The Keep At Storm's End

In the few seconds it had taken Eirlys to respond to his knock Azaroth’s mind had wandered yet again, there really hadn’t been much explained to him about his cousin taking over the throne or what parts his sister and brother would play in it; or the matter of the part which he would play also if there was one. It wasn’t wrong to say that even though a mother would know her son best of all that the relationship shared between Azaroth and Rhaelle was on that level, perhaps it was because they were rather similar in certain ways and she had always encouraged him to be the man he wanted to be, whether that be the shining Knight who would forsake coin and praise to help those less fortunate or the Lord that not only helped the common folk but embraced them as people before their standing in the world.

Finally pushing the door open the young Lord stepped through before pushed backwards on it once more to close it behind him. The dull candle lit room was much like he remembered from the times he’d sit in the corner watching and listening to his father or mother go about the business of the Region, and in the candle light was his mother standing there prompt as always with her hands clasped in front of her. She definitely hadn’t changed much from what he remembered, even down to the way she stood holding her hands; he could recall thinking as a child that his mother had perhaps the blood of a god running through her body. Men of all shapes and stature would fall and bow a knee before his father, but his father was a man of larger stature than most, a giant of a man yet his mother commanded the same respect from these men; all without lifting a finger, unclasping her hands or even raising her voice.

A small smile curved his lips slowly as he took a few steps forward before his form was in front of her, since she had moved to stand up he would take advantage of the situation and once again wrap his arms around her; it had been the third time since returning that very morning that he hugged his mother and chances were many more would come before his time was done here in Storm’s End. Perhaps most Lords of his age would be against such displays of affection, after all how would it look for a grown man to still be so enthralled by his mother at this point in his life, but then again they would have no idea of the man Azaroth was; or for the better point, the woman his mother was.

As he released her from his embrace his face turned scrunched up slightly and his brows narrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, though catching himself before apologise left his lips. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that caused him to think that was necessary in the moment but even if that was how he felt, he wouldn’t apologise for missing his family or the feeling of warmth her embrace brought to him.

“What worries plague your mind that keep my Lady Mother awake with work when she should be resting in bed? Voice them and I will do my best to see them quelled and in the event that your son has no way to stave them off then I will accompany you for a while and make sure you do not spend needless time alone.”

The words he spoke said a lot about the young Lord, maybe not about the way he saw the world or the ideals he had that simply did not fit in this day and age, but they were straight and concise when it came to the worries of his mother or family; he would do whatever he had to, past the point of his own comfort and care to make sure their life was easier, even if that was to last for only a day or so.

Once more Eirlys let out a small noise as her son, a man twice her size, drew her into his arms. To this, her hands unclasp to wrap around his back. Where they rested she could feel every inhale and exhale he took. Her head only reached his chest. Good enough, she could hear his heart beating. Oh, her little boy. No matter how tall they became, how they towered over her, they would always be her children. Released, Eirlys touched a hand to the back of her braid and smiled at her son, her free hand touching his chin as his nose scrunched. He often made that face when he had been forced to be quiet and now he was forcing himself.

Moving her hand as he began to speak, Eirlys looked down at the stacks of parchment on her husband's, her son's desk then taking one particular piece. Once more she reached for his face, shadows of sadness fluttering across her otherwise pleasant yet vacant features; she missed his hair, however handsome and adult he was without it. Her fingers brushed along his ears, pushing back phantom strands of hair. "My son, all grown up." She mused before handing him the parchment. "You were always so eager to become your father, to take on his tasks. Here, I have something I believe you will love to sink your teeth into."

The parchment contained notes about a region south of the keep between mountain ranges. It's keep was empty and had been so for a number of years leaving it open to the creeping will of the mountain tribes there in. Those tribes were becoming demanding and willful. Without a trusted Lord there to rule in the stead of the Great House chaos was beginning to take it's place. The small folk and the minor nobles in the region lacked the tolerance for the ways of the men of the mountains. "Despite the constant swarm of thunder and lightening about out lands, they have remained relatively unchanged. Your sister believes change is a form of survival and with her constant chatter about peace, in saving the land, she would destroy our main means of commerce. What would the Stormlands be without war? War is coming to an slow drip, my son, and the Stormlands must survive and for that it will need a man who does not fear change."

As his mother moved to collect a piece of parchment from the desk so did her other hand upon its retrieval, her fingers passing over his chin and jaw line for a second as her own features changed therein and with those changes his heart sank in that moment. He had wanted to be wrong, he had wanted her to be awake due to happier thoughts, perhaps quiet celebration of the downfall of a horrid king. Yet what he found instead was exactly as he suspected, looking over the Stormlands weighed heavy on his mother, that much he could tell, and even though she had handle the lands this long surely there would have to come a time where she could retire from such position and pass the mantle of silent look out to that of his sister.

It wasn’t that Azaroth didn’t desire to step in and try to fill his mother’s position or that he saw it below what he was capable of, rather it was the opposite, with recent situations going down as they did and how important the Storm Lands were to him and his family he knew that his brother needed someone more knowledgeable than he was at this moment and time; his sister was always the best choice to stand in for their mother, at least in Azaroth’s opinion.

With the parchment handed over Azaroth’s eyes dipped to the notes as he unfolded it and listened to the words his mother spoke. Another small smile adorned his face as she mentioned the beliefs of his sister, beliefs that he shared yet the concerns his mother brought up were also paramount to the survival of their region. What were warriors without war to partake in? Azaroth’s thoughts clattered together in his head as he tried to say something to settle the thoughts in his mothers. Perhaps some well put together words would calm her mind for some time while he researched the notes and found a way to deal with the issues at hand, yet none came to mind. He had been trained since a child to think like a noble, to act for the betterment of his people and to be deserving of the absolute loyalty that the Stormlands had for the Baratheons…Yet in his mind he couldn’t help but think that he was simply a man with a sword…Without a sword at this point…Each time Azaroth held a blade in his hand or faced off against an equal he knew that this was what he was made for, the dance, the sweet steel song; as much as he looked up to her, he wasn’t his sister and there were no instant ideas on how to bring change and prosperity back into the Stormlands while sticking to their warrior ways of life and values.

“I will see it done mother.”

As much as he wanted to the young Lord made a single promise that he would see through till the end, the Stormlands would once again grow and evolve as both people and region and he would see them soar to the heights they previously held before the Seven Kingdoms were even an idea in the mind of a Targaryen.

Before the sun had a chance to crack the horizon the keep of Storm’s End was alive and moving with the preparations for Azaroth’s travels to the capital. Through the mother stag seemed calm and detached as she stood in the center of the front courtyard dictating the placement and necessity of everything. Servants and pages scurried about her. At her back, forming a bit of trail back to the doors of the keep, were her two sworn shields, four of the keep Knights, several guards and her company of women. The need for protection standing in the midst of her own courtyard was quite low. The truth was, every person in her company was like extended family and they all wished to see the Lord Azaroth off in good faith. Each of them knew what awaited him in the capital. The worry was barely concealed on each of their faces and it was not just for Azaroth. The men of Storm’s End would hardly outwardly show concern for the safety of their liege, after all he was a big and burly monster of man that seemed to drift through life unscathed and what scars he did obtain were often through foolishness. So many of them adored him, feared his sister, and adored Azaroth as well. They would rally behind any of the Baratheon children without hesitation and though they were well and true, remaining behind to protect the Mother of the Stags, it was no secret they wished to be beside their liege in this endeavor.

Of course the Lady of House Baratheon stood tall, even though she was quite petite with her hands were clasped before, heavy rings upon her small fingers. Her hair was in a loose braid, woven with black ribbons, hanging over her shoulder. The top of her black ribbon was heavily, and intricately beaded across the crown of her head. Her dress was off the shoulders, the bustier and sleeves done with simple gold design repeated throughout. The skirts were lays of black silks over heavily detailed gold stags; a depiction of the Great Stag Run that brought the birth of her last son.

There was no carriage awaiting her son or the company he would be taking with him to the capital. Only young and fast horses. His entourage would be small and quick. His brother had already arrived with the nobles of their region in the grand manner with which each Lord Paramount would have been expected however dim and grim it may have been in presence of this demeaning king. Even if he had been leaving with his brother, Azaroth, like his sister and even Kainen who had a great dislike for small spaces, would have preferred the horse regardless. With his small, hand picked company, speed and time would be on their sides. It was imperative that her youngest join his siblings before the great hall of the Red Keep filled with nobles swearing their fealty and false rejoicing in the presence of the current king. He also needed time to convene with his sister and cousin and she hoped his ride our this early, before the rise of the sun, would give him enough time to do just that.

Her company turned as the keep's doors opened. They parted and created a clear path directly toward his Lady Mother. The lady of the house didn't so much open her arms as she simply parted her hands and turned her palms up toward her son. It was a small gesture compared to that of a normal motion for a hug, but subtle had always been her way.

The sworn shield her right, held his hands out like a table. Upon his gloved hands was a long sword in a black sheathe with an intricately carved silver plate where the sheathe met the guard. The pommel was carved ivory in the shape of a stag's head. The hilt beheld newly wrapped leather and the guard was like woven wood. At the mouth of the mouth of the sheathe were two small sharpening stones, so that each time the blade was pulled free it would be sharpened just that much more.

The doors of the keep opened and out walked the youngest son of the Baratheon line, even now with the few days he had spent home around his mother his hair still hadn’t magically grown back but it had been seen to once again by another Maester who took finer detail with more precise tools to complete the look he would now wear for atleast a season or two. His attire hadn’t changed all much from the outfit he had arrived in a few days prior, still he wore dark brown leather tunic that had a large stag head embroidered on the shoulders in a dark gold colour, the trousers he wore matched and of course this time instead of comfortable shoes he was back to his heavy padded boots that completed his outfit. Azaroth had never been one to wear any kind of accessory aside from a sword or dagger, which was why at his back folded into his trousers and tucked under his tunic sat the same dagger that was always there, the second of the pair sat inside his left boot perfectly hidden.

Azaroth’s view turned time and time again as he walked towards his Lady Mother, smiling at those who had gathered to see him and his own off to King’s Landing, by the looks in their eyes he could tell that almost all of them knew what was going to happen at the harvest festival, which wasn’t a huge surprise giving how the people of the Stormlands were and how deep their loyalties went. As his eerily blue hues landed on the horses behind his mother his brows narrowed, they were rather lovely horses all lined up, being held by the reins and ready to handed over to them, yet they were of a smaller stature than he was used to, that was until the loud grumblings from the corner took his attention for a moment and then loud and rather obnoxious sounds came from the most stubborn horse he’d ever met in his life; Titan. The mountainous black destrier would let the stable hand move forward just a bit before rearing himself backwards, each time he did so the poor lad was pulled off his feet and sent flying backwards time and time again, the horse almost smirking as it amused itself with the young boy whose face seemed to be a cry for help as he looked towards the other men who were currently holding onto the smaller horses; yet none moved as they all but refused to tackle the black destrier.

Azaroth finally came to a stop before his mother and with her hands laid out as such his moved yet closer still, arms wrapping around her smaller form and hugging her for what would be the last time till he returned from King’s Landing. After their embraced ended Azaroth stepped back from her form and turned his attention to the man at her side, his hands held out something that garnered almost as much attention as his mother had, the sword he held out was much more than just a fancied sword that had been made in Storm’s End, the idea of it pulled at the young Stag’s heart as memories of it on his father’s belt played through his mind and for a second he looked between both blade and his mother before actually placing his hands on the weapon and wrapped the dark leather studied belt around his waist and securing it.

He had no words for the moment, sure there were many running through his mind about all matters of things but there was nothing coming out for any of the issues that he was thinking about. With the blade secured around his waist and his mother already embraced the others that were attending him had already moved to their horses, waiting for him to perch upon his own before taking their cue to do so themselves. “It will be done soon, Mother.” Azaroth’s words could have meant a number of things from the topics they had spoken about recently, but one of those topics was of utmost paramount and that would have been the one he spoke of, he needed to get to King’s Landing, meet up with his siblings and see the completion of his sisters plan before he would even start to work on the prosperity of his own region.

As Titan was finally settled in front of him Azaroth smiled lightly at the boy who had been put through hell attempting to drag him all the way out, reaching into the side saddle the young Lord produced a single large red apple and held it out for the mountainous horse to devour and devour it did. A few of the men and ladies standing around laughed lightly at the change in the horse once it had been bribed with food, to say it reminded them of a certain Baratheon wouldn’t have been out of the question, after all he was the horse meant for Kainen yet the beast and stallion were simply too much alike. Pulling himself up onto the horse Azaroth turned and looked down to his mother, a nod of his head was enough before he waited a second, if she had any last words or wisdom or advice for him now would be the time to say them and he gave her that time before moving off. The horses all trotted rather lightly down the main way of the keep, the gates had already been open for their departure yet as the moved through one way a few men were passing through from the opposite side of the fence. The young Lords eyes fell onto the Red Hands as they held close their heavy animals that pulled the carts of ore that would soon be made into fine steel, his eyes narrowed at the carts and as the mountain men nodded to them as some form of both hello and goodbye Azaroth pulled on the reins of Titan and had him stop for a second, something had caught his attention sat inside the large chunks of ore.

“Gentlemen, what else do you bring to Storm’s End other than ore?” The young lord questioned as his eyes fell onto a glass like substance, curious as to the small pieces that sat spread out amongst the heavy piles of steel.

“Mi Lord, we mean no offence by the added item to the ore, but this supply was riddled with useless glass from the mines and we did our best to rid them from your goods but some still remain.”

Azaroth nodded lightly as he began to speak again, his eyes moving from the Red Hand who had been speaking to the glints from the so called glass that was mixed in with the ore and then he held out his gloved hand. “If you would, could you hand me a few pieces of the glass, they pique my personal interest.”

With that one of the mountain men stepped forward and reached into the back of a cart, pulling out a dirtied piece of cloth that seemed to hold more than just a few pieces of glass within it, handing it over to the young Stag he nodded and with that they were on their way again up the path to Storm’s End, while Azaroth and his companions headed north and raced towards King’s Landing and his siblings.

His mother had gone again. Days and days on end without her guidance and though she was not overtly outright with it - her protection, left her young son, Rhaegar at the hands of his grandmother and just about anyone to come to the castle at Storm's End. His grandmother only kept his company in private. Often if her chambers were bombarded with urgent news he was dismissed in the same manner of a servant back to his "duties" which had become code for his room.

A child only recently seen his third name day, Rhaegar reconciled his feelings of hurt and anger by knocking over her wine as he was ushered out of the room, or throwing the tassels of her drapes into the fire. If he was not able to do that, upon their next meeting he would bring her dead animals or put mud in her shoes. Once, playing in the courtyard, he proposed she spy the most beautiful flower in the garden but her point of visual had to be exact... exactly on top of an ant hill. His grandmother screamed something terrible as the insects ripped at her stockings and bit her skin. He was rewarded with several hard lashes from her hand and sent to his room, where he would remain for the next few days.

Is only reprieve was the company of the Lady Xara Xaq, a princess of the Summer Isles now a lady to his mother, Rhaelle Baratheon. Lady Xara was his mother's best friend and chief lady in waiting. Aside from his mother and by occasion his grandmother, she was the only woman that was outrightly nice to him. Even his own nanny took a terrible pleasure in punishing him again for the deeds having already been punished by his grandmother. So with a properly red backside, Rhaegar was placed into his bed and left for the night without supper. That is, until the Lady Xara came into his chambers, taking the crying child from his bed and to the small lounge within his room. She had brought dried meats and fruit and a roll of his favorite sweet bread and a warmed mug of the breast milk his mother left in jugs in the kitchens.

Nestled comfortably in the arms of the brown skinned woman, Rhaegar sniffled and wept as he tried to eat. The minutes went on and on but the child still wept, even as he sipped milk from the mug. The days without his mother were wearing on him and the delicate heart of the child was stoning and paining from the unwanted attentions he received from so many about the castle. Xara released his hair of its infamous braid and began to come her fingers through the white blonde strands as music bubbled softly from her throat; soon she began to sing:



Confined to his room until the return of his mother for his misdeed, Rhaegar was left with many hours to think on his relations with the more common people in his life, namely Xara Xaq. Xara Xaq was a foreigner from the Summer Isles. She was a princess in her own right and one of many in her family. She told great, wild, and wonderful stories and was often his only source of comfort when that of his grandmother's waned for whatever reason. She was constant, much like his mother. She was petite and beautiful in a way that could not be compared to the woman of his native land.

Rhaegar often wondered if the way she treated him directly related to the place from which she came. It was a place his mother had loved since she was a child, a place she often spoke fondly of. Could that be why his mother kept him? Loved him the way she did? Could that be why no one else loved him so? ... Well save his dear uncle Kainen, but Kainen was a separate beast all together, all together another creature of his own creation.  As far as Rhaegar was concerned, no one could be compared to his monstrous uncle Kainen just as no one could compare to Xara Xaq.

For three days, Rhaegar contemplated the world around him with a profound insight that came from the frank and concise conversations he had with his mother and his constant appearance at her side when she was present in his home keep.

On the third day, hours before dawn, the sound of heavy hooves on cobblestone stirred those were not already up. The sound echoed through the still hours of the morning and sprang Rhaegar from his bed. He roughly roused his sleeping maids and demanded to be washed and dressed as quickly as possible. They complied and quickly, but that was only because the sound of Stranger, his mother's great stag, was unmistakable and to incur his mother's wrath before the sun broke the sky was not a way to start the day.

As soon as he was dressed, Rhaegar ran to the courtyard to great his mother. The Beast of Storm's End was dressed all in dark leathers, a corset and beige blouse. Her boots were two tiered made of expensive but worn leather and one of her arms was covered with leather past her elbow. Her large dark cloak created a trail as she dismounted the largest stag ever to be spotted in the Kingswood. On her back was a round wooden shield that had no emblem. Before removing her effects from the beast, Rhaelle's fingers flicked across the strap that held the shield to her body and let it fall to the floor behind her. Then she bent and picked up her son, kissing his forehead.

"Mother." Rhaegar murmured, burying his head under her chin.

She turned and brought them both to the face of her loyal companion, the animal flattening his face to that of Rhaelle. They stilled for a long moment, their eyes closed as though they shared some sort of psychic connection and conversation. Then the stag turned and gave his face to the child, who gripped it and landed a soft headbutt with a giggle. Stranger guffled and shook his head, his large antlers nearly the length of his uncle's arms outstretched, shook free leaves and rumble from the forests and backroads his mother had been traveling.

Crawling onto her back, Rhaegar clung to his mother as she removed her saddle bags from Stranger and her weapons. He climbed down so she could sling the bags over one shoulders and took her sword from her, knowing he was far to small to carry her warhammer, as most men couldn't carry it comfortably and it was only a replica of the great warhammer used by their ancestor. Stranger turned and took his leave, presumably headed back to the Kingswood as mother and son moved through the nearly empty courtyard toward the stables, followed only by Rhaegar's female brood of caretakers.

Inside the stables put away her saddle bags but carried her weapons back to her room. While she put her things away, undressed, and lounged in a bath, Rhaegar recounted his last days without her. He didn't leave anything out so much as skipped over the bits and pieces he still hadn't worked out on his on. There was no doubt in his mind his mother would be briefed on every transgression he'd made in her absence, but Rhaegar preferred to mull them over in his own time. After all, his life was full of forced opinions from others, the few quiet moments to himself that he had, he enjoyed. Perhaps he got that from his mother.

Rhaelle came from her bath, and dressed in something more suited for a noble woman of the house paramount of the Stormlands. Seeing his mother in a gown, with her hair in a braided halo, small curls falling here and there, made Rhaegar smile. When his mother dressed like a lady it was a quiet signal that she didn't have any immediate plans to take off again.

By the time she was dressed, her breakfast had been laid out on the balcony and her ladies gathered around to eat with her. Rhaegar took his place on the small chair beside her and they ate in relative silent until his grandmother showed up. She sat herself down at the end of the table without acknowledging Rhaegar, clearly still upset, and began to pick at her daughter for information gained from her travels. Rhaelle stopped eating and began to play with her wine goblet as she often did when in talks with others. The two spoke at length and frankly about the plans that were carefully being lain for the removal of what his mother called a disease.

"There are only two places left." Rhaelle said, sipping her drink.

This made his grandmother frown and look away from her daughter over the edges of the banister. "Another Tyrell on the throne. You should let the boy choose his own wife."

His mother laughed at that. "You want to end up with an illiterate fishmonger's daughter for a queen? Such risk you take, mother, such belief you have in him."

Eirlys scoffed at that and lodging her gaze on her daugther, "We have to believe in him."

"But we must also protect him and the interest of the realm. The Tyrell girl is a walking slate of protocol and refinery, a perfect balance to a pauper prince. Besides, what does he have to complain about? She is a beauty and Reachwoman are whores behind closed doors."

"As opposed to my daughter who is one in a tavern like any other brothel worker."

The comment was meant to sting, but his mother simply shrugged. The comment had hurt him. It was directed at him in a way - the stain on the house of Baratheon. "The doors were closed. It was quite intimate and beautiful; a man of my choosing, intelligent and stupid all in the same rite, handsome and strong."

The mother of the Stormbeasts, scoffed again, slapping her napkin down on the table top as she stood from her seat. "You could have had the same in a noble man. You could have had name and prestige and a life! You could have had love, stupid girl. Instead you bring us scorn and slander!"

Unflinching, Rhaelle rested back in her chair, "Love is for fools and paupers. Children are not slander no matter where they come from. You may go now, you are turning my stomach with your talk of protocol when it is convenient."

"How dare you dismiss me!"

"With the same ease with which I gave birth."

Fuming, Eirlys whirled on a heel but managed to glide out of the room instead of storm out, yet there was no mistaking her rage at her daughter and the bastard boy; ever a lady. When the doors closed behind her there was a long moment before the tension cleared the air. All of the ladies at the table, including Xara Xaq had stopped eating and were staring at their hands in their laps. Rhaegar broke the silence by looking up at his mother, "Is love really for fools mother?"

She straightened in her chair, reaching out to caress his head. "Nothing is for fools so long as you have a plan and understand the consequences of your actions. No one is a fool with a plan and resolve."

Rhaegar mulled this over, watching his mother's face. When she had arrived she'd been free of her weirwood makeup, wearing only dark khol around her unusual eyes, but she traveled with a heavy hood. Now the makeup was back, framing her features and those frightening eyes that took in everything and nothing all at once. Her skin was like snow now, having been in the Eyrie where she said the sky was made of clouds and keeps sat between them. "Love is not the same for all, is it, mother?"

"No."

"Hm." Rhaegar mused. His mother loved him. The love that radiated from her was unlike anything he ever felt from anyone. Other could not even match her with their rage at his existence. The way his grandmother loved him, was unlike any other as well and the way his uncle loved him, was as though he were always there. Rhaegar too loved them all in mirrored fashion, he concluded, but he could not decided just how he loved Xara Xaq. It was not mirrored. It was more. She was family and she was not. "I think, then, when I am ready, I will marry Xara Xaq."

"As you wish." His mother responded almost dismissively.

Rhaegar looked down the table to his betrothed. He climbed from his seat and walked the length of the table to her side. She was smiling at him, that same smile she gave whenever he'd conquered some imaginary beast in the training yard or defeated his uncle in battle. He took her hand. "I will be more than a bastard one day, Lady Xaq. I will buy you a great and beautiful stone to wear. I will give you a wonderful home and anything you desire. You will see. I will make you happy."

Tears pricking at her eyes, Xara gathered Rhaegar's hand in her own and kissed his little knuckles. "I have no doubts."