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It is the days before swords would be drawn in anger, and brother would slay brother on a crimson field. It is the days after the last dragon met its end a malformed runt, last of a once proud line.
Aegon the Unworthy has passed, the crowned beast a bedridden grotesque dying under his own corpulence. It is the first days of Daeron the Good, a lull in the storm of Targaryen rule.
And there is to be a wedding, and a union, of young lovers and of crowns. The Blessed’s work is finished where the Young Dragon failed. A pact has been made and the seven kingdoms are to become one, with a great tourney in honour of the young bride. Joined not by dragons and swords or wars of conquest, but by the marriage bed.
It is a time of bastards.
It is the time of House Blackfyre.
You are bastard born, your father a minor lord sworn to serve a Great House.
> He serves House Tully in the Riverlands, you are a Rivers
> He serves House Tyrell in the Reach, you are a Flowers
> He serves House Lannister in the Westerlands, you are a Hill
> He serves House Arryn in the Vale, you are a Stone
> He serves House Stark in the North, you are a Snow
> He serves House Baratheon in the Stormlands, you are a Storm
> He serves House Greyjoy in the Iron Islands, you are a Pyke
> He serves House Targaryen in the Crownlands, you are a Waters
