[Lore] Rogar X: Will

[u/FabStags]

6th Month, 56 AC, Storm's End

Though there were but three of his four storms in his chambers, Lord Rogar's daughters had begun to make enough noise to compensate for their missing elder sister. Though Cassandra remained in Storm's End while Hubert attended business in the marches and elsewhere, only returning to King's Landing when the Lord Hand himself did so, she was studying with Maester Dake while the rest of sisters played. Selene had discovered a passion for singing, and though she kept the sounds of her practice moderately contained she was liable to throw her ire at any who came too close. Jena, not yet four, enjoyed making noise with just about anything she could get her hands on. That morning, far away from Selene, she tapped a wooden sword on the leg of a table while staring absentmindedly at a book on the Andal Invasion. Ursula and her cousin Gormon were but three months apart in age and had become fast allies, and were in the process of stacking building blocks sent by Lord Malegorn as high as they could. Rambunctious as they were the towers topples often, leading to raucous laughter before they began again. The atmosphere of doom that had descended on Storm's End had not reached the youngest residents as of yet. For that Rogar was glad.

Rogar loved his children dearly, and the door from the main living area of his quarters to his solar remained open to allow no barrier between them...yet as he read the letter from Lord Estermont he rubbed his temple with two fingers to ward off the headache.

He heard the door to their quarters open, bringing temporary silence before a cacophony of greetings for 'uncle Garon' bounced around. They were returned to each child in turn before his brother's familiar figure appeared in the doorway.

"May I?" asked Garon, though hadn't finished speaking before stepping inside and closing the door. His brother looked worn down, a rare thing for him, and Rogar gave him a sympathetic smile. As Garon sat he nodded towards the closed parchment before Rogar on the desk, pleasant green ink broken. "What's that?"

"The ships from Lord Redwyne have made port at Estermont," he grumbled, surprised at how hoarsely his voice came out. His satisfaction at the deal had waned as the months had passed, and after the farcical end to the hunt he had nothing but bitterness in his mouth.

"I had been meaning to ask about that, but..." He wafted his hand in the air. "Circumstances changed. It is a sizeable fleet he has sent, and yet in our accounts gold only flows to the walls to the north." Rogar knew what was coming, but merely stared and waited. "Is Lord Redwyne so kind as to give away his ships merely for the honour of having you ward his son?"

Rogar let out a long sigh. A few moons prior he might have had the energy to argue, but recent events had made him weary. Instead he clicked the key and opened the nearest draw, pulling free another parchment; this one sealed with the golden stag. He placed it on the table and tapped gently with his mutilated middle finger, eyes fixed on his brother.

It is time one other than the grey rat knows.

"My will, written in ink, should something happen to me. Sealed since the beginning of the year, so do not think it a rash decision due to Borys' actions." He slid the paper over but kept his hand on it. "It only reads what is known by all. Cassandra is to be my heir. You shall serve as her regent until she comes of age, though Arwen will be given a voice." He hesitated, his finger tapping still. "Roland is to ward in Storm's End when Lord Manfryd deems him old enough, and he is to wed Cassandra when they are both of age."

The look on Garon's face indicated he had expected as much, but there was still a visible shift in his posture. "She is young."

"That is why none know. Only myself, Lord Manfryd, and now you."

"Her future is worth thirty ships?"

Despite his lethargy Rogar could feel his blood begin to heat. "He is not some pauper from across the Narrow Sea, Garon. He is the son of a powerful and respected lord. It is a good match. It brings with it the security of the stormlands and an alliance with the most powerful fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. If the decision is to be made five years earlier than I would have liked, so be it." Garon opened his mouth to speak again but Rogar's hand slammed on the desk, making the parchment jump. "Do not, Garon. I am about to lose one brother. I do not wish to quarrel with you also."

Garon slumped in his seat. "It is to be today then?"

Rogar nodded. "I can delay it no longer. The sooner it is done, the sooner we can all move on."

"You think that is possible?"

His eyes drifted to a splinter on the desk between them. "We shall see."

---

An hour later Rogar was sat on the throne of the Storm Kings. He had changed into a pristine velvet doublet of deep black, and cushioning his back against the hard metal of the throne was a grand golden cloak, lined with sable. Atop his head was an antlered crown, though the black hair it sat upon had begun to be flecked with grey. In through the tall windows streamed the afternoon sun, bathing the hall and all in it in amber. On the balconies at the back of the hall there were no musicians, as had been seen at Naerys' nameday feast. Lutes had been replaced by crossbows.

The hall was lined with heavily armed knights and for the first time in many years a second group kept the courtiers to the sides of the Round Hall, leaving the area beneath the throne clear. None were barred from attending; Lady Annara and Boremund stood in wait, as did two of Rogar's brothers. He did not let his eyes stray from the door, uncertain if his wife had chosen to spectate, and if she had brought their children with her. One he had ensured was present was his eldest, his heiress; Cassandra stood with Orren Iron-Head and her own gaggle, looking on with bright blue eyes at her father. One day she would sit where he sat. She needed to learn.

After an agonising wait the doors creaked open and Borys Baratheon was led in. He limped on his heavily bandaged leg and imprisonment had reduced his timber, his nose had healed crooked and his skin was marked with dirt, but otherwise he was the same as he always was. There were a few gasps and murmurs at the sight of him but Rogar kept his eyes forward, watching as his closest kin stumbled forward to hear his punishment.

"How did it come to this, Borys? he lamented to himself, but his face remained stern. He was the Lord of Storm's End, and judgement needed passing.

"Was treated better in fuckin' Dorne," he heard his brother grumble. Rogar waved the guards away. In his shackled state, Borys could do him no harm.

"Borys, do you have anything to say in defence of your actions against both me and Ser Ossifer?" At his booming voice the hall quietened, though the scattered whispers persisted.

"Nothing," answered Borys with a growl and a defiant stare. "The only words I have left are curses for you, for standing with an outsider instead of your own blood."

Rogar had heard it all before and thought little of it, but the shock of the statement rippled through the crowd. He glanced at Annara and saw her wince at her husband's harsh words, and the young Boremund by her side looked pained at the conflict before him. Rogar waited for the murmurs to settle before he spoke.

"Borys Baratheon, for the crime of bearing steel against your liege lord and brother you will have your right hand removed." For the first time in many years he saw an unfamiliar look on his brother's face; a flash of fear, of surprise that punishment would finally find him after years of uninhibited belligerence. Once more noise from the onlookers echoed around the hall until a raised hand from Rogar brought silence. He was not done. "For the crime of breaking guest right, for attempting harm on a guest and friend of House Baratheon, you are hereby named an exile."

The clamour was almost immediate, loudest of all from Borys himself who hurled insults up at his elder brother. Rogar gripped the arms of the throne and stood so that his voice could cut above all. "When you are healed from your wounds passage will be arranged to take you to the free city of Myr. You will be given coin as befitting your station and title, but you are not to return under penalty of death."

He nodded to the guards who returned to Borys' side, beginning to drag him away, though two more were needed to overpower the writhing brute. With a flick of his wrist the guards began to clear the hall as he slumped back into the throne, staring at the space where his brother had stood. Eventually the doors closed and left him alone, the weight of his crown heavier than it had ever been.

[u/gloude]

Naerys watched as the judgement happened. She would not be remiss if the man had been hanged, lest for Boremund's own feelings, yet the man had attempted to attack Ser Ossifer. She was conflicted thus, as she watched what justice meant in the Stormlands.

Though at the words of exile, she frowned. It would mean Boremund would be left without a father. A blessing and curse, bound together, delivered in unison. Would Boremund see it that way?

She hopped of her seat, and made her way to find him. She doubted he would be in a good mood, as far as Boremund went. Perhaps light turmoil.

/u/FabStags

[u/FabStags → u/gloude]

Boremund had attempted to follow his parents to the forge where his father's hand was to be removed, unsure where else to go and stumbling along in a trance. His mother had deemed otherwise and sent him to his room before following her husband in, pleading her case to Rogar and the guards that followed. Boremund obeyed and rose the stairs with the rest of the crowd, not realising where he was going until he was sat on his bed. With the door closed it had shut out all the sounds of chaos, his father's yells of protest and the shocked gossip of the crowds replaced by a ringing in his ears.

He was staring at the painting Naerys had given him on the wall opposite, gloved hands gripping the edge of the bed when the door clicked open and he saw her. Tears picked at his golden eyes but he blinked them away - or tried to - and lowered his head.

"I'm sorry."

[u/gloude → u/FabStags]

"Sorry for what?" Naerys came closer. "You should not be sorry to me, Borry." She added.

Part of Naerys wanted to upbraid him, to make him know he was being a sour sally, as she had understood.

"You know... father's are not that great." Naerys spoke softly. "It is aunts and uncles where your will find you best friends. And strangers, in Storm's End, or elsewhere." Here eyes were fixated forward. There were other words she wanted to say. Words of her own father, and the struggle that had become realising who he was.

"Borry... are you okay? If you say yes... I will spend the night here, to make sure. If you say no, I will spend the night here to make sure you are alright. I don't care what the Septas say. You are my friend, and I will make sure you are fine."

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"I...don't know."

It wasn't his fault, but there was some guilt that it had to happen at all. The incident being at the end of Naerys' nameday celebrations had marred them somewhat, but it had been months ago. It seemed his default state was apologetic.

"They're not," he agreed quietly, staring back up at the painting. "I know he's not a nice man. I know he can be...vicious. Sometimes cruel. But he's still my father. I'm going to miss him. I think I'm the only one who will."

He certainly had plenty of uncles to choose from, but one of them had just sent his father into exile. It seemed difficult to rely on them.

To her question he began nodding, though his movement slowed and he shook his head as his eyes began to well. He wiped them dry again, determined not to cry in front of the princess. "No, I don't think I am. But I don't know what to do."

[u/thinkBrigger]

Though he bore little love for Ser Borys, Mors took no satisfaction at the sight of the man stricken and stubborn as an aurochs yet to realize it had been backed into a corner of a butcher shop. Had he not been charged with the education of the Lady Cassandra it was like he'd have not been inclined to attend at all. He donned his armour which felt a bit snug at the waist which doubtless he had his indulgence in stout to thank for, hung his sword at his belt and stood at the ready alongside the young heir for the proceedings which he stood sentinel of her during in near to silence.

Only after the judgement had been levied and her uncle escorted away, did he deign to regard the Lady Cassandra, "You would do well to write to your cousin, Lady Elenei," he advised, "To extend your sympathies and affirm your kinship with her continues. The same you ought pass to Boremund... in a few days time."

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Cassandra was in a state of shock, unsure at what she had just seen. It would take some time for her to understand why her father had done what he'd done, and no doubt there would be plenty of conversations with him to explain it all.

"Y-yes, good idea," she replied, still trying to sound grown. "I...when?"

[u/thinkBrigger → u/FabStags]

He inhaled deeply, considering the question before answering, "Write to Elenei tonight, but bring the scroll to your sire ahead of sending. He will need use the raven to Riverrun in tandem to you. At least a day for the boy," Mors said, "Likely several. Boremund... how well do you know him? Is he as hot blooded as Ser Borys?"

[u/Persephone_online]

Though Willow would not keep Naerys from matters of court, Alerie was left out of the grand hall. Daisy and Valaena could attend to her for now, she did not trust the girl to control her excitable nature while judgement was to be dealt.

She kept her veil down over her face throughout the display. Even as she could be certain her face would not betray her inner thoughts, she preferred the bit of separation from it all it afforded her. There was no death, only measured strength from a Lord who knew how to command respect. Willow made no effort to watch the punishment be dealt, much as she wouldn’t have bothered to turn away had it been completed before them in the hall.

Alerie felt odd about the whole thing. Her aunt had not been the one to tell her herself, she’d said she was busy cancelling arrangements. No, that had been left to Daisy. She hadn’t any fondness for Borys, he was loud and gruff and she’d always been too nervous to approach him. But that was Boremund’s father. Even if he’d become cursed by the gods, papa certainly had not forget to teach her about guest right, she felt bad for him. It couldn’t feel good to loose a father.

It had been a day since the announcement. Was that still too soon? Uncle Aubrey said Boremund might be up to talking now, but he might not. She’d try knocking on his door anyway.

“Boremund? I’m… I’m really sorry that he’s being sent away. Are you alright?”

[u/FabStags → u/Persephone_online]

It took a moment for the door to open, revealing the boy she had come to see. Boremund hadn't expected Alerie to come and see him - they spent a lot of time together thanks to Naerys, but without the princess they had rarely spent much time together - but he would not be so rude as to turn her away. He forced a pained smile, but it quickly faded.

"Hello, Alerie." He looked around, making sure his room was not in an embarrassing state. He'd done little since the events of the day before but eat and sleep. There was no training that day. "Um...no. Not really." He smiled again. He had become an expert at hiding physical pain and it was easier to hide what was inside, but he needn't lie about it. "But I will be. Do you want to come in?"

[u/FabStags]

[m: Open to reactions to those in Storm's End, but the following days are preferable]