#dastan 001

[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?”

[armaans]

who: @dastan-allyrion​ where: godsgrace, dorne, during the time skip

His leave from Sunspear had only been for a short period, returning to the fortress of Yronwood for the sake of overseeing the defences against the marches and those wild, winged stags. Lord Armaan Yronwood seemed to be unable  to refrain from visiting the past, regardless of how hard he tried to put it behind him and ensure his present and his future was all he could ever want; that symbol the Lord Commander had uttered to him was enough to make him think back on his brotherly bond with the Blackmont brothers. How he wished he could have reached a hand out, and been able to save them from themselves; for he knew this to be the final stance, the final link that would not save them from a Martell execution.

The idea of what would befall those he called brothers for the majority of his life was a thought that made him feel as though he had pulled inside out; he was only human, who was unable to shake the years of kinship and acceptance they had showed him. In all his years, he never once thought he would ever sit upon a small council that would only further condemn them; in his entire truth, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to do so, or whether he would be able to look at himself the same knowing he had allowed them to be bitten by the serpent. Would he be able to, when the time came? “You have my gratitude for allowing me to resupply my entourage, Lord Allyrion.” Armaan commented, his tone blunt whilst walking side by side with the new heir of Godsgrace through the cast iron gates into the fortress of Godsgrace, the distant view being a convergence of the mighty rivers of Dorne. 

Armaan had never shared a close friendship with the new heir to Godsgrace, considering he were far closer to the Blackmont brothers and Dastan to the future Prince of Dorne himself; though the pair had found themselves in similar situations as of yet. Both had duties to fulfil, of seeking out just who it was that had attempted to frame them for treason, earning them both a close call with the angel of death. As well as that, they needed to call action regarding the Vulture King’s bandits upon the Stormlands border, or at least in the Bloodroyal’s view, appear as though he were calling for action ... for the sake of peace. Any weakening of the Stormlands was beneficial for their own border, gaining access to more fertile lands. “Do you not intend on returning to Sunspear?”