prince o𝔣 sunspear

          the glass gardens at winterfell are a sight to behold ; and while there are countless such sights, elio finds himself drawn to them. beyond the visual spectacle he picks his way through — lush greenery caged in panes of fine glass, winter roses in shades of blue, a lemon tree bright as gold in the refracted light — the sheer historical brilliance of it impresses him. reaching out, he takes a single rose petal between his fingers, thinner and softer than silk. it feels somewhat dramatic, but he wonders how long it would have taken the starks to freeze or starve, without hot springs to warm their walls, and bones, and glass gardens.  

          he looks up at the sound of a door creaking, and interruption to his thoughts ; a cold breeze from outside floats in, carrying faint voices and the noise of everyday life. a weighty click of a heavy door closing shut, and the sound ceases, and soon the chill has dissipated into the warm air. curious, and more importantly, concerned about appearing secretive, elio takes a few steps from his rather concealed spot. he raises his hand in brief greeting, not wanting to seem threatening or suspicious in any way, as faint recognition dawns on him. 

          “ prince siddharth, ” he greets in what he hopes is a kind and friendly fashion ; he does not know the dornish prince well, having very little occasion to speak to the man, but is not so clueless as to have no knowledge of him. “ come to escape the cold ? ” he inquires. “ i’d wager it’s near as hot as dorne in here, though not half as dry. ”     /     @siddharthmartell​

If there was such a place in Winterfell that intrigued the Prince of Sunspear the most, it would be its godswood, its three acres of dark, old forest, untouched for 10,000 of years, cradling the fortress as if it was but its babe. Siddharth Nymeros Martell had heard that among its trees lie sentinels, soldiers, oaks, ironwoods, hawthorns, and ash, some of which he himself has never laid eyes nor touch on. He was no sage of such things, but a boy within his retinue showed promise and prowess of such study. Siddharth had been of mind to send him to the Citadel to foster the boy's knowledge, satiate his curiosity, and perhaps in time, he may serve him back as a future maester. If things were truly so simply.

His dark eyes quickly narrowed at the sight of the Merchant Prince, taking but a few moments to recall his name. Siddharth was well aware of his station, though the letters would not come to mind sooner, as he himself has done a great deal of business in Essos. The unfathomable coarseness of the Braavosi's face, complete with equally dark eyes and grievous brow, seemed strangely displaced by his modest garb. Does he not understand the weight of his station as Prince of the Seven Kingdoms? Most would belittle him as a mere consort to a dragon princess, a merchant whose luck rang true once married to a Targaryen, but luck or strategy, Siddharth found opportunity and purpose to his absence of harm. Not everyone who fights great battles do so with sword and spear.

"Prince Elio..." He offered him a mixture of a slight nod and a brief bow, standing his ground, a playful smile finding its way upon his lips. He turned to the boy slightly behind him, gesturing for the child to offer the Merchant Prince the same respect, and tasked him without word to find his leave upon dutiful obedience. The Prince of Sunspear then took a few steps closer to Elio, though he maintained a measure of distance between them. "The cold of Winterfell, I have yet to find common ground with... Everything here is more dreary and grim than in Dorne.” 

“I do hope your travels with your Targaryen Princess fared better than mine. Such a long way away from home, are we not? My retinue would not stop weeping for the paradisaical warmth of the Water Gardens." He chuckled, shaking his head, at the memory of his men, fierce warriors of the desert turned children brought away from their mother. 

            in  the  many  travels  with  his  father  over  the  years,  cedrik  recalls  having  been  to  dorne  once.  it  was  in  his  youth,  barely  a  teen,  dragged  along  one  of  his  father’s  visits  to  potential  allies  and  people  he  wished  to  see  peace  with.  numerous  visits  to  those  south  of  them,  drinking  wine  while  cracking  jokes  about  how  northerners  and  ironborn  weren’t  to  be  trusted.  he  doesn’t  remember  much  of  the  trip,  or  who  he  had  the  honor  of  meeting,  but  he  remembers  dorne.  it’s  one  of  the  only  places  cedrik  genuinely  loved  to  go,  despite  having  gone  only  once.  the  warm  sun,  the  exquisite  treats  he  never  had  at  home  and  the  culture,  how  he  admired  their  culture.  one  day,  one  day  he’ll  go  back.

            there  are  places  he  doesn’t  mind  traveling  to  now  and  again,  but  the  north  ?  he  minds  very  much.  the  cold  is  dreadful  and  there’s  nothing  that  holds  his  interest  in  the  north.  house  stark  is  to  become  in  laws  so  he  figures  it’s  in  his  best  interest  to  celebrate  the  coronation  of  the  new  king  and  queen  –  besides  keeping  up  appearances.  allies  must  be  found  wherever  they  are  permitted,  regardless  where  they  may  live.  his  father’s  words,  and  gods  how  he  hates  to  hear  that  man’s  voice  in  his  head.

            he  doesn’t  recognize  the  other,  having  known  they’ve  never  crossed  paths  before.  while  names  can  be  tricky,  even  faces,  cedrik  likes  to  think  he  has  a  decent  memory  …  most  of  the  time.  at  the  stranger’s  bow,  the  lord  baratheon  mimics  his  actions,  despite  not  quite  knowing  who  the  other  is.  he  has  his  guesses,  nearly  confirmed  with  the  accent  and  then  there’s  the  mentioning  of  sunspear  which  tells  him  all  he  needs  to  know.

            ❝    prince  siddharth  martell  of  sunspear,    ❞    though  there’s  still  a  question  of  whether  or  not  he’s  correct,  cedrik  would  surely  bet  on  himself.  he  was  always  taught  to  know  the  rulers  of  each  house,  whether  they  be  lord  or  prince  …  or  king.  their  beautiful  attire  of  dorne,  the  fact  the  other  knows  who  he  is  nearly  gives  it  away.    ❝    the  pleasure  is  all  mine,  your  grace.    ❞    now,  with  knowing  the  other’s  importance,  cedrik  is  thankful  he  chose  to  bow.  the  prince  certainly  isn’t  hard  to  look  at,  either.

            ❝    my  travels  were  as  to  be  expected,    ❞    not  entirely  blunt  but  hinting  at  such.  ❝    yes,  riding  from  dorne  …  that’s  a  very  far  journey,  i  hope  it  was  kind  to  you.    ❞    cedrik  is  not  typically  one  to  kiss  up  to  others  or  practically  sink  to  his  knees  for  another  man,  unless  in  times  of  pleasure,  but  he  knows  when  to  honey  his  words  and  put  on  a  show  for  anyone  interested.  his  true  feelings  and  desires  matter  not  when  confronted  with  lords  or  princes  alike.    ❝    as  much  as  i  miss  storm’s  end,  i  would  believe  that  to  be  true.    ❞

The Prince of Sunspear offered the Lord of Storms a bow, his lips curling into a playful smirk, as the latter correctly guessed his identity. To say he was impressed would be an understatement, though his own perception may have given too much weight on the accuracy of judgment. 

Cedrik Baratheon was the ruling Lord of a Great House, after all. His tutors would have provided him with as much knowledge of the realms as they could, although none of which perhaps served the truths the Dornishmen held to chest. He wondered if the good lord took to Dorne like the rest of Westeros do, with misinformed curiosities and misguided offense. He wondered if the good lord could be so different.

"It was not, I'm afraid. The journey took too long and my retinue would not stop gossiping about these Northern breasts, all while professing their sorrow for having to leave the warmth of Dornish sands." He shook his head, chuckling to himself, his grip on the apple behind his back growing ever tighter while his thumb caressed the fruit like it was itself a paramour.

Siddharth's dark eyes looked over the Storm Lord's form once more, from his boots in the snow to the hard steel in his eyes. The Prince of Sunspear was not ignorant of the history between their Houses but he could not deny the truth of the rarely spoken beauty of the Stag. He wondered if his horns could be so hard.

“Ours is the curiosity that spurred us to make haste to Winterfell, my lord. Two kings in one place... Such strange times could so easily light a fire under someone, if it were not so cold.”

    the  invitation  from  wolf  to  dragon  was  not  one  that  sat  lightly  on  either  party,  of  this  nathalya  was  nearly  certain,  especially  due  to  such  a  tumultuous  occasion.  not  when  the  death  of  the  late  king  of  the  north  sat  so  heavily  on  the  remaining  starks.  she  was  no  fool  to  believe  even  their  allies  didn’t  find  fault  within  those  that  bore  the  targaryen  name.  the  queen  dwelled  little  on  it,  though,  for  she  couldn’t  accept  fault  for  an  action  she  did  not  commit.

    though  not  as  long  or  as  hard  of  a  journey  as  most,  she  found  herself  missing  the  warmth  and  comfort  of  king’s  landing  all  the  same.  the  north’s  spring  might  as  well  have  been  winter  in  her  eyes,  and  it  was  not  something  she  was  terribly  keen  on  adjusting  to.  especially  not  with  how  keenly  every  moved  seemed  to  be  watched  and  a  palpable  unease  between  the  northern  and  southern  parties.  a  fact  that,  in  spite  of,  nathalya  had  bore  familiar  kindness  with  ease.  perhaps  it  was  her  job,  as  queen,  to  be  equal  parts  skeptical  and  cordial.  now,  more  than  ever.

     festivities  seemed  to  be  never  -  ending,  and  though  she  quite  enjoyed  most  of  the  company  she’d  surrounded  herself  with,  even  she  needed  a  moment’s  breath.  the  evening  air  is  far  crisper  than  during  the  day,  but  it  was  almost  refreshing  after  the  collective  warmth  inside.  head  cocked  to  the  side  curiously  at  the  question,  steps  coming  to  a  halt.     ❝  impossibly  close  to  the  wall,  it  is  not  a  village  most  forget  hearing  about,  your  highness.  certainly  their  nights  are  far  warmer  within  the  belly  of  the  earth  than  on  the  surface,  yes  ?  as  warm  as  a  northern  town  could  be.  ❞

"Your...highness." Of all the lords and ladies to come upon him in this cold Northern night, Siddharth Nymeros Martell had not expected the Queen of the South to be the one to break his so-called peace. 

If memory served him correctly, she was not a Targaryen herself but born of a House loyal to the dragons. He wondered if she shared the fire in the Targaryen's bellies or the rumored tempest brewing around her husband's head. The Prince of Sunspear was not one to readily believe the whispers in the wind, though his curiosity required satiation. There was one thing that Siddharth managed to satisfy, however, and that was the truth to the beauty of the Dragon's Heart. 

Offering Nathalya Targaryen a considerate bow, hands clasped tightly behind him with the apple, the Dornish prince took a moment or two to admire her with his dark eyes and a playful smirk. "I sincerely hope you and your kingly husband are faring well in this Northern weather, your grace, faring much better than I, I should say."

Although Siddharth himself was no stranger to cold nights, he made great efforts to keep himself warm whenever he could. Dorne was home to pleasure, and passion ran deep within her children’s blood. The Targaryens knew this to be true themselves, Dorne’s long-standing independence and the harrowing defeat of one of the crown’s dragons both remain undeniable proof to the gospel. 

to those accustomed to the warmth of the southern kingdoms, it may have seemed as though bella had traded in the damp and dreary weather of the iron islands for the even harsher coldness of the north. but those that knew sabella would have seen how the snow that lay at the keep’s feet, and the bustle going on inside had sparked joy within the riverlands-raised woman. 

for the first time in years, sabella could be caught humming to herself as she breathed even as stark cold bit at her exposed cheeks and fingers. though she’d had little to drink that night -happy as she was to be reunited with her siblings, she had little desire to get drunk and cause a scene- the slap of the cold wind brought out the redness in her cheeks, which only deepened as she realised she’d intruded upon the other. “i’ve heard of it.” she remembered soldiers drinking and laughing about digging for buried treasure there the first time she’d visited winterfell with her father. “it’s much further north than here, if you can even conceive of such a thing.” sabella had done her own research on the little village much later, fascinated by the concept of an underground town. “i think they do their best to keep warm there, but i think you’d be better off with the cold you already know, my lord.”

When the voice of a woman offering advice against his curiosity, born out of his spearmen's longing for passion and warmth, rang sweetly in his ears, the Prince of Sunspear found his lips curling into a playful smile. 

The only reason he had left the paradise that was the Water Gardens, the sweet embrace of his home, was to satiate his curiosity regarding the two kings, the Northern wolf and the dragon of the South. So far, nothing interesting has happened, and Siddharth grew disappointed and tired of the grim and bleak faces of the Northmen and their lords. A lady's presence would no doubt be a welcomed respite from the wolves' winter. Or so he thought. 

As he turned around to face the beauty that stood before him, the smile upon his lips departed, leaving his jaw slightly ajar, his mouth opened in surprise. "Your grace."

Siddharth was quick to regain his smile, though his dark eyes discreetly made time to ensure that she was who he perceived her to be. Although most of the Seven Kingdoms outside of the Iron Islands considered the realm's status as an independent kingdom up for contention, Siddharth himself took to the ironborn with less hostility, as if he intended to solve their mystery with utmost excitement. 

Although Sabella Greyjoy had only married into the name, she was a Greyjoy no less, and Siddharth admired that she had survived the change. How anyone outside of Pyke could abandon the comforts of their birthright for the harshness of the islands was a mystery in itself, though he knew it could not have been her decision alone. Still, she was here, alive and well, blushing like a young maiden in the presence of her handsome lord. He could only offer her a quick bow, the smile on his lips remaining playful. 

"Please extend my warmth to your husband, the Rock King of the Iron Islands, as well as to the rest of your household, though dwindling mine may be. The cold I know is too far down South, I'm afraid, and Winterfell has bested this fool's arrogance."

                 he  gives  up ,        at  least  for  the  moment ,  trying  to  convince  the  man  that  calling  him       my  lord        was  unneeded .  he  was  fine  enough  simply  being  eliar ,  but  if  the  dornishman  wishes  to  stick  to  custom  he  will  accept  it .  he  focuses  instead  on  the  point  that  pleasure  was  always  the  answer .   ‘   have  you  found  any  in  the  north ,  my  lord   ?   pleasure  that  is .   ’    after  enough  times  of  the  stranger  using  the  honorific ,  the  northern  lord  finally  does  so  himself .  none  of  it  comes  from  a  place  of  disrespect ,  it  just  simply  was  not  an  aspect  of  life  that  eliar  cared  that  much  about .

         besides  his  admittance  to  being  from  dorne ,  the  presence  of  the  dagger  was  perhaps  the  first  clue  that  eliar  had  to  identifying  the  man .  he  tries  to  place  it  himself ,  but  memorizing  the  houses  and  which  animals  they  claimed  had  never  been  something  he  excelled  greatly  at .   ‘   it’s  a  beautiful  blade ,   ’   he  comments ,  and  that  was  truth .  eliar  knew  swords  and  other  sharp  things ,  and  even  if  he  could  not  tell  by  their  hilt  who  they  belonged  to  he  could  appreciate  them .   ‘   quite  an  interesting  design .   ’

         eliar  nods  at  the  question .  he  was  aware  of  that .    ‘   i’ve  spent  some  time  in  dorne  actually ,  so  i’m  familiar  with  the  concept ,  yes .   ’   dorne  had  also  been  beautiful ,  quite  different  from  the  rest  of  westeros  and  eliar  had  enjoyed  his  time  there .  however ,  he  had  learned  the  heat  was  not  something  that  agreed  with  him  well ,  and  he  had  not  returned  on  his  last  journey .  perhaps  he  would  go  again  someday ,  but  only  time  could  tell ;  eliar  umber  did  not  plan  out  his  life  too  far  into  the  future .

        ‘   well ,  that  is  where  you  said  you  would  begin  your  journey ,  my  lord .  if  that  is  not  your  true  home ,  perhaps  you  can  enlighten  me ,   ’   he  replied  as  he  carefully  took  the  apple ,  a  quick  nod  of  thanks .  if  they  wished  to ,  they  might  trade  stories  of  unmarried  bachelors .  eliar  had  been  promised  to  a  lady  once ,  by  his  father  before  his  passing ,  but  that  had  cast  aside  as  many  things  had  once  the  youngest  umber  decided  to  simply        live       as  he  wished  to .  however ,  unlike  siddharth ,  there  was  no  paramour  or  object  of  affection .  a  few  fleeting  things  in  his  travels ,  but  nothing  that  stuck        ——         understandable  given  how  quickly  he  moved  from  place  to  place .

          ‘    i  may ,  my  lord ,  in  my  own  way .   ’

"None so far, I'm afraid." Siddharth Nymeros Martell heaved a sigh, pained, if not merely disappointed, by the truth that had slithered out of his lips. Should the Lord Umber celebrate the pleasures of the North with him, the Prince of Sunspear would be very grateful. He wondered, however, if the Northmen knew of passion as well as the Dornishmen, and immediately doubted the same.

Truth be told, Siddharth had yet to truly make his rounds of the fortress, having spent his arrival tired from all the traveling and still slowly getting accustomed to the bleakness and the difference in weather between his home and the North. He knew it was so, he knew it was to be, yet knowing did not prepare him for the stark reality of the situation. "All I have found is what I had expected even before I decided to make my way here, my lord, all the way from Sunspear: cold." 

Siddharth hoped that answered the Lord Umber’s query, satiated his curiosity, of the Prince’s origins. He did not wish to confuse him further, but Siddharth was too bored to deliver him quickly towards enlightenment. The Prince of Sunspear did not belittle Eliar’s wit, knowing full how mysteries often last through misdirection and blatant ignorance, two blades he has been playing with since they started their conversation.

When the Lord Umber moved the discussion to his appreciation of the Martell blade, a sly smile already formed upon the mouth of the Prince of Sunspear. It persisted throughout, even as he shifted his attention to the dagger, admiring its design as well, though he was a little disappointed that the same lord appeared to be oblivious of the dangers it held. Was he unaware of the stories of the Dornishmen and hidden daggers, most especially of the Martells? Or was he simply confident that blood could not be spilled within the fortress? Faith is often a powerful armor, though it can be wielded as a weapon when necessary.

"It is, isn't it? A coiled serpent... When I was a boy, I thought ill of it, always present in all the weapons in the palace armory. You would think my ancestors would know subtlety. Over the years, however, I have learned to appreciate the intention of making those who cross us remember our name."

Siddharth wondered if this Lord Umber had ties to another House in Dorne. It would be ill-advised for him to conspire against the Prince of Sunspear, though he could have just visited a minor house as a measure of propriety. More possible, it could have been a visit outside of his own household’s knowledge. Still, the Prince of Sunspear was not aware of any relationship between the Umbers and any Dornish house, though he was not all-knowing and such information, if not of utmost importance, would probably not reach his ears. 

"Ah, where in Dorne? I don't think I remember you having visited Sunspear or the Water Gardens... I would remember such a face. Or at the very least, the household would have reminded their Prince."

although  her  entourage  and  the  number  of  servants  in  her  disposition  had  grown  absurdly  over  the  past  couple  of  years,  when  her  husband  ascended  to  his  father’s  position,  myrcella  was  yet  to  entirely  forget  what  it  was  to  be  but  the  eldest  lady  of  her  house,  by  a  lucky  opportunity  serving  the  lady  wylla  lefford  in  the  infamous  casterly  rock,  so  when  she  notices  the  absence  of  one  of  her  younger  charges,  the  instinct  that  rules  the  lady  tully  is  to  search  for  the  riverwoman  herself,  excusing  herself  from  this  round  of  dancing  as  she  exits  the  warmth  of  the  great  hall  to  brave  the  faint  chill  of  the  evening  outside. it  does  not  take  long  for  her  to  find  gwen, a  toothy  smile  spread  on  her  thin  lips  as  she  talks  with  a  northerner  knight  in  a  manner  that  should  be  rather  suspicious ( if  it  is  such  an  innocent  flirtation,  why  would  she  not  partake  on  it  under  the  eyes  of  her  brothers  and  sisters  inside  the  castle ? )  but  after  a  brief  moment  of  hesitation,  myrcella  decides  it  is  not  worth  it  to  intrude  upon  the  encounter  yet.  

so,  once  taking  notice  of  the  boy’s  hand  location  —  by  the  holster  of  his  dagger,  a  great  distance  from  the  laces  of  her  lady’s  bodice  —  the  lady  tully  stands  down,  walking  towards  the  opposite,  yet  not  too  far,  distance,  where  she  could  comfortably  observe  her  girl. in  truth,  she  would  likely  have  returned  to  where  the  agitation  was,  easily  bored  by  herself  and  easily  bothered  by  the  cold,  more  intense  away  from  the  constant  fires  within  winterfell’s  welcoming  feasts,  but  she  can  not  help  how  her  attention  drifts  to  the  sole  figure  nearby. she  knew  lord  martell  faintly  —  the  distance  between  the  riverlands  and  dorne,  and  their  polar  loyalties  made  them  unlikely  partners  in  all  matters,  but  curiosity  over  the  man’s  presence  so  far  up  north  rises  like  the  easy  flush  that  creeps  up  her  countenance  for,  if  she  found  herself  of  poor  tolerance  to  the  weather,  certainly  the  prince  would  find  it  most  intolerable.  

yet  when  he  speaks,  his  tone  is  an  amused  one,  and  she  takes  it  as  enough  welcome  to  approach  him  better,  though  as  propriety  commands.  a  small  furrow  in  between  her  brows  initiates  as  he  speaks  of  the  northern  location,  and  it  is  clear  she  knows  not  of  the  place. ❝ the  northern  do  have  the  most  curious  naming  abilities,  don’t  they ? ❞ the  flame - haired  rhetorically  comments,  the  corner  of  her  mouth  betraying  a  jest  as  she  continues. ❝ with  a  name  as  such,  i  wonder  what  sort  of  warmth  you’d  find  there,  your  highness. ❞ the  lady  consort  of  the  riverlands  she  may  be  now,  but  just  ten  vivid  years  ago,  she  was  a  daughter  of  a  military  commander  in  midst  of  a  war,  and  myrcella  was  no  maiden  to  flush  or  shy  from  a  risqué  wordplay. ❝ i  am  sure  you’d  miss  the  heat  of  sunspear  fondly,  i  can  not  imagine  how  great  an  opposition  to  your  familiarity  your  long  trip  must  have  been. do  you  believe  it  a  possibility  to  find  a  similarity  between  the  two,  winterfell  and  sunspear,  my  prince ? ❞

Siddharth Nymeros Martell was but a man, even if his exploits and origins tend to get exaggerated by his fellow Dornishmen. A Prince born from the bubbling foams of the Water Gardens impregnated by the feisty sun itself? A venomous viper of the Dornish deserts, where the red sands border the white, that could change forms to a hardened spear and the ruling Prince of Sunspear? 

The Dornishmen, like the rest of Westeros, found enjoyment and delight in their stories, and Siddharth himself found such stories quite amusing. Who was he to deprive them of their creativity, of their self-made distractions and entertainment? Even spearmen, warriors, deserve a tale or two to spin to rid themselves of their boredom, lest their own minds be spun and their boredom rid themselves of their minds.

Thus, as soon as heard the voice of a woman, a smile, a playful smirk, found its way quickly upon Siddharth's lips. The Prince of Sunspear was well-versed in all things woman, having explored all he can ever since he was but a boy. 

Dorne encouraged pleasure, worshiped it as if it were life itself, freely given and boldly taken. Dorne did not burden itself with unnecessary complications such as the birthright of the two, or three, lovers, their last name, their fathers, what rests between their legs. Dorne encouraged pleasure in all its forms, a pure celebration of one's needs and desires, like flame eternal, forever burning, never extinguished.

When he turned around to face her, his smile grew wider at the sight of such beauty. Siddharth did take to all women as beautiful, but this one, this lady, effortlessly reminded him of the golden peels of Dornish lemons ripe for the picking. Who she was came to him a few seconds later, and while it disappointed his heart to know that the lady was already spoken for, his smile never vanished from his lips.

Beauty isn't always made to be owned. Beauty can still be admired even from afar. That was what he learned as a young boy. That what was Dorne intended to teach her sons. That was perhaps the reason why he remains unmarried to this day.

"The warmth of a woman... Mole's Town has it, they jest, and I have missed it fondly throughout the trip here from Dorne." He did not mince words as if they were meat, chuckling to himself as he clasped his hands behind him, the hardened apple of the North between them. 

Siddharth's dark eyes looked the lady over once, as if putting to mind her very being, intending to never forget even one tiny detail of her, before settling for her eyes. 

"Sunspear has all kinds of warmth, heat, my lady, most of which Winterfell lacks, though I would like to think the Northmen make up for that in different ways. I believe Sunspear and Winterfell are the same in that, they're both home to people who cannot be bent, not by heat nor by cold."

The Prince of Sunspear approached the lady the closest propriety could allow him, if not a step further to remind her that Dornish people were the ones to rebel against the established order. He showed her his hand, gesturing for her to take it. 

"Is the lady not cold? There are warmer grounds inside the fortress. You are of the riverlands, if I remember correctly, though born of another house, I believe? It is my honor, and my pleasure, to make your acquaintance, my lady."

            no  matter  the  reason,  cedrik  hates  leaving  storm’s  end.  he  hates  leaving  the  stormlands  altogether,  but  his  people  he  trusts  –  the  rest  of  westeros  is  another  story.  as  someone  who  despises  the  cold  perhaps  the  same  amount  of  someone  who  hates  to  travel,  riding  north  seemed  like  a  punishment.  a  glimpse  of  torture,  to  be  dramatic.  if  forced  to  go  anywhere,  he  preferred  the  awful  smells  of  king’s  landing  and  the  fairly  warm  weather.  springtime  with  no  snow,  yet  the  biting  cold  is  a  constant  reminder  of  his  distance  from  home  and  the  proximity  of  strangers.

            it’s  no  surprise  that  he  finds  himself  subtly  hiding  among  the  many  corridors  of  winterfell  or  where  no  one  frequently  wanders,  doing  his  best  to  find  alone  time  wherever  he  can.  he  finds  himself  lost  most  of  the  time,  having  only  been  to  winterfell  a  handful  of  times,  and  he  can’t  imagine  ever  living  in  such  a  place.  it’s  a  wonder  he’s  to  marry  a  stark  themselves,  knowing  that  they  already  have  differences  of  temperature  preference.  though  she  will  ultimately  join  him  in  storm’s  end,  he  knows  he  will  always  be  tied  to  the  north  after  his  marriage  and  the  trips  will  always  be  something  cedrik  must  do.

            with  furs  wrapped  around  him  and  hoping  to  clear  his  head,  he  figures  he  cannot  catch  frostbite  if  he’s  only  outside  for  a  moment.  with  his  head  dropped  and  shuffling  through  the  courtyard,  cedrik  comes  to  a  halt  when  someone  begins  to  speak  to  him.  his  head  is  picked  up  quickly,  eyes  squinting  in  the  dark  in  an  attempt  to  recognize  the  voice.  even  with  lanterns  and  torches  scattered  throughout,  he  can’t  put  a  finger  on  who  the  person  could  be.    ❝    i  have  heard  of  it,  yes.    ❞    he  knows  too  much  about  castle  black  and  its  surroundings,  thanks  to  threats  of  the  past.    ❝    it’s  farther  north…  i  can’t  imagine  it’d  be  warmer.  no  where  in  the  north  is  warm,  anyways.    ❞

Siddharth Nymeros Martell was caught surprised by the blunt words that were sent flying his way, a welcomed respite from the bleak and drab welcome by the Northmen that he had to endure upon his arrival. He had expected no less from the North, the stories of their grim seriousness having reached Dorne years before Siddharth was born, and was already missing the comforts of the Water Gardens, his paradisaical refuge from the rest of the realms.

Yet his curiosity of the new Northern king and the choice he made of inviting the Southern king to his coronation would not be ignored. The Prince of Sunspear wanted to see for himself what could happen, so here he was, complaining about the expected cold.

Smiling from ear to ear, he turned around to lay witness to whoever was the master of the barb, a truth actually, though Siddharth could imagine some Northmen taking offense to it. Jealousy and insecurity can often twist the innocence of a truth into the sharp blade of a hidden dagger. 

The Prince of Sunspear was mildly surprised to find the Lord of Storm's End, the Storm Lord, standing before him. He offered the Stag a bow, clasping his hands with the apple behind him, the flowing sleeves of his silk and satin robes underneath his Dornish winter cloak becoming one.

"Lord Cedrik Baratheon of Storm's End... It is an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Siddharth made sure to pronounce his Dornish accent well as an attempt to hint that he was no mere lord of the South, no mere lord of the North, though he would care little should the Storm Lord make the wrong assumption. Those outside of Dorne always do. 

"I do hope your travels fared better, my lord. We are both a long way away from our homes, myself farther, though it's been quite a while since I've been made to miss the sands of Sunspear. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I've heard."  

                  given  more  comfort ,        eliar  had  the  possibility  to  become  more  animated        (   his  best  smiles ,  the  ones  that  capture  the  whole  of  his  face ,  are  saved  for  family  and  close  friends   ) ;        for  now  though ,  he  stuck  to  his  standard  mannerisms .  it  is  the  smile  from  the  dornishman  that  pulls  him  from  this ,  a  slight  one  of  his  own  appears  for  a  moment .   ‘   pleasure  is  likely  the  more  appropriate  answer ,   ’   he  replies ,  a  slow  nod  coming  with  his  words .        escape        is  the  most  accurate ,  but  of  the  two  options  given ,  pleasure  would  do .  he  did  enjoy  his  travels ,  after  all ,  but  it  spoke  little  to  the  creeping  itch  of  being  caught  when  he  remained  in  the  halls  of  his  home  for  too  long .  eliar  umber  was  a  boy  who  was  born  to  run ,  even  if  there  was  nothing  in  particular  for  him  to  run  from .

        seven  years  of  traveling  through  westeros  with  the  goal  of  travel  alone ,  no  destination  in  mind ;  just  for  the  feeling  of  open  road .  it  made  him  feel  free .  

        his  brow  furrows  slightly  at  the  other’s  answer .  he  is  sure  the  other  must  be  a  lord  of  some  kind ,  so  perhaps  the  retort  he  thinks  of  is  imprudent .  yet ,  that  had  never  stopped  him  before ,  even  if  it  had  lead  directly  to  a  few  nobles'  dislike  of  him ,  and  the  dornishman  had  brought  the  topic  up …   besides ,  if  the  other  was  not  going  to  answer  him  anyway ,  as  he  had  yet  to ,  there  was  no  harm  in  any  of  the  questions  he  asked        (   at  least ,  that  was  his  rationale   ) .   ‘   home  is  a  brothel ,   ’   he  repeats ,  as  if  he’s  giving  some  great  thought  to  the  idea .   ‘   were  you  born  there  or  do  you  just  frequent  it  often  enough  that  they’ve  saved  a  bed  for  you   ?   ’   the  words  come  with  the  same  hint  of  a  smile  in  the  corner  of  his  lips :  the  tell  that ,  at  the  very  least ,  he  finds  himself  amusing . 

"Pleasure is always the answer, my lord, always the better answer." 

Siddharth Nymeros Martell could not help but laugh at the notion, most especially when the Umber lord quipped about him being born in a brothel. A lesser Dornishman might take offense to that, believing that the remark would be one of those ignorant beliefs the Westerosi outside of Dorne famously shares with one another about those they could not bend. The Prince of Sunspear, however, knew it to be true, especially of himself, an exaggeration perhaps but a truth nonetheless.

With the flowing sleeves of his silk and satin robes dancing in the air as he brought his arms back in front of him, the Northern apple still hard in his calloused hands, Siddharth guided his right hand as it made its way to his jeweled belt, hidden underneath his robes, which in itself was hidden underneath his Dornish cloak especially made for the Northern cold, to retrieve an ornate dagger. 

The dagger's blade was as sharp as the Dornishman's wit, and upon its hilt, coiled a silver serpent with eyes of ruby. He began to cut slices of the apple as he continued to speak. "Pleasure is perhaps the most noble of motivations, the only motivation worth one's life."

"Do you know that in Dorne, we call brothels pillow houses and the women in them pillow girls?" He offered an apple slice to Eliar as graciously as he could. 

Siddharth was not one to indulge in sweetness, especially in his wine, like most Dornishmen, so a part of him hoped the apple would not be as sweet as the Northmen were famed to be too somber. The Lord Umber had given him hope that the stories about the Northmen were as exaggerated as the stories about the Dornishmen, though he is but one man against an entire realm. "To call a house of pleasure home would be an honor, as Dornishmen celebrate pleasure as if it is life freely given."

Perhaps it was why Siddharth was still unmarried. Perhaps he has spent more time indulging himself in the pleasures of the brothels, the pillow houses and the pillow girls within them, that he has found no more to spend on finding a suitable wife, be it of passion or of duty to his realm. Perhaps he should just wed his paramour, his sworn spear, though that might not sit well with the lords and ladies of Dorne, all vying for his attention. Paramours may be given a sort of special status in Dornish customs, as influenced by the Rhoynar, but they will always be beneath wives or husbands as lordly influence dictates. Such is the trouble with the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, putting mere words and titles over passion and love.

"Do you celebrate pleasure as well, my lord?" He offered him a playful smile to go with the apple slice.

                it  seems  like  the  other  hears  neither  his  inquiries  nor  requests ,        but  eliar  is  unsure  if  the  dornishman  is  just  toying  with  him .  likewise ,  he  thought  he  would  receive  a  name  upon  giving  his  own ,  yet  their  conversation  has  moved  on  once  again ;  this  man  he  did  not  know  seemed  comfortable  to  jump  from  topic  to  topic .   ‘   eliar  really  is  enough ,  my  lord ,   ’   he  repeats ,  but  then  he  catches  the  man’s  question .  he  tilts  and  a  slight  smile  reaches  his  features ,  for  a  moment .   it  was  not  a  question  he  had  to  answer  before …   those  in  the  north  likely  knew  the  reasoning  for  the  name  of  the  umber’s  castle ,  and  those  further  south  were  unlikely  to  care .

       '   i  have  not  been  home  in  over  a  year ,  my  lord ,  so  i  cannot  say .  though  my  brother  who  keeps  it  was  able  to  grace  us  with  his  presence  here  so  likely  it  has  not  frozen  completely  or  been  sacked  in  my  absence ,   ’   the  joke  comes  in  the  usual  straight - faced  delivery ,  humor  mostly  hidden  behind  a  lack  of  expression        (   though  there’s  a  slight  quirk  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth  ) .        he  uses  the  time  of  speaking  of  the  place  to  figure  out  how  to  word  his  explanation  of        why .        ‘   and  last …    because  it        is        the  last  heath .  if  you  were  to  travel  from  whatever  place  you  call  home  through  all  of  the  kingdoms ,  the  last  hearth  would  be  the  last  castle  you  might  stay  in  before  you  reach  the  wall .  the  last  place  for  a  warm  fire  before  you  find  yourself  on  the  edge  of  the  world .  we  call  it  first  if  you’re  headed  in  the  opposite  direction ,  but  most  aren’t  so  that  naming  is  less  popular .   ’   another  joke  with  stern  delivery .

        once  he  answers ,  he  turns  the  question  back  to  the  other .   ‘   and  if  you  were  to  make  that  journey ,  where  would  you  have  begun   ?   ’

The Prince of Sunspear took a moment to take in the Lord Umber’s answers, watching him still with his dark eyes narrowed and his hands clasped behind his back with the Northern apple he had taken with him. He grasped the fruit as tightly as he could, as if afraid he may drop it should his mind wander off once more, elsewhere.

Catching the attempts of this Eliar to humor him, thanks mostly to the slight quirk in the corner of his mouth, the Sun Snake thought his deliveries suited well the Northern archetype: straight-faced, dry, stern. It wasn’t the same as most Dornish deliveries, which tended to be more playful and teasing, but it was what made to him it quite refreshing, a respite from all he’s known, from his doubts and concerns about coming all the way to the North only to get bored out of his wits. To that, Siddharth Nymeros Martell could not help but smile.

Another thing he could not help? His insatiable curiosity that has now focused itself on this very lord. “You have been away from home in over a year, my lord? For duty or pleasure?” 

There was a slight, though very noticeable, emphasis on that last word, as if he was testing his waters. Was the lord too cold? Was he too hot? Or was he just right for drinking, bathing. 

The lord Eliar did have a point, however. Naming conventions were of a great interest to Siddharth for the simple reason that they usually allowed him a glimpse into the mind of every man or woman he will ever meet, especially those outside of Dorne. Most Westerosi consider his ilk strange and foreign, and in turn, the Dornishmen considered them the same. 

Siddharth took a step closer to the Lord Umber, whispering his response to the final question, a.stark reference to the first question they had ever shared. “...a brothel, most likely.”

                 the  north  was  vast ,      and  eliar  had  been  gone  from  it  for  the  majority  of  the  past  seven  years .  before  that  he  was  even  more  of  a  boy ,  and  his  only  travels  were  with  his  father  and  mostly  to  other  strongholds ,  not  to  small  towns  near  the  wall ,  even  if  the  brothel  there  was  well  known  to  the  service  it  offered  to  men  of  the  black .  besides ,  there  were  brothels  closer        (   both  to  winterfell  and  his  own  home  )        so  it  was  not  as  if  one  would  travel  to  such  a  place  for  that  alone .  

          as  eliar  is  looked  over ,  he  plays  the  same  game  as  the  dornishman ,  trying  to  place  the  lord  he  did  not  think  he  had  met  in  his  travels …   but  then  again  he  had  met  many  and  it  was  quite  possible  he  had  forgotten  someone .  he  is  given  reprieve  when  it  becomes  clear  that  the  other  does  not  recall  him  either ,  if  they  had  met .  the  mistake  is  an  understandable  one  to  make ,  that  he  was  a  wolf ,  as  he  had  spent  the  days  in  winterfell  frequently  playing  with  his  young  nieces  and  nehpew  who  were ,  but  he  was  giant’s  blood .   

        ‘   no ,  my  lord ,   ’   he  answers ,  finding  his  manners  only  when  prompted  by  the  other’s  words .   ‘   my  sister  is  by  marriage ,  but  i  am  still  an  umber .   eliar  is  fine  though .   ’        lord  umber      never  really  suited  him .

An Umber lord? Siddharth Nymeros Martell’s dark eyes narrowed upon the man, a smile forming across his lips. What does he know of the Umbers, he tried to remember, knowing already that the truth of the House far eclipsed what the tutors and the books back home have taught him. The Prince of Sunspear, a salty Dornishman by the standards of the rest of Westeros, nodded as he eyed him once more. “Ah, of course, I see it now... A Lord Umber.”

He offered him a brief bow, still grinning, the apple on his hands behind his back still as whole as his own bones. “It is my honor and privilege to make your acquaintance, my dear Lord Umber. How is Last Hearth? And if I may be so bold, as most Dornishmen are, why Last Hearth? Why not First Hearth or Best Hearth?”

Although the Sun Snake’s curiosity might sound, come across as, a bit playful, it was indeed a strange query that had always plagued Siddharth’s mind. Most lords would prefer they be called the First or the Best, never the Last. 

Were the Northmen this somber? A part of him hoped not. While they did pique his curiosity, he had traveled long and far from the comforts of the Water Gardens and would rather not have done so only to be bored out of his wits.

                eliar  had  been  to  dorne ,         a  few  years  past ,  and  had  similar  complaints  of  it  to  those  the  prince  of  dorne  had  of  the  north .  born  just  below  the  gift ,  in  the  furthest  most  castle  in  the  seven  kingdoms  save  for  those  of  the  wall ,  he  was  not  built  to  endure        great  heat .        while  homecomings  were  strange  things  for  him ,  the  one  who  grew  so  restless  behind  castle  walls ,  there  was  something  comforting  about  the  slight  chill  to  him .

       that ,  and  the  creeping  feeling  of  the  walls  closing  once  again ,  was  perhaps  what  pushed  the  hedge  knight  into  the  courtyard ,  looking  for  a  moment  of  reprieve  from  the  court  itself .  head  cants  to  the  left  at  the  question ,  and  he’s  given  pause .   after  a  fracture  of  a  pause ,  he  chuckles  slightly .   ‘   on  the  edge  of  the  gift   ?   i  have  not  been  there  specifically  but  i  can  say  it  does  continue  to  get  colder  as  you  go  north ,  the  ground  included .   ’

        ‘   are  you  planing  to  travel  there   ?   i  am  unsure  that  they  are  used  to  visitors ,  and  you  may  wish  to  wait  until  summer .   ’  

The Prince of Sunspear slowly turned around to face the man that had boldly interrupted his own stolen moment of respite, his dark eyes observing the hedge knight from head to toe as his hands found each other behind his back, clasped with the apple held between them. Had he already met him earlier? Siddharth Nymeros Martell could not tell. All Northmen looked the same to him, were the same.

Thus, it was a little odd to the Sun Snake for this Northman to reveal that he has not been to a village within his realm. Wasn’t Mole’s Town famed for its whorehouse? The spears from his retinue had informed him of the same, though they were not of the North and whispers could be so easily mistaken. 

He wondered then if there was a closer palace of pleasure within Winterfell’s walls, though he already had doubts of the thought as soon as it crossed his mind, considering what he knew, what he was told, of the Starks, the brooding, grim wolves of winter.

“Forgive me, my lord, my memory is not what it used to be, but you are a Stark man, yes?”

⤷ open starter ◈ winterfell ◈ @brokenstarters​

The journey from Dorne to the North was long and hard. Opting out of the proceedings was the first option that came to the clever mind of Siddharth, of House Martell, the Prince of Sunspear. Winter was the least of his favorite seasons, and compared to the beauty of the paradisaical Water Gardens, Winterfell was less inviting and more dreary to the thought.

Still, he was a curious man, and to say his curiosity was piqued when news broke of the young wolf having invited the, for the lack of a better term, tempestuous dragon would be a great understatement. The so-called Sun Snake, the Spear of the Viper, was quick to change his mind then, calling for arrangements to depart Dorne for the bleak Northern wastelands with his retinue of swords and spears and Sands. It was the Dornish way. 

The night of his arrival, he slithered out of the Great Hall of Winterfell once he was done with his dinner, choosing instead to bask in the cold night sky’s gaze in the castle yard. Siddharth played with the Northern apple in his hand, feigning ignorance of the footsteps coming from behind him. “Have you heard of a village called Mole’s Town? I wonder if it’s warmer there at night.”

     the king found himself strolling through winterfell in search of nothing in particular. head held high as he strode down the stone halls, glancing by at closed doors or into open rooms. the dark fur cloak around his shoulders flowed elegantly behind him, just barely skimming the floor. he held it tighter around his body when he found his way outside. there was no snow falling, but by how cold and crisp the air was he was certain that it would start any second now. 

     he moved silently past workers or other people moving about the keep. eyes glancing to them briefly, giving a few nods in greeting as he passed to those he knew and ones who had done the same to him. most of them, though, were northerners and he ignored their cold daggers for eyes. surely the southern king wasn’t quite welcome after recent events, but aeragon didn’t let that bother him. he found himself walking up one of the stairs to where he could look out at the vast land outside of the keep. shifting the fur cloak around his shoulders a bit he stood there, taking in the sight of the north… a moment of peace.

     a fleeting moment as footsteps were heard coming up the stairs to his right, but aeragon made no motion to look at who was coming. instead he waited to see if the person would move past him or join him. they stopped near him and he glanced over briefly before letting his gaze rest back out at the land.  ❛  quite a sight, isn’t it?  ❜  it was beautiful. all of westeros was beautiful with each of it’s little quirks depending where you were.  ❛  i just want to take a horse out there and gallop free.  ❜

open starter. @brokenstarters​

Siddharth Martell was well aware of the history between his people and the Targaryens, the bubbling contempt, or at the very least mistrust, between the vipers and the dragons. Both were proud people, after all, hot-blooded and tempered only by what they could remember, what they perceive to be their truth.

The Prince of Sunspear would like to think that he was better than everyone involved, smarter, well aware of things most are not, though if not, at least equal to the two kings, one of whom just so happened to come across his sights as he was making his way through the keep. He wondered, right then and there, if this king had truly come to celebrate his supposed rival's ascension, and if there are more dangerous albeit interesting things hidden beneath the surface. As always.

"The North can be...quite a sight, yes." Siddharth nodded, his hands clasped behind his back, as he cautiously approached this king, standing beside him at a distance he found most comfortable. The Prince of Sunspear was not afraid but he knew he could do with being wary. 

More than gaining this king's ire, it was most understandably a little concerning for the Northerners to find two powerful Southerners being too friendly in the same room. "A Dornish horse could make quick work of the distance, delivering its master to and from the horizon without others knowing until it was too late to forbid."

He grinned at the thought, his winter clothes in the colors of his house.

❛  𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽  𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁   ／  𝘞𝘐𝘕𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘍𝘌𝘓𝘓  ⋅  @brokenstarters​

               𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄  𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃  𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄  𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘    whilst  filling  the  room  with  warmth  to  fight  cold  northern  air ,     pleasing  its  only  beholder .     borderlining  a     distasteful     irony ,     eryn  hightower  would  carry  ice  in  her  hair   &   a  glacier  behind  blue  stare      -            -      and  yet ,     have  the  breath  smacked  from  her  lungs  as  the  gelid  weather  would  hung  on  her  shoulders  as  a  punishment .     the  southern  woman ,     albeit     kissed  by  the  winter   ,     wasn’t  made  to  ungrundgingly  endure  the  biting  cold ,     after  all .

               against  such  truth ,     jaw  was  clenched  to  prevent  a  sigh  and  eryn  moved  her  chair  a  bit     closer     to  the  fire :     a  lifetime  would  be  needed  before  she  could  get  used  to  the  north  and  its  characteristic  weather      -            -     and  upon  hearing  steps  approaching  from  behind ,     nevertheless ,     the  hightower  spoke  under  the  same  frozen  conception .          “  if  you  feel  like     sharing     the  fireplace …     please ,     join  me .     however ,     if  you  had  hopes  on  having  it  for  yourself ,     be  conscious  that     i  will     fight  you  for  it .  ”

His head felt heavy, as if something enormous had suddenly grown inside of it. The weather, the change in climate, would be the most easy to blame, the Prince of Sunspear knew, but he could find no enjoyment, no delight, in such nonchalance. If he must suffer, he will suffer creatively and in no equal measure lacking depth and weight.

“I am in no disposition to fight you, my lady, as interesting as that may be.” Siddharth offered the woman a warm smile, though there was no warmth against his head, if only the beating and thrumming of explainable pain against his very skull. 

Slowly, carefully, he sat himself, groaning in a mixture of mild discomfort and relief. He grinned at her, already warming up to the woman, though perhaps only because of the flames of the hearth they now shared. 

“I have traveled far to celebrate with the Northerners their new king, to satiate my own idle curiosity, yet my weary bones suffer the winds of winter. Expecting one thing never really lessens its blow, does it?”

basics.

full name: siddharth nymeros martell

titles: prince of sunspear

nicknames: the sun snake, the spear of the viper

age: thirty six

birthplace: the water gardens, dorne

house: martell

languages: common tongue, high valyrian, trade talk

orientation: bisexual

personality type: intj-a

vices: wrath (vengeful), pride (mostly towards his intellect), gambling (minor issue in chess; also a sore loser) virtues: temperance (for the most part), honor, friendship

faceclaim: mahesh jadu

height: 6'0" (1.83 m) recognisable features: smooth olive skin and long black hair

reputation outside of dorne: good. most view him as a capable diplomat, if not a charming and eloquent representative of dorne. his amicable friendships with traders from essos is certainly viewed as an asset by both his allies and his would-be rivals. others may want to build a friendship with him for access to his and dorne’s invaluable diplomatic and commercial ties.

reputation within dorne: also good. because of his invaluable diplomatic and commercial ties to traders from essos and beyond, siddharth is considered a vital piece of dorne’s puzzle. of course, there are those who view him as a threat, considering his status as a martell and his currently neutral approach with the rest of westeros, though most believe that could be easily handled. they might find that harder in truth.

family:

parents:

nymor nymeros martell, ruling prince of sunspear (father, deceased) mina martell née blackmont, ruling princess of sunspear (mother, deceased)

spouse: none…yet. ( utp martell née utp, ruling princess of sunspear)

issue: none…yet.

siblings:

utp martell, prince of sunspear (half-sibling) utp martell, prince of sunspear (half-sibling) utp martell, princess of sunspear (half-sibling)

wanted connections:

“what is a prince without his princess?”: siddharth is currently unmarried, but he is looking to establish a strong alliance through marriage, even if the relationship with his wife may end up somewhat…ordinary. he prefers they at least like, if not love, each other and their company, hoping that they can be passionate about one another. if not, at the very least, he will respect her as she must respect him, hoping that they both care enough to see to each other’s survival. (open to ruling princess of sunspear or anybody: 0/1)

“if i were a woman, i would be you.”: siddharth’s half-sister is very friendly towards him, owing to years of closeness between them. they respect each other, though she’s probably more of an active personality than he is, more physical and athletic than him, than he’ll ever be. (open to princess of sunspear or anybody: 0/1)

“brothers of the brave.”: siddharth’s half-brothers are, well, as brotherly as half-brothers can get. they’re adventurers by heart, warriors, and think little of siddharth’s role as prince, believing it’s too boring to be left behind books and a desk. (open to prince of sunspears or anybody: 0/1)

“allies or rivals, how mercurial these players can be.”: siddharth’s politicking, his plots and plans, would be an interesting avenue to explore, especially with so many lords and ladies ripe for interactions. (open to everybody: 0/x)

“the dornishmen love to share.”: it’s dorne. a paramour or two would be pretty interesting. (open to everybody: 0/x)

“have you met my sworn spear?”: SIDDHARTH NYMEROS MARTELL ( fc: mahesh jadu ) is looking for their SWORN SPEAR AND PARAMOUR. this connection should be between the ages of 30+ years old, with the face claim of UTP. role description: she is basically going to be the areo hotah to his doran martell and the ellaria sand to his oberyn martell…if the last two roles were reversed. since she is from dorne, alternatively from essos or even yi-ti, she must be a poc muse. she has no political ambition, viewing the lords of ladies of westeros with relative disdain if not annoyance, but is extremely loyal to siddhart and his future wife with whom she may also share some affection and…curiosities. siddharth’s sworn spear fights like oberyn but is not too chatty, as quick on her feet, and well-versed with spears and swords. if she is “asked” to do something by her prince and future princess, she will do it, no questions asked, and as quickly and efficiently as possible. if caught between her prince and future princess, she may usually choose siddharth, as do they share a secret between them that no one else knows. she is not fond of almond milk. you DO / DO NOT need to contact the player before applying ( @siddharthmartell ) (open to everybody: 0/x)

personality:

siddharth loves intrigue, though he loves to plot and plan more than he actually get to execute his many plots and plans. for now, he’s contented in his state, watching others. soon, this viper will strike.

siddharth loves to read and play games of strategy such as chess. he never fails to celebrate whenever he wins, though he is a sore loser who always find something else to blame for his losses and missteps. 

siddharth often believes that his people already know what he knows and if they do not, or cannot keep up with his wit, then they do not deserve what he knows.

siddharth appreciates the arts, especially literature. he likes music and dancing as well but rarely indulges in them, believing he’s too intelligent to do so. he is also what modern folks would call a foodie.

history:

growing up, siddharth was close to his half-siblings, more so with his half-sister. both his half-siblings he viewed better than him physically, so he would always be insecure around them. these days, however, that insecurity is kept in check if not fully already gone.

when he was a teen, siddharth befriended the daughter of a visiting volantene noble. they secretly fell in love but she passed away of natural causes, though most rumor that she died of heartache. siddharth wanted to marry her, even though it would never come to be even if she had lived.

his marriage was forced but he can’t really complain. his wife is a beauty and she is at most loyal to him as he is to her. theirs is a friendly union equivalent to an open marriage. (opening this part for consideration with whomever becomes his wife)

goals: