Swann's Heir

An OC created for The A Song of Golden Fire and Black Blood RP

[jonswann]

A Roleplay blog within A Song of Golden Fire & Black Blood

Jon Swann OC - Heir to House Swann

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[rhaenaspearls]

Too Sweet

(Closed starter for @jonswann)

Being up in the clouds was a feeling Rhaena knew would never lose it's novelty. When she was little her mother, Laena, would recount the story of taking her and her older twin sister, Baela, up on dragon back when they were less than a moon old and how they giggled the entire flight. Though the egg from their mother's dragon, Vhagar, that was placed in Baela's cradle hatched into her mount, Moondancer, and Rhaena herself only became a dragon rider when she claimed Silverwing—first bonded to Good Queen Alysanne and riderless for nearly forty years between them—there could be no doubt that their mother and father's love for riding had passed equally to both twins. After a long descent spent indulging in the view of the Red Keep and the richest, most beautiful part of King's Landing that stretched around it all the way down the path to the Dragon Pit, Silverwing finally came to land with a thud. There was a certain sense of pride Rhaena was never quite willing to suppress that she had claimed one of the five largest dragons still alive today; dwarfed only by Vhagar and Vermithor and slimmer, but longer from snout to tail, than her cousin Princess Helaena's mount, Dreamfyre.

Silverwing was characteristically unconcerned as the dragon keepers approached, any anxiety she may have held towards being shepherded back into the subterranean dens evaporating into the late Spring air as Rhaena wrapped her arms around the beast's muzzle and cuddled her head against her snout. The dragon let out a pleased sound, somewhere in the middle between a cat's purr and rolling thunder and nuzzled her rider in return, making Rhaena glad she had twisted her braids into two buns so they wouldn't be messed by either the wind during their ride or her mount's affections. After a few moments she let her go, and Silverwing seemed to droop at the realization she was leaving for the day, which immediately caused Rhaena's heart to do the same. "Oh sweet girl! You'll be alright, we have guests, I have to go help greet them and tend to our friends as I do you," As she explained the situation in High Valyrian, the dragon's eyes widened, seeming to question her, and Rhaena nodded sagely, "I shall be back on the morrow, you know I always am." And with that Silverwing slinked off contentedly back to her den and Rhaena began striding back out towards the Pit's entrance.

She was contemplating walking back to the keep, rather than sending for a litter, it was a truly lovely day, and she knew that as the seasons were beginning to shift after the luck they'd had with this Spring that's lasted over a year, it would soon be to hot to do so comfortably. In truth, she also got a bit of a thrill whenever a chance presented itself to go anywhere on foot in her riding habit, a blush pink coat-dress studded with pearls and detailed with black and silver scale designs that split to allow for riding trousers and boots which allowed for greater comfort on dragon saddle; a gift for when she came of age three years ago from her grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. Baela had gotten a saddle as counterpart, and their father, Prince Daemon, had gifted Rhaena a similar, pink-toned one, and Baela her own new riding leathers to complete the set. A matched set, just like so many parts of their lives, although Rhaena had never minded being part of a pair when the other half was her sister. She loved her gowns, she loved balls and garden parties, jewels, looking, and feeling beautiful, and she loved that in her riding habit she could feel a spark of that fire in her chest that Baela seemed to radiate in every direction.

As Rhaena was leaving the front gates however, she was distracted by a man she did not recognize. He was well-groomed, but not overly so, and dressed in well-made but somewhat plain looking clothes, with dark hair and eyes and a long face that signaled he was likely from the Stormlands; though he could perhaps be a mildly pale Dornishman with his distinctive nose and remarkable stature. He was looking, no, inspecting the High Valyrian carved into the arch around the Dragon Pit's gates, and while a stranger's presence at the entrance to such a sacred space for her family was enough to pique her interest, his interest in the language only a handful of people outside her family she'd ever met could speak had her positively itching to question the man.

"Hello, Ser! I don't believe we've been introduced," Rhaena strode up to him confidently, but gracefully, with a warm, gentle smile across her face. Her mother and stepmother had always echoed that the best way to disarm someone was with equal parts charm and cheer and such advice had never led her astray. "You may call me Lady Rhaena! Do I have the pleasure of acquainting myself with another speaker of High Valyrian?" Her smile grew even wider then, "Or perhaps, someone eager to learn?

[jonswann]

Jon had often dreamed of this moment, although now he was questioning if those dreams had been normal dreams of want, or one of those dreams. Although he would never admit to either. To gaze upon dragons, not in the pages of old tomes or through light shining through stained glass, but in the flesh. Jon was not sure about the reality of prophecies as long as he didn’t think too much about his dreams, but he had been raised on the tails of Azor Ahai,  and the whisper told from father to son that Azor Ahai’s blood ran through the veins of House Swann. A hero born amidst smoke and salt, who would wield Lightbringer and bring forth dragons from stone. The cryptic words had haunted him since boyhood, a riddle he was determined to solve. Which is how he found himself now standing before the gates of the Dragon Pit in King’s Landing. 

The carvings of High Valyrian runes adorning the archway captivated him. He traced the symbols with his eyes, attempting to decipher their meaning. He had long ago begun the journey of teaching himself High Valyrain when he realized the language was used for a number of historic texts. He had limited practice with its spoken word, but he was proud of his proficiency with his knowledge of the written Valyrian. So engrossed was he that he didn’t notice the approach of another until a voice, bright and warm, broke his reverie. 

“Hello, Ser! I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” 

Jon turned sharply, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of Swansong before he caught himself. The woman before him was young, though her presence anything put young. She might not have the white hair the Targaryenys were known for, but she held herself with the same confidence that he had seen within the Crown Princess. She wore a riding habit that combined both elegance and practicality, a blush pink coat dress studded with pearls and white scales. He knew who was was before she next spoke.

“You may call me Lady Rhaena! Do I have the pleasure of acquainting myself with another speaker of High Valyrian?” she asked, her smile seemed warm and genuine. “Or perhaps, someone eager to learn?” 

“Lady Rhaena,” Jon finally said, bowing deeply. “Ñuhon se kirimves iksis. I am Jon Swann, of House Swann,” he introduced himself with a courteous bow. "While I certainly do have an interest in High Valyrian, my true fascination lies with the dragons. I may have read the word zaldrīzes, countless times in text, yet I have never seen one with my own eyes. I came down to the dragon pit in hopes of catching at least a glace, but instead, I have once again found myself distracted by ancient text." He finished his words with an outward breath and smile, somewhere between a sign and a laugh. “I assume from your attire that my preoccupation with the text lead me to miss your return from dragonback?” 

OOC - High Valyrian Lesson

In HV the adjectives come before the nouns they modify, and verbs come at the end of the sentence.

Ñuhon se kirimves iksis - mine the pleasure is - the pleasure is mine

[jonswann]

Sands of Power

a starter with @aliandramartell-1

The musty scent of ancient tomes filled the air as Jon strode into one of the vast libraries of the Red Keep. Shafts of sunlight streamed through the narrow windows, casting long shadows among the towering bookshelves. Jon’s eyes flickered across the room, taking in the wealth of knowledge that surrounded him. 

He reached for a dusty volume, Runined Cities, Stolen Gods, a book Jon had seen referenced elsewhere. It told the story of the fall of the Kingdom of Sarnor.

When you are unable to assess the threats around you, you are bound to fall, Jon thought as he looked through the pages. Between his page-turning, his eyes bought sight of a figure at the far end of the library. Princess Aliandra Martell stood amidst the shelves, her regal bearing unmistakable. 

Jon watched her for a moment, noting the way she moved with a predatory grace. As he observed Aliadnra, he felt a flicker of admiration. She, too, was a leader who cared deeply for her people. His thoughts were interrupted as Aliandra turned, her dark eyes locking onto his. Jon felt a familiar mix of determination and caution. His spies had gathered many things about the princess, but he takes nothing for certain until he sees her in person. Ambitious, intelligent, and charismatic. Yet reports also noted her streak for vengeance. It was time for him to learn for himself. 

He took a deep breath, closed the book, and gathered his thoughts. His stubborn nature urged him to speak plainly, but his more diplomatic instincts told him to use care. With measured steps, Jon approached Aliandra. 

“Princess Martell,” he began, inclining his head in a show of respect. “Jon Swann of Stonehelm,” he said with a hand to his chest, indicating himself. “I did not expect to find you here, of all places. What brings you to the Red Keep’s library on such a fine day?” 

a thread with @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

[dirbenaffleck]

ADAM DRIVER as JACQUES LE GRIS The Last Duel (2021)| Dir. Ridley Scott  ─ requested by @safarigirlsp .    

[ravensofgoldenfireandblackblood]

Character Promo:

Jon Swann - Heir to Stonhelm, wielder of Swansong

@jonswann- Part of A Song of Golden Fire and Black Blood RP

Jon Swann at 24 is a striking figure within the court, renowned for his charisma and leadership. A natural-born leader, his charm draws allies and supporters with ease. His prowess with a sword, his family's valyrian blade Swansong, is equally impressive, a testament to years of rigorous training.

Beneath this charismatic exterior, Jon harbors a deeply secretive nature. He often slips away from the confines of nobility to walk among the common folk in disguise, gaining invaluable insights into their lives and struggles. These clandestine excursions fuel his empathy and inform his leadership. Jon’s private pursuits include a keen interest in collecting rare and exotic artifacts from across the known world. He is particularly fascinated by relics related to Azor Ahai and the Great Empire of the Dawn. His collection, meticulously curated, includes ancient relics, priceless treasures, and curious oddities, each with a story and provenance that captivates him. These artifacts are not mere trophies but pieces of a larger puzzle Jon seeks to understand—a quest that blends his scholarly pursuits with his broader ambitions.

Amid the swirling political changes with the upcoming coronation of Westeros' first ruling queen, Jon's interest in the shifting power dynamics is apparent. Yet, despite the allure of the Targaryen court, his ultimate loyalty lies with House Swann and his own ambitions.

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[jonswann]

Style of Mourning - A Character Challenge for @asongofgoldenfireandblackblood

Jon stood before the tall mirror in his chamber, adjusting the black doublet adorned with a pin of a black swan, the dark metal glimmered faintly in the candlelight. Usually, he would wear a white swan against his normal black, but for a funeral, all black seemed more fitting. He straightened his collar, his reflection staring back at him with a mix of determination and indifference. The capital was busy with the solum buzz with the preparations for King Viserys’ funeral, but Jon’s mind was elsewhere. He had never met the late king, and while he felt the vague empathy that one does at the thought of another losing a loved one, his own heart was not burdened with grief. Yet, duty called him to represent his house with the utmost respect. 

One day his own father would pass, and there would be others like was now, who would come to show respect even though they had never met his Lord Father. 

Jon slid on his black gloves, his mind wandering back to the shifting dynamics of power he would be walking into. With the imminent coronation of Westeros’s first ruling queen, the court was running rampant with speculation and intrigue. Quietly, of course, open scheming would be distasteful while the King’s body was not yet cold. Jon’s loyalty was to House Swann, and the people of Stonehelm, but he couldn’t deny the fascination he felt towards the pawns at play. But he knew better than to wear his ambitions openly.

A soft knock at the door pulled him from his reverie. Ser Erich Horpe, his loyal retainer and son of the Stonehelm Steward, entered. “My Lord, the procession will begin shortly.”

Jon nodded, taking a deep breath, “Thank you Erich. Please ensure the rest of our men are ready.” 

He swept from the room, his long robes trailing him as he swiftly walked through the halls of the Red Keep. Reaching the courtyard, Jon joined the assembled nobles, exchanging polite nods and brief words with those around him. Cordial and solemn as fitting the occasion, yet beneath the surface, his mind was running, calculating, assessing, and always vigilant. The funeral was a somber affair, but Jon couldn’t help but think of the future and the opportunities that lay ahead with a new monarch on the throne.

As the procession began, Jon’s gaze drifted to the black banners that were waving in the breeze. The winds of change were blowing through Westeros, and he intended to navigate them all with what was at his disposal. House Swann would rise, he would ensure it, no matter the cost.

[black-queen-rising]

Rhaenyra had waited quite some time before leaving the embellished seat at the head of the Hand's high table and retreating to her desk to continue on with the day's work. If her youngest Prince, Baelon, had attended sessions with her that day she could've happily sat for hours, marking off tasks in the seemingly endless stack of papers that always waited on the desk of the Hand of the King, and listening to her little one tell stories. Baelon was attached to her hip, even more so than his younger sister, Aemma, despite being three years her senior, her eldest, Jace, liked to joke he wasn't just attached, he was sewn onto her. She had spent the day meeting with many of the Storm Lords, however, men in large part in need of convincing to heed the vows sworn almost thirty years previous to uphold her ascension, and not want to agree to the deals drawn up to guarantee they would do so with a reminder they were, after all, treating with a woman, playing at the Princess-Hand's feet.

Now, however, she was just attempting to get through the most pressing paper work as quickly as she could, so she might return upstairs, eat dinner with her family, and hold Aemma on her lap while she read their youngest children stories from Old Valyria, or perhaps even find a moment for just herself and her eldest son with Daemon, Aegon, "Aeg" within their family, as they hadn't spoken alone in a few days. Rhaenyra hardly wished her father dead, nor did she look forward to the prospect, but she looked forward to her role shifting when she finally became Queen. She looked forward to someone else being charge of all this damned paperwork. There was the matter of Lord Swann, the reason she had waited so long at the table, and was now over an hour and a half late to his expected audience. She knows such lateness would have reflected poorly to most in her position, but today she's quietly grateful for his tardiness, how it's allowed for her to power through more work than she had expected to accomplish,, and how in turn that would allow her time with her children.

Finally as she was putting the seal on a raven due to be sent to her cousin Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Lady Paramount of the Vale, the guard outside her door at last announced the man she'd been waiting so long to see. He was much younger than she expected, the Crown Princess quickly concluding he was either a newly inherited Lord, or his Father's heir. House Swann stuck out in her mind for precisely two reasons, their status as Marcher Lords, who were important allies to the Crown despite being viewed by many as lesser nobility due to their shared border with Dorne and the tenuous peace they shared with the Southern Kingdom. The second was their House Words, though she could not recall them precisely, something about only fighting injustice, or injustice being the greatest enemy, so many mottos lent themselves to strength, power, and fortune, her own house words certainly not above that fray; Rhaenyra appreciated that these Lords who ruled a tempestuous borderland and endured a lower status than they likely deserved for doing so espoused acting against injustice as their highest ideal. She dared to hope perhaps this young Lord would feel the same.

"Your Grace..." Rhaenyra listened to the Swann heir's introduction intently, it seemed to her he was running half on nerves and half on passion. In the monotony of her own day, his disposition finally reminded the Princess-Hand that to him this meeting must feel like the defining moment of his whole future, and there was a level of truth to that. Either she would find him memorable, or she would not, she would find him useful in some way, or annoying, worthwhile company, or someone of no particular interest. Rhaenyra let silence sit for just a moment before she responded.

"I'm sorry to hear your father was unable to attend us, how does he fare? I don't mean to pry, my own father's condition has simply...if he is unwell, know you have my sympathies. Please, sit, I ought to thank you for your lateness, you've allowed me to see to quite a bit of work this afternoon. What is that saying? The King speaks and the Hand does? Well, there is quite a lot of doing to get done on my part at the moment. That said, you are your father's heir as I am mine, so, let us speak as equals for a moment. My guards reported seeing you wander through half the city on your way to the Keep, startled everyone a bit too when they saw your trunks turn up without you. Were you looking for something in particular? Anything I might help you find?"

[jonswann]

Jon Sat at her request, noting the genuine concern in Rhaenyra’s eyes as she inquired about his father’s health. “Thank you, Your Grace. My father’s condition is simply one of age. Years of being a marcher lord, and injury built on injury make longer travel more difficult for him. I don’t expect to be picking up the title of Lord any time soon, but I can at least do my duty and be an active heir.” It was a hard thing to watch the parent that once reigned so large in your life grow smaller with age. This was not a development experienced alone by him, and at some level, it is one that all know will occur, but no one could quite prepare him for the reality of it. 

Jon could not help but feel a pang of guilt for disrupting her schedule, as the streets had proven to be more crowded than he expected. “I’m truly sorry for any inconvenience my delay may have caused,” he apologized earnestly but also took note to be on better watch during his next outing. “As for my wanderings through the city, I would usually say that I was merely taking the opportunity to acquaint myself with King’s Landing, as the city is quite different from the countryside of the Marches. Yet,” Jon said, changing his seated position so he rested his arms upon his legs, his face changing from passive to focused. “If we are truly speaking heir to heir, I find there is much that Lords and Ladies can claim within the walls of their castles and keeps, but the truth of their leadership can more clearly be seen in the lives of the small folk that live under their reign. It is a bit of a habit of mine now to walk the common streets before meeting with the lord or lady.” 

Jon would not usually disclose his habit so easily. It was not something he kept secret nor something he usually pronounced. Although if the Princess and Hand had already heard of his excursions, then it would not benefit him to lie to her within minutes of their first meeting. 

“Although,” Jon replied, a glimmer of interest lighting in his eyes, “I’ve heard tales of the renowned library housed within the Red Keep. It is said to contain ancient tomes and manuscripts.” 

He paused, considering his next words carefully before continuing, “I have a deep-seated passion for history and philosophy, and I would be honored if you could grant me access to the library.”

Jon sat back with a hopeful expression as he awaited Rhaenyra’s response, hoping that she would see the value in his request and perhaps even share his enthusiasm for the pursuit of knowledge.

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[goldaegontargaryen]

The Prince and the Commoner Lord: with @jonswann

A breeze whipped through the streets of King’s Landing, ruffling the strands of Aegon’s white blonde hair as it passed.  The moon was full and the night was young.  Aegon intended to take full advantage of it.  

He enjoyed living on Dragonstone more than he’d expected to, yet he couldn’t help but sometimes yearn for the nightlife of King’s Landing.  He certainly didn’t feel the need to fall back into the complete debauchery of his youth, but there was a certain carefree feeling he couldn’t find anywhere else but here.  Even though almost everyone who frequented these streets knew who he was, out here he didn’t have to live up to being Prince Aegon Targaryen.  Nobody expected him to be polite or wise, he could simply exist without fear of reproach.  

Torches had been lit along the street to push back the darkness and most of the establishments had thrown their doors wide open to expose the laughter and life occurring within their walls.  Aegon had visited almost every tavern and brothel on this street at one time or another and the familiarity of it all soothed him after the chaos and political machinations he’d been forced to endure at the Red Keep.  The most manipulation he had to worry about here were the winks and cheerful calls from the girls standing in the doorway of a nearby brothel.  

Tonight though, a brothel wasn’t his goal.  In fact, it hadn’t been for a very long time.  Perhaps it was a maturity that came with age or simple love and respect for his wife, but Aegon didn’t find the pleasure in women that he’d once sought out almost compulsively.  Deep down, he thought it might be because he was happy with his life and his family.  Melancholy could still curl its claws into his chest, but he no longer felt the persistent need for distraction of any sort.  

That being said, Aegon still enjoyed the distraction provided by a tavern and a few cheap beers.  The parties in the Red Keep were so uptight and stuffy that he craved a place that allowed him to let loose and focus on nothing but himself.  He ducked into a smaller tavern on the edge of the street, drawn in by the crackling fire and the loud cheers of a group of men who were playing dice at a table near the door.  

As Aegon stepped in, he surveyed the room.  Besides the large group of dice players and a few lone men at the bar, the place was empty.  However, it was still early and Aegon expected the tavern to quickly fill with more patrons as the night wore on.  

Aegon made his way to the bar, taking a seat next to a dark haired man in simple clothing.  Normally, he would have ignored him completely, but something about his face sparked a sense of recognition.  His first instinct was to think he had met this man on one of his previous revelries, but he couldn’t pull up the memory.  It was only when the man turned his head slightly more in his direction that Aegon caught sight of his eyes and true recognition struck him.  He wasn’t completely sure of the man’s name, but he knew he was lord of some house or another.  Something that started with an S, he thought.  Perhaps Swyft or maybe Swann.  Aegon hadn’t actually ever been introduced to him, but he’d seen him around the Red Keep.  

“What are you doing here?” Aegon asked, the words tumbling out before he could censor the slight judgment and confusion in his voice.  It wasn’t his presence in a tavern that shocked him.  Aegon was many things, but he wasn’t a hypocrite.  Instead, it was the man’s common clothing and demeanor that surprised him.  Aegon himself was wearing fine clothes and a clearly expensive dark cloak, and with his light blonde hair, there was no mistaking that Aegon could be anything but a prince of House Targaryen.  “You’re a lord, correct?  I’ve seen you at the Red Keep.” 

[jonswann]

The air in the tavern was thick with the smell of ale and the sound of boisterous laughter. Jon, dressed in the plain garb of a commoner, now with the extra additional color that he noticed was popular during his stroll in the streets. He leaned back against the bar, nursing a tankard of cheap ale. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, and Jon’s eyes flickered over the patrons, noting their movements and conversation. This was his element, away from the expectations of his noble birth, where he could blend in and observe the world from a different perspective.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a newcomer. It was not hard to figure out who the new arrival was, the white-blonde hair and the air of casual privilege that marked the man as Aegon Targaryen, a prince with a notorious reputation, but one that had notably calmed in the recent years, although not dissipated. Jon had seen him, distantly, around the Red Keep, with an entourage of cronies, always the center of attention. But it was still unclear if the crowds that followed him were because the prince desired the attention or if the crowds were pestering animals following after for crumbs of power or wealth. He watched as Aegon moved through the room, his presence commanding attention naturally as it seemed to do with all of his family. Here, though, Aegon seemed different, almost relaxed, if not for the flicker of recognition when their eyes met.

When Aegon finally approached the bar and took a seat beside him, Jon turned his head slightly, offering a nod of acknowledgment or recognition. Jon was unsure if the prince would recognize him. He guessed it would depend on how observant the prince was and how drunk he currently was.

Jon wondered what brought the prince here tonight. Was it the same yearning that drove Jon to these places?

A desire to understand the common folk better in order to better fulfill his future role as lord? Unlikely. Jon thought as he took another sip of ale.

The desire to be just another face in the crowd, free from the burdens of leadership and duty?

Yet he came still dressed in niceties and white hair shining.

Jon had learned long ago that even if you ventured into the world of the common folk, if you looked like a lord, you would not see their world as it truly was.

Jon took another slow sip, pondering the enigma beside him. They were different in almost every respect—different in station, different in marital status, different in coloring. Despite this, he felt a strange kinship with Aegon. They were both men caught between worlds, living a life of privilege, yet something made them yearn for the raw and unfiltered reality of the common folk.

As he studied Aegon’s profile, Jon’s mind wandered to his own experiences. The nights spent in disguise mingling with the people he was sworn to protect. The secrets he gathered, the lives he touched, the lessons he learned, all while maintaining the facade of a detached nobleman. Or at least it was a facade before arriving in King’s Landing. He was playing a larger game now, no longer a swan in a pond of fish but a swan among a storm of dragons. It was a dangerous game, but one he played willingly, knowing the value of the knowledge he gained.

He glanced at Aegon again, noticing the curiosity sparking in his violet eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Aegon asked. Jon hid a smirk behind his mug, surprised that the prince had recognized him at all. “You’re a lord, correct? I’ve seen you at the Red Keep.”

Jon nodded, taking a long sip and finishing off his tankard. “Jon Swann, of Stonehelm. And your Aegon Targaryen, though I doubt you need any introduction.” He made a gesture to the barkeep, indicating another round for himself and one for the prince.

“Same as you, I suppose,” Jon replied, his tone measured and calm. “Enjoying a drink away from the prying eyes of court.” It was a half lie, the words true enough, but Jon was sure their end intentions of such an outing were different.

Jon grabbed one of the fresh mugs the barkeep dropped off to them, taking a swig of the fresh ale. “I like traveling down to the common streets. I find its the best way to understand your people. To see their struggles and joys firsthand, without the fitter of nobility.” Jon said with a tug on his brown and rough cloak.

“What brings you here tonight, Your Highness?” he asked, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. “Seeking refuge from the burdens of the crown, or simply in search of a moment’s peace?”

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[lilith-kruger]

Bloody Emperor assassinating Empress Amethy , Beginning of the long night Sunfire killing rhaenyra, end of dragons

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[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

Otto Hightower - particularly desired by Aegon II, Alicent, Helaena, & Viserys

A SONG OF GOLDEN FIRE AND BLACK BLOOD is a newly created No Dance!Fire and Blood / House of the Dragon AU RP, but that doesn’t mean we’re short on the scheming, intrigue, and drama that makes ASoIaF RP so thrilling. Just because the Dragons won’t be Dancing doesn’t mean there aren’t dangerous tensions simmering just beneath the surface, wild ambitions ready to sacrifice peace in pursuit of their grand visions for Westeros, and the Kingdom may yet still find itself at War.

The site is currently in our SOFT LAUNCH phase and plotting our first arc; check out Our Plot, Most Wanted, and come join our Discord to share your vision and help build our AU!

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

how many characters can one mun take? i have so many ideas i can't choose!

Hi friend!

I'm sure a lot of us can relate, I know I've always got about a dozen character concepts bouncing around my head at any time! Muns can have up to four written characters on the site, though we do ask that you wait one week (one activity check) before taking your third, and then another before your fourth. Additionally, just to be aware of our guidelines, any member on the site can have a maximum of two OCs and two canon characters, they can write one OC and three canons, or four canon characters instead, but your number of OCs cannot exceed your number of canons (i.e. if you join the site with an OC you must also take a canon character). We've found this to be an especially important guideline because Fire and Blood has so many canon characters who we know very little about, so they functionally work as skeletons (and loose ones more often than not) more so than true canons. In addition, at least one of your four characters must be male.

Thanks so much for the ask! ~ Mod Ivory

[safarigirlsp]

💥✨ Happy Independence Day ✨💥

Enjoy my favorite reds, whites, and blues letting the sparks fly!

[asongofgoldenfireandblackblood]

most wanted females please?

Of course love! Just as a friendly note we are sorely wanting for some very important male roles including Prince Aegon II, Prince Jacaerys, and Lord Corlys. Now that's out of the way! Here are our top 5 most wanted female characters right now:

1. Princess Rhaenys Targaryen-Velaryon is far and away our #1 most wanted female character! (She's on the most wanted list for MANY of our currently written characters; Prince Lucerys, Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena, and Princess Rhaenyra, as well as the whole site for our larger plot 🖤) 2. Princess Aliandra Martell of Dorne (Wanted by the whole site to further our Dorne plot and we already have an OC Lady Dayne who would be very happy to have her around as well 🧡) 3. Lady Jeyne Arryn (Wanted by the whole site for politicking and to get our larger Vale plot up and running and by her favorite cousin Princess Rhaenyra 💙) 4. Princess Jaehaera Targaryen (Very much wanted by our writer for her mother, Princess Helaena 💛) 5. Slightly more broad but any of the Ladies in Waiting for Princess Rhaenyra i.e. One of Harwin Strong's two sisters, Elinda Massey, or another Lady from houses with known relations to the Crown like House Redfort, House Celtigar, or House Darklyn. As Rhaenyra in this timeline is 37, we kindly ask any of her Ladies be written in their late-20s to mid-30s (Wanted is somewhat self explanatory but we do have several Lady in Waiting characters, eligible bachelors, and other Targ royals for her to interact with as well 💜)

Thanks so much!! ~Mod Ivory

[loveofaddy-deactivated20240622]

[jonswann]

Crown & Swan - In the Shadow of Dragons: A Starter with @black-queen-rising

Ser Jon Swann was walking amidst the bustling streets of King’s Landing, teaming with the life and activity of the small folk. There had been a carriage waiting for him and his luggage, when he docked at the River Gate, the Mud Gate, he corrected himself with what he overheard from the workers of the dock. Jon had sent the carriage along ahead of him, allowing him to walk the streets in person. He was not in the small folk clothing that he often wore when walking among the common streets, but he didn’t yet have a place where he knew he could change from street cloth to lordly. He also noted he would have to adjust his clothes somewhat. Perhaps being at the seat of power in the west gave more options to the small folk, as there was more pop of occasional color and higher quality fabrics than what he found back home in Stonehelm. 

I’ll have to talk to some merchants while I am here. He thought. Simple luxuries like those may not improve the overall life of those living in the towns and villages surrounding Stonehelm, but simple joys did make small folk happier. Happy small folk created trust, and with enough trust, one had power. 

Soon enough Jon found himself standing at the gates to the Red Keep, the seat of power in the Seven Kingdoms. It was said this is where Aegon Targaryen, the Conqueror, landed before making himself king. As he stood, looking up at the looming towers of red stone, shining like blood in the sunlight, Jon’s thoughts turned to the thoughts of the treasures that could be found in the royal libraries. While many men held all sorts of passions, Jon’s greatest was always his thirst for knowledge, old and new, lore, and rumors. He had heard tales of the vast collection of ancient tomes and manuscript houses within the Red Keep, and he longed to walk those ancient halls.  

Jon smirked before making his way to the guards at the gate. 

__________

Jon was ushered through the outer courtyard, full of bustling servants, dealing with the arrival of lords like himself. 

He took note of the banners and sigils he saw as he walked. 

Frey, Dayne, Martel, Blackwood, and… some white animal on a green field. Must be House Stokeworth or Lydd-

A loud roar from above cut off his thoughts, followed soon by a shadow that blocked the sun from the entire courtyard. 

He stumbled as he looked up to see what could only be a dragon flying above, in and out of the clouds. 

“You’ll get used to it,” The guard said with a good-natured laugh. 

“Truly?” Jon asked back with a smile and a hesitant laugh, matching the guard’s humor.

“No.” He chuckled in response, and Jon answered with a smile as they continued their walk towards the tower of the hand. Jon righted his cloak as he looked back at the dragon dancing between the clouds. His face smoothed behind the back of the guard. He might have laughed along but would not again flinch at the sound or sight of a dragon. 

In moments, he was led into the Hand’s Tower, and the guard gave him a polite nod before opening doors into a large room. It could have been a hall for some smaller houses but was clearly some kind of study and workplace, with shelves of books that his eyes lingered on, a table for gatherings, and a desk at the back of the room where a woman sat. The room was splendid but not in open opulence.  Still beautiful and expensive, but the items in the room were ones of quality rather than just flash. 

With a determined stride and a respectful bow, Jon approached the Princess and Hand, his gaze meeting hers with reverence. 

As the heir to house Swann, Jon viewed his every action as one that could affect the future of Stonehelm, and he knew that his meeting with Crown Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen may be the first step on a journey that could shape the course of his destiny. “Your Grace,” Jon began, his voice steady and composed. “It is an honor and a privilege to stand before you today. I am Ser Jon of Heir to House Swann. My father Lord Royce was unable to make the journey here and has sent me in his sted.” As he spoke, Jon’s dark eyes sparked with a fervent intensity, his determination to seize the opportunities that lay before him burning brighter than ever.

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