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The Portents Had It Wrong | Part 16

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Baelor Targaryen x f!reader fix it fic

Masterlist

Summary: You were tasked with looking after four members of the King's Guard who stumbled into your Lord's keep in the middle of a stormy night. One of them was the Crown Prince in disguise and badly injured. You helped him, and went your separate ways. But after months apart, it seems you have found each other once again...

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You feel a bit like an actor taking to the stage as the Prince leads you easily through the throngs of common folk that have all gathered in the Sept. They part like water around you, half due to the Prince's bearing and half because of the Kings Guards that flanks your group. The stairs that all lead down to the center altar space of the Sept have filled up with people. Those near the front are sitting on the stairs, while those in the back are standing to get a clear view.

In the center of the room, gathered around the altar are the Septon, who appears to be considering himself a neutral party in this, standing off to one side, not near the other two in the space: Headman Grune and Goodman Rowe. The maester also appears to be very non-confrontational, and is actually sitting on one of the lower stairs.

Goodwoman Manse gives you an encouraging look, but then leaves your group to join the other common folk, sitting on one of the lowest stairs as people easily make room for her.

The mosaic tile floor featuring the seven pointed star of the Faith is only about fifteen feet across, the altar standing at the center being fairly small in size. The statues that ring the space all facing inward, carved from the same warm orange stone as the building are about half the size of a full grown adult, but are up on tall plinths so they still tower over everyone.

Goodman Rowe and the Headman are standing close together. Rowe is whispering something fiercely to Headman Grune but whatever he's saying Grune looks skeptical and unhappy. The Prince leads you over to stand on the opposite side of the altar from them. You notice that the Headman and Rowe have placed themselves in front of the Father and the Mother. You find yourself in front of the Stranger.

Glancing up for just a second at the usually terrifying visage of the Stranger though, you don't find yourself unsettled. After all, you spent a several days in His house, in the care of His people. You find yourself feeling rather fond of him now, and decide that it's a good omen, not a bad one.

The Captain stands off to one side his back to the Warrior, his arms crossed as he watches the men whispering to one another. Tarly and Godwin take up positions watching the crowd with their backs to everyone around the altar. Your lady in waiting stands behind you, half in your shadow, head down but you can tell she's just as alert as the Kings Guard. The common folk are still chattering quietly, filling the room with a rolling, rumble of noise, like a storm gathering in the far distance. The atmosphere feels tense, but you refuse to let it bother you.

Whatever Rowe is saying to the Headman, he clearly has heard enough because Grune cuts him off with a sharp wave of his hand and steps away from Rowe to address the crowd.

"I suppose we should thank the Goodwoman Manse, for ensuring that everyone could be here to hear the news," the Headman Grune starts off, somewhat reluctantly you think, sending a loaded glance over at Goodwoman Manse. The crowd instantly quiets, to better hear now that whatever this is, has begun.

The woman herself gives the Headman a cheeky smile from her spot on the stairs.

"I wasn't about to lie to my friends and family, Headman. People asked and I was happy to answer."

"Yes, but what did you tell people exactly?" the Headman presses.

Someone from the back yells out, "That our lady's house is being restored!"

Goodman Rowe scowls, while the Headman tries and fails to keep a neutral face. Grune glances over to you, and his uncertainty is plain, he clearly is out of his depth. Taking a deep and calming breath, you unwind your arm from the Prince's gentle and supportive hold and take a couple steps forward, placing yourself closer to the altar and the center of the room. This you need to do on your own.

"The crown has offered to restore my house. They were unaware of my survival at the end of the Blackfyre Rebellion when it was originally declared as extinct." You explain simply, letting your voice carry so everyone can hear. There are quiet murmurs in the crowd, but the tone doesn't seem negative, just curious.

"You say you are the eldest daughter of the house," Goodman Rowe says, and he again has that tone. It sounds deferential and even self effacing, like he's sorry for bringing up this point, but his eyes speak a different story entirely. "But I'm sorry, I must remain skeptical. I would hate for our town to be taken in by a charlatan."

You can see the Prince from the corner of your eye. He has taken up a position that is half a step behind you, on your right side. He doesn't stiffen, or tense, but you can feel his attention shift from the room in general to Goodman Rowe in the specific.

The Captain, who is on the other side of you and your lady in waiting gives Rowe a poisonous glance.

"Your skepticism is understandable," you allow, because it is. It has been almost fourteen years, that is a long time, and most of the people that knew you as a child either died with your family, or moved. Based on what you saw at the ale house last night, there is perhaps ten people that still remember you as a child personally, that had been frequent visitors or workers of the keep itself. The rest were mostly field workers, who would have known of your existence of course, but had laid eyes on you only a few times.

"However, I am who I say I am. Goodwoman Manse, and many of the keep workers knew me and recognize me."

"Not good enough," Rowe says like he's sorry for it. You can tell he's not. You're not completely sure what his motivation for it is, but you can hazard a few guesses. The foremost being that the Headman and the maester probably don't have enough power to send an incompetent politician packing, but a Lady given governance of the lands? She would.

"I am sorry you feel that way," you say and it's work not to give him a sarcastic smile. "But the decree has already been made, my house has been restored and I am its head."

Someone in the crowd lets out a cheer, and more than half the room breaks out into calls of congratulations, with hasty 'my lady's tacked on the end and clapping. Goodman Rowe's face turns furious and he begins to yell for quiet, but it isn't until the Septon raises up his arms that the crowd starts to calm.

"Thank you," you say sincerely once you can be heard. "I am grateful to the crown for their generosity, and to you for your welcome at my return. I am so glad to have found my way home again."

"What even are your plans for these lands?" Rowe interrupts, his anger clear. "There is no keep, the fields are barely enough to support the town and surrounding holdfasts! This is a dying castle town with no castle, what could you possibly do?"

You frown a little, you didn't expect that. You haven't walked the fields yet, but based on what you saw from the river, you know that not everything is being utilized at present. If they aren't growing enough to eat, why have they not expanded out into the still unused areas?

"That's not true," Headman Grune protests, he is also frowning at Rowe. "We don't grow much, but we don't need much. The outlying holdfasts only depend on us for part of their needs. The maester and I have been very careful in our calculations, we will have plenty to feed ourselves, sell on for extra money and store for winter."

"I have been telling you both for more than a year we need to expand into the northern most fields!" Rowe explodes, pacing angrily in front of the Headman. He goes back and forth on their side of the altar, but pretty soon is looping around closer to you on each pass. The more agitated he gets the more mobile he is, you realize. You're not sure if it's an act, the anger seems real enough, but there is still this coldness to him that you don't quite understand.

The maester shares a fast glance with the Headman from his seat on the stairs, and then he ventures, "You have told us that, yes. But you have never been able to show us in the numbers why that is needed. Adding the northern fields would be a hard undertaking, they have been left alone for so long that the marsh has reclaimed a great deal of that land."

"If we fixed the causeway, the sections closest to the road would be easily accessible, making that process much simpler!" Rowe argues.

"We'd still have to do much land reclamation," Headman says again, and it sounds like he's had this argument before. "And it's just not something we can entertain in spring time. There's too much other work to do that is more important. Like getting the fields that we actually have planted."

"If you would let me hire workers to -"

"We don't have the funds for that!"

"I told you I could take out a line of credit with -"

"Who's going to guarantee a loan to a land with no noble house to back it? You have come around to arguing positively for the restoration of the lady and her house. She could take out the loan you want, pitch the opening of the fields to her, Goodman Rowe, she could actually execute this plan you so desperately want." The headman points out, clearly exasperated.

The other man looks positively incensed now at the mere suggestion.

"I would be willing to hear your petition, Goodman Rowe. Obviously, I would need time to review the holdings and what money exists for us to use, but a loan is certainly something I'll need to look into anyways -"

"That's your plan!?" Rowe explodes. You're taken aback at his vitriol, considering he was just arguing for a loan himself. "To go begging for money?!"

"Well it isn't as if I have the funds myself, the circumstances I was held in for the past fourteen years -"

Goodman Rowe has stopped his pacing on your side of the altar. He's still keeping a respectable distance, but he is now close enough that his anger is making you uncomfortable as well as confused. Before you can finish your sentence he talks over you once again, and for a split second you actually feel a flash of sympathy with Lady Rae Havarn – you are finding you also hate being interrupted.

"Prince Baelor, you have chosen to restore this house just to see it starve?!" The man demands of the Prince, and you stare, open mouthed at his gall.

The Crown Prince doesn't move from his spot just behind your right shoulder, but you can feel the energy thrumming from him as he holds himself tightly in place. He's letting you be the lady that you are now, which you appreciate, but you know he's not going to ignore a direct question.

"The actions of the Crown are not yours to question, Goodman Rowe," the Prince says, his voice like ice. You want to glance back at him, but don't want to take your eyes off Rowe. "But suffice to say we would not raise her house just to watch it fail."

"You raised the house and placed a woman at its head," Rowe spits, "So what happens then when she dies in a few years? What happens to the house? Does it go extinct again? Is this all just some pageantry so you can save face over a mistake some accountant made fourteen years ago, your Grace?"

"What the lady chooses for the future of her house is a decision she gets to make," the Prince explains, his tone is even but there is a layer of ice and steel around it. "That is the burden and pleasure of being a leader of a noble house. She may yet marry and have children, this is Dorne, Goodman Rowe, matrilineal inheritance is legal and encouraged here. She may adopt, she may designate someone as her legal heir. There are many options available to her that ensure the survival of her house."

The goodman makes a face that clearly states his feelings on the Dornish custom.

"And we're expected to just accept her decisions?" He spits, his fury is a vibrating, physical thing now.

"You are always welcome to leave," you interject blandly, unable to help yourself. Goodwoman Manse lets out a bark of laughter, and you spot several people covering up smiles and snickering of their owns.

Goodman Rowe shifts his gaze back to you and you can see the black anger there that has been building and your comment has just sent it careening into an explosion. You're so occupied with watching his eyes, his face for a hint of what is going on in his head, that you miss entirely when he draws his knife.

What happens next is a bit of blur. You see Goodman Rowe lunge for you, his knife clutched tightly in his hand and you feel your body flood with energy and fear. Fighting was never something that you were taught, the only thing you ever learned was to try and avoid violence as much as possible through skill with your words, and ability to slip away unseen.

People scream in terror and warning. You hear men yelling, and the sound of swords being drawn - the Kings Guard your mind provides uselessly. They are all to far away, having been keeping eyes on the crowd. Rowe's face is twisted up in vitriol and hatred and he brings the knife down.

It never comes near you.

Baelor slides neatly into place between you, smooth as a river current, quick as a sunbeam. He has his long, bone handled knife in hand already, held so the blade is pressed against his forearm which he raises to block Rowe's downward ataack deflecting it and the energy of the blow off to the side. Rowe stumbles, his momentum thrown in a direction he wasn't expecting. Before he can recover, Baelor is on him.

The Prince pulls his arm back and lands a swift, rabbit quick blow with the fist holding his knife right to Rowe's face. You hear the crunch of Rowe's nose, which only disorients him more. There is no chance for Rowe to catch up now. Baelor follows that up with a left handed upper cut, digging his fist viciously into Rowe's gut.

You can't quite follow what happens next, Baelor is blocking most of your sight lines and your lady in waiting has leapt forward to place herself between you and the fight that is taking place. She all but shoves you behind her, keeping her left hand on your arm so she can tell where you are while keeping her eyes on the men and their weapons.

Despite not having a clear view, you can tell that the Prince shifts his weight on his feet, almost like he's dancing and he must kick or trip Rowe because the other man goes down hard, his knife skittering across the floor.

Tarly scoops up the blade, while Godwin dives to pin the man to the floor, with Tarly right behind him to assist. Rowe is yelling in pain and fury, but he is no match for two fully trained Kings Guards. They manage to secure him, folding his arms behind his back and then hauling him to his knees. The Captain has his sword drawn and is flanking the Prince.

Your ears are ringing, but as you catch your breath it fades enough for you to finally make out what Rowe is screaming while he thrashes against Tarly and Godwin's holds.

"Where is the money!? Where is the gold?! Where did your useless mother hide it you fucking bit-"

Tarly's mail fisted punch to Rowe's stomach cuts him off before he can finish that insult to your person. Rowe hangs between Tarly and Godwin wheezing. Prince Baelor turns his back on Rowe, seeking you out while he sheaths his knife. The Captain moves with him, instinctual, turning to look for you as well. You dimly hear Goodwoman Manse's bellow rising over the still yelling crowd telling people to calm down, be still. The Septon joins her, while Headman Grune mostly is still cursing anything and everything under the sun.

"Are you alright?" The Prince asks, his voice tight as taking several steps towards you. You're surprised you're that far away, you didn't even realize that Nym had been pressing you both back while she had kept her eyes on the men. You realize she has you boxed in against the statue of The Stranger, making sure that all threats would only be able to come at you both head on. You also suddenly notice that she's been armed this whole time. She has a short little knife clenched in her right hand, held out in what you can clearly see is a practiced and comfortable manner.

"Is that my knife?" the Captain suddenly asks, completely bewildered. The Prince glances down at it, but goes right back to looking at you.

"Are you alright, my lady?" he asks again, and comes no closer.

You put a hand on Nym's arm which still is holding you behind her, and pat at her in reassurance.

"I'm alright," you assure them both. "He never got close."

Your lady in waiting slowly uncoils at the sound of your voice, standing up straight instead of the sort of ready crouch she was in with the knife. The knife she spins once in her hand, almost like a fidget, before she offers it, handle first to the Captain.

"Sorry about that," she says quietly. The Captain takes it back, his face still a picture of surprise and shock. He looks at it wonderingly, and then tucks it into place in the small of his back under his cloak. Keeping one hand on Nym's shoulder, you step out from behind her reaching with your other hand to Baelor. He steps closer and takes it, pressing a swift kiss to the back of it in greeting and relief.

"Thank you both," you say to them, your heartbeat finally starting to slow. Steady once again, you step around the Prince, who follows you closely still tense and bristling. You walk back over the mosaic to where Tarly and Godwin have Rowe on his knees.

You don't get close, half because you're not stupid enough to think that just because a man is on his knees means he's not still dangerous, and half because the Prince rests a gentle hand on your forearm, halting your progress. You don't acknowledge it, other than stopping where you are still a few feet from the man who clearly wanted you dead.

"Am I right to assume that you came here looking for my family's fortune?" you ask of Rowe. The man in question looks up at you, his eyes wild with anger still.

"Your fucking father dumped half of it into the marshes never to be recovered," he shouts. The room has fallen silent as everyone stares. "Your whore mother wouldn't surrender the castle, and after it burned no one could find the rest of the gold in the ashes. So where the fuck is it?"

"This is why you wanted the causeway repaired. You don't care about the northern fields. You can't get to the keep to search the area without the road."

He thrashes against the Kings Guard but they hold him easily.

"Two years I've tried to get that road cleared! Two years of playing nice, trying to convince people!"

Headman Grune is looking at the man with nothing but disdain.

"You're an idiot then, we were never going to repair the road. You don't know what we went through to destroy it," he hisses. You look up in surprise.

"What?" you ask stunned.

Headman Grune doesn't look the least bit sorry about what he's revealed, but he does give you a some what conciliatory look when he glances at you.

"Apologies, my lady. It is something we would have told you later…in private," he says. "My family didn't move here until after the rebellion, but my father was killed by bandits who flocked to this area during that time. Rumors about the lost treasure of the keep spread far into the desert. We had years of people trying to take over this town and lands so they could search the ruins for the gold."

You realize in an instant what they must have done. The causeway was the only clear safe way to the little crag island the keep stood on in the marshes. And if most of the people who'd lived at the keep died in the fire, then the knowledge of how to find the safe paths on foot would have died with them. You turn to find Goodwoman Manse who is on her feet, but still standing with the other commoners. She gives you a tight nod.

"You destroyed the causeway," you conclude aloud. "To deter bandits and thieves."

The headman nods. "After a few people died in the marshes trying to make the crossing on foot, word spread that whatever gold might remain, isn't worth drowning in the mud for. Every few years during the flooding we'll have people try to cross on boats. But as long as they leave us alone we don't bother them. We know they're not going to find anything."

"It has to still be out there!" Rowe howls. "Where did her mother hide it?!"

Everyone's attention swings to you.

"My mother would have honored the decision my father made on that road," you say simply, knowing it to be true. Your mother would have known that if the honorless men that had killed your father for the gold, with no intention of actually trading you for it - then any promises they made to end the seige were empty ones. She made her choices. You know exactly what she would have done. She would have offered to let anyone who wanted to leave to do so, to try the mercy of their captors or try their luck in the marshes. To everyone else she would have let them pick their own ends.

And after helping your siblings with their crossings, she would have gone down to the strong room in the basement of the keep and done what she needed to to make sure that their killers would gain nothing from their actions. Same as her husband had done on that dusty road.

"What does that mean, my lady?" the maester asks, clearly curious.

You shrug your shoulders, looking down disdainfully on Rowe. "You could have asked anyone in town who knew my parents directly what they'd have done. Any of them could have answered you and saved you two years of your life, and whatever remaining days you have left."

You look over to the goodwoman who worked alongside your mother for years, who had been a constant, friendly and comforting presence in your childhood.

"Goodwoman Manse, what does every keep near The Scourge have hidden somewhere?"

Goodwoman Manse glares at Rowe. "A well," she answers simply. "Down to the river's summer water table."

Rowe stares in stunned silence. You look back at him, this time your disdain is colored with a bit of pity.

"My mother would have returned the wealth of our house back to the entity that delivered it to us. The Scourge herself. Whatever gold was left in the keep, sir, is lost to everyone but the gods."

"She left you penniless as well as defenseless -" Rowe spits in disbelief.

"That was to be my fate the moment I was taken." You say, easily speaking over him. "My mother knew, as all women in this world do, what happens to girls taken as pieces in the game of thrones. She did the only thing she could for me."

You don't often think about those last few moments of your mother's life. You try not to torture yourself with imagining it. But you can so clearly see her in your mind's eye. That dark, damp little room at the bottom of the keep that held the well. Your mother, exhausted from moving the riches of your house, heartbroken from the goodbyes she had made, dumping fistfuls of coins over the lip of the well.

She would have prayed for the gentle crossing of her husband, of your siblings. She would have prayed for the safety and long life of the people who managed to escape. She would have prayed for the warm and happy after lives of those that had died there with her. And she would have begged, begged The Scourge for your safety. You know she did. You know she did it letting those gold coins splash into the water, in words, in song, in sobs. She loved you. She loved you so much.

And who is to say if it worked or not? You are here. You found your way back to your river. You survived, found friends sitting hidden at the table of your enemies, safe haven in the house of a god not your own, and a home that has been waiting on you all these years.

Who's to say what your mother managed to barter with the river that day. You know what you choose to believe. What you will always believe. She loved you. The Prince was right, all those weeks ago. Love is the best inheritance you can receive; it is the best thing you can leave behind.

"Ser Tarly, Ser Godwin," you say, and both of them look to you their keen eyes waiting ready for whatever order you give. "If you two would be so kind as to remove this man from the Sept and find a place to hold him. I will confer with Headman Grune and we will come to a decision about his fate."

You can feel the people, your people in the room murmuring around you, their tone and words approving. He attacked you, yes, but his work here for two years has been to the detriment of them all. They get a say in what happens to Rowe, and you will honor that.

"As you wish, my lady." Ser Tarly says. "We'll take him to our boat, there's a strong room in it we can empty that will hold him."

"Excellent, thank you sers, for quick your assistance."

They dip their heads in unison and then haul Rowe to his feet. The man in question has had all the fight go out of him and limply hangs between the two Kings Guards as they drag him away.

Once they are gone you turn to face the crowds of people in the Sept, all eyes are fixed on you.

"Good people, I hope you understand while my house has been restored, and I am named lady over these lands, I do not intend to disrupt your lives or your happiness. I wish to work with you, as my parents did, to make sure these lands and its people are well tended."

You take your skirts in your hands and offer them a deep curtsy, the same you would offer a king. When you rise, you see Goodwoman Manse there with tears in her eyes. The maester looks on with a glad smile, the Septon as well. Goodman Grune comes to stand next to you, and offers a deep bow to you, deeper than what he'd offered the Prince just that morning.

"My lady," he says warmly. "It is my honor as headman of this town, to say officially: welcome home." He offers you his hand and you gladly take it as cheers break out amongst the commonfolk.

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After the impromptu community meeting wrapped up, people coming up and giving their congratulations and welcome again, after breaking your fast with the Headman and maester at their invitation, discussing the fields and the current plantings at length, after walking the fields with them, going over numbers and volumes, expectations and rainfall hopes, after, after, after - dusk finds you, exhausted and happy.

You're sitting on a wooden bench just outside the ale house, watching the sun shed the last of its colors on the hills in the far distance, painting them all sorts of shades that only the desert has. You missed them just as dearly as your river. Your lady in waiting has foisted a drink someone gave her off on you. You're not sure who, but someone has broken out a stash of actually decent Dornish wine, sour enough to pucker your mouth but also crisp and clear as a bell.

"You said there were other matters," you say aloud, holding your tankard between your two palms and rolling it back and forth between them.

"Hmm?" The Prince asks in reply from his own seat next to yours. He's watching The Captain and Nym, who are just down the street talking with one of the market stall owners, bartering for some of the gel that the towns folk harvest from aloe plants that grow wild in the desert. Both of them got horrible sunburns across the tops of their cheeks and ears traipsing around in the fields after you. You did warn them both, but they'd been stubborn.

"This morning, before the Sept. You said there were other matters you needed to discuss with me, but that they could wait."

"Ah, yes, I did." He acknowledges, his attention swinging easily back to you. While you had been speaking with the Headman and maester in their solar about the crops, he had gone back to the boat to make sure Rowe was properly secured. You and Headman Grune drafted a formal letter for the Martells explaining Rowe's crimes and had officially handed it, and Rowe's custody, over to Prince Baelor as an agent of both the Crown and the Martell family. It was a duty Baelor had taken on with solemnity and had formally promised to see him to Sunspear.

"The other matters are fairly straightforward," he says, picking up his own drink from the table the two of you are sharing. He leans back in his chair a little, but as he does so, he glances around checking to see if anyone is close by.

The ale house is packed, and raucous behind you, but no one is paying you any real mind. The market is closing up, and everyone there seems focused on their tasks. People are walking by on their way home, or elsewhere. Some of them wave in greeting to you, cheerful, and offer quick respectful acknowledgments to the Prince. The only one nearby enough to overhear anything over the noise is Godwin, standing a respectable distance away, idly watching the street and keeping an eye on the people celebrating in the ale house.

"What are they, then?" you ask, assured no one is listening in.

"Restitution and presentation."

You pause, restitution is something he had mentioned, all the way back at House Havarn, but of course at that time you hadn't taken him seriously. Now is much, much different. He clearly had meant everything else he'd said.

"Oh?" you ask faintly.

"Hm…it's not a huge sum. Less than I argued for, but it will help you rebuild the causeway if you wish, easily. And repair any fields that you and Headman Grune wish to invest in. And repair the keep."

You sit with that for a moment. Enough to do all of that and it's less than what he argued for?

"Prince Baelor," you say, unable to keep the skepticism from your voice. "How much did you argue for?"

"Less than you are worth, but perhaps a little more than what the crown could reasonably afford at this moment."

"And you argued for that?"

"I wanted everyone to understand I was serious."

You roll your eyes, and take a large gulp of your wine to fortify your nerves. This man…

Unable to go further on that topic right now, because at this point you have a pretty good idea of the sum, and if he actually says the specific number out loud you think you will faint, you change the subject.

"And the presentation?"

"Yes," the Prince says, following you easily into the next topic. "I stopped at Sunspear before sailing down to the Greenblood. Since your house was a vassal of the Martells originally, I needed to provide them with the news that the Crown had found you, and restored your house to you. They were pleased with the news, naturally. Prince Doran has requested to meet you."

You push down your first reaction, which is disbelief. You have accepted the ladyship of these lands, and that means you are a vassal of the Princes of Sunspear, as Baelor has just said. Meeting with them is not unexpected, it is the opposite.

"Of course I will go," you reply. "It would be an honor to meet him."

"Would you allow me to escort you?" He asks.

You blink at him. You shouldn't be surprised, it isn't like he can remain here forever. And you highly doubt he has other business further up river. It would also save you from having to find other escorts for protection. You can hardly imagine the river pirates that like to haunt parts of The Scourge and Greenblood willing to try their hands at a boat flying Targaryen colors, guarded by Kings Guards.

"I would be grateful for the escort, your Grace." You answer honestly, smiling at him.

"It would be my pleasure." He says, his voice warm.

"How long before you need to go back?" You ask, already thinking, planning and trying to figure out what can be done before you'll need to leave.

"I promised my sons I would return within a month," he says, taking a sip of his wine. "They nearly stowed away on the boat to come with me, I think."

You think about how if your father had returned from something, wounded badly and in need of rest and recuperation, not gallivanting around half the continent and you feel some deep sympathy for the Princes.

"I can't say I blame them," you remark dryly. "Thankfully, I do not think I will need that much time. A couple more days to take care of things, and get a feel for what to do next, and then I will gladly travel with you back to Sunspear. You're better, your Grace. Much better than the last time we met, but you still have healing to do. You really shouldn't be traveling this much."

"It seems the people around me have formed up into a strange alliance based on that exact topic." He says, amused. His mismatched eyes are practically glittering with mirth.

"I'd like to join this alliance, is there an oath I need to swear? Paperwork to sign? Should I ask the Captain?"

"Ask me what, my lady?" The Captain himself asks, startling you just a little as you were wholly focused on the Prince and not your surroundings. Dangerous that, you think chidingly to yourself. The Captain and your lady in waiting clearly have finished bartering with the stall keeper and stand before your table now, their bottles of aloe successfully procured.

"Oh nothing, Captain -" The Prince starts, but you lean forward and meet the Captain's eyes, insistent.

"The Prince has just told me there is an alliance that has formed, of people determined to get him to rest and heal. I believe you are just the man to speak to about joining said alliance. Is there an oath? Dues to pay? Perhaps a nurse rotation to join?"

The Captain laughs, full on tilt his head back and laughs. It makes you smile. One of the ale house workers comes outside, bringing metal lanterns, with geometric patterns cut into the sides to hang from the eaves of the roof, it bathes the whole area in a beautiful pattern of light. You look down fondly for just a moment at the little glittering shards of light that now cover you. So many of these little things are what demonstrate to you, over and over, that you are home.

"My lady," the Captain says, still chuckling. "I'm happy to inform you: you're already a member. You have been since that night in the kitchen. But I am delighted to welcome you once again into our ranks. No oath necessary, the dues are cheap, and I will add you to the rota. Would you like the early morning shift or the midnight shift?"

"I'll take the early morning shift, Captain, thank you for your service." You tease. The Prince rolls his eyes at you all, and goes back to his drink for a moment. Your lady in waiting comes over to sit next to you on the bench seat, while the Captain, still chuckling to himself, takes up his post next to the Prince, keeping a weather eye on all passersby.

Nym shows you her bottle, "This is the right substance?" she asks. You take it and hold it up to the fractured light, turning it back and forth to check the viscosity.

"That's it," you tell her, handing it back. "Just make sure to drink plenty of water, and use that tonight. It'll help immensely. Tomorrow we can get you some wraps to wear to protect your face. I promise, no more wandering the fields during the hottest part of the day." You finish, apologetically. You had warned them yes, but you also were so caught up in what the Headman had to tell you that you didn't seek out shade when you should have.

"Let me fetch you some water, my lady," the Captain says, heading inside the ale house after trading a quick nod with Godwin.

"I'm not a lady," she says faintly at the Captain's retreating form. He clearly doesn't hear her, and you smile to yourself drinking down the last of your wine. You put the tankard down on the table, and then the Prince calmly reaches over and swaps your cups around, giving you the rest of his drink.

"You said you would only need a couple of days, my lady?" The Prince asks, returning your conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Yes, I want to meet with Headman Grune some more, discuss things with the farmers so I understand better what their long term plans are, and how I can facilitate them."

"Are you going to replant the tea fields?" He asks curious.

"All the mature plants were destroyed," you explain. Decades of careful work and stewardship is just gone, and it hurts to think of it. "Some of the tea fielders kept seeds though," you say with more hope. "It will take years before we'd have anything that we could sell, so I would need to speak about long term investment and plans for this land with the Martells before I committed to trying to grow Nilgiri again."

"I'm sure they will be happy to back your plans," the Prince says with confidence. You glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Are you?"

"Hm, very."

"So confident, your Grace, I do have to wonder where it comes from," you tease, but also you are curious. You know his mother is Prince Doran's sister, but you also know the Martells while loyal to the Targaryen House are also very proud of the additional freedoms they managed to negotiate for Dorne.

"I have every confidence in your skills, my lady." He says simply, a smile at the edge of his lips.

The Captain returns from inside just then, and he has brought far more than just water for your lady in waiting. He has a whole tray, actually, with water for everyone, as well as two large platters of food - pickled vegetables on flat bread with ground beans, as well as an old favorite of yours, fried spiced mince wrapped in grape leaves.

"Someone just handed me all of this, I did not pay for it," The Captain says, clearly bewildered but pleased as he sets it down on the table.

"Dornish hospitality, Captain," you explain with a grin.

"Oh, so it is not just you then, my lady?" The Captain asks brightly.

"I learned everything I know from these lands and the people who call them home," you confirm happily. It makes you proud to know that your people are still so generous with what they have.

The Captain samples a few things from each platter, looking rather pleased with the task of poison tester this time. You don't blame him, all of this is far better than scalding hot medicinal tea after all. You pick up a slice of the flat bread for yourself, suddenly aware of how hungry you are.

"Well then, your Grace, shall we set out for Sunspear in two days time?" You ask.

The Prince nods, taking up one of the extra tankards that the Captain had brought out rather than taking his back from you.

"I think it a fine plan, my lady. Have you been to Sunspear before?"

"I have not. My father went several times of course, but I wasn't old enough. I'm excited to see it."

"It's beautiful," he says. You wonder how much of his childhood he spent at Sunspear. Maybe you will ask him about it once you are there. He has seen your home, where you grew up, perhaps you will get to see one of the places that raised him.

"I would also like to introduce you to my family - my sons in particular are curious to meet you."

His eyes watch you for your reaction to that piece of information, but the wine, good food, and good company have warmed you in more ways than one. Perhaps tomorrow in the light of day you will feel more self conscious, but for right now, in the dusk and warm lantern light casting patterns over you all like stars you are happy at the thought of meeting Baelor's children.

"I would be honored to meet them," you assure him with a smile, and then let it turn mischievous. "After all, they are my comrades in the alliance."

The Prince huffs a laugh and rolls his eyes again, slumping a little in his chair, relaxed once more.

"I am never going to escape this, am I?"

"You will, once you actually rest and recuperate," you explain mildly. "We would have no reason to nag you so, your Grace, if you would but stay in one place, and focus on healing."

"I will take it under advisement," the Prince says dryly in a tone that you know hundreds of courtiers have probably heard before. It makes you laugh again, and you feel him watching you, like he still can't believe that you're here in front of him.

"Two days, your Grace," you say, and pick up your (his) cup and tilt it towards him, offering the rim of it. He picks up his tankard and taps it against your own.

"Two days, my lady."

You both drink on that promise.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Part 15 < | > Part 17

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