#tirius 002

[ofgoldengrove]

setting: the halls of standfast, mathis' new keep as his elder brother introduces him to what will be his home and lands ; starter for @tiriusrowan

it seemed like things had come full circle in this very moment, reality momentarily caving on itself as the second son of goldengrove stood in the same room in which the osgrey's had ultimately betrayed him. it had been their greatest mistake, for they were no more, and here again stood mathis of goldengrove. the lord had much time to ponder and heal as much as he could before making the journey here. it was time, however, to take the next step into whatever the future held for him. the room was grand, beautiful, but he knew there would be much work to be had in order to make it feel more his own. that would be the first thing he would insist be taken care of whilst he was on leave to dorne with the rest of the reach court.

the thought itself was strange, knowing he were now responsible for the very ground beneath his feet. of course, it were under the watchful eye of his elder brother. he knew tirius would not allow him to fail, only mathis did not want the elder lord to feel as if he would need to watch him so closely. despite not having as much experience in this particular role, he felt ready and up for the responsibility.

turning to his brother, who stood quietly nearby, the second son broke the silence of the moment. "i suppose i could get used to it." he stated simply, a dry humor to his tone and a characteristic smile appearing on his lips. he walked towards tirius now, exhaling. "it's not as difficult as i imagined it, being here again." he admitted, aloud, something that felt entirely therapeutic. "does this mean i get to ward one of my nephews, now?"

[visxionaries]

who: @tiriusrowan​ where: the reach’s council chamber, prior to any news being reported to the king about anything to do with the letter received by the hand of the king. news of the river market’s burning has broken, and lord omer florent has left for the arbor to handle matters regarding the summer isles. and one another matter.

there were sunset hues peering through the multi-glass of the stained glass windows, illuminating the chamber room in which the king and the hand sat. the council meeting in itself had ended some hours prior, and yet the two men had found themselves deeply conversing on issues regarding the state, and those that had flocked to highgarden to the lady of old oak become the newly crowned queen of all the reach. and something about the hand of the king felt more distant and detached than usual today, a particular detached look in his orbs. glazed over with something.

grief was never something that truly passed on: it was only love, with nowhere to go. though he knew not of the details regarding the tensions between the two brothers of house rowan, it was telling enough that their company would not often be with one another. the same way cedric had not found company with his own brother. almost as though they had chosen their own family. only, in youth, they had not realised the world was not black and white - and picking did not dismantle the ties of blood.

in particular came the news from the isles of summer, whose underhand efforts to force themselves closer into reach waters through their deviancy in trading with the arbor had settled the two realms in something of a cold stand off. “lord florent will report back his findings on the process of displacement: they had enough time to depart from the arbor, and take their business with them.” he doubted, he very much doubted, any conflict would come to the shore. the distance was too large. all conflict was to be happen by sea. 

“the policy was have adopted against those suspected to undercutting the taxes owed at ryamsport and oldtown has historically been a firm one. lord altan ryams is not a soft man in his recollection of debt.”

violence had not yet broken out, all done through presence, words and a quill to show they were surely not joking; omer had spoken to him earlier of his intention to journey to the arbor and meet directly with the lord of ryamsport, the captain of the redwyne fleet himself. in the conquering of the isles, the reach had amassed a fleet of over a thousand ships in total: roughly over a hundred from their efforts across the narrow sea. now came the time of securing and cementing those numbers; knowing what they could do without.

“as for the lyseni presence, it ends tomorrow. it is in our best interest to make sure our alliances, and our loyalties, are obvious.” 

the exhale that came from him was on the matter that most needed addressing. that of the reported attack on the river market, the commercial heart of the riverlands: no doubt by the hands of the lyseni. there was to be no investigations in what had occurred by reach officials, despite some of their own investments also being impacted. but the damage was done in the matter of proximity: the lyseni had been under the same roof as the river court, and it would not be unrealistic to assume that information could have been picked up due to such close proximity. 

“they will awake to the lord commander removing them from highgarden, and moving them to the mander. they will not leave from oldtown, the port here is enough. their belongings will follow them.”

[lucreziasredwyne]

who: @tiriusrowan​ where: the arbor, prior to the dance of dragons under the rule of king viserys i

For once, there were drapes of burgundy, indigo, forest green and gold filling the hallways of the Vinestown family home of House Redwyne; drapes of colour and music filled the halls, as opposed to drapes of black and the sound of prayers filling the halls. Prayers of sorrow, prayers of heartache and bargaining, the sounds of the sniffling ladies who attempted to merely continue with their day as if it had not merely happened again. This time the month was August, and the sticky heat of the warmest months of the year had resulted in the windows being thrown open.

The oil from olives had rested upon her skin, making it darker and more bronzed as the bustling apartments of seemed to grow only louder - the women of the Old Way had descended upon the island for a celebration of the future ruling Lord of the Arbor - Lord Adnan of House Redwyne, the son of Lord Arlo and Lady Maria Redwyne, turning three months old.

With such events came adhering to a certain role, more so than ever before; the amount of eyes that seemed to cross over her, no doubt looking for a mistake, looking for the exact representation of the perfection that was her own lady mother. It came with forcing smiles as the women spoke of all there was left for her to do in life, as they spoke of their sons in the most subtle of obvious ways. 

Her own caftan, coloured a shade of auburn and autumn itself with a golden belt fastened around her waist encrusted with emeralds matched the emeralds that hung from her own ears, though her hair remained her own natural curly state as she heard the sounds of young Meredyth Rowan and Illya Oakheart with their own mothers, discussing which belt would match their outfits.

As much as it tired her, it was a part of her; a part of her she would never wish to forsake, the sense of communal togetherness and cohesion. The sound of her laughter slipped from her as she continued to hold her baby brother to her hip, her hands slipping comfortably around his small frame as she moved wisps of dark hair that would no doubt turn to curls as her own. 

"Aicha, tell Tirius..." The sound of Lady Aiyla Rowan's voice drowned out over the sounds of other women laughing, and the woman looked around briefly before realising there was an intended visitor waiting; a visitor who had not yet seen the newest addition to her own family.

"Gelen!" She called out in their ethnic tongue to who was waiting beyond the door, something about needing to pick up jewels she entrusted her eldest son to deliver; the sound of her shoes across wooden floorboards bouncing as she slipped through the curtains into the quieter parlour room outside, keeping a hold of her baby brother who remained on her hip. Lord Tirius Rowan stood with a necklace within his hand, heavy and gold as all jewellery worn for showing off should be, and she reached forward to gently and swiftly plant kisses on either side of his cheeks.

"Bak, bak kimmiş." She muttered in the ear of the young child, planting kisses upon rosy cheeks as she playfully raised his hand as if to wave towards the heir of Goldengrove; small and pudgy, which only moved to grab hold of her own dark curls. "Tirius amcaya salaam de, abi." Any attempt to try and get the baby to look upon the Lord of Goldengrove resulted in the baby burying his head within her chest, and a slight laugh slipped from her, attempting to shush a cry before it came out. 

"She has you running errands does she?"

[tiriusrowan]

HAND OF THE KING

"We are what stands between the North of Westeros and the Reach. We are the Marshalls of the Northmarch. Protectors of the Roseroad. Masters of the Mander. I am Hand of the King. Voice of the throne. I command the king's armies, draft the king's laws, dispense the king's justice. We are Rowans. There are no others. Only us. Our loyalty is not to be questioned and our honor is not to be soiled. We have been chosen by the Gods, time and again to not only serve but protect what is ours. Bow your heads. Let us pray."

[tiriusrowan]

♛ →THE REACH present TIRIUS AHMET ROWAN, the MARSHALL of THE NORTHMARCH, LORD of GOLDENGROVE, and HAND OF THE KING. When the dragons danced in the sky he through the BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye they would all die. The 8 and 30 MALE who was SERIOUS and STOIC before they saw the first of the flames is now AMBITIOUS and ANGRY after seeing the last. Now they struggle to find THE BEAUTY IN GOLDEN TREES AND GREEN HILLS, THE PEACE OF GOLDENGROVE, and COMFORT OF ORDER, ifstead of the remnants of the war of succession. (uraz kaygilaroglu)

This is a soft revamp of Tirius Rowan, under the cut you will find a several new details about Tirius.

Tirius Rowan is a very serious man, some believe this is an act but it's not. He is not a stranger to having fun or being able to let loose but one truth doesn't cancel out the other. Tirius does not play games the way others might play them.

While he presents as a very religious man and follows many of the traditions of his people, there is something deeper in Tirius that weaponizes the Gods and faith. A man who grew up where fanatical thinking was the norm. He is haunted by nightmares because the Gods must punish him for his greatest sin but he blessed because he uses their gifts to spread their word. Anyway he can.

Tirius Rowan married young, 21 when he returned from Lys with a bride of his own. She had their first son soon after their return, Tahir Rowan who is currently 17 and a knight and his second son Bekir Rowan who has recently turned 8. The 14 y/o Tarik Rowan is the key, one of many, to their divorce.

Tirius and his wife divorced recently, it was a nasty divorce where it was revealed that Ryon Wyl is the father of Tarik. He is not the father of Bekir because Ryon was fighting in the mountains when Bekir was born. Layla Moraqos did not take trips to Lys as it was originally thought. She was in Dorne with the Wyl of Wyl. Only going to Lys when her eldest son accompanied the family to Lys during the civil war of the Reach.

The Other Details:

Much like the rumors of Tywin Lannister in GoT the knowledge of Tirius Rowan's whoring is of much debate. A reputation that quietly existed when he was a younger man is rumored to have resurfaced in the face of a brutal divorce. He does not visit brothels, women are often brought to him under the guise of serving clothes. He doesn't have bastards, his guest drink a nice tea before they leave. These are easy to fall back on for Goldengrove was his own personal haven whenever the late Mehmet Rowan was away.

Tirius Rowan has a hatred for Rhea Tarly and this extends to the Tarly House itself. And all who align themselves closely with the Tarly House. Meaning his personal issues with the late Hightower lord have transferred to Gael Hightower after he rejected a marriage offer to marry the Tarly girl for men. Tirius, offended by the notice that a Tarly bastard could field more men than has decided that Gael will also be victim of his ambition. If not directly, he will do what he can to act.

Tirius Rowan mostly feels nothing towards the other realms and their people. he is the hand. He feels what the king feels and oes what the king needs.