#domeric 001

[visxionaries]

who: @domericstone when and where: the tourney celebrating the coronation of king jaehaerys targaryen, moments before the king graham royce of the vale is unseated by a mystery knight. in some moments, it will be clear there was foul play and intention at hand here. the men are getting onto their horses and readying their equipment. what: at this moment in time, cedric tyrell found himself in discussion with lord domeric stone - of the vale. or the north. both men remain unaware of what was about to happen.

the tiltyard was a different sort of game, and one that cedric tyrell was not the most talented at: whilst all men in the reach were trained in the arts of chivalry that made up the essentials of knighthood, there were only a number that truly meant it. it was something he often heard the high commander ranting over, the nature of those who earned their knighthood instead of those who had simply been purchased - it mattered little to cedric. in fact, it did not matter at all; there was little difference between how notions of romanticised knighthood impacted both men and women alike.

the crowds were vast, the seating high, though cedric found himself amongst the sides of the track, one of the many men who cheered on lord florent. the annoyance at his face continued to amuse him to no end as he patted the man's mare.

and in some spaces beside them were the vale faction, a matter that was a bigger deal to the knights of the reach rather than the king himself: all knew of the rivalry that came between the two regions when it came to the matter of chivalry and knighthood, the history and the essence behind it. time passed, and as men continued to speak, cedric tyrell found himself within the group wishing luck to the king consort of the vale - including the likes of the master of coin. a man whose name will go down in legends equated to a name uttered to scare children into scrambling into their beds.

"truthfully, we are still in the process of banking internally. we have investments within the iron bank that remain; though house hightower has established a bank of it's own. it is a slow process of transference - move too quickly, and the whole thing will come falling down." cedric tyrell believed himself more than able to read facial expressions, to grasp a good judgement of people and yet this one - there was an exception here. and it quietly bothered him, regardless of the conversation that passed between them.

"there comes advantage in owing debts to banners, rather than a power across the sea. i suspect matters would be dealt with far quicker." the iron bank were known to not enjoy waiting. they too, did not appreciate debts not being paid. there was one thing he could grasp about the master of coin, and that was the fact he detested meaningless discussion. meanwhile to cedric, no conversation was truly meaningless; there was always something to gage from a situation, or an individual. especially from one as shifty as domeric, whom had seemingly had many names, many positions, and many reputations.

the discussions continued as the jousts continued, pausing to view the tilts and the clashes each time they roared through the air. "how have you found aiding the north in their repayment of the iron bank?" cedric asked, his question pointed - considering all had heard of the way in which the three sisters had involved themselves by looting a manderly vessel. then there was an ominous silence from the sisters, according to the reports of his mistress of whispers. and he listened as domeric began to respond, his arms crossed against the blue of his tunic as he leaned against a wooden stand; when he heard it. the clash, and the gasp.

glancing to the direction of the shock, he realised what was happening. the king consort of the vale had rolled away from the incoming stampede of hoofs, and then suddenly the image was blurred by the dust that was kicked up by the horses. what he saw, was a large group of nobles stand; knights of the vale pretty much lept over their stands, rushing like the sea onto the track. cedric remained silent, clearly watching the scene unfold.

[wintervsuns]

who: @wcrdsarewind​​ where: the apartments of the hand of the king, the castle of winterfell when: over the time skip

♞

The Small Council meeting had come to an end upon the announcement of the Hand's travels further South, further South than he thought he would be returning so very soon following their long awaited return to the snow kissed lands of the North. The Dragon's Pit called in the name that was Kings Landing, and all the might that stood alongside it; a vision had been set out for the North that went beyond the likes of mere survival. 

They wanted to thrive, they wanted to excel in ways that the other Kingdoms had been able to do; they had learned how to survive the winter, they had learned how to master the winter, and now it was time they focused on life itself rather than mere survival.

Grey orbs looked up across the table towards the Master of Coin; the ruling Lord of the Dreadfort was an interesting man, to say the least. A man who seemed permanently dead behind the eyes, though seemed to have matters he seemed to care much for; were they glimpses of sun piercing through something he would never truly fathom or understand? They were of different houses, the Karstarks remaining in a steadfast, ancient bond tied with the Starks of Winterfell - and though the days of old grudges and anger were long over and the Starks were truly the only Kings of the North, it was the difference in life itself that caused a difference between the men.

He would call it a line along the snow - but it was the wall itself. They worked together, and Brandon Karstark was cordial to a fellow servant of the realm and the rightful King of the North; Domeric had been one of the people to think of a different path for the North, and it was Brandon who held the personable skills in order to perhaps make it happen. In the end, that was all they were, and that was all they would ever be.

And so, upon hearing his betrothed casually bring up reference to the ruling Lord of the Dreadfort in her interactions with him, the Hand of the King had barely made any response that was not one of civility; he understood they had shared a dynamic in which they both perhaps felt like social outcasts. Continued in this manner was what Brandon had done, until he saw a brief look within the eyes of the Dreadfort himself, like the flicker of a candle - looking towards the Lady of Greywater Watch.

What was it? Whatever it was within the orbs of Domeric Bolton, Brandon Karstark had never tried to understand it. Only, he would not have it slowly drifting to the woman that would join his household, the woman that would take the name Lady of House Karstark.

"My Lord." Brandon spoke, noting the man to the only man left in the Council Chamber aside from himself, the shadows on the wall flickering as a result of candles being lit. The cold never bothered him, and yet, the idea of leaving with this man continuing to look upon her in such a way...he had never seen more than a flicker, a glimpse. And yet, what he saw, he did not like. He protected those he cared for, those he considered part of his own; by blood, or by sacred union.

"Is there an issue with your eyes the Maester has yet to speak of?" He asked, closing a ledger book with a heavy thump, some dust coming from the ledgers that would be placed back within the archives of Winterfell's records itself. “Or do you feel the need to look at my betrothed as though you wish to make something of her?”

[ravellaarryns]

MEMORIES AS HEAVY AS A STONE; OH GODS HAVE YOU WALKED AWAY FROM ME? (DOMERIC&RAVELLA) / @wcrdsarewind

what: continuation of this thread between lord domeric stone bolton and princess ravella of house arryn.

ravella: and she remains silent as he speaks on the authority of rowan arryn - it takes all in her to ask what authority, what affection does he deserve? but he was the mountain king. he was a representation of her. ravella; how it sickened her so. to know her home, her name, was represented by his weakness. she had doubted her father's decision in sending him to the front lines, leading a regiment in his youth...but now she understood. he prayed weakness would be killed. ravella: "there will be no wildlings walking along my walls." ravella: "i will see them turn on one another in butchery, or give up on these peace efforts and return back to the grovels they come from." and he says men will beg like the gods to be free of him, as he strips them bit by bit. and there is a sick fire in orbs of ice. ravella: "show me the gods exist, domeric."

domeric; watches her. she didn't want the wildlings around her and he understood. they were savages. mountain clans was a term to kind for them. raiding the lands around them expecting to leave untouched. to welcome these monster...he wouldn't have it. not in his kingdom or any other. domeric; "turning them into some frenzy where they kill each other would be harder, that takes time and effort to infiltrate. we can take this with no issue." domeric; watches her. his eyes on her. something about the light there intrigues him, awakens him. reminds him. domeric; "i can do that." domeric; noted the change in his voice. lost in thoughts of her in that moment where she was completely free and unraveled. lost in the thoughts of savages begging for solace. calling to their gods. he hates dorne. the temperature seemed to rise at random.

ravella: and she wants to ask him why he is so ready to help, ready to help with no price to be paid in response; but she knew the answer. she knew the love he seemed to bare towards everything that led back to those hammering rains of runestone. ravella: but why ask him, if it would only make this strange spell he had casted on himself more obvious? ravella: "you will do that." ravella: "you will do that?" and she's careful with her words, like silver poison; she would not give him orders, he was no subject of hers. no subject of the vale of arryn. ravella: "does it take long to get the final outcome?"

domeric; can't focus but he can hide his attentions wandering, his thoughts. he would do this, not just for the vale or the royces or her. he would do this because it was his duty. his gift. his heart. domeric; it was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to not order him when she rephrased the same order as a question. so, he nods domeric; “i'll do it.” domeric; “it can take as long as i need it to take. i'm in control. their life, their screams, their pleading is in my hands.”

ravella: and her silhouette, adorned in black dornish silks, sweep over the mosaic tiles as she seems to circle him, if only to stand beside the door with a hand on the doorknob. it was to hear if there was any other on the other side. ravella: "i look forward to seeing it, my lord. this being something not even the rains can wash away from you." ravella: and her mind trails as her orbs fix upon his, trails as she considers what the implications of this could be. there could be violence. they would handle it. they would rise, and be strengthened from it. ravella: and if she died, she knew it was for a cause. a cause to cleanse. ravella: "you'll hold no debt over me, my lord... acknowledged or not." ravella; "when the time comes, you find me."

domeric; watched her circling him, his eyes on hers as she moved to the door. not even the rains of runestone could cleanse a such as he. he was born in whatever darkness ravella wandered into. domeric; "i look forward to showing you. i'll keep it in mind. not sure what you could give me but, perhaps something will come up." domeric; "maybe the best way to avoid cows." domeric; humorless as he bows forward. domeric; "princess." domeric; "i'll send you something when it's time for you to meet me. no worries, you'll know it's from me without the need for written letters or seals."

ravella: and she's still holding onto the doorknob, knowing they would need to slip out into the crowds seperately. knowing that doing this in itself was risky business enough, but she would laugh in the face of those who dared question her. she was no bird, and held no cage; if there was a place she ruled, it was the seven hells themselves ravella: "perhaps. find something - it is in your own interests." because she would not allow another to feel like he did anything for her ravella: and she stares at him when he mentions cows. she didn't understand what he referenced. buried, long dead in the back of memories that were stored in a box; the slight confusion was obvious in a glint within her orbs ravella: "cows, my lord?"

domeric; he looks at her for a moment, his brow furrows and a brief smile comes on to his face and it goes away. it makes him sad to know she's never going to be what she was. he feels a great guilt at liking her better this way. such a weakness that came with an attachment to the past. one he couldn't let go, it gave him humanity. a man born without it, needed to hold on to it where he found it as to not completely fold into the nothingness of his reality. domeric; "it's not important. you should go." domeric; walks by her, to stand at the other side of the room, leaning against the wall, finding a place in the shadows. domeric; "enjoy this festive evening."

ravella: and perhaps she should have asked him to tell her, insisted he tell her; did he know something she didn't? ravella: but truthfully, she did not care enough to wish to get an answer to what it was he spoke of. cows, she simply could not make a link to; and so, the woman merely nodded, raven hair tumbling down her shoulders as she lowered her head in response to him ravella: “i shall leave you to whatever thoughts choose to haunt you, this festive evening.” ravella: and her tone copies his for a moment, before she leaves, closing the door behind her

[pandorasyndrome]

♖ prompt 001

Domeric Kilcairn

i.  what do their quarters look like?

Domeric’s room at the Rosegate is large and airy, with large sloped ceilings painted a cream-colored white. His walls were a baby blue, lined with portraits and tapestries, hand painted and tailored by the best artisans that money could buy. In the exact center of the room was a raised platform, where his four poster bed stood proud, opulent, and tall. The bed was a dark, wooden oak with royal blue curtains that framed each side, giving him even further privacy in the comfort of his bed. His sheets were silk and the color of gold, and his blankets were always carefully made due to the careful work of Eden’s servants.

ii. where does your character hail from? do they still live there?

Domeric hails from Eden. He does still live there, though in recent years he has found himself visiting other noble courts, extending the hand of friendship to his family’s allies.

iii. if your character still lives there, do they enjoy it? or do they feel trapped & would prefer to live somewhere else?

Domeric loves Eden, and he loves Belhaven, and he loves his family’s castle of Rosegate. Though he finds himself travelling often, to return home is the sweetest feeling every time.

iv. are they religious? if so, what religion? are they devoted?

Domeric is performatively religious. It isn’t that he does not believe in the Gods, because he does. But he also does not spare too much of a thought towards them. However, even with that being the case, it is not rare to see him bow his head for prayers. To be godly only helped to sharpen the courtly perception he so loved to give off.

v. what is their occupation? how long have they been at this position?

Domeric does not have any official occupation beyond his duties as a member of House Kilcairn. He has yet to fight in any war, but should the occasion arise, he is prepared to take up arms and lead his family’s soldiers. In addition, he often takes it upon himself to maintain his family’s diplomatic ties, and makes it a point to keep in contact with other influential nobles in the realm.

vi. how physically threatening are they? emotionally threatening?

Domeric is not particularly threatening physically, at least no more than any other nobleman raised in the art of swordplay. He would certainly be very threatening to a baker holding a pitchfork, but the fight would be a lot more even with someone who had training, proper weapons, and experience. Emotionally, however, Domeric is much more threatening. He hunts for secrets and wields them over the heads of others, threatening to bring discord and strife into their life and relationships.

vii. is your character more extroverted or introverted?

Domeric is certainly more extroverted. He likes small talk and conversation, and hearing what other people had to say. However he does not find it a huge bother to be alone.

viii. do they have any scars? tattoos? birthmarks? other unique physical features?

Domeric is free of any significant scars, nor does he have any tattoos. The most unique look about him would be the way he adorned himself in expensive jewelry. His fingers were lined with rings, and his neck was often adorned with glittering amulets.

ix. do they have any family? if so, how close are they to their family?

Domeric loves his family fiercely, but even more so, he loves their family legacy. He is proud to be a member of his house, and everything he does is an attempt to increase their power and standing. He isn’t very open or transparent to them about his plans and motivations, but he is affectionate, most especially to his sisters, and likes to believe that they would all feel free to come to him, for whatever help they might need.

x. have they ever been to the capital? if so, what was the occasion?

Domeric has been to the capital on many occasions. Most often for celebratory events; weddings for important nobles, tournaments and jousts. Though since he’d grown, more and more often he found himself there to attend court, so he could report back to his parents on the goings-on in the heart of the kingdom.

xi. have they traveled much in their life? if so, what is the best thing they saw on their travels?

He has certainly traveled more than the common peasant. He’s explored most of Belhaven, finding it fun to ride off in a band of other knights and squires when he was in his late teens and early twenties. He’s been to the capital, and to capital cities of the other important regions, or the closer ones anyways.

The best thing that Domeric ever encountered during his travels was a peasant wedding near the western coast of Belhaven. He was riding towards the beach, with a mid ranged entourage of various courtiers and soldiers. They happened upon a village in the throes of celebration. The commoners had turned their town square into a dancing ring, and they all hopped and swung and spun each other around. Meat, a rarity for poorfolk such as these, was on display and there were torches and decorative bales of hay all around. He’d never been to something so… quaint, and ended up stopping to join the party with the rest of his people.

xii. have they ever been in love?

Domeric has never been in love the way the stories say. However, he is quite fond of his betrothed.

xiii. what is their greatest achievement?

It was Domeric who pushed for his own engagement. He was not forced into it like so many others, and instead embraced this opportunity to bring more prestige and power to his dynasty. Calida Celtigar came from the richest family in the land, and she made a great match. It was his own plotting and pushing that led to his parents agreeing to the match. He’s quite proud of the entire thing, really.

xiv. what is their greatest failure?

A bit of blackmail gone wrong. Three years ago, at the age of twenty three, Domeric played his cards too heavily, and threatened a minor nobleman in the city of Eden with exposure. The noble was funding illicit poaching, and getting ahead of himself, Domeric propositioned the man before having concrete evidence in hand. He lost the upper hand when the nobleman killed his accomplices and ran away to a land overseas. He never did inform his mother about the poaching, or the noble, or his own part in it. Lest she see something in him that she would not like.

xv. is you character literate? if noble, did they tend to their watcher’s lessons or did they slack off? do they enjoy reading, or hearing stories?

Domeric is literate, and can both read and write in fancy, curling script. He fidgeted through his lessons much as any small child might, but ultimately he paid attention to his watcher. He prefers to read over listening to stories. He reads faster than others can speak, so he would just prefer to do it himself.

[harpplays-blog]

headcanon 001 || ramsay. 

        domeric does love ramsay in a very distant, very twisted way. he loves the idea of having of brother, he glorified the idea of it & it lead him to seek his bastard brother out. he was thrilled at first ---- he had this very achievable thing that he thought he wanted more than anything in the world.... & he was sorely disappointed by what he found. 

he wanted to find someone that was blatantly not ramsay, a decent kind of person that he didn’t often come into contact with. he wanted a companion, someone to protect ...what he was faced with was none of those things. he was blinded by his desire for companionship & only realized it wasn’t going to be found in ramsay after some time with him. 

he kind of lost that image of ‘ perfect brother ‘ that excited domeric so much? domeric started seeing sonething rabid, unrefined, someone who was more a risk than much else. so i want to say that domeric wants to love ramsay & trust him & see him as his brother but he also harbors this sort of... resentment? for him not meeting those standards.