Kapitel 3: Arrival of the Kingdom
The early morning light filtered through the dense canopy of the Emerald Isles as the first of the guests arrived at Nightfall. The lagoon near the castle shimmered in the dawn, reflecting the vibrant greens of the surrounding jungle. Alaric Blackthorne, now dressed in noble attire befitting his station, stood at the entrance of Nightfall, awaiting the arrival of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Liana stood by his side, her presence as commanding as ever, her eyes sharp and observant as they prepared to welcome their guests.
The first to arrive were the lords of the Reach. Lord Luthor Tyrell, accompanied by his wife Olenna son, and a young Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, led the procession. The Tyrell banners fluttered in the morning breeze, the golden rose a stark contrast to the dark greens of the jungle. As they approached, Alaric stepped forward, offering a respectful bow.
"Lord Tyrell, welcome to Nightfall," Alaric greeted, his voice warm. "It is an honor to host you and your house, House Blackthorne offers you bread and salt."
Luthor Tyrell, accepting guest rights, returned the gesture, his demeanor gracious. "The honor is mine, Lord Blackthorne. The tales of the Emerald Isles do not do this place justice."
Alaric smiled, the pleasantries exchanged as the Tyrells were led inside and offered the hospitality of House Blackthorne.
As the day progressed, more lords made their way to Nightfall. The Martell's of Dorne arrived with their retinue, bringing with them the warmth of the southern sun. Prince Doran Martell, taking the place of his mother, was accompanied by his younger siblings Oberyn and Elia Martell, greeted Alaric with a knowing nod. Oberyn's eyes gleamed with curiosity, taking in the foreign landscape with interest, while Elia stood beside her brothers, her head pointing high admiring the larger entanglement of tree branches.
"Lord Blackthorne," Doran said, his voice smooth. "It has been too long since the great houses have been given the ability to see the unending beauty of the Emerald Isle. The journey here was worth every moment."
"Indeed, Lord Martell," Alaric replied, offering guest rights with a formal gesture. "We are honored to have you at Nightfall."
The Martell's were shown to their quarters, the vibrant colors of their attire a striking contrast to the subdued tones of the jungle.
By midday, the arrival of the Baratheon's brought a unique energy to the proceedings. Steffon Baratheon, a formidable man, arrived with his wife and two sons, Lady Cassana, Robert and Stannis Baratheon. Steffon's booming laughter filled the courtyard as he dismounted, clapping Alaric on the back in a gesture of Brotherhood.
"Alaric!" Steffon exclaimed, his grin wide. "It's been far too long. The last time we met, we were boys hanging from our mother's tits."
Alaric chuckled, returning the friendly embrace. "Indeed, Steffon. It's good to see you again, my friend let me lead you to your room so we can catch up."
The afternoon sun began its slow descent, its gaze hitting the jungle trees creating an abstract of shadows engulfing the lagoon. Yet still the noises of horse hooves could be heard approaching. Over the horizon the banners of House Tully and House Arryn could be seen. The silver trout of Riverrun and the sky-blue falcon of the Vale fluttered side by side, a testament to the close ties between the two houses. "Send word to our lord, the lords of the Vale and the Riverlands have arrived."said a guard manning the gate. The two regions had arrived together, their journey bringing them to the heart of the Emerald Isles in a unified procession.
Hoster Tully, a young lord maintaining a regal posture, rode at the front of his party. Beside him, an equally young lord Jon Arryn, the Lord of the Eyrie, carried himself with the quiet dignity of a man with honor. The two lords exchanged a glance as they neared the entrance to Nightfall, their expressions showed mutual respect and awe evident in their expressions.
Alaric, having earlier arrived at the front courtyard, stepped forward to greet them, offering a slight bow. "Lord Tully, Lord Arryn, welcome to Nightfall. It is an honor to receive you both. House Blackthorne offers you bread and salt."
Hoster Tully returned the bow, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "The honor is ours, Lord Blackthorne. I have long wished to see the famed Emerald Isles, and they are even more magnificent than I imagined."
Jon Arryn, more reserved but no less respectful, nodded in agreement. "It is a pleasure to be here, Lord Blackthorne. The beauty of these lands is a sight to behold."
Liana, standing beside her husband, offered a warm smile as the lords accepted guest rights. The Tully and Arryn banners were lowered as the two houses were led inside, their retainers following closely behind.
As the sun disappeared, again the sound of approaching hoofbeats signaled the arrival of a new house, the Starks. The dire wolf banners of House Stark, stark white against a gray background, were unmistakable even from a distance. Lord Rickard Stark rode at the head of his party, his sons the young lads Brandon and Ned flanking him. The northern air seemed to cling to them, a reminder of the cold, distant lands they called home.
Alaric stepped forward to greet the Warden of the North, inclined his head respectfully. "Lord Stark, welcome to Nightfall. It is an honor to host you and your house. House Blackthorne offers you bread and salt."
Rickard Stark, his expression serious but not unkind, returned the bow. "Thank you, Lord Blackthorne. The journey was long, but the welcome has been warm."
Brandon Stark, tall and confident even at his young age, nodded in acknowledgment to his father's words, while Ned, still just a boy, observed the scene with quiet curiosity. The Starks, despite their northern origins, seemed at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings, their stoic nature serving them well in the face of the unknown. Their presence, though initially reserved, quickly settled into the rhythm of Nightfall, their respect for the ancient traditions evident in the way they carried themselves.
As the moon crept closer to the sky, the courtyard of Nightfall became a gathering place for the most powerful lords in Westeros. The banners of the Reach, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North fluttered side by side, their colors vibrant against the backdrop of the dense jungle. Luthor Tyrell stood in quiet conversation with Hoster Tully, while Jon Arryn exchanged respectful nods with Doran Martell. Steffon Baratheon, ever the boisterous presence, shared a jest with Alaric, his laughter echoing through the courtyard. The younger members of each house, though silent in the presence of their elders, watched with wide eyes, absorbing the gravity of the moment.
The air in the courtyard was thick with anticipation as the lords awaited the arrival of the final guest. The younger heirs, attempting to maintain their composure, couldn't help but glance curiously toward the path leading to the castle gates.. The lords stood together, forming a silent, imposing line, each one aware that they were about to receive the ruler of all the Seven Kingdoms.
The tension reached its peak as the sound of carriages roared through the trees. All eyes turned toward the gate as the Targaryen banners, black and red, came into view. The sigil of the three-headed dragon was unmistakable, a symbol of the fire and blood that had shaped the history of Westeros. The banners billowed in the breeze, heralding the arrival of King Aerys II Targaryen.
King Aerys entered the courtyard with an air of regal authority, his silver hair gleaming in the fading light. He was clad in rich, flowing robes of black and red, adorned with intricate dragon designs that shimmered as he moved. His presence was both commanding and unsettling, a reminder of the volatile power that lay within the Iron Throne. Beside him, Tywin Lannister rode with the calm confidence of a man who was accustomed to power. The golden lion of Lannister gleamed on his armor, a testament to the wealth and influence he wielded as the Hand of the King.
As the king dismounted, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms knelt in unison, a show of respect that resonated through the courtyard. Alaric Blackthorne stepped forward, Liana slightly behind him holding the babes. Alaric's movements were measured, as he knelt to his sovereign. His voice, though steady, carried a note of reverence that underscored the significance of the moment. "Your Grace, Nightfall is yours"
King Aerys regarded Alaric with an expression that was difficult to read, his violet eyes flickering with something akin to curiosity, though tinged with the distant coldness that had become his trademark. "Lord Blackthorn, your hospitality is appreciated," he replied while adding a gesture to rise, his tone regal yet detached, as though his mind were already on matters beyond the immediate.
Tywin Lannister, ever the picture of composure, offered a curt nod in acknowledgment. "Lord Blackthorn," he said, his voice low and authoritative, "I look forward to the festivities." His words were formal, but there was an edge to them, a reminder that beneath the surface of this gathering lay the intricate web of power and influence that Tywin Lannister had spent a lifetime weaving.
As the king and his retinue were led inside, the courtyard fell into a hushed silence. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms exchanged brief, significant glances; each one acutely aware of the delicate balance of power that the king's arrival represented. The presence of Aerys II Targaryen, with Tywin Lannister at his side, marked the culmination of the day's events—a signal that the time for pleasantries had ended, and the true games were about to begin.
Alaric exchanged a glance with Liana, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of understanding and resolve. They both knew that the arrival of the king signaled the beginning of something far greater than the tourney they had planned. The presence of so many powerful lords, coupled with the king's arrival, would set the stage for alliances, rivalries, and decisions that could shape the future of the realm. As the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the courtyard into shadow, Alaric could feel the weight of the days to come pressing down on him—a weight that he knew he must bear with strength and cunning.
The arrival of the lords of the Seven Kingdoms had brought Nightfall to life, but the real challenges were only just beginning. The tourney would be more than just a test of skill; it would be a test of loyalty, of power, and of the future of Westeros itself.
- Night of arrival -
The grand hall of Nightfall was buzzing with activity as the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms gathered for the feast, their voices mingling with the crackling of the massive hearth fires that bathed the room in a warm, inviting glow. The atmosphere was electric, alive with the sounds of music, laughter, and the clinking of goblets, creating a symphony of celebration that filled the ancient stone walls. The tables, long and laden with exotic delicacies, were a marvel to the guests, many of whom had never seen such offerings before. Rich, dark chocolate from House Vaal's groves was expertly molded into intricate shapes, its bittersweet aroma wafting through the air and mingling with the scent of freshly brewed coffee—an indulgence rarely experienced on the mainland and the warm, spicy scent of cinnamon permeated the air, with its rich aroma enhancing the flavors of roasted meats and pastries, leaving an indelible impression on the senses. The vibrant colors and tantalizing scents of the food reflected the lush, untamed beauty of the Isles themselves, creating a feast that was as much a visual and olfactory experience as it was a culinary one. Every bite, every sip, was a reminder of the unique and abundant world that House Blackthorne ruled, a world far removed from the familiar comforts of Westeros, yet captivating in its own right.
As the lords and ladies indulged in the rare and exotic delights, conversations flowed freely, yet with an undercurrent of tension. At one end of the hall, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun discussed matters of trade with Lord Luthor Tyrell of Highgarden, while Lady Olenna Tyrell offered her sharp wit to Lady Cassana Baratheon, both women keenly observing the interactions around them. Nearby, Prince Doran Martell of Dorne exchanged pleasantries with Jon Arryn of the Vale, each man subtly gauging the other's intentions in this gathering of power. The younger members of the great houses—Brandon and Ned Stark, alongside Elia and Oberyn Martell—shared their own table, their conversations a mix of curiosity and youthful bravado, as they eyed the foreign delicacies before them with a mix of excitement and suspicion.
The hall itself was a marvel of ancient craftsmanship, a testament to the enduring legacy of House Blackthorne. The stone walls, cut from the very bedrock of the Emerald Isles, were decorated with rich tapestries and banners of green and black, the proud colors of the house. Each banner bore the sigil of the black panther, its ferocity seeming to follow the movements of the guests as they dined and conversed. The high, vaulted ceiling was supported by massive beams of dark wood, their surfaces polished to a gleam by countless generations. Above, intricately carved stone arches connected the beams, their designs reflecting the flora and fauna of the jungle that lay just beyond the castle walls.
Liana moved gracefully through the hall, her emerald-green gown flowing like water as she glided from one guest to the next. Her presence was impossible to ignore; she carried herself with the quiet confidence of a woman who knew her place in the world and commanded respect without ever needing to demand it. As she greeted their guests, offering warm smiles and engaging in light conversation, her eyes never missed a detail. She was a gracious hostess, ensuring that each lord and lady felt welcomed and valued, yet beneath her calm exterior, there was a sharpness—a mind constantly at work, analyzing every interaction, every gesture.
At the head of the table, Alaric sat. His dark and piercing eyes watched the hall, taking in every detail of the evening's proceedings. Though he remained seated, his presence was as commanding as if he had been standing at the center of the room. He observed the interactions between the lords, the subtle shifts in tone and posture that spoke volumes more than words ever could. Alaric was a man who understood the power of observation, and tonight, with so many of the realm's most powerful figures gathered under his roof, there was much to observe. Even as he engaged in conversation with those seated near him, his mind was elsewhere, calculating, planning, always thinking several steps ahead.
Together, Alaric and Liana were a formidable pair, each complementing the other's strengths. As they presided over the evening's feast, they did so not just as lord and lady, but as rulers of a domain that was both beautiful and deadly, a place where the power of House Blackthorne was as much a part of the land as the ancient trees that towered over it.
The feast was in full swing when the great wooden doors of the hall creaked open, drawing the attention of everyone present. The lively conversations and the clinking of goblets ceased almost immediately as all eyes turned toward the entrance. There, stood King Aerys II Targaryen, and beside him, Tywin Lannister, the Hand of the King, his imposing figure exuding authority. The kingsguard standing lightly behind barring, the three-headed dragon sigil melded on the chest plaits.
Without needing to be prompted, the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms rose from their seats, bowing deeply in respect to their king. But before anyone could fully complete the gesture, King Aerys raised a hand, his expression one of weary indulgence.
"Please, my lords and ladies, there is no need for such formalities," Aerys announced, his voice carrying through the hall with an almost casual authority. "I apologize for our late arrival; matters of the realm demanded my attention, and I must depart again soon. But I could not let this evening pass without showing my respect to House Blackthorne."
The word "respect" hung in the air, and though his tone was polite, those in the room knew it was no more than the bare minimum of courtesy, a formality rather than any genuine sentiment. Nevertheless, Alaric stepped forward with a slight bow, his expression composed.
"Your Grace, the honor is ours," Alaric replied, his voice steady. "Nightfall and the Emerald Isles are always at your service."
Aerys nodded curtly, his violet eyes scanning the room before he turned to Tywin. "Lord Lannister will remain in my stead. Enjoy the evening."
With those words, the king turned and left the hall as abruptly as he had entered, leaving a quiet murmur in his wake. The lords and ladies slowly returned to their seats, their attention now shifting to Tywin, who remained at the entrance, his expression as inscrutable as ever.
Tywin moved purposefully toward the head of the table where Alaric sat, the two men's gazes meeting with mutual understanding. As Tywin approached, Alaric gestured for him to sit, the two men exchanging a few formalities before the conversation turned to more substantial matters.
"House Blackthorne is thriving," Tywin remarked, his voice measured, his piercing gaze fixed on Alaric. "Your lands are prosperous, your influence growing. What do you see for the future of your house?"
Alaric considered the question carefully, aware that this was no idle conversation. "The future of House Blackthorne lies in the strength of its foundations—my children, Lucian and Amara. They are the heirs to our legacy, and I will ensure that they are well-prepared to uphold it."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of thought crossing his otherwise impassive features. "Lucian and Amara. I have heard much of them. It is said that your son is strong, and your daughter possesses a rare spirit. My wife, Joanna, is also expecting. I'm sure you are aware."
Alaric nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Indeed, Lord Tywin. Congratulations are in order. May your house be blessed with a strong heir."
Tywin accepted the congratulations with a curt nod, but his mind was already turning to matters of alliance. "Have you considered the possibility of a political marriage?" he asked, his tone direct. "Such a union could solidify the strength of both our houses."
Alaric met Tywin's gaze evenly, his response calm but firm. "It is still too early for such considerations, my lord. My children are but infants. There will be time to think of their future alliances when they are older."
Tywin's jaw tightened ever so slightly, though his expression remained composed. "Of course, but I would urge you to keep it in mind. The realm is changing, and those who do not adapt may find themselves left behind."
Alaric inclined his head in acknowledgment, understanding the weight of Tywin's words. "I will keep your counsel in mind, Lord Lannister. But for now, I must focus on the present."
Tywin rose from his seat, his expression unreadable. "Think on it, Lord Blackthorne," he said, his tone carrying the unmistakable authority of the Hand of the King. "The future waits for no one."
With that, Tywin turned and left the table, his departure as measured and controlled as his arrival. Alaric watched him go, his thoughts turning to the challenges that lay ahead. The evening had begun with the promise of celebration, but now, with Tywin's words lingering in his mind, Alaric knew that the true game of power had only just begun.
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Thank you for reading! As a new writer, I'm eager to improve and grow, so any constructive criticism is more than welcome. If you notice any mistakes or have suggestions on how to enhance the story, please let me know in the comments. Your feedback is greatly appreciated!
On another note, I realized I might have used the wrong name for the MC's father, and to clarify, if I did make a mistake, his father's name is Alaric, and I will be revising and making the correction after the release of this chapter. And I would like to apologize if feels like nothing happened in this chapter: I promise it will get better after a time skip or two.
Thank you again!
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein