Markus watched as his fellow lords talked. He felt a slow rage build up inside him at their insolence. Abandon Stonehelm and Harvest Hall? Let his wife's house and his nephew's castle rot? Not a chance. He bite his tongue when Grandson insulted his nephew, he may be a Storm, but he was a better man than Hugh could ever hope to be.
"Damn it." Markus shouted, slamming his fist down into the table, spilling red wine over the fine linen. He immediately caught the attention of his fellow Stormlords. Join the Lannisters? Attack Storm's End? What was wrong with these people? Did they have no sense of rational?
"The next man, that proposes to join the Lannisters will earn themselves a prime view of the Blackhaven dungeons." He promised. "I will not even entertain the idea of joining the house that murdered by father." He turned to Lord Caron breifly and added. "They did they same to your family, need I remind you? The Lannisters killed your grandfather and tried to place their own in Nightsong, it was the Targaryen's that restored the lands to your father." Markus shook his head and could feel the distaste land on his tongue. "I will not dishonour the memories of the Lords of the Marches by doing such an evil and cowardly act." Markus slammed his fist on the table again, this time he had the full attention of the council.
"The next man that attempts to insult my kin." He looked dangerous to lord Grandison and then motioned his head towards Durran. "Will find that I work fiercely to protect my own. The next man who suggests we abandon our castles will have his duty as a Marcher Lord called into question." Markus paused for a moment. He took care to make sure he wasn't sounding to hostile, but if his anger bled through to his tone, he didn't care.
"We have three options here." He said outstretching a head. "One, we assault Storm's End, bleeding ourselves in the process and in all honestly probably losing. To gain the support of the Crown, all Lyonel has to do is lend his forces to them, making our actions null and void. The other Stormlords won't join us, and we would be forced to defend ourself from multiple angles, stretching our armies to far and we would simply let them destroy."
"The second option may be a bit more devious and although I am against it, it does hold merit. Criston Baratheon is young and can be molding into what we need him to be. If one of us could act as his regent we would effectively control the Stormlands. However that leads us to the question of how do we rid of Lyonel without anyone knowing." Markus looked down into cup, the thought of such devious action made him feel sick. He instantly regretted proposing it and secretly hoped it wouldn't come to fruition.
"Finally, the third option, and in my eyes the only viable. Declare ourselves for Valarr, who I would like to remind you all, was the Lord of Summerhall, a castle in the marches, I knows us and our needs well. We declare ourselves for Valarr but form our own Paramountcy separate from the Stormlands; there will be no bloodshed and we will owe nothing to the Baratheon oaf." Markus paused for a moment, when a thought occured to him.
"My son is in Queen's Landing at this very moment. He tells me he has a friendship with the new Hand. What do they say? The King eats and the Hand takes the shit? Let Daric talk to the hand and show him our proposition we can all have what we want without any bloodshed and we can all be happy and rule ourselves like we want to."
Markus coughed into his handkerchief. When he withdrew it from his mouth he noticed it was stained with blood. Damn it, I may no even live out this council.