-Aegon VI Targaryen, "The Young Dragon"-
I finish the wine in my cup, and before I can set it down, a busty beauty refills it. I pull the woman into my lap getting a laugh out of her. My campaign has been going well. Better than well, if I am being honest with myself. We are planning to march on King's Landing to take the city. The throne is within reach.
We still have not heard anything from this eastern emperor but it does not matter. We have enough strength to take the capital on our own. The Old Lion is busy fighting the Riverlands and the North, tied down by Stark and Tully swords. The Reach has decided to start defending themselves at last, which keeps the Tyrells occupied.
Just as we were ready to march, Storm's End was attacked by sea. Several fleets, sailing under the banner of the flaming stag.
Stannis the pretender had decided to strike. He threw his fleet against our shores, and the Stormlords who went to his side after Renly's death came at us from land.
The battle lasted for several days. We were attacked from both angles the sea and the land. Both Sapphire Isle and Estermont fell. Stannis spared House Estermont as they were kin to the old stag. Lord Selwyn Tarth was not so fortunate. He was burned alive and his remaining heir, Brienne Tarth, was killed in one of the earlier battles when the Golden Company first landed.
This marked the extinction of House Tarth.
However, justice was paid as Stannis died as during the battle, I managed to encounter him, and I fought him in single combat.
I used Blackfyre, the sword gifted to me by Illyrio Mopatis before his passing. It felt right, a Targaryen blade ending the last Baratheon claim.
Unfortunately, we lost a great many men despite the victory. The Stormlords who had supported Stannis swore fealty to me afterwards bending the knee one by one as I stood over their dead king's body. The Crownlands lords retreated. The Velaryon fleet vanished over the horizon. The other vassal houses of Dragonstone followed.
They will bend the knee eventually. They have nowhere else to go.
But for now...For now, I enjoy the party.
The woman on my lap giggles as I fondle her getting a handful of one of her large breast. The hall is loud with laughter and music and the clatter of cups.
-Eddard Stark, The Wolf Lord-
I clutch the parchment as I read the news. My fingers tighten until the edges crumple.
Their cost was loss.
With the death of Stannis, the Blackfyre boy who calls himself Aegon Targaryen will take the Iron Throne. There is no one left to stop him, Joffrey holds King's Landing, but his grip weakens by the day.
Currently, I and the other high lords including my brother-in-law, Edmure sit in Riverrun, discussing what to do next.
Lord Beric Dondarrion, the last Stormlord who has not bent the knee to any pretender, looks uncomfortable. And why should he not? It is likely that he has lost his lands. Aegon has probably named a new Lord Dondarrion some distant kinsman, or perhaps one of his Golden Company captains.
The same could be said for Lord Edric Dayne, the young squire to Lord Dondarrion. We are discussing our options when the doors open.
A group of armed men enters, and at their head….Jon.
I rise from my seat before I realize I have moved. He has finally returned, but something is wrong. I notice it immediately. The sword at his waist carried a red ruby on top of it.
And his eyes... are no longer their familiar grey….. they are violet, Like the dragonlords of old… Like Rhaegar Targaryen… I felt my blood turns cold as I see him as my heart pounds rapidly.
Both Ser Brynden Blackwood and Jon spoke at length, informing us of their actions and all that had transpired in the North and on the Iron Islands.
The Ironborn women are currently housed in the halls of the castles, under guard. Jon was explicit about that much.
I watched the faces of the other lords as the details emerged, the fall of Pyke and the extinction of House Greyjoy's male line. The capture of the Iron Fleet's remnants nearly two thousand prisoners sent to the Wall.
Some of the lords looked... greedy. The Iron Islands may be barren and harsh, but they are still lands.
Lord Bracken was the first to speak. "And what of the islands themselves? Surely they should be granted to those who bled to take them."
Others murmured agreement.
"Any man who tries to do anything with any of the Ironborn women will answer to my blade" said Jon putting a hand on this sword hilt.
Some of the lords and knights looked defiant. Their faces reddened and I saw Ser Marq Piper open his mouth to object.
I did not give him the chance.
I stood, and the room went quiet. "My son has given his word," I said. "Lord Edmure Tully and I will back it. The Ironborn women are not spoils of war. They will be treated with honor, or the men who mistreat them will see justice."
Edmure rose beside me. "Lord Stark speaks for Riverrun as well. Any man who forgets himself will face the King's justice once we have a king again."
The defiance faded. Grudging respect took its place in some faces.
-later-
The discussions continued for another hour but to no real concessions. When the lords finally began to disperse Jon caught my attention.
We walked in silence through the halls of Riverrun but neither of us spoke, not until we reached the godswood.
The weirwood tree stood at its center as we got closer to it I could appreciate the white wood of the tree so similar to the weirwood from Winterfell. Jon stopped beneath its branches and turned to face me.
"You know why I asked you here," he ask.
I nodded slowly. "I believe I do."
"Then tell me tell me the truth about my mother I want to hear everything uncle Benjen has already told me, but I want to know from you. I wanna hear it from your mouth."
I bit my lip in slight irritation towards my younger brother but I knew that this couldn't be kept a secret forever that I would have eventually have to tell him.
So there in front of the weirwood I told my nephew…my son the true the full true that I knew about his parents.
About every little thing, I could possibly know about the both of them….
As I finally finish, Jon was silent for a long moment.
"So I am not a Snow," he said finally. "I am a... what? A Sand? A Waters?"
"You are a Stark, you were raised in Winterfell. I raised you as my son I have given you the best education I could possibly give you. You played in the godswood with Robb and Arya and Bran. You are my blood, Jon my sister's son. That makes you a Stark, no matter what name you choose to bear."
He looked down at the sword at his hip the blade with the ruby pommel.
"Benjen gave me this," he said quietly. "He told me... he told me I was the last dragon."
"You are not the last," I said. "There is Daenerys targaryen across the Narrow Sea. And the boy who calls himself Aegon targaryen. And the emperor the one who rules in Valyria now and there are others."
As I said this, an idea entered my head. An idea I would not have thought of or even considered before, if we were not in the situation we now faced.
Jon had proven himself a capable commander and warrior. Despite everything despite the circumstances of his birth, despite the lies I had told to protect him he still had a claim.
Especially in a time like this.
"Jon, there is something else we need to discuss"…..
-founding of house Snowfyre-
As recorded by Maester Gerold of the Citadel, from the chronicles of the Riverlands and the testimony of witnesses present at Riverrun
In the late days of 298 AC, a new house arose from the ashes of war. House Snowfyre, its name a deliberate fusion of the bastard surname of the North and the word for fire in Valyrian, was founded by one who had been known to the realm as Ser Jon Snow, the Golden-Bane.
The proclamation came at Riverrun, before the assembled lords of the North and the Riverlands. Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun, and their principal bannermen swore fealty to the new king Aemon of House Snowfyre, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.
Lord Eddard Stark, long known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his honor, stood before the assembled lords and told a tale he had kept secret for sixteen years.
He spoke of his sister, Lyanna Stark, who had been betrothed to Robert Baratheon but was taken by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. He spoke of the child born from that union, a son, born in the Tower of Joy in the red mountains of Dorne as the war that had consumed the realm reached its bloody conclusion.
Lyanna Stark died in childbirth, Lord Stark claimed, and her final words to her brother were a plea: protect the boy, raise him as his own, and keep him safe from Robert Baratheon's wrath.
The truth of this account was sworn to by Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, the sole surviving companion of Eddard Stark from the confrontation at the Tower of Joy. Lord Reed, who rarely leaves his seat and even more rarely involves himself in the affairs of the greater realm, traveled to Riverrun specifically to lend his voice to the proclamation.
"By the old gods and the new, by the weirwoods of the North and the septs of the South, I swear that every word Lord Stark has spoken is true," Lord Reed declared.
The assembled lords, after initial murmurs of disbelief and consternation, ultimately accepted the account. Lord Eddard Stark's reputation for honor weighed heavily in the scales. As Lord Jason Mallister declared from his seat: "If Eddard Stark tells me the sun rises in the west, I will look to the horizon before I doubt him."
Lord Edmure Tully, brother to the late Catelyn Stark and uncle by marriage to the new king, lent his full support to his nephew. The Riverlords, many of whom had fought alongside the Golden-Bane against the Lannisters and the Ironborn, followed their liege lord's example.
King Joffrey, denounced it as treasonous fabrication.
But for most of the realm, the word of Eddard Stark was enough. Lord Eddard Stark had gather such a reputation that not even majority of his enemies could call him a liar. If he said Jon Snow now Aemon Snowfyre was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, then so it must be.
Aemon Snowfyre was crowned in the godswood of Riverrun, beneath the branches of a great weirwood. In a break from tradition, he took his oath before the old gods only, kneeling before the weirwood.
Lord Eddard Stark placed the crown upon his head a simple circlet of bronze and iron, similar to the crowns from the Kings of Winter.
King Aemon's first acts as sovereign were twofold, each revealing the priorities of the new reign.
First, by royal decree, the customs of the Ironborn were outlawed throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The old way reaving, raping, and paying the iron price was declared outlaw. No longer would Ironborn be permitted to take thralls or salt wives. No longer would their longships be allowed to raid the shores of the green lands.
Those who continued these practices would be hunted as pirates and dealt with accordingly.
Second, the king declared that no tolerance would be shown toward the priests of the Drowned God who preached rebellion and bloodshed. While the Drowned God himself was not outlawed for even a king cannot rule a man's heart those priests who called for the murder of greenlanders or the restoration of the old ways would be executed for treason.
The ironborn prisoners taken during the recent campaigns were given a choice: the Wall, the sword, or submission to the new order. Most chose the Wall, swelling the ranks of the Night's Watch. Some chose death. A handful bent the knee and swore fealty to the new king but the full removal of their lands.
In a separate decree, King Aemon legitimized Ser Harry Rivers, the Bastard of Bracken, granting him the name Bracken and naming him heir to Stone Hedge. The current Lord Bracken, welcomed this decision though some whispered that the king had chosen the bastard over the trueborn daughters of the house to reward Harry Rivers for his service in the Northern campaign.
Whatever the truth of those whispers, the legitimization was done by royal decree, and none dared challenge it openly.
As with any proclamation that reshapes the political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms, the founding of House Snowfyre and the coronation of Aemon Snowfyre has been met with a mixture of acceptance, skepticism, and outright hostility.
The North and the Riverlands stand united behind their new king. The Vale, embroiled in its own conflicts with the mountain clans and the forces of Tyrion Lannister, has yet to declare one way or another though Lord Yohn Royce is said to be sympathetic to the Starks.
The Reach, neutral and battered by Ironborn raids, watches and waits. Lord Mace Tyrell has made no move to acknowledge Aemon Snowfyre, but neither has he denounced him.
The Stormlands are divided. Some houses have rallied to the boy who calls himself Aegon Targaryen. Others, exhausted by war and uncertain of the future, have sent cautious envoys to Riverrun.
As for the Lannisters they call Aemon Snowfyre a pretender, a bastard born. Queen Regent Cersei has reportedly offered a lordship and a chest of gold to any man who brings her the head of the usurper.
But the most common objection among those who doubt the story is simple: they claim it was made up by Lord Eddard Stark to place his blood on the throne. A convenient tale, they say, concocted when the realm was in chaos and the truth was beyond checking.
Yet most believe it is true. The reputation of Eddard Stark his honor, his refusal to bend even when it cost him carries more weight than the whispers of the doubters.
It should be noted that the new king has taken as his personal sigil a white dragon with one hat, but with red crimson eyes on a black field.
The words he has chosen for his house are the same as the house of his sire, Fire and blood.
Dictated by Maester Gerold, transcribed by acolyte Petyr, in the first month of 299 AC
-Aemon Snowfyre-
I continue cleaning Dark Sister's blade, wiping away the blood that covers it. The council continues around me, voices rising and falling, discussing strategy and supply lines and the movements of enemy armies I let them talk. They know their roles, and I trust them to speak when something requires my attention.
The recent battle weighs on my mind, though not in the way one might expect. The Lannister forces tried to push through after I declared myself king. They thought we would be weak divided by the newness of my reign, uncertain of our loyalties, unprepared for a direct assault.
They were wrong.
We massed our forces and caught them in the fords. My father's strategy was sound. We let them stretch their lines, let them push deeper than their supply chains could support.
And then we attacked, the River Lords fought like men possessed. Guerrilla warfare in the wooded hills, harrying their flanks, burning their supply wagons, cutting down their scouts in the night. By the time the main battle came, the Lions were exhausted, starving, and terrified.
We crushed them, barely any lasting losses on our part a few hundred dead, perhaps. A thousand wounded. The Lannisters lost ten times that number.
In that attack, Tywin lost his life. My men dragged him from his position pulled him from his horse, and butchered the Old Lion like a common soldier.
Afterwards, his army retreated back to the Westerlands. Ser Kevan Lannister gave the order. He pulled what remained of the host back behind the hills, back toward the safety of Casterly Rock.
Now I listen to my council as we discuss what we should do next.
I have filled my council positions with men I trust. Men my father trusted. Lord Eddard Stark sits at my right hand as my Hand of the King.
Other positions have been filled as well. Lord Edmure Tully serves as Master of Laws. Lord Tytos Blackwood advises on matters of strategy. Lord Jason Mallister commands what remains of our fleet.
But I have left some seats empty.
The Master of Coin. The Master of Whisperers. The Master of Ships. Positions that could be filled by allies willing to join our cause.
Positions I intend to offer to the Vale. Or to the Reach. Or, if the gods are kind, to both.
We need more swords, more ships, and more gold. The North and the Riverlands are strong, but they are not enough to take the iron throne.
We need friends.
During the council meeting, my Hand leans over and places a parchment before me. The seal is broken already a golden rose on green wax.
House Tyrell.
"What does Highgarden want?" I ask, not looking up from Dark Sister's blade.
"A marriage alliance, Your Grace" my father said as he gave me the letter.
I set the cloth down and pick up the letter. Lord Tyrells praises for my valor. Condolences for the hardships of my youth. Hopes for a future of peace and prosperity.
And beneath all the pleasantries, the offer.
A daughter of House Tyrell a alliance that would bring the Reach's swords and gold and grain to the cause of the true king.
I read the letter, then set it down.
"Which daughter?" I ask.
"Lord Mace Tyrell has two unwed," my father says. "Margaery, who was widowed when Renly Baratheon died. And her cousin, Lady Elinor, who is younger."
"Write back to Highgarden," I say finally. "Tell Lord Tyrell that I am... open to discussions but he would have to send some men and deal with the pretender for me to accept".
That seemed to please my council….
-Petyr baelish-
The moment I heard that the city was being prepared for a siege from the Young Dragon, I knew my time in the capital was up.
King's Landing has a way of swallowing men who linger too long when the tide turns. I have seen it happen to smarter men than me. I have profited from it, more times than I can count. But I have no intention of becoming one of the corpses floating beneath the Mud Gate.
So I left.
I traveled through the Crownlands with a group of sellswords I hired for the journey. Mercenaries are expensive, but my coffers are deep, and the alternative traveling alone in this time which was unacceptable.
We passed through the Bloody Gate without incident. The men guarding the pass were more concerned with the war to the south than with a modest party of travelers heading north. I gave them a few coins and a smile, and they waved us through.
Now I am in the Vale. Or nearly so the mountains rise around me, cold and indifferent, as they have always been.
I know that the Imp has somehow convinced the savages of the Vale to wait for him. The mountain clans, those half-starved wretches who have plagued these roads for generations, have apparently found a new leader in Tyrion Lannister. I still find it difficult to believe. The dwarf must have promised them gold, or weapons, or perhaps just the chance to kill without consequence.
But surely the high lords of the Vale have dealt with him by now. Surely they have I won't have to worry once I eventually reach my destination.
-later-
I was wrong. I was so very wrong.
The high lords of the Vale did not crush the Imp's rebellion. They did not drive his savages back into the mountains. They did nothing, or not enough, or perhaps they simply could not reach the Gates of the Moon before Tyrion Lannister did what no man had ever done.
Somehow, by some strategy I cannot yet fathom, the dwarf has taken the Gates of the Moon. The castle that guards the approach to the Eyrie.
And now I am dragged before him, my arms bound, my fine clothes torn and filthy from the journey I did not complete. The sellswords I hired are dead or scattered or have simply switched sides for better coin.
Tyrion Lannister sits on a chair carved from dark wood, set upon a dais, surrounded by men in mismatched armor.
"So if it isn't Littlefinger," he says his tone is mocking.
It irritates me I have spent my life being underestimated, being mocked, being looked down upon by men who thought themselves my betters. I have always smiled and nodded and remembered every slight.
I control my anger. I have spent decades learning to hide what I feel behind a mask of pleasant indifference. I will not lose that mask now, not when my life depends on keeping it in place.
"I know you lied about me to Lady Stark," Tyrion says.
I open my mouth to respond, to spin some tale, or to offer some excuse that might buy me time…
"Irrelevant," he interrupts, waving a hand. "I wonder what that dumb whore would think once I cut your little finger, cut your cock out, and send it to that whore Lady Lysa Arryn."
I feel the blood drain from my face. I cannot help it. For once in my life, I cannot hide what I am feeling.
I thought the high lords of the Vale would save me and that Lysa would welcome me. I thought I had planned for every possibility.
I was wrong.
I was so very wrong.
-Tyrion Lannister "the small Lord"-
With Baelish, I can finally achieve my plan of taking the Eyrie. The man is a snake slippery, venomous, impossible to trust but he is also useful.
Everything has gone surprisingly well for me. Better than I ever could have hoped. Taking the Gates of the Moon should have been impossible. A fortress that has never fallen, guarded by men who have held those walls for generations. And yet I took it.
The mountain clans helped, of course they were worth more than a hundred knights when it comes to storming a castle. But it was more than that. It was timing and luck, and the simple fact that no one expected a dwarf to do what I did.
But since I started on this path, I have been feeling... strange.
I feel physically much stronger. My legs, always a source of pain and awkwardness, carry me with an ease I have never known. I look at myself in the reflection of a polished shield and I barely recognize the man staring back.
And my mind... my mind is clearer than it has been in years. None of the previous doubts are there.
I do not know what has caused this change but it was greatly appreciated.
I smile to myself as I continue carving symbols into the haft of my new axe.
I do not know what the symbols mean. They came to me in the night these symbols appeared in my dreams, and when I woke, I knew I had to put them on the axe.
The blade catches the firelight as I work, and for just a moment, I think I see the markings glowing.
I blink, and the glow is gone. I must be tired. The siege has been long, and I have not been sleeping well, that must be it.
-Part 2 war for the the western kingdoms-
A continuation of the history of the War of the Western Kingdoms, as recorded by Maester Gerold of the Citadel
The marriage alliance between King Aemon Snowfyre and Lady Margaery Tyrell marked a turning point in the war. Lord Mace Tyrell, ever the opportunist, had waited until the tide was clear before committing his house to a cause. With the death of Tywin Lannister, the retreat of the Lannister forces to the Westerlands, and the growing strength of the Northern and Riverland host, the Lord of Highgarden finally made his choice.
He declared for Aemon Snowfyre. The wedding was held at Riverrun. But the Tyrell declaration came at a cost.
House Peake, proud and ancient, had long harbored grievances against both House Tyrell and the memory of the Targaryen dynasty. When Lord Mace Tyrell bent the knee to Aemon Snowfyre, Lord Titus Peake saw an opportunity to resurrect an older allegiance.
He raised the banners of Starpike and declared for Aegon Targaryen.
It was a miscalculation of the highest order.
King Aemon, who had earned his reputation as the Golden-Bane in the Northern campaigns, did not tolerate rebellion. He sent Lord Randyll Tarly, the finest soldier in the Reach, to crush the uprising.
Lord Tarly marched on Starpike before the Peake forces could fully muster, surrounded the castle, and demanded surrender.
Lord Titus Peake refused.
The siege lasted nine days. On the tenth, Lord Tarly's men breached the walls. What followed was not a battle but an execution. Every man, woman, and child within Starpike who bore the name Peake or could claim descent from the house was dragged before Lord Tarly.
King Aemon's orders were explicit.
Every male with Peake blood was given a choice: the black or death. Most chose death, unwilling to spend their lives on the Wall. A handful, the young and the craven, accepted the offer and were sent north in chains.
Every woman of Peake blood, whether married into the house or born to it, was sent to the Silent Sisters.
The line of House Peake, a family that had once been among the most powerful in the Reach and their lineage could be traced back to the age of heroes, was extinguished.
Starpike itself was granted to Ser Wendel Manderly, second son of Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor. The Manderlys, once exiles from the Reach, had returned at last to the lands of their ancestors.
While the Riverlands and the Reach consolidated behind King Aemon, madness took root in the Vale.
Tyrion Lannister had somehow accomplished what no conqueror had achieved in eight thousand years and he took the Eyrie.
The accounts of how he managed this feat are contradictory and troubling. The survivors of the massacre speak of treachery rather than strength.
Lady Lysa Arryn, it is claimed, allowed the enemy into her fortress.
According to testimony gathered by Lord Yohn Royce's investigators, the Imp and his forces arrived at the Eyrie with a hostage Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin who had fled King's Landing. They sent word to Lady Lysa that Baelish was in their custody and offered a deal: open the gates, and they would release him unharmed and depart without violence.
Lady Lysa, whose attachment to Baelish was well known throughout the Vale, agreed. She ordered the castle Gates to opened. She welcomed the Imp's army into the castle that guarded the approach to her home.
And then the killing began.
The mountain clansmen and sellswords who followed Tyrion Lannister had no intention of honoring any agreement. As soon as they were within the walls, they turned on the Vale knights and men-at-arms. The fighting was brief and brutal. Caught unprepared and outnumbered, the defenders were slaughtered where they stood.
What followed was worse.
The survivors of the massacre those who were not killed outright testify that the mountain clans spent the next day pillaging the castle. Women were violated and defiled, passed from man to man like plunder. The sept was desecrated. The godswood was burned.
Lady Lysa Arryn was taken to be the personal plaything of Tyrion Lannister. The dwarf, who had once been her prisoner in the sky cells, showed her no mercy.
Nor did he show mercy to her son.
Lord Robert Arryn, a sickly boy of eight years, was dragged from his bed and thrown from the Moon Door. Petyr Baelish, the man whose capture had been the pretext for the betrayal, was executed in the High Hall, his throat cut with his own dagger.
Lady Lysa Arryn, upon witnessing the death of her son, suffered a complete mental collapse.
But paradise, for Tyrion Lannister, lasted only a handful of days.
The army he had assembled was never unified. It was a coalition of convenience, held together by the promise of gold and plunder. Once the Eyrie fell, once the riches of House Arryn were laid bare, the bonds of that coalition began to fray.
The mountain clansmen had followed the Imp because he promised them weapons and the chance to kill. They had no loyalty to him, no interest in his plans for the Vale. They wanted to take what they could and return to their hills.
The sellswords and wandering knights who had joined his cause expected to be paid. They had risked their lives to storm an impregnable fortress, and they wanted their reward in gold and land.
When the Imp failed to grant them the titles and estates he had implied, they grew angry.
The clansmen, who had no use for titles or lands, simply took what they wanted and refused to share.
Within a week of the Eyrie's fall, the Imp's army had fractured into rival factions. Brawls broke out in the halls. Men were found dead in the stairwells, killed by their former comrades. The anarchy spread until the entire fortress was consumed by chaos.
It was into this madness that Lord Yohn Royce and Lady Anya Waynwood finally arrived.
The combined army of the Vale lords had marched through the night when word reached them of the Eyrie's fall. They found the Gates of the Moon broken and abandoned, its defenders dead or fled.
They pushed forward, climbing the mountain path in a driving rain, and reached the castle as the sun rose over the Giants Lance.
What they found horrified even the most hardened veterans.
The bodies of Vale knights lay in the courtyards, stripped of their armor and left to rot. The sept had been turned into a stable. The High Hall was stained with blood. And the women of the Eyrie the wives and daughters of the lords who had served House Arryn for generations were used as common whore typically one woman used by several men.
Lord Harrold Hardyng, who now claimed the title of Lord Harrold Arryn following the death of Robert Arryn, demanded vengeance.
The fighting was fierce but brief. The Imp's army, already fractured by internal conflict, offered little organized resistance. The mountain clansmen fled into the hills. The sellswords threw down their weapons and begged for mercy.
Lord Harrold Arryn sought out Tyrion Lannister himself.
They fought in the High Hall, before the weirwood throne of the Arryns. Accounts of the duel vary, but all agree on one thing: the dwarf was not easily defeated.
Tyrion Lannister, who had been dismissed as a cripple and a drunkard his entire life, fought with a strength and fury that shocked his enemies. His axe a weapon marked with strange symbols that seemed to glow in the firelight struck sparks from Lord Harrold's blade. He moved with a speed that should have been impossible for a man of his stature.
Lord Harrold nearly lost.
But in the end, youth and training prevailed. Lord Harrold found an opening and drove his sword through the Imp's heart. Tyrion Lannister fell, and with him fell the last hope of Lannister power in the Vale.
It is said that the axe possessed by Tyrion Lannister glowed with an orange light even after his death. That the symbols carved into its haft seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, and that the weapon grew warm to the touch.
This claim, though it strains credulity, has been verified by several high lords, including Lord Harrold Arryn himself. Whatever the truth of the matter, the axe now sits in the treasury of the Eyrie, bound in chains and watched day and night by guards who have been ordered to never touch it.
Some whisper that the Imp's unnatural strength came not from within himself but from the weapon he carried. Others say that the axe was cursed, that it drove him to madness and destruction, that it whispered to him in the dark and promised him power beyond his wildest dreams.
Whatever the truth, Tyrion Lannister is dead.
The Vale, though bloodied, survived. Lord Harrold Arryn proved himself a capable leader in the days following the retaking of the Eyrie. He distributed justice swiftly, executing the sellswords who had participated in the worst atrocities and sending the rest to the Wall. The mountain clansmen who could be captured shared the same fate; those who escaped vanished into the hills from which they came.
Lady Lysa Arryn, lost to madness, was confined to a tower under the care of the Silent Sisters. Before she was sent back to riverrun to stay with her kin.
The Vale lords, having seen what happens when they wait too long to act, swore fealty to Lord Harrold Arryn and pledged their support to King Aemon Snowfyre, who had proven himself a capable and just ruler in the wars against the Lannisters and the Ironborn.
The war for the Western Kingdoms continued, but the center of power had shifted.
Three kings now claimed the Iron Throne: Joffrey Baratheon in King's Landing, Aegon Targaryen in the Stormlands, and Aemon Snowfyre at Riverrun.
Dictated by Maester Gerold, transcribed by acolyte Petyr, in the second month of 299 AC
XxX
Yes I know but I promise two more chapter hopefully I won't need to add any more chapters to finish this. This should be all the set up for the Westeros part of the story.