Hii, dear🧡🧡 Congrats on your three year anniversary😍 I've been here for a little while but immediately loved your vibes🤌🏻
May I request a "Then comes a baby in a baby carriage" with our man Lyonel and little Juniper? I've been thinking smth along the lines how he wants to be helpful. And he spends lots of time in the library in secret, looking for info about the usual baby stuff-teething, colic,etc🤭💞
Thank you so much bestie!! I had so much fun writing this prompt 🤭
Pairing: Lyonel Baratheon x fem! Reader/ The Laughing Storm x fem! Reader
Word count: 1.1k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, Arryn! Reader, husband! Lyonel, dad! Lyonel, fluff!
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Lyonel Baratheon Masterlist
3rd year anniversary celebration 🎉
My requests are open!
You come out of the bath looking for your husband. Lyonel is usually on the shaded bed waiting for you with the same smirk and twinkle in his eye, hoping to get lucky that night. But you found the bed empty, sheets still made, and your husband nowhere to be seen.
Sighing, your lower back aches, still weighing heavy even after the birth. Despite your exhaustion, you grab a cloak to tie around your shoulders and over your slip as you head for your daughter’s nursery. If Lyonel isn’t in the shared chambers, surely he would be there watching over her like usual. Recently, he has taken to watching Juniper sleep for a few minutes after you have placed her down on her cot. With a keen eye, he watches little Juniper’s chest rise and fall protectively, and with his hand gently grasping onto her tiny foot.
But when you enter the nursery, you don’t find him there, nor your daughter inside her cot. Your mind must still be addled by the unbalanced humours from the birth, but you were sure that you have put Juniper to bed. You would ask her nursemaid but she would already be fast asleep. So you take a candle from the table and set off to find your family within the vast keep.
Storm’s End is much gloomier and greyer at night. As if there are ghosts lingering around the halls whilst the storm winds howl outside. But you continue on, a hand hitching the skirt of your slip whilst the other keeps the candle upright. No ghosts will stop you from finding them.
As you go through the winding hallway with numerous sculpted Baratheon ancestors on the walls, you see a light flickering from the open doors of the library.
Slowly, you peek inside, seeing a lone figure hunched over a table filled with dozens of thick tomes as the shadow sways softly like a ship on gentle tides.
“You’re well fed, changed, and thank the seven you’re not ill.” Lyonel’s voice whispers at the bundle in his arms. “Gods be good, Juniper, why won’t you sleep, hm? Have you no mercy for your poor mother and father?”
Your giggle takes his attention. His head immediately moves towards the source, the corner of his lips tugging into the signature Lyonel smile that you adore. “Your daughter is petulant.”
“My daughter?” You slowly walk across the threshold and over to him, tender gaze never leaving him. “She is yours as she is mine. And our daughter is merely a month old, it is impossible for her to be petulant.”
“She takes after you.” He utters affectionately.
“She looks the most like you, my love.”
You expect for him to hand the babe over to you, too tired to carry her or too annoyed, so you reach for her, but instead of giving the babe over to you, Lyonel leans her away from your waiting arms. He pouts, brows furrowed at you, as if you have offended him and his child caring skills.
“No, this is my duty, I shall not hand her to you until she has fallen asleep in my arms.” He even dramatically turns her away from you as you bite your lip to hinder the laugh in your throat.
Meanwhile, Juniper gurgles in her father’s arms, legs kicking about under her swaddle as her tiny hand grasps onto Lyonel’s doublet.
“She was already asleep when I placed her down in her cot.” Raising a brow, you accuse him of waking her up just so he could put her to sleep himself, an act he sees through as a jest.
“I did not wake her up.” Defending himself, Lyonel, points accusingly at you. “Mayhaps you didn’t put her to sleep well enough. When I went to check on her she was gurgling and kicking about happily. Now I’m not a midwife but that was a very awake child.”
“Babes wake up for no reason, my love.” You answer lovingly, taking a good look at the tome he was reading. Some of them have dust on the covers, the books seem to have been there for quite some time. And each one is about childbirth or anything pertaining to raising children. Your eyes glistens with unshed tears when you look back at your husband. “You’ve been reading…”
“Contrary to the whispers, I know how to read.”
“Oh, my sweet Lyonel.” Your hands reach out to him, and he meets you halfway, placing his face in your open palms as you cradle his face. “You were learning how to raise our Juniper.” Cooing, Lyonel feels good when he’s the one on the receiving end of your cooing for once.
“Of course, I have.” He says matter-of-factly, eyes closing as your thumbs run along his cheek lovingly. “I can’t let you have all the glory.”
Grinning, you pull his face closer to your own, nudging his nose with yours sweetly. Gods, you want another babe with him. Especially if they’ll have his nose too and his smile.
“Oh, you’re already doing so well, my stag.” The reassurance fills his chest with warmth, the same warmth he feels whenever you place his head on your chest in bed so he could sleep soundly, the same warmth he feels whenever Juniper holds his finger in her tiny hand. “Juniper is lucky to have you as her father.” Peppering his face with kisses, you kiss every inch of his face until you see him give you a lopsided smile.
Pulling away, Lyonel immediately misses your lips upon his skin. “Tell me more about how good I am.”
“You’re doing marvelously, my love.” A grin spreads across his handsome face, beaming at you as his hand pats Juniper to sleep. “How about I accompany you here whenever you read? We could learn together.” Your hands don’t leave his side, holding him and Juniper close.
“That is a tremendous idea, my wife, but you and I both know that there won’t be much reading when we are left to our own devices.” His dark eyes sparkle with something familiar.
You make a face, chortling under your breath, “that is true.” Chuckling, you go to check Juniper in his arms, only to find that the quiet wasn’t just because she’s safely tucked in and content in her father’s arms, but because she has finally fallen asleep. “Look at that, you did it, she’s asleep.”
Lyonel looks at his daughter and grins from ear to ear, as if he just unhorsed another Targaryen. “I did it.” He says it with triumph, that you want to paint his expression on a canvas to look at it whenever you please. “It’s all because I’ve been reading.”
“I am sure it was.” Taking his hand and the candle on the other, you lead him out. “Now come and put her back to her cot so we may do some reading of our own.”
Who is he to say no? “Yes, my love.” He gladly follows your lead.
warning(s): the z-team, cursing, dark humor, tomfoolery
~
“What’s going on?”
You question the exact same but bite your tongue. Stepping inside the room and making a beeline for the other side of Robert. It might seem childish but you would rather keep Blazer at arms length lest you break out in tears in front of your entire team.
“Hm? Oh, I offered him a seat.” Robert glances at you and looks surprised but not at all unhappy to see Beef cradled in your arms like a baguette.
Your eyes trail over the conference room. It’s rare to see everyone in the same place at the same time if it isn't for an illegal booze break. Flambae thankfully, seems intact after you handed off that lousy reporter. If you could you’d have him blacklisted but his paper is rather popular. People respond to cynicism.
Chase is remarkably calm when he addresses the room. “So…we gettin’ this party started?”
“Yeah, what’s this shit about? Let’s go, come on.” Everyone’s eyes are on Robert but you catch the curious stare from Flambae past his orange tinted sunglasses. You shake your head and gesture back to Robert. You don’t have an answer for him when you’ve been kept out of the loop yourself recently.
“Okay, as you know, by the end of today, one of you will be cut from the Z-Team.”
Again, you’re faced with inquisition from Malevola who leans back in her chair. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, you said that already,” Robert deadpans.
“Cut me from a job I didn’t want in the first place,” Punch Up murmurs.
Don’t do it, you think, closing your eyes.
“Miss Blazer?” Prism calls out to you too. As if she knows you’re as upset with this outcome as the rest of them are. She waits patiently for your attention before continuing. “Maybe if you gave us a dispatcher who knew what they were doing, you wouldn't have to throw no one out?”
You don’t even have a chance to think of what to say when Robert speaks up. “Hey, Nikki Mirage. I’m standing right here. You can talk to me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Which weak ass superhero team did you come from? Fuckin’ Geek Squad?”
“Doesn’t matter where I’m from, Cardi C. What matters is I’m here to figure out who stays and who goes.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it and—you’re doing it.
“Kid,” Chase cautions, “Hold on a minute.”
You raise your hands in a placating manner hoping you can be forgiven for your interruption but name-calling was ridiculous dare you say, childish. You would not tolerate it. “I don’t think you all recognize the severity of your situation.” You say stepping forward. Conscientious of not blocking Robert or Blazer from the z-team’s view.
“What the fucks that mean?”
“I’m not done talking!” You raise your voice. Flambae falls silent and sits up straighter.
“Let me make something abundantly clear to you all. If someone is leaving the program, it isn’t because we’ve decided to send you on your way. It’s because you decide you aren’t good enough to be here.” Your eyes are scalding as you scan the room. The team looks reluctant to even breathe.
“I have worked my ass off—” You gesture to Blazer next because although you’re angry and definitely going above her head right now, she’s still your friend. “—We have worked our asses off trying to make you half decent heroes. If you want to go, go. No-one is stopping you, including myself. I will not have you jeopardizing our time and our money because you want to fuck around.”
Deciding to take a turn about the room you stop beside Malevola. Kicking the legs of the chair to her right until Invisigal appears. She’s holding onto the table for dear life when Sonar practically pivots toward the ceiling when you walk by. Golem, the gentleman he is, allows you to pass without making a scene which you appreciate in the appearance of trying to look serious.
“Your effort shows me just how little you care. I can’t convince the world you’re heroes if you don’t even think it’s worth being here. You know there are plenty of other people dying for this opportunity but I wanted to give you all the benefit of the doubt in the face of your enormous screw ups.”
Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you’re at the front of the room again.
“Maybe they’re right about you. All of the people who’ve cut you down and if that’s true then…” You pause. Covering the waver in your voice with a well timed clearing of your throat. “They're right about me too. I’ve wasted my time.”
The silence is deafening but you choose to brave it anyway and step past your co-workers to open the door. An ounce of pride fills your chest at the proud expression Chase wears when you risk a glance at him. It’s short lived but revitalizing nonetheless. “I’m going to talk with Blazer now. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. You’re not children to need me to remind you.”
A chorus of 'yes' fly around the room behind your back as you make your way to Blazer’s office. Once the door shuts behind you, Blazer’s amulet comes off. She feels you require that much when you sag into your unofficially assigned seat.
Blonde Blazer was many things. A hero, an icon, a mascot, but most importantly to her, she was a friend. Someone you could trust. Someone you could rely on when the world got too big to carry on your shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
But Mandy, Mandy was different. She was only human.
You sigh, “drink first.”
Reaching your hand out you wait until a glass is in your hands. A sharp pop followed by fizz alerts you that the coke in your palm is ready for consumption and you douse it like a shot of tequila. You can’t remember the last time you had a night out. Not that you particularly enjoy getting piss drunk. The only time you ever leave your apartment now is for grocery runs and Chase’s apartment.
“Better?”
“Much better,” you reply with a lighter sigh.
“Good.” She smiles, finally settling in beside you. It’s obvious she feels nervous. Not on edge per say because realistically she could snap your bones like a toothpick, but Mandy is clearly unnerved by your current behavior. She crosses her legs then uncrosses them. “So…I take it the interview didn’t go to plan?”
You groan. Taking another swig of soda. “No he was awful. Add him to the list of people we won’t help when they pop a tire.”
Mandy scolds you like she’s caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Eventually though, she relents and agrees Kingsley is a complete pain in the ass after bringing up the fact Robert himself had trouble with him during a press conference. Which actually manages to make you feel better.
“That doesn’t explain what happened in there. You’re usually so…” She waves her hand around. Searching for a nice way to talk about your behavior.
Your face grows hot but you ignore it. You can worry about apologizing to Mecha Man later.
“I know.” You slide a hand down your face.
If Mandy didn’t know any better, she would say it looked like someone had personally gone out of their way to kick your puppy then proceed to run it over on the side of the highway.
Sighing heavily you ponder your options. You’re not sure if addressing the elephant in the room is the right phrase to describe your current situation as Mandy is none-the-wiser to your (for lack of a better word) beef with her. You could use your stress as an excuse. Was it really worth potentially ruining your trust in one another because you were angry she wasn’t consulting you anymore? It wasn’t technically your job. More of an informality. It wouldn’t be smart to ignore your feelings however. What if the next time you had a meltdown it was at a completely inconvenient time like a charity banquet. You can’t forget you work for a corporation, their name matters more than yours and why screw up your only opportunity to help people?
You take a steadying breath. Gritting your teeth, the sting of pride opens up like an old wound. “I’m frustrated because today of all days I’m brought back to how I felt when I was seventeen. I really needed your support but now I feel like I don’t even have that. How can you cut members of the team without telling me? How does Robert know about this before I do? I know he’s supposed to be helping us but are you relying on him more because he’s—”
“No.” Mandy reads your mind before you can finish.“I would never.” Her face is somber. It drives away the heavy cloud of doubt from your mind because she seems truly remorseful. “You’re important to me. I wouldn’t choose my career over you. Not if they dragged my name through the mud or blacklisted me from my favorite restaurant.”
You fidget with a loose thread off the couch. “Really?”
“Really.” She relaxes. “I could live without Tokyo Dream Sushi.”
Snorting forces yourself to look up. “Wow, you love that place.”
“Love is such a strong word.”
The weight in your chest feels lighter and easier to bear again. Crossing your arms you open up about the interview. About how angry you are that the universe doesn’t seem to want you to forget your place.
If Charles Kingsley wanted to piss you off he should have just asked about your parents. What did he hope to achieve by bringing up the Brigade? You’re glad Chase doesn’t have to deal with this tomfoolery. He’s done more than enough to warrant peace and quiet in his early retirement. So, is it so selfish of you to want more than that for your team? Why couldn’t they get their act together when you gave them more than enough support after failing abysmally.
“I’m sure Robert was impressed.” Mandy teases. Bringing you back to the present. You groan in response because if anyone knows about your Mecha Man obsession it’s only because Chase rats you out like the rat he is. Master Splinter ah.
“He told me not to step in but for you, I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” she sings.
The smugness in her face makes your stomach drop to your toes.
“What? He did?”
Now that you think about it, Chase had mentioned Robert was the one to call the whole team into the conference room, not Blazer. Had you completely rained on his parade?
“Oh my god he’s going to hate me.” You whine and sink into your chair. Willing the cushions to take you, your fingers dig into the arms on either side of you. “I’m gonna kill myself.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with the interns,” she chortles. Patting your shoulder sympathetically. “The worst that could happen is—”
“He could hate me and I could die.” You reiterate. Are you blind? Are you stupid? You want to ask but these are thoughts better kept to yourself.
“No, the worst that could happen is he refuses to work with you after this.”
You spiral.
“Ok bring it back,” she laughs. “I was only joking. Of course, I should have remembered you can dish it out but can’t take the heat.”
Her grin, once ear to ear, slowly retreats.
“I never meant to make you feel like I was shutting you out, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with this gala coming up and I have another commercial to shoot and…”
“We’ve both been pretty busy.” Your eyes soften along with your voice. “It’s ok.”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
“What are friends for?” you smile. Mandy returns your gesture
A beat passes before she speaks up again. “Before we get into the whole cutting someone from the team, there’s something else you should know. I guess it’s why I’ve been avoiding you recently.”
Your curiosity outweighs the dreadful looming sensation in your gut. It can’t be worse than getting fired. Dipping your head slightly you urge her to continue. Without realizing it you’re shifting towards the edge of your seat.
“How would you feel about reinstating your hero license?”
-
The hours tick by quickly after this morning. Your office once filled with sunlight, streams with moonlight and the many stars in the sky in spite of city smog. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re avoiding Robert and you’re doing it as long as possible because losing the opportunity to become friends with Mecha Man would be like turning down a picture with Madonna.
Clack Clack Clack! is your perpetual melody until you muster enough courage to leave your desk. With only a few hours to go before your shift was over, it was imperative you grabbed a late night snack.
“Hey Lana,” you wave. Receiving a nod back, you pass each other in the hall.
Calls are still coming in but less frequently when grandmothers don’t need their cats rescued and couples are finally settling into their new apartments. Chase and Robert are so busy you’re able to sneak by their shared cubicle. Buying yourself a few more minutes to think about what you want to say to Robert in the first place. Maybe you can reimburse him for the Twinkies he gave to Sonar. It wasn’t bribery, it was science.
You’re almost to the breakroom when something gives you pause. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly because maybe you’re hallucinating but nothing changes except for the colorful dots now flooding your eyelids. They don’t even scatter when they’ve noticed you’ve seen them.
“What going on?” You say slowly.
Flambae puts a hand on your back. Coaxing you into a now open spot between Coop and Prism which was already pretty wide to begin with. The z-team huddles back together to look at the monitor you think was abandoned by Galan for a bathroom break.
“Shh! You’ll miss it. This shit box is already quiet enough as it is. When was this thing made anyway? 1984?”
Malevola raises a brow. “Isn’t that a book?”
Prism shrugs, “What? I can't know my shit?”
“Just shut the fuck up already!” Flambae hisses. When he sees your disapproval he clears his throat and adds on. “Like, chill out for a sec.”
You can vaguely make out a few kids at the edge of a park on a bench in a neighborhood you don’t recognize when Invisigal’s voice leaks out of the speakers.
“Being a villain is my fate. It’s in the fucking stars. In the same way Blonde Blazer was always meant to be a hero.” She ends bitterly.
Robert’s voice follows not even a second after. “There’s no such thing as fate. It’s bullshit. It’s just something we cling to because we think we’re the main character of life. We’re not.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Yeah. Cause no one’s paying attention if you want to switch things up.”
You’re mindful of the rest of the conversation but mostly focused on Invisigal. The cigarette between her fingers curls into waves of smoke with how intensely she seems to be listening to Robert and that is a first.
Out of the corner of your eye you see how invested the rest of the team is. How unified they look. Like there’s nothing more important than supporting a teammate.
“Fate. Destiny. Not having powers. Seasonal depression. None of these things kept me from being a hero before. And they won’t keep me from being a hero again.”
You’re startled awake by a red warning sign flashing on the screen. Without much thought you reach forward. Clicking the mouse into action and pulling up a map of a jewelry store about five minutes away from Visi’s location.
“Oh my God,” Robert chuckles. “You want to talk about fate? That Lightningstruck fuck that’s been on a spree is two blocks from your location. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“I told you. I’m out.”
“You really want this idiot get one over on you a third time?”
“What makes you think it’d be any different?”
As soon as Visi walks through those doors with Thunderstruck in cuffs, you feel the room begin to change.
Yume-chan Yume Yumeaoka-chan I want to see BTS take me with you PLEASE 💔
Girl, I would've given you my other ticket in a heartbeat if I didn't already promise it to my sister😭🤚🏾 I DIDNT KNOW YOU LIKED BTS THO, PINKY, OMGGGG💕💕💕 I will take photos and vids for you, pookie, promise🥺❤️
AWW you're so sweet! I hope you two have so much fun 💜
I was a big fan in middle school! I'd like to go but I can't find anyone who wants to come with me ☹️ If you can believe it RM was my bias lol. Wbu? Are you taking any freebies?
WHAT, RM IS MY BIAS TOO❤️ He's been my bias since I got into BTS almost 12 years ago😮💨💕 My sister has been to kpop concerts before so she knows everything. This is gonna be my first ever concert, so I'm def gonna take as many freebies as I can! I'm going dressed as the HYYH album, the one with the pink flowers🥰 Well, the color scheme of the album, anyway.
What can I sayyy? Great minds think alike. Honestly though, I might have moved towards Suga lol.
OMG THEN HAVE SO MUCH FUN POOKS!
OOH yes please 🙏I would love to see it! HYYH has such a beautiful cover. I'm biased toward Map of the Soul bc Black Swan is my favorite.
My parents are willing to drag themselves there but the last thing I want them to see is how much I fangirl over them😝 If I do get the chance to go I'd like to wear a Hanbok! I'm learning about it as much as I can rn.
Yume-chan Yume Yumeaoka-chan I want to see BTS take me with you PLEASE 💔
Girl, I would've given you my other ticket in a heartbeat if I didn't already promise it to my sister😭🤚🏾 I DIDNT KNOW YOU LIKED BTS THO, PINKY, OMGGGG💕💕💕 I will take photos and vids for you, pookie, promise🥺❤️
AWW you're so sweet! I hope you two have so much fun 💜
I was a big fan in middle school! I'd like to go but I can't find anyone who wants to come with me ☹️ If you can believe it RM was my bias lol. Wbu? Are you taking any freebies?
warning(s): the z-team, cursing, dark humor, tomfoolery
~
“What’s going on?”
You question the exact same but bite your tongue. Stepping inside the room and making a beeline for the other side of Robert. It might seem childish but you would rather keep Blazer at arms length lest you break out in tears in front of your entire team.
“Hm? Oh, I offered him a seat.” Robert glances at you and looks surprised but not at all unhappy to see Beef cradled in your arms like a baguette.
Your eyes trail over the conference room. It’s rare to see everyone in the same place at the same time if it isn't for an illegal booze break. Flambae thankfully, seems intact after you handed off that lousy reporter. If you could you’d have him blacklisted but his paper is rather popular. People respond to cynicism.
Chase is remarkably calm when he addresses the room. “So…we gettin’ this party started?”
“Yeah, what’s this shit about? Let’s go, come on.” Everyone’s eyes are on Robert but you catch the curious stare from Flambae past his orange tinted sunglasses. You shake your head and gesture back to Robert. You don’t have an answer for him when you’ve been kept out of the loop yourself recently.
“Okay, as you know, by the end of today, one of you will be cut from the Z-Team.”
Again, you’re faced with inquisition from Malevola who leans back in her chair. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, you said that already,” Robert deadpans.
“Cut me from a job I didn’t want in the first place,” Punch Up murmurs.
Don’t do it, you think, closing your eyes.
“Miss Blazer?” Prism calls out to you too. As if she knows you’re as upset with this outcome as the rest of them are. She waits patiently for your attention before continuing. “Maybe if you gave us a dispatcher who knew what they were doing, you wouldn't have to throw no one out?”
You don’t even have a chance to think of what to say when Robert speaks up. “Hey, Nikki Mirage. I’m standing right here. You can talk to me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Which weak ass superhero team did you come from? Fuckin’ Geek Squad?”
“Doesn’t matter where I’m from, Cardi C. What matters is I’m here to figure out who stays and who goes.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it and—you’re doing it.
“Kid,” Chase cautions, “Hold on a minute.”
You raise your hands in a placating manner hoping you can be forgiven for your interruption but name-calling was ridiculous dare you say, childish. You would not tolerate it. “I don’t think you all recognize the severity of your situation.” You say stepping forward. Conscientious of not blocking Robert or Blazer from the z-team’s view.
“What the fucks that mean?”
“I’m not done talking!” You raise your voice. Flambae falls silent and sits up straighter.
“Let me make something abundantly clear to you all. If someone is leaving the program, it isn’t because we’ve decided to send you on your way. It’s because you decide you aren’t good enough to be here.” Your eyes are scalding as you scan the room. The team looks reluctant to even breathe.
“I have worked my ass off—” You gesture to Blazer next because although you’re angry and definitely going above her head right now, she’s still your friend. “—We have worked our asses off trying to make you half decent heroes. If you want to go, go. No-one is stopping you, including myself. I will not have you jeopardizing our time and our money because you want to fuck around.”
Deciding to take a turn about the room you stop beside Malevola. Kicking the legs of the chair to her right until Invisigal appears. She’s holding onto the table for dear life when Sonar practically pivots toward the ceiling when you walk by. Golem, the gentleman he is, allows you to pass without making a scene which you appreciate in the appearance of trying to look serious.
“Your effort shows me just how little you care. I can’t convince the world you’re heroes if you don’t even think it’s worth being here. You know there are plenty of other people dying for this opportunity but I wanted to give you all the benefit of the doubt in the face of your enormous screw ups.”
Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you’re at the front of the room again.
“Maybe they’re right about you. All of the people who’ve cut you down and if that’s true then…” You pause. Covering the waver in your voice with a well timed clearing of your throat. “They're right about me too. I’ve wasted my time.”
The silence is deafening but you choose to brave it anyway and step past your co-workers to open the door. An ounce of pride fills your chest at the proud expression Chase wears when you risk a glance at him. It’s short lived but revitalizing nonetheless. “I’m going to talk with Blazer now. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. You’re not children to need me to remind you.”
A chorus of 'yes' fly around the room behind your back as you make your way to Blazer’s office. Once the door shuts behind you, Blazer’s amulet comes off. She feels you require that much when you sag into your unofficially assigned seat.
Blonde Blazer was many things. A hero, an icon, a mascot, but most importantly to her, she was a friend. Someone you could trust. Someone you could rely on when the world got too big to carry on your shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
But Mandy, Mandy was different. She was only human.
You sigh, “drink first.”
Reaching your hand out you wait until a glass is in your hands. A sharp pop followed by fizz alerts you that the coke in your palm is ready for consumption and you douse it like a shot of tequila. You can’t remember the last time you had a night out. Not that you particularly enjoy getting piss drunk. The only time you ever leave your apartment now is for grocery runs and Chase’s apartment.
“Better?”
“Much better,” you reply with a lighter sigh.
“Good.” She smiles, finally settling in beside you. It’s obvious she feels nervous. Not on edge per say because realistically she could snap your bones like a toothpick, but Mandy is clearly unnerved by your current behavior. She crosses her legs then uncrosses them. “So…I take it the interview didn’t go to plan?”
You groan. Taking another swig of soda. “No he was awful. Add him to the list of people we won’t help when they pop a tire.”
Mandy scolds you like she’s caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Eventually though, she relents and agrees Kingsley is a complete pain in the ass after bringing up the fact Robert himself had trouble with him during a press conference. Which actually manages to make you feel better.
“That doesn’t explain what happened in there. You’re usually so…” She waves her hand around. Searching for a nice way to talk about your behavior.
Your face grows hot but you ignore it. You can worry about apologizing to Mecha Man later.
“I know.” You slide a hand down your face.
If Mandy didn’t know any better, she would say it looked like someone had personally gone out of their way to kick your puppy then proceed to run it over on the side of the highway.
Sighing heavily you ponder your options. You’re not sure if addressing the elephant in the room is the right phrase to describe your current situation as Mandy is none-the-wiser to your (for lack of a better word) beef with her. You could use your stress as an excuse. Was it really worth potentially ruining your trust in one another because you were angry she wasn’t consulting you anymore? It wasn’t technically your job. More of an informality. It wouldn’t be smart to ignore your feelings however. What if the next time you had a meltdown it was at a completely inconvenient time like a charity banquet. You can’t forget you work for a corporation, their name matters more than yours and why screw up your only opportunity to help people?
You take a steadying breath. Gritting your teeth, the sting of pride opens up like an old wound. “I’m frustrated because today of all days I’m brought back to how I felt when I was seventeen. I really needed your support but now I feel like I don’t even have that. How can you cut members of the team without telling me? How does Robert know about this before I do? I know he’s supposed to be helping us but are you relying on him more because he’s—”
“No.” Mandy reads your mind before you can finish.“I would never.” Her face is somber. It drives away the heavy cloud of doubt from your mind because she seems truly remorseful. “You’re important to me. I wouldn’t choose my career over you. Not if they dragged my name through the mud or blacklisted me from my favorite restaurant.”
You fidget with a loose thread off the couch. “Really?”
“Really.” She relaxes. “I could live without Tokyo Dream Sushi.”
Snorting forces yourself to look up. “Wow, you love that place.”
“Love is such a strong word.”
The weight in your chest feels lighter and easier to bear again. Crossing your arms you open up about the interview. About how angry you are that the universe doesn’t seem to want you to forget your place.
If Charles Kingsley wanted to piss you off he should have just asked about your parents. What did he hope to achieve by bringing up the Brigade? You’re glad Chase doesn’t have to deal with this tomfoolery. He’s done more than enough to warrant peace and quiet in his early retirement. So, is it so selfish of you to want more than that for your team? Why couldn’t they get their act together when you gave them more than enough support after failing abysmally.
“I’m sure Robert was impressed.” Mandy teases. Bringing you back to the present. You groan in response because if anyone knows about your Mecha Man obsession it’s only because Chase rats you out like the rat he is. Master Splinter ah.
“He told me not to step in but for you, I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” she sings.
The smugness in her face makes your stomach drop to your toes.
“What? He did?”
Now that you think about it, Chase had mentioned Robert was the one to call the whole team into the conference room, not Blazer. Had you completely rained on his parade?
“Oh my god he’s going to hate me.” You whine and sink into your chair. Willing the cushions to take you, your fingers dig into the arms on either side of you. “I’m gonna kill myself.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with the interns,” she chortles. Patting your shoulder sympathetically. “The worst that could happen is—”
“He could hate me and I could die.” You reiterate. Are you blind? Are you stupid? You want to ask but these are thoughts better kept to yourself.
“No, the worst that could happen is he refuses to work with you after this.”
You spiral.
“Ok bring it back,” she laughs. “I was only joking. Of course, I should have remembered you can dish it out but can’t take the heat.”
Her grin, once ear to ear, slowly retreats.
“I never meant to make you feel like I was shutting you out, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with this gala coming up and I have another commercial to shoot and…”
“We’ve both been pretty busy.” Your eyes soften along with your voice. “It’s ok.”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
“What are friends for?” you smile. Mandy returns your gesture
A beat passes before she speaks up again. “Before we get into the whole cutting someone from the team, there’s something else you should know. I guess it’s why I’ve been avoiding you recently.”
Your curiosity outweighs the dreadful looming sensation in your gut. It can’t be worse than getting fired. Dipping your head slightly you urge her to continue. Without realizing it you’re shifting towards the edge of your seat.
“How would you feel about reinstating your hero license?”
-
The hours tick by quickly after this morning. Your office once filled with sunlight, streams with moonlight and the many stars in the sky in spite of city smog. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re avoiding Robert and you’re doing it as long as possible because losing the opportunity to become friends with Mecha Man would be like turning down a picture with Madonna.
Clack Clack Clack! is your perpetual melody until you muster enough courage to leave your desk. With only a few hours to go before your shift was over, it was imperative you grabbed a late night snack.
“Hey Lana,” you wave. Receiving a nod back, you pass each other in the hall.
Calls are still coming in but less frequently when grandmothers don’t need their cats rescued and couples are finally settling into their new apartments. Chase and Robert are so busy you’re able to sneak by their shared cubicle. Buying yourself a few more minutes to think about what you want to say to Robert in the first place. Maybe you can reimburse him for the Twinkies he gave to Sonar. It wasn’t bribery, it was science.
You’re almost to the breakroom when something gives you pause. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly because maybe you’re hallucinating but nothing changes except for the colorful dots now flooding your eyelids. They don’t even scatter when they’ve noticed you’ve seen them.
“What going on?” You say slowly.
Flambae puts a hand on your back. Coaxing you into a now open spot between Coop and Prism which was already pretty wide to begin with. The z-team huddles back together to look at the monitor you think was abandoned by Galan for a bathroom break.
“Shh! You’ll miss it. This shit box is already quiet enough as it is. When was this thing made anyway? 1984?”
Malevola raises a brow. “Isn’t that a book?”
Prism shrugs, “What? I can't know my shit?”
“Just shut the fuck up already!” Flambae hisses. When he sees your disapproval he clears his throat and adds on. “Like, chill out for a sec.”
You can vaguely make out a few kids at the edge of a park on a bench in a neighborhood you don’t recognize when Invisigal’s voice leaks out of the speakers.
“Being a villain is my fate. It’s in the fucking stars. In the same way Blonde Blazer was always meant to be a hero.” She ends bitterly.
Robert’s voice follows not even a second after. “There’s no such thing as fate. It’s bullshit. It’s just something we cling to because we think we’re the main character of life. We’re not.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Yeah. Cause no one’s paying attention if you want to switch things up.”
You’re mindful of the rest of the conversation but mostly focused on Invisigal. The cigarette between her fingers curls into waves of smoke with how intensely she seems to be listening to Robert and that is a first.
Out of the corner of your eye you see how invested the rest of the team is. How unified they look. Like there’s nothing more important than supporting a teammate.
“Fate. Destiny. Not having powers. Seasonal depression. None of these things kept me from being a hero before. And they won’t keep me from being a hero again.”
You’re startled awake by a red warning sign flashing on the screen. Without much thought you reach forward. Clicking the mouse into action and pulling up a map of a jewelry store about five minutes away from Visi’s location.
“Oh my God,” Robert chuckles. “You want to talk about fate? That Lightningstruck fuck that’s been on a spree is two blocks from your location. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“I told you. I’m out.”
“You really want this idiot get one over on you a third time?”
“What makes you think it’d be any different?”
As soon as Visi walks through those doors with Thunderstruck in cuffs, you feel the room begin to change.
“I’m not done talking!” You raise your voice. Flambae falls silent and sits up straighter. –Oh, shit, excuse the fuck outta me then💀 Actually made me sit up straighter ngl, LMAO😭🤚🏾
Calling Chase Master Splinter is insane, I cantttt😭💀🤚🏾
warning(s): the z-team, cursing, dark humor, tomfoolery
~
“What’s going on?”
You question the exact same but bite your tongue. Stepping inside the room and making a beeline for the other side of Robert. It might seem childish but you would rather keep Blazer at arms length lest you break out in tears in front of your entire team.
“Hm? Oh, I offered him a seat.” Robert glances at you and looks surprised but not at all unhappy to see Beef cradled in your arms like a baguette.
Your eyes trail over the conference room. It’s rare to see everyone in the same place at the same time if it isn't for an illegal booze break. Flambae thankfully, seems intact after you handed off that lousy reporter. If you could you’d have him blacklisted but his paper is rather popular. People respond to cynicism.
Chase is remarkably calm when he addresses the room. “So…we gettin’ this party started?”
“Yeah, what’s this shit about? Let’s go, come on.” Everyone’s eyes are on Robert but you catch the curious stare from Flambae past his orange tinted sunglasses. You shake your head and gesture back to Robert. You don’t have an answer for him when you’ve been kept out of the loop yourself recently.
“Okay, as you know, by the end of today, one of you will be cut from the Z-Team.”
Again, you’re faced with inquisition from Malevola who leans back in her chair. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, you said that already,” Robert deadpans.
“Cut me from a job I didn’t want in the first place,” Punch Up murmurs.
Don’t do it, you think, closing your eyes.
“Miss Blazer?” Prism calls out to you too. As if she knows you’re as upset with this outcome as the rest of them are. She waits patiently for your attention before continuing. “Maybe if you gave us a dispatcher who knew what they were doing, you wouldn't have to throw no one out?”
You don’t even have a chance to think of what to say when Robert speaks up. “Hey, Nikki Mirage. I’m standing right here. You can talk to me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Which weak ass superhero team did you come from? Fuckin’ Geek Squad?”
“Doesn’t matter where I’m from, Cardi C. What matters is I’m here to figure out who stays and who goes.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it and—you’re doing it.
“Kid,” Chase cautions, “Hold on a minute.”
You raise your hands in a placating manner hoping you can be forgiven for your interruption but name-calling was ridiculous dare you say, childish. You would not tolerate it. “I don’t think you all recognize the severity of your situation.” You say stepping forward. Conscientious of not blocking Robert or Blazer from the z-team’s view.
“What the fucks that mean?”
“I’m not done talking!” You raise your voice. Flambae falls silent and sits up straighter.
“Let me make something abundantly clear to you all. If someone is leaving the program, it isn’t because we’ve decided to send you on your way. It’s because you decide you aren’t good enough to be here.” Your eyes are scalding as you scan the room. The team looks reluctant to even breathe.
“I have worked my ass off—” You gesture to Blazer next because although you’re angry and definitely going above her head right now, she’s still your friend. “—We have worked our asses off trying to make you half decent heroes. If you want to go, go. No-one is stopping you, including myself. I will not have you jeopardizing our time and our money because you want to fuck around.”
Deciding to take a turn about the room you stop beside Malevola. Kicking the legs of the chair to her right until Invisigal appears. She’s holding onto the table for dear life when Sonar practically pivots toward the ceiling when you walk by. Golem, the gentleman he is, allows you to pass without making a scene which you appreciate in the appearance of trying to look serious.
“Your effort shows me just how little you care. I can’t convince the world you’re heroes if you don’t even think it’s worth being here. You know there are plenty of other people dying for this opportunity but I wanted to give you all the benefit of the doubt in the face of your enormous screw ups.”
Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you’re at the front of the room again.
“Maybe they’re right about you. All of the people who’ve cut you down and if that’s true then…” You pause. Covering the waver in your voice with a well timed clearing of your throat. “They're right about me too. I’ve wasted my time.”
The silence is deafening but you choose to brave it anyway and step past your co-workers to open the door. An ounce of pride fills your chest at the proud expression Chase wears when you risk a glance at him. It’s short lived but revitalizing nonetheless. “I’m going to talk with Blazer now. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. You’re not children to need me to remind you.”
A chorus of 'yes' fly around the room behind your back as you make your way to Blazer’s office. Once the door shuts behind you, Blazer’s amulet comes off. She feels you require that much when you sag into your unofficially assigned seat.
Blonde Blazer was many things. A hero, an icon, a mascot, but most importantly to her, she was a friend. Someone you could trust. Someone you could rely on when the world got too big to carry on your shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
But Mandy, Mandy was different. She was only human.
You sigh, “drink first.”
Reaching your hand out you wait until a glass is in your hands. A sharp pop followed by fizz alerts you that the coke in your palm is ready for consumption and you douse it like a shot of tequila. You can’t remember the last time you had a night out. Not that you particularly enjoy getting piss drunk. The only time you ever leave your apartment now is for grocery runs and Chase’s apartment.
“Better?”
“Much better,” you reply with a lighter sigh.
“Good.” She smiles, finally settling in beside you. It’s obvious she feels nervous. Not on edge per say because realistically she could snap your bones like a toothpick, but Mandy is clearly unnerved by your current behavior. She crosses her legs then uncrosses them. “So…I take it the interview didn’t go to plan?”
You groan. Taking another swig of soda. “No he was awful. Add him to the list of people we won’t help when they pop a tire.”
Mandy scolds you like she’s caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Eventually though, she relents and agrees Kingsley is a complete pain in the ass after bringing up the fact Robert himself had trouble with him during a press conference. Which actually manages to make you feel better.
“That doesn’t explain what happened in there. You’re usually so…” She waves her hand around. Searching for a nice way to talk about your behavior.
Your face grows hot but you ignore it. You can worry about apologizing to Mecha Man later.
“I know.” You slide a hand down your face.
If Mandy didn’t know any better, she would say it looked like someone had personally gone out of their way to kick your puppy then proceed to run it over on the side of the highway.
Sighing heavily you ponder your options. You’re not sure if addressing the elephant in the room is the right phrase to describe your current situation as Mandy is none-the-wiser to your (for lack of a better word) beef with her. You could use your stress as an excuse. Was it really worth potentially ruining your trust in one another because you were angry she wasn’t consulting you anymore? It wasn’t technically your job. More of an informality. It wouldn’t be smart to ignore your feelings however. What if the next time you had a meltdown it was at a completely inconvenient time like a charity banquet. You can’t forget you work for a corporation, their name matters more than yours and why screw up your only opportunity to help people?
You take a steadying breath. Gritting your teeth, the sting of pride opens up like an old wound. “I’m frustrated because today of all days I’m brought back to how I felt when I was seventeen. I really needed your support but now I feel like I don’t even have that. How can you cut members of the team without telling me? How does Robert know about this before I do? I know he’s supposed to be helping us but are you relying on him more because he’s—”
“No.” Mandy reads your mind before you can finish.“I would never.” Her face is somber. It drives away the heavy cloud of doubt from your mind because she seems truly remorseful. “You’re important to me. I wouldn’t choose my career over you. Not if they dragged my name through the mud or blacklisted me from my favorite restaurant.”
You fidget with a loose thread off the couch. “Really?”
“Really.” She relaxes. “I could live without Tokyo Dream Sushi.”
Snorting forces yourself to look up. “Wow, you love that place.”
“Love is such a strong word.”
The weight in your chest feels lighter and easier to bear again. Crossing your arms you open up about the interview. About how angry you are that the universe doesn’t seem to want you to forget your place.
If Charles Kingsley wanted to piss you off he should have just asked about your parents. What did he hope to achieve by bringing up the Brigade? You’re glad Chase doesn’t have to deal with this tomfoolery. He’s done more than enough to warrant peace and quiet in his early retirement. So, is it so selfish of you to want more than that for your team? Why couldn’t they get their act together when you gave them more than enough support after failing abysmally.
“I’m sure Robert was impressed.” Mandy teases. Bringing you back to the present. You groan in response because if anyone knows about your Mecha Man obsession it’s only because Chase rats you out like the rat he is. Master Splinter ah.
“He told me not to step in but for you, I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” she sings.
The smugness in her face makes your stomach drop to your toes.
“What? He did?”
Now that you think about it, Chase had mentioned Robert was the one to call the whole team into the conference room, not Blazer. Had you completely rained on his parade?
“Oh my god he’s going to hate me.” You whine and sink into your chair. Willing the cushions to take you, your fingers dig into the arms on either side of you. “I’m gonna kill myself.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with the interns,” she chortles. Patting your shoulder sympathetically. “The worst that could happen is—”
“He could hate me and I could die.” You reiterate. Are you blind? Are you stupid? You want to ask but these are thoughts better kept to yourself.
“No, the worst that could happen is he refuses to work with you after this.”
You spiral.
“Ok bring it back,” she laughs. “I was only joking. Of course, I should have remembered you can dish it out but can’t take the heat.”
Her grin, once ear to ear, slowly retreats.
“I never meant to make you feel like I was shutting you out, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with this gala coming up and I have another commercial to shoot and…”
“We’ve both been pretty busy.” Your eyes soften along with your voice. “It’s ok.”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
“What are friends for?” you smile. Mandy returns your gesture
A beat passes before she speaks up again. “Before we get into the whole cutting someone from the team, there’s something else you should know. I guess it’s why I’ve been avoiding you recently.”
Your curiosity outweighs the dreadful looming sensation in your gut. It can’t be worse than getting fired. Dipping your head slightly you urge her to continue. Without realizing it you’re shifting towards the edge of your seat.
“How would you feel about reinstating your hero license?”
-
The hours tick by quickly after this morning. Your office once filled with sunlight, streams with moonlight and the many stars in the sky in spite of city smog. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re avoiding Robert and you’re doing it as long as possible because losing the opportunity to become friends with Mecha Man would be like turning down a picture with Madonna.
Clack Clack Clack! is your perpetual melody until you muster enough courage to leave your desk. With only a few hours to go before your shift was over, it was imperative you grabbed a late night snack.
“Hey Lana,” you wave. Receiving a nod back, you pass each other in the hall.
Calls are still coming in but less frequently when grandmothers don’t need their cats rescued and couples are finally settling into their new apartments. Chase and Robert are so busy you’re able to sneak by their shared cubicle. Buying yourself a few more minutes to think about what you want to say to Robert in the first place. Maybe you can reimburse him for the Twinkies he gave to Sonar. It wasn’t bribery, it was science.
You’re almost to the breakroom when something gives you pause. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly because maybe you’re hallucinating but nothing changes except for the colorful dots now flooding your eyelids. They don’t even scatter when they’ve noticed you’ve seen them.
“What going on?” You say slowly.
Flambae puts a hand on your back. Coaxing you into a now open spot between Coop and Prism which was already pretty wide to begin with. The z-team huddles back together to look at the monitor you think was abandoned by Galan for a bathroom break.
“Shh! You’ll miss it. This shit box is already quiet enough as it is. When was this thing made anyway? 1984?”
Malevola raises a brow. “Isn’t that a book?”
Prism shrugs, “What? I can't know my shit?”
“Just shut the fuck up already!” Flambae hisses. When he sees your disapproval he clears his throat and adds on. “Like, chill out for a sec.”
You can vaguely make out a few kids at the edge of a park on a bench in a neighborhood you don’t recognize when Invisigal’s voice leaks out of the speakers.
“Being a villain is my fate. It’s in the fucking stars. In the same way Blonde Blazer was always meant to be a hero.” She ends bitterly.
Robert’s voice follows not even a second after. “There’s no such thing as fate. It’s bullshit. It’s just something we cling to because we think we’re the main character of life. We’re not.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Yeah. Cause no one’s paying attention if you want to switch things up.”
You’re mindful of the rest of the conversation but mostly focused on Invisigal. The cigarette between her fingers curls into waves of smoke with how intensely she seems to be listening to Robert and that is a first.
Out of the corner of your eye you see how invested the rest of the team is. How unified they look. Like there’s nothing more important than supporting a teammate.
“Fate. Destiny. Not having powers. Seasonal depression. None of these things kept me from being a hero before. And they won’t keep me from being a hero again.”
You’re startled awake by a red warning sign flashing on the screen. Without much thought you reach forward. Clicking the mouse into action and pulling up a map of a jewelry store about five minutes away from Visi’s location.
“Oh my God,” Robert chuckles. “You want to talk about fate? That Lightningstruck fuck that’s been on a spree is two blocks from your location. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“I told you. I’m out.”
“You really want this idiot get one over on you a third time?”
“What makes you think it’d be any different?”
As soon as Visi walks through those doors with Thunderstruck in cuffs, you feel the room begin to change.
warning(s): the z-team, cursing, dark humor, tomfoolery
~
“What’s going on?”
You question the exact same but bite your tongue. Stepping inside the room and making a beeline for the other side of Robert. It might seem childish but you would rather keep Blazer at arms length lest you break out in tears in front of your entire team.
“Hm? Oh, I offered him a seat.” Robert glances at you and looks surprised but not at all unhappy to see Beef cradled in your arms like a baguette.
Your eyes trail over the conference room. It’s rare to see everyone in the same place at the same time if it isn't for an illegal booze break. Flambae thankfully, seems intact after you handed off that lousy reporter. If you could you’d have him blacklisted but his paper is rather popular. People respond to cynicism.
Chase is remarkably calm when he addresses the room. “So…we gettin’ this party started?”
“Yeah, what’s this shit about? Let’s go, come on.” Everyone’s eyes are on Robert but you catch the curious stare from Flambae past his orange tinted sunglasses. You shake your head and gesture back to Robert. You don’t have an answer for him when you’ve been kept out of the loop yourself recently.
“Okay, as you know, by the end of today, one of you will be cut from the Z-Team.”
Again, you’re faced with inquisition from Malevola who leans back in her chair. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, you said that already,” Robert deadpans.
“Cut me from a job I didn’t want in the first place,” Punch Up murmurs.
Don’t do it, you think, closing your eyes.
“Miss Blazer?” Prism calls out to you too. As if she knows you’re as upset with this outcome as the rest of them are. She waits patiently for your attention before continuing. “Maybe if you gave us a dispatcher who knew what they were doing, you wouldn't have to throw no one out?”
You don’t even have a chance to think of what to say when Robert speaks up. “Hey, Nikki Mirage. I’m standing right here. You can talk to me.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch. Which weak ass superhero team did you come from? Fuckin’ Geek Squad?”
“Doesn’t matter where I’m from, Cardi C. What matters is I’m here to figure out who stays and who goes.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t do it and—you’re doing it.
“Kid,” Chase cautions, “Hold on a minute.”
You raise your hands in a placating manner hoping you can be forgiven for your interruption but name-calling was ridiculous dare you say, childish. You would not tolerate it. “I don’t think you all recognize the severity of your situation.” You say stepping forward. Conscientious of not blocking Robert or Blazer from the z-team’s view.
“What the fucks that mean?”
“I’m not done talking!” You raise your voice. Flambae falls silent and sits up straighter.
“Let me make something abundantly clear to you all. If someone is leaving the program, it isn’t because we’ve decided to send you on your way. It’s because you decide you aren’t good enough to be here.” Your eyes are scalding as you scan the room. The team looks reluctant to even breathe.
“I have worked my ass off—” You gesture to Blazer next because although you’re angry and definitely going above her head right now, she’s still your friend. “—We have worked our asses off trying to make you half decent heroes. If you want to go, go. No-one is stopping you, including myself. I will not have you jeopardizing our time and our money because you want to fuck around.”
Deciding to take a turn about the room you stop beside Malevola. Kicking the legs of the chair to her right until Invisigal appears. She’s holding onto the table for dear life when Sonar practically pivots toward the ceiling when you walk by. Golem, the gentleman he is, allows you to pass without making a scene which you appreciate in the appearance of trying to look serious.
“Your effort shows me just how little you care. I can’t convince the world you’re heroes if you don’t even think it’s worth being here. You know there are plenty of other people dying for this opportunity but I wanted to give you all the benefit of the doubt in the face of your enormous screw ups.”
Your heart is pounding in your ears by the time you’re at the front of the room again.
“Maybe they’re right about you. All of the people who’ve cut you down and if that’s true then…” You pause. Covering the waver in your voice with a well timed clearing of your throat. “They're right about me too. I’ve wasted my time.”
The silence is deafening but you choose to brave it anyway and step past your co-workers to open the door. An ounce of pride fills your chest at the proud expression Chase wears when you risk a glance at him. It’s short lived but revitalizing nonetheless. “I’m going to talk with Blazer now. I expect you all to be on your best behavior. You’re not children to need me to remind you.”
A chorus of 'yes' fly around the room behind your back as you make your way to Blazer’s office. Once the door shuts behind you, Blazer’s amulet comes off. She feels you require that much when you sag into your unofficially assigned seat.
Blonde Blazer was many things. A hero, an icon, a mascot, but most importantly to her, she was a friend. Someone you could trust. Someone you could rely on when the world got too big to carry on your shoulders.
“What’s going on?”
But Mandy, Mandy was different. She was only human.
You sigh, “drink first.”
Reaching your hand out you wait until a glass is in your hands. A sharp pop followed by fizz alerts you that the coke in your palm is ready for consumption and you douse it like a shot of tequila. You can’t remember the last time you had a night out. Not that you particularly enjoy getting piss drunk. The only time you ever leave your apartment now is for grocery runs and Chase’s apartment.
“Better?”
“Much better,” you reply with a lighter sigh.
“Good.” She smiles, finally settling in beside you. It’s obvious she feels nervous. Not on edge per say because realistically she could snap your bones like a toothpick, but Mandy is clearly unnerved by your current behavior. She crosses her legs then uncrosses them. “So…I take it the interview didn’t go to plan?”
You groan. Taking another swig of soda. “No he was awful. Add him to the list of people we won’t help when they pop a tire.”
Mandy scolds you like she’s caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. Eventually though, she relents and agrees Kingsley is a complete pain in the ass after bringing up the fact Robert himself had trouble with him during a press conference. Which actually manages to make you feel better.
“That doesn’t explain what happened in there. You’re usually so…” She waves her hand around. Searching for a nice way to talk about your behavior.
Your face grows hot but you ignore it. You can worry about apologizing to Mecha Man later.
“I know.” You slide a hand down your face.
If Mandy didn’t know any better, she would say it looked like someone had personally gone out of their way to kick your puppy then proceed to run it over on the side of the highway.
Sighing heavily you ponder your options. You’re not sure if addressing the elephant in the room is the right phrase to describe your current situation as Mandy is none-the-wiser to your (for lack of a better word) beef with her. You could use your stress as an excuse. Was it really worth potentially ruining your trust in one another because you were angry she wasn’t consulting you anymore? It wasn’t technically your job. More of an informality. It wouldn’t be smart to ignore your feelings however. What if the next time you had a meltdown it was at a completely inconvenient time like a charity banquet. You can’t forget you work for a corporation, their name matters more than yours and why screw up your only opportunity to help people?
You take a steadying breath. Gritting your teeth, the sting of pride opens up like an old wound. “I’m frustrated because today of all days I’m brought back to how I felt when I was seventeen. I really needed your support but now I feel like I don’t even have that. How can you cut members of the team without telling me? How does Robert know about this before I do? I know he’s supposed to be helping us but are you relying on him more because he’s—”
“No.” Mandy reads your mind before you can finish.“I would never.” Her face is somber. It drives away the heavy cloud of doubt from your mind because she seems truly remorseful. “You’re important to me. I wouldn’t choose my career over you. Not if they dragged my name through the mud or blacklisted me from my favorite restaurant.”
You fidget with a loose thread off the couch. “Really?”
“Really.” She relaxes. “I could live without Tokyo Dream Sushi.”
Snorting forces yourself to look up. “Wow, you love that place.”
“Love is such a strong word.”
The weight in your chest feels lighter and easier to bear again. Crossing your arms you open up about the interview. About how angry you are that the universe doesn’t seem to want you to forget your place.
If Charles Kingsley wanted to piss you off he should have just asked about your parents. What did he hope to achieve by bringing up the Brigade? You’re glad Chase doesn’t have to deal with this tomfoolery. He’s done more than enough to warrant peace and quiet in his early retirement. So, is it so selfish of you to want more than that for your team? Why couldn’t they get their act together when you gave them more than enough support after failing abysmally.
“I’m sure Robert was impressed.” Mandy teases. Bringing you back to the present. You groan in response because if anyone knows about your Mecha Man obsession it’s only because Chase rats you out like the rat he is. Master Splinter ah.
“He told me not to step in but for you, I’m sure he’ll make an exception,” she sings.
The smugness in her face makes your stomach drop to your toes.
“What? He did?”
Now that you think about it, Chase had mentioned Robert was the one to call the whole team into the conference room, not Blazer. Had you completely rained on his parade?
“Oh my god he’s going to hate me.” You whine and sink into your chair. Willing the cushions to take you, your fingers dig into the arms on either side of you. “I’m gonna kill myself.”
“You’ve been spending way too much time with the interns,” she chortles. Patting your shoulder sympathetically. “The worst that could happen is—”
“He could hate me and I could die.” You reiterate. Are you blind? Are you stupid? You want to ask but these are thoughts better kept to yourself.
“No, the worst that could happen is he refuses to work with you after this.”
You spiral.
“Ok bring it back,” she laughs. “I was only joking. Of course, I should have remembered you can dish it out but can’t take the heat.”
Her grin, once ear to ear, slowly retreats.
“I never meant to make you feel like I was shutting you out, I’m sorry. I’ve just been so preoccupied with this gala coming up and I have another commercial to shoot and…”
“We’ve both been pretty busy.” Your eyes soften along with your voice. “It’s ok.”
She huffs quietly through her nose. “I appreciate you being so understanding.”
“What are friends for?” you smile. Mandy returns your gesture
A beat passes before she speaks up again. “Before we get into the whole cutting someone from the team, there’s something else you should know. I guess it’s why I’ve been avoiding you recently.”
Your curiosity outweighs the dreadful looming sensation in your gut. It can’t be worse than getting fired. Dipping your head slightly you urge her to continue. Without realizing it you’re shifting towards the edge of your seat.
“How would you feel about reinstating your hero license?”
-
The hours tick by quickly after this morning. Your office once filled with sunlight, streams with moonlight and the many stars in the sky in spite of city smog. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re avoiding Robert and you’re doing it as long as possible because losing the opportunity to become friends with Mecha Man would be like turning down a picture with Madonna.
Clack Clack Clack! is your perpetual melody until you muster enough courage to leave your desk. With only a few hours to go before your shift was over, it was imperative you grabbed a late night snack.
“Hey Lana,” you wave. Receiving a nod back, you pass each other in the hall.
Calls are still coming in but less frequently when grandmothers don’t need their cats rescued and couples are finally settling into their new apartments. Chase and Robert are so busy you’re able to sneak by their shared cubicle. Buying yourself a few more minutes to think about what you want to say to Robert in the first place. Maybe you can reimburse him for the Twinkies he gave to Sonar. It wasn’t bribery, it was science.
You’re almost to the breakroom when something gives you pause. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly because maybe you’re hallucinating but nothing changes except for the colorful dots now flooding your eyelids. They don’t even scatter when they’ve noticed you’ve seen them.
“What going on?” You say slowly.
Flambae puts a hand on your back. Coaxing you into a now open spot between Coop and Prism which was already pretty wide to begin with. The z-team huddles back together to look at the monitor you think was abandoned by Galan for a bathroom break.
“Shh! You’ll miss it. This shit box is already quiet enough as it is. When was this thing made anyway? 1984?”
Malevola raises a brow. “Isn’t that a book?”
Prism shrugs, “What? I can't know my shit?”
“Just shut the fuck up already!” Flambae hisses. When he sees your disapproval he clears his throat and adds on. “Like, chill out for a sec.”
You can vaguely make out a few kids at the edge of a park on a bench in a neighborhood you don’t recognize when Invisigal’s voice leaks out of the speakers.
“Being a villain is my fate. It’s in the fucking stars. In the same way Blonde Blazer was always meant to be a hero.” She ends bitterly.
Robert’s voice follows not even a second after. “There’s no such thing as fate. It’s bullshit. It’s just something we cling to because we think we’re the main character of life. We’re not.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting?”
“Yeah. Cause no one’s paying attention if you want to switch things up.”
You’re mindful of the rest of the conversation but mostly focused on Invisigal. The cigarette between her fingers curls into waves of smoke with how intensely she seems to be listening to Robert and that is a first.
Out of the corner of your eye you see how invested the rest of the team is. How unified they look. Like there’s nothing more important than supporting a teammate.
“Fate. Destiny. Not having powers. Seasonal depression. None of these things kept me from being a hero before. And they won’t keep me from being a hero again.”
You’re startled awake by a red warning sign flashing on the screen. Without much thought you reach forward. Clicking the mouse into action and pulling up a map of a jewelry store about five minutes away from Visi’s location.
“Oh my God,” Robert chuckles. “You want to talk about fate? That Lightningstruck fuck that’s been on a spree is two blocks from your location. Maybe the third time’s the charm.”
“I told you. I’m out.”
“You really want this idiot get one over on you a third time?”
“What makes you think it’d be any different?”
As soon as Visi walks through those doors with Thunderstruck in cuffs, you feel the room begin to change.
Maybe Robertson x reader, reader sees her Robert all tired and looking like hell (bro looks like a small stretch can cause every bone to crack very concerningly) reader decides to give him a whole self-care weekend like masks and massages that he’s just on cloud nine, weekends over that SDN just notices he looks alive and smells like cucumber that they are lowkey asking for readers help.
Yessss this was so adorable!! I hope you like it! ❤️
Pairing: Robert Robertson x fem! Reader/ Mechaman x fem! Reader
Word count: 2.3k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, cw suggestive language, cw food mentions, fluff!
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The soda on the table is dripping in condensation, and the popcorn beside it makes the whole apartment smell like a movie theatre. Your eyes fight to stay open, and you’ve been yawning too much. Your limbs ache from all the superhero-ing you had to do, from teaching kids first aid, to beating up a kaiju downtown, the whole week just piled on you, from one call to the next, you feel like your batteries are drained.
To add salt to your wound, you absolutely miss Robert.
Yawning for the umpteenth time, the crappy reality TV you put on doesn’t even help you stay awake anymore. You’d crawl in bed but you want to wait for Robert to get home when you feel like you haven’t seen him in ages. The only times that the two of you have crossed paths this week can be counted in one hand. Whenever you’d kiss him goodbye while he’s still half asleep, and when he’d greet you with a kiss when you’re already deep into slumber. Your schedules haven’t matched up as well as before with the amount of work the two of you had to do. If you’re not at home, he is, but when you’re home, he’s out there burning the midnight oil with the Z-team. Forget meeting up for lunch at work either when your breaks don’t match with his.
But now that it’s the weekend, you’re both free to see each other, hopefully more of each other.
Your hearing picks up the sound of keys outside and you immediately perk up with a smile. As if you were jolted with lightning, you’re vaulting over the couch and towards him in the speed that even Chase would be proud of.
The second the door opens, Robert is met with your smiling face, like a golden retriever, who’s excited to see him home.
“Hi.” Tilting his head, Robert smiles softly at you, feeling that you’re practically vibrating from the longing, waiting for his go signal. “C’mere.” He opens his arms and you’re immediately right on him like velcro. “Missed me?”
“Do you even have to ask?” You say whilst peppering his face with kisses. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“Fuck,” his facade falls as he drops his bag and keys onto the floor, arms patting the back of your leg as he tells you to hop and wrap yourself around him. You do as you’re asked without a second thought as he kicks the front door closed. He can’t ignore the fact that he heard his knees creak when he carried you, but if you did hear it, you didn’t say a word. But you did hear it though. “I missed you.”
Your back meets with the wall, his hand tucked in between your head and the hard wall, acting like a cushion to shield you. “I missed you too— wait, where’s beef?”
Robert clings to your warmth and the cucumber scent of your soap as he inhales deeply atop your neck. “With Chase.” Voice muffled, he tilts your head up with a nudge of his nose on your throat as you comply happily and give him space. “I figured…” his lips peck you sweetly, teeth grazing your skin, tongue brushing along your pulse point. “That we need alone time.”
“And you’re absolutely right.” Sighing with longing, your fingers dig into his hair as you push him impossibly close against you. Pulling his hair back to kiss him, you meet with his glossy eyes, cheeks flushed, mouth agape as he heaves and waits for your next move. And yet, you find his tired eyes and blanched face worrisome. “Have you eaten anything yet?”
“Does half a granola bar and three cups of coffee count?” He jokes, but you don’t find the humour in it when he tries to lean into your lips only for you to tug at him back. Robert would let out a satisfied hum if not for the worried look in your eyes. “Sweetheart, I’m fine, it’s just been a busy day. Fuck, I just need you, please—”
“What you need is food.” Unwrapping your legs around him, you stand and peck his cheek with a promise. While he looks utterly disappointed, like you dangled a candy bar to his face only to yank it back. “And sleep.” Brows furrowed, you wince at the heavy dark bags under his eyes. “And moisturizer. Lots of it.”
“Am I that crusty?” He chortles, hands still on your hips, thumbs pushing aside the waistband cheekily, waiting for you to change your mind.
“No,” you shake your head with a gentle smile. Taking his wrists away and pecking his knuckles. “Just a bit, come on, I’ll warm your food.”
“I’m really fine—”
“It’s lasagna.”
He doesn’t even contemplate or protest some more as he gratefully follows after you in the kitchen.
—
His stomach is so full of pasta and cheese that he could barely stand up from his seat. You went somewhere else while he was unbuttoning his pants to give him some breathing room. Robert signs in content, a hand wrapped around a glass of wine, that he doesn’t even know he had in the apartment, as his nails click against the glass rhythmically.
Robert hears the faucet squeak, and the sound of running water, as he tilts his head to take a peek inside the bathroom. He swears that you already took a bath judging from your still damp hair and the scent of the cucumber and citrus soap on your skin when he got home.
You feel his eyes on your back whilst you pour bubble bath inside the tub. “This’ll only take a minute, babe.”
“Take all the time you need.” Ogling you unabashedly, Robert smiles as you twist your hand back to flip him the bird playfully as if you have eyes on the back of your head. “Those shorts look good on you.”
“They’re your boxers.” Your voice bounces off the tiles, grabbing a clean fluffy robe from the cabinets, the same one that is all pink and girly that Chase gifted to Robert as a gag gift for his birthday. It even has his name bedazzled on the back like he’s some Victoria’s secret model.
Robert usually loves seeing you use it, especially when it has his name right on your back. But he can’t lie when he occasionally uses it to feel how soft it is after a shower.
“Everything looks good on you, sweetheart.” He watches you with a fond smile, eyes glimmering with want as you saunter out of the bathroom with the bathrobe in tow.
“You’re not getting lucky tonight until you’re properly taken care of.” Opening the robe and showing him how fluffy it is, you smile over it, wiggling your brows. “Take your clothes off. After this I’m putting a face mask on you and lathering you up in my finest lotion.”
“Can I suggest one thing though?”
“Of course.”
“How about a massage too?” He asks innocently, but you just know from the glint in his eyes and the slight smirk on his lips that it’s not so innocent.
“If you don’t fall asleep before then, sure.” You lean against the doorframe casually, acting nonchalant from his proposition and hugging the towel. You’re not the best at massages, but you’ll try your best, or at least for a minute or so before he pulls you on his lap instead. Or fall asleep the moment you squeeze his aching muscles.
He’s already stripping his clothes off with excitement. Starting from unbuttoning his work shirt that has become associated with your boyfriend. The colour does suit him though, but you’d rather see him wear something else that doesn’t smell like day old coffee.
You don’t notice him walking closer and closer to you whilst you’re utterly fixated to his bare torso.
“Calm down, Robert, this is for relaxing—” you’re suddenly lifted off the ground, finding that Robert has you over his shoulder, smacking your behind as he takes you to the bathroom. For someone who has only eaten a granola bar and inhaled three cups of caffeine today, he’s stronger than he looks. Maybe this is what people say when it comes to adrenaline, this is his lifting the car moment. “Robert!”
“What? If I’m going to relax then so will you.” He says casually, entering the steaming bathroom as he kicks the door shut with his foot.
Your squeals echo around the tiled walls, as Robert’s amused laughter mingles with the sound of splashing water and the towel landing right over his face.
The bathroom is quickly flooded with bubbles and sweet scented soap, and you find yourself back in the bath once again with him joining you.
—
The hair dryer blows hot air right at his silky tresses, now free from oil and whatever Golem accidentally spilled on him during his lunch break. Robert sits in between your legs, back pressed against your front, and eyes closed as the hot air flutters his lashes. He looks utterly blissed out, smelling like a bed and body works. He’s absolutely content in your arms as you gently rake the comb through his hair.
He has a face mask on, “it’s aloe vera,” you said, he doesn’t care whatever it is but it’s doing wonders to him. It’s like having a slice of frozen ham slapped right on your face minus the smell but with twice the cooling effect.
Robert feels fucking amazing.
His palms cup around your knees, thumbs drawing small gentle circles all over your well moisturized skin. The two of you smell incredibly good, enough to eat, and he’d kiss every bit of your skin if he wasn’t so sleepy.
Robert could sleep right there and then, he would, if not for the loud whirr of the hair dryer and the hot air blowing right at his head.
“You okay?” You whisper to the shell of his ear, gooseflesh immediately rises on his arms as he hums a reply. The hair dryer shuts off, and he could feel sleep take him. “I guess you’re too tired for massages.”
His eyes suddenly open at the speed of light. “No, I’m not.”
“Really?” Your hands knead at his arms tenderly, like you’re massaging herbs and spices onto a slab of beef. You truly have no idea what you’re doing, but it seems that Robert loves it. “Let me take care of you this time, okay?”
He would be on his knees begging for it if he wasn’t already in bed. Eyes gazing up at you sweetly, Robert’s brows furrow, lips pouting slightly as he lets out a sound from the back of his throat that is akin to a whine. “Please.”
“Anything for my Robert.” With a smile, fingers grasping at his chin, you lean down to press a saccharine kiss on his forehead, one of many for tonight.
—
“So I said to him, go suck a fat— what the fuck is that?” Sonar looks perturbed, eyes wide and staring at something, or someone that just walked through the door.
Malevola follows his line of sight, gasping at the sight, almost stumbling over herself. “What happened to you?” She asks, almost disturbed by the sight.
Chase hears the commotion from the bullpen, he peeks over the breakroom doorway and sees Robert walk in normally. “What the fuck are you two gawking at?” He asks, walking closer to the pair as he holds onto his cup of coffee.
“That!” Mal takes his head and turns him to face Robert.
“Holy shit…” he utters, spluttering out his coffee all over Sonar’s suit, earning an intense bat screech from the man bat that is quickly ignored by the others, who are completely perplexed at the sight in front of them. “Alright, who died?”
Robert makes a face, nose scrunched as he places his things on his table. “No one? Why do you all look at me like I just killed someone right in front of you?”
“Yeah, you killed Robert Robertson.” Chase sidles beside him, leaning against his table with suspicion in his eyes. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” The dispatcher asks, lashes fluttering on the apples of his pinkish cheeks, looking healthy and glowing.
His lips shine with raspberry chapstick, and the dark circles underneath his eyes are almost non-existent, as if he made a deal with the devil to get rid of it and make him look ten years younger. The best part is the soft smile that is seemingly permanently etched on his face that remains even when he almost got a face full of Waterboy’s water splashed on him when he first walked inside the building.
“You look like how a skin walker would wear Robert’s skin.” Sonar says, leaning close to his face to examine him further. When he tries to poke him with his claw, Robert pushes him away with a grimace.
Robert rolls his eyes, he does feel rejuvenated, almost reborn from your pampering. Throughout the whole weekend, you took your pledge to heart, you did not let him lift a finger, and the two of you spent the whole weekend in bed together. Eating meals on it, catching up on your shows whilst cuddling underneath the covers while the blackout curtains are completely covering the light outside. Not to mention the ‘strenuous exercises’ that you two did together. It was absolute bliss, and Robert almost did not go to work today to extend the peace.
“You look good, buddy.” Malevola is the first to compliment him with a friendly clasp on his shoulder.
“Smells good too.” Sonar adds, taking a whiff of him. “Looking too good. Which way is the fountain of youth? Chase could use it.” He teases before chuckling at his own joke.
Chase punches him right in the gut, making him curl around himself with a sharp inhale through his nose. The others act like this is a normal occurrence in the office.
“Seriously though, what products did you use? I could use a good under eye mask.” Mal pulls down at her under eye for emphasis. “What’s your secret?”
Robert shrugs with a knowing smile. “Get the best girlfriend in the whole damn world.” The chorus of groans echo around the office that has him smiling in satisfaction.
Wait, wait, wait, lemme get this thought out before I gts. Motorcycle FMX Stuntman! Hobie👀👁👄👁 Like, like, do you see the vision? Spider reflexes and shit help TREMENDOUSLY and he does it as a part time gig when he needs a little bit of funds👀 Like, omfggggg, ik he's fucking cock about it when he hits the meanest trick in the fucking air, like, uhnnnnnn😩🫦💕💕💕💕 Ripping that damn helmet off and tugging by that damn suit into the sloppiest kiss because I thought he was gonna hurt himself and he knows it and he's so smug about me being worried about him and ahdbfosnabfkwlalqb
I NEED DAT COOKIE SO FUCKING BAD, GUYS, WTAFFFFF AHHHHHHH😩❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
"I don't date the um..." You look him up and down. Ignoring how nicely the leather jacket he wears hugs his forearms. "Racers."
He cocks his brow. Leaning back on his uninjured arm. "You gonna break my heart over a bloke who screwed you over angel?"
Your heart skips a beat but you continue on like nothing's happened. Not even with his smile widens when you catch his stare.
"Two blokes, actually." The slang sounds foreign on your tongue.
"Ah."
You think that's that because if you've learned anything aside from the cafeteria bagels being as stale as concrete, riders only enjoy the chase for so long.
Hobie clicks his tongue to get your attention. Eyes focused as his smile softens to something more thoughtful.
Wait, wait, wait, lemme get this thought out before I gts. Motorcycle FMX Stuntman! Hobie👀👁👄👁 Like, like, do you see the vision? Spider reflexes and shit help TREMENDOUSLY and he does it as a part time gig when he needs a little bit of funds👀 Like, omfggggg, ik he's fucking cock about it when he hits the meanest trick in the fucking air, like, uhnnnnnn😩🫦💕💕💕💕 Ripping that damn helmet off and tugging by that damn suit into the sloppiest kiss because I thought he was gonna hurt himself and he knows it and he's so smug about me being worried about him and ahdbfosnabfkwlalqb
I NEED DAT COOKIE SO FUCKING BAD, GUYS, WTAFFFFF AHHHHHHH😩❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
"I don't date the um..." You look him up and down. Ignoring how nicely the leather jacket he wears hugs his forearms. "Racers."
He cocks his brow. Leaning back on his uninjured arm. "You gonna break my heart over a bloke who screwed you over angel?"
Your heart skips a beat but you continue on like nothing's happened. Not even with his smile widens when you catch his stare.
"Two blokes, actually." The slang sounds foreign on your tongue.
"Ah."
You think that's that because if you've learned anything aside from the cafeteria bagels being as stale as concrete, riders only enjoy the chase for so long.
Hobie clicks his tongue to get your attention. Eyes focused as his smile softens to something more thoughtful.
Pairing: Lyonel Baratheon x fem! Reader/ The Laughing Storm x fem! Reader
Word count: 8.2k
Synopsis: The aftermath of the trial and what fate has in store for you.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, Arryn! Reader, set during the Ashford tourney, Reader has family members but no physical description, part six of my mini series, a prequel to this fic, CW suggestive language, CW injury and blood, CW alcohol mention, inaccurate medicine, hurt/comfort, fluff.
Navigation
Lyonel Baratheon Masterlist
Chapter 5 >>> Chapter 6 >>> Epilogue
“Lyonel.” You call his name with an aching yearning the moment the trumpet sings Aerion’s defeat. Your feet moves before you could fully gather your skirts up whilst your brother calls you frantically, trying to slow your quick strides.
Egg follows close with the same urgency, squeezing beside and overtaking you as he runs down the stairs that is unbecoming of a prince such as himself. But you don’t judge when you’re doing the exact same thing.
You make quick work of the stairs, skipping a few steps, almost tripping down from your skirts but you manage to steady yourself upon the last step.
“Sister, could you just— fucking wait, shit!” Jon almost stumbles but catches himself by clutching onto the wall.
Egg freezes in front of you, eyes wide, heaving and frowning deeply at the sight before him.
The stench of iron, one that you’re awfully familiar with collides into your lungs, burrowing there as you take a needed breath. You know it well before you could even follow the young prince’s gaze.
Ser Duncan is being hauled by Ser Raymun and the blacksmith, his huge form is dragged along by the two men with strain. He looks as though the gods punished him, striking him where he stood in the tourney field. Although it is the opposite when he has won the trial, a proven innocent in the seven’s eyes and the whole realm. The hedge knight’s eye is blackened, swollen and purple as he bleeds from every cut and wound upon his body. Blood seeps from his mouth, coating his clenched teeth and broken lips. He’s merely a sack of potatoes as the pair brings him towards where you are, right under the arch and besides the stands.
Raymun looks worse for wear, scratched and bleeding, but Duncan is faring worse than him as he slumps onto the bench, crimson leaking through his chainmail. If the blood isn’t stanched, it could spell his end.
Your legs weaken at the sight of your friend, but you persist. “I shall have my own maester tend to you, Ser Duncan.” You utter clearly, commandingly, already half leaving. “Brother, get Maester Grover.” Jon doesn’t protest as he starts to walk ahead of you, waiting for you.
“Thank you, my lady.” Raymun thanks you on Dunk’s behalf as the man just nods weakly, head bowed down, breathing heavily.
Egg looks up at you with pinched brows, and you clasp his shoulder reassuringly. “He will be alright, the seven have granted him life and they shall not take it back, not today.” The boy’s face twists before giving you his thanks.
You hesitate to leave for a beat, but Duncan is in good hands, so you continue on in pursuit of your knight. In your peripheral, you see prince Baelor walk slowly towards where Duncan and the others are after helping his brother get help from a maester. Aerion is hauled away in a stretcher, groaning in pain whilst clutching his bleeding thigh. His lips form a whimper, calling for his mother. While his older brother, you surmised by his dirty blond hair and the dragon sigil on his gorget, is helped by a stable hand, waddling into the castle. He takes a look at you through his purple eyes, brows pinching, but not in pain, more like sympathy.
You look away and back to Baelor, thanking him with a look and a polite nod, as he regards you through tired eyes before continuing his trek.
Mud squelching under your boots, you follow the retreating backs of Lyonel’s bannermen as they bring him to his pavilion. The crowned stag flutters in the wind, beckoning you amidst the crowd.
When Jon sidles beside you, keeping up with your quick strides, you spare him a glare. “Didn’t I tell you to go get the maester?”
“I am, we’re heading in the same direction.” He answers with the same bite. “Love has made your senses dull, sister.” Scoffing, he pats your arm for good luck before turning a corner towards the dancing Arryn sigil in the distance.
Grabbing a fistful of your skirts, you sprint despite the wandering crowd hindering you, blocking the way. And yet you run, hood falling away from your head as you bolt past the Baratheon guards, but none stop you the moment you walk inside his personal tent.
The smell of incense and bitter concoctions garners a scrunched look on your face. With the whole tent filled with his people, all having the same worried look on their faces, the air is hot and stifling inside. The old maester is hunched over Lyonel on the bed, his armour is half undone as the old man fixes his hold onto his leg with worry.
“I believe it is broken, my lord.” The scholar coughs out, chain links clinking against the other as he procures a potion from his leather bag. “There is nothing to be done.”
“Then fucking fix it.” Lyonel utters between clenched teeth, clutching at his knee in pain whilst his squire takes the remaining armour off him. “Or give me something for the pain and let me die.”
“I have given you a few drops of milk of the poppy, but it will take some time to work, my lord.”
You assess him from a distance. His left eye is slowly turning black, with purple rings around it, and there are various cuts on his face. His hand has a deep gash that is hastily wrapped, blood still soaking through the fabric that concerns you. But his leg is what needs more attention, knee bent at an awkward painful angle. If not set in place it would heal wrong, then this tourney would be his last.
“I don’t think it is.” Panting for air from the trek, your voice garners everyone’s attention. “And you are not allowed to die, remember?” People part for you, making a curious face before they recognize you. “May I?”
Lyonel’s eyes brighten, a smile slowly creeping upon his lips from the sight of you. “My doe.” He immediately reaches for your warmth, taking your palm in his weakly. “Thought you left me for dead.”
“Never, I had to run here, my apologies.” You stand beside the old maester, squeezing Lyonel’s hand before moving to take hold of his ankle and knee, surveying the damage closely. He watches you with something intense swirling in his dark eyes. “I believe that the knee bone moved away from its socket. It needs to be set.”
“I mean no offense, my lady, but you are no maester.” The ancient man scoffs out a laugh at his attempt at humour.
“I know that I am no old man with a long white beard but I am well read in the matters of the body.” You side glance at him, glowering, garnering a chill to run through the tent. “Are you? I see the chain for healing around your neck is rusted, maester.”
“She just called you inept, old man.” Lyonel laughs loudly before his injuries catch up to him as he coughs, a wave of pain ebbing through his body. Hissing, he faces you again with a pinched expression. “I trust you more than this wretch.”
The maester’s head looks down with embarrassment. “My lady.” You expect him to help you but he moves away, giving you space to do what you need to do.
Everyone’s eyes are on you, doubt creeps on the back of your head as you hesitate.
Lyonel calls your name gently, taking your attention away from your mind as he nods at you, soft eyes reassuring you wordlessly. He trusts you wholeheartedly, but you’re afraid of hurting him, or making his injury worse when you’ve only seen this done in a book.
Swallowing down your trepidation, recalling your studies, you look upon the small crowd, before honing in on Lyonel’s squire. “You, help me. I need muscle.” Judging by the resemblance to his knight, he’s a Baratheon just like him.
The man nods, walking towards you determinedly. “Where do you need me, my lady?”
“By his ankle.” You exchange places with him as you situate yourself by Lyonel’s knee, you could feel his eyes on you, watching you with bated breath and awe. “I need you to pull fucking hard, like you’re reining in a horse and then push in gently when I tell you to.”
“I just got compared to a horse.” Lyonel still finds it in him to jest despite all the aches. His hand finds your cloak, gripping it tightly in his hold.
“A handsome horse, Lyonel.” Your hands grip at the back of his knee tightly as you feel his heat radiate off him. When you spare him one last glance, you see his glossy eyes look absolutely delighted at how you hold him. You would lean down for a kiss if not for the small crowd around you. “Maester, make yourself useful and grab that piece of leather for me.”
Surprisingly enough, he does what he’s told as the rough leather belt is placed in your palm. Lyonel watches you closely as you lean over him, a palm hovering above his chest, feeling how his heart beats with your own.
“Bite.” You ask simply, and he obeys gladly, opening his mouth as you place the leather inside his mouth, and he bites into it obediently. “Good man.” You swear that you heard him hum, a purr, chest rumbling from the deep sound.
You return to your place, hugging his leg with your hands over and under his knee. “This will hurt. Pull now.” The squire complies, and Lyonel’s muffled scream will come back in your sleep. Fixing the angle of his leg, you feel for the socket. “Push!” You have to yell above his pained screeching.
With the faint sound of the bones clicking, you manage to set his leg back in place to your relief. Placing his leg down slowly, testing the knee gently, you thank the squire with a friendly clasp on his shoulder before he walks away on his wobbly knees, looking a bit green in the face.
Lyonel spits out the leather, panting, sweat dribbling off his brow and reaching his eyes as he lets out a shaky breath. “You didn’t warn me.”
“You would’ve clenched.”
“I wouldn’t have.”
“Yes, you would have.”
A beat passes, and the air fills with tension that can be compared to a lighting strike.
He turns to his men awaiting his orders. “Leave us, all of you.” With the simple words, they turn away, feet shuffling on the carpet. Before the maester could gather his things, you grab the leather bag of potions with a shake of your head. And he leaves with the others with a sigh. A moment passes and his eyes smile before a grin spreads across his face. “You manhandled me.”
“You enjoyed it.” You use your own palm to wipe the sweat off his handsome face whilst he leans into your touch. Head tilted with a smile, you pull away to rummage through the maester’s bag, looking for the right tincture, smelling each one with a pop of a cork.
“It is dishonourable to lie so I shall not.” His hand takes you by the helm of your cloak, pulling you close weakly. “Come sit with me.” Voice tender, he gazes up at you through those big dark eyes that you adore.
“Give me a moment, you are impatient.” Finding the right scent that you know all too well, you pour it on a clean piece of fabric.
“Only because you are taking too long.” Wheezing, Lyonel moves to the side on the bed to give you space, patting his side as you sit beside him, hip to hip.
“That is the meaning of being impatient.” Humming, you lean down to dab the tincture upon the cuts on his face. He hisses between his teeth, but he puts up a brave face whilst his eyes gaze at you the whole time, as if he’s memorizing your face.
The golden light of the pavilion from the shining sunshine outside kisses the side of your face, and Lyonel thinks that Baratheon yellow suits you perfectly.
You continue to work on him in silence, as people mill about outside, some shouts were heard but barely coherent from the distance. Probably the consequences of the trial that has taken root around each tent. The candles burn on the table, and the scent of incense lulls him to sleep, but you could tell that he is fighting it. His tent is as opulent inside, decorated with his house colours and sigil. It is unabashedly Baratheon. You could get used to his regalia.
Lyonel doesn’t speak, nor fill the quiet with the usual banter. He just holds onto the hem of your cloak with two fingers, as if you would fly away once he lets go. He watches you work, from how you clean his wounds gently with precision, and how you wrap his wounded hand with clean cloth, redoing everything that the maester did. You do it diligently, carefully, better than his maester, or any measter could.
You take his watchful gaze and silence as a question. Or perhaps to fill the silence and muffle your thudding heartbeat.
“I learned how to tend to wounds from my brothers, they were always getting cuts and bruises in the training yard and they would rather have me tend to them than the maester. Citing that I had gentler hands, and that they wouldn’t get a chastising from our mother.” Chuckling, he shifts his gaze down to your lips longingly before gazing up at your eyes. “From then on, I stole our maester’s healing tomes to learn to help them better. And I managed to read every single passage before he noticed it gone.”
With a small smile, you finish wrapping his wounds. You then move to unclasp the remaining armour as gently as you could to see if there are any hidden injuries you need to tend to. Fingers tracing his muscles gently, a featherlight touch that has him shuddering a breath. “He was livid that I stole, and had me recite what I have learned while he corrected the parts I have mistaken. He was actually teaching, disguised as punishment. Have I told you about that already?”
He’s uncharacteristically meek, completely enamored by you as his eyes gloss over, blinking slowly as you ramble on.
“You did well today, Lyonel, gave me a fright but you did marvelously. Ser Duncan and the others would’ve fared worse without you.” Your words tugs him awake. There’s a lump in your throat as your gaze rakes over his injured leg and up to his wounded face. “T–thank the gods they brought you back to me alive.” A cry escapes from your wobbly lips but you swallow it down as his hand reaches for your cheek, holding you tenderly, a rough thumb brushing along your skin, caressing, tracing your features lovingly. “Lyonel?”
When Lyonel doesn’t answer, except for more staring and more caressing, you figure that the milk of the poppy is working. Until.
“Marry me.”
“What?” His croaked out words have you pausing from unclasping the last metal plate on his bicep. Leaving him in only his soaked gambeson. “Lyonel…”
“I choose you.” You have heard his voice go soft before, as soft as raindrops upon your skin, but not like this. It’s almost pained, desperate, a final call. “Not someone who was chosen for me.” He wheezes out a breath, and you rest your palm right on his chest, rubbing gently. “Please choose me too.”
Your body reacts before you could, tears collect in your lashes as you chuckle weakly. “You want to marry me?”
“Who wouldn’t? I adore you.” He simply says with a brave cadence, a palm holding you right by your nape, lovingly holding onto you like you’re about to fade away in his vision. “Gods, do I need to tell you how much you mean to me? I have made a list, it’s in writing.”
“No, need, I know it enough through your kiss alone, my stag.” You shake your head, eyes downcast as you laugh against your palm that smells of the bitter tincture. Taking a deep breath, you look into his eyes, taking his hand from your face as you peck his bruised knuckles before placing him above your heart. “Do me a favour, my lord, meet with the Arryn girl.”
His face falls, brows pinched. “You’re breaking my heart, my love.”
Shaking your head, you move closer to him until you could feel his heat radiate onto your cotton dress. “No, I’m mending it. You will be glad for it, I promise the seven above that you will be glad for it.”
“How could I be glad when I can’t call you my wife?” Lyonel sounds offended, as if the option you have given him is less than fool’s gold. That you’re worth more than anything in the world.
“How about a wager?” You fight the grin on your face, clasping his hand with both hands whilst he looks at you with aching devotion. “You’ll love her, just like how you have loved me.”
“That is impossible to win when I know I could not love another that isn’t you.”
“Meet with her,” your voice lowers, leaning down to his face as your hair crowds around him. He’s surrounded by you, your scent, your eyes that look at him lovingly as if he is the only man in the world. And your blue dress, distinctly you that he thinks of you whenever he looks up at the sky. It always reminds him of you, especially when it is paired with feathers and a moon, embellishments that he has seen you in. “do it for me.”
His eyes widen in realization, sitting up as he heaves, and you protest, trying to lay him down but instead he persists whilst you see his eyes swim with the bold truth. “Lady Arryn?” You nod with a growing smile. “My lady Arryn?” You nod again as he takes your face in his hands.
“I am your lady Arryn.”
Lyonel laughs. Really laughs, a bold boisterous laughter that is surely carried by the wind around the whole meadow. He takes you in his arms, face buried in your neck as he takes a deep breath, almost relieved, or hopeful perhaps.
“My love, you’ll strain yourself.” Your voice reverberates through him as you utter it against his cheek. His beard tickles you as you chortle above his skin.
Leaning away, Lyonel chuckles, teeth biting into the bottom of his cracked lip as he cradles your face in his rough hands. “Oh you’re cruel, my lady.” He utters, hands squeezing you gently until your eyes smile and your worry ebbs away. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.”
“It’s dangerous, underestimating me my lord.” Pressing close, you lay your forehead atop his own, not minding the acrid scent of the tincture that covers his wounds nor the sweat clinging to his curls. “You are not angry at me?”
“Why would I be?” His answer is as clear as day. Moving away slightly, he ducks to meet with your eyes despite the discomfort he feels from the different wounds on his body. He doesn’t care for it as long as he could hold you like this. “I saw the real you and you saw the real me. I should thank you for being such a scheming little wench.” Lyonel says the last word lovingly.
“Don’t thank me, thank my sorry excuse of acting like a common born.” Your heart won’t stop racing as he embraces you. A falcon and a stag melding together harmoniously.
“I think you did quite well, you had my drunk self fooled for a moment there.” He would sit you upon his lap if not for his injured leg that protests with a wave of pain whenever he moves. Instead, he’s content with having you in his arms, hands running along your back and sides. This would be a scandalous sight, but he does not care at all, and nor do you.
“Yes, but you remembered it all, didn’t you?” Fingers clasped around his earring, you lean away but your head still rests upon his shoulder, trying not to fully press your weight against him whilst he grasps at your chin, pulling your eyes onto him.
“Every moment with you.” He whispers atop your lips, before brushing it on yours, pecking softly as he could feel the milk of the poppy coursing through his veins, feeling sluggish. When he pulls away from the lazy yet tender kiss, he asks the same question, saying your name with affection weaved through like a golden thread laced around a fine silver cloth. “Marry me, Lady Arryn, what say you?”
From your eyes alone, Lyonel could see your answer, he hopes.
Your lips tighten into a line, swallowing thickly. “I’m still betrothed to Aerion, unless the hand or his father says otherwise, I am still his.”
His corded neck stiffens, eyes closing briefly as his face presses against your temple. Pulling away, Lyonel takes a deep breath. “Fuck that. Fuck him. He cannot, you’ll— I will draw my sword against him, against the fucking crown if—” Your kiss tames him, a gentle palm atop his heart, caressing his chest while his shoulders slump, body easing from your kiss.
“He may have me,” you whisper, barely a breath away from his lips. “but you have my heart forevermore.”
“Marry me.” Chasing your lips, Lyonel gives you a desperate kiss, again, and again, until your heart shatters in between you, until he feels his heart cleaved open, laid out in front of you on a silver platter. “Gods, please marry me.”
“You’re hurt, and you’re addled by milk of the poppy.” You’re torn, in denial, and distraught as you feel a sob crawling up to your throat. “You may not even remember this conversation.”
You love him, and he loves you, but it’s not that simple.
“No, I will remember it,” Lyonel’s nose flares, taking a deep breath, fighting the medicine in him to stay awake as his vision blurs and you’re merely a reflection on a murky looking glass in his eyes. “because you’re here and I will remember this until the day I die.” And yet his words are the confession of a sober man.
With your hands cradling him, you carefully lay him back to bed, touch lingering as you see his breath slow. “You can commit treason later, for now, sleep, rest, please, for me.”
“My doe…”
“I am yours.” It’s not a promise when it is already true. You hope that you don’t break that promise. Or perhaps you are not his to keep, and your own honour will be your undoing.
—
It’s been two days since the trial. The whole Ashford meadow seems to grieve for the sudden loss of Prince Baelor Targaryen. It’s apparent when your father has asked you to dress in all black when he heard the news, his face as solemn as the wandering common folk around you as they pick up the pieces of the failed tourney.
Lord Ashford has concluded that the tourney is finished not long after Baelor has gone cold, rightfully so after what transpired on his land. You've given Lady Gwin, his daughter, a small token to cheer her up just after the announcement. The gift is a simple silver bangle with flowers encrusted on it right from your own jewelry box. But after seeing you in your black ensemble, it didn't brighten her expression much. She was thankful though, giving you a proper curtsy, a tight-lipped smile and a few words. You pity the poor girl, when all she wanted was a tourney to celebrate her coming of age.
You have no idea how to make of the news when you never knew the prince fully to give your opinion on his character. But your father has found himself on the bottom of a bottle when he heard of his death. They fought together during the rebellion, and he’s kin through marriage. From his dull expression alone and how Baelor came to Dunk’s rescue, the prince was a good man.
The looking glass seems to have gone murkier as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You don on the mourning gown, a sleek black dress embellished with silver trimmings and of your house sigil right on the bodice. It’s simple but pretty in a macabre way. You don’t know why Juniper would even pack a few black gowns for you at the tourney that was supposed to be for a happy occasion, but somehow she had the foresight to do so.
Putting on your jewelry, you take a silver ring with a ruby in the middle, a nameday gift from your aunt that she sent directly from King’s Landing. The ring reminds you of the one you gave Lyonel, the thought of him has haunted you each day since you tended to him. You’ve even bribed a few falcon knights to see if he’s recovering well, same goes for Ser Duncan and Ser Raymun, all seems to be well for them, but why does your heart clench every time you think of the laughing storm and his proposal?
As if you willed him into existence, you see a silhouette of Lyonel standing by your tent through the reflection of the looking glass. It’s so familiar that you could recognize him by shadow alone.
“Lyonel?” You whirl towards him, taking hurried steps to his shadow. “You should be abed.”
“Truthfully, I could not stay for one more day in my tent without you beside me.” He lets out a sigh, clearing his throat as he fixes his hold onto his cane. “How fucking foolish is that?”
“Not at all.” You smile, and you wish you could see him through the fabric of the tent. “I feel the same.”
“You feel empty when you are not beside yourself?” He teases, despite the ache on his cheek that tugs whenever he smiles.
“No, I feel utterly somber when you’re not with me.” You could hear his staggered breath at your confession. “It’s as if the world crumbled beneath my feet and swallowed me whole before spitting me out onto a flaming sea of dragons.” It’s meant to be a tease, but your words are anything but false.
“Alright, it’s not a bloody competition.” He feigns an offended scoff as you chortle.
“How are you faring?” Inhaling, you try to see his face through the fabric but fail to do so. “Does the maester clean your wounds every day?”
“Yes, that bumbling oaf has managed to keep me alive.”
“Your leg?” The lump in your throat persists, just seeing him hobbling on a cane even if it’s a mere silhouette brings you such sadness that it burrows right in your ribcage.
“It’s faring well. You need not worry.” Lyonel tries to straighten up, only for his whole body to groan in protest, aches rolling around as he hisses in between his teeth. “Have you thought it through?” His voice lowers into a softer cadence. “I wasn't jesting when I asked. And I remembered it all.”
Your fists close on your sides, gripping at the silks of your gown as you let out a shuddered breath. “Lyonel, the princes— Maekar, and my father hasn’t granted me leave of my betrothal to Aerion. He did not try to ask him when the prince is in mourning. I would but…I did not dare to disturb him.”
He nods, eyes downcast as he sucks in his teeth. “Straight to business, hm?” His jape falls short as he feels fury, not for you, but for the men holding your tether. He's disappointed at fate, and his longing rises through his heated skin like a lightning strike. “I will ask them myself if need be. You cannot marry into that fucking family— you—” he clenches his fists, and he eases himself when he sees your palm rest on the fabric, trying to calm him even though there is a wall in between you. “I will have words with them, I promise you. Even if you do not want to marry me at least let me help you from marrying that fucking monster.”
“Who says I do not want to marry you?” You said it too quickly to be a lie. He smiles like a lovelorn fool from that. “But what if they do not release me? I cannot— I cannot accept anyone that isn’t you.”
Lyonel feels his chest ache from your words, a lump forming in his throat that is hard to swallow. He wants this so bad, he wants to marry you badly that he is willing to risk it all. He loves you like how one needs air.
“I understand that you had no say. That you never chose this. I want to at least give you one now—will you come with me to Storm’s End?” He pauses when his chest throbs from the bruise right on his torso. And you want to see him, to tend to him and hold him. “There is a war coming, we’d be a force to be reckoned with that my father would be sickened by us. We could protect each other, just be with each other.”
“Run away?” You want to reach through the tent and take his hand in yours.
“Yes, it is dishonourable I know, but if there isn’t any other way, I am prepared to fight for you.” His grip upon the stag cane trembles from how strong he is gripping it. “Fight the Targaryens if they decide to stand against us. Fight your family if I have to. ‘Ours is the fury,’ my love, and I intend to live by those words especially when it comes to you. Just say the words, and I will be your man.”
“Lyonel…”
“I will have words with them. My caravan leaves after the roast, I shall await your answer until then. If not,” his tone snags at the end. “then I shall mourn us, and think of you everyday for the rest of my life. There will be no other than you. No one.” He lingers outside, gazing at your silhouette with yearning, until your family’s horses arrive, hooves thumping against the ground. “But if those men refuse without your say, it is war.”
“M’lady, it is time.” Juniper calls for you, waiting by the entrance of your tent.
“Coming.” When you look back at Lyonel, his shadow is gone.
—
The smoke from the pyre sears your cheeks and clogs your eyes. The ceremony atop the hill was solemn, as the only sound you could hear was the crackling of the fire eating away at the bones of Baelor Breakspear.
You held onto your father’s arm the whole ceremony, keeping him afloat as your brothers stood stiffly behind him. Despite the fighting and the heavy words that were hurled at him from your brothers, the three of you decided to stay by him whilst watching another father burn right in front of you.
Your family has said your condolences to Baelor’s grieving family. You’ve held Valarr’s arm in a sorry attempt at comfort, and he nodded at you curtly, eyes watery, lips drawn tightly before looking away. His wife was beside him the whole time as you exchanged comforting words with her, The lady Kiera was sorrowful, trying and failing to hide her weeping as you provided a shoulder to cry on although briefly, despite only knowing each other for nigh an hour. And yet her husband’s attention was on the pile of ashes that the silent sisters were currently sweeping onto an ornate vase that carries the dragon sigil.
Egg lingers behind for a moment, watching his father’s retreating back. His eyes gaze falls to his older cousin, he takes a step, hesitates, and retreats with a deep frown.
“My prince.” You curtsy for politeness sake, smiling gently at the boy.
“Lady Arryn.” He answers, voice taut as he clears it away with a cough. “How are you faring?”
“After that, not quite well I suppose…” your eyes linger on Valarr’s back as he sits upon a rock, watching his father’s ashes with glossy eyes and a furrowed brow.
“I should thank you, I think.” Aegon looks up at you with his big purple eyes. You never really noticed the hue when it always looked darker, almost black whenever you see him. It would’ve been a dead giveaway.
“For what?”
“For helping Ser Duncan by sending your own maester, he might’ve died if not.”
“It’s the least I could do.” Your voice lowers as you take a deep breath of the cool air. It’s too much of a fine day for a loss. “But I should’ve helped more, perhaps if there was time I could’ve suited up in armour—”
“No, just for you to die too?” He shakes his head, his hat almost flying in the breeze if not for his hand holding it down. “Ser Lyonel wouldn’t be able to perform well if you two shared the field. And we would have the whole Vale and the Storm Lands rebelling if you have died in place of my uncle.”
Despite his dark words, you manage a soft chuckle. “Has anyone told you that you’re quite irksome?”
“They have.”
“Perhaps it is because you’re right.” Sighing, you tuck your hands in front of you, seeing your brothers gesture for you to follow them. Egg gives you a tight lipped smile. “You know the only good thing that would’ve come out of my betrothal with your brother is that you would be my brother by law. I always wanted a little sibling.”
“And yet you called me irksome.”
“That I did,” the two of you mirror each other’s gentle expression. “little siblings are always irksome, or so I’ve heard from my own brothers.”
He nods, a scoff akin to a laugh escaping from him. “Take care, my lady.”
“You as well, my prince.” With a gentle pat on his shoulder, you lean forward a little to utter words that you hope will remain by him. “Be good, please. No matter where you go, just…be good.” The little prince pats the back of your hand, lingering for a moment before turning away.
You leave, feeling the heaviness hang in the air as you’re helped upon your horse by your father. He looks up at you through his glossy eyes, a hand wrapped protectively around your ankle. You share a knowing look at him, and he nods before walking away. You’re not ready to lose him, when the time comes for the stranger to take him, you wouldn’t be able to hold it as well as the new heir apparent to the throne.
“M’lady Arryn.” A Targaryen man-at-arms appears from behind, panting as he calls for you before your horse could trot away. “The prince calls for you.”
You needn’t ask which prince. With a sigh, you hop off your horse as your father and brothers do the same to accompany you.
“Just lady Arryn, m’lords.” The guard states, waiting for you as you give your family a reassuring nod.
The man-at-arms brings you to Maekar as he stares off into the distance towards where King’s Landing would be. His head is held up high, shoulders taut, back straight as his expression is akin to a carved marble statue of the warrior himself.
“My prince.” You curtsy politely. “You called for me?”
“Lady Arryn.” Maekar turns slowly, a precise movement that he seems to have thought through. “I must apologize for the dishonour of what my son has done that dragged your house along with it. I shall relieve you of the betrothal with my son. I bear no ill will towards you, we’re kin.”
You try not to show your happiness. “Thank you, my prince.” He nods, turning away. That should be the end of it, but you stay. “My sincere condolences to you and your family. Prince Baelor was a good man.”
It was nigh impossible for a man’s shoulders to be so tightly wounded but the prince manages to stiffen his shoulders even more from your words.
“I met your son, Egg, before I knew him as Aegon.” That gets his attention as he looks over his shoulder, regarding you with the same coldness that you saw in his son, but no cruelty underneath his purple eyes. “The hedge knight is a good man too, prince Baelor saw the same thing your son did. I may be speaking out of turn but please do not blame yourself. I found that the guilt eats right at you together with the grief.”
His eyes glance away briefly, chest rising as he unwinds his fists, rolling a ring around his finger. “When did you know of Aegon?”
“We played tug-of-war, my prince. I never thought I was slugging it through the mud with a prince of the realm though.” You let out a quiet chortle at the memory as he fully turns to you. “He’s a glad child, brilliant too.” Your words hang in the air, right in between you. “Thank you for relieving me of my duty, my prince. You have given me something to look forward to.” With a final curtsy, you turn to leave.
The smell of ash and bone curdles in your nostrils as you go down the hill slowly, letting your thoughts simmer, lugging it around like a heavy trunk filled with rocks. But instead of taking it with you, you leave it at the foot of the hill.
Duncan’s shambling form is impossible to miss as he goes up the hill with some strain.
“Ser Duncan.” You call with relief that is palpable in your bones. “You are alright.” He looks horrendous, almost half dead but at least he is alive.
“M’lady,” he smiles, but winces when his injured skin tugs. “Yes, thank you for sending your maester, he was of great help. But what—what are you doing here?”
“My family is kin by law with the late prince,” you stifle a smile when his blue eyes widen. “I’m lady Arryn, good Ser.”
“You are?” He’s immediately trying to kneel before you, despite his makeshift cane underneath his arm. “Gods, I am terribly sorry, I should’ve—”
“Seven hells, Dunk.” Chuckling, you grab him gently by his arms to lift him up. “That is not necessary. I purposely hid my true identity.”
“We—” he blinks blearily at you, one eye half open whilst the other is blackened shut. “—we drank together, gods, I still have your handkerchief— hold on.” He proceeds to pat his pockets. You can’t believe that this is the same man that managed to win the trial against a more well trained knight.
You stop him with a hand upon his elbow. His cheeks turn flush with pink from your touch. “Keep it, it’s yours, something to remind you of the day you saved me. To remind you of your honour.” Patting his hand that is holding onto the cane, you stand on your tip toes to peck his cheek. “Stay safe, Ser Duncan. You shall be a knight of great renown, I know of it.”
“Thank you, m’lady…” He’s flabbergasted, gawking at the space you left as you leave him standing there like a rooted tree.
When you get back to your horse, unsurprisingly, you find your father and brothers waiting for you.
“Well?” Both Robert and Jon ask simultaneously.
“The prince has relieved me of my betrothal to his son.”
“Thank the gods.” Jon exhales out a relieved breath as Ser Andros, who is standing beside your horse, lets out the same sigh of relief. Robert’s shoulders ease, eyes closing and head tilting to the sky, as if to thank the gods for the good news.
“I am glad.” Your father announces, steadying his horse as he sets the pace while everyone follows suit. His smile is genuine, a hand reaching out to you as he squeezes your hand. “Your mother shall be glad for it too.”
“Just say how relieved you are.” You cannot hide your happiness now that you’re free to choose Lyonel as he chose you. There will be no war held because of your hand for now.
“I am relieved, sweetling.” His eyes crinkles in the corners, mirroring his children’s expressions. “I shall inform your prospects, mayhaps they could reconsider their offers.”
“Prospect, just one is worthy, father.” The grin on your face stretches wide as you see the sea of tents down below, right where the familiar crowned stag sigil flutters in the wind. Your brothers share a look.
“Who might that be?” The lord Arryn asks.
And you grin knowingly.
—
Your father enters your tent whilst Juniper finishes your hair, securing a net of pearls atop your head. Your things are already kept in the trunks, waiting to be placed in your carriage, whether it is bound for the Eyrie, or Storm’s End, you already know where you would go.
You’re now in your Arryn regalia, dark blue silks that hugs you in the right places. The sleeves are long and cut in the latest fashion, it drags at the hem with a slit in the middle. And the embroidery is intricate without looking too gaudy, you wanted to look like you. The same person Lyonel adores.
Juniper dabs a perfume oil right at your neck, lavender and roses, before giving you a gentle smile and a squeeze for good luck.
The lord Arryn smiles faintly through the reflection of you in the looking glass.
“He asks for you to meet with him.” He simply says, an answer you already knew would come from him. Your father’s arm reaches out for you to take. “Are you sure about him, sweetling?”
“More than sure, father.” The smile you don on was enough of an answer for him.
—
“Where in the seven hells is he?” Your father’s words echo inside the barren Baratheon pavilion that used to be filled with life.
The place is empty now, devoid of the long tables and chairs, whilst the braziers run cold without its flickering flames. A few of his people gather the rest of the furniture as the wooden crates creaks in the silence. Even though your very impatient father is tapping his foot incessantly against the floor, and probably cursing Lyonel under his breath, you wait with a soft smile upon your face, looking up at the golden tapered ceiling of the tent, dreamily sighing.
The warden of the Vale cranes his attention towards you, brows furrowed with concern at your calm demeanor. “Do you feel sick, sweetling? Perhaps you should take off your cloak, it is warm here.”
Shaking your head, you felt Lyonel before he could even enter the tent. His cane thumps quietly, getting closer and closer until he stops midstep. You continue to stare at the wall, where a hanging stag antlers is displayed; whilst you purposely turn your back away from him as you feel his eyes on you.
“Ah, finally, Ser Lyonel!” Your father clasps his hands together with a big smile on his face. “My apologies for the abrupt…request. And I thank you for hearing us at the last minute.”
“No need for the formalities, lord Arryn.” You could hear the smile in his tone. “I shall gladly marry your daughter.”
“Wha— that’s wonderful,” he answers with a wobbly cadence, chuckling unsurely. “but you haven’t even seen her yet. Sweetling, come meet your betrothed.”
“Oh, haven’t you heard, my lord? It’s not all about looks these days.” he teases his future father by law with a clasp upon his shoulder. “Although it wouldn’t hurt to see my lady Arryn.”
Turning slowly, you pull your hood away, revealing the same smile you have given him. His face is bruised, one eye blackened and his gait is uneven from the healing leg, despite it all, he gazes at you with such tenderness, like how a sailor would look at land after sailing the open waters for years.
“Ser Lyonel,” with a proper curtsy, you see his grin stretch, bottom lip bitten from stifling his own laughter. “A pleasure to finally meet my betrothed.” You say it like how it should’ve been at the start, it sounds right, it sounds perfect.
The lord Arryn glances between you and Lyonel with a befuddled look on his face, sensing the electrified air. “Well, this is going better than I imagined.”
“Just like I thought it would when I asked you to marry me to Lyonel during our first night here, father.” Closing the small distance, you rile up your father, holding his previous decision over his head like a rock until you’re satisfied.
“Sweetling—” he panics, head turning towards Lyonel, only to find the laughing storm’s cheeks dusted with pink, and an amused chuckle rising from his throat. “Oh, that’s…” He knows that the man is completely enamored by you, and it concerns him slightly, confused even.
“My lord Arryn.” Lyonel pries his eyes off of you briefly to regard him in his sights. “May I have a moment with my betrothed? I have a few words to say to her in private.”
“Sweetling?” He gulps, asking if you are keen to be alone with this apparent ‘stranger.’ “If my daughter is—”
“Yes,” you quickly say, too quickly to have been innocent. “I mean, yes, I would like to have some words with Lyonel.”
“Alright…” clearing his throat, your father hesitates for a moment before walking slowly outside.
Once the tent flaps closes behind him, the two of you are immediately on each other like rain drops on a bird’s feather.
“I thought he’d never leave. It gladdens me that you wanted to marry me from the start.” Lyonel mutters atop your lips, pressing saccharine kisses upon you with every giggle you let out. He tastes like honeyed wine, and his arms are around you, pressing you against him tenderly, as close as he could to feel your laughter rumble in your chest and your heart flutter with every touch upon your body.
“Not exactly from the very start, but it’s close.”
He gives every space of your face a kiss, from your temple to your jaw, to the tip of your nose. “Mayhaps I should give you your ring back.”
You shake your head, pushing him closer by his nape, fingers toying with his loose curls. “It is yours, I gave it to you. It’s my favour for you to keep.”
“Perhaps it is for the best when I’m supposed to give you a new ring.” His heart syncs with yours, a stag and a falcon, finally together. His fingers roll around the pearls in your hair. “I like this, gods, you look marvelous.”
“We’re truly betrothed.” There’s palpable relief between the two of you. Your hands are in his hair, pushing him closer, tugging his curls as he lets out a satisfied rumble in his throat. “Gods, I can’t wait—” the kisses become more fervent that you could barely get any words out. But you don’t mind as your leg hooks behind his knee in an attempt to bring yourself impossibly closer. “—Can’t wait to marry you.”
He laughs against your parted lips, giving you breath as he tugs your chin down with his thumb to kiss you deeper.
You both lean away for air, panting and heaving against each other as his hair is a mess from your fingers raking through his curls, and your lips are properly kissed with a sheen covering your smile.
“I can kiss you whenever I want.” He says it like he couldn’t believe it himself. “Hold you whenever you please.”
“Perhaps more than kisses.” You give the corner of his lips a peck.
He beams at you, brightening up his expression despite the purple bruises marring his handsome face. “Oh, a lot more, my love. So much more, you’d get sick of me.” Rubbing his nose against yours, hands wandering your sides, he leans into your lips, continuing the kiss.
“Never,” kiss, “I’ll never,” kiss, “get sick of you, Lyonel.” You’re almost out of breath, and his hands squeeze your waist so much that you could feel his rough palms despite your dress over it. “My stag, my Lyonel.”
Lyonel makes a sound from the back of his throat that makes you pull at his hair harder and kiss him deeper.
A loud gasp can be heard from behind, and your father unsheathes his sword, eyes wide as he stares at the compromising position he found you two in. “You—!”
“Seven hells!”
“We shall be married in the morn!” Lyonel fixes the blunder immediately, as you wholeheartedly agree with a wide grin.
Your father eases his hold on the sword, completely befuddled, looking as if he missed reading a page. But he sees how you look at Lyonel and how he looks at you. So he accepts, already thinking how he would tell your mother without getting her mad.
“I will need an explanation.”
“Gladly, preferably after the wedding.” Lyonel answers, not taking any chances of losing you if your father hears of the circumstances you two have met and of your excursions.
Eyes gazing at your future husband, your fingers pushing his fallen curls away, and knuckles gliding along his corded neck lovingly. Whilst he holds you as if you are already his wife.
You say the same three words to him during that one fateful foggy morning, this time, he could hear it. And he answers with the same sweetened three words that would repeat in your head forevermore.
Lyonel my guy, r, you guys aren't going anywhere chilll 😭 You horn dogs her papa is going to think you're freaks. She's yours twin RELAX. He loves you too DAMN.
Excellent, wonderful, amazing, exquisite as always chef. I kiss you and gift you my cattle.
Pairing: Lyonel Baratheon x fem! Reader/ The Laughing Storm x fem! Reader
Word count: 9.7k
Synopsis: A confession and a trial.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, Arryn! Reader, set during the Ashford tourney, Reader has family members but no physical description, part five of my mini series, a prequel to this fic, CW suggestive language, CW violence and blood, CW food and alcohol mention, fluff.
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Lyonel Baratheon Masterlist
Chap 4 >>> Chap 5 >>> Chap 6
The night has gone cold with the air smelling of petrichor. Rain is coming as you feel the chill permeate through your dress. You regret leaving the thread bare cloak behind, even though it is thin, it would’ve provided some sort of warmth as you trudge the muddy ground of Ashford meadow.
What used to be a place filled with life and noise, it all dwindled down to silence. As if everyone has heard of what happened, the cruelty that transpired. Footsteps squelch on the mud, retreating away from the open field to hide in their pavilions.
Tonight’s events have you exhausted and solemn. You think of Lyonel and his sad eyes, how he looked at you before you left. Like a storm brewing underneath those soft brown eyes, whether it would be a gentle spring rain, or a downpour, you do not know, but you wish that you could’ve stayed to find out.
You wish for a lot of things right now, to see and talk to Lyonel, but first and foremost, for Ser Duncan to be alright. His plight is heinous, unjustly for his sake. He’s kind and genuine, perhaps the truest knight you’ve ever had the fortune of meeting. Despite being a hedge knight that people look down upon, he is a better knight than the cruel prince Aerion would be. How he broke that poor girl’s fingers will haunt your dreams, and her screams will haunt your waking days, especially after you are wed to the same man that broke her.
You’ve told Juniper of what Aerion has done, and you watched as her face contorted into anger, then fear, and finally, pity. You would have to live with that cruelty, her lady, her beloved friend. So you held her hand, a reassurance that will barely make a dent in her heavy heart. You love Juniper, and you would always be grateful and fond of your greatest friend, but you don’t need pity, you need anger, fury, a call for justice for the hedge knight you’ve come to know.
You need to find a way to set him free.
“Father’s furious at you, sister.” Jon says the moment he laid eyes on you as he stands guard by your house’s pavilion.
“He’s always furious at me nowadays, might as well do as I please when he’ll stay angry no matter what.” Sighing, you turn towards him as he shakes his head.
“Careful,” Jon warns. “father has his limits.”
You chortle without an ounce of humour. “I have gone over the limits already, brother, clearly I still live.” Your hands push away the blue silks of the Arryn tent without sparing him another glance.
When you enter the tent with Juniper and Jon in tow, you expect your father to be waiting furiously there, stewing in his anger, only to find Robert wrangling the lord paramount of the Vale as he drunkenly dance around with a sloshing cup in hand.
“Ah! My sweet girl!” Your father, who was fearsome in battle, the one who has broken down many rebellions from the mountain clans with his sword is reaching towards you with a wide grin like a boy seeing lemon cakes served to him.
“What in the seven hells did you do to him?” Eyes wide, you stifle a chuckle, pushing him away with your palm upon his face, feeling the sweat right on his clammy skin. He accepts the rejection in stride, dancing around as you wince at his spirited prancing.
“Me?” Robert scoffs in offense, eyes widening at what lies suddenly in your father’s clutches. “Give me it!” Trying to pry a very sharp dagger from your father’s grasp, he dodges it before yanking it away from him like how one would raise a toy over their head when a child is being petulant. “He did this to himself! He was drinking with the other lords— stop it!” The lord of the Vale gets pushed once again by his grown child. “Came home like a drunken sailor.”
Thunder rolls after a strike of lightning outside. The rain pours down, hitting the pavilion heavily as it thuds against the fabric loudly. Your father laughs, fully laughs at the sound of the rain, one that you haven’t heard of in a while as he manages to escape Robert’s hold, hopping around the tent and tossing his head back. His dancing reminds you of a certain someone that you miss.
Your loud guffaw garners everyone’s attention. “He has finally lost it! He should drink more often.”
“Sister, this is not funny!” Robert stomps his foot, dragging the lord away from the flagon of wine as your father whines his protest. “He cannot hold his ale!”
“I see that we took more after mother when it comes to drinking.” Fetching the flagon, you pour yourself a cup before taking a generous gulp like it was nothing and pour another serving. “Here, give him this.” You reach for Robert as he finally manages to sit him down on the plush chair.
“Oh, the rain! The rain will wash away the shit and more shit of the realm!” Your father sings, quite badly at that. He’s not exactly a word smith either.
“More wine?!” Your older brother scoffs, rejecting the offer with a scrunch of his nose.
“It’s arbour gold, it’s akin to sugar than alcohol. The sweetness will help.” You then retrieve a loaf of bread from the same table, offering it to him. “To soak up the rest.”
Robert looks towards the eldest for help as he lounges on a nearby armchair, head perched on his palm as his eyes tiredly blink at him. “Do not look to me for help, I didn’t listen to the maester’s lessons, remember?”
Jon surrenders and takes the cup and bread from you. “This better work.”
“If not, we’ll have a jolly father throughout the night.” At least someone is happy. Running a hand on your face, you look at Juniper, a simple gaze that has her crossing the distance for you. Your hand immediately finds hers. “Please give this to the puppeteer girl, it might not be sufficient in easing her trauma but it will be good enough for the road.” The bag of coins clinks against her palm.
Juniper simply nods, knowing of the raging thoughts swirling inside your head. She gives you a brief squeeze, gentle eyes gazing at you solemnly. She leaves, pocketing the coins without another word.
“What was that for?” Robert asks, helping the lord drink and have bites of the bread.
“Did you not hear of what my future husband has done?” Plopping on a plush seat, you sit unlady like, head lolling on the back of the chair as you blow a raspberry into the cold air.
Your brothers gaze at each other warily before turning their curious eyes at you. Swallowing down the bile rising up your throat, you inhale deeply through your nose.
“What did he do now?”
“He broke a poor girl’s fingers just because of a fucking puppet show.” Kneading the space between your brow, you tiredly face them. They look at you through heavy gazes, whilst your father mutters something to himself, head resting against his arm on the table, playing with the fallen bread crumbs. “A hedge knight…Ser Duncan hit him to defend the innocent.”
“How many times exactly?” Jon asks, now fully awake, elbows perched on his knees.
“I do not know, two? Three? He kicked him too.”
The eldest whistles lowly, “must’ve been a bloody sight. I would’ve paid all our gold just to see it.” He sits back, arms crossed over his chest. “The hedge knight will have a proper trial, I am sure of it.”
“Probably a trial by combat.” Robert adds.
You crane your neck towards him, lips parted, brows deeply furrowed. “What?”
“Well, he’s a knight ain’t he? It’s better to fight for your honour than let a bunch of old men judge you.” He sighs, helping wipe the wine off your father’s mouth. “The same old men who works underneath the king himself.”
Your worry grows, fingers wringing at your skirt as you imagine Duncan standing before a council who will surely deem him guilty.
“The king, where?” The lord perks up, before being pushed down by Robert back to his seat. “I must tell him of the battle of the red grass field.” He holds your brother by his shoulders desperately.
“He was there, father.”
“What do you think will happen to Ser Duncan?” You turn to Jon, letting your father’s murmurs fall in the back of your mind.
He shrugs, yawning. “There’s no telling, sister.” The worried look on your face has him going back to his own words, a need to put you at ease, or perhaps soften the blow. “I’m sorry, but it’s in the seven’s hands now.”
“There must be something we could do.” You utter quietly, your brothers gazes looking at you solemnly. “Ser Duncan is a fine knight, but he will not win against a prince who has been trained the moment he could hold a sword.”
“Aerion could be formidable.” Robert chimes in. “But if he’s anything like his cousin Valarr, his armour might just be for show.”
You hold out hope. “Where is Maester Grover? Mayhaps he knows something within the laws that could help Dunk’s defense.”
“Probably abed.” Jon stands up with a groan, walking towards you with a helping hand. “As you should be, sweet sister.”
“I cannot possibly fall asleep after the injustice I have witnessed.”
“You witnessed it?” Robert’s shocked words has your father mirroring his expression mockingly. It would be funny if not for what happened recently. “What the fuck were you doing out?”
“I should be the one asking you that, Rob, when you were supposed to go with father to the Tully pavilion and watch over him.” Jon defends you with a questioning brow aimed at his little brother.
Robert’s jaw clenches, eyes looking away.
“The Tullys, yes.” The lord of the Vale says clearly, almost sober, but his eyes are still glossed over as he points weakly at you. “Mayhaps you could marry a Tully, sweetling. That would be nice, they’re nice people.”
“Father, I am already betrothed. Which you have reminded me so earnestly.” You answer with a shake of your head, taking Jon’s hand reluctantly as you stand up.
“Oh, yes, to Prince Aerion.” He scratches his beard, sniffing the rain soaked air as he smacks his lips. “I am sorry about that, sweetling.” His cheek rests upon Rob’s side, blinking at you as he deeply frowns. “No one is worthy of you, not even a prince.”
“Father…”
“Perhaps I just miss my own sister.” His muscles give out under him as he melds with the chair. “Being a master of coin might have been my excuse to watch over her. Just like you have with your sister.” Giving Robert’s hand a pat, his eyes close slowly, head falling down onto the table as Rob catches him before he could hurt himself.
The three of you reel from his words.
For a moment, silence hangs over the Arryn pavilion. The rain bears down upon the meadow, and the scent of it carries memories of Lyonel, his hand upon your waist, his voice as he whispers in your ear about a gossip he had overheard, and his laughter that envelopes you in warmth.
As the warden of the Vale snores atop his desk, Robert finally lets out a tired sigh, shoulders slumping as he kneads the space between his brows.
“He’ll change his mind once he hears of what Aerion did.” Jon breaks the silence, as Rob sits on a chair opposite of you, completely melting into the cushions tiredly. “Now go to bed, there will be a solution come the morn.”
“You don’t know that, Jon.” Sighing, you roll your shoulders, stepping aside to pour yourself another cup.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink, sister, you smell like a tavern.”
“Could you two quiet it down? Father will wake.” Groaning, Rob shuts his eyes as he rubs his hands over his face. “The gods have mercy on us, this tourney has us all turning into drunkards—”
“Boy, you cannot—!” There’s a ruckus outside, and the tent flaps open a second later, revealing Egg just as he goes under and in between Ser Andros’ legs to bypass him.
“My lord Arryn!” The young prince dodges Andros’ swipe.
“Egg!” Putting a hand up, you wordlessly tell Andros to back off. The knight reluctantly nods, standing guard by the tent as he grimaces at the boy. “What are you doing here?”
Egg is now in his princely robes, black velvet and a sash as red as blood that is held upon his shoulder with a silver dragon head. He’s definitely a Targaryen.
“You know of this bald headed child?” Jon’s hands are on his hips, watching the interaction.
“You,” The boy’s eyes flicker towards you with recognition. “you’re lady Arryn?”
“I am,” clearing your throat, you place the flagon down and stand straight out of instinct. “is there something the matter, Egg— Aegon, my prince, is Dunk alright?”
“He’s one of the missing princes?” Robert leans onto his knees, whilst your father remains unbothered and asleep, snoring into the night.
“I am.” Aegon regards the whole room with his chin held up, but his eyes tell a story, a frantic and desperate one. His gaze turns to you shakily. “Aerion has asked for a trial of seven.”
“What in the seven hells is that?” Jon asks, looking at your fearful face. His demeanor changes once he sees your expression, and how your fists curl around themselves, trembling on your sides. “Sister, what’s happening?”
Robert waits for your answer with a pensive expression.
“There hasn’t been a trial of the seven since king Maegor the cruel.” You utter quietly, almost to yourself as you feel the lump in your throat rise. “And he was the sole survivor of it.”
“A trial by combat but seven versus seven?” Rob scoffs, recalling the boring history lessons from the Maester.
“Yes, and Ser Duncan needs men.” Standing tall, or as tall as he could be when he’s merely nine years old, he’s in the making to be a good prince of the realm. “I have come here to ask that of House Arryn. We are kin through Lady Aemma Arryn and—”
“We do not need a reminder of our ties from seventy years ago, boy.” Jon looks down at Egg over his nose, hands hidden behind his back as his gaze narrows. When the prince opens his mouth to retaliate, Jon shakes his head, embodying the future lord of the Vale. “And we do not need a reminder that we share an aunt through marriage. We know that perfectly well.”
“My lady,” Swallowing thickly, Aegon doesn’t back down despite the narrowed stares he has garnered from your brothers. He turns to you, back straight, fists at his side. “If you would help us, just like the Ser has when you needed help.”
“I am sorry, what?” Robert tilts his head questioningly as your lord father snorts in his sleep. “What happened— how long have you been sneaking out?” He asks, offended.
“Since our first night—”
“Since—!” Rob scoffs loudly, vaulting out of his seat, walking around it to grasp at the back of it. “Behind our backs?”
“Need I remind you that I am a woman grown?”
“Yes! Because sometimes you don’t act like it, sister!”
“Enough.” Jon, doesn’t raise his voice to have you both quieting down. “We have a prince in our midst, comport yourselves.”
You give Robert a lingering sneer before turning towards an annoyed Egg with an apologetic look.
“Can you attest to the nature of the accused, sister?”
“Ser Duncan the Tall.” You wince when you remember how he was treated by Aerion’s men. “I met him on our first night here. I can attest to his nature, he is innocent.” Your gaze turns to your brothers for help like usual. This time, it’s more urgent, more desperate. It is not your life that is in danger, it is his, perhaps one of the most honourable knights you have ever met. A true knight, like in your storybooks when you were younger. “Please help him.”
Robert turns to the elder brother for guidance as Jon thinks. And you’re hopeful, hopeful that justice will prevail. That at least one of your brothers will answer the call. They’re both formidable, knights of great renown and both having seen real combat through the rebellions in the mountains and the red grass field. With them joining Ser Duncan’s side, he has a greater chance of getting out of there alive.
“We do not know of this Ser Duncan, sister,” he says with a solemn tone. “and even if we did, the trial is still a dangerous ordeal.”
Your heart plunges down your stomach. “He saved me, isn’t that enough of a reason?” Voice small, you grip at the edge of the table before you, eyes avoiding Egg’s shining eyes.
“Saved you from who?” Rob asks, still in the dark.
“A butcher,” you answer immediately, taking small strides towards Jon to face him, trying to convince him some more. “but it is done and I am safe because of him, so please, consider it.”
Swallowing down, Rob turns to Aegon once again. “Who will be on your brother’s side?”
“My father, my brother, Daeron and…” he pauses, eyes shifty. “And the king’s guard.”
“Well, that decides it for us.” Jon takes a drink, chuckling without humour.
“Robert and I both have families of our own,” The heir utters through gritted teeth. “do you think we’ll risk it for a hedge knight?” His words are cold and blunt, like the rain outside, but you don’t falter when you think of the little babes they will both leave if the trial cuts their lives short.
“He is kind.” Is the only thing you could say, tears forming in the corner of your eyes, knowing exactly what you are asking of them.
“My brother Daeron promised to fall down during the first—”
“Kindness isn’t enough.” Jon answers softly this time, a hand briefly brushing on your elbow before looking at the prince. “We’re grateful for what your knight has done for our sister but we cannot answer your call, you know we cannot.”
“I am sorry, Egg.” You could barely look at him as you wipe away the tears sticking to your lashes.
Stubborn like the prince he is, he stands his ground. “Then at least help me convince Ser Lyonel. He will listen to you.” His voice trembles, and yet his words are steady, surely, not an ounce of uncertainty. He’s certain that Lyonel cares enough for you to answer your call. “He likes you.”
“Lyonel Baratheon? You’ve met him?” Rob asks, brows furrowed while Jon looks down at his feet. “Since when?”
You ignore your brother’s question as you close the distance between you and Aegon. “If it is for Ser Duncan then he will accept it whether you ask him or I do. I know he would. Lyonel is honourable, and he has a fondness for Dunk.”
Egg’s face contorts into tethered anger before storming off. “You better hope he does.”
Sometimes you forget that he is still a child underneath his well spoken words. A Targaryen prince with fire in his blood.
“Egg—” Hitching your skirt, you go after him.
“Where are you going?” Robert voices his protest.
“To help the prince gather men for Ser Duncan.”
“No, I forbid you.” Robert shakes his head.
“Rob, please.”
“You cannot be involved in this more than you already have.”
“I’m just gathering men for a trial, not going off to marry behind father’s back!” Your voice grows louder than the rain outside. Whilst your father sleeps soundly.
“Sister, this is a matter of the crown.” Jon adds, standing in between his siblings. “A trial of seven is a dangerous thing. You would be putting men to their possible deaths.”
Your face falls, remembering what you have told Egg, what you just instructed him. “But— it’s Lyonel…”
“Think, do you want that blood on your hands? You cannot go, father wouldn’t want you to go.” The oldest pleads, a hand upon your elbow. “Stay, just this once, stay. If you say that this hedge knight is as good as you say he is and how every knight should be, he will find men to fight for him.” Jon turns to Rob. “Have you become a silent sister?”
“Our sister already used that tease. But you are right, the gods will help him find his knights.”
Shaking your head, you rub at your face before taking a deep breath. Lyonel’s blood could be on your hands. “Could I at least apologize to the prince? He may still remain outside the tent. I won’t stray too far.”
With some reluctance, Jon nods. “Ser Andros will see to it that you do.”
Just as he finishes his sentence, you walk outside with large strides. The smell of wet grass and mud hits your nose as the dim meadow that was once full of light just a few hours ago now lay still like the dead.
The cool rain hits the top of your head, soaking your hair before you feel a large hand cover you with the sound of clicking metal.
Ser Andros stands to your right, hand outstretched to shield you from the rain as best as he can with his hand. Whilst keeping watch of you as you rake your eyes around for any sign of the little prince.
“Have you seen—”
“He’s already gone, m’lady. Headed for the Baratheon pavilion with his brother.”
“His brother, which one?”
“The drunk one. He decided to stay outside, said that he didn’t want to see you.”
“I’ve never even met the man.”
He shrugs, armour clanking as the rain drenches the metal plates. “He was mumbling about a couple of dead birds and a burning stone doe?” Grimacing, he scoffs. “He was quite peculiar, m’lady, it’s better that you never met him.”
There’s a heavy feeling in the back of your throat. “Yes, I am sure it was nothing.”
—
You haven’t slept a wink. Your whole body aches from the nerves that strains your very muscles, constricting around itself as you lay abed. Eyes wide open, you stare at the silk canopy, watching the night sky slowly turn lighter as dawn breaks.
Juniper sleeps beside you, keeping you company on her own behest. Citing that you should not be alone on your own after what transpired. She has a good heart, and she is rightfully correct when your mind refuses to give you reprieve from all the ways where the trial could go wrong.
Of course you do not wish for anyone to get hurt, especially Ser Duncan and Lyonel, but from what you have read in the quiet hours of the Eyrie’s library, it would be an impossible feat for anyone to get out of the trial unscathed.
Turning away from the fluttering canopy, your cheek lays flush against the goose feather pillow that smells faintly of lilac and citrus from the soap you used to wash away the night’s grime of mud and the scent of wine. You’re in your night clothes, a long sleeved navy blue cotton slip embroidered with silver feathers that shines underneath the dim lamp light that flickers beside you. You’re afraid for their lives, and as you sit up, letting the cool air kiss your skin, you do something you haven’t done in quite a while— you pray, actually pray to the seven that they would favour Ser Duncan’s side, the just side of the trial.
Your eyes are tightly closed when you hear footsteps entering your tent.
“Are you praying?” Your elder brother’s voice breaks through the cold silence.
“What does it look like?” You answer with a bite to your tone, turning to face him.
“Like you’re in the privy.”
“You’re a pig.” Scoffing a laugh, you unclasp your hands and regard him in your sights. “You’re not in armour. I take it that you didn’t change your mind?”
Jon sighs, a limp wrist resting against the pommel of his sword. “I’m taking you to the tilts. We might make it in time for you to say your goodbyes.”
Your face softens, brows slowly folding together, you stand up as the long slip pools around your feet. “Why?”
Jon walks to your vanity, picking up a warm black cloak that was draped upon a chair. “Because I am not cruel.” Tossing the cloak over to you, he nods curtly. “Come, there is no time to waste.”
“What of father and Robert?” Quickly tossing the cloak over your shoulder, you secure it with the nearest metal clasp, a halfmoon pierced with a needle. Whilst you wrap the belt that has your dagger dangling upon it around your waist, you then hurriedly put on your boots, while Jon lingers by the entrance, waiting for you.
“They’re still abed.” He simply says, putting his arm out for you which you immediately take the moment you finish tying your laces.
“So we’re sneaking out together?” A small smile flickers upon your face as the two of you go outside into the cold morning air. Mist permeates around you, covering the whole meadow eerily. A chill runs down your spine as your boots squelch on the muddy ground.
“You’re not the only one who has experience in galavanting.” With Jon’s longer strides, you try to keep up. “Who do you think has been letting you leave so easily?”
“You?” He nods smugly. “Since when?”
“The second day after your first escape. You’re a woman grown who knows how to wield a blade, I figured you’d be safe. I trust that you will keep safe.”
“I was, and the friends I made along the way made sure of that too.” You squeeze his arm gratefully. “I thought I was adequate at dodging our men.” You smile at him, giving his hand a good pat. “Us Arryns love to soar.”
“And yet we keep finding ourselves shackled to our duty.”
Nodding, you could see the tilts in the distance, obscured by the cold fog that covers the whole Ashford meadow. “A tragedy really.” Putting on your hood, and pulling the cloak closer, you become a walking shadow beside your brother. Once the gate is in sight, you crane your head to look at Jon with worry. “Jon, there might not be enough knights to fight for Ser Duncan.”
Jon looks at his feet, untangling his arm from your own as you see Raymun Fossoway standing behind the opened gates with a large unfamiliar man.
“I will not fight for him, the same with Robert.” His eyes look at you with guilt. “I cannot risk it, we are our house’s future, and that includes you, sister. As much as we care for you, we cannot fight for your hedge knight.”
“I understand.” Your fists gather your skirt tightly.
“Go, say your words,” his chin gestures towards a golden armoured knight standing beside Duncan, as two others flank them. “I will wait for you in the stands.”
“Thank you, brother.”
“Thank me later when father changes his mind.” You don’t question his statement when he’s already walking away into the misty air.
Twisting around, you take a deep breath, letting the cold soak your lungs as you gather your skirts and walk towards the four.
Amidst the fog, Lyonel in his golden armour looks like sunshine seeping through grey clouds after a downpour. A beacon of light that calls for you as you dredge through the mud. You hold onto the stony side of the gate, not truly going through but staying by the edge just to watch him be.
“There hasn’t been a trial in a hundred years.” Lyonel says with a teasing smile, wrist resting casually on the pommel of his sword. “I wasn’t about to miss a chance to bloody up the kingsguard and their pretty white gowns.”
“That’s too bad, I quite like white gowns.” You say as they part for you like drifting clouds. Raymun and the other tall stocky man nods curtly before you. Whilst Dunk almost fumbles at the sight of you, as for Lyonel, his expression brightens up even more than the prospect of having to toss around the royals without repercussions.
“M’lady!” Duncan bows before you, his large armour clanking together. “You came.” His hopeful smile brings you warmth.
“You look gallant in your armour, good Ser.” You feel Lyonel’s eyes upon you as you smile at the hedge knight. Dunk flusters, smiling softly at you with a nod. “I wouldn’t miss it. They said that this would be a sight to behold, a trial of the century. And you’ve managed to get the finest knights of the realm on your side.” Your gaze rakes around the group of knights giving you a quick glance over, you recognize them all from their feats alone.
“Now it has a worthy audience.” Lyonel tilts his head at you, clear eyes and a wide smile as his salt and pepper curls fall upon his eyes. “You’re just in time, my doe.”
“I figured I’d stop by, say a few encouraging words.”
“We need ‘em now more than ever, my lady.” The Fossoway adds, face solemn. “We’re only six against seven.”
“You’re missing one?” Your smile falls immediately. “You cannot fight if you’re not complete, it’s an automatic guilty verdict for Ser Duncan.”
“Oh, I feel ill.” The hedge knight grows a little green, clasping his mouth shut with his armoured hand.
“Not in front of the lady.” The man clad in a leather apron takes him away, chastising him. While Raymun follows along, patting Duncan’s back.
“There goes the speech I had in mind.” A jest that has the knight beside you snorting a laugh through his nose. Perhaps you said it to calm your own nerves.
Lyonel senses it as he gently pries your curled fingers away from your skirt, touch lingering far too long to have been appropriate for a lord and a lady. He calls your name, not my lady, not my doe, your name, and what sweetness it brings you for him to say your name with his whole heart.
Lyonel stays, gazing at you through his lashes. “Are you here to tell me to forfeit?” He doesn’t dawdle as he sidles closer to you, earring dangling, head tilted to meet with your eyes.
“No,” you shake your head, stepping closer until the tips of your boots kiss his. “it’s honorable that you’re here to defend Ser Duncan.”
His eyes crinkle in the corners as he lets you pull a curl away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. He feels as though he hasn’t seen you in many moons, he craves your touch, your presence so badly that he resists the urge to pull your hand and place it upon his cheek.
“Careful, that makes me think that you’re fond of the giant bastard.”
“I am fond of him.” His face falls for a moment, whilst your palms rests upon the cold chestplate, right atop the stag horns. You wish you could feel his heart. “But not how I am fond of you.”
“How fond, my lady?” Voice soft, the fog rolls towards you, thickening and covering the two of you like misty curtains. As if the gods wanted to obscure the intimate sight from everyone else.
“I think it’s best to show you, my lord.” You whisper, as if saying it loudly would already be considered a sin. And yet you’ll do it anyway. You pull him closer to you, and he lets you drag him behind the walls of the stone gates. Leaning up, hands braced upon his shoulders, you feel him grasp at your waist, while his free hand gently takes your chin.
Lyonel leans close to your face, the tip of his nose brushing along yours lovingly. His breathing has gone shallow and his fingers twitch with need. While his beard tickles your cheek, making you smile. His dark eyes are half lidded, gazing into your own, and breathing you in, lamenting in your presence. And yet he doesn’t come any closer, he hovers above you, waiting for your permission, waiting for you. He’s willing to wait for you forever if he could.
Like Lyonel, you don’t dawdle. Pushing yourself closer, he anticipates it with a shiver, eyes closing before you could even shut yours. Your lips brush along the other sweetly, while he holds himself back as you test the waters, letting you trace his mouth with yours. Feeling him, tasting him.
Little by little, the proper maiden façade you put up crumbles before him. You want him, you need him.
And he needs you too.
Your breath hitches, arm wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer for a deeper kiss. He answers with a pull of his own, pushing you flush against him even more with a clang of metal plates, and an arm around your waist as your lips part for him, kissing with more confidence. Lyonel takes the invitation openly, fervently taking every kiss you grant him whilst he memorizes the shape of your lips with his own.
The two of you fit together perfectly, like thunder and lightning, one cannot exist without the other.
The kiss feels right, not improper or made to feel like a sin committed. You both chose each other, it’s as if the gods have permitted this union themselves.
Lyonel is ready to drop to his knees and worship you.
Your gentle hand rakes away his fallen curls that graze along your closed eyelids. You feel him smile, a chuckle rising in his throat, rumbling his chest as he laughs against your lips.
You part slightly, looking at him through narrowed eyes. “What is so hilarious that you’re laughing atop my lips?”
“Nothing.” Lyonel shakes his head with a chortle, pulling you closer by your chin, and a big rough hand on the back of your head that keeps the hood in place. He pecks your lips once with a loud smack, utterly satisfied. “I am quite glad.”
“Just glad? I thought you prayed for this moment, Lyonel.” Goading him on, you pat his warm cheeks, chest heaving, eyes blown out as he mirrors your blissed out expression.
“Oh, you have no idea, my love.” Lyonel kisses you again, much deeper this time as he tastes you on his tongue. Your legs wobble as you fall back against the wall. Thanks to him, your head is protected by his hand. He keeps you in place as the rough stone presses on your back, a contrast to the soft touches. Your body is aflame, and yet a shiver runs down your arm, whilst your stomach flips with every kiss he leaves you with that dampens your lips. “This sobered me up more than a cold plunge would.”
“I did not taste wine on your tongue.” A smirk curls in the corner of his lips as you chuckle, a thumb brushing away the sheen you have left on his lips. “You are taking this seriously.” You say, as if you’re bewildered.
“I think I had a drop of wine before, but it wouldn’t hurt for you to check again, hm?” Leaning towards your grinning face once again, this kiss was less urgent, less hungry, as you both have felt each other fully. This one was just because he could kiss you again, just because you both wanted to. He wishes that he could kiss you whenever the occasion calls for it, or wherever you ask for it, and it’ll be his duty to provide it for you.
When you part for air, lashes damp from the tears gathering in your eyes, you smile at him with a longing ache in your heart. And yet you still find it in yourself to laugh. “Gods, Lyonel.” His forehead presses atop your own, rubbing against you affectionately until you’re grinning from ear to ear, a mirror of his smile.
Humming, his thumb carefully rubs away the tears in the corner of your eye before it could fall. “Are you a Stark? You kiss like you hail from the north.”
“What?” Chortling, you sniff, the chill filling your lungs as you reel from the kiss. Your legs are feeling wobbly, if not for his arm around your waist, you would’ve fallen into the mud by now. “Are you saying that my kiss is freezing cold?”
“Not at all, you kiss like it’ll be your last spring.” The laughing storm pecks you once again before leaning away reluctantly. “‘Tis a compliment.”
“You’ve kissed a lot of folk hailing from the north?” Poking his cheek, his beard prickles your forefinger.
“Not many, but I don’t think I’ll be kissing anyone else soon.” It’s a promise. Hope that you cling onto. Catching your wrist in his hold, thumb tracing along the lines on your palm longingly, he lets himself rest upon your touch, leaning closer as if he means to meld with you.
There’s a commotion behind him as you both catch a glimpse of the two Fossoways pushing each other. Resulting with the armoured apple galloping away on his horse towards the other side.
“Ser Duncan, knight me.” The squire pleads, looking up at Dunk for guidance as he stands there like a rooted tree.
“Seems like we are down another knight.”
“Fucker.” You glare at Aerion’s side.
He cranes his attention back to you, swallowing at the sight of your glower that almost makes him kiss you all over again. His eyes searches your own, lingering as he feels duty pull him away.
“Go. They need you.” With a chaste peck on the tip of his nose, and your palm caressing his cheek, you reassure him.
“You’ll be staying here?” His eyes soften, almost afraid that you’d disappear once he turns around.
“Of course, not being here and not seeing you will bring me to an early grave.”
“I’ll get hurt.”
“I know.” You kiss his armoured knuckles for good luck, hoping that it’s enough to protect him. “And I shall remain here until the end. To tend to you if you so please right after.”
“I’d want nothing more.” Lyonel takes a deep breath before leaning in, kissing you like it’ll be the last, taking you in for good luck, before reluctantly pulling away. “I will be back, I promise.”
“Don’t you dare die.” Your hollow threat has your tone breaking in the middle.
“I won’t die.” Moving away, his hand still clasped around yours, still tethered, until you both let go. “You best be here.”
“I stand rooted in the mud, Lyonel.” With one final look at you, he walks towards Duncan, who is reluctant to knight Raymun.
You watch Lyonel have words with both of them, before taking Duncan’s place, unsheathing his sword whilst you witness history. Lyonel stands tall, with the poise of a true knight. Your knight.
“Sister?” Your gut falls to your feet, twisting around, you see Jon looking as if he saw a ghost. “I knew you had befriended Ser Lyonel, but…not to that extent.”
Your eyes widen in horror. “How much did you see?”
“I wish I could unsee it.”
“Brother, I—” He holds out a hand. “But—” He grimaces, shaking his head dramatically. “I wanted it too, if that’s any reassurance.”
He grimaces, a hand rubbing at his face harshly. “Please tell me that you didn’t sully yourself with him—”
“No!” You immediately say, crossing the distance to him. “Why does everyone think that?”
“You didn’t see what I saw, sister. I would need to pour boiling wine into my eyes.”
“Well, you didn’t feel what I felt.” You poke him teasingly, intending to rile him up as payback for all the years he has teased you.
He shudders. “We shall not talk about it any longer. You are a woman grown.”
“Are you reminding yourself or telling me?”
“‘cuse me, my lady, my lord.” Raymun almost stumbles into you, grinning from ear to ear, gathering a spare shield from the weapon rack beside you.
“My congratulations, Ser Raymun.” You try to coax a genuine smile onto your face, fingers playing along the ends of your braid nervously. “You’re a knight now. Knighted by the laughing storm himself.”
“Thank you, my lady.” He laughs, like he cannot believe that he was just knighted. With some green paint in hand, he hastily paints the apple on his shield. “Better green than wormy, eh?” You nod with a forced smile. “We jus’ need one more to complete our side.” His eyes go over to your brother.
“My apologies, good Ser, I cannot for I don’t have a death wish.” Raymun’s smile falls from your brother’s words.
“You’re still one man down?” You almost choke on your own words, as your eyes meet with Lyonel’s, sharing the same thoughts as you whilst his squire readies his horse.
Ser Duncan would lose before the trial could even begin if he could not find another to fight with him. Dread fills your head, stomach feeling laden as your ribcage squeezes around you. Just as Dunk rides towards Lord Ashford, Aerion catches a glimpse of you within the fog, smiling wickedly right at you with his sharp cruelty.
“Go fetch your armour, brother.” Jaw clenched, you utter with determination. Whilst Duncan regards the crowd, rallying them for help with a booming commanding voice that suits him quite well.
“I told you that I am not fighting, nor will I lend it to a stranger—”
“No, not for him, for me.” The men before you stiffen, Raymun pauses from painting, and Jon grasps at your arm desperately.
“My sweet sister, you cannot.” His voice shakes, as you see Lyonel on his horse over your brother’s shoulder, brows furrowed, wondering what is happening. And who the man speaking to you is.
“They are six against seven. I cannot stand here and do nothing. Justice needs to prevail so if you do not want to defend Ser Duncan then let me don the armour.”
He shakes his head with a frown. “I cannot let you do that. I cannot lose you again. You are not a knight.”
“I am sure that the gods do not mind that fact. Go get your armour or I shall fight in my night gown.”
Raymun sideway glances at the two of you, clutching his shield as he could not share his own thoughts on the matter. “I shall…” he awkwardly points at the tilts before scampering away. “...Go.”
“Jon, go get your fucking armour and sword.” You hear Duncan’s last ditch effort, only to be answered by a callous Lord Bracken, who farts on his call to action. Duncan’s steady voice gives you more determination than before.
“Did you leave your senses inside Ser Lyonel’s mouth? You’ll die.”
“I have two brothers with heirs of their own. Our house’s future will be fine.” His grip upon you loosens a little, still hesitating to let go of you. “‘As high as honour,’ all I am doing is living up to our house words.” Just as you say it, you see Lyonel get down on his horse, trekking towards you with his hand upon his sword. In his eyes, the man arguing with you is a mere stranger, and he will get in between the two of you for your sake, no matter who he is.
“Nothing is more honourable than defending the innocent.” You pull yourself out of his grip, grabbing the nearest helm and sword on the weapon rack. “You and father trained me well, I shall put it to good use.” Jon could do nothing but watch while you stomp away, a decision set in stone that cannot be pried open.
Lyonel stops in his tracks, realization flickering upon his face as you leave the gates with a helm tucked under your arm and a sword in your hand. He knows what you are about to do before you could even announce yourself.
“Are there no true knights among you?!”
The large wooden doors creak open, announcing a new arrival before the tilts, revealing a dark horse with an armoured rider. His familiar red cloak flutters behind him like autumn leaves in the wind as he gallops towards Ser Duncan.
Everyone holds their breath.
The mystery knight takes off his helm with some struggle, revealing the heir to the throne himself.
“I shall take Ser Duncan’s side.” Prince Baelor rides beside Ser Duncan, as his brother and nephew give him strong looks, and yet the prince doesn’t waver, even from his younger brother’s pointed words.
The crowd cheers, as you hear your brother exhale out a relieved breath. “Thank the gods.” He snatches the borrowed weapon and helm from you with a glare.
Lyonel’s eyes ask if you are safe, and you nod reassuringly. Mouthing the three words that you have wanted to tell him ever since you danced atop the table with him. The mist collects at your feet as he gives you his genuine smile, one that he reserves for you, not for his courtiers, or his bannermen, only for you. He utters something, but the fog blows over to him, covering him in clouds. A sun shining among the puffs of mist.
“Come, let us watch at a safe distance.” Jon grasps your elbow.
“I promised to wait here and I shall wait.” You stubbornly say through clenched teeth as you watch Ser Duncan’s champions get on their horses whilst their squires fetch their helms and lances. “I shall stay...” Lyonel dons his antler helm, and your heart stutters in your throat.
Jon sighs, staying by your side. “Don’t weep when you get blood on you.”
Egg walks over to you, face solemn, eyes swirling with worry. “My lady, My lord, I must apologize for my behavior last night.”
“I would’ve done the same, Aegon.” Voice soft, you answer truthfully. “You did well beside Ser Duncan, you’re a good squire.”
His lips stretches into a smile. “It’s Egg, lady Arryn. I prefer you call me Egg.”
“Just as long as you call me by my own name.” You match his wobbly smile.
“Understood.” He holds out an arm for you. “Shall we watch together?”
Eyes flickering towards the golden armour that stands out from the rest, you take a breath. Egg’s arm is trembling, and the poor boy looks deathly afraid, he needs someone with him, a familiar face, you know it well. You’ll run here immediately once it is finished, and you’ll tend to your Lyonel like you promised.
Leaning down, you take his offered arm. “We shall.” You give your brother a look as he chuckles under his breath, following the two of you into the stands.
Silence hangs in the air while the tension thickens just like the fog rolling over the meadow.
You sit down in the front together with Egg and your brother. The young prince’s hands wring together on his lap as you try to even out your own breathing.
The champions line up to charge, pointed lances raised up high. Your eyes dart towards Lyonel, his bright armour a beacon for you to follow through the dim fog. As if he could sense your gaze, he turns his head to you, nodding curtly as you do the same, before he straightens up, looking up front with a billowing storm in his eyes.
The trumpet sings, and the knights charge.
Hooves break through the silence as each knight breaks through the charge, aiming at their opponents. You lose sight of Lyonel from the thick fog, and you could only hear the sound of splintering lances and horses whinnying loudly through the thick puffs of mist. Frantically looking for him, you see the others fight on the field.
Dunk stays frozen in the same place, terrified as he heaves atop his horse. Daeron with the green feather atop his head falls face first onto the mud as Rhysling hits him square on the chest, but it doesn’t seem to be on purpose as the prince remains still, or possibly terribly injured. Rhysling turns his sights on a king’s guard as you spot a body laying on the ground, Ser Hardying fell, his body limp on the muddy ground.
The crowd around you cheers with every hit, whilst you still look for the familiar antler helm of the laughing storm.
“Go!” With Egg’s scream, Dunk’s horse finally bolts away.
You watch as Aerion hits him with his lance striking at the hedge knight’s side, unhorsing him. Egg vaults from his seat, hands braced upon the bannister as his fists tremble.
Your eyes frantically look for Lyonel, and you finally spot his armour within the fog, still on his horse, fighting with a king’s guard. He’s alright, you tell yourself, he’ll survive this. You wring your skirts tightly that Jon takes your hand, unfurling your fingers gently as you see the crescent shapes left on your palms. Your brother nods at you, a futile attempt at reassurance.
Dunk yanks the piece of lance from his side, screaming in pain that you could hear him from where you sit amidst the pained cries of horses and metal slamming against metal.
Egg winces at the sight, and your hand grasps at his shoulder, not asking him to close his eyes or to look away, knowing that he won’t heed your call. Instead, you give him a familial squeeze upon his shoulder, telling him that you are there beside him.
You’re on the edge of your seat as Baelor grabs a fallen lance, points it at his brother, who is trying to get in between Dunk and his son. The elder then unhorses him from the ground, an impressive feat that has your brother whistling lowly.
With every hit that Lyonel takes it feels as though your nails are being pulled off. He’s fully armoured and secured on his horse as swords bounce off the metal, and lances miss their mark. You just hope that his luck won’t run out and that he stays on his horse until the end.
Raymun manages to save Dunk by hitting Aerion before he could deliver the killing blow to the hedge knight. He then gets hit by his cousin’s lance, and yet he stays on his horse despite it. That impresses you when he was but a mere squire a few moments ago.
There’s a sickening thud right in front of the stands, and you see the exact moment Beesbury falls, blood seeping at his side, unmoving.
You take a deep breath, tightening your hold on your brother’s hand as the copper scent of blood passes by your nose. Jon gives you a look, and you nod wordlessly, defiantly as you rake your eyes to the field once again, seeing Dunk slap Aerion in the helm that rings like a bell almost makes you feel better by what you just witnessed.
“C’mon!” Someone yells behind you, causing everyone else to look at the source of the rousing voice.
You see Red as she sheepishly sits back down as Lord Dondarion gives her a pointed look. Her eyes glance at you, and you give her a gentle smile before turning to the fight.
Lyonel’s horse gallops in front of the stands right where you sit as he fights another king’s guard, keeping him away from Dunk and Aerion whilst they tussle on the muddy field. The laughing storm gets a good whack at the king’s guard, causing him to fall backwards on his horse with a sickening thud of metal and steel.
Amidst the fog, you could tell that Lyonel’s head is turned towards you as he heaves, chunks of his armour are dented but he still lives. He looks up at you like an acolyte would in front of a statue of the maiden, calling for his prayer to be answered.
You open your mouth, letting out a muffled, “Go.” A simple answer, but the exact encouragement he needed. So he moves, galloping away towards the fog, fighting off Raymun’s cousin with a hit right at his helm that causes him to tumble off Raymun.
The two men struggle on the mud as you pry your gaze away from Lyonel for a moment. It looks like Dunk has the upper hand for a minute with Aerion screaming on the ground in pain. But his wounds slow him down, and Aerion takes the opportunity to throw his sword right at Duncan’s leg.
Egg’s lips wobble, but he doesn’t let out a cry as he grips the bannister until his nails leave indents on the wood. Even when Dunk gets hit after hit, a stab to his side, a slice on his leg, and yet Dunk still stands, and his squire still watches on with bated breath.
Aerion pounces on the hedge knight while he’s down, bringing his dagger down upon the slits on his helm, trying to gouge his eye out.
Duncan manages to push him off, groaning in pain as he hastily takes his helm off.
“Should he do that?” You find yourself asking your brother, garnering a mere shake of his head.
Duncan continues to fight, a shambling man on strings like a puppet, wobbling on his feet, trying to get a breath in as he faces Aerion. They’re both exhausted.
“Aerion!” His father screams, running towards the wounded pair. He then picks up a discarded lance, pointing it right at Lyonel’s charging horse.
His name leaves your lips in a whisper, heart stopping as you watch the prince strike right at the neck of the horse, causing Lyonel to fall backwards in a sickening clash of metal and mud. One of the antlers on his helm breaks, and you feel yourself pant, a hand braced right on your chest, vision blurring at the sides.
“Fucking get up.” You mutter, only letting out a breath when your Lyonel gets back up, a sword already in hand, already lunging at the prince, and singlehandedly holding him back. “Thank the gods.” Fingers trembling, you pick up the ends of your braids subconsciously, tugging at it in an attempt to calm yourself.
Duncan doesn’t stop despite his blood curdling right in his injured eye. He gets a good hit at Aerion’s thigh, slashing right in between the metal plates.
The prince stumbles backwards, screaming and clutching at his wound.
“My boy!” Maekar is now held back by both his brother and Lyonel, kicking, and screaming his son’s name. “My boy!” His tone hits you right at your heart, that despite his monstrous son, he still finds it himself to love him.
Exhaustion comes to Duncan, and he’s stumbling on his own two feet, a weak hand holding on his sword as he tries to stay upright. Mud clings to his armour like second skin, while his blood seeps out of every wound where he couldn’t block the strikes.
Just when you think that they’re about to clash swords again just like the three men at the back, Ser Duncan falls to his knees, his heavy body dropping onto the ground with a thump. His blue eyes are still wide open, but it doesn’t seem like he’s breathing.
Your heart falls into your stomach as Egg’s shoulders stiffen at the sight. Hand atop your mouth, you stifle a cry.
Lyonel kicks Maekar on the ground as his son shambles towards the stands. “He’s dead!” His breath is stuttered, visor raised, revealing his bloodied face and teeth. “It’s over!”
“Get up, Ser Duncan! Get up Ser!” Egg urgently cries out.
The hedge knight doesn’t move.
Lord Ashford signals the herald to blow at the trumpet, but Egg’s ear piercing scream cuts him off. “Wait!”
You follow his pointed finger, and watch as Ser Duncan the Tall take his first breath.
“Seven hells.” You hear your brother under his breath as you let out a relieved sob.
Aerion looks back, exhaustion marring his face, disappointed that his opponent still breathes. He lets his visor down, and they both thump their chest before charging at the other.
They grapple at one another, with Dunk lunging at him as Aerion falls down, wrestling with each other right on the mud and bloodsoaked field. It has devolved from precise sword fights to desperate blows to their armours and wrangling each other on the mud.
Dunk keeps him down by sheer strength alone, bringing down Aerion’s own shield over and over again on his head. Whilst Lyonel keeps Maekar away with Baelor as his second.
The fourth son swings his morning star around him wildly in his desperation, trying to save his son from his demise. He hits the heir on the back of his helm in a clang of metal, as Lyonel shields himself from the flying weapon. Maekar tries to run but both men catch up to him, holding him by his arms as the prince struggles in their hold.
Duncan yells at Aerion to yield, but he doesn’t so he brings the shield back down with a yell, the same shield bearing his house’s sigil upon his smashed visor.
You see Aerion nod, saying something muffled as the fight continues behind them. Raymun is fighting his cousin one on one, actually winning the sword fight. While Rhysling keeps the two remaining king’s guards away all by himself. And Maekar fights his brother and your love with everything he has.
Duncan grabs Aerion by his feet, dragging him onto the mud, before grabbing him by his gorget, propping him up to face the stands and yelling right at his ear.
“Tell them!” He shakes the prince.
“I— I withdraw my accusation.”
The trumpet blares, and the fight ends with Duncan’s side winning the bloody trial.
The hedge knight lets Aerion fall like a sack of potatoes and he hobbles away, as Raymun takes him by the shoulder, helping him stay up.
Lyonel’s guffaw is broken in the middle as he winces in pain, coughing out dryly, clutching at his leg whilst his squire and bannermen jump the bannister to get to him.
His head is on a swivel, trying to find you through the haze of pain and the mist.
You run to your love. Breaking through the tethers, soaring to get to him.
Synopsis: A war ravages your realm, and you must marry a stranger to help turn the tides. Schemes and plots run amok in an attempt to ruin you and the alliance. Your battle is just beginning.
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, princess! Reader, Lord! Jason, Medieval AU, Heavily inspired by the world of asoiaf so it uses some of it’s terms/lore. Chapter 1 of my mini series, eventual love triangle, CW blood and violence, first meeting.
*I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms and copy/pasted into any AI software*
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Prologue >>> Chapter 1
The journey to your new home wasn’t easy. It was plagued by your fear of getting ambushed by the opposing side, robbed by bandits, or face some being from your nightmares that the people have whispered about behind closed doors. But you weren’t prepared to see the horrors of the war left before you.
Bodies were left on the battlefield, banners fallen and torn beyond recognition. Dead horses lay abandoned on the muddy ground, eaten by crows or scavenged for meat by desperate folk. And those were the lucky ones, some bannermen were taken as prisoners, tortured, mutilated, the evidence of the cruelty left hanging by the roadside.
You couldn’t see them, but you heard them in the night, their screams echoed beyond the tree line of the king’s road, their flames flickering in between the trees. You have no idea if those people within the woods were on your side or not, but you weren’t brave enough to even peek through the carriage window.
Even though you’ve learned your lesson not to look, you could still smell it, the death and the rot that eats away at your realm. A stench that has made its home in your nose. The meadows that used to have blossoming wild flowers, and clear babbling brooks are now laden with the scars of war, ashen soil, half buried bodies, and red flowing waters. You thought that the smell coming from the stables and the rookery back home were horrible, but you haven’t smelled a bloated decaying body before, no matter how much you take a whiff of your perfume, it stays, never leaving, sticking to your very soul.
As a princess of the realm, you were spared from the fighting and the scheming. You were sheltered, shielded by the horrors that your family’s hand has wrought. But you weren’t safe from it all for you had to be bartered off to some lord’s son for a much needed alliance. You would’ve thrown a fit, cried for your mother and clung to her skirts, but you ran out of tears a long time ago. Your house is losing, you might not be allowed in the war room, but you know it from the whispers through the halls, hushed and afraid, afraid that they might wake up to blades at their throats, at men wearing a different sigil pillaging the castle, afraid of losing a war that the common folk had no hand in.
Your father, the king, is a prideful man, never one to cower. Not once in your life you remembered a smile upon his lips, not even when your little siblings were born, not when your older brother was married, he never showed a hint of emotion except for disappointment. Whenever you failed to memorize your prayers, or whenever you skipped out on your lessons, he’d look at you with tightly closed lips, a subtle furrow of his brow and eyes so cold and distant that you’d think you’ve done him a dishonour. But he did love you, you know he did, because if he didn’t, he wouldn’t have started this war over your brother’s murder. Because if he loved his son, your twin, he must’ve loved you too, right?
As you sit there in the plain carriage twiddling your thumbs and biting your lip, the road grows closer to your new home, to your husband that you have never met.
The carriage is bare and plain, made of simple oak and painted in black with a black flag fluttering in the wind. Making it look that the carriage is carrying remains of the dead, not a princess of the realm. If people knew what, or who lies inside, you would’ve been dead on the road moons ago.
You have a single guard with you and your handmaiden, enough to keep you company, no more no less. Enough to not garner attention from wandering folk. Once on the road for the first time in your life, you heard the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite side, maybe a dozen or so. Your handmaiden whispered to you then, “refugees,” she uttered quietly, afraid to be heard when the carriage was supposed to carry the dead. “They’re trying to get to the capital.” You didn’t know why they’d leave their home back then, but when you saw the scorched earth that the opposing houses have left, the retreating footsteps made more sense like how the night follows the morn.
There’s a soft knock coming from outside of the carriage, and your handmaiden, Thena, nods her head and pauses from her embroidery. “We’re almost there, princess.”
“Thena, tell me about him again.” Your fingers drag along your necklace of white gold rope, an owl, your sigil that rests upon your neck, a silvery pendant in the middle that opens to a lock of your mother’s hair and a piece of dried nightshade.
“For the road,” your mother, the queen consort said calmly when she placed it inside the locket, as if she had just given you a simple snack for your journey, not a deadly poison. They called her aloof and comely before she wedded your father, now they call her mad after the death of your brother. “Or for your husband.” She then whispered to you, voice laden with heaviness of untold stories. You never got to ask her anything, it would be your biggest regret in life, but in truth, you’ll be lighter for never knowing.
“Your lord husband?” Thena flicks her amber eyes at you, crow’s feet prominent around her eyes as she sighs under her breath. “Didn’t I already tell you everything you needed to know about him?”
“Please.” The owl leaves indents right on the skin of your thumb as you press on it tighter.
If she senses your nerves, she doesn’t say anything, to which you thank her for. “Alright, princess.” Clearing her throat, the carriage moves from side to side without a sign of stopping. “Your husband is the heir apparent to house Wayne, they said that he’s gallant, won a many tourneys before the age of six and ten. They also said that he’s quite handsome, striking eyes that matches the sea beside their manor. He’s young, kind, and handsome, your father found a perfect husband for you, princess, you need not worry. Some noble women have fared worse.”
“I know,” you swallow thickly, biting the inside of your cheek. “I consider myself lucky for that.”
Nodding, Thena resumes her embroidery, an owl taking flight beside a bat, surrounded by glittering stars. You were never one for embroidery, you loved reading and playing the harp more, but the symbolism in her embroidery isn’t missed by you.
“What…” your voice squeaks before you hastily clear your throat. “What of his family? Are they as kind as him?”
There’s a slight furrow on her brows, unease mayhaps, or pity. “The Lord Wayne is as gallant as he is,” that brings a soft smile on your face, “They have said that his mood is as cold as the storms that frequent there and he is as strong as the castle walls of your keep. He doesn’t bend to the will of men easily, and it has been known that he is far greater on the battlefield than managing his own home. But it’s because the gods haven’t given him a fair hand all his life.”
“His parents, and his lady wife?” There’s sorrow underneath your eyes.
“Aye,” she answers, lips pursed. “A cruel thing indeed, but he has fared better for it. His people have said that he is just to them, and if need be, he’ll use his iron fist to straighten them up. But nothing heinous or cruel, he sees that justice is done, that’s all.”
Nodding, you resort to resting your clasped hands on your lap, right atop the silk of your skirt, a pale blue fabric lined with embroidered silver feathers and moons. “What about his brothers? I heard that my husband has a few.” The title curdles on your tongue.
“There’s not much known of his siblings.” Thena inserts the needle into the fabric, head tilted and eyes squinted at it. “He has three, all younger than him of course.”
That’s better than facing off older brothers that are strangers to you. If they’re anything like your own brothers, they’d just avoid you in favour of training. But if they’re anything like your older brother, you might grow to love them like they were your own as much as you loved him.
“But.” Thena’s word pricks at your skin like how her needle pierces the fabric. “I have heard a lot about the second son—”
The carriage stops to a sudden abrupt halt. Almost flinging you in front as Thena keeps you upright with her firm hands on your shoulders.
“Blasted man,” she curses under her breath, comporting herself immediately as the horses neigh and the sound of large rattling metal doors open outside. “We’re here, your grace.”
You take a deep breath, and another then another as your nails dig further into your skirt. You feel as though the world would cave in from under you, swallowing you whole. You’re afraid, rightfully so when you were plucked out of your home with no say on the decision whatsoever.
Thena rests her embroidery beside you to take your hand in hers. “All will be well,” she whispers. “You are of royal blood, they cannot harm you without the crown knowing about it. Your great aunt will see to it.”
“She’s all the way back home, Thena.” you sound defeated as you squeeze her hand. Your great aunt is a formidable woman, someone who has lived through two kings and has survived it all, including the almost annihilation of her house. “She might be the master of whispers but even her ears cannot reach this far.”
Her head tilts, smiling at you faintly. “Aye, but her birds can.”
You manage a soft snort. “She’s not a witch despite what others might say.” Her wrinkled hands and keen eye would be missed by you, she was known to be kinder to her kin, but ruthless to folk who dare harm a hair on their head.
Thena squints, eyes glinting as her smile stretches on her aged face. “Or mayhaps there is some truth to it.”
Chuckling, you squeeze her hands back as the carriage moves once again. “Not even a month away from the keep and you’re already whispering traitorous words.”
“My words aren’t traitorous if they’re true.” Letting go of your hand, the sound of rattling chains and metal echo outside once again.
Your curiosity gets the better of you, and with a tentative hand, you move the black curtains away from the carriage window and take a peek behind.
The cold breeze immediately kisses your cheeks welcome, the high walls of the manor stretches high, as grey as the sky, making it seem like they are one, melting together into one great wall of stormy clouds and stone.
As you follow the rattling sound, you turn your head towards the back of the carriage, seeing two large metal gates close, leaving you but a glimpse of the road before it finally closes with a thud. Narrowing your eyes, you gaze at the fine carving of the steel plates, hundreds of bats are etched along it, taking flight in the cloudless night sky, sending shivers down your spine.
This is your home now, and the bats would be your sigil, gone are the days of looking outside your balcony to look at the colourful gardens that your great grandfather commissioned for his great love, gone are the days of basking in the sunlight that’s now replaced by the cold grey sky. You must comport yourself, this is your duty, your way of helping and winning the war, so you must bear it all, even if you miss home.
Because this is nothing compared to the violence and death of a battlefield, so you must endure, for this is your battle to conquer, yours and no one else’s.
You don’t wield a sword or a battle axe to this battle, you’re armed by nothing but your wits and resilience. Something that the women in your house have greatly taught you the moment you took your first breath with your older brother.
You straighten your shoulders, chin held up high as the carriage continues to ride along the sides of the mountain pass, a singular lane that has been described as treacherous to traverse. With one false move the carriage would tumble down into the rocky cliffs below, and you could feel every rattle and thump of the wheel as the horses neigh outside and your guard huffing and whipping at the reins.
If the carriage should fall, your marriage would have already ended before it started. A part of you doesn’t mind it, but a part of you fears for your younger sisters at home, they’d send them in your place, you know they would, until one manages to get to the manor without falling off the stubborn cliffs of house Wayne.
Thena seems more courageous than you, unlike the brave face that you had to don for yourself. She’s even humming a tune, one that you remember fondly from your childhood whilst she finishes her embroidery, and while you hold your breath with every sharp turn the carriage takes.
“Do you remember why house Wayne built their manor up here?” Your handmaiden asks, trying to test your knowledge when she had been the one who taught you most. Her breath stills in her throat as the air thins from the height.
“Harder for sieges, and harder for an army to get past the mountainous pass if they manage to break through the iron gates.” You recall your studies, hands wringing around your skirt. You could feel the cold air enter your lungs as you take a deep breath. “Can I open the curtains?” Hand to your chest, you try to intake air that doesn’t choke you. “Y–you said that we were already here.”
“And what would the house do to the ones that manage to get up on the pass?”
“Thena—”
“Princess, you need to distract yourself.” She says sternly, eyes reminding you of your father’s. “How do they stop them?”
“Rocks,” you cough, nails scratching at your neck, leaving marks on your skin. “scalding hot rocks that they pour on the side of the mountain and from underneath their manor, crushing their foes with stone and fire.”
Thena finally moves to your side, arms open as she embraces you like she has always done ever since you were a little girl. “Calm now,” her knuckles caress along your arm. “Princess, take a deep breath.”
“Please open the windows!” Your breath staggers, legs feeling numb as your fingers twist like rusted chains.
“Trust me, you do not want to see what’s outside.” She whispers in your ear. “Close your eyes, why don’t we hum, hm?”
You obey immediately, eyes closing, humming the same tune as her as you try to breathe in as much as you can, cradled like a babe in her arms.
Before you knew it, the carriage finally stops, ceasing its wobbly movements as you inhale deeply. You could smell the faint smell of the sea, and the scent of petrichor lingering in the air, as if a storm is just waiting to welcome you to your new home. The cold nips at your skin as the feeling in your hands returns.
“We’re here, my lady.” She softly says, patting your shoulder for you to open your eyes. “Comport yourself, your husband is waiting.”
—
You were right about the storm coming, but Thena was wrong about your husband waiting for you.
The grand hall of the manor, or castle more like, reminds you of a cathedral, if a cathedral is made out of a carved mountain. It’s all jagged stone just like from the outside, some protrudes from the walls, a reminder of how it came to be. As you glance up, you see the famous domed ceiling of Wayne manor, curved to perfection, marble and granite that makes the hall otherworldly, as if the waves itself carved it for the ancient house. It’s cavernous, so much so that there are bats flying about the dome, sleeping upside down, blending into the dark stone.
Something thumps behind you loudly, causing you to look over your shoulder.
“Sorry, m’lady.” The knight that came with you, Ser Andros, gives you an apologetic look as he sits up one of your trunks. The rain drenches its leather sides, as soaked as the cloak clinging onto your shoulders and head.
You give him a forgiving nod, before walking around the hall, head raised up to gaze into the deep cavernous ceiling. You swear that you could see clouds drift upon it. A bat squeaks and opens its eyes, more likely from the loud interruption as it flies around whilst you follow its flight.
You back away out of instinct, afraid that it might bite you as it swoops down onto the large throne, idling atop it as the seat looks as sharp as a blade. Tilting your head, the bat tilts its head back, and you let out a quiet chuckle that echoes around the quiet hall.
“Let me get this off you before you catch your death.” Thena crosses the distance towards you, the dim torch lights bounces off her face.
“Where are they?” You softly ask, a tad hurt by the lack of welcome as you whirl to face her before she could take off your coat.
“Perhaps the storm quieted our arrival.” She says with a kind smile, perhaps to make you feel better. “I’ve sent one of their guards to fetch someone, anyone, the castellan, or more preferably your husband.”
Your hand drifts onto your necklace once again. “I don’t know, Thena, something doesn’t quite feel right—”
The double doors burst open from the harsh wind outside, causing your trunks to fall down like dominos on the marbled floor, clanging against it like the thunder outside. Poor Andros sighs tiredly under his breath. Lightning strikes and flashes as a silhouette on a red roan horse as crimson as rust on steel appears from within the downpour. A patch of bloodied red upon a sea of grey and rain.
Your breath gets stuck in your throat, as your grip onto the necklace tightens on instinct. You could feel Thena freeze beside you, barely moving as her eyes follows the hooded man’s movements.
He dismounts, taking the dead wild boar from the horse’s dock, flinging it onto his shoulder with ease as the rain pours down on him. His free hand rests upon the pommel of his sword, arrows clanging from his hip as the large bow strapped to his back pinches at his chest.
“That must be the game master.” Thena mutters beside you, but your attention is on the tall rakish man with broad shoulders, and muscle befitting a knight, who is now walking into the grand hall with wide strides. His cloak is soaked to the bone, dragging along the marble floor, as is his leather doublet that sticks to his skin. He tracks mud and rainwater into the throne room, unbothered by the mess he’s making. “Good Ser—”
“Princess.” He utters steadily in a deep tone, sure of himself, face hidden underneath the shadow of his hood. “You’re late.”
That’s the last thing you thought he would say. “What?” You could smell the rain on him that reminds you of the days you would rest by the gardens and reach your hand just beyond the awning to feel the cold water on your palm. “I was delayed…” the scent of rain gets stuck in your throat, overwhelming you while his heat radiates off him like waves. “We were trying to be discreet.”
“Ah, yes, for your safety.” A chuckle, akin to a scoff, escapes from the stranger’s lips.
“Well, yes.” Your hands clasps together behind you, fingers wringing together but you hold your head up high despite your nerves striking like lightning into your chest. “It would be quite rude to appear before your lord all chopped up.” Thena almost chokes beside you.
Even with the hood cascading a shadow over his face, you could still see the glimmer of a smile on his lips. “Well met, princess.”
“And I, you, Ser…?”
“Ja—”
“My lord,” someone calls from within the hall, appearing from behind the large stone throne. His blue eyes are frantically wide, almost distressed but his body doesn’t show it as he strides towards you with calculated steps. “Back from the hunt already?”
You almost choke on your spit just like Thena but you hold it together as you turn your gaze towards the supposed hunter. “Are you…?” Embers fly inside your stomach as you feel your fingers grow numb. You haven’t even noticed that you’ve bitten the inside of your cheek until you could taste copper on your tongue.
You’ve come face to face with your husband.
“Princess,” the steward finally greets you with a small smile and a respectful bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you, my apologies for having us meet this way, we anticipated you yesterday. But I’m sure everything went well on your journey?”
“Y–Yes, my sincere apologies, Ser. There was a delay.” You say softly, eyes still gazing into the hood, trying to get a glimpse of his face. Even with the shadow draped over him, you could feel his eyes on you.
“That’s unfortunate.” The older man turns his gaze back and forth from you to his lord. “We shall do our utmost to make you feel at home. My name is Alfred, Lord Wayne’s steward.” He then clasps the stranger’s bicep, a hand barely wrapping around his arm when the old man’s hand is smaller than his muscle. “And this is—”
“Jason.” The would-be hunter finally introduces himself, gently yanking off his hood as his brilliant green eyes gazes right into your own. His chiseled face, dark hair that could blend into the night with a shot of white streak at the front, has your breath taken right from your parted lips.
“Ah, yes. This is Lord Jason, the castellan.” Alfred winces at the intensity of your gaze upon Jason. “Your brother in law, your grace.”
Your head turns to him in an unladylike way, registering his name in your head lastly when you got lost in the sea of emeralds. “Oh.”
For the purpose of making some miis tomorrow, @the-kr8tor @hyperfix-wip @youmiyoumo @pinksugarscrub I need you guys to each mark one of the spaces from the Pic and reblog with a Pic of your personality chart👀👀👀
