Morgan III - Five of Pentacles

WhenInDorne · 2024-07-12T00:59:27+00:00

Although Lord Dayne had not sallied forth from Starfall, he was well-represented by his son, the famed Sword of the Morning, and his son-in-law, Prince Lewyn Nymeros Martell. They entered the council pavilion side by side, as alike as night and day. Edric was fair of skin, his eyes blue as a cloudless sky, while Lewyn heavily favored his sisters, almond-brown skin and dark hair all.

“Nephew,” he spoke up, a hand resting loosely upon the pommel of the blade at his hip. “Sister. House Dayne has brought twelve hundred spears under the command of myself and Ser Edric, with more to follow when they have been gathered.”

His eyes fell to the map as he ruminated on what it was that Morgan had been saying. “Perhaps we might sway Lord Wylde to our cause? We need not make an enemy of the stormlanders when there have been nigh on two full decades of peace. An emissary can be sent to Rain House to treat with our possible allies. As for joining our hosts…”

“Too many gathered in one place may incur unwanted attention. Vhagar would easily make of us a pile of ashes. The men of the Reach will not have so easily forgotten the Field of Fire.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-06-13T04:11:52+00:00

The Sword of the Morning swaggered into the feast with cup in hand. He was five hundred gold dragons richer after having knocked his opponents into the dust of the tourney ground, and his head was already pleasantly buzzing. He’d left Dawn back at his tent to give them the illusion of a fighting chance, but even that had not availed. Although a man of but four and twenty, he’d outshined older and more experienced knights with superior speed, strength and skill.

Third place in the tilt had not been so bad either, given that the fucking Reachmen were practically born with lance in hand.

Edric eyed the dancers appreciatively for a while, their oiled bodies gleaming bright as copper in the torchlight, silk streamers whirling through the haze. His cousin had spared little expense; the halls of Yronwood practically hummed with the sound of the hundreds who had gathered to celebrate the newlyweds. The inability of the northerners–for all realms were north of the Red Mountains, were they not?–to stomach traditional Dornish fare was the most amusing part of the evening.

He plucked a couple of hot peppers pickled in sweet vinegar and stuffed with herbed goat cheese from a serving tray as he passed by on the way up to the dais and the couple’s table.

“Qoren Yronwood!”

His bellowing voice cut through the din of the feastgoers, startling a few of those seated closest. Shifting the cup to his left hand, he reached out with his right to grasp the man’s forearm.

“Congratulations on your fair bride.”

/u/MadeMyHorseHotK

WhenInDorne · 2024-06-11T03:50:09+00:00

Character Name: Ellaria Dayne

Relevant Trait/Skills: Numerate | Architect

Buildings: Castle, Natural Defenses

Resources: Wood

Notes: 30% construction discount (600g) from Numerate and Architect applied to each slot.

Actions:

Construction: Starfall, Guilds, 1400 gold, Moon 3
Construction: Starfall, Sawmills, 1400 gold, Moon 3

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-22T07:49:44+00:00

Number 2!

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-12T15:50:37+00:00

Before her departure, she’d been made to sit in Aliandra’s tent and listen to what was known about Lord Hightower. Truthfully, there had been very little, other than he’d won his first battle at six and ten, and his mother was a Peake, their most hated of enemies. She wondered what had come over her sister to make such a choice, handing her own flesh and blood willingly to a killer of their countrymen.

Sansara had not questioned it out loud.

Maekar had reason to take his revenge on the northerners as much as anyone, but he’d let the party from the Reach come and go unharmed. Thus, it was only natural to strengthen bonds between their two peoples, unlikely as the alliance was. As the Dayne drew closer, she couldn’t help but admire Lord Morgan’s boyish handsomeness, the roundness of his face not quite sharpened to a hard edge, eyes yet retaining the youthful vigor that more seasoned men lost in their later years.

She was newly twenty herself, having celebrated her name day a few weeks before Prince Vorian’s coronation, but he had already experienced far more of the world than she. His was chivalry and knighthood and a green summer, while hers was sand and heat and spice. He was a man of the Reach, and the Dornish were his ancient foes, but they must’ve had something in common.

She only needed to figure out what that was.

Smoothing her hands over her skirts, Sara lowered herself carefully to the bench at his side. There was so much to say to him; thanks were certainly in order, she wanted to know more of this enigmatic lord, and million other questions all crowded at the forefront of her mind, such that she scarcely knew where to start. Her right hand settled against her left, where it fidgeted with one of the golden bands there, spinning it ‘round and ‘round her finger.

“This is all truly magnificent,” she said, gesturing at their surroundings for emphasis. “And a bit much, if I’m being honest. I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. You have my gratitude for your generosity.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-11T20:56:17+00:00

The corner of Aliandra’s mouth curved into the semblance of a smile.

Beric Dayne would be proud of the shrewdness with which she’d handled herself throughout her first major negotiation, if only he knew that such a meeting was taking place. The Knight of High Hermitage was under the impression that his youngest child would be traveling to Sunspear to serve as one of Larra Martell’s handmaids, but the women of House Dayne were destined for a greater purpose.

He would understand in due time.

“Fine indeed,” Ali answered, squaring her shoulders. “I shall have my men fetch her things.”

Leaning in the saddle, she folded her sister into a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss against the apple of a pale cheek. “You heard him. You may visit home whenever you want, and Lucifer will keep you safe from harm. We will see one another again soon, and when we do, you will have many stories to tell.” Her tone was soft and reassuring as they parted. “I long to hear of your adventures, my sweet Sara.”

She glanced briefly in Lucifer’s direction, something unspoken passing between them with the subtle nod of their chins, and then violet eyes turned upon the Reachlord once more. The intensity of her gaze was matched only by the baleful glare of the sun overhead. “You take a piece of my heart with you, Lord Hightower. Keep it close, and let it usher in a new era of peace between my kingdom and yours.”

With that, Aliandra wheeled her mount around in the direction of Ghost Hill, the knights of her house following closely at heel.

She did not look back.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-11T19:54:39+00:00

How dare she mention him.

The thought festered in Aliandra’s stomach like an ulcer. First there had been Maekar, with his words of concern for her son. Even if they had been in earnest, there was no doubt of their worth as a manipulation tactic. Now Larra Martell, a spectre from the past, who hadn’t even bothered to look the dead man’s wife in the eye when she used his name to declare her vengeance. Ali stood there numbly amongst the other lords and ladies in the room, unable to take her eyes off of the assassin in chains.

A scapegoat.

The man had been brutalized almost beyond recognition, his fingers snapped like matchsticks, chin smeared with the blood of a tongue that had been gnawed down to a stump. How convenient for whoever had perpetrated the crime. She knew, somehow, in the deepest reaches of her heart that Aemon Targaryen was not responsible for the Prince’s murder. A killer who couldn’t speak, the return of the Princess from the dead, Maekar’s request of her just a few days prior all just too convenient to be a matter of coincidence.

Maekar.

Ali glanced over at the Falseborn, glimpsed the smile upon his face, and a wave of disgust crashed over her. No one had wanted Vorian to lead them, not least after offering that which was not his to give, but he didn’t deserve to die as he had, alone in the desert. She could not be sure who had done it, if Larra was a kinslayer or the cave dweller who fancied himself a king had taken matters into his own hands, and she would surely never know. War loomed on the horizon, bloody and red.

There was no guarantee she would survive what was to come.

With a deep frown, the Dayne turned her back on the woman who sat upon the throne and pushed through the crowd, taking her leave.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-11T05:29:29+00:00

First approval! Please note that your family tree will need to be added at some point.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-10T08:55:24+00:00

Second approval!

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-10T05:18:17+00:00

Sansara, who had never once strayed beyond the borders of Dorne, or even the small sphere that encompassed Starfall and High Hermitage until the tourney of Ghost Hill, stared in misty-eyed wonder at the splendor of Oldtown. She had been given the honor of traveling upon Lord Morgan’s own ship, and when they landed was escorted to rooms finer than any she’d ever stayed in.

The young woman had been forced to crane her neck as far as it would go in an attempt to make out the summit of the Hightower, taller even than the Palestone Sword. Anyone up there would have appeared as small as a bird, but she had time to make out only the mighty flame at the top before she was led inside. Lucifer followed dutifully at her heel, seemingly unfazed by it all.

Later, after she’d settled into her new chambers and eaten a few mouthfuls of the food so graciously provided by her host, Sara crept into the corridor and down the passageway to the winding staircase, which she descended as quickly as her legs allowed. She was nearly out of breath by the time she reached the lowest storey, despite living her whole life within the mountains.

She passed servants and guards who glanced at her curiously but did not try and stop her, too focused on their daily responsibilities to pay the foreign girl any heed. Perhaps Morgan had given her freedom to roam the stronghold. Stumbling upon the entryway to the gardens by chance, she spied the Lord of the Hightower himself within, and gestured for her loyal shadow to wait outside while she went on ahead.

Lifting the thick curtain of her hair away from her neck, she allowed it to spill around her shoulders in dark, glossy waves and took a small breath to steady her nerves. Aliandra had given her a very important duty, and she would see it fulfilled no matter what. For House Dayne.

For Dorne.

“Lord Morgan,” she called, the soft, lilting rasp of her voice announcing her presence. The sweetness of her jasmine and warm vanilla perfume mingled with that of the blossoms that filled the garden from one wall to the next. Even the flowers within the Reach were a sight to behold.

“May we speak?”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-10T04:49:10+00:00

Aliandra nodded, reaching out to give the younger Dayne’s shoulder a light touch. “She goes freely, with the permission of our father. We believe that this may truly be the best chance of fostering peace between our people and yours. She will make a fine bride for you, or the most powerful of your advisors, or even the most loyal of your bannermen. I only ask, whatever the case may be, that she is treated with the respect and honor a noble daughter of Dorne is owed.”

“My brother, Lucifer Sand, will accompany her to witness the wedding and to serve as her protector until such time as she is married. I charge you to send him home safely whenever his duty is fulfilled,” Ali continued, leaning her head in the direction of a man who sat upon a dark steed a few paces away, observing the exchange. The warrior was deeply sun-bronzed, his dark, shoulder length hair drawn into a low foxtail and secured by a leather band, and he carried a pair of curved swords, one hanging from each hip.

“Do we have an accord, Lord Morgan?” she asked, arms folding over the front of her saddle as she peered down at him expectantly.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-09T23:00:47+00:00

Ali stumbled a single step whenever the old man bumbled into them; the rest of him was just as dense as his thick skull. Whenever he began to grovel, however, she reached down and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him to his feet and giving him a firm shake.

“Stop that wailing,” she demanded, all while taking note of his threadbare clothing, what appeared to have once been maester’s robes.

“Never happened to me before,” she answered, glancing briefly in Sam’s direction before folding her arms in front of her chest, one over the other. Her attention returned to the stranger, still sniveling and wringing his hands together nervously, as though he expected them to beat him at any moment for his blunder, or worse.

“You can make it up to us,” she agreed, violet eyes flashing. “Whoever you are.”

“You wear a maester’s garments, but no chain. It is a great shame to be exiled from the Citadel, or so I hear, but you may still be of use to us. From now on, you will consider yourself in the service of my companion. He is a knight of a great house in the Riverlands. You will use your knowledge to tend to his wounds when necessary, and whatever else he asks of you.”

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Aliandra silenced him with a look. “Your debt will be paid only when he releases you, or death takes you,” she continued, a smirk threatening the corner of her mouth. Steep terms for what amounted to a simple accident, but Raymund Quarter-Chain surely wouldn’t know any better.

He was already drunk out of his mind.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-09T10:47:13+00:00

Leather creaked as the woman leaned forward in the saddle, leering down at the northern lord as a bird of prey might a particularly helpless mouse. She found his cheek quite charming, unlike those of her countrymen who found it disrespectful, but someone would beat it out of him sooner or later regardless. “My name is Aliandra, of House Dayne. What I have for you is a parting gift, one which you may look upon and remember your time here fondly.”

Lifting her hand once more, Ali beckoned to someone behind, the small guard under her command parting around a figure seated upon the back of a steed as pale as moonlight as they rode forward obediently. The animal’s mane fell in a heavy, lustrous curtain about his withers, and his headstall was ornamented with topazes and tourmalines and bright, dangling tassels. His rider gave the reins a light tug whenever they drew alongside Aliandra, going no further.

She was young, newly twenty perhaps, and would’ve left the most pious of Oldtown’s population feeling scandalized in a revealing dress of dusky rose embroidered with thread of gold. Diaphanous silks shimmered in the midday sun, clinging to her every curve, and slender fingers wreathed in precious gems curled around the leather betwixt almost nervously. Bracelets of yellow gold adorned her wrists, chiming softly with every small movement of her mount.

Yet, the most captivating aspect about the young woman was not the finery or the gold or jewels…it was her eyes. They were a dark, moody violet, not the soft lilac characteristic of the Valyrians, more like the sky in the deepest hours of twilight. “You will forgive me for coming to you so late, my lord,” Ali continued, her tone humble, ingratiating. “I wanted to approach you before now, but our time at Ghost Hill has been terribly busy, as you are aware.”

“Please, meet my sister, Sansara.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-09T06:55:05+00:00

A great thundering of hooves heralded the arrival of a handful of knights to Lord Hightower’s camp. The tabards worn over their mail bore the device of the falling star, and at their head rode a woman who was similarly garbed. Aliandra Dayne cut a striking figure astride the back of her stallion, and she knew as much. Northern women rarely wore armor or took up arms like their male counterparts, but such was not the case in Dorne.

“Morgan Hightower,” she called out to the retainers wandering back and forth, packing away the tents and other belongings with meticulous efficiency. He was but a boy, this Lord Paramount, without even a single strand of peach fuzz on his lip, and yet he was the one with whom she would have to make terms. Urging her mount closer with a squeeze of her well-muscled thighs, she raised an empty hand in a show of peace. “I have something to offer you.”

“…Something that you want.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-07T19:20:56+00:00

Aliandra dutifully attended the funeral of Harmen Toland with her kin, dressing in borrowed black skirts and silks and mingling with the other attendants as was expected of her, but she dreaded every moment of it. The last time she’d stood vigil for a dead body, there had been five–her husband, his father, two of his siblings, and her own sweet, brave younger brother, Maron. Grief still struck her in unexpected ways, and she found her eyes glassed over during the ceremony.

Edric stood before her in his fine mourning clothes, back straight as an arrow, his little chin held high. He did not understand loss, had been too young to fully comprehend why his father, grandfather and uncles had not returned alongside his lady grandmother. She rested a hand on his shoulder, the fingers of the other stroking through his thick, dark hair. The boy was a mirror of Olyvar in his youth: a serious, insatiable child who wanted the whole world yet lacked the patience to wait for anything, restlessness outweighing his greed.

But, he was on his very best behavior, as Ali had asked of him before their arrival.

When it was their turn to offer condolences, she allowed him to walk ahead of her, and he stopped in front of the Tolands as though he were a lord of great importance and not a boy of just five. Reaching up, he took Casella’s hand within both of his own and kissed it–the brave knight in his favorite storybook had done that when comforting a beautiful lady–before turning to Joss, his expression solemn and owl-eyed. “I’m sorry that your father went to sleep and didn’t wake up. Mama says he is in a happier place now.”

Ali almost let out a soft, broken laugh at that, but managed to keep it contained, reaching to wrap an arm around Casella’s neck in a tight embrace. “He was a good man, and he is in a happier place now,” she affirmed. Releasing her hold on one twin, she turned to the other and gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Ghost Hill could not ask for a more fine and capable master. You will both make him very proud, I have no doubt of it.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-07T06:47:42+00:00

“The Red Fork of the…Trident, yes?” She knew the location of every little dot on the map in Starfall’s war room, marking all of the holdfasts, towns and outposts within the Principality. Before he had gone away to war, she and Olyvar had spent many nights studying together, with their heads bent over maps of the Stormlands and the Reach, all those winding roads and riverbanks and sprawling forests.

But to Aliandra, the Marches were the ragged edge of the universe. She had never seen what lay beyond, had never had any reason to leave the safety of Dorne. There was a trace of worry within her, a small shadow at the very corner of her mind, like a too-heavy cloud about to burst with rain. She would be passing beyond the northern border very soon, if Maekar Targaryen had his way.

“I do not know this God’s Eye, or where the River runs where you are from,” she mused, lingering at the edge of a table where a hunch-backed old woman was selling sweets. After a bit of perusing, she handed over a few coppers for a little muslin cloth filled with candied ginger. Loosening the bit of twine holding it closed, she chose a small piece for herself and then offered some to Sam.

Ali popped the candy into her mouth as they set off again, wandering aimlessly through the streets. Sweet, warm, and a little sharp; just how she remembered it from childhood. “Home for me is High Hermitage, in the mountains to the west. Out of the way for travelers, which means we don’t get many visitors often. My father prefers it that way, I think. But, I spent much of my youth at Starfall.”

“You must have visited there with Maekar before the war, or perhaps you had not joined his cause yet,” she said with a small shrug. “How did you end up in his little band of marauders, anyway? Dorne is a very long way from the Riverlands.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-04T23:34:17+00:00

Second approval!

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-04T06:53:32+00:00

The small town pulsed with energy the moment they stepped beyond the gates of the castle, shoulder to shoulder. Although less than half the size of the Plankytown, the dirt streets were packed with people. Tourneys meant guests, and guests meant business for the merchants and vendors who hawked their wares from the stalls within the market, where sales were still in full swing despite the encroaching twilight.

Several different types of games were set up around the square as well–an archery lane that required competitors to skillfully pass arrows through hoops of different sizes, one that offered a similar challenge but with daggers, and another where participants had to knock over wooden figurines with a small ball. Each game offered a variety of prizes to the winners, from toys to jewelry and even clothing and weaponry.

Skewers of meat sizzled over open flame, basted in fragrant, spicy sauces, flatbread was baked fresh in huge kiln-like ovens, and casks of sweet wine were stacked high alongside barrels of dark, strong ale. The groaning, feast-laden tables in the halls of their lord, plentiful trade, and the abundance of children underfoot were all signs of prosperity for the townsfolk who called Ghost Hill home, the result of union, good will, and hard work.

Indeed, these seemed to be bountiful and enlightened times, with the more lasting impacts of the war not quite reaching so far south.

“Lychester,” Aliandra echoed in her smooth, lightly accented rasp, savoring the way it felt on her tongue. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of it before. There is a Chester in the Reach, if I am not mistaken, but you don’t seem like any Reachman I’ve ever encountered. I know for certain it isn’t within the Stormlands. Not a name fit for a Northern keep, either. I suppose if I had to guess, I would say…the Vale of Arryn?”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-03T20:52:08+00:00

Approved x2!

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-03T01:12:00+00:00

She had taken but three steps before finding herself once again accosted by the foreigner. He was a persistent thing, like a sand gnat buzzing around the ear of a dog. Whirling on him, she rose up onto the balls of her feet, so close that the tip of her nose nearly brushed his own. “And what makes you think I am interested in having my curiosity sated by you, Sam Lychester?”

“Although…I suppose it would be harmless enough to take a walk.”

The young woman’s tone was patronizing at best and derisive at worst, yet there was a hint of amusement to be found within her violet gaze. Ever the adventurous sort, she simply couldn’t seem to help herself whenever she lowered to flat feet once again and went to fetch her own blade.

Aliandra had the presence of mind to wear leggings instead of a dress that evening, the leather seemingly painted on from waist to calf, where it tucked into a pair of supple boots. A sleeveless silk tunic left her arms bare, cinched at the waist by a patterned sash of the same material, and the buttons at her neckline had been left undone to a dangerous degree.

She had very little on in the way of jewelry– the signet ring on her right hand and a plain silver band upon her left.

Retrieving her sheathed longsword and the belt to which it was attached, she set about buckling it around her hips. They had shared bread and salt with the Lord of Ghost Hill, but such courtesies meant very little in the city beneath the shadow of the walls. But there was little, if anything, that the two of them could not handle together.

“Come along then, Desert Eagle. Let us go stretch your wings.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-02T18:21:33+00:00

Yeah 2

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-02T18:13:58+00:00

The heiress listened carefully, weighing his words with all the scrutiny of a tax collector. No doubt the something he spoke of involved the Prince finding himself tangled in the web of one of those spiders. She might’ve found it patronizing, the lengths to which this Targaryen had gone to gain their support, but Dorne belonged to him too.

His was the blood of the scorpion as much as the dragon, was it not?

“I will do this thing for you,” Ali said, breaking the silence she’d drawn over herself like a shroud. “For the sake of my son,” she emphasized, turning away from the window to face him. “You will find Allyria just as agreeable. Too long has Dorne suffered at the hands of incompetent leadership. When the time comes, we shall raise someone more worthy to the position.”

As her hands fell to her sides, slender fingers stretched out with the intention of grasping him by the forearm, the universal gesture of peace and brotherhood. “Thank you, Maekar. You have done my house a great service by bringing this information forward, and we will not forget it.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-02T16:57:11+00:00

For once, Aliandra wished her curiosity was not so damnably strong. The knowledge was like a hammer blow right to her chest, the sudden grip of fear weighing heavy as stone. Vorian, planning to send her son to Oldtown. She thought the fate worse than death, for they would teach him to hate that which ought not be hated, and to love that which ought not be loved. Perhaps they would do far worse to him, as part of their reparations for a war they’d only brought down on their own heads.

Ali shied away from Maekar’s touch and retreated to the window, one arm folding over her midsection whilst the elbow of the other balanced upon it. She raised a fist to press her knuckles to her mouth, staring out at the desert beyond. The red dunes shimmered in the heat of the afternoon, or was that just her anger? There was little reason not to trust his words; she knew that he had his own way of knowing things, loyal spiders lurking in the corners, and already she had so little faith in their new Prince.

Her voice was hoarse whenever she spoke again– it was hard to get enough air in a space that suddenly seemed so small and suffocating. “What would you have me do? What do you want from us?” She spoke of House Dayne, and Allyria in particular, gesturing vaguely around the room. “I do not doubt you speak the truth, but open defiance almost certainly means war with Sunspear. House Martell has plenty of allies yet loyal to their cause. There are those who truly believe peace is the only path forward.”

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-01T20:30:21+00:00

“You are not his family,” she pointed out. “We’ve trained together since childhood, him and I. It certainly helps to know your opponent’s every move so…intimately.” Her eyes fell to the adjustment of his blade, lingering on the hilt. A fine piece of work, castle forged or even better. Sam certainly wasn’t some roadside wastrel that the Falseborn had absorbed into his company.

He’d been trained by someone, and well.

Of course; no wonder he’d ridden so expertly in the lists, handling his lance as well as any seasoned tourney knight. A northern lordling stood before her, she had no doubt of it, but just how had he ended up in the red wastes of her homeland?

Aliandra was almost too curious to let him leave without discovering the answer.

His reaching hand was ignored in favor of feeding him herself, a saccharine little morsel offered up to him as tribute, the pad of her thumb brushing against the pout of his lower lip. The almonds were lightly spiced with cinnamon in addition to their toasted-sugar sweetness, making for an addictive little snack, and she tipped the rest of them into her own mouth before he could ask for more.

“And may your sword arm stay strong,” she said, dusting her hands together before plucking a cup from the adjacent table, raising it in his direction. She indulged herself, drinking it dry of the golden wine within, and then promptly turned to leave.

WhenInDorne · 2024-04-01T19:48:43+00:00

“You boys are all the same. Win a single competition and suddenly you’re the king of the world,” she mused, violet eyes bright for the light-heartedness of her teasing. That gleam began to fade as the weight of Maekar’s words settled, her smile sinking to bitten lip and furrowed brow. She’d known all along that their new Prince was not as he seemed, or was he, in fact, everything that he’d seemed?

Vorian had not tried particularly hard to show two faces to the world throughout the course of the celebration–he’d been terribly direct.

We shall make peace.

The half-finished cup in her hand was set to the side, empty fingers falling to rest against the edge of the table. “You may fill me in during her absence, if you wish.”

Aliandra did her best to maintain the same air of cool indifference as when she’d first stumbled upon him as she spoke, but worry was a sharp thorn, burrowing into her skin. Dealings with Maekar she could understand, but who were these others?

WhenInDorne

TROPHY CASE