel could see how it affected his wife, and that sad look on her face was still on his heart as he went with his castellan to review potential replacements. Many horses had been brought by the local stables, all of them hoping to be the one to claim they had given the lord paramount's wife a horse. They were all of various qualities and costs, many poor and cheap and others splendid and costly.
“What do you think, my lord?” Ser Marwyn asked. “Have you reached a decision?”
Ronnel sighed, stroking the small beard he was still trying to grow on his face. There were ultimately three choices he had: an old rounsey that was the cheapest of the bunch for sure; a white palfrey mare that was of better quality, and perhaps closer to the horse Valiete had lost; and then there was the black palfrey mare that shone beautifully in the sun, and seemed to hold its head up high as if to look down on all the poorer quality horses that had dared to line themselves up. Ronnel went over to her, patting her side, and the horse seemed to turn and look at him. Instantly the lord paramount was reminded of the dignified expression his wife had borne as she walked down the aisle at their wedding.
“How much is she?” Ronnel asked the owner.
“Fifteen dragons, m'lord,” the stable master said.
“Done.”
Ser Marwyn was told to present the horse to Valiete later that day, while Ronnel attended to some affairs of state in the council room of the castle. Around the time she would have been told, Ronnel was standing on the balcony of his chambers, looking up at the sight of the Giant's Lance, seeing the clouds form around it and the other mountains, nearly blocking it from the view. Word was that winter was coming over Westeros, and so much of the court had been moved down to the Gates of the Moon in advance of the growing cold temperatures. As he looked, Ronnel heard footsteps and turned to see his wife approaching him in slow, timid movements. She was staring at him with wide blue eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“Did you buy me that horse?” she asked him.
Ronnel nodded, “Yes, my lady.”
“And why one so costly?”
Ronnel drummed his fingers a moment on the stone railing of the balcony. He looked down, hesitating a moment, as if carefully preparing each word he was going to say. Finally, he replied, “Because I care about you, my lady. Very, very much.”
Valiete's lips curled into a smile. She walked over and took Ronnel by the hands, leading him from the balcony into their room, and towards their bed. As she did, she said in a low voice, “Come with me, Ronnel. When you first made love to me, it was as my lord husband...and now, I want you to make love to be as my husband...”
Looks like the gang's all here. Nice to see the Starks and Lannisters get their day in the limelight finally
I'd also say Aegon and his older sister seem to have a nice marriage going, but yeah, seems like Lord Arryn is having himself a nice, simple life.
Which of course means they are both in for a very gruesome death some time in the future. It is westeros after all.
All part of Ronnel's nobles traits, which prompted me to make the decisions for the events
If he had less noble traits, this marriage would not be happy at all. Now what happens in the next generation of Arryns, that remains to be seen...
Yes, I was just thinking that myself reading the other responses. Funny story: I was explaining the Song of Ice and Fire series to my wife once, and when she asked me if there were any happy couples in it, I had to think long and hard to remember if there were any happy couples who either didn't die gruesome deaths or didn't end with one of the married committing adultery.
I: Lord of the North (1 - 7 AL)
"It is said that it grows so cold in the north that a man's laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death."
-Westerosi Saying
My ruling seat, Winterfell
When Aegon Targaryen was crowned by the High Septon in Kings Landing, all Six Lords Paramount of Westeros were given the opportunity to either acclaim him or make our opposition known. If I felt unable to resist his advance when Westeros was still seething with unrest, how could I think to fight him now? So long as I retained my custodianship over the North, my pride was a small price to pay for our ongoing security; as soon as we received a cage of ravens from the newly wrought Red Keep we sent our acclamation south. Hail to the King! As my eldest was already learning his basic sword drills with Lord Osric Karstark, I also proposed a betrothal; Brandon Stark with the young Valaena Targaryen. Aegon and I discussed the idea over several missives but to no avail; while she was the sole heir to the Iron Throne, Valaena would not be permitted to enter into a proper betrothal. He did however agree that when the Targaryens had a male heir and a spare, we could revisit the union. In the same time I attempted to negotiate a betrothal between my younger son and the Baratheon's young daughter Cassana but once more were rejected. It seemed these Valyrians were a haughty lot, even the bastard Targaryen scions. If we were not able to strengthen the North's position in this new artificial 'Kingdom' through ties of marriage and friendship, then we would have to do it the traditional way and so I extended the feudal obligations owed by my bannerhouses to the North.
After his father's death, the young Harren Greyjoy had been raised by Lord Harlan Tyrell of the Reach, but following his unfortunate demise at the hands of an unruly mob in Kings Landing the seven-year old asked that I take on his education rather than another soft southron. I can remember the day he rode into Winterfell in the midst of his party, a young black-haired boy that some were already saying lived square under the Stranger's gaze given the demise of two father figures in as many years. Perhaps that was another reason why none of the leading southern lords were too eager to risk tutoring the lad, but I trusted in the strength of the old gods to ward away any curse that might follow him about. I met him in the courtyard with my family around me and I introduced him to young Brandon. The two boys were around the same age and would grow up together under my tutelage. With luck the two would remain friends when my son rose to my seat after me, for while they held different faiths they had so much in common! Time passed and the laughter of children became a common sound around the fortress as the two boys became boon companions and brave brothers in arms, though Harren was seen on occasion in dark corners torturing rats. Some of my council raised concerns about this, but I told them to let him have his fun. It wasn't as though there were any shortage of rats in Winterfell, were there?
Winters in the North are long and harsh, with thousands frequently dying of starvation before the spring came. A wise lord began setting aside between a quarter and a fifth of each harvest from the day the maesters first sent word that autumn had begun, but even so in the longer winters that lasted years the storehouses rarely proved sufficient. To that end I directed that new lands be cultivated in excess of our usual requirements and also that 'glass gardens' should be constructed close by the hot springs of Winterfell so that we could retain at least some harvest even in the harshest of winters. As our words told us, Winter was always coming and it behooved us to be ready for it. With our ties to Pyke growing closer it still came as a surprise when young Harren approached me to ask if his friend Brandon could one day wed Harren's sister Shierle. Regretfully I informed him this would not be possible as Brandon was already promised to Valaena upon the arrival of her as-yet unborn brother. However Jorah was as yet unpromised, and so a Pact of Ice and Iron was formed to tie our lands together in common effort for the days ahead.
The Pact of Ice and Iron
Fortunately just as the work was completed a white raven arrived to inform us that Winter was over; the snows were gradually beginning to lift and soon we would be able to plant and recover from the cold and conquest. Through my teachings and those of the other councilors present in Winterfell my son Brandon was growing up just and fair. He made me so proud and so I approached Aegon once more when a second daughter was born and sought to betrothe my eldest to either daughter. A son would surely come, and this way he would have no inheritance issues to worry about - right? Apparently not, for the Dragon King again rejected my suit; only when a son was born would I have my betrothal. My matrimonial ambitions balked, I devoted my time to training my young wards in more advanced sword drills. Time passed, and at last word reached me of the birth of Maelon Targaryen; a lanky but sickly babe, the young Dragonprince would one day sit the Iron Throne. The royal succession was secure, Aegon's preconditions met. I began to scribe yet another letter to the Conqueror to settle our previous discussions - but just then an announcement rained out across the land; Valaena, firstborn of Aegon and his sisters, was betrothed to the Tyrell heir. Damn it, Aegon!
Two weeks' concentrated negotiation was enough to settle the question of my son's betrothal. Instead of a Dragon, the Wolf and the Lion would be joined with his wedding to Lady Lanna, firstborn daughter of the Lord of Casterly Rock. I received an invitation to a royal feast in the new capital of the realm and grudgingly accepted - but before I set out south along the Kingsroad I gave my council some specific and detailed instructions. The journey to the nascent King's Landing on Blackwater Bay was a longer one than any I had made before, far beyond the borders of the old Kingdom of Winter. The Red Keep was ablaze with pageantry as all the greatest lords and ladies of the seven kingdoms met and feasted together. I made a number of useful contacts while I was there, and managed to restore friendly ties with the Dragon King and the new Lord Paramount of the Riverlands. Somewhat surprised that the Targaryen King's Peace had held, I returned to Winterfell and examined the excellent work done by my castle's craftsmen.
I commissioned my own tomb before journeying south to King's Landing
'Black wings, black words', as the old crones say. Upon my return to Winterfell I found a raven from Storm's End bearing word of the death of young Cassana Baratheon, the daughter of the Storm King's heir and Jorah's erstwhile bride. I became somewhat reflective about the nature of mortality and spent many hours tending to the Godswood. In time I became quite the gardener; the work was steady and rewarding and gave plenty of leisure for lengthy reflection. Since the arrival of the Andals in these parts thousands of years ago, humanity had grown increasingly unlovable and this impression was only confirmed by the southron mob that robbed the Septon as he tried to distribute charity. Harren seemed to be becoming very aware of his rank in his father's absence, and one day decided to tell me that as my equal I had no right to tell him what to do in his daily life. He knew his own mind, and didn't need any of my education or my Maester's! Now, a certain authority and confidence in himself is no bad thing for a man who must oneday assert his own dominance over a number of fractious bannerhouses, but he was still my ward and I required that he respect that until such time as he was ready to be his own man; I slapped him once squarely across the face, looked down at him where he lay in the mud of the courtyard and informed him that he would remain respectful util he was a man or else I would give him a hard choice worthy of his fathers; to receive a beating at my Castellan's hands or go seek an education at the hands of another.
Harren Greyjoy is getting above himself
He was respectful enough after that, caught up in the excitement for I had been asked to come to King's Landing as King Aegon's Master of Coin and brought both my wards with me. Life in King's Landing was very different to life in the North. The Andals lived by different laws and seemed to work on different rules, with a very situational respect for authority. Before I could devote myself to the King's work however I had my own responsibilities to take care of; I directed that Jorah be raised be raised as a warrior, and that Brandon should keep training to improve his swordplay. My son proved reluctant to train and often had to be sought in some hidden corner of the palace reading when he should have been in the marshaling yard. I sighed and delivered my ruling; when he was a skilled enough swordsman that he could score three touches on Lord Karstark then he could take time away from his training - but any day he was caught away from his training before he achieved this I would beat him myself. Spare the rod, spoil the child; he proved an apt student and inside of a month he had become a ruthless warrior, prepared to use whatever tricks he needed to in order to win time at his books.
These southrons were strange in many ways to one raised in the north. They seemed to view war as some kind of game, and often played at sports of knighthood such as jousting and the grand melee. When we at King's Landing heard that Orys Baratheon was organizing a great tournament and I observed all the excitement around it, I decided that I should take part in it as well. While we in the North are not known for sporting with lances, we are no mean warriors and I felt that it was my duty to stand for them given how few northerners would usually travel so far from our home. If the royal court was ablaze with heraldry, the pageantry of the great tournament was almost beyond belief. All the southron nobility were there on parade, and my wards seemed bedazzled by half the realm at play. My first joust went fairly well as my lance drove the Rosby heir from his mount. Over the rest of the afternoon I sat with my wards and friends watching the knights ride one another down. Only the twenty-eight highest ranked knights would be eligible to compete in the grand melee, and in a tournament of this size it would be a number of rounds more before the contestants were reduced so far. I however would not be one of them, for my second joust was against Lord Colen Kellington.
The tournament at Storm's End
In the first tilt I seemed to have the upper hand over Kellington by virtue of my larger build and greater experience at war, but never having been knighted my skills with a lance proved somewhat rawer and over the next two tilts the tricks he had learnt from his knight-master before him came back to punish me. Alas in the end I found myself in the dust, owing a number of gold dragons in order to buy back my mount and armour from Lord Kellington. I would have them back within a couple of months, but it remained a chastening experience I would be reluctant to repeat. The other notable joust I recall watching subsequently was when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Aegon's friend Vhagar Greatheart, lost to Lord Dornel Hart in two stirring tilts; the lordlings of the midlands were proving their skills in play-war where they had dared not test them in the reality.
Other concerns I had at that time were more parental. Young Harren Greyjoy seemed to be increasingly envious and spiteful of those around him. If the young Connington had a new horse then he must have a new horse. If Brandon had a prestigious wife-to-be, then he must have one too; in cooperation with the councilors of Pyke I arranged that he should be betrothed to the young Lady Falia of the Reach, and yet the lad still never seemed satisfied. He always wanted more, and at last I sat him down to discuss the matter. We - or I mostly - spoke together for near an hour in the Stark chambers, and at last he said he would consider my words and try to behave more kindly toward the other children about the palace. The next morning I saw him in a shadowy corner of the palace with Brandon, torturing one of the keep girls' pet rabbits, and turned away with a sinking heart.
Some things it was better for a father not to know.
Though Harren and Brandon seemed increasingly alike, in the days ahead I stayed on Brandon and pressured him to keep training despite all the seductive lures of the palace library. I was becoming increasingly disenchanted with our new king. It seemed that despite all my attempts to befriend him, he only had time for the Valyrians who came with him from Dragonstone and a rare few southron lords. So when he asked me to send my younger son to court to educate, I tendered my apologies and sent him to Orys instead - the one man Aegon could scarce begrudge the Starks preference. While the Conqueror may have been aware of my growing dissatisfaction with his rule, he clearly knew that I remained a man of my word and so named me his Cupbearer - but my time in Kings Landing was coming to an end. I had business in the North.
My Lady has betrayed me with my Karstark cousin
In my absence serving King Aegon, my wife and my Castellan had grown increasingly close. Too close for my tastes, as despite my being in King's Landing for over a year the Lady Jonnela seemed to have once more proven her fertility. To give her some credit, the Lady did not even try to pretend that the babe was mine (as was hardly possible) but refused to divulge the name I sought. My Maester was less sanguine, and at my direct enquiry revealed the fact that my wife had been indulging in many late-night conferences with Lord Osric and so I sent orders for his immediate arrest and went to tender my resignation to my new liege. It was only weeks later when I rode into Winterfell that I learned that he had escaped my guards and fled to Karhold, raising his banners in rebellion against my justice. While I had been compelled to accept a Targaryen overlord, I had no intention of accepting this betrayal as Lord Paramount or as a husband. I ordered the raising of my own banners and led a growing army to put down the insurrection. My wife sought to speak to me before I left, but I told my guards to keep her in her chambers until I was ready to speak to her.
Taking up Ice, I rode out at the head of the levies of Winterfell along a trail to the north east. Aside from the Kingsroad most roads in the North weren't even graveled and we soon started rotating contingents from the front to the rear of the column as the tread of eight thousand feet reduced packed earth to mud. Other forces were converging under the direwolf banner from all across the region, and we paused for a few days at Dawnforest for more of our army to catch up to us. Possessed with all the military talent that had led me to name him Castellan, Osric knew better than to ride out directly against me and instead struck against one of my smaller bannerhouses - or tried to. Lord Umber was too canny for his tricks though and marched circuitously around the Karhold area until he could unite with the main army, whilst the Lady of Skagos held her forces on the safe side of the crossing. As the growing army rested in camp and I devised my strategies, my son and his friend sought out their own amusements, though the forest animals proved too hard to catch. One day I saw young Harren high up in an old ruined tower - testimony to ancient wars in the North - looking out across the treetops to the east.
As we march through Dawnforest my ward Harren decides to climb an old ruined tower...
HOUSE TYRELL
Owen Tyrell
9th through 12th Years Since Aegon's Landing
Owen Tyrell
9th through 12th Years Since Aegon's Landing
Tall oaken trees stood like dark sentinels, watching silently over the Tyrell retinue as they road along the Roseroad. It had been mere days since His Grace had told him about the death of his brother, and the sombre burden that had been laid upon his shoulders with the death of his father was magnified tenfold. With eyes as green as the forest that seemed to stretch on forever, Owen Tyrell gazed listlessly ahead, his thoughts upon what was to come. He had spent nearly half his life in the ever-growing city of King's Landing, taken from Highgarden at the age of eight to serve as Aegon's page and squire. It had been eight years since he had seen the most beautiful castle in all Westeros, built as if planted amidst the countless orchards and meadows that flourished in the Reach, and Owen could not begin to imagine what to expect upon his return home.
Home - having spent so long a time in King's Landing, that town upon the Blackwater Rush almost seemed more a home to the Tyrell lordling. Who could he claim as a friend in Highgarden? In King's Landing, Owen's sociable nature had made easy friends with the King's children and with Ronnel Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, but one stood out more than the rest. A lovely, flowering girl, Valaena had the picturesque beauty natural to the Valyrians, with lilac eyes and long silver-gold hair, and oft adorned in lavish finery to accentuate such features. From the very beginning, Owen could always be found nearby. She lacked none for her father's courage, and even learned how to use a blade from her mother, Rhaenys, all tempered by thoughtfulness behind all of her actions that Owen could not help but admire.
When Lord Tyrell reached Bitterbridge, the home of the 'Laughing Centaur', Lord Mervyn Caswell, he was welcomed with a lavish feast. As Owen supped with his vassal, a servant of his maester came hastening into hall, a message clutched tightly in hand. With wide eyes, the man bowed deeply to the lords, saying, "Milords, Maester Androw received a raven from Highgarden. Lord Edwyn of Ashford is at arms against Lady Tania Peake, and she begs Highgarden to support her rule over the Cockleswhent, which has been in her House's control for generations." A hush immediately fell over the hall upon hearing such ill news, all looking to the Tyrell lordling for how he would rule.
Lord Tyrell was stunned at such news - to think that he was to be betrothed to the daughter of the Dragon himself; and what more to the sole object of his desire, Princess Valaena. Taking a moment to try to recompose himself, Owen nodded, replying, "I-inform his Grace that I shall accept this most generous betrothal, and shall continue to serve as his most leal servant." Clearing his throat, Lord Tyrell then murmured, "I-if you'll excuse me…" And with that, hastened away, silently rejoicing over the answer to his prayers.
It had long been a custom within the Reach to deliver gifts onto the bride and groom upon the morning of their marriage, and then again after their blessed union. While Princess Valaena had been showered with countless pieces of jewellery, and gowns of silk and velvet and damask, Lord Tyrell had been granted a more varied assortment of gifts. From Lord Moryn came a great throne of rowan wood ornamented with gold, carved and chased to resemble the base of a tree, a long table of the same wood to serve for feasts in the years to come. His uncle, Lord Theodore Redwyne, brought with him dozens of casks of Arbor gold, wishing the happy couple to have a blissful wedding. Lastly of note came the loyal Lord Banfred Hightower, who presented his liege a lavish collar of steel and gold, set with rubies carved to resemble dragons and emerald roses, symbolizing the union of the two houses that Owen would serve.
Before long, the court of the Reach was gathered within the sept of Highgarden, the septry full of the sweet smelling incense from the candles burning. Seven ornate statues inlaid with precious gems watched over the nobles, while the septon stood behind an altar placed between the Father and the Mother. Dressed in a fine silken doublet of green and gold, Owen stood anxiously nearby, striving his best to appear well-poised as he had been taught in his youth. Seated amongst the front was Lord Hightower and his family, giving Lord Tyrell a reassuring smile and nod that did much to aid the lordling of the Reach. And then in came the bride.
When Princess Valaena entered through the doors, dressed in a flowing satin gown of magenta and deep violet, it was then that Owen Tyrell knew that she would be the only love of his life. To have her sitting next to him with her statuesque beauty made Lord Tyrell forget all about the troubles and burdens that had been placed upon his shoulders over the years. The two met before the altar and vows and pledges were exchanged. Soon, the Princess was stripped of her wispy cloak of fine, shadowy black silk with red dragons woven into it, and a lavish white samite cloak covered in embroidered green vines and golden roses was placed about her shoulders to replace it. No longer of House Targaryen, she would now rule over the Reach as Lady Tyrell.
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Yeah, they're both going to die. Horribly.
Very good AAR, by the way. One of the nice things about having so many people work on it is that updates come thick and fast.
Very good AAR, by the way. One of the nice things about having so many people work on it is that updates come thick and fast.