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Aidun

First Lieutenant
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May 27, 2012
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Good readers of AARland. We writers of Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, along with a few additions to our merry band, have returned to our roots by starting a new game, using slightly edited save and a different starting date. It is with pleasure that I finally write these words and present to you our new scenario, taking place during King Daeron the Young Dragon's Conquest of Dorne.

Our game begins in 157, just when Daeron ascends to the throne and decides as his first act as King of the Iron Throne to bring Dorne into the fold and unite all of Westeros, something which even his ancestor Aegon the Conqueror failed to do.

Our players and their previous work:
Aidun (Targaryen): Houses Targaryen & Baratheon in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, The Little Cub (Game of Thrones AAR)
Andrzej I (Stark): Houses Tyrell & Targaryen in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, Gesta Capetingorum, Ætheling - An Anglo-Saxon CK2+ AAR
cyrilreom (Tyrell): House Greyjoy in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, The Line of Rhaegar - AGoT AAR
EtzelHoveri (Lannister): House Martell in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR,From Lords to Kings, The White Book, Tales of Tyrol & Aegon's Conquest AGOT AAR
Saxon125 (Greyjoy): House Tyrell in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR , The Pendragon Chronicles, The Italian Boot
Andre Massena (Martell): House Baratheon in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, Fraticelli For the Win
dragoon1905 (Baratheon): The Annionas of Austria (Megacampaign), Anniona Universalis (Pt. 2), Anniona and Iron (Pt. 3)
Quark8 (Arryn): The Mad Stag (Game of Thrones AAR)
CABRALFAN27 (Tully): Devoted citizen of AARland
Zamarak (Lannister): Player from GoT - Game of Kings roleplay group

Asphyxion (Manderly): House Lannister in Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR, A Rising Star (A Game of Thrones AAR)
Fylcir (Kingsguard: Leader of GoT - Game of Kings roleplay group
President Cucumber (Hightower): Player from CK2 Game of Thrones MP
Dumbledore (Lefford): Player from CK2 Game of Thrones MP
yoshi98 (Oakheart): House Osgrey Lords of Standfast ASOIAF AAR, House Grafton of Gulltown, House Piast : The White Eagles of the East
Twilight Array 17 (Frey): The Lonely Fawn
 
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Table of contents
Players of each session
Session 1
Years 157-159 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: Aidun
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: EtzelHoveri
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: -
Martell: Andre Massena
Greyjoy: Saxon

High Lords:
Hightower: President Cucumber
Manderly: Asphyxion
Lefford: Dumbledore

--

Session 2
Years 159-166 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: Aidun
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: -
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: Quark
Greyjoy: Saxon

High Lords:
Kingsguard: Fylcir
Martell: Andre Massena
Oakheart: yoshi98
Hightower: President Cucumber

--

Session 3
Years 166-172 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: Aidun
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Zamarak
Tully: -
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: Quark
Greyjoy: -

High Lords:
Hightower: President Cucumber
Manderly: Asphyxion

--

Session 4
Years 172 - 179 AL

Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: Aidun
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Zamarak
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: -
High Lords:
Hightower: President Cucumber

--

Session 5
Years 179 - 184 AL

Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: Aidun
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Zamarak
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: Quark

High Lords:
Hightower: President Cucumber
Martell: cosme
Rosby: Beladriel
--

Session 6
Years 184 - 192 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: President Cucumber
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Zamarak
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: Quark
Blackfyre: Aidun

High Lords:
Frey: Twilight Array 17
--

Session 7
Years 192 - 197 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: President Cucumber
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Saxon
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: -
Blackfyre: Aidun

High Lords:
Martell: cosme
Lothston: Siralus
--

Session 8
Years 197 - 201 AL


Lord Paramounts:
Targaryen: President Cucumber
Stark: Andrzej I
Baratheon: dragoon9105
Lannister: Saxon
Tully: cabralfan27
Tyrell: cyrileom
Arryn: Quark
Blackfyre: Aidun
Martell: cosme

High Lords:
Lothston: Siralus
Darry: Zamarak
Dayne: Dohaeris
 
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House Targaryen
Year 157 After Landing
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Prologue
King's Landing, not long after Daeron the Young Dragon's departure to war.​
--
The crude handiwork of Aegon the Conqueror rested on its pedestal as it had for the past century and half. The Iron Throne was both a marvelous and terrifying creation, a seat of kings made from the swords of his fallen enemies, forged and melted together by dragonfire. An ageing prince stood before it as he'd done so many times, just gazing at it in awe.

After Aegon the Conqueror's death his kingdom, crown, sword and throne had passed to his sons, and their sons after them - all the way to this day. Viserys Targaryen had been but a boy when his mother and uncle brought a civil war to Westeros over that crude seat. 'The Dance of Dragons', it was called now six-and-twenty years later, thanks to still living Grand Maester Munkun's written retelling of those days.

The claimants Queen Rhaenyra and King Aegon fought one another to win the throne for themselves, but in the end neither of lived to see end of the war. The Iron Throne instead passed to Viserys' old brother Aegon, third of his name: a mentally scarred boy who'd seen his mother being devoured to shreds and eaten by his namesake uncle's dragon.

My mother's legacy to my elder brother was a divided kingdom, Viserys thought. Aegon was never loved by his subjects, and six-and-twenty years have not been enough to heal old wounds. His brother had never smiled again after seeing their mother die and had forever dressed in black, for such was the color of his soul after their mother's death. The thought made Viserys sad. The memories of old had haunted his brother for all his life, a life which he'd been robbed a moon's turn ago by a sudden illness.

The seat before Viserys had passed to his nephew Daeron, who people of Westeros had dubbed 'Young Dragon.' A green boy who has yet to earn his vassals' respect, he thought. But Daeron had not sat on the Iron Throne for long. That task now belonged to Viserys himself, for his nephew had kept him as the Hand of the King like his father before him. As Daeron rides either to another folly in the long history of my house or to actually write history, it is my task to rule in his stead.

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(The day Daeron Targaryen inherited the Iron Throne was the day he let his plans for the annexation of Dorne be known. The seat remains empty, but will the Young Dragon return to claim it?)
When the Young Dragon was crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms, the words had left a bitter taste in his mouth. ''Six kingdoms, perhaps, but not seven,'', he'd been known to have said. ''It is a lie, even if an unintended one. But I mean to correct it.'' By that he meant conquering Dorne, the southernmost region of Westeros. A kingdom of deserts, ruled by a Martell prince in Sunspear. It was the only part of Westeros that Aegon the Conqueror had failed to add to his realm. Unlike knights of Reach, Westerlands and Stormlands who'd faced Aegon's dragons in an open battle and died for it, the Dornish hid at the sight of his beasts, only to strike from the shadows and let the burning sun and dry deserts of Dorne do the rest.

The war for Dorne during the Conquest was ended inconclusively as Rhaenys Targaryen failed to bend the Dornish to her will. 'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken', sounded the Martell words. The Dornish War, fought four years later, had claimed her and her dragon's life. It had also seen Orys Baratheon, the king's half-brother and founder of House Baratheon of Stormlands, maimed for life. The Dornish had trapped his host in the narrow passages of Boneway, blocking his way forward and back. When Aegon's trusted Hand finally yielded to spare his men's life, the Dornish had cut off his and his companions' swordhands cut off to make sure they would not be raised against Dorne ever again.

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(Even dragons could not defeat the Dornish. Unbowed, unbent and unbroken they were, and even more so after the death of Rhaenys Targaryen and her dragon Meraxes)
That the Hand of the King was taken his hand was ultimate mockery towards King Aegon the First. It was a thing he did not go lightly upon. Every Dornish keeps with the exception of Sunspear were burned in dragonfire during the nine years that the war lasted, for vengeance over Aegon's dead sister-wife and the treatment of his half-brother. But as Dornish remained stubborn, so did Aegon who was ever determined to win the war. At least until Princess Deria Martell came before the Conqueror, bearing a letter from his father, the Prince of Dorne. The content of the letter is not known to this day. As King Aegon read the words, it is said he gripped the handles of the Iron Throne so hard that the blades it was made from cut the palm of his hand open. After that day Aegon halted his attempts to subjugate the Dornish, causing many to speculate the contents of that letter.

One such rumour was that it was instead written by Rhaenys Targaryen who had actually survived when her dragon Meraxes crashed down from the skies and died, its eye pierced by a lucky bolt shot from a scorpion, and that she'd been kept as a prisoner for the last years of war, alive even if terribly injured and maimed for life. Aegon's decision to end the invasion would've bought a painless death to Rhaenys, a thing she'd longed for. An ending to her sufferings. Whether that is true or not remains unknown, but Dorne remained independent, a thing that is true even now after fifty-and-hundred years later.

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(Westeros is at war once more. Where his ancestor failed even with the aid of dragons, King Daeron means to succeed without.)
When Daeron announced his ambitions for Dorne, Viserys had opposed the young king. It is my duty to tell the him what is true, even if he doesn't want to hear it. This war of his was a lost cause even before it started. Dragons, once the source of power for our family, are no more, thanks to none else than our own long-dead kin. The Dance had seen to that. After fires all around Westeros had extinguished, there were no dragonriders. The only living dragon, still a hatchling in King's Landing, endured for a few years more but in the end died young. Viserys' brother was oft blamed for its demise, and earned himself the epithet 'Dragonbane' although the death of dragons could hardly be blamed upon him alone.

Aegon and Viserys had been but boys when their mother and uncle fought. Aegon's own dragon had died from its wounds when it had carried the young, now late king, across Blackwater Bay after their transport to safer lands across the Narrow Sea had been intercepted by enemies. Viserys, younger himself, had only had an egg and could not join his brother on that flight. Instead he'd hid the dragon egg and disguised himself as a common ship boy, only to be sold to his enemies by one of the crew's members. He'd remained as a hostage in Essos for years, ending up in the household of the merchant and banker family Rogare and eventually being married to one of the family patriarch's daughters, Larra. Their marriage had hardly been for love; the Rogare's had simply seen Viserys, a foreign prince, as a tool to further their own ambitions. But against all odds the two had fallen in love, and for a time life had been dreamlike.
Larra.. the name woke bitter memories in him.

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(Prince Viserys Targaryen. Second son of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen, Hand of the King to his brother of late King Aegon III and his son Daeron I after him.)
When Viserys' brother became king of Westeros, it was later revealed to him that his brother was still alive. King Dragonbane paid a huge ransom for his brother's safe return, and so Viserys joined his brother who had never forgiven himself for abandoning his younger sibling to save himself. But years apart had not created a rift between the brothers, and Viserys became his brother's staunch supporter and later his Hand. At the time Viserys had already fathered a son, a boy he'd named after his elder brother. His marriage, before it came to an end when Larra abandoned him to return to Essos, had resulted with two other children: Aemon and Naerys, both who stayed in King's Landing with their father.

Whereas his firstborn Aegon had turned out to be a disappointment, Aemon had made a name for himself despite his young age. 'Dragonknight', as he came to be known, was named to the Kingsguard, an order of knights sworn to protect the king of Westeros with their life if need be. His skills with sword were legendary already, and it was not just any weapon he bore. One of the two Valyrian steel swords brought by Targaryens from their old homeland before its annihilation in Doom, Dark Sister, had been granted to Viserys' younger son. With that sword about his waist, Aemon the Dragonknight had joined Daeron in his war effort.

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(Aemon the Dragonknight, one of the finest swordsmen in all of Westeros. Cousin to king Daeron the Young Dragon and member of his sworn swords, the Kingsguard.)
Viserys turned his back to the throne and walked down the room, opening the door and turning his other hand into a fist, readying himself for the world outside, the world that was about to change to one direction or another, depending on how Daeron's war would turn out. When Viserys had claimed that without dragons the young king had no hope of winning, in return Daeron had boldly replied 'There is a dragon and he stands before you.'

A blue sky loomed over the Red Keep but it lacked its former grandeur, only seeming oddly empty to the prince. The old days, days of dragons were long gone and never to return, even despite Daeron's words. Their existence and fear had bound the huge realm of Westeros and its several vassal kingdoms together, but such would not be the case any longer. The legacy of my family and all our ancestors from Valyria rests upon my nephew's shoulders. All that those before us have worked so hard for can be undone in an instance if he takes a step in a wrong direction.

There was no use in worrying or thinking of the past, but having been left in King's Landing where he could not advise his nephew, there was little else Viserys could do. I should not be so sentimental, he decided. There's no use in drifting back to old memories. They're full of fire and blood, and there'll be plenty of both soon to come.

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HOUSE STARK
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Winterfell, the North
157th Year Since Aegon's Conquest

A chill wind blew through the dark branches of the untamed godswood, sending needles and leaves alike dancing in the cool breeze. Here in the North, there was always a reminder of the wane months, always a harbinger of winter lurking around the corner. Even in the years of summer, snow could blanket the earth below, and the southron folk would shudder to consider the overwhelming drifts of snow and icy torrents that batter the scattered villages and crofts of the North during winter. But, these hardships only served to harden the men of the North, and in recent years, none seemed quite so firm and foreboding as Cregan of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, who was currently at rest in the sprawling godswood of Winterfell.

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As Cregan Stark looked up from a small reflecting pool, its waters dark and cold, he saw his wife approaching. Lithe and graceful, Lynara was one of the few things that could bring a smile to the oft stern face of Cregan Stark. She stepped carefully closer, head dipped low out of that meekness that was so much a part of her nature. Feeling the faintest tug of his lips towards a smile as he watched his wife draw near, Cregan beckoned her closer still, "Lynara." As soon as her name escaped his lips, he noticed some hesitation in her step, his senses sharp after years of swordsmanship and hunting. Furrowing his brow, expression returning to that cold, stern expression so natural to a Stark, Cregan inquired gently, "What is wrong, beloved?"

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"It's Mariah," spoke Lynara in reply, her voice soft and pleasant to the ear. She fidgeted a little with her hands, those leaf green eyes downcast as she continued, "She and Raya were fighting again." She subtly cast a look up towards her lord husband, lips pursing as she waited to hear what he would say of her step-daughters.

A low grumble arose from Lord Stark's throat in answer, sitting up more properly now, no longer leaning against the bone white wood of the weirwood tree. His two youngest daughters by Black Aly had never seen quite eye-to-eye, both fond of the finery that flourished in the southron courts, and neither girl fond of sharing with the other. Making matters worse, the girls their age were drawn only to Raya, leaving Mariah with few friends and many doubts. Raising his hands to his chin, interlacing his fingers, Cregan remarked, "And let me guess, Mariah thought Raya had said something against her."

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As Lynara parted her lips to speak, Cregan already knew the answer, with her replying, "While I don't think Raya would ever do such a thing, I can see why Mariah might think such things. She…" Lynara trailed off, faintly pouting as she considered her step-daughter's plight. A few hand-shaped leaves of the weirwood danced downwards, their blood-red hue contrasting vividly with the dark brown of the earth below. Lynara strove to explain, "She is always left out from her sister's-"

"She will have to learn," Cregan replied, tone even but firm, "She cannot play the southron game, thinking others will dance as she please when she pleases." He scowled as thoughts arose again of how the realm was torn asunder nearly three decades ago, when Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower and her father, the Hand of the King, had conspired to put her son upon the throne, ignoring the will of the late King Viserys. It was this underhanded scheming of the Southrons that Cregan despised most, and so it had been with little convincing that he had joined Rhaenyra's cause, reaffirming his loyalties in a pact of Ice and Fire with the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.

Yet, things did not proceed quite as planned. Under Roderick the Ruin, Lord of Barrowton, an advance force of Northmen cut a bloody swathe through the Greens, the faction supporting Aegon and the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, while Cregan marshalled the rest of the strength of the North. At the Battle by the Lakeshore, these Winter Wolves dealt a crushing blow, slaying Lords Lefford and Reyne. Mere weeks later, the vile Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and called 'Kingmaker' for his encouragement of Aegon the Second to the throne, would die at the Butcher's Ball when Roderick the Ruin ambushed his men. Roderick's last deed would be at the First Battle of Tumbleton, where he personally slew Lord Ormund Hightower and his cousin, Ser Bryndon Hightower before succumbing to his wounds endured in that combat.

These deeds would not prove to be enough, however, for after Tumbleton, Rhaenyra's fortunes faltered, and she would be captured by her treacherous brother. At that time, Cregan had only just passed through the Neck in his march south, leading a mighty force of warriors to avenge the murdered Rhaenyra and bring justice to the kinslayer Aegon. He would be denied that, however, as that wicked and grasping king was poisoned, killed by his own men. Making matters worse, word arrived soon thereafter that the Sea Snake, Lord Corlys Velaryon, had dispatched ravens to Casterly Rock and Storm's End, proposing terms for peace. The North was denied its chance for vengeance, and it sat bitterly with Lord Stark. He seized the position of Hand of the King for the young Aegon the Third, son of Rhaenyra, and in a single day, sentenced twenty-two conspirators for poisoning their king.

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Ever since that day, he had refused to look back. He surrendered the seal of office, and taking the hand of the brilliant and beautiful Alysanne of House Blackwood, called 'Black Aly', the Lord of Winterfell returned home to the North, leaving the young King Aegon the Third in southron hands for his regency. She bore him four daughters in the years that followed, passing of a winter chill many years ago now. Glancing up, he looked at his wife, a subtle smile forming as he considered how Lynara had won his heart, bringing such softness and affection into his life that he would wed her, his cousin, winning no great dowry nor pact with such a marriage.

With a slight shake of his head, expression soon returning to that default, stern look the Starks had mastered, Cregan confessed, "It might do for us to separate the two." He did not bother to look for Lynara's reaction, these were not her girls, as much as she doted upon them. With another rumbling in his throat, he placed a hand upon the ground, feeling the humus and moss that had formed upon the moist earth below over several thousand years. Slowly rising up to his feet and towering over his wife, Cregan continued upon a more dangerous subject, "We have not spoken about the fostering or betrothals of our children…"

"Cregan…" Lynara began, her tone beseeching. Born to Benjen Stark, the eldest son of Bennard Stark and Margaret Karstark, she had spent much of her youth in the company of her uncles, Brandon and Elric, enduring the frigid holdings of the Karstarks to the northeast, cold and largely alone. All that had changed when Cregan came to Karhold to attend one of Lord Karlon's feasts. As if caught in a whirlwind, she was soon swept away to Winterfell, where she could enjoy the warmth of her extended family and the hot springs that made it seem as though it was ever-summer. "You don't mean…" she spoke, fretful of the extent of her lord husband's plans.

"All of them," he responded, confirming the worst. Seeing the dismay and heartbreak that flashed across his wife's face, Cregan soon added with a sardonic smile, knowing full well his reputation as the 'Old Man of the North', "We cannot wait until they are old and grey to decide, beloved." Heaving a quiet sigh, Cregan drew Lynara into his arms, embracing her warmly for a few silent moments before he began, "Perhaps Lorick might be able to assuage Mariah's fears."

With a fond smile to her lord husband, Lynara rested her head against Cregan's shoulder, eyes drifting closed for a moment. Lorick Poole was a good man, long the steward of Winterfell. He would be able to not only counsel Mariah to be a better steward to her eventual husband, but also might instill a stronger ethos as well. And then it dawned on her. If Mariah was to linger in Winterfell, then… "Where are you sending Raya?" she asked, her voice faint above a whisper, full of concern.

"To Riverrun," replied the Lord of Winterfell, firm in his decision, "The Tullys are good men, honourable men." They had been only one of the two high houses to support Rhaenyra in her rightful claim for the throne, and it had been at Lord Tully's hand that Lord Baratheon was slain near the end of the Dance. Seeing that fear only grow in his wife's eyes as she looked back to him, worried that fearful and timid Raya might be sent off to so distant and foreign a land, Cregan continued, "She will not be alone, however. Brandon will accompany her, as will Alys."

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One by one, her husband was sending away those closest to her, and with each loss, her heart stung bitterly. Her uncle Brandon was dear to her, a burly but loving man, always with a jest and a joke while in his drinks. Yet, she saw reason to have him be the one to see to Raya's safety, for he was a fierce fighter. And Alys, though she was not her daughter, Lynara felt closest to her out of all of Black Aly's daughters, with Alys being a wild and passionate young girl, never one to be told no, even when it came to learning a bit of swordplay from her cousins Brandon and Elric. Hesitating a moment, Lynara asked, "Why is Alys…?"

"You have said she's flowered, yes?" inquired Cregan, and when Lynara timidly nodded in reply, Lord Stark declared, "Then it has come time to see that she is wed. Lord Tully has a lad, Brynden. He will make a good husband to our sweet Alys." Glancing aside, Cregan did his best to hide the bitter expression that threatened to creep up, for Brynden was not the heir to Riverrun, but merely a second son. Still, Lord Tully's achievements in the Dance deserved recognition, Cregan felt, and better a second son than an aged brother. Running a hand through Lynara's dark hair, Cregan continued, "Perhaps her children and Raya's will be friends."

"You had someone in mind for Raya as well?" Lynara asked quietly, tilting her head a little as she looked up to her lord husband. It would make sense that he did, given that he was sending her to the Riverlands to be fostered. She could only but guess just which southron lordling Cregan would have in mind.

With a brief, solemn nod, Lord Stark replied, "The Piper boy, Marq." Looking aside for a moment, Cregan tried to recall, "Grandson of the one Vermithor killed at Tumbleton. They're a good family and I trust they will cherish little Raya." With a wry smile and look down to Lynara, he then added, "Or else your uncle will have to have a word with them."

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"What of Elric?" Lynara asked, uncertain what Lord Stark had in mind for her other uncle, a man of deep and abiding compassion, especially for the smallfolk. Much like Brandon, he had joined Cregan during that impressive march south through the Neck, mere weeks too late to join in any of the fighting in the Dance of the Dragons.

"He is to hold Moat Cailin for us," Cregan replied nonchalantly, as if the granting of that important fortress was of little consequence, though those who knew him best knew that this had been no hasty decision by Lord Stark. He then went on to explain, "That way he can be close to the crannogmen he seems to hold so fondly. Maybe he'll wed one of them, or perhaps Lord Darry's girl."

So her younger uncle Elric would remain in the North yet, even if he would be leagues away at the Neck. Lynara nodded gently, pulling back as she considered whom else might be leaving her. With the decisions set for Alys, Raya, and Mariah, and with the gossiping, haughty Lady Sarra already wed to Lord Cerwyn, that was all of Black Aly's daughters. Cregan's eldest child, Rickon, was already wed (to that foul-tongued Manderly girl) and with children of his own, Serena and Sansa. That could only leave her own children. "Don't say you'll be sending my Lyanna away, please…" she begged, looking up to him with a doe-like expression.

"No, she will remain in Winterfell," Cregan assured his beloved wife, shaking his head softly. "Edric, however, shall go to Karhold with our granddaughter, Sansa. Karlon deserves that much for how he has raised you and your uncles, and I trust the Karstarks shall take good care of their kin again. Perhaps his son Karl might serve well for their guardian, even." Seeing how his wife knew that he had left out her oldest child, her little Jon, Cregan added, "Our good-son has a man that might train Jonnel well, a man by the name of Edric. I think he and Lord Ryswell's boy may become friends in time."

Before Lynara could speak again, Cregan raised a hand, drawing slightly back from her as he fell completely silent. Years of conflict had honed his senses, and now he heard someone rushing through the paths of the godswood, panting heavily. No warrior, no hired blade, Cregan knew, and he glanced stoically towards the tall frame of his maestar, Bartimus, as he appeared out from the dark treeline. Lord Stark's eyes immediately took note of the scroll clutched in the maester's hands, and after a moment or two to catch his breath, Bartimus gasped out, "Word for you, my Lord." The maester's breathing filled the air as Cregan reflected - dark wings, dark words - and soon Bartimus confirmed his thoughts, "From King's Landing."

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House Baratheon
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Prelude

The Year is 157 years from Aegon's Conquest. The Time where Orys Baratheon, Our Founder was given Argilac the Arrogant's Lands, Words and Daughter by the Conqueror himself. Our Blood represents the joining of that of a Sea Goddess and the Dragons of old Valyria. The Sea and the Fire, Salt and Smoke.

For A Hundred and Fifty years we have been Loyal to our Kin and Kings, the Targaryens. As Orys was Aegon's right hand so have we been the Kingdom's, crushing those that would plot and whisper in the dark with a swift strike of our steel. We are the Youngest of the Great Houses and we may be quick to temper, but that is only becuase we have something to prove.​

That we are the Stags of Storms End
And Ours is the Fury
"Now Tell me lady Sarya, The Current members of House Baratheon and their positions" Said Maester Jon.

Maester Jon was old, Sarya didn't even know how old, only that he was at that age where his hair had begun to look more like smoke and his blotched skin looked like an overripe fruit. Even his chain was old, as the Iron link was almost completely red with rust. Why she had to listen to him she didn't really care, but Father had scolded her the last time she had hid from Jon and waited for him to get tired of looking for her.

"Why Do i have to name my own family, I know who they are" Sayra said, "I want to go play with Jenna and Arion"

Maester Jon sighed his long sigh, like he was about to fall asleep, but his eyes still looked away so she knew she was about to hear a lecture.

"Because its a good exercise for a lady to know her Family, and the importance of each member, So when you are married, you can do the same and impress your future Husband"

"Maybe I don't want a Husband, Boys are smelly and they always throw mud at me"

"Oh Sayra, just do the exercise, Trust me not every boy is like little Arion"

"Well theres Father, Hes the Lord of Storm's end"​

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"He is always so serious though, and always talking to his Knights, I hear he is going to war alongside King Daeron"

"That's True, Lord Corwen was one of the first to declare his Banners for King Daeron, now who else"

Of course Maester Jon worried for Corwen, Though he had not raised Lord Corwen he had looked over the boy during the Dance when things were still uncertain for House Baratheon. He didn't want him to make any mistake that could cause him harm. He was a good ruler for the Stormlands, open minded and patient, good for dealing with merchants from the Free cities.

"Well" she paused thinking for a minute, "There's his Two brothers, Oh and Aunti Lanna"​

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"Uncle Jonald is Dad's Top commander, He also isn't a knight like Dad and Uncle Sim, So he's a very angry man becuase all the Lords make fun of him behind is back"

"Well that's an interesting theory about your Uncle's unique.. Personality, and Sarmion?" Jon, Personally never liked Jonald, he lacked discipline and was always a bit of a brat. Something he was sure the boy would grow out of and was very wrong. Jonald often walked about Storm's end as if he was Lord Paramount and not his brother.​

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"They Call Uncle Sim the Stormbreaker becuase he's so big, He used to have Jonalds Job, but he left for King Daeron's court, Dad said he always gave good counsel, whatever that means"

"Yes Sarmion always loved to speak his Mind, Though I remember he constantly used to get into fights with Jonald, Fights your Father would have to end"

Not just one fight either Jon recalled, Multiple. In fact many didn't know Simeon's Nickname was actually coined by Corwen, for Simeon's innate ability to constantly derail anything Jonald wished to do with his stubborn yet calm demeanor as unmoving as storm's end itself. They say the Dragon has three heads but it was the Three Baratheon Brothers in Jon's opinion that worked the best together. Jonald was a hot head, but Simeon never allowed himself to play Jonald's game and instead would speak his mind and provide an alternate path, together they had given Corwin the best counsel he could hope for. Now of course they were apart, and that thought had made Jon worried.

"That's becuase Uncle Jonald is Mean" Sarya proclaimed, as if she was making a great discovery

"Yes well moving on" Said Maester Jon "What of your Aunt Elanna"

"Well Aunti Lanna just sort of lays around, Dads always been so busy and she never asked to be married so she just kind of sits around drinking wine"

"Yes well, True, Though I hear she gets along well with your Mother"

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"Mom is Nice, though she hasn't been around much anymore"

"Yes well ehh'mm" Maester Jon cleared his throat to interrupt his thought "And your Two brothers and sister?"

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"Tran is the Heir to Storm's end, He thinks he's going to be a Great Knight but I think he's going to put his eye out"

Tran or well Tranced was indeed of the mind to be a great Knight. In Particular Tranced had a fondness for Aemon the Dragonknight but was denied the opportunity to squire for him, ever since the boy was afraid to be speak out to anyone besides his close family. Though the Young Dragon had given Tran back that Inspiration he had, and he was one of the first in court to ask Baratheon to raise Banners for Daeron. So maybe there still was some hope he would not end up like Elanna

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"And I hate Arion, He's so mean to me"

Maester Jon sighed a long sigh "And your sister"

Arion was a Mystery to Jon. He wasn't outwardly cruel but never seemed at all interested in Women, Of course the thought occurred that he may have been interested in something else, but as outgoing as the Lad was, if he was interested in anything besides his training, it hadn't yet appeared in his mind.

"What about Lyria, she just cries, a lot" said Sarya, impatience beginning to settle into her voice.

"Yes well she does do that, I think your forgetting someone"
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"Oh, Oh! Me!, I'm the best becuase I try to talk and be friendly with everyone!"

Sarya was a good girl, Better than her Aunt for sure. She'd find a good match some day, or well that was Jon's hope. He could feel the winds getting colder every day for him and him alone. He knew his time was coming soon, and Storm's end would have a new Maester before the year was done. A Silver link on his chain did nothing to stave off age itself maybe if he hadn't panicked in the dark room, and earned his Valyrian he would know some way to linger longer, but alas he did not, now all he could do was pray to last one more night, each night until he was sure House Baratheon would be safe.

"Alright, very good I think this Lesson is over for today, I think i need to go lay down"

 
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House Greyjoy - Prologue (157 AC)

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House Greyjoy has had a troubled history, first vassals to House Hoare and then Lords Paramounts of the Iron Islands having been given the kingdom by Aegon the Conquer after he extinguished the line of Harran the Black. They have ruled the Isles since with some rulers having been loyal vassals to the Iron Throne, while others have attempted to be free fro the shackles of Westoros.

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130 years after the Conquest the Iron Islands are now ruled by Aeron Greyjoy, having taken over the kingdom from his brother Dalton in 8130 AC.

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Aeron’s brother was Lord Dalton Greyjoy known as the Red Kraken who was Lord Reaper of Pyke and head of House Greyjoy during the final days of Viserys I Targaryen. Dalton owned a Valyrian steel long sword he had taken off a dead corsair and named Nightfall. (Thus bringing the blade into Greyjoy hands.) In his fifteenth year, while fighting in the Stepstones as a sellsail, he saw his uncle slain and avenged him, though he took a dozen wounds and emerged from the fight drenched in blood, earning his nickname of the Red Kraken. Later on the same year, he learned of his father's death and returned home to claim the Seastone Chair. Immediately he began to build longships, forge swords, and train fighters, citing that "the storm is coming" as the reason. The storm he had foreseen would fall on Westeros after the death of Viserys I Targaryen. Thus began the Dance of Dragons.

Dalton was offered by the greens the position of Master of Ships at the start of the Dance of the Dragons to replace Ser Tyland Lannister, who had been made Master of Coin if he would bring his ships around Westeros to battle Corlys Velaryon. Instead of leaping to the offer, Lord Dalton waited to see what the blacks had to offer. On the Black council, Daemon Targaryen suggested appealing to his bloodlust to bring him on the side of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Instead of asking him to sail around Westeros, Rhaenyra only demanded for Dalton to attack her enemies. And among those were Lannisters, who were closer to the Iron Isles and vulnerable.

Thus, the Red Kraken chose black over green, burning the Lannister fleet and sacking Lannisport, carrying off gold, grain, trade goods and hundreds of women and girls as salt wives, including the favorite mistress of Lord Jason Lannister and their natural daughters. Dalton himself led the attack that captured Kayce. Faircastle and Fair Isle also fell and Lord Dalton claimed four of Lord Farman's daughters as salt wives, giving the fifth, the "homely one" to Veron. For the better part of two years, the Red Kraken ruled the Sunset Sea as his forebears. And when the council of regents ruling in the name of King Aegon III Targaryen commanded him to cease raiding, he ignored them and continued. He was stopped when a girl known only as Tess cut his throat with his own dagger while he slept in Lord Farman's bedchamber before throwing herself into the sea.

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As Dalton had never taken a rock wife, his closest heirs were his salt sons. Within hours a bloody struggle for succession broke out. Though Aeron was able to quickly put an end to the bloody succession and disinherited Dalton’s salt sons to prevent civil war. Since his death in 8130 AC Veron has ruled the isles and sired four children, two daughters named Grisella and Gysella and two son named Alton and Harl. Now with the young King Dareon intent on conquering Dorne Aeron must decide between the possibility of independence and following the ways of his brother or support his liege Dareon and leave the Ironborn ways behind…

 
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Unbowed, Unbent, Unroken: The History of the Dornish Resistance

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For over a century the Dornish have fiercely defended their independence from the dragons and the mighty Westerosi kingdom. Dorne will not submit easily to foreign invaders and her deserts, mountains, and fierce warriors protect her. The only kingdom to withstand the might of the three dragons during Aegon's Conquest, Dorne suffered a grievous price but in the end humbled the world's greatest conqueror. Aegon lost his beloved sister, Orys lost his hand, and the Targaryens learned to fear the wild men from the south.

But the Targaryens never gave up their vain dream of uniting Westeros. It was only a matter of time till they would make another attempt to conquer the desert and complete their forefather's dream. Only a combination of weakness, indolence, rebellion, infighting, melancholy, and wisdom have prevented the succeeding Targaryen kings from attempting the feat. But a new king that calls himself a living dragon now sits his throne. He seeks to restore the prestige of the dynasty after its near collapse by succeeding where even the great Aegon could not.

The Dornish are skeptical. If Aegon could not do it with dragons then how can this mere boy supplant him? But the wiser Dornishmen and women, the prince among them, are secretly fearful. Dragons or not the Targaryens have the full might of the continent behind them. Westeros has recovered from the devastating Dance and the painful memories of war are becoming more distant. The men of Westeros are eager for a fight after the dull rule of Aegon III. The hated Reacher and Storm lords have desperately sought vengeance for the failed invasion of Dorne and thousands of years of raids and counter-raids. The lords of the northern kingdoms are amassing gigantic armies and will be led by the best warriors in a generation. Every fighter worth his salt wants to capture a piece of glory in this campaign.

Prince Marence knows that Dorne will be massively outnumbered and it will be a desperate, bloody fight. But the Dornish have known this fight has been coming for one hundred years. The sons and daughters of Nymeria are ready and will fight to the last man to defend their homeland from these foreign slavers. For Dorne is unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. They do not fear dragons.

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House Tyrell - Prologue
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157 AL
Lyonel Tyrell silently walked up to his wife, wrapping her in an embrace. Annet leaned her head back and rested it against his shoulder, her eyes still gazing at their two daughters. Rylla and Jeona were playing together without a care in the world. Well, Rylla was playing - Jeona was just trying to keep up.

They stayed there for a long while, silently enjoying each others presence.

"Do you really have to go?" she asked, finally turning her head to face Lyonel's.

Lyonel sighed deeply. "Yes, I do. In the Dance, the Reach marched against itself and others, and my family sat it out. It was a mistake, one I don't care to repeat. Supporting the King in this matter is necessary." He lightly stroked Annet's brown hair. "Besides, it is the Dornish; no one will come to their aid, no civil war will spring up because of it. It's an easy way to prove our worth and loyalty."

"A battlefield is no place for our daughter." Annet said, a tone of warning in her voice. She was referring to Lyonel's decision to foster and train Rylla by himself.

"She won't be. She'll either be safe on the fleet if there is the slightest chance of danger or sitting in the heart of the siege camps we set up. And she won't be alone; Estalia is coming too."

Annet sighed with irritation, but acceded. "Very well. Just... promise me that there won't be any other women while you're gone."

Lyonel and Annet had been married for eight years at this point, practically since the month she flowered. Their relationship was close, and some would call it love... except for the overshadowing issue of Lyonel's indiscretions and dallying. There had been a number of women over the years, but they never lasted long, Lyonel - or, on some occasions, the current woman - breaking it off and returning to his wife. Then they tried to repair their relationship, coming close, only for another pretty woman to catch Lyonel's eye and start the whole thing over again. At least there hadn't been any bastards so far; Lyonel didn't know if Annet could forgive that.

Lyonel tightened his embrace, pulling his wife towards him. "I promise." he said, kissing her on her brow. "And besides, I won't be leaving for months. It will take a while to muster the full might of the Reach, and there are still many things to organize and direct here at Highgarden."

Annet sighed and closed her eyes, her head dipping towards his chest. He got the impression that Annet deeply wanted to believe him. Lyonel... Lyonel would try to uphold that trust.

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House Arryn - Prologue
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It was cold in the Eyrie. It was not winter, but it was still cold. You are wrong. It is not the cold, it is the breath of death beneath you. Your time is near. Maester Wyl put those thoughts aside as he heard a young voice. It said some words, and he looked behind him to see it was the boy. Donnel Arryn was only two, and could walk and talk like an ordinary babe of two. He was chubbier than other babes, with many folds on his cheeks and stomach. The only child of Lord and Lady Arryn, and Wyl could proudly say that he had delivered the child. It was not because he desired the mother, Lira Lannister, though she was easy on the eyes, and Lord Arryn had no opposition to the notion. The babe had taken to Wyl, and he was oft following him around.

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Donnel was very talkative (he made a little more noise than the other babes) and sometimes Wyl thought he might actually read the books he put in front of the boy. However, he could only hope that Donnel would be nothing like his father. Lord Jonothor Arryn was a poor fighter, but that was the least of it. While Lady Lira would do anything for her family and was selfless, Jonothor only cared for his legacy and was very selfish. His predecessor during the Dance of the Dragons, Jeyne Arryn, did the right thing so raise the banners for Rhaenyra Targaryen, as she was the lawful heir to Viserys I, and even come winter she managed to bring the knights she promised to the queen's hosts by way of Gulltown. In her place, Jonothor would pick the claimant he liked the best, and even if he chose Rhaenyra he would not give the promised men, Wyl knew. However, his lord was diligent when it came to breaking rules, yet that could only be condemned, as the lord was only diligent when it came to breaking rules. He was good at managing the Vale's coffers, only to spend them on lavish feasts, where he could never eat enough. Donnel made his way towards the books.

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Wyl sat down in a little chair and sat Donnel next to him. "Do you know what your family did during the Dance of the Dragons?" Donnel made a noise. Wyl knew the boy did not understand, but it was nice to have someone to talk to. "Lady Jeyne was just, and always did what was right. When Queen Rhaenyra's son came to ask for help, naturally she raised the banners for the Queen, and even as winter closed the passes through the Mountains of the Moon, she still managed to bring her promised knights to the queen. When you become lord, you must be lawful, just, and never break your promises." Donnel looked at him knowingly, then popped a thumb in his mouth.

Fool. He does not understand. And you are almost dead, there is no hope. It was true. Wyl had a feeling there would be a new maester of the Eyrie by the end of the year, and he could do nothing about it. But with his remaining time, he had to make Donnel a better boy than Jonothor. Or die trying.

--

Dark wings, dark words. According to Maester Wyl, the word from King's Landing was that Aegon III was dead. Died of consumption, it seemed, at only six-and-thirty. Lord Jonothor Arryn had thought he was much older, yet he pitied the young man. He had seen his mother devoured by his uncle's dragon, inherited the throne at the age of eleven, and had always sealed with scheming regents. But what troubled him was what his successor wanted. This king, Daeron, only four-and-ten, had declared he would conquer Dorne, and unite the Seven Kingdoms. Jonothor was of a mind with every lord in the Seven Kingdoms, he was sure.

This is madness. How can this man conquer Dorne. Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters could not conquer Dorne with dragons. How can this boy conquer Dorne with none? But apparently, this Daeron had said, "You have a dragon. He stands before you." Brave words, yes, but foolish. Surely no lord would join him in this?

"Surely no lord would join him in this?"

"Lord Kermit Tully had called the banners, as did Lord Corwen Baratheon, among others. My lord, I urge to not follow them-"

"I won't. What can I do in Dorne, when I am here in the Vale? No, I won't join this king in his folly. Truth be told, his uncle could be a better king. Older, wiser, and he has followers. Loyal followers." Lira gasped, and Jonothor was not sure why.

"Jonothor, I urge you, please, no treason-" Jonothor laughed. He had no need for treason, for this king would fail, he knew, and the realm would tear itself apart. He knew this. At least, that was what his lords would hear. That they need not lose more men than they needed to, with winter always imminent. And he had planned a great feast, with seventy-seven scrumptious courses, to celebrate the wedding of his brother Conrad and Selyse Hightower, niece of Lyonel Hightower and daughter of his brother Ser Garmund and Rhaella Targaryen. He had no time for war. That, and his sister Elene was married to the great-uncle of Prince Marence Martell, Deziel Martell. They were not on the best of terms, but she was his sister, and he would not have the blood of Arryns spilled in this foolish war.

"Lira, I mean no treason. I am merely speaking my mind. Can a lord speak his mind in his own hall?" No one answered. Good. He still commanded respect. Now, what he truly needed to worry about was what the common soldiers and his more aggressive vassals would think. No doubt they hungered for battle and war, to rape a woman or two, maybe ten, and for glory. But mostly women. Only a few knights of the Vale fought in the Dance of the Dragons, and now most peasants lived and died in peace. Some did not like that. Maester Robert voiced just as much.

"My lord, you must think of what your vassals will say. They might call you craven, or weak, or-"

Jonothor had enough. He had no plans, but as they said, words are wind. These words, however, had to be believable. And maybe, just maybe, they might be true.

"Tell them to shut up. And if they're good, they just might have their war."

----

Unfortunately, I missed the first session, so there will probably be no update for House Arryn until after the second session (January 31).
 
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House Tully - Prologue: January-March 157 AC
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Kermit Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, Warden of the Trident, and Shield of Riverrun, let out a sigh from his seat at the head of the table. It had been a month since Daeron Targaryen, King of Westeros, had called his banners, with the intent to do what no King before him could, and bring the Dornish under the Iron Throne. Kermit had said what all of the boy King's advisers had been thinking; "Aegon Targaryen could not conquer Dorne with three dragons, and we have none.". All Daeron had to say to that was "You have a dragon. He stands before you.", and after that, there was nothing else for it. The order had been given, and Kermit was honor bound to obey. He admired the boy's courage, to be sure, but there was a line between bravery and foolishness, and Daeron had crossed it. Still, though, Kermit would not be the Tully to betray Rhaenyra's grandson, and so he departed King's Landing at dawn, and rode back from Riverrun with fourty thousand men behind him.

It was at Harrenhal that he received news of Veron Greyjoy's defiance. The Red Kraken had left no true heir but his brother, and while Veron was his late sibling's lesser, he still commanded the hundred and fifty ships of the Iron Fleet, as well as more than ten times the warriors. He had called his best commanders to his borrowed solar as soon as the messenger left. Now, Kermit opened his eyes and once more surveyed his commanders. His son Brynden, Lucas Lothston, the first landed member of his House, and Lord of Harrenhal, Bloody Ben Blackwood, a bitter man, who had been only eleven when he fought in the Dance and earned his nickname, and Oscar Tully, Kermit's Brother. Great commanders all, and as quarrelsome as the Kingdoms before the Conquest.

Benjicot Blackwood, still bitter about Rhaenyra's refusal to protect the Riverlands, urged to forget about the young King's foolish attempts at glory, and keep their armies in the Riverlands to throw the Ironborn back into the sea, and Oscar agreed. Brynden, however, was almost as young as the King himself, having only reached seven-and-ten a few months prior, and hungry for battle, and Lucas, being the first Lothston Lord, wanted glory for both himself and his House, and agreed with his headstrong son. Once again, Kermit sighed. Every second they argued would be one more second for the Ironborn to land in the Riverlands, and one second longer until they reached Dorne.

Kermit had heard enough. Raising his fist above his head, he struck it on the table hard enough to crack the wood. The sound cut through his commanders' voices like suet, every man in the room whirling around to look at their liege. He wasted no time with courtesies. "We pledged our fealty to Daeron, and Aegon before him, and Rhaenyra before him. Today is not the day we abandon it."

Before anyone could protest, he continued. "However, we have payed in blood whenever we sent our armies to war. We were warring with the Vale when Arlan Durrandon took the Riverlands from us, and were fighting Dorne alongside one of his descendants when the Hoares arrived. We will not make that mistake again. Lord Lothston, you will take ten thousand men to Seagard, and throw the Ironborn back into the sea should they try and land. The remaining thirty thousand will go south to aid our King." He had considered every feasible course of action ever since the messenger arrived, and decided that this would be the best course of action. Lord Mallister's collection of ships was a poor excuse for a fleet, numbering seven-and-ten small galleys, that could only hold a hundred men apiece in addition to their normal crew. Most of the Ironborn castles' garrisons numbered more than that, and Lord Veron couldn't have been stupid enough to send away all of his fighting men.

Regardless of Kermit's surety, he was not so foolish as to ignore his advisers, as his own liege had, knowing that, in some cases, their martial knowledge would exceed his. His own brother Oscar had, in days past, been the fastest to rouse and ready his men when the army broke camp, while Kermit himself had studied siegecraft extensively. Regardless, for all their debate, they ultimately settled on Kermit's original plan, with every alternate option proposed being shot down by either himself or his other commanders. Dismissing his council with orders to inform the men that they would be marching tomorrow, Kermit exited the borrowed solar that had doubled as a makeshift council chamber, and made for his bedchambers. His squire, Lord Lothston's son, heir, and namesake, Lucas, awaited him. Kermit always donned his armor when holding war councils. Despite the discomfort it caused him, it was important to keep up a martial appearance. He needed the respect of his bannermen, mostly martial men, raised in the Dance, while he could still take it. He was growing old, and he suspected his newly grown beard would be the last of his to come out auburn. Already ash was appearing among his flaming Tully hair. His son Edmure could hold his own in a fight, but his tactics were horrible, and Kermit doubted his son's diplomatic aptitude could keep the likes of Bloody Ben Blackwood at bay, let alone external threats. If he could outlive them, though, he could ensure a brighter future for his successor.

Kermit shook his head, grunting. It was no good to think about that now, not with a war to fight. Edmure was far away, ruling from Riverrun in his name, with Brynden's Stark betrothed and Lord Piper to aid him, overseeing the construction of new residencies for the nearby peasants, should they seek protection behind the walls of Riverrun. Kermit was not a particularly godly man, but he sent a prayer to whoever might be listening that they wouldn't be.

Pulling himself back to the present, he gestured for Lucas to remove his armor. The boy was quick to obey, more out of fear than respect, he reckoned. 'That will not do. He is to be one of Edmure's future vassals. I must teach him to respond to kindness, not fear.' he thought. Removing his helm and gorget himself, as well as unfastening the straps of his breastplate that the boy couldn't quite reach, he waited until the rest of his armor was removed before dismissing the boy, peeling off his sweat stained tunic, and crawling into bed, pulling up the white and yellow covers to protect against the brisk early Spring air.

At dawn, they set out.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hello! If you're reading this, then you've chosen to follow the Tully perspective during this brand spanking new MultiplayAAR. Or maybe you're like me in the last AAR and you read all of the perspectives. Either way, thank you for becoming my first readers! I must say, as a first time AAR writer, I do feel a bit like a fish out of water (Pun absolutely intended), writing alongside the likes of Aidun and EtzelHoveri, but hopefully I won't seem too inadequate, and if I do, this AAR will help me improve.

Anyways, this is just a brief prologue to set the stage for the next few posts. We played for three years in our first session, and another session is planned for the 31st. Assuming we play for about the same amount of time, and keep consistent weekly sessions, which we almost certainly won't, I plan to write three chapters/parts/post/whatever, a week. A bit ambitious for a first time writer, I know, but I think with your support, I can do it. If I can, in fact, do it, that would mean you'd get three posts a week, each covering roughly one year of gameplay, one every two days or so. Like I said before, this is just a quick prologue. I plan each regular chapter to be 3000-5000 words apiece. I know, I know, it seems like a lot, but I have faith that I can do it.

Oh, by the way, sorry about no screenshots. For one, I forgot how to take them (F11 and F12 muted my computer and turned airplane mode on respectively when I tried pressing them), and for another, I'm so used to clicking through pop-ups and the like that I forget to take screenshots, unless it's something big and in my face, like 'Aegon Targaryen invades!" or something. Regardless, I'll still try to get some screenshots for you in the next session. Anyways, once again, thank you for becoming my first readers and, hopefully, first fans, and I'll see you next update! :D
 
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Yay! Seven Kingdoms is back (kinda)!
Hello! If you're reading this, then you've chosen to follow the Tully perspective during this brand spanking new MultiplayAAR. Or maybe you're like me in the last AAR and you read all of the perspectives.
...Does anyone not do that?
 
House Targaryen
157 years after Aegon's Landing
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Chapter 1: The Conquest of Dorne, Part One

Books old and new lay in front of me, placed on a shelf in a logic only I understood. As I looked at them absent-mindedly, a sudden realization struck me. These books and scrolls were my life. If only I knew how many hours I'd spent, pouring over the pages time after time in candle light, all the way to dawn when I no longer had need of it, and to the point beyond. This had been my childhood, but that time was now over. My father's death had seen to that. His throne, his sword and his kingdoms were now mine, along with the legacy of my house and what came with it, my family being the last remnants of Old Valyria.

All people have a legacy to uphold, even the lowest of us. They may live on with their life not knowing that and think while laying abed, waiting for death to come, that their life was meaningless and changed the surrounding world only little, but that is not true. Each action taken by you takes you further in this story called life. Each child you father will have sons of his own to the point that world ends. How many generations, how many lives lived and ended that will take - who knows. I only know that the time of those before me is over and those to come after me has not yet begun. This is my time, my chance to change everything and leave my mark in this world. The book of life is not solely mine, but writing this chapter is my priviledge.

How future generations will remember my name, or if they'll know me at all, is something I nowadays find myself pondering. Will the name Daeron Targaryen live on in songs and books, or will it be forgotten like so many things? How will those stories go? Will I be the hero - or the villain? Knowing what turn the tale will have and if it'll have a happy ending is yet beyond my reach, but each step that I take, I take closer to finding that truth.
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If there's one good thing people are good in, it is remembering. What is forgiven is never forgotten. The Dance divided my people in two, and while my father Aegon and uncle Viserys did their best to mend the damage, even they could not undo everything that was done. That never-ending task continues, now by my hand. To unite my people I am giving them a common goal, a common enemy. The independent kingdom of Dorne lies on my doorstep, their existence a continued reminder of my ancestor's failure to unite all of Westeros. I decided to finish what was left undone as my first act as King of Westeros and hope that gods would not make it also my last.

There are only few things the nobility of Westeros understand as well as war. As much as my highborn vassals would like to consider themselves above others, they're still prone to the same emotions as every other person in known world. War represents hate, and to extinguish its flames one needs to counter it. The opposite of hatred is love, of course. It is a tool where any other, used through marriage to bind families together and to make old enemies future friends.

House Hightower of Oldtown served my family well in the past. One of them served as Hand of the King and provided my great grand-father with a new queen after the death of my great grand-mother. That all was a beginning of an era that many now dread thinking of, but I do not fear the past. To show the realm that my heart is neither green nor black, I offered to take one of Lord Hightower's nieces as my queen. In the end an agreement was made to betroth myself to the third daughter of Lord Hightower's Brother and my aunt Rhaena, Lady Lia Hightower, who was closest to my age of the seven daughters their parents had.

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While some no doubt wondered why I did not wish to be married to one of my three sisters and thereby continue the tradition of keeping the bloodline of my house pure, Lia was my cousin and half Targaryen, even if her hair did not show it. My sisters had a part to play in uniting the kingdoms to my cause as well. To win their support for this war, I arranged betrothals for my two younger sisters but left the eldest and dearest to me, Daena, unpromised. Rhaena would wed Lord Jaesin Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock.

Though Lannister blood had run green during the Dance, they had suffered like the rest of the realm. Lord Tyland Lannister, then Master-of-Coin was tortured, blinded and castrated in an effort to squeeze information about the crown's treasury's whereabouts. He lived but did not see the end of war, and was later named as Hand of the King by my father. This had happened after Lord Cregan ruled for a single, dark day as a Hand, and before my uncle Viserys returned from Essos and was named to that position. It did not go unnoticed that two of the royal blood were to wed the descendants of former 'Green's, but I was not done yet.

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The youngest, Elaena's way would lead to Winterfell, for North is not the only region that remembers. Lord Cregan Stark, nowadays more commonly known down south as 'the Old Man of North', had pledged his sword to my grand-mother Rhaenyra during the Dance in exchange of a promise that a Targaryen princess would one day wed into his family. I kept her word and though Lord Cregan expressed worry and counseled me to remain vigilant that history would not repeat itself, refering to the newly-made ties to his old enemies, he told me in a letter that he would not oppose my will. Instead the Starks had called their banners, and Northmen would once again follow a Targaryen king to war.

A region one after another declared to side with the crown; Tyrells, Baratheons, Tullys, Starks, Lannisters - but no word came from the Vale. Lord Jonothor Arryn refused to raise his banners and decided to sit and watch the war unfold, taking no part in it himself. At the time I didn't see the reason behind his decision, but later I learned that his sister had recently married the great-uncle of Prince Marence Martell. The Dornish was playing the game just as I was, making moves with his pawns. And the greatest of them was soon revealed to the world.

The Iron Fleet sailed, but not under dragon banner.

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Lord Veron Greyjoy, a rogue like his ancestors, ruled the Iron Isles with stern grip. His people were hard folk, groomed for war, raiding and plundering, not born to bend their knees nor to sow. He saw this declaration of war as a chance to win his own freedom from the united kingdom of Westeros. My plan to invade Dorne had always been a dangerous one, but it had become more than that now. If I failed in my conquest, not only would Dorne remain independent but I would also lose one of the kingdoms in my realm. The Ironborn, should they no longer be bound to the Iron Throne, would no doubt bring much harm to the shores of Sunset Sea.

To stop the Greyjoys from making this war even bloodier, I made moves to bring Lord Veron, or rather, King Veron as he now called himself, in chains before me. There were those at his court who saw the same as I, that he could not win the war but would only bring more destruction and death to his folk. Even his master of whisperers sided with me in this plot.

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But soon King Veron was out of my reach. He departed the Isles along with his fleet, heading south down the Westerosi shoreline. I received reports from my vassals of counteractions taken against them, with Tullies moving nine thousand men to Seagard and Lord Hightower keeping his men at home. My lords also advised me to keep King's Landing manned to defend the capital and the royal family until we knew where the Ironborn were headed.

When we received reports that fourteen thousand Ironborn had landed in Sunspear, I decided it was time to move. I left a garrison of six thousand men in King's Landing and took ten thousand men with me, sailing to the northern shores of Dorne. Lord Corwen Baratheon was already moving down the Boneway to Dornish lands and besieged the home of House Yronwood, but alone they were vulnerable against the numerous Dornish.

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(House Greyjoy, a family of traitors, sides with Dorne)

The Crownlander army landed in Ghaston Grey, a grim island just north of Dorne, used by their overlords as a prison for criminals of worst kind. It was quickly taken an turned into a port for my fleet where I could launch an attack to anywhere in Dorne and at the same time protect my vassals, should the enemies seek a battle. Taking Ghaston Grey was my first victory. I was fourteen at the time.

The Dornish had some five and thirty-thousand men, along with fourteen thousand Ironborn. One of their hosts, greater in number than mine, was soon on its way to Ghaston Grey. Despite the numbers I refused to set sail and abandon my first conquest. The island of Ghaston Grey was far too important strategically, so I saw to the defences of the old prison and told my men to hold it.

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Taking Ghaston Grey was not so hard as holding it. Trying to convince my men that this would be the first battle of this war and its effects would ripple through the realm and show my vassals that this conflict could be won, I walked the battlements of the ruined keep and bolstered my men for the battle to come. When the Dornish finally arrived on small boats to the shores of Ghaston Grey, just a walk away from the prison itself, we were ready.

Lord Commander Caron held the center, whereas the brother of Lord Corwen Baratheon, Sarmion the Stormbreaker was left in charge of the right flank. I myself commanded the left. And soon the Dornish were upon us. Though we had the advantage of walls and their lines were unorganised due to landing and then swiftly moving to attack, they had many more men. Before me I saw the banners of House Uller, their men led by none other than the noble lady Joslena. House Cargalen was tasked with their other flank, whereas General Ricasso represented Prince Marence on the battlefield since the Martells themselves had not joined this force.

The walls of Ghaston Grey were not so formidable as they had once been, having suffered damage when my host first took it. Soon the Dornish were upon us, scaling the walls and sending arrows flying to our direction. Where men screamed in agony or fury, dying or killing, I was more alive than ever before. So this is how it feels, I thought as I shouted commands to my men, telling them to hold the walls and fight off the enemy.

As the battle raged on, I left the battlements, accompanied by the Dragonknight and the other Kingsguard with the exception of Lord Commander who was tasked to hold the center. Below the walls awaited my strike force, a host of heavy infantry, commanded to stay as reserve and to strike at my command. That time had come.

My grip around the hilt of Blackfyre tightened as I led the men out of the sidegate and plunged to the flank of the Dornish, still preparing to grapple up to the walls. Surprise gave us a good start, but soon the rest of the Dornish army was aware of our presence and turned their attention to the smaller force and the dragon banner that announced my presence in the field. Their focus now turned from the walls to my men and myself, giving more space to my force that still held the higher ground.

Too concentrated on bringing my men down and attempting to capture me, the defenders of Ghaston Grey rained arrows upon the Dornish, scattering their lines, whereas my infantry cut through their flank towards the center. I do not remember how it happened, but at one point I stumbled. Suddenly I saw myself gazing the sky, and a nearby Dornish decided to take advance of the situation. He charged head-on, cutting through two of my men, readying himself to kingslaying. I thought all hope was lost, but suddenly one of my men-at-arms threw himself in the way of the enemy, blocking the spear with his body. The moment I regained my footage, I avenged the death of my stalward savior. Thought this was the first man I'd killed, my thoughts later lingered only on the man that he'd ended.

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The battle soon turned to victory. My forces left the walls elsewhere and plunged through holes in the wall and gates, meeting the Dornish force in close combat. Their lines still unorganised from landing, we sent them routing back to their small ships. The day was ours and the first battle of the war was won. In the end our casualties were as high as our enemy's, but Lord Gargalen lay dead, slain by the sword of none other than my Kingsguard 'Red Robert' Flowers.

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As the Dornish returned to their shore, I saw to my wounded and repaired the defences of Ghaston Grey. General Ricasso soon was discarded the command of his host and that task was left in the hands of Lord Aidan Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. The Greyjoy host had moved from Sunspear to reinforce the beaten Dornish army, and I awaited with dread for their next move. They now outnumbered my men over three-to-one.

At the same time House Massey, bannermen of mine, decided to declare for Dorne as well. Most of my men were engaged in Dorne, but the garrison of six thousand men was soon called to action and under Lord Rosby, headed to bring the men of House Massey down.

But I was not alone. The Tyrell fleet had arrived north of Dorne, having come to my aid. A small Baratheon host also lay siege to Yronwood, a thing that did not go unnoticed to Lord Martell. Knowing he now had the superior numbers, he moved together with his Greyjoy ally to wipe out the Stormlanders. As they marched, we sailed.

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The Baratheon host, supported by both Targaryens and Tyrells, met the Dornish outside Yronwood. At first we were heavily outnumbered and disorganised by our swift landing, but a host of Northerners joined us for the battle, reinforcing our lines with their men. Lord Reed even assumed the command of the center after Lord Commander Caron became too involved in the fighting, deciding to lead with his example if not his commands.

Our right flank, initially commanded by Lord Sarmion 'the Stormbreaker' Baratheon, Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, was beginning to crumble. As the Tyrells moved to join our lines, Lord Peake assumed the command from him. But even he could not stop the men from routing. As I saw our lines break, a sudden fear overtook me, a fear that we might actually be losing this battle.

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Seeing our men flee from the battle, Lord Aidan Dayne seized the moment. He personally joined the fray, trying to cut his way to me. With the ancient heirloom of his family, the legendary sword Dawn at his hands, he cut down men left and right, to the point where I could see him from atop my horse. Our gazes met for just a heartbeat, and I gripped the hilt of Blackfyre all the harder. But his eyes then turned to the man beside me, clad in white armor and white cloak. Holding blood-stained Dark Sister, the other Valyrian steel sword of our house in his hands, Aemon the Dragonknight stood sternly by my side.

Where the Sword of the Morning a moment ago had been determined to kill the king and end the war, he now considered his choices. To face me, he'd have to cut his way through my cousin, a foe even he was not sure he could beat. Making his decision, Lord Aidan continued fighting other foes and the battle took him further away from us.

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The northerners in the center were soon reinforced by forces of Oldtown, led by Lord Leyton Hightower himself. The knights of the Reach cut through the ranks of Dornish center, dividing their host into two. Even the Sword of the Morning could not turn the tide of the battle and was forced to retreat and let us seize the day.

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(Lord Leyton Hightower's arrival broke the Dornish center and started a rout even their generals could not stop)

The Battles of Ghaston Grey and Yronwood had shown our enemies what we were capable of. Both battles had been close calls, one won by an advantage given us by environment and the other due to reinforcements that arrived throughout the battle. But it was not just battles that we'd won. The Reachmen had taken Starfall, home of Lord Aidan Dayne, and the Tullies had marched down Prince's Pass - even if with heavy casualties.

Overall I was confident that we could make our enemies bend their knees. But at the time I did not yet know what perils I was soon facing, for the war was far from done.

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Nice to see a new Multiplayer AAR from some of my favourite AAR writers. Keep up the good work guys
 
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House Hightower - (Prologue) 157 AC

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House Hightower has been in Westeros since its very beginnings. They can boast to be descendants from both the Andals and the First Men. The very city they rule is Oldtown, a city older than the Hightowers themselves. No house can boast such an ancient bloodline, not even the Targaryens or Lannisters. House Hightower has been a part of the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms since the Age of Heroes. They were Kings once too, during the Age of Petty Kings. Not even the might of the Greenhand could bring them to heel, for they were not brought into the Reach until Garland Gardener and Lymond Hightower united their houses by marriage. After still, the Hightowers played a prominent role. First and foremost among the vassals of the Gardener Kings, they controlled the largest city in Westeros until King's Landing was founded. It remains the most beautiful city, the Hightowers would say.

They were pious too, to this day they house the High Septon in the magnificent Starry Sept. It was there King Aegon the Conqueror knelt, and was anointed King by the High Septon. Lord Hightower was so pious he prayed for seven days with the High Septon. On the seventh day he announced to the world House Hightower would not oppose the dragon kings. They have been leal servants ever since.

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(Aegon is crowned King of Westeros by the High Septon in the Starry Sept)

The Hightowers played many key roles in times to come. It was a Hightower High Septon that King Maegor the Cruel first contended with. He even took a Hightower bride to wife, Ceryse Hightower, to bride. That union ended tragically. Ceryse was not the first Hightower to be made a Queen. When Viserys Targaryen took Alicent Hightower to wife, it set the foundations for the infamous green and black rivalry. The Greens were supporters of the Queen Alicent, while the Blacks supported the pretender Rhaenyra Targaryen. It goes without saying that the Hightowers were first and foremost of King Aegon II's supporters. His wealth and power fueled the Dance of Dragons. Many Hightowers lost their lives fighting for Aegon, prominently Hand of the King Otto Hightower and Lord of Oldtown Ormund Hightower. When the war concluded with a Black King, bitterness set in.



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(The Dance of Dragons was characterized by the rivalry between Queen Alicent Hightower (the Greens) and Rhaenyra Targaryen (the Blacks) )

The enmity left over by the Dance can be found today. Lord Lyonel Hightower, forty-and-three years of age, remembers well. He was but a boy during the dance, but his father Ormund Hightower led the forces of the Greens during the dance. It was Ormund Hightower who rallied men to fight for the rightful King, who dubbed Prince Daeron the Daring a knight, who fought for his niece, who died for his King like so many others at the First Battle of Tumbleton. Lord Lyonel loathed King Aegon III, and brooded in Oldtown for three decades.

No one would think the son of the man who led the Greens would ever become such a strong supporter of King Daeron, a Black King. Least of all Lyonel Hightower. But King Daeron is... King Daeron. The Warrior made flesh. Still it would take a lot to bring the Hightowers back into the fold. A lot of promises, apologies, and most importantly: a raven from the king.

(a small post for a lowly HL. First time doing something like this so be gentle ;) )
 
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House Baratheon
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The Storm Gathers

It had been nearly a month without a Maester in Storms End, Arion suspected. Maester Jon as it turned out was not only tired but deathly ill as after his sessions with Sarya he had turned in for the night only not to be woken by his Ravens but the stranger and carried off.

Lord Toyne had taken up control the ravenry with Jon gone, though that was soon to change. Dad had sent word the day after to the Citadel, demanding a Maester with a Iron link. He had recently arrived and Lord Baratheon was eager to meet him.

Arion found his father within the Solar, brooding over his big Black Table. It had a map of the various passes into the Dornish Marches, and Dorne itself, though lacked for many details the further from Storm's end the map showed. Uncle Jonald was with him an empty glass tinged red on the table in front of him.

"If only I had Aegon's Painted Whore of a Table" Jonald declared

"Yes you love your Whores don't you" answered Lord Baratheon. He was dressed in his Black Tunic, The one with the Baratheon Emblem emblazoned on the Front. He had shaved his beard as well, something he only did when preparing to see the King. Could the new Maester be that important?

"Look, if we attack down the Boneway it may be dangerous but I cannot wait a year to build ships, we haven't the Lumber, gold or time for that"

"We both know the Boneway is suicide, we must go by sea, Perhaps the Arbor's fleet"

Lord Baratheon laughed, a short, single laugh before looking at his brother "No, I'll not have Aegon think the Greens are Conspiring together again" He tapped the map again "We go by the goat trails, Lord Toyne thinks it possible, We could be in Yronwood in a month"

"Excuse me my lord" uttered a third voice. One Arion hadn't heard before. When he turned to look a tall man, wait a Maester, he could see his Chain glinting in the torchlight of the solar. "I am Maester Pate, from the Citadel"​

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Lord Corwen looked up, and twisted his mouth "Let me have a look at you, out of the doorway" Maester Pate complied and walked past Arion to the Black Table, and stopped without a word

Father looked him up and down before settling on the slight incline so he could see his face "Your Tall"

Maester Pate blinked, and then opened his mouth "Is that a Problem my Lord Corwen?"
"No, It will be easier to find out if you have fallen on the battlefield this way"

The Maester paused, thought for a moment and then opened his Mouth Again "I have news as well, From the Capital"

Jonald looked up from the table, "Well lets hear it then" Jonald was clearly in one of his moods, Arion thought. He and Father must have been talking strategy for hours before his arrival in the Solar. Uncle Jonald had a taste for war but no skill for it, he often heard his uncle Sarmion said. Father however was considered one of the best commanders in Westeros, something Arion had been proud of. Though on matters of the Faith the two could not be more different, Uncle Jonald was a devout follower from the Seven, something Father never truly understood nor cared too and openly criticized the Faith at every opportunity.

"Yes, um first off" he retrieved several small messages into his palm. "King Daeron Targaryen has demanded all Lords swear him fealty and ride to his side in the Dornish conquest" then he offered the first note.​

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"What, So Impersonal is the Grand Maester he has forgotten we already pledged our support?" Jonald said, returning his gaze to the map.

"Anything else?" Asked father, Who had begun to look just as annoyed as Jonald.

Maester Pate read another message "It seems the king has asked your Permission to provide Sarmion a wife"

Jonald quickly jumped in again without looking up "I thought Sar wanted a White Cloak"

"My lord-"

"My Brother can do as he likes, he has never needed my Permission" Lord Corwen responded.

"Well the King Asked for yours my lord"

"The boy knows his manners, that wont do him any good on the field" Corwen added

"He has also been appointed commander of the Goldcloaks, and sails with Daeron for Dorne upon your request however the King has offered to return him to you"​

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"He would look better in black" answered Jonald

Lord Corwen turned to his Brother, about to reply but then remembering something whether it was the Maester's presence or Arion's then took a breath then turned to the Maester "Tell the King that Sarmion may do as he wishes"

"Thank you my lord I'll send a Raven right away" Maester Pate raced to say, He then swiftly left the solar and went up the stairs to his ravens. Then Corwen looked back to his brother, who had grabbed his bottle of Arbor red "and You'd look better Sober,"​

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And Thus started a long month of Walking, Camping and more Walking along the many lesser trails of the Boneway. Eventually stopping outside Wyl where word from Ghaston Grey arrived of the King's arrival, and great conquest. Jonald originally had suggested that Lord Corwen stop and take Wyl along the way, rather than risking himself further. With the Dornish presence gathering by the day further south the army would be forced to press on until it was outside Yronwood.

Arion accompanied the Host, alongside his Father and his older brother Tancred. Uncle Jonald stayed back at Storm's End to gather a second host should the initial assault fail and the Dornish attempt a counter-raid.

With the sun rising, Maester Pate had run into the Baratheon tent, looking worried.

"My Lord, I have received word from the Tyrells on the positions of the Dornish" Maester Pate it had seemed was exactly who Father asked for. Rather than old Jon, Pate had quickly learned to be quiet and help only when asked. He reminded Arion of Uncle Sar, being big and quiet.

Lord Corwen looked up, though it was not a map upon the table, this time it was Breakfast. "Let me see"

The Maester passed him the note, the contents of which only made Arion's father scowl. "The Dornish mean to attack us, Here? at Yronwood?" He asked, still in disbelief

"Should I have the Engineers prepare defenses?" Pate asked, the color still drained from his face.
"No, prepare graves, By the time the day is out there will be plenty Dornishmen to fill them"

And Maester Pate left, Though Arion worried if he thought father was actually serious. Tancred of Course was awake and had remained silent. "What shall we do father" he finally spoke.

Tancred was always so quiet, he used to be fun but ever since the day Ser Aegon turned him down he had become this way, quiet and afraid of speaking his Mind. Arion couldn't understand how anyone could feel scared to say something, Words came easy to him after all, actions more so.

"We're gonna stick em with our swords!" Arion spoke

He saw his Father Smile which made him smile as well. Tancred seemed less amused.

"We only have Seven Thousand Father, The Dornish have nearly twenty" Tancred reminded, souring the mood.

"Every Stormlander is worth Ten Dornishmen, you know that" Lord Corwen proudly reminded them both. "But I am not so foolish to not hedge my bets"

Father rose from the table and walked over to his helm "The Young dragon is no older than you Tancred, Yet he sits atop Ghaston Grey, thinking it Dragonstone, It is our duty, as Men of the crown to fight for him, no matter how foolish, We will not fail because I will not allow it" he took his helm and cradled it in his hands like a great melon "I want you and your brother safe, You both will lead a Hundred horse out of camp and find lord Hightower's men should you not find them by the end of the day have Maester Pate send a Raven"

And with that, the Morning had ended, and in hours the Battle had begun.

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Arion had not been present for the battle but Father was right, the Hightowers did swing the Battle much to everyone's surprise. Uncle Sarmion had arrived beside the King to relieve his Brother and the Unified forces of House Tyrell, Baratheon and Targaryen held the line long enough for the Hightowers to come and Break the Dornish Center and route them back to the Tor.​

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Though the Celebrations did not last long, as Word of Martell Reinforcements in the Tor had arrived by Boat, The Forces of the king would split yet again to see if the Dornishmen would fall into the trap a second time.​
 
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