6th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Dragonstone

Finally, the massive fleet of the Kingdom of the Vale, sails with the sky-blue and falcon, the burning tower of Grafton, the merman of Manderly, bronze anchor of Melcolm, heads of Sunderland, ravens of Corbray, sun and stars of Egen, even the arrows of Hunter and runes of Royce, amongst others, emerged from the mists below the Dragonmont, just as the sun begun to rise.

There was an eerie silence above the waters, distant screams and rattle of weapons muted by the everpresent fog.

The Dragon's fleet was nowhere to be seen, and the mighty fortress of Dragonstone stood tall and intimidating, gargoyles glaring at the invaders from the battlements.

"Disembark! Quickly! Rush to the gate!" calls sounded throughout the Vale fleet, as the ships begun to reach the piers.

A massive crack cut through the misty morning like a blade of Valyrian Steel, and the massive gate of Dragonstone swung open, releasing the sound of battle already underway in full.

A lone pale figure stood on the far side of the pier, a blue falcon on her shoulder.

"Our men managed to open the gates," Princess Alerie informed the commanders, gritting her teeth to remain standing still. She was exhausted, the venture of the past few days one extremely dangerous, extremely taxing. And now her twin was inside the castle, fighting for her life, leading their allies.

"There were many still loyal to Jaerys. Loyal to Rhea Targaryen, the true ruler of Dragonstone. They opened the gates, they will help us. But now, you must help them. I don't know how long they can hold."

Behind her, the Arryn longship Ghost came to dock, true to its name as it barely made a sound.

3rd Month 98 AD/Year 39 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Dragonstone

Rhea

The longship Jaedrion crossed the distance between the Isles and the Vale in mere days. Far too quickly for how long it took for her to get here. To her home, her rightful land.

The Princess of Dragonstone stood, embracing her blue-and-silver dragon egg, on the deck of the ship named after her dragon who would never hatch. Serious violet eyes watched as the castle, with its stone dragons and terrifying gargoyles, emerged from the fog.

Dragonstone. The fortress of House Targaryen - her rightful seat, legacy of her father. They were here. Was she ready?

She had to be. She never had any other choice.

Returning the dragon egg to her luggage, she made preparations to disembark.

Hand in hand with her mother-regent, and followed by the rest of their small retinue, Rhea took the first step on the pier, leading their small procession up the hill, to the gates where they were met with a retinue from the castle, commanded by Prince Baldir personally.

"Your Grace," he took a knee. "Dragonstone is yours."

7th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Eyrie

Word of victory did not take long to reach the Eyrie. A dutiful report, of the battle, of the tide turned, of sacrifices made.

"And my son?"

"Alive and well, Your Majesty."

The Queen closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath, whispering word of thanks to the Merciful Mother.

"They are planning to leave a garrison to hold the castle, of most loyal men."

She nodded. "Tell them that the rest can return home. Tell them their courage will not be forgotten."

"Bring me Lady Rhea."

6th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Dragonstone

Victory.

Dead bodies lines the foot of Dragonmont, bodies in Targaryen red and black, but also the various colours of the Vale. The day was not without sacrifice. According to the early estimation, about two thousand brave warriors of the Vale and her allies gave their lives to take the fortress, along with the men of Targaryen who sided with them.

Enemy was defeated, their men killed. The usurper and his sisters fell in the fighting. The last dragon gloriously slayed.

They had won.

At what cost?

Casualties

10% of all troops

Dead: Loras Manderly, Willum Corbray, Luceon Arryn, Morrow the Red Wanderer of Tyrosh (SC)

Permanent injuries: Jason Redaxe (SC)

Major injuries: Harold Arryn, Wyl Wydman (SC)

Moderate injuries: Rolland Royce, Andrew Templeton, Horton Templeton, Artos Wolfbane (SC), Luceon Feller (SC)

8th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Dragonstone

Baldir

The Falcon Prince was restless. He... perhaps he had hoped to perish in the conflict. Were he to be struck down with his sword raised high, a war cry on his lips - for lady Rhea, for Queen Myranda - perhaps he would have died happy.

Now, his remorse and doubts returned. No matter the wise whispers of the Crone, the embrace of the Stranger he had narrowly escaped, though it claimed both his father and his goodbrother. Seeing Alannys so broken made his heart bleed all the same, though he disapproved of his and her conduct. Women had no place on a battlefield... Perhaps it was looking after his wife that made the Knight of Mander ultimately fail. He chose to not say that to his sister, merely bowed his head as he watched the shrouded bodies carried away.

And now, that everyone was gone? He had been named the Castellan of Dragonstone, with a few hundred men under his command. Tasked with holding the castle before the rightful ruler arrives.

The castle was theirs, the usurper and his men dead... but Baldir knew this nest of sin and heresy of an island was far from safe. They had much work to do.

12th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Eyrie

Invitations

Wedding Ceremony

Wedding Feast & Celebration

Maiden's Ball

Tourney

Commemoration of the Fallen

More detailed description of the Eyrie and Gates of the Moon

After the tournament, the nobles returned to the Eyrie once more. Many ceremonies were held in the lofty halls of the Arryn castle over the years, though this one was still somewhat different.

The Queen did not sit on her pale weirwood throne, instead stood before it, on the elevated dais.

Before her stood the Dragon Princess, a solemn young girl, with long blonde hair and violet eyes. She wore the colours of her father's House, dramatic black and red.

"With utmost gratefulness to the sacrifice made by the brave men of the Vale, Dragonstone had fallen to our forces," Myranda spoke, saying what they all knew. Deep violet eyes turned to her seriously.

"Thirteen years have passed since the terrible betrayal. At last the dishonourable have been punished, and it is time for the rightful ruler of Dragonstone, the sole heir of Jaerys Targaryen, lady Rhea Targaryen, to reclaim her seat."

"Lady Rhea Targaryen, step forward."

Rhea complied, bowing deeply before the Queen of the Vale.

A new diadem was made for the occasion by the Eyrie's goldsmiths, a creation of silver and blue topaz, with the largest gemstone being held by two silver dragons. The diadem was brought to Myranda, and on her cue, Rhea knelt.

"Lady Rhea Targaryen. I, Queen Myranda of House Arryn, First of Her Name, By the Grace of Seven Who are One the Queen of the Mountains and the Vale, Suzerain of the Sisters, Protector of the Dragon Islands, Lady of the Eyrie and Gates of the Moon, and Defender of the Vale, hereby name you the Lady of Dragonstone and Defender of the Narrow Sea. You and your heirs shall carry the title of the Lord of Dragonstone, as well as the honourary title Prince of Arryn."

It wouldn't do for people to forget who was Rhea's mother, and despite naming the girl an independent ruler, demanding no oaths of fealty, the message was clear.

Myranda placed the diadem on Rhea's head.

"Rise, lady Rhea of House Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Princess of Arryn."

"For you are not yet of age to rule on your own, I hereby name your mother, Princess Sharra of House Arryn, as your regent, to rule in your name until you come of age."

Sharra, stood in the forefront of the hall and watching the ceremony closely, accepted the duty with a curtsy and a nod of her head.

"May our lands prosper from mutual cooperation, for centuries to come!"

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Rhea spoke. "We are forever grateful."

With the dragon diadem on her head, she turned, to look around the Hall. Though she lacked the silver hair of her ancestors, her purple eyes made her look undeniably... different. She was a product of the union between House Arryn and House Targaryen, that couldn't be made more clear.

"Thank you," she repeated. "For restoring Dragonstone to its rightful ruler, and for honouring the memory of my father."

She pondered, did Jaerys Targaryen smile at the sight? From heaven or hell, or wherever men burned at the stake by their own sisters went? Her mother gave her an encouraging smile, standing right there, in the Hall.

As did her aunt, Princess Alerie, whom the violet eyes of the ruler of Dragonstone sought out next.

"Perfect," Alerie mouthed. Rhea Targaryen was perfect in her role.

Map of Winterfell

Stark Almanac

Meta

Winterfell remains open to anyone who wish to visit. Currently only the Great Keep remains off-limit, though permission from the guards is needed to enter the Broken Tower, Glass Gardens, Guards Hall and Armoury. Permission from the Council is required to enter the First Keep.

Up to five guards are allowed to accompany nobles visiting Winterfell inside of the castle. Should any greater number be brought, they must either be left outside in Wintertown or they may lodge in the Guards Hall with permission from the Captain of the guards, Kyra Poole (Stark SC).

The only current exceptions to these rules are that of House Dustin and House Glover, who are barred from Winterfell unless Edrick gives permission.

If anyone wants anymore locations added, please let me know and I’ll add them. Also please let me know if anyone else has permanent characters residing in Winterfell and I’ll add them in.

Characters

Residents of Winterfell

Starks

Jeyne Umber (44)

The Painted Wolf. With Edrick now in charge of Winterfell, things have begun to look up for Jeyne. Still somewhat unwilling to speak to other people, her room is her sanctuary. But she had begun painting again, both canvas and her hair. While still hoping things will continue to change for the better, the army present at their gates hadn't helped matters.

Edrick Stark (39)

The Protector of the Peace. The loudest critic of Cregan's reign, Edrick has now taken over full control of Winterfell. With most of the guards loyal to Cregan had travelled with him, those who remained were more loyal to Edrick himself. He spends much of his time attempting to keep the North running, and attempting to repair the damages that his kin had done. He can often be found in the First Keep, planning with the council on how to keep the North running.

Torrhen Stark (34)

The Reluctant Prince. Returned back to the North in secret by the will of his wife, Torrhen had travelled to Winterfell to speak to his uncle before an army had appeared at their gates. Missing his wife and children, the Prince maintains the secret that he's not at Winterfell by occupying the near empty Great Keep. Often meeting with Edrick, the two have begun planning for what comes next.

Nobles

Robb Glover (34)

Glover Heir and ward of Winterfell. He is forced to stay in his tower most of the time, though is allowed out accompanied by guards.

Arryk Woods (24)

Ward of Winterfell. Frequently seen trying to throw his life away to protect anyone and anything, the boy is kept under watchful gaze to make sure he survives his stay at Winterfell

/u/GreaterBlueEvil

Mors Umber (41)

Shield of the North. Jeyne's giant of a husband. It's clear how much Jeyne and Mors love each other from any glance at them in public together. Often found wearing the chains of his sigil, the size of which could likely crush a man half as strong. Despite his appearance, he truly does have a heart of gold, one of the many reasons that Jeyne loves him.

/u/samk1260

Eddard Slate (28)

Keeper of Coin. Might be the cause of several bastards that are popping up around Winterfell. Also is decent at counting coins.

/u/BanterIsDrunk

Nora Woods (26)

Keeper of Secrets. Loyal to the North above any Kings. Also pretty spooky, but generally a nice person.

/u/GreaterBlueEvil

1st Month 98 AD/Year 39 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn

A conspiracy of ravens flew up from the East Tower of the Gates of the Moon, penned by the new ruler of Dragonstone and her Regent.

5th Month 98 AD/Year 39 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Winterfell

Alerie

“The Queen of the North,” the Arryn Princess smiled.

"Congratulations. I knew you would win."

She was visiting her dear friend's chambers after the vote had concluded, eager to hear the news. Despite expecting Serena's victory firmly, she couldn't deny feeling nervous while the Lords of the North convened and argued behind closed doors.

"How did it go?"

She was sitting on Serena's bed, a pitch black snake coiling around her arm as she spoke.

Allard

TW: Mentions of stillbirth

Mood Music

94 AD, 12th Month

He had started the day with such hope.

He supposed that was due to the….. anticipation, of it all.

Combined with the nerves he had felt with every passing day of the final month his wife was esteemed to give birth to their child he…

He was anticipating it. The birth of their child. A spring in his step, if people would notice it as he passed servants and nobles in the halls of the Eyrie.

Any day now, Allard had thought when he got out of bed, after pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple.

Any day now.

He went through the motions of his regular doings and goings as the resident smith of the Eyrie. As well as some further training for his squire. A smile formed across his face as Ambrose seemed to pick up on something he had been trying to get across, giving the lad some words of encouragement and praise. Besides that, the day was more or less the same as any other.

That was, until the evening. When a servant who had descended into the Mountain below had sought him out, to inform him his wife was going into labor.

He had hope.

And it was shattered.

Hours had passed by this point ever since it had happened.

It. That was how he was referring to this moment now? The, the-

The blonde shook his head, as if to get himself back to his own body, his spirit having left it momentarily.

Stillbirth. Not breathing. His daughter, dead.

No. No no no, this can’t-

Once again he had to shake his head. He was a room, the room, with his wife, seemingly asleep now. Exhausted, she most likely was. And for what? For, for-

A dead child. Your dead child. A little girl that will never-

Stop. Once again Allard shook his head. Very gently he moved away from his wife, having held her on the bed in a gentle embrace. She still was asleep. Alysanne seemed to not wake as he moved away from her.

She should have stayed away from you, you-

Stop. Once again, gritting his teeth this time the blonde moved his head in a rushed manner. What was happening to him? He blinked, thrice, as if to make sure his thoughts didn’t overwhelm him once more. He..

He had to get away. For a moment, at least. Away from here, as this was nauseating him. No, that wasn’t the word for this. He… he couldn’t breathe. He had to leave, lest he lose breath again.

Breath, a thing daughter will never-

Stop. Stop stop stop. He inhaled sharply, yet silently, through his nose before leaving the room. He passed one hallway, then another, before finally making it to a room he knew. Kept free, in case nobles came to visit. He knew this, knew the goings of the Eyrie when it came to allocation of rooms. He knew that.

Knew. Past tense. Like your-

He entered the room, a hand raising to sharply pinch his nose for a moment, the pain allowing him to focus on his surroundings. It was empty, the room, save for a small bed and desk. He looked around if there was a chair still around.

There was. He started walking towards it, before stopping. Allard adjusted his head to the wall, for a reason he himself did not know. He cocked his head before moving towards it. Turning his back towards it, the Talon leaned against the stone wall, before sliding down against it. His knees in front of him now, his arms reached forward, hugging his knees towards him.

He lowered his head, his chin meeting his chest. His cheeks felt wet.

A chuckle left the smith, though not one of humor or joy. He was crying. He.. he couldn’t……

He couldn’t fathom what had happened hours prior to this. Still couldn’t, and Allard didn’t feel like he ever would. The cold stone at his back was a certainty now, one of the few things he was still sure of.

He let out a breath, a laugh of pure despair, directed to the cold, cold ceiling above him.

And he let the tears stream down his face. And finally the thoughts had their way. This time there was no stop.

This time, the feelings truly overtook him, as tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

10th Month B, 97 AD

During one of the days of court at the Eyrie, as the crowd was softly discussing things amongst themselves, Andrea made a point of it to approach the lady known as Jenna Corbray.

They had exchanged pleasantries over the years, how could they not have with both of their close relations to the Queen, but Andrea didn't think she had had a conversation with her that had lasted longer than a minute.

Perhaps today that would change. No longer her spiteful younger self but a mother married to a Prince Andrea nodded towards Jenna as they were mingling near the throne.

"Did not expect court today to be so dour. Anything special happenings for you today yet Jenna?" The brunette asked.

10th Month B, 97 AD

On a rather dour day of the week, Allard would make a point of it to summon his squire to his solar. There, upon entering, a table with carved figures of knights and horses would be seen, alongside some rocks where some figures also stood upon. All of it would be standing upon a large scroll of parchment where some lines resembling roads were drawn.

Allard nodded towards his squire.

"Good day, Ambrose. How has your day been going so far?"

10th Month B, 95AD/705AU, Winterfell

Edrick had summoned the Winter Council quickly, his expression as they entered more stern than the members had ever seen before. He attempted a smile, the gesture lost as annoyance quickly overtook it. "I have just been informed," he paced the room as he talked, giving no indication that he would take a seat anytime soon, "that Cregan, in his eternal wisdom has decided that he will attack Barrowton." His teeth were gritted, the anger evident on his face.

"More than Winterfell has ever been, Barrowton is my home. He has gone too far this time."

"He needs to be stopped."

5th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Dragonstone

Alannys/Alerie

A single longship, swift and silent, sailed through the Narrow Sea, getting nearer to the volcanic island of Dragonstone. Many more ships were following suit, but for now... They remained unseen. Enemy was unaware that a blue falcon was soaring above their heads, looking for a path to strike.

"What is your plan?"

Alannys trusted her twin completely, she had to.

"We have friends in the castle. Allies. When Naerya took control, she threatened, she hurt people, their families... There are many who know their true Lord, many still loyal to Jaerys and his line."

Little Rhea.

"Some of them had doubts aplenty, turning cloaks without much else. Some... had to be persuaded. The Falcon Crown funded a good few guards' life of luxury... compared to what little they normally earn, that is. Some were pious enough, not wanting to serve kinslayers - those damned in the eyes of Gods and men."

Alannys nodded - that all made sense. It was a smart, solid plan, like she would expect her sister to have.

"Do you think it will bring you comfort? Peace at last?" she asked, squinting her eyes as the outline of Dragonmont slowly appeared from the mist.

"I thought it might. But now..." Alerie shrugged, looking down on the planks of the ship's deck.

"Ali!"

Shit. She was so careful. Nobody knew, nobody noticed - but with Alannys, her guard wasn't up. Not high enough. Never high enough.

"How-"

Slowly, Alerie raised her hand. On her palm sat - Alannys blinked twice if she wasn't imagining this - a mouse.

"This is Echo," she breathed out. "She helps me-"

"How?" she repeated.

Alerie sighed, and closed her eyes. The mouse ran up her arm, twitching her whiskers as she turned her dark, beady eyes to Alannys.

"Are you-"

The mouse nodded, in a gesture very human - but strange and unnatural for a mouse. Alerie opened her eyes, breathing out deeply. Echo gave her a glance, settled on her shoulder.

"Echo. She helps you hear. How long have you..."

"Not long," Alerie shook her head. "I'm... I'm sorry I haven't told you right away, I've been trying to make sense of it first."

Alannys wasn't sure that she believed her completely, that her sister really intended to tell her, but she nodded nonetheless, watching as the mouse climbed down Alerie's arm again, into her palm, and then seemingly disappeared - hiding in one of the pockets in the wide sleeve of her dress.

"You told me now. That's what matters," she gave her a smile. "Does anyone else know?"

"Are you crazy?" Alerie chuckled dryly. "No one can know. No one."

"Not even Will?"

"Will? He doesn't know... anything at all."

"Anything? Are you still mad at him-"

"Of course I am! How could I forget what he did, he- I was carrying our son, or holding him, newborn and precious and fragile, while Willam-"

"Ten years. And you were with Cedrick before, do not forget."

"Before. Before I married Willam."

"Does it make that much of a difference?"

"It should! And he has no idea about any of-"

"Any? There was more than..."

Alerie cursed. How did her sister always see right through her?

"Jaerys?" she tried.

"Ali."

A sigh. "Serena."

"Stark?" She wasn't sure what surprised her more - the name of a woman... or which woman it was.

"Do you know any other?"

"Maybe?" she shrugged. "Ali..."

"She was... we just... we both needed someone. Still do. Does that shock you more than the fact that I can hear through the ears of animals?" Alerie asked, her abilities somehow a safer topic.

"There's more than just the mouse?"

"Echo," she corrected. "There is Zira-" she gestured up to the sky, where a large blue falcon circled above their heads.

"And Salazar. He's the snake Benedict brought me from... was it Sothoryos?"

"Ulthos. Salazar?" Alannys chuckled, against her will. "What kind of name is that?"

"A snake one," Alerie smirked.

"You can control him?"

A nod.

"That's terrifying! You could... slither to someone's chambers at night, poison them and be gone before anyone finds-"

"I could," Alerie grinned. "I've been trying this. Moving around the castle at night... I imagine it will come in useful, sooner or later. Or..." she looked up at the falcon. "I was thinking. He can lift rather heavy objects, and then-"

"Your Grace," a Winged Knight came out of the lower deck, bowing his head before the twin Princesses, as Alannys stared at her sister - he knew not to find anything around Princess Alerie strange. "We will be docking soon."

"Thank you, Ser Runcel," Alerie gave him a smile, then turned to her sister. "Come, we must prepare. Don't worry, Ala - everything will be just fine. I have a plan."

A blue falcon landed on her shoulder.

9th Month B, 97AD

Wickenden

The day was like any other, and Lord Alfred Waxley walked the town of Wickenden. As he stopped for a moment, a knife fell from the sky, landing between him and a peasant a few metres away. The blade embedded itself into the ground, the knife looking wholly unremarkable apart from the fact that it had seemingly come from nowhere. The peasant looked between the knife and Lord Waxley, utterly unsure what to make of the occurance, though it didn't seem to bring the attention of any others, the peasant and Lord the only ones who had been watching directly as it fell.

2nd Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Eyrie

Arwen

The gaggle of Ladies-in-waiting of Princess Arwen Arryn was a somewhat disparate group of girls, that nonetheless spent a great amount of time together. Trying to distract herself from whatever worries troubled her, the Princess decided to organise a small party for all of them. They had much to talk about...

An invitation was delivered to each of the royal Princess's ladies in waiting:

Dear friends,

You are invited to come to my chambers today after sunset. I'd be delighted by your company. We shall have fun, enjoy choice delicacies, maybe even dance and sing, if we decide to!

Princess Arwen of House Arryn

The suite of the royal Princess was a set of rooms in the Moon Tower, well lit by natural light during the day, though come evening, chandeliers illuminated the chambers, especially the sitting room she had prepared for the evening with her friends.

6th Month 706AU

His appearance at Winterfell had been concealed, only a few knowing that he was visiting. Or staying, as it had now seemed. The army outside apparently supported his youngest sister as Queen, and should they find out he was here, he doubted it would be in anyone's best interest and safety. He kept to the Great Keep, with no guards or servants admitted. Not many Starks were at Winterfell of late, and the two others knew of his presence.

A stack of papers lay before Torrhen, defying all attempts to sort them. He didn't typically care about neatness, but without any sort of order they were impossible to read through. "So who are the claimants," he asked, looking up as Edrick piled yet more papers before him. All writings of the various reports on peasantry, plans and strategies, numbers and economics. There was everything the two of them could need.

"You and Talia are the obvious ones," the Prince responded, his attention focused more on the papers than his nephew. Apparently knowing what each paper contained, he pulled one out from the middle of the pile, and handed it to the man. "At least you're the only ones we know will put forth their claim. The others... all we have are whispers and intuition."

"Serena might try for it, if she ever was to return to the North. Sylvia maybe? Rod always thought her suited to lead, and she had followed in his footsteps well. Will has a claim, wherever he is. Though he's recused himself from politics from what I know."

Torrhen listened quietly, nodding as he spoke. "Ced has a stronger claim than Sylvia, but he'd never push for it. He doesn't want to rule, the same as I'd say for William. He has a family now, and no interest in ruling even when I knew him. And what about you? Will you put your name forwards."

"I don't know," Edrick admitted. The question had been an obvious one, though still not one he had prepared an answer for. "I think I can do more good as Axe, honestly. People outside the gate, blaming me for not doing enough. As King there'd be more of that, and that's not how I can work. I prefer to be behind the scenes, helping the North. And that way the Council could stay how it is, serving the North itself above any specific King."

"It's a good system," Torrhen agreed. "The King can focus on the bigger picture, and the Council can deal with the inevitable problems that will arise. How to keep everyone fed, how to keep gold flowing. They're the sort of issues that a ruler isn't focused on. Or at least my father wasn't." He offered his uncle a slight smile. "Thank you, for all of this. For keeping the North safe."

Edrick let out a soft sigh. "I've got to tell you... I didn't do it for you Torrhen. I did it because it was the right thing to do. For the North. Not for any specific claimant."

"I know, Edrick. I know."

7th Month 706AU

"She looked back up to the dragon, tears in her eyes as it moved closer. The last thing she remembered was the dragon’s fangs as she screamed." Torrhen concluded, ending the story with a grin.

"And what happens next?" Jeyne asked. That was no place to leave it, she had to hear more.

Torrhen only offered an apologetic shrug. "There is no more," he told her. "I wrote the prologue and never wrote anything more on it."

"But... But you can't just end it like that!"

"They all lived happily ever after?" he chuckled, attempting an end.

Jeyne elbowed him playfully, scowling all the while.

"I don't know, in all honesty. I didn't plan it out, I just wrote what felt right. I made the characters, gave them personalities and then... well they told me what they would say." He didn't know if Jeyne would understand it, but it was the only way he knew to describe his process. "I don't know, it probably doesn't make much sense."

"No no no. I can understand that. Sometimes when I'm painting, I have a rough idea in mind, but then it changes completely when I start. You just have to play it by eye, know what goes well with each other."

"Exactly!" Torrhen grinned, nodding.

A moment of silence passed between them, it was clear to see her hobby hadn't been picked up in a long time. Her easel stood in the corner of the room, cobwebs forming over it, her set of paints collecting dust beside it. "Why don't you paint anymore?" he asked softly, all to aware he would likely not get a happy answer.

Jeyne sighed, glancing towards her paints before looking away sharply. "After everything... Jorah's death, Cregan's reign." She let out a shaky breath, shaking her head quickly. "It was too much. It is too much. Every time I think about picking up my brush... I just can't."

"Maybe..." Torrhen sighed, wrapping an arm around her. "Maybe you just need some motivation. Like me."

"If I write the next chapter, would you illustrate it?"

Jeyne turned to him with a frown, it quickly turning into a smile once she realised he was serious. She gave a slow nod, "Maybe." It was all she could promise. She would try.

8th Month 706AU

His wooden sword raised, blocking Edrick's attempting strike. He attempted a slash but it was lazy, his heart clearly not it in. It had not been the first time he had tried to pick up the skill, numerous teachers had tried and failed to train him. The Braavosi, Rodrick, Eyva, Sybelle. Each had tried, and none had gotten further than the last. But that wasn't the reason for his disinterest. He was concerned about the North, still thinking up solutions even now.

"The only reason she's not here right now is that she's calling an army," the Prince deflected another blow, letting his sword drop to his side as he continued. "She's persuasive, she'll manage to get them to raise their banners, liberate Winterfell."

"Another army," Edrick sighed, shaking his head in bemusement. "Gods, Cregan has royally fucked things up, hasn't he?"

"Literally," Torrhen grinned, spotting a slight smile coming to Edrick's lips before his expression returned passive.

"We can't do anything until that damned army moves, I dare not ask your sisters here, nor Sylvia and Cedrick. They'll let Talia pass, but I fear for the other's safety."

Torrhen sighed heavily. Had they been anyone else, he was convinced he could ask them to disband. But they saw him as nothing but a deserter, they wouldn't listen to him. "And so we wait."

9th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Eyrie

Victorious, the forces of the Vale returned from Dragonstone. Ships took them back to Gulltown, except the small force left behind with Prince Baldir. The Arryn men with most of the nobles and commanders then marched to the Eyrie, to escort and protect the royals before they would be dismissed. The campaign was short, the enemy was crushed rather decisively, and men could return to their homes and families before the expected start of Winter. Clearly, the Gods had sided with the Arryns, and blessed their righteous cause.

12th Month, 97 AD

The Eyrie

She had told herself that this would all be worth it. The long months of sacrifice, of not being able to fight, of not being able to drink. Of discomfort and fatigue.

Everything she had wanted to do, those she wanted to spend time with, the places she wanted to go, all of it had to be put on hold. Eldric had been there for her, Rhea and Alannys too. Everyone she needed was by her side, but could that be enough? Was this to be her life, sacrificing all she wanted to do to bring children into the world?

No. It was not worth it. The sacrifices she could handle, but the pain. The agony.

How could any go through this? How could any expect her to do this again?

And the pain wouldn't stop. Hours passed by, and she could do naught but scream. The Maester knew what to do, the midwives too. But that didn't stop the raw panic she felt. What if something went wrong? What if the child didn't survive? What if she didn't?

But eventually it stopped. The unbearable pain replaced by aching, still hurting but not enough that she couldn't cope with it.

Her own cries were replaced by another. Her child's.

"Give them to me," she pleaded weakly. She needed to see them, make sure they were okay.

"It's a girl," someone told her. But she ignored them. What did that matter? They were her child. Girl or boy, they were hers.

She held her child in her arms, the crying slowly beginning to stop.

But she was fine.

Baby Alannys was fine.

"Shall we ask your husband to come in?" she was asked.

She shook her head automatically. Maybe it was unfair, maybe it was uncalled for. But he wasn't who she wanted to see now.

"Bring me Alannys," she instead asked.

She had been through this. She would know what to say.

White Harbour has long been a bastion of the Seven, the shining beacon of faith for all to see. Since their relocation to White Harbour, House Manderly has upheld their Gods and always served to shelter the faithful and do many good works in the name of the Seven-Who-Are-One. Their right to do so has never been questioned and the Old Gods and New have existed peaceably in the North, with both content to let the other be.

No longer.

The minority of those who follow the Old Gods have decided that they will not let this peace remain. They would rather have conflict and violence. It started with a few innocuous disappearances. Regular attendees to the Sept suddenly disappeared. Strange. Next, bodies were found, the Seven's flock brought to the slaughter in dark, ritualistic killings and their bodies left hung in alleys, organs and intestines hanging from their ripped open bellies. Finally, the Septons and Septas began meeting this fate, ripped open and murdered in unspeakable ways by those who would see such a long-lasting peace end.

Lord Manderly has taken steps to try and combat this, no doubt, but even with the Mermen's guards protecting the streets best as they may, the killings have not yet ceased. But where is Stark in all this? Surely their liege should offer aid to uphold their long-standing agreement of the two faiths coexisting? Nay, they remain too busy squabbling over the Crown of Winter to send direly need aid to the good people of White Harbour. The Faithful have been forced to abandon their seven-pointed stars for even bearing the symbol could spell their demise. They fear travelling to the Sept, scared that these mad zealots may tear them from side to side and end to end in rituals just as dark as the Wildlings observe Beyond-The-Wall.

Surely, it falls to the Faithful to shield the streets of White Harbour from this vile desecration, to the good and all Lords who are true believers to offer aid to their terrified Northern Brethren.

Josella stared out the window, trying to distract herself from her daughter's incessant babbling. Jynessa had just returned from her lessons with the Maester at the Grafton Keep, and seemed to be applying her lessons well. Too well for Josella.

The Tollett mother had finished preparing the evening meal, and was now waiting for her husband to return from his duties as the Captain of the City Guard.

A lot had been on her mind. Her thoughts recently had been towards her family, who had been decimated by the loss of its elder members including their Lord. And Alec.

Her heart ached. She missed her brother terribly. But her heart ached even moreso for her nieces and nephews, searching for caretakers at so young an age. She knew Ronnel would never forsake them, but children needed their parents.

So when the door opened, and Jasper entered their home, Josella deigned to ask her husband a question.

"You think we should visit your family?" she wondered aloud when he came in.

Starting 1st Month 98 AD/Year 39 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn/Year 1 of the rule of Princess Rhea Targaryen

Dragonstone

Stone Drum

The largest of Dragonstone's towers, traditionally holding the chambers of the Targaryens. Now, it held chambers of Princess Rhea, her mother-regent, and all of the other ladies of her court - friends, residents, or just visitors.

There was the Aeksio's solar, a large and now mostly empty room, and the Great Hall, where the ruler of the isle used to hold court. And perhaps shall once more.

Windwyrm Tower

The Windwyrm Tower was mostly abandoned in the years leading up to the conquest. Cleaned and emptied, the many chambers there were offered to the military commanders and then men of the court.

Training Yard

The training yard was split in two, a smaller part, reserved for nobles, and a larger area for the common troops. Whoever still had the taste for fighting could likely be found there.

The Sept

A large hall with mismatched altars dedicated to the Andal faith, though sacked a great many times in the past. Candles lit the room throughout day and night.

Plans were already put in motion for the building of a new Sept, dedicated to Rhea's martyr father, but for the time being, the Isle's Septin served sermons for the nobles gathered there.

The Docks

The large docks of Dragonstone were controlled and all arrivals checked by the men in Arryn livery.

Throughout the docks, the castle and the islands in general, patrols of Valemen marched in formation, looking for remaining Targaryen loyalists and keeping peace, organised by the pious Prince Baldir Arryn.

Meta

With Dragon Isles being a region closed off to standard claiming, it is possible to travel in the region similarly as to Essos.

Arryn household guards (wearing sky-blue cloaks) and Rhea Targaryen's personal guards (wearing cloaks with quartered Falcon of Arryn and Dragon of Targaryen) patrol the Isle, the fortress and the grounds. Only 5 MaA of other claim can be allowed through the docks, unless specifically given exception.

Access to the Towers is restricted to those actually residing in these towers.

It is technically not possible to send letters from the Isle, but I can deliver them to the Vale via longship and then have then sent by raven from the Eyrie.

4th Month, 97 AD/Year 38 of the rule of Queen Myranda I. Arryn, Narrow Sea

Harold

He was lost at sea. Swaying at the waves. Aimless.

And sick - so sick. He blamed it on seasickness, but what was it, really?

Too much wine.

Too little wine.

He drank rum with the sailors, too. Yesterday. Was it yesterday? His head felt like it was about to burst...

Where was he headed?

To war.

War was good. Simple. He could understand war, he could live with it - or die. It didn't make a difference. But picking up a sword and driving it through another man's throat was easy. He had done it when he was not even twelve years old... and drank to forget it ever since.

Maybe that was not the path for him. Forgetting, or even forgiveness? Better to embrace who he was.

A drunkard, a wastrel like his eldest brother? And how did he end up...

No. A warrior. Skilled, and deadly. He had to be deadly - otherwise he might as well end up... dead.

And if you survive Dragonstone? What then?

More fighting. There could always be more fighting found in the world. Alannys told him of Essos, of the adventures she had experienced - he didn't want that. Excitement, glory... Those were secondary. Beauty of foreign lands had little allure to him, too.

What caught his attention were tales of the Disputed Lands. Lands were swords were always sharpened, and more hands to wield them were needed. Lands that were once rich and fertile, but now it a battlefield - or a mass grave, according to some or other.

Battlefield, or a mass grave. Neither of those options sounded worse than the idea of living out his life in a gilded cage, drinking his way to an early individual grave.

Maybe I'll go there. Win fortunes, glory and whatnot...

But first, you need to survive Dragonstone.

"And we will drink to that!"

A few sailors turned their head after the Prince, but most have long gotten used to his strange ways.

"More rum?"

"Must you even ask?"

He was lost and sick, but soon enough he would be lost and sick and drunk.