Maekar's brow is furrowed as he buckles himself into his armour, chest and shoulders gleaming in the dawn light as it peaks through the overcast sky. His fingers move with practised ease, tightening the straps at his forearm with harsh tugs. When you enter, he already knows why. He doesn't look up, he doesn't need to.

“Don’t.” The word lands cleanly, flat as his sword laid across the table. Maekar doesn't raise his voice, his focus rigidly set on his armour whilst his jaw works and a vein pulses at his temple. He's not giving space for an argument, he never does. His words are always final if he has anything to say about it.

“Do not ask me to reconsider,” he snaps, low and firm. “Do not tell me there is another way. Do not say even his name. A Trial by Seven has been decided and so it shall be.” The air between you feels taut enough to break. Finally his gaze lifts as he braces his hands against the table where his helm waits. When he speaks again, it's quieter, and the quiet makes it worse.

“If I let this stand, then all of it stands. A man laid hands on my son. It is time that hedge knight understands why the realm calls me The Anvil."