dastan-allyrion

[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.

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]

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.

.

​​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]

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”.

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 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.

.

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]

“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.

"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]

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.

[dastan-allyrion]

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 ]

[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.

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]

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.

"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]

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.

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]

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.

"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]

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”.

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 had ceased to drink alcoholic beverages entirely after the downward spiral he fell into following his father's and Sofina's passing. Only occasionally did he reach for a cup of wine these days, only when he felt steady enough to not abuse his drinking. Today he did not feel steady, though, and he'd accepted the drink regardless. He was boiling inside, in truth, even though he was known as the Allyrion sibling who did not turn to rage easily. “A restless brat and an unleashed madman... There will be a mad Targaryen on the throne, the cycle continues and that is always the result. The histories have taught us that time and time again,” he replied in a somber tone. “New Valyria. It is so telling he chose to call his realm that way”. Bring back what the lost, corrupted empire of his forefathers once was.

Once he might have been naive enough to trust he might see that change in his lifetime. He was blinded by love, by passion, by an unquiet mind that needed to cling to any form of stability. He had seen in his former paramour a glimmer of something he hoped to see in others of Valyrian blood. He saw that in his own son, albeit he saw more of his boy's Dornish blood in him as he grew each day. The lord sought to nurture against what his mother's genetic nature could ruin in Hasaryn. He would not let his boy be ruined.

Dastan listened intently to the Wyl lord, so intrigued by what his friend was saying that he abandoned his glass of wine altogether. Drink needed not be what quelled his rage today, it seemed. Action would be the antidote. For that he was grateful. “A plan of your own making?” he asked, curious to know if Ryon had thought to put such a plot in motion, or if there were others from the Dornish court. A satisfied gesture crossed Dastan's features for the first time in a long while. “We burn it all,” he echoed, “And then, we make it known the Belaerys lord's role in what happened to my sister. We smear his name as he deserves. And let it be known the damn king let it all happen right beneath his nose”. A weak king who either didn't know what his subjects were up to, or a cruel ruler who did know it and allowed it to happen.

"And once again we are robbed by the Valyrians in their petulance and lack of manners. Brat Prince I heard he was once called, Brat King he is today." Ryon spoke to the other as he voiced his greatest concern, his anger. And he understood. And that was why he would drinking with the man and listening to him voice his woes and his concerns. But, there were answers. Meetings and plans being had. And Ryon would be working with the man across from him.

"Hope is not completely lost. Soon we depart, we will be heading to the Westerlands to see the cunt lions son born. And when we get there we are going under a peace banner to parlay which I imagine is going to go bad." The Wyl of Wyl began to explain to the pieces of a plan, things he only knew some parts of for the First Minister told him little as he imagine the Prince and Minister were working hand in hand. Ryon liked this new reign already.

"And that's where we come in, my lord. We will be leaving the West early and in the cover of darkness. The House of Hayford is still open, and we happen to share a look with the Belaerys house. Many of them lighter than the dead rat and some as dark as myself. We will go through everything and then, a spider will arrive and let us know when," And he smirked, leaning for dramatic effect, "we burn it down."

[dastan-allyrion]

Closed starter for @ryonwyl Setting: Dorne, Sunspear. Following the return from New Valyria and King Jaehaerys' killing of Lord Monterys Balaerys, there have been small council gatherings and discussions of what's to come.

“He was mine to question, mine to kill,” the Master of Laws murmured in a low voice before he reached forward to grab his goblet of wine. The council meeting earlier in the day had drained him, frankly. It had been no small blessing to run into his old friend afterward, getting the offer to join Ryon for something to eat and drink.

The dragon king had cut off the head of that Belaerys rat in a declaration of his madness. The Lord of Godsgrace shook his head lightly, evidently displeased. Fuck justice of vengeance, those were not the reasons he'd wished to be the one to tear the blind bastard apart. It wasn't about him, or what he needed. It was about Mayya. Dastan deeply feared that he'd been robbed of the opportunity to gain the necessary information to track Mayya's whereabouts before putting an end to that damn man.

“He took his secrets to the grave, Ryon. I have no...” he sighed, deeply exasperated by the turn of events. “Mayya is still out there, and I have no idea what trail to follow”.

[dastan-allyrion]

His son was quick to gather the collection of toys and present them to him with a grin, as if showing off his treasures when he began to place them on his lap. Dastan found it immensely amusing, for it was something he did in his infancy too. His lady mother told him about it, how he used to set his own playthings and made a tower of them around his father's feet. It was an endearing parallel, for sure.

The Lord of Godsgrace picked up a stuffed animal he didn't recognize. It was a bird, layered pieces of blue fabric giving the illusion of feathers. “This one is new,” he observed, for he'd not used it to play with his son before. The bird toy reminded him of House Fowler's sigil. “Did you get it for him?” he asked with a smile as he looked at Ophelia.

“Thank you,” the lord said, grateful that his wife had taken the time to begin settling in for them while also minding Hasaryn. His boy could be a handful, he knew. “Well, you were kept busy by someone,” he murmured, keeping his voice low enough only for Ophelia's ears. His lips tugged up into a grin then. “I can look after Hasa in the morning, and you can have the time to set up all your supplies,” he offered. They could ask for a nanny to look after Hasaryn, of course, but Dastan quite enjoyed his time with his son whenever he could be with him, and being on foreign soil meant he not so easily trusted others to look after Hasa.

“Medicine toys!” Hasaryn exclaimed then, having heard Ophelia's last words. “Can I see them, Maan?” Maan, Hasaryn said. Mom. Dastan expression softened so much in that moment, a tender smile appearing on his lips as he looked at his little boy and then at his wife.

.

ophelia turned towards the door as hasa looked up and called out for his father. his excited little voice always brought her so much joy. this wasn’t how she had envisioned how or who she’d be getting married. but then again, who could ever truly predict the future? there was a time when she yearned for a love straight out of a fairytale, where two people met and knew they were destined for each other. love at first sight, perhaps. she even believed she had found it once, with a charming poet.

but not everything could be like a storybook. and nor should it be in some ways, she supposed.

despite not having what she once thought was the only thing she’d ever want, she was happy.

dastan was a kind man, had always been since they were children. she’d never known him to be otherwise. he had his flaws, certainly, but who didn’t? none of them could claim to be without faults or troubles. but at his core, he was a good man and a good father. she hoped he would be a good husband.

“we’ve been getting everything set up, haven’t we?” ophelia smiled down at hasa, who was now eagerly placing his toys into his father’s lap before toddling off to grab more from the chest. her heart warmed at the sight, and she glanced over at dastan, feeling a quiet contentment.

the room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the window, casting a golden hue over everything. the scent of fresh linens and the faint aroma of the herbs ophelia used in her practice lingered in the air. the scene was a peaceful contrast to the bustling preparations that had consumed their day.

“i believe i have almost everything set up in our chambers. or at least, everything is as set up as possible for now,” she said, motioning back towards their rooms. “i haven’t even begun to arrange my medical supplies. i think that will be a task for tomorrow morning.”

[dastan-allyrion]

What happens following this thread which will be finished promptly:

Following the tense conversation with Myriam Allyrion, Jaehaerys Targaryen makes a choice when he sends for Monty Belaerys and has the man meet him in the garden at the stump of the still bleeding Weirwood tree.

During their conversation it is revealed to the King of New Valyria that Monty does in fact know where Mayya Allyrion is and states she will be out of reach for some time. "Long enough for them to forget."

Wordlessly guards move forward and pushed the Lord of Hayford on to his knees while Jaehaerys removes Dark Sister from the sheath on his waist. He watches as Lords face is pushed against the stump, the weeping mess of crimson resin smearing in to his face.

"There are laws, your grace. Where my trial. I demand a trial." "Not trials for treason."

The body of Monty Belaerys falls away and slides to the ground. The king kicks the head off the stump and puts the sword away. "Put it in a sack. I've someone to give this to before they depart."

The carriage of the Dornish Princess is stopped from leaving until the dragon king arrives and throws it into the carriage.

"Ask him your questions, Princess."

As he walks away his guards close in behind him. Valyrians did not make deals with Dornish. It was time he remembered.

As they pull away, Baashir leaves the carriage and gets on a horse to catch up with Ravi once they're far enough away from King's Landing. In this discussion they agree on stopping in Starfall to further plan their options against this mad dragon king.

[ @malcontentswanns @myriamas @raviofthesun @dastan-allyrion ]

[dastan-allyrion]

What's something you're glad your family doesn't know about you?

“The depths of the despair I sunk into in the North,” he admitted, not having to think too much about it. Of course, his sisters had witnessed the grief he felt after losing his father and his wife, one loss immediately followed by the next. “They would be ashamed of me if they knew the whole extent of it. I was not raised to act in such a way, and yet I lost myself completely,” he said. We never found shame in sex or indulging in alcoholic drinks, but the way in which he used both as a senseless escape to numb everything inside of him had been a problem. He'd done what he could with what he had at the time. Of course, in retrospect, he wished he'd have been better equipped to deal with such devastating blows without sinking to such lows.