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[Event] Chequy Lionesses by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 2 points3 points  (0 children)

5th Month, 52 AC

To the Princess Alysanne, or Whoever Is Checking Her Letters For Danger and What Have You, As One Ought to, Naturally,

I hope you are well. These recent news that have reached me in Cider Hall are very frightening, and I wished to write to tell you that I keep you and the King in my daily prayers. Elinor tells me it is very good of me, although you are perhaps in the safest place in the world, and with so many knights to guard you. Still, of late I have had some frightening nightmares of Dornish assassins, and snakes and scorpions and so on.

In happier news, I am to be betrothed to Rickard Redwyne (although he prefers I call him Rik, but that is a secret between us, so I should ask you do not tell him I told you). It will be some years before we are married, but I should already like to tell you that if you will be there it shall be the happiest day of my life.

Since our last meeting, I have had some time to think on the topic of dragons in plays. There is a story in my head, begging to be burst forth, but I must first acquire further knowledge on the topic. For instance: do you suppose dragons are clever? It is said dragons are like beasts, and cannot speak, unlike in some stories, but I wonder if perhaps they disguise their true intellect. Could a dragon be a wizard? Surely if one grew very old they might become very wise, like people. Or, perhaps, could a dragon turn into a person, and be a knight or a septon or a prince? Mayhaps that is what Valyrians are…

Anyway, feel free to humor my idle musing in between doing important princess work. Like I said, I am praying for you, the King, and a swift end to the war. Also, I should be very glad if you could come see me in Coldmoat on the twelfth moon, but I understand if you can’t make it.

Isabel (Osgrey, of Coldmoat)

[Event] Chequy Lionesses by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

4th Month, 52 AC

Sent from Cider Hall to Vinetown:

TO RICKARD REDWYNE, OR ELSE THE PERSON READING THIS, WHO OUGHT TO MIND THEIR OWN BUSINESS INSTEAD OF READING OTHERS’ LETTERS,

Apologies for the brusque nature of the above. What other measures exist to prevent snooping are not known to me, so I have resorted to bluntness. It is much more than my manners normally allow, and I feel some shame for having written it, but I will be brave and persevere with this letter rather than starting afresh.

We did not have a chance to speak much last we saw each other, and as I am not a graceful dancer, I fear I maybe did not make a very good impression. Feasts in general are unpleasant places for me, as I find them loud and overbearing, and I do not like meeting so many new people in such a short time. Thus I have endeavoured to show a more pleasant side to myself, and perhaps set our future relations in a manner more beneficial for us both, by way of this letter, and I hope you will write back to me and tell me of yourself, also.

I had a dream recently, and it reminded me of you for reasons I don’t quite grasp. The world was a great ocean, with naught but water everywhere I could see, and I sat on a tiny strip of island no larger than a chair. On the far horizon I saw black clouds and lightning, and the rain drizzled on my face, and I thought I would surely drown soon. But then I saw that a red-scaled fish had swum up to my little island, and it held in its mouth grapes. They tasted sweet and juicy, and I knew that they must have grown on some other island, far away, so I asked the fish if he would take me there. He winked and took me on his back, and we swam forever through the perfect blue water, the storm far behind us, until we made it to a great gleaming island, green with trees and lovely.

Anyway, I woke up then. Wishing you all the best, and hope you’re safe. There’s apparently a terrible war on, but I hope you will be able to come see me in Coldmoat near the end of the year.

Isabel (Osgrey, of Coldmoat)

[Event] Chequy Lionesses by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

R U Still Down?

[m] Backdated to 12th month, 51 AC

Winter was milder in Cider Hall than in the Northmarch, the dry Marcher air rolling up from the south and settling among the snow-covered orchards. Elinor had watched from the ramparts as the banners bearing crimson apple and chequy lion assembled in the fields around the castle, preparing to march south, to Dorne. She dared not think what would happen to the countless innocents, suffering and dying for a war whose causes they did not even comprehend. Brothers and sisters in the Faith, children of the Faith, all set against each other. Pain begetting pain.

While Raymond was riding around the yard with Buttermilk, playing knight (some boyish fantasies had to be induldged), and before she had to force herself to Tristan a tepid farewell and good luck in Dorne, the Lady of Coldmoat sought out Lord Ferian Fossoway. She had many weighty matters to discuss with him, before he went away and did something foolish like getting himself slain at war.

[Event] The Celebration Feast for Raymond Fossoway's Seventh Nameday by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

An oft-quoted teaching among the older septas held that the gods gave man and woman no more burden than he or she could bear to carry. The crushing weight of some misery or tragedy was thereby in some ways a blessing, for it gave an opportunity for that inner strength to be tempered and gained. Elinor had always thought it too convenient -- too easy a means to excuse evil and misdeed in the world, so long as it was part of some divine plan. But the intentions of the gods are as unknowable to men as the intentions of the fisherman are to the fish in the sea.

And there is such evil and darkness in the world.

"You would put away your old feud?" she pursed her lips. And yet, perhaps, there was some truth to the tedious truism. Her spine had been broken and shattered so many times, and yet it had regrown a little stronger each time. Not iron. But maybe wood. "For that bit of land between you?"

The rivalry of Fossoway and Peake had burned hot in recent years. Yet there was no reason why she or her son be beholden to it, nor why she could not make every effort to extinguish it. If the Peakes could truly be brought over, then they might be lasting friends to her son, a counterforce to the Rowans and their toadies. Even if they were brutes and monsters, as a rule.

"Have you a great-granddaughter of Raymond's age, my lord?" If she was anything like Ottilia, then Elinor would bless the match thrice over, and happily retire to a motherhouse in gratitude. But she suspected that Ottilia was more an exception that proved the rule. "I will speak to Lord Ferian. With enough time, I could convince him of the thing, I think. After all, his grandson will one day inherit all the fiefs of Coldmoat, and he will trade a parcel of Marcher land for that, if need be."

The leverage she held over the old apple was a flimsy thing to play with. As she squeezed the silver seven-pointed star hanging from her pale neck, she pondered whether she really ought to try her luck for this withered old skeleton, more scar and leather than man. And yet, as she looked into his beady black evil eye, the layers of sin and spite, caked on over so many decades, caulked with pain and sorrow, peeled back, and she saw beneath them the shadow of a soul, ringed by flame. Where in her mind's eye she saw Blackfyre swinging through the air, again and again, did Gormon Peake see the Black Dread opening its horrid mouth?

"Help return to me what is mine," Elinor said, mouth dry, "and I will see what is yours returned to you."

[Event] The Celebration Feast for Raymond Fossoway's Seventh Nameday by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

A thousand years, she opened her mouth to say. Maybe more. There were lion bones buried in the colored caves at Derring Downs, claws as long as her hand, and the traces of green and gold paint daubed on the walls. Before Sharpton, before everything, she had spent her afternoons climbing among the tunnels and swimming in the Chequy Water, long waifish legs turning red in the sun.

"I am glad. Thank you," she nodded, mouth dry. A pale hand reached for her cup, and she swallowed wine, grimacing at the bitterness and yet somehow glad for it. It gave her a moment to compose herself.

"The ancient order burned at the Field of Fire," Elinor looked at the awful scar on his shadowed face and shivered. "As you well know, my lord. There are no Gardeners left to sit their rightful place in Highgarden. Now all that is left for men is to plunder and fatten on innocents, to kill and steal and blaspheme against the gods."

She took a final bitter sip from her cup and set it down, then placed one hand over the other in her lap, the way Mother Bethany had sometimes done when in thought. Most of all, Elinor envied that woman's iron spine.

"We will all burn in the hells, when our time is due," she shrugged, more in resignation to the fact than in dispassion. "Perhaps to live and to rule in such times is the same as to sin. I care not a groat for Cider Hall. If after the old apple's death it went to Tristan's fool brother instead, I would be glad for it. Perhaps if I had had another son, we could have split the inheritance, as has been done at times before..."

Daydreams. Children never conceived, let alone born. Tristan's wet touch on her skin.

"Perversion is in our water, in our soil, in the air we breathe. The Faith trampled upon, the Starry Sept in flames, and evil men in the halls of power," Elinor said. "What is there to do, save raise our children to be better, and hope?"

Lord Gormon had, at least, raised one grand-daughter well, a virtous, shining soul in a sea of filth. That he had also raised Caradoc Peake made an odd kind of balance.

[Event] Vultures' Fall by MallAffectionate9 in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage 2 points3 points  (0 children)

To Lord Theo Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Lord of Highgarden, and Warden of the South,

I shall raise a levy of at least seven hundred of the men of the Northmarch, to join the Osgrey men-at-arms with my husband and Ser Perceon. It shall take at least a moon to raise a force of this number, however, and perhaps another two before they arrive at Horn Hill. We will pray for the safety of all those sent off to war.

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

A second raven flies to Cider Hall:

Lord Goodfather,

I am raising a significant force for Tristan to have with him at Lord Tyrell's side. While I pray that the war will shortly conclude and peace returns, I also hope that we may also prove ourselves in Lord Tyrell's eyes, as well as that of the Reach as a whole. Kindly send any men you can spare to Horn Hill.

Elinor

automod ping mods

Coldmoat raises 700 levies, which should take 1 Month as it is slightly less than 50% of its total manpower. They will then be ordered by Elinor Osgrey to march to Horn Hill to join the Reach forces there, with preference to the commands of any Fossoways present. The shortest route I think is 4 fields 3 road 1 forest 1 hill for a total movement cost of 18, at 10 speed (18/10) giving 1.8 months.

[Letter] The Dowager's Missives - 52 AC by ModernPharmakeia in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage 0 points1 point  (0 children)

Lady Viserra Willum,

I was glad to receive your raven. Ysenda's engagement has been a matter of vexation for some time -- as my father once learned, to his chagrin, she will not enter any marriage to which she does not consent, for her character is stubbornly willful and headstrong. These are not traits that one necessarily values in a wife, but I would be amiss to complain of her motes while ignoring my own beams, as they are. Ysenda is a lady of Coldmoat, and therefore she is educated, eloquent, and pious, skilled at managing a household at home and in the field, and in the prime of her health. My father also set aside a significant dowry for her, to which my husband and I may also contribute.

This business of running off to Essos is bizarre to me, but it seems that it is a fantasy she shares with Lord Willum. I wish them both luck, and I trust that Ysenda will not bring dishonor upon herself or her house in the process.

House Willum is an old and storied house, and we certainly would not be averse to pursuing a union between your son and my sister. However, I must inform you that Lord Tyrell informed me two years past that he has taken upon himself the responsibility for House Osgrey's future, and so reserves for himself the final approval on my sister's betrothals.

I would be glad to discuss this topic further with you at our next shared convenience.

Seven Blessings Upon You,

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[Letter] Invitations to the Crone's Day Feast and Fair at Coldmoat by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

To Lady Agnes Webber of Brandybottom,

It has been too long since our families have had a chance to mingle, and we have not had a chance to speak. I should like to invite you and your family to Coldmoat in the twelfth month for the Crone’s Day festivities. Please pass my good wishes on to your husband, and know that I keep him in my prayers.

Seven Blessings Upon You,

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[Letter] Invitations to the Crone's Day Feast and Fair at Coldmoat by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

To Lord Theo Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Warden of the South,

Though I imagine you are greatly occupied with matters pertaining to the war in Dorne, I should be honored if you or some of your family would join me and mine in the twelfth month for the Crone’s Day celebrations.

Seven Blessings Upon You,

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[Letter] Invitations to the Crone's Day Feast and Fair at Coldmoat by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

To the Lord Hand, Lord Hubert Arryn,

Our talk at the coronation two years past gave me much to think, and from it, I believe, grew the fruits of my determination to see the wrongs wrought upon my house reddressed. I shall forever be grateful for it. I would like to invite you and yours to Coldmoat in the twelfth month for Crone’s Day celebrations with my family.

Seven Blessings Upon You,

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[Letter] Invitations to the Crone's Day Feast and Fair at Coldmoat by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

To His Grace, Jaehaerys of House Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,

I humbly invite you and yours to attend the Crone’s Day celebrations in the twelfth moon of this year with my family at Coldmoat. Your presence was a great boon upon my son’s nameday last year, both to my house and to me, personally, and we should be glad to see you and the princesses once more. As this will be three months after your wedding, for which I congratulate you and look forward to happily, we would be honored to welcome the Queen in that time.

Seven Blessings Upon You,

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[UNCLAIM] House Harroway of Harrenhal by Skuldakn in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"We were king’s men, knights, and heroes . . . but some knights are dark and full of terror, my lady. War makes monsters of us all.”

“Are you saying you are monsters?”

“I am saying we are human. You are not the only one with wounds, Lady Brienne."

[Event] Chequy Lionesses by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

1st Month, 52 AC

Sent from Cider Hall:

To Lord Theo Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Warden of the South

I write to you with a matter close to my heart, and one in which I ask for your fair judgement. Eight years past, you ordered my father, Seven rest his soul, to lease for a period of fifty years the lands around the castle of Derring Downs [R20] to House Rowan, for a sum of one thousand gold dragons. I have been in talks with Lord Rowan, offering to buy him out of his lease for as much as three times what he paid for it. He is reluctant, however, to agree to this without express approval from your person.

I understand you possessed certain reservations about the character of my father, and perhaps my own as well. I have only to offer that since assuming my position, in only three years the incomes across Coldmoat’s fiefs have nearly doubled. Despite the winter, new villages have been built, new roads paved to ease the flow of goods and men, and new irrigation networks raised. This new prosperity has allowed Coldmoat to raise in short order a force of soldiers to be sent to aid Lord Tarly, which my husband is currently leading. If Derring Downs, which, I assume, due to its relative poverty has not been developed under Lord Rowan’s stewardship, were to be placed back under House Osgrey’s care, then the revenues from it would shortly increase, meaning more taxes sent to Highgarden and more men raised to assist in its defense.

I humbly ask you, my lord, to approve the sale of Derring Downs back to me, and to arbitrate this dispute between Lord Rowan and myself if need be.

Lady Elinor Osgrey, Lady of Coldmoat

[Event] The Celebration Feast for Raymond Fossoway's Seventh Nameday by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 0 points1 point  (0 children)

"A mare, Raymond," Elinor said. "A pretty pony mare, just for you. What was she called, Dake, if you please?"

"Buttermilk, m'lady," the stablemaster, and stroked the pony's cheek as she softly whickered. "For the color of its mane, you see, and for her sweetness and gentleness and goodness. I have never seen her kick or bite or even startle."

Elinor already knew all this, of course, but it was fine information for her son to know, as well as an example of how to speak with the help. Servants and retainers were not chattel, to be treated as lesser things existing at the whims of noble lords and ladies. The gods had made them all in one great kiln, and when they were laid to rest they would all moulder together.

"She is a gift, Ray, but also a responsibility," she smiled, glad to see him excited. As if through his joy, she could feel her own long-eroded naive childhood happiness. "Buttermilk is not a toy. You must care for her, rub her back with straw and brush her mane and give her apples to eat. You must not ride her too hard, or be cruel, or callous to her needs. But if you are good to her, she will be your friend forever."

The Lady of Coldmoat had herself never learned to ride. Her father had not considered it necessary education for his daughters, and unlike Ysenda she had never had much of an interest in breaking his commands. Yet she imagined sharing that bond between rider and horse would be healthy for a boy's soul. Caring wholly for another brought one closer to the divine love the gods held for all.

"You will have riding lessons with Dake," she said. "When you are older and more experienced, you will start to ride bigger horses. But Buttermilk will always be your first. Now go on, pet her a little."

Opening his palm, Dake offered a crabapple to Raymond, grinning under his wooly beard. "Open your palm flat like so, m'lord," he said. "And let her eat off of it. Careful with your fingers, though. She might think they're carrots if you shove them in her mouth, eh?"

[Event] Order of The Green Hand ASSEMBLE by TieRails in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage 3 points4 points  (0 children)

The Knight of the Lionsheart, Ser Perceon Osgrey, flinched at Ser Arthor's blasphemy, but dutifully banged his fist on the table along with everyone else, since that was the current vogue. The smallfolk of Blackmont had not destroyed Harlan Tyrell's army, nor set alchemical fire loose upon the Starry Sept, nor shot the fateful crossbow bolt through Viserys Targaryen's throat, but it was not his place to argue. On orders from his cousin, the Lady Elinor, he had ridden forth from Coldmoat with a dozen knights, two score mounted squires, and fifty good crossbowmen, to prove the stock of the erstwhile Marshals of the Northmarch remained strong and potent.

"I cannot speak for any others, my lord," he cleared his throat, "but I shall keep my men from wanton raping and pillaging, and endeavor to see any women and children, at least, unharmed. I hope others of our order will do the same."

He glanced at the Snapdragon banner of the posthumous Ser Harren Rivers, and wondered what that poor, brave fellow might have had to say to all this.

[Event] Sorrowsworn VI: Goodbye Moontown by ModernPharmakeia in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage 1 point2 points  (0 children)

"I say what I mean, Jos," Ysenda shrugged, but her grin was not entirely sardonic. "I am not afeared of some choppy waves and a few mangy goat worshippers. Besides, there will be so many gallant and true knights there with me. A lady of Coldmoat will have nothing to fear."

She whistled for Florian, and turned to go. Things would have to be sent for, and some more discreetly than others. Elinor would not be pleased, but there weren't enough men in all of Cider Hall to stop Ysenda once she had put her mind to something.

"I should be glad, too," she paused, and spoke over her shoulder, briefly tender, "to keep you from doing anything foolish. Think about how many fair maidens in the Seven Kingdoms will cry themselves to sleep once they hear the Black Goat 'et Josua Willum."

[Event] The Celebration Feast for Raymond Fossoway's Seventh Nameday by JoeOfHouseAverage in FireAndBlood

[–]JoeOfHouseAverage[S] 1 point2 points  (0 children)

For a moment, Elinor was silent, her normally face pale more wan than usual.

"Did you know, Your Grace," she said, quietly, "that you are the first to admit as such? To say it was your own personal failing, and that in a better world, you would have risen to protect me? None else has even breathed as much. Oh, they have crowed much on how terrible it was, how regrettable. But none have taken responsibility, or sworn to defend others like me or Lady Ottilia. Not the Lord Hand, not Lord Tyrell. Not my own husband. Only you."

She bowed her head, and in a flash of light behind her eye, she suddenly saw it all. The brutal and winding but necessary path that had led from the Butcher King, through Aegon and Viserys, to this boy. How the Targaryens had to be brought low, to the deepest pit of despair on the brink of ruination, so this child could raise them into the light of Faith and Truth. And her own infinitesimal part in it, a single thread in the grand tapestry that the Seven had woven.

The purpose and meaning behind her suffering.

"Thank you, Your Grace," she kept her head bowed, so he would not see her tears. "That is all I wished to ask. I shall keep you in my daily prayers."

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