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A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Blackwood

House Blackwood

Strike swiftly, Aim true

House Description:

Dating from the Age of Heroes, the Blackwoods have ruled in Raventree Hall for centuries with large swaths of land and, while they are sword to the Tullys of Riverrun, they can call up vast armies to their aid. Though their history reaches farther back, they were originally Northmen who were driven from the North. Just as far back does their hatred with the Brackens reach, the other house being no more than horse breeders and petty lords that usurped the Blackwood kings of old. As if their poisoning of the Weirwood tree did not confirm it! Since those ancient days, they have had a history steeped in feuds, battles, and many victories with notable figures.

They rule from Raventree Hall in the Blackwood Vale, north of Riverrun and the Red Fork.

Recent History: In recent years, they have settled into peace. The House took Benjicot's view, that the peace was well earned after the brutal wars for succession and the turbulent times when the Young Dragon and Baelor the Blessed ruled. But the House held in reserve, it's irked-natured about allying with the Dornish, though it bristled at the apparent favor the Brackens were given under King Aegon IV. Now with alliances firm in the Riverlands, the Blackwoods hover with their hands near their swords to keep a sharp eye out for their rightful Targaryen Kings.

Timeline

{202 AC} -Current Time
-Birth of Benjicot Blackwood, son of Bennifer and Olyria
{197 AC} -Marriage of Bennifer Blackwood to Olyria Frey
{193 AC} -Death of Marianne Blackwood, suffering chest pains
{190 AC} -Death of Benjicot Blackwood
{183 AC} -Birth of Roger Blackwood
{181 AC} -Marriage of Calera Blackwood to Manfryd Lothston
{178 AC} -Calera delivers a stillborn babe
-Ser Damon Paege is sent to the wall for murder
-Birth of Roland Blackwood
{177 AC} -Birth of Robert Blackwood
-Melissa Blackwood is set aside as King Aegon IV's mistress
{176 AC} -Marriage of Calera Blackwood to Ser Damon Paege, third son of Lord Kavan of Fairmarket
{175 AC} -Brith of Brynden Rivers
{173 AC} -Birth of Bennifer Blackwood
-Birth of Gwenys Rivers
{172 AC} -Melissa becomes mistress to King Aegon IV
-Birth of Mya Rivers
{170 AC} -Marriage of Quentyn Blackwood to Marianne Tully
{161 AC} -Death of Royce Blackwood, brother of Benjicot Blackwood
{156 AC} -Birth of Melissa Blackwood
-Birth of Calera Blackwood
{151 AC} -Birth of Quentyn Blackwood

Family Members:

Quentyn Blackwood
Bennifer Blackwood
Marianne Blackwood nee Tully
Benjicot Blackwood
Robert Blackwood
Roland Blackwood
Roger Blackwood
Melissa Blackwood

Quentyn Blackwood

Quentyn Blackwood

Age: 51 (151 AC)
Appearance:
A handsome man, tall and still at the height of his physical abilities. Quentyn often could be one for scowls with an eagle's beak of a nose, scattered with scars from prior battles. His brown eyes and grey-shot blonde hair is often slicked back from his face and a beard frames his mouth. Often he wears clothes of fine cloth, though of muted colors after his late wife passed.

Description & biography: Born to Benjicot Blackwood and his wife from the House of Moonton. His childhood was spent as was many lords, playing with his sister, Melissa, and his cousin from his Uncle's marriage to a distant relation of the House Waxley, Calera. When his uncle died from a fall in a tourney when the boy was ten and had just started to work as a squire for his uncle, Benjicott took the child and mother into his own house. Though the young woman left to marry an erstwhile knight leaving Calera behind. For all they were cousins, the three turned their relationship into one of the siblings

Years pass, and the marriage between House Tully and House Blackwood was announced with the union of Quentyn and Marianne. His wife found the marriage beneath her, but she remained close to Riverrun and Quentyn was careful to ply Marianne with favors and ease himself around her temper of willful youth. In truth, they grew to find companionship in each other if not love, but all was well enough. The Blackwoods had gained favor at court with Melissa becoming King Aegon's mistress and the Brackens were appalled at the fact.

It was after their first child that Calera was arranged to wed the knight Ser Damon Paege. A sullen man that both Marianna and Quentyn were uneasy with, but Calera was eager for children of her own and feared spinsterhood despite her young age. He was the third son and well off to provide for her. Benjicot arranged a place at his court, which was refused and the newlywed pair returned to his father's much smaller keep.

After two sons were born in the following years, Quentyn seemed rather satisfied and attempted to let the bed lay cold between himself and Marianne, having no wish for more children as she had born Robert with some pain. Thus he found himself in the fight for his life as he was ruthlessly hunted by his wife and fights erupted throughout Raventree. Quentyn had left Marianne be, refusing himself and her the pleasure of the marriage bed as he worried that another child might well kill her.Marianne did not worry about more children, claiming a babe over winter is hard on any woman and that if Quentyn did not mean to use what the gods gave him to bed her, then she would mount it for a trophy. The woman enjoyed hunting. Much to the amusement of Melissa who had been set aside as mistress that same year. Thus it was the following year that Roland was born, though tragic it was.

Tragic, for Calera, returned with an armed escort and fell weeping into the arms of her aunt. With all his apologies, Lord Paege informed Benjicot that Ser Damon had struck his wife and the child had come too soon. In his fury at that fact, Damon murdered the midwife and was sent to the wall. For how could a father cast death on his son? Gifts of gold and a ward were given over to Benjicot as well, the Paeges had no wish for enmity with the Blackwoods, and their offered gifts were accepted though the Lord of Raventree was keen to find his brother's daughter a good match. It was years later that Lucas Lothston offered up his son and Manfryd and Calera met for the first time. The man was exceedingly the gentle knight and Calera found him most acceptable though her critical words and eyes kept Manfryd's tongue curbed about his dislike for his mother and sister, and his assumed slight taken from the Targaryens. The fathers found it an acceptable match, which Quentyn agreed with. What the young Quentyn did not admit to what that he had taken to horse when the Lord Paege had come with the new and ridden after Damon Paege slaying the man by the sword. Perhaps it was fury or honor the man said nothing of it and left the matter to lie.

After the birth of his fourth and last son Roger, Quentyn had taken Bennifer as his own Squire and offered to do the same with Benjicot Lothston before the boy's untimely accident. Benjicot Blackwood had encouraged the Lord of Harrenhal to accept it but grieving even as their uncle and cousins did Manfryd was loath to let his children leave his side so soon after his wife's death birthing Elayne. The girl had the look of her mother and grew into them. It was in the year 190 AC that the Stranger came collecting both Benjicott Blackwood and the younger Lothston. There was no surprise of Benjicott's death, the man had been growing frail in his years and Quentyn in his recollection of that year would find it some small token of gladness that his father did not have to live to hear the news of Calera's son's death. Now, Lord of Raventree, the Lord took up the rule, and with the aid of his newly knighted son, Bennifer, he implemented a few changes but kept a stubborn hatred for the Brackens for thrusting his sister out of favor. Marianne urged her Lord husband to extend the offer to take Alysanne, Danelle, and Elayne as wards in Raventree. Noting that they had no womanly figure in their life unless one could count the recently returned Jeyne. Again, this offer was refused and with far harsher words. Manfryd needed no aid to raise his daughters and he had no wish for help from the Lord of Raventree. He had remarried and the woman could easily enough mother three girls in the ways of the world.

"The commoner mothering noble girls raised to be ladies. They will allow pigs in the great halls of kings rather than slaughter them." Had been Marianne's comment and Quentyn could hardly disagree. Yet he received a far more interesting letter from Jeyne, the woman urged him to send letters to the girls and keep them in contact with their mother's kin. Speaking of worry that the girls, the two, Alysanne and Danelle, at least with little Elayne following like a duckling, had joined arm in arm against 'The Harlot'. There would be no motherly aside from her, and that Manfryd was a man who would hold out hope for a son but in reality it was unlikely. He spoke too loudly and if he were to ever go silent there would be true trouble or he would be dead. She remarked that the latter was more likely as his health seemed to be failing since Benjicot's death. Using his wife as a measure for the situation, Quentyn kept to the suggestion of Jeyne as Marianne saw it as acceptable.

It was a year later when his wife died, clutching her heart and Quentyn shut himself away from his family. It took Melissa ordering Bennifer to break the door down along with a scandalized Robert for Quentyn to come out and more badgering from his sister and Roger for the Lord of Raventree to resume his life. Though he found it bitter and lacked the vitality without Marianne. The light returned to Raventree when Bennifer married Olyria Frey. The woman was ruthless with how a hall ought to look and succeeded where Melissa failed in knocking the webs from the rafters in Raventree.

Bennifer Blackwood

Bennifer Blackwood

Age: 29 (173 AC)

Appearance: Standing at six feet, the man is a literal giant with the muscles to match. His blonde hair is combed back often if not tied in a tail. Clean-shaven with strong features. He is covered in various scars from tournaments past, battles, and rough-housing in taverns. Dressing in mail and leather rather than court finery as often as he can get away with it.

Description & biography: Born the first son of four, Bennifer was always the one to charge into things. He did get better over the years, but in general, the man leaves the thinking to his younger brother Robert, claiming that numbers make his head hurt. Action is the better course to take. A large fellow, he is careful of his strength and often worried about hurting others as a large child would. So while he is bloody-minded and eager for a fight, Bennifer's anger is slow to rise and there is often a joke around the four that their mother must have laid with a Northman rather than their father for Bennifer's size and a hint of the berserk juggernaut within him. Those wise ones do not do more than a joke, however.

Training under his fathers as a squire, his mother arranged his marriage to Olyria Frey and the deal was sealed when his father became Lord of Raventree. Good-natured Bennifer saw little problems with the choice, though it hardly stopped him from visiting the taverns and brothels. Already a bastard, he often argued with his mother over that fact especially when he took the sigil of House Blackwood for his shield upon Quentyn granting him a knighthood. When Marianne died, she found himself regretting the harsh words, and those once frequent visits tampered off and he drank more. It took his mild-mannered Aunt ordering a keg of ale dumped upon him in his bed and a scolding tongue lashing that led him to help her attempt to break down his father's door. In those four years with only Lord and son in residence when Melissa returned to the court in King's Landing that turned Raventree into an air of ale and lack of care for beautiful things. Servants slacked in their cleaning, though repairs were kept up and the food turned out well-made but simple.

Upon the marriage to Olyria though the stout woman became a storm upon the 'squalor' she would be required to live in. The roars of temper between the two shook Raventree to its foundations for a solid year while cobwebs were stripped from the rafters and silk tapestries were hung in the halls. While not a marriage that started in love, they grew into it as Olyria taught her husband how to be a husband and not a meat-eating barbarian whose wife was an axe. After five years of marriage, they produced an heir in Benjicot Blackwood. The young mother and babe looked frail to the new father, it took Melissa's return and promise to stay with the two for Quentyn to drag his son to the tournament. It took one teasing jest from a soldier about their heir's state for the man to find himself filling and digging latrines all night for a week for the men to steer away from the topic.

Robert Blackwood

Robert "The Young Steward" Blackwood

Age: 25 (177 AC)

Appearance: With his dark hair cropped short and a small beard, Robert is a handsome man. Though his hands hold callouses from swords, the man can more often be found with ink stains on his slim fingers. A willowy man, he lacks the muscles of his brother and often is seen walking the halls of Raventree in long robes with a book or transcript of some records of the castle and the trade, but always with a sword by his side and a frown on his face.

Description & biography: The Young Steward, as the common folk called him, was forever a bookish child and Quentyn considered sending him to become a maester at the citadel. Marianne encouraged this and Robert was sent to the Citadel to study and to see if he would become a Maester in time. There was no lack of sons in the family and Marianne was young enough to bear many more children, which she insisted to do. So shortly after his youngest brother, Roger was born, Robert left to study in the Citadel and excelled at it. In all truth, he was expected to become a Maester, and save for the hand of fate he would be.

Receiving a raven of his mother's death, Robert rode north and found Raventree in disarray. His father secluded himself in his rooms and Robert found that his brother had taken to drink. Roland was stoic in his mourning as a ward of the Freys from the letters that Robert had gotten. As for Roger? Robert tanned the lad's hide after he found his brother trying to duel peasants and turned into a wild thing. Taking over the training of his brother, he tried to pull the family together but failed until the arrival of his aunt. The small folk were thankful for his administration and granted him the title 'The Young Steward'. For his youth when he took up the task of arranging Raventree's trades and taxes, and his kindness to them. What they did not know is that he had taken a lover of the smallfolk, a pretty young widow known as Rosy. With her, he could not return to forge a chain even if he had wanted to. While the family knows about it, none speak of the two small boys Rosy had in the intervening years. A small bit of respect for Robert, as the lack of marriage, was no choice of his.

Roland Blackwood

Roland Blackwood

Age: 24 (178 AC)

Appearance: Slightly shorter than his brother, Roland still cuts an impressive figure with his blonde hair and dark eyes. Often wearing the colors of his house and livery. A knight in truth, he lawfully follows the directive of his liege lord and practices his skill with sword and lance and keeps that physic. A man of few words and a cold demeanor, he was mocked by his brothers for not having any fun and his face matches the humorless eyes of brown over a hawk-like nose.

Description & biography: The fourth son, was born in protest of his father's celibacy. Even as a boy, Roland would admit to any wrongdoing the others did, even if it led to him being punished. It came to him being mocked and his older brothers teasing him in good nature, but not getting even a crack of a joke or temper back. The exact opposite of Bennifer, the lad was sent to his grandmother's family to foster. Though none unstood his self righteous and stubborn insistent to do the absolute right and honorable thing. While ideal for a knight, he lacked the troublesome fun that other boys his age often fell into. There he was a lonely boy and turned even lonelier after his mother's death. "His only lover is a sword." That was what many a Frey would say of Roland and in truth, there was little else to be said. His emotions were locked behind a tight wall and only once did they come out when he returned to Raventree. Finding that Robert had taken a lover and never wed the woman despite her having several bastard children. Then he demanded satisfaction from his brother for this besmirch on the woman’s and their own family name. It took Bennifer putting a snarling Roland in the dirt to stop the duel from going through. Though Roland shunned Robert for his disgrace.

Leaving Raventree often, he patrols the borders of their land and deals harshly with lawbreakers. Hanging and cutting off hands are some of the lighter sentences. More often, he sends men to the Wall. Where they could do service for the penance the gods demanded of their lives. When home, the man is often seen sitting near the weirwood tree reading a book or practicing his sword. Devout and pious, he shuns the Seven and keeps strictly to the Old Ways and the oaths he has sworn.

Roger Blackwood

Roger Blackwood

Age: 19 (183 AC)
Appearance: A handsome young man with shockingly blonde hair inherited from his mother. An oddity for a Tully. Roger has sharp features and a strong nose, though it has been broken at least once. Shorter than his brother, he has a thinner frame and is lankier than anything even Robert can account for. Dressing in fine silks with high necks and tunics that fit him closely, he cuts a handsome figure, just a noble should. Rings glitter on his fingers and in his ear, he often wears a sword that is ornately decorated and is quite obvious about his status as the son of a Lord.

Description & biography: The youngest child of Quentyn Blackwood, Roger is still a boy in many ways. Taken as a squire under Quentyn after his older brother, Bennifer, was raised to knighthood, there had been talks about sending Roger out to be a ward of House Tully, but they failed when Marianne died. Only at the age of ten, Roger was furious with the world and turned that anger into striking out those around him and, in particular, those weaker than him. Only a boy, he was found by Robert trying to bully a peasant into dueling him, having already beaten several boys with practice swords and leaving one with a broken arm. Robert took him as a squire and Roger found the life of pushing papers under "The Young Steward" something of an agony. He delighted in the sword and charming women, though he was crude in both and sometimes cruel. Often he was knocked about by Roland in punishment when the young knight found him picking on their young armsmen and the peasant boys.

Roger finally had tested his luck enough and when he was fourteen, he slaughter a pig herd's piglets for amusement. Robert paid off the man and gave Roger over to Bennifer who took the lad out to the fields to fight against bandits. They talked of anger and rage and the status of being noble-born when Roger was raised to be a knight. Bennifer was satisfied that his brother had turned himself around, for the most part. The large man had his own battle with his temper and had hoped to impart his wisdom on the matter to young Roger. But there was still a well-known kernel of hatred and bitter resentment in the boy. In a fight, the newly made knight would go for slow kills and wounds in tournaments. Mocking others even as he strutted his greatness. A cocky, arrogant youth.

Melissa Blackwood

Melissa Blackwood

Age: 46 (156 AC)
Appearance: A beauty with a slender frame that attracted a King in her youth, Melissa has aged like wine. With streaks of white in her once dark hair, her face has lines of age that smile and warm eyes carved into it. Dressing in court fashion, the woman cuts an impressive figure with her looks just as she does with her kind-hearted and generous disposition.

Description & biography: Sister to Quentyn and cousin to Calera, Melissa was a happy child. Her only sadness came from late nights when Calera would cry to Melissa about her mother's leaving, though those were few. The two had been raised together as sisters and the bond held for most of their life. Be it whispering about the glorious future they would have, who they would marry, how many children they would have. So unaware of the world.

So when her father took the girls to the court in Kings Landing, Melissa caught the eye of King Aegon IV. Benjicot was less than pleased when the King paid favor to his daughter, but there was something to be said for allowing the game to play out. Granted the Teats, known as Melissa's Teats, by Aegon IV, he allowed his daughter to play as mistress to Aegon until she was passed over five years later. Melissa found herself enjoying court life and befriending many of the lords and ladies she met, even Queen Naerys and the Dragonknight. When her reign as the King's mistress was usurped by a Bracken, much to Benjicot's dislike, Melissa returned to Raventree with her three children. Mya, Gwenys, and Brynden. Her beautiful children were raised alongside Quentyn's sons and though she often returned to court to call on friends there, Melissa never returned to King's graces.

When Calera returned from her time as wife to Damon Paege, it was Melissa who urged her brother for vengeance upon learning how turbulent the relationship was. Just as it was Melissa who smiled upon finding that King Aegon IV had legitimized his bastard children. Though she had no want for the Iron Throne, and knew well her children did not stand to claim the seat, Melissa found it a bitter bit of irony that the man she had once given in to lust for, something she came to regret, was so great a fool. It was shortly after his death that Melissa returned to the Red Keep to keep a Blackwood presence at Court. She accepted no husband that Quentyn offered her and upon her leaving told her brother. "I loved in lust once and had three beautiful children. You would see me wed for happiness brother, but I have happiness and could not provide you a match for advantage." She returned often to visits at Raventree. Her most notable visit was after Marianne's death. Then it had taken her badgering her nephews and brother into a fury to pick up the pieces of their lives, even if it took dumping a cask of ale over Bennifer's head and in private holding Quentyn as he wept.

Ever the caring woman, it troubled Melissa when she heard the words coming out of Harrenhal. She had been raised with Calera and wept for her death, but now with one of her children dead and another missing. The woman keeps a sharp eye and suspects there is more to death and disappearance than can be accounted for by ghosts. Though her hands are full of caring for Bennifer's wife and their newborn son. The large knight had been absolutely beside himself with worry until his aunt had come to care for mother and child and shoo the 'blundering oaf' off to the tourney.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

Collab with @Ruby

Aelor & Aelora Targaryen | | Elayne Lothston

Wake up before dawn. Dress in leather and mail, try not to need any help but quietly thank the Kingsguard for a hand when needed, making it faster and easier. Eat fruit, a bite of bacon, some dark beer in the working kitchen while the Red Keep bakers mostly run the place. Meet Captain Davik and his two men at the main gate just before the sun rises. Spend most of the early morning walking around Flea Bottom, listening to every word the Gold Cloaks offer about businesses and notable residents and orphans, an alley where a woman was murdered the night before their eventual focus.

The Prince watched as the three Gold Cloaks questioned residents. Someone heard some noise but thought nothing of it—it’s Flea Bottom. Davik knows an old woman who lives in the alley that likes to sit at her windows. The woman provides a vague description. Follow the Gold Cloaks across Flea Bottom, to another alley, breaking up a small gambling game and detaining one of the gamblers. Ichy, he calls himself, with arrogance. Aelor doesn’t blink when Davik puts a fist into Ichy’s ribs. Ichy, Davik would later explain, is someone who offers information to them from time to time. In return, he further explained, they allow Ichy to live.

By evening the Gold Cloaks are tired enough to let Aelor bust down a door, chase down a thief. The errands are small but better than the nothing of before. Over weeks Davik trusts him to do more, and more. By the end of the year, it wasn’t uncommon for the Prince to return to the Red Keep at dawn, collapsing into his bed after a night filled with patrol and long periods of tedium before explosions of chaos.

And, sometimes, it was just odd: like the raving madman who approached them, loudly proclaiming himself King Aegon the Conqueror reborn. Davik allowed the Prince the pleasure of dealing with that. Aelor remarked to the madman that he was no Targaryen and turned to face Davik. So, the madman pissed on his boots. He waited three hours for the sun to rise and a merchant Aelor knew through Maekar to open his shop so Aelor could replace the pissed-on boots.

One morning he came in, and Aelora greeted him. As much as Aelora loved to sleep, she was never awake at any point around dawn. The suspense didn’t last long as she revealed why she was so very awake, and so very busily active, telling him to sleep on the road; they were off to Maekar’s tournament to support their uncle and cousin. Aelor moaned about a bad night, Aelora reminded him that she had reminded him the night before, after telling him about it two days before that.

Aelor slept in the wheelhouse for most of the first day.

The trip took two days, and the night camped he spent wandering the Stormlands woods, because he was used to sleeping while they were about, and being awake while the Red Keep, King’s Landing, and his family mostly slept. His father encouraged it, even if his mother had begun to worry. The next day he didn’t sleep, but mostly rode a horse with Aelora or walked to stay awake. They arrived at Summerhall just before sundown, but after greeting his family, Aelor escaped with Aelora to sleep. She read him to sleep, a history of Essos, volume fifteen by some Magister.

When he awoke it wasn’t early, but it wasn’t as late as his usual awakening. Mid to late morning, he guessed, before dressing lazily in black riding leather trousers and a thin black linen tunic that went just past his waist, unlaced as the Summerhall sun warmed the skin of his chest that it left exposed as he rode about the various tourney campgrounds. When he was noticed he gave polite waves, nods, and simple greetings. Maekar had teased him the day before about being ready for the ‘marketplace’ as the family indulged in chatter about potential matches for the twins, knowing full well how much the twins loathed such dull conversation.

The thought spurred him forward. It was a nervous feeling that he was unused to. He presumed it a matter of facing the unknown, dismissed it thusly, and managed to snap out of his thoughts just long enough to keep the horse from hitting the woman. The girl? “My Lady, beg your pardon.” He said, once. He was sure of that, even if the woman or girl pretended not to hear him, or just didn’t hear him. Perhaps she was lost in her own thoughts, too, so Aelor tried again. Louder.

This time, the girl’s head snapped toward him, seeing him, as he saw her, and offered a polite-sized smile on his otherwise reserved features. Girl, not woman, because she looked younger than Aelora and he, even if not by over much. Aelor’s purple eyes swept left and right, noticing the number of heads turning when he looked.

Most heads just stared. He was a Prince, the son of the Hand of the King, and heir to the throne. And unlike some members of his family, Aelor and his sister looked like Valyrian Dragon Lords of old, which meant people stared. The heads that quickly turned away? Men. Not highborn, either, from the quick glance he got of them. In the back of his mind, Aelor heard only Davik, ” Men expose their guilt with every word and act, you just have to do this long enough to see it when they do it.”

His eyes returned to the girl, the noble Lady, as he suspected the guilt behind the faces that turned away from his glance. She wasn’t ugly. Her gown looked well-fitted to her. “May I offer you a ride home?”

The woman looked startled that she had nearly run into a horse, so worried had she been at the fact she could not remember how to retrace her steps it had taken a second questioning to make her blue eyes flicker to the rider. Her head tilted as she studied the man as though judging him for a portrait, her red-blonde hair falling in curls over a shoulder. Elayne Lothston was unaware of the men who had been approaching her and her worry was dispelled as she wondered how exactly she could capture the man before her with the stroke of a brush or needle. “My apologies, your Highness.” Her voice was breathless as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment at being woolgathering when the Prince had asked a question. For Prince, he was, a Targaryen, though which one was not exactly known to her.

Twisting about, she looked at the different banners and stalls all were very delightful. Something she had never seen before and if Danelle and her father laid their hands upon her after this, would be something she would undoubtedly never see again unless through a ring of thick men-at-arm with stout clubs. Tugging at a lock of her hair in agitation and worry for that fact, she gave the Prince a beaming smile that faltered slightly. “It is very wonderful, is it not? Though I admit, I am a bit confused as to where I am exactly. Danelle will see me never set foot out of Harrenhal again.” She trailed off as that thought came to her and worry, and fear flashed down her spine. Danelle would never let her out of the tent without her, let alone the searing tone she would have to bear, and only that if she was lucky enough to keep Septa Bessa close.

“Elayne Lothston, Highness. My apologies, I am trying to place myself.” She felt as though she must seem a fool, trying to preserve all she saw and her wonder of it while being utterly lost and now making a fool of herself in front of a Prince. Never mind that her father would be having that twitch in his hand, as he did when the Targaryens were mentioned. Perhaps having run into him would spare her some of Danelle’s temper? Dipping a curtsy, she tugged at the lock of hair again and her head swiveled to scan the banners. “Father will never let me leave the castle again. Lost at a tournament. Danelle will see me fed to hounds.” Elayne spoke more to herself, seeming caught up with how best to deal with the situation at hand and the reactions she would get for it, than the actual situation at hand. Such a fool was she, Elayne tugged her hair again.

His mouth barely hinting at the smile of amusement the girl’s ranting produced within his spirit, Aelor leaned in the saddle and offered her an open hand at the end of his long, strong, arm, “None of that. Come now, I’ll see you safe.”

She took his hand before she thought. It wasn’t really in Elayne to question someone so much higher. Though she blinked in shock and stammered slightly. “No, I would hate to be a bother. Surely you have things to attend to? The tents- They must be right around the corner.” Her words were almost running over each other and but she did have one reason as to why this was a very bad idea. “I’m wearing a gown.”

His face twisted at the issue at hand. A bloody gown, he could have sighed. It took some lifting with his legs in the stirrups, and the left hand to hold the bottom hem of the damnable gown down, but in a motion that strained most of the muscles of his body he brought her closer with their hands locked, then let go, reached out to hook her waist, and carefully lift her, setting her across his lap in the saddle, the right hand taking the reins back up, the left casually placed on the outside of the thigh furthest from him. The grey Rounsey only silently gave a shake of its head, Aelora’s nameless horse taking them at a careful pace back to Summerhall, picking its way through make-shift boulevards of tent town as they headed towards palace gates.

“Forgive me,” he said loud enough only to be heard by her as they went, “my name is Prince Aelor. What House is it you are from, Lady…?”

If Balerion the Black Dread could have come out of the sky and eaten her in that instant, Elayne would have been most thankful. As it was, she gave an indignant squeak as she found herself lifted and set across the lap of the Prince, her face most likely a match for any scarlet banner. It was indecent and if her father saw, he would be drawing steel. Nothing was made better as her planned apologies were cut off by an introduction.

She resolutely wished to throw herself from the horse and into the jaws of a kraken.

Yet a question had been answered and it was rude to not reply. “House Lothston. Elayne of House Lothston of Harrenhal.” She whispered in something more of a strangled squeak. The slow plod of the horse torture within itself. “Father will see me never leaving my rooms again.” She whispered in horror, “Highness, please. It’s quite alright. I can find my own way back.” Surely her voice wasn’t so high-pitched? She was a lady, a lady’s voice did not squeak. Then again, a proper lady would not be sitting so in the lap of the son of the Heir to the Iron Throne! “Danelle is going to flay me alive.” She whispered in despair, and Danelle would for Elayne slipping away, let alone causing this mess! Then again, it would be far easier to live with Danelle than feeling this amount of heat in her cheeks. Pushing slightly, she attempted to slide from the horse, “I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I do not mean to cause you such trouble.” She whispered, mortified by the situation.

Irritation seemed to flash by his face; purple Valyrian eyes narrowed as his lips pressed, head tilting as he watched move to slide. He simply re-acquainted the hold around her and slid her up and right again, balanced once more. Though he didn’t say it, the side glance he gave was a mild, ‘quit that.’ Other than Elayne, the ride was easy; not many horses were allowed down these paths. Horses and carts were kept to exterior paths, outlying the camps, not the internal ones. It would turn them into muddy pits.

Did Prince Aelor seem to care about that? Not particularly. Did anyone seem determined to shout him out and stop him? Not really. People moved, the Aelora’s horse moving at a casual pace that people didn’t have much trouble getting out of their way. And being they were the only ones on a horse…people got out of their way.

“Lady Elayne, well met,” he began, cheerfully, before his tone grew stern and absolute in its conviction of his following words: “You mistake the situation, Elayne. You required a ride, I happily gave one. You seem to have a unique charm, and I’ve not met your Lord Father, though I’ve heard of your sister.”

He kept it singular, though he certainly could have used the plural.

“What could be the matter? What front to honor? Do you think a man insane enough to suggest anything other than the virtuous occurred here today exists in all the realm? Do you know the price for making such wild accusations against a Prince?... I don’t either, but I can’t imagine it’s any good for the accuser.”

No good for the accuser certainly, Elayne was one to agree. Though tongues would wag and people would think as they would, speaking behind hands and closed doors. She was one to read every so often when she was trapped in the boyer of the castle and she had seen the result of talk. Even if that talk could not be proven. Jeyne, who taught her some arts that Septa Bessa would have squealed at, was proof of such, though the young lady said nothing in reply and tried in vain to think of anything other than honor and virtue and the fact the man next to her was incredibly handsome. Talking at least would have proved a distraction but she had learned well when to be silent, and the last thing she wanted was to offend a man who offered to help her. Let alone offending the son of the heir!

Once they crossed the gates of Summerhall, palace guards helped the Lady down, and the Prince quickly dismounted to follow. “You seem overcome, perhaps it’s the heat of the day or the dizzying nature of the large crowds in every direction? You must stay and rest, the understewards will find you a cool place to rest.” As he said it, he looked past her, motioning to one of the officious-looking men wearing Targaryen colors on their tunic, buzzing about the outer courtyard of Summerhall, before motioning to her. He seemed to understand and headed in their direction. “We will invite your Lord Father and sister to dinner.”

“Prince Aelor, how may I assist?” He said it with a bow, eyeing the Prince and the Lady like he dreaded what came next.

Aelor didn’t seem to notice, “Lady Elayne will require a room to rest in.”

Elayne began to protest, but it was the Understeward who cut in, “Prince, there are no rooms. The palace is past full, there are no appropriate accommodations for the Lady.”

“Alright,” he said, looking down and thinking, “She can have mine.”

Elayne’s terror was plain enough for those that knew what it looked like, and what sparked it in the first place. The voice that swooped in was sweetly pitched with a rich, warm, layer always there in whispers and more quietly spoken words, but now came across like a fanfare of trumpets announcing an arrival: “Place the Lady Elayne in my room, Qarltin, thank you.”

A gown of jet black samite with a tight-laced bodice with shining red lace came swooping into view as the source of the voice, baring shoulders and the tops of the breasts under a short span of similarly glittering red lace, sleeves and skirts settling from the sway of the young woman’s fast, flowing, movement to arrive within the group that had just arrived. A young woman of a beauty that seemed like it belonged to another time, in an age of heroes, before the Doom, the hair and eyes of a Dragon Lord, even if it was a term she rarely used. Purple Valyrian eyes set squarely on Elayne, awaiting introduction.
An arrival that seemed to please Prince Aelor just fine, motioning to the new arrival, then Elayne, “...better idea. Elayne, this is Princess Aelora, my twin sister.”

Aelora’s nature was warm, even disarming. It was as if Aelor had helped people before, and Aelora knew well enough to try to make the person he brought feel more at ease. In the case of Lady Elayne, that was easy: Aelora could relate to Elayne far better than Aelor could. If Elayne didn’t pass out soon from shock, Aelora would be impressed, giving a gentle nod and a happy little smile. “Lady Elayne of House Lothston, very nice to meet you.”
“We’re inviting her family to dinner. Think we can do the duck?”
Aelora chuckled, “With the cherry?”

“Exactly.”

She smiled large enough to contain the laughter she almost gave, instead, “We brought Rem and his wife with us. I spent an hour finding their kitchen space. I’m sure I could find duck…just your father and sister? So five total?”

In a snap, the twins had started planning dinner before even looking at Elayne, the kind of thing the twins were known to do, before Aelora stopped, looked at Elayne, and thought to ask just who, and more importantly how many, were being invited.

Blue eyes stared at the twins, her jaw held firmly close against the need to gap at how she had found her life jerked up into a saddled at sat before dragons. Hesitating, the woman, she was a woman, dipped a belated and rather elegant curtsy to Aelora. Her features were as open as any book as they settled in adoring thankfulness. "I-" Her voice shook slightly and she swallowed. She was not Danelle to demand answers, nor was she the stubborn, smiling girl she could remember of Alysanne. "I think I had best take you up on your offer, Your Highness?" How had that come out as a question? She desperately needed to sit down and think. Some place quiet, someplace where could awaken in her tent and find it all some strange dream and have Septa Bessa standing over her tutting.

Of course, her eyes took that skeptical look of judgment. Wide and innocent but weighing. They were both beautiful, the shape of their faces, their coloring, she longed for paint or needle or weft. Blinking, she pushed those thoughts away. "My apologies, I get lost in thought. Five. Lord of Harrenhal Manfryd of House Lothston, my father, and, my sister, Danelle of House Lothston." She agreed to the earlier question. Downright lost, and then snatched off a tournament street so it seemed! Her fingers pulled at a curl of hair in distress as she felt horribly out of her depth, and it was so much more than that.

Her father hated Targaryens, for their slight against giving his father a spoiled wife, then dismissing him from court with his father when mother and daughter have shamed the family. He would come to dinner, with the sword and demand to have her back and her honor restored. Never mind that she had lost none. In that Prince, Aelor was mistaken. Angry men would talk and use any chance to stroke their fury. She had seen her father do it often enough. Tugging the lock of hair again, Elayne nodded meekly. She could see the avalanche or horror that was coming and could only hope that Danelle would range their father in.

"It would be an honor to join Your Highnesses, though I must warn you, for the kindness, you have shown me, my father will take this badly." She whispered, "I would not like to bring you trouble, nor him." Danelle would contain herself, until later. Then she would demand answers and Elayne would have none. She tugged her curl again, looking distinctly worried. What on earth had the Prince been thinking? A unique charm? Her?

Perhaps there was Targaryen madness in him? She hoped not, he was a kind man so far and good. If perhaps stubborn but most men were. A slight flush crept unto her cheeks and she added a hasty, 'Your Highness'.

At the courtesy added with haste, Aelor just smiled and motioned for her to follow. The distance from that courtyard to her chamber wasn’t short. The halls of the palace were packed with servants, pages, squires, lords, and ladies. Aelor could almost hear her uncle Maekar grumbling about the number of noble children about. As soon as they stepped into the palace and turned into a long corridor they were having to press themselves nearer the walls as a small army of servants carried enough wine to flood a bedchamber to the ceiling.

It took so long that Aelor struck up a conversation with a Lady Laylah of House Erenford, stuck against the wall like everyone else, on the other side of a small table between Aelora and the elder Lady of Erenford, beginning the chat with a curious, “How many years has it been, Lady Laylah?” Before the white-haired and age-wrinkled woman responded with a pained laugh that it had been at least two since Aelor and Aelora had toured the Riverlands, and met so many, the elder Lady Laylah included. Aelora apologized for the inconvenience and promised to send her own Maester as purple eyes noticed Laylah’s hands gripping her left hip under her gown.

When the train of servants was gone in a minute more, Aelora helped the woman because every single eye in the corridor was on the Targaryen Princess, and they would move for her, and so long as she helped the elder Lady get started down the corridor they moved for Lady Laylah too.

Then there was a blockage in the eastern stair. There were no servants to blame here, they weren’t allowed on the eastern stair, just some lingering that had turned into some words exchanged which had turned into less appropriate words. Aelora laughed loudly, tilting her head towards Elayne, and saying loud enough to be heard, “It’s true. I really do pity any man who causes a scene in the Prince of Summerhall’s home. The things I’ve seen that man do…” Her head shook, sadly, in a jest so dry it would be impossible to tell where humor began or ended, and where truth began or ended.

The stairs started moving, a group of young Lords moving aside and insisting the two Ladies go ahead. They were polite enough with their words, but their eyes Aelora could feel until they turned the corner to go up the final bit of stairs. Two older men in finery were whispering near the stairs, pausing for the two young Ladies to pass. Targaryen men-at-arms stood sentinel almost everywhere they looked, including outside her door.

“This is Lady Elayne,” Aelora explained to Timm and Ed, left of the door and right of the door, before opening the door and inviting Elayne in with the formality of a Princess raised in royal residences all her life. The space was mostly bed with the outer wall lined with windows draped in delicate white that pooled on the floor just barely and a balcony beyond, lined with small trees and flower bushes grown in ornate clay pots, while the interior was a large bed and a round table room enough for six, at most, and a table off to the side for basin and her stock of candles. Just inside the door and to the left was a long, narrow, table hugging the wall that was covered in books, at least a dozen, as well as a seeing glass, and an empty space where books had been shoved aside that was covered with various parchments, with drawings in thick black lines of structures not familiar to any Westerosi, and letters half written, at least three, in three different languages; High Valyrian, Braavosi, and Volantene.

The bed was a mix of furs and linens and finer fabrics beneath, where the bed met the wall was a mass of pillows in a rainbow of colors and varying fabrics that reached no less than three feet from the bed itself. She motioned to the two bottles at the table’s center; with four empty cups standing adjacent. The blue bottle, she explained, was a rare sweetwine she recommended from Dorne while the red was a sweet cider. There were apples, oranges, and grapes littered around the bottles and cups, to which Aelora simply told Elayne to help herself should she want.

The look in Elayne’s eyes reminded Aelora that she hadn’t said anything to Elayne the entire way there. Her expression remained serene, her tone as calm and happy as the courtyard before, her lips curving to a rueful tiny smile. “I understand, Lady Elayne. Truly. It is a tale I’ve witnessed many times before. You may breathe. This looks like your first time in such a setting, with the people, and the politics, and the never-ending never-ending? I promise this is not my first day as a Targaryen Princess. You may believe that and relax. At least until we dine. I’ll send one of my ladies to go with our messenger to your family as they deliver the invitation to pick out a gown for tonight among your things. Your sister’s sense of style is infamous and insults the Gods, so I must send my own trusted agent.”

There was amusement twinkling in those lavender eyes as she reminded herself she had no time for such amusements. “Yes, well, if you need another thing ask one of the fine men outside. The cuter of the two is the nicer of the two, as well, or at least the one less nervous about speaking to us. They’ll go with you if you need anything or wish to go anywhere…yes,” she said, looking this way, that way, back again to this way, before issuing a little sigh and nodding to, apparently, herself, “Rest well, Lady Elayne.”

The whirlwind of Targaryen siblings swept her from her feet again and Elayne found herself led down halls and along stairs packed with an array of people she had never seen before. Of course, the cousins visited from time to time on their journeys about the realm, but Harrenhal's halls often echoed and rarely were so full. Still, Elayne followed and watched, helping Aelore as she could with the elderly Lady Laylah, giving disapproving frowns that were more curious than anything to the men who caused problems, and she watched.

The princess was skilled and practiced at handling these situations. A skill Elayne wished she could boast herself. Giving a small sigh as they're achieving the elaborate rooms, she could hardly believe these were borrowed and not her rooms in truth. Much had been brought along the road and it was befitting a princess. But then the woman spoke her bit and Elayne's stomach knotted. "Danelle has a well-thought-out sense of style." Which did not always suit Elayne's own tastes, but her first reaction was to defend her sister without thought or reason. Feeling heat flood her cheeks, she looked away. Her hands smoothed over her silk gown as she recalled that Danelle had chosen it. Did it look so horrible?

Seeing as Aelora planned to leave her, Elayne's thoughts broke free. The one question that she could hardly keep in. "Your Highness? I do not mean to sound ungrateful for this honor but I must ask, why?" Her soft voice was tense with worry and confusion. The hurt about her own gown which she thought looked rather nice plain in her delicate voice. "I worry this shall cause problems for you and I would not wish that. Your brother says no one would speak of a Prince's honor, and forgive me for doing so, but my Father's sister is Jeyne Lothston. I well know people's whispering, even about kings, can disparage honor. Surely you must see that?" She knew that her cheeks must be flaming and her gaze drifted to the floor before snapping back to Aelora. Firmly taking this point to try and protect the honor of the man who had helped her. Prince or no, it was the right thing to do.

Aelora just smiled. "Is a grown Lady gaining a few new friends from an odd family really so dishonorable, Lady Elayne?"

There was a meekly suffering look as Aelora dodged her question! Yet she could not call the Princess out without being rude. Giving a defeated sigh, no one would reveal things to her ever it seemed, she dropped a curtsy to the woman. "No, Your Highness. I suspect not." Why did she think the sister would be any different from her brother? "I believe I shall rest as you so wisely suggested. I feel I have need." She felt as though she had been picked up and tossed into a whirlwind and found her feet only to land firmly on her bottom again. If her voice was a bit dry, who was to notice? "Please, if I may be of service in any way, Your Highness, I would be glad to be of assistance." She gave Aelora a hopeful look. Elayne would not see their kindness and care go without return.

She hoped Targaryen madness did not come in pairs with twins, but it seemed so. Surely there could be no other answer to this madness and they had offered no other reason!

“You can help me set up dinner when it’s closer to time. We’ll have to chase down plates, cups…everything not nailed down or reserved for my uncle seems to be fair game as a dozen meals get served in these walls, alone, never mind the dozens more outside these walls…” Aelora lingered at the door a moment, the corner of her eye-catching the table near the door, and the letters. Her lips drew grim as she sighed lightly and shuffled papers into appropriate books, where she kept them.
“My brother has an eye for people in need, Elayne. He’s…forgetful, at times cold, at times unthoughtful, and so much more…but he’s always had a good heart. If you’re worried about the why I wouldn’t. Because he wants to, and I’ve known him and his choices long enough to be intrigued, too. So enjoy being intriguing, Lady Elayne.” Words punctuated with a small chuckle as she looked back to Elayne, bidding her rest easy.

The woman flushed and gave a weak protest that Prince Aelor was certainly not unthoughtful, or forgetful and certainly not cold! Stammering over the words, she fell silent with a shake of her head in disagreement. Firm disagreement, and accepted the bid that she rest and a promise of her aid for the hunt in such elusive things. Though she meekly added she would fair better with a guide.

TLDR

Elayne gets found lost by Aelor and taken to Summerhall. Aelora rescues Elayne from assumptions about her honor and the twins decided to invite the Lothstons to dinner. Aelora takes Elayne to her personal rooms to rest. Elayne is horrified, thankful and consistently worried about being trouble for the two. Also, Elayne developes her first crush.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Lothston

Shield in the Darkness

The servants were scattered and their ceaseless clucking over their appointed tasks. There were days when Danelle felt like she was a farm wife with hens and herding cats, though there would be no worse fate than that if her father found her unfit to find a husband to suit his needs. They did a delicate dance about each other with Elayne in the middle. The woman ran a hand over her dress of dark green silk and light blue, attractive colors that suited her well she thought. Of course, she would rather be in armor and snapping men down to their knees. “Oh, isn’t it lovely! All the dashing knights and the fashion!” What little peace was shattered as her reason for galavanting about sighed dreamily at a rather large man in armor passed. The armor was well made and the man a knight Danelle had heard of before, but not one suitable to take Elayne for wife and the Lothston’s name.

“Sister.” Oh, how she had to keep her tone even and away from that sharp edge that was so natural. Light and lady-like. Several of their guards shifted about them and the women watched as a group of Northmen rode by. Stark men if she was any guess. “We will see these knights thump each other with sticks and try to bash their brains out while they drown in drink and women. We are to stand out among the women so that we might be approached.”

We, being Elayne as both women were aware. The younger sister, adjusted the lilac gown that hung on her, a slightly dated gown but no less beautiful. Danelle approved. It had been one of Jeyne’s that the woman had urged Elayne to take. Suitable for the end of summer and Elayne’s coloring, it accented all the parts a man would look at while being perfectly modest. An alteration that had been discussed lengthily before Elayne had set to altering it. Snapping a fan open, Danelle crossed an arm under her chest and eyed a lad wandering the crowd. A Northman with a feckless charm. A rogue, though his clothing spoke of someone highborn.

“Danelle?” The small voice of Elayne trailed off as she studied the unwary Ashe Stark. A handsome fellow to the younger sister, though hardly comparable to some of the knights in their impressive armor that spoke of victory in the lists. “Oh, he is impressive.” Her light voice did not reveal her true feelings of ambivalence. She was to charm and simper over any man who seem to meet approval in Danelle’s or their Father’s eyes. She privately hoped for a young man from the Reach, a place with more even weather, there was little to do in the North except wade through snow and wish for the winter to end according to her books. No, all the great love stories came from the South. Skittering about a puddle in the ground, Elayne swallowed as she saw Danelle snag the arm of a servant carrying a jug of wine. There was little worse than Danelle drunk, and she hoped the woman was not annoyed enough for that.

Danelle, for her part, had seized the arm of the servant and with a skeptical look gave a sharp bark of command. “You there, where can I find the camp of House Bracken?” Ignoring the questionable look that Elayne sent her, their mother had been a Blackwood after all. The man looked startled at being accosted by a Lady and stammered his reply even as Danelle leveled a far more chilling smile at the man. “What about the Blackwoods?”

“Blackwood? Aye. They have arrived and set their tents over on the western side, Mi’Lady, but the Brackens have not yet-” Anything else was cut off as Danelle turned away, abruptly dismissing the man who glowered at her back, the information she needed was there and that was enough for the woman. Elayne winced at the servant’s black mood and could only emphasize. Danelle was no easy woman to get along with and especially so as a servant. Sliding a coin onto the man’s platter and hoping her sister did not notice, the younger sister moved to catch up with Danelle’s stride.

Whatever plan she had going on, Elayne felt a worry stir in her. Danelle had been whispering the private corners of Harrenhal with Jeyne, just as Manfryd had been staring at maps and writing letters. Plans were being made about her, plans that keyed on her and if she leaned one way or another, the devastation would crash down on House Lothston. Elayne tucked her hands into her gown to hide the trembling. A bright smile fixed on her face as she focused her attention on the tents, the flags that snapped in the breeze, and the gallant knights. Things that could be smiled at, an enjoyment that was rare in Harrenhal. Hopefully, she would leave promised to a man and be far from the drama of her father and sister.

Spying the black ravens bordering the white tree, the flag of House Bracken, Danelle smiled coldly. Quentyn Blackwood, her cousin through her mother’s side was the current lord of Raventree Hall. A proficient man in jousting, she could see the smaller tents of his four sons. They would hardly miss an opportunity to grind Bracken noses into the dirt of the tourney ground. “My Lady Danelle!” The booming voice of Bennifer Blackwood, the second of the sons, crashed through the din of the tourney. “And this must be Elayne, well met little cousin.”

“Ser Bennifer.” Danelle bowed her head slightly as her red hair cascaded over her shoulder. “Is Lord Quentyn inside his tent?” Their mother had kept close ties to her House and Bennicott had been urged to do the same as there had been plans to send him out to squire under Quentyn, sadly that had not come to pass. Danelle couldn’t quite bring herself to mourn even now for her brother. “Your letter was most illuminating.” If it was not for her cordial relationship with the Lord of Raventree, Danelle would have urged Elayne to marry one of his sons. He had enough between the four for at least one to produce an heir and spare for the continuation of the House.

Elayne gave a small smile at her cousin and dipped a slight curtsy. “So formal!” The jovial knight bellowed a laugh that nearly caused the woman to stumble. “Aye, he is and plans to joust with the rest of us Blackwood menfolk! We will put those Brackens in the dirt and hopefully a few of their necks get broken!” Elayne looked horrified at the notion, her eyes flicking between Danelle’s grim smile and Bennifer’s.

“A glad outcome.” Danelle agreed, her stride carrying her by Bennifer and towards the largest of the tents. Giving a nod to another of the sons, she let a servant announce her before entering into a lush and well-kept interior of Quentyn’s tent. “Lord Quentyn.” She greeted and gestured for Elayne to remain outside. “Stay near.” Though it was hard to tell if the order was for her sister or the guards. There was little that could happen to Elayne within the Blackwood’s encampment. Turning her attention back to the Lord who sat on a camp stool, a sword being sharpened in his hands. A man in his forties, Lord Quentyn was a handsome fellow and a lord of note within the Riverlands as well as a relation to the Spymaster of the King. Though Danelle could not decide if he was one of Bloodraven’s eyes or not, there were always a hundred layers in the games that the court played.

“Little Danelle, not so little,” He gestured to a canvas seat near a table with a jug of Arbor red. “My sympathies for the death of young Lucas.”

“A death long past,” Danelle commented, her tone no longer light as it had been outside where potential suitors might see. “My aunt Jeyne sends her regards, and Elayne is not fit for such conversations of necessity.”

“A young woman cannot be kept from the world.”

She heard the reproach in that tone and shrugged, many of her letters had been to Raventree. “A child still in the games played. She has no skill in the world besides those befitting a simple woman.” Pouring the Arbor wine into two goblets, she picked up one as Lord Blackwood took the other. “My father remains in good health and has poor hearing. He speaks loudly.”

“Too loudly. His discontent can be heard in Dorne and is well noted. Though Harrenhal has always been questionable in the reputation of its Lords.” Taking the wine the man drank deep, with a grin. “Jeyne would be welcomed at Raventree.”

Danelle reclined back in the canvas seat and swirled the wine, staring into the red depths. “My aunt has been most useful in Harrenhal, leaving would be granting my Lord Father a victory.” She commented with a growl. “He does not intend to joust. I tried to convince him, alas. A bit of enjoyment for his old bones, but he is too worried about an accident.”

“An accident.” There was an agreement of annoyance from Quentyn. “It would be most fortunate to see the man quieted from his grumblings. He strays towards fire and brambles.”

“Brackens.” Danelle spat with annoyance, cutting to the quick with words. “Mother’s ghost would wail in Harrenhal. It would be best if a duel happened. He is not so skilled with the sword anymore.”

“You speak too openly, my lady.” The Lord warned, only for Danelle to shake her head sharply.

“I speak truthfully, Lord Quentyn.” She growled and shifted in her seat. “I will not have the Lothstons lose Harrenhal for his foolish idea of pride and vengeance against a dead man.” Danelle’s voice lowered as she growled to herself. “I have Elayne secured but a proper promising marriage being planned can pull his fangs.”

Lord Quentyn sat back and rubbed his beard as he studied the fearsome woman before. Jeyne had kept ties to the Blackwood and had passed them to Danelle and Alysanne when she had returned to Harrenhal. Letters and the odd visit when traveling kept the ties of blood alive. It was a political alliance, but one that was intended to curb Manfryd’s growling. Lord Blackwood hardly thought his cousin’s husband would do anything, but there had been whispers and rumors being spread. A nuisance more than anything else. Harrenhal had kept him in wealth and with men, though his lack of heir had been a sore spot when he looked towards Quentyn and his four sons. “As well as that would be, you speak of his death too openly, Danelle. Curb your tongue against a thousand eyes and one. Harrenhal is an unfortunate seat.”

A warning and Danelle scowled at the disapproving Riverlord. “I have had one brother dead for his foolishness, a sister who ran off into the world to die, and a second brother who was born by a lowborn whore. Most likely not even brother to me.” She pointed out with a skeptical tone. “Harrenhal has long been cursed by unfortunate death.”

“I would rather not include you, Lady Danelle. Had your father allowed it, I would have taken you as a ward but Benjicott’s death and Alysanne's disappearance put an end to that. He would not risk another child disappearing or dead.” Danelle gave the lord a cold look, this was news to her but she had known Lord Blackwood to be fond of his Harrenhal relations, if not Manfryd himself specifically. Hemming and hawing like a wild mare at the reins would get nowhere if Quentyn had made his mind up. She was to take the safe route he had chosen and it would be like moving the weirwood tree itself to convince him otherwise.

“Your affection touches me, Lord Blackwood.” She drawled, in truth, it was only blood ties that made it easy to consort with the man. Had Jeyne not recommended cooperation with her mother’s kin, Danelle would have gone her own way. A way of money, knives, poison, and blood. This was, there would be others to speak for her right to Harrenhal if it was brought into question, a point which Danelle knew she would need. The Riverlords all fought for their ideas and they were often greedy for the riches each other had. House squabbles were as dangerous as the games the greater houses played. “But let us get to business.”

Outside the tent, Elayne winced as Bennifer went on entertaining her. He spoke of duels and fights against brigands. Often a problem and, according to him, not enough of them plague Stone Henge. She loved to hear tales of distant lands and delighted in them, but when those tales were about how you hacked a man’s hand off or an ear? She cringed and kept a delicate smile on her face, praying Danelle would not be long. She was not sure she could remain thus! Taking to walking had only made Bennifer point out the men who had fought with him and who had done what deed. Elayne was silently thankful she would not be asked to marry the second son of Quentyn Blackwood and reminded herself to make an offering to the mother for that relation. Directing the man that she was feeling quite faint, Elayne ducked behind a tent and found herself in the frenzy of the tournament.

Delighted she walked along the path, her guards forgotten behind her as she considered the different houses that had come for the celebration. Surely it must be as grand as the Golden Wedding had been described by the maester. All it was missing was being in King's Landing, which was no loss in Elayne's eyes, and the swooping dragons of the past. Dodging a man pulling a reluctant horse down the makeshift street between tents, the young woman hesitated as she realized with a start she was alone. No guards surrounded her, and in her loss at the colors and frenzy of wondering at food, flags, knights, and lords she had become quite a bit lost. Pulling at a lock of her hair, she frowned and stared about her. Looking for the flag of either Lothston or Blackwood. Surely she had not wandered so far, yet there was no sign of either and no sound of Bennifer's bray over the din. A flush rose in her cheeks and she thought of Danelle's order for her to remain close and outside the tent. Her elder sister would be in a fury over this, though if she could find her way back there would be no one the wiser. She had simply been around the corner was all! Swallowing hard, Elayne felt a lump in her stomach as she wandered the stalls and tents, Danelle would have her hide for this. She could hear her now, belittling her sense for wandering off on her own when she had never even been out of Harrenhal castle alone before! She was rarely alone even in Harrenhal! Her steps kept to a delicate walk, though her eyes were a bit panicked as she pulled that lock of hair again. Where were the tents!

TLDR;

Danelle goes to see her Blackwood relations and openly speaks eagerly of her father's death and his dissatisfaction with the Targaryens. Elayne is drawn into an unfortunate conversation with the bloody-minded Bennifer Blackwood and gets lost.

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A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Lothston

Danelle Lothston

Danelle sat her dark mare, the creak of the carriage’s wheels echoing through the singing of songbirds that fluttered through the King’s Wood. It was idyllic and the time was better spent riding than letting Elayne prattle about how lovely a day it was. The girl’s head was flying higher than even the Targaryen dragons had only a century ago. She could hear the muffled voices of Septa Bessa and Elayne from the carriage, the former patient and well used to the latter’s frivolous chatter. Glancing with a practiced eye over the train of soldiers that escorted them with her father sitting on his bay at the head dressed in white and yellow with slashes of black that did nothing to compliment his appearance. Elayne, bless the girl, did have a head for fashion and given a chance she would have him out of the buffoonery and into something that would not draw shame to the family. She suspected that particular tunic had been acquired while she was still just a shadow beside Benjicot. Her face tightened with hatred as she remembered her bastard brother.

Heeling the mare, Danelle Lothston sent the horse trotting up the line. Uncaring of the fact it was not what a proper lady would do. A ‘proper lady’ would be in the carriage and have the same dreams as Elayne. Dreams far from what Danelle had in mind. Hers involved Elayne and a husband, but one that would produce heirs for their House. Heirs she could tutor once they were of the age that they would no longer leave messes about and were competent, before then she would see that Elayne had all the wondrous joys of motherhood that Septa Bessa droned on about when teaching them their letters and needlepoint. The mere thought of babes sent Danelle to wanting retch over a privy. She had seen the small folk with their squalling brats. Taking a breath of the clean forest air, she steadied herself and checked that her face was in that cold impassive mask. As heir to Harrenhal, it was her father’s precognitive that she has an heir and spare for their house if he did not produce one himself before the Stranger took him.

"You do not have any choice but to attend. A tournament housed by a son, even the fourth son, of a Targaryen King? If you keep looking for power there are those who will be interested in bargaining there." The woman leaning in the crooked window looked out over the rolling fields of Harrenhal, her red-gold hair streaked with strands of silver and curled about a delicately pale neck. Still a beauty despite the years that gently touched her, Jeyne Lothston lounged against the cold stone in a gown of thick wool. Once she would have worn silk, her husband had always clothed her in it. Danelle could remember her mother sometimes slipping away with her youngest child to talk to the woman. Years later, after her mother's death, she had learned they were talking of herbs and men.

Draped across the chair that was lined with furs and silks and not at all feeling like a lady, Danelle stared at the chess board before her. Pieces scattered about in disarray as she shoved her curling red hair from her face. "The Blackwoods are hardly any help. They are solidly behind Daeron. Father still whispers with the other Riverlords and sulks. The old whisper that the Good King is nothing more than the Dragon Knight's bastard with Queen Naerys." Setting a pawn of black on a map of the Riverlands, Danelle studied the white pawn that hung over the Brackens. She still was unsure of what that particular House believed. The grand niece of a Blackwood Lord she saw little reason to risk sticking her hand into that bramble patch. "Elayne's marriage must be to the advantage."

Jeyne looked away from the fields she would never walk in. Her Lord brother had forbidden her from leaving Harrenhal, since the day she had been shipped back after her husband's death. Trading silks for wool and her subtle arts for those in the darkest of shadows. Of course, there had been some benefits. With three daughters and a commoner wife, the children would learn little of Court or how a woman of station was to be. So she had taught them. Danelle had been an apt pupil, just as much as her elder sister. The Heir to Harrenhal stamped on the thought of Alysanne. The wretched child she had been was little more than a nuisance and her disappearance had been advantageous. Being second in line, Danelle had no doubt her father would have had her promised off to a lord and Alysanne would be with her first child already. Spying her aunt's concerned look, Danelle forced her rage-filled face to the usual mask of blankness again.

A hand still free of time and graceful, though looking worn for having to take the task of a ladies' maid, ran over Danelle's shoulders. "Do not fret. My brother is not in the best of health and his eyesight is poor. Stir the tides correctly, let his anger ride the currents, and win or lose you might find yourself with what you want if you are not foolish."

"If." The word tasted vile on her tongue. "I do not play the game of battering my eyelashes."

"You are a woman, like it or no." Danelle's head jerked back as she felt the sharp nails of Jeyne, a self-proclaimed Targaryen bastard among certain circles, prick the back of her neck. The other’s voice was as cold as ice. "I taught you how to appeal to both men and women. We are women in a world where men get to weigh the gold and decide what is balanced. We play the Great Game."

Her husky voice snarled back in equal threat. "You lost your round, and Grandmother Falena as well." Jeyne glared at her niece and gave her a sweet smile that bared teeth.

"We lost, but we still live."

"Valar Morghulis." Danelle sighed the words more to herself, consciously stopping her hand from rubbing the back of her neck. Jeyne had been correct. Alliances had to be formed never mind what her father intended. Manfryd had never cared for his sister and Danelle could understand why. The scorn and shame, the further blackening of the name when they sat as owners of the land that was rich but well thought of as cursed. Sometimes she even had to wander it herself. Leaning back in the saddle she let the horse choose its own pace. There were plans to lay if she was going to hasten her Lord Father's meeting with the Stranger.

Elayne Lothston

“Oh, I do hope to meet a lord of some note.” The wistful voice belonged to a woman young and in love with the idea of romance. A novice to the realities of the world and on her way to the first of the tournaments and gatherings where she would be presented a prize. A broodmare for sale, Elayne thought critically. Though she quickly swept the nonsense aside. There was not a thing she could do in brooding about a future she had no chance to control. Already she was silently copying Septa Bessa, a wisened old woman, for the reply she knew by rote.

“You will marry a man of standing and to the advantage of your father and sister so that she might marry to continue the legacy of House Lothston. It would do you well to remember that child.” Child, she was a woman newly grown. The whole world was full of delights she was sure, the beauty of the Vale with its towering mountains, the fields of golden harvest that was spoken of the Reach, and even the icy chill of the North had to have some beauty. Privately she hoped her father would not send her to a Dornish husband, a place of sand and dust and savages with strange customs and not a faithful man among them. Leaning against the side of the carriage she watched Danelle, dark and fearsome Danelle, heel her horse after their father. She was free to ride, the heir. If Elayne had been free to do the same she would be pleading with her father to change his choice of outfit for the trip. White and yellow were their house colors, but let them be against the black, subtle. Not the overwhelming scheme that made the eyes water and him look ill!

” A faithful man!” Danelle laughed harshly as Elayne looked over at her sister at the worn desk she had taken from the small library. “There is no such thing and you would do well to remember that. Brother, father, or son. All a man wants is the most he can get out of a woman.” Danelle has been wearing a dark silk dress that set her eyes alight with the hatred that constantly burned there. For as long as Elayne could remember Danelle had only a handful of ways to react to things and this suited the scorn she so often wore with servants and the smallfolk.

Elayne gathered her skirts and shifted in the seat next to the window, adjusting the book she had been reading. “Surely all men are not the same, some must be faithful.” Though she had no misgivings that men were, for the most part, unfaithful. Her father had taken a commoner, and most likely his mistress, for his wife. The Harlot, as her stepchildren had proclaimed her, had nearly ruined them financially. For all that Elayne felt pity for the woman’s death only days after Lucas had died, she could not give herself the proper grief for the woman herself. Let alone her half-brother. The boy had been a right terror, breaking things and getting nothing but a ‘he is the heir and should be strong-willed’ from their father.

“Men, dearest sister, are pigs who act as though they are wolves.” That tone filled with patience was a warning for her to drop it. Elayne had only not dropped it once when they were children and she kept pressing Danelle to agree that Alysanne would be a good heir for Harrenhal. Looking down at her book, she stifled a sigh. Recalling it was the only time Danelle had raised a hand to slap her rather than pinch her.

Septa Bessa was prattling on still about her duties to House Lothston and Harrenhal. Elayne let the woman chatter on as she nodded meekly and tried to smile politely. At least she could recall this lecture as well as any other she had been given by Father and Danelle. Each contradicted the other with how she was to attract a man’s interest and whom would be fitting. For Father, he wanted a son of a noble house of note. One that would give a strong alliance to Harrenhal and bring them up in the world while Danelle took a third or fourth son who could take the Lothston name. Even a bastard son would do for Danelle, her father had proclaimed within the woman’s hearing. Elayne could still picture the slight jerk of fury that hand curled Danelle’s hands at that. With Danelle? It was Elayne who would collect the admiration meant for her. Those third or fourth or bastard sons would fall at Elayne’s feet and of her pick, she could have any. So long as they agreed to take House Lothston’s name. That had been delivered each night since the tournament had been announced. “Girl, are you listening?!”

The youngest of the Lothston daughters paused as she looked at the Septa with a sheepish smile. “Yes.” Any more acknowledgment was plowed over as the Septa continued with her lecture. There went her attention slipping away, and the result of it! Now the woman would repeat herself, and this time with comparisons to Danelle and poor Alysanne who must be at the bottom of the God’s Eye!

Alysanne, it had been a while since Elayne had remembered her eldest sister. Her blue eyes burned with slight tears, she missed the kind, willful sister who would gently explain things and teach her small games. Such memories were further away as the years passed, but against Danelle’s firm hand and Father’s gruff approval of her meekness. It would be nice to have someone to laugh with. Letting herself lean back against the seat as the carriage rocked along the road, she recalled that it had been Jaehaerys Targaryen who had carved these grand things into the land. Wistfully she let her gaze wander out to the realm's woods and smiled at the sight of a rabbit watching the procession pass. Such innocence in a world where it was just another piece of meat.

Manfryd Lothston, Lord of Harrenhal

Staring at the road that wound through the Kingswood, the Lord of Harrenhal pointedly ignored his third child, second daughter, and heir to his seat lest he acquires a wife and produce another son. It was something of a sore point of the Lord. He longed for a proper heir for Harrenhal leaving him able to wed off his two remaining children to Houses that would increase their standing and weight. Then perhaps he could more fully secure the future of House Lothston and restore some of the respect his sister and fool mother had lost. Never mind that Harrenhal had been gifted them by King Viserys. Gloved fingers tightened on the reins as his stallion champed at the bit. A land with a wealth of gold to soothe the wound of pride caused by his son, surely Viserys had no idea that his son would take mother and daughter both when they returned to court or the scorn that would follow from those whispers! It had been thus and the Lordship of Harrenhal had fallen to him far too soon when his father had been taken by the Stranger. Burdened with a good wife, a good lordship, and those whispers he had been content til Cerena had died and then his heir. A joke of the Seven that when he had looked for a second wife no other lord had a daughter to spare. “Father,” Danelle’s voice always cold and as hollow as Harrenhal interrupted his thoughts. “Perhaps we should think of camp if we wish Elayne in comfort.”

There was nothing more to be said past that. For his comfort, it was well known that Manfryd cared nothing, but his youngest daughter had been the last child of his beloved wife. Elayne was the jewel of House Lothston though seldom seen outside of the ruins of Harrenhal. Raising a hand, the train of carriages, a few carts, soldiers, and horses turned into a suitable clearing. The ruckus of camping being put up and comforts laid out for their Lord and Lady scaring away any possible game, which was well enough. Manfryd had no wish to hunt. He was a fit man but stress weighed on him and he could feel the soreness that crept into his bones from being in a saddle day in and day out for weeks. Soon, the smell of cooking was filling the clearing and the Lord of Harrenhal was satisfied enough with the arrangement that he retired to his tent.

What he found made him stiffen in insult. Danelle sat behind his writing table, her eyes cold as she looked over documents meant for him. The girl had always been full of herself, of course, she took the responsibility of taking over the Lordship someday seriously. With a pang, he wished she was a son, then there would no longer be hang-ups about marriage, her cold demeanor would be of no matter to any wife who would only look at the riches of Harrenhal. “You will flirt and charm when we reach the Tournament.” The order fell into the stony silence and Danelle’s pale green eyes flickered to meet his own icy blue ones. “You will do this, Danelle. Even if their fathers argue, I shall have a son married to you and taking the Lothston bat for his House before the Tournament is over or I shall find a distant cousin.”

The woman rose from the seat and gave a stiff curtsy that was low and just a hair too deep for sincerity. “As you wish, Father.” Her voice was still that hollow coldness that would send any suitor running rather than fall into her arms. Gritting his teeth, Manfryd gripped the woman’s shoulder. She stood of the same height as him. Tall, how she would make a good son. His grip tightened and still, Danelle showed no sign of discomfort though he could see the hatred in her eyes, or could he? She always seemed so empty.

“I know you whisper with Jeyne, the old bat.” He snarled in an undertone lest a servant or soldier hear him admit to relation to the bastard who posed as a Lothston. “I know she sank her claws into you. Trust me, Danelle. There is nothing that Jeyne will not say to get what she wants. There is nothing she will not do. We must act and improve the standing of our House against the folly she committed. If it were not for that I would-!”

Her own words cut in and Manfryd felt fury boil in him. “You would have a son? No, what house would have ties with a man who thought he whispered so softly yet all the Riverlands can hear his discontent? You are a fool.”

“I am your father and Lord of Harrenhal, when I say toad you jump girl!” His reply was a strangled snarl as he stopped himself from shouting. He wanted to roar at the imputent wench, Jeyne had sunk her claws deep and he thought perhaps too deep. “Look at Elayne, you shall behave as you ought. A lady to charm and wed or I shall find a husband to name my heir and you to marry them. That is my will.”

“As you have said.” Her tone was ever as empty and her eyes bleak. Did the woman have no emotion whatsoever? Releasing her, he hear her walk from the tent and leaned over the writing desk. A blacksmith with a stout build would do her nicely. Someone she could not shove around, he thought. If it came to that. He would prefer a noble husband and a son within the year of their marriage. A grandson to name his heir with Danelle to be the regent for the Lordship.

But there were other reasons to go to the gathering as well. A tournament held by a Prince of the Realm would attract more than suitors and things best kept off of letters could be discussed. Urging that could not be put on paper without it being called treason and that evidence found by Bloodraven. Manfryd sat heavily in a canvas chair, drawing a goblet of wine left poured by some servant for his return to him. A bastard sat on the throne while the rightful heir was called such. King Aegon IV, may he rest in peace, had given Daemon Blackfyre the sword of kings and thus made his will known. That the throne had passed the bastard of his brother and wife? It was appalling enough, made worse by the man marrying a Dornish whore. The Young Dragon had things right, Dorne would need to be conquered and made to kneel, not this business of marrying them into the realm and allowing them to keep their ‘Princes’ and ‘Princesses’ of Dorne. Taking a long drink from the cup, the man studied the surface of the Harrenhal vintage. It was no arbor red, but the drink was good enough for him and it was no Dorne poison that circulated on the roads now!

Snarling to himself, he thought of how perhaps a nice arrow in the right spot would solve the problem of having a Dornish ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’. Urging Daemon Blackfyre to declare for himself and take his rightful place? The Prince would be grateful for the support, and a position at court might open up to House Lothston once again. Not as Hand, no that position had its own problems. No as Master of Whispers he could depose Bloodraven and make the realm tremble of him instead. Taking another drink, Manfryd smiled at the thought. Lord Manfryd of House Loshston, Lord of Harrenhal, Master of Whisper, and all the realm would be eager to please him as he bowed before King Daemon Blackfyre. Yes, he liked the thought very much.

TLDR

Danelle contemplates how to secure power for her own ends with her aunt Jeyne. Elayne considers what she wants in a husband and how her father and sister are vying for different suitors for her. Manfryd is growling about Targaryen, his whore sister and how he wants to place a Blackfyre on the throne for some proper consideration.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Lothston

House Lothston

Shield in the Darkness

House Description:

Given to Lucas Lothson after his marriage to the disgraced Falena Stokeworth, who was found sleeping in the bed of the Prince Heir Aegon Targayen in the year 151 AC. Lothstons have made of themselves a reputation for dabbling in dark arts and black deeds. It was whispered that the daughter born by Falena was Aegon's and later used as a bribe to get Lord Lucas a position as Hand of the King by bedding then King Aegon IV. Manfryd Lothston more recently was said to have supported Daemon Blackfyre and betrayed him during the first Blackfyre rebellion. Their house is dark and full of terrors. Whispers of dark natures.

Their seat is Harrenhal. A castle was left to ruin by Balarion the Black Dread during Aegon's conquest. The lords of Harrenhal have had one ill turn after another. Accidents and madness stalk the house lines until they fail, rumoring the holding cursed. Though despite that the land is green, fertile, and vast. Harrentown is near the castle.

Recent History:

Timeline

{202 AC} -Current Time
{199 AC} -Death of Lucas and his mother due to illness
{195 AC} -Disappearance of Alysanne
{193 AC} -Birth of Lucas Lothston
[191 AC} -Manfyrd married a lowborn commoner from Harrentown
{190 AC} -Death of Benjicot, fell down the stairs and broke his neck
{186 AC} -Death of Calera in childbirth, the birth of Elayne Lothston
{184 AC} -Birth of Danelle Lothston, Death of King Aegon IV
{182 AC} -Birth of Alysanne and Benjicot Lothston
{181 AC} -Married to Calera Blackwood, a niece of the Late Lord Benjicot Blackwood
{165 AC} -Birth of Manfryd Lothston

Family Members:

Danelle Lothston
Elayne Lothston
Alysanne Lothston
Lord Manfryd Lothston, Lord of Harrenhal
Benjicot Lothston
Lucas Lothston
Jeyne Lothston

Manfryd Lothston

Manfryd Lothston

Age: 37, born in 165 AC

Appearance: A slightly tall man, people often think him older than he is. With thinning grey hair peppered with dark red, a burly mustache, and neat beard to hide his slightly sunken cheeks. Whispers would have it that it was the loss of two sons and wives that put the strain upon the lord, while others whisper that he dabbles in the dark arts practiced by the Lothstons aged him past his years. Still, and even more quietly, others suggest that perhaps the doing is that of Danelle Lothston who was always a queer child. Yet for his age, Manfryd is a fit man. Still often practicing with sword and bow and seen riding about the lands of Harrenhal. Never one for ostentatious clothed, he wears simple stout clothing but finely made and often decorated by embroidery, by the skilled hand of Elayne.

Description & biography: Manfryd was the heir from the minute he was born. His Father had been granted Harrenhal by Prince Viserys, though privately Manfryd always saw it as more of a bribe to clean up after Prince Aegon. Something that led his father to no end of trouble as Jeyne was sister to him and potentially a bastard of Aegon's! A shame to the House even more with the whispers that came to court and how his sister and mother displayed themselves. Manfryd had grown up with the whispers and taking them for true, fueled a sense of righteous anger that eagerly mixed with greed. His father had been a schemer and once Hand of the King, a lord of note, though in his years after being banished from Court Lucas turned to care for his land. Along with nursing grievance against the king, not that he said as much. It seemed fitting and with Aegon having dismissed them from the court, the lord felt he could do more for his land and people than worry about the politics. Manfryd however drank and talked about dark things that did not wish the king well. With a reckless son who was liable to stir trouble, he thought the best option was to marry the boy off to an advantageous house. His second son had died from a fall from a spirited horse and his wife, Falena Stokeworth, had died with a third child. Securing some grandchildren would do good for the House and his son would have someone to talk sense into him!

Those hopes would not fall on deaf ears. Calera was a delight to Manfryd, and he was besotted. That two children came quickly, if perhaps too quickly was no trouble. Manfryd took to keeping his whispers to nothing more than talk and arguing with other RiverLords about the Tridents as anything else upset Calera. His father had passed shortly after the marriage and the twins' birth from a long fight with the pox. Though he showed some interest in the children, it was more in training Benjicot to take over in his stead. Manfryd was afraid of his own death and his son being unprepared to take the reins after, so if he had to allow Alysanne to learn the bow? Then there was no matter, so long as Benjicot kept up his studies. He did not even think to take another wife after Calera's death. An event which turned Manfryd colder and his whispered dislike of the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms just a little bit louder. When Benjicot fell down the stairs and was found dead? The man turned positively glacier. He took to teaching Alysanne to be heir and began looking for another wife which proved something of a trial. Nothing pleased him as no one was Calera. Finally, he decided to take a woman from Harrentown for his wife, seeing something was better than nothing and wanting a proper heir quickly. Leaving the woman to her antics and the children to their Septa. The only child who stood out at all to Manfryd was Elayne.

Another son was born, then both mother and child died from a disease. A daughter having vanished in the night and unable to locate her. Manfryd's years weighed on him. Perhaps his castle was cursed. Yet he still had an heir in Danelle, and still kept an eye out for a potential marriage to a decent woman for himself so he might secure another son. Cold and furious he was certain that this was some cruel jab by the late Kings Viserys and Aegon IV, not a reward for service but a curse and scorned from court because of the wiles of women. He ponders how to gain another castle and nurses his woes and scorn.

Alysanne Lothston

Alysanne Lothston/ Alys Rivers

Age:

20 - Born Early in 182 AC

Appearance:

As a young child of nobility, Alysanne was noted for her lovely red locks and finely boned features that promised to grow into an attractive woman, but the future took her another way and into the rough wool or rare silks of those not of noble birth, even into leather armor with bow or dagger in hand. Pale blue eyes, weathered skin, and a well-muscled if short frame. It would take a long second for anyone to connect Alys Rivers to Alysanne Lothston, though some of that noble vanity remained in her long red braid and delight for the finer things any commoner would desire but not know the real value of. A charming smile with dimples belying an easy nature and her fingers long and slender revealing their quickness, the latter bears scars from fights with knives even as her body bears a few from close calls and scrapes.

Description & biography:

Born early in the marriage of Manfyrd and Calera, Alys and her twin brother Benjicot, named for Calera's uncle and the lord of the Riverlands, were side-eyed by the servants. Their birth had come quite soon after the marriage bed and while it was not unheard of, Benji had been a large boy and she quite small, as it was with twins from time to time, and servants whispered that the birth had not been early. Such was life at Harrenhal, the walls held up by the constant wind of whisper and rumor the stout beams of fact and reason having burned along with Harren and all his sons during the Conquest. Still, Manfryd did accept the parentage as truth and life went on. It was two years later that Danelle was born, a pretty daughter who was doted on by her sister, brother, and mother. Then another two years and another sister, Elayne this time, but their mother was weakened by pox did not have the strength to do more and perished.

Manfryd was left without a wife and four children without a mother. The twins for their part were heartbroken, Calera had been a motherly woman for all she was a Lady. The twins grew and were often found together in lessons or in play. When Benji started learning the arts of war, Alysanne was not far away at needlepoint. Her keen ear perked for his instruction as much as her own. It was when he took up the bow she could bear it no longer, not allowed on their adventures and having just turned seven, she and Benji begged their father to let her learn as well. Manfryd would gave argued and refused had he not been wise enough to see that one would teach the other and with possible horrible consequences.

Yet there was a shadow over Harrenhal. The ruined towers, the bats, the whispers of ghosts, and rumors of black deeds. However, the shadow of a six-year-old child would hardly be terrifying. Alys and Benji were in disagreement. Danelle was often on her own when not shadowing the two about and there always seemed something dark in her premonitions or sayings. "If you climb any higher up that tree, a bunch will break." And one did. "The kettle Cook uses, could boil the cat." And the keeps cat had been found boiled in the kettle. A prank pulled, burs under a horse's saddle, the wine goes missing... it was Danelle's fault in the twinss' eyes and their fault in the eyes of everyone else. Alys would admit they played a few pranks but nothing serious, and perhaps she took the wine to indulge in with Benji once.

Then death came again to Harrenhal, Benji had run to his instruction on archery with Alysanne already there. She was always there first, eager to escape the bower with Septa Bessa, Elayne, and Danelle. Perhaps it had been a sheer accident, perhaps a prank gone wrong but Benji had fallen down the tower stairs where their room was. Fallen and never rose, his neck broken. It broke something in Alys. Her twin, her beloved brother was dead. Worse? "If you run down the stairs, you will break your neck." Danelle had said, and later Alys learned that around the same time Danelle had not been with Septa Bessa. Benjicot Lothson was dead and despite that, Alysanne kept up her archery. Each shot aimed at the Stranger who had come to take her brother, not that she would tell the Septa that! She was going to be Lady Lothston rather than her brother, and she aimed to do right for him. Their talks and dreams of glory. Hers had been to marry a Targaryen Prince. His was to be like their Great Grandfather, Hand of the King. It would have been wonderful! And it still could be!

Manfryd was not of that mind and after a year of finding no woman of noble birth with a father or brother who would agree to marriage and needing a son and heir? There was trouble enough, a daughter heir would not do to his mind. The Lord of Harrenhal took a commoner for his wife. A pretty-faced woman with little else besides her looks and ability to give him an heir. It was something that put both Danelle and Alysanne into an agreement, the woman was 'Not Acceptable'. She was too flighty, she had none of the manners of a Highborn lady, and worse? She could dispose of Alysanne's place as heir.

There had been no thought in her head of anything but that of a petulant youth. A child's scorn for an unwanted adult who took that parental role is not deserved. Her brother was not dead but a year and already her father sought to replace him and her! But it was perhaps worse when she was approached by Danelle. The two sisters had been cordial, not liking each other but sisters. Benjicot's death had changed things, Alysanne had turned cold towards Danelle and suspicious. Danelle, was the odd child, the one that always knew when an accident would happen. This time they had a common enemy though. Danelle was but eight and Alys but ten, still they had 'wicked minds' as the Septa put it that year. Frogs and serpents in the bed of Lady Lothston. Bats in her bower! A burr under the horse's saddle. Each time caught they were punished and lectured to accept the woman as Elayne did, yet it was to no effect. Alysanne dimly remembered her mother and would have no replacement, while Danelle could not be made to like the woman.

It was a year after the harlots, as the sisters agreed upon calling her, gave birth to a stout son that Alysanne began taking ill. Sleeping long hours, unlike her busy self. She also began to feel unwell. It was a chance at eavesdropping between Elayne, now eight, and Danelle, then ten, when her youngest sister remarked how she wished to be the heir like Alysanne and how she hoped Alysanne would be heir again. A child's wish. Alysanne was fun and was not so annoying as Lucas who was doted on by his mother and could do no wrong. The ringing slap has caused Alysanne to pause outside the door as Danelle viciously refused that their eldest sister would be heir again and Lucas not for long as Harrenhal was cursed. If Elayne did not wish to lose her favorite kitten she would remember that.

It was nothing, a squabble and easily dismissed but Alysanne did corner Danelle demanding answers. "You will end up like Benjicot when you get answers." Had been that cold-eyed answer. Alysanne had been slightly suspicious of the accidents that seemed to surround Danelle, but she had no proof. Her father would dismiss the matter, so she chose the next option which was to leave Danelle's grasp. For all her sister was younger by two years, she was taller than Alysanne and had been learning how to fight in the last year, Lord Manfryd was distracted by courtly matters. He had a wife to oversee the children, but alas that wife was all too interested in her son. Alysanne ran. Disguising herself as a young courier when her father demanded a letter be taken to the Lord of Maidenpool with whom he was having words. That she paid off the courier boy with a dragon she had stolen from her father, and took the letter, not to Maidenpool but rode to the Blackwater and followed it to the towns and ports along the Bay.

Disguising herself as a bow, she learned how to use a knife and poach with a bow. Her fingers were always quick learning how to pick a pocket or swipe an unattended bit of glimmer. Her old skill of climbing trees was as useful in scaling walls and she quickly learned even more than listening to what people said was just as easily sold onwards for mugs of ale as the coin. Years passed and she grew in skill and confidence, though her height was always limited. She looked over her shoulder for old enemies she had made be they an enraged father, cunning sister, or some guard or fool who thought to press her about something overheard or slipped into her purse. It was an adventure and while she would not be a lady, nor marry a Targaryen Prince, Alys Rivers as she called herself was enjoying life. Always eager for a new challenge or thrill. Yet she still could remember the curse of Harrenhal, how she wanted what was rightfully her home, and privately wondered if Danelle would darken her life again. Privately considering in those quiet nights what could have been if she had dared to stand up to Danelle and if it would have led to her death. A kin slaying? Then banishing the thoughts with a sternness that she had fled and ifs bought no bread.

Danelle Lothston

Danelle Lothston

Age:

18 - Born in 184 AC

Appearance:

Wearing dark-fitting armor when needed, the woman is tall and well muscled for her training in the arts of war. With pale skin and pale green eyes, her looks were stern and handsome, though unappealing if one listened to rumors. Danelle's eyes are often cold and baleful, bleak. The red hair, common enough among Riverland lords, is enough like to be the twin to Alysanne's. She dresses usually in plain gowns, sensible garb rather than the glimmer that could be found on most courtly ladies.

Description & biography:

Rumor and whisper would have one belief the woman spawned between the late lord Manfryd Lothston and the bats of Harrenhal, in truth though her mother was Calera and Danelle had been born as her sisters had been. The middling child between a pair of twins and a younger sister. Danelle would not call her childhood a fond thing. Benjicot often stole her dolls and mocked her, leading Alysanne to cruel pranks. That her eldest brother fell on the stairs when he was forever trying to race everywhere and broke his fool neck? It only meant peace from Benjicot's cruel jabs that had hardened her hide, and she certainly had not shed a tear over it! Alysanne had never taken that well, but her sisters were flighty and given to stupid games. Just as Septa Bessa was given to working the needle and pointless lessons, whereas Maester Lainn was more given to teaching useful things. Thus, Danelle learned of herbs and their various applications.

It was when their father remarried the harlot commoner, that the elder Lothston sisters joined sisters. Their new Lady Lothston was given to fashions that were anything but decent, barked pointless orders, and ran a once fairly decent House into the ground with what she thought a Lady ought to be. It was around the same time that Elayne began to follow Danelle with large and innocent eyes. It aggravated the girl and she often threatened her younger sister as this new habit brought Septa Bessa down upon them both and worse. Elayne was certain that Alysanne, the daydreaming fool! being heir would be a perfect answer to everything! Alysanne later confronted her and Danelle remarked that if she kept going the way she was going that she would end up the same as her brother. Perhaps harsh, but she recalled that Alysanne had joined in on Benjicot's teasing. It was amusing to her how she could usually shoulder her older sister about and put things just out of reach. When Alysanne disappeared, Danelle found herself the eldest sister and had enough scorn within her to scorch Harrenhal all over again. With Elayne irritating her and Lucas, a young lad who could do no wrong making any room for he was in misery, Danelle was certain that perhaps turning to the dark whispers about the Lothstons would be no bad thing if she could have peace!

She was twelve when the harlot and her little brat, Lucas, took ill. The Master had taken her as a helper and trusted her to deliver medicines. With half the castle coughing with the pox, Danelle had been given her beloved Lady Lothston's medicine. That she added a few pinches of sweetsleep hardly seem relevant against the strapping she had received for not curtsying to the woman and calling her several names she had heard in the town. It was not long after that Danelle was soon heir to Harrenhal, though whispered floated about as they always did about the Lothstons and Harrenhal. She ignored them and put her entire focus on learning how to be a lady who could lead House Lothston.

In more recent years, a woman of martial ability and not interested in lace so much as being the heir. Danelle has been eyeing her father's choices for her husband and finding them all lacking. She has no wish for a husband, but his search for a wife and a son to make heir of Harrenhal is not something she can allow to pass by.

Elayne Lothston

Elayne Lothston

Age:

16, born in 186 AC

Appearance:

If any of the Lothston sisters could be called beautiful in the purest sense, it would be Elayne. Willowy with reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face she has had a few suitors from minor houses. The unfortunate men were turned away by Manfryd. Given to wearing silks and delighting in everything a lady should, Elayne is not a warrior maid like her sister or even an adventurer like the missing Alysanne. She enjoys her comforts. Jewels sparkle about her and her gowns all sport her own embroidery. Often she finds herself scolded by her father and sister for sighing for a bard or passing knight. Her's is the simple delight of what is expected in life. A husband to provide for her wants and to keep her from the woes of life.

Description & biography:

With a mother who died during her birth, siblings at rivalry with each other, a father more interested in being a lord than even his youngest daughter, and a second mother who was as wont to sneer at her as dote upon her, Elayne's life was turbulent and troubled. Any attempt to get close to Danelle was met with harsh words and threats, Alysanne had some time to play but most of it was taken up with studies, and as he became older Lucas grew to be a terror that even she could not stand. After Alysanne's disappearance, Elayne kept to Septa Bessa. Learning how to dance, needlepoint, and all other things a lady might need.

In comparison, it could be said that Elayne was the meekest of the sisters, given to seeing beauty in all things and trying to be forever the optimist. Flights of fancy and bouts of daydreaming nonsense as Danelle would call it. Her father and sister were constantly keeping a sharp eye on her and kept the girl within Harrenhal. Perhaps she forgot where she left her gloves, or perhaps she did not notice it was raining but they were such minor things when there was a beautiful flower she had seen or something to delight over. A dress to be made, a new treat to try. The kindest thing to say of the woman is that perhaps her life is a bit to full of dreams that she forgets the mud of the lake that lies just outside of the walls and the bloodied battle that had reigned on it's shores during Maegor the Cruel's time.

Household

Jeyne Lothston

Jeyne Lothston

Age:

38, born in 164 AC

Appearance:

A pretty woman in her youth with fine red, gold hair and pale skin. Now in her later years she has collected a fair bit of lines about her eyes and mouth. Worry rides upon her brow and for all her years, she had born no children. Though her beauty is still seen in those graceful features. Despite her banishment from court she kept her finery even when married to a minor lord who already had a house full of children.

Description & biography:

Once she was a mistress to King Aegon 'The Unworthy'until she caught the pox. The whispers that float about that illicit affair drove her father to find her a husband soon after their return from court and Jeyne was passed into obscurity. To mind a houseful of children and a minor lord who was little more than a steward. Two years ago, she returned to Harrenhal after her husband died and the children turned her out, leaving Jeyne to face the scorn of her younger brother and his charity. While neither get along and both greatly dislike the other, Manfryd would not have Jeyne languish about the land as a ill testament to the stain on House Lothston. So he keeps her close and as little more than a lady's maid for his two daughters. Elayne tries to speak of the Seven to Jeyne and assure her all will be forgiven while Danelle ignores the woman in public. Privately putting their heads together to speak of things best left to women and darkness.

A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion

House Lothston

House Lothston

Shield in the Darkness

House Description:

Given to Lucas Lothson after his marriage to the disgraced Falena Stokeworth, who was found sleeping in the bed of the Prince Heir Aegon Targayen in the year 151 AC. Lothstons have made of themselves a reputation for dabbling in dark arts and black deeds. It was whispered that the daughter born by Falena was Aegon's and later used as a bribe to get Lord Lucas a position as Hand of the King by bedding then King Aegon IV. Manfryd Lothston more recently was said to have supported Daemon Blackfyre and betrayed him during the first Blackfyre rebellion. Their house is dark and full of terrors. Whispers of dark natures.

Their seat is Harrenhal. A castle was left to ruin by Balarion the Black Dread during Aegon's conquest. The lords of Harrenhal have had one ill turn after another. Accidents and madness stalk the house lines until they fail, rumoring the holding cursed. Though despite that the land is green, fertile, and vast. Harrentown is near the castle.

Recent History:

Timeline

{202 AC} -Current Time
{199 AC} -Death of Lucas and his mother due to illness
{195 AC} -Disappearance of Alysanne
{193 AC} -Birth of Lucas Lothston
[191 AC} -Manfyrd married a lowborn commoner from Harrentown
{190 AC} -Death of Benjicot, fell down the stairs and broke his neck
{186 AC} -Death of Calera in childbirth, the birth of Elayne Lothston
{184 AC} -Birth of Danelle Lothston, Death of King Aegon IV
{182 AC} -Birth of Alysanne and Benjicot Lothston
{181 AC} -Married to Calera Blackwood, a niece of the Late Lord Benjicot Blackwood
{165 AC} -Birth of Manfryd Lothston

Family Members:

Danelle Lothston
Elayne Lothston
Alysanne Lothston
Lord Manfryd Lothston, Lord of Harrenhal
Benjicot Lothston
Lucas Lothston
Jeyne Lothston

Manfryd Lothston

Manfryd Lothston

Age: 37, born in 165 AC

Appearance: A slightly tall man, people often think him older than he is. With thinning grey hair peppered with dark red, a burly mustache, and neat beard to hide his slightly sunken cheeks. Whispers would have it that it was the loss of two sons and wives that put the strain upon the lord, while others whisper that he dabbles in the dark arts practiced by the Lothstons aged him past his years. Still, and even more quietly, others suggest that perhaps the doing is that of Danelle Lothston who was always a queer child. Yet for his age, Manfryd is a fit man. Still often practicing with sword and bow and seen riding about the lands of Harrenhal. Never one for ostentatious clothed, he wears simple stout clothing but finely made and often decorated by embroidery, by the skilled hand of Elayne.

Description & biography: Manfryd was the heir from the minute he was born. His Father had been granted Harrenhal by Prince Viserys, though privately Manfryd always saw it as more of a bribe to clean up after Prince Aegon. Something that led his father to no end of trouble as Jeyne was sister to him and potentially a bastard of Aegon's! A shame to the House even more with the whispers that came to court and how his sister and mother displayed themselves. Manfryd had grown up with the whispers and taking them for true, fueled a sense of righteous anger that eagerly mixed with greed. His father had been a schemer and once Hand of the King, a lord of note, though in his years after being banished from Court Lucas turned to care for his land. Along with nursing grievance against the king, not that he said as much. It seemed fitting and with Aegon having dismissed them from the court, the lord felt he could do more for his land and people than worry about the politics. Manfryd however drank and talked about dark things that did not wish the king well. With a reckless son who was liable to stir trouble, he thought the best option was to marry the boy off to an advantageous house. His second son had died from a fall from a spirited horse and his wife, Falena Stokeworth, had died with a third child. Securing some grandchildren would do good for the House and his son would have someone to talk sense into him!

Those hopes would not fall on deaf ears. Calera was a delight to Manfryd, and he was besotted. That two children came quickly, if perhaps too quickly was no trouble. Manfryd took to keeping his whispers to nothing more than talk and arguing with other RiverLords about the Tridents as anything else upset Calera. His father had passed shortly after the marriage and the twins' birth from a long fight with the pox. Though he showed some interest in the children, it was more in training Benjicot to take over in his stead. Manfryd was afraid of his own death and his son being unprepared to take the reins after, so if he had to allow Alysanne to learn the bow? Then there was no matter, so long as Benjicot kept up his studies. He did not even think to take another wife after Calera's death. An event which turned Manfryd colder and his whispered dislike of the Kings of the Seven Kingdoms just a little bit louder. When Benjicot fell down the stairs and was found dead? The man turned positively glacier. He took to teaching Alysanne to be heir and began looking for another wife which proved something of a trial. Nothing pleased him as no one was Calera. Finally, he decided to take a woman from Harrentown for his wife, seeing something was better than nothing and wanting a proper heir quickly. Leaving the woman to her antics and the children to their Septa. The only child who stood out at all to Manfryd was Elayne.

Another son was born, then both mother and child died from a disease. A daughter having vanished in the night and unable to locate her. Manfryd's years weighed on him. Perhaps his castle was cursed. Yet he still had an heir in Danelle, and still kept an eye out for a potential marriage to a decent woman for himself so he might secure another son. Cold and furious he was certain that this was some cruel jab by the late Kings Viserys and Aegon IV, not a reward for service but a curse and scorned from court because of the wiles of women. He ponders how to gain another castle and nurses his woes and scorn.

Alysanne Lothston

Alysanne Lothston/ Alys Rivers

Age:

20 - Born Early in 182 AC

Appearance:

As a young child of nobility, Alysanne was noted for her lovely red locks and finely boned features that promised to grow into an attractive woman, but the future took her another way and into the rough wool or rare silks of those not of noble birth, even into leather armor with bow or dagger in hand. Pale blue eyes, weathered skin, and a well-muscled if short frame. It would take a long second for anyone to connect Alys Rivers to Alysanne Lothston, though some of that noble vanity remained in her long red braid and delight for the finer things any commoner would desire but not know the real value of. A charming smile with dimples belying an easy nature and her fingers long and slender revealing their quickness, the latter bears scars from fights with knives even as her body bears a few from close calls and scrapes.

Description & biography:

Born early in the marriage of Manfyrd and Calera, Alys and her twin brother Benjicot, named for Calera's uncle and the lord of the Riverlands, were side-eyed by the servants. Their birth had come quite soon after the marriage bed and while it was not unheard of, Benji had been a large boy and she quite small, as it was with twins from time to time, and servants whispered that the birth had not been early. Such was life at Harrenhal, the walls held up by the constant wind of whisper and rumor the stout beams of fact and reason having burned along with Harren and all his sons during the Conquest. Still, Manfryd did accept the parentage as truth and life went on. It was two years later that Danelle was born, a pretty daughter who was doted on by her sister, brother, and mother. Then another two years and another sister, Elayne this time, but their mother was weakened by pox did not have the strength to do more and perished.

Manfryd was left without a wife and four children without a mother. The twins for their part were heartbroken, Calera had been a motherly woman for all she was a Lady. The twins grew and were often found together in lessons or in play. When Benji started learning the arts of war, Alysanne was not far away at needlepoint. Her keen ear perked for his instruction as much as her own. It was when he took up the bow she could bear it no longer, not allowed on their adventures and having just turned seven, she and Benji begged their father to let her learn as well. Manfryd would gave argued and refused had he not been wise enough to see that one would teach the other and with possible horrible consequences.

Yet there was a shadow over Harrenhal. The ruined towers, the bats, the whispers of ghosts, and rumors of black deeds. However, the shadow of a six-year-old child would hardly be terrifying. Alys and Benji were in disagreement. Danelle was often on her own when not shadowing the two about and there always seemed something dark in her premonitions or sayings. "If you climb any higher up that tree, a bunch will break." And one did. "The kettle Cook uses, could boil the cat." And the keeps cat had been found boiled in the kettle. A prank pulled, burs under a horse's saddle, the wine goes missing... it was Danelle's fault in the twinss' eyes and their fault in the eyes of everyone else. Alys would admit they played a few pranks but nothing serious, and perhaps she took the wine to indulge in with Benji once.

Then death came again to Harrenhal, Benji had run to his instruction on archery with Alysanne already there. She was always there first, eager to escape the bower with Septa Bessa, Elayne, and Danelle. Perhaps it had been a sheer accident, perhaps a prank gone wrong but Benji had fallen down the tower stairs where their room was. Fallen and never rose, his neck broken. It broke something in Alys. Her twin, her beloved brother was dead. Worse? "If you run down the stairs, you will break your neck." Danelle had said, and later Alys learned that around the same time Danelle had not been with Septa Bessa. Benjicot Lothson was dead and despite that, Alysanne kept up her archery. Each shot aimed at the Stranger who had come to take her brother, not that she would tell the Septa that! She was going to be Lady Lothston rather than her brother, and she aimed to do right for him. Their talks and dreams of glory. Hers had been to marry a Targaryen Prince. His was to be like their Great Grandfather, Hand of the King. It would have been wonderful! And it still could be!

Manfryd was not of that mind and after a year of finding no woman of noble birth with a father or brother who would agree to marriage and needing a son and heir? There was trouble enough, a daughter heir would not do to his mind. The Lord of Harrenhal took a commoner for his wife. A pretty-faced woman with little else besides her looks and ability to give him an heir. It was something that put both Danelle and Alysanne into an agreement, the woman was 'Not Acceptable'. She was too flighty, she had none of the manners of a Highborn lady, and worse? She could dispose of Alysanne's place as heir.

There had been no thought in her head of anything but that of a petulant youth. A child's scorn for an unwanted adult who took that parental role is not deserved. Her brother was not dead but a year and already her father sought to replace him and her! But it was perhaps worse when she was approached by Danelle. The two sisters had been cordial, not liking each other but sisters. Benjicot's death had changed things, Alysanne had turned cold towards Danelle and suspicious. Danelle, was the odd child, the one that always knew when an accident would happen. This time they had a common enemy though. Danelle was but eight and Alys but ten, still they had 'wicked minds' as the Septa put it that year. Frogs and serpents in the bed of Lady Lothston. Bats in her bower! A burr under the horse's saddle. Each time caught they were punished and lectured to accept the woman as Elayne did, yet it was to no effect. Alysanne dimly remembered her mother and would have no replacement, while Danelle could not be made to like the woman.

It was a year after the harlots, as the sisters agreed upon calling her, gave birth to a stout son that Alysanne began taking ill. Sleeping long hours, unlike her busy self. She also began to feel unwell. It was a chance at eavesdropping between Elayne, now eight, and Danelle, then ten, when her youngest sister remarked how she wished to be the heir like Alysanne and how she hoped Alysanne would be heir again. A child's wish. Alysanne was fun and was not so annoying as Lucas who was doted on by his mother and could do no wrong. The ringing slap has caused Alysanne to pause outside the door as Danelle viciously refused that their eldest sister would be heir again and Lucas not for long as Harrenhal was cursed. If Elayne did not wish to lose her favorite kitten she would remember that.

It was nothing, a squabble and easily dismissed but Alysanne did corner Danelle demanding answers. "You will end up like Benjicot when you get answers." Had been that cold-eyed answer. Alysanne had been slightly suspicious of the accidents that seemed to surround Danelle, but she had no proof. Her father would dismiss the matter, so she chose the next option which was to leave Danelle's grasp. For all her sister was younger by two years, she was taller than Alysanne and had been learning how to fight in the last year, Lord Manfryd was distracted by courtly matters. He had a wife to oversee the children, but alas that wife was all too interested in her son. Alysanne ran. Disguising herself as a young courier when her father demanded a letter be taken to the Lord of Maidenpool with whom he was having words. That she paid off the courier boy with a dragon she had stolen from her father, and took the letter, not to Maidenpool but rode to the Blackwater and followed it to the towns and ports along the Bay.

Disguising herself as a bow, she learned how to use a knife and poach with a bow. Her fingers were always quick learning how to pick a pocket or swipe an unattended bit of glimmer. Her old skill of climbing trees was as useful in scaling walls and she quickly learned even more than listening to what people said was just as easily sold onwards for mugs of ale as the coin. Years passed and she grew in skill and confidence, though her height was always limited. She looked over her shoulder for old enemies she had made be they an enraged father, cunning sister, or some guard or fool who thought to press her about something overheard or slipped into her purse. It was an adventure and while she would not be a lady, nor marry a Targaryen Prince, Alys Rivers as she called herself was enjoying life. Always eager for a new challenge or thrill. Yet she still could remember the curse of Harrenhal, how she wanted what was rightfully her home, and privately wondered if Danelle would darken her life again. Privately considering in those quiet nights what could have been if she had dared to stand up to Danelle and if it would have led to her death. A kin slaying? Then banishing the thoughts with a sternness that she had fled and ifs bought no bread.

Danelle Lothston

Danelle Lothston

Age:

18 - Born in 184 AC

Appearance:

Wearing dark-fitting armor when needed, the woman is tall and well muscled for her training in the arts of war. With pale skin and pale green eyes, her looks were stern and handsome, though unappealing if one listened to rumors. Danelle's eyes are often cold and baleful, bleak. The red hair, common enough among Riverland lords, is enough like to be the twin to Alysanne's. She dresses usually in plain gowns, sensible garb rather than the glimmer that could be found on most courtly ladies.

Description & biography:

Rumor and whisper would have one belief the woman spawned between the late lord Manfryd Lothston and the bats of Harrenhal, in truth though her mother was Calera and Danelle had been born as her sisters had been. The middling child between a pair of twins and a younger sister. Danelle would not call her childhood a fond thing. Benjicot often stole her dolls and mocked her, leading Alysanne to cruel pranks. That her eldest brother fell on the stairs when he was forever trying to race everywhere and broke his fool neck? It only meant peace from Benjicot's cruel jabs that had hardened her hide, and she certainly had not shed a tear over it! Alysanne had never taken that well, but her sisters were flighty and given to stupid games. Just as Septa Bessa was given to working the needle and pointless lessons, whereas Maester Lainn was more given to teaching useful things. Thus, Danelle learned of herbs and their various applications.

It was when their father remarried the harlot commoner, that the elder Lothston sisters joined sisters. Their new Lady Lothston was given to fashions that were anything but decent, barked pointless orders, and ran a once fairly decent House into the ground with what she thought a Lady ought to be. It was around the same time that Elayne began to follow Danelle with large and innocent eyes. It aggravated the girl and she often threatened her younger sister as this new habit brought Septa Bessa down upon them both and worse. Elayne was certain that Alysanne, the daydreaming fool! being heir would be a perfect answer to everything! Alysanne later confronted her and Danelle remarked that if she kept going the way she was going that she would end up the same as her brother. Perhaps harsh, but she recalled that Alysanne had joined in on Benjicot's teasing. It was amusing to her how she could usually shoulder her older sister about and put things just out of reach. When Alysanne disappeared, Danelle found herself the eldest sister and had enough scorn within her to scorch Harrenhal all over again. With Elayne irritating her and Lucas, a young lad who could do no wrong making any room for he was in misery, Danelle was certain that perhaps turning to the dark whispers about the Lothstons would be no bad thing if she could have peace!

She was twelve when the harlot and her little brat, Lucas, took ill. The Master had taken her as a helper and trusted her to deliver medicines. With half the castle coughing with the pox, Danelle had been given her beloved Lady Lothston's medicine. That she added a few pinches of sweetsleep hardly seem relevant against the strapping she had received for not curtsying to the woman and calling her several names she had heard in the town. It was not long after that Danelle was soon heir to Harrenhal, though whispered floated about as they always did about the Lothstons and Harrenhal. She ignored them and put her entire focus on learning how to be a lady who could lead House Lothston.

In more recent years, a woman of martial ability and not interested in lace so much as being the heir. Danelle has been eyeing her father's choices for her husband and finding them all lacking. She has no wish for a husband, but his search for a wife and a son to make heir of Harrenhal is not something she can allow to pass by.

Elayne Lothston

Elayne Lothston

Age:

16, born in 186 AC

Appearance:

If any of the Lothston sisters could be called beautiful in the purest sense, it would be Elayne. Willowy with reddish-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a heart-shaped face she has had a few suitors from minor houses. The unfortunate men were turned away by Manfryd. Given to wearing silks and delighting in everything a lady should, Elayne is not a warrior maid like her sister or even an adventurer like the missing Alysanne. She enjoys her comforts. Jewels sparkle about her and her gowns all sport her own embroidery. Often she finds herself scolded by her father and sister for sighing for a bard or passing knight. Her's is the simple delight of what is expected in life. A husband to provide for her wants and to keep her from the woes of life.

Description & biography:

With a mother who died during her birth, siblings at rivalry with each other, a father more interested in being a lord than even his youngest daughter, and a second mother who was as wont to sneer at her as dote upon her, Elayne's life was turbulent and troubled. Any attempt to get close to Danelle was met with harsh words and threats, Alysanne had some time to play but most of it was taken up with studies, and as he became older Lucas grew to be a terror that even she could not stand. After Alysanne's disappearance, Elayne kept to Septa Bessa. Learning how to dance, needlepoint, and all other things a lady might need.

In comparison, it could be said that Elayne was the meekest of the sisters, given to seeing beauty in all things and trying to be forever the optimist. Flights of fancy and bouts of daydreaming nonsense as Danelle would call it. Her father and sister were constantly keeping a sharp eye on her and kept the girl within Harrenhal. Perhaps she forgot where she left her gloves, or perhaps she did not notice it was raining but they were such minor things when there was a beautiful flower she had seen or something to delight over. A dress to be made, a new treat to try. The kindest thing to say of the woman is that perhaps her life is a bit to full of dreams that she forgets the mud of the lake that lies just outside of the walls and the bloodied battle that had reigned on it's shores during Maegor the Cruel's time.

Household

Jeyne Lothston

Jeyne Lothston

Age:

38, born in 164 AC

Appearance:

A pretty woman in her youth with fine red, gold hair and pale skin. Now in her later years she has collected a fair bit of lines about her eyes and mouth. Worry rides upon her brow and for all her years, she had born no children. Though her beauty is still seen in those graceful features. Despite her banishment from court she kept her finery even when married to a minor lord who already had a house full of children.

Description & biography:

Once she was a mistress to King Aegon 'The Unworthy'until she caught the pox. The whispers that float about that illicit affair drove her father to find her a husband soon after their return from court and Jeyne was passed into obscurity. To mind a houseful of children and a minor lord who was little more than a steward. Two years ago, she returned to Harrenhal after her husband died and the children turned her out, leaving Jeyne to face the scorn of her younger brother and his charity. While neither get along and both greatly dislike the other, Manfryd would not have Jeyne languish about the land as a ill testament to the stain on House Lothston. So he keeps her close and as little more than a lady's maid for his two daughters. Elayne tries to speak of the Seven to Jeyne and assure her all will be forgiven while Danelle ignores the woman in public. Privately putting their heads together to speak of things best left to women and darkness.

ASOIAF - Fire and Blood

Hey, I'm interested and I could be down for any point in history! @Sini Do you think there will be a character limit or will we be able to play multiples within our ability?

Mark me down for Blackfyre Rebellion!

Ancient God's, a specific IC 《WORLD BUILDING》

To start out there are things I do that I like having back from my partners.

1Adult Themes: First off, I like mature themes. Smut, violence, gore. The world is not always a nice place and things happen. That being said I will work with limits when they are given, but I want to be able to push and expand the borders of the world as much as possible.

Quality over Quantity: While both are nice, I want to write with someone who can get inside their characters. Give me detail of what I'm seeing rather than saying a tree is a tree. Flesh it out, tell me if it's old or young. Ripe with fruit or not. I don't expect to have every stick described but I do want a good idea of what is going on. No one liners with the very rare exception. I have had maybe less than five one liners and one of them was one lover telling the other, "I need you to die.", which was more than enough.

Posting Times and Place: I can do Discord, but for something large I prefer here or Google Doc with Discord used to organize the rp and be a quicker way to talk about ideas and plots and such. As for how often posts can happen? I'd like at least once a week, but if you need a month? Then take it. If I need time? I'll take it.

Communication: I will talk to you. I will work with you. And in building a world we will need to communicate and compromise and draw hard limits at time. Sometimes that means we need to pause and think when someone gets stuck or is not okay with something.

Multiple Characters:I can run Multiple Characters at once as we get them up off the ground. I expect my partner to do that same. Also, I prefer playing playing women, but I can and do play males just as much.

World Building: I make worlds. I enjoy it. But of its a historical world? You aren't going to have toliets in ancient Rome. Keep in mind time and place, do research if you have to. I will jump down a rabbit hole and enjoy it.

Now, that being said. Here is what I'm looking for in world building if you kept on this long. I will add more as they come to me.

Ancient Gods
A world based around the ancient Deities found around the Mediterranean. They are real and interract in the lives of mortals. Kingdoms fight, children are born and love and hatred blooms like flowers. This is more historical and thus can vary. From a Priestess of Apollo journeying to a new temple on the orders of her God. To the half mortal child of Set guarding his temple as fierce as a hawk. Or shall we revive Alantis?

Justice League Dark Rp

Is this still going on, because I am interesred.