91 AC
After being a page for four months, I've finally confirmed something very important: being a page is NOT an achievement. Not according to the System, anyway. No glowing pop-ups, no XP, just a lot of cleaning chamber pots and pretending to be fascinated by etiquette.
Toward the end of 91 AC, something actually did happen—I was finally able to stand properly with a real sword. Not the toy ones or the firewood I used to pretend-train with, but an actual forged (though dulled) sword. All that leg training finally paid off. Uncle Erryk even muttered something like, "Rare, this is," in a tone that made me feel like I'd just unlocked a Jedi achievement.
Fast forward a few days and it was New Year's! Well, my New Year.
Westeros doesn't really do New Year's like Earth. There's no midnight countdown, no fireworks, no drunken uncles shouting at the moon. The only festivals around this time are things like:
The Maiden's Day (super holy, lots of flowers)
The Warrior's Day (super violent, lots of bruises)
Harvest festivals (meh)
Or you just wait for the king or some local lord to have a nameday party. Basically, the vibe is: unless you're royal or religious, New Year is just another Tuesday.
92 AC
Now, THIS year… this year is going to be spicy.
One of the biggest events in Westerosi history is coming. The Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, one of the most powerful people in the entire known world… is about to die. Yup. Prince Aemon Targaryen is going to kick the dragon-shaped bucket.
This death will start a domino effect that leads to the whole Targaryen civil war mess. It's the moment King Jaehaerys chooses Baelon the Brave over Princess Rhaenys, sparking the Great Who-Gets-the-Throne Debate.
Drama? Absolutely. Popcorn-worthy? You bet.
Sadly, I won't be there to witness it. Only the royals and the Kingsguard will be present when the real drama unfolds. So if I want a front-row seat to history, I've got two options:
Get born into the royal family (oops, too late).
Become a Kingsguard.
Turns out watching royal drama live is very expensive. You need either dragon blood or seven feet of muscle and vows of chastity.
Also, even if I did warn the king—"Hey, your heir's gonna die soon!"—he'd probably feed me to Caraxes for being a creepy prophecy-spewing child. Maybe if I had silver hair I could fake being a Dreamer. But with my regular commoner mop? Yeah, no thanks.