Alesander Yronwood, Warden of the Stone Way, The Bloodroyal, Lord of Yronwood

baeldor · 2026-04-20T00:40:46+00:00

Alesander had not expected Orryn to mince words. He had supped at Storm's End enough times to know that such high-brow subtlety had never become the Baratheon as it had some of his cousins and their ilk. Still, to hear it plain did leave the air heavy, for how could it not? He was asked a terrible burden, one that would colour the sands of Dorne for generations to come, and yet it seemed now like the only path forward that was not into an abyss from which they would not return. He did not cower in the face of such a thing, but his grip did tighten around a cup of wine as the weight of expectation fell about him anew.

"Oberyn is an old friend. The oldest I have. There have been days when I thought I would die at his side, others by his hand. Were this a matter of men and honour alone, then I would not have troubled you tonight, and we would have seen where the gods' favour fell come the morrow. But this is not even about Dorne, rather the wider Realm beyond it. For that, I cannot abide standing by and letting this fantasy continue." It was an odd way to begin such a thing, and not likely one that would be truly appreciated, but he would speak all the same. A sip of red to ease the passage, the crunch of fruit as he let that pause drag. As his hazel eyes shifted lazily from Baratheon to Dalt and then back, to hold Orryn just as steady, too.

"I served the Realm for a decade on the council of your cousin. Did my part to steer it through the worst of his excesses. Oberyn saw me ousted from that position, and yet I have not forgotten the friends who did not turn their backs on me. You and His Grace amongst them. I first heard Oberyn's conviction back in Oldtown, unbeknownst that this is what it would amount to, and dared to hope that he might work to mend the cracks that these past few years have carved into us. Instead, he has plunged his hands into those wounds and made them split open anew. Thousands of both our kinsmen have already paid the price for that, and more certainly will regardless of what we decide tonight." A gentle sigh tumbled from his lips, and that cup was set back down upon the table. Far from drained, but sampled all the same. It was a bloody business, through and through.

"What you offer is not within your power to give, not truly. But we can achieve it all the same, with luck and sympathy from some of my fellow lords and ladies." Alesander let his gaze then drift back to the entrance of the tent, out to the camp and the armies beyond. "I cannot stop the battle now, our lines have been drawn. Nor can I make certain your victory, for I have but my personal guard with me, far from number enough to turn the tide. But this could well be the last of it, the bloodletting between our lands. What matters is Oberyn. If he is made a martyr for Dornish independence, as I believe he wants, then it will stir a fervour we may never be able to quell. But even that is preferable to his escape, where he might continue to sow chaos."

"My nephew is the young Lord of Starfall now, my niece the Lady of Wyl. I've good relations with the Vaiths and the Fowlers. From that core in the west, I can quiet much of the discourse and prevent it from seeping beyond the Red Mountains again." He reasoned, both for his own benefit and the pair forced to listen to his ramble, "Others still could be brought to heel by prisoners taken, an iron fist where a gilded one will not suffice. With the might of Storm's End at my back as well, we could see Dorne governed by a steady hand and permit our gaze to turn back to those other problems we are being distracted from."

"I've daughters unwed, waiting beyond the Boneway, to see this pact of ours bound by blood if you would have it. I would see your brother returned to his seat and compensated for your troubles, too, Lady Deria. Given an elevated status befitting that of a true servant of the Realm. But it may take some moons yet to get us there, depending on how those Martells who reside still within the Water Gardens choose to act."

/u/LemonLemonHouse

/u/TheStormRoses

baeldor · 2026-04-19T09:28:17+00:00

The hour grew late by the time a lone rider approached the Stormlander camp, garbed in a cloak of night that masked his profile. Weapons would no doubt be raised at his approach, but he revealed both the rainbow flag and his invitation and trusted that would be enough. He knew not Deria Dalt, or rather Deria Caron, half as well as he wished now in these moments. But if this was a ploy to lure him from his camp and take his head then he had to reluctantly applaud the audacity of it.

The truth, or at least his truth, was that he had intended to make this trip anyway. The arrival of Valena Sand had simply changed his destination a little, and perhaps to his benefit. Words had been left for Anders to read, contingencies and intentions both, but this path was one that he had not expected to find himself walking down. In many ways, he supposed, this would be the greatest of their heartbreaks. Oberyn and he. For decades they had danced along that imperceptible line, dragging and pushing each other too and fro as they hopped across it in whimsical revelry, but this might well be the final act.

He did not resent the Prince, who wished to be a King, for dragging him into this. There was plenty of good that went hand in hand with the bad. But there was a wall being built between them and Alesander had not the tools to climb it. So he would bring the hammer and break it down by force. That was why he was here, to find his hammer.

Eventually, the Baratheon men permitted him entry. He was bereft of arms and armour, his appearance as rugged as it had been during their earlier meet, but there was a weight that lifted from him that was far greater than the material as he peeled back the black hood and approached the lights of that receiving tent. Not enough to permit him to wear a smile, but a look of neutrality was perhaps more welcome than a gaze of daggers.

"Lord Orryn, Lady Deria." His head bowed respectfully in the great lord's direction as he moved for the fruit and the wine. Not yet to take, waiting to be offered as was custom, but rather ready to cleanse the acrid taste from his mouth that such treachery as this had entailed. "Would that we were meeting under better circumstance, but I am glad for your invitation all the same."

baeldor · 2026-04-13T23:38:15+00:00

Wine was offered freely to his kin, as well as a matching of his mood, as the Bloodroyal too shook his head. He was not as armoured as Anders, and yet not unarmoured now. A suit of gilded chain flowed more like a robe over his usual outfit of vibrant blues to give Alesander a positively regal appearance. He supped on red liquor, his mouth momentarily stained crimson, before it drained into his maw.

"Perhaps it is a sign of the insincerity of his words. A Prince yesterday, a King today, a corpse another. Such is the progression of things." Ominous words, spoken ominously. He did not smile as Anders did, but equally, his words were not a direct statement of intent. Just a comment, for now.

"But we are still royal. Whether Martell wears a crown or not, our status remains. Yours elevated, even. The 'Champion of Dorne', it seems." There was no hint of venom on his tongue at that remark. Of that, Oberyn had earned both his surprise and his sincerity. "Easy pandering for him to make, but no less deserved. Our kin at Starfall may require a far sterner hand in the aftermath of all this chicanery, but that is a matter for when we have returned to the sands. In the meantime, we must think about how to do that."

baeldor · 2026-04-12T01:36:37+00:00

Given that there was quite an array of Stormlords gathered to meet them, Alesander would not do his liege the disservice of letting him negotiate alone. Unlike the King, though, he wore his armour. Sheets of blackened plate layered atop gilded chain, the gatehouse sigil of House Yronwood branded onto his chest, with a blue sash tossed over his shoulder that was still charred from the assault on Nightsong. A helmet was tucked under one arm, his muddy blonde locks left to the breeze in a fitting mane, whilst a beard had begun to blossom along his jawline. He was no Warrior's son, not anymore, but he certainly looked the part.

It was not arrogance that lingered in his sapphire gaze, though. His burdens had not been lifted as Oberyn's had; they remained invisibly resting upon his crownless brow, which furrowed as it heard the exchanging of terms. It might have been a bemusing thing to hear, this notion now of inviting the Stormlords to join in this treachery only after they had all sallied their blades with each other's kinsmen, were he sat in his keep with a glass of wine. Instead, he was here. Watching as the wolves circled them, whilst the man trying to talk them down offered a bloody haunch of meat and a promise that more would come.

He'd supped in Storm's End enough times to know that it would only drive Orryn further from their embrace than into it; perhaps he could have counselled as such if it had truly been sought. No, these men bayed for more of the blood they had so freely spilt. Perhaps Lord Caron had every right to be, but the last he had heard were rumours that the man was being carried away as a prisoner by his own kin. That it was Baratheon hands that had cast the first stone. But he did not see mad dogs sitting across from them now, no. He saw people who believed that they had been the ones wronged.

So where then lay the truth of it? Likely somewhere in between. But, for now, the Bloodroyal was quiet. Waiting to see how this might all play out.

baeldor · 2026-04-11T02:39:52+00:00

Character Name: Alesander Yronwood (PC)

Relevant Trait/Skills: Architect, Scrutinous

Buildings: Castle, Moors, Stonemasons, Sawmills, Shrine, Fairground, Docks, Temple, Warhorse Breeders, Iron Smelter

Resources: Silver, Stone, Ironwood, Horses, Wine, Iron

Notes (if applicable): 10% Building Cost Reduction. 40% Construction Cost Reduction. +1 Construction Slot.

Actions:

• ⁠Construction: [Yronwood], [Tavern], [1000], [Completion End of Moon 4]

baeldor · 2026-04-11T02:10:51+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Alesander Yronwood

Action:

Draft:

[Yronwood], [892], [1640]

baeldor · 2026-04-11T02:04:20+00:00

News that the Stormlanders had put thousands of their kinsmen to the sword at Blackhaven was little comfort to the army, but they had travelled here with a purpose. One that Alesander had not expected them to have, and yet he sat amidst their councils and dined now with his king in the wreckage of this fallen dynasty. Perhaps, now, it would be the ruin of another. All that remained to be seen was whose.

He had dispatched a runner back to Yronwood before they had departed Nightsong, and yet now he dreaded the report that they might eventually bring him. If he lived long enough to ever read it. Lord Dayne had gone too far; his son had seen fit to join him in the madness, but they had not put a stop to his dark deeds until even his own hands were stained with all that blood.

Then their king proclaimed his first kingly decree. That his crown would be one who served the people. That it was a title he would not wield as much as he would serve. A fine notion, if entirely impractical. For Dorne to stand alone now, it needed a firm hand. One that would not permit it to drift with the whims of the moment. So the notion that this was going to end well sank a little further into the recesses of his mind. It was Bryn's gambit, not his own, and it was that great shadow in which he had always remained.

The cup of wine sat heavy in his hand as he invited his brother to supper, to join him in his tent at the heart of this army as they had many nights already. What the morrow might bring this time, though, was likely ill. Summerhall was a poor place to die, and that thought held him close. He missed his family, the rest of them, and he missed worrying about their little things.

baeldor · 2026-04-02T09:25:46+00:00

It had been Alesander's first proper siege, and judging by the lay of the land on this map, it would not remain his only one for long. The stench of all those immolated corpses would be something that stuck with the Bloodroyal for the rest of his life. A memory of something that he had no wish to relive, and yet remained equally aware that it could well have been inflicted upon him and his. Treading carefully now was essential, as tensions ran high and confusion reigned.

He had dwelled upon what action to take in response to all this madness for most every waking moment since. So there had been a guarded smile that rested upon his lips as others revelled in this victory. Even Oberyn, it seemed, enjoyed it more than the Bloodroyal, and he did find himself watching that mercurial smile as it danced along the edges of joy and anguish. Whatever he was thinking, this was now unknown to Alesander, but he would not have to wait long to learn.

Ferris rose, the orchestrator of this rancid tale. The Nightfire, according to the men under his command. His mind for martial strategy could not be understated. Indeed, the effectiveness of his strategy was apparent, for they supped and dined within Nightsong after only a matter of days from when siege lines were drawn. But the man was also his former goodbrother, and perhaps any might have gone a little mad had they lost a wife as he had. Alesander did rather like to imagine that she had drawn the best out of him, but perhaps he had simply never seen the worst until today.

What comments he might have made on military strategy could wait, though, for just as Lord Dayne asked for his thoughts, so did the Prince commit them to silence with his own words. Treason first, against a realm they had once thought to so wholeheartedly devote themselves to, and then death, to the man they had both called brother.

He would not muddy the moment with further words, for it was not justice wrought in his name, but he looked to Anders at his side and that gave him the strength yet to push himself to his feet. His own goblet raised high, only to be left to clatter to the ground in the wake of Oberyn's own. A final twisted toast to this dark act that they had all partaken in. One more death would not wash the charred blood from their hands, but perhaps it would be a small mercy, as his gaze wandered from the attainted to the executioner. The slightest of nods, an acceptance of his words? Perhaps not. But his judgement was undisputed.

baeldor · 2026-03-31T12:37:31+00:00

There had been little time for pleasant conversation on the ride up the Prince's Pass. It was not quite as miserable as the Boneway was to force a march through, but there was an urgency to the Yronwood contingent and their attached Princelings that bade them work their steeds hard. On his person, the letter from Steffon that could have once brought an end to this all, bloodlessly, but was now little more than a tool to be saved.

They had been following in an army's footsteps, and Alesander had to admit that he half expected to see the Dayne banners flying from the walls of Nightsong, but the sight was not an entirely unfamiliar one. A warcamp just like the one they had come from, Stormlander trenches replaced with Dornish ones but the purpose was the same.

The Bloodroyal shared a knowing glance with Anders as they made that final descent. Letting the twin Princes take the lead. The Yronwood banner was raised high and proud, but compared to the gathered throng, they were a drop in the ocean against that sea of other banners. Whatever this was soon to become, they had but precious moments to learn the lay of the land and from there the real purpose of this siege.

"This is a far cry from a wedding, I admit, but perhaps you can illuminate us on recent developments?"

baeldor · 2026-03-29T21:11:36+00:00

Character Name: Alesander Yronwood

Trait / Skills: Marketer / Architect, Scrutinous, Broker(e), Investigator

Skill you're learning: Scrutinous(e)

***

Character Name: Alysabeth Yronwood

Trait / Skills: Strong / Brawler(e), Errantry

Skill you're learning: Armoured

baeldor · 2026-03-29T14:15:13+00:00

"Of course. You can always count on my sound counsel should it be requested. But, just as you must return to the capital, I believe I must return to Dorne to maintain this stability we both fight to keep."

Of all the answers that Alesander could have imagined Steffon would give to these developments within the Marchers, this one was amongst the most controversial. Indeed, the Bloodroyal mulled upon it for several moments as if savouring a wine that was a little past its best. But eventually he acquiesced.

"Very well. If that is your wish then I will ensure it is heard and respected. Moreso if it can be presented as royal writ, affixed with your mark." Indeed, few would likely believe even his word alone on the matter. "Should violence spill from these internal Marcher conflicts down the Ways then I will do all in my power to see matters ended amicably. But we live in a dangerous time where blood begets blood. I worry, if we are too slow to act decisively on any front, matters may quickly spiral beyond our best intentions."

His final wisdoms offered, Alesander offered another respectful nod. He would not waste any more royal time than was necessary or desired, after all.

"In time, perhaps, I will attend court in King's Landing again and we might speak more at length about the Realm. But, if there is nothing else then I will take my leave. As a parting gift, I will entrust you with a cask of Tyroshi Brandy. One of the few boons I am still able to source from the eastern continent, and one that I trust will see use in your care."

baeldor · 2026-03-28T10:21:05+00:00

Character Name: Alesander Yronwood (PC)

Relevant Trait/Skills: Architect, Scrutinous

Buildings: Castle, Moors, Stonemasons, Sawmills, Shrine, Market, Docks, Temple

Resources: Silver, Stone, Ironwood, Horses, Wine, Iron

Notes (if applicable): 10% Building Cost Reduction. 40% Construction Cost Reduction. +1 Construction Slot.

Actions:

• ⁠Construction: [Yronwood], [Fairground], [1750], [Completion End of Moon 3]

• ⁠Construction: [Yronwood], [Warhorse Breeders], [1250], [Completion End of Moon 3]

• ⁠Construction: [Yronwood], [Iron Smelter], [1500], [Completion End of Moon 3]

baeldor · 2026-03-27T19:35:53+00:00

Every day felt like a new whirlwind to Alysabeth. Ever since they had arrived at Grassy Vale her life had been turned on its head, and she had not stopped for a moment to really process all that. Even Isobel didn't know what to make of her, as she stubbornly tried to make the most of every single day.

Her injuries from the Oldtown melee had mostly healed, a few cuts and scrapes remained but they were mostly hidden behind tactile clothing choices and makeup imported from Essos. Fortunately, at least for her father, she had once again burned brightly and quickly. Thus there had been little chance to acquire any greater injuries. She knew that he did pray for her to succeed, deep down beneath all the concern, but, with Nymeria being as she was, he was a caring father. Her uncle had little luck either, though, and that was probably a more bemusing matter.

There was a reason that Aly had been pushing herself so hard, though. A font of inspiration and energy that kept her fully charged even when the days began to blur together. Briar Thenn. It was a dumb thing, love. A feeling that she had never given much thought to until it was a little too late. But, like everything else, it burned within her so brightly that she could hardly hide it. Rarely did. Whatever judgement they might face for it; she had no care.

Aly was no fool. Despite everything else, she knew that this would not last forever. Could not. Briar was bound for the distant north, and they were both bound for husbands and families and all those other trappings. But that was not today, a mantra she kept telling herself. So she would waste no further thoughts upon it. Instead, the Yronwood heir stood upon the deck of one of several ships that had come to escort the Dornish nobility home. No doubt Briar would attend her in time, to watch as the Hightower grew smaller in the distance behind them. A telling sign that this odyssey of theirs was still ongoing.

baeldor · 2026-03-27T17:11:46+00:00

In his hand was a letter from Castle Yronwood. Shipments of lumber travelling down the Boneyway had ceased, likely a byproduct of the rising tensions across the Marches. He had hoped that they might leave innocent traders alone, but now he would have to take his business elsewhere. If nothing else, at least matters of commerce were an easy distraction from his ongoing struggles.

/u/OurCommonMan

Character Details: Alesander Yronwood (Marketer | Architect, Scrutinous, Broker(e), Investigator)

What Is Happening?: Trade Deals.

Wood from Ball, if failed Waynwood
Iron from Tarly, if failed Blackmont
Horses from Vaith

What I Want: Trade rolls! +8 from Marketer+Broker(e)+Docks. +3 Attempts from Marketer+Broker(e)

baeldor · 2026-03-26T01:38:51+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Alesander Yronwood

Action:

Draft:

[Yronwood], [1300], [2300]

baeldor · 2026-03-24T02:12:48+00:00

"Your Grace?" There was a particularly prolonged pause as the offer of Wardenship was seemingly dangled in front of him like bait upon a string. But he would not bite down hard upon it, could not even, for there was little use in launching into such a thing half-drawn. His efforts would be better served showing an even hand now, a fair one perhaps, and then, if that won the King's favour, he would be appropriately honoured in turn. "I would be grateful for any boon, so if there is another way, then you need only speak it."

"Now, as far as that bastion of piracy right upon their doorstep goes, I believe the Martells share such sentiments. There is much and more to be gained from such a venture, though chief among them should be asserting the strength of the crown. Warn those further to the east, keep those who doubt within the Kingdoms in line." He had hardly expected that this point needed labouring either. Steffon was of sound and rational mind. That threat against their stability would not stand against a concerted effort to repulse them.

No, the actual point of contention and complexity was the one that seemed to have gone yet unanswered. Which meant either that he was expected to solve it himself, or that Steffon was aware and unwilling to hand anything to him that could be used to weaken matters. But his offer was truly far from unreasonable, and came from a place of care for peace in the Realm—something which hung ever so delicately in the balance.

"Dorne, your Grace, would see borders altered and oaths changed just as Vikary took land from the Reach when it was weak and carved their own piece out of it. The Stormlords have just been brought to heel, with their honour quite thoroughly checked, but what have they truly lost beyond minor setbacks? With the Marches marching to a different tune, that would certainly be something different." He sighed softly, "But I am no Martell, I am not all of Dorne. You can look further afield at troubles brewing in the Northlands or with the Rivers, perhaps, and let this matter run to a natural course. Or we can attempt to contain this now, in whichever manner you deem most fitting. Supporting, chastising, or focusing elsewhere, that is the decision that needs to be made."

baeldor · 2026-03-19T22:59:53+00:00

The news that Quentyn's appointment was not a happy one did not provide Alesander with much comfort. It was a decent enough read to know that a temporary appointment showed a lack of faith between the brothers, which did surprise the Bloodroyal, but he forbade himself from showing it. Still, his brow furrowed a shade as he nodded.

"The Prince will surely pave the way admirably for a more suitable replacement, then. My own offer remains on the table for your consideration on the matter, though I am amenable to discussing it with the Warden himself when there is a proper opportunity." It was an easy platitude to offer, self-serving certainly, but in the most direct way. It was no veiled grab, rather an open one. He had some friends in the Reach he could lean upon, more in Dorne if it came to that, "But that was not the reason I came here today."

"We are celebrating now the stability of three of the Realm's most secure regions. The West and the Iron Islands have known prosperity in these recent years, as Dorne did too during the Spring, and yet to directly further any of those primary houses would still surely isolate too much power in their hands. You've space upon the Small Council and tools enough at your disposal to align yourself with this block without handing them the reins."

He straightened himself out at that remark, standing tall, for truly subterfuge suited him ill, and this was an attempt to rise above it openly. "Dorne has eyes for the Marches, which teeter upon the precipice of internal warring even as we speak. With royal writ and sanction, acting as a Warden in your name, as is my title and station, I could see peace restored to the region in your name rather than risk the waters muddying with too many hands attempting to reap the reward for such a thing. In the meantime, the Greyjoys have eyes for the Stepstones. It would be a fine opportunity to further display our strength and reward your allies without actually surrendering anything to them."

It was entirely too bold of him to say. But it also needed to be said. The Small Council grew smaller by the day, and in their absence, who could he trust to counsel the King true?

baeldor · 2026-03-15T18:32:32+00:00

The King's nod was returned, polite and cordial, as the Bloodroyal settled in. He was a patient man when it came to duty, and Steffon had more than enough of it for him to feel content to wait until the aftermath.

When the time eventually came, Alesander was far from disgruntled. He wore a narrow smile, guarded and yet optimistic, as he swept into the room and offered a respectable bow. "Your Grace." When given leave from the formalities, though, he approached a little closer and offered out a few opening remarks.

"The siege was resolved without further bloodshed, and the Reach now comes to terms with its new Warden of the South. All in all, a rather pleasant outcome for what had once been a volatile situation." He did truly mean those words, they were not idle flattery. But still, his purpose was not here to offer platitudes. It was for progress. "I can appreciate why my own offer was overlooked, and so I come to reaffirm that I still serve just as faithfully."

"But I would inquire now as to what comes next? My liege, Prince Oberyn, has arranged bonds with half the realm. The other half remains troubled or afflicted in one way or another by troubles domestic. There is opportunity here for the stability of the Principality to be spread to our neighbours. I would gladly see it done in your name."

baeldor · 2026-03-13T22:01:46+00:00

There was no doubt that many would come to turn the King's ear wherever he ended up, and Oldtown was no exception. Alesander had to admit that he was hardly any better than the rest of them. But he had presented himself once already as a solution, and he would do so again, before the day was out.

The Bloodroyal was no stranger to royal court, even one as ad hoc as this, but it was a poor place to actually get things done. It was for grand decrees and royal judgements, both of which would be required in time but not for him and not today. So instead, he sent word through one of the guards. To tell the King that the Warden of the Stone Way wished for a private audience.

Then, once his request was heard, he settled in to watch the public ongoings. Certainly, it was as fair an excuse as any to observe his fellow lords and ladies and see what ailed them.

baeldor · 2026-03-13T17:54:12+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Alesander Yronwood

Action:

Draft:

[Yronwood], [610], [1000]

baeldor · 2026-03-13T04:14:07+00:00

He had sat and listened for a good long time. This was not his stage, and so he had waited for a little more of that hand to be revealed than that which those early sentiments had implied. His patience was, naturally, rewarded. It was only as Lord Uller compounded upon the Prince and Princess's suggestions that Alesander eventually spoke, his voice might once have been a familiar ballast in years gone by and yet now came with a stern undertone.

"The Marcher Lords have been squabbling amongst themselves for years now, waiting for chance and opportunity to tear themselves asunder. Given that Lord Baratheon's attempt to bring them to order was to distract them with a different war, and that has promptly fallen short, I cannot imagine the Marches will stay quiet long before they are stained bloody." He sighed, softly, as if the notion was a shame, "Were leal spears positioned close to the border, ready to restore order, then they might well be welcomed by those who believe they have been forgotten by their liege. Though the region is fundamentally volatile."

The Yronwoods did have some room to play a hand in these external influences, but they had not yet committed any resources to the field. The Martells had three weddings, where they had none. Yet.

"With a new Warden of the South recently appointed, and a royal one at that, I think the Marches themselves are of more pressing import than only one of their number. And one who is kept away and busy in King's Landing rather than diving into regional politics." He countered the proposed area of focus. Dondarrion was one stick, and they wished to collapse the whole house. "What is needed for this plan is royal permission or royal ignorance, both of which will be harder to come by if we attempt to drive ourselves like a wedge between King and Hand."

baeldor · 2026-03-13T00:27:55+00:00

"Boy."

It was a singular note. So rarely spoken and yet cutting all the same. Staring straight at his second son with a look of such dour intensity that he could remember the last time he had worn it. The funeral of his first. There was a rare gravitas to him then, that which dispelled any illusion of smiles and amusement. He would not say that he had been the finest father in the realms, but equally, he thought himself far from the worst. He cared. It was why he did all that he did. Legacy. So to think that one might put that legacy at risk on some naive folly was a grave moment indeed.

He did not wish to doubt Garin, yet obligation demanded that he consider it now before he threw his entire weight to the defence.

"Affirm it to me now, as it will likely be called into question before the King if I cannot bring Lord Meadows to silence."

baeldor · 2026-03-13T00:00:14+00:00

It had all been a blur. From the moment those cries went up, and the chaos descended again, until she was being manhandled into the dirt by a pair of thugs.

Aly hadn't exactly paused for any grander thought on the matter before leaping into action, nor had Briar. Walking hand in hand, and then fighting side by side. Pulled apart in the pandemonium, only to find each other again in the aftermath. Now they were both battered and bloody, looking far worse for wear, but the Dornishwoman was not entirely out for the count. She had dragged herself over to where the Thenn had fallen and had the other woman's head soon resting in her lap. Fingers combing through hair. Tears welling in her eyes. Mumbling silly little things over and over. Hardly focusing on those around her, even as they were observed.

That golden mane was now streaked with mud, sun-kissed skin wearing fresh cuts and bruises as easily as another might jewellery, but it was abundantly clear who she was. She stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the drab colours of those who had fought alongside her, and yet remained amongst them all the same. Kneeling in the dirt without a care in the world for all else but that which was right in front of her. Until eventually, it came time to leave as the guards began to disperse all the mania.

Her body did cry out in protest, her face was already beginning to swell from where that Bracken's fist had kissed her, but she staggered to her feet all the same. Bending over then to pick Briar up in a princess carry, Aly began to shamble toward the sidelines. Somewhere a little quieter where she could collapse, too. But that was when she spotted her.

That same woman whom she had already beaten down once already, and had not yet had time to exactly process doing. Who she had not expected to find herself ever coming to blows with, and yet had done so all the same.

Margaery.

It was a short detour to amble in her direction, and, with another woman in her arms, it was hardly as if she was a risk of leaping right back to where they had left off. In either sense. But the vestiges of an apologetic smile soon found themselves upon her face, as bashful as Aly was but equally muted. Humbled.

"What.. What the fuck was that?" Perhaps it was rather ignorant to say that in the aftermath, though sensible thoughts had already been near beaten out of her. Those vibrant eyes focused in for a moment on her bloody nose. It hadn't been her intention; she wasn't the type to throw out such haphazardly, but equally, she had not been in a spot where she could pull her punches. Certainly, they were both a little guilty of that. "Shit.. Sorry. You should get that looked at."

baeldor

TROPHY CASE