The Keep At Storm's End

Flintlock: The merc watched on with a stoic curiosity as the two twins interacted with each other, as well as Azaroth. Ryke had never had siblings. No sibling figures either, really. He never felt any particular need or want for one either. He supposed that made him a bit strange. He didn't really care. As he looked on this dynamic, however, he understood. He understood why someone would want this. They seemed happy to just be in each others' company. It was...odd, to say the least, as well as unfamiliar to the merc. He would take it all in stride, however. He did pride himself on his adaptability, after all. The merc's emerald gaze flitted to the young Lord Baratheon as he interjected on the twins' conversation, saying that he needed to speak with Ryke. The man in question quirked his brow, but he dutifully waited for the Lord to motion him closer. Which he did not a second later as he walked past him, inclining his head to tell him to follow him. The mercenary dutifully fell into step beside him, his arms clasped behind his back as he walked alongside Azaroth. He looked down at the ground as he walked but kept his ears tuned to the taller man's words. He showed no reaction at first. He simply kept walking, his face blank. This was a new and unfamiliar situation for the merc. He had, of course, been offered this proposition before by several nobles. He was good at his job, after all. He had never actually considered it, however. This was different, however. Ryke looked to Azaroth at that moment. He had grown to respect and, quite frankly, like the Lord before him. It put him in an unfamiliar position. He could deny the proposition, collect his gold, and move on. He found the idea distasteful, however. It was surprising. Well. It seemed as if his mind was already made up. His customary small smile slipped onto his face as he nodded at the Lord. "I have my answer now. I will continue to stand by you." the smile turned a bit sly. "How could I abandon The Great Az, after all?" This was an obvious jab and reference at Oriana's nickname for the Lord before him. The merc was quite confident that he could take the joke in stride.

As both Azaroth and Ryke continued their walk around the large Storm’s End Castle the sound of both Selmy’s talking to each other slowly died down and eventually vanished all together, that was to say that either they have gotten so far away from the twins that they could no longer hear them or that simply their conversation had died out. Walking through the grounds was a completely different feeling to that which he had while in the Reach, even though he spent half of his life there it never felt like home; never felt right. Yet since passing over the boundaries into the Stormlands there was a refreshing air about the young Lord, atleast until the situation with a particular redhead had come up and all wind had been pulled from his sails.

Shaking his head for a second to pull himself back from the headspace he had been for going on a few weeks now, Azaroth turned just in time to hear Ryke’s response, he had half expected the mercenary to turn him down on the spot and the other half of his reasoning expected the man to take a full night to come to his answer but it seemed both ways Azaroth thought this was going to play out were completely wrong; the merc had answered in little to no time at all. Ryke’s words caused a laugh to echo from the young Stag for a few moments before he finally spoke on Ryke’s joke, though there was clearly nothing serious meant from the mercenary the young man with Baratheon blood flowing through his veins challenged the pseudo title that Ryke had been joking around with. “Currently the only great thing about myself is the house that I come from, though hopefully in time that will change, it would appear my mother has certain aspirations for me and I would do well to see her happy.” It seemed like the words from the young Lord were more an inner rambling than anything else, it just so happened that Ryke brought up a topic that had been passing through his mind, and as such he had caught the tail end of Azaroth’s thoughts on the matter of being great.

Azaroth’s arm moved out and as he patted it down against Ryke’s shoulder, should the merc not make any attempt to avoid the touch that was, as he did so he spoke and turned slightly heading them towards a corner of the castle where they’d find a few page boys standing around and when they did Azaroth had ordered one to go collect some things and have the page bring them back to the spot that the two were now heading for; an area at the back of the castle that had numerous chairs, tables and a view that looked over the cliffs and into the sea. "And now we drink, Ryke, soon as that page boy brings out the items we are in need of."

Just as Azaroth had finished speaking and sat down onto one of the larger chairs that surrounded an even larger wooden table, said page boy arrived with heavy tray of items that consisted of four well-made wooden cups, a large brown glass bottle of liquid that looked very similar to piss while inside the stained glass but would run a clear white as Azaroth poured out enough for double shot into both he and Ryke’s cup. “Taste it, let me know what you think of it.” And with that said Azaroth took the moment to grip his cup and drink the clear liquid inside of it.

Flintlock: At the Lord's response to the joke, the mercenary tilted his head to the side slightly and regarded the man out of the corner of his emerald eyes. The response was interesting. It gave Ryke a deeper show into the Baratheon before him. He seemed to be discontent with his current accomplishments. It was certainly unexpected, coming from the Lord. Perhaps he was just down. The situation with Rana had certainly brought Azaroth down. That was a whole other line of thought, however, that he did not feel like treading down. So, he would only focus on the positive of what the Baratheon said. His mother had a plan for him, one that would seemingly make him great. The mercenary was curious. He wondered whether he would be informed. Perhaps at the dinner that had been planned for tonight? Seemed the like the best time out of any. The merc as brought out of his thoughts by the pair coming upon a few pages standing around. Ryke watched on as the Lord ordered one to go gather a bottle and some cups for the two of them. Ryke quirked his brow at that. So, they were drinking. Alright. He wasn't bit fan of it, but he could do it. He followed the Baratheon to the table. He took a seat in the smaller chair, just as the page arrived with what the Baratheon asked. The merc quirked his brow at the sight of it, but nonetheless, he picked up the cup full of the liquid and swallowed it down. Immediately, he scrunched up his nose in a disgusted manner. He put the cup down before speaking, his voice dry and blunt. "That is disgusting."

Azaroth watched with curious eyes as Ryke lifted the mug to his lips and took in the taste of the mead, he knew after all how it tasted, the odd mixtures of different blends of flowers, fermented honey that combined into a concoction of both sour and sweet on the tongue. Laughing lightly as Ryke responded rather bluntly about how disgusting the mead was the young Lord nodded and brought his own cup up and just as Ryke had done, finished it all in one go; his face scrunching up slightly from the mixed tasted. “I hate the stuff, taste like sweet pickle-juice wine and I could never understand why my father insisted on drinking this with the men he trusted the most until he explained it to me one day, that it is a tradition that he was told of and brought into by one of his brothers in arms who saved his life. Its taste serves to keep us honest in the following negotiations so neither of us is left unsatisfied in the future.”

Azaroth took the bottled mead and poured a second cup of it for each of them, but this time his free hand reached over and gripped Ryke’s mug, stopping him from attempting to drink it once more until the time was right. “You see the first drink opens our negotiation, the second seals our bargain.”

When the young Lord finished speaking for the second time his eerily bright blue hues narrowed onto Ryke in a more serious manner, unlike his rather joyful explanation of the mead and the fondness he had for the tradition based on it coming from his father, it seemed that the Stag was in a completely different mind-set at the moment; one of importance. “You will work for me now. You protect me. You come with me from place to place. If an important errand has to be run then I would have you do that too. In an emergency, but only in an emergency, you hurt people who need to be hurt. And in the unlikely event of my death, you will do your best to bring back my body to Storm’s End. In return I shall make sure your needs and wants are adequately taken care of. That is what I need of you, Ryke. Now what is it that you want? And you can speak the whole hearted truth, I expect nothing less.”

Flintlock: The merc watched as the Lord downed his own drink. A similar expression of disgust manifested on his face as well. Ryke smiled slightly at that. He was glad that he wasn't the only one that held such an opinion of the concoction before them. He glanced down at the bottle as Azaroth told him a little anecdote about why this brew had been chosen. Ryke tilted his head slightly. It was certainly an interesting concept, thought it could've been executed a bit better. He would not judge, however. He had no right, one, and two; the tactic was working, strangely. The disgusting flavour that coated every inch of the inside of his mouth made lying too much of an effort, not that he would ever try it. He valued the truth over all else. He moved his tongue slightly in an attempt to dispel the taste, but to no like. He watched as the Lord poured him another drink. He reached to pick it up once more, but before he could, the Baratheon's hand was suddenly on the mug, halting the movement. Ryke's emerald eyes found the Lord's at that point. At his words, the merc simply quirked a brow at him. He recognized that at this point, it was serious by his suddenly serious features. The mercenary listened closely as the Lord laid his duty before him. At the end, he simply looked at the Baratheon for some seconds in silence. The silence ended, however, when the mercenary leaned forward, his eyes still locked on Azaroth's. He spoke. "When you're a mercenary, you don't have plans. At least, not in the way a common person has them. Our plan is to get on to out next employer. They provide a job, and that provides up a purpose. A plan." The merc held up one finger. "And a purpose." He held up a second. "These two things are all a person need to move forward in life. You just propositioned something that would provide me with both in a long term sense. I'm inclined to agree." The merc settled back then, and he seemed to think over something. He seemed to come to a decision before speaking. "I expect payment by the season. I set the price at three dragons. That covers all of my services. Aside from one." The merc crossed his arms over his chest as he continued. "If you wish for me to eliminate someone permanently in your name, as in an assassination, then 105 stags will be added on for every person I kill." The merc nodded at that point. "Agree to this, and I shall be your faithful...." The merc thought over an appropriate term. He soon settled on one. "Employee."

While the mercenary was speaking Azaroth moved his hand away from the mug and sat upright once again, his eyes peering into those of the man he was listening to and as Ryke went over his part of the deal Azaroth paid close attention to just what it was he was signing up for with the merc. When it came down the payment of the man Azaroth took a few seconds to think it over, it was definetly more than the average solider would make, perhaps even all but the most accomplished knights would make that much in a single season. Though it took a few to get his thoughts in order it never once crossed his mind that Ryke would be worth it, after all he wasn’t simply buying a soldier or some warrior to do his deeds for him, he was securing a trust and well backed relationship with someone he felt deserving of both.

With the addition of his last request Azaroth nodded and gripped the mug that was meant for him, it wasn’t an outrageous price to pay for the death of someone, from what he understood of the realm there were definetly those that would require ten if not one hundred times as much as Ryke had requested for the deed; so this too was a simple thing to agree upon. “Very well. Then we have a contract and we are agreed.”

Finally lifting the mug up and downing it once again without even letting the liquid touch his lips the young Lord slammed the mug down as he shook his head, the taste was getting to him, and the strength of the beverage wasn’t too light either.
“Good,” he said. “Good. Very good. So, one last mug of evil, vile mead…Third time is a charm eh?”

Azaroth laughed as he rather quickly put out one more mug for each of them before swallowing that which was his, two large gulps and the mead was gone, bottle sealed up once again and now the young Lord pushed himself from the heavy chair as his mind moved to other matters. “I believe by now your room will be ready and waiting, like I said previously there will be a hot bath waiting and fresh clothes given to you for supper this evening, I look forward to see what kind of questions my Lady Mother will ask and if there is one piece of advice I could give you it would be that when faced with a Baratheon, always tell the truth; no matter what reason you may have to do otherwise. “

After his conversation with Ryke it hadn’t taken the young Lord much time to find the room he had grown up in all those years ago. In his mind it took him even longer to simply open the door than it did find the room from the courtyard, but that probably wasn’t how it would seem to others if they were watching him, which no doubt there were some who were. His room hadn’t changed much over the years he’d been gone, the overly large bed sat perfectly in the middle of the room against the longest wall, a well-made bathtub on the other end of the room with cabinets and trunks made from dark oak lining the rest of the rooms. Azaroth’s eerily bright blue eyes scanned the contents of a bookshelf as he walked around the room, some of the titles had faded from his memory but he was sure he had read almost every single book on each shelf some of which included Valyrian studies, Art of the Sword which came in seven volumes, a book on both wild and domesticated birds and a book that was simply titled The Storm Lords.

Almost an hour was spent soaking in the warm bathtub that had been quickly filled by the hands of chambermaids, soaps and scented oils were left behind at the large tub along with large fresh towels left hanging over a movable hanger that sat near the fire to make sure the towel was adequately warm. By now the water was starting to get cold, even though every now and again a chamber maid would come in and place new burning coals under the tub; the last time they had done so Azaroth had told them not to bother coming in again. As his large calloused hands moved through the water his eyes took note of them for a second before his mind wandered back a good amount of time to the point where he had met his cousin in the Reach.

He recalled Dante’s hands being much like his own only larger and looking rougher even his. It was odd for Azaroth to see a Lord with well used hands, even his own had been beaten, bruised, scared and constantly seen to by the Maesters; who each time would council the young Baratheon to use gloves for his training in the sword, as to safeguard the fingers and hand underneath. Though their advice was both solid and were given from a point of looking out for him, he hadn’t taken their advice, after all from the time Azaroth had survived his first ordeal with Ser Derek he had come to realise that you couldn’t always be prepared with the best of equipment, you didn’t always have fancy gloves to hold the sword or well-made steel to stave off the arrows. His mind had travelled too far yet again from what the intended thought had been, what manner of training or work had his cousin gone through in his life to end up with those hands, how many days had he spent using them to one end or another?

The thought of hands soon turned Azaroth’s mind to a place he didn’t want to be right now, a place he needed very much to stay away from, especially with the upcoming supper with his Lady Mother and what he had just found out about the rest of his family and their deeds. Azaroth tried his hardest to steer his thoughts away from fires, farm girls and even storms at this point, for they all had a place to play in his memory of Rana; a memory that right now brought about the worst mistake the Lord had made in his albeit young life.

It hadn’t taken the young Lord long to towel himself down and change for supper, the clothes he had picked out were far cleaner than the ones he stepped out of, though rather similar in both style and stitching. Dark brown leather adorned most of his clothes, with dark yellow gold seams and of course the embroidered Stag on the left chest of his tunic. The only major difference from how he had arrived to now were that his gloves were absent and instead of thick leather boots made for both comfort and walking long distances he wore slightly less impactful studied leather which were far more suitable for the supper ahead.

Azaroth walked down the hallways of Storm’s End and each path was clear in his mind, one would think after seven years of absence that some memory of the place would be different or that he’d get lost once or twice on the way to the great hall, but that wasn’t the case for the young Stag. The young Lord finally stopped from his long walk down the corridors when his eyes met the line of paintings on a wall, he hadn’t even reached the great hall yet and supper would be soon, yet the pictures caught him off guard and his eyes moved to them as his body followed. The images of his mother and father lined his sight at first, and then as he moved further were the visages of his brother, sister the younger version of himself and finally his younger sister. His eyes narrowed there for a moment or so, fixated on the younger Rhaenyrs Baratheon; the Baratheon sibling most thought dead, yet he knew different.

There would be quite a bit of pomp and ceremony required to feast a son’s unexpected return home. Not quite as much would have been required to feast children that returned home after a long and treacherous mission, but there would still be some. The long dining table in the great banquet hall would be covered with a beautiful tapestry in her son’s favored colors. His feast would require the polished steel plates and ware, the goblets, wine decanters and ale mugs would be made from his favorite blown glass in the shades of the sun trapped by clouds of Storm’s End. Of course, his Lady Mother over saw each detail of his feast, a task she had been set upon since her conversation with him hours earlier.

Each of her children were vastly different, but Azaroth most of all liked his way to be simple and beneficial to all around him. Another restricting trait he’d gathered from his older sister. Although, Rhealle could be rather lavish in her feasts and rewards. Azaroth on the other hand felt that showing to much of his wealth and prosperity was somehow a slap in the face to those that served him. She had hoped sending him to the Reach, where pomp and ceremony, where lavishness and excess, excited the smaller folk would have garnered her son more understanding on the subject. Though that had yet to be seen, a smaller feast would be best all-around given the circumstances of his arrival.

When she was satisfied with the preparations of the feast, Eirlys retired to her chamber to prepare herself. The chambers that had once been her own were now empty and Eirlys had retired to the smaller matron suites on the far side of the keep. Her previous chambers had been too close to the rooms of her husband Arsen, the rooms that were now her eldest son’s. The smaller suites suited her just fine with their grand windows and long wrapping balconies. She enjoyed the views and the sounds of the unsettled sea, a vast difference of the quiet snows of Winterfell, deadly as they may have been. Bathing and changing did do not take the lady long. Her ladies and maids were quick and efficient, even at the task of combing and styling her long, thick hair.

Soon, with hands folded delicately in front of her person, Eirlys made her way down the long quiet halls of her home toward the dining hall. Having taken the same paths as her son, she came upon him standing before the painting of their once complete family, his intense gaze upon his youngest sibling and sister. She waved her entourage onto the hall and came to a stop beside her son, her back to the painting. There were rare few times when woman could look upon the visage of her youngest child. “Please, my son, no more stories of your sister’s high adventures and grand escapes. “ She patted his arm,” I can take only the weary homecoming of one child tonight.”

Executioner: The sun was settling down onto the treetops, shading the courtyard and gracing its presence with more embracing breeze. The light touch of wind carried a elegance of nature through the senses; a element learned to be respected when holding a bow in hand. The young Lord Selmy was in the courtyard propped up in a tree with a leather strap in his left hand and his knife in the other, he was pressing the blade of that knife at a thirty degree angle along the smoother side of the leather and firmly brushing it down the strop before repeating with the other side. The young Lord was restless, hadn't done much socializing since his return shorly behind Azaroth; he hadn't even seen him much and that was very unusual for the young lord not to be in close proximity of his friend. It was aparent that something was on his mind, even if he wouldn't say. The wind brushed short blonde locks down into the bright blue eyes of the Lord that produced a light exhale of boredom. Scarred fingers brushed down the blade of his knife before tucking it behind his left right hip into the sheath tucked away. A passing guard noticed the young lord and expressed caution; -Guard- "Little Lord, I would recommend getting down before you fall down from that wind." The blue eyes darted toward the intruding voice with a soft 'ugh' curling his lip lighty to express a slight digust expression. -Orion- "I am thirteen feet off the ground, people throw you heigher distances than this in The Reach; I am sure you are well aware." The Snarky Lord grabbed onto the tree branch and flung his legs off the tree, allowing his lat and shoulder muscles to slowly guide his weight down and drop less than half the distance he mentioned due to his height. His leather boots collided with the dirt roughly with a firm pivot that faced him in the direction of the guard. -Orion.- "Now if you will excuse me, I'm thirsty; the taste of spit is getting kind of old." He brushed passed the guard, not touching him as approached the castle. A lot of conflict comes from Orion, most do not know how to take him; whether he is being serious or sarcastic takes a well educated person, a person who doesn't care, or someone who has been around him for some time. Most think he is arrogant, in some cases they would be right but not entirely. He reads a person's personality based on how they respond to him, an attitude to smug remarks suggests a dominance complex and most who such tend to get angry easily; easier to offset. It's his way of understanding the type of people he deals with.. He had opened the door to the castle and followed the long halls; his thirst and grumbling stomach was bringing him to the dining hall, not before relieving himself of his bow and sword; but not his knife. That remained tucked away under his vest, the only visible part of the knife was the tip of the handle peaking out from his leather vest. He cleaned his hands and face, whiping any dirt away from his features and the fibers of leather from his hands. He pulled off a leather belt that would attach to his bow as well as his quiver. He placed them down onto the ground next to the large window before turning and walking out the door. He wondered what his sister was off doing, although it was probably something mundane in his eyes.. Although, that grumble in his stomach wasn't. The grumble lead him down the hall, heading toward the smell of food and drinks; the dining hall.. Where the fancy people where. His approach lead him to Azaroth his his mother, A small smile gripping the edges of he fine lip as he tucked his hands away behind his back and interlaced his fingers together; habit he picked up in The Reach when in presence of an Officer or higher authority. Lady Eirlys warranted that from Orion, that level of respect; more so than that. He listend briefly, making sure to tuck away his quick witted remarks. -Orion.- "... My lady." His voice was low and almost hesitant, careful not to interrupt.

Both memory and thoughts were broken by the sight of his mother stepping in front of the painting he was looking at, at her words he simply nodded and took a step closer to her before his arms moved around her form to embrace her. This was a feeling that he’d gone a long time without, no matter how rich and lavish the ways were in the Reach they didn’t hold a candle to the comfort of his own home and family. For the few seconds that he embraced her, the constant thoughts at the back of his mind dulled down and for that he was more than thankful.

The embrace ended mere moments before he heard Orion speaking from behind them and turned to look at his friend, Azaroth’s mouth turned into a slight corner smile at the form Orion had taken up, hands clasped behind his back and only two words leaving his mouth; he knew it would have taken some restraint on his part to on the courteous side of formal. Azaroth waited a moment to give his Mother the time to respond and whatever else she brought up at that time, though as the plates in the great hall near them were being set and the finishing touches added to the lighted candles and fresh wine the young Lord motioned towards the room, full intent on having his mother step in first. If she had done so Azaroth’s form would step closer to Orion, his right and perceived dominant hand patting against the vest he wore where his dagger sat beneath, at the same time he jokingly commented as he turned to walk side by side into the great hall with Orion.

“I understand the hidden blade when we were in the Reach, but do you really feel unsafe in my home?” Of course between Orion and Azaroth they would know of the joking back and forth they had had since boys, the half serious comment half jab between sworn brothers was something rather common, though he tried his best to keep the comment low as to not bring any attention from his Lady Mother about it.

They moved further into the great hall and the feast sitting before them was rather splendid indeed, though it lacked the lavishness of the Reach this was the perfect set up for the young Baratheon, and he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. As he moved Azaroth placed a hand at the chair beside his mother, intent on sitting by her side till his eyes met hers and he moved on, from that one second glance he knew his mother’s intent and moved to the head of the table, taking up seat in which would have normally been his brother’s place; looking towards Orion his eyes shifted to the chair at his left hand side which should have been enough of an indicator that it was his seat.

“The food looks amazing, Mother. It has been some time since hearted meat has sat upon my plate, the rich fruits and fancy cheeses are forever in the shadows of our meals.”

small umph left the lady, a being many many times smaller than that of her children, even this son, who had yet to grow into his full girth. He was strong and fierce like his father, with pensive features that lit up a room when broken by his smile. Her arms slipped about his form, as far as they could go and she pressed his mass to the crushed velvets of her deep red dress. The warmth of his embrace was something she had missed the most. Of all her children, he was probably the most loving, the most outwardly affectionate – her pride and joy. When he released her, Eirlys took two steadying steps back and brushed down her dress. “I am sure you have had your fill of whores and chambermaids who enjoy your ever growing strength, my darling, but do be careful with your mother and for the sake of the Gods, your wife.”

Lifting her chin slightly, hands folded in front of her, Eirlys’ blue eyes moved slowly over the young Selmy lord. She took her time responding to him, even in her small nod of acknowledgement. It had been some time since she’d last laid eyes upon Orion Selmy, with his beautiful blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and he had grown into quite the man indeed, but there was no disguising his devilish streak. If ever there had been a time Azaroth was warranted in a good slap Orion had been close by. Of course neither boy ever received any such punishment so long as Arsen had his say; he found the antics too amusing to punish. “Little Lord Selmy, my how handsome you’ve become, though I must say I surprised you returned with your tongue.”

There was no pause for response, not with a very distastefully garnished tray passing her line of sight. Stepping out of the small circle of conversation, Eirlys sent the tray back to the kitchens; they were in desperate need of a new cook. She continued on to the dining hall, the room was filled with happy faces, sipping wine and chattering on about this or that, no doubt gossiping about Azaroth’s return but it all came to a still as he entered. It took only a single, soft glance from his mother to send him to his proper seat. He sat, commenting the food as the others stood beside their own chairs and his mother before her own. She smiled gratefully at him, and gave a nod to his full glass of wine before reaching for her own and holding it up, waiting for him to stand.

Executioner: The embrace between Orion and Azaroth was nothing new, they were close; maybe even closer than Orion's own blood. A blood bond between two brothers is much like the bond of family only it is not the blood that flows through their veins but blood spilled on the same ground when training or fighting for the same cause. Orion huffed out lightly with the typical little grin to follow as he bowed his head low to cover his expression. Upon raising his head, his ackowledgement to the High Lady's statment. -Orion.- "I did my Lady, a tongue more troublesome than when I was younger and one I tend to keep to myself around your presence." His grin got wider, thinking of the times the High Lady raised hell at Azaroth and Orion for foolish deeds. She was a mother figure to Orion, and gained more respect from him than he'd given any Officer in The Reach. Azaroths tap cause Orion to shift lighly as he snorted to Azaroths jab. -Orion.- "Rather have it and not need it. You have your guards, I- my knife." he said in a lowered tone, his suggestive jab was to Azaroth taking it easy and getting lazy. Although he never challanges Azaroth's ability to preform, only his desire to. He patted his brother on his shoulder and maded his way into the dining hall when he would follow them to his seat before settling into it.

Azaroth padded arse barely touched the seat before he noticed his mother’s eyes on him and the glass full of wine at his side, shit. Standing tall the young Baratheon reached for the glass and lifted it towards the guests at the same, some he knew, some he thought he remembered and others he wasn’t so sure of but if they were here then they were here because his mother had invited them and as such were guests. Looking to his side he waited for Orion to stand once again as he had done before he spoke out to the table and his mother. “To long absences and being home; may this fine food and wine keep you warm in your time away from family and may the Storm Lords see fit to safe passage wherever you may wander.”

Azaroth wasn’t exactly the greatest public speaker, yet he would never shy away from the task of doing so. At times in the Reach amongst the squires and Knights he found himself leading the conversations and the majority of the time they seemed to be well received, and only in the back of his mind was he curious if it was his own doing that made it so or simply the house he was born into. As he took a drink from the glass and the wine satisfied his thirst he nodded towards his lady mother and sat down, pulling in the chair closer to the great table.

“I’ve been gone for so many years lady mother; tell me have many changes been made to the Storm Lands? I half expected Storm’s End to be bear of all foods from what I remember of my brother.”

Quick on the draw and cool under pressure, Azaroth rose to his occasion with poise. To say Eirlys was proud of her children was a grand understatement. She smiled at him as he spoke and great applause and a few shouts followed after his concise but gracious speech. This time when he sat, the table followed, happy to fill their bellies with boar and beef; the house rarely ate venison. It was an unspoken traditional cast down by her boisterous husband, who enjoyed a hunt almost as much as it was rumored his ancestor Robert did. After he returned home from one such hunt with a stag the size of her daughter’s Stanger with a grand tale of how they fought, antlers to fist, their strikes causing lightening to crack in the sky and the waves of the End to rise nearly to the top of the keep, the people of the region took it as some sign from the great Storm God that the stag was sacred beyond just a sigil of the house. Of course, having one of his children riding a beast of the same stature years later, and another born during the Great Stag Run, a miracle of the creatures seen bounding over the hills from the south to gather in the open fields before the Kingswood and disappearing after Azaroth’s first cry came into the world… well many of the region believed the house was touched by the Storm God itself.

Rhaelle and Azaroth were blessed by stags, but her other two children were born to special circumstances as well. Kainen had been born under a storm that rivalled that of the fabled Daenerys Stormborn, however, there had been a number of reported sights that, that night under that full moon the silhouettes of dragons dancing in the water had been seen. One such person had been his own septa, who filled his head with stories of dragons and flying high in the sky. And Rhaenyrs? Her little black haired, blue-eyed cherub had been born in the low tide just behind the castle. Eirlys craved sea water as if she had gills while pregnant with her youngest. Arsen often teased that he would build her a floating bed and the woman had been wandering the sands when that first pain of birth struck her. Refusing to leave the crashing shores, she hiked up her skirts and birthed the child right there in the water between crags and seaweed; she’d come into the world, soaked in the sea and crying for the storm above her head to set itself loose along the land. It did. The rains from her birth gave the region crops like never before.

The memories of her children’s birth, brought a dreamlike smile to her lips as the servants lay forth the first portion of their meal but her son’s voice drew her eyes up toward him. The chair was too large for him, even as he truly a Baratheon his still did and would most probably always dwarf him. The sight changed her smile from dreamlike to humorous.

“The stock in the kitchens had surely doubled, no tripled, since our good lord has been away eating the king out of house and home!” Came a great deep voice to Azaroth’s question and it was followed by a roll of laughter. “And how do you think the King’s gold fares with that great dragon slumbering so close!” Another man chimed. More laughter. “Surely our Lord Kainen rumbles the keep with his snores!” More laughter and cheers, some were even smacking the table as if Kainen could shake loose the foundation of the king with his mere presence.

The lady of the house lifted her hand and warm quiet filled the room,”Our lands fair and endure as they always have, my son.” She motioned around the room,”Your people do not wish to speak of politics and ambitions, they only wish to celebrate your presence, allow them to do so.”

As they sat to eat Azaroth spared no time in filling his plate with boar and beef, the sauces that came from the table along with the greens and other healthier options were a good addition to the flavours of the meat and with each piece chewed and swallowed his stomach became fuller yet the taste and love for the food refused to die down. As his comment about his elder brother’s appetite caused further comments about his snoring and other quirks came about the young Lord couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the memories there ideas brought up. Once again the feeling of being home and around his loved ones was enough to pull at the Lord’s heart strings, which added a new dynamic to the feelings he’d been having recently, especially those that came about from the farm girl that was no more.

There it was again, a single thought introduced the redhead into his mind and his appetite was gone. Even as he nodded to his mother’s comment about them celebrating his return he smiled, only this was wasn’t like the others, there was nothing to be seen from the Lord’s bright blue eyes but something resembling pain. Though his weak and incomplete smile seemed to fool most of the others at the table he already knew that it wouldn’t slide past his mother, even if he tried his hardest to present an outward appearance she would have seen through it, and Orion, as blunt and sarcastic as he was would sooner or later realise that something was up with his sworn brother.

The night went on and as supper ended and plates were carried off so too were the guests, some left for the guest rooms while others walked around the castle talking and retelling stories of old, new and of course those that were completely made up on the spot. As the guests slowly departed from the table Azaroth wiped his lips with the soft cloth and left it placed on the table and he rose, tucking in his brother’s chair before he eventually laid his hand on Orion’s shoulder and bid him a goodnight; as he did with his mother yet the shoulder placement was replaced by a kiss to her cheek.

Azaroth had been informed prior to the supper that the pets he had kept as a child had of course not made it through the years, after all they were elder birds when he got them and their span was roughly twenty years or so. Yet when death took something life would always replace and the following statement about the next generation of Gyrfalcons was something that the young Lord was looking forward to seeing. The steps in the corner keep continued upwards at a such a height that if one were to slip and fall all the way down, well there wouldn’t be much hope for life afterwards; luckily even at this time of night the way was well lit and eventually he reached the rookery which was split off into a number of sections. Each section held a number of caged ravens, each cage having a sign on it which said where the raven could fly to and back, yet one of the sections held a larger cage than most, almost as tall as the wall itself and stretched from one side to the other; it was also the cage with the fewest birds inside being that it was only home to three rather large Gyrfalcons. All three of the birds were the darkest of blacks, lined along the wings with golden specs. Of the three birds one was clearly smaller than the other two and having studied the books previously and having the responsibility as a kid; Azaroth knew enough of the birds that it meant the smallest was the male while the other two larger ones were females. Approaching the cage Azaroth pressed his hand out against it, watching the beasts as they watched him with eyes that seemed to seep through into his soul. By their age and size he knew they were already well versed in flight, from the information he had gathered from before they had already been trained well by a breeder though they were still relevantly young and could easily latch onto another; which would indeed be himself. Patting his hand against the cage a few times Azaroth turned and headed out of the tower, his mind was already turning from what he knew of the birds and from the situation he had gotten himself into recently he had a new idea that he would make sure came to fruition.

On his way back to his bedroom Azaroth passed by the office chambers of his deceased father and now head of the family, Kainen. Even though Kainen wasn’t around to be taking part in any of the doings of the Storm Land’s the light from behind the door and under the gap shone through enough to catch his attention and with a few heavy knocks Azaroth pressed the door open and took a step inside the office, curious to see if his thoughts about the person behind the table would be true or not.

Eirlys left the feast shortly thereafter her son, when the dining had become reduced to a snack buffet and only a few remaining guests were lingering around still drinking wine and telling bad jokes. Of course those were the few that would remain through the night and travel in the morning as they lived the furthest from the keep. Eirlys excused herself and took her ladies as well. After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, Eirlys left the company of her women for the solitude of her son's office.

No matter the time of day, there would always be some matter or matters within the large office to be attended to. Sweeping her skirts beneath her, the lady of the house sat down in the large chair that had once been her husband and was now that of her eldest son, though he rarely sat there. The largest stack of parchment was that of letters concerning marriage, mostly to Kainen and some even for her brutish daughter. Rhaelle would never accept a marriage proposal sent by raven or even page so they were all but immediately discarded. Kainen was another matter all together. Choosing a wife for him was a careful matter to consider and no woman would be considered unless Eirlys could inspect her thoroughly. Most women wanted the title to the wife of the Lord Paramount however they either feared her son or were so completely confused by his simplicity that they were not an could not be decent candidates. There were proposals for her youngest son as well, but Azaroth was too like his sister for those prospects to pan out and it was not a subject to be broached at the moment.

So the stack grew, but Eirlys was more concerned with other matters. She was carefully gauging the tones of each of her nobles as they stood now, in order to prepare for a rather rampant future. The tides would be changing soon, she hoped for the better, but no one could predict the reactions of the nobles. Most of the region had rallied however quietly behind her nephew and many of the small folk in the Crownlands and the Stormlands had always wished him king regardless, beyond that, Eirlys wasn't sure. However, the Reach, she knew now had backed his claim, allowing him to take their only available and widely sought after daughter as his wife. A sigh left her at the thought. She truly hoped her daughter knew what she was doing, retangling their line with that of the Tyrells.

Her fingers fluttered across her forehead, bushing back the feathered, freed hairs that had escaped her well quafted braid. Her bright blue eyes moved to the door as light knocked caught her attention. There could only be one person beyond that door, anyone else would have been announced. "Come in." Eirlys said, her voice just loud enough to be heard. She rose from her chair and stepped beside it, her hands clasped in front of her.