catheryne’s second son, ormund baratheon was born on a tempestuous night in 217AC; the sort of storm lyonel’s stronghold had seen and weathered for years, yet sent a chill through the halls and rattled the windows no less. it had been catheryne’s most discomforting birth yet, for the hours spent abed were long, and the pain was great. the worst of it was holding the babe, and seeing steffon’s big brown eyes staring back at her. the dead boy never left her, it seemed, and it never left ormund, either.
ormund grew into an odd sort of boy. his smiles were practiced, but off— teeth too sharp, face too tight. he paid little respect to his father, possessing all the arrogance of a pseudo firstborn son, and with an unfortunate amount of skill to justify it. only after an nasty injury to his leg that left him with a limp did he grow bitter, and foul to those around him. still, he had a competent head on his shoulders, said to be firm but fair in his leadership, and settled into his role as his father’s heir, even if lyonel loathed the man he had grown into.
ormund was promised to princess rhaelle targaryen by king aegon v, as a means to quell the anger sparked by prince duncan’s spurning of lyonel’s daughter, alysanne. the girl was twelve years ormund’s junior, a mere five when they were betrothed. utterly uninterested in his bride to be sent to ward at storms end, ormund busied himself with a mistress or two in the ten years that followed. in 244AC, they were wed, and the girl was promptly ignored. they had two children together, steffon and aelinor baratheon. in 245AC, after the death of his father, he became lord paramount of storms end, and after the fires of summerhall, he was named hand of the king for his good-brother, jaehaerys ii.
he died in 260AC, killed by maelys i blackfyre in the stepstones, ten years before his mother.
she's considerate to all her partners so they can pick! all 32 of them <3 there's a range from like. 4-7. it's build a bear! it's also blue. sometimes your strap game is all a bastard girl has so she puts in the work
born in 215AC, only a moon after the death of her most beloved son, cerenna was both catheryne’s blessing from the gods, and a reminder of all she had lost. unlike with her first child, catheryne could not bear to look upon her first daughter, handing her off to the midwives and confining herself in her chambers for weeks. it was plain for all to see that cerenna would grow to be her father’s daughter, even as catheryne’s grief gave way to maternal affection.
cerenna grew to be beautiful, the first of the many daughters lyonel baratheon would adore. the centre of all that was merry at feasts, cerenna gained the attentions of many suitors— as catheryne had done in her youth. determined not to make her father’s mistakes, catheryne allowed cerenna to choose her husband. cerenna promptly wed tywald lannister in 230AC.
cerenna died giving birth to a son in 231AC, who passed a few weeks later.
steffon baratheon, catheryne’s eldest, and for a time, her only son, was her dearest love. born with a twin who passed during her labours, catheryne cherished the boy that had lived. sick with grief, she was too frightened to let anyone else touch him. lyonel held his son and heir a week after his birth, unwilling to pull him from his poor girl’s arms.
he was a joyful child. quiet, as catheryne had been, but prone to laughter; as happy to be thrown over his father’s shoulder as he was to be read to by his septa.
the boy died at four years of the sweating sickness in 215AC.
The wedding of Lady Catheryne Tyrell and Lord Lyonel Baratheon was one of grandeur. Storms End had begun to be known for its raucous gatherings, and Lyonel himself was infamous for hoisting himself up on tables, ale sloshing over his glass, and dancing until he fell on his arse. Every noble family in the Stormlands had travelled to catch a glimpse of their Lord Paramount resign himself to the shackles of marriage, as he’d once lamented in his youth.
The days leading up to the big event had been…vaguely rocky. Lord Tyrell, in his ailment, had made an effort to mend the split in his relationship with Catheryne, and part of this involved holding his tongue whenever he thought Lyonel to be deplorable. Which was often. Indeed, he hardly spoke at all, as he dined with the Lord of Storms End, Catheryne at his side. Conversation in front of her father was stilted, of course. Anything Lyonel said produced varying looks of disapproval, despite his silence.
Still, the two stole a few moments alone before they were wedded. Lyonel took her to the cliffs overlooking Durran’s Point that he had described vividly in his letters. Catheryne had never seen the ocean, had hardly seen anything outside the walls of Highgarden, and he was determined to remedy that. It was good to please her, he thought. That’s what made marriages last. Keeping his lady wanting for nothing.
Lyonel told her he had not come to Highgarden intending to seek her hand. He had heard tale of the arrogant Lord Tyrell, and thought it amusing to challenge him, delighting in the prospect of besting him and humbling the old goat. Upon seeing Catheryne, however, he thought he would like her as his wife. She seemed kind, and her beauty had not been exaggerated. It was not quite the grand tale of courtly love Catheryne had hoped for, but the man saw her as a friend, at least. He was easy to speak to. He was not quick to pass judgment.
The cliffs became their spot.
The wedding came with no brawls, much to the vague disappointment of the guests. Lord Tyrell was disturbingly placid in his seat. Many attest to the fact Catheryne was a radiant bride, and that the couple’s smiles did not drop the entire night. Their bedding was a similarly smooth affair, for they seemed to be compatible there, too.
Their union was a fine way to begin the new year, but that wasn’t to say it was perfect. Storms End was starkly different to her home. She missed her brother, and her old room, her beloved gardens. Storms End was terribly dark and gloomy, more stone than home, and while Lyonel tended to his duties, the young Catheryne was left alone to manage a household. She had stepped into the role of Lady of Highgarden, perhaps, but her father had been there to guide her hand, for she was still a girl. Now she was a woman, and it did not feel right.
Lyonel was as attentive as he could be, for it was difficult to ignore Catheryne’s melancholy. It was plain as day on her face. Her joy was infectious, and loud, and beautiful to witness, but her sadness was just as large, and crushing, a physical thing engulfing her whole. He made an effort to take all his meals with her, where he first brought up the notion of travelling to Ashord Meadow. Lord Ashford’s daughter would be celebrating her thirteenth nameday with a tourney, and he intended to enter the lists, as always, hoping that she would watch from the stands. The change of scenery would do her some good.
Catheryne agreed.
It was their first true public appearance as a newly wedded couple, and most were eager to see them, to curry favour with the new Lady Paramount of Storms End. Lyonel enjoyed hosting people in his tent, open to dance with anyone who passed through his door. By day, Catheryne watched him unhorse man after man, and by night, when she’d drunk enough, she’d crawl into his lap while he sat at the center of the merriment, listening to his heartbeat. There, she and her husband met Ser Dunk, as he introduced himself.
Lyonel was handsome and tall, experienced in most areas. But there was something about Dunk that brought a girlish flush to her cheeks. He was simply so endearing, and sweet-spirited— and closer to her own age. Wide blue eyes stared at her with such guileless admiration, as though she were the first noble lady he’d ever met. Lyonel seemed similarly fixated.
Catheryne tried to abandon all thoughts of Dunk. For now. It was quite difficult to when her husband volunteered to fight on his side in a Trial of Seven.
She was startlingly cross. He had woken her while dressing himself for the bloody thing, informing her of his decision as though he was speaking of breaking their fast. There was little she could say to convince him to back out. It was a matter of honour, now. Men and their stupid fucking honour. Catheryne had not even begun to process the possibility he could die, before she was dressed and walking him out to the tourney ground. Lamely, she offered him a handkerchief as a favour of sorts, but he accepted it with a chuckle and tucked it near his heart.
Lyonel stayed on his horse the longest and fought valiantly, but was eventually knocked to the ground by Prince Maekar, antlered helm broken and horse writhing in pain. Catheryne looked away when the poor thing was put out of its misery. He’d wounded his leg and bruised his ribs, the Maester told her in the aftermath. She had not been let in the tent until he was finished being examined, and she supposed she understood why. His calf looked disgusting.
It was when he opened up his arm, wincing all the while, to welcome her next to him, that Catheryne realised warmly; she was glad he was alive.
daena velaryon as the knight in shining armor— the hero of legend.
cerenna sat up, the shimmering canopy of her bed doing nothing to obscure the irritation in her eyes. "you brought... a girl with you?" the princess asked stiffly, eyeing the knight as she removed her helm, then her prince.
"woman," daena snipped, raking a hand through her hair and meeting cerenna's judgemental gaze. "and I do not appreciate being spoken down to by entitled royal brats who need a legion of servants and a prince's kiss to just to open her eyes and do something."
"ser daena is the entire reason I stand before you, my love," robb smiled, attempting to diffuse the tension. "she brought us together, and she will protect us as we restore our kingdom."
in the wake of queen cersei's dark curse, princess daena's kingdom was harangued by beasts of the sea for decades. no single man could stop them, no matter how hard they tried, but it was daena who managed to slay sea serpents, hydras, and sirens thanks to her bravery, cleverness, and skill with the sword. hailed "the hero of driftmark" by her people and knighted by her grandsire, the king, princess daena traded tiaras and curtseys for armor and a life of adventure. when her close friend and comrade in arms, prince robb, begged her help to rescue his sleeping beauty, ser daena agreed and swore her sword to him. they journeyed all throughout the kingdoms formed in a land ravaged by dark magic, fighting beasts, subduing outlaws, and even charming their way into a free pint of ale or two. but when prince robb dies and leaves behind his grieving widow, daena takes the princess and journeys to free her friend's soul from the wraith, coming across pirates, sorcerers, magical creatures, and even a few other princesses on the way.
2/?
hey guys!!!! meet the main character of this au, daena velaryon! i'm so obsessed with her, truly, and her hero's journey is so much fun!!! I love a good arthurian/fairytale quest, and daena was the best candidate to fill the knight in shining armor/mulan from ouat niche. I also had to kill off robb because yuri, so...
A little list of OC questions based on the seven types of love identified in Ancient Greek thought. Obviously this is a highly simplified presentation of some quite complex philosophical concepts from Classical History, intended more for the purposes of entertainment than education. I also left out Mania, which is arguably an eighth type of love (Obsessive), because I'm keeping it mostly positive in these tricky times!
Eros – Romantic, Passionate Love.
Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?
How important is sex to them in a relationship? Do they see it as something essential to their happiness? Would they be able to remain in a monogamous relationship with someone they loved without sex?
How do they feel about public displays of romantic affection? Does it make them uncomfortable? How do they feel if a romantic partner kisses them in public?
Do they believe in love at first sight? Have they ever developed a crush or romantic (or erotic) fixation upon a stranger based on their appearance alone?
How closely is their opinion of their own beauty (or lack thereof) linked to their confidence? Do they see themselves as more or less worthy of love or sex based on how attractive they feel?
Philia – Affectionate, Platonic Love.
Does your OC have a Best Friend? If they do then how long have they known each other and how did they meet? If they don't then do they have a close group of friends they love equally? Or are they more of a loner?
Does your OC find it easy to make friends? Or are there barriers to them doing so? If so then are these due to issues of inclination, communication, or something else entirely?
What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?
Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?
What is their most fervent wish for their best friend(s)? How far would they go to make it happen?
Storge – Unconditional, Familial Love.
Did your OC's parents love them unconditionally? If so then has this helped them feel confident as an adult? If not then how has this affected them? What were the conditions their family attached to their relationship?
Does your OC have children? If so then how fiercely do they love them? If they have more than one then do they love them all equally? If they do not have children then is this part of their future plans?
How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?
Does your OC have any siblings? If so then did their parents have a favourite growing up? Has their relationship with their sibling changed in adulthood? If they don't have any siblings then do they perhaps feel they have missed out on an important relationship? Do they have any especially close friends who go some way towards filling that role?
Is your OC able to love without necessarily needing or expecting reciprocation or reward? Or are all their relationships to some extent transactional? Have they ever loved another person unconditionally, whether a child or another adult?
Agape – Selfless, Universal Love.
Does your OC wish to make the world a better place? How far do they see that as being their responsibility? What lengths would they go to in order to help achieve this?
Does your OC feel a spiritual connection to the world around them? Do they have a particular love for nature or living things?
To what extent does your OC believe in the value (or even existence) of true altruism? Do they see an unselfish concern for the welfare of others as being naïve or foolish? Or as a moral quality to which people should aspire?
Does your OC have a religious faith which emphasises the importance of a love for all people? If so then do they try to follow these teachings authentically? Or do they just pay lip-service to them? If not then do they follow a more martial or mercantile faith? Or none at all?
Does your OC find it easy to empathise with their enemies? Or do they see it as important to dehumanise them in order to combat them with sufficient determination?
Ludus – Playful, Flirtatious Love.
Does your OC have any particular favourite chat up lines? If not for themselves then perhaps ones they have suggested to a friend? How effective do these tend to be?
Is your OC particularly skilled at flirting? Have they had to practice this or does it just happen naturally?
How does your OC feel about one night stands? Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger? Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally? Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?
Who was your OC's first crush? How do they feel about it now?
What seduction techniques are most likely to be effective when it comes to your OC? Are there some things guaranteed to get them going? Or are they immune to such things?
Pragma – Committed, Long-Lasting Love.
Is your OC in a committed long-term relationship (or relationships)? If so then what has contributed to this relationship lasting so well? If they are not in such a relationship, then is this something that saddens them or which they regret?
What is the biggest challenge that your OC has had to overcome in a long-term relationship or friendship? What helped them get through this?
Are your OC's parents still together? To what degree do they look to their own parents as a model for their own ideal relationship?
After the initial fires of passion cool to some degree, what would keep your OC engaged in a relationship? Shared goals? Similar values? Or contented companionship?
What importance or value does your OC attach to marriage? Do they believe that it is important to make a public statement of commitment to another person (or persons)? Or are they more concerned about inheritance rights and security for their family? Or do they not see marriage as a necessary signifier of commitment and loyalty?
Philautia – Self Love.
Does your OC have a healthy sense of their own worth and value? Or do they see themselves as failing to live up to their original potential? Perhaps they are convinced of their own sinful or inadequate nature?
Does your OC believe that it is important to love themselves in the first instance? Perhaps in order to be able to give and receive love authentically? Or because they believe first and foremost in "looking after number one"?
Does your OC judge themselves by the same standards as they apply to others? Or are they sometimes hypocritical in condemning others for faults they also possess? Or perhaps they find it easier to forgive others for things that they cannot abide in themselves?
Which of your OC's qualities makes them the most proud? Do they think more people should be like them in this regard? Or do they quite like being rare in possessing it?
Has your OC always had the same opinion of themselves or has this changed over time? Have they learned to love themselves - perhaps with the help of others - as their journey progressed? Or have the consequences of their actions only served to erode their sense of self-worth?
yes this is filler but it needs to be said idgaf. warning emotional incest with this girl as always. #freecatheryne. and i started using capital letters shock horror
⋆. 208 — THE DRY SPELL
The courtship of Catheryne Tyrell and Lyonel Baratheon was made a lengthy process— a period Catheryne miserably referred to as The Dry Spell in her letters to him. Catheryne’s hefty dowry would not be paid for moons, promised her father. It was not as though he could stop the couple now, lest Highgarden’s relationship with Storms End, and the Stormlands as a whole, be fractured beyond repair, but he could certainly stall it. Some viewed the prolonging of their marriage as an insult to Lord Baratheon, others, merely the concern of a doting father.
Highgarden began to feel more and more like a gilded cage every day. Leo had ceased from inviting her into his office; perhaps embarrassed of his behaviour— or unwilling to look at her all together. The feast had changed their relationship in a way that could not be mended. Silence could not longer be comfortable. Meals could not be shared without the breads and meats tasting rotten.
The nine moons between Catheryne’s betrothal, and her marriage, felt as though she were standing on the precipice of something great. She paced her rooms nightly, and bit her nails until blood gathered at the quick. Her father was distant, but his presence had never felt more looming, as though he were watching her sit at her desk or lay in her bed through the walls somehow.
Her brother had begun to receive the attention he’d been lacking his entire life from their father. Unlike the affection Catheryne received, however, he, instead, was struck by a firm hand. Catheryne would watch them train together. Edmund was gentle, a sensitive kind of soul, and he cried when their father beat him into the ground and called it teaching. That, of course, would only make Leo angrier, make him swing harder. Catheryne would comfort him as best she could, taking him into his arms and letting him sniffle into her shoulder. He’d never known their mother. She was all he had, no?
Catheryne fell into her books, as she often did when riddled with anxiety. She’d spend hours in the library at Highgarden, falling asleep with her head in tomes. She’d write Lyonel there, too.
She did not like keeping correspondence, she told him in her first letter. It was a tedious endeavour she usually wished to avoid at all costs. But she found herself drawn to her quill despite herself. Meeting him was like biting into something sweet, fresh, and letting the juice of it drip down your chin. Perhaps she was starved of adventure.
She knew he had brothers, and learnt of his nieces he doted on. She read of his fondness for sailing, even if it made him sick, and the memories he had of almost falling off the cliffs of Storms End while messing around with his companions as a boy. His father was harsh, but fair, and his mother was cold one moment, hot the other. He preferred ale to wine, and liked best when it rained on hunts— it made it more enjoyable, apparently, when his hair grew wet and the dirt beneath his boots turned to mud.
Catheryne, in turn, told him of her little brother, and the golden gardens she had grown up playing in, and recounted what little she could of her own mother. It was like writing to a friend, rather than a betrothed.
It was in this period, the first signs of Leo Tyrell’s waning health began to show. One morning as he supped, he began to complain of pains in his stomach in between bites of his porridge, and within hours, he was bedridden. His legs had swollen up like fat plums, Catheryne had observed when she visited him. The sheets had been pulled from his body when he lamented the heat. Catheryne sat diligently at his bedside, squeezing his sweat-slick hand as Maester Peremore poured milk of the poppy down his throat every few hours. It was odd to see her imposing father so weakened, like Catheryne had forgotten he could bleed.
They could not name his ailment. People spoke of Edmund becoming Lord of Highgarden, and Catheryne serving as regent until he came of age. Talk of it unsettled her. What would her room become without father watching through the walls? It seemed to frighten Edmund, too, who thought himself unready for such responsibility.
Lord Tyrell, much to the shock of the Reach, made a steady recovery. Within a moon, he was back in the training yard, though softened around the edges. He would still fight in tourneys, however, and was keen to prove his prowess once more after the series of humiliations he had endured.
One afternoon, he called her into his chambers and told her they would be journeying to Storms End in the coming weeks, regret etched in the lines of his face— which he seemed to have more of, these days.
Catheryne kissed his cheek with a murmured thank you, and squealed into her pillow upon returning to her chambers. The cage had opened.
2087
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
gracieabrams
blakekathryn
