The Sunset Lands - A Game of Thrones Mod AAR

[Andrzej I]

*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*
Table of Contents:

• Prologue:
  • Ch. 1: Stepping Stones (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
  • Ch. 2: Twilight of an Empire (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
  • Ch. 3: The Promise of a Prince (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
  • Ch. 4: A Dawn in the West (Last Refuge, Stepstones)

*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*~-~*
It has been a long, long while since I have written an AAR, and as one might see from my last work, Ætheling, I have debated over various settings and themes for quite some time. Indeed, the past year or so were spent making lengthy delves into researching several of the periods I had listed as ideas, figuring out characters to play and ambitions to aim for.

Ultimately, however, I settled upon not one of the various historical settings that tempted me so, but instead the Game of Thrones mod that has been the source of delight over three multiplayAARS in the past. Though it seems to be fairly popular of late, this story shall be set during the Century of Blood, just after the Doom came to Old Valyria and before Aegon began his conquest.

I would like to thank several friends who helped provide inspiration in the writing of this work (including a few characters therein), and to all the modders who helped bring GRRM's story to this wonderful game. I hope this story will be as entertaining to you, o readers, as it has been for me to craft.

 

[Andrzej I]

​

Stepping Stones (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
The first major isle of the Stepstones one would encounter sailing from Valyria, Last Refuge was an ugly, craggy sight to see breaking the distant horizon. It jutted out of the rich blue waters of the Summer Sea as if in a desperate gasp, its rocky shores limiting where vessels might find safe haven. Yet, this was to be their destination, the might of the Valyrian Freehold come to these lawless lands to restore order. For centuries, the Stepstones had been infested with all manner of reavers and pirates, bountiful hunting grounds to prey upon merchant ships seeking to avoid the perilous, stormy waters of the Narrow Sea to the north and to not stray too far into the deep and abounding waters of the Summer Sea to the south. Time had made these outlaws reckless and proud, and they had come to forget to fear the dragonlords.

Breathing deeply in the sharp, salty tang of the air, Daeron closed his eyes for a time, thoughts flitting between a myriad matters he would have to attend to - and soon. A young man of but twenty years, he had not anticipated finding himself the head of a pacification force - indeed, few likely had expected it of him. His youth had been spent with his nose buried in books, studying not only the histories of the Freehold, but also learning those bastard forms of Valyrian spoken amongst the daughters of Valyria as well as the even more barbarous tongues spoken by merchants from the Sunset Lands. Yet here he was, this son of House Nesterion, having been chosen as a compromise amongst the scions of the lords freeholder to lead the expedition.

The lords freeholder of Valyria had long been plagued with factionalism and rivalries, the dragonlords conspiring amongst one another in ever-shifting alliances. Of the forty families that made up the powerful nobility of the Freehold, House Nesterion was amongst the weaker houses, having suffered grievously in ages past when other dragonlords had conspired together against them. But such a blow was in the past, and when the lords freeholder could not agree upon which scion of theirs was worthy to lead, House Nesterion had been mentioned as an innocuous option, not giving too much power to any of the present factions.

The fact Daeron had bonded with Laraxes, one of the dragons that made up the might of the Freehold, helped quell some of the dissent when House Nesterion proposed him as their choice. Daeron knew better, however, opening those rich indigo eyes to look wryly across to the creature, little larger than a small dog, slumbering away as it curled up into a ball of resplendent black scales. Though Laraxes could spout flame, she was not the military marvel that had seen the Freehold overcome the Empire of Ghis and the Rhoynar princes. Fortunately, the dragonlords knew better as well, and Laraxes would not be the only dragon amongst the Valyrian forces this day.

The Star of the West rocked violently as a sky blue dragon landed deftly upon its deck, slender as a reed and nimble as a goshawk. This was Solthys, the dragon of Lianna Raheris, who giggled with glee as she hopped off the dragon to dismount. Bright violet eyes and long, silvery hair betrayed her Valyrian heritage, herself a fellow descendant of the lords freeholder, and of a far more powerful house than Nesterion. Over the past decades, House Raheris had accumulated a startling strength in Valyria and offending them would bring dire consequences. Lianna, a childhood friend of Daeron's, was a natural choice of an accompanying noble for the expedition.

Lianna Raheris​

But this was not the only blessing she had inherited at birth, and knowing of the physical charms she had been given, all of her movements were full of curves and sensuality. With a delighted grin, she soon was upon Daeron, embracing him warmly before he could scarcely react. "I'm back from the isle! Did you miss me?" she teased, always amused at how her antics made Daeron's cheeks flush red with embarrassment. With a few more moments taken at Daeron's expense, she gave a sigh, relenting her hold on him to report, "The pirates all seem to be there."

After a perfunctory clearing of his throat, Daeron collected his wits and replied, ignoring the prior question, "Good, Alios can begin his approach then." That didn't seem to satisfy the Valyrian 'princess', who kept herself far too close to her commander, beginning to stick out that lower lip in a pout. "Um… if you could tell your brother…" Daeron continued, trying his best to navigate these dangerous waters.

"What?" blurted out Lianna in indignation, that beautiful visage soon glowering at the young Nesterion, "Why does Rhael get to have fun while I don't?" She stomped an armored boot down against the deck, Solthys seeming to sense her master's agitation, causing the slender beast to perk up in attentive interest. Lianna puffed up a little, attempting to cow Daeron into letting her have her way, be it to take her twin's spot or to join him in the attack implicitly ordered.

It didn't work. After all, Rhael was the rider of Archon, one of the older dragons in all Valyria. If any of the three dragonriders was to make that brazen, frontal assault upon the reavers' stronghold, it would be him. Solthys' agility would be better served elsewhere. Still, Daeron knew his fiery friend had to be placated, and so he answered, "W-well… I need you here." He paused a beat, taking note of how Lianna's glare began to soften, giving him the confidence to press further, "You and Solthys will cover our fleet as we advance."

Waiting several seconds thereafter to see if that was truly all, Lianna gave a huff and curtly responded, "Fine!" With that, she turned sharply on her heels, moving to mount the pale blue dragon and find her brother, resentful that she had been relegated to being little more than a winged messenger for this battle. Daeron watched as the dragon soared nearly out of sight, breathing a little easier with having given his energetic friend something to do.

But Lianna could not inform all the ships of this order. To pass these instructions along to the common soldiery aboard the many vessels that made up the Freehold's fleet for this campaign, Daeron called out for the appropriate flags to be hoisted, their colors communicating to brave Alios that the attack would soon begin. Though he led the largest contingent of men, balancing out the might of House Raheris, the lowborn general Alios would not be leading all of the force ashore. Indeed, roughly half of the Freehold's men were to be held in reserve, preventing the narrow beach from being swamped with the boots of Valyrian men.

As chance would have it, though, the battle would come far sooner than anticipated. Just as the first rowboats were kissing the rocky shores nigh an hour later with Alios at the fore, Daeron heard a cry off in the distance. An ambush. Several of the pirate vessels had hidden in one of the Stepstones' many coves, emerging from their den to strike at these intruders, arrows and bolts heralding their arrival as their ships swarmed the left wing of the Freehold fleet under the command of Pazan the Tyroshi. Daeron narrowed his indigo eyes towards the skies, rueing the decision to trust his reckless, inattentive friend to scout out the reavers in their homewaters. Any rebuke would have to wait until later, however, for now there was a battle to be fought.

A Pirate Ambush​

Summoning up his confidence, Daeron barked out orders to his officers. At once the warhorns were sounded and the bowmen drawing their first arrows from their quivers. The screams of the dead and dying were overcome only by the occasional, thunderous crash of the mighty wooden vessels as they jostled for supremacy, countless soldiers on the flank uttering cries as they leapt the rails to find and fight their foe. There was nothing elegant about the battle that raged off to port, the resplendent ships of the Freehold either being swarmed with reavers or smashed to splinters by the iron-tipped rams of the pirate ships.

It wasn't before long that the reavers were casting their avaricious gaze upon the Star of the West, overwhelming the ships on the flank as they rowed and sailed deep into the heart of the fleet, seeking out the commander of this ill-fated expedition - Daeron Nesterion. The young man watched with widening eyes as the pirates came ever closer and closer, he was struck with awe at the audacity of the outlaws as their grappling hooks bit deep into the wood of his ship, and he gaped as the first brigand leaped over the railings, bringing this war that once was so distant and neat now quite messily all before him. It was only then that Daeron drew his own blade, silently hoping that things were faring better elsewhere in this battle.

The common soldiery shouted out their cries as their steel met in the air, some falling in that first clash. The reavers were legion, and as time waxed on, the soldiers of the Freehold found themselves more and more overwhelmed. Despite keeping his distance, it wasn't before long that Daeron found himself in need of bloodying his blade. The churning of the sea beneath his feet made the galley's deck a perilous platform to stand upon, but fortuitously, the young Nesterion had guards close at hand to ensure Daeron could not be set upon by too many pirates at a time.

That is, until one wielding a blade with ripples in its smoky steel came slashing through the ranks. Men shrieked as that Valyrian sword sliced through lighter armor as though it were sheer silk, cutting right to the bone, each foe dismissed with a flick of that sword as though it were a lazy swatting away of a fly. This was a man who had seen death and laughed in its face, a veteran of countless battles and the scars to show it, and now those dead, black eyes glowed eerily bright as this pirate spotted Daeron, working his way steadily forward, his steps well adjusted to the sway of the deck beneath him. Cowed by the formidable sight, the young Nesterion found himself backing away, seeking to flee.

But he would not. Summoning up his courage, Daeron held his own sword firmly in both hands, levelled in front of him to try and keep the man at bay. This amused the reaver, who laughed as he struck down yet another Freehold sailor, "The fuck ya think y'are? Ya think ya can take me, Nakano, the Terror of the Night?!" With a wicked grin, that pirate captain took a wild swing at Daeron, the Valyrian steel biting deep into Daeron's blade, batting it effortlessly aside. This only encouraged Nakano all the more, soon closing the distance as his offhand drew a dagger more suited to this closer combat. Indigo eyes wide, Daeron could sense the end was near, the din of battle all growing hauntingly quiet, save for a distant roar…

There was a resounding crash as countless boards of the Star of the West were cracked in twain, and even that seadog Nakano could barely keep his balance. His eyes darted off to the right, about to spew out yet another quip, but he was hastily cut off. Daeron could only catch a split second of the reaver's reaction before nimble Solthys lunged forward, taking a massive bite into his torso. Blood spewed everywhere as Nakano was reduced to a whimpering ragdoll, sword falling free from his grip. The young scholar's gaze darted up to Solthys' rider, Lianna giving an exaggerated grimace at Nakano's fate, though one could clearly see beneath her delight in being able to join in on the combat. With a wink and a wave, Lianna soon pulled hard on Solthys' reins, and back off into the skies they soared, Nakano carried a short distance in the dragon's maw before being unceremoniously dropped into the deep blue waters.

Though Lianna's arrival had been fortuitous, the dragon's hard landing upon the deck had caused some significant damage to the ship's integrity. With so many of the sailors dead, the Star of the West could not handle another boarding attempt by the reavers. He would have to transfer to another ship. His thoughts immediately turned to steel himself for combat again when he heard the sound of grappling hooks biting into what remained of the railing of his ship. Daeron rushed to replace his chipped sword with the fallen Nakano's Valyrian steel instead. The boarding was not to port this time however, but starboard instead. The commander of the starboard wing of his fleet had arrived.

A powerful beast of a man, rumors held that Harlano had once plied these waters as a pirate himself, winning a fair bit of infamy before he decided that more money and security could be had selling his services to the Free Cities rather than stealing from them. Perhaps it had been the birth of his daughter to one of the many Lyseni pillowgirls he had laid with that finally mellowed the man, but for the past decade, he had been in Lys' service. Now he was here, a sellsail bringing with him a number of experienced sailors. Harlano leapt onto the deck with a heavy thump, soon plodding his way towards Daeron while his Lyseni soon followed, "Y'alright there, boy?" He spat the last word out as though it were contempt, but Harlano could not fully disguise his concern behind that gruff facade.

Breathing a little easier now that the imagined threat had passed, Daeron decided to take the tacit insult in stride, instead replying, "Yes, though I may need to borrow your ship, Captain." That quip earned him a wry grin from Harlano, an unnerving look from the former pirate given that long scar that cut through his left eye, leaving it an unseeing, cloudy, pale blue. Daeron looked briefly to his blade and its honed Valyrian steel. With scarcely a second thought, he sheathed it away, trusting now in his Lysene captain to be his defense.

Harlano soon turned and barked out his orders to his men, some former pirates like himself. Despite his studies, Daeron could hardly make out the words, a sultry Myrish dialect muddling up the pirate cant Harlano used to communicate with his subordinates. Daeron watched with an air of awe as the Lyseni went smoothly about their tasks, seeing if the ship was still seaworthy or if the evacuation was truly necessary. Harlano, however, was not a patient man, and with a scowl, he urged with extended hand, "Ya coming or fuckin' what?"

Helped across to the Seatown, a powerful galley with three decks of rowers to propel it through the seas, its immense size compared to the ships of Lys and Myr earning it the name, Daeron breathed a little easier, collecting his wits after that near-brush with death. It was a peace not felt elsewhere around Last Refuge, however, for the reavers continued their assault, fighting desperately on land and sea to stave off this attack. The pirates had made a good showing for themselves, but ultimately, the outcome had been decided long before.

Ever above the cries of wounded and dying men, above the crash of waves upon ship and shore alike, the roar of the two dragons circling over the battlefield spoke volumes of the might of the Freehold. At first, it was merely the pirates upon the rocky isle they had made their homebase that was blighted by Valyria's most potent weapon, but as the trickery of the reavers came to light, Lianna had brought Solthys to even the odds, leaving Rhael with Archon to continue to turn the pirate's fortress into a living hell.

A Dragon's Wrath​

With their attack faltering at sea, one by one the pirates began to cut away from the fight, fleeing to one of the many other islands of the Stepstones from which they could continue their trade. This coalition might falter, but Last Refuge was but one island of many. Those unfortunate souls trapped within the stony fortress would have no such option, countless meeting a terrible fate at the end of a Valyrian's blade or a burst of dragonflame. By sunset, the battle of Last Refuge had been won, with only but sporadic skirmishing still ongoing. Daeron ordered the flags to be raised, calling for the remaining ships of his fleet to come to harbor.

As he stepped ashore, accompanied by the intimidating figure of Harlano, Daeron slowly scanned his surroundings. Scattered about were the corpses of pirate and Valyrian alike, their lifeless eyes gazing endlessly into the distance. Some of the wounded and surrendered were being rounded up, others less fortunate were being given the gift of mercy. The young Nesterion did his best not to linger, pressing onwards towards the tower that would serve as his new headquarters from which the remnants of the reavers might be hunted down.

The soldiery had prepared the tower in advance, but there was only so much that could be done in so short a time. Bodies could be hauled away to be burned, but the bloodstains remained. Archon's flames also had marred parts of the architecture as well, even melting some of the stones where his breath had lingered long, scorching it black otherwise. Ascending the dias at the end of the hall, Daeron took note of the chairs that had been cast off to the side. Where once these reavers had warily regarded each other as equals - no honor amongst thieves, after all - now there would be one ruler of Last Refuge, and one representative thereof.

Easing himself down onto the chair, Daeron then leaned forward, elbows upon the armrests, mouth hidden behind clasped hands. The doors opened with a rumble and in strode a pair of Lyseni brothers. While there had been great need for officers to lead the soldiers on this campaign, there was also need of men of more subtle means. Thus it was that the brothers Nalassor and Ezzo had been contracted to take up these tasks requiring greater finesse, gathering intelligence upon these reavers and making arrangements for the supply of the Valyrian forces. Though the battle was won, their war was not over.

Tall and gallant, Nalassor strode gracefully forward to present what he had learned, only for his younger brother and adjunct to rush up past him and, after a hasty bow, announce with a voice dripping with that musical, Lysene accent, "Master, Valyria's foes lay defeated. Yes, by the amazing efforts of Ezzo-" Daeron grimaced slightly behind his hands, Ezzo ever fond of espousing his own actions as 'amazing', "These pirates shall trouble us no more."

Pursing his lips, Daeron said nothing, merely giving a faint nod in Ezzo's direction before he turned those indigo eyes to regard the elder brother, Nalassor of Lys. A shrewd man, Nalassor slipped gracefully into a courtly bow, picking up where his brother had left off, his words also tinged with that lilting tone, but with steel behind it instead of grasping pride, "Near four thousand swords remain to us, young master, and save but for Captain Pazan, any wounds your high officers have endured shall be fleeting. We cannot account for many of the reavers' captains, but…"

A silence came over the hall, Nalassor trailing off, a knowing look in those eyes, prompting Daeron to remark, "Ah, there was one, I recall. Called himself Nakano…" The young Nesterion gave a little shake of his head, trying to dislodge the image of that scarred pirate having his torso rent into a bloody mess from his memory. It had been one thing to witness the death of friend and foe alike to common steel, but to see that captain bit nearly in twain was a harrowing sight that would haunt him for days to come.

No sooner had Daeron said those words did Ezzo speak up, saying, "Why, is that his blade at your side?" Wide blue eyes gazed upon the sword in question, full of lust and desire. It was scarcely a moment after this question that the Lyseni continued his pursuit, "Surely you must be intending on rewarding Valyrian steel to a warrior most leal and amazing, yes?" At this, the Lyseni puffed up a bit, clearly meaning none other but himself.

Nightfall​

At this, Daeron looked across to where the blade was kept, its moonstone pommel glistening in the light, a stark contrast to the smokiness of the Valyrian steel. It was a beautiful sword... and evidence of the pirates' crimes against the Freehold, for there was little reason to suspect it had been obtained by legitimate means, for Valyria kept the secret of its manufacture closely guarded and only parted with the weapons at high price. If it was to be given as a reward, it would be a grand gesture, indeed.

Those indigo eyes shifted back towards Ezzo then, narrowing in disdain. Though normally an open-handed man, Daeron could see through the Lyseni's boldfaced ploy and it moved him to indignation. With steel behind his gaze, Daeron declared, "It is the very one and the same." There was a pause, allowing Ezzo a moment to hope. "However, I have decided to not part with it. As commander of this expedition and freeholder of Valyria, it shall remain as my prize." Before the Lyseni could register any protest, Daeron cut him off, "Now see to aiding Alios, for there is much work to be done before our campaign can continue."

 

[Andrzej I]

​

Twilight of an Empire (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
Several turns had passed since the pirates had been expelled from Last Refuge and much work had been put into bringing order to that arid island. Already repairs had seen much of the holdfast restored to its former strength, the walls rebuilt and the scars of the battle washed away, leaving it a firm outpost for the Freehold to operate out of. Patrols regularly went about the island, attempting to ensure the loyalties of the smallfolk, who were reticent to give up the ill-gotten riches the reavers had brought to the island. Daeron did what he could to aid to that end, issuing orders that some of the supplies for the campaign be given as relief to the smallfolk.

Where generosity failed, there were always the dragons. Lianna had been tireless in ranging about Last Refuge with Solthys, seeming to take her responsibilities as an outrider with greater diligence. The sight of that slender, sky blue dragon was a tangible reminder of the might the Freehold could bring to bear should the dragon be woke once again. Those who called the holdfast home were given even greater intimacy to these terrible beasts, for while Lianna scoured the isle for remnants of the reavers, her twin Rhael had been tasked with ensuring the soldiery were kept in good order, drilling them daily while mighty Archon was left to lumber about the outskirts of the fortress.

With Last Refuge quickly becoming settled, Daeron had looked to extend the campaign. Despite some misgivings Alios and some of the other Valyrians may have had, Harlano had been given command of a force to bring the island of Grey Gallows into the fold as well. With the pirate coalition in chaos, the battle to secure the island was little more than a skirmish, something the imposing former pirate excelled at, making short work of the reavers present there. When news arrived of his success, Daeron had decided that such merits deserved reward, and so Harlano was given the responsibility of overseeing Grey Gallows' pacification.

By seizing these two islands, the Freehold had brought safety to the southern seas, allowing a flow of merchant vessels from the Summer Isles to seek refuge at these new outposts before heading east for Valyria. Some of these traders chose to make the islands more than mere ports of call, trading their rich spices and exotic delicacies such as sweet amber wine with the smallfolk of the Stepstones. Little by little, Last Refuge began to prosper like never before, bringing new demands of the administration.

Galleys patrolling the Summer Sea​

Merchants were not the only visitors to Last Refuge. Hailing from the Summer Isles, the Feathered Breeze brought with it not only the rare goods that made trade with their islands so lucrative but also a scion of a noble Valyrian house. Upon hearing of this news, Daeron summoned his countryman, offering to host him during his stay upon this arid little rock in the Summer Sea, calling upon his few servants and hiring some of the island's smallfolk to arrange a feast that evening in the man's honor. As chance would have it, the Valyrian was not alone.

"Lucerys of the House Malinarys," announced Nalassor, who had been serving as steward for Daeron since the conquest of the island, and in entered the honored guest. Despite hair that gave itself more to a flaxen gold than the typical Valyrian silver and eyes more blue than violet, Lucerys still was a man of Valyrian features. Though not lacking in his build, it was clear from the manner in which he carried himself and the attire he wore that he was no soldier nor a warrior, but instead a courtier through and through. When another entered into the hall soon after him, however, all attention turned her way. A cape of vividly-colored feathers from her native land contrasted starkly with her dusky complexion and raven black hair. The dress of vivid cerulean silk was richly embroidered with patterns of greenery and exotic birds, the cut of it seeming more in Valyrian style than what they might have conceived of as that of the Summer Isles.

Studying the two quietly for a time, trying to piece together the puzzle, Daeron then greeted his guest, "It is always a pleasure to meet one from the White Tower," referring to the famed home of that family of lords freeholder. Indigo eyes then fell upon the Summer Islander, and gently he inquired, "And who is your woman there, Master Lucerys?" He looked towards Nalassor, gracing him with a small smile as he accepted a glass of wine from the Lyseni.

With an ardency often witnessed only amongst new lovers, Lucerys looked across to the lady in question, taking her hand gently in his own. With a smile of the same sappiness, he replied, "This is Rhatana, daughter of the late Prince of Koj…" His words trailed off for a few fleeting moments before he boldly declared, "And my loving wife."

To say the least, some of the Valyrian soldiers on duty in the hall were shocked at first. The idea of a lord freeholder marrying outside of the Freehold was scarcely heard of, the concept of pure blood running strong amongst the dragonlords. Daeron knew a little better, however, for while House Malinarys was amongst the lords freeholder, they were no dragonlords. Their influence and prestige came instead from their sorcerous skill at shaping stone, having insights no other house possessed. Even so, the young Nesterion deigned to ask, "You don't say? How is it you met, if I might ask?"

"Like any of my house, I studied architecture at the White Tower when I was young," began Lucerys, "But when I came of age, I felt the desire to explore, to take to the seas and see what the world offered beyond the Freehold. My father called upon some lords freeholder in his favor and saw to it that I would accompany a mission to the Summer Isles. I fell in love at once."

Listening attentively enough all the while, those indigo eyes did not miss a single thing. He caught the little squeeze of Lucerys' hand, the faintest tinge of a blush that hinted at more depths beyond that confession. Yet the young Nesterion did not choose to delve further, instead answering after a brief chuckle, "I see, I see… I'm sure the Isles were quite charming, weren't they, Master Lucerys?" He glanced meaningfully across towards Rhatana, leaving his thoughts unsaid.

"Very," agreed Lucerys, and when his wife gave a little peal of laughter, Lucerys flashed her a quick smile. Conversation soon turned to the Summer Isles, with the two speaking of the Isles' many-colored birds and swift boats with their large sails, guarded by well-trained archers with goldenheart bows. For hours the tales went on, even throughout the feast. That evening, Lucerys strolled about the holdfast, providing insights to where the holdfast needed repairs and what additions could be made to further strengthen this outpost of the Freehold. Before seeing his guests off the following morning, Daeron assigned one of his vessels to serve as an escort to that scion of House Malinarys, hoping to ensure nothing ill befell them during their voyage to the homelands.

Valyria, Land of the Dragonlords​

As chance would have it, Lucerys and his bride were not the only ones who had heard of Daeron's successes in the Stepstones. Weeks later, another ship arrived, this time sailing in from the east. As soon as he heard the names of these recent arrivals, Daeron rushed from the holdfast to meet them at the docks. A laugh escaped him as he found that he was not the only one running along the pier, but three slender slips of girls were racing towards him as well. With a broad grin, the first genuine expression of mirth in some time, Daeron swept up all three of his daughters into a warm embrace, their chittering words an unintelligible song of delight.

Haera, Maera, and Saera, a trio of bastard girls fathered in a youthful lapse of judgment during a spell spent on that idyllic island of Lys the Lovely. It had been a heady time of naive passion, vows exchanged in heartfelt idealism, but things were not meant to be. Restless and with a heart for adventure, the Lyseni noble who had birthed his triplets had decided to give fully into her wanderlust, departing for Braavos and even further lands. Left with naught but his memories and his infant daughters, Daeron had seen to it they were richly dotted upon, raised up in the manse of his family like trueborn children.

After reveling in the closeness with his daughters, who he had not seen since departing for this campaign, Daeron finally looked up and saw a somber figure sauntering his way up the docks. It took Daeron several long moments of gazing at the young man before he caught something familiar, and then it clicked. With a laugh, the young Nesterion called out, "Jaenar! There you are!" He pulled himself free from his girls, straightening up and holding out his arms in welcome invitation.

The Docks of Last Refuge​

Unlike his nieces, Jaenar did not rush to embrace his brother but kept his distance, replying evenly, "Brother." For all the coldness of that uttered word, one might have thought the siblings to be bitter foes, yet Daeron's smile did not fade for even a moment. A few awkward moments passed, Daeron's arms still spread wide, before Jaenar scuffled forward, exchanging a quick embrace with his older brother, quickly pulling away soon thereafter, giving an exaggerated clearing of his throat as he composed himself to that facade of gloomy disinterest once again.

"Well, come along, brother, I'll see to it a room is prepared for you," Daeron said soon after his brother had pulled away, sharing a smile with him as he turned to lead Jaenar and the triplets towards the holdfast. At least, it was his intention to lead, but his daughters seemed to have other ideas in mind, Haera spying the keep ahead and deciding a dare was in order. With a shout of 'Last one there is a sea hag!', Haera soon was racing up towards the fortress, her two sisters trying to keep pace.

Chuckling with amusement at his daughters' antics, Daeron looked across to Jaenar, asking, "So, how fare our parents, Jaenar? I hope my girls haven't been causing too many problems, mm?" Daeron glanced back to the triplets in question, Maera seeming to struggle to match Haera's speed. Then suddenly - a trip, a stumble, and the little girl of five years was sprawled out on the ground, sobbing in pain. Daeron gave a little tsk and picked up his pace, moving to comfort his young daughter.

By the time Jaenar came strolling up, Daeron had Maera coddled up in his arms, murmuring gentle reassurances to the girl, who continued to bawl. Pausing patiently for his niece to recover, Jaenar gave a half-shrug and responded in his usual dry fashion, "They're alright. How 'bout you? See you survived." Jaenar allowed himself a little smile slanted Daeron's way, only then to notice his niece still sniveling there in his arms. With a hint of hesitancy, Jaenar then reached out, giving a little pat to Maera's head.

After a few more moments spent cooing away Maera's last tears, Daeron scooped her up into his arms, beginning to carry her the rest of the way towards the holdfast. With Maera now calmed, Daeron flashed a wry grin towards his younger brother, quipping, "Despite their best efforts." The trio continued onwards along the dusty path before a thought crossed Daeron's mind. Looking sidelong towards Jaenar, he quipped, "Got a sword out of it, too." He gave a nod of his head towards the blade at his hip followed by a slight turn to allow his brother to see the sword better.

Jaenar's eyes went wide as saucers, catching sight of the moonstone pommel. "That isn't-" he began, soon cutting himself off. He looked up to Daeron, asking, "Can I see that?" As permission was given, Jaenar carefully drew the blade, in awe of the dark ripples that ran across the steel. "Brother, this… this is Nightfall," he uttered in amazement at the sword in his hand, one of a limited number of arms made of that magical steel.

"Oh, it has a name?" asked Daeron dumbly, giving a chuckle thereafter to take off some of the edge of revealing such ignorance. Then again, it was rare to find a man more knowledgeable than his brother when it came to arms and armor, and he a boy of scarcely fifteen years! Indigo eyes turned back towards the holdfast, considering his spry little Haera. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from her uncle.

"More than that," assured Jaenar. Having tapped into one of those few subjects his brother was passionate on, Daeron was soon subjected to a torrent of information, scarcely ceasing even by the time they reached the gates of the holdfast. Placing Maera back down on her feet and giving her a little swat to send her running to join her sisters, Daeron nodded along, trying his best to be the attentive audience for his oft-quiet brother, finally speaking more than a couple witty words.

Eventually, however, Daeron found himself compelled to put an end to it. With a fond smile, he placed a hand upon Jaenar's shoulder, saying, "Brother, I ought to see to some affairs. I will have Nalassor see to it you and my girls get good quarters here in the holdfast." He paused a beat, fixing his younger brother with a look into his eyes as he said with warmth, "And eh, love you, brother. Glad to see you again."

Days passed, and Daeron found himself basking in a pleasant echo of his days in Valyria, enjoying the company of his brother and daughters alike. The latter's childish antics were a source of delight and amusement to much of the soldiery, reminding them of how their efforts here kept the peace and prosperity of the Freehold assured. The patrols had continued apace, though fewer pirates were found sailing the southern Stepstones since the campaign had begun, bringing a sense of peace to the Valyrians.

It was not to last. One gusty evening a sentry at the watchtower reported sighting a ship sailing in from the east. This in of itself was no cause for alarm, but when he reported that it was the swan ship the Feathered Breeze concerns arose. It had not been that long ago that Lucerys and Rhatana had departed from Last Refuge for Valyria, seeking to show off the splendor of the Freehold to that Summer Islander princess. To think that they had done so in such short order was difficult to fathom, and so Daeron again extended an invitation to Lucerys to join him at the holdfast.

When the couple arrived they both seemed dazed, moving as though haunted by some ill dream. Rising from his chair, Daeron asked, "Is everything alright, Master Lucerys? You… you seem unwell." Warily, a couple servants came forth, tentatively extending out offers of wine and simple delicacies in a show of hospitality. Neither partook of the refreshments.

"It's gone," uttered the young man of House Malinarys, his eyes dark with want of sleep. His ebon-skinned princess gave a little sob, clinging on to his arm as she buried her face in the nape of his neck. He fell silent, his attention centered upon comforting his wife, arms wrapping protectively around her as he murmured something in hushed tones.

After remaining quiet for a spell, Daeron hesitantly inquired, "Master Lucerys, what is gone?" He grimaced slightly in anticipation of what was to come, sensing that it could bode no good. When here a few turns before, Rhatana had seemed a vivacious and confident young woman, not one to be so easily unnerved.

A heavy stillness fell about the hall, the freeholders and common soldiery alike caught up in the tension of the moment. Daeron leaned a little closer upon his chair, making sure that no word might escape his hearing. "Valyria," came the eventual answer, Lucerys looking up to Daeron, deep blue eyes pained as he uttered the name of their home, "Valyria is no more."

The Doom of Valyria​

 

[Andrzej I]

​

The Promise of a Prince (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
Ships had returned with confirmation of the Doom - a smoldering sea where the lowlands of fair Valyria once lay, the towering mountains turned to blazing volcanos. There was little denying Lucerys' report at that point, they were now a people without a state. Young Jaenar was inconsolable when the facts became too much to deny, retching several times over as he wept for the loss of his parents. The girls, Daeron was thankful, seemed too young to fully understand the tragedy that had transpired, though Saera was ever the inquisitive child, refusing to relent in her queries. Though sullen at the loss of his parents, too, Daeron knew that he could not show weakness so readily - he was the commander of this last remnant of the Valyrian Freehold. There would be a time to mourn for his parents, Jaemion and Daenys, but it could not be now.

Summoning together his officers, and the noble Lucerys Malinarys as well, Daeron waited patiently at the head of the table. Though doubtless several would be in mourning, a man thought better with a full stomach, and so for the sake of thoughtful discussion and those who mourned not - likely several of the Lyseni - Daeron arranged for a bountiful feast. The officers who arrived would find a bountiful harvest of shellfish stewed together, oysters, clams, and cockles from the shore. Various seabirds had been hunted as well, stuffed with onions and fennel and roasted to a crisp. A flatbread lightly spiced with local peppers was plentiful to fill the stomach, and sour Dornish wine was plentiful to drown one's sorrows in.

As the officers filtered into the room, they would find the young Nesterion once again assuming his posture as commander, brow furrowed in thought, leaning forward with his elbows upon the armrests of his chair, hands clasped lightly before his mouth. As befit his station as commander and lord freeholder, as well as his own wont and will, Daeron had groomed his appearance to perfection, a doublet of ivory damask with black geometric embroidery slashed to reveal the cloth-of-silver undershirt beneath, these worn over soft woolen breeches dyed an inky black.

Much as Daeron anticipated, Ezzo was one of the first to arrive, and quickly elbowed his way to the fore, taking a seat just by Daeron, earning himself a flat look from the man in question. The young Lyseni man wore a garish doublet of bright orange velvet, slashed at the sleeves with vivid citrine silk, these colors carried over to his puffed breeches as well, all ornamented with a myriad gems about the fabric. His gold-inlaid scabbard for his dagger was matched by an almost obscene gilted codpiece. He grinned to himself with smug satisfaction.

Ezzo of Lys​

Lianna proved equally willful, not only grabbing the other seat beside Daeron, but nudging it closer to him with an impish little smile. Unlike Ezzo, who wore his flashy garb in vain pursuit of attention and praise, Lianna put hers to a more pointed use. Dressed like a man rather than a lady, as one might expect of a willful warrior such as herself, Lianna wore a pair of tight, cerulean blue breeches, hugging closely every curve. A short tunic of white silk flowed over her torso, left loosely laced to advertise that generous bust. With a sidelong look to her, Daeron soon found himself regretting his decision to invite all the officers.

Fortunately for the young Nesterion, the other officers proved more tractable. Though this was no council of war, Rhael had come in armor, a studded brigandine of rich, dark green wool worn over sueded russet leather breeches, sword at his side. He smiled blithely to Daeron as he took his seat, perhaps oblivious to his sister's antics. The scion of House Raheris always did seem a little oblivious, his mind sharpest when it came to utilizing his blade, for it was difficult to find a swordsman more skilled than Rhael.

Rhael Raheris​

Though not one of his officers, insight from another lord freeholder was something Daeron could scarcely refuse, and so Lucerys would serve as the voice of civil interests against the press of the warriors, both Valyrian and provincial, the latter a more concerning group after the tragedy that befell fair Valyria. Still in mourning over the loss of his extensive family, Lucerys was dressed in funeral garb - with an unornamented black tunic worn over black wool breeches. Solemn as the grave, he drifted over to a seat.

Alios seemed to be of a similar mind to Rhael, though more austere in his military garb, wearing stormy grey leathers over his cream colored doublet beneath. With a murmured prayer, the old Valyrian eased himself into his chair. A few moments passed before he noted to Daeron, "Bold Pazan shall not be joining us this eve. The wounds he bore ail him still." Report given, Alios dipped his head politely, soon closing his eyes as he sought some rest before the council would begin.

Pazan of Tyrosh​

Biding his time with idle conversation with some of Daeron's guards, Nalassor excused himself once the others had been seated, drifting gracefully to a chair at the far end. His garb appeared as gloomy grey as Alios' at first, but hints of silver and teal peeked out from subtle cuts in his doublet, accented by buttons of carved turquoise, all complimenting that long, silver-gold hair that hinted at a strong Valyrian ancestry for this man of Lys.

Minutes passed and Daeron waited patiently, there was still one high officer yet missing. As time continued to flow, however, the young Nesterion knew he ought not to delay too long. Summoning up his courage, Daeron took a deep breath and rose to his feet, calling the officers to attention, "Thank you for coming today." He paused a beat, taking a quick glance about the room to ensure he had those half dozen present paying attention before he continued, "As you likely have heard, the rumors are true - nothing remains of the Freehold but us."

As he gave a moment for this news to sink in, Daeron could not help but take stock: though this army was from the Freehold, it had been supplemented greatly with forces from the Free Cities, their merchants having suffered more at the reavers' hands. Even amongst this council here, two of the seven were from Lys the Lovely, with one more absent and a fourth from Pentos. With the dragons gone, there was little telling what these men might do, their cause for allegiance burned to ash.

The first to speak would be one from this faction, with Nalassor remarking, "The mood amongst the men is dark and full of terror. Some ask how their wages shall be paid, and others ask of what happened to their homes, and some even whisper dark and terrible things. There is great disorder, uncertainty… and discontent. There are whispers of Lys and Tyrosh amongst the men..." At this, he gave a sad shake of his head, as though he was not one of these more mercenary men whose loyalty could be called into question, as though he might not join his kinsmen in becoming a dragonslayer.

Nalassor of Lys​

"Many of our soldiers have lost everything," noted Rhael with sorrow in his voice, "Friends, family, everything they left behind to bring an end to the pirates here. We need to do something for them to pull them out from this uncertainty and discontent." The gallant young dragonrider gave a firm nod at that, determined to tackle the problem of the soldiers' plight head on.

"What we need to do is keep up the campaign!" urged his twin, rising suddenly from her chair with that typical animated burst of energy, "Who cares about the Freehold? These pirates are a threat to everyone!" Lianna pounded a fist against the table, trying her best to present a strong front to the other officers, a stark contrast to her hidden tears when she first heard the undeniable truth of the Doom.

Lianna Raheris​

"Lili," came Rhael's reply with a sad smile, "Not everyone is as strong as you." Daeron gave a soft chuckle at the reproving remark, especially with how it made Lianna cross her arms in a huff, yet again denied the ability to sate that adventurous streak of hers… as well as to find an escape from the nightmares of what had befallen kith and kin.

"It is our fault," lamented Alios weakly, his voice wracked with horror. The old warrior had scarcely slept after hearing of how all fair Valyria had turned to ashy wasteland and smoking seas, already infamous as a cursed place where horrors only dwelt now. "It is the gods' punishment for our wickedness, for our hubris and for strife… We delved too deep..." When the old Valyrian hung his head, Nalassor leaned over, whispering in his ear. Daeron scarcely had an opportunity to question it, however, before another spoke.

Alios of Valyria​

"What we are needing is to choosing one leader," asserted Ezzo with that smug smile of his, holding up a finger to emphasize the point, "One who soldiers can listen to, who they can respect." He flashed his most charming smile he could muster - a slimy smirk - before he continued, "Yes, an amazing leader could be winning the hearts of men to him, perhaps even he could be finding allies in Lys and Tyrosh."

It was a bald faced attempt at seizing control of the army, few could be oblivious to what that proud Lyseni was attempting to do. Daeron narrowed those indigo eyes upon the man in question, his anger roused once again, tempered by fears that though he may not have allies amongst the officers present, he may have won over soldiers to his cause. "We already have-" began the young man, but he got little further before another interrupted.

"What the fuck is going on 'ere?" slurred Harlano as he stormed through the door, having slammed it open to herald his belated arrival. The towering ex-pirate lurched further in, the stench of liquor heavy about him. Even so, he moved with surprising adroitness, spinning a chair out backwards for him to sit, legs straddling the chair as he rested against the back of it. That one good eye scanned slowly over the officers before coming to rest upon Daeron.

Harlano, former pirate​

It was not Daeron, however, who responded, the young man shocked into silence. Having waited patiently for an opportune moment, Lucerys now spoke up, "We are discussing how to proceed after the Doom." He paused briefly, then looking over towards Ezzo as he added, "And Ezzo is right - we do need to support one leader, one person the soldiers can unite behind, one person for diplomats to speak with, so that we are not divided."

Rhael was quick to add his voice in agreement, saying, "That's true, it's important that we remain unified and strong, or else everything we've done here will have been for naught." Pursing his lips a moment, the young dragonrider then suggested, "It's also important that we keep the men's morale up, too, though. We should try and help the soldiers from Valyria establish new homes, new families. Maybe we could-"

"And Ezzo is the leader we should be electing," interrupted Ezzo, his patience in waiting to see if anyone would propose him having run thin, "When they hear we have chosen me as Prince, why, the men's hearts will be fluttering with delight, yes?" The Lyseni grinned with delight, and one could almost see the grandiose dreams he was envisioning, with himself crowned in glory, enriched off the labor of others.

A long pause filled the hall then, few seeming to warm to the idea. Eventually, the silence was broken by the former pirate, who blurted out, "Who the fuck are you, boy?" He squinted at the young man, whose flaxen beard surely hide a second chin with that indolent lifestyle of his. When the Lyseni blustered, beginning to introduce himself, Harlano stopped him short, "Yeah, yeah, Ezzo the Asshole, I know. I meant why the fuck should we care about you? And don't think your friends matter - they're busy fighting their first sister."

Magister Vaelar Sathmantes of Lys, boldly resisting Volantis​

When Ezzo looked to his brother for confirmation, Nalassor chewed briefly upon his lip before confirming, "Old Volantis has been seeking to reunite the Freehold by force, yes, and they begin with Fair Lys and Myr, it is true." The news seemed to take the spirit out of Ezzo then, who blanched and sunk in his chair, struck speechless for once.

"Then they will come for us next," predicted Lucerys in a quiet tone. After a moment, this seemed to bolster his determination, giving him the courage to propose, "I nominate Daeron of House Nesterion to be our Prince. He was chosen by the Freehold and has kept you unified until now." The young man from the White Tower gave a humble nod to Daeron, who had the grace to blush at his name being pressed forward.

Lucerys Malinarys of the White Tower​

"I can get behind that!" beamed Lianna, offering a teasing wink to her friend at that, swirling the wine in her glass. Her twin took a quick glance to gauge the atmosphere of the room, and when Rhael found none objecting to Daeron's election - save for Ezzo, who found himself sorely outnumbered and without friends - he gave a firm nod, tacitly extending his consent as well.

"Well, so long as he keeps paying me my fuckin' coin," pledged Harlano with a gruff grunt. He grabbed a goblet of wine, swished the dark red drink in his mouth and snarled after gulping it down. "And fuck, boy, would it kill you to get something good to drink?" With the support of their sellsail companion and the Valyrians uniting underneath his banner, Daeron Nesterion found himself no longer merely a commander of the Valyrian Freehold, but now a Prince. The question remained, however: a Prince of what?

Prince Daeron Nesterion, Lord of the Southern Stepstones​

 

[Rifal]

The Stepstones, no doubt a big step down from the (former) splendour of Old Valyria. Full of pirates, whores, escaped slaves and really the absolute dregs of society. No doubt they will be brought to heel in the face of dragons, but honestly, are The Stepstones even worth the effort?

 

[Andrzej I]

The Stepstones, no doubt a big step down from the (former) splendour of Old Valyria. Full of pirates, whores, escaped slaves and really the absolute dregs of society. No doubt they will be brought to heel in the face of dragons, but honestly, are The Stepstones even worth the effort?

It's quite the question for them to ponder over, indeed, especially since their reason for being in the Stepstones was to pacify them and allow trade to continue to flow to Valyria... but Valyria is no more, and the Freehold that sent them is as well. Perhaps making matters worse, Volantis is trying to claim the mantle of successor of Valyria by force, which some of the other Free Cities resent (as we see above with the war on Myr and Lys), and they may turn upon this army of Valyria to subjugate them back into the new Freehold. As it'll turn out, Volantis is even not the only one who will claim to be the successor of Valyria, either, so any question of spiritual succession of the Freehold is muddled as well.

So the question becomes, as you say, are the Stepstones worth the effort? And if not... what course of action then? Join one of the successors? Strike out independently in another direction? I suppose there are hints, but the next chapter will make things much clearer for what our band of Valyrians and colonials/pseudo-foederati will do! Anyhow, hope you and whomever else is reading are enjoying the story thus far!

 

[Ixarys]

Great AAR so far, your writing style is really pleasant. I'll follow !

 

[Andrzej I]

​

A Dawn in the West (Last Refuge, Stepstones)
Promises and pledges had bought some of the soldiery back in line, but it was more duty and a firm hand that saw any thought of mutiny driven from their minds. In the days following the council, Rhael had redoubled his efforts in not only drilling the men, keeping them in good discipline, but he had also personally saw to setting the soldiers to expanding the villages and hamlets about the island, providing new homes and new purpose for those who had lost theirs to the Doom.

Despite Lianna's fervent pleas and petulant response, the campaign against the remnants of the pirate coalition was suspended. The threat of the reavers seemed to have broken at Last Refuge, any alliance between the number of captains burned to ashes under the intense heat of dragonfire. There were greater dangers to consider, after all. Not only had Old Volantis sought to reunify the Freehold, attacking Lys and Myr - inadvertently rescuing a dragonrider in Lys from the slaughter - but word had also arrived of the survival of another dragonlord: Aurion of House Varezys.

Aurion of the House Varezys, the First of his Name, Emperor of New Valyria, of the Golden Blood of the Dragon ​

One of the more powerful dragonlords of the Freehold, Aurion had been on a progress throughout the lands of Qohor, displaying his majesty and investigating what the infamous Qohorik forges might offer. When word arrived of the Doom, he had wielded his influence as a dragonlord, and a mighty and imposing warrior as well, to proclaim the unthinkable: he was to be enthroned as the first Emperor of Valyria, and his reconquest would begin with the oldest daughter thereof: Volantis. Thousands of Qohoriks pledged to support him on the spot.

Though the feud between Volantis and the Dragonlord Aurion was certain to be fierce and likely crippling, the ambitions of dragons were not to be underestimated. Combined together with the ever-present threat of rebellion from the smallfolk, who may well have held sympathies for their former pirate masters, word of another dragonrider seeking to reunify the Freehold by force ensured the army was on high alert, striving to defend its hold upon these two arid rocks set in the Summer Sea. As chance would have it, it was not Aurion nor the Triarchs, nor even the magisters of the Free Cities that came to Last Refuge first - instead a ship sailed in not from the east, but from the northwest.

Sentries at Last Refuge​

When the vessel moored to the humble pier of Last Refuge's port, it became readily evident that this was no Valyrian vessel, but from the Sunset Lands. Braving the pirates of the Stepstones, they had set sail from the Kingdom of the Storm to seek an audience with the Valyrian forces that had fought so bravely to scatter those terrors of the high seas. Despite the trappings of a diplomatic mission - the petitioners few in number and noble in their bearing - the cog they had arrived upon was no ship of the Storm King's fleet, indeed, no sign of the crowned stag was anywhere to be seen.

When word arrived of their desire, Daeron did not delay in accepting. Though the Sunset kingdoms were petty, feuding things, paling in comparison to the might and splendor of Valyria, a potential ally was something Daeron could scarcely afford to turn away. Rhael Raheris, Ezzo, and an honor guard of several of his hand-picked men were given the honor of escorting these guests from their lodgings in the dockside village to the holdfast proper, and Lucerys Malinarys, who had taken over the management of the Prince's servants, was tasked with ensuring the servants had refreshments on hand to serve them after such a long journey.

This was not to say that Nalassor had been entirely replaced, however, for while the responsibility of managing the few members of the holdfast's servants had been lifted from his shoulders, it was done to allow him to focus upon gathering and interpreting reports, providing intelligence to the newly appointed Prince and his advisors. He served, also, as herald, and it was in this last capacity that he escorted the delegation into what was serving as the Prince's audience chamber - a modest hall cleared, a low dias installed at one end, and a rather plain chair serving as the Prince's throne, a few others set off to the sides of the hall for his officers and advisors in attendance that day.

"My lords," Nalassor said to the assembled Westerosi with a significant lilting tone, offering a shallow bow in respect, "I present to you the Sovereign of the Southern Stepstones, the Lord of Last Refuge and Guardian of Grey Gallows, the Firstborn of the Freehold, Prince Daeron of House Nesterion." Matching the grandiose titles he was given and assumed, Daeron had crafted a truly princely image to present to his guests, a cloak of cloth-of-silver was draped across his shoulders, fastened closed with a pin of polished jade. Beneath this he wore a resplendent silk doublet dyed a deep cerulean blue, embroidery in silver thread shimmering when the light reflected upon it.

Indigo eyes alighted briefly upon each of his guests in turn, and then with a shallow nod of his head, Daeron greeted them, having grown accustomed to a more regal tone as befit his new station. He did not, however, insist upon the sophisticated High Valyrian tongue, but spoke fluently in their Common Tongue, saying, "I bid you welcome, my lords, to Last Refuge. Please, make yourselves at ease and tell me what brings you here this day." The Prince gave a wave of his hand, summoning the few servants in his service to attend to his guests' needs.

At this, the apparent leader of the delegation stepped forward, not only matching the Prince of Valyria, but perhaps exceeding him in cultivating his image. His lean appearance was complimented by a carefully cropped mustache, razor-thin above his lip. A heavy cloak of storm grey wool was trimmed in dark sable furs, secured by a brooch of three arrowheads in silver. His velvet attire was dyed a stygian black, slashed with silks a subtly lighter grey. Though holding himself with great dignity, he knew the role he had to play this day, and thus swept into a low bow… though those vivid green eyes did not leave Daeron for a moment.

Grant Graves​

"My prince, allow me first to extend our condolences for the great loss your people have suffered. A tragedy, truly," said the man with a faint shake of his head, "The world is less for the loss of Valyria." After a moment of silence further, the man continued, "I am Grant of House Graves, and we have heard much of your exploits here in the Stepstones. Truly, splendid work." Grant dipped his head in a show of appreciation, then adding, "But ah, allow me to introduce my companions, with whom I hope you may be well pleased."

He gestured to the man behind him to his right, a sturdy fellow clad in a burnished suit of armor, each piece thereof carefully maintained to a mirror sheen. A surcoat of deep green linen was draped over him, no device embroidered upon it, and an unblemished scarf of white silk wrapped around his neck. It would seem the lattermost garment defined him, for Grant introduced him thus, "This is Ser Alyn Whitescarver, our most leal knight of the hedges. He is learned not only in the ways of war, but also should serve faithfully as castellan, should the need arise."

Ser Alyn Whitescarver​

The fellow gave a gruff grunt and then dropped to a knee in the Westerosi fashion, pledging himself, "My prince, if you would have me, I shall serve you as the Seven will it." As he humbly bowed his head as well, Daeron could not help but notice that the man's bushy red beard seemed to be the only hair he had, his head either already bald or entirely shaved. When Alyn looked back up to him, the Prince noted a ferocity behind those rich brown eyes, a fervor and sincerity that burned within.

Flustered by the gesture of servitude, Daeron stuttered a moment before managing to find his voice, "It… it is most kind of you, ser." He looked back to Grant and was about to speak, to interrupt and press his prior question that had been left unanswered: what business did they have with a Lord Freeholder - no, a Prince - of Valyria? In all his months after expelling the pirates from the island, Daeron could scarcely recall more than a merchant vessel or two that had come from the Kingdom of the Storm - and yet here now were men of noble bearing swearing fealty to him? Yet before he could, Graves was pressing onwards.

Now motioning to the fellow to his left, Daeron could not help but notice the man stood aloof from the fearsome knight, and it seemed the man's build was everything Ser Alyn was not: lanky with a head full of curly auburn hair, the fellow was clad in what had once been a pure white robe, now greyed and dusty, and the seven-hued belt about his waist was fraying. Only the crystal that hung from his neck seemed in any way pristine condition. As Daeron could gather, familiar with the culture of the Sunset Lands, Grant introduced him as one of their priests, "This here is Durran, a septon of the Faith."

Durran, a Septon​

The man gave a warm and kindly smile, almost grandfatherly were it not for the fact he was near the same age as Daeron. "My prince," he said, "I have read much about Valyria and the culture and beliefs of the east. Fascinating, wonderful things." It seemed appearances were not the only thing he held in difference to the knight, especially with how Alyn grimaced in disgust. Oblivious or uncaring, Durran continued, "I would be thrilled to discuss such with you, perhaps over a few glasses of Dornish red." His smile blossomed yet further at the prospect, but even so he remembered himself, and hastened to add, "Should you ever have the time, of course."

There were two others to be introduced: a man and a woman, along with a trio of ladies who likely were spouses or servants thereof. Daeron could tell already that Grant was readying to introduce the former, leaving him little opportunity to speak, so the Valyrian prince struck swiftly, "My lords, the offer of your services is most kind, and rather generous, but... " He trailed off, hesitating a moment as he weighed over whether or not he truly should be asking. "Why?" he asked, grimacing as he coaxed the word from his mouth.

Immediately, Grant gave a narrow smile, knowing that with that blunt question the game was up - it was time to cut to the core of the matter. "Of course, my prince. As you may well yet have surmised, we have come from the Kingdom of the Storm…" He trailed off for a spell, choosing his words carefully, clearly formulating a plan on the spot, "Are you aware of the state of that Kingdom, my prince?" He arched a brow in emphasizing the question.

Durran of the House Durrandon, the Twenty-Sixth of his Name, Storm King and King of the Rivers and the Hills​

At that, Daeron furrowed his brow, trying to recall what he may have learned of that particular Sunset kingdom during his studies. Tentative, given what little information he could recall, the Prince answered, "I fear not, my lord. I know during the reign of your King Arrec the Third, the reign of House Teague was cut short in the Battle of Six Kings." At that remark, Ser Alyn grumbled beneath his breath, Daeron noticed, opting to overlook it, however. The Valyrian prince combed through his memories before venturing, "The prowess and ferocity of your people are well-known. Could it be that there is another war?"

Grant mulled over this a moment and then forced a narrow smile to his lips, remarking, "It is that I fear one is coming, my prince." He nodded thoughtfully, convincing himself of his avenue for his proposal, "It is as you have said, my prince, we have fought many wars… but it has been generations since they were fought Stormlander against Stormlander." He paused for emphasis, his words grave and sincere, "That may soon change. Our King, Durran the Twenty-Sixth, grows old, my prince, and his son…" He trailed off with a sad shake of his head, "What vices the father has, the son has twice over."

Baldric the Bloody, Crown Prince of the Kingdom of the Storm​

"More than," spat Alyn with a sneer, "Baldric the Bloody, he's called, and for good reason." Again fixing Daeron with that piercing look, the knight elaborated, "He robs the people, looting with sword and fire for what he thinks he is owed, but never one who could defend himself." His face reddened with indignation as he continued, "Traitors, he'll call them, and hang them along the roadside, all while his father turns a blind eye to it all. Not even women and children are spared the blade." With another scoff, the knight concluded, "That is the state of our Kingdom."

"And how does that concern us?" said Ezzo with a harumph, sat slumped back against his chair, arms crossed in indignation ever since he had returned to the hall. Since Daeron's ascension as Prince, he had been mollified with the position of lieutenant of the household guard, an honorary position that set him at odds with his commander, the much more diligent and upright Rhael Raheris. Despite his frustrated ambitions, the position did afford him yet more wealth to squander in his peacocking extravagance, none of which flattered him.

At this, the woman yet to be introduced stepped forward, eyes burning with a channeled fury. This temper only added to her allure, the raven-haired woman a ravishing sight to behold in that form-fitting dress of velvet so dark a shade of green it was nearly black. She chided in an icy tone, "My lord husband comes with an offer." Those expressive green eyes flitted between the officers, gauging their reactions before she looked to Daeron, taking a little bow as she excused herself, "My apologies, my prince."

Straightening up, though whether it be because of the mention of an offer or the one who was extending it, Harlano peered at the woman, inquiring, "And what offer is that? You want us to-" the former pirate cut himself off, the train of thought now dawning on him. A wolfish grin soon spread upon his face, keeping this knowledge to himself for the time. This didn't seem to escape her notice, Harlano now the focus of the woman's scrutinizing gaze.

Lady Raena of the Stormlands​

"Forgive us, my prince," chimed in Grant once again, giving a humble bow. He motioned across to the woman who had spoke, saying, "And pray allow me to introduce this fiery lady who has spoken out of turn…" He slanted a smile across to her before continuing, "This is Lady Raena, my most beloved and cherished wife." Pausing a moment for Raena to offer a bow to Daeron and his court, Grant then admitted, "And yes, she spoke true. I have come with an offer and with a request, my prince."

This time it was Grant's turn to take a knee before Daeron in a show of fealty, reluctantly taken though it may be. He took no pause before he pled his case before the Valyrian prince, "For years, we have languished under the tyranny of the Kings of the Storm, who are not the equal of their forefathers. Their cruelty offends the very gods themselves, making the rivers run red with blood." Dipping his head, he then concluded, "My heart was gladdened when we heard of your efforts here, setting right the unjust. I beseech you, my prince, aid us and restore justice to the Stormlands, and we shall serve you as leal subjects."

A long lull came over the hall as the Westerosi knelt or humbly bowed their heads before the Valyrian prince and his court, the weight of their offer seeming to still the room to complete silence. Lips pursed for a time, Daeron eventually ventured, "This… is no easy task you present before us." He reached up, scratching at his beard in a moment of reflection. Could an army of now some three thousand men truly conquer a kingdom? The young Nesterion was not so sure.

His expression seemed to be telling of such thoughts, for again Raena spoke up, the raven-haired beauty offering, "Have you thought to reach out to the Valyrians of Dragonstone, my prince?" She gave a sliver of a smile at that, knowing from that astonished reaction she had seized upon a new idea. One that could well be worked to an advantage.

"The… Targaryens?" spoke Daeron with a hint of a sneer. Twelve years ago they had fled Valyria in disgrace, seeking refuge across the seas upon a barren outpost they had made into their fortress. Yet, beyond Aurion and his own forces, they were the last of the Freehold. They, too, had several dragons at their command. The Valyrian prince grumbled faintly beneath his breath, weighing the idea over.

Aenar the Exile, Lord of Dragonstone​

"Tsch!" scoffed Lianna from the side, head held high in disdain of the proposal, "You say that as if the Targaryens would ever help us!" She gave a shake of her head, declaring, "Cowards, the entire family!" She then looked towards Daeron, urging, "We could do this without them! Rhael and I could beat anyone that would oppose us!" She then flashed a dazzling grin, eyes gleaming with desire, "And think about it, Daeron… an entire kingdom to ourselves!"

"Dragons may win battles," spoke up Lucerys from across the hall from the pugnacious Raheris girl, "But can they win wars?" The new steward of the principality gave a mild shrug of his shoulders, trying to lighten what could well be taken as a rebuttal of great gravity. With that temper of hers, Lianna was not one to be so easily placated, however.

Once again, it took her more level-headed twin to calm her down, the swordsman remarking, "Master Malinarys is right, sis. Soldiers flee if it's only a dragon before them. You need soldiers of your own if you want to draw them in to a fight." He rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling abashed over having to disagree with Lianna publically once again, "You also need soldiers to garrison the towns, to ensure the roads are safe…" He trailed off, letting his sister continue the list in her head if she so desired.

From his position beside the guests, Nalassor decided to helpfully join in, noting with that gem of intelligence that he seemed so oft to hold onto until the moment was just right, "The Velaryons and Celtigars are in their service as well…" He stroked that forked beard of his thoughtfully, continuing with a clever smile, "They would likely have a great many soldiers in their service."

Claw Isle, home of the House Celtigar​

"Dragonstone could well be a useful harbor from which to launch your invasion, if I may be so bold as to suggest," remarked Raena, presuming the Valyrians would answer her husband's plea, "The waters of Blackwater Bay are much milder than those around Cape Wrath." She slanted a little smile, noting, "It is called Shipbreaker Bay for a reason, after all."

Still gazing thoughtfully at the Westerosi assembled before him, bowed in voluntary submission, Daeron took a deep, steadying breath, weighing out the decision presented before him. Calm and collected, as much as he could be, he stood from his throne and declared, "Then we shall see it done!" He let those words linger in the air for a moment before pressing forward, "Nalassor, see to it that a messenger is sent to Dragonstone to seek out an alliance." He paused a beat, considering his shrewd herald before inquiring, "Are there any in Essos that may also be called upon to aid us?"

With an almost sad smile, Nalassor replied, "The lands which once were the Freehold weep over their dead, their husbands, their fathers, and their sons. The bloodshed between the Triarchs and the newly proclaimed Emperor is great, and Lys and Myr bleed dearly while Tyrosh readies itself for war… But still…" He trailed off, looking thoughtfully aside, "There are some who may be able to afford us some support. Please, my Prince, leave it to me..." He trailed off with that cunning smile, somehow unsettling and assuring all at once.

 

[Andrzej I]

Great AAR so far, your writing style is really pleasant. I'll follow !

Thank you for such kind words!

 

[Rifal]

From humble Anti-piracy force to King of the Stormlands.... I say go for it. Fortune favors the bold. 3000 men and three dragons might just be enough.

 

[TWR97]

The alure of the Stormlabds certainly is something worthy of a price, though I say that allying with the Targaryens might be a fruitful investment. After all, a lesser dragonlord house they maybe, remnants of the Freehold have to stick together.