Prince Vaeron Targaryen

16

Targaryen

A longsword dubbed Dragonclaw.

Born the eldest son of the King of Westeros, Vaeron has his life set out for him. From the time he was young, he had followed Maekar's plans for him well with the intention of embracing his role as heir to the throne. As a child, he was plagued with dreams he didn't understand and found himself having trouble sleeping. His dreams led him to strange places and instilled a fear of the unknown in him. In an effort to comfort him and educate him of the world, he was gifted the book Wonders Made by Man by his uncle, Aerion.

Said book did more than alleviate his fears, as the tales of Lomas Longstrider's travels fascinated him. No longer did his dreams take him to frightening places, but instead he dreamt of seeing the wonders. He read the book countless times, often blabbering about it to anyone who would listen. Eventually, Allyria suggested that he should take a tour of the Free Cities when he came of age. Vaeron ended up keeping close track of the months, wishing time would flow faster so that he would be free to walk in Longstrider's footsteps.

Until then, Vaeron played his part dutifully. There was some minor strain with his father as he reached his teenage years, with the expectations of the realm weighing heavily on him. He understood his place and the importance of family and was determined to live up to his father's wishes. However, strange dreams began to plague him once again, and he withdrew from most people. This time nothing could comfort him, not sweetsleep nor the stories that had once freed him. The dreams were incomprehensible and relentless as exhaustion couldn't save him from having them.

Once a month passed, the king was about to send for the maesters of the citadel when Vaeron emerged from his chambers, the first thing out of his mouth after confirming he was alright was asking his father for permission to sail to Essos, as his last dream depicted him seeking out the Wonders Made by Man. Maekar granted his wish with the stipulation that he wait until after his birthday to assure him of his health. Vaeron agreed, and after a celebration marking his coming of age, he gathered his friends and set off to the Wall, the first of the Wonders.

"I AM the senate"
Maekar: Father, loves his son but they butt heads; currently trying to help mediate a dispute between some of the lords
Allyria: Mother, pregnant; worried about Vaeron's dreams
Visenya: Sister (12) annoying little sister; Maekar is seeking a betrothal for her
Baelor: Brother (8) annoying little brother
Aerion: Uncle that likes to party and loves him some whores; gifted Vaeron the book

Lira: admires her swordsmanship skills and honorable personality and thinks the world of her 10/10
Garish: thick as THIEVES haha gettit
Bors: its ya boy
Greyjoy: -
Peake: -

Lira Dayne

18

Dayne

-Sincere
-Conscientious
-Temperamental but really working on it

Longsword

-Swordplay
-Diplomacy
-Observation

The second child of Lord Gerrod Dayne and Pollenda Gargalen, Lira Dayne has managed to skirt house responsibility for most of her life. Her elder brother, Uther, received the lion’s share of their father’s attentions, and Lady Pollenda spent most of her time doting over sickly Micah, the youngest. When she wasn’t sat with the maesters and septas, Lira was free to roam High Hermitage at her leisure. Most often, this meant watching Uther as father taught him how to hold a sword and ride a horse, preparing him for the glorious, knightly future that awaited him as heir to their house. It would have been a lie to say that Lira wasn’t envious of her brother, for his prospects and for the love he received, but she didn’t hate him. She couldn’t. He was kind to her, he treated her not only like a person, but an equal; he treated her like family. When she was sent off to ward with her mother’s family in Salt Shore, she missed Uther’s company the most, and it was him she wrote to most often.

While High Hermitage was beholden to more stringent Westerosi customs, Lira enjoyed much more freedom under the care of her grandparents at Saltshore. While she was still subjected to lessons in history and courtship, she was also able to spend her free time training with the masters of arms, learning many of the things she had always only watched Uther learn. At Salt Shore, she came to understand why the Dornish were viewed as hot-blooded and temperamental, and as a child of eight, Lira was eager to take it over the rigidity of High Hermitage. She took to the longsword with a fervor that she hoped would have made even her father proud, training each day in the bright hours and often still into the dark. Her letters to Uther were rife with talk of knighthood and tournaments and chivalrous battles, all so excitedly scrawled as to be nearly illegible, but Uther always wrote back, happy to hear about her progress and her hopes. She nurtured childish dreams of the day she would return to High Hermitage, to astound her lord father and stand beside her brother as a knight of House Dayne.

On her sixteenth birthday, Lira bade Salt Shore goodbye and traveled to the Tor, where she was to reunite with her family at a tournament hosted by house Jordayne. Lira had witnessed a number of games at Salt Shore, Godsgrace and Vaith, but none so big as at the Tor. There she saw knights from as far north as the Vale, all of them glistening in their armors, painted with the sigils of their noble houses, whose names Lira had all but forgotten in her excitement.

Her family welcomed her warmly, even lord Gerrod. Micah was still a brittle boy at fourteen, with no illusions of knighthood and glory, but Uther already looked like royalty. Clad in white-trimmed armor, donning a violet cloak with House Dayne’s sigil and a greatsword upon his back, Lira thought it was nothing short of shameful that he wasn’t wielding Dawn itself. One day, she was certain, he would.

Lira attempted to get herself on the registry. Although she had little aptitude for jousting, she had grown confident enough in her skills with a longsword that she was sure she could stand her ground. Lord Gerrod, of course, wouldn’t have it, and though Lira mourned the opportunity to find glory alongside her brother, she was content enough to cheer Uther on.

The joust came first, and Lira shouted with glee as Uther unseated riders from their Dornish neighbors in Vaith and Wyl, and outcomers from Houses Morrigan and Serrett. His last bout was to be against Aryk Oakheart, heir to his house. Lord Gerrod, perhaps seeing a chance to prod at the Oakhearts, allowed Lira to squire for Uther that bout. The crowd hollered and whistled, but she was deaf to them. She brought Uther his lance and his helmet, proud as she’d ever been, and watched him ride off down the lists.

The riders broke two lances against each other, and on the third tilt, Aryk’s shattered against Uther’s chest and sent the Dayne heir to the ground with his horse tumbling down atop him. Shrieks and cries erupted from the stands, none louder than Lira’s. By the time they pulled him free, he was a mangle of dented, bloody metal—but he was alive.

The Dayne’s spent the remainder of the tournament in the maesters’ tents, as old men cut and stitched and broke and pulled sharp metal splinters from Uther’s body until he woke up, only to scream in agony until milk of the poppy put him to sleep. When all was said and done, the maesters left the Daynes with an heir who had but three fingers on the one hand he had left, a leg that would be forever twisted and useless, a shattered nose and a single eye. Lira was stricken. The fate of their house was all but an afterthought; what she dreaded most was when Uther would wake, when he would find his body shattered, and his dreams with them.

In the months that followed, a withering fell upon High Hermitage. Uther rarely left his chambers, and just as rarely took guests—even Lira. Lord Gerrod was miserable, fretting over the house now that his heirs were crippled and sickly, and despite Dornish customs it was clear Lira was never going to be considered. She didn’t care. She couldn’t get the tournament out of her mind, couldn’t get that damned Oakheart heir out her mind. How had he bested Uther? Her brother was destined for knighthood, destined to be the greatest Dayne in generations, surely no Oakheart boy could be that skilled or that lucky. For weeks, Lira harbored dark thoughts of foul play, but came to realize that not only were these suspicions unfounded and unprovable, they were dishonorable. Desperate. Knights were not desperate.

It had not been foul play, nor luck that had laid Uther low. He had simply been beaten. The contest had been fair, the honor lost, well, honorably.

Lira found that Aryk was traveling to King’s Landing, having leveraged his victory at the Tor for a chance at squiring for a member of the King’s Guard. So, with naught but a note left in her wake, the middle Dayne left her home behind and made for King’s Landing. Eventually she found Aryk at the foot of the Red Keep, and demanded a duel from him. Naturally the boy refused, but Lira persisted day after day, taunting and insulting and trying every appeal to the honor he must have had—honor he’d stolen from her brother, and honor she’d reclaim.

At length Aryk conceded; people were beginning to snicker whenever he turned his back on her, joining in when she called him a coward—among other, more colorful things. They cleared a space, and right there at the steps of the Red Keep, Lira Dayne crossed blades with Aryk Oakheart. Briefly. The bout ended in only a handful of strokes, with Aryk disarmed and Lira’s sword leveled at his neck. It was over, she’d won.

And…nothing changed. Uther wasn’t magically brought out of his melancholy, and he certainly wasn’t healed. The honor she was sure had been taken from her house did not return to her in a flow of fire and glory; if it existed at all, it had simply snuffed away into nothing. She had traveled all this way and even in victory she had achieved nothing. The realization withered her, and she may have stood there in an empty stupor into the midnight hours, had she not been invited inside the Keep. Word was being sent to her father to assure him of her safety, but Lira knew well that they would not hear joy in return.

Sure enough, what came was a letter boiling with such fury that Lira could not bear to read it in its entirety. The gist was clear enough: father didn’t care whether she came home or not. So she did not. Lira spent the next two years in King’s Landing, at the kindness of the young prince Vaeron. Every stray thought of Dorne, of home, brought immense, humbling shame, and Lira has since felt the hot-blooded temper she’d fostered at Salt Shore simmer into a much colder, starker self-reflection.

-Vaeron: Lira has known Vaeron Targaryen since the day she dueled Aryk Oakheart. Whether the young prince witnessed the bout or not, he consoled her in its wake, and upon learning she was highborn, invited her into the Red Keep. Since then, she’s come to think of him as a good friend and a pleasant conversationalist, and often seeks out his company when things are slow in the Red Keep.

-Garland: No one brings out the Salt in Lira's temper like Garland Tyrell. He's boisterous, conniving, crass, and above all a terrible influence on the prince. Now and then in their conversations, Vaeron will say something nearly vile, and Lira will just know Garland is to blame for it. Vaeron adores the young man though, so Lira has done her best to acclimate to his presence.

-Bors: He's loud and he takes up a lot of space, but he isn't as bad as Garland. That besides, his care for Vaeron is plainly genuine, and she's glad for what he's done in helping the prince out of his shell.

-Quenton:

-Trevyr:

N/A

'Garish' Garland Tyrell

18

Tyrell

Longbow

Garland was the fifth son of Leonard Tyrell, the Master of Law, and the ninth child overall. Highgarden was overgrown with flowers, and its gardeners had little time for any flower in particular. It was a battle for even a scrap of attention from his parents, and he quickly learned the two best ways to get it: to be the absolute best in the house at something, or cause enough trouble to be worthy of their wrath. All his bothers- Lorent, Ormund, Steffon, Samwell- and some of his sisters- Rhea, Olenna - proved Garland's better at swordsmanship and riding, and his eldest sister, Elinor, was perhaps the most scholarly woman in all the Reach.

None could claim to be more troublesome than he, however, for little Gar turned out to be a quite proficient procurer of other people's belongings. He'd climb through high windows or slip a key from a guard's belt to steal something innocuous and get himself caught soon after. When corporal punishment proved ineffective, Leonard turned to Alester Rowan, his Master-at-arms and a tyrant with a blade: Rowan would either fashion the boy into something of worth or kill him trying.

It took many a battering and a bruising before Garland found something he was good at. He may not be able to cross swords with any of his siblings but he had an uncanny eye with a bow, able to hit a bullseye thrice in a row at seventy paces out. Over the course of several months he grew in skill and strength, adding on draw weight until he was able to wield a proper longbow as easily as Lorent wielded a greatsword. It wasn't until Gar won the archery tourney at Highgarden that it stopped being a punishment- that tournament was the first time he could ever recall seeing pride on his father's face. From then on he chose to pursue it of his own volition, dedicating himself to perfecting his craft.

Hunting proved to be his preferred method of practice compared to shooting targets in a courtyard. Birds were swift and unpredictable, but went down easily if snuck up on. Elk rarely fell in a single shot, requiring he pursue them for hours at a time. He learned to follow a trail of prints in even the worst of weather. And wild dogs and boar never died without a fight- if Gar wasn't swift and accurate, he'd be dead many times over.

The first true test of his skill came at a tourney in King's Landing, where he was put up against the best the realms had to offer. Knights, lords and men of great renown who'd spent their whole lives shooting- who was this boy against their like? A force to be reckoned with, he'd soon prove, holding his own against the best of them. Garland was a crowd pleaser, too- he'd prance around like a show pony, mocking his opponents to throw them off their game. Though he didn't win, he earned himself a reputation...and the name Garish for his misdeeds.

His antics were enough to get him an audience with Vaeron, the Targaryen prince, whom Garland was quick to befriend- there's no better friend to have than the future king of the seven kingdoms, after all.

Vaeron: Garland sought the princeling out at a tourney in King's Landing a few years ago. Gar had made a fool out of a few too many important people, and the only thing that'd keep his head on his shoulders was a Targaryen to hide behind. In exchange for bailing him out of trouble, Gar promised to show Vaeron how to live a little: and the prince and the troublemaker became fast friends. Gar would make his way to King's Landing with his father as often as possible, ensuring his time there would be as memorable as the last.

Lira: heeeey ;)

Bors: local man too stupid for his own good

Greyjoy: lmao nerd

Peake: uhh

Garland remains unmarried despite receiving a number of offers from other houses. He has a reputation as a habitual flirt.

Ser Bors Hightower

18

Hightower

Boisterous
Brave
Bullheaded

Longsword

Swordplay
Horsemanship
Lovemaking (self-professed)

Nearly born to the name of Flowers over Hightower, Bors' tale begins with his father and his less than savory ways. A lad of sixteen, Garth Hightower was the son of the Lord Hightower and thus had never wanted for anything in life. As hedonistic as his namesake, Garth took to drinking and merriment in his youth, charming his way into the chambers of many a lady, both highborn and low. One Melissa Bulwer was no exception. After a quick romp during a routine visit to Oldtown, the young lady found herself not only with a pocketful of memories, but with child. Realizing her folly, Melissa made to inform Garth of the situation and pray he be kind. Upon being laughed off by the irresponsible sire of her child, she tearfully turned to his lord father instead.

Lord Otho Hightower was a stern man. A just man. Upon hearing of his son's dalliance, he was swift in his condemnation. Long had Otho grown sick of Garth's pleasure-seeking and decided that no longer would he shame their house. He gave his brother a choice; marry Melissa Bulwer so his child was trueborn, or find a different family to bring shame to. Garth picked the wiser option.

A rushed ceremony ensued, the unborn child hidden away from public knowledge. Garth carried on with his indulgent lifestyle and his young bride spent the remaining months of her pregnancy at the Hightower. Coming into the world with strong lungs and, more importantly, the banner of the Hightower on his swaddling clothes, Bors was born months later. He proved to be a robust child, rambunctious and energetic from the time he could toddle around the tower's halls, giving his poor mother and the family's servants no end of worry. The young Bors was wild and defiant, and to curb the worst of his behaviors, his grandfather took him on as his personal page, intent on making sure he would not end up with another heir who put his own pleasure above the responsibilities of their station.

Until the watchful eye of Lord Hightower, the boy was educated. He learned of accounts and ledgers, of manners and courtship and perhaps his favorite all, of sword and lance. Nothing could catch his attention as stories of battle during his history lessons, or so perfectly hold him still as when he watched the men-at-arms practice in the yard. It was obvious early on that Bors was not a man suited for stewardship or intrigue, but for battle and glory. His grandfather tailored his lessons to fit that. He was given extra time with training blade and pony alike once his lesser studies were finished, so as to serve as an outlet for his boundless energy. He became a squire to his grandfather at the age of ten.

It was around this time that Bors' life saw a change in scenery. The Hightowers had been strong supporters of the Targaryens, having taken up arms against their liege lord in support of Aegon VI and his reconquest of the Kingdoms. When the previous Hand of the King passed away in 392, many great lords vied for the position, but it was his loyal grandfather who was chosen from among them. When Lord Otho took to the capital, it was inevitable that he would bring Bors with him. The King had a son of similar age, and nothing so helped a house maintain its prominence as a boyhood friendship with the future ruler of Westeros.

So he traded the Hightower for the Red Keep, and Oldtown for King's Landing. The gregarious lad managed to make fast friends with the other highborn at the capital, first among those Vaeron Targaryen, to his grandfather's delight. The boisterous Bors helped the young princeling out of his shell, and in turn the prince helped temper the worst of his impulses. Years passed by, and Bors grew from boy to man with startling speed, an equal in size to some of the castle's men-at-arms at ten-and-two, and nearly their equal in swordplay. By the time he came of age he was a tower of a man, and his prodigious size helped him earn his knighthood later that year. At the tourney in honor of Princess Visenya's tenth nameday, Bors handily won the squire's melee, and was knighted by Ser Willem Lannister of the Kingsguard for his victory.

It has been two years since, and Bors has remained at his grandfather's side, serving as a member of the Hand's personal guard, and only occasionally returning to Oldtown on the business of his house. When the subject of the prince's coming of age tour came to court, he was among the first to volunteer to join the escort, something he was quickly given leave to do.

Prince Vaeron: Bors has known Vaeron since he was a boy of ten, and sees him as a surrogate brother, though his royal blood keeps him from being referred to with such familiarity.

Bors has a deep, lovely singing voice, but very rarely chooses to display this for the embarrassment it causes him—only when he is thoroughly drunk does he choose to belt out a tune.

Trevyr Peake

19

Peake

Calm
Cynical
Courageous

Rapiers

Sleight-of-Hand
Drinking
First Aid

While not one of the major houses of Westeros, House Peake has certainly pursued glory. Originally advisors to House Gardner and even regent to a young Targaryen king, the ambitious lords of the Starpike castle seek to once again find their rightful place in history. Trevyr Peake, the fourth son of his house, now seizes the opportunity to surpass his kin.

Unlikely to inherit his father's lands and possessing the cavalier spirit of an adventurer, Trevyr was raised with the stories of his ambitious ancestors and was quite fond of their time as sellswords in the Golden Company. The glorified tales of his grand uncles Laswell, Torman and Pykewood across the Essosi Free Cities inspired him to take up Braavosi swordplay, develop a love for Volantian wine, dress in Tyroshi garb, and a preference for Lysene women though one would have a hard time finding a man of the Seven Kingdoms who did not.

There was one other legacy brought over by the men-in-exile of House Peake that Trevyr carries. While they had supported the return of the rightful king to the Iron Throne, their former lordships of Dustonbury and Whitegrove were still in the hands of pretenders. It was a slight that the elder generations had seemingly overlooked but the ancient grudges had once again brought about renewed intrigues.

On the 58th nameday of Lord Eddrick Peake, Trevyr's liege and father, tragedy had struck. The patriarch of House Peake had choked on his meal and died with the bone of fowl stuck down his throat. Within a few days, a new house head had ascended and Trevyr now found himself sent away to Highgarden as a representative of Starpike. In truth his brother Bardaq, the new lord of the House, just wanted him and other claimants away from their ancestral hold. A young lad with nary a soldier in his employ and only a miniscule stipend set aside by his estate, Trevyr loitered about while wasting away at taverns and the feasts of his peers, often endearing himself to his hosts through party tricks and boisterous revelry.

This would not last long though as the doldrums caused by his familial circumstance had given him the opportunity of a lifetime to seize. Upon hearing whispers of Prince Vaeron's plans to tour the wonders of Essos, Trevyr immediately sought the quickest caravan to King's Landing. It would not take long for him to reach the capital and it would take even less time for him to be accustomed to the stench of the capital's underbelly. What did take a longer time though was receiving an audience with the Prince. It would take a bit of trickery to expedite his request, as Trevyr had exaggerated his reputation as an expert on current Essosi affairs and bribed a palace servant to drum up his credentials to the prince.

Needless to say, he had met the young Targaryen prince and has been admitted to join the journey. While the adventure ahead lies obscured, a lordling of House Peake once again looks to find fortune in the eastern lands.

A relatively recent acquaintance to Prince Vaeron, Trevyr jumped on the opportunity to join the royal entourage by presenting his family's ephemeral ties to Essos during their time in exile as part of the Golden Company. While they might not know each other that well, the laws and traditions of feudalism defines their relationship as peers.

House Peake's history is deeply intertwined with the ancient rivalries of Highgarden's vassals. As such Trevyr is acquainted with his fellow Reach noblemen and has a painted opinion on all of them, though they do not intimately know much about each other.

Trevyr plans to collect a bottle of wine or spirits from every settlement they visit.