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domericstone · 11 months ago

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The smile was brief. Perhaps he was hibernating. He did have daughters. Strange. Domeric was fond of his wife. And he supposed he missed her and her amusing attempts at fitting in with court. She wanted to be more and when she saw the chance she took it and he liked that about her. He liked women that were able to adjust themselves to their new lives. Women who adopted the ways of their husbands beyond survival. And he liked that she wanted to live in his world. It was too bad she didn't have the spirit to survive her only true battle in life. Child birth.

"Yes. She has mentioned that." And it was all he said. His mother saw the King. And she was so devastated she locked herself dramatically in her tower and he supposed it was better to avoid it all together. Domeric didn't want to listen to her weeping, concern himself with her constant panic. No, she would be better off where she was, staying out of sight and out of mind.

"We should kill dragon and rider. Be rid of them both. There are no tales of great wealth coming from the Crownlands or the Stormlands or their Stepstones. They've acquired land and fascinatingly enough they've acquired very little gain in their gains. I've no access to their financial or economic documentation but if I did no where would it say they could even pay us for the bones." He brushed it off, taking a sip of whiskey.

"Dragons have two uses; building and burnings. We've no access to stone in such great numbers we need a dragon nor do we have riders who can control such a beast. This rider, this Nettles, she fled didn't she? From dragonstone? What would stop her from fleeing us at the first chance. Very little." He took another drink. "I've seen scorpions before, it's a giant crossbow. Can't be hard to building one or two. And make a grand point." One all would appreciate. The time of dragons was done. They were in a new age. The smallfolk saw to that.

Domeric picked up the scroll, pulling the ribbon away and unraveling, eyes moving over the page. He would be given control over the Sisters to bring to heel. History would call it a guardianship but Domeric understood. There would be need for example to be made in a way only he could make it was without limits and their gracious queen gave him a rule without limits. "This will be handled." Hundreds would cry out and silenced with the closing of his fist.

♟

the bonds of family and duty seemed to tether together graham royce and domeric, with whatever name he had taken over the years: both of them knew all too well he was never one thing. not entirely royce, not entirely grafton, not entirely bolton: a strange hybrid of all the places he had once called home over the years. and the pieces of the puzzle had resulted in what sat before him now: sometimes a who, and sometimes a what. "read my mind. rather not." it sounded like the reliability of an older brother's moral compass. his voice sounded like stability.

he was not blind to the stories that had reached the eyrie, the whispers regarding the form of morbid, macabre artwork his brother had taken to utilising to mark his own place on this new land he had acquired.

he was not blind nor deaf to all he had seen slowly piece together over the years, and yet at the end of the day there came the question - domeric was not his brother to the world. there was only so much he could do. and still, it was sickening, to watch him descend into a spiral such as this. "hibernating. better?" graham responded, his tone as characteristically blunt and curt as it always was. and yet, it were something of a jest. graham's humour was akin to that; something domeric would always be able to pick up on.

the man rose, his hand resting upon the full shadow of his beard as he poured a glass of whiskey into two glasses, silently passing it to the other.

at the explanation of his mother hiding in the sept for the duration of graham's visit, he only gave a grunt in acknowledgement of what was said. graham royce was the spitting image of his late father, the man who seemingly held the vale of arryn together himself. the very man who, with the woman hiding in the sept, had birthed a secret bastard. "last thing we need is her dropping dead seeing my face." the beard. the beard graham wore only made him look more like malcom royce.

on the oak table before them both, he dropped an important scroll, tightly bound by a ribbon of arryn blue. within it came orders from the queen herself, citing the needs for the isles of the sisters to be brought under the 'guardianship' of the crown - that was the term that was to be used. the guardianship. the signing of the royal signature was essentially the most special of toys for domeric; the unlimited pass. the blank slate. no limits. he never worked well with limits.

"for you. i'll be making my way to kings landing early to deal with dragons about our dragon." how it was the talk of the realm; a dragon remained within the mountains of the moon, mounted by a supposed fire witch that had turned out to be daemon targaryen's dirty bastard girl. "keeping her long term does nothing, but i'll be cursed before i easily hand them another beast."

#c: graham #.*. brother let me be your shelter. never leave me all alone; graham royce #graham003

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