Seven Kingdoms - A Game of Thrones MultiplayAAR
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House of Arryn
25 AL - 27 AL
Ever since he reached majority year nearly twenty years ago, there had been one intent on Ronnel's mind, and one intent alone: to rule the Vale with peace, honor, and dignity; to demonstrate his loyalty to his king, and to benefit the Valemen who looked up to him as their lord paramount. The creed of House Arryn still rang through his mind: As High as Honor. His position atop the Eyrie not only reminded him of the height of his power, but what the height of his character was to be. To tumble down from the Giant's Lance would not only demonstrate how far someone could fall from power, but from a moral upstanding.
This was on Ronnel's mind when, in September of 26 AL, he realized that he may, for once in his life, be required to play the villain. The lord paramount had been alerted by his councilmen that there was a great concern over one of his vassals successions. They had asked to meet him in the council chamber, with no one else present. At the moment the meeting was begun, it was Ronnel seated in a chair, flanked by Ser Arstan Arryn, his kinsman and Master at Arms, Yohn of Stone Keep, the Castellan, and the newly arrived Maester Tremond. Tremond had been sent by the Citadel after the aging Maester Brus had been appointed a seat on the Conclave, which was the governing body of the Citadel. Tremond was a curiosity for the Valemen, since he was of Stone Dornish descent and wore a funny hat wherever he walked about, thereby standing out greatly in the Eyrie. However, he was a very educated man, especially as far as affairs of government were concerned, and Ronnel soon found that he was of a humble, honest spirit. He also seemed to warm up to the lord's family very nicely, which was a nice change from Brus who – despite his intelligence – always made Ronnel nervous when he was around Valiete or Myranda.
“Now that we are gathered here, and I trust you gentlemen are comfortable,” Ronnel said, giving a curt but sincere nod to each man present, “let us begin this order of business. What is concerning this meeting?”
“It is concerning Elys Sunderland, Lord of the Sisters.” It was Yohn who had begun to speak. “He has only daughters, and according to inheritance laws, his heir is Medger Blackmyre, son of Mikken Blackmyre, the Crannogman lord of Greyerann.”
Ronnel sighed. “Which of course means...”
“When Lord Elys passes, control of the Sisters shall go to the North.”
This would have made no one in the Vale happy. The Northmen had fought with the Vale over the Sisters for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, well up to the time of Aegon's conquest. Things had settled for now, but the North's atrocities on the islands had caused the Sistermen to forever hate them and turn their loyalty and support towards the Vale.
“There is no hope for waiting for him to have a male child?” Ronnel asked.
“At this rate? He's getting too old to have any real seed left in him,” Arstan replied. The master at arms was leaning back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. “You ask me, he should just be removed from power. Take direct control of the Sisters, or give it to someone who can have a male heir. Or at the very least, an heir that isn't loyal to the wolf!”
“Such a move will not be popular.” It was Tremond who had spoken now. He was sitting still, looking off to the side, but seemed to be very much in thought.
The Master at Arms didn't care much for the point. “Pah! Who will protest? The king? I doubt it! The dragon's not going to care what the falcon does in his own backyard! The wolf?
Tremond turned his eyes towards Arstan, bowing his head as if to surrender to the Master at Arms' intellect, but added, “Our own vassals. It will be a sign that the lord paramount can mingle in the affairs of his inferiors, and they will be afraid of a precedent. Who wants a lord paramount that redefines the borders of his vassals at whim?”
“Let them!” Arstan retorted. “You throw down a plank of wood, a few chips go flying! I don't care about chips!”
Ronnel regarded his maester with a curious glance, and asked, “What do you advise, Maester Tremond?”
Tremond turned towards his lord and bowed his head, “My Lord Ronnel, when I say that the move will not be popular, I am merely speaking the truth. It will not be a popular move. However, please do not misunderstand my cynical view of reality as opposition to any plan. Ser Arstan, I am sad to say, is right. At this moment, there is no other alternative than to remove Lord Elys from power. You cannot have the Sisters go to the North: Valemen won't like it, and Sistermen won't like it. It will hurt the peace you have worked so hard to obtain with the North, and which you have achieved within your infrastructure. Therefore, you must do it, even if it will make many of your vassals shake their heads.”
Ronnel let out a long sigh. He felt like he was between a giant and a grumkin, with no chance of escape. The maester was right: he would have to make a decision, and one which would hurt his opinion among the vassals.
“What do you suggest I do to keep my noble and knight lords from turning against me, then?” Ronnel asked.
The maester studied Ronnel for a moment. “What has my lord done to win their favor?”
“Ruled honorably?”
The maester grinned. “Then keep doing so, and they will see your character has not changed.”
In December of 26 AL, Lord Elys was asked to step down as Lord of the Sisters. As expected, he refused, and called his banners. He raised a force of 2500 men and by March had landed on the Vale coastline, beginning his campaign. The quickness of his response had surprised most people, especially for the audacity he had of attacking the Vale mainland.
True to Ser Arstan's expectation, no outside power sought to intervene in the war. King Aegon did send a raven asking if any assistance was needed, but Ronnel assured his lord things were under control. In the meantime, the lord paramount quickly raised an army to meet Lord Elys in battle and bring the war to a swift end. Arstan was adamant about taking command of the army himself, but Ronnel wanted him to stay in the Eyrie and continue training his sons in swordsmanship. Who was to lead the army was therefore a question left out in the open...and one which was met by someone Ronnel should have expected a long time coming.
“No, Myr-Myr!” Ronnel cried. “Your mother would kill me!”
Myranda, who was wearing her usual light armor, shot her father a pouting look she had often done during her youth. “But lord father, you promised me when I returned from King's Landing that I could command an army.”
Ronnel, who was standing on the balcony of the Maiden's Tower, rushed into the adjoining room, crossing his arms as he attempted to avert his attention from those eyes of his daughter. “It cannot be this one. It is too dangerous. Your mother threw a fit when she found out you had gone out to fight the Mountain Clans. Those are mindless savages, Myr-Myr. How do you think she will feel that you will not only command an army, but lead it in battle?”
“Mother throws a fit all the time when I do something,” Myranda replied. “But she always calms down afterward. You can bear her like the Giant's Lance bears the wind.”
The lord paramount let out a low growl. “Giant's Lance doesn't have to sleep in the same bed with the wind.”
Myranda grinned and walked over, wrapping her arms around her father from behind. “She loves you. I still remember as a little girl who you two couldn't stop kissing one another. I came back to see you still had that love. Please, father, let me have this one command? Please...?” Ronnel made a big mistake then: he turned to look at his daughter. She was shooting those same eyes she always did as a little girl when she wanted something and knew only her father could give it to her. “Please, father? May I have this command? Please...?”
Must resist, thought Ronnel, must...resist...the...
So it was that Myranda, though having only passed nineteen name days, was now in command of a Vale force of 7,000 soldiers. Her inferior officers were Ser Lark of Old Anchor, and Ser Albar of Harbottle, who also served as Master of Harbottle. The entire force was gathered before the Gates of the Moon to receive the blessing of Septon Osney and the encouragement of their lord paramount. Myranda was there in heavier armor, but still looking as charming to Ronnel as that little girl he saw grow up in dresses. After the blessing and a simple speech from Ronnel, the army was off, marching northward to defeat the Sistermen threat.
Meanwhile, Valiete eventually let Ronnel sleep in their bed again when she realized just how cold the winters made their chamber.
Myranda moved with all haste towards the northern coast, and Ronnel received the first raven from her in April of 27 AL. It read:
Lord Father;
The Sistermen are cowards. No sooner did I arrive in the Scorched Vale that I discovered from locals that they had retreated south, into Coldwater Burn. I am splitting our armies, and sending half into the Sisters to bring the war to them, while leading the other half south to deal with these rebels.
Your Dearest Myr-Myr
The two armies met on May 1, 27 AL. Ronnel received a raven later that day from Myranda about it.
Lord Father;
Victory! Lord Elys thought he could beat us with mercenaries, but we have bested him on the field! Two Sistermen lie dead for every Valeman. Three fifths of his army are gone. They are in retreat towards Midlor Keep, where I hope to catch them.
Your Dearest Myr-Myr
On July 8, Ronnel received another raven:
Lord Father;
Another victory! Lord Elys' sellsword friends have been shattered and have all abandoned him! This time, six Sistermen for every one Valeman! Lord Elys hopes to flee into the Snakewood, and there I shall finish his army off once and for all!
Your Dearest Myr-Myr
On August 18, a third raven came to Ronnel:
Lord Father;
The Sisterman army is destroyed. Lord Elys lost the last of his army, while we only lost four of our men. I am taking the army to the Three Sisters to join with Sers Lark and Albar.
Your Dearest Myr-Myr
Before Myranda had made it to the coastline, a raven arrived announcing the surrender of Havenry castle to the Valemen. In September, Lord Elys surrendered to Myranda, and negotiated peace terms. He accepted the call to step down from his title, and surrendered his High Lord post to the Eyrie. Myranda and her army returned in full triumph. Ronnel threw a victory feast in Myranda's honor at the Gates of the Moon,
While the campaign had gone on, Ronnel had attended to other matters of state. Bryan, one of his sons, was invited by King Aegon to have Prince Maelon become his guardian, which Ronnel accepted, and the Arryn boy was sent to Dragonstone. Ronnel likewise began to tend the gardens that had been started in the Eyrie, and from there picked up a hobby that kept him calm and focused while Myranda was away in war. Furthermore, Septon Osney passed away at the end of September, and so the court septon had to be replaced. Ronnel chose Septon Jasper, from Godsroot. Whereas Osney had often been known to be loose with words, Jasper seemed to be loose with facts. Though he often spoke boldly when offended, he was quick to back down and rarely proved a threat to anyone.
Heh. Seems nobody can deny Daddy's little warrior princess
As the father of a little girl, I may or may not have some firsthand experience with this...
House of Arryn
28 AL – 29 AL
The war against the Sistermen, which was waged with the intent to keep the islands from falling into the hands of the North, had been fought quickly and ended decisively thanks to the leadership of Ronnel's daughter Myranda. However, Maester Tremond's prediction had come true, and the action had been met with much hostility from many of the Vale's nobles. Though many chose to ignore it, many grew to dislike Ronnel as their lord. Among these were: Morgarth Donniger, Lord of Sunrise Keep; Waymar Corbray, Lord of Heart's Home; Lothar Wydman, Lord of Wycliffe; Royce Elesham, Lord of the Paps; and Oswell Pryor, Lord of Pebble. Oswell Pryor had even started a faction within the Vale of those who were more loyal to King Aegon than to Lord Ronnel, and Waymar Corbray had joined (Lord Elys was an unofficial member, though he was currently under house arrest and had little power). The other lords, for the most part, remained loyal to Ronnel, led first and foremost by Petyr Torrent, who was lord of Littlesister (ironically, he was a Sistermen).
One day, Lord Petyr paid a visit to the Gates of the Moon, where Ronnel was located as the winter continued on. It was not expected, though neither was it with great fanfare. Petyr did not come with a large entourage, and he seemed intent to spend his night elsewhere so as not to burden his lord paramount. However, the lord of Littlesister was eager to meet with Ronnel privately, saying he had an important matter to discuss.
“May I ask his lordship how he desires to handle the current state of affairs among his vassals?” Lord Petyr asked, once they were alone.
Ronnel gave a soft shrug. “I will give coins for assistance to some, and granted honorary titles to others, to show they are still in my favor. I believe that should suffice for now.”
Petyr nodded. “Yes, well, affairs are much more delicate on the Three Sisters. We Sistermen are confused, you see.”
“Oh? Confused regarding what?”
Petyr tilted his head. “Well, you see, we are confused about our place in Westeros. We do not want the North to rule us, nor do we wish to break away from his majesty King Aegon. However, your actions against Lord Elys have left many sour. Some are worried about remaining under the command of the Eyrie.”
“I have no intent to punish the Sistermen, or harm the islands,” Ronnel explained.
“And I believe you, my lord. However, can you really trust Lord Elys, let alone any Sunderland? Already Lord Elys is attempting to work from his cell to coordinate disloyalty to House Arryn. You will require a house loyal to you, to ensure peace and stability.”
Ronnel leaned towards Lord Petyr, studying him pensively, “Is there something you wish to ask?”
Petyr closed his eyes and bowed his head, then asked, “I humbly ask for High Lordship of the Sisters.”
Ronnel had to ponder that a moment, but nothing seemed to truly be a downside. Petyr was currently leading the group of nobles still loyal to him, and still desiring to show their trust in him despite current events. Having him in charge of the Sisters would indeed maintain not only his own loyalty, but the islands' loyalty as well. After that meeting, Lord Petyr received his desired position, and House Torrent took rule over the Three Sisters. Lord Elys was demoted to Lord of Sweetsister, though he still remained under house arrest, albeit under Sistermen guards.
Lord Elys attempted an escape attempt in September of 28 AL, with no luck. Another, much more daring escape was attempted in November of that year, and this time was met with success. The rescuers had been under the employ of Ser Ellery, a Sisterman knight from Lord Elys' court. After escape, Lord Elys took his place in Sweetsister, ruling now under Lord Petyr Torrent. Because there did not seem to be any chance for Lord Elys to revolt again, and because of the already delicate situation brought about by the last war, Ronnel did not attempt any further intervention.
Other affairs of state concerned Ronnel. Ser Brogg, his Master of Laws, passed away in 27 AL, and had to be replaced. Ronnel chose a courtier of low blood who was simply known as “Tim”, and who, though suffering from great depression that often made him difficult to be around, could be just as stubborn at diplomacy as any diplomat. He was sent to the North to stay at Winterfell and ensure that relations between North and Vale continued to grow and strengthen.
Ronnel likewise attended two tourneys: one in King's Landing in August of 28 AL, and one at Highgarden in March of 29 AL. In both cases, Ronnel was humiliatingly defeated: the first in the initial brawl, and the second in the initial lists. The lord paramount returned back to the Eyrie rather quickly after each one, although he lingered just a bit longer in Highgarden, so that Valiete could speak with family and friends. She had become especially concerned because of the dire situation in Highgarden, with the recent deaths of several prominent Tyrell heirs – for all intents and purposes, the Tyrell command over Highgarden, and indeed the entire Reach, was on thin ice.
When they returned home to the Eyrie, there were more important matters to discuss: namely, the marriage between Ronnel's heir, Robar, and Rowena Stark, the daughter of Lord Paramount Brandon Stark of the North. Both had come of majority age, and were now able to be wed. The marriage had been arranged by Ronnel and his council in order to ensure the peace and stability between North and Vale (especially after the Almost War), and it was important that this wedding, and marriage, not suffer any mishaps. A lavish amount of money was spent – perhaps as much as was spent on the marriage between Ronnel and Valiete – and a troupe of jugglers were hired for the entertainment. It was an expensive affair that put the Eyrie's coffers into a bit of debt, but nothing crippling. It didn't help matters when Lord Brandon Stark paid only a minimal dowry for his daughter, but Ronnel chose to let that factor go.
When invitations were sent out, most of the nobles accepted to come to the wedding feast. Even those who had grown to dislike Ronnel over the Sisters affair chose to attend...save for one. Lothar Wydman, Lord of Wycliffe, declined the invitation most rudely. Again, Ronnel chose to let that go, and intended to deal with the affair later, after the wedding.
Like the wedding of his parents, Robar's wedding was to be done at the Gates of the Moon. Decades ago, it had been decked with the banners of the Arryn and Tyrell houses, with falcons and flowers everywhere. Now, the ramparts were lined with torches illuminating the blue and white of the Arryn banner and the white and gray of the Stark banner. Myranda was put in charge of security, and was seen going about the fortress with two footmen, inspecting each post and checking in with the sentries every hour. Unlike the other Arryn daughters, she was not in a dress, but her usual armor (much to the chagrin of her mother).
While guests from the Vale and the North mingled and prepared for the festivities in the castle septry, Ronnel was with Robar in his personal chambers, preparing him for the ceremony. The heir to the Eyrie had inherited the hard Arryn look, and had, like his father, chosen to grow his beard out. Despite training under both a septon and a maester, Robar came across as a bit uneducated, though his court lessons had taught him a few things when it came to the handling of coin. Despite serving as a squire, his swordsmanship was poor, and his martial skills only average. However, he was the heir, and Ronnel had to prepare him the best he could for his future duties.
“I have seen your bride,” Ronnel commented, assisting his son as the latter dressed. “She is quite lovely.”
“I have heard she is quite plain,” Robar remarked.
Ronnel tilted his head so that his son could see his slight glare in the mirror. “A husband shouldn't speak of his wife that way.”
Robar grew a bit irritated at that. “That is easy for you to say, father. You married a Tyrell. They're beautiful compared to Starks.”
Ronnel's glare increased a bit. “The North is a hard place, and it is equally as hard on the people who dwell there. You cannot compare a daughter of Highgarden to a daughter of Winterfell. And I will not have you insulting your bride on her wedding day.”
Robar let out a sigh. “I apologize, father.”
The lord paramount fixed his heir's tunic a bit, then smiled. “I know you are probably nervous. I thought I was going to die when your mother appeared. She was beautiful. Do not forget our marriage was one of politics, but we grew to love one another. If you are to reign in the Eyrie, it must be with love, Robar. Do not be a falcon that merely looks down from a mountaintop because it wants to defend a bit of dead land; be a falcon that looks down from a mountaintop because it desires food to feed its young.”
“If that is what you think is best, father.”
The ceremony in the septry was recognizable to both Ronnel and Valiete. Rowena Stark came in bearing a white maiden cloak with the Stark direwolf, and Robar – though he did not swoon at her sight the way Ronnel had Valiete – behaved himself, and treated her with kindness. They went through the rituals and recitations, and when the time came Robar took the bride's cloak bearing a blue field with a white mountain, falcon, and moon, and draped it over her shoulders. Ronnel could have probably mouthed the entire ceremony, for that much he remembered. Valiete seemed to be thinking the same thing, for every now and then she would clench his hand just a bit tighter and look at him with a loving gleam in her eyes.
At the feast, Robar and Rowena sat at the head of the lord's table, flanked with the important members of the families for the bride and groom on their respective sides. There were not flowers on the walls like there had been at Ronnel's wedding, but instead they had draped the walls of the dining chamber with more banners of Arryn and Stark. It made Ronnel feel quite happy, for he felt like the North and Vale were finally entering a new era. Before Aegon and Ronnel, the North and Vale had been bitter enemies; now, they could put all that aside, and look to a new future. With the Almost War, Aegon had shown there would no longer be any such conflict under the Iron Throne; with this marriage, Ronnel would see to it that conflict would never be a possible option.
Rowena Stark herself was not an unattractive woman. She had long dark hair and a pleasant enough face, though it was true that compared to Valiete and other highborn women she was quite plain. The Stark stiffness was seen in her expressions, but she smiled enough at the jugglers and seemed to be enjoying the festivities and food. Robar would speak to her every now and then, but for the most part he did not interact with her too much. Ronnel did not bother him about it, since he remembered he too did not speak with Valiete too much during their dinner.
“Do you remember our wedding, my love?” the lord paramount finally asked.
His lady wife giggled. “Yes. It was so enduring how shy you were. As I recall, I had to ask you to dance with me!”
Ronnel laughed with a slight hue of red showing under his beard. “Oh yes, you did, I remember that. Well, you looked so beautiful to me, I was nervous.” His eyes met her blue orbs. “You still are beautiful to me.”
Valiete smiled and ran her fingers along her husband's arm. “And you are even more handsome today.”
“Oh dear, her ladyship is going blind!” Ronnel said, letting out a laugh. Valiete playfully tugged on his beard. “Owe!”
After much eating and drinking, someone from one of the Stark tables arose and called out for the bedding. This was met with much applause as both genders from both houses and a few of the vassals rose up and stormed the raised platform where the bride and groom were seated. Rowena put up a bit of a fight, but was then carried away, with a few of the men chanting, “Skin the wolf! Skin the wolf!” Robar seemed far more into it, laughing as the women carried him, giggling and crying out, “Show us the Giant's Lance!” Bits of clothing from both bride and groom were found on the ground, in a little trail that led from the table towards one of the doorways.
“Oh my, I remember this aspect too,” Ronnel commented, laughing. “I don't even remember now who was grabbing or undressing me.”
“I do,” Valiete said, smirking wickedly. When Ronnel shot her a questioning glance, she giggled and said, “Do you remember Lord Kyle Wydman? Your old Master of Whisperers? Well...” She giggled even more, covering her eyes a moment as both cheeks went dark red.
Ronnel's jaw dropped. “Kyle Wydman? Stone faced Kyle Wydman? He touched you?”
“Touched me?!” Valiete cried. “Dear lord husband! He made a very enthusiastic grasp at my bosom with both hands!” She almost placed her palms over her chest, but stopped herself when she noticed some of the servants glancing over their way.
The Vale lord paramount snarled at that, one of his hands clenching into a fist. “That wretched little...he was married at the time! I'll...I'll...”
Valiete reached out and wrapped her soft fingers around Ronnel's fist. In an instant, it was calmed. “My dear lord husband, he's dead now. You can't punish the dead. And besides, it is not as if I have much to grab there.” She let out another embarrassed giggle. “I am amazed he was interested at all.”
They decided to leave then, since most of the guests had already departed either for the bedding or for bed, and the servants were beginning to clean up. As they did, they continued to talk about their wedding night. At one point, Ronnel asked:
“Was I...” He hesitated, clearing his throat before continuing, “I mean...that first night...was I...I mean, when were together...was I...you know...?”
Valiete shot him a knowing look. “You were wonderful. And you were gentle. My septa warned me that my husband might not be so soft with me, and I had to prepare myself. That's why I looked a bit reserved when you found me on the bed. But you were a true lord who cares about his lady.” She clung to his arm a bit tighter and pressed her nose against his sleeve. “Take me to our room, lord husband.”
He did, and that night they made love. It had actually been quite a while since they had, because both had been busy with tasks concerning the Eyrie, either with the war with the Sisters, with quelling angry nobles, or with the affairs of the court and the preparation for the wedding. Ronnel found it lovely to be intimate with his wife again, and with all the sharing of memories, it felt like their first time all over.
The next morning he woke up to the sun peering through the window of their chamber. His arm was tight around his wife, hugging her close to his body. As he slowly came to, he suddenly heard a weird gurgling noise from Valiete. She seemed to panic, and rose quickly out of bed. She ran nude across the cold stone floor, then suddenly lurched forward and began to vomit. As soon as he heard the sounds of regurgitation, Ronnel sat up straight, gazing at his wife across the room. She was leaning against the wall, with one hand pressed against the stone while the other clung to her mouth, trying to keep in what little she still had in her throat. Her knees were wobbly, as if her strength was leaving her.
“Valiete!” Ronnel cried, getting up and approaching her. “Are you alright?”
His wife seemed to stare off into space, and in a low voice she began to mutter, “No...no...no...oh no...”
Ronnel's heart began to beat quickly. He surged forward placing both hands on her bare back, saying in a rushed tone, “What's wrong? What's the matter? Are you sick? Valiete!”
“No, I'm not sick,” his wife replied. Her voice was shaky and low. “I'm not sick...”
“Then what's wrong?”
Valiete had not yet made eye contact with him, and didn't as she spoke her next few words, “I'm...I'm pregnant. My love, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I...”
Ronnel's heart slowed, and his countenance lifted. He let out a small laugh, and rubbed his wife on the back with gentle strokes. “Pregnant...? My love, that's nothing new with us! That's lovely. You don't need to apologize.”
Valiete shook her head, “No, my lord husband, you don't understand...you don't...it has been so long since we last...I...” She swallowed, then turned to at last look Ronnel in the face. Tears were swelling around her eyes, and those blue orbs were staring at him with a deep sadness that sent a shiver up Ronnel's spine before she even spoke the next sentence. In a cracking voice, Valiete said:
“I'm pregnant, and...it's...it's not your child...”
Oh dear oh dear! Well, I suppose losing the "Westeros's most perfect couple" due to an affair is still better than someone taking a crossbow bolt to the appendix or such. Meanwhile, the Lord Robar is a bit of an uninspiring fellow. Trusting AND cynical? The poor boy's an enigma!
Meanwhile, the Lord Robar is a bit of an uninspiring fellow. Trusting AND cynical? The poor boy's an enigma!
IIRC, Cynical deals more so with religious beliefs (hence it affects how religious courtiers/vassals and zealous people see you), whereas Trusting deals with person-to-person interaction (how you see your vassals, courtiers, etc.).
Well, that's what it is in-game (And IIRC an intrigue bonus, because apparently being devout instead would distract the character from plots). Still from a RL/RP sort of standpoint, it's a funny combination (especially since Trusting is a fairly rare trait)
My personal interpretation of that particular trait combination is that, at root, the character is still something of an idealist, but they mainly put their trust in people in themselves rather than abstract ideals. For instance, they may not personally believe the tenets of whatever religion they're born into or identify with, but they might still view its presence as a good thing because, at the end of the day, they firmly believe that most people are decent and well-intentioned at heart, and that a religious identity gives people a sense of identity and purpose as well as a set of rules to follow to make sure disputes get settled in a fair fashion that everyone can agree on.
I like trying to rationalize oddball trait combinations. It's something of a hobby.
I like trying to rationalize oddball trait combinations. It's something of a hobby.
Ah Valiete's affiar. I was shocked when Henry told us. The best couple in the kingdoms now have a loveless marriage.
Speaking about stats in game, they technically still consider one another "Lovers."
I don't want to give too much away, but the next update will shed light on what happened, and how Ronnel is going to deal with this.
I don't want to give too much away, but the next update will shed light on what happened, and how Ronnel is going to deal with this.
Bryan Tyrell
25th through 29th Years Since Aegon's Landing
Only days after returning from Greyshield, Bryan received a letter from Obara Martell requesting his presence at the tourney of Sunspear. He accepted this request for two reasons, to improve relations with Dorne, for both nations had engaged in petty border warfare before the conquest and relations were far from perfect. Bryan also took the long journey to Dorne to prove his martial prowess to the Dornish people. However, it was not to be, for in the early days of the tourney he was unhorsed by Mors Toland and eliminated. Even dishonoured so, Bryan’s presence seemed appreciated, and Lady Ravella Baratheon, was named the Queen of Love and Beauty. He did not linger in Dorne for long and returned to Highgarden to continue his duties as Lord Paramount.
One month later, in November Bryan received an invitation to the tourney of Roseford, however he declined on the grounds that he recently attended two tourneys and wished to continue to his duties of ruling the Reach.
Several months now passed with little occurring within the Reach, or indeed the Seven Kingdoms. Under, the rule of King Aegon the kingdoms prospered and flourished. It was only in May 26AL that Bryan received news regarding matters of state. His Master of Coin had collected a sizeable amount of coin from the small folk of Highgarden, which further added to the vast treasury of the Tyrells. A few days later following the tax collection, a courtier offered Bryan a small sum of gold after he helped him solve a delicate matter regarding his wife. Bryan reluctantly accepted the gift, and became known for being very charitable.
Following this a few months later, his son and heir Byron reached his sixth nameday. Bryan decided he was to be groomed for command, Bryan then decided to send Bryon to Casterly Rock to be tutored by Lyman the Lionknight his cousin. Lyman was well known for his formidable fighting skills and being a terrible leader of men on the battlefield. But, Bryan hoped he would tutor his son well, and so Byron left for Casterly Rock days later to be tutored by one of the greatest knights of Bryan’s generation.
Winter soon arrived in the Reach, and snow soon covered Highgarden like a blanket. A marked change from the usually vibrant and colorful city.
Near the end of 28AL, Loren Lannister tragically died from a wound while hunting. Lyman Lannister, now stepped into his father’s shoes and ascended to the rule of the Westerlands.
In January 29AL Bryan arranged for a grand tourney to be held in Highgarden to show the wealth and power of House Tyrell…
So... just over a month after my last update, here is the next one which is very short. Sorry for the delay, but school and other things kept preventing me from finishing this chapter. Still one chapter left until I have used up all the images from the third session.
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House of Arryn
29 AL
The sun had risen over the Eyrie, reminding those below that it alone was the only thing higher than the Giant's Lance or the fortress itself. A strong, cold wind was blowing against the fortress, beating against the ancient stone and causing a high pitched whistling noise as it flew around its towers. During this particularly bitter day, many of the inhabitants had chosen to remain indoors. This included Lord Paramount Ronnel himself. The lord of the Vale and Warden of the East was pacing back and forth in the High Hall, moving his feet with slow steps.
At the moment, he was alone, save for two footmen stationed near the Moon Door. This door, made of weirwood and sealed with heavy bronze bars, rested between two pillars and under a large moon symbol carved into the archway of the door itself. It was one of the most infamous aspects of the High Hall, for it was here that the unique executions of the Eyrie took place. If one were to open the doors, they would find nothing but open sky, and if they were pushed out, they would plummet down six hundred feet into the rocks below. As he walked, Ronnel exchanged glances with the two footmen near the door every now and then. They returned with their own glances, though the three men had spoken already some minutes before. They were waiting on a fourth man.
The man Ronnel was waiting for was Ser Urlon of Stone Keep. He was a knight, and also the husband of Lady Aliane of Stone Keep, who was Master of the Eyrie (or rather, the lowborn parts of it). He would often assist his wife in matters of law, since he was an honest enough man with a sense of justice, though he himself never dared to carry out the sentence. Ronnel had sent word for him to come to the High Hall at once, regarding a matter of legal importance.
Finally, the doors of the High Hall opened up, and Ser Urlon entered. He stepped in a few paces before the footmen on the other side of the large door closed it shut.
“Ah, Ser Urlon,” Ronnel said, “thank you for coming. I have need of you.”
“I am humbled, m'lord,” Urlon replied, bowing slightly.
“Good. I simply need your advice about a great legal matter.”
“I see. Does it have anything to do with your son Edmore?”
Ser Urlon was referring to the recent marriage between Edmore Arryn and Yorena Pryor, the daughter of Oswell Pryor, Lord of Pebble. It had been done in order to gain more influence over Lord Pryor and improve his opinion of Ronnel. Given the large number of children the Arryn lord and lady had birthed over the years, Ronnel had more than enough children to marry off to this vassal and that one. In the aftermath of the Three Sisters war, Ronnel had to employ every opportunity and tactic to win back those vassals who were waning in loyalty.
“No, it is not that,” Ronnel said, waving his hand. “It is regarding another matter, one which involves a great wrong done.”
“I see. What wrong was this?”
“Well, let me explain it to you,” Ronnel scratched his beard a moment. “You see, there is this man, and he has a beautiful mare. She is really a fine creature, with a lovely mane and a proud trot when he goes out riding. She holds her head high, and when she whinnies, it comes from the nobility of her breed. You see, she comes from a good stock – perhaps from one of the best stock in all of Westeros.”
“She sounds like quite the horse,” Urlon replied, smiling.
Ronnel continued. “But this man had a servant, who likewise had a mare, who was also lovely, but perhaps more of a lower bred horse. She came from common stock, and her head did not rise so high, nor was her coat and mane so fine. Compared to the first mare, this horse was nothing comparable.” The wind, heard through the Moon Door, began to howl a bit more fiercely. “Well, this second man became jealous of the first, and sought to take his horse. You must remember that this second man is actually in service to the first, and therefore this first man is his master. Regardless, this second man desired his master's horse. So one night he sneaked into the stables while his master was out on a long errand, and hence had left his mare alone. The servant came like a servant would, and the lovely mare recognized him, and so thought nothing of him. In fact, she responded to him as nobly as she would have if her owner had just appeared. However, this servant did not come with honorable intentions. This servant meant to do ill to the mare.”
“Do not tell me he killed the beast?” Urlon asked.
Ronnel shook his head. “No, he did not intend to kill the mare. However, his desire overtook his senses, and he sought to act as if she were his own. However, he knew that he could not mount her, for she would buck him off. She was very loyal to her owner, you see. Therefore, this servant took the horse's drink, and offered it to her. She had drunk from servants many times, and of course suspected nothing. However, this wicked servant had placed some sort of powder into the water – a powder which dulls the senses and makes one weary. When the mare drank, she became tired and drowsy, and no longer understood what man was her owner, and which man was not. With this done, the servant mounted the horse, and rode her out of the stables, and treated her as if she were his own horse.”
Urlon nodded. “It sounds like a pretty clear case, m'lord. Horse thievery?”
“Of a sort,” Ronnel replied. “I desire your opinion on how you would handle this matter, if you were in my position.”
Urlon crossed his arms, letting out a sigh. “Well, if you want my humble opinion, m'lord, there is only one way to deal with horse thieves.”
“What is your suggestion?” Ronnel asked. The footmen seemed to now regard Urlon with a curious look.
“There is only one answer.” Urlon brought his hand down as if it were a sword. “Death. Horse theft is punishable by death. Especially if a servant steals from his master.”
Ronnel nodded. “Death, then. You are quite certain, Ser Urlon?”
“Quite certain, m'lord. Let he who betrayed his master suffer the eternal consequences.”
Ronnel nodded again. He reached into his pocket, taking out a folded piece of paper. “Will you then do me one favor, Ser Urlon? I wish you to bring this name to those who will carry out the sentence.”
Urlon smiled and bowed slightly, reaching out to take the piece of paper. “Of course, m'lord. Who is this person, if I may ask?”
“The name you will find on the parchment. You may read it.”
Urlon took the paper and unfolded it. As he did, Ronnel shot a quick glance out of the corner of his eye towards the two footmen. One of them gave a curt nod. Urlon's eyes glanced across the paper after he had unfolded it, and read the name inscribed within...
...and his face turned absolutely pale.
The lord paramount studied him a moment. “How now, ser knight?” Ronnel asked. His tone had suddenly changed, getting far more low, like a whisper. “What name do you see on that parchment?”
Urlon dropped the paper, looking up at the lord paramount with eyes as wide as saucers. His voice was shaking as he spoke. “M'lord...I humbly beg for mercy-”
Ronnel lunged out and grabbed Urlon by the back of the neck. In an instant, the footmen had undone the bronze bars locking the Moon Door. As Ronnel began to shove Urlon towards the Moon Door, the footmen grabbed the handles and swung it open. Bright open sky met Urlon, and the howling of the wind roared into the hall. As Ronnel pushed Urlon to the very edge, the knight's hair and clothes began to wave and flap madly.
“Mercy!” the knight shouted. “Mercy!”
Ronnel shouted over the wind, “Now the verdict changes? Where was the mercy before? This is the sentence you gave yourself!”
Urlon was trying to grasp onto something, but there was nothing to grab. He felt his boots stop just before the edge, and looked down to the great drop down the mountain, right towards the jagged rocks. He let out a cry of fear, realizing at that moment that, with the power of the wind, there was nothing preventing him from tumbling off the edge at that moment save for Ronnel's grip on his neck. This was it – he was to be executed like so many who had been tossed out the Moon Door before.
Then something else happened. Ronnel's hand pulled, and Urlon was tugged back into the hall. With a strong swing, Ronnel shoved Urlon over and onto the hard floor. The knight sprawled out on the floor as the footmen slammed the Moon Door shut. As the bronze bars were put back on place, the knight gasped and heaved on the floor, clutching the cold stone as if fearing the great depth would open up for him again. He was conscious of the sound of footsteps, and turned to see Lord Paramount Ronnel standing over him.
“Now you know what it is like to come face to face with the judgment due for your sins,” Ronnel began. “Now you know what it will be like to stand before the gods for what you did. However, that judgment is not for me to give.” He leaned forward, his eyes burrowing into Urlon's soul. “Yet this shall be the only mercy shown you. This, and some simple truths I shall share with you. If you believe Valiete is going to drink moon tea and be rid of the child, you are mistaken. I am not going to punish this child for your crimes. The lord and lady are going to have this child. We are going to raise this child with the same dignity and honor as our other children. You shall see this child grow and be raised properly, and in wealth and dignity you could only dream of having. As for you, you shall see this child in the court, and every time you do, you will remember this day, and you will remember what it was you did. You betrayed your master, and you deserve eternal torment. Whenever you see this child, take their sight as a chance to pray to the gods that you receive mercy from them, and not suffering.” He squinted his eyes now. “Also, if you ever go near Lady Valiete again, my hand will not stop at the Moon Door. Do I make myself clear? Now go.”
Urlon was beside himself, and Ronnel realized then that he smelled the distinct scent of urine. The knight was on all fours, bowing his head low, and remaining so as he backed up towards the doors. He was panting “Blessing! Blessing! Thank you! Thank you!” over and over again as he scooted on his hands and knees. When he reached the door he stood up and left quickly, like a dog whipped.
Ronnel turned towards the footmen. “You will not speak a word of this to anyone?”
The footmen nodded. “No one, m'lord.”
The lord nodded back, then left the High Hall. He headed for his own bedchambers, and there he found Valiete. Most of the day, she had been in their room, sitting in a chair in the corner, and simply staring at the blank wall. She had been on the verge of tears all that morning, and Ronnel had to imagine that she had waited until he was gone to finally cry. She was huddled in the chair, sniffling every now and then, and hugging herself with her body tight. When Ronnel entered, she did not turn to look at him. He walked over and placed his hand on her shoulder in a gentle gesture, which she returned by running her fingers over his knuckles.
“I'm sorry, my love,” Valiete whispered, her voice cracking.
“It wasn't your fault,” Ronnel whispered back. “You weren't in the right mind.”
“I should have fought back when I realized what was going on,” she continued. “I should have said something, I should have called-” Her voice croaked, and she covered her face with her free hand. Her shoulders shook as she did her best to not cry. With a sniff and a wipe of her eyes, she murmured. “Do you still love me...?”
Ronnel's answer was immediate. “Yes, of course I still love you.”
Valiete stood now, turning to face Ronnel. The lord saw that her blue eyes were surrounded by red, and the area under her eyes were chaffed. “I should have told you, but I was worried you...lord husband, I can't bear the thought of you never loving me agai-” Her voice broke in mid-word, and she just wrapped her arms around Ronnel in a tight embrace. Ronnel put his arms around her, holding her close as he kissed the top of her head. He could feel her crying into his chest, her soft fingers clutching the back of his tunic.
“I love you, my dear Lady Tyrell,” Ronnel said. “I always have. This will not change any of that. We will get through this, but we will get through this together, as one. I cannot bear the thought of losing you.”
Valiete turned her head and rested her cheek on Ronnel's chest as she sniffed a few more times. “I cannot stand the thought of losing you...please do not think less of me...”
Ronnel reached out with his hands, taking Valiete by the cheeks and making her look at him. As he stared into her blue eyes, his thumbs slid up and down her cheeks in tender strokes. “Not one bit of me thinks less of you. When I saw you at our wedding, you were a beautiful noble lady, and my wife. Even now, I think of you just as highly. To me, you are the Rose of the Eyrie.”
Valiete smiled and took Ronnel by the beard. She clutched the strands hard and brought his face down, planting several kisses on his lips. Then the two made love there and then, and with just as much passion and tenderness as they had before.
***
Author's Note: I recognize that this isn't much time getting covered in this update, but I felt this post was a little too important to mix with a lot of other stuff (and it became long enough for one update).
Well. Urlon really could have seen THAT coming. Still, good on Ronnel for handling that the way he did, and I hope Valiete'll be alright (at least by Game of Thrones standard anyway)
I'm fairly convinced the Keip's Eyrie doesn't exist within the 'Game of Thrones' atmosphere at all, by how tranquil it has ended up being. I think Highgarden got the blunt of the excess bad luck with the Eyrie missing
That being said, on a side note, I have a reply coming up Soon (tm). My sincerest apologies for the delays in getting one done.
That being said, on a side note, I have a reply coming up Soon (tm). My sincerest apologies for the delays in getting one done.
I'm fairly convinced the Keip's Eyrie doesn't exist within the 'Game of Thrones' atmosphere at all, by how tranquil it has ended up being. I think Highgarden got the blunt of the excess bad luck with the Eyrie missing
That being said, on a side note, I have a reply coming up Soon (tm). My sincerest apologies for the delays in getting one done.
Yep, the Vale, is nice and peaceful compared to Highgarden, where death and murder are common place.
THE IRON THRONE
Maelon Targaryen
32nd Year Since Aegon's Conquest
Maelon Targaryen
32nd Year Since Aegon's Conquest
"My Lord," spoke a voice, parting the silence that had filled the Sept of Remembrance, smoke from the burning incense casting the sanctuary in a misty haze. The man crossed the threshold, moving with a confident stride, repeating, "My Lord…" It is only then that Lord Commander Anguy realized his error, and bowing that stiff neck, the Kingsguard corrected himself, "Your Grace…" It was that utterance alone that stirred the prince from his prayers, a whispered appeal left lingering upon his lips. A stillness almost tangible filled the air, and slowly Maelon, now King of Westeros, rose stiffly to his feet. He gazed down at the Stormlander with those amethyst-like eyes, and though he sought some falsehood in his Lord Commander, some possibility that he had misspoke, he could find none. Aegon the Conqueror, the Dragon, the Unifier, had passed.
Exiting the humble Sept of Remembrance, Maelon moved with a purpose. It had not been with the sword and lance, nor tactful word or artful scheme, that his father had made subject the Seven Kingdoms, nor kept them in vassalage - it was as the poets had come to sing, the Iron Throne was forged with dragonfire, both the throne and kingdom alike. With his father's passing, Maelon knew there was but one path he could take to ensure the continued loyalty of the lands of Westeros, and so Maelon made his way down the Street of Sisters, headed for the Hill of Rhaenys and the Dragonpit that had been constructed there.
The Dragonpit was a massive structure, built of dark stone and blackened iron, its entrance so immense that thirty knights could ride comfortably through, all built to secure the royal dragons within. By his father's decree, the dragons were to be freed only in the presence of their riders… but now there was a dragon with no master, and it was the most terrible of the four known to man. As the guards pulled open the heavy doors, iron and bronze worked together for strength and ornamentation, it did not take long for the new King to find his quarry - Balerion the Black Dread, the bane of Harrenhal. Alive since the days of Aenar the Exile, Balerion had grown to an immense size, his jaws large enough to swallow an auroch whole, and his teeth as long and sharp as swords. Were there to be no doubt of the worthiness of his succession, Maelon would have to prove himself to be his father's equal.
Dragons were fierce beasts, fire made flesh, as the saying went. In their great rages, entire villages could burn, and stone and steel melt like wax. Firm in his faith and clad in the ornate maille that had been fashioned for him in his youth, Maelon approached the mighty beast with an air of confidence. He bore no sword nor shield, for such would avail him little against the dark flames of Balerion the Black Dread, his armor donned only for a more martial appearance, as his father had been fond of. As the new King of Westeros neared the powerful beast, his Kingsguard had convened, able to do little but watch from the entrance, unsure of what might happen in the coming moments as they gazed into the darkness, Maelon soon lost in the shadows. The Black Dread let out a low rumbling growl, and the Kingsguard could not help but take a few stumbling steps back as Balerion plodded his way forward, the very earth shaking with each step the massive dragon took. Once free of the confines of the Dragonpit, with his new rider upon his back, the Black Dread beat his wings, soaring up into the skies.
Leaving King's Landing in the trust of the dutiful Tyon Reyne, Maelon went on a humble procession south along the Roseroad, headed towards Oldtown for his coronation. Though all the high lords of Westeros were bade to attend, there were several who were notably absent. None were as direct, however, as the old Lord Banfred Hightower, whose response was thick with venom beneath an icily cordial reply. Lord Manfred Payne, Alyn Lorch, Elwood Strickland, Lyn Lynderly, and Desmond Manderly were amongst the notable lords who deigned not to attend. Even with such absences, the Starry Sept was full of the lords and their families, and a throng of smallfolk crowded about outside, eager to witness the crowning of the second Targaryen king. After being annointed with seven oils, the High Septon placed the newly forged crown upon Maelon's head, proclaiming him Maelon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
Days passed, and eventually the Grey Plague receded from both King's Landing and the King's family, with both Dowager Queen Viseyna and Maekar surviving their ordeal. In thanks to the Seven, Maelon ordered that a donation of three hundred gold dragons to the Warrior's Sons, an order of noble scions who had devoted their lives to defending the Faith. Furthermore, Maelon declared that he would consult with the High Septon in regards to Ser Steffon Waters, the commander of the Poor Fellows, the smallfolk counterpart to the Warrior's Sons, seeking to legitimize the young knight, declaring that the leader of so pious an organization should not bear the stigma of his father's sins. However generous these donations to the Faith were, a fervor still burned great within Maelon's heart, and it was not before long that he called together his small council, save for the Master of Ships, Lord Velaryon, who was allowed to remain in Driftmark given his infirmity.
The chamber of the small council was an austere room branching off from the great hall, where the Iron Throne sat. While Aegon the Dragon had established the small council, it had been his son that had fully formalized it, ordering the construction of this chamber where all his close councilors would gather when called upon, and this day would serve as the first official meeting of the small council. Escorted by Ser Clarence the Short as he had been for many years now, Maelon strode confidently into the room, pleased to see that several of his advisors had managed to convene on time. Acknowledging them as they paid obeisance, Maelon's attention turned first to his dearest councilor.
Having returned to King's Landing after six years on Dragonstone, Elaena's expert stewardship was called upon once again for the betterment of the realm. While once she had served her father, now she served her husband. Dressed beautifully in a gown of black satin, coiled dragons of silver thread embroidered about the fabric, the Queen was a breathtaking sight. Dipping her head and bowing in a mild curtsy, she spoke, her voice velvety and soft, "My Lord Husband…"
"He shall," uttered Tyon Reyne, his tone brooking no further discussion upon the subject, a slight grimace betraying his frustration. Looking about the carved ironwood table, the Westerman could not help but feel out of place. With the ascension of Aegon's son, the small council changed drastically, and now half of the advisors hailed from the Crownlands. Adjusting the collar of his burgundy tunic, Tyon looked to Maelon and asked, "Your Grace, if I might ask, why have you called us together this day?"
"In time, dear Hand," Maelon replied, his sonorous voice strangely soft, almost reverent. Glancing across to Duram, his Master of Whispers and close companion since his reign on Dragonstone, Maelon seemed to think better of it and instead asked Tyon Reyne, "First I would have you inform us of the happenings of the Realm."
"Word has it that his natural son, Ser Alyn Hill, oversees the farms established at Brightwall," chimed in Duram, the Master of Whispers. Clad in a dark cloak befitting his station, Duram had a great red beard that rivalled the Hand's own, his devout piety having endeared him to the new King during his years on Dragonstone.
Nodding in agreement to the Master of Whispers, Tyon Reyne continued, brushing his fingers over a map of lands further to the west, a spattering of islands set in the Sunset Sea, "Lady Greyjoy continues to enforce her will upon her subjects, and has made war upon Lord Harlaw."
To this, Duram could not help but shake his head and mutter worriedly, "The Greyjoys have already seized Blacktyde and Saltcliffe, if they were to enforce their will upon Harlaw Hill…"
"The Ironmen may feud amongst themselves as they please," stated the King, scowling, "I had hoped Lady Gwyneth's stay in Dragonstone would have better tempered the savagery of the culture of those lands. It seems our prayers for her were for naught." Raising a hand in dismissal, Maelon concluded, "Yet, she is no threat - so long as she quarrels amongst her own people, her strength cannot be brought against us, and so her fealty shall be ensured. Continue, Lord Hand."
Bowing his head in deference to the King, Tyon Reyne rolled up the map of the Iron Islands, setting it aside for the time. With a dark frown, the Westerman reluctantly noted, "I fear the ill fortune of House Tyrell continues unabated. The young son of Lord Tyrell has been murdered in cold blood." Duram quickly reached for a pendant about his neck, murmuring a brief prayer for the child, while Maelon fumed in fury over crime.
It was then that the Grand Maester finally spoke, his soft hands toying with one of the many rings about his fingers, "And we know who did it…" Little more than a hiss, the Grand Maester's words still managed to cut through the air with the sharpness of a knife. His dark green eyes drifted up to meet the King's gaze, informing him what apparently the Master of Whispers did not even know, "Ser Garrison Myatt, the second son of Lord Myatt." With a smug smirk, Manfred then shrugged, saying in an aside to Duram as if he were educating yet another child, "He's wed to Lord Tyrell's sister, you see…"
"Your Grace," replied the Lord Commander, bowing his head briefly before sending a servant out to the deliver the order to the White Sword Keep. Not only was Ser Stafford Clifton a Westerman by birth, his imposing size surely would see that none defied the King's will.
Continuing on, Maelon now looked toward his Hand, instructing Tyon Reyne, "When Lord Sunglass arrives-"
Though some could not help but roll their eyes, their disdain for the Master of Laws well known, Maelon could not help but give a wry laugh, replying, "No, but at the very moment at which you are desired. You are to head to Oldtown to beseech the High Septon denounce Ser Garrison Myatt as anathema for the murder of Lord Byron Tyrell." He paused but a moment, then emphasizing with deadly undertones, "His sins shall not go unpunished."
With these commands now issued, Maelon adjusted the collar of his tunic, a dark purple traced with embroidery in silver and gold. He looked to Tyon Reyne, inquiring, "Was there any other news of import?" When the Hand's reply came in the negative, the King replied, "Very good. My Lord Hand, I have a task that I would see you undertake. The gods have made it clear to me that they hold the power over life and death, and though the rain falls upon the righteous and wicked alike, the prayers of whose who humble themselves before the Seven are more readily heard…"
As Maelon trailed off, Tyon Reyne arched a brow, hesitantly asking, prompting the King to continue, "Your Grace…?"
"I would have you, my Lord Hand, draft a decree decrying the wicked practice of First Night, for though the gods have placed some men to govern over others, it is abhorrent for a lord to despoil his servant's goods without just cause, and how much more so when it is to steal away a daughter's blessed virginity?" Pausing a beat, those deep purple eyes scanning the reactions of his advisors, Maelon boldly declared, "With the support of the Lords Paramount, I would see this vile practice ended in Westeros!"
Yet, that was not all, for just as the small council began to consider how to persuade the lords of Westeros to abandon what was a favored practice by some, the King continued, his fervor rising by the moment, "But this is not all I would do, for I must give thanks unto the Seven! Though they have stolen my father from us, they have lifted their hand from my mother and my son, and even now the city sighs in relief as the Grey Plague passes. My Lord Hand and most sage councilors, the Sept of Remembrance is insufficient for the glory the Seven are due. Thus, beginning this very day, let it be known that we shall construct a sept more worthy of the gods, a sept whose hallowed halls shall dominate Viseyna's Hill and bring the Seven worthy praise for generations to come!"
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