closed starter for @eleneibaratheonlocation: the baratheon chambers
at the first light of dawn, the stag prince found himself standing at the threshold of the family's ancestral chambers. for years, the deep-burnished oak doors had been a symbol of home, of strength, of storm-forged resilience, but now they felt more like a barricade between two realms - the past and the present, the dead and the living, the guilt and the redemption.
harlan. the name was a phantom, a gust of wind, a familiar melody whispered by the rustling leaves outside the window. once upon a time, he had been his sister’s future; jasper had not even heard the name of harlan estermont until the news of his sister's engagement became public. but the two grew close in time which resulted in jasper inviting harlan on his journey to travel westeros. disguised under the veils of common aliases, they'd traveled across the vast expanse of westeros on a trading vessel, part of the crew. eventually, harlan was not just his sister’s betrothed, he had become jasper's brother in every sense of the word.
then came the tempest. a violent symphony of rage and despair, the storm was a savage artist, sculpting chaos from tranquillity, horror from bliss. harlan fell victim to its ruthless performance, his body wounded, his spirit flagging. as the ship yielded to the relentless onslaught of water and wind, harlan was ripped from jasper's desperate grasp. a crushing vortex of salt and dread swallowed him whole, leaving jasper with nothing but the hollow echo of his friend's name and a leaden cloak of guilt.
upon his return, he chose to shield elenei from the gruesome reality. "harlan's death was quick, painless," he'd lied. the falsehood created a chasm between them, a rift that swallowed their connection, leaving silence and distance in its wake.
and now his sister stood in front of him. the sight of her after years was akin to a mirror reflecting the scars of their shared tragedy. her name, spoken aloud, was a rusty key turning in a long-forgotten lock. the silence that followed was a living entity, its breath heavy with the burden of words left unsaid. jasper, the storm-born baratheon, found himself staring into the heart of his tempest. it was not a maelstrom of wind and water this time, but a whirlwind of guilt and loss. yet even in the midst of the storm, he clung onto hope, as fragile as a single strand of sunlight breaking through a storm cloud.
their eyes met, both bearing the weight of a shared loss. jasper cleared his throat, "lenny." her name felt foreign on his tongue after such a long time. the silence stretched, filling the space between them with years of unsaid words. as a baratheon, it was his duty to face the storm. this was his storm, and it was time to confront it.
