#ulises 001

[fortheakhirah]

who: @ulises-trant context: the lord of tarth pays a visit to ulises trant in gallowsgrey. set after the verdant concord in the reach, akhirah's journeys means he needs to take a break at gallowsgrey first. "the enemy of my enemy is my friend,"

the sound of hooves hammering against pebbles was almost heard, if it were not for the sound of the storm hammering down from the gap that had opened up from the heavens - and yet, if akhirah tarth were the sort of man who looked for signs and symbols in more than he could understand, he wondered why was it the heavens were upset with them this time. the mud squelched at his boots as he slipped from his steed, hardly able to hear the words of the other as they continued their conversation through, even into the stables. it was little secret that the stormlanders were baring the brunt of an increasing taxation, and the stormlanders were not the sort to bare it quietly.

"you know, i've already spoken to sora of it." his gloved hands moved to hold onto the reins of his steed, his voice having to raise to be heard over the blast of winds that threatened to send them both headfirst into the barrels of hay in gallowsgrey's main courtyard.

the dark green cloak he wore around his broad shoulders was soaked down to the bone, and he was wholly aware of the fact he probably appeared a drowned rat as he spoke to his gracious companion - somewhere along the journey, they had gone from speaking of formalities to speaking what truly plagued the both of them, and that was nothing other than the policies and existence of a certain master of coin. "aye, she's quite jumpy…" his voice muttered towards a stableboy who attempted to take hold of the reins of his horse, causing noises of alarm to come from the beast. "slow down, calm yourself. cmon." akhirah uttered, his gloved hand still on the reins as he attempted to once again pass the reins over - if there was one thing akhirah tarth was not particularly skilled at, it was calming down animals. they did not suit him, and he did not suit them.

"we've spoken of preparing supplies incase it comes down to it, and other steps." he did not openly speak of picking up arms, or having to defend his keep from a siege - to besiege an island would already be a hazardous affair, yet he did not trust even for a moment that the valyrians would not find some method to their madness. to their sense of ownership, and belonging in a land where they were nothing but foreign invaders. whilst he did not ask outwardly what sort of hit gallowsgrey had taken as a result of maximus celtigar's evergrowing hands, a part of him did wonder what exactly happened to the backbone and strength of the stormlanders.

whilst he had insisted that none needed to openly join him in defiance, there was a small, almost guilty part of him which felt a sense of growing ire toward his fellow people- since the execution of lord caron, it were as though they had all merely been drawn of any breath. the backs they once held so high had cowered and bent to permanently bend. and, perhaps it were the storm only thundering further in his ears, he did not think he could take much more of it. "and your men?" he asked, his question obvious but vague all at once.

[calculatedtwilight]

setting: highgarden, the verdant concord ; starter for @ulises-trant

context: sabiha was aboard the merchant ship, owned by her family, that found and rescued ulises during the dance.

the sun cast a warm glow over highgarden, softening the edges of the towering roses and trimmed hedges that marked the paths of the verdant concord. sabiha moved slowly through the courtyard, her eyes attentive to the subtle movements around her, noting the way sunlight pooled against stone and how voices shifted with the breeze. her gaze settled on a figure near the edge of the gathering, a man whose posture and bearing stirred a faint recognition deep in her memory.

her lips curved into a small, controlled smile. it had been many years since she had seen him, but she would recognize him anywhere. lord trant. she inclined her head slightly, a quiet warmth threading her precise movements. “lord trant, it is good to see you,” she said, her voice steady and measured. “you look well.”

her dark eyes lingered on him thoughtfully, noting the subtle changes time had brought. “how is your home?” she asked gently, with some knowledge and whispers of how the dragon king ruled over the stormlands, there was a bit of curiosity in her that she attempted to simmer down. “and are you enjoying the gathering? highgarden can be… lively.” she gave a laugh. "it's pretty much as i've read it to be, though this gathering has been interesting."

her hands rested lightly in front of her, fingers brushing together as she allowed the moment to settle. “if you care to walk for a while, i believe there are quieter paths through the gardens,” she added softly. “they are easier for conversation, and one may catch up with another without being lost in the crowd.”

[intothewylde]

setting: flashback to before the verdant concord, there is a birthday celebration at the rain house, starter for @ulises-trant

the rain had come early that morning, soft and steady against the windows of rain house, a sound that morgan had always found grounding. the hall was lit warmly for once, the great hearth alive with fire, candles scattered along the long oak table where friends and family gathered. birthdays had never been much of a spectacle for him, he preferred quiet evenings to lavish feasts, but his steward and kin had insisted. there was food enough to feed twice their number, and casks of wine had already been opened.

morgan stood near the edge of the room, half in conversation and half apart from it, a cup in hand, his blue gaze tracking the familiar flicker of firelight on the wet stone. he wasn’t one for speeches or toasts, though he’d nodded politely through a few offered in his honor. his contentment came in quieter forms, in the murmur of voices, the scent of rain through the open windows, and the rare ease of company without duty pressing close behind.

when he noticed ulises arrive, he inclined his head in greeting, a faint, almost knowing smile tugging at his mouth. “you came,” he said simply, his tone calm but genuine. “i wasn’t sure if the road would tempt you in this weather.” he gestured toward the table, where a few of the others were still deep in talk. “seems the gods took pity and gave me a celebration worth attending. eat, drink, though i imagine you’ll have sharper opinions about the vintage than the rest of us.” his gaze lingered a moment, thoughtful but easy. “still, i’m glad you made the ride. it’s good to have you here, truly.”

[inkandcitrus]

setting: flashback, a gathering in the stormlands, around 133, while the war continued on, stormlords gathered to keep company and stay in good spirits ; starter for @ulises-trant

the stormlands hall was loud with forced cheer, the rough laughter of lords echoing off stone walls still damp from the season’s endless rains. banners of houses both proud and weary hung overhead, some frayed, some stained by travel and weather and war rather than ceremony. wine flowed freely, drums beat in uneven rhythm, and somewhere a fiddler scraped out a tune meant to sound triumphant. this was not some king's hall, there was no gold, no polished marble, but there was firelight and stubborn joy, and that, in its own way, felt truer. still, vivienne penrose stood slightly apart, glass in hand, the wine warm against her palm but doing little to soften the quiet vigilance settled in her bones. these gatherings were meant to keep spirits high while war gnawed at the edges of their lands, but celebration had begun to taste like ash.

her gaze moved across the hall, sharp beneath the veneer of grace. she read faces the way she read music — in tension, in breath, in the small notes between words. men she once knew moved differently now, carrying new weight in their shoulders; women laughed too brightly, as if trying to drown out the sound of distant thunder. then, through the smoke and flicker of torchlight, she saw him. or perhaps she only saw the shape of a memory at first, but her heart knew before her mind could catch up. a steady thrum rose in her chest, urgent and startling, not fear, not quite relief, but something dangerously close to both.

“ulises!” the name left her like an exhale she’d been holding for years, clear enough to cut through the music and the clamor of voices. it felt strange on her tongue, too familiar and too foreign all at once, as though she were calling to someone half-living, half-remembered. they had said he’d vanished, said he’d died, said a dozen things that never once sounded like truth, but truth was standing before her now, marked by war but unmistakably him. she did not falter, did not allow herself the luxury of disbelief. she had loved him once in a summer that felt like it would never end, and no rain, no war, no passing of grim seasons could steal that recognition from her.

she stepped forward, measured and composed even as something unsteady sparked beneath her ribs. “it’s really you,” she said, a soft certainty threading through the words. her hand lifted, not quite reaching for him but close enough to bridge the distance. “i could recognize you anywhere.”

[malcontentswanns]

who: @ulises-tarth what: questioning, in reaction to this post.

there was an open window in the corner of the room of the tower of the hand, the breeze and the wind causing the curtains to waft as the hand of the king walked into the room. the questioning took place within the tower of the hand, precisely because wylliam did not want people to feel as though they were guilty of anything. there was a time and place for settings like dungeons, and as of this moment, wylliam needed to gather what facts he had - and what facts he still needed to know of.

there was an attendant who sat to the left of him who was responsible for writing down the answers given. word for word, no paraphrasing.

"his grace is thankful for your time and your cooperation." wylliam spoke, his tone remaining courteous as he took his seat, both of his arms coming to rest upon the solid wooden oak table. his opening statement was picked carefully though; for it showed that the king was wholly involved in this matter. four questions, four answers; and that was all - no doubt there would be times where wylliam would have extra questions, and they would be addressed then and there.

"i have some questions for you, and it would provide much clarity to the wrong done in this court." he cleared his throat slightly, taking a sip of the sweet wine in his cup, if not to stop his own heart from beating. "it is imperative you answer truthfully, with as much detail as you can remember. your answers are being recorded, and you may need to clarify, or follow up." he paused, as though to let his words sink in. "let us begin."

"what, if any, are your thoughts on the alliance between king jaehaerys targaryen and king tyland lannister?