Part Four-One: King Arstan the Second.
I came to power on the second of February, of the year 406 AL. While I was not officially crowned, I had already asked the High Septon to prepare a ceremony to crown me. In the meantime, I buried myself in dragonlore. Over the past two centuries, dragonlore from just about every place ever touched by the dragons had been gathered in a newly constructed library wing of the Red Keep.
Three weeks I spent in that library, reviewing everything my father taught me. While I had already flown Valyr multiple times, the death of the primary rider still troubles the dragon. On the 23rd of February, I entered the dragon pit. Valyr had been restless the past few days, and despite the strong walls of the dragon pit, I did not want to risk him escaping, especially considering the large stockpiles of wildfire that existed within King's Landing.
The taming itself was very easy. Multiple tamings had been recently documented, all of which were confirmed to work, since they had been written by the rider. I borrowed Blackfyre from Daenys and entered the dragon pit. The sight of Valyrian Steel seemed to calm Valyr. Saddling him was a bit harder than I expected, considering the size he had grown to, but since he offered no resistance, it only took me a few minutes. After strapping myself in and calling for the lifting of the gates, I took flight on the back of Valyr.
Two weeks after that, I gave my second born son Alyn the first egg of Valyr. He was unlikely to inherit the throne, barring the unfortunate death of my firstborn and his children. Moreover, he had unrestricted access to the library of dragonlore here, and a special birthing chamber had been specifically constructed in the event anyone chooses to do so. I had no need for an egg, and neither did my firstborn.
On the twenty-seventh of March, of the year 406 AL, I was crowned as King Arstan Connington the Second, the third Connington to sit the throne. While a number of minor Lords and High Lords had not attended my coronation, all of the Lords and Ladies Paramounts attended the grand ceremony. Just as well, for preparing the coronation feast had taken a whole month.
Things were quiet and peaceful until November. Remembering the disaster of King's Landing some years ago, I ordered my alchemists to dispose of the oldest and most unstable pots of wildfire. Unfortunately, those fools botched the job, and set King's Landing aflame for the third time in the past two centuries.
Fortunately, after the last disaster, all the citizens had been informed of what to do in the event of a second outbreak, and everyone was well prepared for the disaster. After summarily executing most of the alchemists responsible, and castrating and quartering the rest before subjecting them to dragon fire, the damage was fixed quickly. By January of the next year, the city had stopped burning and was starting to be rebuilt.
Over the next three years, many new Conningtons were brought into this world. My cousin Orys had a son who he named Stannis, my firstborn Aegon had his thirdborn son named Manfred, my secondborn son had a daughter named Arianna and a son named Rickard, and I had two bastards by Megga of Saltwood, both boys, who were named Simon and Armond.
On the tenth of October, of the year 410 AL, I granted the Lordship of Edgerton, a few days ride out of King's Landing, to Orys Connington. His branch of the family had proven itself over the years, and their loyalty and faithfulness was rewarded. Not so much as Orys might have liked, but considering it was more than he had hoped for, he did not complain.
The next two years passed peacefully. The realm ran itself, and I travelled to Harrenhal to see how the construction was going. Many of the workers spoke of King Harren's curse, and of how his blood had been mixed into the mortar of the castle. While I did not believe in this curse, my blood was the blood of kings, conquerors, and dragon riders. My blood was holy. At the very least, it would consecrate this place.
On February 14th of the next year, my loyal Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Walace of Egenford, died. He was replaced by Ser Cosgrove Deddings, an old man of advanced age.
Now, a week after that, a funny thing happened. You see, the Summer Islands had decided to invade the lands of Westeros. While they were no threat, and would no doubt be annihilated in due time, it was the next few events that proved humorous. You see, Dornish people react very badly to being invaded. When King Qaro started his assault, he raided a small undefended village and spent the night in the local brothel. That night, a syphilitic whore visited him. Qaro, unknowing of her condition, rode her all night long. By the morning, he was already sick, and the tale has it that the whore would not stop fucking him. He killed the whore, of course, but the damage was already done. Before his army could even set up siege lines, he had died of Syphilis, ending the great invasion of the Summer Islanders in its infancy.
The next four years passed quietly. Two new members of the Kingsguard were inducted, and I witnessed the birth of my great-grandson and eventual heir Pate Connington. After a relatively long possession of Summerhall, during which my father and I made great improvements to it, I handed Summerhall to my secondborn son, Alyn. At the rate my son and grandson were producing kids, he would never see the throne. As a result, I gave him a minor Lordship to quiet his complaints.
That November, a very saddening event occurred. Daenys of Essos, while flying Drogon around the Blackwater, hit a freak storm. From what we could find when we arrived, Drogon's wings were torn and shattered. He plunged into the ground at high speeds, with Daenys riding him. Both Daenys and Drogon died that day, a sad reminder of everything's mortality. While we recovered Blackfyre and gave it to Orys, Drogon was dead. Valyr was the last living dragon in the world now.
Early next year, after a particularly generous feast and a rather terrifying display of my aerial supremacy, I finally achieved what my father and grandfather had bothered not to do. I raised the authority of the King on the Iron Throne, and now vassals were restricted in fighting in harmful inter-region wars. I wanted to slowly consolidate as much power under the crown as possible, but I knew the lords only tolerated it because they knew I was growing old.
Now, the May and June of 425 AL. Those were a sad few months indeed. It was with great sorrow that I discovered the infidelity of my wife, with none other than my Master-of-Arms, Alaric. As much as I was saddened at his loss of his wife, it was unacceptable for him to be cuckolding me. I locked both my wife and him up in a cell, and promptly divorced my wife for flagrant infidelity.
This did not sit well with many lords, but I was past caring. On the 18th of June of that same year, after a month of sitting in prison, Alaric made up his mind. He would challenge me to a trial by combat. I decided to face him personally. Despite many long years of friendship, it was now decided that one of us was to die. Though I had lost a hand at Harrenhal, I was still the better fighter, and had been training to compensate for the loss of my left hand.
After a night of prayer, the duel began. I generously allowed Alaric the pick of the armory after me. We were both armored in gleaming armor, wielding finely wrought swords and master-crafted shields. I had never fought or seen Alaric fight before, but he had seen me fight plenty. I knew I had to be careful around him. That caution saved my life. Alaric knew he held the momentary advantage and charged straight at me. He pushed me flat on my back with his shield, and almost killed me with his sword. I managed to roll out of the way and stand back up. I was younger than him, and more spry. I would have to tire him out. I didn't get much of a breather though, because he came charging at me yet again. I mistimed my sidestep and was sent sprawling again. Throwing my shield at Alaric before he could raise his sword, I sprang up at the same time as the momentary distraction. I immediately lunge into a strike, but Alaric is able to block with his shield, clearly injuring his arm. Alaric tries once again to charge me, and this time I am able to successfully sidestep him. One smack of my metal hand into his neck and he crumples to the floor. With his back to me and momentarily stunned, Alaric has no chance. I hesitate, but just barely. Alaric brought this on himself. With that thought in mind I ram my sword through his heart.
The month after that, having overcome the natural resistance that comes with kinslaying, I fed my adulterous former wife to Valyr. It earned me the enmity of a few lords, but no one important was fazed much by the action.
The May of next year, 426 AL, was a happier one. The winter that had lasted two decades, and had gotten cold enough to kill vast quantities of peasants, the winter that had drained the lands foodstores and required the spending of vast sums to procure food was over. This winter was entered into the history books as one of the deadliest winters in Westeros.
I was able to accomplish one last thing before I became bedridden as a result of old age and poor health. That thing was laying the foundation in Harrenhal. Though the improvement had taken at least thirty years so far, significant progress had been made, and Harrenhal was starting to look like a fearsome castle.
Unfortunately, I won't see it finished in my lifetime, for I am wracked with coughs every day, and they grow worse. My left hand burns like fire, and I am certain that my death is far more painful than those suffered by my predecessors. I write this in my final days, while I lay in bed. I can feel the end approaching.
-----End of Part Four-One: King Arstan the Second.
Well, a lot of shit happened in this guys reign. Overall, I think he laid the foundation for the dragons to come back. I haven't played much past this point yet, so I have no idea what is in store. Hopefully some sort of challenging war in the near future.
I came to power on the second of February, of the year 406 AL. While I was not officially crowned, I had already asked the High Septon to prepare a ceremony to crown me. In the meantime, I buried myself in dragonlore. Over the past two centuries, dragonlore from just about every place ever touched by the dragons had been gathered in a newly constructed library wing of the Red Keep.
Three weeks I spent in that library, reviewing everything my father taught me. While I had already flown Valyr multiple times, the death of the primary rider still troubles the dragon. On the 23rd of February, I entered the dragon pit. Valyr had been restless the past few days, and despite the strong walls of the dragon pit, I did not want to risk him escaping, especially considering the large stockpiles of wildfire that existed within King's Landing.
The taming itself was very easy. Multiple tamings had been recently documented, all of which were confirmed to work, since they had been written by the rider. I borrowed Blackfyre from Daenys and entered the dragon pit. The sight of Valyrian Steel seemed to calm Valyr. Saddling him was a bit harder than I expected, considering the size he had grown to, but since he offered no resistance, it only took me a few minutes. After strapping myself in and calling for the lifting of the gates, I took flight on the back of Valyr.
Two weeks after that, I gave my second born son Alyn the first egg of Valyr. He was unlikely to inherit the throne, barring the unfortunate death of my firstborn and his children. Moreover, he had unrestricted access to the library of dragonlore here, and a special birthing chamber had been specifically constructed in the event anyone chooses to do so. I had no need for an egg, and neither did my firstborn.
On the twenty-seventh of March, of the year 406 AL, I was crowned as King Arstan Connington the Second, the third Connington to sit the throne. While a number of minor Lords and High Lords had not attended my coronation, all of the Lords and Ladies Paramounts attended the grand ceremony. Just as well, for preparing the coronation feast had taken a whole month.
Things were quiet and peaceful until November. Remembering the disaster of King's Landing some years ago, I ordered my alchemists to dispose of the oldest and most unstable pots of wildfire. Unfortunately, those fools botched the job, and set King's Landing aflame for the third time in the past two centuries.
Fortunately, after the last disaster, all the citizens had been informed of what to do in the event of a second outbreak, and everyone was well prepared for the disaster. After summarily executing most of the alchemists responsible, and castrating and quartering the rest before subjecting them to dragon fire, the damage was fixed quickly. By January of the next year, the city had stopped burning and was starting to be rebuilt.
Over the next three years, many new Conningtons were brought into this world. My cousin Orys had a son who he named Stannis, my firstborn Aegon had his thirdborn son named Manfred, my secondborn son had a daughter named Arianna and a son named Rickard, and I had two bastards by Megga of Saltwood, both boys, who were named Simon and Armond.
On the tenth of October, of the year 410 AL, I granted the Lordship of Edgerton, a few days ride out of King's Landing, to Orys Connington. His branch of the family had proven itself over the years, and their loyalty and faithfulness was rewarded. Not so much as Orys might have liked, but considering it was more than he had hoped for, he did not complain.
The next two years passed peacefully. The realm ran itself, and I travelled to Harrenhal to see how the construction was going. Many of the workers spoke of King Harren's curse, and of how his blood had been mixed into the mortar of the castle. While I did not believe in this curse, my blood was the blood of kings, conquerors, and dragon riders. My blood was holy. At the very least, it would consecrate this place.
On February 14th of the next year, my loyal Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Walace of Egenford, died. He was replaced by Ser Cosgrove Deddings, an old man of advanced age.
Now, a week after that, a funny thing happened. You see, the Summer Islands had decided to invade the lands of Westeros. While they were no threat, and would no doubt be annihilated in due time, it was the next few events that proved humorous. You see, Dornish people react very badly to being invaded. When King Qaro started his assault, he raided a small undefended village and spent the night in the local brothel. That night, a syphilitic whore visited him. Qaro, unknowing of her condition, rode her all night long. By the morning, he was already sick, and the tale has it that the whore would not stop fucking him. He killed the whore, of course, but the damage was already done. Before his army could even set up siege lines, he had died of Syphilis, ending the great invasion of the Summer Islanders in its infancy.
The next four years passed quietly. Two new members of the Kingsguard were inducted, and I witnessed the birth of my great-grandson and eventual heir Pate Connington. After a relatively long possession of Summerhall, during which my father and I made great improvements to it, I handed Summerhall to my secondborn son, Alyn. At the rate my son and grandson were producing kids, he would never see the throne. As a result, I gave him a minor Lordship to quiet his complaints.
That November, a very saddening event occurred. Daenys of Essos, while flying Drogon around the Blackwater, hit a freak storm. From what we could find when we arrived, Drogon's wings were torn and shattered. He plunged into the ground at high speeds, with Daenys riding him. Both Daenys and Drogon died that day, a sad reminder of everything's mortality. While we recovered Blackfyre and gave it to Orys, Drogon was dead. Valyr was the last living dragon in the world now.
Early next year, after a particularly generous feast and a rather terrifying display of my aerial supremacy, I finally achieved what my father and grandfather had bothered not to do. I raised the authority of the King on the Iron Throne, and now vassals were restricted in fighting in harmful inter-region wars. I wanted to slowly consolidate as much power under the crown as possible, but I knew the lords only tolerated it because they knew I was growing old.
Now, the May and June of 425 AL. Those were a sad few months indeed. It was with great sorrow that I discovered the infidelity of my wife, with none other than my Master-of-Arms, Alaric. As much as I was saddened at his loss of his wife, it was unacceptable for him to be cuckolding me. I locked both my wife and him up in a cell, and promptly divorced my wife for flagrant infidelity.
This did not sit well with many lords, but I was past caring. On the 18th of June of that same year, after a month of sitting in prison, Alaric made up his mind. He would challenge me to a trial by combat. I decided to face him personally. Despite many long years of friendship, it was now decided that one of us was to die. Though I had lost a hand at Harrenhal, I was still the better fighter, and had been training to compensate for the loss of my left hand.
After a night of prayer, the duel began. I generously allowed Alaric the pick of the armory after me. We were both armored in gleaming armor, wielding finely wrought swords and master-crafted shields. I had never fought or seen Alaric fight before, but he had seen me fight plenty. I knew I had to be careful around him. That caution saved my life. Alaric knew he held the momentary advantage and charged straight at me. He pushed me flat on my back with his shield, and almost killed me with his sword. I managed to roll out of the way and stand back up. I was younger than him, and more spry. I would have to tire him out. I didn't get much of a breather though, because he came charging at me yet again. I mistimed my sidestep and was sent sprawling again. Throwing my shield at Alaric before he could raise his sword, I sprang up at the same time as the momentary distraction. I immediately lunge into a strike, but Alaric is able to block with his shield, clearly injuring his arm. Alaric tries once again to charge me, and this time I am able to successfully sidestep him. One smack of my metal hand into his neck and he crumples to the floor. With his back to me and momentarily stunned, Alaric has no chance. I hesitate, but just barely. Alaric brought this on himself. With that thought in mind I ram my sword through his heart.
The month after that, having overcome the natural resistance that comes with kinslaying, I fed my adulterous former wife to Valyr. It earned me the enmity of a few lords, but no one important was fazed much by the action.
The May of next year, 426 AL, was a happier one. The winter that had lasted two decades, and had gotten cold enough to kill vast quantities of peasants, the winter that had drained the lands foodstores and required the spending of vast sums to procure food was over. This winter was entered into the history books as one of the deadliest winters in Westeros.
I was able to accomplish one last thing before I became bedridden as a result of old age and poor health. That thing was laying the foundation in Harrenhal. Though the improvement had taken at least thirty years so far, significant progress had been made, and Harrenhal was starting to look like a fearsome castle.
Unfortunately, I won't see it finished in my lifetime, for I am wracked with coughs every day, and they grow worse. My left hand burns like fire, and I am certain that my death is far more painful than those suffered by my predecessors. I write this in my final days, while I lay in bed. I can feel the end approaching.
-----End of Part Four-One: King Arstan the Second.
Well, a lot of shit happened in this guys reign. Overall, I think he laid the foundation for the dragons to come back. I haven't played much past this point yet, so I have no idea what is in store. Hopefully some sort of challenging war in the near future.
