It's been too long since I wrote an AAR, and the World of Ice and Fire Book inspired me to get back into the GoT Mod. Maekar seemed like an itneresting start, so I chose to play as him. His low diplomacy and mixed traits makes him an interesting challege, as does his array of potential heirs.
The throne was uncomfortable, but Maekar liked it that way. His ancestor, King Aegon the Conqueror, had designed it so no man could sit upon it and be happy.
His council and court, as well as many lords and nobles had gathered. With his brother Aery’s dead a few months ago, it was Maekar’s first time holding court as King, and no doubt everyone wanted to view the spectacle. And with Maekar’s plans for his council, it might be one.
Below him stood his four sons and the wives of three of them, as well as their unwed sister. The newly named Prince of Dragonstone, Daeron, who Maekar had been told had been nicknamed Daeron the Drunkard, much to the King’s distaste. He loved all of his sons, but Daeron liked his whores and liked his drink, shying away from fights. Vowing to try and shape his heir into a better man before it was too late, Maekar looked to the Prince’s wife, Kiera Tumitis; formerly the wife of Maekar’s nephew Valarr, who had been Baelor’s son.
Baelor…
Feeling his grip tighten on the Iron throne, Maekar cleared his minds of those thoughts for now. Kiera’s father was Archon of Tyrosh, and her marriages into the Royal family had been part of paying off debts built up by Maekar’s grandfather’s rule, his bastard uncle’s war.
Next in the Royal Family was Aerion. Aerion. Maekar could still remember the distasteful events that led to his eldest brother’s death. Aerion was the most martial and bold of Maekar’s sons, but even the King was aware of the troubled aspects of his son’s personality, even if he was sure it was exaggerated. Next to Maekar stood his cousin and wife, Rhaegal’s daughter, Daenora. Rhaegal. Gods, he was dead too. All three of Maekar’s brothers were dead. He was all that was left.
The youngest of Maekar’s sons was next; Aegon. Deep down, Maekar knew him to be his favourite. Prince Aegon could be soft at times, and stubborn at other times, but he could be hard-working as well, and Maekar knew he possessed a strong sense of justice. With him was his wife, Bertha Blackwood, a girl as equally stubborn allegedly, who held their son Duncan.
Duncan, named after the hedge knight. Not any hedge knight. The Hedge knight. Ser Duncan the Tall.
The King’s unwed daughter and youngest child Rhae stood beside her brothers; an outgoing girl, but also lazy and Maekar knew her to have his temper.
Off to the side stood Aemon, Maekar’s third son and Maester of the citadel for Dragonstone. The smartest son, and a good man, Maekar felt himself frown; if he knew he was ever to be king, he’d never have let him become a man of the chain.
Sighing, he reckoned it was time to start affairs. He hoped he didn’t anger anyone too much, but if he did, he had his three Kingsguard infront of him; Lord Commander Alyn Connington, Ser Roland Crakehall, and Ser Willem Wylde. All good men, all good fighters, but they were close to Maekar in age and only three. Four slots needed to be filled.
“My gathered Lords and Ladies.” Years a commander had left Maekar with a voice of authority. All looked up at their new King. “With my brother’s passing, I have decreed it is time to change the council. Lord Lucifer Darklyn, come forth.”
Muttering broke out amongst the gathered nobles as the Lord of Duskendale went to one knee before the throne. A man of a paranoid mind, it was said, but also a lazy one. “You have served the realm loyally as Master of Whispers, but it is time for you to return home.”
The man managed an ‘as you wish, your grace’ before returning to his place.
‘Now time for the true controversy.’ Maekar thought grimly. His gaze fell on his hand and uncle, Brynden Bloodraven. ‘He holds a station that should have been mine. Well it’s his no longer.’
Calling the man forth, Maekar watched as he went to one knee swiftly. The King suspected the bastard had already figured out. “Brynden Bloodraven, you have done admirably as Hand of the King, but I believe all here can agree your talents best lie in your old position in the council. I hereby name you Master of Whispers.”
“Very well, your grace.” Was the cold response as the bastard looked up at the throne, allowing Maekar to see his look of disdain. Bloodraven returned to his position.
Finally, Maekar had to address the issue of the new Hand. “Lord Gerold Lannister, come forward.” The Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West, strode forward before the throne. “I offer you the position of Handship. Do you accept?” The gossiping had reached a crescendo now, but the King raised his hand and soon had silence, although it took longer than Maekar would have liked.
“I accept, your Grace.” That was good news; Lord Lannister was known as a great diplomat and administrator.
As for one final matter, the King needed to rebuild his Kingsguard. “Ser Duncan the Tall, come forward.” A gasp went up as the giant of a hedge knight made his way from the back where he had been situated. He fell to one knee.
“My son served you as a squire, and I thank you for all you have done for him. Many know you to be a great knight. I offer you a position in my Kingsguard.”
The knight looked up at the king, then to Aegon who Maekar saw nod at his friend. But the hedge knight gave a quick shake of his own head before speaking. “I’m sorry your Grace, I can’t.”
‘Refused by a hedge knight.’ Maekar thought darkly as the whispers in the crowd resumed. ‘What a wonderful start to my reign.’
King Maekar, the First of his name, inherited the throne from his brother Aerys with his death. The King’s first order of business was to rebuild his Kingsguard, which had been left with only three members. However, this proved to be a harder task than initially thought. After Ser Duncan’s refusal of the White Cloak, King Maekar reached out to the Tarths, who’s heir he had wed his eldest daughter to.
Ser Quentyn Storm, Bastard of Tarth, had a reputation as a great fighter, however when he was summoned to the capital and offered a white cloak, he too refused. This was only the start of a series of complications involving the Kingsguard.
Annoyed at men’s refusal to serve him, the King turned to other matters. His youngest daughter was still as of yet unwed and rumour started to spread King Maekar was seeking a match for his daughter. In the end, discussion came down to whether it’d be the young Lord of Highgarden, Lord Denys Tyrell, or the as of yet unwed Lord Jasper Arryn of the Vale. Many speculated the Blackfyres would be the deciding factor; while the Reach had the largest army in Westeros, but she harboured strong pro-Blackfyre feelings. Also, Lord Denys was a young man of six-and-ten, while Lord Jasper was already in his mid-twenties; his grip on his vassals was stronger.
It was for these reasons a raven flew to the Eyrie, and soon it was announced Princess Rhae Targaryen was to marry Lord Jasper Arryn. However, even this would be joyous occasion was marred. A dowry was tradition, and the King fully intended to respect that to make a good showing for his vassals. However, years of a bookish King and a Hand more intrested in intrigue than finance had left the Royal coffers not empty, but not overflowing either, and the dowry sent was half of what one would expect for a Princess. Lord Arryn was said to not be pleased.
And only days after Princess Rhae left for the Vale did the next problem arise; rather suddenly, Lord Commander Alyn Connington, who some called the Pale Griffin died. This reduced the Kingsguard to but two sole members, Wylde and Crakehall.
The King sent ravens and riders all over the realm with a renewed effort to find men to don the white cloak. Ideally he had wanted young, noble men who were skilled, but in his three choices each was lacking one of these traits. First came Ser Denys Pyror, a man of thirty but thankfully unwed. He carried a reputation as not only a skilled fighter, but as an honourable man, and choosing him was a boon to the Vale, hopefully healing any upset over the Dowry. Maekar’s first appointment to the Kingsguard couldn’t be more ideal. Maekar then turned to Storm’s End next. Ser Richard Baratheon wasn’t skilled in fighting, but he was competent and possessed his family’s strength. However Maekar was most interested in his name, as having a Baratheon in his Kingsguard would give it a fresh prestige.
However, Baratheon refused the White Cloak, and Maekar turned to someone quite the opposite. Rather than a son of a Lord Paramount, the King seeked out a young household knight in Harroway’s Town. Ser Florian was a man of five-and-twenty, known for his devotion and, despite such little wealth of his own, his charity. It was also said he was skilled with the blade, which lead to him being summoned to court and, to the King’s relief, accepting the white cloak.
Ser Rolland Crakehall was named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; such a man of strong health was expected to serve for at least another decade. And yet only a week later he died. Whispers started to spread across court; this was Bloodraven’s revenge! Prince Aerion was killing off these men to fill his father’s Kingsguard with lesser men, to make it easier to kill him! Other’s said it was the new Lord Commander, Willem Wylde, but this was most unlikely, as Ser Willem had a reputation to be the most honourable and honest man in the realm. Finally, some claimed it to be King Maekar himself, who was set on building his own Kingsguard. All of these rumours, however, were unfounded.
And anyway, they were drowned out by biggest event since the Blackfyre rebellion.
The young whore stood nervously in the room, unsure of what to expect. It was a lush, beautiful room; a Myrish rug on the floor, a set of expensive swords hung up as decoration, even a white lion pelt to be shown off as well. In truth, she had heard all of the nasty rumours surrounding Prince Aerion, but she had been desperate for money and the Prince was paying well, so she had swallowed her fears and told herself she could deal with any eccentricities in the bedroom the Prince’s wife was unwilling to give. Aerion’s goons had smuggled her into the manse on the outskirts of the city.
Marya jumped as the door suddenly opened, and two figures walked in, a man and a woman. The woman held a small box, the man a knife. Her heart thundering, Marya’s fears started to return.
“Ah the sweet little thing my friends have fetched me.” Drawled the man, who Marya now realised was Prince Aerion. His hair was silver and his eyes a deep and dark purple; he stood tall and proud, as a Prince was want to do. His companion had the same silver hair and purple eyes, if they were a few shades lighter. She looked to be Marya’s age, and the whore figured out she was the Prince’s wife, Daenora Targaryen.
‘Oh, so that’s it. They both want to be pleased.’ However doubts remained as her gaze returned to the knife. Slowly, like a cat, the Prince approached and roughly shoved her down on to the bed, his wife behind him. He opened the box, but his figure blocked her view. However when Aerion turned around once more, she was relieved to see the knife was gone. ‘Maybe he wants her to watch?’ Marya thought as the Prince climbed on top of her, while Daenora moved to the side of the bed. The harsh kisses from Aerion distracted her, but she could swear she could hear the clicking of latches. The Prince arose from her lips, back straight as he looked down. Suddenly, a strange stone was placed in his arms. No not stone, an egg. A dragon egg…
Aerion placed it on Marya’s belly, who was now very confused. Daenora produced a jug and handed it to her husband, who poured it onto Marya. The liquid was green and nothing like Marya had ever seen or felt. “My houses words are fire and blood. And fire and blood will return our glory.” Aerion told Marya, a crazed look in her eyes. A pain like being punched hit her stomach, and the whore looked down to see Daenora had stabbed her. She let out a breathless scream as Daenora stabbed her four more times, blood mingling with the strange liquid. Any attempts to throw off Aerion were useless, but the Prince got off her as she strength seeped out of her. The royals stood aside, Daenora now holding a candle. “We thank you for your service to House Targaryen, as well as anyone else who perishes tonight. A begging word of mercy tried to force its way out of Marya, but it was pointless as the Princess threw the candle on her and she lit up in fire.
Aerion and Daenora rushed from the room as the fire spread, quickly making their way to observe the flames from a hopefully safe distance.
When morning broke, the mewling of a newly hatched dragon filled the air.
The Iron Dragon
Chapter One: A Rough Start to a Reign, 221 AC
Chapter One: A Rough Start to a Reign, 221 AC
The throne was uncomfortable, but Maekar liked it that way. His ancestor, King Aegon the Conqueror, had designed it so no man could sit upon it and be happy.
His council and court, as well as many lords and nobles had gathered. With his brother Aery’s dead a few months ago, it was Maekar’s first time holding court as King, and no doubt everyone wanted to view the spectacle. And with Maekar’s plans for his council, it might be one.
Below him stood his four sons and the wives of three of them, as well as their unwed sister. The newly named Prince of Dragonstone, Daeron, who Maekar had been told had been nicknamed Daeron the Drunkard, much to the King’s distaste. He loved all of his sons, but Daeron liked his whores and liked his drink, shying away from fights. Vowing to try and shape his heir into a better man before it was too late, Maekar looked to the Prince’s wife, Kiera Tumitis; formerly the wife of Maekar’s nephew Valarr, who had been Baelor’s son.
Baelor…
Feeling his grip tighten on the Iron throne, Maekar cleared his minds of those thoughts for now. Kiera’s father was Archon of Tyrosh, and her marriages into the Royal family had been part of paying off debts built up by Maekar’s grandfather’s rule, his bastard uncle’s war.
Next in the Royal Family was Aerion. Aerion. Maekar could still remember the distasteful events that led to his eldest brother’s death. Aerion was the most martial and bold of Maekar’s sons, but even the King was aware of the troubled aspects of his son’s personality, even if he was sure it was exaggerated. Next to Maekar stood his cousin and wife, Rhaegal’s daughter, Daenora. Rhaegal. Gods, he was dead too. All three of Maekar’s brothers were dead. He was all that was left.
The youngest of Maekar’s sons was next; Aegon. Deep down, Maekar knew him to be his favourite. Prince Aegon could be soft at times, and stubborn at other times, but he could be hard-working as well, and Maekar knew he possessed a strong sense of justice. With him was his wife, Bertha Blackwood, a girl as equally stubborn allegedly, who held their son Duncan.
Duncan, named after the hedge knight. Not any hedge knight. The Hedge knight. Ser Duncan the Tall.
The King’s unwed daughter and youngest child Rhae stood beside her brothers; an outgoing girl, but also lazy and Maekar knew her to have his temper.
Off to the side stood Aemon, Maekar’s third son and Maester of the citadel for Dragonstone. The smartest son, and a good man, Maekar felt himself frown; if he knew he was ever to be king, he’d never have let him become a man of the chain.
Sighing, he reckoned it was time to start affairs. He hoped he didn’t anger anyone too much, but if he did, he had his three Kingsguard infront of him; Lord Commander Alyn Connington, Ser Roland Crakehall, and Ser Willem Wylde. All good men, all good fighters, but they were close to Maekar in age and only three. Four slots needed to be filled.
“My gathered Lords and Ladies.” Years a commander had left Maekar with a voice of authority. All looked up at their new King. “With my brother’s passing, I have decreed it is time to change the council. Lord Lucifer Darklyn, come forth.”
Muttering broke out amongst the gathered nobles as the Lord of Duskendale went to one knee before the throne. A man of a paranoid mind, it was said, but also a lazy one. “You have served the realm loyally as Master of Whispers, but it is time for you to return home.”
The man managed an ‘as you wish, your grace’ before returning to his place.
‘Now time for the true controversy.’ Maekar thought grimly. His gaze fell on his hand and uncle, Brynden Bloodraven. ‘He holds a station that should have been mine. Well it’s his no longer.’
Calling the man forth, Maekar watched as he went to one knee swiftly. The King suspected the bastard had already figured out. “Brynden Bloodraven, you have done admirably as Hand of the King, but I believe all here can agree your talents best lie in your old position in the council. I hereby name you Master of Whispers.”
“Very well, your grace.” Was the cold response as the bastard looked up at the throne, allowing Maekar to see his look of disdain. Bloodraven returned to his position.
Finally, Maekar had to address the issue of the new Hand. “Lord Gerold Lannister, come forward.” The Lord of Casterly Rock, and Warden of the West, strode forward before the throne. “I offer you the position of Handship. Do you accept?” The gossiping had reached a crescendo now, but the King raised his hand and soon had silence, although it took longer than Maekar would have liked.
“I accept, your Grace.” That was good news; Lord Lannister was known as a great diplomat and administrator.
As for one final matter, the King needed to rebuild his Kingsguard. “Ser Duncan the Tall, come forward.” A gasp went up as the giant of a hedge knight made his way from the back where he had been situated. He fell to one knee.
“My son served you as a squire, and I thank you for all you have done for him. Many know you to be a great knight. I offer you a position in my Kingsguard.”
The knight looked up at the king, then to Aegon who Maekar saw nod at his friend. But the hedge knight gave a quick shake of his own head before speaking. “I’m sorry your Grace, I can’t.”
‘Refused by a hedge knight.’ Maekar thought darkly as the whispers in the crowd resumed. ‘What a wonderful start to my reign.’
***
King Maekar, the First of his name, inherited the throne from his brother Aerys with his death. The King’s first order of business was to rebuild his Kingsguard, which had been left with only three members. However, this proved to be a harder task than initially thought. After Ser Duncan’s refusal of the White Cloak, King Maekar reached out to the Tarths, who’s heir he had wed his eldest daughter to.
Ser Quentyn Storm, Bastard of Tarth, had a reputation as a great fighter, however when he was summoned to the capital and offered a white cloak, he too refused. This was only the start of a series of complications involving the Kingsguard.
Annoyed at men’s refusal to serve him, the King turned to other matters. His youngest daughter was still as of yet unwed and rumour started to spread King Maekar was seeking a match for his daughter. In the end, discussion came down to whether it’d be the young Lord of Highgarden, Lord Denys Tyrell, or the as of yet unwed Lord Jasper Arryn of the Vale. Many speculated the Blackfyres would be the deciding factor; while the Reach had the largest army in Westeros, but she harboured strong pro-Blackfyre feelings. Also, Lord Denys was a young man of six-and-ten, while Lord Jasper was already in his mid-twenties; his grip on his vassals was stronger.
It was for these reasons a raven flew to the Eyrie, and soon it was announced Princess Rhae Targaryen was to marry Lord Jasper Arryn. However, even this would be joyous occasion was marred. A dowry was tradition, and the King fully intended to respect that to make a good showing for his vassals. However, years of a bookish King and a Hand more intrested in intrigue than finance had left the Royal coffers not empty, but not overflowing either, and the dowry sent was half of what one would expect for a Princess. Lord Arryn was said to not be pleased.
And only days after Princess Rhae left for the Vale did the next problem arise; rather suddenly, Lord Commander Alyn Connington, who some called the Pale Griffin died. This reduced the Kingsguard to but two sole members, Wylde and Crakehall.
The King sent ravens and riders all over the realm with a renewed effort to find men to don the white cloak. Ideally he had wanted young, noble men who were skilled, but in his three choices each was lacking one of these traits. First came Ser Denys Pyror, a man of thirty but thankfully unwed. He carried a reputation as not only a skilled fighter, but as an honourable man, and choosing him was a boon to the Vale, hopefully healing any upset over the Dowry. Maekar’s first appointment to the Kingsguard couldn’t be more ideal. Maekar then turned to Storm’s End next. Ser Richard Baratheon wasn’t skilled in fighting, but he was competent and possessed his family’s strength. However Maekar was most interested in his name, as having a Baratheon in his Kingsguard would give it a fresh prestige.
However, Baratheon refused the White Cloak, and Maekar turned to someone quite the opposite. Rather than a son of a Lord Paramount, the King seeked out a young household knight in Harroway’s Town. Ser Florian was a man of five-and-twenty, known for his devotion and, despite such little wealth of his own, his charity. It was also said he was skilled with the blade, which lead to him being summoned to court and, to the King’s relief, accepting the white cloak.
Ser Rolland Crakehall was named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard; such a man of strong health was expected to serve for at least another decade. And yet only a week later he died. Whispers started to spread across court; this was Bloodraven’s revenge! Prince Aerion was killing off these men to fill his father’s Kingsguard with lesser men, to make it easier to kill him! Other’s said it was the new Lord Commander, Willem Wylde, but this was most unlikely, as Ser Willem had a reputation to be the most honourable and honest man in the realm. Finally, some claimed it to be King Maekar himself, who was set on building his own Kingsguard. All of these rumours, however, were unfounded.
And anyway, they were drowned out by biggest event since the Blackfyre rebellion.
***
The young whore stood nervously in the room, unsure of what to expect. It was a lush, beautiful room; a Myrish rug on the floor, a set of expensive swords hung up as decoration, even a white lion pelt to be shown off as well. In truth, she had heard all of the nasty rumours surrounding Prince Aerion, but she had been desperate for money and the Prince was paying well, so she had swallowed her fears and told herself she could deal with any eccentricities in the bedroom the Prince’s wife was unwilling to give. Aerion’s goons had smuggled her into the manse on the outskirts of the city.
Marya jumped as the door suddenly opened, and two figures walked in, a man and a woman. The woman held a small box, the man a knife. Her heart thundering, Marya’s fears started to return.
“Ah the sweet little thing my friends have fetched me.” Drawled the man, who Marya now realised was Prince Aerion. His hair was silver and his eyes a deep and dark purple; he stood tall and proud, as a Prince was want to do. His companion had the same silver hair and purple eyes, if they were a few shades lighter. She looked to be Marya’s age, and the whore figured out she was the Prince’s wife, Daenora Targaryen.
‘Oh, so that’s it. They both want to be pleased.’ However doubts remained as her gaze returned to the knife. Slowly, like a cat, the Prince approached and roughly shoved her down on to the bed, his wife behind him. He opened the box, but his figure blocked her view. However when Aerion turned around once more, she was relieved to see the knife was gone. ‘Maybe he wants her to watch?’ Marya thought as the Prince climbed on top of her, while Daenora moved to the side of the bed. The harsh kisses from Aerion distracted her, but she could swear she could hear the clicking of latches. The Prince arose from her lips, back straight as he looked down. Suddenly, a strange stone was placed in his arms. No not stone, an egg. A dragon egg…
Aerion placed it on Marya’s belly, who was now very confused. Daenora produced a jug and handed it to her husband, who poured it onto Marya. The liquid was green and nothing like Marya had ever seen or felt. “My houses words are fire and blood. And fire and blood will return our glory.” Aerion told Marya, a crazed look in her eyes. A pain like being punched hit her stomach, and the whore looked down to see Daenora had stabbed her. She let out a breathless scream as Daenora stabbed her four more times, blood mingling with the strange liquid. Any attempts to throw off Aerion were useless, but the Prince got off her as she strength seeped out of her. The royals stood aside, Daenora now holding a candle. “We thank you for your service to House Targaryen, as well as anyone else who perishes tonight. A begging word of mercy tried to force its way out of Marya, but it was pointless as the Princess threw the candle on her and she lit up in fire.
Aerion and Daenora rushed from the room as the fire spread, quickly making their way to observe the flames from a hopefully safe distance.
When morning broke, the mewling of a newly hatched dragon filled the air.
- 2
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