#doran.

BASICS. 

full name: doran swann.  title: the lord of stonehelm. the storm’s fury.  age: thirty.  gender & pronouns: cis male & he/him.  orientation: heterosexual.  allegiance: himself, house swann, the stormlands.  spoken languages: common  tongue.  religion: faith of the seven.  familial relations: utp swann (sibling), utp swann (sibling), utp swann (sibling) relationship status: single (fuckboy) pets: none. 

PHYSICAL. 

eye color: dark brown. hair: black, cropped short.  height: 6’1” build/body: a tall and muscular man, toned from years of battle. thick, with scarred hands and a commanding presence.   distinguishing marks: a long scar across his back, earned fighting the dornish. a large tattoo on his chest inked by fellow soldiers after each battle, each whirl serving as a memorial to those lost. 

BACKGROUND. 

he came into the world screaming – a fitting start for an heir set to inherit a century of war and fighting. as the child grew into a man, whatever softness might have existed inside him gave way to vengeance, a compulsive need to avenge those lost at the hands of dornish invaders. how many good men were taken? how many friends whose shadows would never again darken his door? how many women and children unfortunate enough to live too close to the border? 

he was six when his closest boyhood friend lost his father in battle. eight when he was called to listen alongside his father, the then-ruling lord of stonehelm, to pleas for aid that came from women whose husbands could no longer provide for them. ten when he saw firsthand the aftermath of war:  burning homes, weeping families, bodies that would never be recovered. twelve when he took his first life on the battlefield. he was not meant to be there – his father said he was not ready – but he had been training for years by then, guided by the best swordsman in the stormlands, and he could not stomach sitting idly by while his house fought and died for the realm. 

whatever his father thought of it, the boy’s decision to fight gained him the respect of the men who fought for his house. they welcomed him into their ranks and from that day forward, he was with them at every opportunity. the brave, headstrong and rash boy became more soldier than lordling. the men who fought alongside him respected him for that – he proved, each time he swung between them and an enemy on the field, that he fought for them as much as with them, and that he saw his own life as no more valuable than theirs. he grew into a leader, a man they wanted to follow and trusted with their lives, and it was an honor he took seriously.

off the battlefield, the man was not so different – he laughs like a soldier, tells soldiers’ bawdy jokes, whores and drinks and brawls in taverns not meant for lordlings. he is a man of huge appetites and makes no bones about seeking out the things that please him. likewise, he is unafraid to challenge those who displease him, never backing down from words spoken in drunken bravado. 

though he spent nearly as much time away from his family as with them during his youth, he will not suffer a bad word spoken about them, nor a hand raised against them. they, more than anything else, are why he fights – so that they do not have to suffer as those under their protection have suffered. it was, after all, his mother’s face he saw reflected in the faces of the women who pled for assistance in his youth, his brother’s eyes he saw peering back at him from underneath the helms of dying men, his sister’s cries he heard echoed in the weeping of maidens whose loves would never return. 

it is this love for his family that has driven him to a darker place than ever before. 

a year ago, his father died at the hands of dornish invaders bearing the name allyrion. he and a handful of other soldiers had chosen to entertain a group of visiting braavosi ladies during their short leave, and so he was not present for the unexpected skirmish. that left his father and a small group of men to defend against the host alone. he is told that his father died well, wielding his battle axe as powerfully as he ever had, but he hates himself for not being there. had he been, he would’ve cut down anyone,  done anything, including taking the deathblow himself, to protect the man who raised him.

 instead, the soldier, angrier and more vengeful than ever before, became the ruling lord of stonehelm. he has come to king's landing in the hope of strengthening ties between the stormlanders – of forging a united, strong front to face off against any future incursions. peace is a lovely dream, he thinks, but a foolish one. he knows the small folk – he knows the hatred that burns inside them after a century of burning, pillaging, killing. they will not forget it and he doubts the dornish will either, no matter whose ass sits on the iron throne or the promises made between noble lords and ladies. and so, he sees it as his duty to make sure that when the inevitable fighting breaks out anew, the stormlands are ready. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS.