Valyrian Steel: A Game of Thrones Mod AAR
- Thread starter Henry v. Keiper
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The die is cast.
A nice touch with Larys's exaggerated limp -- I'm reminded of apropos scenes from both I, Claudius and The Usual Suspects.
A nice touch with Larys's exaggerated limp -- I'm reminded of apropos scenes from both I, Claudius and The Usual Suspects.
As is to be expected of you, Keiper, nothing short of amazing. Eagerly looking forward to reading more chapters 
As is to be expected of you, Keiper, nothing short of amazing. Eagerly looking forward to reading more chapters
Thank you, kind sir! I hope you continue enjoying the AAR!
Rhaekar's heirs come under the Targaryen flipped coin rule the mod has, so they very well could be susceptible to Dragon Dreams. I personally blame my recent studies in Revelation for wanting to write prophetic, symbolic dream sequences...
As for what the dreams actually mean... I ain't tellin'. My readers will have to just keep on readin' and see if they can figure it out themselves.
Things are slowly coming together. Personally I was surprised how quickly my rulership-designed character became the center of Westerosi politics; most of the time I create my own ruler, they die into obscurity. But hey, makes for a good AAR...
We have the event where a large number of characters die, a scene of intrigue between two characters... is there anything we're forgetting?
Oh yeah, an ahistorical use of the f-bomb. But nah...
Plot Twist: Larys is Keyser Soze.
Larys Strong: "Hugh Hammer kills the Targaryens. He kills their wives. He kills their parents and their parents’ friends. He burns down the castles they live in and the merchant guilds they work with. He kills people that owe them money! And like that... *whew!* ...he's gone. Underground. Nobody's ever seen him since. He becomes a myth, a spook story that lords tell their heirs at night. 'Scheme against your pop, and Hugh Hammer will get you.'"
On a serious note, glad someone else noticed that detail. I decided to have some fun with Larys' clubfooted trait. It seemed like something that a clubfooted master of shadows would take advantage of.
Thank you, kind sir! I hope you continue enjoying the AAR!
Rhaekar's heirs come under the Targaryen flipped coin rule the mod has, so they very well could be susceptible to Dragon Dreams. I personally blame my recent studies in Revelation for wanting to write prophetic, symbolic dream sequences...
As for what the dreams actually mean... I ain't tellin'. My readers will have to just keep on readin' and see if they can figure it out themselves.
Things are slowly coming together. Personally I was surprised how quickly my rulership-designed character became the center of Westerosi politics; most of the time I create my own ruler, they die into obscurity. But hey, makes for a good AAR...
We have the event where a large number of characters die, a scene of intrigue between two characters... is there anything we're forgetting?
Oh yeah, an ahistorical use of the f-bomb. But nah...
Plot Twist: Larys is Keyser Soze.
Larys Strong: "Hugh Hammer kills the Targaryens. He kills their wives. He kills their parents and their parents’ friends. He burns down the castles they live in and the merchant guilds they work with. He kills people that owe them money! And like that... *whew!* ...he's gone. Underground. Nobody's ever seen him since. He becomes a myth, a spook story that lords tell their heirs at night. 'Scheme against your pop, and Hugh Hammer will get you.'"
On a serious note, glad someone else noticed that detail. I decided to have some fun with Larys' clubfooted trait. It seemed like something that a clubfooted master of shadows would take advantage of.
I'll admit to having missed it, but it's clever. He plays up the clubfoot the same way Varys plays up the "cowardly soft eunuch" shtick and Littlefinger the whole "snarky but harmless pimp" thing to make the serious alpha male warrior types underestimate him.
as for the F-Bomb... let's just wait to last book when Tuff arrives to Westerosi planet and breeds new ice dragons
I'm actually amazed anybody in the books trusts Varys or Littlefinger at all. You'd think at some point people would notice a pattern.
> "wait to last book"
We'll all be dead by then.
It's an interesting kind of irony that in the Dance of Dragons, the dragons are the only survivors and the Targaryens are all but wiped out.
Also the Targaryens in this scenario remind of the fate of the Starks in the books. Perhaps Rhaekar can serve some lamprey eel justice to the usurper?
Also the Targaryens in this scenario remind of the fate of the Starks in the books. Perhaps Rhaekar can serve some lamprey eel justice to the usurper?
The Dragon Forest is very much like the Red Wedding. It's also shocking to see the Targaryens all but wiped out. Can't fault the AI for making Hugh's usurpation of the throne interesting! Definitely gave me much to work with.
What would the Hammer's kids be called? Mallets? Gavels?
Chapter 12
Rhaena
Sweat poured down her brow. Rhaena felt the piercing pain shoot through her lower body. Her toes curled as she grimaced.
Maester Albar’s voice reached her ears. “Push, my lady!”
Rhaena grunted and squeezed her internal muscles. She could feel something thick shift under her belly. She felt Maester Albar between her thighs, his arms brushing against her legs.
“Push, my lady!”
Rhaena gave another squeeze, crying out from the pain that her entire body seemed to now be enduring. Suddenly the contraction ended, though the pain remained in a smaller dose. “I cannot do this, Maester Albar!”
“Yes you can, my lady! Now come, push!”
Rhaena felt her body contract. It felt like someone had their hand inside her lower regions, and was squeezing every organ inside. She grimaced and grunted as she pushed hard. She felt humiliated – it felt like she was using the privy. She knew little else to do, however. She pushed and pushed. Nothing seemed to be working. She wasn’t even sure she would be able to continue.
“You are doing fine, my lady! Push again! Keep pu-”
A scream came from between her legs.
Rhaena looked down, across her bare body. Albar stood up and looked down at his arm. His hand was missing, and spewed blood from the open veins. He cried out again, his eyes staring in disbelief as thick, red fluids coated his face.
Rhaena’s belly shifted. It contorted. Something poked against it, running around under her flesh. Before she knew it, sharp spikes were tearing through her belly. All at once, her belly ripped apart down the middle.
Rhaena screamed in fright.
From the bloodied mix of organs, Valzyryx’s head arose. He let out a roar. Fire blew from its mouth.
Rhaena woke up.
She was on her side, naked in bed. She was covered in sweat, and her silver hair clung to her face. Brushing it aside, she looked about the room. It was the lord’s bedroom in Duskendale, where she had fallen asleep. Within her chest, Rhaena could feel her heart beating so madly it made her ribs vibrate. She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. It only came after several minutes of deep breaths, and only then did her heart settle. Her eyes shifted to the small table placed beside the bed, and she saw the goblet filled with water. Maester Albar had put a special powder in there that he said would assist her in going to sleep. Absentmindedly she reached out for it…
...and saw the stump.
Immediately she drew her arm back. It hadn’t been soon enough, and she had still seen, even in the dim light of her room, the dark stitches that Maester Albar had sewn to help it heal. As she glanced back to the small table again, she saw the fake, wooden hand that Maester Albar had likewise supplied her. The finest craftsmen in Duskendale had been hired to do it, and Albar had found a painter to paint it with the same flesh tone as her own skin. She wore it during the day, especially when she was outside the castle. It was difficult to put on, due to having to wrap around her lower arm all the way to the elbow, and she was forced to wear long sleeves to hide them. Still, it kept the awkward stares away from her when she was out in public.
In private, however, her sad state was all the more obvious. She wondered if her lord husband would ever find her attractive in any way ever again? Albar and Andrian had both assured her that Rhaekar showed no disgust at the fact she had been deformed, but would that continue in the long run? He had married her to secure his loyalty to House Targaryen, and to marry someone of an esteemed bloodline. Now, she was the sole surviving member of the Targaryens, the people that had taken Westeros in a single generation. Now, she had no dragon. Now, she only had one hand.
Now, she had no real importance.
Rhaena forced herself up and began to walk across the room. The cold stone stung her feet each time the soles pressed down on the floor. The drab walls around her highlighted her pale skin and white hair. She was naked – completely naked – but in the private confines of her bedroom, she cared little. Her one hand ran along her stomach, and felt the small bump left over from her pregnancy. Albar had assured her that it was normal, that all mothers experienced it, and that over time it would go away and her stomach would return to how it had been before. Her hand lifted up to her chest, and she sighed. Her breasts had hardly swelled, unlike other women she knew, who seemed to increase in size with each child. She’d been tempted to ask Albar if this was abnormal, but knew the maester wouldn’t want to hear silly questions like that. She was tempted to confess her feelings to Septon Andrian, but why would a septon want to hear strange questions about the breasts of mothers? Especially such a pious man like Septon Andrian.
Her purple eyes looked over at something that seemed to be glimmering in the moonlight that came from the nearby window. Two swords rested against the wall, upheld in a crossed formation by metal hooks. Each one had a name, and a former owner: Blackfyre, which had been wielded by her adoptive mother, the former Queen Rhaenyra; Dark Sister, which had been wielded by her father, the famous warrior and dragonrider Daemon. They were hers now, sent by friends of the Targaryens in Kings Landing. She had inherited them after the death of her family.
Her entire family…
Tears formed on the edges of her eyes. She wiped them both with her hand, trying to keep herself from falling apart. She’d already cried them bloody red on the trip to Duskendale. Albar and Andrian had both been very sympathetic – Andrian especially – but there was little they could do. Every time her mind wandered, it went back to that horrific vision of her kinsmen hanging from poles, or decapitated. She could see her father’s head atop the stake, one eye staring down at her while the other was being chewed on by ravens. It was even worse when she recalled the head of her sister Baela. Her dear sister, Baela, who had always protected her, who had always been by her side, and who had never done anything wrong – she had been beheaded and left out for the birds to peck at. It was even worse, because she looked so much like her, that Rhaena could only imagine that being her head up there instead.
I was the unlucky one, Rhaena thought. Why was it they who perished, and not me? Why did they all perish but me? Then the realization came that it wasn’t luck that had spared her. After all, they were all at peace now – she would carry the memory of their gruesome ends for the rest of her life. It would be a long, long time before she could at last be spared any more agony of the past.
She went to her wardrobe and opened it, finding her soft robe underneath. She threw it on, and then left her room. It was the middle of the night, and nobody was out in the halls. All residents of the Dun Fort were at their chambers, and the night watch was busy at the walls. The stones were just as cold outside her room as they were inside, and she soon began to walk on her tiptoes. As she came to a door close to her own, Rhaena pressed her hand against the handle and pushed. The door creaked open, bit by bit, so slowly that the noise was as minimal as could be. Rhaena looked inside, and at once found the small crib in the corner of the room. It was tilted at an angle, and she could see the tiny pale body sleeping inside.
Her baby… Laena. She was named after Rhaena’s natural mother. Rhaekar had chosen some male names, but told her she could pick the female names if it was a girl. Rhaena slipped through the crack in the open door, but only took a few steps into the room. The child was wrapped in its swaddling clothes, but the cloth rose and fell with each breath Laena took. Already she had a tuft of silver hair atop her head.
Above the baby’s crib was a small banner. In the dark of night, the scarlet looked almost black, but the white unicorn still stood out. As Rhaena caught sight of it, an involuntary sigh left her lips. She has the blood of Targaryens in her, but she will not be known as a Targaryen. She will be known as a Valzyren. The Targaryens die with me.
She slipped out the door and gently closed it. She heard the murmuring coo of her daughter as the child was momentarily disturbed, but – like any newborn – she went right back to sleep.
What will she be like when she grows up? Rhaena thought. True to his promise, Albar had given her a book on child rearing shortly after the end of her last study, and it spoke on how to curb the anxiety a child feels from separation, what screams in the middle of the night probably meant, and the like. It spoke little on what one might expect when the child was older. Would she look like her mother? Like her father? Would she have her father’s sense of command, or her mother’s?
Rhaena sighed and turned into one of the libraries. The thought of the book had reminded her she needed to finish the last chapter before she next spoke with the maester. When she entered the library, she found it dark, save for one candle, kept by the servants at the doorway. She lifted it up and walked down the row between the bookshelves, heading towards a nook at the far end. As she walked, she caught sight of one shelf. It was filled with books of past storms, or accounts of the waves and sea patterns. She giggled at that. Oh Albar...
She finally came to her nook and sat down, placing the candle on the edge. She looked down and found the silk strap exactly where she had last left off. She leaned over and began to read.
A gurgle. Movement out of the corner of her eye. Rhaena turned and looked towards one of the bookshelves closest to her. A small, pointed head stuck out from near the bottom. It was her new dragon, Jelmamza. It had been hatched from its egg not too long ago – shortly before Laena was born, in fact. It was an ugly brute of a thing, looking more like a gargoyle than an actual dragon. Even the scales were jagged and looked like the cracks of stones. The creature’s walk was weird and strange, as if its legs hadn’t been properly formed inside the egg.
Rhaena frowned. All she could remember was her last dragon, and how much she had loved the beast, only for it to betray her in her hour of need. She had called it her own child, and talked to it with as much respect and tenderness as she could ever imagine. Instead, it had teared an important part of her body from her and forever. She had considered that dragon her own flesh and blood, and it had repaid her by tearing at her flesh and blood. Would this dragon, the third she had owned, do the same?
“What are you looking at? Do you intend to bite off my other hand?”
Jelmamza tilted her head.
“Unlucky… that was what they called me. Unlucky.” Rhaena pursed her lips and turned away. “Unlucky because the first egg they gave me, the dragon died. The second egg they gave me, the dragon tore my hand from my body.” Rhaena bit down her lip. “Now here I am, a member of a dethroned house, deformed and without any power.” She turned her eyes back to the dragon. “What do you wish to do? Bite off my foot?” She lifted up her leg, bearing a pale, smooth foot in the light as it stuck out from under her skirt. “Go on. Bite it off and be done with it.”
Jelmamza waddled forward on her little legs. When she arrived at Rhaena’s foot, the beast merely sniffed at it. A trail of smoke came from both nostrils, and then a forked tongue sprouted from between the reptile’s lips. It curled around her tones and against the sole of her foot. Rhaena let out a giggle, and pulled her foot back. “Stop it! Stop playing with me when I am irate! I am still angry! Just bite it off and be done with it!”
Jelmamza opened and closed her mouth, making a rolling growl that sounded like a puppy wanting to play. It curled itself down, then pounced up. At once it was on her lap. It turned and curled down, like a kitten, against Rhaena’s thighs. The lady sighed. She lifted her hand and began to stroke the creature along its scaly back. Trails of smoke left Jelmamza’s nostrils again.
“Perhaps there is still hope,” Rhaena whispered. “After all, one Targaryen still draws breath...”
Well now, there is something truly ominous about that ending - but then nothing is as frightening as hope. Especially hope newfound in a place one had thought barren of any such thoughts, or dreams.
Again, quite the masterful entry you've written up. It's quite impressive how you manage to flow through Rhaena's feelings, going from that ominous dream, her angst over the effects of her maiming and then her pregnancy (including the gem below), and so on, until you have quite the endearing little bit with her new dragon. Never manages to disappoint
Alas, poor Andrian. I imagine that, if the Faith had some manner of saintly order, he'd somehow manage to bumble his way into being canonized, his actual desires never discovered, with all the consequences (or rather, lack of) that entails.
Last update reminded me of The Usual Suspects; this update it was Alien. You seem to have a knack for writing genuinely disturbing dream sequences.
A quiet, reflective moment of domestic tranquility. It feels almost like the eye of the storm -- a metaphor I'm sure Albar would find rather apt.
A quiet, reflective moment of domestic tranquility. It feels almost like the eye of the storm -- a metaphor I'm sure Albar would find rather apt.
Basically if Rhaena never gets crowned, she'll still make a great motivational speaker.
Again, quite the masterful entry you've written up. It's quite impressive how you manage to flow through Rhaena's feelings, going from that ominous dream, her angst over the effects of her maiming and then her pregnancy (including the gem below), and so on, until you have quite the endearing little bit with her new dragon. Never manages to disappoint
Alas, poor Andrian. I imagine that, if the Faith had some manner of saintly order, he'd somehow manage to bumble his way into being canonized, his actual desires never discovered, with all the consequences (or rather, lack of) that entails.
Thank you for your kind words, good sir. Wait until you see the next update - it's a bit of a doozy. I'm actually excited to see how people react to it.
As for our dear Andrian, he's a man saved from his sins (literally).
The dream sequence was inspired by the ending scene of the 1980 Roger Corman production Humanoids from the Deep; probably the only good part about that movie. Both have Alien chest burster vibes, though.
And I'm inspired to write quite a few dream sequences in here now. Thankfully it fits into the Song of Ice and Fire universe, with all the dreams, visions, and prophecies.
Or does she...?
I could create a literal half-dragon character, but then I'd want to hurt myself.
Great chapter as always. Your writings skills seemingly get better and better with each chapter. For that I must praise you, Henry.
I followed all your aars and I must say, Rise of the Nerevarine was my favorite, but this one is on par with it that's for sure. Congratulations, man!
I followed all your aars and I must say, Rise of the Nerevarine was my favorite, but this one is on par with it that's for sure. Congratulations, man!
Thanks! At least they're not getting worse.
And I'm surprised how many people liked the Nerevarine AAR the best. I might have to do another AAR of the Elder Scrolls mod in the future.
Speaking of writing, upcoming update...