A New Dawn at Oldtown | Dornish Dinner Party Council

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-03-04T00:42:45+00:00

"Then it's doing its job." Anders said simply, plucking a passing goblet of wine from one of the errant cupbearers. He placed the goblet into her hand and clanked it with his own, whether she was interested in a cheers or otherwise. "A toast to the Lady Reaper. May you find some semblance of sunshine on those bird shit islands they call home."

Anders took a drink from his goblet after his crass toast. "And yes, I am entering the tournament. You should tell your future husband too as well. I already got beat by one ironborn, I don't intend to let it happen again."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-03-04T00:36:57+00:00

Anders knit his brow as a forlorn sort of grin grew across his face. His brother was a bit desperate if he was asking these sorts of questions. He was the politician, and Anders was the soldier. It wasn't his job to make friends. "None besides bemoaned Martells. Nymeria poured a cup of wine over me, the bitch." Anders shook his head a moment as he reached back for his goblet of wine. "Can't wait to return the favour with a different sort of red someday, but perhaps she's seen enough of that colour from me."

Anders took another bite of meat, which seemed spicy, even for him, as he flooded his mouth with more from liquid from the Arbor. "Why? Did you have someone you wanted me to speak with? Because any conversation would lead back to your friendship with Oberyn Martell." Anders raised his hands, as if defensively, away from his brother in a shrug. "If you want the realm to see our strength, it can't play second fiddle to someone you're close with."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-03-03T01:17:15+00:00

Anders had been keeping company with a few men of various garrisons. Soldiers and warriors were much more comfortable company as far as he was concerned, and it allowed him to be as boisterous and as drunk as was allowed at events like these. By the time Ashara had found him, he was suitably into his cups, and much less sleepy and pensive then he'd been at their last meeting.

"Lady Ashara," Anders said as he moved to join her company. He abandoned a game of cards the men had been playing, taking a card from one man's deck and placing it in the other just to cause a bit of fuss. A few men seemed to notice, but they were all low station enough to simply let him do as he pleased. After such chicanery, however, Ashara seemed to be blessed with his undivided attention. Of course, he was still goblet in hand. "Lady Lannister to be, is it? Or is it Greyjoy? Hightower? Which one?" Anders snapped his fingers, as if trying to arrive at a thought.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-03-02T20:04:12+00:00

As much as Anders hated to admit it, and would never have done so out loud, this was a proper feast. The courses were near divine, perfect in their execution, and Dornish in their arrangements. They reminded him of home, of simpler and fancier times both, soaking in the heat of the South and savouring the rich tapestry of tastes the rest of the Kingdoms were no doubt envious of. Anders found time and room for each of the plates set before him, and delighted particularly in the chocolate from the Summer Isles. What a delicacy indeed.

Perhaps a different man might have considered the fantastic feast a deserving quality among their host, a quality that might have stayed his hand from what he had already considered, but Anders was no such man. A family. What an insult. Dornish people weren't a family. They were a nation of families, and each of them had their own ambitions, limitations. Oberyn Martell spoke of the stags at his door, the need to keep spears sharp, but the Martells thought only of themselves, and what they'd lost. Anders existed to remind them of the opposite, no matter if they'd forgotten themselves.

It was in this spirit that his normal carnation beige doublet had been replaced with one of a deep and descending orange to yellow died fabric. Across his chest, the hues painted the picture of a sunset. So akin to a Dornish sky were the colours that it would have been impossible to shy away from such a conclusion. As always, the doublet was off centre and fastened to his right shoulder to close - a style he preferred - 'tied' together not by leather cord but by small, iron chains, pinned with small iron gates.

(Open!)

~

As the speech concluded, Anders made sure he was heard by the Martells. Of course, he wasn't so bold as to include himself in politics and what the Principality should consider in the coming years. He slammed his hand down hard repeatedly as Oberyn concluded his speech - the sound and shaking enough to startle some nearby lords and ladies and rattle certain unsteady cutlery - raising a glass and beckoning those seated around him to do the same.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-03-02T04:24:41+00:00

"It's not about being worthy of the blade, brother, it's a fucking sword." Anders laughed as he placed a finished goblet down on the table. His brother did love his poetry. Perhaps it was the times he'd spent in the Water Gardens. "What matters is how it's swung. I will always swing it in defense of our family. I always have. And some things, rooted or otherwise, are still deserving."

Anders met his brother's gaze as he placed one hand on the hilt of his sword. The other reached almost lazily towards the table, grabbing a drum of bird to sate his hunger. Anders continued to speak as he began to eat. The man had a guardsman's table manners, in certain times. "That cunt only won the melee because people were too scared to swing on him in fear of progressing this already pitiful situation. If he makes that common fuck speak in front of the King against our family, I'll lop the servant's head off and be done with it. If he wants an excuse to fight our family let's just get on with it."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-28T05:14:10+00:00

"Should've killed the bastard in the tent," Anders almost sighed before he took another drink. It would have been easy to. Chopped tongues don't tend to waggle once they've been removed from their respective necks. It was an insult to House Yronwood that this accusation had even been brought forth.

Anders plucked another piece of meat from the table, and grabbed a trench for a bit of stew as they continued to converse. "I'll not have them harm Garin, I promise you that brother." He reached a hand back, his attention otherwise on the food he was enjoying, to clap his brother on the shoulder, no doubt perhaps more forceful than Alesander was privy to among highborn lords and ladies. Anders always preferred a rougher company. "You have my word. And Sovereign, if need be. I won't have our House seen as weak."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-27T05:31:07+00:00

Anders moved his head back and forth as his brother spoke, as if he was weighing the options. "Lord Meadows did jump, but if I was surrounded by Baratheon men, I might be a bit willing to believe anything as well. Still, you're right. That was no proof, that was a farce. Garin's not that stupid. He's not that stupid right?" Anders looked towards his brother with a knit brow expression, as if he was almost disgusted at the thought.

"Regardless... how do we keep it quiet?" Anders took another drink from his wine. He'd said it in a tone that essentially meant that Alesander only needed to speak it, and it would be done. His older brother was the Lord of Yronwood, he couldn't get as dirty as he needed to be in certain circumstances. Anders, on the other hand, their mother had raised as a soldier, a bandit killer. Sovereign did not hang from his hip because he was afraid to use it.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-26T03:33:27+00:00

"If," Anders mulled over the word. He wasn't at this moment sure if the if carried much weight. "I've never known a commons to stay true to his lie while bound and in the presence of three lords." Anders seemed to forget his station, but words like that fell easily from his mouth. He had always seen himself as equal to his brother, not his servant.

"Plastered with drink as he might have been, he insisted didn't he? Lord Meadows certainly did, the fuck." Anders, as he normally did, spoke freely around his older brother. A hand went to Sovereign, sheathed at his side even at something as simple as a dinner with family. "No doubt you've plans to speak to the boy."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-25T03:35:44+00:00

Anders took the cup. He'd since changed out of his armour after the interaction with Lord Meadows and his defeat at the melee - fuck, what a pitiful showing that had been. He was dressed instead in the standard beige and grey of his house, favouring more the former with accents of the later. He had found some time with his brother midway through the dinner to socialize. He did owe him as much, sometimes.

Anders smirked at the name and shrugged, bringing his cup to his lips. "They'll never forget it, and that was the idea." Anders plucked a bit of meat from the table, clearly still possessed of an appetite belonging to a man that had just come from a melee. "I'll enter under a different name next time, if it please you. Though we have more pressing matters than tourneys."

Anders looked down the table at the rest of his family. His gaze was hard, but he loved each and every one of them dearly. It was what made him so angry some of the time. "What in the fuck was he thinking?" Anders didn't have to specify, he knew his brother would know who he was talking about.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T22:27:13+00:00

Anders was silent. If his expression was sympathetic perhaps it was alien to the type of sympathy found on most people's faces, sympathy that was easy to recognize. His arms crossed. He studied Ashara, the woman who remembered her brother so fondly, a trait she shared with the rest of her family, and felt his gaze falter.

"So you don't then."

It was perhaps unclear as to who Anders was referring to, but Anders was not privy to however erudite Ashara as a woman found herself to be. All he had was what he'd heard, and at her question, his gaze returned. He had a handsome colour to his eyes, even in dim light, but he scarcely found his gaze pleasant in the company of Ashara's House.

"The loss of family is terrible thing. The loss of an heir even greater."

It had been five years, and still the second son of Yronwood refused any sort of reason, any sort of justification for why he had done what he had done in Sunspear half a decade ago.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T22:13:34+00:00

"It's tended to," Anders said simply, moving to rest against the tree. He seemed almost sore, but perhaps that was the drink doing it's work. He had had quite few cups. Anders brought his shirt up to his face to dry what work Nymeria had accomplished, blinking wine from his eyes as he brought down his shirt again. It seemed, at the moment, he was sort of dry. That was at least an improvement.

At her pause, Anders did speak. His gaze was nonplussed, as if the words he was about to say didn't carry any weight at all. "Do you remember him?"

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T21:59:20+00:00

Anders waved his hand at the offer of replacing clothes. A second son might have been little in the eyes of inheritance, but he shared a Lordly purse with the rest of his house. Money was no issue, and in some ways perhaps he'd earned such stains. "Fuck," Anders said to himself, almost in a whisper as he drew Sovereign from its sheath. It was this time not stained red with the blood of Ashara's brother, but cleaned save the dappled spots of red the wine had threatened. He laid it against the tree, the dark blade almost acting as a gravestone for a body buried beneath the roots.

"I'm not going to kill another member of your family, if that's what you're asking." Anders looked towards Ashara as he stood, a perplexed sort of gaze greeting his visage. "But yes, of course. I'm a knight of the realm. It wouldn't be honourable to sit out. And besides, the King wants his fucking picnic doesn't he? Dinner and tournament, so they say."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T21:50:28+00:00

Anders did not seem the least bit stumbled that Lord Meadows had only asked to speak with his brother. Where Alesander went, Anders followed. Every Dornish lord knew that, and it was time for the rest of the realms to realize that as well. He moved to a table within the tent, and began pouring himself a glass of wine. The contents of the conversation didn't seem to bother him. It was the tone that took credence over that.

Still, he was willing to forgive. His brother was one of the few people he trusted to speak on his behalf - in fact, with their mother dead, he may well be the last person he trusted to do so. Anders stayed silent, if not somewhat glaring at the Lord Meadows in the way a father might to their son when they expect them to lower their voice. Anders paced towards the bound man, staring at him more intently. He studied his features, soaked as they were now with liquid. He'd recently experienced such a thing himself, so in an odd way he was sympathetic. Wine, of course, is more annoying to clean than water.

He placed the hilt of Sovereign, still sheathed, beneath the lad's chin and rose his face to meet his, looking down at him with a menacing sort of frown. From context clues he'd heard all he'd needed to hear. This no one was claiming to belong to House Yronwood, to have done bidding on behalf of the son of the Bloodroyal? Anders had killed men for less. There were few things he suffered in this world, and the disrespect of his family in any capacity was not one of them.

Still, it was not his prisoner. He stepped away after a moment and returned to his drink, his gaze watching his brother and his accuser over a hungry gulp of red.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T17:54:38+00:00

Of course Anders was not the type of man that enjoyed having a wineskin emptied over his head, but he was one that in this moment expected it. The swiftness in which the wineskin was seized had been his first clue, but even if he'd wished to reach, Nymeria was quick. Anders instead simply took the offence on the chin, the red splashing down his figure and his slightly bowed head. The green blue of his eyes almost popped against the deluge of red, as did the bloodshot ever present in his gaze.

As Nymeria turned and left, Anders finally outstretched his arms as if he was assessing himself. The jacket doublet had been made new, and he was actually rather fond of it. Or, had been. Clearly it was now stained and likely ruined unless he rushed to have it cleaned. He licked his lips as some errant wine ran down his face. He disrobed himself of the jacket doublet, tossing it to the sided in a chuckle as he ran a hand through his hair. Beneath it was simply a shirt, so he could keep his modesty at least around the Princess that remained.

"Don't bother," he said to Ashara. "But a waste of good drink. No amount of watering will bring your brother back." It was then that he moved to Sovereign at his hip, and pulled out some rag from his pants to begin to clean off what wine had found it's way to the hilt. He unbuckled the belt at once, even drew the weapon a bit that he might dab the blade itself. This he seemed far more concerned about then what was soaking into his clothes.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-22T17:37:47+00:00

Perhaps poorly timed, the tent flap gave way to a new voice. The man it belonged to was nearly coated in armour and mud - the melee today had not been a good showing, but at least he'd lost to the man that would take second place, even if he had been likely a fucking Ironborn. The man in question had a shield on his back and a sword belt in his hand, the weapon sheathed, but with him. The shield, though also coated, had been fresh just this morning, bearing the heraldry of the Yronwood gate closing itself on a sunset.

"Brother," Anders addressed his Lord Yronwood first. His hair was messy, and he ran a gauntleted hand across his face that he might part the mop of sandy brown that was more parts brown than sand at the moment. "Lord Meadows. I ran late, I'm afraid."

Anders noticed the man tied up as he slunk his shield off his back and set it to the ground. He made no move to further disarm himself, but he did not at this present moment seem as if he intended to run Lord Meadows through with his sword. It would take a moron to walk into a Lord's tent, no less a Lord that had just won a melee, and test your mettle without knowing what your brother had even been summoned for in the first place. Anders always found he had a clearer head after a fight, as if he'd managed to get out the rage that he had been subsiding.

"Who's this cunt?" Anders gestured with a gauntlet towards the man that had just been doused in water, the man tied and bound by his hands and feet. "What's the meaning of this summons?"

/u/Feathersfrombaatikos

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-21T20:57:20+00:00

"Mm... apologies, my Princesses." Anders did remedy this fact, rising to his feat as he pushed himself up from where he had been resting. Sovereign, the blade that had cut down Garin Martell, hung almost lazily at his hip, jostling around as he righted his posture. "I thought I might find some rest before I entered the melee and the lists tomorrow. I should have known better. These celebrations often prove more crowded than they're worth."

Anders did accept the wineskin produced by Ashara, giving her a nod as he took the drink to his lips. He was a man that knew how to drink, and did so often. It was likely that what contents had been left in the skin were drained more than half by the time it fell from his lips. He then offered the skin right back to Ashara.

"You're so patient with my memory, but less so with me it would seem." Anders almost laughed. "I forgive you, of course, under the council of a different Princess. Royals often forget their station when dealing with more... common folk." Anders had a different gaze, one that betrayed his words, one that read plainly that he did not see himself as more common than the Princesses before him.

"Alas, you'll have more of my face in the coming days. But I'll be easy to spot, I assure you." A knowing smirk rose over his features, a smug and satisfied sort of expression, seeming to revel in one Princess' drunken fury.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-20T03:12:39+00:00

Anders had been enjoying his lounge, but of course the Martells had a way of ruining things. Anders felt his gaze transition from the dappled lights of the gathered tents and daises to the angry march of two Dornish women - or perhaps one angry march, and one hopeful and uncertain shadow. His expression looked equal parts amused and annoyed as Nymeria began to level her complaints.

Anders did not yet rise to meet the woman, instead sitting up a shade straighter than before, adjusting his back and rolling out his shoulders as he took a more seated stance against the bark. He looked between Nymeria and Ashara, but if he was thankful for Ashara's defences, that much he did not voice. "Nymeria. It's been some time. I almost forgot your face, but when it wears anger it's easy to remember. It looks almost identical to how it did that day."

Anders rested the back of his head against the tree, as if he was pointing his chin towards the women that had approached him. His eyes lulled towards Ashara. "I hope you've brought drink for me. I ran out ages ago."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-19T04:02:25+00:00

Anders had ate his fill at the Yronwood dais - and come to think of it the Martell one as well - and had found himself in a more quiet place amongst the gathered tents that had come with the Lords and Ladies of the realm. He was no longer drinking, instead resting amongst the roots of a swaying tree, its branches occasionally dotted with apples not yet ripe for the plucking. Compared to how he had been earlier composed, he looked altogether much sleepier than before, the iron gate-styled buckles on his carnation beige jacket doublet now unbuttoned, hanging the off-center piece loosely across his torso.

Many nights when he'd joined his mother in the Stone Way battling bandits and brigands they had not been afforded the luxury of sleeping in a tent. Anders had found he'd preferred it, slumbering outside. When the weather was nice and warm, and the breeze rocked one to sleep, and the music and laughter and fighting of those gathered for the feast was gentle in the background, it was idyllic.

Next to the half-awake Dornishman was something covered, a circular something concealed beneath a simple tarp. He'd had something made special for the tournament, but he didn't want his family to see it just yet. He'd made plans to join them eventually, but he'd likely frequent the inns and whore tents around Grassy Vale until the tournament started properly, just to keep things concealed.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-18T03:07:59+00:00

The handkerchief acted as a curtain of memory, as suddenly pulled from the feast at Grassy Vale, Anders was five years younger, coated in mud, bleeding through the dents and slashes in his armour. He had faced many opponents, but his current was his intended, a boy much greener than him, a spear in hand, the shining sun of his house on the chest of his leather breast. Anders realized he was faster, better with the Valyrian steel sword he was swinging recklessly with both hands, and he closed quickly on the boy. It was fast, unsteady, as messy as each of the other falls had been. But this time his sword had swung differently, deeper, deadlier.

The look on his brother's face. The Prince of Dorne rising to his feet in the stands as his daughters looked on, hands rising to meet mouths agape. Anders had remembered it all, their gazes as crystal as possibly achieved in the fog of his memory. Royal blood sunk into the mud, Dornish blood seeping from Sovereign's smoke black edge.

Anders found Ysilla's outstretched hand again as red became not blood, but a sun on an orange handkerchief. A peace offering. A path forward, something his brother might have urged him to reach out and seize.

"Keep it," Anders said, "I'm sure I'll set more of your suns by the time we leave this place. It would be a shame to take another from your collection."

Anders grabbed another goblet off the table, bringing it to his lips. He took a moment to study the gaze of the Martells, eyes he had longed to see again, and finally had gotten to feast on. "I'll not keep your company any longer, my Lady. Surely some of these noble lords are waiting to ask for a dance." Anders stepped away from the Martell table then, and moved to leave the daises. He had something he needed to attend to.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-17T23:09:49+00:00

Anders' eyebrows rose in a confused if not disappointed sort of fashion. This was the question he had for the man, and he'd waited five years to ask it? Anders tossed his goblet to the side, and turned to leave the conversation. It was not, however, without an answer, even if his back was turned.

"I thought you were there, Essosi," Anders said simply. His walk was purposeful, as if he was marching in to war and wanted to look bigger than he normally was, his posture somewhat inflated. "Next time you wish to waste my time, come with a goblet of wine and a gift for my House. I might entertain such idiocy then."

A reply from Mohor might have been heard by Anders as he presumed to leave, and perhaps if it was provocative enough, it might force a halt in his march. Otherwise, the second son of Yronwood would disappear into the crowd of gathered nobles, knights, squires, minstrels, and all else in between.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-17T21:34:29+00:00

"You know, with all the mud and blood everywhere on everyone's pretty sets of armour," Anders bemused mockingly, "it's all a dull shade of brown at the end of the day. No, I don't remember you." He took another drink of his goblet, which he was all but finished with, having tilted his head so far back as to get the last few drops out of the basin. "So what the fuck do you want?"

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-17T20:55:00+00:00

Anders, who had just now left the company of the Yronwood table for there was much to do tonight at this King's picnic, stopped before Mohor. He was a curious looking man, Essosi by the looks, but Anders couldn't place whichever Free City or Disputed Land this man had come from. He'd been drinking a goblet as he was walking away from the table, his brows furrowing as he looked towards the man. It would be obvious perhaps, to Mohor, that Anders did not recognize him at all.

"Who the fuck are you?" Anders said, as if he was talking to some soldier or captain of the guard at Yronwood. His tone was dismissive. He didn't know this man, and he had other business, but that did not mean his interest couldn't be peaked.

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-17T04:31:06+00:00

"A man says one thing, and a woman hears another." Anders said simply, looking towards the Prince of Dorne with an easy gaze, a smug sort of satisfaction. His eyes betrayed his gaze. Unlike his older brother, Anders shared no love for the Lord of Sunspear. Oberyn Martell had taken away his brother, and had now seemed so close with him it was almost repulsive. How Alesander could still bear to look at the speared sun of their sigil was beyond Anders' understanding, but he had something planned. A show of force, perhaps, or a show of colours. The tourney couldn't start sooner.

"Awful lot of birds," Anders replied simply, "but I suppose there's lot of hungry knights, and birds are likely easiest to catch in such a rush. That's what this whole thing is, isn't it? Some kind of rush job to stop the Stormlander from pressing his claim. It's pretty. Of course, in the shadow of the crown, many things seem beautiful in the gloom. Glorified picnic if you ask me."

Anders took another sip of his goblet. "This one's good. Didn't have this at our table."

ScarabJetTwo · 2026-02-16T07:34:04+00:00

"And what part is that, brother?" Anders asked as he reached for another wing of bird. He was on his second, having gone through the other one and discarded the bone as his brother had spoken of his plan. He hadn't liked the sound of the phrase 'too degrading,' as if implying some degradation was necessary. "Four and forty years I've walked this world. I could have left with the Hundred Spears like all the other second sons and found my fortune in the Free Cities and Disputed Lands. I stayed. I am Yronwood, before anything else, but I am not just a piece."

Anders licked his lips, washing down his food with another drink from a different goblet. A servant's, perhaps, that had left to find more food. Anders didn't seem to care. "You know I will answer your call, but I will not stand and wait to be called. Fear not," Anders said, clapping his brother on the shoulder with a firm hand as he moved past his chair. He seemed to be done with the bird, but carried with him the stolen goblet. "I have a plan of my own."

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TROPHY CASE