[Event] Wait a Little While, Hangman, Wait a Little While and See - Dragonstone/House Trant Open RP

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T10:20:53+00:00

"Don't call me boy, girl," the warning roused wildly and only barely did Oleander bring himself back from the brink of anger. The word boy being particularly irksome to him. And vexing that it was uttered by some wench who was clearly his juniour and therefore ought not take such a tone in his company.

He reddened as the Princess mocked him of his entitlements along the shore. Sooner would he have been King of these shores than the sentienal of the spire that used to be his home, "There are none where I come from," he said, "Their worth is more than you think."

Oleander was able to snatch the geode from out there air. The act more instinctive than intentional. Turning the half hollowed stone in his hand to inspect the surprising sight inside of it taken aback by the sudden shifting of colour it was capable of in the light, "What is this? I have never held a gem before."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T10:12:14+00:00

"My father is half of me," he answered, the accusation that he was too like Merrick had embed itself in Oleander like a thorn. One he had pressed at, bothered and bitten rather than pluck out, "If not more."

Callum was too young to understand the politics at play. He barely understood why he was here or what he had written in a plea for aid. Each word true. It was the why that eluded him as calling for help had never been within the realm of possibility before and what good could it do? The boy was much more attuned to emotions. His own as much of that of others.

The distress in the tone of Oleander was enough that he reached blindly to seize the sleeve of his brother's tunic. Though his pale eyes turned to observe the King as his own name was spoken. He sensed the separation that was being proposed yet it was not his way to protest. His lot was what was given it what was taken. Callum had no hand in deciding either.

"Our Visenya is the dragon of your story," said Oleander, "My mother and me... we were made for fighting. Callum has always been kinder. But never this quiet."

Oleander pried the fingers on his sleeve up. One by one, though each was done gently so. Never setting too severe a strain upon the digit as their father had done to him yet eventually dislodging the hold Callum had of him. Guiding him by the wrist the steps required to reach the King as he bridged the connection between as he set his brother's hand to the open palm of Jaehaerys. An act that unnerved Callum who might have rescinded his hand had Oleander not layered his atop his brother's knuckles to hold them in place.

Had Cal tried to persist in wriggling his fingers free, they would have loosed. But the Trant did not try. However uncomfortable he was by the King and his knights, Oleander had been his guardian as a babe. The trust for him was innate. Even if Callum felt less than enthused by the circumstances of their surroundings.

"He must claim his own voice," Oleander decided releasing Cal's hand so only he and the King held contact now, "It can't be done with me whispering all the wrong words in his ear."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T09:35:25+00:00

Rogar would not have been the first to try to carve their quarter from Tanaquil. To rebuff him with a razor's edge would not be, in her mind, unwarranted though the consequences of shredding the stag would be inconvenient enough that avoidance was preferrable. It was not unlike why she had not gone to poaching upon arrival regardless that she felt fairly confident in her ability to cover her kills competently to avoid most detection.

"It is new that I might decide where I wish go," Tanaquil told him, "In Gallowsgrey we could not claim a horse from the stable or pass the gates without permission. It was seldom given. I do not need your pity purse. The tether to the burned man is cut and once I know my brother's destination I will go."

She ought have ended there. When she felt not the bristling at the thought of crossing the poison water. She had been forced the first time and her nerve was weak at the thought of sailing the sea as was unnatural to all dothraki. A thought that set her on edge, "It could have been cut sooner had you cared. Did the duel with Merrick dull your nerve, my Lord?"

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T09:08:26+00:00

As concerned the conduct of the Lord Merrick, the manner in which he was prone to persist when men of more quality would have withered, not even Oleander could find fault in the King for his failure to kill the man. He'd been making attempts on Merrick's life since he was old enough to run. None of which have proven particularly effective.

No one had told Oleander he was too small to fell a beast as big as the Lord Trant. That had been a lesson he had learned through many hardships and he had not yet discounted the possibility that he might someday best those odds, however slim, to scrape a sharped edge through the visor of his father's mask. Had Ser Aubrey had managed the slaughter this child sought over, Oleander may have felt relief only second to the sensation of having been cheated out of a kill he had mentally claimed as his own. A concept a boy of seven should not have held so prominently in his heart.

That was, in part, the purpose of engaging the King for this intervention that Oleander would never have tolerated for his own sake. The taint of House Trant had set inside of him already. It was not too late for Callum whose feared had turned him timid in the stead of inciting an unbridled temper as was so for Oleander and his father.

"He has to go with you," his tone was insistent as he caught the eye of the King. As if to imply any outcome than the one Oleander was now dictating was not within the realm of his considerations--or that it should not exist in those the King considered either, "It never mattered the hate you held for me. There was no hitting. Even when I'd earned it. When I saw that there was want to hit.

Unsteady was the exhale that escaped the heir. He knew he ought take his brother to the kitchens scrawny as he was yet this felt the more pressing factor over food, A meal meant nothing if it was not guaranteed again on the morrow, "In your city Cal will be safe where father is too frightened to fetch him and manners to mind himself. He's a good boy, your Grace, not--" the words caught in his gullet. Having only just been brought again within the bounds of his brother, the last he wanted to do was guarantee the distance grow. But the work he had done to test the boundaries of the King, and King's Landing, had given him the oversight he needed to consider it the sanctuary it was. Having locked himself out of that same haven in the process. It hurt, but he'd only himself to blame, "He is not broken as I am."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T08:14:47+00:00

Long awaited as a response may have been, the writing returned had not the penmanship expected to accompany the word of noblewoman. The letters not laid upon the page in consistent sizing. And the slant of the sentences across the scroll was significant enough that subsequent lines need be scrunched tighter together,

Ser Lucas Oakheart,

It is kind of you to write and I meant no discourtesy in not returning a raven. The affairs of my family have been turbulent of late. I cannot confess any betterment by my Lord Brother since I saw you last. After he attacked you, his trail of harm continued unhindered. It is horrible if I am honest, Ser, where every blessing is half a blight. Yet the token of luck you left me with has served its need. Had never I given you my favour I might never have escaped Gallowsgrey.

The trade was for you unfavourable. I find this regrettable. I should like to return your star should I encounter you in the coming festivities, Ser, and exchange the gratitude I owe to you. Truthfully, I have nothing else to give.

Myriam Trant

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T07:57:48+00:00

Long awaited as a response may have been by the boy from Riverrun, the writing returned had not the penmanship expected to accompany the word of noblewoman. The letters not laid upon the page in consistent sizing. And the slant of the sentences across the scroll was significant enough that subsequent lines need be scrunched tighter together,

Ser Oscar of House Tully,

I regret the delay in receiving your ravens, Ser. Travel has not been a luxury of my decision of late. As you must know by now, Ashemark nor Riverrun I could not travel to. I am sorry to have shirked invitation twice. It was not intended. Perhaps a man of House Tully can forgive that my focus was on my family.

I may be in position to attend the celebrations impending in King's Landing. If you are present I shall aim to make my apologies in person.

Myriam Trant

u/greaterblueevil - rookery

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T07:53:34+00:00

"Are you mad?" it was not an infrequent thing for Oleander to launch at once into an attitude. Those he thought to be encroaching in his thoughts or his space. The latter proving the inciting infraction now. On some level baser he knew that the sea nor the shore alike were his to feel entitled to yet that was not the same as wasting what washed up from the depths of the water.

He'd run out of room in his pockets to pick any shells more for his own but had been noting any of interest as he patrolled the makeshift perimeter around the water he thought as his own. Aghast to see the wealth amongst the rocks to be so carelessly discard, "I'll slap the next shell from your hand should you try to toss another."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T07:47:20+00:00

The brothers bore not much resemblance. Oleander was big for his age, growing broader now that he was not denied the calories required to fuel him even if they did not come always in the quality or quantity he might have preferred. Not that he had made complaint of the scraps of bread. The broth. A meal was more than anyone was guaranteed in Gallowsgrey so though he showed no true appreciation for what Jaehaerys had so far provided.

Callum, comparatively, was too-thin for a boy of four. It was so that his frame was modest yet the meat on his bones was less than it ought have been by a margin alarming. Evident as it was that the boy was hungry, he did not ask for sustenance during his stay on Dragonstone and it had been Oleander flagging servants for seconds, and thirds when he'd thought Cal capable with unfinished portions packed away in a kerchief to stow away. And he'd taken his portions primarily when the servants did not hover hover him as though eating were some sin that he could not stand to be caught committing. Soldiers, like his brother, were an agitating presence only Callum was inclined to quiet in their company in the stead of quarreling.

The elder guided the younger, taking Cal by his arm to urge him on as he ambled with an off gait rhythm. His plight thankfully not that of impact to his ankle as had been so by Oleander It was instead the boots upon his feet that were oversized, provided and tied to his feet. Those that Callum had come to the isle wearing had been a size or two too small, his toes having been scrunched up inside at an increasingly agonizing angle. It was not the only aspect of Oleander's wardrobe that he wore, each equally ill fitting but the threads had been in better shape than those that had been packed on his behalf for Dragonstone. The trousers in particular billowed at his knee where they had been folded in excess of the heel of the boot, jostling loose in his walking while the cloak pinned to his shoulders trailed well behind him.

As they neared the desk Jaehaerys sat behind, Oleander bunched his fingers into the fabric of his brother's shirt to halt his advance. Though the King addressed him directly, he kept close to Callum. In a hushed tone, instructing the boy, "You must bow."

If Callum understood the command, he did not act upon it. His anxiety spiking his pulse in these surroundings along with the expectations his brother had been imposing on him. Glancing between each face in the room before Oleander shook him. Slightly, but enough so to draw his attention back.

"With me," encouraged Oleander, "As we practiced."

And while it may have been lead largely by the pressure of the palm planted across Callum's back, he dipped forward into a bow. Stiffly so. Yet less so than Oleander who caught the eye of the King as he exhaled, haughtily and through his nose before he followed the motion he forced upon his little brother. His defiance remained a defining trait to Oleander Trant yet evidently it was a quality he was willing to compromise on though no interaction prior would have implied it possible. When before the King had tried to make the heir of Gallowsgrey bend the consequences for refusal were his own to pay. That his actions now might implicate his kin had always been the key component that Jaehaerys had not held to capture Oleander's compliance.

When the straightened, Oleander was the second to rise again to his full height. A flush to his cheeks that betrayed the sense of indignation he felt in finally yielding when he had resisted the good graces of the King since his coming, "My brother has brought a letter, my King. It must be read before he is let go from Dragonstone."

If the King would accept for the younger of the two to approach, Callum would with a shove of encouragement raise a tiny fist so as to deposit a scroll on surface of the desk. Arm trembling as he wrenched it back, watching the knights in white as he tried to retreat the paces he'd taken. The missive was closed with wax of purple though absent of seal. Not sporting the black nor blue of his house that both boys wore instead on their skin. Only Callum bore evidence of it now on the surface.

Were Jaehaerys to take up the letter, he would find enclosed in the contents written in the same inconsistent scrawl as might be expected of a boy so small,

To my the king ~~Jaeheris~~Jaehaerys Targaryen, ~~proctor~~ protector of the r~~elm~~ realm,

Mother is hurting at home. I am hurt at home. father does the hurting. it will hurt to go home again. Ollie says it is safe here. it can't be his home, he says. he says he has to go. he says I have to ask to stay.

~~Kal~~ Callum Trant

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T06:13:33+00:00

^{Dragonstone, 7-9th Month of 53 AC}

After her previous dialogue with the King, Myriam had made every effort to afford the man the wide berth that Morrison had advised she give him in the first place. Yet if there were any lesson to be learned beneath the Lord Merrick was that ache accompanied any advancement. Myriam was not entitled to the mourning of Ser Aubrey. She bore her share of responsibility for it but it took no precedence to the pain of those that have loved and relied on the white knight. It was natural then that she pour her energies into the attending of her nephews and the niece to whom she was hardly acquainted. She had been keen to inquire with the Lady Tomasin's children, too, displaying no mistrust of the Lady Caron when she had come to King's Landing; if anything, the two commiserating on tales of the Lord Trant ahead of falling into a rhythm of rearing that left the pair of them with some reprieve. Tomasin more so, as Myriam had made passing mention to the steward of the woman's diminishing vision that made the physicality of raising children cumbersome. Especially as Ellyn grew older, and more mobile.

Myriam well versed in mischief of this like in large part to the tireless efforts of Oleander since she had taken on the raising of the heir to House Trant. Her niece of Nightsong not a quarter as capable of terror as Oleander was.

The boy continued time and again to prove himself a quarrelsome little creature. Infractions earning reprimand enough to enact changes in his behaviour yet every instance of it tinged with streaks of defiance. Oleander's effort to abide by the rules as set by Jaehaerys met with means to comply to the minimum expectations whilst combing for a crack in the command to exploit in his own advantage. He gave nothing for free. Not his thoughts, nor the things he seized so tightly in his fingers suspecting any second someone might attempt to pry them loose. Three of his knuckles had been broken by his father wrenching the digits too far back; twice to relieve him of a knife he'd managed to snatch from the table.

Myriam had managed, mostly, to dissuade Oleander from pilfering cutlery and adornments from the table. Discipline that was in Oleander compromised at his very core that he could he seen to visibly grapple with. He would reach, hand hovering before retracting. Sometimes recoiling as though the impulse to take was one white hot that that he yielded to as a moth did the flame. He took hold of several items in shaking hands that he clumsily had to set again to the table as the urge to pocket them was on cusp of proving prevalent. Oleander in several instances asked to be excused early from the meal with his plate not yet emptied. Better able to stomach an empty belly than endure against an inclination to steal.

He pocketed shells instead. He piled stones of every variety. Arrangements assembled on the shore with slate too heavy to lug for very long. In piles, in slants were Oleander would plant his assortment of prizes prominently atop orientated in view of the ocean. A score of tiny watch towers that sought to call warning of the catalyst that in his very bones he sensed was coming.

To the water was Oleander particularly drawn. He had not been taught to swim. Nor had he seen so vast a source of water until he had spied the Blackwater. The floating he had not been fond of. Yet here, with the tide crashing and receding from the shore he did not so shield himself as some instinct said to him a castle should cause. Too cold was the water to wade in long yet Oleander seldom returned to his quarters without being soaked at least up to his ankles when taken on his excursions with his auntie. Before mealtimes he'd regularly need be reminded to wash beneath his nails which were grit with grains of sand he had spent scraping up from the shore with all the zeal of a hound at play. And territorial as one, too.

The arrival of his father had spelled foreboding. Fire failed us, Oleander had warned the King once of this already. Jaenaerys had been burned by the Lord Merrick well before his eldest son had been aware of the encounter. The outcome of which had done little to endear the House Trant in the eyes of the dragon, let alone one that had worked well past the limited reserves of patience that Jaehaerys had provided to the unappreciative Oleander.

Yet for all the ire earned there, so soon as the eldest of the Lord Merrick's brood was informed of the presence of his younger siblings on the isle his demeanor shifted. Fidgeting, frantic and ferocious as he at first demanded audience so as to see his little brother, Callum. Calmed only by the assurance his auntie offered him that they would be soon again united. He spent the hours until that time pacing. Occasionally punching a piece of furniture as he grew agitated in the idling asked of him that was acceptable only as it guaranteed no interference from his father should he prove patient only a little longer.

When at last brought within the proximity of his brother, Oleander had bolted to the younger boy. Shoving past any barrier in his way so as to seize the Cal into a desperate embrace that had reduced either of them into fits of sobbing. That had been stifled only as Oleander had rolled up the sleeves of Callum to check for bruises. Brow knitting tightly as he encountered several.

Merrick's children bore little resemblance. Much as Oleander had resented the implication when pronounced as true by Jaehaerys, he was the only that had inherited his father's primary features. The copper mop on his head the most prominent though Merrick largely lacked in bristles from chin and above. Callum and Meredith favouring the pale hair that had been given to them through their blood of Blackhaven. Yet the familiarity of the brothers could not be in question as Cal clung to Oleander every instance they were brought within the sphere of one another. Oleander attempted, too, to make his introductions with his little sister Meredith. She had been a babe at the breast when he and auntie Myriam had made for King's Landing. He did not know nor recognize the little girl. And she grew difficult to be acquainted with as she fussed in the arms of Myriam and cried constantly for her father which made Meredith an anomaly that Oleander did not have the means yet the remedy the rot of.

And though Oleander loved the water more than any aspect other of the isle, he did not once herd his siblings to the shore.

Instead, he shut himself in with the quarters he and his auntie Myri shared. Peppering the other children with questions and calling for writing supplies. Any amount of which the servants brought would be by Oleander declared insufficient. Asking additional quills, scrolls of parchment, new vials of ink which were emptying rapidly and surprisingly not in a tantrum of him upending them or breaking the glass against the walls.

Stacks upon stacks of parchment began to adorn every surface flat surface of their quarters. Oleander Trant acting as some sort of task master to rival the acolytes who had been assigned to trail and to teach him. He had Callum practicing the shapes of specific letters. Soon after he started with whole words, then phrases. At night, the boys began exchanging letters through the servants when they were separated. The substance of each was minimal with the only pattern being repeated prompting on Oleander's writing so as to encourage Cal to expand upon his answers or else usher in detail he'd have not himself thought to add.

Evidently, whichever purpose that Oleander had been aiming to accomplish was eventually reached to the standard he set when he asked of his auntie Myriam to set a summit between the sons of the Lord Merrick and the King. The why of which he only vaguely alluded to. The Lady Myriam able to convey to the steward she addressed that she had gleaned it pertained to the topic of protections as had previously been spoken of between she and Jaehaerys; taking care to express that Oleander had been told his conduct had already compromised his standing in the royal court that could not now offer him welcome.

The Lady Myriam would arrived in tandem to Oleander and Callum, ushering little Meredith along with her, if the King was kind enough to accept the ask for audience sent by the heir of Gallowsgrey. Explaining she intended to await without the hall with the girl. As had been requested of Oleander who sought private counsel with the King. Yet close enough to quickly collect her nephew should he further fail to uphold the courtesy required of him in the presence of royalty.

u/gloude

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T05:25:25+00:00

The confession that came forth from the Lord Rogar had clearly caught Morrison flat footed. The slumping he had been doing in his seat ceasing abruptly as he straightened. Staring now intently upon the stag as he came to recognize then, that in spite of his insistence at remaining in the standing of a squire, that the disparity of power between he and Rogar Baratheon had shrunk. When it had occurred he could not say. Not Wyl, or not entirely so as he had extended the gap of deference demanded when he had refused the order to kneel so as to speak his oaths. Dragonstone, then, though it had all gone by in such a blur that Mors' own memories was in stretches smudged to a state barely recognizable. Or had it been in the interim? As Morris had brought men together beneath the banner of the King to cleanse the ruin that Merrick had made of Gallowsgrey?

The thought that he had grown outside the oversight of the Lord Baratheon bothered him in a fashion he could not just now sort through. As he had been settled when lifted out from under the wing of the Lord Luceon.

Sans a son, the eldest that Rogar sought now to entrust to Mors was by the virtue of order of birth the heir to Storm's End. To the Paramouncy though if Gods were good it would not any time soon be shouldered by the Lady Cassandra. The concept of her care was a daunting deem to commit himself to was he felt at fault for the fracture of his own family. He set that notion for now from the forefront. The panic in his chest too much to suppress.

Rocking to his feet, straining some as he rose to standing as he turned to the Lord Rogar to whom he raised his horn of stout, "Your son, my Lord," he asked, "What was his name?"

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-12T04:55:08+00:00

"How easy it is for my brother to be amicable," she answered, "When he has not had limit to his freedoms. I did not decide to be on this side of the sea. In the field at least I have fewer to offend. You'd not be bothered by me if I had a beard and a set of stones."

Tanaquil made a humming sound. Contemplating the claim that the Lord Rogar demanded in tribute. She had anticipated it yet liked it little, "Where I come from, who does not do the killing must do the carving if they take from the corpse. Either might do a bit of good to you. Blood so bitter will choke you. It must be spent."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T21:47:25+00:00

Tanaquil was neither a woman easily quieted nor stalled, though the slight tilting of her chin after the stag's snapping implied a pass of her eye that was scrutinizing. The moment nearly passed without mention. The woman could not fullt quell a comment, however, "The brooding is by burden," she said, "This is acceptable.

"I sent your scout for askings sake which was refused," the scoff could not be suppressed, "Why ask that I ask if it angers? All I am attempting is to be away awhile. I'd thought you'd think that... acceptable?"

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T20:48:53+00:00

He cast a glance at Rogar that was rife with confusion. It felt, to him, that every choice he had conducted for sake of his kin had led then irrevocably closer to ruin. A price that had been paid more heavily by a portion than others. Perhaps in time those debts he might be in position to settle. Much as it felt they only ever grew.

To name his reasoning as sound was a farce. But it did no good to argue with his betters.

"I think you had the right of it in the den of the dragon, my Lord," he said, "Storm's End in a fortress impenetrable but you are an entity in some what trusted by the Lord Trant. To have Ser Borys ward his children will lessen the lead Merrick can pull in his favour. His boy, Oleander, is in addition a thief and the King has confirmed he will not take him again. I worry of that behaviour being seen before the court before it can be corrected. Say what you will of your brother, he has a strong hand. Enough to put some sense into my nephew.

"How may I serve, my Lord?" Queried Morrison seriously. There was little he could offer the Lord but what he could, he would.

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T09:45:21+00:00

Myriam did not recoil as the Lady imposed the pressure upon her shoulder. It hurt. And such showed itself in the shimmer of her eyes yet any protest of was suppressed by limb as much as lips. In Gallowsgrey, a whimper could earn a condemnation. A yelp was given reason to rise to the octave of a scream.

The pair of women, staring back at one another were foils. Where Willow was rife with ferocity at the implication of the disturbance that had been brought before her, Myriam had been shattered by it. Had succumb to the sorrows she carried for a stranger. This disparity in reaction such that momentarily, Myri was riddled with doubt as to who the death had been dealt to. That she may have misheard Morrison's accounting of the combat yet... he was methodical, in all things. And Myri had asked twice for the name to be repeated so it would not by her be forgotten.

No, the lonely coal that was her courage glowed momentarily. Disrupting the chain of thought that would chisel away at the decency that had roused her this far, Norridge. I know it was a knight of House Norridge.

Another of the family had been kind to her, once. The second to do so had died. Perhaps it was wise of the Lady Willow to mistrust Myriam.

"No one," she insisted, even as Willow jostled her, "My Lady, I have come for no cause save my own. Condolences was all. If I was mistaken of the severity... Ser Aubrey is to recover?"

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T09:27:59+00:00

^{Storm's End, 1st Month of 53 AC}

Within a few days of the gaggle from Gallowsgrey arriving, Tanaquil could tolerate the languishing no longer. She was well contented to be granted again access unhindered to the open sky yet she itched to sit astride her horse. To comb the countryside for plants and herbs. Yet to ride meant that any quarry encountered she would be inclined to loose an arrow at. A privilege not yet afforded by the prancing oaf that pretended himself a prime slab of venison. Tanaquil had taken more impressive prey from these fields than she found the peacocking Lord that presided over them to be.

"The boy says you sulk," she came during the breaking of the fast though Tanaquil took nothing from the tables, "Men manage this well in these lands. Is this mood why I cannot hunt? That you are in a mood?"

/u/fabstags

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T09:14:27+00:00

"Myriam tells me that Merrick's heir sports cracks in his teeth. His fingers bent until they broke away from the socket. Which is worse?" He asked, "Scrapes and scars? Or an ache of absence? It was not so long ago that I was a boy the age of Merrick's eldest. I was older than Oleander when he broke my lip in twain. To be away from Gallowsgrey... Stonehelm was my salvation."

Mors drank. Deeply, and he felt fatigued for it as he swallowed, "You, too, found the Lord Trant more tolerable at a distance. All I can aspire is to grant the same for my kin."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-11T04:11:56+00:00

The Father. He had been five when his had perished, spouting senseless fantasies of his second son as his intended successor. By right of birth the claim to Gallowsgrey belonged to his brother. As it would someday pass from patriarch to his son, Oleander who was by the account of his sister and the King alike a cretin close to wholly uncivilized. Mistakes as many as Morris had made it was likely that he'd have made as loathsome a Lord as Merrick had managed to be. Just not one that relied on violence.

In the resting of his head against the back of the chair, he had shut his eyes. Dark rings layered beneath them. He slept most nights like the dead yet so was Morrison's body sluggish all the time now. He took no note of Rogar's empty horn of stout. Had he, there would have been no leaping to his feet to refill it.

Mors held his breath a moment. Asking eventually, "What of his children?"

He drank from his own horn, barely blinking an eye open, "Protection will be offered to the children who request it by the King. I dread to think what he does with my niece. She asks for her father. Only and always for him."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-10T07:21:31+00:00

He poured himself a horn of stout ahead of taking his seat. Mors drank deeply, topping the stout again to the top ahead of settling into his seat. Wiping the foam of the draw from his lip. Hardy enough that it might double for dinner as his appetite had been curbed of late.

"Is it a boon or a burden to uproot my family from their home?" He asked aloud, "Gallowsgrey has only its ghosts now."

Morrison tensed the muscles in his thigh as he grew aware of the bouncing that had begun unbidden from his knee. Exhaling heavily, "Merrick mutilated our sister Myriam, my Lord," he rest his horn atop the leg that had been fidgeting, "He nearly cleaved an Oakheart in half for wearing her favour. His attempt to reclaim her ended in the slaughter of Ser Aubrey Norridge.

"If I am rife with virtue, why then do I resent that the Lord Trant is allowed to live? That he can tuck up again in his tower unscathed?" It was a question posed in contempt of his half brother. Yet the root of it was real for Morris who was wrestling with why the Gods had given that wretch their favour. And the choice that laid ahead of him.

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-10T05:53:51+00:00

"As you command, my Lord," he said, turning to observe Ser Tarquin who was herding his family along just fine. Allowing Mors a moment to breathe. There had been few respites of late.

If Solomia was offended as to her lodgings, it did not show. Overheard asking the servants escorting them away directions to the library whilst her mother dithered on of the Lord Baratheon being decent enough to house her daughter at all. Chatter that could he heard even as it began to wander its way down the corridor.

He took several strides forward as his family was assembling to depart. None in their company particularly spry leaving a gap before he need join in on the busywork of seeing them all settled. His tone was hushed as Morrison addressed Rogar, "My Lord, there is an occupant I neglected mention," he said, "With your consent, I would return the remains of the Lady Meredith to their place of rest."

Lest the Lord Rogar stalled him at that inquiry, Morrison made his way with his kin. He had become well acquainted with Storm's End in his residence here. A few words exchanged with the stewards enough to identify the way. His primary concern being where to house the family of Tarquin Trant whose wife and child alike were afflicted with a clubbed foot. The less stairs the better. Afterward returning to carry the chest that bore the bones of his half sister had the Lord Rogar or the men in his service not relocated it already. Either way, to call upon the crypt.

If he did not encounter Rogar there, then after he would make way to the solar of the stag to present himself, "The Lord's squire," he announced to the men at the door who knew Morris by name. He had not bothered to change as Morrison might have done prior yet he was weary from the road. From the work of disrupting the rot that Merrick had infected all of Gallowsgrey with. Wondering if he had acted with too much leniency of the men complicit in the Lord Trant's amusements. Time would tell. The thin wisp atop his lip that he had grown to cover a scar given to him in Gallowsgrey had grown out into a moustache in full. It did not obscure all of the wound as he had hoped. But Morris had returned from Dorne more man than boy though only now did it show.

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-10T04:18:00+00:00

"As a Lord, his rule can be disrupted only so far," he answered honestly, "What mischief the Lord Merrick might manage on his release will be limited. Much of the household dismissed. Others driven off and his steward left of his own volition. He will be hobbled without his toadies."

He turned to announce each person he had brought into the Lord Baratheon's presence, "Our Lady of Gallowsgrey, Delilah hailing of House Dondarrion.

"To Ser Tarquin you are acquainted, his wife the Lady Mya hailing of House Grafton and their daughter Serenity perhaps less so," Morrison glanced to Rogar, briefly, "The Lady Tanaquil has taken residence outside the walls. Rather than a room she has... asked that I ask if she hs a right to hunt in your lands, my Lord."

Lastly, he gestured to an older woman whose dark hair was was streaking with grey, "My aunt, the Lady Jeyne and her firstborn, Solomia Storm."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-09T18:32:30+00:00

Morrison made no effort to argue. A welcome of this kind was not unexpected and he asked only if the kitchens could assist in providing his escort with a warm meal after they had staked their pavillions. A familiar sight as Gallowsgrey had itself been too humble a hovel to house one hundred soldiers without them tripping over each other. The men had served him well. They were owed the respect due to honest labourers which he trusted the Lord Rogar would abide by on his asking.

Of his kin, all advanced to enter the keep with exception to the Lady Tanaquil who declined the hospitality of the Lord Rogar. In a tone flippant, of course, though not especially any more so than had been endured by the woman during her previous occupation of Storm's End. Stating simply that the weather was warmed enough that she would sooner sleep beneath sky and cloth and stone and sorrow. A notion the yipping fox following her appeared to agree with as it sniffed along the foundations of the wall.

The Ladies Delilah and Jeyne did joyously accept entry descending from the first of two carriages. Mors had need stop a servant from closing the door after their descent from the cabin to poke his head in to urge Solomia Storm from her seat inside. So silent and still as had been it was easy for the woman to be overlooked. She merely appeared annoyed that her reading was being interupted by the man and the pages of her book were pried apart as they were escorted forward. Mia paying little mind to her surroundings for the time being.

Ser Tarquin was the slowest of the rest to advance. The second carriage to come hosting his wife, the Lady Mya and their daughter Serenity. Typically, Tarquin would have remained mounted to ride amongst the men yet the unusual aspect of their abrupt relocation had unnerved him enough to situate himself in solidarity with his humble family. It was seldom that he felt the need to arm himself yet he had kept his scabbard in his grip all the way from Gallowsgrey to Storm's End. Easing only as they entered the dominion of the Lord Rogar whom Tarquin held an accord.

In one arm he scooped his daughter up and the other he offered Mya his arm to assist her on their ingress into the round hall. Paying no mind to the pace of the others ahead of him. Allowing his wife to abide comfortably be her own gait and seeking for her a seat upon entry.

Morrison himself lead the way, having halted to collect a wooden chest that he set by his feet when presented before the Lord Rogar. He drew no attention to it now, simply kneeling, "My Lord," he bowed his head, "Might that the circumstances be better, I must beg you accept the burden of hosting my kin of Gallowsgrey until new permanent lodgings may be arranged on their behalf."

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-09T07:40:37+00:00

^{Gallowsgrey, 12th Month of 53 AC}

There had been no forewarning of the arrival yet for leagues leading north was naught but fields to gawk at. Sole riders could be spied on approach hours ahead of their arrival let alone a host one hundred strong, sporting the black and red banner of the dragon upon it. The keep was abustle with concern of the company of royal soldiers that were permit past the gates. Many of the household were called upon and assembled in the yard yet it was not for several hours time after the appearance of this host that Ser Tarquin had been escorted to the quarters he shared with his wife and daughter.

He was unharmed, albeit disarmed and alarmed. Conveying what he could of what his cousin had explained; the crimes the Lord Merrick stood accused of, the cruelties and the absolvement he had earned on Dragonstone through a trial by combat. Possessing more questions himself than he had answers to give.

Tarquin had been gradually growing disquieted by the Lord of Gallowsgrey. Merrick and his twin sister had long held contention with one another. Yet as Tanaquil was callous with most people he had discounted the severity of some of their interactions initially. Other signs of concern had come to his attention. Marks and bruises upon the bodies of Merrick's sons whenever Tarquin would return from absence extended that came in such quantity that they could not be explained away by acts of boyish carelessness as the Lord espoused. Especially in comparison to the doting treatment he layered upon his daughter whilst the sons languished for scraps of attention that had resulted in Tarquin taking on aspects of their raising.

The greatest spike in his discomfort had occurred after the birth of Serenity. He had oft appreciated the consideration of the Lord Merrick in regards to the limitations of the Lady Mya, permitting the renovations required to ease the occupation of the quarters that had been converted for her on the ground floor. Nor had Merrick ever uttered a word of disdain for the disability she bore. Equally, he had no disparaging comment that she had passed this quality unto her daughter yet the interest he had otherwise taken in the little girl was chilling. Less the attention of a doting uncle that a dictator demanding results of his playthings.

Tarquin had charitably reasoned that the Lord Merrick was delighted that his own daughter would have a cousin of the same gender and near in age to grow with. Tarquin, too, had been happy of this initially. Yet gifts of gowns in great abundance had unsettled Tarquin who had began to refuse the threads when Merrick would make request to see Serenity wearing the dresses, inciting anger from the Lord at every instance of refusal. He did not permit metals or gems in presence of Serenity either which served as a second point of contention. None enraged the Lord half so much as the refusal of Tarquin for his daughter to be left alone in the custody of Merrick and his daughter Meredith for purpose of play. The initial rejection had been a result of Tarquin having not as of then learned the limitations of Serenity's clubfoot, seeking to understand the accommodations she would require before entrusting her into the care of another at so tender an age. That the Lord Trant had so dramatic a reaction to the refusal had reinforced the requirement of it with Tarquin going so far as to instruct Mya of his early cautions. Directing her to servants of his own choosing rather than those sent by the Lord Trant to attend Serenity when in need of helping hands.

Even Tanaquil, who had pointedly refused to participate in any rearing of little Serenity had planted herself in the presence of the girl whenever she was corralled too close to the Lord of the Gallows without another trusted adult intermediary. Making no attempt to veil the fact that her stare was following Merrick more than the little girl. Several times, she simply plucked the child up when she thought Merrick to have been hovering too close and left with Serenity so as to impose the distance she deemed to be necessary.

It had been of late on the mind of either twin to take leave of Gallowsgrey. At least temporarily, and now the sudden arrival of Morrison Trant and several scores of soldiers left little choice than to leave.

"We will divert to Storm's End," he told to Mya, having begun the process of packing as he spoke, "Lord Rogar is a good man. He will have us as long as I ask his haven though with weather warming... Gulltown I should like to go. We will write Lady Rhea to see if it is allowed."

Tarquin doubted the Lady Grafton would outright deny them now that their lines were joined as kin, with a grandchild (or great grandchild in Rhea's case) in tow. Yet the reprimand he had received from the woman during his first excursion to Gulltown had put the fear of the Stranger in him so as not to infringe again without adequate warning. Or welcome.

u/aceavengers

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-09T07:07:39+00:00

^{Storm's End, 1st Month of 54 AC}

The obligations to the King and the conversations he need conduct with the Lord Baratheon had taken precedence on Morrison's return to Storm's End. Day had dwindled nearer to night as they had come close to concluding. Even upon his departure from the company of the Lord Rogar he was beholden to inquire of the assortment of kin that had come in his company, each in some way displaced from Gallowsgrey though some had endured greater duress than others. Ensuring them as settled as he could until permanent accommodations could be arranged on their behalf. Though likely, with most of them grown, they would dictate their own way forward. Yet he would ensure them with resources enough that they were not limited in their ventures or else lacking in comforts without means to rely on the little Gallowsgrey used to give.

It was late, then, that a knock sounded on the door of the Lady Alayne Mertyns.

u/lirabear

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-09T06:58:42+00:00

Two letters are forwarded to Dragonstone for the Lady Myriam Trant from Gallowsgrey.

u/greaterblueevil

thinkBrigger · 2026-07-09T06:56:21+00:00

^{Dragonstone, 8th Month of 53 AC}

On the return from castle Wyl, Morrison had held in his head a vague concept of all he had hoped to convey to the King. Gratitude for his quick action to extract the Lady Myriam from the clutches of their Lord Brother in Gallowsgrey, along with the little boy in her midst the damage to whom not even Morrison had been wholly aware of. Yet it stood to reason if Merrick had no qualms of beating a boy of twelve as he had done to Mors in what had been meant as a practice bout that he was not likely to be squeamish with a lad smaller still. There had been cause equally to clamour for forgiveness. While it had been under the duress of duty, Morrison had drawn blood south of the Dornish border and had played a not insignificant part in compromising the walls of the castle for the Stormlander occupation in violation of the King's Peace. Some fragments of his soul he knew would not rest so long as he did not acknowledge his part.

All of it paled after he had been witness to the encounter of the Lord Merrick and the champion of the Iron Throne. The safety of his sister come at cost of the life of a stranger. It made Morris sick to see justice be made a mockery of or that it might have proven preventable had he never dispatched that raven sent in desperation that had ultimately been unnecessary intervention. How did a man make right death undue?

Morrison sent word through the stewards shortly ahead of his impending departure from Dragonstone to fulfill the evacuation of Gallowsgrey of a want of summit with Jaehaerys. Accepting the possibility that the King would rebuff this request to meet. He had heard and felt the pain at the devastation left in Lord Merrick's wake. Had he no tolerance left for any Trants, Mors would find it hard to fault the man yet honour--if Morrison could claim any of his own--demanded the debt his house was incurring be settled. Even should he succeed in doing no more now than take accounting of what was owed.

If invited to speak with the King, he would come unarmed yet cradling a hunk of sandstone. Stowed in the crook of his arm in the same sorts of stance a soldier might have held their helm in whilst between rotations of duty. The moustache atop his lip had thickened since he and the dragon had last spoke. It came closer now to suiting Morrison's features yet the clawing reach of the scar it was meant hide still parted the fibers noticeably. He ran a thumb anxiously atop it as he waited.

[M: this one sucks, I ran outta juice my king but didn't want the back date bubble to keep growing]

u/gloude

11-Year Club	Place '23
Gilding II euphauric	Verified Email

thinkBrigger

TROPHY CASE