ASOIAF: Lord of Nature

(Anya Waynwood, The Eyrie)

She didn't know what to feel about this, it had been a sennight since all the Lords of the Vale had sworn their oaths to Lord Mudd. He was young as expected, no older than Eddard Stark, yet he had a far more noticeable aura about him.

A handsome young man, about 20 name days if she guessed correctly, with striking brown eyes, and wild brown hair. He had Aemma's jawline and nose, visible indicators of his Arryn heritage, yet at the same time he held that intimidating aura that John Mudd had been infamous for.

It was well known that House Mudd had frequently intermarried with both the Maroon and Scarlet Dynasties of Yi Ti and would've been declared their legitimate successors after the fall of the Scarlet emperors, had a majority of their men not perished at the same time their liege did.

Anya supposed that was as good a reason as any for why many houses sought their hand, outside of their looks. Personally, she felt aggrieved that her cousin had been skipped over, alas it would be a foolish endeavor to contest it at the moment, not when a majority of the Vale supported his claim.

"Vance, Vypren, Darry, Goodbrook, Lychester, Mooton, Ryger, and Frey, are all likely to oppose us one way or another." Marking down their seats on the map, Yohn noted them all down.

"Why would Vance and Vypren attempt to oppose us?" The confusion on Benedar Belmore's face was unsurprising, the man's cluelessness was only outpaced by his greed.

"Pride probably, some foolishness from bygone days that no longer matter." Was Lorimas Mudd's response.

Admittedly he was right, the river lords weren't the most reasonable people even at the best of times, tending to be headstrong and quarrelsome at the best of times.

She pitied the wasted opportunity from days past, Lorimas made her husband look positively plain in comparison. Not that she'd give up her children, but a woman could dream.

"The Frey's must be brought low, we cannot allow them to get away with their treachery." This time it was Ser Symond Templeton who piped up, his cold blue eyes tearing holes into the mark that represented the twins.

"Aye, Symond's right, we lost many good men, to those up jumped rabble." Yohn nodded.

"They aren't going anywhere, best we secure the rest of the Riverlands first lest we get surrounded. The North should keep them busy for us." Lorimas reasoned.

While seeking vengeance for his brother, Symond understood Mudd's point, though that didn't stop him from continuing to tear holes into the twins.

If looks could kill, then she wouldn't be surprised if every member of house Frey keeled over dead at this moment, and Symond wasn't the only one.

Many of those present wanted blood, there would be no mercy shown for that old rat or his brood.

"What of House Tully? I doubt they'd just stand there as we cut through their vassals." Stated old Horton in a rather worried tone.

"They barely have enough men to keep their lands safe, let alone aid their vassals, not to mention if the rumors are true, they have their own issues to deal with." the young Lord finally spoke up.

"Mere rumors I believe, my Lord." Belmore was the first to respond.

"Not necessarily, it seems the Freys have been planning to betray the rebels for quite a while, having managed to poison poor Edmure, something my men have recently uncovered." 

The looks of shock and anger on everyone's faces were evident, especially on Symond's face, no doubt preparing to curse House Frey for their lack of honor or such other jargon.

Even Anya couldn't hide her surprise at that, as this changed everything. It meant that if the possibility was unlikely before, now the river lords would never fully unite under one banner.

She cared little for the young trout, but blatantly poisoning their liege lord's heir so carelessly was awfully bold of them. The rebels still had a significant force close by, scattered as they were, all it took was one charismatic lord to unite them all and put the twins down for good.

Speaking of charismatic lords, she watched as her new liege and his primary advisors looked over a map of Westeros, preparing strategies and battle plans for a new campaign. 

On one hand, most of the people present were wary of stepping out of the Vale after such a devastating blow at the Trident. Yet, this was also the best time to make gains, as most of the key players were either holed up in their keeps or too weakened to put up much resistance.

Still, wars were a very chaotic setting and if the seven wished so, then her cousin could still rise, all she had to do was simply wait and hope for the best.

…

(Benjen Stark, Moat Cailin)

Lord of Winterfell, was a position Benjen never expected to hold, yet here he was staring at the ruins of what was once a mighty seat. Great blocks of black basalt lay scattered about, half sunken as if the ground was swallowing it under. 

Amidst these ruins, grief largely clouded his mind, he couldn't help but blame Lya for it. He loved his sister, but gods be damned, there was hatred in his heart for her and himself at this very moment, not when her actions cost their family so much.

He shouldn't have helped her sneak out, instead he should've informed Father immediately about her plans.

Now the consequences of their actions rippled throughout the Kingdoms, Father burned, Bran choked himself to death trying to save him and Ned was butchered by frey men. Gods, he didn't even know if his sister was still alive.

Was this what Brandon the Burner felt, when his father never came back, there was no fleet to burn, but he sure felt like it. With the situation as it is, it's unlikely that the North would ever have one, dreams of sailing had long since turned to ash. 

Joining the night's watch was no longer an option, there would be no atoning for his sins, for the mistakes made. With Ned gone, House Stark needed him to move forward.

"You alright there lad." It was his father-in-law and wasn't that an odd thing to stay, the concern in his voice was obvious to all. He placed a hand on Benjens shoulder, trying to reassure the last wolf.

"Aye, I'll be fine, just needed some time to think."

He wed Bethany Ryswell after what remained of the men of the north had returned, with both her husband slain and her son dead from the sickness, the Dreadfort was now hers and by extension his. 

Combined with House Ryswell's significant holdings and their marriage ties to House Dustin, she was the only logical choice that Benjen had if he wanted to maintain the balance of power under Stark control.

It wasn't a marriage of love, but there was some affection between them after she stood by him as they grieved for those who had been lost.

Admittedly he was not sad for the late Bolton Lord, but he felt pity for young Domeric, taken too young before he could truly experience what life had to offer.

"When I saw Roger slain right in front of me, I was anguished, if it wasn't for Rickard and Roose, I would've probably gotten myself killed trying to cut through his killers." There was a distant, mournful tilt to his words.

"I understand what you're going through lad, we lost a lot of good men in the Trident, Mark my words the Freys and those blasted lizards will have their due." Removing his arm from Benjens shoulder, the old man then left with those parting words.

…

While most of the northern lords had agreed on vengeance against House Frey, hence why they were currently preparing to besiege the twins, there was a divide on what to do next.

Regarding the Targaryens there was a division on whether they would continue the war, most of the eastern lords led by Rickard Karstark and Wyman Manderly sought to just return north after dealing with the Freys. Those from the west led by Willam Dustin and Rodrick Ryswell sought to continue the war, forcing Benjen to mediate between them.

This had been a heated debate ongoing for quite a while now as the levies gathered, he suspected it would've likely led to blows had a messenger not arrived to inform them of rather troubling news. 

Erlend Mudd had been named as Lord of the Vale thanks to the blood claim from his mother. If that wasn't enough, Wyman had managed to gather information that he planned to invade the Riverlands, which halted any plans for what they could do south of the twins.

Much to Benjen's dismay, now arguments were being started on whether they should link up with the Mudd or avoid going south altogether.

Admittedly, none of them wanted to get in between the Mudd and his prize. Tales of his actions against the Dothraki had reached as far as beyond the wall.

There was a reason the Dothraki told long tales of his deeds to scare their young into training harder.

"If you fuckers want to piss off the Butcher of Great Grass Sea be my guest, but don't think of involving the rest of us." was Karstark's remark before choosing to leave.

Silence covered the tent, as everyone grasped his words.

'What would you do in my place, I wonder.'

…

(Doran Martell, Sunspear)

Doran Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne, and Lord of Sunspear, grand titles, and names, all inherited, yet they hadn't remotely fulfilled his ambitions.

Ambitions that have led to the death of his sister and her children. 

Plans of a Targaryen with Martell's blood on the iron throne washed away by the madness of Valyria's remnants.

Aerys 'the Mad King', Rhaeger who was either a rapist or a delusional lovestruck fool, and Viserys who seemed to follow the path of his father, every single one of them had one way or another laid the foundation for the destruction of House Targaryen.

Frankly, Doran wondered if given the chance, would Aegon have ended up just as bad as those three, or gods forbid worse.

Yet, it seemed he would never know, what little could be gathered from his network all pointed to the death of Elia and her blood, either at the hands of the now-dead lions and his savage pets or the mad king and his pets.

In all certainty, Oberyn likely blamed him for their deaths, having been one of the primary objectors to wedding Elia to the crown prince, fearing she would meet the same tragic fate as Queen Rhaelle.

Perhaps he was right, but it was too late now and there was no one to blame but himself. 

Salty tears dripped down his cheeks, a despondent Doran lay in his chair as he thought of what had befallen his family, caused by the ambitions and dreams of himself and his ancestors.

His wine cup lay on the floor, empty of its contents.

…

(Elia Martell, Dragonstone)

She was afraid.

Having never imagined that everything would end up this way. 

Everything could be traced back to Rhaeger and his damned prophecies.

The tourney, that's where it all began. Her poor health had ensured that she would never be all that fond of tourneys, unlike her excitable brother. 

Yet, as consort to the crown prince, as an event where all great lords would meet, she had no choice but to attend, lest even more rumors begin to appear about her. So she went to Harrenhal, not realizing the sheer magnitude of problems it would bring forth.

Rhaegar Targaryen, her husband, the Crown Prince of Westeros, a man who should have been better than his father, won the tourney. For whatever reason had decided to crown Lyanna Stark, a woman spoken for, a daughter of a great house and the future lady of another, as his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Elia wasn't surprised by it, truthfully she had always expected he would have a lover, but to be so blatant about it and with little regard for her, both hurt and angered the dornish princesses, yet nothing could be done about it, for she was in the dragon's den.

One did not foolishly go against someone in their own home.

If only had stayed like that, no it wouldn't take long for her friend Ashara to discover from her brother the true reason why the silver fool would seek out Lyanna, it wasn't love. The blasted 'Last' dragon sought to use her for his prophecy.

It all came to a head when he absconded with her, she did not doubt that the stupid girl willingly went with him. Elia wondered how the girl felt when she was told about what her actions had caused.

Brandon Stark and his followers would later ride to the Red Keep, and as if to prove that the same wild blood that ran through Lyanna was also within him, he demanded Rhaegar's head for the alleged kidnapping.

There was so much lack of thought in his actions, that Elia genuinely wondered if he inherited a shred of wit from his father. If you were going to demand something from the Aerys, at the least make sure you had an army behind you.

Cregan Stark was probably rolling in his grave at the thought of it.

The following events would see the death of not only his companions but also himself and his father, one choking himself to save the other, who was slowly cooked to death.

It was a cruel end, to force a parent to watch their child kill himself trying to save him while they themselves burned.

Her father-in-law would not stop there, sending ravens ordering Jon Arryn to deliver Robert's and Eddard's heads. One that was not only refused but also ended up kicking off the rebellion.

A rebellion that would ravage Westeros for better or worse.

A sigh escaped her as she stood watching the waves, the ship was set to arrive at Dragonstone.

The war was over, yet it had no clear victor, with both Robert and Rheagar dead, and the heads of house Arryn and Stark quickly following suit. There was nothing gained by either side, with the cost being too high.

Sacrifices were made, and many of the friends that she made throughout her childhood within the Water Gardens were likely to be dead. She had no idea if Oberyn or Uncle Lewyn were even alive.

The memory of the egg's death still haunted her, and the thought of her brother and uncle's fates tormented the Dornish princess, threatening to tear her mind at any moment. 

Yet, she had to remain strong for little Rhae, she couldn't afford to break now.

Mya, the person clearly in charge of whatever group this was, approached Elia.

"Princess, we are nearing Dragonstone." Her tone was apathetic at the surface, yet she could feel the mysterious woman's resentment, she knew the cost Mya's group paid to save her and Rhaenys.

"I... I see, thank you."

She didn't know what else to say, how would she even begin to apologize to the furious woman, likely Mya wouldn't care for it.

Rhaenys was waiting nearby, despite her young age she was smart enough to feel the tension, even if not recognize the reason for it.

Taking her hand Elia walked to my cabin, getting ready for their landing.

…

Dragonstone was beautiful, any other day she would've admired its unique environment. But at the moment Elia felt intimidated by it as if she was being judged by the Island itself.

A group of men was waiting for them, instead of the Targaryen colors and sigil, they wore all-black clothing with light armor and cloak, held by what appeared to be a crown emblem.

"Captain Mya." A rather gaunt-faced man greeted the landing party, his steel gray eyes seemed apathetic to them, similar to Mya's.

"Commander." Mya acknowledged the man with a respectful nod and salute.

"At ease Captain, you and your contingent may take rest, I'll debrief you later, you're dismissed." said the Commander, his eyes softening to Mya, if barely.

Only then did he turn his eyes towards the royal duo, though he focused more on her daughter, what remained of her household were ignored.

Captain Mya and her apparent contingent then moved, saluting towards the Commander as they moved out, not giving the princess and her household a second look.

"I suppose an explanation is in order, Princess." it wasn't a question, merely a statement from him.

She nodded, worried about what fate lay for them.

"Dragonstone is now under the jurisdiction of House Mudd, Queen Rhaella has agreed to surrender to us, in exchange for her safety and that of her unborn child."

"The Lords of the Narrow Sea, I can't see them agreeing to this." Shocked by this, she couldn't help but look skeptically at the man.

Seemingly agreeing with her statement, the man nodded his head in acknowledgment.

"Normally they wouldn't, but most of their men are either dead or have deserted thanks to the Trident, which has allowed my Squadron and the 6th Banner to easily besiege and take over their unprepared holds." There he went silent.

This was troubling, like most she assumed the Mudd lord was only interested in the Vale and the Riverlands. His actions though pointed otherwise, she wondered how far his ambitions truly stretched.

"What is to happen to me and my daughter?" That was the main concern at the moment. She could worry about the Mudd later.

The Commander simply stared at the duo, his eyes remained stony as if looking into her very soul.

Did this man not have any emotions?

Finally breaking his silence, "That's up to my liege to decide."