Holed up in his den, Magnus had spent the first few days slipping in and out of consciousness. He was lucky, really, to have such rigorous medics at his side throughout. Starling had been worth her weight - and then some - in gold, and though she was technically at the disposal of the Hollows, Faevyre too had lent her skills where they had been needed the most. On the third day - far enough from death's door to start to feel comfortable again - the melanistic brute would lift his head at the approach of a figure. Dark, curvaceous; his wife. "Nadia," he rumbled, blinking up into the sunlight. "I need to you to go to the Hollows," he paused, breathing still altered and sides heaving with the exertion. "Bring @Sjórbjörn to me." Then, as the Queen departed, he would expel another haggard exhale, attention shifting down to the small bundle of fur - little Oskar - that had insisted on keeping him company while he waited for his nephew.

A long pause, then, as his expression morphed to one of regret. How could he ever have considered...? I'm sorry.

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His aunt comes and fetches him, saying @Magnus needs to speak to him; obediently, the curate follows her back to the Lagoon, stepping into his uncle's den on cushioned paws. Uncle, he murmurs, ears flicking forward. I heard you were wounded, but I didn't realize... He trails off, blinking sunshine eyes at his darkly-painted uncle. Settling to his haunches, he gives a soft smile at Oskar before returning his attention to Magnus. What would you have of me? Whatever Magnus needs, Bear will do his best to provide. He only hopes whatever it is, it's obtainable.

And so the white-pelted cleric would approach without much delay; Magnus would lift his head abruptly to watch his nephew as he advanced, offering a nod of acknowledgement but no words yet. His expression shifted; an attempt to not look quite as wrecked as he felt. Beady black attention would follow @Sjórbjörn as the other male moved closer, remaining silent for a moment or two as the younger man settled himself. Oskar rose from his spot between Magnus' paws and waddled towards the other titan, and the High Sovereign snorted quietly as the child attempted to plop himself down on Sjórbjörn's paws. "You must look more comfortable than I am," he rumbled, an idle comment. "Still, that is not why I asked you here."

Obviously.

Magnus would start to straighten himself, propping himself up on an elbow and maintaining a sphinx-like position; the wound on his side was still tender, incredibly so, but he refused to remain reclined like a weakling while he spoke with his nephew. Especially on family matters; especially on something so important. "Your mother told you, no doubt, of her time as Jarl? After she felled your great uncle Tryggvi?" He kept his attention, unwavering, on Sjórbjörn as he waited for his response.

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Thick-furred, many-toed paws flex as Oskar flops across them, the priest leaning down to nose gently at the baby boy's head before returning his attention to @Magnus. I have it on good authority that I make an excellent bed, he says, grinning playfully. His uncle's question, however, elicits a deep frown. Her blasphemy, you mean? Yes, I'm aware of it. And quite disappointed, although had she remained Jarl he would have been loyal. Not so loyal he wouldn't have ended up challenging her, though, because he inevitably would have. Much as he loves her, he knows she's not... what their family needs at its helm. What of it, uncle? Has he been called here to discuss some sort of punishment to his mother over her foolishness?

Oskar would lean into the touch of his kin and purr happily before hopping down, releasing the colossal cleric's paws only to curl up next to them instead. Meanwhile, Magnus would watch it unfold, huffing in faint amusement at the quip of his nephew but - as they had not come here to discuss Oskar's comfort - he would easily let the conversation progress. @Sjórbjörn was quick to express his stance on his mother's actions; it would make clear to Magnus that he was devout, and respectful of the old ways. The youth and vigour that the gnarled old titan sadly lacked, and the composition that... Ulla had lacked. Young, but not too young, or else Magnus might have preferred to look to his own sons. But Sjórbjörn was a fine candidate; truthfully, he was the best they had. Saga remained unyielding in her view that a woman should not be Jarl, and so.... Magnus would have to put his trust in his nephew.

They all would.

Whatever would come of it, would come. They would be better off with him at the helm than Magnus, who by this point was considerably hindered; mentally, physically and spiritually. "Age does not come without mistakes." The lion propped himself up further on one elbow, expression growing heavier. "Your mother's mistake was to try and assert herself against the rest of her clan." He swallowed, hard. "My mistake laid itself bare, at the drowning." A moment of clarity sparked alight amongst burdened features. "The conflict of interests... got the better of me. We would do well to learn from it, for next time; we do not have the elders of the homeland to hold our hands anymore, and I could certainly have done with them there." It was an admission that he did not like to make, but still it spilled forth. Reflection, humility... the bitterest of pills to swallow, but it may serve Sjórbjörn well in the future. To avoid witnessing such sacrilege again in his lifetime... well, he'd take the hit. "The waters grow muddy when governing these southern prides; the balance is precarious. They are not like us, and to appease them both at all times is impossible."

Alas. Magnus' brows furrow. "The Sigrún must take precedence, always. We cannot let this place and its people cloud our judgements, especially during something so sacred." And that would bring them back to now. To Sjórbjörn. There was ample risk that remaining at the helm would only draw further ire from Vellen... stepping back from the pedestal was for the best, not only for him but for his wives and his children. His newest brood would not lose anything from not having their Jarl for a father; if anything, it would give them back an attentive parent. The pressure of leadership - on both sides - had threatened to change him. And the elder children? ...Well, all he could do was remain by their sides - all of their sides - as they ventured into adulthood. "You are, as it stands, the only cleric amongst us. My time as Jarl is over... but yours is beginning. You must take the clan further, nephew. Difficult times lie ahead, and I cannot lead us through it; not now, Vellen would not have it." An exhale. "I may have my children back, but they came at a cost." He would clarify further, should his nephew wish - the least he owed his successor-to-be was an explanation - but he trusted that the younger man was bright enough to piece most of this together.

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it takes a long, long moment for bear to register what @Magnus is saying - truly saying - and when it computes, the curate is left gaping at his uncle. i - he breaks off, blinking startled yellow eyes at the older man. you... wish for me to succeed you? now? he clarifies carefully, gaze almost wary - as if he's concerned this is some sort of set up, or joke. i... would be honored, uncle, but - are you... are you certain? his mind races, wondering who he should ask to be his second, only for the answer to appear seconds later. saga, of course; she is as devout as anyone, and will certainly make a fine second. aside from magnus, she is the only other member of the family the bear-priest would really trust to become jarl, if something happened to him. will you... remain as council? someone to whom bear can come to for advice when needed - because this will be a hard road to walk.

Sjorbjorn is surprised - which was the reaction that Magnus had expected, honestly - but would take the request in his stride. The look of apprehension does not go unnoticed, though; the King was inclined to scorn his nephew for thinking that this could be some sort of jest, but instead he said nothing on it. He would simply incline his head, watching, reading his reactions as they played out before him. “Yes,” he rumbled after a long moment. “You are the most qualified. My sons are too young.” And it was as simple as that, at least in his mind. “I will remain in the council, as long as you accept. And it would be effective immediately,” he warned.

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His mind made up, the Bear nods. Then I accept, uncle. His shoulders somehow feel heavier now, as he accepts the mantle of jarl; as if, in some way, the weight of the family has been passed to him. I won't let you down, he murmurs, looking a little dazed. His choice for second is clear, though - there is no one more active, more devout, than his aunt Saga. Hopefully she will accept his invitation. I need to go and speak with a couple of people, the priest says, thinking mainly of Ira, Alva, Zelie, and Saga, but I will call a family meeting soon to explain the change in leadership. With that, he nods and offers a last little nuzzle to his cousin before turning to leave.

- exit unless stopped -

As anticipated, @Sjórbjörn would ultimately accept. It was a large responsibility, but in Magnus' mind he had paid his dues; it was time for someone younger to step up. One with more energy, one with a clearer path. Sjórbjörn would be able to convene with Vellen in ways that Magnus never would - his skills lay in the battlefield, and that's where they ought to stay. The transfer of power was bittersweet, though, and the older male was content for the peace once his nephew took his leave. "Very good. I will be there." A pause. "Good luck."

You will need it.

After the alabaster cleric had left, Magnus would recline back onto his side, wincing and ultimately deflated. The burden had been removed, but the backlash remained to be seen; Oskar, oblivious to his father's concerns and still on a high from being visited by his older cooler cousin, would potter back over to melanistic paws and curl up beside them.

EXIT

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