The Iron King and the Tully Daughter

BY : Inapplicable
Category: A through F > A Song of Ice and Fire
Dragon prints: 20392
Disclaimer: I do not own a Song of Ice or Fire nor any of the characters written by George RR Martin. Nor do I make any monetary gain or profit from the writing of this story.

First part of upcoming story, would welcome reviews and new ideas. 




Annila Tully glanced over her young body in her silk of reds and blues, it clung to the lush curves of the maiden's form, as her summer blue eyes followed the mirror down. Lord Tommen’s firstborn had blossomed into womanhood a mere three summers ago and was now ripe for being wedded and bedded, yet she still remained a maiden between the thighs. She anxiously smoothed down the folds of her dress, trying to ignore the knot of uneasy coiling in her belly.

Her elegant silk dress did little to help disguise the sublime contours of her figure. Its shimmering blue and red silk flowed over her hips and ass as she turned in front of the beaten silver looking glass, showing off the lady’s toned backside and long, smooth thighs. Her soft doe-skin shoes hugged her feet like lovers and sculpted her slender calves beautifully. A long slit started high on her left side, exposing much of her long, shapely leg. It clung tightly around her upper arms but exposed her creamy shoulders and defined collar bones. While her glossy auburn hair swished back and forth across her freckled lower back, tickling the tops of her buttocks. Pulling on her soft gloves, Annila turned to fetch the last piece, a thick and sturdy looking brown cloak.

“My lady, are you feeling well?”, Annila span toward the source of the soft voice, and saw the young daughter of Lady Anges Blackwood. Elrie Blackwood was only a few years into her maidenhood, yet had already become well known across the Blackwood Vale for her beauty. Elrie had thick, softly curling hair, as black as a raven’s feathers and large brown eyes. She had a slender yet curvy figure, a slim hourglass body, with unblemished and smooth pale skin. Elrie’s breasts were full and had a firm teardrop shape but were smaller than Annila’.

Under tresses of black hair her smile was sweet and shy with pretty white teeth and soft red lips. Although Elrie had never ridden more than three days from Raventree Hall, Annila thought of her as gentle and lively and had become fast friends during her time at House Blackwood.

“Yes, thank you”, Annila replied courtesy.

Elrie’s smile faltered, both Elrie’s lady mother and Annila’s lord father had ridden to war against Harwyn Hoare, their hosts had marched from Raventree Hall half a moon’s turn ago with no ravens to mark their progress. It worried the two maidens more than they could say. Annila knew her lord father and Lady Anges would meet Lord Lothar Braken on the road, then their combined strength would defeat the ironmen, she was sure of it.

“Maester Barrock has asked to see us in his tower”, Elrie voice was soft as she smoothed down the creases in her gown. She offered her arm to Annila.

As they crossed Raventree’s godswood, the great weirwood loomed over them its bone white branches reached high into the hard blue sky. The dead tree’s leaves were scattered over the bare earth, like a red Myrish carpet that softened their footsteps. The weirwood dwarfed the soldier pines, elms, and birches. Annila could not see the top of the tree, just an endless mass of five-pointed bloody leaves. It was a far cry from Riverrun’s godswood with its lush gardens full of colourful songbirds and radiant flowers.

“it’s just up here my lady”, Elrie stood before a banded iron oak door, a spiral staircase leading up.

Annila was panting by the time they reached the maester’s chambers and droplets of sweat had begun to bead on her chin and forehead. Annila brushed back a few errant locks of auburn hair as she finally reached the last step. Elrie gave her a shy smile, warm pink colouring her cheeks.

“My apologises Annila”, Elrie looked submissive. “I had grown so use to the steps, I forgot how many there were”.

Annila laughed and both young ladies turned to enter. The high-arched roof was held up by great beams of dark oak. At the small leaded window, Raventree Hall’s maester took with his back turned to them, a candle was grasped in one wrinkled hand. Annila could just make out the crinkled paper in his other hand reflexed on the glass panes.

“What does it say, Maester?”, Elrie asked politely.

Maester Barrock turned sharply, the letter grasped tight in his fingers. He was well-past his sixtieth name day, with lines to tell a lifetime of knowledge. His kind brown eyes and comforting simile were frozen in a forced expression, his features were pale. Barrock’s chain was forged from thick black iron loops, circlets of bronze, halos of sliver, and small discs of copper, all connected with links of a greenish-yellow metal. The chain’s links were mismatched, and it weighed heavily on Barrock’s thin neck.

“I-it is from your brother, my lady”, Barrock hesitated, his brown eyes fluttering anxiously. “It appears to be a report from the field”.

Elrie snatched the letter from his hand, her brown eyes quickly flicked back and forth as she read the message, her eyes grew larger after every sentience.

“What does it say?”, Annila’s whispered, her tummy curling into anxious knots.

“Its signed by Lord Harwyn Hoare, who now styles himself King of the Isles and the Rivers”, Elrie spat out through clenched teeth. Her mask slipped then, and tears began to trickle down her pale complexion in streams. “H-he. He’s captured my mother…”, she choked, “and my brother!”.

The maester turned his attention to Annila, “Lord Harwyn has won a victory over Lady Agnes’s levies and has captured the heir to Raventree Hall, Rolan Blackwood”. Barrock swallowed nervously before continuing, “He also claims to have taken hostage your lord father too”.

Annila stood in shock, father… the ironmen were well-known to attack unwary fishing villages and prey on merchant sails, yet they had never dared to attack the castles further inland, let along try and conquer the riverlands. The lords of the Iron Islands were known to take hostages, however, be them man or maid. She tried to reassure Elrie Blackwood of that, but the younger girl only heaped scorn on the hope.

“They mean to plunder not conquer!”, Elrie snapped at her. “No, those squids must have been emboldened by their new king”.  

Three quick loud knocks interrupted them, and before an answer could be given the door opened quickly. On the other side of the threshold was her lord father’s master-at-arms; Ser Lurs Grell. Lurs was lean and tall with a wiry strength, the chestnut mop of hair he had in his youth has long been shaved completely. His hard hazel eyes held a fierceness to them. Below he was enamelled sliver plate from neck to heel; inlays of red and blue interwinding together on the pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves, and cuisses. The breastplate and plackart were emblazoned with the three red martlets of his house.

“My ladies if you would follow me. There is a party at the gates, their waving the Braken sigil. That prancing red horse”. Lurs voice was rough.

“Ser, please. Have they brought word of the battle?”, Elrie asked softly.

Lurs shrugged. “Come”, was all he said before stepping forward to grab hold of the maester’s liver spotted wrist. Elrie was the first through the door and Annila was quick to follow.


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