The Crownlands

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Fri Aug 16, 2013 4:16 am

IC: A pale figure watched from the edge of the room, watching.

Then she vanished, gone as silently as she came, just walking through the halls like a ghost with a golden halo.

Meridea stopped at a meat storage area, and a rapier seemed to appear in her porcelain hand.

She sighed, relaxing. Stepped into a ready stance.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Visaru on Fri Aug 16, 2013 4:46 pm

Sevros watched from the edges of the room as the lords began their strategy meeting with the usual trading of witticisms and quips. Well, strategy meeting was a bit of an exaggeration- it was more a battle of wits, a test to see who could verbally best the others, a stupid show where the man who could put nice words together the best could make himself feel superior, and the less intellectually gifted were forced to envy people like the charming handsome Aelix or the unusually talented Victorya.

It was the philosopher’s way of showing dominance, no different from the way an alpha wolf would growl at the other males and take their mates just to show it could. Humans were just animals who had turned demonstrations of dominance into a strange art. The difference between people and the rest of the living creatures is that we’ve deluded ourselves into thinking we’re somehow superior with our artificial claws and our big stone dens and our iron pelts.

Sevros grinned smugly. It was a good thing he knew that he was the best with one of those artificial claws. If that’s all that determined a ruler- if he was a Dothraki- he would be king right now.

Sevros made his distaste clear with this current, foolish, dominance struggle by sighing and lightly banging his head against the tent support he was leaning against. These strategy meetings could be half is long if they were actually about strategy.

He lazily watched Meridea vanish from the chamber, likely as fed up as he was. He had half a mind to follow her and see what mischief he could get up to, but thought better of the idea. It was best not to mess with dragons, and he was being paid to stand here, this unimportant strategy room, and guard these lords and nobles as they jeered and sneered at one another.

He lazily fingered the straps on his sheath, wishing he had an excuse to bare his sword.
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Fri Aug 16, 2013 6:26 pm

IC:

Beric smiled slightly. This was clearly a man of the sort Goldenstag could always respect.

"Seems to be a custom with us Stormlanders. We have a certain fetish, if you will, for names."

A brief pause later, he spoke up again: "I have no doubt that if my royal father would have any idea I am meeting you right now, he would most graciously request that I pass on my regards to you. Then again, my royal father passes on his regards to everyone irrespective of whether he knows of them or no, so that might just be irrelevant in a way."
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sat Aug 17, 2013 5:14 pm

"Well, it's not your royal father's regards I'd like to my name as much as it is his banners and lands, but if your royal father had any idea you were here I would take what I could get from him for the moment."

Aelix smiled and motioned for the lord in the chair next to Aelix's proclaimed chair to scoot down so that the Stormlands bastard could take the seat next to the Targaryen. They both sat and the dragon motioned lovingly towards Rhaenys, the signal for her to wrap up the plans regarding Duskendale and any strategies pertaining to its capture.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Sat Aug 17, 2013 5:20 pm

IC:

Beric nodded and grinned at the Targaryen. "Unfortunately, as far as said banners and lands are concerned, I would very much love to keep them for myself. It's just a matter of persuading my father and perhaps more importantly sister to be okay with that, regardless... of the means necessary."

His eyes shot to Rhaenys, awaiting, politely, until she would explain the aforementioned plans. Whether they be about Duskendale or about lands further on.
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Mon Aug 19, 2013 12:07 am

IC:

Outside the tent, a pair of violet eyes stared at the entrance intently. They'd been standing there for approaching ten minutes now, still and alert, with no sign of the uncertainty moving through the mind of their owner.

Should I enter? I have no purpose elsewhere, so it might be construed as an insult if I do not appear at the war council. But is it my place?

Her arms were crossed across her chest, the forefinger of her left hand beating a slow rhythm against her arm. She could hear the council preparing to resume once again, and knew she needed to make her choice soon. Once their talks resumed, she would not enter. She dared not. One interruption by her favorite nephew would be taken quite lightly, but a second, just as they were resuming, by one of her many nieces? No, that would not do.

But her choice was made for her, as the lords that had ridden with them stopped behind her.

"Pardon, m'lady, but are you going to enter? You're blocking the doorway." Victorya glanced behind her momentarily. These lords were all better trained than Boggs; they would never utter a public word against her, not until the time was ripe, but she could see the same opinions in their eyes, their stance, in every unspoken way the body knows to communicate. She hated to go into the tent, but now... If she didn't, she would lose what little standing she had. She'd never live it down.

Nodding, she stepped into the tent, and took a position near the side of the tent. She instantly felt out of place, the pebble mixed in with the gemstones. The lords seated in the tent wore either their armor, carefully polished until it shone, now that the battle had ended, or their most presentable clothes. She wore simply her riding garb, even her sword was sheathed in a simple leather scabbard.

Avoiding anyone's direct eyesight, she did her best to stand tall, and yet, remain unnoticed. She hoped that, with all of the lesser Targaryens in attendance, she might simply blend into the crowd, but it was unlikely. Her hair, her eyes... They all stood out too much.

Not for the first time, she wished she should simply hide them.

Silently, she prayed fervently that no one would take note of her, that she could simply skate through the meeting without a word about her presence, that she could get through without fanfare.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Tue Aug 20, 2013 1:31 pm

IC:

Silver hair. Violet eyes. There might have been more than enough examples of these traits in this tent, but averting to notice an increase in the number of those examples took actual talent. A good bit of it.

Beric Storm observed as Victorya entered the tent, observed as she took a place by the edge of the meeting, observed her attempt to avoid any actual interaction with the members of this council. He knew the symptoms. Nobles who wanted less fanfare than they usually got were not as unlikely as one migh've thought.

He took a glance at Aelix, and then turned his gaze back to Victorya. Nudging the Targaryen sitting beside him, he asked, "Your sister?"
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Tue Aug 20, 2013 1:56 pm

IC:

"Careful," Aelix murmured softly, eyes trained on Rhaenys so as to not draw attention to his sweet sister, "she bites. And she's not as pretty when she does."

Victorya was nestled into a sparse corner, standing in between a couple of Targaryens who were only really Targaryens by marriage to vassal families or by claiming to have a couple drop's of Aegon's blood because their great-great-grandfather's bastard fucked a farmer's niece once, and then her kids and their kids and their kids all fucked smallfolk and ended up giving birth to babies with eyes so dark blue that they may have been a little bit purple. This gave them power, in their minds. Aelix pitied the lot of them.

He and Victorya were different. Targaryen on both sides, they had been raised up together to be amongst the first generation of a dynasty, a lord and a lady who were saddled with expectations second only to those of Aegon and his own sisters; if more Targaryen dragons ever came into being it was practically common knowledge the first would go to Aelix, the cunning, charismatic commander who had been bred for this sort of conquest all his life but had still managed to burst into the family's war effort with surprising aplomb. Rhaenys and Visenya doted on him, Rhaenys for his attitude, interests, and (let's be honest) his looks, and Visenya had been one of his personal tutors in swordplay from the time he was six years old, taking him as sort of a combat protege. Aegon didn't mind him, which was more than most people could say when it came to the shadowy, phantomesque Targaryen patriarch.

He belonged here. He could fight better than most of them, lead better than more still, and he played the game effectively enough to stay alive and then some. So if he could do all these things, and he and Victorya had been raised together, why did his sister not receive the same treatment? Because she was a woman? Disgusting. She could do anything he could, nearly just as effectively in most respects, and were it not for the fact that she happened to be almost a decade younger than Visenya she may well could put on Visenya's armor and passed for her on the battlefield. If Victorya had a fatal flaw, Aelix mused, it was probably that while he thrived off the game, and climbing the ranks, and fucking over his foes, she deliberately played the game opposite to its rules, and it didn't do much in earning her respect.

A great example: ever since they were young, the two siblings had been told to share a bed. This wasn't an odd notion in of itself, since most peasants here couldn't afford anything more than one or two beds for them and their children, but given the Targaryen's penchant for...well, let's call a spade a spade, fucking each other at any given opportunity, it was clear what was expected of young Aelix and Victorya as soon as they were old enough. It was one of the few times, he recalled, where he too had refused to play the game and look at his sister as a sex object; even to this day he and his sister would often sleep together, but that was as far as it went: sharing the same bed, just for the sake of annoying the elder family members and showing that they were not, nor had they ever been or ever would be, typical Targaryens.

Though it had created some situations that could only be described as unfailingly awkward over the years, it had also worked in the way Aelix and Victorya gambled it would; though not intimate in a physical sense they were connected as only brother and sister could truly be, often able to penetrate the more shallow layers of each other's psyche and almost discerning their thoughts. Victorya went on and on about not wanting to interpret his dreams, but ever since the prophetic visions had started coming to him as an adolescent, she would always listen with an open, if sardonic, ear and mind; despite her attitude towards everyone and everything, he still looked at her and could still tell that she loved him. Which was good. He loved her. He always would. She was his sister.

Did Victorya bite? Seven hells, yes. But was he subtly overstating it a little so that Beric kept his damned hands off his little sister? Of course.

He scanned the corner of the room his sister was in and casually put his hand to his mouth, covering it as though he were going to whisper a secret to the bastard beside him, and then moved his hand back down after a second: he had discreetly blown his sweet sister the smallest of kisses.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Tue Aug 20, 2013 2:38 pm

IC:

Beric detected a tinge that he could very well identify in Aelix's voice. It wasn't an unfamiliar tinge, not at all. The protectiveness of some brothers in regards to their noble sisters was something he encountered something and was definitely something that usually he felt was rather unfounded. Noble women, at least, deserved a right to be exempted from any sort of violation.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to lay a single finger on her. But..."

Beric seemed to be lost in thought.

"Nevermind," he said finally. "So," he spoke in a higher voice, so the rest of the meeting would hear him, "What are the plans for the attack on Duskendale?"
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Tue Aug 20, 2013 3:34 pm

IC:

"Well," Rhaenys started after a courteous, playful nod at Beric and a mild bob of her long white-gold hair, "my strategists and I were tossing around a couple ideas regarding--"

"They're all bullshit," Aelix interrupted quietly, staring in deep thought at the map spread out on the table before the lords. Victorya flinched in his peripheral vision; Beric, on the other hand, could not help but chuckle quietly. Rhaenys' face was stoic, and it looked like she was trying to muster the energy to chastise her beloved nephew in front of her subordinates, before motioning wordlessly for Aelix to pitch his idea.

"Anyone here ever heard of the Dothraki Offensive?" he asked; when the only answer he received was begrudging silence he smiled winningly and drew a small bag of cyvasse pieces from his pocket and spilled them over the table, quickly standing them up and positioning most of the horses, crossbowmen, and spearmen inside Duskendale, encircling the Rabble, while the siege weapons and remaining infantry and cavalry were pointed at the castle near Duskendale, along with the king. The dragon stood alone, far to the east, in the middle of the water.

"Duskendale, as some of you may know, is only a port town. An important one, yes, and our last stepping stone towards controlling all of these...what did Aegon call them...'Crownlands', but just a town. The castle we need to take is the Dun Fort, held by the Darklyns," he said, pointing at the castle. "Taking Duskendale will be like hiring a whore; by now the news of Rhaenys and Visenya's movements will have reached them and they will want to prevent any more bloodshed than is absolutely necessary. But the Darklyns...well, they're more stubborn.

When Duskendale falls, most of our forces will use the town as a fulcrum and encircle the Dun Fort, leaving them nowhere but the coast. This, in practice, won't do much but starve them out for a while, and even without Duskendale they have enough supplies in that damned keep of theirs to keep them fed through the next summer. And there's no way that anything short of a dragonrider will be able to take out those western towers if they manage to fortify them and use them against us.

"Meanwhile, our fleet moves from Rosby and three scout ships dock just underneath the castle, out of sight. Most of our main fleet is preparing an assault on Gulltown, to soften the Vale; they won't think to look for us to the east until we're already there. Give me fifty of my best swords, and fifty of Rhaenys', and I can give you the Dun Fort's eastern towers. From there the rest of our fleet deploys and then move on the keep. It'll fall by this time next week."

There was a heavy silence as everyone considered the plan; one or two lords nodded in agreement at the young tactician's daring plan, while Rhaenys herself worked to conceal a proud smile.

"So why, exactly, do you call that the 'Dothraki Offensive?'" a sellsword in the corner of the tent asked, with a curious gleam in his eyes that couldn't exactly be hidden by the bored face he was trying to pass off. Aelix smirked, and his hands wrapped around the cyvasse piece that represented him.

"Because we're going to take the Darklyns from the rear."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Tue Aug 20, 2013 6:41 pm

IC:

It was a good plan, of that there were no doubts. Few flaws, well crafted premise, and it was something they easily had the troops and supplies to accomplish. That's not to say there were no flaws.

Victorya, from her far-removed perch, could see a few. Most of them centered around the gambits made on the Darklyn's behavior, namely what would happen if they fell through, but Aelix most likely had covered those eventualities already. The questions still needed to be asked, however.

No sooner had she analyzed the strategy, and come up with her questions and criticisms, she started to open her mouth to voice them, only to pause. The tent was full of strategists, lords, nobles, people who had seen as many if not more battles than she had. People with experience, people who she doubted would enjoy hearing the opinions of a noble without a reputation, and Aelix's younger sister besides.

So she closed her mouth, and resigned herself to voicing those opinions later, out of the public eye. Or perhaps not at all.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Visaru on Wed Aug 21, 2013 4:20 pm

Sevros couldn’t help but let a grin crawl onto his face at Aelix’s joke, even though that sort of silly word play had been exactly the sort of thing that was annoying him earlier. He just couldn’t help it- it was pretty funny.

Although Sevros could certainly say that the joke was good, he was not as sure about the plan. Aelix was so vague about how he was to take the western towers- Sevros wasn’t entirely sure this strike force would go unnoticed by the Darklyns. But what did he know? He was just some sellsword.

The best sellsword in Westeros, but that did not make him one of those nobles that got to eat exotic fruits and sit on plump cushions and battle with words and verbs. And Sevros was glad of it. He’d rather have steel in his hand and an enemy ahead than be the man controlling the soldiers. In one-to-one combat, all that mattered was himself. He didn’t trust others to do his fighting. He didn’t trust them. Like he didn’t trust Aelix to have a decent strategy to take the towers.

Still, he was merely a sellsword. So while the other lords voiced their agreement, eager to pretend to be on the same side as the Targaryen prince, Sevros merely crossed his arms and stayed his tongue. It was not his fault if everything went awry.

All he really wanted was to be one of those men storming the tower.
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Wed Aug 21, 2013 6:16 pm

IC:

"So if you take the hundred swords, who takes the rest of your forces, my lord? That's nearly, ah, twenty five hundred men," Crispian Celtigar pointed out, examining the chess table with a few misgivings in his eyes. Aelix looked at Beric, then at the sellsword who had spoken, then at the lords at Rhaenys and the lesser family members around the edges of the tent. His gaze did not search out anyone in particular, but rather wandered, as though he were looking for a volunteer.

"My sister will take my command."

That got a reaction.

At those words, Victorya stiffened, and almost seemed to shrink in her attempts to remain unnoticed. The lords that had noticed her arrive turned to look at her while the others searched, their expressions expressing everything from surprise to curiosity to anger. The lesser Targaryens with whom she had taken refuge looked at her in either resentment or amazement, but a look from her silenced both.

Seeming to recognize her plight, one of the lesser lords in the group moved partially in front of her, in an attempt to obscure an easy view at her, while his brother, catching on after a moment, did much the same.

"My lords."

Crispian Celtigar was standing, screaming of bias, demanding his and his sister's removal; Rhaenys looked like she had half a mind to call her dragon and pluck the Master of Coin from her presence. A couple Velaryons sat with eyebrows raised, smirking, but not at Aelix and his decree as much as the reaction it had spurned; clearly they at least understood the power plays that was being executed against the tactician's little sister, and that Aelix was even now baiting them, testing the waters, seeing who he could count on and who would need a bit of...reconditioning.

"My lords, please."

Two lesser Connington lords moved to block off Victorya from sight discreetly, ready to protect her if need be; the young Targaryen commander noted that with a grim glimmer of the utmost approval, even as the always reliable Preston Boggs stood, hands raised to Aelix as though to strike him, repeating the demands for Aelix's dismissal in a high roar. The tumbling of his chair to the ground was the first of two signals in the room that heralded absolute silence. The second was the brief, lush sound of steel sliding out of sheath as two swords were levelled, one at the throats of three lords - Celtigar included - on the left hand side of the table, and one at the Adam's apple of Preston Boggs, who paused and looked down cross-eyed at the blade as he looked down at the smooth surface and saw flashes of his own life reflected in the steel. Aelix, who up until this point had been sitting calmly, analyzing the lords icily and begging lazily for peace, had stood up and held both aforementioned swords in his hands. The movements had been sharp, quick, and impossible to predict; even Sevros, the "greatest sellsword in the Seven Kingdoms," had barely had enough time to put his hand to his own hilt by the time the dragon had finished its stirring.

"Pathetic," he sighed, the word carrying in a serpentine hiss through the suddenly silent tent. "Expected, of course. But disappointing, juvenile, and pathetic."

Beric Goldenstag smirked at the impressive display before he realized the blade in Aelix's left hand looked distinctly familiar; his hand flew to his sheath, suspended on the back of his chair, and found only an empty scabbard.

"So, allow me to retrace the steps of the plan thus far: I will lead a hundred swords up the eastern walls of the Dun Fort, and we will take it. From there, we'll hold while our archers assume position and trap the western forces inside their own fortifications while our arrows pepper them with holes while a heavy force lays waste from their vantage points. The bulk of the rest of our forces will be holding the town of Duskendale and preventing any further incitation of violence, and my sister will lead my forces in my stead, because out of every man in here I trust none for the job more than her.

"And you," Aelix muttered darkly, his voice crackling like the fresh tongues of a bonfire as he closed the distance between himself and Preston Boggs, whose bravado now smelled a little less genuine and a little more like recently pissed riding gear. "You, who without my sister's help in the field could not have put both hands to your back and found your own ass, you dare to question me as well? You ask for my dismissal? Fine. Dismiss me. I'll even give you my sword."

By now he was inches away from the pudgy, sweating face of the lord, his arm held up to neck level and his sword's tip poking dangerously hard near the man's primary veins. Rhaenys' face was still amused, but now she looked like she was about to do something, less for the safety of Boggs, a minor lord of the Crownlands by anyone's standard, then for the standing and reputation of her prized, beloved nephew. Aelix caught the look and spun the blade in his hand. It nicked Boggs's skin and he whimpered despite himself before realizing that only a small trickle of blood ran down his collar, and that Aelix had dropped Beric's sword back into his lap while his own was sheathed again.

Though it looked like a petty display of his own power, Aelix had carefully calculated the "outburst" as best he could - not to say there wasn't more than a little genuine anger in the mix - so that he could be more aware of where he stood in the eyes of the various lords of the region. What he saw pleased him; while most of the highborn in the tent genuinely respected him and felt the power in his words, there was still obvious dissent, ranging from the highest of the high - Crispian Celtigar, a particularly disappointing revelation - to the lowest of the low in Preston Boggs. Too late those who had spoken out most loudly and most obnoxiously realized that they were in the wrong, not because of their bigotry and conceit but because now they had shown themselves willing to rise against Aelix, and that he would remember keenly their names and faces for as long as it took to reap their rewards.

Because even though his favorite strategy to take Duskendale happened to using two prongs against the Darklyns, there was nothing more the young dragon hated than fighting against the prongs himself.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Dovydas on Wed Aug 21, 2013 6:37 pm

IC:

More than a little amused by the performance from the young Targaryen, Beric couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh. This all was certainly more entertaining than the disturbingly solemn and serious war meetings of his father's bannermen in the Stormlands. Well, if things were this disorderly when Aegon wasn't around, Goldenstag could not help but think that he knew exactly how to preserve his country's independence in the face of the young conqueror's armies when it eventually came to that.

He rose up, an amused expression still etched onto his face. Some Celtigar lord - due to all of their generic silvery hair and blue eyes, he could not distinguish whether it was the same Crispian who caused trouble just a few moments ago or another one entirely - glared at him and spat:

"You find something funny, Stormlander?"

"Not at all, milord Celtigar. I was only going to request that me and my two bodyguards be allowed to fight under Lord Aelix Targaryen's banner."

Murmurs echoed through the tent. This was certainly a bold move by Beric, and a total overstepping of any authority he had. The Stormkingdom was not party to this war. Beric's involvement in it could be seen as an open declaration of such against Duskendale.

Clearly, Beric did not think the Darklyn kings held much chance of being kings much longer.
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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Thu Aug 22, 2013 5:31 am

IC:

"I see much has been said here today."

The comment was calm, almost cold, in its execution, cutting through the almost silent air of the tent like a knife. Heads instantly swiveled to ascertain the source, searching for the speaker.

The two lesser lords parted as Victorya Targaryen stepped forward from the edge of the tent, into full view of those in attendance. Several faces blanched, and Boggs himself went even whiter than before. Few of them had realized that she was in attendance, but those that had known simply regarded the situation with amusement.

The Targaryen was startlingly plain, considering her station. Her garb, her choice of position in the tent, even her weapons all indicated someone of far lower status. There were no fanciful decorations, no intricate patterns upon her blade or clothes. Were it not for the piercing violet eyes, her hair and the insignia upon her belongings, she would not have looked out of place amid a gathering of lesser nobles.

"Some of it ingenious, some of it idle," Her eyes fixed on Boggs momentarily, but resumed their path around the tent as she continued her stride. Her heart pounded in her chest, and sweat coated the her hands, tucked under either crossed arm. Despite her outward calm, she was, in truth, almost frozen in fear.

This was a tent of strangers, and worse, of enemies. Many had made their opposition known, and many more had stood silently by. Rhaenys' opinions were unknown. The only real ally she had was her brother, and even he was, to an extent, tied by his own standing. He would back her as much as he could, but who could say how far that would be?

No, she would have to handle this herself.

"Lord Boggs, you would do well to remember our last meeting. Though I am sure that if you've forgotten, we can demonstrate once again in front of the assembled nobility. I know how fond you are of single combat."

"And you, Lord Crispian Celtigar." She paused, turning her full attention on the Master of Coin. Now this... This was a foe to be wary of. "I do not recall anyone screaming of bias when you appointed your own family as your assistants in monitoring my dear Uncle's finances. Nor when you insisted that one of your own banner family's cloth was the most cost effective for the crafting of tents. A claim that I would dispute, by the way, if only because whoever crafted them seems to have been incapable of maintaining a consistent shade of dye, or crafting a tent to survive a single night's wind."

Don't look at him again, don't check to see how they responded. Act as though they are beneath you. Act as though you already have their respect.

Not that there's a realm in the seven fucking hells where that's even close to true.


Turning away from the lord, she stepped forward once more to address those seated at the innermost table. The true heads of the war council.

"The task you have seen fit to give me shall be done." Through force of will alone, she restrained the outward signs of her anxiety. She hid her fear of Rhaenys' opinions, she hid her fear of these political games. Only she could accomplish this, and if she failed, her already dismal standing would never be recovered.

The bold move, the move to solidify her position, was clear. There was an open seat at the war table, just to Rhaenys' left, ostensibly saved in case a higher noble paid an unexpected visit. She should claim it, sit down, and dispel any notions of rebellion.

But her muscles defied her, refusing to move towards the seat. Instead, she remained standing a few short feet from the table, with the eyes of every man and woman in the room fixed upon her. Assessing. Judging. And in some cases, resenting.

"Is there anything more to be discussed?"

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Fri Aug 23, 2013 10:33 pm

IC:

There were a few, precarious seconds between Victorya's cold, calculated, defense of herself that somehow managed to not actually say a word in her defense, and the low, "spontaneous" conscription of Beric Goldenstag and his forces - a sellsword and a man-at-arms of a lesser house, nothing more - to Aelix's own host. Three men of the Stormlands, nothing more. No lands, no great hosts, no trueborn lords, just three Stormlanders. How bad could it be?

Catastrophic, Aelix mused even as he smirked at the bastard and then at Rhaenys, if Beric gets any grandiose ideas.

"I'll take him," he said casually. "If he thinks he can keep up."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Sat Aug 24, 2013 2:36 am

IC:

"Good." Victorya said, her tone indicating no particular opinion on the subject. "In that case, this meeting is dismissed."

Turning, she began to depart from the tent without looking back. No lord had yet to stand up to leave, but no one had contradicted her either. Hopefully, no one would. She left the tent without issue, her pace measured and calm...

Until she disappeared behind the first line of tents, at which point she began to start walking swiftly, speed increasing, eventually culminating in a jog. After a few moments, she vanished into her own tent, sitting on the cot.

"Calm down, calm down, calm down. This is no behavior befitting someone of your status."

What status?

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sat Aug 24, 2013 4:52 am

IC:

"That was impulsive," a voice said from the doorway of their tent as Aelix walked in and closed the door curtly behind him, face unreadable and violet eyes searching her closely. "Impulsive grandstanding, without an ounce of respect for the game, its players, or how it's played."

Slowly he smiled, but not with any sort of vindication or relishment at the shocked, slightly fearful look on his baby sister's face as he crossed the tent and sat next to her, taking her shoulders in one arm and her stomach in the other as they hugged.

"I'm so proud of you," he murmured into her ear as he kissed the side of ehr head.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Sat Aug 24, 2013 5:01 am

IC:

"I'm not." Came the reply, barely forced into maintaining a decent composure. "I'd have to play the game well for me to be proud of myself."

"But we both know that that'll never happen."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sat Aug 24, 2013 12:48 pm

IC:

"You don't have to play the game to get somewhere in life, sweet sister," Aelix assured her softly, arms around her as he fell back on the cot, weariness from the long ride and the strategy meeting seeping from every inch of his frame and every fiber of his being; Victorya lay beside him and he turned to look at his sweet sister with a steely sort of sympathy. "Some people aren't cut out for it. Others just refuse to play it, whether they think they can or not. Some people go even further, and say fuck the rules and play their own game to their own tune.

"Don't take offense, sweet sister, but you're a mix of all three. I couldn't picture you as anything else."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sat Aug 24, 2013 2:19 pm

IC: Meridea heard rumors about the war effort.

Rumors were irrelevant. Based in half facts.

Most everyone was avoiding her.

Being covered in ox blood has that effect. The blood struck a stark contrast against her skin, giving the appearance of a ghost who had been killed brutally.

If people avoided her it gave her more time to think.

More time to think and to try not to remember.

She collapsed on her bed, looking up at the ceiling.

Her family had tried to pair her once. Her cousin was now more of a raving lunatic than he'd ever been.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by The Snarkily Glorious on Sat Aug 24, 2013 3:33 pm

IC:

Slowly, Victorya's breath and heart rate began to lower towards normal levels. But the change was anything but natural. She didn't slowly relax, in fact, she didn't relax at all. Her outer demeanor was force, kicking and screaming, to normalize, any interior symptoms of her distress buried beneath a facade of calm determination. The walls around her had reasserted themselves.

In hindsight, the walls had been there for a long time, guarded with swords and blades. Walls to keep her safe, walls that served as her only real sense of security. But now that she'd been seen without them, it was harder to hide behind them.

"They'll try to come for me. That's not a guess, it's a fact. Boggs was already angry enough to fight to kill when we sparred, this will fuel the fires of anger, he and Celtigar's both." Standing, she kicked open a trunk, staring at and pondering the state of her armor and weapons.

"Being so pathetic when they do isn't an option."

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sat Aug 24, 2013 8:03 pm

IC:

"Preston Boggs is the most minor of the minor," Aelix protested dismissively as he lounged on the cot and turned to look at his sister. "He and his peers crawled to us without a fight because they know we have the better claim, and we could do what we like with them whenever we choose. And Celtigar..."


"Celtigar is a high lord, one of our dear uncle's bannermen. He has the wealth to organize this, the standing to get away with it, the intelligence to not get caught, and the desire to deal with this slight."

Almost out of habit, she drew her blades from the trunk and began to run her whetstone over them. "And he lacks the morals to care about who gets in his way."

"And what do you have, sweet sister?" Aelix asked, quizzing Victorya in that infuriatingly adoring, calm way that Aelix had to him when he wanted to eke a particular statement or admission out of someone.

"Not a quarter of his wealth, none of his influence or standing, and a desire to live, odd as that might be."

"And a few assorted blades. This should be fun." She commented, sarcasm positively dropping from the words.

The Targaryen commander hmmphed, clearly hoping for a specific answer.

"And...?"


"I would have thought that you didn't need to be listed."

Aelix laughed once with his mouth closed at that thought, but he didn't look amused; rather, his face was serious and faraway, stuck in thought somewhere, and finally his eyebrows took the burden of his shoulders and seemed to shrug as he raised them. He stood up off the cot and brushed at the shoulders of his fine, black-and-scarlet riding gear before walking over to Victorya and putting his arms around her neck in a hug, kissing the top of her forehead.

"You're right," he admitted. "I'm going to protect you. I've never failed to yet, have I?"


Victorya stared at her equipment almost pensively, pondering the question. It was all more or less low-end items. Her armor was well made, but there was nothing special about it. Designed to be light enough to allow swift movement, and fit to her measurements. Its only distinction was the painted crest on its shoulder. Her blade was similar; there was nothing special about it, it was simply a blade forged to fit her style.

Plain armor for the plain Targaryen.

"No, you haven't. But eventually I have to learn to protect myself."

"Eventually," he said, holding in the sigh he wanted to accompany the words as his arms tightened around his little sister. "But first, we have a war to win."

A second of silence passed, just allowing them a moment together. They Aelix looked down at her and met her gaze.

"I have to go back. Rhaenys wanted to catch up."


"Of course she did." She muttered quietly, holding back a similar sigh. "It's fine. Go, catch up. Take care of your important matters."

"I'll probably still be here when you get back."

"Okay," Aelix promised. "I'll show up later tonight."

He paused a second and then kissed the top of her forehead again, squeezing her in the tight sort of hug that he had reserved for when they were excited as children back on Dragonstone; there was no real trace of excitement or giddiness in the hug but he figured it would serve better to comfort her than most else would at the moment.

"I love you, Victorya."


There was a nod, almost imperceptible, as she continued to stare at her equipment. Over the years, her stoic facade had evolved to be almost impenetrable. But like every armor, there was a weak point. Her eyes never lied, and anyone that had known her for long enough knew that. And those violet orbs were pensive and troubled, no matter how hard it tried to hide behind a cool calm.

"Love you too, dear brother."

Aelix smiled and squeezed one of her hands in his before breaking their embrace slowly and walking to the door of the tent casually. He only stopped once, in mid-step, front half of his right foot on the ground and heel in the air, to turn and promise "I'll be back" before heading out the door and towards Rhaenys' tent.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by kick767 on Sun Aug 25, 2013 12:56 am

IC: Meridea lay for hours, counting the beats of her heart.

She finally got up, cleaning the blood off and changing into a tight white shirt and pants.

Her tent rustled as she stepped out.

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Re: The Crownlands

Post by Tyler Durden on Sun Aug 25, 2013 1:22 pm

IC:

"Seven hells!" Aelix laughed from the command tent, walking out backwards tenuously as though he were about to trip; Rhaenys' giggling echoed from inside, but it was slightly muted and was harder to discern from simple wind noise. "The next time you push me, I'll--"

He grew silent, as though he were listening, and then his lips folded in a coy grin as he protested, "Well, I don't know what I'll do yet, you won't let me finish--!"

He was silent again and then laughed, a genuinely happy chuckle that he topped off with a wink and a deliberately pronounced turn on his heel as he walked out of the command tent, pulling the sleeves of his coat over the rolled up sleeves of his black shirt and then sliding into it as he walked back towards his sister's tent.

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Re: The Crownlands

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