The Crownlands

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The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Tue Aug 06, 2013 6:54 pm



The Crownlands are south of the Vale, southeast of the Riverlands, and north of the Reach and the Stormlands. The Narrow Sea lies to the east. With the exception of Crackclaw Point, the land is largely flat. Lying in the middle portion of Westeros, the Crownlands possess a temperate climate.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Tue Aug 06, 2013 10:47 pm

IC:

Before Aegon Targaryen had landed at the Blackwater Rush, there hadn't been many places that people considered to be an actual step down from Dragonstone. Jagged and black, with the cold, inhuman beauty of the nobles it housed, Dragonstone offered little in the way of resources; yes, there were fish, but how was Aegon to feed the armies of the Targaryens alone, let alone his handful of vassals, with fish every night without the men growing gills and jumping back into the Bay? Yes, there was dragonglass, dragonglass spewing from every nook and cranny of the island, but when's the last time you tried to fight a war with nothing but dragonglass weapons? Dragonstone's soil was poor, its fortifications moderate, and its location only convenient for naval battle and sending more men to Aegon's Landing.

Ah, yes, Aegon's Landing. If the list of steps below Dragonstone were a literal flight of stairs, Aegon's Landing would be around the step where fat old Gaemon Targaryen had walked up the stairs to make council one day, collapsed of a heart ailment, died, and compulsively shit himself so badly that it took even the most faithful maesters three days to drag him away after the stench finally wilted. Dry and muddy and coarse, it smelled like the odors of every foul and rotting ration that had ever been thrown into a single pile; it had been put together in a hurry and pushed out of production even quicker, and only because of the willpower of so many men had it held this long.

This is Aegon's Landing we're talking about again. Not the shit.

Regardless, it was "home" for the Targaryen bloodline not at Dragonstone, and for their men; the impromptu war council at the highest floor looked down on the lands below with the idle gazes of men who wished to be a part of the garrison, a cog in the war machine instead of people who were now cranking the lever to make it work right. If it weren't for the fact that they had plenty of whores to crank their levers for them nothing might ever get done without Aegon and his host supervising. His sisters were gone, too, as were the dragons, leaving a couple vassals and a lower-blooded Targaryen here or there to command the garrison. One such man was scheduled to be arriving any minute; he had brought rations and a fleet and men, men who would fight under his name, and that made him more than just another one of Aegon's great-great-second cousins.

"What's his name again?" asked a House Celtigar man-at-arms lazily.

"Aelix," replied his cousin Crispian, a man whom Aegon trusted so intently with the funds of the war effort that he ever didn't notice or didn't care when a couple funds were skimmed off the top and found in the pockets of local whores. "Aelix Targaryen. Aegon's nephew. Here for a couple days so he can lead a charge on the Darklyns at Duskendale. Rhaenys Targaryen is reporting that Rosby has yielded and her forces are to link up with his fresh blood. His sister has been camped here for a fortnight waiting."

"His sister?"

"Yes, my lords, my sister," a fair voice belonging to an equally fair man rang out sonorously as Aelix Targaryen strolled into the war chambers and took the chair at the head of the table, kicking his feet up casually onto the corner. His boots were the finest material, woven pitch black and cutting off a hair's length below his knee. "A more than capable warrior, I'm sure any warrior will agree. Now, speaking of dear Victorya, I'd appreciate the room dearly. My sister will be coming soon, along with my own council. Feel free to return to fucking your horses and mistreating your whores...or whichever order you do it in."

Crispian Celtigar exchanged a couple looks with the other council members before standing up and bowing low before the seated Aelix. The Targaryen's only reply was a comely smile with serrated edges and his own curt nod as the council filed out and his own half-dozen men filed into their chairs. The one to Aelix's right was left open for his sister, who Aelix so longed to see again after months apart.

"Allaen," he asked a Velaryon man still standing sentinel by the door, "fetch my sister, and only my sister, if you will. Your cousin Aurane was given a thousand swords by my uncle and still managed to lose half his battles. All the gods gave my sister was one cunt and she's still won every one of hers.It would be wonderful to have her along if our forces split from my aunt Rhaenys after Duskendale. "

"I thought you just told the lords you intended on having her from the beginning," his squire said from down the table with a wry smirk.

"What? Oh, no. I just wanted the room," Aelix said innocently as he leaned back.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Tue Aug 06, 2013 11:32 pm

IC:

"It only took you three hundred and twenty seven reminders, but you finally got a room."

The remark was delivered in a complete deadpan, and none the less surprising for it. Allaen jumped slightly as the voice sounded behind him, hand flying towards the hilt of his sword. When he observed the identity of the speaker, however, he bowed low without hesitation.

Victorya Targaryen stepped into the room, her footsteps remarkably silent for the durable boots that she wore. Victorya was an oddity; she rebuffed the traditional style of dress for one of her sex and status, preferring instead a more simple, and practical attire. Though she was willing to don a dress for events that warranted it, her day to day attire was far removed from that style. Her feet were clad in boots meant for durability, and pants meant for the duress of long rides. A swordbelt was wrapped around her wait, its armament perpetually hanging from her left side. A corset was her only concession to the ideal of feminine beauty, and even that was obscured by a simple woolen shirt.

Anyone else would have been mocked, either to their face or behind their back, for dressing thus. At least, anyone of her gender. But after publicly humiliating the swordsman who dared do so last, she found that the others quite quickly lost their nerve.

Amusingly, that same swordsman was now her staunchest supporter. If she recalled correctly, she'd left him in the courtyard to handle a rather impertinent young knight. As per usual, his only instructions were not to cripple him. Couldn't lose anymore troops than normal, after all.

Sinking into the chair left for her, she angled her scabbard slightly to allow for a faster draw if needed. One could never be too careful, after all.

"Remind me why males are supposedly the dominant sex?"

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 12:24 am

IC:

"There's a time and a place for my answer, and it's not right now, and not at the war council, sweet sister. And it's especially not while you have a sword in your hand."

Aelix kicked back further in the lord's chair and smiled at Victorya with the right corner of his mouth as she sat down at the chair and angled her scabbard. He turned back to the table and examined the chess pieces laid out across the large map of Westeros. Since the seeds of war had been planted from Dragonstone, his uncle had been unwilling to divide up the areas of the map into seven kingdoms, instead deigning to move the pieces across one large, united continent, stretching from the wall to the tips of Dorne. Aelix had seen a table like this all too many times at Dragonstone, and he recognized the scarlet set of armor that represented his chess piece at Dragonstone and moved it across the Narrow Sea, to Aegon's Landing, and then pushed it forward directly through Rosby beside the white dragon that was Queen Rhaenys. He fingered the tops of both pieces curiously before looking up at Victorya, then his lords, then at the little spot on the expansive map that represented Duskendale.

He said nothing, waiting for someone else to speak first. Testing them. Even his sister.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Wed Aug 07, 2013 12:33 am

IC:

The silence was total, interrupted only by the occasional scrape of stone on metal. Aelix watched the map, the lords watched Aelix, and Victorya?

Victorya sat in her seat, idly sharpening and maintaining her blades. Plural, not singular. In addition to the sword visible at her side, she produced a variety of daggers and knives from a variety of pockets and locations, each one carefully sharpened before being returned again.

After almost ten minutes, one of the lords cleared their throat.

"Ahem, my lord? You did have a reason for summoning us, did you not?"

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 12:53 am

IC:

Aelix, and all the lords, looked up; the Targaryen was casual, eyes like dark violets boring themselves into the knight's armor and planting there. The rest of the gazes were more guarded, wary; Victorya hummed a septon's hymn as she sharpened a knife.

"Sweet sister, the next time Ser Hollard questions my sense of timing, I'd like you to cut out one of his balls for me."


The whetstone paused for the briefest of moments, a pair of violet eyes moving to glance at Hollard, who in turn, looked away nervously.

"I suppose I can do that. You'll have to deal with the maester's scolding, though. I had to listen to him once already this week."

"Well, I'm sure it won't come to such extreme measures anyway," Aelix assured his sister, even though his eyes never left the sworn man. "Now, yes, my lords and sers, I have called you for a reason. We ride the night after next for the town of Rosby. Twenty five hundred strong to reinforce Queen Rhaenys at Rosby, so we can launch a full assault on Duskendale. Concurrently, Queen Visenya will move here to Gulltown from Maidenpool, and this entire little pathetic cluster of city-states will be ours. From there we begin our assault on the Kingdom of the Vale, while our forces move upwards northwest, along the coast to Harrenhal."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Wed Aug 07, 2013 1:08 am

IC:

"If you'll permit a comment from the audience..."

Without waiting for a response, Victorya leaned forward, gesturing at the map with the same blade she was sharpening mere moments ago. The Targaryen pushed her platinum hair back out of her face, studying the table in front of her intently. Even seated, she was easily as tall as the lords around her, something that annoyed many of them to no end.

"Our dear uncle is elsewhere, and we are soon to lay siege to Harrenhal, a structure that is, by all rights, one of the most fortified in this worthless land. Now, we could take it eventually, but not without heavy casualties."

There was a slight pause, and then a grin. "Is there perhaps a plan for the use of our large, scaled friends, dear brother?"

At this, one of the lords stood angrily. "Remind me, why are we listening to the counsel, or even the words, of this woman? She is not Visenya, nor Rhaenys, nor does she have any chance of becoming their equal in any way."

"She dares to threaten a fellow lord, and then she dares to imply that our army is not sufficient? I demand that she be removed from this council!"

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 1:57 am

IC:

Aelix Targaryen stood up.

But it was not in one motion, and it was not the rigid stance of a man whose pride had been insulted, or the apathetic slouch of Victorya as she rattled off battle strategies. His boots slid casually across the conference table with a slight squeak and hit the hard floor of the fortress with a surprisingly light sound. Then he stretched, revealing the barest hint of a deep scarlet chainmail underneath his fine, jet black, slim-fitting longcoat as the fabric shook around his slender, pretty frame.

"You're speaking of my sister," he purred quietly, dangerously, hands balled into loose fists and placed knuckles-down on the table in front of him. "A woman who has not only fought with men and led men into battle, but has commanded men in several offensives and defenses of the very fortress where you stand. A woman who is Targaryen, just as much as Visenya or Rhaenys. Someone I find useful in the long war ahead. I'd advise you speak more softly and more smartly in her presence, lest I decide that your uses, Lord Boggs, have run their course."

He sat down again, staring at the chess pieces near Harrenhal, and slowly the lord sat with him.

"My sister's plan is mine as well," he said, which quelled any dissent immediately; before where Victorya's plan had been questionable and indeed challengeable, Aelix had been one of the chief tacticians at Dragonstone up until his arrival at Aegon's Landing, and his daring, new school maneuvers had already helped them win several smaller bases of operations for larger assaults. Though he had only commanded men himself a few times in the six months since the war started and though he had not been in the field since before Aegon's Landing's completion his skills with weaponry and command were well-known and widely respected.

He was beautiful, too, which didn't hurt his sudden rise in the family ranks; his build was not overly powerful looking like that of Aegon's but he was tall and strong, with a lithe frame packed with muscle to go around. His hair was a white gold, not particularly odd for a Targaryen but still striking, and his eyes were a deep, hungry violet, but not a primal hunger. They were an innocent hunger, like that of a child bard, and they belied the fierce purple fire that burned in the young dragon.

That fire slowly rescinded as his finger danced along the white dragon piece and he looked up at the lords again.

"My sister's plan is mine as well," he repeated softly. "Harrenhal is massive. Built to withstand siege for months, years if need be, and garrisoned well enough and strategically enough that our forces would be cut down like blades of grass. They are protected against infantry, archery, cavalry and siege weapons, but not against the dragon. That is how we will break them."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Wed Aug 07, 2013 2:12 am

IC:

"I do believe that concludes any need we have for you."

Victorya said, voice cutting through the sudden silence like a knife. There was no open anger, no aggression. Just a smooth transition from business, to dismissal. The lords had all heard the plan; there was nothing more needed from them at this junction. Nor, did she think, that continuing to have them gathered would be wise.

Not based on their behavior thus far, at least. Some stood and left immediately, but others hesitated. Not that it lasted long; a single look had them leaving just as quickly as the others.

The last to leave, however, was dear Lord Boggs. As he rose to exit the room, Victorya felt a smile cross her lips.

"Oh, and Boggs? You fancy youself a swordsman; if you find yourself in the need of a test of your pride, let me know. I'll show you the difference in skill between one borne with a sword, and one who picked one up later in life."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 2:19 am

IC:

Aelix smiled mischievously, right half-fist in front of his face, gently biting the tiny layer of skin on his index finger's knuckle and staring at the chess pieces before looking up to Victorya.

"I see you've made a share of friends in court before I arrived," he said casually, so casually that unless you were the girl who had grown up with him by your side you would either not catch the sarcasm in his words, or you would assume that the verbal bite was laced with venom and was intended to wound. Neither was the case; it was a subtle needling on her character, and both knew that Aelix had intended it as such.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Wed Aug 07, 2013 2:21 am

IC:

"With our Uncle at the Dragonstone, and our Aunts waging their campaigns, they're used to operating more or less unsupervised. They weren't particularly pleased to know that another Targaryen would arrive."

A dry smile worked its way across her face, as she reclined in her chair. "They were ecstatic to find out that their new supervisor was a woman."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 2:35 am

IC:

"Believe me, sweet sister, when I say you would rather be here than in Dragonstone," Aelix commented idly, eyes turning to the dark spit of land on the map that represented Dragonstone, out in the Narrow Sea. "Too many Targaryens, scheming and biting for a chance to be the next of Aegon's lieutenants out into the field."

Aelix stood up but did not move, instead leaning over the map and tracing a triangle from Aegon's grey dragon to Visenya's black to Rhaenys' white in thought. Victorya knew better than to reply about the current situation in Dragonstone. She was all too aware of Aelix's uncanny ability to calculate the costs of maneuvers and any potential gains, and whether it would be feasible. At last his finger slipped back down to Aegon's Landing and then rejoined the rest of his hand, and she knew it safe to ask.


"We can take Harrenhal?" she asked her brother.

"Yes, sweet sister," Aelix said with a smile that already hinted at a victory before the battle ever came. "We can take Harrenhal."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Wed Aug 07, 2013 2:53 am

IC:

"Good."

"That means that I don't have to worry about pulling off a miracle to save some tactician's doomed plan."

To almost anyone else, the comment would have seemed deadly serious. But after many years, her brother knew how to tell her humor apart from more genuine comments.

"Though admittedly, it would have been good fun to see Boggs' face if I had."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 07, 2013 3:10 am

IC:

"Boggs and his men will be in the vanguard. I doubt you'll want to see his face after the Ironborn have their way with it."

Aelix encircled his and Rhaenys' chess pieces before moving hers back to Rosby and his back to Aegon's Landing. His violet eyes searched the map of Westeros before he sat up on the table itself and kicked out his feet, resting his heels on a couple of the western castles of the Wall as he stared at Westeros beneath him.

"We should leave sooner. Rhaenys has an opportunity and the adrenaline from Rosby's fall has not yet worn out in her men. We would be remiss to waste it."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Visaru on Wed Aug 07, 2013 4:11 am

A smile slowly formed on Sevros’ face as he looked at his opponent. The man he was facing was a towering mass of muscle, one of the famous Knights of Celtigar. A dozen red crabs, the sigil of his house, were emblazoned on his shield and he wore it proudly, as did he wear his elaborate plate armor. This was a proud, powerful man who had been using swords his entire life.

Thus, it was amusing to see him sweat and pant and bruise.

The knight swung his longsword again, and Sevros ducked under the blow easily. He poked at the knight’s shoulder gently. The blow came back around, so Sevros took a few easy steps backwards and smiled as the knight missed. Sevros dashed forwards, tapping on the knight’s breastplate until he was behind the enormous man. Before the knight could turn around, he had landed five solid hits on the less protected area of his neck. The sword blow that the knight retaliated with was immensely powerful, but Sevros was fast, and it merely tore through the air above his head.

A solid kick put his opponent off balance and the enormous knight fell to the ground with a thundering clash and rattle of armor.

A rousing cheer erupted around him, as well as groans of disappointment as money grudgingly changed hands. Sevros the Sellsword had soundly defeated the Knight of Crabs. With a showy twirl of his sword Sevros sheathed his weapon and turned to the crowd, a broad grin on his face.

“Does anybody else wish to challenge Sevros Derrenstar, the finest sword in the Seven Kingdoms?” he boasted.

Grumbles came from the edges of the crowd, from the people who could barely wrap their minds around some low born mercenary defeating one of their famous knights. Sevros loved to prove people like that wrong. That was what he did.

A thin spindly man with a wide smile and brown robes forced his way through the crowd to throw his arm around Sevros’ shoulder.

“You’ve gotten too good at showing off for your own good.” The man said good naturedly.

Sevros smiled back at him. “Do I sense a note of jealousy?”

“Jealousy? You think far too highly of yourself, as I am forced to constantly remind you.”

“Truly? I challenge you to name someone who could best me in single combat.”

“Meraxes would make short work of you, I think.”

“Meraxes is a dragon. It doesn’t count.”

“Doesn’t count? These dragons will win the war for us.”

The two men pushed away from the crowd and the poor battered knight who was being helped up by squires, and through the encampment of tents. In the distance was the small town called Rosby. A collection of small white Inns and hovels clustered around a modestly sized castle. It had yielded peacefully, without any show of resistance. By any means, it was certainly not an exiting victory, but it was a victory nonetheless.

“Let me tell you, Ronn, these dragons are frightening to behold, but enough men and enough arrows will quickly bring them down. The Targaryens are fighting a futile war against too many enemies with no room for compromise. Did you hear that Aegon refused a marriage with Sharra Arynn? Have you ever seen Sharra Arynn? I’d give my sword arm for a chance to stick my prick in that woman.”

“Aegon has two wives already, and I’m sure they are much more useful than a pretty face.”

“So no, you haven’t ever seen Sharra, the most beautiful women in Westeros.”

“Everyone says that women are all the same once you blow out the candle. Aegon’s not missing much, I’m sure.”

The men laughed as strode past the rainbow of tents.

“Tell me, if you are so sure the Targaryens will lose, why do you fight for them?” the tall man asked Sevros.

The sellsword didn’t even take a moment’s pause. “The gold,” he answered, “They have a lot of it, if you haven’t noticed.”

“When they finally lose a battle you’ll have a bit more to worry about that gold.”

“I’m the finest sword in Westeros.” Sevros laughed, “What do I have to worry about?”
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Wed Aug 07, 2013 6:38 am

IC:



Early morning, the gates of Aegon's Landing - no, fuck it, that's not right. Aegon's Landing, at this point in time a wooden hillfort barely solid enough to withstand the westerly wind, didn't have much in the way of gates and the thing that it did could barely be called an archway let alone a gate.

So early morning, the hole in the wall of Aegon's Landing saw the departure - a departure that, given the small amount of people in the area, was hardly unnoticed - of a tall, coal-haired youth clad in a knight's armor, longsword on the back, cloaked in a yellow-black cape decorated with the crest of the Durrendon royal family and chief contender for the title of the Targaryen's next enemy, according to rumor - but with a slight variation. Instead of a black stag on a gold background, the crest sported a gold stag on a black background, an inversion excessively common among southron bastards.

Indeed, this man, rounded by a guard of just two men - another knight without a cloak, the colors of House Toyne decorating his shield, and a Volantene sellsword - this man, he was a bastard son of the Durrendon dynasty, and not just of any common branch, either. In Storm's End, people knew him as Beric Storm, bastard son of the Stormking Argilac the Arrogant; but himself, he preferred, ignoring most basic Westerosi traditions when it came to noblemen and bastardry, to call himself Beric Goldenstag. Lord Beric Goldenstag, even. In circles more accepting of his eccentricities, he went so far as to call himself Prince.

His father Argilac sent him to the Valyrian invader initially as an ambassador, hoping to strike a pact that would see Aegon Targaryen refrain from infringing on the Stormlands' sovereignty despite his already threatening claim to the throne of Westeros - but, it so happens, Argilac, as was often typical of him, underestimated his bastard son. Beric achieved slightly different ends that benefitted slightly different people - he struck a deal with the young aspiring conqueror, promising his support in event of any conflict that Aegon and Argilac might have to Aegon. In exchange for this support, Goldenstag was promised the Stormlands, something which would otherwise not be accessible to him, being a bastard, unless his half-sister Argella perished without leaving heirs (what Beric had tried to achieve and failed just enough times to make his father just a tad bit suspicious, so he was not too keen on trying some more). His father, being a rather surprisingly silly individual, would probably have no idea until the very end. The only true problem that Beric had was the need to build up support for himself in order to make sure Aegon keeps his promise, and the equally important necessity of making sure the Stormlands remain strong enough even in the case of a potential military defeat to preserve their independence from Aegon's burgeoning kingdom.

But for now, Beric Storm got on a horse and, reared by his two bodyguards, left Aegon's Landing for Rosby, where he intended to meet up with Rhaenys Targaryen, one of Aegon's two queens and the commander of the military force heading towards the Darklyn kingdom of Duskendale.
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Fri Aug 09, 2013 2:56 am

The Statue was still.

Well, "Statue" wasn't her name. It was just the nickname children had given the beautiful blonde woman that called herself Meridea Targaryen.

It was extremely accurate.

Never any emotion.

Just a statue, floating through life.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 11, 2013 5:57 pm

IC:

"It's settled then, sweet sister," Aelix mused as he sat on the larger chess board of the council table and scanned it, his ass parked somewhere by Casterly Rock; the surface was soft and elegant, a far cry from the rough, unforgivingly sharp edges and corners of the table back home at Dragonstone. "We march on Rosby tomorrow. Move on Duskendale early."


Last edited by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 11, 2013 8:08 pm; edited 1 time in total

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sun Aug 11, 2013 6:07 pm

The door opened silently and an expressionless figure walked in.

"So we're marching tomorrow?" Meridea asked, grey eyes unfathomable.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 11, 2013 8:07 pm

IC:

Aelix and Victorya both turned towards the door to see Meridea standing by the door, Allaen Velaryon standing bemusedly behind her with one arm raised in a confused shrug, asking for orders with his eyes. Aelix sighed into his hand, curled up in front of his thin mouth, and then gestured her in. She closed the door behind her and walked rigidly down to the chair at Aelix's left, directly across from Victorya. The two senior Targaryens watched her silently, taking in the dull lilac eyes like an old amethyst losing its shine, her luminescent blonde hair that looked almost more like a Lannister gold than Targaryen pale white locks when examined in the light.

"Cousin," Aelix greeted neutrally, sitting up with his knees to his elbows, perched on the table. "We weren't expecting to see you at Aegon's Landing."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sun Aug 11, 2013 8:14 pm

"I have a habit of showing up where I'm not expected."

Meridea's voice stayed deadpan, not even the hint of a wry smile appearing on her face.

"Is this something I shouldn't know about, cousin?"

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 11, 2013 8:39 pm

IC:

"If you'd like to stay, feel free. This is a Targaryen council," Aelix replied politely, patting the table he was sitting on casually with his fingertips. Victorya remained silent, and Aelix suddenly got the queer impression he was stuck between two different statues, both of them engaging each other and himself in their own opaque way.

Creepy, if you asked him.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sun Aug 11, 2013 9:30 pm

Meridea's lilac-grey eyes focused on Aelix, a slight raise of her white eyebrows her only expression.

Like all Targaryens, she was unnaturally attractive, though her slight figure was a little fuller than the norm. Her eyebrows were a bleach white, skin very pale. She looked as devoid of color as she was emotion, except for her hair. Her locks were a deep, deep gold, falling to her shoulders, contrasting against the simple white dress she wore and her pale form.

"So we're attacking?" she repeated.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 11, 2013 9:34 pm

IC:

"That is, of course, the most desirable end result," he replied. "But first we have to march on Rosby and link with Aunt Rhaenys' forces. Sacking Duskendale without her would be...ill-advised."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sun Aug 11, 2013 10:16 pm

"Wise. Less casualties."

"Our armies might not be equal to the task anyway. At least, not without a distressingly long list of people to offer our condolences to...."

She blinked, face still impassive. "I'm being insensitive to military lives again, am I not?"

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Re: The Crownlands

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