Im going to be joining artfight yet again this year (2nd year), except this time I know what I'm doing a bit better and should be able to get a few more attacks done
Feel free to add me there I still need to make oc sheets but I think they'll have to come out next year, right now my main focus is my one oc I have up 😭
I gotta make my sheet but to let everyone know, I pretty much do any type of character I have a preference for human/humanoids but Im willing to try anything!!
I hope I can land on the winning team this year, I think Tragedy has the most artistic of the themes (like the way tragedy is depicted in art is always so beautiful)
i dont give consent for my work to be used without my permission or fed to Al, and I will never use Al in my writing.
word count: 850
Playlist
When Lyonel Baratheon was four-and-ten, he had nearly drowned.
He had fallen off of one of the fortress’ many turrets and plummeted towards the sea. This was a story told to many guests who came to visit The Lord and his family- how the young lording had nearly fallen to his death, and that the seven were most gracious to have kept him from The Stranger’s arms a little longer; he had survived, but for weeks afterwards, he’d tell a feverish tale to all who asked- one of a lady with sharp fingertips and wide eyes who urged the water towards him to soften his fall and then dragged him back to shore before disappearing.
In the weeks when he was recovering from both his injuries (thankfully minor, considering that the maester at Storm’s End was as useful as, well, an ass with a bowed back) his father sent out many a ship to try and find this Sea-Lady that his son spoke of, finding none that fit such a description, and ultimately gave up.
Lyonel, stubborn as he was, refused to let go of his near-death memory and the moment he was allowed to take walks, he ended up by the shore where he washed up.
“My lady?” He called out, towards the open sea, “Lady? The one who saved me? I want to thank you!”
Still, no answer came.
Frustrated, he headed further down the shore, wandering aimlessly and kicking at small rocks.
“Laaaady?” A melodic voice called out from a rock pool a little further ahead. Lyonel grinned and ran towards it.
Inside the rock pool was, indeed, the sea-lady who had saved him. Her eyes were wide and bright, and her fingertips, sharp and clawed, tapped against the stone idly. She couldn’t reasonably be much older than he was, Lyonel thought, sitting down heavily on one of the rocks.
“Lady! I offer you thanks for saving me from that awful fall I took!”
“Ladyyy?” She sang again, though her tone indicated more confusion than anything.
“You- you don’t speak the common tongue?”
The lady blinked her wide eyes at him, silent.
“Okay. I can work this out,” he pointed at himself, “Lyonel.”
“Lie-on-el,” the lady repeated after him.
“Me, I am Lyonel.”
“Am Lyonel.”
“You,” he pointed at her, “what’s your name?”
Apparently managing to grasp onto the context clues he was giving her, she pointed at herself and made a series of whistles and hums, which was, apparently, her name.
“Well, that’s- I can’t say that.”
“Ladyyyyy?”
“Yes, that’s it. I’ll call you Lady for now.”
“Am Lady.”
“Yes! You, Lady, me, Lyonel.”
“Me, Lady.”
Lyonel nodded, still smiling widely.
“You saved me.”
“Saaaaved?” her tone was still confused, and Lyonel sighed loudly.
“This language barrier really isn't working for us, is it?”
She blinked at him.
He blinked at her.
“Can you read?”
She said nothing.
“Read, like,” he mimed opening and closing a book, “read.”
Her face lit up and she nodded.
“Okay! So I am going to grab a book! From… somewhere… My father hasn’t let me go into the library since I knocked over a candle there a few years ago… and I don't know why I'm telling you this because you can’t understand what I’m saying anyway.”
Lady stared up at him blankly.
“You,” he pointed at her and made the gesture for a book again, “Get a book. And we can compare.”
She seemed to vaguely understand what he was saying and disappeared under the water with barely a ripple.
Lyonel ran back into the fortress, bumping into nearly everyone he met in his frenzy to get back to his room and find a simple enough book to bring back. He ended up picking a book detailing the stars and their positions, figuring that the stars at least were common ground for them to start on.
She was already back in the rock pool by the time he got back, book in hand. Well, he said a book. It was a book, in the same sense that a large scroll detailing something was a book. Because it was a large scroll of what seemed to be some kind of sea-plant?
He looked at her in confusion.
“How did you understand I was asking for a book- you know what, never mind. A blessing from the seven it is.”
She understood, evidently, that he was jesting with her, probably through his tone, and laughed a little, melodic.
She nudged the book towards him and, from the diagrams, he assumed it was some kind of informational book on sea creatures. She pointed at one of the diagrams and made a clicking sound before looking up at him expectantly.
“We call that a whale.”
She stared up at him blankly.
“Whale.” he tried again.
“Whaaaale.”
Lyonel nodded and continued going through the book, pointing and naming things, teaching her the common tongue as best he could. He only stopped once he noticed the setting sun and had to run back into the fortress for dinner.
He hoped she’d still be there tomorrow.
She nudged the book towards him and, from the diagrams, he assumed it was some kind of informational book on sea creatures. She pointed at one of the diagrams and made a clicking sound before looking up at him expectantly.
“We call that a whale.”
She stared up at him blankly.
“Whale.” he tried again.
“Whaaaale.”
Lyonel nodded and continued going through the book, pointing and naming things, teaching her the common tongue as best he could. He only stopped once he noticed the setting sun and had to run back into the fortress for dinner.
A/N: eating a Hershey’s cookies and cream bar as we speak (my mum bought it for me so it’s even more delectable), Maekar standing up for his cancelled wife (as he should) these are so fun oml.
“My girlfriend cried today and was sad and I couldn’t kiss her. I’m going to rip my hair out” - him
“Wife’s asleep rn so I’m spending my time on really important things like waiting for her to wake up” - him
“Sorry babe I’m too tired to talk, can I just chew on you for a couple hours?” - you
“I stand up when my girl enters the room like she’s the president” - him
“Dating her means becoming a father to all her plushies” - him
“I’m so glad they invented laying on a man’s chest” - you
LYONEL —
“Sorry we’re late, my wife and I couldn’t stop kissing” - him
“Hey, me and my wife saw you across the bar and we just wanted to say we really love your vibe” - him (probably to Duncan)
“Yes I’m normal about her (I need to gnaw on her like a number 2 pencil)” - him
“Babe, do you remember our first ever bit together?” - you
“My wife is actually magical, Wdym she makes my day automatically better, she’s the goat fr” - him
“She call me apple the way I be in cider” - him
BAELOR —
“He can infodump so deep inside me I’ll have trivia running down my leg” - you
“Sluttiest thing a man can do is have a complete dilemma over his lust for you” - you
“Most beautiful lady in all the land. Will you watch the birds with me” - him
“When my husband is home I eat three square meals a day and when he is gone I creep into the kitchen for a handful of dry cereal or a pickle every two hours like a rat in a bodega” - you
“I need a man to smile fondly at me while I throw a dramatic hissy fit at every minor inconvenience” - you
“I take baths a lot, and whenever I do my boyfriend sits in the bathroom and reads out loud to me. Right now we’re on chapter four of a book about the history of rats in NYC” - you
MAEKAR —
“He’s so handsome, I NEED to get on his nerves” - you
“She’s evil manipulative two sided and cold to YOU, to ME she’s my wife” - him
“Your weak asf is you leave your wife just because she stabbed you ONE time” - him
“‘I could fix her’ yea? well I could accept her as she is. You don’t like the murder? Grow up. The atrocities are part of her and I’ve decided they’re funny” - him
“‘I’m too old for you’ sir that age gap is literally one of the things that got me attracted to you in the first place” - you
“I plan on bugging you every single day for the rest of our lives” - you
AERION —
“Relationships should be 50/50, you take me to museums and I point at all the weird little guys in paintings and say ‘that’s you’” - you
“I’m sorry I roasted you, I was trying to flirt” - you
“Date idea, we fight another couple” - him
“I love my man I really do, but man, not a day goes by where I don’t want to square up with him” - you
“I’m scared of my wife and it lowkey turns me on” - him
“Missionary, so we can keep arguing” - him
“How do I politely ask her to slam me against a wall and make out with me” - him
VALARR —
“Normalise pathetically begging to go down on her nightly” - him
“If my girlfriend thinks she can just bat her eyes at me and get whatever she wants, she absolutely correct” - him
“I hope every lover girl finds her super calm gentleman who is unashamedly and insanely in love with her” - you
“Gonna find a man with biceps and brown hair and big brown eyes that lets me bite him as hard as I want” - you
“The fact that you are not my wife yet bothers me at least once every day” - him
“Just talked to my wife on the phone, it was awesome. I know a lot of you are lonely and pathetic with nobody who really cares about you or loves you but you can always rest assured that is not the case for me” - him
DAERON —
“I love a ‘this is us’ girl, like yea babe, we are those two hash browns” - him
“Need a boyfriend except he’s not just my boyfriend he’s also some weird guy I drag around with me everywhere” - you
“Sex is great but have you ever had someone be patient and gentle with you when your abandonment issues are acting up” - him
“I haven’t gotten a kiss from my wife in a while and I’m being really brave about it” - him
“I hate when girls say “wow I didn’t peg you as a gentlemen” uhhh you haven’t pegged me at all yet, get to it.” - him
“In my dreams I’m making you pasta and nothing bad has ever happened to us” - him
Maybe Lyonel should get his injuries treated by the real witch, then he wouldn’t be so dismissive of the craft and weird women!😤 (a request).
Knight's mercy
Lyonel Baratheon x witch!reader
summary: Everyone would benefit from Lyonel keeping his new friendships to himself, but there was also no one who could stop him. Now after the worst experience of his life, ser Duncan has to bear the intrusive presence of Lord Baratheon and the – so called – witch, that he somehow convinced to stick around…
tags: healer/witch fem!reader, lyonel calls her his wife in his thoughts (he's quick and charmed not so literally), reader is funny and my idol at this point, mentions of wounds, injuries, hanged and undead people, you are lucky i didn't make lyonel jealous of our zombie friend, author's personal favourite
word count: 3.6k+
a/n: Florence and the machine most witchy songs playlist thanks for being there [song recommendation at the end]
You asked yourself once again, marking your disappointment with a heavy sigh.
How did you find yourself in this situation and why – Gods have mercy – did you always have to do something good? You did not wake up every day with the intention to change the world for the better. You never even intended to risk your life, not even once, for helping others.
Yet here you were, taking care of this strange lord without knowing if it will be of any convenience for you. Judging a man by his passed out form is not always very reliable, but you would dare saying you knew nobles like him. They usually meant a fat payment or being chased away with hounds. Nothing in between.
Or right, being burnt on a stake crossed your mind as well.
Hopefully Lord Baratheon didn’t like playing with fire…
Another question crossed your mind when he stirred in his disturbed unconsciousness. Why in the name of the seven hells did he snore? No one ever snored before after being drugged with such strong herbs in all your career. You often joked it would knock out a horse… and Lyonel Baratheon clearly thought nothing of it.
“Do you plan to wake up, ser?” You said loudly, standing over him.
Not that you expected a coherent answer. It was just a way to make sure he was back here with you, and not somewhere where you tried to send him with your herbal mix and a bit of a spell.
You did it all with good intention. You wanted to take care of his clearly broken ribs, and it would be a cruelty to perform what you had to on a conscious man, leaving him on his own to deal with the pain. Deep sleep would do him good, but of course, he must have been too stubborn.
He blinked a few times, his spirit still not present in the depth of his dark eyes. You gave him a moment, and, to your surprise, he didn’t shiver or jump at the sight of a strange woman standing over him. He didn’t laugh either, making you think that this whole the Laughing Storm thing could be one big exaggeration.
Lyonel remembered the pain, the loudness of the party… and that for the first time in years he couldn't bear it. The Maester rushed around him, making him even angrier. He wanted to yell at everyone to get the fuck out and go to their own shitholes so he can rest.
He didn’t, knowing that even if he would be free from the company of those idiots, he would not rest because of the pain. And suffering in silence is even worse, isn’t it? Until there were people, he at least could let his anger out on someone.
So he stayed quiet, only mumbling something about bloody fools, which was unusual for him. Everyone who saw the true rage of Lyonel Baratheon knew that. Today he had no strength to articulate his thoughts.
The tourney was beautiful, the trial thrilling, but now he was fucking miserable.
Truth be told, he even thought with envy about all them cunt-lords who could just go back to their tents and fall into their wives’ arms. In his bitchy mood he wouldn’t complain about some consolation – but a real one, not something bought with coin and honors. He grimaced at the thought of Raymun Fossoway, the young, surprisingly brave piece of shit who happened to find himself a wife, just like that.
And where was Lyonel’s wife, huh? Why was there no Lady Baratheon to comfort him in the suffering that he had to bear? There was only this–
Gods, who the fuck was that, standing over him?
“Hello, you,” you said again, seeing he now looked at you quite presently. “What is your name, my lord? Do you remember?”
Of course, he fucking could remember his name, but he only kept staring.
Lady Baratheon, witch, wife, comfort… the choking smell of dried herbs. It all made his head spin.
He managed a brave face, probably thinking he looked at least a bit intimidating. He didn’t. He looked pathetic.
“I don’t need you to tell me, because I know. I only want to make sure you can remember it.”
You didn’t know what sick thought just interrupted his mind, but he frowned, making his lightly wrinkled face look older and more grim.
“So you want ransom for me?” He asked, battling his dried, raspy voice. “Or do you plan to sell my head after you make sure I am who you think I am?”
You almost laughed in his face.
“What?”
“You keep me chained,” he said, more feisty, too sure for his own good.
You lifted your brows and looked over his form in a comical way of making sure your memory didn’t fail you. Oh, you could see that he didn’t appreciate the mockery.
“I do not, my lord. Sorry to disappoint,” you judged, like it was a diagnosis.
He opened his mouth to argue, but made a stop to look at his body.
His chest was bare, only covered by a huge bandage that was now stained with blood. His golden cloak was only thrown over his shoulders, and he noticed you used the thing to not let the blood on your cot. Just like it was some cheap piece of cloth–
His limbs were free, yet they felt like they didn't belong to him.
“I feel strange,” he muttered more to himself than you.
“Weird. Like a man who was thrown off his horse and beaten with a mace numerous times?” You offered with a smart grin.
Lyonel wasn’t listening.
“I want to go,” he said like a fussy child, “I can’t feel my… You better let me go, or I will–”
“You are free to go, my lord, but I don’t recommend–”
Before you warned him he managed to turn on his side. His legs slipped from the cot and most of his weight was supported on his upper body, which made him groan and curse in pain. Well, you wanted to believe it was the pain and not his mere wish to call you a cunt.
“Well, you didn’t let me finish,” you observed to prove you were innocent, while helping him lay down again.
You placed a hand on his forehead, confirming he was not burning up. You would forgive him just like that if it would be acting upon the temperature, but it wasn’t. There was just one explanation of his behavior then…
“You're a fool, my lord.”
“What?” His head shot up. “I’m lying here, fucking suffering, and you insult me, woman?”
“Aye. Dying men can be fools too.”
“Dying?”
“Oh, no. I didn’t mean that you are dying. Your case is much less entertaining than that,” you promised. “I just wanted to say that stupidity isn’t merciful even in death and other… injuries.”
“Can you stop?” He hissed, already knowing he had to keep his voice rather respectful if he didn’t want you to cause him more pain. Good, he was learning quickly.
“Only if you convince me you know your own name.”
“Ser Lyonel Baratheon, Lord of–”
“Alright, alright… I just wanted your name, not your rights of possession,” you stopped him, leaning closer to cut the badges on his body. “I can call you just Lyonel, I take it? You know, since I’m saving your life, and everything?”
“You said I’m not dying.”
“For now… You never know.” You shrugged.
He stiffened when you peeled off the material that clung to his wound alongside some dried up blood. You grimaced at the sight of a terribly stitched cut. You were too focused to notice that he moved up a bit and grasped your wrist.
“What–”
“Enough,” he snapped. Oh, he was firm now, serious. “I remember exactly nothing and I wake up in a place I don’t know, with a woman I don’t know who claims to be helping me. Explain before you dare to touch me again.”
You wrestled your hand out of his grip and took a seat on a stool close to the cot.
“Found you close to the riverbank, passed out. I dragged you here so you don't bleed out,” you said without teasing this time. He had the right to know. You would be furious in his situation as well, that you had to give him. “I have to say your Maester did a shit job on the stitches. They all broke.”
He let out a breathless short laugh.
“He is shit at soothing the pain as well.”
“I can say so. You have nails marks all over your hands from keeping your fist tight.”
He did. He also saw his bloodied shirt lying on the floor. The opened wound must have bled a lot indeed.
“I don't feel it anymore. Most of the pain…” he said like he wanted to ask about the reason.
“That's good.” You nodded.
“No, that's… that's strange,” he muttered once again, and you could see him thinking as hard as he could.
You hid the smirk to not anger him.
“Well, but you’re not in pain anymore. That’s what matters,” you offered and shrugged.
Your occupation wasn’t a secret, but it wasn’t smart to admit it out loud just like that either.
“That's magic,” he finally decided, making you sigh.
“Hm… an unknown craft, I’ll give you that.”
“Do you plan to kill me, witch?”
“I am no witch. You complain about me insulting you, yet that name is opprobrious and belittling! It’s like I would call you a lordling.”
“Lordling is fine compared to the fool that you’ve called me…”
You brushed it off, annoyed that he was right.
“Why would I kill you after I bothered so much to help you?”
“How would I know? I’m not familiar with the customs of witches.”
“Respectfully, fuck you, my lord,” you offered with an unpleasant smile.
“Likewise, witch.”
What mattered was that he allowed you to get close again.
“I’ll talk you through it so you don’t panic again,” you promised.
“It’s usually the other way around, but…”
“Be quiet now, Lyonel,” you hushed him by waving your finger over his face. “Your ribs are broken, and I wanted to put them together with this little… trick I know.”
“Magic,” he insisted.
“Fine, with magic. It can sting a little, so I wanted to knock you out, but you have the strength of a stag indeed.” You rushed around your tent, looking for little bottles and ointments Lyonel didn’t want to ever see again.
“Sting?”
“Yeah. Just sting,” you assured and he already knew you were lying. “We are quite a walk from the main camp, but I’m sure you understand I don’t want anyone to hear a lord screaming in my tent. Right?”
He nodded his head in confusion.
“Great. Then be a good boy.” You handed him a piece of wood with a supportive expression. “Bite that.”
Normally you would recommend closing his eyes, calming himself as much as he could, but you were used to treating people who looked up to you like you were their goddess. You weren’t sure how a lord would react to you ordering him around like he was a child.
Well, a lord like that. You did cure lords of other kinds before, just not one as stubborn as that one.
The pain when you touched him again almost knocked him unconscious again.
Suddenly he remembered standing there, staring at the creek, as his jaw hurt from clenching his teeth. Then it all turned black. Then and now.
But eventually he saw you again, and it seemed to be the most beautiful sight he ever laid his eyes upon. He was careful about moving, but he saw your assuring smile and hand turned for him to take.
You pulled him up, and he breathed out the air that he held.
“It’s over. Was it that bad?”
He was too proud and brave to admit that it was. He was a knight after all, a warrior. He had lived through battles and tortures.
“You did good, Lyonel,” you said, patting his shoulder, fighting the urge to brush some of his hair out of his sweaty forehead.
“It’s gone. The pain.”
“I know. It won’t come back. The bones are placed correctly, and… well, look for yourself.”
You nodded to his side where the huge wound was just minutes ago. Or more, since he wasn’t sure that he didn’t pass out eventually.
He was a healthy man now. A bit sore, sure, but without broken bones and bleeds.
“How do I…” He stopped himself, not wanting to admit his gratitude just yet. His face turned serious again, but much differently than before. “What do you want from me now? Gold? Protection?”
You thought for a moment and shrugged.
“Well, a place by your table for tonight would be nice, but that is your call. If you ask me, that is decent. You are not in pain anymore, after all” you reminded him, like he could forget something like that.”
And at that moment something changed in his eyes.
Firm, strong-willed, helpfully selfless and not after his wealths. That’s what he wanted his Lady Baratheon to be. Fuck that you were a witch – he would build you a whole castle with dungeons and laboratories if you wanted.
Or were those just thoughts of a man who just experienced the adrenaline of a near-death experience?
You yelped when he suddenly sank to one knee in front of you, with no visible signs of discomfort. He caught your hand at once and laid a firm kiss on it, just before looking up to you.
“I’ll shower you with coin anyway, witch. You have my undying thankfulness. Be so good to tell me what is the name of a woman who saved me?”
You did, trying to pull him up in case the soothing spell stopped working and he lost his strength.
“Beautiful,” he chirped. “Were you ever in Storm’s End?”
You laughed out loud like he said the most ridiculous thing ever, but you weren’t blind to the meaning of his words.
Thankfully, he stood up at the rushing near the entrance of your tent.
His eyes shot widely open when a tall, pale figure stood in the middle, looking out for you with the eyes of a dead man.
“Oh, Corban, there you are!” You smiled at the sight of your silent helping hand. “Did you find what I asked for?”
Lyonel subconsciously moved a step back when the weird man, Corban, raised his fist your way and passed you a few weird-looking jewels. Too bright to be called stones, not red enough to resemble rubies… Lord Baratheon wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that was. It was enough that while taking a step his shoulder brushed a bundle of dried snake skin hanging from the roof.
“Thank you. You spared me days of searching,” you said warmly. Lyonel would swear a warm word probably could melt a gap in the stone-cold man who didn’t say a word. “I might be spending the night at the feast hosted by Lord Baratheon here, so don’t wait up for me. I’ll make sure to bring you something to eat, Corban.”
The man only grunted, before setting his eyes on Lyonel. Did eyes like that could even see properly? Bloodshed but blueish at the same time…
Luckily, Corban nodded his head, fixed his collar and moved to get out of the tent. Such a small surface must be hell for a tall man like that.
“Gods be good… what was that?”
“Oh, just my friend. No need to be afraid.”
Lyonel wasn’t afraid. He was mostly confused.
“He looks dead,” he admitted honestly.”
“He was.”
“You-”
The words were stuck in his throat, and you smiled like it was nothing.
“Yeah, I did. Did you see how he held onto the material around his neck? He’s very sensitive about that… Habits of a Hangman.”
Lyonel opened his mouth and for a moment you thought he would scream. Order you to get away from him, name you a heretic, foreshadow your death as a blasphemer…
Then his lips twitched up.
“You are just magnificent! You must meet a friend of mine, witch.”
You sighed.
“There is no way of convincing you to not call me that, right?”
“Look at you, you’re magnificent and smart.”
“Pff… Lordling.”
It turned out that you met that friend of his before and, actually, the reason behind the visit was not you curing his wounds. It was about changing his mind. Can you imagine that? Lord Baratheon could go back to Storm’s End with both a wife – yeah, about that, you still had no clue, but he was working on it – and a loyal hound of a man, ser Duncan The Tall.
Surely you had your ways to convince him, right?
“Ser Dunk,” you greeted him, sinking to one knee in front of him. You smiled warmly, despite his unpleasant expression. Your face was equally cold only when you looked at the Maester that peaked at his wounds. “Lyonel is a persuasive man, I don’t doubt, but I can sense today he will fail.”
“Fail what?”
“Eh… I think I will leave making the offer to him.”
Lyonel who sat by his side smashed a hand on his shoulder and shook him a bit. “Well, as I said… Come with me to Storm’s End, and I’ll love you like a brother.”
He wanted to keep going, but you raised a hand to silence him.
What he did not predict, was that your way of convincing ser Duncan was by offending him.
“He will complain all the way to the stormlands. That’s why I’m here. Have mercy over the friend that you have in me and save a woman from the lord’s whining.”
Dunk seemed to wake up from his sorrow just a bit.
“You’re going to Storm’s End with him, my lady?”
“I am not a lady,” you reminded.
Yet, thought Lyonel.
“...and as I said, he is very convincing sometimes.”
The jesting did very little to brighten up the knight’s mood. He barely moved to look up at you, but eventually blinked in acknowledgment.
“Well, hello there,” you tried again, and Lyonel admired your stubbornness. Poor Dunk. He saw the prince dying and now… this. “You don’t look too good, but last time we saw each other you were stumbling over your words. Perhaps silence will do you some good.”
“Don’t mock ser Duncan, witch,” Lyonel warned.
“I don’t mock him. I am begging him.”
You scoffed when the Maester had the audacity to interrupt your conversation. He almost moved you aside, while trying to get Lord Baratheon’s attention. You shifted away from the old man with absolutely unnecessary disgust on your face. Perhaps it was the effect of Lyonel’s company – you were already following the excessive example.
“The wounds, my lord… The wounds are mortal.”
“Oh, begone, old man,” you cut in annoyance. “No, give it to me–” you demanded, taking the bandages from him.
Lyonel nodded to the man, entertained by watching you order him around.
“Shirt up, Dunk,” you said, meaning to fix what the Maester probably fucked up.
Lyonel sat up more straight and opened his arms like he was offended. “You will have him take his clothes off right in front of me?”
You shrugged unimpressed.
“I don’t know, ser Lyonel, do you wish to join him?”
Well, maybe not so soon.
You worked on Dunk’s wound with the speed and carefulness of a professional.
“Don’t you worry, dear. The man was a fool. You will be fine,” you promised with compassion. “I’ll send my friend to check up on you later. He will bring you something for the pain, in case it’s too bad on these first few days.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. Did you think about… Lyonel’s offer?”
He looked between the two of you and could sense the conspiracy. He didn’t have the wish to know the nature of your agreement, nor wanted to be a part of it.
“I hear stormlands are particularly windy this season of the year…”
Lyonel scoffed, trying to mock his fear of the wind, while you stayed quiet. You studied Dunk’s face carefully, and finally even the lord noticed.
“What are you– trying to convince him by scaring the shit out of him?”
“Wh– No!” You yelped, standing up from your knees. “A word, Lyonel, please…”
He followed you, battling his old bones and the remains of past ache.
When he leaned in closer, you took one last look at the ser sitting under the tree.
“He won’t go,” you stated firmly.
“Can’t you cast a spell on him, witch? Like you did to me?”
“How do you know I cast a real spell on you? Healing broken ribs is too easy for spells.”
You did, in fact, lie a bit out of laziness. Explaining a whole ritual of your job to a man as annoying as Lyonel would be unbearable.
“Ah, I'm not talking about the damn ribs, woman.” He smiled boldly and for a moment you expected him to dramatically kneel in front of you again. “You bewitched me in some way. Do the same on him, make him go to Storm’s End with us.”
“With us?”
“Because you didn’t just lie to convince him, right? You will be going with me, no?”
You looked around like someone could save you now. Yet, you didn’t look too displeased.
“Remind me… Did you promise to shower me with coin and riches?”
“Everything you want, witch. Just name it and it will be yours.”
You shook your head at your own shameless demeanor.
“You’re lucky I’m much less honorable than ser Dunk, Lyonel…”
a/n: sorry this song is perfect for lyonel & a strong woman he sHoUlD be afraid of; "you liked me better in your head", "a projection of your mother", "DID MOMMY MAKE YOU SAD"??? (that should be the tittle btw, but you have to settle on reader calling him a good boy)
