The Baratheon House

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

"I am unsure why we are still discussing the matter." he said tersely.

Oswyn ordered one of the guardsmen to fetch his mace, double the men on duty, and remain on the alert before turning back to his wife.

"The hounds may join you in our chambers if it will give you comfort. Men will be posted outside our chambers as well. Donal's pet will keep me company."

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Now Oswyn's eyes were dangerous as he rounded on his wife. The guardsman only paused for a moment, before seeing his lord's orders carried out with haste.

"You will never contradict my orders and shame me in front of my men again." he seethed, speaking with as much restraint as he could muster. "I am worth more than any hound, as are the men of Stormlands that will be standing outside. I do not know what matter of madhouse Casterly Rock is, but here the lady answers to the lord. You will return to our rooms now with dignity or you will be unceremoniously dragged to them. Do I make myself clear?"

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Oswyn looked to the snarling dogs and then back to his wife, face racked with rage and now sadness at the lesson that must be taught.

"You betray your lord and husband with you disobedience, your actions akin to treason." he intoned coldly, the voice of a stern lord rather than a loving husband. "You may not bare steel against me, but you have chosen the weapons of your insolence."

"Guards!" he commanded, taking a step backward as four Baratheon guardsmen stepped forward to stand between their lord and the snarling animals. They wore heavy chainmail and helmets, swords at their hips, and long spears in their hands which they leveled at the dogs. A fifth, the one who had fetched the men at his earlier command, stood by Oswyn with the lord's flanged mace in hand, confused alarm plain on his face.

"You brought this on yourself, Amelia." he said sadly, almost regretful at the course of action that must be taken. But a rebellious wife was of no use to any man. A lord that could not keep order within his household was not worthy of the title.

"Escort my wife to our chambers." he ordered. "Slay the beasts if they intervene."

[Lord Donal Stormshield]

The large cat sized creature continues to lay on Donal trying to sleep but keeps being interrupted by the two bickering people in the room, his eyes switch from one to the other as each speak watching them carefully.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

"I may not be the lord, but I am your lord." Oswyn replied sternly. "It is my duty to protect and yours to obey. One of us knows their place."

"Men, I believe you have your orders." he said with resignation, mentally cursing his stubborn bride.

[The Smith]

A Guard lurches forward to grab her. Immediately a dog growls, and move to stand between Amelia and the guard. He swung his spear at it. The dog was gauged along its side and knocked back.

Even as Amelia cried out the dogs leaped to defend their mate. The guard in the front was knocked over by one of the large beasts, and fell forward his spear sliding out of his grasp.

The other guards step forward and try to shield their brethren. Even though the dogs were attacking, none of the guards seemed to want to harm them. They had grown found of the beasts.

The injured dog lunged forward at the fallen guard, as the man pushed himself back to his hands and knees. He had dressed quickly, and not bothered with anything for his neck. The dogs jaws slipped below his helm, and just tore his throat from the man's body.

For a stunned moment the other guards just watched their friend tumble forward gushing blood, and then their was a deathly quiet from them as they slowly spitted the dogs on their spear.

[Lord Donal Stormshield]

Donal sleeps peacefully throughout the whole thing dreaming of dogs in frolicking meadows and a happy family where they all get along.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Oswyn watched stone-faced as his guards advanced, regretting that the marital spat had come this far, but adamant that she had left him little choice. Had he backed down after her repeated defiance, he would have been shamed in front of his men. The struggle to regain their respect would have been more arduous than regaining his mobility. A crippled body healed far easier than a castrated reputation. After all, who would follow a man that bent to his wife's will?

This foundation seemed to slip out from beneath him as the carnage unfolded. He stared blankly as Podrick's throat was torn out, blood pooling on the floor. They had served together in the Stepstones, the guardsman saving Oswyn's life at least once. He was a widower with two daughters. They would be cared for by House Baratheon now, but he knew that would do little to cushion their sorrow. As the dogs were skewered, he felt only numbness, the long and bloody campaign in the Stepstones having left him largely unaffected by such horrors.

Oswyn managed to keep his composure as his wife screamed, vomited, and lashed out in grief. He wondered how it had come to this, the simple desire to protect Amelia ending in senseless bloodshed and death. It was a reality and responsibility he would have to live with, or at least share.

"Look what the defiance of a foolish child has brought us to!" he seethed, eyes not wavering from Podrick's corpse. "A good man is dead! Speak to me in such a disrespectful manner again and I'll have the whole kennel put to the sword." The threat pained him deeply, but the lesson had to be instilled now. "I swore to protect you. Your happiness is the secondary concern if the two interests conflict."

"Disarm my wife and see her escorted to our chambers. She is to be confined to them until I decide otherwise." he said to the remaining guardsmen. "Then have this mess cleaned up. The Silent Sisters will need to prepare Podrick's body for the return to Storm's End, where he will be buried with proper honors."

He hefted the mace his attendant had fetched, the weight unfamiliar in his hands, and took a seat.

"I will remain by my brother's side this evening." he said bitterly, the victory hollow. "Have a servant fetch me a drink."

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

He wanted to tell her that Lord Jensen would be dead if he could have walked at the time. He wanted to tell her that House Wylde would pay for the slight when he was lord. He wanted to apologize and take her in his arms. He wanted to undo the damage done.

But he remained silent as she was carted away, sitting in the dark and finding what small comfort he could in a goblet of burnt wine.

[Sam]

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Lord Baratheon sits in his private sitting room in the Baratheon manse. The windows face south, toward Storm's End, and the placement of the structure on the hill affords a magnificent view over the City Walls, of the Blackwater RIver and Lord Baratheon's domains beyond it on a clear day. It is night now, and the twinkle of small lights down in the city below can be seen, but the sky is just inky blackness, the moon and stars completely obscured by cloudcover. A fire roars in the fireplaces, and several pokers sit among the logs; every now and then Sammael takes one and idly pokes the embers to stir them up and heat the room.

A large decanter of brandy sits on a side table, beside his large leather chair near the fireplace. It is reasonably full, and three glasses sit on the table beside it, along with a small stack of parchments.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Lord Oswyn stands near his father's side, cobalt eyes watching the dancing flames. He sent fours guardsmen to collect his wife, selecting those that had served beside him in the campaign and been closest to the slain Podrick.

[Sam]

Four men arrive, Lady Amelia Baratheon walking between them. One of them opens the door for her, and steps inside after her, while the other three remain in the hall.

Lord Baratheon clears his throat, and the fire pops loudly a second later, "Why have you done this, lass?" he asked in a tone that was so soft Amelia almost had to strain to hear it, but she could not possibly miss the note of menace contained in each word.

[Lord Oswyn Baratheon]

Any sign of love she was looking or was not found, Oswyn's eyes brewing with hardly contained pain and anger.

"You loyalty?" he spat the word as if it was poison upon his tongue. "You dare speak to me of loyalty?"

He was seething, wracked with anger as he stared into the flames.

"We are not here to judge your intentions, but your wanton actions. You have shamed this house as well as your own and I will abide it no longer!"

He turned back to the flames then, unable to look upon her, silent in his fury.

[Lord Donal Stormshield]

Donal stands to one side of the room, for once his usual grin is replaced with a more somber one. He watches Amelia Baratheon enter the room and remains silent throughout his brothers harsh words and feelings.

[Sam]

"Podrick's death was tragic, but pales in comparison with your crimes against my son, and the honor of this House," Lord Sammael snarled in a the same voice. "If Theodore did not look so much like Oswyn, I would be strangling you both with my own hands right now. As it is, your brother is far too important for you to be hanged as is customary, more's the pity."

He handed her a parchment, stamped wt the bottom with a seven-pointed star in gold wax, the seal of the High Septon himself. As she scanned the document, she saw it was an official writ dissolving her marriage to Oswyn on the grounds of adultery. A dispensation was made for Theodore's legitimacy, due to his extreme resemblance to Oswyn, but Amelia was no longer married and her dowry was forfeit.

He handed a second parchment, then a third, then a fourth and a fifth. They were letters written to her, from Ser Jayson of Crakehall, declaring his undying love for her and detailing their time together in Casterly Rock, once Oswyn had departed for war but before Ser Jayson himself had left. The least insulting and perverted of the liasons depicted was Amelia and Ser Jayson on a picnic with Theodore, recounting their deeds after the boy had fallen asleep.

Silently, Lord Baratheon handed her two more parchments, copies of letters she herself had written to Ser Jayson detailing the same events and expressing the same sentiments.