Conclave of Dorne, 265 AL

[Dirty Chai]

It was a total of three years before talk became action, but the long-discussed and slowly but well-planned council of the Dornish nobility finally became set. The great houses of the peninsula all departed from their keeps, travelling in the winter sun to Sunspear for what was now known by all involved as the Great Conclave, a court conference headed by House Martell including all of the noble and knightly houses in Dorne that could wield any sort of political currency - a compromise between the heir to Sunspear who rules in his mother's stead and an unclear number of restless nobles.

Most of the landowners in Dorne - lords of oases, riverbanks, and aquifers - could attend and listen in, though only those vassal to Sunspear or vassal to a house sworn to Sunspear could have weight in any votes or justice. Thus, it was slated to be a council of the powerful in Dorne.

The Conclave was to be held in a wing of the Old Palace, in a large hall of ornate pillars and frescoe'd arches where once it was said that Nymeria's successors would assemble their nobles for war. Alabaster, marbel, and mosaic tiling. The ceiling was a vast forest of colors hanging down in stalactites that complimented the snow-white marble and floor tiles.

A large divan sat at the center of the hall made vacant for the assembly, where the leader of House Martell would sit, elevated on dais of marble.
Around that center divan were many smaller divans and other such furniture, in circles that fanned out to accompany the lords. The most important sat close around Martell, while the farther you sat, the less important the noble was. The hall wasn't too bright, just light enough to ease the nobles into what might be a long, long sit. Carpets were laid out all about, and tables accompanied rows and clusters of furniture, where the nobles could place goblets of wine or smoking pipes.

The three-fold gates of Sunspear were swung open, the portculli drawn up and locked in, letting large scores of mounted nobles up into the ancient fortress of House Martell. The guards at each gate were tripled, forming lines of men to keep rabble out and make sure the nobles didn't bring in armed men. Weapons were to be left behind.

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Rules of the Conclave:
- All Dornish houses can attend and participate; there are also tons of knights and major landowners from all over Dorne, so there's probably at least a couple hundred people attending, though only the "minor lords and high lords" can participate, and the rest cannot speak to the assembly unless asked to
- Noble guests and retainers of House Martell or other Dornish houses may also be present, but they are not allowed to speak to the assembly unless asked to
- No weapons allowed. Not even one. If you wish to bring a weapon in, you must ask a mod to roll the chance. Sunspear's guards will check (not strip search but still) each noble participating for weapons as they enter into the palace.

[Gandalfus]

Cletus Yronwood arrived with his vassals, clad in more traditionally Andal dress, which understandably was noticeably prominent in the company of the darker skinned salty and sandy Dornishmen. After being announced by a herald, the youthful Lord of the Stoneway acknowledged his liege with a curt bow, before making his way to sit near the Prince.

[Alexandrine]

In the party of Cletus Yronwood was Sarella Manwoody, Lady of Kingsgrave, a well-connected family from the Dornish marches, but not particularly strong in force or rich in coins. She has blonde hair, white skin and looks completely Andal, or Stone Dornish, as she prefers herself. Her dress however, is Dornish and not Andal. She was known to be witty and charming; but also blunt and vain. She seemed to be in stark contrast, in comparison of her youthful liege. Shamelessly she elbowed her way through the people and made sure she would sit as closely as possible to everybody who seemed to be somebody.

[Lord Dread]

Silverhair stood at the border of the room as well, overlooking so far the hall as usual for any assassins or suspicious beings within the room. As usual he was in range of the Prince, ready to strike at any time as it was expected by a bodyguard of House Martell.
Though for now they weren't present he knew that he had to keep an eye open for Dayne - though nothing happend luckily at Yronwood, he had a bad feeling about the man, judging by how close he went towards the Prince the last time, while speaking in silver tounges.
Nontheless, the enemies of Prince Doran could be various so it was obvious to keep a look on the most suspicious Lords and Ladies in the room - thus he had to be careful, as during his stay at Sunspear he had read enough Dornish history to be prepared of what could potentially happen, even at a minor council like this, where nobody would assume anyone violating the guest right.

[Xion]

Approaching from the direction of the Greenblood, a company of riders flying several banners - The three leopards of House Vaith, the Cockatrice of House Gargalen, the woman holding a candle of House Ladybright, and the hand on gyronny gules and sable of House Allyrion, the banner of Allyrion being the most prevalent due to their status as High Lords of the Scourge and Vaith. While many of the riders break off to form a small encampment outside the Shadow City that sits beneath the Threefold Walls, the landholders and nobility of the Scourge and Vaith make their way into the city and up to Old Palace.

Emphyria, wearing a silver, black, and red colored Dornish styled dress along with gold and turquoise jewelry takes a seat a short distance from the Prince, close to Lord Yronwood. Ryon and Aramei, the siblings of Lady Allyrion take seats to the left of Emphyria, while her uncle Ulrick takes one to the right. Lords Vaith and Ladybright find seats a short distance from the Allyrions, while Lady Gargalen takes a seat close to Ser Ulrick. Also present due to his status of ruling over two villages on the Greenblood in Salt Shore was Ser Raymond Gargalen, who sits on a divan on the other side of the room from the Allyrions, hoping none of them notice him.

[Oznerol]

Lord Dayne already was there, comfortably sitting at a cushioned carved chair. His hair and beard were carefully bombed and perfumed. His clothes were made of brocade and wore a cloak lined with fur as Winter was coming to Westeros. His robes were as magnificent as the jewelry he wore, like the brooch pinning the mantle in place. He was surrounded by all his vassals, like Lord Blackmont and Ser Mors Dayne of High Ermitage.

[ficenzi]

Lord Desmond Uller arrived humbly at the meeting and with him were two advisors. His attire was very simplistic and mostly a mixture of orange and brown, typically Dornish. He was of mixed origin, being half-Rhoynar and half-Andal, probably like entire Dorne, but some in Dorne liked to pride themselves by saying they are of pure ethnicity. He sat down close to the Prince, signifying his status as a High Lord.

[Dirty Chai]

A brazier sat at the center of the assembly, just near the middle divan around which the great lords sat. Incense was tended inside it by gray-haired servant who was crouched over beside it, poking at the smoldering charcoal. The pleasant smoke rose slowly up and over the heads of all present, filling the hall with a mystifying aura.

As the lords who mattered were all now seated and the outer fringes were filling with shuffling clusters of knights and nobles from all over Dorne, a pair of doors opposite from where the nobles entered swung open, revealing Doran Martell, who strode into the assembly to take his place at the center. He stepped up onto the dais, and looked around with an amicable solemness, and then nodded, his eyes meeting with a handful of servants who waited for this moment.

"Welcome to Sunspear, lords and ladies of Dorne," Doran said to all about him, his expression surveying over the nobles gathered. He stood beside the raised divan, one hand resting upon it. He was a man grown now, three years having passed since the wedding at Yronwood. He stood much taller than he had as a youth, and his hair had lightened in those years and grown much, with dark tawny locks hanging down to his shoulders in fullness with gentle, natural curls at the ends. He had a sharp nose and a strong jaw now, like his father, but his eyes were grey, like his mother's.

It was winter in Dorne, which meant cold nights in the desert, and sea storms for the coasts and thunderstorms for mountains.
Dornishmen did not dress vastly different in the colder years, but one could see that the nobles did add more layers to their flowing tunics and robes, with less silk and more linen - fur lining even. Fine brocade was common amongst the high aristocracy.

Doran was dressed as such, in a long tunic-coat which fit his nimble shape, fastened around him by a rope belt of crimson which hung in tassels from his waist. There was fur lining around the collar, dark and brown, woolly like that of a mountain goat. The coat was of brown and somber shades of yellow, with floral shapes woven in. Beneath and extending beyond the coat were sleeves and hose/chausses made of thick linen, with some sort of silken layer sown together.

"Once we have all taken the guest right, we can begin the conclave."

Around came the servants, carrying platters of dates and small pieces of bread, giving one of each to each noble sitting at the assembly. More servants came soon after with bottles of wine, handing out goblets to those wishing for wine.

[Oznerol]

Dayne took the bread and salt with his long, bony fingers. The Viper leaned back on the chair with an air of self-indulgence, wrapping himself more closely in the richly embroidered cloak, covered with silvery stars. Lord Blackmont, his cousin, whispered something to him and Aron chuckled. A young Dayne with silvery hair stood by Lord Aron, his elder son and heir, Ander, who was squiring with the aforementioned Blackmont.

[Xion]

The Allyrions and their vassals take the offered bread and dates, with only Ryon and Lords Vaith and Ladybright also taking a goblet of wine when offered. They quietly eat and drink while quietly conversing amongst themselves , waiting for the council to begin. "This is just going to be another situation of Martell and Dayne bickering before the whole of Dorne, just as the wedding at Yronwood was." Emphyria thinks to herself, slightly regretting attending this event.

[ficenzi]

Lord Uller went straight for the wine the servants were offering, while also taking a few dried fruits to seem more civilized. The man and his advisors spoke silently. There was one thing sure, if the whole thing doesn't turn out to be a farce, he could lay out several suggestions he had that would benefit entire Dorne, but moreso his house.

[Gandalfus]

Yronwood took the bread and water, as commanded, cautiously watching the others who had attended all the while. Such a great mass of guests made him uncomfortable, especially given their status. Highborn lords were oft wont to bicker about scraps of land, marriages, feuds, and such like. The thought of such a procession filled him with much dread.

[Alexandrine]

Manwoody picked a few dates and slowely ate them, while washing them away with a Dornish Red. Merely observing all the nobles assembled.

[Zeus Almighty]

Brynden Blackfish Tully stood in the background quietly. Since entering temporary service of the young Prince he followed wherever he went. But he was not of Dorne so he stood, one eye scanning the room, silently.

[Gandalfus]

(Is this going to move on anytime soon?)

[The Mad Skylord]

Great gifts arrive for the Conclave. Aerys had heard they had been in discussion for a year, and he felt it his royal duty to supply food and drink, lest the poor ickle Dornishmen starved to death.

[Dirty Chai]

[OOC: Har har, Skylord]

Doran, nearly last among the inner cycle of the highest born, took a shallowly filled ornate goblet from his divan and downed it, swallowing the wine without much pleasure. It had become clear to those who knew Doran closely over the past few years that he found no pleasure in wine, strange as that was. He once confided in Yros Silverhair that he didn't trust wine, for it hurt one's sensibilities, but also because history books were full of Dornish leaders succumbing to poison hidden in the thickly colored wine. Not that Doran was under threat of poison, but he was a brooding young man.

He then chased the liquid with a date, biting into the dark fruit and then setting the rest of it back on a small platter next to the divan. Looking around, the Prince then eyed several of the high lords before speaking again.

"The conclave begins," he said, sitting down on the divan, taking his seat as the center of Dorne.
"The reason this congregation has been called," he finally began with a heavy voice, "can finally be addressed."

He gestured to the men from Starfall.
"Lord Dayne, from the moment of my lord father's death, may he swim forever in the river of paradise, has asserted that the nobles of Dorne, he included, place reprehensible blame at the feet of House Martell for the disaster of Tumbleton. I do not deny that House Martell has made mistakes, and as your liege lord, the Princedom must take responsibility for our collective failings and individual mistakes."

Doran Martell paused, looking about the room, glancing at each major lord, making eye contact. He was not smiling, and rather had a look of solemn grimness.

"Tumbleton was a disaster. My father should never have marched the banners of Dorne beyond our mountains. The Princess, my mother, should never have allowed him to. These are not denied." Another pause for emphasis.

"We have lost many loved ones from that battle," he said, evoking that he himself lost his own father at a young age, "So do believe me when I tell you, House Martell is not interested in bleeding its people on distant fields."

Doran gestured back to Dayne.
"With this said, I will raise Lord Dayne's issue: he contends that the nobility of Dorne should wield more control over our ship as it traverses the waters of time. And so I have called this Conclave. You are here, and I will listen. You will not be called treasonous for laying plights before me. Let it be known that Doran Martell is no enemy of yours."

Finally, the Prince gestured wide and looked around the whole assembly.
"I have some caveats, however. If the nobility of Dorne wishes to assemble before me and decide when taxes may be lowered or raised, or when banners should be mustered and rallied, then the larger people of Dorne deserve reforms as well."

[ficenzi]

[OOC: Hopefully, I'm doing this right]

Well, this is bloody coincidental., Desmond thought before standing up to speak. 'My prince, let the past be past. It is true, good men have died beyond our mountaints. But it is a time to move forward. Somehow, I've had the same ideas about our navy as Lord Dayne. Only through securing naval power can Dorne ascend to it's place under the Sun. If this resolution passes, I will do everything in my power to assure House Uller has atleast three, if not four times the ships it can call now.' He stood down afterwards, his speech being short and straight to the point.

[Gandalfus]

"The path to peace is littered with corpses. And as our Prince says, we have bled." Young Yronwood announced, standing amongst his peers. Taller and stronger, he was a man grown now. "While our armies must not bleed on foreign fields, we should still seek friendship and trade with those who lie outside our borders. In Essos, the Summer Islands, even our neighbours the Reachmen." He tried his best to speak as loud as he could, and was somewhat more at ease than he had been a few years prior. "We should not allow Dorne to rot on the periphery of the realm, my lords."

Looking to Uller, Yronwood gave a nod of his assent.

"What lord Uller says has merit. Other kingdoms have more men than us, and more ships as well. At least one of these must be rectified, and naval power is the easiest solution."

[Dirty Chai]

(lol, no, Firenzi, that was a metaphor, I wasn't talking about actual ships or navies)