Sharp Scales of the Stag | …Desperately. …In Relief.
Warnings: 18+, Animal death mention, near-death moment, a little angst
Nāenelle is nearly killed while out with Lyonel, but they get a new friend out of it
Word Count: 1.2k
I Need to Know by Emilie's Piano | Banner by @saradika-graphics
It's a beautifully sunny day, and Nāenelle has decided to join Lyonel in riding.
He loves taking her riding, loves watching her go off ahead of him, her auburn hair flying in the wind, unkempt and wild. He loves racing her across hills and fields alike.
They pause by a bridge above a small stream to rest and water the horses. Whilst he tends to their mounts, they can hear a cart or wagon of some sort coming swiftly down the road, as leaves rustle in the trees above, a beautiful day.
But, as the cart grows nearer, she notices a small group of fur amassed just before their side of the bridge. Upon closer inspection, she finds a mother cat and her litter of small kittens. She attempts to shoo them out of the way, but, as cats are want to do, they stubbornly stay put, so she instead tries to wave down the driver of the cart to stop.
The driver, who she did not know was a day late in his delivery to a ship at the docks, is urging his horses faster than he should down the forest road and doesn't notice her. Seeing that the cart has no intentions of even slowing and coming dangerously close to the bridge, Nāenelle does something she knows is unwise. She steps into the road to gather the small animals and move them out of danger.
The next she knows, she's in the mud, the solid weight of her husband pressing down atop her sprawled out form, the wind knocked from her lungs.
"What in the Seven Hells did you think you were doing!" He yells, shaking her by the shoulders, "You stupid girl!"
He presses his lips to hers, hard and passionate. His hand trembles as he grips the back of her neck, and terror grips him at the idea of nearly losing her before he continues to shout. She fights the instinct to slap him and scream right back, when her eyes fall to the side, to the road, where lays-
Lyonel completely freezes when she begins to sob, panic surging like ice in his veins. Had he hurt her? Scared her? He hasn't any idea what to do as he's never seen his love so upset before.
"Shhh... It's alright, I-... I-I'm not angry," He shushes, his hand moving to cup her cheek, "Don't cry now. It's alright."
The fact that, not a minute ago, she'd nearly been trampled before him, completely leaves his mind as he desperately tries to soothe her. He blinks in surprise when her arms wrap tightly around his neck, and her tears begin to soak his skin.
He holds her close, pulling her with him to their feet, and only then does he see what caused her to cry, the small, broken bodies in the road.
"Oh," he murmurs softly, kissing the side of her head, "My poor, sweet love. I'm sorry."
"M'lord! Thank the Seven, you're alright." Finally able to stop and climb down from his seat, the cart driver comes running to make sure he hadn't killed or maimed anyone.
Lyonel grits his teeth, holding his Lady Love tighter as he glares at the man.
"I should string you up by the neck off the wall of Storm's End, you reckless cunt!" He barks, moving to get in his face, only to be stopped by his wife's hands gripping the lapels of his cape. A mix between a sigh and groan escapes him, wanting to berate the man further, but not wishing to upset her more. "Alright... Alright, let us get you home, my darling love."
He scoops her up, arms sure around her as he helps her onto his horse, a large, and powerful black warhorse.
"There we are."
"What of m-my horse-"
"I will come back for her, sweetling," He assures her, climbing up behind her and holding her tight to his chest.
He leaves her with her handmaids before riding back to fetch her horse and hairpin that seemed to have disappeared.
It's raining when he returns, a heavy downpour that arises like most storms in the Stormlands, sudden and wild.
Nāenelle is pacing in the main hall, chewing her nails, and anxiety-ridden when the doors burst open. Wind whips, his cape soaked and fluttering about him in the gale as he stumbles inside, doing his best to not slip on the now-wet stone.
"Where in the seven hells have you been?" She scolds, her eyes still red from crying. She takes his face in her hands, his skin slick against hers, "I thought for sure you'd been swept away in this tempest."
"Oh, the gods wouldn't dare deprive my darling wife of her dashing Lord." He chuckles, leaning close to kiss her head, his hair dripping along her skin, "Oh!"
Her brow furrows when he quickly pulls back, fishing something small and squirming from inside his vest, "I found this by the bridge, and thought it may brighten your spirit some."
Her eyes go doe-y when he hands her a mewling little black kitten that seems to fit perfectly in just one of his hands.
"Oh, Lyonel!" She gasps, holding the damp ball of fluff to her chest, her eyes beginning to water again, "He's precious! Is he-"
"From the same litter, yes." He confirms, shrugging off his waterlogged mantle, glancing over at her. Having grown accustomed to her happy tears over the months of their marriage, he knows she is not in immediate need of his comfort, and is reluctant to soak her warm, dry gown with his own clothes, "Seemed to me, this little one needed someone to take care of him now."
His heart warms at the sight of her cooing over the little cat that seems to be contented being warmed by his wife's embrace. He hands his cape off to a servant and moves closer to her, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face, chuckling when she steps into his space, leaning against his chest to lean up and kiss him.
Her lips are soft and familiar, a balm to the horrific near-miss earlier in the day that still troubles his heart.
His finger hooks beneath her chin when she tries to pull away, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, "Don't you ever do something so stupid again, do you understand me?"
"I just-"
"I know." He hisses, taking a deep breath, "But I came far too close to losing you today. You are the Lady of one of the great houses, not some silly farmgirl. You must think before putting yourself in such unnecessary danger."
His forehead presses to hers, his hand moving to the head of the kitten.
"Your heart was well placed, but I nearly lost you because of stray cats." He chastises gently, concerned she may still be a bit fragile from the day's events, but needing her to know how sincerely she scared him.
"I'm sorry," She says softly, catching his fingers with hers. It's the first he's ever allowed her to genuinely apologize for anything, showing to her just how serious he is on the matter, "I will try to be more careful, my love."
"Good," He murmurs, kissing between her eyes. "Now, I think we've had enough excitement for today. Let us head up to our chambers so I may change, and you can get... better acquainted with our new little friend, shall we?"
The only person I feel truly sorry for in this whole story is Elia Martell of Dorne. Poor woman deserved better than Rhaegar and what he gave her. She deserved better than to experience the consequences of Rhaegar's actions and choices in her own skin.
Yes. I’m really looking forward to it, actually. My friend Olivia [Cooke] is in it, and it’s been really interesting just chatting to her about the experience. I think it’s actually a lot more pressure. All of the hung-over concerns of our show are now just being piled onto this new cast of people who had nothing to do with it. I want to be as supportive as possible to her as an actress, but also, I’m just really curious. I’m kind of looking forward to watching “Game of Thrones” — even though it’s not “Game of Thrones” — and experiencing it as a person that’s not on it. ‘Cause all I’ve done is meet people who have done just that, and I never really was able to relate to it.
Maisie Williams from an interview at Variety regarding House of the Dragon.
From that we learn that Maisie is a friend of Olivia Cooke who portrays Alicent Hightower on HotD.
Everyone who thinks Arya -"I am not a Lady"-Stark would be instant friends with Daenerys-too-pretentious-a-list-of-titles-to-type- Targaryen must surely be disillusioned.
What Arya has with Sansa is what I like to call the 'I am not like other girls' conflict.
Like many of us, Arya has been conditioned to beleive that women who sew and dance and bow are weak and hollow. And so, like many of us she suffers from "I am not like other girls syndrome", which she ofcourse will gradually overcome as she comes to appreciate her sister's completely opposite but equally important strengths.
What Arya might share with Dany if they ever meet is a principled conflict where thier entire belief systems are opposing. This stupid shit of Arya admiring Daenerys because of Dragons and power is frankly too stupid.
Arya Stark doesn't admire power. She admires Justice.
Arya Stark is a trained assassin who believes in fighting her own battles. Dany rides dragons and spews fire. She wouldn't know swordfare or war strategy if it came to her in a dream.
Arya hated being called lady , why would she ever like someone who insists on being called Queen without ever actually becoming one?
Arya is a vigilante, Daenerys an invader. Why would they ever get along?
