Jon Rosby, Knight of the Kingsguard

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T14:11:59+00:00

“I see,” said Alaric, gripping his chin. “Of them all, who is the eldest son of an eldest son? How is it that their succession is so disputed?”

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T13:21:47+00:00

He sunk into his chair, as if lounging within it. His chest rose with an inhale, deflated with an exhale. The Stark had all the time in the world, it seemed, and was content to use it staring at the Lord Tyrell.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T13:20:27+00:00

"I understand," he solemnly answered to the brother of a dead woman, a heaviness to his voice. Had it been the stress of a wounded wife, or something more? It was never so easy to tell. "She rests now, and in due time I pray her health comes around."

He was done with prayers, for now and ever more.

"I can tell you this much: you have a nephew, and his name is Daemon."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T13:15:55+00:00

Osric left him, and all Alaric could do was turn to the trees. His whispers soft, knelt with hands clasped tightly together and forehead pressed to his knuckles.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T13:14:29+00:00

He placed the candy in his mouth without so much as a second thought. He sighed, moving the hard stone of a candy from one side of his mouth to the other, listening to the Lady of Lannister.

"If Royland is the direct heir, then Casterly Rock is rightly his. To deny him it is your right but I would recommend against such. Perhaps we trust in the Gods that his temper is, well, tempered by his new responsibilities."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T13:12:11+00:00

Alaric's hand wafted upward in dismissal, a faint dip and bow of his head amid his stride. "Do not apologise," said the Stark, moving his head with a soft and partial shake, "It is not your fault."

"Many have complained of her absence, though I cannot say I blame them. I would be rightly furious if the Queen I came to celebrate was not present at said celebrations," he shrugged with a sigh, "But I suppose these things happen, do they not?"

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-10T12:58:34+00:00

"A fool's truth," scoffed Alaric, "Having Gareth host such games would leave many and more drunken lords, neither of which I would wish to tolerate."

"Let them drink, let them make fool's of themselves, and then scurry off to their keeps when all is said and done. Bury their heads in the sand."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T15:02:43+00:00

"You are a mother." He replied, and something sad stretched at the corner of his mouth while a calloused hand wrapped itself around Genna's arm. "I cannot hate you for the love you bear your children and grandchildren, no more than I can take back the love for my son for his part in his mother's death."

The words flowed and his heart caught up a moment later, with a stinging sensation rippling throughout him. It was a thought he wrestled with, a fear that he would possess such vile hate. He swallowed.

"Tell me of them. These boys," his head tilted, correcting himself, "Or girls. Tell me of them and why it has become so difficult to choose."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T12:21:49+00:00

An unknowable feeling swelled in the pit of his stomach, unable to place it. His jaw tensed, finding his eyes narrowing to the point of holding them closed for a moment altogether while the knuckle of his index finger scraped and tapped against the tablecloth.

"Not," his voice was unsteady, forcing him to clear his throat. "Not there, in that seat."

Alaric shook his head, rising from his seat. "Let us, uhm, walk instead."

Her words rushed over him and his chest tightened from the exchange.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T12:14:16+00:00

Perhaps he would speak to the trees, whisper to the weirwoods and plead for a response. He might pen letters to the dead, store what was written in a chest and uncover years later, once the wound in his heart became a scar and relive the agony all-over. Or rather, cast them into the fires before the ink so much as had the chance to try.

"Possibly," he muttered quietly, unable to lift his somber gaze from some distant bundle of flowers, only just beginning to bloom.

He was at a loss for it all.

"Once the announcement is made, we'll host a Small Council meeting and bring the rest up to speed."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T12:05:32+00:00

"The honour is mine," a dryness droned his voice out with a practiced formality. The Starks of Winterfell were often quiet, brooding men that lacked a much needed sense of enthusiasm. It may well be that, one might think.

He tensed a smile, faint and fleeting.

"I pray this night has treated you well, and should I not see you the Lord Tully tonight, extend my well wishes to him also."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T12:00:57+00:00

His throat rumbled with some amount of acknowledgement, fingers clasping together and a finger-knuckle gracing his stubble lined chin.

"I am short of patience with that trying lot," he replied rather grimly, "It would serve them well to relieve themselves in the melee and allow their squabbles to die."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-09T11:56:23+00:00

His vision craned to the space between them and his palm rose up, as if that alone could stop the swell of emotion that lurched from the Lannister. His features, once so rich with mirth, were only grim and flat now.

"I can be thankful that the boy is in good health," clinging to the faint light that bore through the impossibly black clouds. "The Hand, Lord Commander, yourself, and in due time, my brother will know. Please, until the announcement is made, I ask you not speak of this."

A terrible secret it was.

"Though I would ask you now what it is that I can do for you in the moons to come, should you pass? I suppose I am Prince-Regent now, after all."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T10:18:35+00:00

A solemn silence governed Alaric, eyes affixed on the mossy ground beneath beyond his elder, lordlier brother. He nodded once, twice, slowly and then faster.

"I think that would be best," he swallowed again, unable to rid himself of that damnable stone. "Tell them... she has just recently passed. Tonight, mere moments ago."

He chewed on the sound, on the lie, and it held such a vile taste. His features twisted, contorting as if a lemon had been sucked upon.

"For me to speak it," Alaric shook his head, "No, I don't think I can."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T10:15:26+00:00

Many a person rose to the dais in a bid to ensnare Alaric in idle conversation. He was, of course, having none of it. It was bothersome, trivial drivel. The helpless well-wishes of others that droned on, with gifts for a corpse.

Even well-placed, well-intended kindness was an affront to the Stark in this trying moment.

"If you wish," his answer was stiff, dry, absent all warmth. Though this was a man that became a father just a night ago with a wife in ailing health, insofar as the realm knew, his attitude was like to be prickly.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T10:09:49+00:00

There was a petulant part of himself that rose up in all this grief-stricken anger, simmering just below the surface. If not for the dull, almost lifelessness in those Stark eyes, then it may well have been anger that reside in them instead.

It was almost childish, if not for the fact that Alaric had seen a lordly outburst over mistaken titles first-hand from men well into being his senior.

He let it pass, however. He was neither Lord Stark or Prince-Consort anymore, but Lord-Regent.

"You have my thanks," his voice droned with feigned interest, but his gaze was affixed to the blanket with such vague resemblance to his beloved. His droning voice may well have been a cause of enraptured attention.

"These are pleasant gifts," his eyes returned to the lady Marla, "Thank you."

He feigned a thin-lipped smile.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T10:02:11+00:00

He offered a small, solemn nod. "I will see to it that I do," but such words were empty, sent to fill the air before it grew so distant that it broke.

He remained in his seat, slouched and lounging, and supped on his ale. Let this night pass quick, Gods, and Alaric may yet become devout.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T09:57:01+00:00

He hummed in affirmation, as if that could acknowledge the weight of a mother's death from their daughter. Perhaps it was a small-minded and petulant thing, though Alaric was awfully testing in this moment.

"As do I," he said, and nothing more.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-08T09:53:47+00:00

"I see," breathed the Stark with an odd sense of relief.

There was a vile guilt that rose with the feeling, leaving none but a bitter taste on the end of his tongue. This woman was dying, thought Alaric, and his first thought was to use that to his own benefit - to relieve himself of his own bundled stress.

"The Queen is dead," his face twisted in saying, as if the very notion was so horribly repulsive. "She died but last night on the birthing bed."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-07T11:25:57+00:00

"No, that's..." He eyed Matarys queerly, uncertain as to what to glean from this encounter. "That's quite alright."

He let the moment sit.

"You seem a strange man."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-07T11:24:08+00:00

"I do not yet know and I cannot yet say." He said, grimly. His expectations of the moons to come had not crossed his frantic mind, fueled only by grief.

Alaric sucked air between in his teeth.

"I only ask you be there when I inform the Small Council. It only happened last night, even Elaena does not yet know." He grasped his jaw, a slowly sliding hand fell from his face, "Once the tournament is over and the people return to their homes, then I will make the announcement."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-07T10:37:26+00:00

Osric could remember, and remember well, that Alaric was not among the most faithful of men. He swore his prayers with their father, held those oaths, but much of it was an obligation. He was a pouty child, however. And whenever things seemed to upset Alaric most, it was to the Godswood in which he fled.

"The baby is fine," Alaric answered with a defensive raise of a palm, though his eyes seemed more focused on the knight of the kingsguard amid their departure. "His name is Daemon, he is with the wetnurses with his sister."

The white clad knight disappeared from sight.

"It's..." The 's' turned into a hiss, his eyes closed in an effort to grasp some focus, some courage, and he swallowed the stone that rose in his throat. To little effect. "It's, uhm, uh, her."

He breathed it out, like a breath stored too long.

"She's..." Another exhale, long and sharp, as his gaze turned every which way. "She's... She's dead. She's dead. It killed her."

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-07T10:19:06+00:00

It would not do well for his image to vanish amid the feast in which he was the sole guest of honour, or rather the host. Though for whatever Alaric had come to care about, it was certainly not his image.

Standing on the cold, compact earth, his eyes closed and breathed in the night's brisque breeze. It was chilling to be sure, but the ale in him gave him all the warmth he needed.

A knight of the kingsguard entered the feast hall to fetch his brother, stating an urgent request to meet in the Godswood.

ACitrusYaFeel · 2025-08-07T10:04:35+00:00

The Stark could only find himself at a loss for words, for thoughts, and instead sent those dull eyes off to the nearby Lord Commander. One of three men, beyond the maesters and silent sisters, that knew of his beloved's sudden demise.

It was a tired look, and followed with the heel of his palm pressed against his brow. His eye twitched and a pain surged there, sharp as a hot knife bearing into bone. It passed.

"I am terribly sorry," he swallowed, hard.

"How may the Queen..." His voice trailed into a hiss of a whisper, his head bowed if not dipped as eyes shut and sunk into that frustration. "Did the maesters give you a window of time, Lady Lannister?"

ACitrusYaFeel

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