GODS·GRACE

LORD DASTAN ALLYRION LORD OF GODSGRACE "Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot." ( mobile navigation )

[dastan-allyrion]

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Dastan Allyrion AGE: Thirty-three (Born March 6th, 111 AC) STATUS: Ruling Lord of House Godsgrace OCCUPATION: Ruling lord & Master of Laws MARITAL STATUS: Married to Ophelia Fowler. (Previously married to Sofina Merryweather, until her death. He used to have a paramour who birthed his son, Hasaryn). CHARACTER ALIGNMENT: Lawful neutral MBTI: INFJ (introversion, intuition, feeling, judging) RELIGION: Faith of the Seven VIRTUES: Reliable, Dutiful, Insightful, Determinated, Strategic & Steadfast      VICES: Apprehensive, Secretive, Emotionally reserved, Self-doubting, Remorseful & Melancholic

BIOGRAPHY

The world might have forgotten already, but Dastan wasn’t the first male child of Lord Arstan and Lady Ashara of House Allyrion. First was his eldest sister, and then the true heir of Godsgrace, Hasaryn. Dastan followed only two years later, and the two brothers grew up as two peas in a pod, forever united by their blood but bonded even closer by friendship. More siblings followed and Dastan grew up loving his family deeply, but it was undeniable that the bond between the brothers was different. The sort of unbreakable camaraderie that becomes gives birth to epic stanzas in legends and songs. But fate wouldn’t have it so... Hasaryn was a boy of ten and Dastan a boy of eight when the terrible accident took place one afternoon they went out riding. The heir of Godsgrace sustained greatly damaging injuries. Six days and six nights the fevers took him due to grave wounds that got infected and didn’t heal well. On the seventh day after the accident, House Allyrion was burying their heir.

Nothing was the same after that. Dastan has been carrying that grief in him since then. Some days are better and some days are worse, but the sorrow of losing his brother and his closest friend still flows in his veins. A feeling that will never entirely fade, he realized in time. A feeling to learn to carry. The title of heir was passed to him, of course, and his upbringing shifted because of it. He was a second son no more, but the one that would be groomed to inherit his father’s legacy when the time came. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t feel like he’s occupying space that wasn’t meant for Hasaryn, not him. Keeping the memory of his brother in his heart, Dastan hopes he can measure up and be as great as Hasaryn would have been.

In a world divided into multiple kingdoms because of the Dance of Dragons, the loyalty of House Allyrion stays with Dorne. The loyalty of Dastan, stays with his house first and foremost, ready to be both shield and sword for them whenever it is necessary.

[benblvckwood]

dastan allyrion. ben couldn't say the name was familiar to him, but it brought with it something that was part relief, that he had got it right, and part awkwardness, for now he had to figure out exactly what it was that he wanted to say next. his hands, at his sides, flexed out, then curled back into loose fists, a gesture of nerves rather than aggression. "ben," he said, in response to the request of his name, and then he caught himself, drawing himself to his full height, standing squarer in the shoulders, trying to look more like the sort of man who should carry a name as weighty as his own. "benjicot," he corrected himself. "benjicot blackwood." in that moment, he had never looked more of a boy.

he wasn't sure how much weight his name would carry with this dornish lord, with dastan allyrion. his mother had been buried twenty years (more, now, he supposed), and ben had never once heard word from any allyrion, her kin. he knew little about her, how she fit, what branch of their family tree she came from. perhaps the relation was distant enough that it was irrelevant to them all. but she had come from them. she had not sprung from thin air and found herself in the riverlands. his mother had been a real, flesh-and-bone woman, had lived and breathed and walked dornish sands, had a mother and a father and maybe brothers and sisters. surely, dastan would know something of her?

"my mother," he began, hating how uncertain his voice sounded. "she was dornish. an allyrion, i am told." a pause, and ben raised a hand, scratching at his throat gently. his neck suddenly felt hoarse. "she's dead." the words were blunt, matter-of-fact, but not emotional. she'd been dead most of his conscious life, after all, and though that did little to soothe the hollow he barely registered that he carried in her absence, the few hazy memories he had of her did not seem enough to warrant the sort of true sorrow he had witnessed when others lost their mothers, women they knew better than he would ever know his, who had raised them from babes to men.

"my father is dead, too." there was no need to convince himself that he should not feel sorrow over samwell blackwood's passing. his apathy there was genuine. "so there isn't... well. there's nobody to ask about her." he had spoken to all the servants at raventree hall, though not to lucius, who he doubted would have the answers he sought, anyway. they had painted a picture of the woman she had become in the riverlands, but not who she had been before. that part of her life, and who she truly was at her core, remained a mystery.

he took a moment then to survey dastan. it was a strange thing, to look upon a man who he could perhaps share blood with, and know nothing about him. he looked to be a few years older than ben, but not enough that he might remember her. he did a quick calculation in his head. if he had to guess, he was no more than ten years ben's senior. ben had been just shy of his fourth nameday when his mother had died, and so dastan could have been no more than five himself when she left dorne. not enough to have memories, he supposed, but perhaps he would know her name.

"if you know anything about her," he began, unable to keep the wariness from his expression. "i'd be very grateful. he name was neeta. neeta allyrion." a pause, and he scuffed the sole of his boot on the gravel, seemingly unaware he had done it. "it doesn't matter if not," he added, hurriedly, defensively. "if she was some distant cousin or... i don't know. i just thought i'd ask."

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan bowed his head lightly, offering that gesture of courtesy, when the young man introduced himself. “Lord Blackwood,” he said, his tone even, composed. “A pleasure”. He did not speak further after that, sensing there was more behind the formality of the introductions they exchanged. The Lord of Godsgrace had a keen eye for the unspoken, and he took notice of the subtle flicker of nerves and the way the Riverlander's voice carried both uncertainty and intent. So he waited, letting silence do what it often did best in beginning to draw truth to the surface.

When Ben spoke of his mother being Dornish, Dastan nodded with quiet interest. His expression didn’t change much, though a gleam of something sharper and more alert had begun to stir beneath the surface, for he did not know what to expect of this conversation. It was a curious thing, for a stranger to approach him with something so personal, something that seemed to carry a layer of vulnerability. There was a special sort of gravity in the young lord’s words, one that Dastan couldn’t ignore. He also noticed how different it was when Ben spoke about his parents, both of them gone. There was a faint, hollow ache when he said his mother was dead, while there was some form of detached indifference in stating the same about his father. It was telling, Dastan thought, though not something he could relate to from his own experience. He still grieved for his father, and he prayed that the gods would allow his lady mother to live many more healthy years.

And then Benjicot Blackwood uttered his mother's name. Neeta Allyrion. The shift in Dastan was unmistakable. His expression changed, somewhere between blank shock and gaining the quiet realization of finding resolution for a story that had long remained unfinished. Neeta Allyrion had represented another quiet sorrow in a family that had been marked by loss for many years. His father, Arstan, had never said much about her, and when he did, Dastan could see the clear lines of heartache on his father's face and hear how his voice trembled. Arstan had loved his little sister so much and never fully recovered after she left Godsgrace. It was never quite clear if she had escaped or been taken away, the only irrefutable fact was that she had been vanished from her family's life, leaving behind a void that was never filled.

When his own sister, Mayya, vanished in the heart of the Crownlands, Dastan had come to understand that kind of grief that never found closure. The ache that did not know whether to mourn or to hope. Standing before the young Lord Blackwood, Dastan could only hope this was not some twisted lie, and that he was in fact receiving the answer that Arstan Allyrion never lived to get about his sister's fate. “She was my father’s sister,” Dastan said at last, his voice quiet but steady. “Neeta Allyrion was a lady of Godsgrace. My aunt… which means that you and I share blood, Lord Blackwood”.

[opheliafowler]

.

ophelia said nothing at first. just stood there, her heart thudding in her chest as if trying to push back against his words. she felt them settle around her like a net. gentle, loving, but still something that held her in place.

when he stepped back, her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling slightly into the soft fabric of her gown. she blinked fast, chasing away the sting behind her eyes, unwilling to cry. not now. not when he was being so calm, so composed, while her soul felt like it was being told to sit still while it burned.

she took a slow breath, lifting her chin slightly. “i know what could happen. i know what war looks like. i’ve walked through the mud soaked with blood, held people’s hands while they begged not to die. ...and i’ve seen them go quiet when they realized no one was coming to help. i’ve seen it. and i still choose to go.”

her voice didn’t rise, but there was something ironclad in it now. not angry. never angry with him. just honest. 

heartbreakingly honest.

“but i hear you” she added softly, her eyes meeting his with a quiet ache in them. “and i understand, truly i do. you want to protect me. protect hasa. protect our home. and i will to honor that, even if my heart is pulling in another direction.”

she looked down for a moment, then back up at him with a weak smile. “you always were very good at saying the exact thing that would make me stay” she whispered. “just… promise me something?”

her hand reached for his again, gently this time. “if it ever becomes too much. if the healers there are too few, if the wounded outnumber the ones who can tend to them. please, send for me. don’t let pride or fear keep you from calling on me. promise me that and i will stay without any more arguments about it”

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan’s gaze softened, even though there still seemed to be a sense of heaviness on his shoulders. He knew that she spoke the truth, of course. She was right in every way. He had seen the way healers could shift everything in the battle camps, how their presence not only saved lives but offered a sense of hope to others too. It was no small thing to use one's hands to bring men back from the brink, and Ophelia had done it countless times already. “You’re right,” he admitted in a low voice. “The work you’ve done before, the lives you’ve touched… it matters. In the right moments, it matters more than swords or shields”. This had never been about doubting her strength or the worth of what she could do. Gods, he admired that more than he could say. But still, he did not relent. His decision had been made, born in part of what seemed sound strategy for his house, but also because of the great fear that had its claws in him. He couldn't bring himself to readily place her where her life would be at risk when the alternative existed.

Then, her voice softened into that last phrase: I will honor that, even if my heart is pulling in another direction. The Lord of Godsgrace was rendered silent. He didn't speak right away, and the look that crossed his features revealed his thoughts. He admired her so much in that moment, awed by the maturity of her character, by her steadfast empathy and care. And so, when his wife's hand found his and asked him to make a promise, Dastan pulled her close. He pulled her in so her head rested against his chest as his arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. His fingers threaded slowly through her hair, a display of tenderness he allowed himself only when the armor around his heart cracked. He stood like that for a long while, considering her request. The silence stretched, as if he could push the choice away. She had conceded, and in the end, he opted to meet her in the middle as well. He let out a breath, and then he whispered close to her ear those two words she asked of him. “I promise”.

Dastan lingered there in the quiet that followed, his hand still resting against her hair. Silently, in his mind, he prayed to every deity he believed in to not bring misfortune upon them after the vow he had just made. After a moment, Dastan pulled away just enough for his dark eyes to find hers. He looked at her differently, in a way. More clearly than he had before, for his wife had shown him a part of her that he hadn't quite seen before. And while it challenged his worst fears, it marveled him as well. His forehead pressed gently against hers, and the Lord of Godsgrace let out a subtle sigh. Then, his lips found Ophelia's, and he kissed her slowly, tenderly.

[benblvckwood]

closed starter for @dastan-allyrion

in truth, ben was debating returning to raventree hall. he was sure that, for some, the verdant concord was a grand splendour, exciting, even, the sort of thing they'd talk about for years to come. but it wasn't for him. he'd came, he'd seen it, and frankly, it had all left him a bit lost, confused, and upset with himself. perhaps, if his education had not been disrupted by the need to come to the battlefield, things would be different, and he'd actually be enjoying himself here today, wouldn't feel stupid and slow and incapable.

but it had.

if he was honest with himself, things weren't much better in the riverlands. there was something festering at the core of the lord of house blackwood, something he could not quite give name to. it wasn't resentment, though it felt a little like it. it felt a little like knowing you were the odd one out, and knowing there was nothing you could do about it.

his face was dour as he sat alone in the garden courtyard, the sun-bleached walls draped in lush flowering vines that made his nose run. it had been quieter here in the morning, but now the hotter temperatures of midday approached, it had grown a little busier. to his right was a group of dornish lords, speaking in a language ben could not understand, but he listened to the words, anyway. there was something about it that stirred him, like a memory of a dream. though he could not speak the dornish tongue, there was something comforting about it, because that was what she spoke.

of vinita blackwood, ben could remember very little. every now and then, he'd catch a whisper of a scent that brought her back to him for the briefest of moments, though he could not recall what she looked like beyond big, brown, soft eyes. what he could remember, though, was her lullabies, songs sung to a young ben to soothe him to sleep in the same language the lords spoke to each other now.

"...allyrion..."

his head shot up, looking at the dornish lords with renewed interest. that had been her name, he knew, before she had married his father. had he truly heard it, or was he imagining things, simply because he was thinking of her in that moment?

no. he heard it again, and this time, he was sure it was being used to address one of the lords stood there, who must have been an allyrion himself. for a moment, ben only watched them, until the other lords took their leave, leaving the one his gaze was fixed on sitting alone.

ben rose from his seat, approaching slowly. he did not know what he wanted to say to him, only that he should say something. he had never met an allyrion before. there was something pulling at him about a sister from the house being the mother to the young princess, but beyond that, he couldn't say much more about them. if his mother had spoke of her family, he didn't remember.

"excuse me," his voice came out gruffer than intended, and ben cleared his throat. "he called you allyrion, didn't he? that's your name? allyrion?" a pause. "or have i got it wrong?"

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan's mind was already back in Godsgrace, where his son waited. He had not risked bringing his little boy into the entanglements of foreign courts, where his family had suffered more than once. The only reason he had agreed to make the journey to the Reach was out of obligation, as it was expected the Master of Laws would accompany his Prince and the rest of the Dornish retinue. The Reach held bittersweet memories, really. He had crossed paths with Seffora Merryweather and seen the colors of her house on more than one occasion. Even though he was at peace, his heart still whispered its grief with the echo of Sofina. And so, he had shown his face, spoken when required, lent Godsgrace's voice when needed, and now felt ready to return home.

The Lord of Godsgrace had been giving his men instructions in a low, steady tone, ensuring they were prepared to ride by dawn. It was only when the others wearing Allyrion colors dispersed, that Dastan became aware of the young man lingering nearby. “You heard right,” he answered simply, his tone even but not unkind. “I am Dastan Allyrion of Godsgrace. . His dark eyes studied the other man with curiosity, the habit of a man who often observed more than he spoke, and rarely rushed to fill silences. There was something in the other man's demeanor, though, a sort of hesitancy merged with quiet intensity, that gave him pause. “I don't believe we've been introduced before. What's your name, my lord?”

[raviofthesun]

the grand hall of sunspear was alive with the sounds of music and conversation, but ravi couldn't shake the weight that hung on his shoulders. peace talks, treaties, alliances, these things were a constant, gnawing presence in his mind, especially tonight. he had just returned from essos, still trying to find his place on this chessboard of politics, where every move felt too calculated, too measured. tonight, the reality of it all seemed heavier than usual.

“well, i’m glad to hear you’ve avoided the paperwork for now,” ravi said, his voice light but edged with an undercurrent of weariness. he glanced over at the crowd, a swirl of nobles and courtiers. “but knowing you, it’s only a matter of time before you’re trapped in the office with a pile of parchments taller than any of us.”

he shook his head, taking a small step back from the bustle of the hall, his eyes scanning the room as he tried to relax. despite his outward demeanor, the gathering of kingdoms felt like an anchor around his neck tonight, like he was juggling too many pieces and waiting for them all to fall at once. “pride, sure," he mused, though there was no arrogance in his tone. "but mostly... responsibility."

ravi's gaze flicked to a veiled-off room just beyond a row of tall columns, where wisps of smoke curled from the doorway, disappearing into the cool evening air. it was a familiar scent, the sharp, sweet perfume of hookah smoke, and for a moment, he allowed himself a small, relieved breath.

he turned back to dastan with a casual smile. “ah, looks like there’s a smoke waiting for us.” he gestured toward the room, where the smoke was thickening in the dim light, mingling with the low murmurs from within. “shall we sit, have a smoke, and chat for a while? might be a good way to take the edge off before we’re thrown back to the wolves...or lions.”

[dastan-allyrion]

“Well, it’s a welcome respite,” Dastan replied with a small smile. It appeared lighthearted at first glance, but someone who knew him well enough like Ravi did would recognize the weight behind it. Not long ago, he'd rarely left his study, and he had buried himself in ledgers and letters until the ink stained his hands and the bottles of wine lulled him to sleep. His grief hadn't left him, not truly, but at least Myriam and Mayya had managed to shake some sense into him so the heaviness in his heart didn't dictate the rhythm of his days. “I’ll be behind my desk again before the first meeting tomorrow ends, I'm sure of it,” he added with a lighter tone.

He fell into step beside Ravi as they moved toward the quieter space, away from the loudness of the gathering. Dastan’s gaze traveled across the room before it landed on his friend, and he observed him with curiosity. “I know that look,” he murmured, a knowing look crossing his features. The Prince spoke of responsibility, and that was enough of an acknowledgment of the burden that Ravi carried. “You’re not juggling all of it alone. You have a council”. A Prince's responsibility was not the same as that of his advisors, of course, but Ravi's burden wasn't one to bear in solitude. “House Martell has built a circle strong enough to stand with you. If the weight grows too much, lean into us. We’re meant to share it,” he added, speaking not only as a Master of Laws and a man devoted to House Martell and Dorne, but as a friend willing to share any burden.

When Ravi gestured toward the smoke room, Dastan’s eyes followed the Prince's line of sight toward the rising tendrils of smoke beyond the columns. The invitation was easy, and it brought a sense of familiarity as well, earning a gleam of warmth in the Lord of Godsgrace’s expression. The two of them entered the room, and Dastan took his seat, reaching for the hookah pipe with ease. He breathed in and as the first slow plume of smoke escaped his lips, his dark eyes met Ravi’s once more. “Come now, my friend,” he said with a half-smile, a slight scoff accompanying his words. “The wolves, the lions, and all the rest will be on their best behavior for now. No one wants to be the first to break the illusion of peace. Not so quickly, at least”.

[raviofthesun]

setting: flashback to when the kingdoms gathered in dorne for the peace talks, this is before shit hit the fan and things were relatively okay ; starter for @dastan-allyrion

the grand hall of sunspear hummed with the sounds of music and conversation, but beneath the festive air, there was an undeniable undercurrent of tension. the peace talks were progressing—at least for now—but ravi could feel the flickers of unrest. the ironborn still glared at the westerlanders, the reachmen’s barbs remained sharp, and beneath it all, the ever-present questions of loyalty and power hung in the air like a storm waiting to break.

the prince, however, was content to leave those matters behind for the evening. he had been part of the discussions, the compromises, but tonight, there was no talk of treaties or alliances. tonight, the weight of politics was a distant thing. tor the moment, he only wanted the company of an old friend.

he spotted dastan allyrion across the room, his dark hair falling in loose waves as he spoke animatedly with a group of nobles. ravi made his way through the crowd, the clink of goblets and the murmur of conversation falling away as he neared.

“ah, dastan,” ravi greeted with a grin, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder. “i hope you’ve managed to avoid most of the… shall we say, less entertaining discussions tonight?”

[dastan-allyrion]

As soon as he spotted Ravi approaching him, the lord's expression brightened right away. The Lord of Godsgrace embraced his old friend, content to see him in a space that had filled with foreign and new faces all around. “Fortunately, I've not been cornered to talk of laws or arrangements,” he replied with a subtle smile. “Though I expect I will not be spared much longer. I'll be captive in my office in the coming days, no doubt,” he added with a chuckle. The peace talks involved agreements, after all, and it was a Master of Law's duties to set those words to parchment.

The Lord of Godsgrace found himself at ease in the presence of Ravi. The two men had been teens and grown into adulthood together. Dastan's loyalty to House Martell began as duty, but it had also grown into something rooted in kinship, in deep friendship. The Prince had never treated Dastan as merely a vassal, nor tried to shatter the silences Dastan often kept. Especially as the lord had slowly been crawling out of the destructive spiral of grief he'd sunk into since the North, Ravi had been there —not to fix things, not to chastise him, merely to remind him he wasn't alone.

Other men drank wine at the event, and Dastan sipped water from his cup instead. “You should be proud, mera dost” he stated with a warm smile, a hand coming to rest on Ravi's shoulder as he glanced around. It was no small feat to have gathered monarchs and courtiers from all across Westeros, having them all come to Dorne for peace talks. The credit for it all might go to Ravi's father, but Dastan was aware that at this point, the old Prince relied more and more on his son to be the guiding hand of Dorne.

[opheliafowler]

.

​​ophelia searched dastan’s face as he spoke, clinging to every word as if she might find a crack in his resolve, some space where she could wedge her own. his hands were warm on her shoulders, steady, grounding—but she felt anything but steady. the moment he cupped her face, her breath hitched, and she leaned into the touch instinctively. how cruel it was, the tenderness of it, when his words carried the weight of news she did not want to hear.

she shook her head, not in defiance but in quiet desperation. “i know my duty here,” she whispered, voice trembling with unspent emotion. “i know what it means to be the lady of godsgrace, to be hasa’s mother. i know all of that. but, dastan… i am not meant to sit and wait while people suffer. i am not meant to be here while you—” her voice caught, and she swallowed hard, trying to push back the knot forming in her throat.

her fingers curled around his wrist, pressing his hand against her cheek as if she could make him understand by touch alone. “i cannot just sit in these halls and pretend i do not know what happens beyond them. that i do not know what wounds will go untended, what lives might be lost because there weren’t enough hands to help.” her eyes, so often filled with laughter and light, were pleading now. “and if something were to happen to you—” the thought sent ice through her veins. “i would never forgive myself if i wasn’t there to help. if i wasn’t there to bring you home to hasa”

her grip on him tightened for a moment before loosening. she didn’t want to fight with him—not about this, not when he had only just come home. but she could not stop herself from trying, from hoping he would see that this was not simply a want but a need. the same way she knew he had to leave, she knew she had to go. but she wished she had his blessing.

ophelia had never been meant for stillness.

[dastan-allyrion]

He let the silence stretch between them. For once, it wasn't the kind of soothing quietness he welcomed, but the kind that weighed him down. Dastan's hand remained against her cheek, his thumb brushing over her skin with a gentleness. His dark eyes were settled on her, only barely betraying the battle waging behind his calm expression. Ophelia was a remarkable lady, and he could see her heart laid bare as she spoke. She had a passionate drive to serve, to heal, to stand where the suffering was worst so she could mend it. But the other side of a battle was what worried him most; what could be destroyed and what died.

Dastan Allyrion had lived through too many farewells. “Ophelia,” he said at last, voice low and firm. He stepped back slightly, putting space between them as he became more resolute. “There is no part of me that doubts your strength, or your will, or your heart. You need not put it to the test,” the Lord of Godsgrace went on. “You will stay,” he added with a finality to his words. “I will not put you in a position that might mean I lose you. Or Hasa loses you. He will have his mother still, if anything happens to me”. Dastan's words were not edged with anger but with fear disguised as resolve. He had already lost too much, and the thought of placing Ophelia in harm’s way felt like daring the gods to wound him and his family again.

He exhaled through his nose. He could feel himself growing tense but he managed to steady himself before his wife. “You are not made for stillness, I know that. What I ask is not to chain you, but to protect you and our house. You lead here. You keep this house whole. And when I ride into battle, I ride knowing that the best of us still remains behind, holding fast”. His eyes searched hers again, not for agreement, but for understanding. He did not need her to like his decision, only to know that it came from the deepest part of him. The part that had loved and lost too many times, and could not bear the thought of losing her too.

[myriamas]

who: @dastan-allyrion when and where: the allyrion apartments within sunspear's old palace, myriam takes the evening to enjoy the company of her family, including her mother who had surprised her by travelling from godsgrace to meet her newest granddaughter.

the soft glow of the lanterns in the allyrion apartments bathed the room in warm light, casting long shadows that danced with the flickering flames. myriam leaned back against the plush cushions of the divan, her rust-colored sari flowing around her like a pool of liquid warmth. gold embroidered threads glinted beneath the lantern light, a reflection of the joy she felt inside as she watched her family gather around.

"ma!" myriam called, leaning her head back on her chair as the woman stilled in the doorway; she had nearly forgotten her hair clip. "you forgot your hair clip." she jumped to her feet and took it to her mother, the sounds of her anklets jingling and voluminous dark unruly curls bouncing before returning back to her chair, hearing the distant sounds of leila chiding her grandmother.

myriam’s heart swelled with contentment at the sight of her mother's rare smile, knowing that even in these dark times, her family remained her anchor. myriam leaned back in the cushioned seat, her golden sari pooling like a river of sunlit autumn leaves around her. she felt a fleeting sense of peace. she had to admit, it felt like everything was just as it had been, in those days before the womanhood had called her to sunspear.

the evening had been quiet, with only the soft crackle of the fireplace to break the silence now that the house had settled into the kind of peaceful lull that was rare in the whirlwind of court life. dastan sat across from her, still holding hasaryn in his lap, the toddler’s small fingers curled tightly around his father’s finger. myriam smiled softly as she adjusted inaaya into the arms of an attendent, the newborn’s gentle, steady breathing a balm to her frayed nerves.

"i love their smell." she spoke to dastan, her eyes sparkling slightly the way they always did when she had drunk some of her favorite red wine. or rum. "newborns, they have this smell. when i cuddle her, i could sniff her all day." she laughed at the way she sounded incredibly unstable, walking over to kiss the top of hasaryn's head. "i swear, dastan," myriam said, her voice light and teasing as she looked over to her brother, "this boy's going to be a warrior before he's even out of nursing. look at him, already planning his battles." she watched as hasaryn made a clumsy attempt to swipe with his toy sword, and couldn’t help but laugh.

"at this rate, he'll be teaching us all how to fight before we even realize it." gone were the days where she had screamed and shattered glass about hasaryn having half valyrian parentage; just as many things did for myriam, it had passed. she bopped hasa on the top of the head with his own toy sword, before leaning backward. "thanks for keeping contact when you were on the front lines. i didn't count how many hours the ravens usually took or anything."

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan sat in peace with his family, filled with a sense of serenity he hadn't known in some months. Being on the battlefield reminded him that every moment might be his last, that the blade of an enemy could cut him open in a way that not even his wife could mend. So he thanked the gods for letting him live to exist in this moment. One hand moved to rest on his sister's arm, the other resting on Hasaryn's back as the boy wiggled on his lap, determinedly clutching his wooden sword. “He might grow to be a warrior. Perhaps I should start training him myself before he decides to lead his own rebellions,” he replied in a joking manner. “Or perhaps this one will use his hands to heal. He follows Ophelia all the time, you know,” he added with a softer smile. Hasa was still so young, and yet his curious mind had awakened, trailing behind the Lady of Godsgrace and asking questions about her herbs and remedies.

“I love it as well,” Dastan admitted in a soft tone when his sister spoke of a newborn's smell. He remembered Hasaryn's special aroma then, and as he grew up, it faded. “And before you know it, they grow up”. He turned to look at his sister, his dark eyes warm with affection for Myriam and the little babe cradled in the attendant's arms. There was something quietly reassuring in seeing her like this again; laughing, teasing, content in the company of family. It reminded him of the days before her duty to Mors and his duty to serve Dorne had drawn them apart for the first time in their lives.

Hasaryn let out a chuckle and grinned at his aunt before he hopped off Dastan's lap and rushed towards Ashara, who welcomed her grandson with open arms for him to jump into them, rest on the comfortable cushioned seat together. It felt like ages ago when Myriam, Mayya, and him would nestle in their mother's arms like that.

Dastan turned to his sister again, reaching for her hand this time, holding it in his. “I never wanted you to worry, Myri. I tried to write as much as I could,” he added. The weight of responsibility had long settled on his shoulders, but he had never borne it alone. Through it all, his older sister had carried it too, in her own way, even from a distance, always with him. “I'm sorry my letters were shorter than yours,” he added with a more light-hearted tone. “Sometimes I just wanted to go to sleep but I knew you'd hate it if I didn't send at least a brief message, so I wrote what I could. I may have written some nonsense in those late-night parchments”.

[opheliafowler]

.

ophelia had barely let dastan out of her sight since he returned the previous evening, her relief at his safe return mingling with the unshakable awareness that his presence at home was temporary. she had stayed close to him, soaking up every moment, fussing over the bruises and scratches she discovered with a healer’s instinct, even if he brushed them off as insignificant. her joy at his return was relief he was safe, but it could not chase away the shadow of war that clung to him once more.

this morning, as he spoke of his impending departure, her fingers stilled against the edge of the table where she had been tracing absentminded patterns. the weight of his words sank deep, but so did the quiet resolve that had always been her compass.

“you’re needed.” she repeated softly, though her expression remained resolute despite any worry she might have. how could she not worry when there was so much uncertainty on the horizon. "I understand you have to leave soon"

she glanced down briefly, as if grounding herself, before looking back up at him though there was something stronger in her gaze now. “i have been very honored that you trust me to run things here. i do…i just… i feel as if i need to go with you.” 

before he could interject, she pressed on, her words tumbling out in the rush of urgency that always filled her when she was trying to explain her heart. “dastan, i cannot stay behind. i know—i know it isn’t what most would expect, but i’ve always gone where i’m needed as a healer. and i am needed with our peoople. the soldiers need healers, and i’ve been on the battlefronts before! i’ve stitched wounds and set bones, held hands through the pain, and… and i’ve seen what happens when there aren’t enough of us there.”

her hands tightened into fists in her lap, not from anger but from passion. “i would not be able to rest, not truly, knowing i could have done something. that i could have helped. and you—you would be there, too. i need to help.” her voice softened with that last sentence, her gaze flicking to him, brimming with earnest emotion.

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan listened with the patience that had always been his way, his dark eyes fixed on Ophelia as she spoke. Each word carried the unmistakable weight of her resolve. When she had finished, he remained silent for a moment, considering her plea. Her passion, her unwavering desire to help, and her courage were among the many reasons why he had always admired his lady greatly, long before she became his wife.

“You speak with the true heart of a healer,” he said with a subtle smile, for he knew Ophelia had become what she was out of truest conviction to help others. “It is one of the things I admire most about you. You see suffering, and you cannot turn away. You seek to mend what others would let break,” he said as he walked toward her. Dastan stood before her, letting his hands rest on her shoulders tenderly. His words were earnest, spoken with the utmost respect for her passion to pursue what she thought was right.

“You are doing much already. You’ve been the heart of Godsgrace in my absence. That is no small thing. It is a duty that carries just as much weight as mine,” his tone softened, though the concern in his gaze remained. “I need you to stay here, please”. He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, one of his hands moving up to cup her face. “An Allyrion must remain in Godsgrace. And... Hasaryn's mother has to be here if anything were to happen to me”. War claimed lives, and Dastan understood the possibility of not coming back home each time he rode into battle. The thought of their boy losing both parents was a gamble he simply couldn't take.

[eliaofdxrne]

"your wife, i assume." she knew even less about ophelia fowler than she did about dastan allyrion, and that did not exactly breed trust that she would keep this quiet. still, perhaps it was good to keep in mind, should it ever be something she needed in the future. "if i begin to feel concerned about it, i promise i will speak to her. right now, i am not." if she went running to a healer every time she had fallen from horseback, she wouldn't have a horse left in the stable. a lesson she had learned years ago was the best way to fall to minimise the risk of lasting damage.

he said that he was impressive, and the look elia gave him in response was perhaps sharper than it should have been. she liked being praised, but she needed a moment to make sure that he wasn't mocking her. she didn't detect anything of the sort, though, and so she once again lowered her defences.

"i suppose that it is. it's just what i've always done," she shrugged her shoulders, then winced, seemingly forgetting she'd just smacked one of them off the ground. everyone needed their hobbies, and this had been hers since she was a little girl, the thing that made her feel more alive than nearly anything else. if it made her the bane of sunspear's horsemaster, so be it. "we all have things that we love, i think. this is mine."

she moved to the fence, leaning against it to watch as he approached the mare. she could be temperamental, but after her burst of energy, elia did not think she would be much trouble for him. "her name is kamini," she called out, almost as an afterthought. "if you need to catch her attention."

[dastan-allyrion]

“Yes, my wife,” Dastan confirmed with a subtle nod, his tone carrying a quiet pride. “Ophelia has a talent for being discreet and setting things right. If you ever do decide you need her expertise, you can trust that what passes between you two, will remain between you two”. His gaze shifted to Elia, gauging her response though he made no attempt to press her further on the matter. He respected the princess' independence even if it occasionally bordered on stubbornness. A trait many Dornish women had, for better or for worse.

When she spoke of her love for horses, Dastan did notice the initial sharpness in her look, as if she expected him to mock her in some way. He did not. Once her defenses lowered, he saw the genuine passion in her demeanor and couldn't help but smile a little. “Horses are noble beasts,” he mused, his tone indicating the respect he had for them. There was a degree of wariness to be had around the wilder specimens too, as his brother's accident reminded him. A cautious reliance, a respectful kind of trust. “There’s something to be said for understanding creatures like them”.

Turning his attention to the mare, Kamini, Dastan approached with deliberate care, the rope coiled neatly in his hand. “Kamini,” he called gently. The sandsteed’s ears flicked, her stance still cautious but less rigid now. He didn’t rush the process, giving Kamini the space to size him up. He uncoiled the rope methodically, giving the mare time to take in his presence. His movements were slow and deliberate, a silent promise that he meant no harm. “The things we love,” he said, his voice thoughtful as he glanced in Elia's direction for a moment, “become our respite and have a way of keeping us grounded, I believe, when all else tests us”. Whether Elia shared the sentiment or dismissed it, he left for her to decide.

He reached Kamini's side, extending a hand to let her catch his scent. The mare hesitated but did not pull away, her energy subdued after her earlier burst. Patient as ever, Dastan waited until the proper moment to loop the rope gently around the mare's neck, ensuring it was snug but not restrictive.

[dastan-allyrion]

Closed starter for @opheliafowler Setting: Just the previous night, Dastan returned from New Valyria after Ryon Wyl's plan was carried out, successfully infiltrating and setting the Hayford keep aflame (During the beginning of the second month of the Valyrian Dornish war).

The Master of Laws had been absent for some days, setting aflame the rat's nest where his sister had gone missing, where Mayya had been set on a path for death or worse. Dastan had never been one to enjoy the sound of screaming or the sight of a world reduced to ash. He didn't enjoy what had been done but through it all, Dastan Allyrion had definitely felt it was justified. As serene and polite as he was, the lord did have it in him to become a different man when retribution, duty, and survival were on the line. He had embodied that side of him then, and knew he would have to do so again very soon.

Dastan had reunited with his wife and son under the Dornish night sky, thanking his lucky stars for another chance to be with his family. This morning, however, was filled with the weighty mood of knowing Dorne was at war and the Lord of Godsgrace would continue to serve as one of its soldiers.

“I will depart for Sunspear tomorrow morning. I talked with Lord Baashir Dayne before I left for Hayford,” he began, his tone serious, for there was no other way to speak of matters like this one. “I am needed”. Hayford had been only one part of the plan. The First Minister had orchestrated much more alongside Ravi, and Dastan had his part to play in it as well. “You will continue to be the head of Godsgrace longer,” he added. His lady had done so well in his absence, gaining confidence in her position as ruling lady with the advice and support of Dastan's mother. What was more, Ophelia continued to care for Hasaryn as her own. They were son and mother in the same way Ashara and Myriam were mother and daughter, with love and devotion being stronger than blood.

[baashirdayne]

The Dornish War || The Valyrian War

Month 1: The Fall of Alicent

Week 1: Alicent dies in the infirmary, with Doran Uller playing a role in her death to prevent her from leaving the West. Her discovery sparks a series of covert actions.

Week 2: First Minister Baashir Dayne's brother impersonates him to maintain the facade of stability while Lord Baashir Dayne and Armaan Yronwood sneak off to the Crownlands disguised as men of House Marbrand.

Month 2: Chaos in New Valyria and the Marches

Week 1: In New Valyria, chaos erupts as smoke and flames rise, igniting the pit. An explosion occurs, leading to crumbling walls and widespread panic, attributed to Baashir Dayne and Armaan Yronwood. Simultaneously, the keep of Hayford is set ablaze by Lords Dastan Allyrion and Ryon Wyl, who have returned to Dorne with valuable secrets.

Week 2: The Wyl of Wyl returns from the Westerlands, where the fighting intensifies in the Dornish marches. He captures a Dondarrion lord as a hostage, signifying a shift in tactics with intentions to take more captives.

Week 3: Lord Deimos Velaryon also captures a Dayne brother in the Marches, escalating the situation further.

Month 3: Siege and Naval Conflicts

Week 1: Lord Wyl and Fowler manage to break the siege at Nightsong, discovering the young Caron lord dead, though the Caron line persists.

Week 2: The Summer Islanders provide ships to Dorne during their visit. These vessels are utilized to launch an attack on the Weeping Town, unaware that Lord Tarth has been guarding the seas.

Week 3: A naval confrontation ensues as Lord Tarth and forces from Houses Wylde and Swann push back against the Wyl men at sea and in the town.

Week 4: In the Marches, First Minister Baashir Dayne and Lord Armaan Yronwood find themselves engaged in a tough battle against the Unsullied, with both sides stalemated. A temporary lull occurs as Silverwing appears in the sky, prompting the Dornish to retreat underground and conduct night attacks.

Month 4: The Wrath of King Jaehaerys II

Week 1: King Jaehaerys II Targaryen dismounts his dragon, intending to join the fray himself. He rallies his troops, engaging in fierce combat with the Dornish fighters. As the battle intensifies, he signals his dragon to take to the skies for a brief respite, planning for her to fly away and rest before returning.

Week 2: However, as Jaehaerys II fights on the ground, the dragon is forced back into action. She swoops down, unleashing fiery destruction upon the Dornish lines, incinerating clusters of warriors. The Dornish forces are compelled to regroup to prevent the Unsullied from advancing too deeply into their territory.

Week 3: In a desperate countermeasure, a coalition forms among the Dornish leaders. Prince Ravi Martell, First Minister Baashir Dayne, and Lord Doran Uller each oversee the deployment of giant crossbows, known as Scorpions. These massive weapons are strategically positioned to target the dragon as she reigns fire from above.

Week 4: The tension reaches its peak as the battle rages on. As Jaehaerys II’s dragon soars above, the three leaders coordinate their efforts, launching a volley of bolts into the sky. The sound of the Scorpions firing echoes across the plains of Dorne, with each bolt seeking its mark as the Dornish forces hold their breath in anticipation.

Climactic Moment: Suddenly, one of the Scorpion bolts strikes true, finding its target. The dragon emits a deafening roar before plummeting from the sky, engulfed in flames and smoke. Chaos ensues on the battlefield as soldiers scramble in shock. It remains unclear whose bolt delivered the fatal blow—whether it was Prince Ravi's forces, Baashir Dayne's, or Doran Uller's—that finally brought down the beast.

Aftermath: The death of the dragon shifts the tides of battle. Dornish fighters, now emboldened by their victory, push back against the Unsullied, reclaiming lost ground. The atmosphere is charged with a mixture of triumph and sorrow as the Dornish forces honor their fallen while preparing for the challenges that lie ahead, knowing the conflict is far from over.

[ Note: All muses in Dorne and New Valyria (Males Only for New Valyria) can take part in the fighting happening in the various locations in the Dornish marches. This is a timeline for about three months in the time after leaving the West. A post of plotting and planning from the New Valyria side ]

[eliaofdxrne]

elia shook herself off slightly, brushing sand from the backs of her legs. she was still breathing a little heavily, but it was getting easier to allow air to fill her lungs once more, and the smile was still on her face, despite the fact the ache was beginning to set in. his presence was, surprisingly enough, not entirely unwelcome, especially when he did not seem inclined to launch into a lecture.

"seeing a healer would defeat the purpose of our little secret, wouldn't it?" she pointed out. "the whole of sunspear would have heard of it by nightfall, and i'd end up with a stable full of plodding ponies instead of anything worth riding." uncertainty had began to creep in once he suggested it, though. she shifted her weight, stretching her limbs, drawing herself up to her full height to try and assess the extent of the damage. "nothing a hot bath, and a bit of lounging around eating fruit won't fix," she assured him. besides, she was more than used to obtaining bruises from being thrown from the back of a half-wild horse.

at his question, her gaze drifted back to the steed, who had finally calmed and was wandering aimlessly. the horse almost seemed docile, if you disregarded what had just happened. "i do," she confirmed. "i like it. i feel like i can't bond properly with a horse i haven't trained myself." there was an unmistakable note of pride in her voice. "help me catch her, please? not sure i can move fast enough if she decides to make a fuss again."

[dastan-allyrion]

“I do know a healer who can be discreet about it,” the Lord of Godsgrace suggested, thinking about Ophelia, of course. The whole situation could be kept between them three and not involve anyone else. “I won’t press the matter if you don’t wish it. But I would hate to see you not get the proper care after a fall, your highness,” Dastan added, offering a respectful nod. Perhaps it hadn’t been more than a simple fall, and he hoped it was. Still, it was both his duty and a virtue of his to care about the members of House Martell.

He wouldn’t push it, as he said, and if Princess Elia was so certain that there was no real damage done, he would trust her judgment. There was something about her demeanor that told her this wasn’t the first time an incident like this happened.

“That’s impressive,” he said as the young woman explained she did indeed break the horses, and that she appeared to do it often. His voice didn’t ring with surprise but with admiration, for the Elia routinely did what even the horse masters at the stables struggled to achieve from time to time, depending on how spirited were the beasts they were given. Who would have thought they had such a horse whisperer in the Martell Princess?

“Yes, of course,” Dastan didn't hesitate, responding with a nod. He then glanced around, looking for rope to aid in the effort of catching the horse. He could try to grab the mare by the reins or lasso her to catch her. He was in luck, finding a rope and he calmly began to approach the sandsteed.

[baashirdayne]

"Yes. Kings, my lord." Baashir spoke calmly. The man across from him was his goodbrother and Baashir would treat him as such and that involved including the man in many of his plans. The Lord of Starfall liked to plan. He enjoyed sitting down and writing out his goals, drawing out his plans, and following through. It was important to him to ensure they always followed through. They were setting in motion a plan that would show Westeros that Dorne was not to be trifled with, not to be considered a pawn in their games. It made him so angry he wanted to spit.

Baashir took his hand, shaking it firmly as a sign of respect and trust. "The King of Reach takes us for weak as does the King of New Valyria. Westeros think they are above us. And I aim to make sure no one ever makes that mistake again." And he was serious. For him the honor and dignity of Dorne mattered as much as the honor of House Dayne to him.

"I will see fire and death rain down on them." And at that he took a seat, his hand resting against the arm of the chair. "I've been working on this since we returned from the Crownlands."

[dastan-allyrion]

A simple handshake, and yet it was anything but just simple. It was the first time Dastan Allyrion and Baashir Dayne found something like trust and respect between them. More and more, always for his sister's sake, he found himself willing to forgive —even in not entirely forget— what he perceived as the transgressions of the past. With a handshake, he was willing to write new stories between the Houses of Allyrion and Dayne.

In truth, Dastan had a complicated history with the Reach. Once, he'd opened Godsgrace's gates for them, had opened his heart to one of their own, believing in the ideals of an alliance between Dorne and the court of thorns and roses. His love for Sofina would never die, she who had been without a doubt the love of his life. He would always treasure the time he had been given as her husband. But everything else in him had closed regarding Cedric's realm, for he too saw the disdain and disrespect that Baashir saw.

“You've been busy, my lord,” the lord murmured. Ryon had spoken to him about plans as well, he had mentioned the First Minister and the Prince. Moving against Hayford, against Nightsong. Dastan did wonder what else was brewing in the minds of those around him in the Dornish court and he found himself instinctively willing to play a part in it all.

“Fire rains down on them, and what then?” he questioned. Death was an end, but it was too blunt a message. It was quick. Mayya's fate, wherever she was, happened quick, he wondered. “Godsgrace once held captives and a message was sent,” he mentioned. When the Vulture King terrorized their lands, the Master of Laws passed an order to have the men involved captured and trialed on his land. Executed on his land. The message had been clear. Justice, by way of walking through the gates of Godsgrace and never walking out. “We can send a similar message again”. If his home needed to become the gates into the seven hells for the New Valyrian monsters, he was fine with letting it be so.

[eliaofdxrne]

closed starter for @dastan-allyrion

those who had never seen elia on horseback could not imagine the change that it brought about in her. on her own two feet, though not particularly poised and graceful, she gave the impression of a vain little creature, one who would never do anything to dirty her clothes or break a nail. when riding, it was like she was a different woman, one joyful, and completely carefree.

this horse was a new addition to the growing collection she owned, a young beauty, but half-wild and not yet fully broken. elia had been riding since she could toddle, and had long since developed a preference for training them herself, moulding them to respond to her preference as a rider, but this steed was particularly stubborn.

the sandsteed bucked, and though elia clung to the reins and dug her knees in, the force of it sent her flying through the air, before coming to land on the ground with a thud, knocking the wind from her lungs. the horse cantered a short distance away before stopping, seemingly realising it was fenced in, and there was nowhere to bolt to.

she remained on her back for a moment, attempting to catch her breath, before someone was at her side, helping her rise. her back ached, but nothing was broken. she might be bruised and stiff in the morning, but she'd suffered worse falls. by the time she was on her feet, elia was laughing.

"ouch," was all she said, experimentally rolling her shoulders to try and figure out just how much she'd be smarting later. "how embarrassing." she turned to look at who had helped her then, her smile only faltering a little when she saw it was dastan allyrion. her ire towards his sister did not extend towards the rest of his family, but it was still enough to have her on edge around him, even if that edge was softened by the adrenaline currently coursing through her. "please don't tell anybody you saw that. they'd only take the horse from me. i'll make something of her yet."

[dastan-allyrion]

There was some momentary fright coursing through Dastan's body as he saw the princess fall from the horse. It was a riding accident that had taken his brother, after all, and the lord's breath held until he saw Elia beginning to sit back up with ease. Bless the gods that she did not lay limp, unconscious. The Lord of Godsgrace had rushed towards her without second thought and was quick to extend a hand to help her up. It was unexpected for him that after such a fall, the princess would laugh. That only aided in easing that internal, instinctive fear he felt for a moment there.

Dastan shook his head silently as he helped her stand, indicating she needed not feel embarrassed around him. His hand left hers when she was steadily back on her feet and he took a step back, keeping the appropriate space between him and the Martell princess. “Fret not, your highness, your secret is safe,” he nodded, willing to be her accomplice in keeping quiet for her to keep her horse. “Do let yourself be checked by a healer, though. Please,” Dastan asked of her. “One never knows what can come up later if we leave ourselves unattended”. Especially if she had hit her head in the fall. Dastan found himself with a prayer in his mind, hoping she was well and nothing more than a few bruises might come of this incident.

“You break them yourself?” he inquired after a moment, glancing towards the steed she'd been riding a moment prior. Admittedly he did not know Ravi's sister as well as he knew the Prince, but from what little he did know, the Martell princess never seemed to him as the kind of young woman who would wish to tame a wild beast.

[ryonwyl]

"The cycle will continue until death wipes them all out. The Gods will not suffer men who speak in such a way between fucking their sisters." This was what he liked about the other Lord, they were different but the same. Dastan Allyrion was a serious man, as far as Ryon was concerned, but even in that there was something more. Something that allowed the men to be friends. Something that allowed Ryon to listen to him and understand.

The Lord of Godsgrace made a mistake similar to any man when in the presence of a Valyrian woman. They were beautiful if the incest hadn't ravaged their faces yet. He thought those of the East were the most beautiful but he'd seen Velaryons before and it was enough to make him double take. He would not fault the man. Cocks were often the enemy to common sense.

"The First Minister and the Prince." Ryon wasn't sure if the Prince was involved but he chose to believe the First Minister. It wouldn't the first time he did something without a Princes permission and it wouldn't be the last time. Ryon popped an olive in his mouth and followed it up with a drink of the deep, red Dornish wine. "We burn it all, my lord. We put the lords who are there to the sword, let the children and staff go. Tell them their King saw this day happen. We must wear masks, of course. The goal is to sew paranoia and let the dragon eat himself."

[dastan-allyrion]

The cultures of Westeros were varied, with one being entirely different from another. He could understand some and others not at all. And so he very much agreed with Ryon's statement, for he did not agree with a belief system that accepted the sin of incest, planting madness in the heads of offspring, only to deem it exceptionalism. He'd learned about the glimmers of delusion in his former paramour, in how she conducted around his sister, and he prayed that the waters of her bastardy diluted her ancient blood so much that his own was untouched by it. Fortunately, Hasaryn was bound to live and breathe the Dornish lifestyle fully, untouched by the grasp of Valyrian ways.

Dastan nodded slowly as his friend explained where the plan originated. With the blessing of the Prince to act upon it, he felt even more comfortable with carrying it out alongside Ryon. There was a fair amount of deception in the plan, there was brutality. Both were elements that the blind lizard had used to steal away Mayya so Dastan didn't feel above any of it in their retaliation. “There's a risk in letting the staff go,” he mused. It was a ruthless statement, perhaps, but it was the truth.

Fear was a strong ally, and he saw the merit of sowing it in the people of Hayford. Dastan hummed in agreement at the last thing his friend said. “We let them know their late lord and their king brought upon them any misery they encounter,” he simply said. He'd seen firsthand the rage of townsfolk against the decisions of their liege lords, their rulers. The people could begin to harbor negative feelings against their monarch. Yet he did not wish to make it all about the dragon king, the Belaerys lord had to have his name cursed even in death. It wasn't justice for Mayya, not even close, but it fed a small amount of the rage Dastan harbored since the day his sister was taken.

“How many of us are going?” he asked then, wondering if he was to summon a small group of men from Godsgrace for this.

[baashirdayne]

who: @dastan-allyrion what: throughout the planning baashir has been doing with ravi martell, he reaches a place where he reaches out to his wife's brother to involve him. where: during one of the hunting days in the west.

"There's a lot happening, my lord. And while I have yet to come and meet with you, I apologize. My dear good brother," Baashir patted him on the arm and then took a seat, leaning back in his chair as he looked over the man who did not approve of their marriage. Bash would never feel that he needed to do anything to win the approval of those he thought unworthy of his own grace. Whatever grace Dastan was given it didn't come from him, it came from the love Baashir bore for his wife. And she loved her brother and as such, he would do all he could to make sure the man was involved in court.

"I will need your help with these plans. We are going to take down Kings, not kill them. We are going to shrink them. I have spoken to the Princesses uncle. And have received leave from the Princess herself." A girl child he treated as a woman grown when they sat in her solar and went over each piece parchment, each request, and complaint. And even what she didn't understand he would take a day to make it understandable for even the youngest of children.

"How do you feel about making a trip to Nightsong? I need a third head on my scorpion." Dragons were for children's stories. Scorpions were forever.

[dastan-allyrion]

Dastan and Baashir had not always seen eye to eye. Without needing to speak directly about it, he knew there was plenty the Dayne lord disapproved of about him, and vice versa. It hard to look past the harm the man's family had done to she who was most precious for Dastan. But for Myriam's sake, after the wedding took place, the Lord of Godsgrace made the resolution to try to close past chapters about his perception of the Daynes, particularly the man who became his good brother.

“No apology is needed,” Dastan began, a subtle shake of his head. He saw no reason to be prickly about what needed not be like that between them. His sister's husband turned to him for aid, and he was willing to grant any support he could.

Take down kings, the Dayne lord said. “Kings?” he asked, for he could only think of one single monarch who merited being cut down to size. Neither his sister, the Prince, nor his niece had given him clues as to what other plots might be going on in the Dornish court to stand against other realms aside from the one ruled by the mad dragon.

The uncertain fate of Mayya had become a last drop of sorts, feeding the fire of animosity towards New Valyria. For him, such ancient, historic disdain had been coals for a time, but too much had happened recently to add fuel to it, fanning the flames again. And so when Baashir spoke of a third head for the scorpion, Dastan held out his hand to him. “You have it”.