I'd say that's an excuse more than good enough...! Take care of yourself and your daughter! 
Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR
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Fear not Etzel, like you I do not have much free time to work on this. So take care of your daughter we can all wait for a dornish update.
Bryan Tyrell
22nd through 25th Years Since Aegon's Landing
With the Dornish now subjugated and under the boot of the Iron Throne, peace descended over the Reach and indeed the Seven Kingdoms. Bryan sponsored a divine image of the Crone, and after it was finished and placed in the Highgarden Sept he prayed to the Crone for wisdom in the coming years. It was in the last month of 22AL that a herald named Humphry came to the court of Highgarden, Bryan quickly paid him some coin to persuade him to stay at court.
By February 23AL, Cyrenna came of age; her tutoring had paid off for she was remarkably skilled in both stewardship and intrigue. Yet, despite these skills and indeed her attractiveness, Bryan still loved Freya and so one night he visited her rooms in Highgarden castle and gave her a night to remember…
The rest of the year passed without incident and 24AL began with relative peace, however in late January a letter was sent to Highgarden by Lord Moryn Rowan the spymaster of the Reach, the contents of the letter shocked Bryan. Lord Heycter Fossoway had been meeting with Axell Florent frequently over the last few months. Moryn having been keeping an eye on the Florents after previous events had found evidence that during these meetings Hectyr trying to persuade Axell to revolt against Bryan. However, Hectyr had found out what Moryn knew and tried to remove him by means of a manure explosion. The assassination failed and Moryn fled into hiding but not before sending a letter to the court. Bryan despite his lack of justice, feared that Hectyr would inform Axell of Moryn’s discovery and use this as evidence to make him revolt. He quickly arranged for Hectyr to be exposed of his crimes.
Several months later in May, Lady Janica Peake requested that Bryan order house Cockleswent to stand down and return to their homes after they had were seen invading the lands of house Peake. Bryan’s reply was short and blunt.
Lady Janica,
Your request for aid against house Cockleswent is denied, your forces are more than sufficient to deal with the invading army. I have no wish to get involved with this petty war.
Yours,
Bryan Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Lord of Highgarden and the Manderford.
This refusal did little to improve relations between the two houses and friction would remain between the two houses for several years.
Small issues remained on the horizon however for Freya gave birth to a bastard child in July that year. However, Margaery ‘Flowers’ died stillborn and Bryan still only had one son to carry on the Tyrell line.
Days after this tragic event, Bryan was invited to the Tourney of Goldengrove by Myron Rowan. Bryan despite his military incompetence was a trained fighter and believed it could be possible for him to win the tourney. However, he was knocked out of the tourney in the early days by Ser Ameon Redding. Ser Arys Lockridge would be proclaimed the winner of the tourney several days later. He was known to be a skilled fighter but a cruel and rude man, not to mention ambitious. However he was known to be brave, temperate and humble.
Having returned to Highgarden, Bryan received word that prince Perros, the prince-consort of Queen Obara had been found to be plotting to murder one of Obara's distant relatives. He was brought in chains to King's Landing. Before the Martells could plead for mercy, Aegon ordered Hand of the King Loren to hold a trial for the Dornishsman. Based on the evidence found by the Master of Whisperers, he was found guilty and sent as far from Dorne as possible - to take the black.
Bryan received better news later that month. Ever since Hectyr Fossoway had been exposed of his murder plot; Bryan had sent his Master of Laws Canter, to Brightwater Keep to improve relations with the Florents. These talks had finally born fruit and relations between the Tyrells and House Florent were improved at least for a time. To further improve relations between the two houses, Bryan named Lord Axell ‘master of swans’.
In the last month of 24AL, Bryan was invited to the tourney of Greyshield, Bryan however was defeated by Edwyn Chester in the final round but was declared second at the conclusion of the Tournament…
Finally got round to writing this, sorry if it is badly written and full of errors, but I wanted to finish up chapters from the second session. Expect a rise in chapters from next weekend after my mocks have finished. I also plan to write chapters from here on out much like the way they were written by Andrzej I. (In others words more dialouge and description.) This to make my chapters work better with the other writers. At present my chapters are written in a format similar to The Pendragons Chronicles and the Italian Boot.
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Just wanted to post a brief apology myself for my lack of updates. Been busy planning out my near future in regards to where I might end up moving by the end of this year, covering a coworker's vacation, and recently coming down with a cold/flu. I will be striving to get an update by this weekend, but no guarantees.
My Mocks are now done. So expect a rise in Chapters from House Tyrell from here on out.
Saxon
Saxon
Dorne- House Martell
Part 6: 22
Part 6: 22
Taking a knee, Bors finally got an opportunity to take a breath. It felt as if they had been fighting for days. In fact by the judge of the sun it had only been since first light and the sun was barely at its zenith. The first to strike was the Westland Lions at first light.
Bors was one of the last of the Dornish soldiers to fall back to where the Dorne's were called to meet where they would make their last stand. Ghost Hill. Appropriately named seeing as how they would all likely be ghosts by night's end. Fifty thousand ironborn, westlands, men of the Vale, stormlanders, and Targaryens against the fifteen thousand soldiers which came to Obara's call to arms.
They should have numbered closer to the twenty thousands, but some men fell with Sunspear and others at the Stone Way. The Prince's Pass they didn't even try to defend. By the time the men of the Reach had made it into the pass, Lord Dayne had already collected his eight thousand soldiers and was heading east. The desert and animals prevented any proper pursuit.
Looking out over the battlefield, Bors watched as the ironborn fell back. To keep their losses minimal between the different forces they attacked in waves. First came the Westland then the Vale and the Targaryens and most recently the ironborn. So far they may have inflicted only a few hundred losses on the enemy while losing in the thousands. This was a horrible place to defend. They should have kept moving. Let them try to take their castles while the enemy died from the sun. Instead they fought here, allowing the enemy the advantage.
When in the Stone Way, he had been in command and so he ensured they fought using their advantages. With only a thousand men he stood no chance against the Stormland army. Therefore, they fought with hit and runs, ambushes, and poison. In one of the battles he had even struck Orys Baratheon himself with one of his arrows. This had been the last battle prior to their retreat so he knew not what had happened to him.
The Stormlanders were one of the last to arrive at this encirclement. Orys was no where to be found. No doubt he was recovering from his wound back at his home while Bors fought on. What a coward. If he had been the one injured in that last battle, Bors would still be standing where he was now. No injury would keep him from this battle.
This battle would decide the fate of this war. There were truly three possible outcomes. They would all be slaughtered on this hill. One of the scorpions would get off a lucky shot bringing down Aegon, or these men who wished to subjugate Dorne would break upon their spears. The last was the least likely, but the outcome which they all hoped for. If they could hold this hill then the sun and desert would finish off those that did not fall to their spears. This would take a strong leader to keep these people together and hold on for the days or weeks it would take before the Targaryen hold broke.
Obara was not such a leader.
"Gerod", Bors finally acknowledged the man who stood beside him. "When you get the opportunity, slip away. Once you have made it past the Targaryen lines head south towards Salt Shore. Before you reach the city you will come across a small riverbed. Follow it west until you come to a house. You know what to do from there." Gerod bowed his head and moved further east in the lines. There were a few trees and good hills to the east that he could use for cover. Bors did not trust anybody, but he did trust certain people to do certain tasks. Gerod and his task was one that he trusted to see done.
As Gerod disappeared in the troops, Bro's attention shifted to the mass movement all around them. All the kingdoms which had come to the Dragon King's call now pushed their lines forward. This was the final push. This would determine if Dorne had a future. They would hold or they would break. If they could hold on here for the next few hours they had a chance.
Taking his position among his men, Bors saw that the Stormlanders were the men who were merely right to the cent of his men's lines. "Well boys," he called out. "Looks like we get to kill some more of these Stormlanders. As those of you who went with me to the Stone Way, they are not much in the way of fighters. Most are heavily armored, but simply put your spear under their arm or in their knee and they will fall."
Taking a position a good five or so feet in front of his men Bors yells back, "The only one of their men worth a damn is out of this fight nursing a wounded pride from me." This got a roar of laughter and cheer he had hoped for. Though they were outnumbered and nearly certain to face certain death his men were relaxed.
Then the Stormlanders were upon them.
Striking out with his spear, Bros realized how foolish he had been. Though Orys Baratheon was the greatest warrior of the Stormlanders, he was not the only good warrior they had. With no support to his left or right, Bors was unable to recover enough before he was overwhelmed by soldiers.
Knocked to the ground with his spear and shield held out to the side. There was nothing he could do. It was at this time that a soldier stepped forward in fine armor holding a great shield with the stag of House Baratheon on it. "In honor of the memory of Orys Baratheon we, his guard, take the life of the one who killed him with the Lord's own shield." With these few words the edge of the shield slammed down upon his face. Once, twice, and again. Bors only felt the first before blackness overwhelmed him.
THE PRINCE OF DRAGONSTONE
Maelon Targaryen
31st Year Since Aegon's Conquest
Maelon Targaryen
31st Year Since Aegon's Conquest
"My Lord, your wife and children have set sail for Dragonstone," reported the Hand of the King. Ever since his father had taken ill, the burden of rulership over the Seven Kingdoms had fallen upon the Crown Prince. The Prince of Dragonstone nodded silently in response, gazing thoughtfully off at the streets city of King's Landing below for a long few moments before those amethyst eyes fell upon his father's favored advisor. Tyon Reyne was clad in a billowing cloak of umbrous black, only the youth's bushy red beard readily seen beneath the cowl, making him seem more appropriate as a Master of Whispers than the King's own Hand. The young Westerman met Maelon's gaze for but a fleeting instant, soon looking out over the city as the Prince had been. With a sigh, Tyon spoke Maelon's thoughts aloud, "The city has never been as silent as it has these past few weeks."
"They call it Aegon's Bane," Maelon muttered in his rumbling voice, scowling at the mention of the Grey Plague. It seemed easily half the city had fallen victim to this virulent plague, and chief amongst them was his father, confirmed merely days before by Grand Maester Joffrey. The thought of so many ill and suffering tugged at the Dragon's heart, forcing him to swallow the bitter bile as it rose up his throat. Shaking his head, heavy with sorrow, the Crown Prince commanded his father's Hand, "Ensure the Silent Sisters may continue their work unhindered, Ser Tyon, and that the streets remain safe. May the Seven keep you." And with that blessing, Maelon dismissed Tyon Reyne, leaving him alone with Ser Clarence the Short, one of the few whose height rivaled the Prince's own.
With his father bedridden and ill with the Grey Plague, Maelon had chosen to distance himself from the Red Keep, taking up residence upon the hill that had come to bear his mother's name. A small sept had been established years before upon Viseyna's Hill, and it had become a welcome refuge for the Crown Prince, especially in these trying days. Though he felt compelled to return to the sept and resume his prayers, his feet would not lead him away. Try though he might, Maelon could not tear his violet eyes from the massive Dragonpit, whose large windows glowed with a warmth visible even from the opposite end of the Street of the Sisters. The advice of the Grand Maester had prevailed over Princess Elaena's reluctance, and the dragon Trogdax had been left in King's Landing while she departed for Dragonstone with their four children, including little Rhaena.
Yet, though Maelys' talent at the sword was deserving of recognition, it was Edmyn Tully that was the terror of the training yard. Despite the strong hand and earnest prayers of the Crown Prince, his squire had become an insolent youth, laughing at his mentor's rebukes and delighting in the misery he inflicted upon the other children of the Red Keep. He made use of his prowess upon the field to further his demands, stealing from the other noble children anything his eyes desired. The Seven did not forget Maelon's virtues, nor did his prayers go unanswered. For while Edmyn had showed little but cruelty within his heart, Bryan Arryn had embraced the septon's sermons. Like his mentor's son, Bryan often stole away from his lessons, yet unlike the princeling, Bryan did not linger in the sept, but found delight in sharing his blessings with those less fortunate. Several times, Bryan stole away, sharing morsels from the royal kitchens with the children of King's Landing. Though forced to chide his squire for abandoning his responsibilities, Maelon could not help but feel proud of his Valeman ward.
It was difficult to believe, little more than one-and-thirty years before, the Seven Kingdoms were divided, feuding principalities that engaged more in hostilities than in pleasantries, knowing only their countrymen as kith and kin. Yet, his family, his father Aegon the Dragon, had brought them together with fire and blood, forging the possibility for the youth like young Bryan to break bread with men that his forefathers knew only as foes. The Crown Prince could not suppress the faint smile that came to his lips at the thought of his tenderhearted ward being betrothed to the Lady of the Isles, a girl he, too, had helped raise for a time. It would be these ties, together with the Faith that unified five of the seven kingdoms, that Maelon prayed he would be able to use to continue his father's legacy, and that these divided people, with their diverse customs, could be forged as finest steel.
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Well Maelon has taken the throne, we will see how well he does in the next session.
Looks like young Maelys, as the insanely religious do-gooder, could turn into something of a Baelor the Blessed, that should be interesting to see.
Not to spoil things (since I think it was mentioned before), but the second-in-line, Lucarys, is insane (and Huge), practically guaranteeing an insane Targaryen third ruler. Little Rhaena is insane as well. Only Maekar is sane. So far, at least
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Not to spoil things (since I think it was mentioned before), but the second-in-line, Lucarys, is insane (and Huge), practically guaranteeing an insane Targaryen third ruler. Little Rhaena is insane as well. Only Maekar is sane. So far, at least
Really? the Targs in our game are not doing well on the sane front.
mayhaps the Reach will try and recliam independence.
It's ok. You've got leal vassals. With claims.A fine way to repay the Dragon for ensuring a stable succession for Bryan
...
Just saying.
A fine way to repay the Dragon for ensuring a stable succession for Bryan
Hey I have one son, that is not a stable sucession. If he kicks it the Tyrells will die out when Bryan dies.
Well lets hope the coin ends on other side next timeNot to spoil things (since I think it was mentioned before), but the second-in-line, Lucarys, is insane (and Huge), practically guaranteeing an insane Targaryen third ruler. Little Rhaena is insane as well. Only Maekar is sane. So far, at least
Could've been worse with Lord Florent scheming against an heirless Bryan, which is when Aegon stepped in for House Tyrell
Chapter 8: Gwyneth II
"And who are you, the proud lord said..."
31-32 AL
"And who are you, the proud lord said..."
31-32 AL
Gwyneth moved fluidly (well, not really fluidly, but no one would dare say otherwise) through the crowd, basking in the atmosphere of the feast. She was trying to waddle her way to her seat, but the throng pressed together and made it difficult. A few bards had been found passing through, and they were singing renditions of various songs at various levels of skills. One of them was singing a ballad that obliquely referenced Harrenhall, a move that showed the player had no taste.
Eventually, she made her way to her seat, at which point she picked up a glass and tapped a spoon against it to get everyone's attention. Repeatedly. After becoming progressively frustrated, Gwyneth threw her glass at the ground instead, which garnered everyone's attention.
Gwyneth composed herself. "Yes. Well. I hope you are all enjoying the feast." Every single one of her vassals was in the hall, and most of their retainers and family besides. Gwyneth took a breath before continuing. "After long deliberation, I have come to a number of conclusions. The first is that the High Lordship of Great Wyk is too tempting a prize. Multiple individuals have tried to press their luck to claim it, and as such, I have moved to dissolve the position." A low murmur started in the crowd. "In addition, my father made a mistake by placing Lord Joseran under the good Lord Emmond, one I intend to rectify. Lord Emmond Harlaw has already been informed, and is currently in deliberations." The murmuring grew louder, but Gwyneth paid it no heed. The bags of gold that had been placed in the guest rooms of some of her less leal vassals and the bundle of dead rats that had been unceremoniously dumped onto Harlaw's bed had set things in stone. Gwyneth wandered off to meet her generals, certain of Lord Emmond Harlaw's response.
_____________________________________
Gwyneth sat on a longship, overseeing the battle that was occurring outside of Pebbleton Castle. Her condition prevented her from coming any closer. Not that it mattered, as the levies that had been raised by Joseran in defense of his nominal liege were outnumbered six to one. The loyalist host battered at the Goodbrother forces, pouring forth from their longships and running into battle.
An aide touched her shoulder and pointed at a new, smaller, fleet of ships. These longships bore the white scythe of the Harlaws and was sailing to the Goodbrother position that was rapidly becoming enveloped. Gwyneth wasn't terribly worried, however. Emmond could muster at most four thousand men from the isle of Harlaw, nowhere near enough to relieve Joseran.
The battle raged until the dead of night, prolonged by the arrival of Lord Harlaw. Joseran and his men fought their way down to the Harlaw longships, whose men assaulted the Greyjoy position to try and rescue the Goodbrother levies. Only a fraction of those troops made it back onto the longships, however, and they quickly fled.
Gwyneth penned a letter to her generals, ordering them to set sail for Harlaw Hill, and retired to her quarters.
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Gwyneth lay on her back, panting. Giving birth was a new and painful experience, and Gwyneth was thoroughly tired and annoyed. Wordlessly, Gwyneth motioned at the midwife to give her her newborn child, who wore a face filled with dread that was mirrored by Tristifer. Impatient, Gwyneth motioned again, and Tristifer spoke with a voice completely void of emotion. "She's blue in the face, Gwyneth. Our daughter is dead."
Gwyneth fell back and loosed a scream of pure sorrow. Once she recovered, she fixed her gaze on Tristifer. "Help me up." He jolted. "What? Stand? You can barely-" Gwyneth's voice was steel. "Help. Me up." Tristifer gulped and moved over to Gwyneth. Clutching at him, Gwyneth pulled herself up and promptly collapsed. "Gods, Gwyneth, what-" "Shut. Up. And don't swear by the Seven. Now, bring me to my generals." "But-" "Now."
Tristifer nodded wordlessly, and the two of them limped off, blood trailing behind. The midwife tried to stop them, but one look from Gwyneth silenced any objections she had. Eventually, they came to the command pavilion and made their way inside. Ignoring all the stares, Gwyneth spoke a simple statement. "Assault the walls."
Lord Dustin spoke up. "What?"
"Did I stutter? I said, assault the walls. Now."
Dustin looked like he was about to speak, then thought better of it and left the pavilion. Gwyneth hobbled over to the chair he vacated and slowly dragged it outside to set it opposite the walls. At that point, she collapsed into the chair, and watched the preparations for the assault, and then the assault itself.
Gwyneth stayed in that chair the entire night and well into the morning, staring at the walls of Harlaw Hill. Eventually, Lord Dustin returned, leading a patrol of his men. They were surrounding two men and a boy, all in chains. Lord Emmond Harlaw's children.
Without even looking at Dustin or the traitor's children, Gwyneth spoke. "Kill them. Deliver their heads to Emmond. Tell him to make due haste for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, or I'll send him his daughter's heads too."
Dustin cleared his throat. "My lady, you are aware that Lord Emmond has a brother, yes?"
Gwyneth nodded. "Lord Sigrin Harlaw is the least of my worries. He's a simple man with one daughter and a barren wife. He'll live in full knowledge that I killed his family and will inherit his land when he too expires, and so will everyone else." By the last part, Gwyneth's voice was a hoarse whisper.
She felt no satisfaction, even though she had just brutally crushed her primary opponent. Perhaps the satisfaction would come later.
The rain started to fall, and Gwyneth watched the walls of Harlaw Hill.
____________________________________
Cue the Rains of Castamere. Btw, it was a tyranny war triggered by my attempt to retract vassalage. Basically, in legalese, I punched Emmond, and then declared him a traitor when he retaliated.
Oh, and if you haven't guessed, we played a new session.
Yup, we have some new material. I decided to drop by and join the session since I was on my weekend holidays, so Aegon's epilogue may not be the last of my work. I'm going back 'to work' later today, but I might scribble down something next weekend when I come home again. And who did I play as?
.. Another Aegon.
Aegon Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands
31 AL - 34 AL
The death of Aegon Targaryen changed the lives of many, mine included.
When my father Lord Orys Baratheon died, the Conqueror took me - his nephew and namesake - as his ward to be raised in the capital. But now he was gone as well, taken from this world by the plague. His demise was a shock to some, for many had dreaded the day when the realm no longer was held together by Aegon the Dragon. But I had been prepared for that day by the man himself; the houses of Baratheon and Targaryen were strongly locked together by both blood and friendship, and now it was my turn to step up and take responsibility. 'My shield, my stalwart, my strong hand', King Aegon had called my father. I was raised to believe that it was my duty to be the same to the next man to sit on the Iron Throne.
By the time the plague landed on Westeros, first appearing in the port towns north of King's Landing, I was just about to reach adulthood. As days went by and news turned to worse, my sixteenth nameday also came. I was no longer a child but a man, ready to rule in my own name and no longer bound to the capital as the King's ward. During my time in there I'd learned how to wield a sword as well as my father had, which combined with my exceptional strength made me one of the best fighters in whole Westeros. But 'good soldiers do not necessarily make good leaders', the Grand Maester once commented when he grew tired of me skipping his lesson to spend the day out in the yard, practicing swordsplay.
Having finished my training, the King knighted me personally and I began to prepare for a journey back to Storm's End, my home and rightful seat. But then the dark days came and the plague entered the city, forcing me to remain in the Red Keep unless I was willing to risk getting infected. But soon we realized that the walls of the royal palace could not hold back the plague either. As both the king and his wife, Queen Visenya fell ill, the only thing we could do was to wait. I had never been a religious person unlike my both my cousins. But if Prince Maelon prayed for the Seven to spare his father, his pleas weren't heeded. King Aegon Targaryen was dead and his firstborn son was left to unravel the chaos that had gotten a grip of the capital.
I did my duty and swore fealty to the new ruler of Westeros. The ceremonies for Maelon Targaryen's ascension to the throne of Westeros were overshadowed by the troubles in the Crownlands, but I had the full certainty that the Conqueror's son would prove equal to his task. There was some talk that the new king meant to give me a place in his Small Council, but it never came to be. Instead I saddled up my horse and took the Kingsroad down south to finally return home once the streets of King's Landing were calm enough. My duties as a husband had began two years earlier and the marriage my father had brokered between me and Lady Taena Westbrook had so far resulted with one child. Young Rhaenyra and her mother had already returned to Storm's End where my mother, Princess Argella Durrandon had ruled as my regent. The thought of seeing them all made me keep haste all the more.
It was an odd sensation to feel the winds of the Narrow Sea blow against my face, or to walk the halls of Storm's End once more. But my father's seat was now mine, along with all the responsibilities that came with my position as the Lord of the Stormlands. Ruling was a task I alone could not accomplish, and I realized I needed a strong right hand to aid me in my work. My mother had ruled in my name for the past few years, but although she was experienced and well respected by the Stormlanders, she was still my mother. Though none said it, some still thought of me as a boy. To get rid of that stain in my reputation and earn my name, I needed to do find another solution than hiding under my mother's skirt.
I'd exchanged a few letters with my cousin and the Conqueror's younger son, Prince Aerion, telling him what had happened in the capital and that his twin daughters had been spared from the plague. Aerion had left years ago with his wife, Princess Valaena, to find their own place in the world in Essos as they stood to inherit nothing. From what I'd heard, Aerion had travelled with a mercenary company for some time, making a name for himself across the Narrow Sea. I understood from his letters that he was growing weary of travelling, but did not consider returning to King's Landing as an option. So I wrote that he and his wife would be most welcome in the Stormlands. Then one day the tides brought two dragons to my doorsteps.
Though King Maelon had three sons of his own and Aerion none, the second son of Aegon Targaryen had a strong claim to the Iron Throne. Some must've seen his return as a threat, for I received information that Queen Elaena was plotting my demise. Had he seen how deep the roots of my loyalty to his husband were, she surely wouldn't had even considered the option. As I had no interest in staining the queen's reputation, I sent a letter to my cousin, the king himself, informing him alone of my discovery. He promised to deal with the matter and to keep his wife from 'further evil,' and so the matter was closed.
Fortune had treated the Tyrells badly enough already, but it seemed that even not Bryan Tyrell wouldn't be spared from ill fate. His sole son was murdered by a fellow highborn Reachman for one reason or another. The murderer's identity was revealed and King Maelon had the man first excommunicated. In no time he was apprehended and sentenced to spend the rest of his days at the Wall. While Byron Tyrell's death was a great tragedy, I saw an opportunity open up. Lord Bryan's wife had bore her husband only one son and she was soon reaching her thirties. After a few letters were sent back and forth to Highgarden, the Baratheons and Tyrells found a way to strenghten the union between the Reach and the Stormlands. Lord Bryan set aside his wife, Lady Cyrenna Morrigen, only to take my sister Lady Ravella Baratheon as his new wife. My sister was younger than Lord Bryan's first wife, and therefore more likely to bear him sons and do what Lady Morrigen had failed to.
Once I returned from their wedding at Highgarden, my wife announced that she was once more pregnant. It was news I'd long awaited, for I yet lacked a son and heir. I had a daughter, true, but if Rhaenyra ruled after me and had children of her own, it would mean end of the male bloodline of House Baratheon. Even King Maelon sent his congratulations, along with a small gift that no doubt was meant to ensure my loyalty. I wrote him it was most appreciated, though he'd earned my full support already.
As days turned to week and weeks turned to months, my wife's belly began to swell. Rhaenyra took her first steps, and everything seemed to be going well for me and my family. Little did I know. One night I awoke to the sound of my wife screaming beside me, only to find a snake in our bed. There was nothing I could do; by the time I was awake, it had already bit my wife, pumping its venom into her veins. Though I killed it, it was too late - my wife died in my arms before the guards could bring the Maester. In a blink of an eye I had been robbed of my wife and my possible future heir. How the snake had slipped into our chamber remained a mystery, but I had my own doubts. It was only due to ill fate that it had bit Taena instead of me - I could've been the target of the murder as well. Who'd released the viper was uncertain, but somehow I knew - and would not forget.
For mine is fury.
31 AL - 34 AL
The death of Aegon Targaryen changed the lives of many, mine included.
When my father Lord Orys Baratheon died, the Conqueror took me - his nephew and namesake - as his ward to be raised in the capital. But now he was gone as well, taken from this world by the plague. His demise was a shock to some, for many had dreaded the day when the realm no longer was held together by Aegon the Dragon. But I had been prepared for that day by the man himself; the houses of Baratheon and Targaryen were strongly locked together by both blood and friendship, and now it was my turn to step up and take responsibility. 'My shield, my stalwart, my strong hand', King Aegon had called my father. I was raised to believe that it was my duty to be the same to the next man to sit on the Iron Throne.
By the time the plague landed on Westeros, first appearing in the port towns north of King's Landing, I was just about to reach adulthood. As days went by and news turned to worse, my sixteenth nameday also came. I was no longer a child but a man, ready to rule in my own name and no longer bound to the capital as the King's ward. During my time in there I'd learned how to wield a sword as well as my father had, which combined with my exceptional strength made me one of the best fighters in whole Westeros. But 'good soldiers do not necessarily make good leaders', the Grand Maester once commented when he grew tired of me skipping his lesson to spend the day out in the yard, practicing swordsplay.
Having finished my training, the King knighted me personally and I began to prepare for a journey back to Storm's End, my home and rightful seat. But then the dark days came and the plague entered the city, forcing me to remain in the Red Keep unless I was willing to risk getting infected. But soon we realized that the walls of the royal palace could not hold back the plague either. As both the king and his wife, Queen Visenya fell ill, the only thing we could do was to wait. I had never been a religious person unlike my both my cousins. But if Prince Maelon prayed for the Seven to spare his father, his pleas weren't heeded. King Aegon Targaryen was dead and his firstborn son was left to unravel the chaos that had gotten a grip of the capital.
I did my duty and swore fealty to the new ruler of Westeros. The ceremonies for Maelon Targaryen's ascension to the throne of Westeros were overshadowed by the troubles in the Crownlands, but I had the full certainty that the Conqueror's son would prove equal to his task. There was some talk that the new king meant to give me a place in his Small Council, but it never came to be. Instead I saddled up my horse and took the Kingsroad down south to finally return home once the streets of King's Landing were calm enough. My duties as a husband had began two years earlier and the marriage my father had brokered between me and Lady Taena Westbrook had so far resulted with one child. Young Rhaenyra and her mother had already returned to Storm's End where my mother, Princess Argella Durrandon had ruled as my regent. The thought of seeing them all made me keep haste all the more.
It was an odd sensation to feel the winds of the Narrow Sea blow against my face, or to walk the halls of Storm's End once more. But my father's seat was now mine, along with all the responsibilities that came with my position as the Lord of the Stormlands. Ruling was a task I alone could not accomplish, and I realized I needed a strong right hand to aid me in my work. My mother had ruled in my name for the past few years, but although she was experienced and well respected by the Stormlanders, she was still my mother. Though none said it, some still thought of me as a boy. To get rid of that stain in my reputation and earn my name, I needed to do find another solution than hiding under my mother's skirt.
I'd exchanged a few letters with my cousin and the Conqueror's younger son, Prince Aerion, telling him what had happened in the capital and that his twin daughters had been spared from the plague. Aerion had left years ago with his wife, Princess Valaena, to find their own place in the world in Essos as they stood to inherit nothing. From what I'd heard, Aerion had travelled with a mercenary company for some time, making a name for himself across the Narrow Sea. I understood from his letters that he was growing weary of travelling, but did not consider returning to King's Landing as an option. So I wrote that he and his wife would be most welcome in the Stormlands. Then one day the tides brought two dragons to my doorsteps.
Though King Maelon had three sons of his own and Aerion none, the second son of Aegon Targaryen had a strong claim to the Iron Throne. Some must've seen his return as a threat, for I received information that Queen Elaena was plotting my demise. Had he seen how deep the roots of my loyalty to his husband were, she surely wouldn't had even considered the option. As I had no interest in staining the queen's reputation, I sent a letter to my cousin, the king himself, informing him alone of my discovery. He promised to deal with the matter and to keep his wife from 'further evil,' and so the matter was closed.
Fortune had treated the Tyrells badly enough already, but it seemed that even not Bryan Tyrell wouldn't be spared from ill fate. His sole son was murdered by a fellow highborn Reachman for one reason or another. The murderer's identity was revealed and King Maelon had the man first excommunicated. In no time he was apprehended and sentenced to spend the rest of his days at the Wall. While Byron Tyrell's death was a great tragedy, I saw an opportunity open up. Lord Bryan's wife had bore her husband only one son and she was soon reaching her thirties. After a few letters were sent back and forth to Highgarden, the Baratheons and Tyrells found a way to strenghten the union between the Reach and the Stormlands. Lord Bryan set aside his wife, Lady Cyrenna Morrigen, only to take my sister Lady Ravella Baratheon as his new wife. My sister was younger than Lord Bryan's first wife, and therefore more likely to bear him sons and do what Lady Morrigen had failed to.
Once I returned from their wedding at Highgarden, my wife announced that she was once more pregnant. It was news I'd long awaited, for I yet lacked a son and heir. I had a daughter, true, but if Rhaenyra ruled after me and had children of her own, it would mean end of the male bloodline of House Baratheon. Even King Maelon sent his congratulations, along with a small gift that no doubt was meant to ensure my loyalty. I wrote him it was most appreciated, though he'd earned my full support already.
As days turned to week and weeks turned to months, my wife's belly began to swell. Rhaenyra took her first steps, and everything seemed to be going well for me and my family. Little did I know. One night I awoke to the sound of my wife screaming beside me, only to find a snake in our bed. There was nothing I could do; by the time I was awake, it had already bit my wife, pumping its venom into her veins. Though I killed it, it was too late - my wife died in my arms before the guards could bring the Maester. In a blink of an eye I had been robbed of my wife and my possible future heir. How the snake had slipped into our chamber remained a mystery, but I had my own doubts. It was only due to ill fate that it had bit Taena instead of me - I could've been the target of the murder as well. Who'd released the viper was uncertain, but somehow I knew - and would not forget.
For mine is fury.
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