Nysa Arryn knew mountains. The cold, high mountains of the Eyrie had been her home for her whole life, and even after the birth of her younger brother, her father had never hesitated to take her on his many trips to survey the Vale or meet with other houses’ lords. Her mother, however, had been a house of the valley itself, and had coped quite nicely with being the Lady of House Arryn by avoiding windows and refusing to look down when they traveled to and from the Eyrie.   So while it disappointed fifteen-year-old Nysa to hear her mother scream loud enough to be heard over the waterfall next

A shriek of joy went up from the stables of Kingsgrave, and the sound immediately made the Lord of the house and several maids bolt for their respective doors. In the past year, shrieks of joy had become an increasingly common occurrence in House Manwoody, and while they always brought a smile to Barlay’s face, they were also a sign that one of his mischievous 1-year-olds was doing something they definitely shouldn’t be, and if it was coming from the stables, it was definitely from-   “Master Kyne!”   “Young Lord!”   He heard the cries before he burst through the wooden doors to see his youngest son, barely past

“But I don’t see why you have to get married at all.” Ellabette said.   “Hah, as if Senny wanted to stay and take care of your messes for the rest of her life.” Janvier retorted, practically pushing Mariseine up the walkway of the boat.   Mariseine Celtigar didn’t let herself get pushed all the way up, leaning back against her third sister’s hands to smile at them, all 13 of her younger sisters, in various states of emotions at her leaving. They were acting as though she was about to die, when it wasn’t as though she wouldn’t see them again as soon as the wedding started. Her father

My dearest Kiyara,   Perhaps you are right. In fact, I’m certain you are. As you have always been disregarded and put to shame in front of polite company, it would not surprise me if the same was done to me for loving you, and I have no doubt there are things that I would lose. Perhaps even more so, it would please them to see me “fall” as they might say. I am a man of many passions that I care not to hide, I have my share of enemies, or at least unhappy acquaintances.   But you must also know I care not for their petty concerns. I

It was a little-known-fact that the scheming, indomitable Emma Velaryon was, in fact, a pouter. As pouting openly was neither proper behavior nor in line with her image as the perfect lady, she was keeping to herself, in a corner of the Great Hall of the Red Keep, seated in a chair against one wall, holding a drink in her hand. It was her sisters, of course. It always was. Sil was alright most of the time, and Vi only sometimes meant to upset her, but if it wasn’t Isa and Jasmine’s pride and joy to say such mean things about her just to watch her reactions. A right little

It had been a long time since Kingsgrave had been peaceful. Ever since Barlay Manwoody had decided to take in his bastard daughters, the castle had been full of the noisy laughter of his seemingly endless brood of mischievous children, but there was something especially noisy about it today. Servants were bustling about, preparing for the return of the Lord and his three eldest sons from their trip to celebrate the marriage of their crown prince. It was unusual for all four of the lords to leave at once, and there was quite the air of relief from the somewhat beleaguered servants, but the real buzz was coming from the

Meghaera Whent and Emma Velaryon made an odd pair, sitting side by side. Emma with her perfectly middling grey hair and violet eyes so pale they almost seemed to border on pink, Meghaera with her golden blonde curls and light, grey eyes. Still, they shared a reputation; neither of them considered beauties among their siblings, but both handsome enough and proper enough to have their share of admirers. Unfortunately for those admirers, there was one other trait they shared, and that was a shrewd gaze that saw men as amusing children at best. There was something about the way they were huddled together, chatting merrily, that made it clear they

The sound of music and laughter came streaming from the great hall of Highgarden. The entire hall was flooded with light from a million lamps and candles. The large window-doors leading out to each balcony connected to the great hall were thrust wide open, but were covered with heavy curtains, allowing a quiet spot for those wishing for a break, a private conversation, or even a lovers’ tryst.   It was below one of these balconies that a sixteen-year-old Vikkin had taken refuge. The balconies were just a small hop above an extravagantly decorative garden, complete with a central fountain, from which flowed strategically designed rivulets of clear water. Between

“Maeghaera.” The girl in question turned from where she was sitting on the floor to look up at her older brothers. Maeghaera was considered fairly pretty in her own right, but a moderate sort of pretty, golden hair and pale grey eyes set into unblemished but unassuming features that made one forget her amidst the crush of her ten other siblings. She was of average height and average build, and if anything was really memorable about her it was the calm perspicacity that seemed to inhabit her manner of holding herself and looking at others.   The eldest sons of House Whent were quite the opposite. They were tall, and

Vikkin had never used to care whether they were at Darkdell or visiting some other noble house. They’d done it often enough, his father in particular being fond of sending the boys off to respected allies so he could enjoy his brandy in peace and quiet. As a younger boy, their family dynamic hadn’t seemed to change much wherever they were. He missed those times now that he was eight, and more importantly now that his brother was eleven, and had apparently decided that their father was his archenemy. Being away from Darkdell and their constant squabbles was now a blessing.   He let out a long contented sigh, lying

Nimue was small for a sixteen year old, so it was easy for others to miss the rigid set of her spine, the sword callouses on her hands, the stony grey eyes that held not a shred of warmth or give. Her dress had been a suggestion of her mother’s. Instead of her usual simple, dark gowns, many of which were modified by the maids from her mother’s old dresses, they had spent a little money on a more elaborate affair today, a poofy gown with a white base, but a layer of sheer fabric on top, that had been dyed gradually to a dark blue at the bottom, silver

Barlay Manwoody had his arms crossed across his chest, his unassuming light hair and brown eyes set in an unreadable expression. He was standing in the shadows of a balustrade, on a small platform overlooking a courtyard deep in the dark castle of Kingsgrave, where a small crowd had gathered to watch two boys spar. From the sound below, it was as if a small festival were taking place. Barlay led a casual and lively household, so he would never punish the servants no doubt exchanging bets between themselves below, but his own mood at this unexpected event was dark.   His eldest son, Axton, had a sturdy frame, and

“It’s the curse of Harrenhal.”   “All three eldest sons dead.”   “A great tragedy.”   “What is to become of House Whent with only its fourth son to aid an ailing father?”   “The decline of the house.”   Stevvin sat on the floor of his room, back against the cold stone wall that had been his eldest brother’s room. The room was, as every room in Harrenhal, several times the size of any other room he had ever stayed in outside of Harrenhal. He had grown up in these dark and drafty halls, was comfortable in the wide expanses that seemed to so discomfit visitors, but sitting there

“Kiyara! Kiyara!” Five-year-old Kovan came tearing around the corner and nearly slammed into the little girl he’d been looking for.   “That’s not how you play!” Kiyara Flowers protested, her lower lip pushing out and soft blue eyes widening in a little pout.   Kovan was too happy to care that he was breaking the rules of hide and seek, grabbing both her little hands in his and holding them to his breast. “Mother says we’re going to get married!” He declared, joy shining from every corner of his little body.   Already wide blue eyes grew even wider, and then Kiyara followed suit, face shining with her smile. “Married?

Vikkin was unusually quiet. It had been some months since they had last visited Highgarden, and Kovan had always been of the impression that his brother enjoyed seeing the Tyrells, but after exchanging a few pleasantries, he’d grown rather quiet. The older he got, the more serious he seemed to get, going from the carefree, eccentric little boy he’d been, to the more dutiful son he was expected to be, but Kovan hadn’t expected that to start spilling over into their interactions with their old friends.   The two of them were sitting in the shared sitting room between their two rooms in the guest suite in total silence. Kovan

Rhaecerys had never felt so nervous in his life. He was the eldest son of the king. He was tall, a decent swordsman, and fairly regarded as pleasing to the eye. By all rights, he had nothing to worry about. All the same, he found himself acting like he had when scolded by his father as a foolish child. He sat very properly in the settee in the antechamber, entire body tensed, twisting his hands in his lap.   Perhaps he would not be so nervous if Silya Velaryon was not the woman she was, and if the man he was meeting with today, Lord Nikolaus Velaryon, did not have

As the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms, with the current king growing quite old, Rhaecerys Targaryen had never had any illusions about how big an affair each of his Nameday celebrations would be, but being in the midst of it was quite a different ordeal. Rhaecerys had never had any problems with large, grand occasions, but even he had his limits. Archery competitions, a series of fencing competitions, jousting, a melee. And these had been followed by dancing and a feast in the evening every day, all of which he had been required to be both present at and an active participant of. The dancing was by far the

The Crown Prince Rhaecerys Targaryen found his gaze drawn restlessly to the window of his study. He was supposed to be reading and preparing for one of his lessons later in the week. The day was dull, grey, and chilly, but the window had been left wide open, a brightly colored cloth tied to its handle and waving in the wind. He would have liked to have said that it was the movement of the cloth that was distracting him, as well as the unpleasant cold, but there was a reason for both of those things, and he was not willing to give that up for a little extra comfort.

Kassius’ footfalls were heavy as he left his chambers for his first dinner having returned from his fosterage. He loved Highgarden, but he would miss Dorne: Princess Myria, Prince Nymeros, the strange trees with fronds instead of branches, the pools in the Watergardens the little princess had convinced him to learn to swim in. He took a deep breath and opened the door to the dining hall, taking his place at the table as the third son. The meal table was utterly quiet. He’d forgotten that meals at Highgarden were like this. Dinner was not a rowdy affair in Sunspear or the Watergardens, but there’d always been life and chatter

Kassius kept his eyes carefully away from Myria’s tear-streaked face, partially because he could feel the tears welling up in his eyes as well, and knew if he saw her crying, he would actually start himself. He couldn’t cry. At least for her sake, he shouldn’t. The thought of leaving Dorne behind and never seeing it or Prince Nymeros and Princess Myria again was already doing its best to break his heart. “Please let go, Princess.” He said, not having the heart to do much more than pull away from her, trying to pry her arms away from his waist.   “No!” She near shouted at him, burying her face

The weather was beautiful at the Arbor, the fresh smell the only indication of the rain that had fallen all over the island the day before. Kovan’s mother was with his little brother, still sleeping after the exhausting journey they had all just taken. His father had awoken early to directly take breakfast with their host and begin their negotiations. Kovan had woken up not long after his father had left, and after unsuccessfully attempting to wake his brother and mother, had left by himself to explore the castle. He had expected the island to be small and covered in rocks, but it felt like just another piece of the

“A northern wedding?!” Lady Rosby said, looking somewhat shocked, and failing to keep her voice down.   Her companion, the young Lord Brune of Brownhollow looked absolutely delighted at her near palpable distress and surprise, and conspiratorially raised his voice as well, as if sharing a great secret with the whole table. “Yes, indeed. It seems to me to show an abominable level of indulgence on their part.” He scoffed, “Two weddings. Even others who have married that sort of lady show a little restraint in perhaps merging customs. But then, what would be expected of Lord Velaryon’s only surviving son. I’ve heard tell that he was conceived of some

Lord Vyrwel, Lady Vyrwel, and Lord Redwyne were having rather the peaceful tea in a sitting room until Lord Vyrwel’s five-year-old son ran into the room, laughing. There was dirt covering his right side up to the underside of his arm and flowers had been clumsily arranged in his hair most likely by someone other than himself, but his eyes were sparkling with such joy that he didn’t seem to realize at first that he’d stumbled upon a gathering of the adults to which he was not invited.   He saw them, smiled, and gave a little bow. “Excuse me, my lords, mama. I did not mean to intrude.” He

Kovan was not fond of special occasions. Even on the cusp of age 13, Vikkin was better suited for the exchanging of pleasantries and careful banter expected at occasions such as this. He found his eyes wandering as he allowed his brother to take care of the majority of the conversation. The wedding was to happen later in the day, and for now the various lords and ladies who had come to celebrate the wedding of the Lord Maximillian Tyrell. Most everyone in the Reach had been invited.   As he looked around the lush gardens filled with people, he caught sight of Lord Kassius. While Kovan had never precisely

“What do you mean? Where did she go?” The young boy with the jade green eyes demanded of maidservant in front of him.   The young woman was practically shaking with fear, staring down at her feet, fists twisted into her skirts. He felt so angry, not realizing in his self-righteous seven year old rage that he was glaring at her with all the imperious authority of his noble blood. For the past several months, Kovan Vyrwel had bothered everyone he could, trying to discover what had happened to his and his brother’s beloved nursemaid.   His new governess, the servants, his parents, no one would tell him why she

“Do we really need so much finery?” Visenya asked, quietly. “And so many people.” With their difference in height, her mild purple-tinted grey eyes had to look up at him through silver-brown lashes. It made Baelin want to grab her and hug her tightly. That expression was one of many things that gave him that impulse. The last two years holding himself back had been a torture. It was a relief they were finally getting married.   She had tried to convince him otherwise several times throughout their engagement, but as far as Baelin was concerned, this marriage was a cause for celebration, a moment he had much anticipated, and

“Isn’t that the Lord Baelin Lannister?” Emma said, looking to her left into the distance.   Visenya’s head jerked over to look at her sister, just in time to notice Silya flash Emma a look that told her the two hags had planned this together. She really really hated her family sometimes. So maybe she had been sticking to Silya and volunteering to represent her at various celebrations in the past year. Did they really have to notice everything? Violette didn’t seem surprised or confused, either, though a few of their brothers did.   Visenya shot her sisters dirty looks. This did a little explain why they had chosen to

Almost a year after the Lord Baelin Lannister’s sixteenth Nameday celebration, Princess Silya Targaryen received a most curious letter that would have been more of a surprise, had her youngest sister done a better job of hiding several meetings she’d had with a certain young Lord over the past few months.   “Princess Silya Targaryen,   I know House Lannister has, of late, made an enemy of your father’s house, but I beg your condescension in reading this letter till its end, as my intentions are honorable. It has been some time now since I have become acquainted with your ward, the Lady Visenya Targaryen. Allow me to assure you

He felt her before he heard her, her hands wrapping around his arm in the crush of people. “My Lord Lannister.” Visenya hissed.   Baelin gave her the quickest little smile and then maneuvered them away from the crowd. Sometimes he felt like he was doing something terribly wrong, as they always met alone. He getting away from his family, and she from her sister and benefactors. Still, he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the moments they managed to steal together, talking and exploring places together.   They really were fortunate that the first Nameday celebration of the infant princess had been so large an affair. They’d had almost a

Since the day Drake Velaryon had become Lord of the Tides, the castle of Driftmark had been the very definition of orderly and calm. It appeared that trend was ending today.   Since the day he’d beaten his first swordsmaster in a proper spar, Nikolaus Velaryon had almost never been observed to raise his voice, and in fact few people could point to a time he had from the moment he’d learned how to speak. It appeared that was also ending today.   The problem was, of course, as maids would no doubt tell each other, the new bride his Lordship had brought to Driftmark. A very wild, uncouth barbarian

“Lady Visenya!” Visenya whirled around at the sound of her name. The minute she saw who had been calling her, she breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to the Father that he had caught her while everyone was dispersed. The second day of the celebration involved a few small events and a continuation of yesterday’s festivities. Alaric was crossing wooden swords with a few other boys his age, and Isabel and Jasmyne had left to buy some sweets and exchange stories away from their husbands. Emma and Violette were competing with each other in a casual archery competition, and Silya had stayed inside to sleep, since she’d apparently been quite

“I’m not going to the feast.” Visenya said stoutly.   Emma made an exasperated noise and threw up her hands, “Why not?”   “Well why do I have to?” The younger girl retorted. “I don’t see why we came at all. The Lannisters have been very unpleasant to us, and probably only invited us to see if we’d dare. And aren’t we supposed to be pretending nobody likes each other?”   “That’s the point, Visenya.” Emma tried to explain for the umpteenth time. “We have to present a somewhat united front in public while rumors spread that House Velaryon is fighting in private. Besides,” Visenya sighed, seeing the expression of

Baelin Lannister wouldn’t say he hated his aunt Margaery, but he did find her quite tiresome sometimes, especially her most recent vendetta against House Velaryon for apparently no greater crime than marrying into some of the most prestigious families in Westeros. She’d had some particular grudge against the young princess of Dorne. It was a wonder to him, then, that she had chosen to invite Lord Velaryon and all his children and their spouses to his sixteenth birthday celebration. And that she had to keep talking about them being there.   The sad thing was that it was hard to disappear when you were the guest of honor at a

The room was dead silent, and a little dark, as the only window in Nikolaus’ study was covered with a heavy curtain. This made for an intimidating effect, with the candlelight casting shadows across his chiseled face, and no one had ever thought Nikolaus needed to be made any more intimidating than he already was. Normally, this was not something he put effort into, but the Lord of House Velaryon had seen his daughter’s beloved once before, and he had looked less than impressive. None of his daughters were to be trifled with, but of them all, the child who took most after him could never be satisfied with a

Sara’s throat felt like it was closing up. The young Lord Pliar Yronwood was a little less than a head taller than her, nor as bulky as Kyne or even Axton, but the sense of helplessness and fear as he pressed her up against the cart in the secluded courtyard he’d found her in was familiar. She’d sworn to herself she would never go through this again. She wasn’t eleven anymore, with her fifteen-year-old bully of a brother slapping her into submission. She was a good swordsman, better than most her age, and she never ever felt helpless about anything. So why did her body feel like jelly, tears threatening

Barlay Manwoody trudged into his study, absolutely exhausted. It had been a long day. Some days he felt both too young and too old to be Lord of House Manwoody, especially with his newborn twin sons to take care of. They had been keeping the whole house awake, especially with their sisters tormenting them. His study was just about the only place he could get any peace, anymore.   He walked over to his desk and was about to sit down in his chair, when he realized someone very small had got to it first and was using it to nap. A small chuckle slipped from his lips. At three

Kovan didn’t like Dorne, he had decided. He didn’t hate it, either, but he missed home. The sun was too strong here. Still, the Water Gardens were pleasanter than he had expected, greener, and he liked that the servants’ children were allowed to play with them. It was just… a strange place with strange people, and he missed his little brother.   “Kovan!” Kovan looked up at the sound of his name to see Kassius Tyrell approaching him. They hadn’t seen each other in two years, and it was a shock to see him now. He was as fair-skinned as ever, and as always unexceptional in looks with brown hair

Silya was standing in the middle of the street, head tilted back, only the white of her eyes showing. People passed by her, some giving her strange looks. It was dangerous for her to be so blatantly skinchanging, but Silya had never much cared about what was dangerous or not, and besides, she got the feeling the person she was checking for would never let anyone hurt her.   Ah yes, there he was. Soaring through the air in the body of a crow, Silya scanned the crowd, the crow swooping low before landing on the roof of a house, staring in irritation at the silver-haired prince following her. He

Kassius’ heart was thudding hard in his chest, dry throat and sweating palms not exactly a result of the weather. It would be the first time he was going to see his family in a year. He had spent the year sending letters back and forth with his brothers and sisters assuring them that he was doing well, and had been well-received by the Martells. He also would have liked to have included in his more formal letters to his parents, the assertion that he hadn’t done anything to shame the Reach in Sunspear, just yet. In fact, he thought people rather liked him. But he hadn’t bothered to write

“My Lord.”   Garrothan Tyrell didn’t look up from his paperwork, but spoke loud enough for his strong voice to permeate the door. “Enter.”   A servant entered the room and presented the Lord Paramount of the Reach with a tray of letters. Garrothan gestured for the servant to place them on his desk, but didn’t reach for them until he had finished all of his work for the day. He went through them casually, not seeing much of anything unusual until the last letter. In an elegant, flowing hand was the name “Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne.”   He had not heard from the Prince of Dorne for years.

“My Lord! Your favorite cousin has returned.” Jonatan burst into Nikolaus’ study, an action Nikolaus hated and wouldn’t have tolerated from anyone else. Everyone else knew better than to risk his wrath. Nikolaus didn’t respond or even glance up. He didn’t retort, as he occasionally did, that Jonatan was, in fact, his only cousin, and was therefore also his least favorite cousin. He just went on scratching away at a stack of papers on top of his desk, most likely the affairs he hadn’t been able to attend to with the wedding preparations and the dozens of formal congratulation letters he’d had to respond to.   “So, how goes married

Lydia was sitting in the reading room, rather unsuccessfully attempting to read a novel she’d bought in the market. The reason she was being somewhat unsuccessful at it was standing in front of her, trying to draw her attention away from the frivolous book by talking, of all things, about suitors. As the only daughter of House Penrose, she supposed most houses would have considered it her duty to start looking into marrying, and it wasn’t as though she was ill-favored. She had her share of admirers, perhaps more than she thought, but certainly more than she had any interest in.   “It is high time you get married, Lydia!

“Silya.” Silya looked up at her father, sitting at the head of the table, in surprise. It was not his custom to speak much during meals unless it was a formal dinner or some important business had come up that he needed to relay to all of his family and close vassals, and rarely did such important business involve one of them, especially not her; even as one of the last of his daughters still living in his house, Silya wasn’t the most troublesome of the Velaryon children. His expression was, as ever, stern, serious, and unreadable, and even her mother didn’t appear to know quite what he was going

“I told you that there wasn’t going to be enough! Nothing ever goes as it should when you plan anything!” Jasmyne shrieked at him. They’d been married two years, loved each other for years before that, and somehow her anger still seemed to shake the earth with the magnitude of it. Not that he was feeling any calmer than usual, really, though.   “I did not decide to invite the entire island to our celebration at the last minute without telling anyone! You said you trusted that I could- where are you going?!” Dagur demanded, as she turned around and began storming off down the hall, goodness only knew where

“Steady there, my Lord. That’s right. Be quick with your footwork.” At ten years old, Nikolaus was already proving himself to be a strong child. He wasn’t pushing the swordmaster back just yet, but give it a couple years, and the man would have to exert himself to stay on top. Once he reached his manhood, he would doubtless need a new swordmaster to even challenge him.   When they ended the fight, he was breathing hard, sweat soaking into his tunic, but his deep-set violet eyes remained calm and analytical, impossible to read. He wiped the sweat from his brow and went to bathe, his father looking on approvingly.

Three weeks. Kassius was mostly settled now. Dorne was pleasanter than he had expected, but he still felt the most at home in the gardens. After he’d gotten over his initial nervousness, he’d actually come to appreciate being away from home. Lord Nymeros had been surprisingly kind to him, and had supplied him with anything he had asked for, which had really just been some parchment, charcoal, and paints. He had spent most of his time since then seeking solitude in Sunspear’s pleasure gardens, drawing the birds and flowers he was unfamiliar with. Perhaps he would send some of his artwork to his sisters.   He sat-cross-legged in the grass,

“It’s going to be fine, Kassius! They’ll love you. How could they not?” Sillowen had said.   Max had told him to “Just stick it out for a couple years, and they’ll let you come home again, don’t worry.”   “They’ll let you come back before then, too. For special occasions and things, I’m sure.” Danwell hadn’t exactly sounded sure to him.   And of course, his five-year-old little sister Jana had just given him a hug and told him, “I’m going to miss you, Kassi.”   Kassius remembered leaving Highgarden with some bitterness. Even if they were trying to reassure him, his siblings weren’t the ones who had to

Shouts and screams ripped through the usually quiet of the halls of House Farwynd. By the time Ygran and his young wife Oletha arrived, the servants were already there, trying to pull the offending parties apart. “Mistress Eister, this is not dignified!” One of the servants cried, before getting elbowed in the face and forced to let go. Ten-year-old Eister made no comment, plowing her fist into the face of her playmate with a self-righteous shriek, knocking the servant behind him onto his back. The boy drew up his hands to protect himself, having given up fighting back.   The two of them rolled around on the ground for a

“Listen carefully, Eister.” Her mother, Oletha, told her, while preparing for an excursion with her father. “Men like to be needed and adored, but only when it’s most convenient for them. It’s alright to push him a bit when you’re trying to secure his affections, but once you’ve secured them, never overstep your bounds. Watch him. If he rejects a kiss or says he’s too busy or tired, keep your distance. Doing anything else will only upset him, and he’ll quickly tire of you.”   Even at age five, Eister was used to her mother’s unprompted, and at times unwelcome, lectures, and there wasn’t much beyond a mild curiosity in

The Lord of House Stark is dead, and his successor and new Hand of the Queen is nothing more than a snot-nosed whelp. The news was like lightning to no one but a daughter of the House Farwynd. A young, unmarried Hand of the Queen, and she, yet unmarried herself. A chance for the Ironborn to rise again. It was to her father’s surprise that she requested an appearance with him and asked if he might offer her hand in marriage to the young Stark. An Ironborn like her, actually wanting to become the bride of the Hand of the traitorous Queen? It would be like bringing shame upon herself.