when: the middle of the King's Feast on the first night.
Who: open!
The Great Hall of Dragonstone was warm with candlelight, the walls adorned with banners of dragon heraldry. Platters crowded the long tables, stacked with honeyed chicken, wheels of sharp white cheese from the Reach, bowls of rich stews so dark they smelled of pepper and wine, and Dornish dishes that added bright splashes of colour. It was excess and overindulgence, and Myriame reveled in it.
Myriame laughed too loud, glass already half-empty again and cheeks flushed from wine and heat. A goblet was lifted in a slightly crooked toast to no one in particular, sloshing dark red onto the table and down her bosom. Leaning back in her chair, soft giggles erupting out of her. Myriame's eyes were bright and curious as she took in the hall.
Music swelled, voices rose, and somewhere down the table a minor argument threatened to become a story worth retelling. Myriame leaned forward, chin in hand now, eyes dancing as she looked toward the noble that sat beside her. Myriame was clearly pleased by the night, all the wine, excess, and the promise of whatever trouble might come next.
“Seven save me,” She said cheerfully, her words just a touch slower and slightly slurred than they ought to be, “if this is what the king feeds us every night, I may have to have my gowns tailored a size larger. ” Another laugh, softer this time, as she nudged a plate of Dornish sweets toward the guest who sat next to her with conspiratorial delight. “Try these. I swear they’re dangerous. One moment you’re being polite, the next you’re confessing secrets you absolutely shouldn’t.”
Where: Any Corridor in Dragonstone
When: Sometime in the afternoon, shortly after the King's speech.
It itched her skin to walk amongst the halls of the ancestral home of her most hated enemies. In her dreams, all she could ever think of was burning this place to the ground with the same fire their repulsive house was built upon. However her current reality did not permit her to do such a thing, and thus all she could do was play the grateful, submissive and silly little puppet of a Baratheon deer they all thought her to be. Stealthy and cunning as a fox, Myrcella watched the tactical precision of a strategist on who her target would be today. The moment she found the perfect one, the petite brunette then moved out from her advantageous hiding place and begin to walk down the corridor in a casual, unsuspecting manner, her facial expression shifting to a worried one as her bent down as if inspecting the gift with concern in her hands, when all out of a sudden, her feet "accidentally tripped" over her long gown and she stumbled sideways, instantly colliding hard with the oncoming person in front of her. What happened next was of course a fall backwards and the precious box flying out of her hands and smashing on the hard stone ground, the edges cracking as the glass panels shattered into a million pieces and soil tumbled out of it. Myrcella groaned loudly in both pain and dismay.
After several days had been granted for the realm’s nobility to arrive, rest, and recover from their journeys by sea and road alike, the call was finally made for all honored guests to assemble within the Great Hall of Dragonstone. Hewn from black basalt and warmed by the ever-present breath of the Dragonmont above, the hall hummed with low conversation as banners stirred in the torchlight. When the murmur at last faded, King Aegon Targaryen rose from his seat, the presence of the Conqueror alone enough to still the room.
Tall and solemn, the king stepped forward, his gaze steady as it swept across the gathered lords and ladies of Westeros. Behind him, the sigil of the three-headed dragon loomed large, its crimson form stark against the dark stone.
“My lords, ladies and lieges as well as my esteemed Dornish guests,” Aegon began, “I thank you for answering my summons and for crossing land and sea to stand here today. Twenty decades have passed since the Iron Throne was forged, and in that time, the realm has known a peace and unity unseen for generations. Where once there were several warring crowns, there now stands one realm: bound not only by fire and conquest, but by law, order, and shared purpose.”
His eyes lingered thoughtfully on the gathered banners. “The dragons brought Westeros together, but it has been your oaths, your governance, and your willingness to endure change that have allowed this reign to prosper. Roads have been secured, borders held, laws tempered, and the realm made stronger for it. For this, you have my gratitude.”
Aegon inclined his head slightly. “This gathering is called not only to honor that success, but to reaffirm it—to remind us all that unity must be renewed, and loyalty publicly spoken. You are welcome on Dragonstone, as honored guests of the Crown, to celebrate my nameday and the enduring strength of the Dragon’s reign.”
With that, the king stepped back, giving the floor to the man at his side. The Hand of the King, Ruling Lord Loras Tyrell moved forward, hands clasped behind his back, ready to address the assembly and formally announce the ceremonies and festivities that would follow At the same time, far above them, the distant rumble of dragons echoed through the stone like a promise… or a warning.
TheConqueringhq EVENT I: "THE COVENANT OF THE IRON CROWN"
Date & Location: Dragonstone, 20 AC
To mark twenty decades since the forging of the Iron Throne and celebrate King Aegon’s fiftieth nameday, the Crown summons the all the nobles of Westeros to Dragonstone for an unprecedented convocation. Dorne is also invited as an esteemed guests, sparking hushed whispers of what their presence could possibly signify. This gathering is equal parts celebration, spectacle, and reminder: unity was born in fire, and it is fire that still guards it.
Below are the official activities open to attending characters during the first event:
The Oath Reaffirmation Ceremony
All houses are called to publicly reaffirm their fealty before the King.
Each house must also present a gift of their choosing : offered both as a nameday tribute and as a symbolic token of loyalty to the Iron Crown. Weapons reforged into ceremonial pieces, ancient banners, rare goods, etc will be presented by a representative of each House in front of Aegon.
What is given (or withheld) will not go unnoticed.
2. The Flight of the Dragons
On the second day, nobles are gathered along Dragonstone’s cliffs or aboard anchored ships to witness a spectacular display of dragon flight performances.
Seven dragons will take to the skies above Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea with their respective royal riders showcasing extremely skilled and breathtaking displays of artistic dragon-riding feats, further proving their bond and control over their majestic beasts.
3. Guided Tours of the Dragonmont
By royal invitation, nobles may view the dragons up close within the Dragonmont itself during the time period of dawn to mid-day, throughout the week of the event.
Small groups will be escorted in turns by dragonkeepers and Valyrian acolytes, who will explain the care, feeding, and training of dragons as well as tell tales of Valyrian rites. They use a variety of hand signals, Valyrian commands, incense and chains to demonstrate their training of the dragons that are housed there.
There will be strict rules on where to stand, where to look, when to kneel, when to leave.
Nobles are forbidden to speak loudly, touch anything, or wear loose metal.
What should be noted by all of Westeros that this is a rare and extremely generous honor by the KIng—and not for the faint of heart.
4. Royal Dragon Rides
Four active dragon-riders: the eldest two Targaryen royals and their Arryn cousins —have been tasked by the King with offering a single dragon ride per interested guest.
Rides are granted on a first-come, first-considered basis and may be refused at the riders’ discretion.
Rides are permitted around the time of midday to sunset during the third to the last day of the event.
5. The King’s Feast
Each night concludes with a grand feast, featuring delicacies and specialties from every region of Westeros. A few famous Dornish delicacies are also included on the banquet table.
OOC info:
The festivities would last for 7 days in-character whilst threads can take place for 9 days, ending on 13th of Feb, in a plot drop will be happening on the 14th. Edit: Event has been extended to the 21st! A plot drop will take place on the 22nd!
Your threads may take place anywhere and at any one of the mentioned festivities at any time. You don't need to follow day by day.
Please tag all starters with the tags of tc.event01 & tc.starter
Most importantly have fun & be inclusive! If you have any questions, at all please do not hesitate to ask the main or in the discord! <3
location: the dragonmont
when: midday, the third to last day of the event
@ the brave
Vandal is as pleased about being a mount for hire as Aenyx is in playing the part of glorified coachman, so the prince made sure to wake early and watch the sunrise on dragon wings, exercising the beast well before attempting to cajole him into the indignity of accepting others — gawping dragonbloodless ones at that — on his back.
His dragon is deceptively resting, legs curled beneath him and violet eyes half closed, as Aenyx leans against the bony edge of a wing, staring up into the sky. He doesn’t need to look around him, Vandal will alert him of anyone daring enough to approach, and sighs heavily, wishing he would have had the foresight to have brought a book. “We’ll fly soon, regardless,” he tells him, pointing close to the shadow he casts on the ground. “When the sun moves there,” Vandal lifts his head, nostrils flaring, and coils his neck around Aenyx to encase him within his body, letting out a displeased rumble and a puff of purplish smoke, which the prince lazily waves away from his face.
Aenyx straightens when Vandal thumps his tail, the dragon lifting his head in sync with his rider’s movements. “Behave,” he warns, lips barely moving, before stepping into better view, an indolent grin on his face. “Welcome, my liege,” he hails, arms spread in greeting. “Are you out for a stroll? Admiring the view?” he pauses for a moment. “— interested in gaining a better vantage point?” his tone is tinged with a light touch of amused mockery.
The wind off the Narrow Sea cut sharp and cold along the cliffs of Dragonstone, carrying the salt of distant storms and the murmurs of gathered lords. Banners of all colours swayed in the wind and ships of all sizes crowded the harbour. Lanterns flickered along the edge of the stone balusters that separated the edge of the cliffs from the sea.
Aenar stood at the cliffedge, arms crossed and expression slightly solemn. He nursed a cup of wine, held tightly to his chest but the wine had gone untouched for several minutes now. The crescent fingernail indents in his palm stung in the cold air. He was tired, the easy charm he wore in the halls nowhere to be found.
It had been a long day. Talk of politics was non stop with lords rushing to his ear rattling on about trade disputes, potential marriage prospects, disputes among bannermen. His head had been pounding and nerves settled in his stomach all afternoon. He nodded when expected, offered assurances where required, and laughed at jests. He had played his part. Rather poorly, he feared. More than once he had fumbled through figures he should have known by heart. Trade routes, levies, details his father would have easily recounted. He wasn’t blind, he could see their sharp eyes and quiet reassessment. The truth was, that he wasn’t as informed as he should or needed to be. He simply had to be better.
Above him came a sudden high pitched cry, melodic and achingly familiar.
Aenar lifted his gaze as Cloudsong broke through the thinning clouds, her cream scales catching the late sun. She wheeled and dipped, unburdened by trade routes or disputes.
He watched Cloudsong dance in the sky and a faint smile touched his lips, softening his features. “Lucky thing,” he murmured under his breath. Watching her dance had always made him feel warm inside, and today it relieved some of his tension. He flexed his fingers and drew a long breath of cold sea air. For a moment, the weight eased. In the sky, there were no whispering lords. No judging eyes. Only wind and clouds. He would return to the Vale before long; Dragonstone was.. too much to deal with.
Soft steps echoed from behind him. The warmth that Cloudsong had kindled faltered at once. The nerves in his stomach returned in full force.
“If you have come to speak of trade or troublesome bannermen,” he said quietly, keeping his gaze upon the dragon’s dipping form, “then you will have to give me a minute. I do apologise.” His tone was light, slightly teasing at his own expense.
Only then did he glance over his shoulder. Pale blue eyes measured the figure in the fading light with a small smile that lingered on his face, polite and practiced.
where: the throne room of dragonstone
when: after swearing her fealty to king aegon
It felt wrong, this is wrong, she should not even step foot onto the land. this place—the home of the house that has subjugated and forced fealty during aegon’s draconic conquest. though she did not belong to the ashen promise she had sympathy for their movement. her sympathy felt now as she and her family are not only made to swear themselves to the crown, but to gift this hot-blooded monster with a valuable belonging of theirs. after the nausea that is bowing to the valyrian, lady wynafryd manderly watched her feet as if there is something interesting about them as she continued on, rounding the corner to leave the throne room. she stopped herself before slamming into the person ahead of her, “forgive me, i was watching to see which foot is faster than the other.”
