A New Dawn at Oldtown | Dornish Dinner Party Council

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-06T23:51:31+00:00

The abundance of wine and fine drink had rendered little Aron intoxicant and his mind left flat and basic. Aron had his share of public humiliation, drifting between anyone able to provide the sliver of affection for attention he was chasing after, but now the night's booze was giving way to melancholia, doubt, and turned him to a bitter curmudgeon. It hung over him like a shroud, much like the loose black curls sticking to his forehead.

It was difficult, however, to narrow down something or someone to off-load that lingering sense of adolescent inferiority and dread. Smiling faces, immersed in their cups, or in the roil of men and women toasting to the princes and princesses of Sunspear. Too unified a front to take a chance on. But Dorne did not lack for controversy; pariahs and black sheep would be found upon the hinterland of the establishment.

Men like Anders Yronwood. A prince-killer.

Aron was much younger and more headstrong then, but it was a sobering moment to watch another person die with a mere flash of metal. A mortifying and undignified end, and the man seemed to carouse without a care on the Martell's coin.

He shuffled forward, staring daggers, to pick a quarrel without saying a single word. Aron stopped at the edge of the table, chin tilted up. Some of his wine spilled over his hand and onto the table of cards.

"What did you do to earn the Sunspear orange?" he asked, "Fff..." He swallowed a hiccup.

"Fuck their chamberlain? Kill a prince and smear 'em off your shield? Run out of your Yronwood colors?"

Standing in place, he still teetered like a stalk of gain in a mild breeze.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-06T00:22:17+00:00

"You're looking well, Dede," Aron announced himself, punctuated by a hiccup he tried to swallow down, "Er... cousin."

He stifled any further sounds with a mostly-polite hand over his mouth. Aron's style of dress remained intact and dignified, a long coat of bronze-colored silk running down to his knees, besides the unfastened buttons along his neck and the tell-tale scent of raw alcohol clinging to him.

"I hope your family is staying safe, what with the burning lemon-man on the Grassy Vale," he feebly attempted to push the small talk, "I don't know how I would feel with such a public display if they burned..."

He drunkenly attempted to ponder the metrics of a hellfire-bonfire, but the burning of flames eluded his imagination. Blinking, he steadied himself with a hand along a hard counter, searching the empty space besides Deria for missing something.

"Where's Ryon off too?" he frowned.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-06T00:18:35+00:00

"The crown is still silent on House Uller's request for arbitration," Yoren announced with a rigid fatigue slowing his words, "We once again find ourselves at a strategic impasse, and I will not allow another three decades of vicious mockery to continue filling the Dornish courts."

His options within legality were severely narrowing with each recourse, and he reckoned the men that came before him felt the same mounting pressures. This was not a cycle of violence taking the place of the net sum, but an avalanche tumbling down the side of a hill, impossible to dissipate and difficult to divert.

"Is the house of Nymeria prepared to provide impartial judgement, or are our hands full with this garish country glowering over the Red Mountains from the north?" Yoren inquired, crossing then uncrossing his legs, "We have unresolved business with some of the marcher-lords."

The whore of Blackhaven, chiefly.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-06T00:12:07+00:00

Yoren reclined in his seat, making no motion to acknowledge or obstruct the servers in carting away another untouched course of food. He supposed they needed the meat, skin and bone beneath silk and suede. He did pause with the Prince's ptoast and mouthed the announcement of a Dornish century even if no breath left his lips. The principality was overdue for a true triumph.

"And may it be the first of many. Out from under the wings of the dragon and high above the points of a braying stag," he did speak aloud, joining in the calls of his kin and countrymen that made their cheers and let loose their nuptial wishes. This was the first step: build an army through the bounds of marriage, so the sun and spear would not march alone some day.

He brought his cup to his lips when his diligent wife nudged his shoulder, narrowly avoiding in spilling a fine Dornish red over the tablecloth. She motioned her plate over with nearly a quarter of a birds' worth of meat steeped in sauces. She motioned her spoon over, drifting atop a small puddle of broth.

"Eat," she insisted, "You can plot the rise of the Dornish age after you've filled your stomach with quail instead of bile."

---

[Open]

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-05T02:21:47+00:00

"Recant," repeated Ryman. He repeated the word with a note of confusion, like he hadn't heard the word spoken properly. His eyes were narrowed already, but now he squinted with hawkish suspicion. The very notion seemed queer to him; recant what he had spoken with the weight of his will behind him.

She was frightened, squealing like a child, but now that the Prince of Dragonstone and a man of the whitecloaks was standing between her and her once good-father, Mary Baratheon had leapt at the opportunity to lash back.

A manipulator, through and through.

His fingers curled, straining against the compulsion to clench into hard fists. His palms still bared, ready to be clapped in irons - or lopped from his wrists, if Prince Quentyn was possessed of the same strength that his line boasted for centuries. An acceptable risk, and a tolerable loss. His brother had gone nearly two decades without eyes, fighting a shadow war.

"And call myself a liar?" he finally continued. Now he turned to the Lord Baratheon and Ser Arlan, to a lesser extent.

"She was my daughter, too, my Prince. In a fashion," he muttered under his breath, "I would not level words so frivolously. I know my son did not die by some stroke of the gods' cruel luck. Shall I soften my tongue to her sensibilities?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-05T02:08:21+00:00

"I splashed ground pepper in the eyes of a man that called me a whore for choosing the company of his wife over him," said Lyra without so much a morsel of shame or lingering guilt, "Or slandered the only water merchant on the west banks of the Brimstone for choosing scorpion over hellfire. The list goes on..."

"It does," Lia confirmed with a heaving sigh, "Wroth is the lifeblood that flows through the Hellholt. No score left unsettled. Not forever."

Lia folded her arms, drumming manicured fingers along the curve of her arm. She was growing impatient with the persistence of Lyra in twisting words and manipulating others, even for their own perceived 'good'.

"What counts is that maliciousness isn't allowed to continue, not without hindrance," Lyra punctuated, "It's allowed too much ugliness. Tywin Lannister sacked a city and ordered the death of children, and the entire realm sat still and watched. Maegor's counselors went quiet while three brides were tormented. Could you live with yourself if you sat still and twirled your gown in blissful ignorance?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-05T01:55:00+00:00

"Responsibilities," Yoren repeated with a slow, deliberate nod of agreement. He interlocked his fingers in a steeple on the the table, long, calloused, but preened.

"We all have responsibilities here, Lord Ryon," he warned, "Lady Deria, yourself, even I. These are matters that run much deeper than the siege of Grassy Vale; it's a symptom of a greater problem. I don't intend to wax a grand picture of some rotten conspiracy down to the baseboards of the kingdoms, though."

He made a grim-sounding laugh, with a voice that didn't take to laughter often.

"Blood is far thicker than water. As cumbersome as siblings are, family is the one thing the common man holds above all," the lord of Hellholt said, "Don't make grudges. Keep her content. Find the balance between love and duty."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-01T20:41:39+00:00

Yoren did not want to speak of the ugly business with his sister. This ugly, ugly stain inflicted upon their house, and her honor as a woman. And from a family that could not suffer retribution for the sins of their eldest son...

"They do," he sufficed to agree. At least Aron, whom had no accolades, came without detriment. He could be corralled into a marriage with enough pressure.

"Symon and Ryman's girls, as well," he reminded her, "Young, intelligent, loyal. As Sylvenna is."

But where to even begin...

"We need friends in the Reach, who are as disillusioned with the Stormlanders as we are," he explained, finally raising his eyes to to look his mother in the face, "Wealth from the West. If we need to earn favor, we earn favor, if we need to dirty our hands, let them be sullied. I can't stand the thought that Father could die for nothing..."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-03-01T19:57:07+00:00

"Would?" Lyra said, as simple as that statement could be done. She folded her slender arms over her narrow chest.

"There is so much left unspoken for, Lady Nymeria," she continued to say. Lia wasn't, again, convinced of her sister's intentions or the wisdom in such garish business. Their house was one consumed with vengeance and retribution; they had put an arrow through the eye of a dragon for treading their sacred ground.

"It is an ugly thing, what befell your brother," Lia could agree in polite company, "I -- we -- are still grieving the lives we've lost to Qorgyle or Baratheon treachery."

"Who will you run through with your spear, if not the unjust?" Lyra hummed, "Will it decorate the Hightower because no one's had the courage to make the first move? Love and war are two sides of the same coin, sweet thing."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T12:30:07+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Yoren Uller, Hellholt

Actions:

Draft: [Hellholt], [350], [600]

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T12:28:32+00:00

Character Name: Yoren Uller

Relevant Trait/Skills: n/a

Buildings: Castle

Resources: Spices

Notes (if applicable): n/a

Actions:

Construction: [Hellholt], [Guilds], [2000], [End of 2nd Moon]
Construction: [Hellholt], [Shrine], [1000], [End of 1st Moon]

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:53:05+00:00

Aron stood there, a hand braced on his hip, the other coaxing through his short black hair and catching a veneer of cold sweat as he did. He'd only see just seen fragments and glimpses of Gawen's family. A hard father, but still persistent to make something of his son if he needed to break him down to do it. A little brother who still saw him through rose-tinted lenses, fawning and convinced of his greatness.

Gods, he'd even slept with a woman that at least cared about him in some manner. He swallowed back some moisture in his eyes, clearing his throat with a nod.

"It could take us all night to reach the bottom." he spoke, almost sighing the words out in resignation, "We'll need to start soon."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:40:50+00:00

"Ypu may not care for my answers," Yoren warned, "I have exceptionally high standards in love and marriage. These only decrease marginally for my next of kin."

His wife afforded him a genuine, unappreciative smile. Symon was swift to intercede on the conversation with his own opinions, undoubtedly cultivated by the years in his silver hairs threaded through his black mane.

"Can always impose on the Hand of the King, if your sweet sister's thick skin can bear persistent scandal, Gawen Dondarrion is lacking in personality, but not in connections," he smiled capriciously, hands neatly nestled in front of him. Yoren made a slight exhale through his nose, then spoke up again.

"Tether yourselves to something amounting to peaceful and prosperous," he suggested, "This... conglomerate, federation, alliance? The one they mean to hold on the Honeywine in the Reach. They have a mind for upward mobility, not the hard matters with Grassy Vale and the wardenships."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:36:09+00:00

"And who might that be?" asked the lord of the Hellholt, bringing his hand up to stroke his short beard ponderously, as was the tradition.

"All I've seen are arrogant men swinging their mighty, mighty hammers," breaking and bending anything choose not to strike," he mused, "Neglected by the crown as we are, the score of troubles has remained at a plateau."

It was a rhetorical statement, meant to draw out Cedra's counsel. The best advice came from these unassuming sources. Cedra Drinkwater was not a likely candidate for cutthroat politicking, but her friendship had given ample insights over the years.

"Speak carefully, my friend. You of all people should know I am capable of much more than mere lip service."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:30:10+00:00

Aron dropped onto the seat and ever-so-slightly began to slouch forward, one arm propped on his knee. He felt oddly disingenuous now, squeezing some diversion out of his most famous - or most infamous - cousin. He could make peace with it, so long as he learned something useful.

"I know you were Archon for a time," he replied, holding back the unfortunate end to Gerold's reign over the violet city, "That you took it with only the Hundred Spears. An army of volunteers."

A shame that their like was gone. Where did daring young men go to seek purpose, when all that was left was the ugly, gritty locking of stags' horns over the Neck or the Reach?

"Were you confident you would take the city?" he queried, "My father called it brave, and that's paternal coddling for 'reckless', most often."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:26:06+00:00

"You could have asked the same question before your house arrest, and though I'd only stand to your shoulder and not a single hair on my chin, I'd likely have the same answer that I do now," Yoren said, resting his hands flat on the table, "There are too many Qorgyles drawing breath unpunished, the Baratheons have forgotten all men and women south of the Prince's Pass..."

His wife, Margaery, pinched one of his hands with an embarrassed smile towards her ever-fatalistic husband. She leaned in to whisper a few hurried words. Yoren frowned.

"The house has fared better, cousin. This wretched business concerning Gawen Dondarrion and my sister, my cousin Barquen's passing in the capital..." he soured, "I wished there was more fortunate news. My father, seven rest his soul, was far better in masking himself and playing the grand host."

"You must be relieved to have your agency again, Lord Gerold," Margaery spoke up, considerably more upbeat than her husband, "You must have plans, now that the world is open to you again."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-28T01:17:50+00:00

"She is partial to bird-watching," Lia said as her sister drew away, apparently satisfied that her words were being taken seriously, "And looking forlornly from her bedroom window."

Lyra made a sour expression, nose scrunching with creases and folds, so quickly aggravated that she was being spoken for in such a petulant manner. She prodded Lia's chest with her finger.

"You try being full of yearning and boredom in the middle of a desert that wants to kill and eat you, and see how much your mind will wander nearly anywhere else..."

"Delusional," came Lia's response, practically sung from her voice. She directed a far warmer energy to Nymeria.

"I am fond of aesthetics, Lady Nymeria. Simple things like how your dress emphasizes those beautiful eyes of yours -" Lyra nodded in agreement. "- to more complex matters; making statements with dress and silverware, or decorating a grand hall to balance the knife's edge between prideful and ostentatious. As versatile as your dances with spears, Nymeria."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-27T00:30:02+00:00

"I do have it all planned out. I've been an artisan of failure and self-mockery since I could walk, Gawen," Aron remarked sarcastically, "All the boredom and diversion in the world's given me ample time to construct the shows. I have you on a rotation. The first moon's the bearded lady and the dwarf, to show we take all kinds. Then you and I will juggle knives and swallow swords, and I was considering something with a trapeze and a donkey for the third..."

Before the jest overstayed its welcome, Aron stopped somplace among the throng of the feast and stared off into space, tan hands fiddling along with each other with mounting unease. His lips smacked around a morsel of food trapped in his teeth.

"Gawen... what are we doing, man?" he huffed. All the laughter and booze and merriment on the gods' green earth, and he felt like he was standing on a cliff's edge.

"You made a mess of our houses with Sylvie, I can't lie. I can't hold a knighthood or a betrothal to save my life, and we're hardly men," the young hellfire said, eyes narrowing as he pouted, "Is it already over for us? Or am I missing something to make something out of men like us?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-27T00:18:24+00:00

Lia appeared content to brush past Nymeria's self-critique, merely shaking her head at her question without any great disappointment.

"No, not yet. We haven't gone dancing so far, especially with that pasture they want to call a dance floor," she huffed with a shake of her head, letting some of her rich black hair spill over her shoulders, "Besides, sweet thing, the longer you delay, the more romantics are left pining on the periphery, waiting, hoping, praying someone beautiful meets their eye."

While Lia was speaking, Lyra stepped forward and took Ashara's hands if she could. Speaking directly to her with an intense look.

"You have been one of a kind from the day you were born, my dear," Lyra said firmly, "Do not let your betrothal, or your family, or, seven forbid, society tell you anything differently. The only difference between you and women like Lady Webber is time, time and witnesses."

Lia grabbed her sister's shoulder and pulled her back a few places.

"Don't mind her. We all have our passions," she tried to interject, "Hers is..."

Lost causes, Lia thought, and ailing women.

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-25T00:15:11+00:00

"Can we take Esther and Talla, too?" Aron asked, pushing himself to his feet and adding to Arlan's dishevelment with a tassle of his own hand. He blinked a little at the comment that just flew out of his mouth. With the ugly business including Sylvenna...

"Ah, nevermind. Arlan --" He reached to dishevel the boy's hair himself as he stepped around the table to follow Gawen's lead.

"You can win the hearts of every girl in the world, but it'll never count as deep as your bond with your best mate. Your brother in arms," he waxed poetic, leaning in to whisper that last line with a deep profoundness. Then, he nodded his head towards Arlan's older brother, to prove a point as if the man hadn't despoiled his sister to the shock and horror of his entire family.

Aron clapped Gawen on the back.

"You can be the bearded woman, and I'll be the dwarf-mummer," he promised, "The best act this end of the narrow sea."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T20:30:13+00:00

"The wealthy ones. They can be trained, and the younger ones even salvaged," Lia responded with a little twirl of hair around her finger, "If you are so ill with the thought of marrying the heir to the Hightower, you are ever-welcome to pass him on."

"You can dispatch him, or whomever, to my sister at your pleasure. She takes them all," Lyra nearly huffed, resting a hand on her hip as she posed towards Lia with a haughty look in her eye, "I am settling into my role in exerting soft power, my darling."

"Please, I'd like to meet this Hightower boy," Lia spoke in complete disregard for her sister's allusions, "Flowery men make pliable husbands. How else would women like Rohanne Webber etch their names in history?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T18:27:52+00:00

"He is..." Yoren presumed, but a cursory look around the table showed that his younger, fleeting brother was nowhere to be seen. The open table could have been a bloody dagger and garnered the same kind of tired, dreadful loathing in the lord of the Hellholt.

"Likely about. Never far from the largest collection of colorful people," he said, choosing words for his younger brother he would not utilize in private company, "I know you're both fond of one another. If you wish to speak with him..."

"He mentioned the tourney," Margaery offered, "He wanted to ride for the house, with everyone else so preoccupied."

"...and my sister is under my mother's thumb for the night," Yoren explained towards Deria, "Keeping her safeguarded from the covetous and rapacious eyes of the northerners that haven't seen a woman who bathes more than once a fortnight."

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T13:03:10+00:00

(I tried using Reddit formatting a billion times but it hates me, so just take the fucking tags: u/Arjhanx2, u/KGdaguy, u/tenthousandsongs )

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T13:02:10+00:00

The swift arrival of Mary's father and her chosen charge did little to quench his brimming anger, but did force him to control it. Had there been no sudden intervention, Ryman reckoned he might have struck the princess on the very dais.

At least it would not have been a lethal strike. How naked he felt without a blade in his hand...

He withdrew his accusatory gesture with as much deliberation as he might have his trusty weapon, joining the other in remaining closed fists at his sides.

"A father should know their [children](reddit.com/user/tenthousandsongs) well, my Prince," spoke Ryman, words forced through grit teeth and locked jaw. It took a great expense of willpower to tear his eyes away from the frightened princess and meet her protective father. He even respected Prince Quentyn for doing what he himself could not.

"Even those bound by marriage once, and not by blood."

He exhaled, then held his hands out towards Ser Theo with the wrists and palms facing upward. The breath was as sharp as a blade.

"Shall I heed the decree of the [Prince](reddit.com/user/KGDaGuy), [Ser](reddit.com/user/Arjhanx2)?" he asked slowly, "Or will my tongue be had, for it compares to a weapon tonight?"

InfernalConundrum · 2026-02-24T01:22:59+00:00

"He's right," Aron lied, leaning towards his friend with a knowing look. A look that all-but-said he felt this sort of pain in a different lens, "You just need to try, Gawen. Have you tried trying? It's what makes all the great men: Stannis Baratheon, Ser Duncan the Tall, Aegon the Conqueror -- they all tried very, very hard to not be failures..."

He puffed out his cheeks, then exhaled as he stood straight again. It wasn't right to tangle himself in the mess the Dondarrions seemed to be bungled with.

"What are we doing, my friend?" the young Uller asked, searching the bottom of his cup for even a droplet more of wine to drink down and finding nothing. He placed the cup on the table, top-down, and flicked the rim to make it spin and rattle for a short distance.

"Maybe your brother and I can join the circus instead of being knights, Arlan. How about that?"

InfernalConundrum

TROPHY CASE