Storm’s End

The Twenty-Eighth Day of the Eighth Moon of 359 AC

Cedric’s journey back to Storm’s End took longer than expected, he thought as he watched the gate go up. Summerhall was a blur; he felt that his mind was failing the longer he stayed, the longer he had to sit in that damnable place. He had actually felt some measure of happiness coming back to it, but now all he felt was like someone had bludgeoned him with a rock while he wasn’t looking.

He stopped his horse in the courtyard, passing it off to an attendant while he shook his head, trying to form a coherent thought, though it seemed long-coming yet. With a sigh, he marched into the keep. He was vaguely aware of his little brother running up beside him.

“Cedric,” Royce asked tentatively, “You don’t look well.”

“I haven’t had anyone say the opposite before.”

“Stop fucking with me,” Royce said, tensing up. “You’re constantly getting a look in your eyes, like you aren’t even there.”

Cedric shrugged. “It’s because I’m usually not. Anything else?”

His brother, exasperated, pushed Cedric’s shoulder. “Wake up. You’re the Lord of Storm’s End. People are relying on you. Seven hells, Cyrenna has had to pick up most of your slack since you decided to fuck off into your own mind. Do you want to end up like Stannis?”

That one annoyed Cedric enough to try and evade the actual thrust of Royce’s point. “Stannis died as lord during peace, and had ensured justice was done in the Stormlands.”

“Oh of course, if you don’t include when the entire southern half of the Stormlands rebelled against us, and the rest considered just staying out of the whole thing. Sure, I don’t think anybody has ever accused Stannis of being inactive, but really, why should the lords follow you if you’re going to be like this?”

Cedric stopped suddenly, glaring down at Royce with a good few inches over his brother. Royce met his gaze, and the two stood there silently for a long moment. Finally, Cedric sighed. “Fine. You’re right.” His annoyance at the fact that his own younger brother had to correct him did not overpower the fact that Cedric knew his current path was not a good one. He required a very deep correction to his behavior, and better it come from Royce than someone holding a blade. “I’ll meet you later,” he said simply, turning around and walking away.

The lack of the sound of a great storm outside always made the interior of Storm’s End seem off to Cedric. It was as though the rain had permanently soaked into the stone enough that without thunder and rain it was too quiet.

Well, perhaps a bit of that would be good for him. Just enough to think. Clear his head. A cup of wine, no more. That would do nicely.