I can neither deny nor affirm this statement.
Yes - they were letting people through the front door, and she stepped right on in.
The next Philipe Gastone, I tells ye.
Valyrian Steel: A Game of Thrones Mod AAR
- Thread starter Henry v. Keiper
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I can neither deny nor affirm this statement.
Yes - they were letting people through the front door, and she stepped right on in.
The next Philipe Gastone, I tells ye.
I've been reading this wonderful AAR for a month and finally decided to register and sub. Dance of Dragons is my favourite time in the ASOIAF history, and the Vale is the place I really'd like to live. You're making all this a wonderful story, especially adding value to rather unimportant and usually dull events, making them really interesting.
P. S. Also read your other AGOT AARs. I'll always remember Maester Dermot
P. S. Also read your other AGOT AARs. I'll always remember Maester Dermot
Really enjoyed the latest update. As always beautiful writing, can't wait for the next one!
I've been reading this wonderful AAR for a month and finally decided to register and sub. Dance of Dragons is my favourite time in the ASOIAF history, and the Vale is the place I really'd like to live. You're making all this a wonderful story, especially adding value to rather unimportant and usually dull events, making them really interesting.
P. S. Also read your other AGOT AARs. I'll always remember Maester Dermot
The Vale always seems, with some exceptions, to keep itself out of the more dangerous parts of Westerosi history. I definitely felt some of that when I played Ronnel. The mountains separating it from the rest of the continent probably help...
And ah, Maester Dermot... I still got plans for him.
Oh yes, and thanks for hopping on board! Glad I'm taking something unimportant and dull and making it interesting and fun, rather than even more dull.
Thank you very much! They will keep coming, fear not.
I think I invented a new literary device. First, there was Chekov's Gun, then there was... Keiper's Wine. It's a device where a specific detail drives readers so crazy the author is forced to do something with it later.
Chapter 19
Rhaekar
A dream. Another dream. It had been a while since had experienced one.
A great white cliff, taller than the Dun Fort, if not the Red Keep, rose up high from sands constantly bombarded by the ocean waves. From the beach rose harsh, rusted spikes the color of brass; each series of spikes formed a circle, with three circles altogether. At the top of the cliff, high above the scene on the beach, stood a unicorn with a pure white coat. It wasn’t a mare, but a stallion, with muscles bulging on his torso, neck, and legs. A strong wind blew through the scene, causing his mane to flutter in waves like the motions of a great banner. His long, bushy tail swung one way and back again in a rhythmic pattern that was more comparable to the march of a soldier than the absentminded sway of an animal. Ominous clouds, a gray sky splotched with black, hung over his head. He looked outward, towards the sea. His dark eyes glistened as if sunlight struck them, though no sunlight could be seen. Even the coat over his body seemed to glisten, as if there was an animated source of light within his very being.
Suddenly, the unicorn fell. How the unicorn fell, Rhaekar could not see: one moment, the stallion was standing there, erect and certain, and the next he was tumbling over the cliff, as if pushed by invisible hands. Down the unicorn fell, not letting out a single whinny or cry as he tumbled through the cool air. The speed of his descent increased, before it became difficult to see him against the white cliffs.
All at once, the fall ended. He’d landed on the spikes below.
Blood shot out of the creature’s wounds, coating the upper lengths of the spikes. There were punctures through his torso, throat, and hindquarters. The beast let out a sputtered cry that lasted only a moment before his head went limp. His legs barely gave a jerk before they went still. Just as quickly as he had fallen, the unicorn had died. Blood soaked the beautiful white coat, and his dark eyes stared lifelessly ahead. There was no longer a radiance coming from his person – there was only blood and flesh. The sand and dirt was stained with the blood of the unicorn, as that glory in its eyes faded into nothingness.
Knock-knock-knock.
“My lord?”
Rhaekar opened his eyes. The ceiling, stony and gray, stared down at him.
“My lord?” The voice was coming through the door.
“I am awake,” Rhaekar called out. “Who is it speaking?”
“Maestar Albar. Everyone is preparing for the tourney.”
“Well then, give me a moment.” Rhaekar sat up and turned his body to the side, letting his legs dangle off the edge of the bed. The stone floors were merciless to his soles, and he privately wished he’d chosen an inn in the city itself, rather than permitting King Daeron to host him in the Red Keep. The king had been insistent, however: after all, Rhaekar was considered by many to be “Kingmaker,” and the one responsible for King Daeron’s rise to power. For his part, Rhaekar cared little for the title “Kingmaker”: the last one to bear such a title had been executed by Queen Rhaenyra.
Queen Rhaenyra… The Hammer… how strange it was to consider that had all been only two years ago…
“I will be downstairs,” came Albar’s voice. The footsteps on the other side of the door betrayed his departure.
“Maesters,” came a muttering from Rhaekar’s lips. He stood up and stretched his body. He was wearing nothing but his trousers, and his muscles, covered in purple bruises from his training back at the Dun Fort, shifted about as his arms and torso moved. When he dropped his arms, his eyes caught sight of his dark armor, nestled in a corner of the room. He supposed that he could have obtained a squire to assist him, or asked Albar to stay and assist him. Ah well. As difficult as it might be, it was not impossible.
The Unicorn Prince was dressed, then went down to join Albar and a few personal guards from the Dun Fort. Together, they left the Red Keep and headed out on horseback. The tournament itself had been organized to the west of the city, in the open area often reserved for such events. Some grim emotions swelled over Rhaekar’s heart as they passed through the King’s Gate, for it had been through this same gate that he and Andrian had passed through to pick up Rhaena and Albar, just after Hugh Hammer’s men had sacked the city. It had been through this same gate that all four had made their exit, moving around the city to avoid the dangerous interior. It had been on that same day that they had seen… the Dragon Forest. That hellish sight, which would forever signify the end of House Targaryen.
Andrian… As the memory of the septon floated about his mind, Rhaekar absentmindedly hoped he was safe and sound. Whatever gods served from the heavens that Albar gazed at so lovingly, he prayed that Andrian was being blessed by them even at this moment.
Out of the corner of his eye, Rhaekar noted that Albar seemed to be shifting about in his saddle. The maester was clenching and unclenching his reins, and clearing his throat in a sporadic rhythm. No doubt the poor man was suffering the same flashbacks as the Lord of Duskendale. No sooner had Rhaekar noticed this that Albar took to distracting himself through other means. “I hear they are building something in the city. The location chosen was on Visenya’s Hill.”
Rhaekar now shifted his gaze to look at the maester. “Are they, now?”
“Yes. A new palace for the faith, so to speak. They don’t have a name for it yet, but the High Septon will be there. From what the Archmaester told me, King Daeron desires to have a center closer to King’s Landing. The Starry Sept is too far, and too inconvenient.”
Rhaekar pursed his lips, then looked away. “I wonder what they shall call it?”
“Probably ‘the Great Sept.’” Albar scratched the side of his nose. “Something unimaginative like that.”
“Perhaps they can find someone to name it after? Surely there is someone in the faith most blessed to give it a name.”
“Perhaps, m’lord.”
When they finally arrived at the tourney, Rhaekar was surprised by the number of spectators and participants. Ladies in a rainbow conglomeration of clothes walked about the perimeter of the field, some eyeing the participants with a kind of hunger, while others made their way towards the stands. Banners were held aloft over knights, lords, and seatings, and were as diverse as the men who carried them. There was the green arrow of House Sarsfield, the black birds of House Caron, the attacking stag of House Baratheon, and countless other banners from all across the six kingdoms, save perhaps the Iron Isles and the North. Rhaekar was impressed that, after the Dance of the Dragons, the kingdom could have recovered so quickly to come together for such an event. He pondered for a moment if perhaps this was King Daeron’s intent all along: to host events such as this to show all the kingdoms that, under his rule from the Iron Throne, things would continue as they had before the days of Rhaenyra and the Hammer. The wars were over, and now we could all gather together to mount steeds, not for battle, but for jousts.
It was very early on in the tourney that Rhaekar found himself not only in one of the first matches, but that he was up against Ser Arryk Cargyll, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. As the glorious white armor reflected light from the sun, Rhaekar pondered for a moment how good it was to see Ser Arryk alive and well. He had lived out the reign of the Hammer to see the rise of King Daeron and, one hoped, better days. One could not imagine what it was like to have sworn to protect and defend King Hugh, knowing what he did and what he was like. Rhaekar knew that truth all too well, given his limited time with Hugh – what had Arryk seen and heard?
The signal was given, and the two men were at once lunging at each other. Rhaekar galloped his horse down the way, shield up and lance aimed ahead. Ser Arryk, visor bouncing slightly at each gallop of the horse, followed suit. Under his own helmet, Rhaekar could hear his breathing echo off the metal. He could feel the heat of the sun bearing down on him, and feel that heat amplified by his own hot breath. Both men drew closer and closer. Soon they were
CR’KACK!
Arryk’s lance plunged up against Rhaekar’s shield. Rhaekar had tried to drive against Arryk’s chest, but overshot his aim, missing completely. In his focus, he had failed to consider his balance. The blow from Arryk’s lance had enough force to push Rhaekar back. He felt his feet slip from the stirrups. He actually slid off the back of his horse. The weight of his armor dragged him onward and off as soon as he was over the horse’s rump. In an instant, he landed on the ground with a loud clunk. He heard his armor rattle and felt every piece jiggle around him. He couldn’t make a sound, as his breath had completely left him.
A few seconds later, the crowd let out a cheer. Some of Rhaekar’s footmen stepped forward to help him up. The Unicorn Prince nearly stumbled as he was placed on his feet, his lungs only now refilling themselves. He then caught sight of Ser Arryk, riding back in a slow march on his horse. The Lord Commander stopped his steed parallel to Rhaekar, then lifted up his visor.
“Well met, Lord Rhaekar.”
Rhaekar lifted up his visor. His violet eyes stared through a haze of sweat. “Likewise.”
Nothing seemed broken save for an ego, and Rhaekar whisked the armor off quick enough to return to the stands in his lighter, more casual attire. Albar was there in the stands, an empty seat beside him. Rhaekar was only a few steps to it when a man in light armor suddenly appeared from the side of his vision. He stepped towards Albar and plopped himself right onto the empty seat. The maester turned and blinked twice in astonishment. “Excuse me, but I have reserved that spot for...”
“Bugger your lord!” the man growled. “And I bet you do!”
Rhaekar paused for only a moment… then took only another step. “Excuse me.”
The man, a much older one than Rhaekar, turned and saw the Unicorn Prince. He smirked. “Oh? This the man who slides his sword into your sheath, maester?”
“And you must be the pig who escaped from his trough? The muck is all over that thing you call a face.”
“Says the man with a face like he dove into what the pigs put out afterward!”
“You would know. You were born from it.”
The man rose suddenly. Albar’s face grew pale, and he likewise stood. The maester looked about frantically, trying to find their personal guard. Some of the nobles nearby were shooting glances towards the scene.
The old man was growling under his throat.“You talk that way to me?”
“That is how I talk to all who were bred incestuous bovines,” Rhaekar remarked.
The man held back his hand. “Then you must be…” The hand came down… and was offered for a shake. “...just as much a bastard as you were in the Dance, you frilly unicorn!”
Rhaekar laughed and took the man’s hand. The slap from the two palms meeting was loud. “And how has Ser Alliser Langward been these past few years?”
Behind Ser Alliser, Albar slumped back into his chair and leaned his head back. The chain seemed to glow from some of the sweat that had built up around his throat. The nobles around the three men collectively rolled their eyes, and muttered things in hushed, aggravated tones, but all turned their attention back to the tourneys.
“Fine enough!” Langward replied. “Though it is not as much fun without being on a campaign with someone who can match my wit!” Alliser spat on the ground. “Some of these young pups, just taking the vows… I tell you, these soft times will make soft men! Nothing like you or I!”
“Perhaps that is for the best,” Rhaekar said. “Sometimes hard men get lofty ideas, and make even harder times.” Just look at the Hammer, he wanted to add.
“I hear rumor you have some problem with coins, Unicorn?” Alliser asked.
Rhaekar chuckled. A nervous chuckle. “Somewhat. It always seems to come up.”
Indeed it did. It always seemed like they had to spend on one thing, or another. The coffers were always coming up dry. In the past, Rhaekar had even been forced to take a loan… or two. They had always repaid it, of course, but ties in Duskendale were growing tough. Rhaekar had always sought proper advisers on how best to handle his domain’s coin, but they had left him for one reason or another. Left to himself, he didn’t always find himself making the best decisions. Rhaena was especially annoyed by this, as she was used to growing up in the wealth, luxury, and prestige that House Targaryen had boasted for so long. It had only proven a strain on their marriage… a marriage that didn’t need any more strain. As patient as Rhaekar tried to be with Rhaena, he felt like if this rope were pulled any tighter, it would surely be torn asunder.
Ser Alliser filled Rhaekar in on many of the events in the Crownlands, as well as other parts of Westeros. Apparently, King Daeron was doing an excellent job of helping to heal relations between the various lords, after the period during and after the Dance. Most seemed very eager to just move on after so much bloodshed. After some time, Rhaekar soon discovered the tourneys to be an absolute bore: seeing two men take forever to mount up, prepare their steeds, and then charge down for only one second of excitement had proven too dull for his tastes. Tourneys truly were not exciting if you weren’t the one participating in him – at least, that was how he saw it. Strange how he had never truly noticed it before.
With Albar and their small party in tow, Rhaekar made his way back to the city, and towards the Red Keep. They moved along the walls until they came to the sparring area, where they decided to watch the soldiers practice. It was here, as they waited, that an attendant of the Red Keep approached. He bowed before the group of men, and, turning to the Unicorn Prince, asked, “Are you Lord Rhaekar, m’lord?”
“I am he. For what reason do you ask?”
“From the archmaester’s chamber,” the man replied. He bowed low again, then held out a small parchment. His fingers clutched one end, while the other rolled back, against his nails. “For you, m’lord. He says it is from Duskendale.”
Rhaekar gave a hum as he snatched it from the boy’s grip. “Thank you.” As the boy headed away, Rhaekar unrolled the parchment and began to read its contents. As his eyes neared the end, they trailed back to the beginning, and he read it again. Then again. After several times, Rhaekar’s eyes no longer moved, but merely stared at the parchment. After several seconds of this, he closed his eyelids, breathed in deep, then let out a sigh.
“What does it say?” Albar asked.
Rhaekar shook his head. In an annoyed tone, he remarked, “Why must these things always happen when I am away?”
Albar blinked twice. “What happened?”
Without turning his head, Rhaekar handed the slip over to the maester, who took it and read it quickly...
“My word!” Albar cried. He dropped the parchment onto his lap and lifted his eyes to stare forward. After a moment of silence, the maester turned back to Rhaekar. “What do we do now, m’lord?”
“What else? We return to Duskendale and put an end to this. Send a raven telling Rhaena to raise our banners. We march as soon as I return to the Dun Fort.”
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Dark leans over you, Rhaekar...
And that revolt is not what I expected. Who is that Monford, in fact? No mention of him before, if I'm not mistaken.
And why is Rhaekar's armour dark? He is a white unicorn, after all.
And that revolt is not what I expected. Who is that Monford, in fact? No mention of him before, if I'm not mistaken.
And why is Rhaekar's armour dark? He is a white unicorn, after all.
Ominous dream sequence is ominous.
And seriously, the lord of Byrch Hall. Really. You don't even live in a canonical castle, learn your place man. I hope the horn of the unicorn proves succesful in taking care of him.
And seriously, the lord of Byrch Hall. Really. You don't even live in a canonical castle, learn your place man. I hope the horn of the unicorn proves succesful in taking care of him.
Well that's just typical. Unhorsed, losing an argument about taxation, and now a rebellion.
Well they do say troubles come in threes.
Well they do say troubles come in threes.
Lord Monford is actually seen in the first chapter, where he speaks with Rhaekar on the beginning of the Dance of the Dragons. He's also mentioned in the last Annara chapter.
As for why Rhaekar's armor is dark, that's because... that's how it comes up in the game.
People love the dream sequences.
And hey, maybe he's jealous and wants a canonical castle of his own.
The scary thing is in Westeros, they probably come in sevens.
Once again, you have a knack for writing vivid and compelling dream sequences. I have to admit that I spent the entire update with a sense of mild paranoia, watching each and every new character to see if they were going to be the one to suddenly drive a knife or a jousting lance between Rhaekar's ribs.
Also:
I can see it now: The Great Sept of Andrian, Blessed Son of the Mother!
Also:
I can see it now: The Great Sept of Andrian, Blessed Son of the Mother!
Next step: author self-inserts...
Fear not, the dream's not immediately relevant. Yet...
My ultimate goal is to make readers see events happen, then reread all the previous dream sequences and be like "Oh I get it now!" (Think like the dream of the wolf-headed man on a throne in the original books.) Which means more rereading chapters. Which means more pageviews. Which means I can earn more. Which means I can do more coke.
Wait...
I can see it now: The Great Sept of Andrian, Blessed Son of the Mother!
There were many candidates for the naming of the Great Sept. There was Baelor the Blessed. There was Jaehaerys the Wise. There was Andrian the Not-Quite-So-Blessed-As-Baelor, who converted a hooker he had meant to tumble under the sheets, who had bravely run away from the Second Siege of King's Landing, and who had personally wet himself at the sight of the Dragon Forest. And the aptly named Blessed Not-Appearing-In-This-Story...
This was a great chapter. Even though there seems to have been a long peace, trouble can come in mysterious ways. It seems like Annara's plotting has finally come to fruition, and I shiver in anticipation of what the foreboding dream could mean. I also like how this chapter adds elements of failure and stress into Rheakar's tale. Before he seemed something of a Gary Stu, although I suppose that was just his excellent traits talking.
Also, would you mind posting how long Aegon II, Rheanyra, Hugh and the current king have reigned?
Also, would you mind posting how long Aegon II, Rheanyra, Hugh and the current king have reigned?
This AAR is written by the second GRRM, has Martin ever bothered himself with the chronology in his main story?
(AWOIAF does not count).
So that's why The Winds of Winter is taking so long!
No, that's because George R.R. Martin goes into his writing room, sees his shadow, and runs back into his hole.
This AAR is written by the second GRRM, has Martin ever bothered himself with the chronology in his main story?
He's got something of a chronology, to be fair. World of Ice and Fire lays it out pretty nicely.
I hope he's not coming across as a Gary Stu. There's not a lot him and I have in common, except maybe we both breathe.
And sure!
Aegon II
1 April, 129 - 19 August, 129
Rhaenyra I
19 August, 129 - 6 March, 131
Hugh I
6 March, 131 - 14 August, 131
Rhaekar (Interregnum)
14 August, 131 - 19 November, 131
Daeron I
19 November, 131 - Present Time
Additional notes:
* 6 March, 131 was the official date when the Dragon Forest occurred.
* 19 November, 131 was the date of the Grand Council.
Oh, all this happened in just two years? JUST TWO YEARS?!
Well, the first three books also happened just in two years, so that is fine. But it felt like 15 years or so.
Well, the first three books also happened just in two years, so that is fine. But it felt like 15 years or so.
One might say 131 was the "Year of Three Monarchs." (Not counting Rhaekar as Lord Protector, of course.)
And it only feels that way in the books because it takes as long for GRRM to write one page.