[fieldbox="The Maester's Decision: King's Landing, gold , solid"]
Grand Maester Cerin had listened to the arguments of both standing houses, the Lannisters and Baratheons, and the squabbling support from the other houses that came after to support their alliances or build them. With a raise of his aged, liver spotted, wrinkled hand, he announced his intention loudly to the crowd. "Esteemed ladies and lords. I have heard quite enough. Myself and the other maesters must now leave your company, and deliberate the fate of our fair kingdom of Westeros." The old man boomed, his voice booming, with the rasp of old age a permanent partner. The man was old in flesh, but not in mind, and he knew the decision he and his knowledgeable cohorts had to make was a substantially important one. One by one, they left their seated positions, heading directly for the enclosed room belonging to the esteemed Small Council of King's Landing. As easily as they had left their seats in the great hall, the maesters found their seats once more, sitting attentively to their leader's deliberation.
Maester Eaghan was the first to speak, a man of a salt-and-pepper beard and a balding head. "Lord Maester, I believe the Baratheons would be a suitable fit for the throne. They can establish a dominant religion for Westerosi worship, and prevent any religion-based conflicts of interest within the future. In addition, Baratheon forces and their own navy are a strong force of potential protection against those who would seek to damage King's Landing, whether they be on our own shore, or across the Narrow Sea." Maester Connell was first to interject with an argument. "That may very well be the case, but what would be achieved from trying to establish a dominant religious faction within Westeros. Unnecessary conflict. Unnecessary bloodshed. The Lannisters have the funds to keep the citizens of the realm fed and watered. Would you say the same for the Baratheon family?" The stout, bald Maester interjected with slight venom to his voice. "Indeed, you provide an interesting point, Maester Connell." spoke that of Cerin. "Indeed, Maester Connell raises a good point. The alliance between the Tyrells and the Lannisters means King's Landing and the land beyond can be provided with crops, such as the fact that Winter Is Coming, the old saying." Mention of Winter sent a chuckle around the Small Council, Winter a threat that in their minds would not happen for many decades more. However, there had been one solid vote for the Lannisters, which still counted for weight within their decision. Whether it be due to encroaching alliances, consideration still had to be taken over the vote itself. Soon, each master cast their aspersions about the opposing houses, and Cerin was forced to raise his hand to quieten once more. "My colleagues, I have heard enough. We shall deliver the vote to the lords and ladies. Now, let us return." Standing up in unison, to the encore of screeching wooden chairs, they walked together to the great hall, once again.
"My esteemed lords and ladies of Westeros. I have come to a decision, with the assistance of your votes and the deliberation of the Maesters." The elderly man exclaimed, rousing the full attention of the crowd, awaiting the decision of the maesters. "The House that will represent the kingdom of Westeros is the Lannisters, for their coffers are the largest, and with their alliances, we are sure to bring peace back to Westeros, as well as food and rest for those who need peace of mind. The stability of our lands, and the future of Westeros, falls into the hands of the Lannisters. May their reign be long and just."
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[fieldbox="The Dreadfort: Present Day, red, solid"]
The Dreadfort. A name that stirred fear in the hearts of men, women and children. Where criminals would not hear the word mercy and their limbs would be forfeit for their crimes. The place where the Bolton family would sit and plot their "inevitable" dominion of Westeros. Mother, son and daughter, akin to a penchant for slaughter.
Daymin mused in his study of the possibility of alliances with the other Great Houses of the North and the South. If he acquired the alliance of the Greyjoys, he would become a nefarious ruler of the land and sea and no one, not even the Kingslayer, would be able to stand in the way of his eternal glory. He had written down the reasons in ink, on parchment, as after all, he had to present the idea to his mother for acceptance. His mother, Lena Bolton, a cunning politician and a driven competitor, was ready to ensure a Bolton headed supremacy. Her husband, his father Bram Bolton, died by the hands of a would be usurper only two years prior to the council forming, ensuring that Daymin in his own mind would create this dictated state vision of his without the need for a failing, petty democracy that was limp and poisoned under the slanderous name of intrigue.
Daymin wished to acquire either the support of the Northern Great Houses in order to ensure his own later dominion of the North as its sole Warden. He had plans to forge strong alliances in the North and South. Possibly the wolves, the Starks. He was unsure of which houses of the South to tie himself to. Baratheons? Lannisters? Tullys? He was undecided. He would need to ask his mother.
Standing up and moving from the candle lit yet homely space of his study, Daymin, wrapped in his traditional noble clothing and furs, made his way to the great hall, where Maester Jon Leperhen was residing, reading the ancients texts that many maesters seemed to do. "Maester Jon, where is my mother?" Daymin exclaimed in his sickly sweet viper's tongue, the muscle almost wagging and dripping venom like the reptile itself. "Your mother…I am not so sure, my lord. She… must be pre-disposed with matters of council, or is strolling across the grounds." The old man explained as he withered under the gaze of Daymin. None could resist the steely, punishing gaze of the male Bolton. It wouldn't have been wise to.
He would have to shore up alliances with these houses, and the only way he could obtain these alliances was with the help of his mother and sister. But if he could not ascertain her location, he could no longer have a chance at ascertaining the possibility of alliances.In order to find his mother, he would first have to acquire the location of his sister. She would be tending her weapons, if his prediction was correct, knowing his sister was cruel, she would have probably inherited the family penchant for torture. He walked with a confident stride toward the weapon room, and with a smile that betrayed no emotion, he greeted his sister. "Edana, I require your assistance to find mother. I wish to seek counsel from her."
@mahigan @Hellis[/fieldbox]
