#mathis rowan

[elisiassideb1tch]

Happy Pride Month Pretty Babes !!

[norbiegrafton]

closed starter for : @ofgoldengrove

for as long as he could remember, norbie grafton had encountered issues with telling people apart. there was nothing wrong with his eyesight. he could see well, but it was always a struggle to discern one person from the other if they shared a similar height, build and colouring.

he had been chatting away to the man before him, certain it was an acquaintance from his younger years fostered to the stormlands, when a slight movement had him lapsing into silence, his face burning red. this was how he told people apart, their habits and mannerisms, and that was something he had never before seen his old friend do. he peered into the face of the man, and the realisation dawned on him.

"ah." he said, embarrassment making him squirm. "you're not harrold, are you?"

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: the crownlands during the coronation of jaehaerys targaryen, mathis attends, as a spectator, the jousting tournament being held in the new king's honor ;; starter for @cerissalefford

the colliding of lances and roaring crowd could be hear from some paces away outside of the tournament grounds. it had long been since mathis rowan had seen a proper tourney, and longer still since he had been in the crownlands. king's landing was still less then memorable from his experience so far. while vendors bustled about shouting their wares, lord and ladies prattled on, it was nothing he would consider remarkable.

it was a warm day, the sun beating down on his skin, an element that he used to crave, he now felt himself desiring to slink away from. once a comfort, now a reminder. he nearly turned around, to head back to the red keep and find something to do in the shelter of the castle walls, but the son of goldengrove pressed on instead. entering the tournament grounds, he willed himself to utilize the distraction of the games rather than shutting himself away for the day. the next contestants were readying themselves for their round, he heard excited calls for the vale king, graham royce, as brown hues scanned the crowd for an open seat.

he shuffled passed some onlookers, finding an open seat next to a woman with hair of gold. he recognized her as one of the lefford sister's, though her name admittedly escaped him. "is anyone sitting her, my lady?" he asked, hand gesturing to the space next to her. "seems to be a busy day around here." mathis added with his usual good-natured tone.

[omerflorent]

| @ofgoldengrove | | summary :: since omer's return from brightwater he's gotten back into his habit of running every morning, joined by a surprising guest. |

It was early. He woke up before the sun, it was part of his routine and it was one that he wouldn't break unless it was absolutely needed. They, he and his family, were back in Highgarden and things would have to get back into the swing, word said they would be traveling soon. And he hated those travels, it was the closest he ever came to breaking his routine. HIs wife understood. He would wake before she even stirred, he added in a quick look at their son, and then he was out of the apartments and making his way down to the grounds where he would run. Running was good for a man, kept him alive, and opened his heart and lung to the air around him. He spent so much time strengthening his right hand and arm, he was lucky to have trained dual weapon but with one less hand it proved harder. Rarely would a High Commander be expected to lead the charge but he wasn't someone who lived by the expectations of other. He led by example. Even when he fell, he was there to show men the way to stand up.

Another change in these mornings was the presence of another, the sound of someone else running with him, not always side by side but never too far apart. It didn't start as a formal invite, it was more of a coincidence met with a brief see you tomorrow then and in that it became an expectation, part of the morning. Stretching until he saw the other and then continuing the stretch before running started. One foot in front of the other. Running was the easiest thing for a man to control as long as his legs allowed him pleasure. He remembers how it felt to be shackled to have the gift of movement restricted.

Mathis had been a prisoner for much longer than Omer, and yet the Lord would say he understood enough of captivity to understand this man returned to them. He knew what it was to wake and sleep in darkness, understood how the beatings felt. And while he'd never crossed the line of personal respect and dare to ask Mathis what he experienced in his captivity, Omer believed it better to understand quietly. In the company of mutual understanding, one is never alone.

"You've not met Arlo." Omer spoke, drinking from the water skin and then held it out for the other. "You should soon."

[seffora-merryweather]

fmk: lucca, mathis, cas

“Oh, we're doing this?” the Lady of Longtable stated with a playful eye roll. It was such a nosy question, but it was also quite unserious, so Seffora played along. “I would wed Lord Lucca, lay with Lord Mathis, and kill the River King,” she answered, not taking the situation seriously at all. Only one of her responses held any sincerity in them.

( @luccatyrelll, @ofgoldengrove & @casimirtully )

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Joffrey names his new sword!

Lord Tywin waited until last to present the king with his own gift: a longsword. Its scabbard was made of cherrywood, gold, and oiled red leather, studded with golden lions heads. The lions had ruby eyes, she saw. The ballroom fell silent as Joffrey unsheathed the blade and thrust the sword above his head. Red and black ripples in the steel shimmered in the morning light. "Magnificent," declared Mathis Rowan. "A sword to sing of, sire," said Lord Redwyne. "A king's sword," said Ser Kevan Lannister. King Joffrey looked as if he wanted to kill someone right then and there, he was so excited. He slashed at the air and laughed. "A great sword must have a great name, my lords! What shall I call it?" Sansa remembered Lion's Tooth, the sword Arya had flung into the Trident, and Hearteater, the one he'd made her kiss before the battle. She wondered if he'd want Margaery to kiss this one. The guests were shouting out names for the new blade. Joff dismissed a dozen before he heard one he liked. “Widow’s Wail!” he cried. “Yes! It shall make many a widow, too!” He slashed again. “And when I face my uncle Stannis it will break his magic sword clean in two.” Joff tried a downcut, forcing Ser Balon Swann to take a hasty step backward. Laughter rang through the hall at the look on Ser Balon's face. "Have a care, Your Grace," Ser Addam Marbrand warned the king. "Valyrian steel is perilously sharp." "I remember." Joffrey brought Widow's Wail down in a savage twohanded slice, onto the book that Tyrion had given him. The heavy leather cover parted at a stroke. "Sharp! I told you, I am no stranger to Valyrian steel." It took him half a dozen further cuts to hack the thick tome apart, and the boy was breathless by the time he was done. Sansa could feel her husband struggling with his fury as Ser Osmund Kettleblack shouted, "I pray you never turn that wicked edge on me, sire." "See that you never give me cause, ser." Joffrey flicked a chunk of Lives of Four Kings off the table at swordpoint, then slid Widow's Wail back into its scabbard.

By Hed-ush

[asoiafreadthru]

MACE TYRELL, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach,

His wife, LADY ALERIE, of House Hightower of Oldtown,

Their children:

WILLAS, their eldest son, heir to Highgarden,

SER GARLAN, called the Gallant, their second son,

SER LORAS, the Knight of Flowers, their youngest son,

MARGAERY, their daughter, a maid of fourteen years,

His widowed mother, LADY OLENNA of House Redwyne, called the Queen of Thorns,

His sisters:

MINA, wed to Lord Paxter Redwyne,

JANNA, wed to Ser Jon Fossoway,

His uncles:

GARTH, called the Gross, Lord Seneschal of Highgarden,

His bastard sons, GARSE and GARRETT FLOWERS,

SER MORYN, Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown,

MAESTER GORMON, a scholar of the Citadel,

His household:

MAESTER LOMYS, counselor, healer, and tutor,

IGON VYRWEL, captain of the guard,

SER VORTIMER CRANE, master-at-arms,

His knights and lords bannermen:

PAXTER REDWYNE, Lord of the Arbor,

His wife, LADY MINA, of House Tyrell,

Their children:

SER HORAS, mocked as Horror, twin to Hobber,

SER HOBBER, mocked as Slobber, twin to Horas,

DESMERA, a maid of fifteen,

RANDYLL TARLY, Lord of Horn Hill,

SAMWELL, his elder son, of the Night’s Watch,

DICKON, his younger son, heir to Horn Hill,

ARWYN OAKHEART, Lady of Old Oak,

MATHIS ROWAN, Lord of Goldengrove,

LEYTON HIGHTOWER, Voice of Oldtown, Lord of the Port,

SER JON FOSSOWAY.

[visxionaries]

who: @tiriusrowan when and where; highgarden, shortly following the return of the reach court from a hunting trip, the hand of the king hears news that only reflects the gloomy weather. me: i miss tirius being hella out of pocket so here we go

there was a light, healthy drizzle of rain that opened up from the skies above the fertile fields of the reach: any sound of it drowned out by the sounds of hooves making impact with wet puddles, the chorus of the reach's court trailing through the grand white gates of highgarden's outer wall. men and women alike of noble classes found themselves upon their steeds, having only recently returned from a hunting progression that had taken the majority of the day.

the sky began to be tainted hues of orange and pink as cedric tyrell slipped from his horse, boots landing upon the cobbles beneath him. and behind him, the sun too began to sink from it's place in the world.

a leather glove remained on the mane of the dark chestnut horse he rode, having only recently found himself enjoying the sport that was hunting. as though it took the thrill of the chase from something else, and allowed his mind some sense of clarity. there was no overcomplicating matters of nature - there was the hunted, and the hunters. he called to the brothers of house rowan, briefly hearing mathis yelling something to him, half chuckling.

he noted a servant approaching the hand of the king, the eldest of the rowans of goldengrove; and it was nothing he looked at.

until he felt the atmosphere slowly shift, and drain from around him; cedric tyrell had always remained an inherently observant individual, understanding of emotions whilst not taking them into any serious account. still, a striking ocean gaze flickered over to the man he had chosen as hand in times of hardship, and kept in times of relative peace. there was something akin to a storm across his face, and cedric found himself inwardly betting on what was the news.

had one of the rowan children fled to essos in pursuit of their mother?

cedric said nothing as the man spoke to his servant in the tongue of the old way, simply waiting for the man to steady himself enough to approach him, and address the matter. their gaze locked.

[lucreziasredwyne]

who: @ofgoldengrove

please leave a message after the beep; the sound of the beep came, though not before a slight exhale came through the lips of lucrezia redwyne. such was the issue with these rural hotels; their facilities were not the best, and the keycard situation was one they could not help any further with - considering both hers and his were in tirius rowan's pocket, something she had asked him to do earlier on in the day.

"hey, call me back when you get this? i don't have my keycard." she wondered through the stone pathway in the small gardens within the centre of the hotel, her coat remaining wrapped around her as she ended the phone call. her phone battery was nearly dying, and the charger remained in her own hotel room; she looked back toward the reception doors.

she would wait in there, and eventually he would come back - where else would he sleep tonight?

and so she began to make her way back over to the reception, purple ribbon still in her hair, feeling her phone give one final buzz in her pocket before it died. she pushed the door open, indicating toward the receptionist that she would wait in the chairs by the fire - all the other rooms had been booked up. that's when she heard the escalator make a noise, and watch as mathis stepped out of it.

there was a slight look of relief that crossed her face as he stepped up, and she instantly rose from her seat, making her way over to him.

"salam." she greeted him, reaching forward to greet him as she always did; with kisses on both sides of his cheeks, before pulling away, ignoring the ache at the back of her purple heels. "do you by any chance know where tirius is? or, have a charged phone? my keycard is in his pocket." she explained, pulling away from their quick embrace.

[feraylocke]

MODERN WEEK.

name: feray locke. nationality: turkish. hometown: istanbul, turkey. current home: new york, usa. occupation: psychology student at columbia. relationship: recently started dating wylliam swann. exes: was in a long-term relationship with mathis rowan for a few years after graduation, and their families desperately wanted them to marry and settle down, but they had an amicable break-up. situationship: more than friends with amir manderly but nothing has happened between them, has had crushes on and off on him since school. archetype in school: the bookworm. reputation: great. only criticism she gets is that she is connected to the oil industry via her family's business. known for: daughter of a rich businessman, she is banned from multiple casinos for counting cards.

𝓅𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 / 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

she grew up in a wealthy family with her father connected to the oil industry, the lockes have several properties in turkey, but she has spent most of her time in istanbul. she has three brothers all involved with the family business.

in school, her fashion style was inspired by dark / light academia. she was a member of the debate club, chess club, and student representative of the library board. however, she was not a recluse and was involved in many social activities as well. it was while away at boarding school, she developed the vice of smoking. she spent years kicking the habit, but she still smokes during exam season as a way to combat the stress.

she considers amir her best friend and goes on trips with him a couple of times a year. their favoured destination is corfu, greece. they often bring other friends with them, but they like to go on solo adventures together while travelling. despite having feelings for amir, she tries not to get hung up on him.

feray is not as devout and traditional in modern verse, but her faith is still very important to her.

she began dating wylliam in kenya while participating in a nature documentary about the similarities between human psychology and animal psychology.

feray struggles with gambling addiction but is actively using her degree to try to combat it. due to academic curiosity some years ago, she accidentally developed a talent for counting cards and quickly calculating probabilities.

currently, she has a chess rating of 1900 and actively participates in online chess tournaments.

[maidofgoldengrove]

Kat with her father Mathis Rowan, the lord of Goldengrove. Probably before  In the books he’s describes as “stout, florid/red-faced and clean-shaven”, and it’s my own headcanon that he’s somewhere in his early 50s.  I don’t draw men enough is what I learned drawing this

[tiriusrowan]

| a letter arrives for tirius rowan | 

tirius,      there is not much time nor enough parchment for explanation, but I was taken to the summer isles. it seems the osgrey’s struck some deal, but if my information is correct, they have paid for that. i am now aboard an arbor ship and awaiting return to the reach. i managed to convince them of who i am. we should be docking soon. i fear at any moment they will be rid of me. if there is any part of you that believes it is me, send word for them to wait until you have confirmed yourself if it is i.       tekrar buluşana kadar (until we meet again).       your brother, mathis.

[casimirtully]

location: highgarden, the reach. setting: a stable not far from the main gate. after the storm and the burning of the river market, mere hours before the riverlands households depart from the reach. king casimir tully spots the once deceased mathis rowan. @ofgoldengrove

and he all but threw himself off the litter as they carried him from the castle towards the gate where the riverlands households would depart, to the waiting carriage. he'd wanted to leave immediately, on horseback, with his small council -- to see what devastation had been wrought upon the trident's mighty banks first hand. but the maesters had all but shoved him back into the bed, given him milk of the poppy to calm his feverish impulses. he was in no shape for travel, let alone to ride -- but they'd been unable to convince the river king otherwise.

he'd heard the rumors, that cedric's former hand had returned alive. mathis had been his friend, too -- they'd been boys together. but as his eyes landed on the lord of golden grove, the joy of his return was nearly forgotten as the words rang in his head. "it was mathis. in… in dorne." the same feeling returned, once more, and casimir was pushing himself off of the platform and onto solid ground as the other man walked into the stables.

his wounds scream. air hisses through his teeth, and he snaps for the men to leave him. they do, startled by his tempered behavior. every step is another bloom of pain, another gasp of breath, another wince, another series of stabs and heat all over his right side. but when he follows mathis, across the courtyard and into the stable, riverish gaze seething -- the pain seems to leach away. adrenaline shoots through him, as rageful as the trident, and takes it away. his staggered pace finds footing, and soon, he is all but thundering into the stable.

"fraochÚn sráide cúil!" casimir's voice is a bellow from the stable doors, and then he is on him. despite the injuries to his right arm, it is rearing back, then swigging forward at an unstoppable pace.

there is a crack, and there is blood; his fist collides squarely across mathis rowan's nose.

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: the halls of standfast, mathis' new keep as his elder brother introduces him to what will be his home and lands ; starter for @tiriusrowan

it seemed like things had come full circle in this very moment, reality momentarily caving on itself as the second son of goldengrove stood in the same room in which the osgrey's had ultimately betrayed him. it had been their greatest mistake, for they were no more, and here again stood mathis of goldengrove. the lord had much time to ponder and heal as much as he could before making the journey here. it was time, however, to take the next step into whatever the future held for him. the room was grand, beautiful, but he knew there would be much work to be had in order to make it feel more his own. that would be the first thing he would insist be taken care of whilst he was on leave to dorne with the rest of the reach court.

the thought itself was strange, knowing he were now responsible for the very ground beneath his feet. of course, it were under the watchful eye of his elder brother. he knew tirius would not allow him to fail, only mathis did not want the elder lord to feel as if he would need to watch him so closely. despite not having as much experience in this particular role, he felt ready and up for the responsibility.

turning to his brother, who stood quietly nearby, the second son broke the silence of the moment. "i suppose i could get used to it." he stated simply, a dry humor to his tone and a characteristic smile appearing on his lips. he walked towards tirius now, exhaling. "it's not as difficult as i imagined it, being here again." he admitted, aloud, something that felt entirely therapeutic. "does this mean i get to ward one of my nephews, now?"

[omerflorent]

| omer florent goes to the arbor for a reason | | @ofgoldengrove​ |

When word arrived from Tirius of the possible Rowan on their ships he made the choice to leave for the Arbor. He didn't want his wife traveling such a long distance, she was pregnant and there was unrest in their waters. He would spend the rest of his days on a tear should something happen to her. No. This was important. The matter was one of security. Either Mathis Rowan was alive or someone was playing a game with them. A stranger would write Mathis' family over writing Cedric, of course, they would assume he was close to his brother and Lord. Then again, should someone be fool enough to write the King...too risky. Anyone could get it first. Tirius could open it before the King. Even Omer could decide it was better to open it. No. The only thing that gave him pause was knowing the person wrote in the tongue of his mother. They wrote the words of the Old Way. It was decided quickly. Go to the Arbor. And take the man claiming to be Mathis Rowan or bring Mathis Rowan home. Omer imagined he would be bringing Mathis Rowan home. He hoped, for the sake his King and Tirius and even his wife that the man they called a best friend and brother  lived.

And when the ship arrived, Omer blew smoke out of his nose, flicking the smoke away and towards the water. He ran his tongue over his lips and raised his hand to gesture for the armed men to step forward but still behind him. Omer's prosthetic hand was curled into a fist, his flesh one resting on the hilt of the sword. It felt like it took forever and then it did not. They walked around someone, they surrounded him. It gave away nothing. Omer stepped forward. "By order of your High Commander speaking with the voice of your king step aside. Show him to me."

Mathis Rowan.

They were not friends. Not in the way they may have been as boys, People grow apart. They become men in different ways. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel something at the view of the other standing in front of him . There was a horror in being held as a prisoner, in being held captive by men who would beat on your, blood let you . Omer knew the feeling of cold still links holding him in place. Knew the feel of leather ripping flesh from his back. And he wondered if Mathis had the same thoughts he did when in the North. Death would be better than to live through it each day. It was better than never knowing when you would wake or how or if...it was always the if.

"Lord Rowan, welcome back to the Arbor. Come. We'll go to the Rookery first and then you'll have a bath and dinner. We'll leave for Highgarden in the morning." He put his hand out to him.

"Welcome home, Mathis."

[inlovewithquotes]

"Mathis Rowan is sensible, prudent, well liked," her uncle went on, oblivious. "Randyll Tarly is the finest soldier in the realm. A poor Hand of peacetime, but with Tywin dead there's no better man to finish this war. Lord Tyrell cannot take offense if you choose one of his own bannermen as Hand. Both Tarly and Rowan are able men....and loyal. Name either one, and you make him yours. You strengthen yourself and weaken Highgarden, yet Mace will likely thank you for it." He gave shrug. "That is my counsel, take it or no. You make Moon Boy your Hand for all I care. My brother is dead, woman. I am going to take him home."

Traitor, she thought. Turncloak. She wondered how much Mace Tyrell had given him. "You would abandon your king when he needs you most," she told him. "You would abandon Tommen."

"Tommen has his mother." Ser Kevan's green eyes met her own, unblinking. A last drop of wine trembled wet and red beneath his chin, and finally fell. "Aye," he added softly, after a pause, "and his father too, I think."

-A Feast For Crows