Chapters
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18th Day of the 11th Moon, 303 AC Jaime Lannister, The Golden Tooth The command room was as quiet as a funeral. Even the crackling hearth had gone silent at some point, and with it, warmth slowly gave way to chill. Yet Jaime was still here, huddled over the great oaken table, and his gaze was fixed on the map as if it would show him a way to victory. It didn't. He had heard a dozen suggestions, scores of ideas, each less feasible than the last. The defeat at Chesford had broken them. There, knights…-
449.7 K • Ongoing
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7th Day of the 10th Moon, 303 AC Petyr Baelish, Casterly Rock How much could you strip from a man before he lost his will to live? How much could you take before they shattered? For good or ill, some men broke early, some men endured until the end, and Edmure Tully was the former. The last Tully lord was dead. He had been placed in the upper cells of Casterly Rock, the pleasant, cosy ones made for noble prisoners, with windows carved into the stone and clean bedding. They called them…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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After the Red Spring ended and uneasy peace returned, the powers dominating Essos and Westeros had shifted. With Braavos and Pentos reduced to a shadow of their former self, and Volantis busy contending against the rising expansion of New Ghis in Slavers' Bay and beyond, only four forces contend for control of the Stepstones. The Myrish, who had devoured Tyrosh and a good chunk of the Disputed Lands. Lys, who struggled to deal with the encroaching Myrish advance on its own, the Stormlands under Edric…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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259 AC, King’s Landing The Young Princess “Thank you, Jasen,” she said, nodding to the innkeeper as he personally brought over the trays laden with a hearty fare. He gave her a beaming smile. “It’s my honour, m’lady princess. Fret not, I won’t tell a single word.” After bowing so deeply that his jowls jiggled vigorously, the plump man retreated, leaving behind a table groaning under the weight of the courses. He had even brought over proper first-course…-
228.1 K • Ongoing
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259 AC, the Last Hearth The Wandering Bastard He had guessed right. The Lord of Last Hearth was indeed hosting a feast for the first nameday of his grandson, Jon Umber. The future Greatjon could now fit comfortably in Jon’s arms, but his wails were just as booming. Hoarfrost Umber was a giant of a man, broad-shouldered like a boar and towering a whole head over most men, just like his grandson would in the future. He looked like half a giant, too, with a shaggy grey beard hiding most of his…
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228.1 K • Ongoing
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The Hound, they called him. Not a knight, never a knight, despite bearing a white cloak once. A deserter, an oathbreaker, and a dangerous beast of a man who had sent too many to the Stranger before their time. When he washed near the Quiet Isle, I was tempted, oh so very tempted, to leave the rot in his wounds to spread and let the fever take its course. Or simply let him drift down the Bay of Crabs, where the bay's namesakes would feast on his flesh and return him to the Stranger's embrace. By all…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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259 AC, the Riverlands The Wandering Bastard It took time for a lord to find out when riders sent to patrol ‘disappeared’. If the lord’s lands were vast enough, some patrols could ride around for days, even weeks, before returning. It was far more likely that a passing traveller, vagrant or some merchant would find the corpses and bring word of it to the nearest holdfast. From there, they would send a raven to the lord if they had one, and a rider to bring the word if they…
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228.1 K • Ongoing
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1st Day of the 12th Moon, 303 AC Arianne Martell, Winterfell Drey was healing—more like sleeping—in his quarters, and Arianne and her kin had huddled around the hearth. It wasn't that Winterfell's Guest House was poorly built, but that the cold was too fierce. The sprawling wooden building was far from the height of luxury, yet Arianne found it almost endearingly cosy, with thick wooden walls and carved drawings of beasts on every surface not covered by white plaster. She was never more glad…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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23rd Day of the 11th Moon, 303 AC Tommen, Casterly Rock His new betrothed, Floris Rowan, was kind, quiet, and pretty, but he missed Margaery. Mother tried to hide it, but Tommen could see she disliked his new bride-to-be. But his mother rarely liked anyone. Tommen felt sad. His thoughts settled on his companions. Ser Pounce, Lady Whispers, and Ser Boot—all abandoned in the Red Keep when they fled, much to his dismay. "Having small, soft, mewling things as pets is unkingly," his mother had…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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When word spread through the North that the Good Queen's dear cousin, Edric Storm, was in need of swords and good men to wield them, many greybeards, second and third sons, both noble and common, flocked to his banner. In addition to the overly generous northern 'gift' of arms and armour, Edric Storm's forces quickly swelled. Within three moons, it was estimated that three thousand Northern warriors landed in Duskendale, swiftly joining Edric's men who had just defeated a small host. The war for the…
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449.7 K • Ongoing
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