Humility – Roger
King Roald and Duke Roger are having a quiet drink in the King's chambers to celebrate the finished peace treaty they have negotiated with the Carthaki delegation.
Roald sips at his wine, standing erect and dignified by the window. "I still don't know what you said to that man, Cousin, that made him so agreeable to our position."
Roger smiles where he is sprawled, as relaxed and satisfied as a well-fed lion, on the sofa. "Trust me, Roald. You don't want to know."
Roald quirks a brow at him, dryly amused. "Very well. I'll let you keep your secrets." He pauses, looking out over the city. The sun is setting. He can see it glinting off the river, snaking its way through the centre, and the roofs of the Temple district. A flock of black birds arrow across the sky.
"Cousin. Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you had been born the King, and I your heir?" He turns to the other man. Most strangers remark first on the obvious similarities of their shared blood; and then almost immediately after on how different they are. Roald leads his people with a reserved authority, while Roger exerts his considerable influence through an inborn charisma, subtle and dangerous.
Roger's gaze becomes distant and turns inward. He is silent for a time.
"I won't lie to you," he says finally. "There was a time in my youth when I struggled with it. I wavered in my loyalty, wanting the throne for myself. But thankfully I outgrew such nonsense." He looks up at Roald, meeting his eyes steadily. "I realized it was my role in life to use my birth and abilities for this: acting as your right hand, guarding Lianne and young Jon, helping you make our country great. I believe that if the gods had meant for me to rule I would have been born King. I was not."
Roald regards him quietly. "Never doubt that I appreciate everything you have done for me. You're a good man, Roger."