#domeric 003

Following the wedding of the Master of Coin with the Lady Lynderly, a quiet marriage that was mostly a cover for her ruined reputation and shame that was brewing as a result of her promiscuous activities with a certain knight within the household, the Master of Coin had retired to the Snakewood, with the title of Lord. The King Consort was able to let out a slight exhale in knowing that, whilst there would be many that continued to question the legitimacy of the man's claim to the hold and the titles, it would technically come under his ownership according to the eyes of the law and thus, he was the Lord of the Snakewood.

His place and position within the court of the Vale, at least in regards to titles and holdings, went beyond the confines of a position upon the council; there would be somewhere for Domeric's line to call home, forever. "My Lord." Graham spoke as the Master of Coin entered his chambers following his return from Snakewood, dark warm eyes looking over him as if to check for his wellbeing, as he would time and time again. There was no need to do so anymore, but still, old habits were infuriatingly difficult to break.

Whenever Domeric entered the King Consort's presence, it was rare to find him simply sat; no, the man was always up, either walking or standing from his chair. Always doing something. Even now, he had caught him as he entered from a side audience chamber into the main room, where other courtiers remained present. He waited some time before dismissing them, and none would blink an eye - for it was council business. What else was there to discuss?

"You've read it, haven't you?" Graham's question was not accusatory, but there remained the same Runestone edge to his voice and his accent; the same accent they all spoke with in this corner of the continent. The pamphlet, which referred to the questions of the Vale; the rumours that addressed Domeric's history with the Stark Princess, though that had been thoroughly discussed already. But it was the gossip that referred to the possible tension stirring between Domeric and Axell that resulted in Graham asking to see his middle brother, as soon as possible.

"I know. I know." There were questions that needed to be asked. There were answers they needed to know. Domeric's intense hate for wildlings and anything of the likes plagued his mind and clouded his eyes, but Graham could not fault him for it - for the King detested the Mountain Clans.

Was it guilt that made him feel responsible for such a thing in wishing to ensure for peace between the brothers, considering he remembered the look that crossed over dark eyes upon the realisation that Lord Malcom Royce's soul had departed from their realm without speaking to the ghost he had left behind. The ghost of the North, that came back less and less like himself each time he did find himself travelling back within the lands of the Vale;  they watched him disintegrate more and more with each passing moment, whilst still seeing cracks of him come through like shafts of light in the darkest of septs. 

Small comments that would make their father chuckle, and the young man's eyes would widen slightly, almost as though he were wondering what was funny. Whether he was being laughed with, or laughed at.

They were family, and perhaps not in the way they wished they could have been for so many years as boys, but they were once again together. Permanently, forever this time - and it were interesting to wonder just how long they would relish and appreciate that fact, before the whispers began to pull them apart. Whispers, whispers that ate away at each of the three Rune lords; one of Bronze, one of Mountain, one of Stone, quietly and loudly all at once. Whispers about themselves, whispers about one another. Everything in their life had been a matter of secrecy, their brother remained a matter of secrecy; and so, how did they process such strain?