So, we now know Lyonel wants her as a potential bride, but she now clearly wants nothing to do with him (at least on the surface.... 😉).
Will we see him court and woo her? I mean, if she is from a lower house, surely her father or brother seeing a Lord paramount be interested in her will be like hitting a jackpot... but we know she will not be particularly pleased to keep seeing him after what she told him...
Drunken Fools : Lyonel Baratheon x F!Reader
Summary : You end up drunk in Ashford forest and just happens to find yourself in the company of Lord Baratheon, who just left his own feast to take some much needed fresh air.
I guess it could be read as a standalone but reading this : Manwhore before that would explain a lot. No use or Y/N and no physical descriptions ( I try but please if i missed something just tell me )
Thanks for the ask @liliac-dreamer ! Sorry it took a while to answer but i intended to write a whole follow-up and your ask just happens to fit perfectly.
Warning : good father figure in westeros ? I guess it can be surprising and scary for some. Slightly suggestive but nothing outrageous. Not proof read and yes that's a warning, especiallty since english is not my first language.
Enjoy and do not hesitate to drop by and leave requests/asks/questions or whatever really, I just love talking about this ship !
Taglist : @yikes-buddy @purple-1995 @scarletwolfxox
You could hear the clamour of the neighbouring tents from where you sat across your father. The sounds of rhythmic music, laughter and heavy footsteps a constant reminder that today is supposed to be a joyous celebration.
You, however, would not join in the fun. Instead you hid from the rest of the world in an attempt to spend the evening in peace. Attempt.
"Why spend the night here ? You could have gone with your brothers to enjoy the festivities, too. Surely you find your old father far less entertaining."
Your father was a kind-hearted man, whose greatest wish was to see all of his children live long, happy, and fulfilling lives. That desire came to define him after you sister passed away.
"You're too harsh on yourself, father. You are of great company." the taste of your drink sits heavy on your tongue as you continue, "Besides, should you not be happy at least one of your children is acting proper tonight ? I bet your dear sons are making fools of themselves in the tent with the strongest liquor."
You raise your fourth glass of the evening to your lips, or perhaps it was the fifth ?
"I would agree with you if you were not drowning in your drinks. If you’d gone along with them, you could at least have enjoyed your stay here and meet some people” He insists.
“If you really want me to enjoy myself like you claim, then you’d let me travel. Just as I’ve been begging you for the past three years. It's the only thing that could make me truly content.” You remind him, bitterness in your voice.
He says your name with a sigh, not out of annoyance, but simply because he’s tired of repeating the same conversation.
“No. How could I leave my only remaining daughter to travel alone ? You cannot ask this of me.”
You were about to start another argument, but held back when you heard this. You know he is only scared of seeing you suffer the same fate as your sister.
You slump back in your chair, all fighting spirit gone.
“I'm grown—” you begin, more softly, but he cuts you off.
“You’re trying to force your idea of happiness on me. You talk about meeting people, but what you really mean is finding a man you can send me off to.” you accuse, starting to fiddle with your jewelry. A habit your father recognizes from when you're feeling restless;
“My last husband died and I thank the Stranger every day for that. The years I spent with him were the most dreadful of my life,” you admit, without a trace of shame in your voice. You hated that cunt. “I gave marriage a try, and it’s not for me.”
“You just didn’t find the right person. That’s all. You weren’t meant to spend the rest of your life with Lord Harold, nor were you meant to stay in Coldwater” He counters.
“Father!” you cry out, exasperated. "It's not about him ! I know I would be miserable beside any lord of Westeros. You granted me so much independence growing up, and now you ask me to lay it all at the feet of whoever asked to marry me?”
“Letting you marry him was a mistake. I know that now,” he admits, “But you can still find someone suitable for you. I’m not talking about love. I know your mother and I were lucky to have that. However, you can still find a husband who respects your freedom, values your opinion, and honors your wishes. ”
“Even my wish to travel?” you interrupt him.
“Yes. Even that.” He stands up from his seat and walks over to you.
" It’s not that I don’t want you to travel.” He tilts his head slightly, as though unconvinced by his own words. “Of course, I worry about what might happen to you on the road, but that isn’t what frightens me most. What I fear is that you’ll come to know the same loneliness I’ve lived with since your mother’s death.
Surprise washes over you. He rarely mentions your late mother.
“If you choose to go on your travels as you insist, then I fear you may end up isolating yourself, and I would never wish that upon you. " He sighs, before continuing
"The years without your mother were long and lonely. You and your brothers were the lights that guided me through them, but beyond you, I had no one. I do not want the same fate for you."
He rests a comforting hand on your shoulder.
“I’m afraid to think of you being alone for the rest of your life. The reason I’m talking about marriage is simply because it seems to me to be the only way to spare you the same suffering I’ve endured.”
You can’t bring yourself to tell your father that, unlike him, who mourned his wife’s death for twenty years, you found companionship quite easily when you looked for it. Though you’ll admit that all your “relationships” were meaningless.
“I do not blame you for thinking that, but I’m afraid I don’t have many prospects for marriage anyway.”
You watch him open his mouth, ready to argue, but you stop him.
“I am a widow who is well past her prime. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you on this matter father.”
“You could never disappoint me.” he states with conviction.
Oh, if only he knew what you did the night before. He wouldn’t be saying this.
“You are still young and beautiful. You are not without wit and are a pleasant lady to be around. I know you will find someone, daughter. Or else I'll conclude the realm is governed by blind and foolish men” He smiles before bending down to kiss the top of your head.
“Get some rest, all right? And do not agonize over this too much. You remaining single is no cause for disappointment. I simply wish the best for you.” he reassure you one last time.
He steps back and takes his leave, not without adressing you a reassuring smile. You let out a long breath. You feel as though the air in the tent is too thick for you to breathe properly.
Some fresh air would do you good. You grab the bottle of wine you’d started on the way to the tent entrance. After all, you don’t want to get bored, or worse, sober in the middle of the forest.
“Back off, bastards ! get out of the way!” shouts Lyonel, his voice echoing across the open field where his tent was pitched as he wobbles out of it.
He takes a deep breath of fresh air, his newly recovered crown perched askew on his head. The party was fun. The giant of a man he danced with was especially entertaining, but he needed a moment to himself. Mainly because he felt like throwing up, and, if he did, he’d rather do it away from his men.
He decides the forest might be the best place to do that and so he walks there. He's grateful that the alcohol he’d been drinking all evening was keeping him warm on this cold night. The impromptu walk was also doing his stomach good.
The silence of the forest made it easy for him to get lost himself in his thoughts. His drunkenness ensured that his thoughts weren’t particularly deep. Instead, they turn to the feast, the people, and the dancing with Dunk. He then catches himself thinking of you—specifically, of you dancing.
He imagines having to chase you. He's sure you would make him work to earn the chance to whirl you in his arms. You would be a hard prey to catch.
He runs his hand over his face, laughing at himself. He just can’t get you out of his mind, can he? So much so that he thinks he’s hallucinating when he sees you lying against a rock. Alone. In the middle of the woods.
He realises that his mind isn’t playing tricks on him as he watches you bring a bottle to your mouth.
He is grateful for the full moon, its light bright enough for him to make out your features. You seem troubled and lost in thought.
Even then he found you captivating. Tough he would rather have you smile, preferably at him. Down at him even, as you straddled him like you did the night before. But he is just rambling now.
Watching you take another sip of the liquor, he makes it his mission to lift your spirits. Maybe you’d grace him with a smile if he played his cards right. He hopes he does.
“I knew you would be the type to spend your nights in places not exactly suitable for a lady. I wonder why…” he feigns thoughtfulness
His voice carries distinctly in the silence of the night, and the sound of it makes you jump in surprise. In a panic, you draw a short blade, holding it up in front of you, ready to defend yourself.
Lyonel raises his hands in surrender, not without amusement.
“I haven’t tried knife play yet, but consider me interested if you’re the one holding the blade.” You know he’s smiling as he makes that stupid comment. Even if you can’t see it, you can hear it.
You squint your eyes, having a hard time making out his features as he stands in the shade of a tree. Still, his voice, the lewd comment, and the ridiculous golden color of his cape make it easy for you to recognize the stag lord.
“What’s wrong with you?” You shout, the blade still in your hand.
“Me? I’m not the one sulking all alone in the middle of the forest.” He remarks
“What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
“Of course not. I just needed some fresh air” he defends himself, but he can see you’re not quite convinced. Still, he has the audacity to request your company.
“Mind if I sit here a while, my lady?” he asks.
“Old age is getting to you, my lord. Are your ears failing you? I said no.”
That dig made him chuckle.
“No, I heard you quite well. I simply decided to go against your instructions. I followed them well enough yesterday. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m too easy”
If you ordered him to take you against that rock, though, he would heed your words without complaint.
" Are you going to bring that up everytime we meet ? Discretion is not your strong point, is it ?" You reproach
" If this is about the other time with your brother then I appologize. I did not mean to put you in dire position."
You lower the dagger you were still clutching tightly in your hands. He seemed sincere.
“It’s all right. My brother’s a bit of an oaf. He’s probably forgotten all about it by now.”
He remains silent, not knowing what to say, but you quickly break the silence with a surprising question.
“How come no one’s called me a whore yet ?”
He tilts his head to one side, taken aback.
“I’d have thought the news would have spread by now. You’re not exactly known for being the quiet trype. ”
“You asked me to keep it to myself, so I did.”
“And that’s enough to shut you up?” you ask, incredulously. “Men like you usually like to brag.”
“Firstly, there are no men like me. Secondly, no man worthy of being called a knight would publicly humiliate a lady. ”
“Then few men deserve that title.”
“What a sad statement. " he sighs in fake hopelessness "Let me have a sip to cheer myself up.” he asks, tilting his chin towards the bottle you’re holding.
You hesitate for a moment. He’s put you in a terrible situation. If anyone found you here, it would be the final blow to what little pride you have left. You consider leaving, but change your mind. You were here first. Besides, you’ve always been stubborn, even more so when you’ve had a drink
You then hand him the bottle without saying a word. He doesn’t look as though he’s going anywhere any time soon, either.
You take a moment to watch him as he drinks. You were right the other night. He is a handsome man. Although his current clothes give him a more noble air, you do not blame your former self for thinking he was a prostitute. His appearance is rather flamboyant. His headpiece is proof of that.
Unsurprisingly, the night you spent together comes back to you. You then recall the words you exchanged once all the misunderstandings had been cleared up
“I lied.” you blurt out without thinking.
“Huh?” he mumbles, confused
“I lied when I said I didn’t mind if you told your men about it.”
“I suspected as much" he replies.
You feel the need to explain yourself.
“Don’t get me wrong, my lord. I’m not ashamed of what I did, nor do I regret it. At least, not the act itself,” you assure him. “But the repercussions on my family would be disastrous, and I don’t want to cause them any harm.”
“I certainly hope you don’t regret it!” he barks, “That would make me a shit whore.”
This makes you chuckle, which quickly turns into a fit of laughter as you think back of the whole thing. It’s the first time you’ve really laughed at the absurdity of the situation.
Lyonel smiles in turn. He’s finally managed to get that smile. Better still, he’s even been treated to a laugh. The alcohol is certainly playing a big part in your hilarity, but hell take it.
“Well, I hope you’ll forgive me for calling you a prostitute, my lord,” you apologise, though a hint of amusement still creeps into your voice.
“Lyonel. Just adress me as Lyonel. I think we’re done with the formalities. And there is no need to apologize. You did leave a generous tip. ”
You cringe at the mention but pretend otherwise.
“Very well. As you wish, Lyonel.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me your name, my lady ?” he asks when he realises you aren’t returning the courtesy.
Not that he needs it. It wasn’t all that difficult to find out who you were, especially after your brother’s performance at the joust. He would openly admits that he was delighted to learn you were a widow. Free to do as she pleases, as he came to learn.
“No, I’d prefer you to address me properly,” you reply in a playful tone.
Oh, how he’d love to wipe that smug little smile off your face with a kiss.
"As you wish, my lady." He eventually complied.
The moment fades, and silence settles over your conversation, but you don’t feel the need to break it. The resentment you felt towards him fades as you two finish the bottle.
“Thank you,” you say at last as he tosses the bottle aside while you play with the hem of your dress.
“ What for ? My incredible performance in bed ?”
You roll your eyes, but you let him brag. He notes with satisfaction that you do not contradict him.
“For not telling anyone” you clarify.
“As I said, I have no intention of damaging your ‘already ruined reputation’, as you put it. "
You huff, half surprised, half annoyed that he remembered your exact words
“Aren’t you curious to know why? Or perhaps you already do?”
“All I know is that your late husband died a few years ago.” He admits.
You lean back more comfortably against the rock behind you, not bothering to maintain a proper posture. He’s seen you in far more compromising positions recently.
“Well, that’s the main reason I have such a terrible reputation. But you won’t hear me complaining about my status ”
He had already concluded that you were no longer mourning your late husband, given the circumstances of your first meeting, but he feels a certain joy at hearing you say yourself. It means he is free to court you.
“Oh my, that’s the sort of remark that would make a septon gnash his teeth.”
You turn sligtly around , head resting on your hand
“You're one to speak. Remember we paid for the same whore ?" you fire back, a flirtatious edge in your voice.
" I do. I also remember that you quite enjoyed the show, did you not, my lady ?"
You do not answer, but amusement flicker in your eyes.
Bloody hell, he really shouldn’t be playing along. You’re both a bit too drunk and he’s trying to prove himself to you. He doesn’t want you to think he’s only after sex. He can't say he's not looking forward to it but he is trying his best.
He’s genuinely keen to follow through on his intentions, but as soon as you pat the space beside you, he rushes straight over.
"Do I really look like a whore?" Lyonel then asks
You raise an eyebrow at him, as if to say, ‘Are you seriously asking me this?’
"Yes. The circumstances did support this conclusion, but in the end, yes, you do."
"Even dressed like this?"
"Especially dressed like this" Your hands find their way to his chest and start to undo the buttons of his top. "Now you’re the perfect picture of a whore."
"That’s not the sort of thing to say to a lord." he threatens without much conviction, biting his lip.
"Would it make it better if I said you’d make a very successful one?"
This remark makes him crack a smile.
"Depends. Would it be my looks or my performance that would make me successful?"
You pretend to ponder the question.
"I don’t know. I’d need a reminder about the latter."
"So you do admit I’m handsome." He grins seductively.
"You’re more handsome when you shut up" you say, grabbing him by his beard and making him lean in to kiss you.
You hum against his lips. The taste of his wine-stained lips and the prickle of his beard serve as a stark reminder of the night you spent with him. Yes, given how well kiss he would make a more than succesful whore.
You lean closer to him, your hands resting on his sturdy chest, your fingers losing themselves in his coarse chest hair.
His hand, rough and strangely warm, rests on your cheek before using the leverage to push you gently away. You almost whine as he peels himself away from you.
“Gods, you can’t do this to me, woman, I’m trying to control myself here” he says, his thumb tracing your lower lip then gently tugging at it.
“You’ve had your fair share of drinks. You’re drunk. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“I wasn’t entirely sober yesterday either,” you retort.
“You were not nearly as drunk as right now. It’s different.”
Yes. It is. He’s trying really hard not to mess things up with you. To court you properly, perhaps? He’s not sure. His mind is a bit fuzzy from the alcohol himself. He just knows that the conventional order of things is all messed up and he’s trying his best to do things the right way from now on.
“I didn’t know you were a prude” you taunt him.
He presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes to avoid looking at your moist, inviting lips.
“Please. Don’t make this harder for me.”
You watch him closely. He genuinely looks as if he’s struggling to hold back. His skin feels hot against your palms too.
"Very well. As you wish,’"you give in.
He sighs, almost relieved. He then stands up and holds out his hand to help you do the same.
"You’re sweet,"you add, deciding to share your opinion.
"Don’t say that. It just makes it worse. Just let me get you back to your tent before I change my mind." he groans.
You smile to yourself. You do feel a little powerful, seeing this big, imposing man so flustered. You let him off the hook for now. He’s right. You’re drunk, and having an affair in the middle of the woods, surrounded by the tents of nobles, wouldn’t be your brightest idea.
The walk back is a short one and is made in silence, but a warm, comfortable one. He stops not far from your tents. He doesn’t want another run-in with your brother.
“Thank you. Sleep well, Lyonel,” you wave at him, a slightly teasing smile tugging at your lips. You know he’s too worked up to get a really good night’s sleep.
He doesn’t pick up on your teasing and instead wishes you good night in turn.
"You too, my lady" he whispers.
He stays there for a moment longer, making sure to watch you get into your tent with his own eyes before heading back to his own, his gait slightly odd—and it’s not the alcohol.
