;;hell to raise

dont underestimate the hell i can raise

[ulises-trant]

THOSE OF THE LAST RITE

The People of the Last Rite, or Los del último rito, as they are called in their shared tongue, is a cultural group that was born many centuries before Aegon's conquest. It is said they hail from the coasts of the Stormlands, but their beliefs and customs spread into the Marches and even into some regions of Dorne. Those of the Last Rite are known that way because of one of their oldest and most enduring beliefs: that death is not an end, but a journey that begins when the last breath leaves the body. To them, the Stranger is not a figure to be feared, but a guardian, the final companion they will all have. They believe he was once an older god by another name, long before he became part of the Seven, and those of the Last Rite pray so he will welcome the souls of their loved ones into his realm. Each year, during the season known as the Gallows Days, the living pay tribute to the dead. Families tend to their dead with devotion, building personal altares with ofrendas: food, drink, tokens of memory, candles, and flowers. These offerings are not merely gestures of remembrance, but gifts meant to nourish the departed as they continue their journey, and to allow them to return and dwell among the living once more, if only briefly. The heart of this ancient culture beats strong in Gallowsgrey, the seat of House Trant, which is one of the locations where ancient ruins of these people still exist. Most notably, a massive stone calendar wheel can be found there, intricately carved with numerous symbols that track what is known as the Storm Cycle. Other houses that of the Last Rite, who can trace their heritage within this culture that has endured, are House Caron, House Belmore, House Egen, House Dondarrion, House Uller, and House Selmy.

Under the cut, you'll find more details cultural elements about those of the Last Rite.

NOTE: This will be continuously updated as muns from the houses mentioned above include more regional practices or specific elements about their houses.

TRADITIONAL FOOD & DRINK:

House Trant: They grow a variety of maize, chiles, and nopales in their lands. Some of their typical dishes include maize-based foods with tortillas or other masa meals like tlacoyos, tamales, chilaquiles, and gorditas. Af for drinks, Gallowsgrey is famous for their fermented agave-based drinks like tequila, mezcal, and pulque (which can be drunk natural or flavored).

LANGUAGE:

Those of the Last Rite have a shared language (Spanish, in our world). There are variations of this language in the different regions where the people of the Last Rite spread over the centuries.

CULTURAL DAYS

Day of the Dead (Día de los muertos): During the season of the Gallows Days, this day is celebrated by welcoming the souls of the dead back to the world of the living. Altares and ofrendas are set in advance of the official date. Two days prior, it is believed that dogs are the first ones to cross over, so they may guide the human souls back. One day prior, it is believed that the souls of children and babies can cross over, so they may have more time with their mothers. The rest of the souls cross over on the Day of the Dead for a celebration of remembrance, and the joining of the living and the dead.

CHARACTERS OF LAST RITE ORIGIN:

Ulises Trant

Marisol Caron

Mariela Egen née Belmore @moonhillsunsets

Nicolas Belmore

Doran Uller @lorduller

Graham Royce (via his mother from House Egen) @rememberences

Rhoswen Selmy

[devanitoland]

"later, then." devani had spent years honing the ability to give little away - but if she were good at it, doran was the grandmaster, making her defences look like a house of sticks next to an iron fortress. for a moment, devani weighed up his demeanour, trying to gauge just how deep she was in shit. she found nothing of use. he was a wildcard, the fact he was here at all enough to knock all of her trademark flippancy from her.

and for a moment, she only looked at him, her expression unusually serious. she was coiled tight, a spring of energy that had nowhere to do. she had lived a life where she had never needed to stay, to be confronted with what she had done, but running was no longer at option. he had her pinned down, and they both knew it. clever, clever man.

"i knew it," she said, finally. "i knew that i was being tailed. thought i was going mad." it was not reassuring to know that only some of the eyes she had noted lingering on her a fraction too long were reporting to him. it meant that there was another - promises whispered in the dark proving to have meant little. that was worrying, but not her most pressing concern in the moment.

the issue was, she did not know what secret he spoke of. there had been much since she returned from essos. joy manwoody. king's landing. kheerat. it had to be one of the three. there was nothing else large enough that would bring him here tonight. but it could not be joy. she had been careful, and if there was any suspicion that the death was not nature, but devani's interference, she would have heard it by now. mentally, she scratched that one from the list.

"it is not a matter of trusting you." in a strange way, she did trust doran, more than she trusted most people. even though he had seen fit to break into her chambers and confront her with things better left well alone, there was hope in the fact he had decided to confront her at all, rather than passing what he had learned to people who have granted her no opportunity to explain herself. he said he wanted to protect her, and she had no choice but to believe that. this time, there was nowhere for devani to run. "you have been kind to me, doran, but kindness has limits. forgive me for not wanting to test them."

she took a deep breath, and hoped that her weariness did not show. she had carried her secrets for so long, that it was almost a relief to know they would soon be laid bare. "but you are here, so i will answer your questions. i'll tell you what you want to know. no lies." and she meant it. she believed him when he said he already knew some of the truth, and believed he would know if she tried to twist the story. for tonight, no falsehoods would spill from her lips.

"so the question is, is this about the boy in the kitchens?" devani swallowed. "or the body in the sewers?" she suspected it was the latter, but the existence of the former was information she offered freely, a little extra. better in this moment to be too honest, rather than not honest enough.

[lorduller]

.

doran did not flinch at the mention of the boy in the kitchens. he simply took a slow sip of wine, letting the silence stretch between them. there was no flicker of surprise, no shift in expression to betray that this was new information to him. instead, he merely tilted his head, watching her with the same measured patience as ever.

“both,” he said at last, voice smooth, unhurried. “but let’s start with the body in the sewers, shall we?”

from the folds of his tunic, he produced a small piece of fabric—a scrap of silk, darkened by something unmistakable. blood. he laid it down between them with careful precision, his fingers brushing over the frayed edges before he withdrew his hand.

“i imagine you thought this was gone,” he murmured, watching her reaction with that same quiet intensity. “and the rest of it is. no one else will find it.” a promise, simple and absolute.

he leaned back then, studying her, letting the weight of what he had done settle in the space between them. “you’ve been careful, devani. you always are. but even the careful leave traces.” he tapped the fabric lightly. “this is what i found. and if i could find it, so could someone else. i destroyed the rest because i don’t intend for this to ever leave this room. but i need to know exactly what happened.”

there was no accusation in his tone, no cruelty in his words—only certainty. the pieces were already aligning in his mind, but he wanted the full truth. he needed it, so he could bury this as neatly as she had buried the body.

his gaze remained steady as he leaned forward once more. “no lies, you said,” he reminded her, voice quieter now, something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. “then tell me everything, devani. tell me how deep this goes, and let me decide how to keep you safe. it is my job to keep the people of dorne safe from things like this coming out. and i can do that but i will need all the information you can give me.". he pushed the glass of wine she had placed aside closer to her, seemed like she might need it. “start from the beginning. who was it?”

[baashirdayne]

Horror. It was the only way Baashir Dayne could describe the sounds. It was screech, not a roar one hears from lions or the howl of wolves, it was a screech. The cry so loud he barely heard the men scream dragon. Wings that blotted out the sky and forced to fight and then retreat in the shade of evil. As a boy, his father told him of the horrors of Valyrians. During the dance he remembered the meddling down by the late father of house Martell. And he remembered wondering why they even looked their way. Yes, their scopions killed dragons in the dance but it was not for them. It had not been enough. Even dragons eating themselves had not been enough.

He walked through the chaos, men who stood and burned, bodies that crumbled as other tried to pull them away. Horror. And rage. The rage boiled and bubbled up within him as he passed tents of wailing, passed families seeking shelter, daughters crying for their fathers, sons too small for the kits they wore. The Sword morning walked and the people looked, they watched their first minister. "The day is not lost." Someone said it but he did not see. "We do not kneel." Said another. Where did their strength come from?

Dorne.

When he entered he looked around for a basin and walked over, he pulled off his gauntlets and splashed water on his face, blood and ash falling away as he did so. Straightening up he turn and sat across from the other. "My lord." He started, his voice strained to contain the rage he wouldn't direct at his own. His thoughts raced. "Yes." His jaw set and he took the goblet of wine and he down it as though it were water. "And trebuchets. I will see them broken. I want stones to rain from sky. I want Scorpions and horror."

[lorduller]

.

doran watched as baashir dayne settled into the chair across from him, the weight of the battle still clinging to the man like the soot and blood he had just washed away. he took in the tightness of baash’s jaw, the unrelenting fire in his eyes—rage contained, but barely. doran had seen men in this state before. he had felt it himself, once. that slow-burning need for vengeance, for retribution, for something to balance the scales of horror they had just witnessed.

his lips curved into something that could almost be mistaken for amusement, but the glint in his eyes was sharper than any blade.he refilled the man’s drink as he spoke "scorpions and horror," he echoed, rolling the words over his tongue as if tasting them. "you speak like a man who wishes to bring the sky crashing down upon them, baashir." a pause, deliberate. "i think i like that. you are one of the few who I think would be able"

his fingers drummed once against the edge of the schematics, then he leaned forward, tapping one of the designs with a single finger. "the scorpions are already in motion. we’ve had our best men revising them—faster loading, stronger bolts, reinforced frames to withstand dragonflame. but trebuchets… yes, i see your vision. stones to answer fire." his voice was smooth, steady, as if they were discussing nothing more than trade routes or festival preparations rather than weapons of war. “the more trouble we make for them in the air the more they have to concentrate on not being hit. the less time they have for their fire.”

doran lifted his goblet, tilting it slightly in a mock toast before taking a slow sip. "it’s fitting, isn’t it?" he mused, gaze flickering up to meet baash’s. "they made gods of themselves, these targaryens, these valyrians. they rained fire down upon men, thinking themselves untouchable." he set the goblet down with a quiet clink. "i would very much like to remind them that even gods can be torn from the heavens."

his expression darkened, something cruel lingering at the edges of his smile. ullers were better than many hiding their expression. hiding how they felt. how they acted. the master of whispers was better than most. but even he could not hide the rage at what was being done to their men. "let’s build your trebuchets. let’s make them see what true horror looks like."

[lorduller]

location: on the marches during the last month of the war, after jae targaryen's dragon has forced their troops to retreat. the idea of the scorpions are being discussed @baashirdayne

the air in the tent was stifling, heavy with the scent of sweat, charred earth, and blood. doran uller stood at the center of it all, his expression serene despite the chaos that had unfolded mere hours ago. a thin layer of ash clung to his clothes and boots, a grim reminder of the dragonfire that had forced their retreat. before him, spread across a low wooden table, lay the schematics for a scorpion weapon—jagged lines and precise measurements detailing the contraption meant to be their salvation against the skyborne beasts.

his fingers traced the edges of the parchment absently, dark eyes scanning every detail as though willing the design to yield its secrets. checking it again and again and again to make sure it would be perfect. make sure there wouldnt be any faults in the design. he could still hear the echoes of their men’s screams and the roar of fire slicing through the night, but he allowed none of that to touch his features. a faint smile played on his lips, sharp and calculating. if this worked for them then it would change everything. the flap of the tent stirred, and doran didn’t look up as baashir dayne entered. he recognized the deliberate heaviness of the man’s step, the faint jingle of armor that always seemed to accompany him.

“lord dayne,” doran said smoothly, gesturing with one hand to the table before him., meeting. “this dragon… young as it is has become a nuisance.” he lifted his head up to meet baash’s gaze with a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. his smile widened just slightly, though it never quite reached his eyes. “hellholt could use another set of dragon bones. they’d make a fine addition to the collection. what do you think?”

[jalabharmooton]

who: @amirofmanderlys @lorduller @nasirofmanderlys @feraylocke @conallblackbar @fortheakhirah @armaans (I think this is everyone, if I missed you message me in the chat and i'll tag your muse) what: a group of unlikely companions meet for a game of poker in the smokey den of a ridotto. when: during the recent festival in the riverlands

In the heart of Maidenpool's keep, the ridotto unfolded as a vibrant tapestry of mingling nobles and gallant knights, and the few ladies able to grace such rooms. The walls adorned with rich tapestries depicting the storied history of House Mooton. Chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the scene, illuminating the fine silk gowns and velvet doublets of the guests. The air buzzed with the lively hum of conversation and the soft strains of a lute, creating an atmosphere of merriment. Jalabhar Mooton enjoyed these occasions when work left itself at the door.

"Why are we playing so safely?" Ja lifted his cards briefly and then laid them flat against the table. I'll see your bet, my lord, and raise.." He dropped golden coins on the pile.

It had been some time since Jalabhar felt a need, a want, to take part in festivities after losing his daughters. The lord still mourned them and perhaps it was feeling that would never go away but he was ready. Ready to step out of the shadows, even if it were for only a few hours a week, and maybe a day when he was lucky there were more than a few hours. But, the lord didn't chase the fleeting feeling of happiness. No. He lived in the moments of joy.

"Bring that pitcher over here." Ja spoke to a serving girl as she passed him by. "And a tray of those candied blood oranges." He started getting those in Dorne. It was a mainstay now.

[amirofmanderlys]

✯

amir leaned back in his chair, the smooth wood creaking beneath him, and surveyed the table. the ridotto was a place of luxury and noise, a world of whispers and the soft clink of coins falling into the pot. "aye, get these floors fixed. creaking as i lean and shit like i'm fat." he looked over at the mooton lord, hearing his older brother laugh. the air was thick with smoke, and the chatter of lords and ladies filled the room, mingling with the soft strains of a lute from across the hall.

he could feel the weight of their eyes, the weight of their expectations—yet, all he cared about was the game. the coins on the table gleamed, tempting him to play, to push back, to make ja sweat for every piece of his gold. but patience, he reminded himself. patience is the game.

"gettin' bold." amir said, his voice light and teasing. bold enough to lose, he added silently. "but maybe you're forgetting something. this isn’t just about coins. it’s about knowing when to fold, when to wait." he flicked a card lazily onto the table, his expression nonchalant. there’s no need to rush, he told himself. the game wasn’t won in the first few hands, and certainly not when everyone was still full of bluster. patience, amir. patience. it was not his strong suit.

he leaned forward then, his grin widening slightly as his eyes briefly caught feray locke's. she were here with both of the manderlys, and though he would not openly say it, he wanted to check in on her just to ensure she were comfortable. she seemed as though she were doing fine enough, considering her love for card games, and so he leaned back, his gaze moving back to a certain mr mooton.

"dornish blood oranges, huh? man knows how to live," he said, his tone light, but there was a cheeky gleam in his eye. perhaps a slight euphanism. "but i’ll take your coin before we get to dessert. trust me on that." leaning forward slightly, amir glanced at doran with an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes silently urging him. "your turn, uller."

@lorduller

[lorduller]

.

doran sat quietly, fingers idly tracing the rim of his goblet as the smoky air of the ridotto curled around him. his expression was as inscrutable as ever, a faint smile hovering on his lips as the others bantered back and forth. he glanced at amir’s a slight smile on his face. “maybe it’s all that heavy northern ale manderly” he joked. a nonchalance to his demeaour as he enjoyed the game as his gaze settle on the growing pile of coins at the center of the table.

he chuckled softly at amir’s jab about the blood oranges, his voice smooth and low. “dornish blood oranges do have a certain… indulgent quality, don’t they?” he said. “the rate you’re getting them our groves might be run dry” he said with a chuckle

doran reached for his cards, his movements unhurried, almost lazy. he fanned them out in one hand, his other still resting comfortably on the goblet. “boldness has its merits as does waiting.” his gaze flicked to ja, a glimmer of amusement crossing his features as he added, “still, it makes for a more interesting game, don’t you think?”

he considered his next move, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make the others wonder. finally, he reached for a few coins and added them to the pot, a deliberate but modest raise. “i’ll meet your bet, mooton,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair as he slid his cards face-down onto the table. “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. the night is young, and fortune can be a fickle mistress.”

@nasirofmanderlys

[devanitoland]

his presence was forcing her to spend more time in ghost hill than she usually would, but having kheerat close to her was, in some ways, the highlight of her days. they had a routine, now. at night, when her mother and brother had retired, devani would spend a little time with him until he stopped fighting sleep, getting to know the boy she had left behind all those years ago. he had started calling her amma - mother. it made her feel all the more guilty for hiding him, but it was a necessity, until aditya toland was dead.

aditya, dante, the man they had buried in king's landing. it all weighed heavily on her, a crushing weight that had her looking over her shoulder with every third step. and when she looked, she saw spies, eyes on her that should not be. every now and then, she convinced herself she was imagining things, that it was paranoia talking, until the next time she saw it. it was the other women, she was sure of it, though she could not prove that it was so.

she pushed open the door to her chambers, not noticing right away that she had a visitor, and closed it behind her. it was only then that she spotted doran uller, and she stilled. little took her by surprise - she was a woman with quick wit and an answer for everything, but this more more than surprising.

we need to talk.

her mouth ran dry, and for a moment, she could only stare. she knew not what he had discovered that brought him here tonight - if he had discovered anything at all. what she did know was the pile of secrets she did not want to leave this room was only growing, and it could be any of them that brought him here.

she blinked, regaining her composure, and then she smiled. perhaps he knew nothing. perhaps this was only to test her.

"do we? usually, when a man is in my room, it is not to talk, doran." her casual tone did not give away the way her heart pounded in her chest, but devani was an accomplished liar. "if that's what you're here for, it's a shame." she was deflective, trying to divert from whatever it was he wished to speak about. if it was worth breaking into her chambers, it could not be good.

her eyes fell on the bottle of wine, and she reached out, pouring herself a glass before taking her seat opposite him. her bravado still clung to her, but she could not quite keep the anxiety, the fear, from her eyes. "at least you saved me some wine, i suppose." she sipped it, before setting the glass to the side.

"all right." she conceded, leaning forward a little to rest her elbows on her thighs. she could no longer stall for time. "what is it you think we need to talk about?"

[lorduller]

.

doran watched her carefully, the faintest flicker of amusement passing through his expression at her words, though his dark eyes betrayed none of the storm swirling within. “perhaps time for that later darling but i’m afraid we have more important things to discuss” he had expected deflection; it was her nature, after all, to parry with wit and misdirection. yet even as she spoke, he noted the subtle signs—the faint hesitation before her smile, the flicker of unease in her gaze as she reached for her glass. devani toland was skilled, but doran uller had built his life on peeling back layers far more guarded than hers.

when she leaned forward, conceding at last, he mirrored her movement, setting his goblet down with deliberate care. the silence stretched between them for a moment longer as he considered his words. when he spoke, his voice was calm, smooth as the wine she had just sipped, but there was an edge to it, honed like a blade concealed beneath silk.

“you’re a better liar than most, devani,” he began, his tone almost conversational. “and yet, i find myself wondering why you’ve needed to be one as of late.”

he didn’t give her time to respond, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “i know you’ve felt it—the eyes, the whispers. they’ve been following you, haven’t they? you look over your shoulder because you think someone is there i can read it on you. but i can assure not all those people are mine.”

doran leaned back then, fingers steepled as his expression softened, though the intensity in his gaze remained. “it troubles me, you know. to see you carrying the weight of something you refuse to speak of. i’ve allowed you your secrets, devani, because i thought… perhaps, in time, you would trust me with them. but i understand that was probably a foolish thing to think. because if this secret is what i think it is then… i can understand why you are looking over your shoulder”

his voice lowered, and his next words were almost a whisper, laced with something that could have been concern or something far darker. “but time is no longer on our side. war looms, and secrets, if left unchecked, have a way of unraveling at the worst possible moments. i cannot protect you if i don’t know everything you are running from.”

he leaned forward again, his tone shifting, warmer now, though no less intense. “so, i’ll ask you plainly, devani: what is it you’re hiding? and before you tell me you’re not, know that i’ve already caught the scent of the truth. it’s only a matter of time before i have it all.”

doran’s smile returned, faint but disarming, as he added softly, “but i would prefer to hear it from you.”

[lorduller]

location: devani's chambers, towards the start of the upcoming fighting with new valyria

@devanitoland

something was wrong. doran could feel it—a subtle yet persistent feeling gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. it had been there for some time now, an elusive sense that things were not as they seemed, but he couldn’t quite grasp what it was. call it intuition, or perhaps a finely crafted instinct from years of navigating courtly deceptions. people were hiding things from him. of that, he was certain. but doran was a man of patience, a man who understood the delicate balance between waiting and acting. he knew how to bide his time, how to let his cards rest hidden until the exact moment they needed to be played. he could wait as long as it took to get the truth.

and so, he had waited. he let his web of informants and spies scuttle about, gathering the small, scattered pieces of knowledge he required. he trusted they would eventually bring him what he needed to know, even if it meant drawing it out piece by painstaking piece.

but this… this was unexpected.

he found himself sitting alone in the chambers of devani toland, a woman he had long ago told himself to forget about. she was meant to be a closed chapter after his nephew, one he was better off leaving behind. and yet, here he was, waiting for her return as if he had any right to be here, like an old ghost haunting her private space. a glass of dornish red sat on the table beside him, the deep ruby liquid catching the flickering candlelight as he swirled it absently, letting the wine stain the glass in slow, dark trails.

footsteps sounded in the corridor outside, drawing closer. doran remained seated, his gaze steady, his expression unreadable. he didn’t rise to announce himself or even attempt to conceal his presence. his very being here was message enough.a subtle assertion of his authority, an unspoken reminder of his reach.

the door opened, and he watched her step inside. doran met her gaze, lifting his glass in a casual acknowledgment, his dark eyes glinting with an unreadable intensity.

“evening, devani” he said smoothly, his voice as calm as if this were a planned encounter. he took a slow sip of the wine, letting the silence stretch between them. “i think we need to talk.”

[devanitoland]

devani nodded her head. "you'll hear no argument from me on that front." when she had returned from her travels, it was dante's company she had sought first, above even her own family, although to anybody who had met devani's family, that would not be surprising. "anybody who talks to me will hear nothing but glowing praise, i assure you." for once, there was truth in devani's words. she even attempted a smile as she said it, even if smiling was the furthest thing from her mind most days.

it was difficult to put into words what dante had meant to her. he'd been a constant for her over the last few months, the two of them practically joined at the hip, the one person in dorne who allowed her to pick up where she had left off, who had loved her for exactly who she was, but they had never once looked at each other with more than friendship. "i suppose you've heard about the baby." despite her sorrow, she still found it in her to crack a joke about the pamphlet that had recently made the rounds. she didn't quite lose her gloomy aura, but the smirk on her face was genuine, saying without words that it wasn't true.

she fell silent for a moment. normally, devani was never at a loss for what to say, but this time, she was. she hated ghost hill, hated every moment she spent there, and for a long time, hellholt and dante was a reprieve from that. doran could not know what it meant to her that he had left its doors open for her to walk through. "i'll take you up on that, if you mean it. when we're home." she realised, belatedly, that it was the first time in her adult life she had thought of dorne as home. "this was his," she tapped her necklace, a gold and ruby pendant. "he hadn't noticed i took it yet. i'd like to keep it, if that's all right with you."

[lorduller]

.

it would be easy enough to write off dante's friend—to pretend he’d never seen her wandering the halls of his castle, to forget the many nights the three of them had talked into the late hours. he could wash all of that away with little effort, but he didn’t want to. and maybe that should have been a problem.

a laugh echoed from the uller lord. “ah, yes, the baby. i’ve heard those rumors—just ridiculous, really. they embarrass themselves more and more every day,” he said, shaking his head. he disliked these watchers, always complicating his work. though he did enjoy the pinched look on the northerners' faces when some rumors popped up about them.

“i am very serious about my offer. your rooms there are held for you if you wish to come and go. i have no intention of clearing them out. they are yours,” he promised her, disregarding what the watchers or others might think. it was a little unorthodox, but so were the ullers. it seemed to fit well enough. a smile of understanding, but not pity, crossed his face. he knew in part what she was going through, and he knew he was partly the reason for that sadness. although, ultimately, he would say it was dante’s own fault.

“it is yours. a gift from him. he would want you to have it, plus it would look terrible on me if i didn’t offer it,” he laughed, trying to ease the sadness and tension.

[devanitoland]

in her time in essos, devani had learned the art of hiding in plain sight. it was easier to disappear if you went exactly where people didn't think to look for you, and more often than not, the last person people thought to look at was the most obvious place to be. still, that didn't make it easier to accept that she had no choice but to go to the westerlands. it felt somewhat akin to walking into a dragon's den and asking not to be set on fire, but not going too felt like a mistake, like she would be less conspicuous if she stood in the middle of casterly rock and screamed her confession at the top of her lungs.

so here she was. in many ways, she was doing what she did best, acting like nothing was wrong and her problems did not exist, if not for one thing. devani was doing something she never thought she would find herself doing - she was brooding.

thankfully, she was saved any more time alone with her thoughts when doran uller approached her. she accepted the wine gratefully, taking a large gulp before turning to engage in conversation. "have i?" she hadn't quite realised how much time had past, but she supposed she had been out here longer than necessary. "forgive me, lord uller. my mood has been sour of late." it didn't take a genius to figure out why, even if there was more to the story than could be guessed. "i'd welcome your conversation though. if you wouldn't mind."

"drinking wine with an uller," there was an attempt at flippancy, but it didn't quite land. her expression was a little sadder that usual, her eyes a little more pained. "nobody can say i'm not a creature of habit, can they?"

[lorduller]

it was part of a spymasters jobs to keep an eye on everything around him. to see what he could find. what information to sus out and when things changed in someone. since often that meant there were secrets to uncover. when he was younger he perhaps might have felt a little guilt for looking into the lives of those closest around him. but as he grew older he understood that in doing so, he often could help. help himself. help dorne. and sometimes them.

finding out about dante’s little secret certainly hadn’t helped his win in the long run. hw shouldd have listened to doran’s lessons better, should have been smarter. if he had perhaps there might have been a smile on dorna’s face as dante dug his knife into his stomach. but he had been stupid. a little boy playing a game he was not good at. one of them was going to be buried in the sand when it was all over. and he was not ashamed to be the one standing here.

but it did mean the responsibility of ensuring things werent left a complete mess now that dante was gone. 

“well it’s not a bad habit to have i suppose. i think despite what some people might think the ullers can make good company. but i suppose that is all in who you talk to.” he said. doran recognized the pained look in her eyes. “i realize i have never said it before…and perhaps this is not the best time but i am sorry about dante. i know you two were close. i imagine this is difficult, so if you did need anything my door is always open. hellholt is as well, you continue to have a spot there as you always have.”

[lorduller]

banter starter for @devanitoland

where and when: on route to the westerlands for the celebration being held there. the group traveling has stopped to rest for the night at a smaller lords estate.

it wasn't difficult to discern that something weighed heavily on devani toland.  over the years doran had observed her countless times with dante, witnessing the effervescent energy that enveloped her in her day to day life. yet now, there was a palpable shift in her demeanor, a heaviness that cast a shadow over her usual carefree aura. he couldn't help but ponder whether it was solely due to dante's passing, or if there were other underlying factors at play. he knew how close the two of thm were up until his death, so it would make sense if that was truly th sole reason. but somehow something was biting at the back of his mind telling him there was more.

despite their last unusual conversation, during which devani implored him to send dante to essos with her—a notion he staunchly rejected, knowing his son's true intentions to kill him and take over as ruler of hellholt— felt compelled to check in on her. it would be easy enough to leave everything be. let her be and just walk away. not when it looked like she had barely slept at all, or like she was looking for ghosts over her shoulder every second.

so instead he walked up to her, two glass of wine in hand, hoping this wasn't a poor choice. "it seems like you might need this," he remarked, offering the glass to her with a gentle smile. "i hope you don't mind the intrusion, though. it appears you've been standing out here alone for most of the night. thought maybe a little company might be nice."

[taiturner]

THE LAST OF US 1x01 ◆ “When You’re Lost in the Darkness”

[lorduller]

location: doran's chamber in sunspear, shortly after the death of mors martell

@ofsandandblood

voices wandered down the sunlit corridors of sunspear, doran could discern the cadence of his daughter's voice engaged in conversation with one of his paramours. it seemed like all of them were adjusting to their new home within these halls. new roles were being carved for his children, an evolution that swelled his heart with paternal pride. change was inevitable, and as the court grappled with mourning the loss of their prince, doran sensed the fertile ground for growth amid the ashes of grief. a stronger court was sprouting forth, sturdy and strengthened.

"amaia, may i speak with you?" doran emerged from his office, seeking a moment with his daughter. his paramour gracefully acknowledged the request, drifting away as he closed the door behind them, ushering a sense of privacy into the room. "how are you finding your new position in the court? we have not had nearly enough time to talk about it all," he inquired, the deep red hue of dornish wine cascading into two awaiting glasses.

"change is sweeping through the realm, and some families are being overwhelmed in the whirlwind. but not us. i want it to remain that way," he mused, his gaze intent on amaia. pouring the crimson elixir, he delved into a matter closer to his heart. "i wanted to ask you, daughter, if you've had any further communication with that stormlands velaryon? has he written to you? or do you have any plans for further... involvement with him?" there was a knowing in his eyes, an understanding that their initial discussion hadn't pertained to the whimsical dance of romance but something far more intricate

[ofsandandblood]

the gilded chambers of the royal palace gleamed in the never-ending dornish sun, and the bastard of hellholt was slowly acclimating to the change in her surroundings. the ullers were known to be as slippery as eels and as dangerous as vipers hidden in the sand, but somehow amaia and her family were rising in the ranks. after her uncle's appointment as the master of whispers, amaia's half brother joined the elder uller on the council, and the vipers were one step closer to the centre of power. she wondered if that was the plan of the martell widow and her circle, keeping the wild cards close to her so she could unravel their possible plans while in their infancy. whatever it was, amaia did not object. here in sunspear, she was closer to those with more power and wealth, which meant more fun. she had been speaking to her uncle's paramour about the palace and how different it was from hellholt when she heard doran's recognizable voice call out her name.

"of course. you have already walked all this way with your old bones, it would only be fair," she waved to the paramour as the woman left the two ullers alone, and turned her full attention to her uncle as the door of the chamber closed. "it's fine. you know i was aiming for the position of mistress of laws. you know how much i care for the smallfolk," amaia deadpanned as she browsed through a tray of fruit, setting her sights on an especially fragrant orange. she peeled the fruit, speaking to the lord uller once more, this time giving him a proper answer. "truly, it is fine. no noble trusts a bastard fully, but they don't think i am a threat so they don't guard themselves from me too much. it's going well, for now."

"what families? let me guess the names," the bastard of hellholt laughed, throwing the orange peels on the table behind her. "you know i adore a good downfall. it is so entertaining, watching them struggle against a current." she interrupted her uncle with her unnecessary comments, stopping only when the man went to pour the dornish red into a cup. it was a clean one, safe to drink from. amaia hoped.

"you mean to ask have i fucked him properly, so he'll invite me back to his little stormlands castle?" she raised her eyebrows in question, preferring direct conversation over veiled comments. this was not the council meeting with the pompous lord and ladies of the realm. amaia knew exactly what her uncle asked. "vaegon velaryon doesn't know i'm an uller bastard, so he has no reason to guard himself from me. for him, i'm just a woman from a tavern. and besides, the stormlands women are notoriously rigid. so yes, i think there are plans for a further involvement." she parroted the last words, smiling at her uncle's face.

[lorduller]

.

"old bones? what is with you and dante lately calling me old?—have i sprouted more silver since we arrived?" he chuckled, eyeing his reflection in the mirror with a hint of amusement. shifting his focus back to his daughter, he absorbed her words with keen attentiveness. despite how dorne viewed bastards much more favorably than anywhere else, he still harbored a fervent desire to shield her from condescension. he wished for her to carry on his last, he understood the significance of her autonomy. if she wished to remain sand he would not push her, for now. but she was deserving of it. more than some of his other children. she was an uller through and through. there was no doubt on that. an indisputable fact ingrained in the minds of all who knew her.

"ah, the compassion you hold for the smallfolk is truly heartwarming," he quipped, his laughter ringing out as he sipped from his glass. he ensured to take a sip of his own glass of wine first before handing the cup over to amaia. a habit from hellholt to ensure the other did not believe they were being poisoned, even amongst his children the habit was hard to drop. but it was always a sign of respect.

"we revel in the spectacle of downfall, especially when we wield the power to expedite its descent. perhaps a little push in the right direction" he mused, a conspiratorial smile gracing his lips.“but as always we need to be smart about these things. i know you are smart, but all of us have eyes on out backs. not a time to be taking too many wild risks. we are new here and people will not trust us, unless we make them trust us.” he said.

sitting himself down on one of the seats, he smiled at amaia's candidness, her forthrightness a welcomed trait within their familial dynamic. here was no need to hold secrets from a family of those who made it their mission to find out everything they could about everything. and why dance around with their words with one another. "good, i have faith you will do everything in your abilities to do so." he affirmed, a hint of pride coloring his tone. "forging connections with the velaryons holds paramount importance. you will have the opportunity to reunite with him soon, i suspect, amid the festivities heralding the ascension of this new…eccentric targaryen monarch." he said. “each new king they have makes me tempted to haul out those old targaryen bones and put them on display. maybe a nice treat to cheer up the court.” he laughed.

[armaans]

꙰

there was a growing impatience that was beginning to show within the features of the bloodroyal, no doubt a response to the careful nature in which the master of whispers seemed to choose his words. one which only indicated toward a double face, and a double meaning; there was a lack of directness which was expected from a master of whispers. and it angered him, as it went against everything armaan believed a dornish noble should be. he was not the one for games, for dances to be made from words.

even if there had been some trace which had been picked up regarding his choices and associations across westeros, that was of less consequence to him than it would be for the lady of raventree hall. as much as there was nothing personal between himself and his partner, he stood by his word; especially when it came to matters such as coin. "who is we?" armaan responded, his tone now clearly dismissive. the bluntness had gone, and had transformed to a sense of judgement that came in his words. were master of whispers not supposed to have their facts together in one place?

"where i invest coin from my coffers is not for you, or any of you other fucking ullers to involve yourself in." armaan responded, the dismissal clear in his voice. the reminder that he once sat upon the council as master of whispers only irritated him further - it was known that armaan was hardly willing with such a position, as it went against his core strengths. he was not a politician, and placing him as a spy had only backfired in regard to the security of the realm.

"there is no us in this situation. there is only yronwood, and those who can only wish." he responded, speaking with the arrogance of centuries of a title - that of the bloodroyal. armaan stood from his chair now, his movement brash: for a moment it appeared as though he were readying himself to get into a physical altercation with the master of whispers. and perhaps there could be - eventually. now though? he walked toward the threshold of the room, flinging his door open. "parvati, get the chronicler. lord uller wishes to learn how to make gold." he then turned back toward the master of whispers.

"there is nothing wrong with learning from the best."

[lorduller]

doran stood before the bloodroyal and let him talk, keeping his face calm. neutral. others expected the ullers to fly off the handle at the slightest moment of provocation. to let that anger they are so well known for to explode out. but he had learned long ago how to hold it all in. how to control it. and when was the best time to let it out.

however he couldnt help but let a dismissive laugh escape him. the man was acting like a child in his eyes. defensive so quickly. dismissing anything he might have to say. but he was not here to really find out what was happening with armaan’s coin. he did not have a reason to press the issue further away right now. but given how he was acting he filed it away in his mind that perhaps he should look more into it. would be nice to have someone like armaan yronwood’s secrets in his pocket. dangerous but something of great value.

then his chance was presented to him. armaan stood from his seat and walked into the other room to yell something out. he had 20 seconds at max. that is all he would need. doran moved silently, like a trained assassin. like he father had taught him. move in silence and your enemy will never see the blade coming. he moved to joy’s chest and opened it. not locked.

how foolish.

twenty seconds was all he needed. and before armaan was even back in the room doran uller had the letters tucked away safely in a pocket. he came back to the room and doran was where he had been standing before, waiting for his return. “i think we are finished here then. wish we could have cleared things up but i understand how young men can be with talks of money. i will take my leave then.” he smiled at him. “hopefully our next conversation can be more of a pleasant one. have a good day lord yronwood.”

[armaans]

꙰

"you've forgotten." the topic of choice was one that armaan had not expected to hear addressed, at least, not in the view it had been addressed to him as: matters regarding the security of lys and the impacts their actions were having on this side of the narrow sea. "last i remember, you were sat opposite me agreeing with the fact lys provided more for dorne." armaan spoke, his tone remaining blunt, and flat; there was not an inch of the attempt of cordiality, or even civility, that the master of whispers used in his words: such people were able to wrap their words with something else, to mask their true intentions beneath it.

and yet, armaan yronwood was possessive of one thing in his life: his coin. the prospect of another beginning to involve themselves in his business was the easiest way to lose the favour of the bloodroyal; and then, there was no doubt that sparks would fly. he found himself leaning back slightly in his chair, continuing to watch as the lord of hellholt stood over him: the master of whispers was doing something here. he did not speak to him for no reason, and if armaan did not want to lose a valuable connection who was literally putting her neck on the line, he could react as impulsively as he wished to.

"you are very concerned with misunderstandings." armaan uttered, thinking whether that was what the ullers seemed to shape their sneaky antics as; misunderstandings. matters that had been overcomplicated. to behave with a spark would be an obvious sign of attempting to hide the truth. perhaps he ought to behave the way these politicians did, with a smile, and a tone that implied something was not as major as it truly was in essence. but armaan yronwood never talked in such a way, and to do that would only be a dead giveaway.

"do you expect me to not have people protecting my investments?" he asked, a slight smile crossing his features now - and as much as he knew he should not, his arrogant ways no doubt showed here, now more than ever before. "gold is valuable in more ways than one. once you understand, i'll be happy to sit with you and clear up any misunderstandings." such was the nature of armaan yronwood - and he remained looking at the gaze of the master of whispers. "yes, our allies keep an eye on where i have invested my money, in exchange for a cut."

[lorduller]

there were many things that could be said about armaan yronwood. many things that could be held against him as his faults. but no one could say he did not know how to play the game. others might fly off the handle with such discussions. jump to a defense faster than doran could even speak. but he had a way to keep his composure. he couldn't read anything from his face, couldn't pick out any loose thread to pull and pull at until it all unraveled. truly, if armaan hadn't already disliked him, doran might wish to be better acquainted with him. he did love a friend with a good poker face.

"i still believe we would be better off not having so much invested within the shores of lys but i do not know if that will be changing any time soon. so if we are going to, we might as well be careful with what happens." he offered. from the corner of his eye he spotted on the servants bustling into the room to quickly grab something. his eyes trailed their path, an excuse to get another look around the room. and as quickly as he spotted the chest, his eyes kept moving to follow the servant out.

"misunderstands find their way to fester. they start as something small but they always have the ability to get bigger until there is no controlling it. i like to squash them before that can happen. part of my duties which i am sure you understand seeing you once held the same title." he smiled. he listened to armaans carefully picked words, giving him nothing. no hint of anything at all. no new information to even pick at. the master of whispers face remained neutral as he listened to him. "our allies keep an eye on them yes, but there is more to it than that surely. or else whispers of it wouldn't have reached my ear." he said. "i am not trying to pry into your business just for fun, but only to ensure things are not going to come back later and bite at us."

[armaans]

꙰

condolences were no doubt endless, and he found himself wondering how long he would continue hearing the same words in different phrases; people who were not truly sorry, and people who maintained a strange intrigue in armaan's own personal reaction considering many knew he did not maintain close relations with his wife. she had lived in a separate keep until they had come to sunspear, and there was no plans for them to be beneath the same roof. the words would keep coming, he assumed; until they were no longer relevant.

lord uller was not here to give his sorry, and there was something that momentarily changed in his expression as doran called him by his first name. it did not suit coming from the man's face, and soon, armaan found himself remembering: it was about liking or disliking an individual, not when they could be used. helpful. indifference was key. his arms remained crossed over his torso as he looked the man up and down with a beat of silence following the uttering of his name, the silence clear as it was tense. and he looked at the uller as though it were a cockroach that had crept up from hellholt, rather than the ruling lord.

and his focus was entirely hyper-fixated when the matter of lys came up. he found himself needing to remain neutral and unbothered, his face expressionless - but yes, it was known the bloodroyal had interests and trade within the free city of lys. that which was being preserved not only by his own involvement, but also in gold; for there was a traitor within the land of rivers that needed that gold of her own. possible misunderstandings, was what caught his attention; and armaan looked, wondering whether doran uller usually acted so civilised. as though he and his people were not glorified kinslayers. "then let us help you clear up these misunderstandings."

[lorduller]

.

doran did not miss the way armaans eyes flickered over him as he too called armaan by his first name much as he had him. he could laugh at the man's reaction. surprised maybe. upset, perhaps. there was a distane in the man's eyes towards him. it was not something new for the uller lord. in fact he could say there were many lords who would look at the ullers that way. as if they were not one of the more powerful houses in dorne. as they had cemented their place in the dunes. and now here they were in the court, three of them sat on the council. men could sneer at him if they'd like, that didn't mean he was moving from his spot any time soon.

at least armaan had a way of masking it just a little. his wife hadn't been good at it. didn't seem like she was good at the marriage thing either. now she wasn't good at anything.

"it is my understanding you still have much of your interests and businesses still within lys. it seems the tensions between them and the rest of the regions is only growing and growing with each passing day. i want to ensure no more of those tensions and problems find a way to creep its way into the court." he said. from his understanding, the bloodroyal was not a man who enjoyed small talk, so he got right to his point "i have heard rumors that you have someone who is protecting your businesses and interests within lys. and these things tend to get so….messy. so much room for misunderstandings. i was hoping you might be able to clear this up for me."

there was little doubt in doran's mind that armaan would not be answering any of his questions. but it was a way to accomplish a few tasks at once. get himself in the same room as that chest and hope he had a chance to strike. and also let armaan yronwood know that he had people watching. that all of them needed to act with more caution these days

[armaans]

who: @lorduller when and where: armaan yronwood's apartments within sunspear, set following the dornish return to dorne from kings landing. at this point, joy manwoody has died - set before doran uller's current thread with myriam allyrion.

some years ago, armaan had come to the understanding that it did not matter whether he liked or disliked a person within dorne: considering what truly mattered would always be the ability they had to be able to do something for him at some point in time. every person had a price, a catch, a condition, some values they would skewer themselves for; split themselves open in two, if they would.

and so, armaan had never looked toward the ullers of hellholt and attempted to work out whether he liked them or not - but he had decided they could be, and would eventually be, of some sort of use.

the master of whispers was a shadowy figure in each realm, but there was no doubt that the ullers of hellholt had another reputation entirely: twisted. all had heard of their inheritance system, the kinslaying which he had been made a pariah for in his early youth. it was less about the master of whispers himself, but rather, who else seemed to come with him: the other ullers had too snuck their way from their dunes, and decided to make sunspear home. there were strange new faces within the halls, in a time where the sun of dorne had finally set - and gods knew armaan had been waiting for this day.

doran uller had requested to see him, and so he waited for the man within his office chambers - an unusual move, and yet, there was a great deal of movement happening around the large yronwood and manwoody apartments as items were looked over by servants. the atmosphere was bustling as many walked around them, and armaan looked - wondering what it was the master of whispers could, or would, want from him.

"doran uller." armaan greeted, with an expression that remained as insufferable as it always was; this man was not his friend, and yet, he decided he would not use titles. why? simply because he did not care to. "what is it i can do for you?" armaan asked, standing on the other side of a room as the yronwood guards brought the master of whispers into the room, again with many people moving in and out.

[lorduller]

.

a master of whispers never truly rested. there was no time to rest not when there were more secrets to collect. more information to gather to hold over someones head. something to hold in your back pocket until the time comes to use it. little favors and blackmails to dole out like candy. doran's job was never done. partly what made it so exciting.

word had gotten back to him about a particular chest that the previous lady manwoody kept close by her in her chambers. previously the chambermaids who came in and out of the room never had a problem with cleaning it. however, not too long before her death, she had become very insistent that none of the chambermaids needed to touch it anymore. just that thought alone sent alarm bells ringing in his head. he wanted inside of that chest, he wanted to know what was hidden inside.

however now that chest was in the midst of the yronwood apartments, near armaan. which was why he had arranged for this little meeting today. he was sure the conversation would be brief. but he only needed a small window of time to get what he wanted.

"armaan" doran greeted back to the bloodroyal in the same fashion. "thank you for meeting with me today, i am sure you are a busy man." he said, glancing around at the bustle of people coming and going. "my condolences on the loss of your wife. i hope your twins are doing well" he said, offering the polite condolences for a woman he was pretty sure hated him. "i am sorry to have to interrupt you in your time of…grief but i am sure you can understand that certain things are on a bit of a clock." he said. "i wish to discuss your connections in lys. some information has come my way and i wanted to clear up any possible misunderstandings with you."

[lorduller]

location: sunspear, in lord doran's study chambers. days after the death of joy yornwood. @myriamas

as the afternoon sun ascended high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the land, doran found himself grateful to be back in his homeland once more. time spent among the stuffy lords of the north had its merits, primarily in the acquisition of valuable information. but today, his purpose was not to relay intelligence on external matters to the court; rather, it was to divulge information concerning someone who had operated within its very confines. doran's network of little spies had unearthed concealed documents within the chambers of the recently departed commander. it was a  discovery he relished, one he would have delighted in revealing had joy still been breathing. alas, he savored the triumph of outmaneuvering her even in her demise.

"your highness," doran greeted with a respectful bow of his head as myriam entered his chambers. "thank you for meeting with me at such short notice," he added courteously, waiting until she settled into her seat before taking his own. with practiced grace, he poured them both a cup of chai. "oh, uh, i suppose condolences are in order for the passing of your lord commander, joy yronwood. i am sure we are all….sad. or something" he remarked casually, though his tone betrayed a lack of genuine remorse.  doran had never held any fondness for the commander, and the feeling had been mutual. doran had always perceived her as an individual who flaunted her supposed superiority, despite her own murky past as a kinslayer—a hypocrisy that grated on him. she judged the ullers yet she was so very similar. he was just glad that nature ran its course instead of him having to get his hands messy.

"as… tragic as her passing is, there is something i wished to share with you," doran continued, retrieving a letter from the pocket of his jacket and passing it to myriam. "joy was holding onto these. they were discovered among the belongings she confiscated from the volantese—an assortment of letters addressed to lord wylliam swann and lord deimos velaryon. though they may appear blank, i highly doubt they are truly devoid of content," he explained, taking a sip of his tea. "given the manner in which they were concealed, i surmised that you may not have been made aware of their existence."