Wild Blue Yonder by The Amazing Devil | Banner by @saradika-graphics | Divider by @chrisssiren
He is really starting to regret saving that kitten- well, not really, he would never deny her the happiness it brought her- but he is becoming quite annoyed at no longer being the center of her attentions as he had been before bringing the creature home.
He slumps back in a chair across the bedroom, wine sloshing from the cup in his hand as his legs part, watching her pamper her dear 'Stormy'.
"My wife..." He grumbles, finishing his drink and setting the now-empty goblet on her vanity. He saunters over and snatches the cat in one hand, holding it up above her head and glaring at it, "Little bastard."
"My love?"
"What does he have that I do not?" He huffs, climbing onto the large bed and clambering over her, still glaring at the kitten in his large hand, "I have whiskers, striking eyes, sharp teeth- Do you not find me affectionate enough that you must search elsewhere?"
He sets the cat aside and leans in close, his beard and mustache scratching as his lips ghost along her neck. He presses his chest to hers, silently begging for her love, as though he's gone without it- which he hasn't- but, it seems, he's an extremely jealous man when it comes to her.
"It's my turn, my darling," He insists, hands finding her hips to press her into the mattress. "I, too, would gladly purr under your attention."
Nāenelle giggles, burying her hands in his hair, kissing his head, "Are you jealous of the kitten you gave me?"
He simply grunts, pressing closer, laying his weight atop her like a needy animal.
"Lyonel!" She shrieks in laughter, tumbling back amongst the pillows. She sighs when he gently sinks his teeth into her throat before lavishing the spot with his lips and tongue.
"I adore you." He growls, "My pretty, loving, goddess."
He freezes when she giggles again, looking up to find that damned cat nuzzling into her cheek and he lets out a loud bark at it, startling it into running off.
"Lyonel!" She snaps.
"What? He was stealing your attention again!"
She doesn't like when he's angry with her- not that he's ever truly angry with her, but she doesn't like when he's fake angry either.
It had been a slip of the tongue, a jest, a habit she'd acquired growing up with brothers and male cousins. She hadn't meant to insult his manhood- especially not when it kept her so satiated in the dark, quiet of night.
"Lyonel," She pouts, her arms wrapping his neck from behind. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet since the jab, brooding even, one might say, as he sat at his desk, doing his lordly duties, "Please don't be cross with me. I truly meant nothing by it."
He simply grunts, not paying her any mind.
Proud, stubborn, fool of a man.
"Please, my heart," She groans, stepping around his chair and hopping up into the desk, knocking aside papers and taking his entire view, "My stomach churns when you act as though you don't love me."
Is she being a tad dramatic? Perhaps. But she needs his voice like she needs air, it's her sunshine, and it's absence is making the gloom of Storm's End even more dreary.
He grumbles when she drapes herself across his lap, her hand stroking his jaw.
"Tell me you love me." She begs, tilting his face toward hers, "Before my heart gives out completely to the melancholy that is your silence. Lyonel, please."
A deep, bitter sounding chuckle rumbles from his throat as he leans his head back, throat bared, looking at the ceiling and shaking his head.
"Lyonel?"
"By the gods- how do men neglect their women? I cannot even go one damned afternoon without yearning to tell you exactly what you wish to hear!" He growls, turning back to look at her again. "Of course, I love you."
"My love," She sighs in relief when he kisses her, as if she'd never expected to feel his lips again, and her hands grip his face, keeping him there.
He nips at her lip, keeping her pressed close, even when she pulls away.
"You're not allowed to be cross with me anymore," She frowns, "It hurts far too much."
He simply chuckles and nods, leaning in to kiss her again.
Sharp Scales of the Stag | Walk Through the Storm I Would
Warnings: 18+, threats of violence
Nāenelle takes a minor spill, and Lyonel refuses to let her out of his sight.
Word Count: 1k
So sorry, desktop users, I am not fixing the gifs, it's really cute on mobile
Unconditionally by Fame on Fire | Banner by @saradika-graphics
It is a silly injury, she knows that.
She had not been paying attention to where she was stepping, and rolled her ankle on the last step on the way to supper. The resulting tumble came from when she quickly stepped back and tripped over her own skirts, her hands scraping on the stone.
Lyonel had heard her curse from the dining hall and came running, finding her there, sprawled across the bottom three steps, her skirt torn, and holding her throbbing ankle.
"That was undignified," She huffs, rubbing her backside.
Lyonel grimaces and reaches out for her hands, pulling her to her feet and directly into his arms when she winces.
"Get me Maester fucking Farrah!" He shouts loudly. He carries her into the dining hall and carefully lowers her into his seat, as if she were made of glass, kneeling before her to examine her himself.
"My love, it was just a small fall, I am perfectly fi- ow!" She yelps when his hands, ever gentle, shift her foot.
"You've twisted your ankle," He hisses, a hand moving to stroke her shin comfortingly.
He wants to yell, to scream at and shake anyone who would dare harm the woman he loves, and yet, it's his beloved wife who hurt herself. He sighs, his eyes dark, and voice sharp as he scolds her for being so careless.
"Stupid, reckless woman." He chastises, his lips soft as they press against the injured muscle, "What am I to do with you? Carry you about like a child?"
"I'm sorry, Ly-"
"Don't." He growls, the sound of her apology leaving a sour taste in the back of his throat, like rising bile, at the thought of her feeling the need to apologize to him for anything. "Just-"
He lets out a deep, gravelly, sigh.
"Do not be so reckless with my love." He begs, reaching up to squeeze her hand, fingers feeling the scraped skin on her palm, "I know not what I would do without her."
Her heart stutters at his admission, the genuine fear and passion behind it making her feel a bit sick with guilt for worrying him so.
"Fucking took you long enough," He snaps when Maester Ferrah hurries in. He stays knelt before her, moving aside just enough for the maester to work, his hands squeezing hers comfortingly.
His grip tightens with every little whimper and wince from her as Ferrah adjusts and examines her swollen ankle until he lets out a sharp breath, his hands leaving hers to grip Ferrah's collar and shove him hard against the large mantle before either she or the maester knows what's happening.
"If I hear one more fucking sound of distress from my Nāenelle, I will gut you like a fucking fish, do you understand me?" He knows he's not being rational, that Ferrah is simply doing a thorough job, but every whine of pain from her lips is like a blade to his heart. He cannot stand to see her in even the slightest pain.
"Lyonel!" She barks, staring at him in disbelief when he looks back at her with wild eyes. His fingers tighten everslightly in the fabric of his robes before he releases him and returns to her side, resting his head in her lap, looking akin to a scolded hound, as she waves the other man back over. "Maester Ferrah, please finish."
And, what a well-trained hound he seems to be, allowing her to pet his hair, her fingers tugging at his curls with a hiss through her teeth as Ferrah finishes his examination.
"I will need to bandage it," He explains, reaching for his things, "And you should do your best to keep from putting pressure on it, my lady, lest it heal wron-"
"There will be no risk of that," Lyonel interjects harshly, his hands fisting the fabric of her skirts. "She will not be leaving my arms until she has healed."
"That does not seem practical, my love." She chuckles, freezing when she sees the seriousness in his glare.
"You will not leave my side until I am sure you have healed fully," His voice stern, as if speaking to a misbehaving child. "I'll not have another misfortune befall my heart when I could easily prevent such things from happening."
Keep her close he does. All through dinner, his eyes scarcely leave her, and then he again cradles her in his arms as he carries her to their bed. There's a coldness to his face, an anger brewing just beneath his normaly jovial features, like a storm that causes her chest to tighten.
"Are you cross with me, my love?" She asks quietly as he helps her undress,
"Do I seem cross?" He grunts, loosening the laces of her bodice and taking it off her.
"Yes," She admits, her voice small, and he stills.
He sighs and leans forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind.
"No," He assures her, softly, "You infuriate me, but I could never be angry at you."
His thumb runs across her ribs. He never wishes to hear the insecurity he just has in her voice again.
"I love you," He insists, his lips kissing softly at the nape of her neck, before burying his nose against the side ofher throat, "Seeing you hurt... Nāenelle, please, you must take greater care. I could not bear to see you in pain again."
He shifts, carefully leaning her back against his chest, hugging her close as physically possible, as if terrified she might disappear.
"What would I ever do if you left this life without me?" He murmurs, voice low and suddenly quite melancholy, "My Nāenelle, my heart, my love. The only bit of light in this fucking shit life, my port in the endless storm. I cannot lose you. I will not."
Both his words and kiss to her head are overflowing with conviction. He's never been one to lie, and now is no different; he would be truly lost without her now.
"Promise me," He pleas, his lips firm against her temple, "Swear to me you will be more careful with my heart."
Can we get a fic about Lyonel meeting his betrothed? Who arranged it etc.
Sharp Scales of the Stag | Colors and Promises
Warnings: 18+, none.
Lyonel Baratheon x Nāenelle Tully
A Thousand Years by Christina Perri and Steve Kazee | Banner by @saradika-graphics
The party is dull, the wine is subpar, and Lyonel is on the brink of screaming, he is so understimulated.
He is starting to wonder why he came all the way to Riverrun for a name-day celebration in the first place. Yes, there are whole brothels he has yet to try, and plenty of trouble to get into, but this event is not doing it for him.
"Pig!"
A commotion from the Lord's table catches his attention, just as the eldest daughter's wine splashes across the face of some Frey or Piper lad, burning fire in her eyes that make his stomach twist. He watches as she stands and, with her head held high with pride, storms out.
Now, Lyonel had seen her before, at one tourney or another, with her cousin. Her name is Nina or Nala or something to that regard. Pretty to be sure, but, as word about court would have it, an odd fish, near twenty-six years of age, and still unmarried.
"Bull-headed that one." One of the men at his table scoffs, "Acting as though she has time to waste before her child-bearing years end- stuck-up bitch."
"That is our host's kin," He warns lowly, hand itching for his dagger. He has never been one for gossip, especially not toward a lady. The man simply rolls his eyes and stands to find another seat.
Another minute passes before Lyonel is on his feet and making his way from the dining hall, toward the godswood where he'd seen her disappear.
Sure enough, sitting with her skirts pulled up to her knees and bare feet in the stream, is the Tully girl, her dark-red hair falling just right to obscure her face. He watches her for a moment as she plays with flower petals and blades of grass, a warm feeling washing over him.
"I hope you don't mind." He says, and she jumps to her feet, startled, the ends of her blue gown falling in the water.
"My lord," She gasps at his sudden appearance.
"Lyonel, please," He corrects as he steps forward with an outstretched hand to help her back onto the bank, "Ser Lyonel. I apologize if I scared you, my lady."
"Nāenelle." Her cheeks flush pink when she takes his hand, causing an amused smile to spread across his face.
"Lady Nāenelle," He gins, bowing his head slightly, "A pretty name. It suits you."
Her eyes flick toward him with a frown, "You forget yourself, ser."
His brow furrows when she steps back from him.
"And what do you mean by following me here?"
He bites back a smirk and shakes his head, "Nothing of inpropriety, my lady. You seemed... distressed when you left."
Her look shifts from one of guarded interest to annoyance, which only seems to amuse him further.
"And you thought you would... what?" She huffs, "Play the hero? Ser Lyonel, you have quite a reputation, as I am sure you are acutely aware."
"Do I?" He chuckles, the sound deep and beautiful.
"Indeed, and, as such, you would understand as to why I would not wish to be seen alone with you, yes?"
He stills, his brow furrowing again. He is a knight of the realm, nect in line to rule over the Stormlands, is the gossip so bad that a lady would worry for her own reputation by simply being near him.
"If you will excuse me, ser," She mutters, walking off, leaving him to contemplate.
As the day drags on into night, her accusations of his own unchivalrous behaviour fades in longing through the haze of Riverlands wine. He finds himself thinking of her pretty, Tully-blue eyes glaring up at him, the touch of her hand as he helped her from the river, and the blush of her soft, freckled cheeks. He thinks of the blaze of anger across her face when she'd thrown her wine.
Morning came soon enough, and a joust in her uncle's honor was to be held. Ah, so this is why he'd graced the riverfolk with his rougish presence.
As he climbs upon his horse, he sees her, not in the viewing stands, no, but down on the field speaking with Ser Medgar Tully, her cousin and heir to Riverrun. The sun is shining in her hair, and he can just hear her laugh, the sound causing his chest to tighten.
Before he knows of what he is about to do, he urges his horse forward, his voice sure and clear.
"My Lady Nāenelle." He stops just before her, a mischievous grin on his face as his attention catches her off guard, "If it is not too bold of me, may I ask for the honour of your favor for the coming tilt?"
Bold? It feels a monumental request from a knight she had met perhaps twice prior, and even moreso as the first knight to ask it of her at all, beside her cousin. She twists the handkerchief in her hands as bashfulness and delight swirl inside her.
"It is not," She says shyly, her cheeks turning rosy as she hands the piece of fabric to him.
The smile he wears beneath his helm as he charges his opponents in the lists is one of pride and boyish glee. She is surprised when he takes the day, becoming flustered when he lifts his antlered helm to press her favor to his lips.
Her annoyance returns when his boldness grows and he sits directly across from her at the following feast.
"I owe you my thanks, Lady Nāenelle," He grins like a fool, "Had it not been for the strength of your favor, I would have ended up with my ass in the dirt like all the others."
His chuckle is dark yet teasing and she hums.
"Perhaps I should not have fed into your arrogance, ser." She says pointedly and his smile only widens.
They spend a short time continuing this little dance of retorts before he asks outright, "How a lady such as you can find herself unmarried is beyond me."
He knows he's pressed a sore spot when her jaw freezes mid-chew and she looks up at him with the eyes of a wounded dog.
"I..." she shifts uncomfortably and her hesitance to speak makes him feel oddly ill. He had not meant his comment as an insult, but purely surprise, seeing at how pleasant she seems. "I am betrothed, Ser, to Ser Heidrick Frey."
His stomach drops and his jaw clenches.
"Heidrick Frey, is hardly a knight, and is the third son of a third son." He growl his grip tightening on his cup, "Could your father not have arranged you a better match?"
He's done it again. He and that brazen mouth of his have hurt her, twice in less than a minute.
"I do not mean..." He huffs and shakes his head, "That useless cunt could not possibly be worthy of you, my lady."
"And I suppose you think you would be?" She scoffs.
"Of course not," He frowns, "But I come far closer than Heidrick fucking Frey."
He does not say so, but, for a moment, he does imagine himself with her, married, and, instead of finding the notion ridiculous, he finds himself suddenly enamored with her.
Over the next week, he does all he can to learn more about her, to try and get closer to her before he decides, he won't be returning to Storm's End as soon as he had planned, and Lord Tully is surprised when the heir to the Stormlands stays well after the celebration has concluded.
Nāenelle is annoyed at first with him popping up everywhere she goes, but she soon grows amused by it, indulging him with walks in the godswood and accepting his lavish gifts.
She is, admittedly, unsurprised when he proposes, her chest tightening at his disappointment when she reminds him she is already engaged.
He grips her hands tightly as he tries to convince her that they are a far better match.
"What is it that he can give you that I cannot?" He pleads, "If it simply a matter of his asking first, then please reconsider. I could worship and adore you unlike any other man."
He proposes twice more over the next two months, and by the third she has come to realize that a political marriage with a lord-to-be that adores her would be far more palatable than a political marriage to a lower grandson of a lord that feels nothing for her, and agrees, with her father's blessing.
Both her father and mother prefer Lyonel anyway, for his obvious care for their daughter, and the opportunity it offers her and the family.
Lyonel is overjoyed, which is not not how he ever expected to feel at the prospect of marriage, and yet, he has fallen to hard and fast for her it would seem blasphemous to not be elated to wed her.
He thinks he looks dashing at the wedding, his unruly curls combed back, beautiful shoulder mantle in Baratheon yellow over an intricately designed black leather doublet, striking quite the figure in the sept at Riverrun. Then he sees her and beauty does not even begin to cover it.
Her dress is simple white with billowing sleeves, sapphires and garnets along her neck, and a deep blue belt hanging loosely from her waist.
He near falls to his knees before her as if to pledge, not only his body, but his sword and soul to her and he alone. Fuck kings, fuck the gods, all he needs is her.
When he says "I am hers" he means it, he truly does, she can see it in his eyes, vowing himelf only to her.
Speeches are made, songs are sung, and drinks are had at the feast, and Lyonel, as he does, makes enough of a fool of himself that he makes his bride laugh. His bride! Gods that feels good to think. His wife! His love. And he made her laugh!
When she shows even the slightest aversion to the bedding ceremony he shuts the whole thing down. He may be tipsy, but he will not have his darling wife uncomfortable, so he scoops her up and carries her off himself to worship her like the goddess she is.
Sorry, I posted this before I finished, and then I thought I published it done but forgor
Warnings: 18+, threats of violence
Banner by @saradika-graphics
"Not that any of us are shocked by the lack of heirs yet, considering..." Daemon Lannister snickers, glancing toward Nāenelle while speaking to Lyonel and the entire table goes silent.
Even the serving girls freeze at the comment, one even dropping the pitcher of water in surprise that anyone- even an older lord, would insult their lady to Lyonel of all people.
"What in the seven hells did you just say, cunt?" Lyonel spits, his hand grasping at his antler-adorned dagger at his hip. His face is grave, eyes dark, glare sharp, and teeth clenched, giving him a moment to take back the foul words aimed at his wife.
A moment passes and Lyonel is stepping up onto the table, knocking wine and food aside before landing beside the Grey Lion, his ringed hand clutching the collar of the man's tunic and dragging him to his feet.
"I suggest you apologize to the lady before your insides decorate my hall, you tiny, insignificant flea." He growls as he presses the tip of his blade to his stomach.
"My love." Her voice is gentle and only barely cuts through the haze of anger clouding his mind, "I'm sure Lord Lannister did not mean to insult. Surely this is not worth starting a war over."
It is. To him it is, truly. He presses the knife even closer, waiting for an apology, insisting on it.
"This bastard would dare insinuate my perfect love is flawed or unfit to bear children to my face." Bits of spit connect with Daemon's face and collect in his own beard as he hisses, "I should run him through- slowly- for the insult alone."
"And I am asking you not to." She says softly, reaching across the table to touch his arm. It is not as though she disagrees with him, simply that, if he were to start a war, he would be away more often, which means less time with her, and the gods have made her quite selfish toward her love, "Lyonel, please."
He reluctantly releases Daemon, who looks rather shaken, kicks his guest's seat away from the table, and steps back up and over the table before dropping heavily back into his own seat, dragging his Lady Wife down to sit between his spread legs.
"I apologize for my words, my Lady." Lord Lannister stammers, bowing slightly before turning to leave.
"Look at him run," Lyonel chuckles in her ear, the sound low and rumbling from his chest to hers. He tilts his neck to look at her "The cunt owes you his life, and I don't plan to let him forget it."
Do you think after Baelor died and the news broke everyone (or at the very least the participants in the trial why aren’t Raymund Dunk or Baelor) were staring at Aerion like that one Drake and Josh “Drake where’s the door” meme
She just wanted to turn 13 and have a slumber party with her friends 😭
Did they consummate their marriage on their wedding night?
What was their first time like vs their first feral "we are both in love" sex like?
How does she fall in love with him? And does she go absolutely feral after she realizes? Dragging him to bed in a kind of furious "well now I simply must have him" type way?
Also do they ever sneak way from a hunt to fick in the forest?
Just...many thoughts
Love love love your characterization of them so far 💛
Ouuuaagh! Lots of questions! Yay!
Smutty thoughts under the cut for Lyonel x Nāenelle (Lady Wife)
Their first time was their wedding night. It was a bit awkward at first as this was her first time (with a man ;)), but Lyonel was quite sweet, letting her take her time and tell him what did or did not like the feel good. He knows she isn't as infatuated with him as he is she, so he follows her lead, wanting her to be as comfortable as possible in this incredibly intimate and vulnerable moment. Hell, they'd only known each other a few months, and she's a deal younger than he is, he would have been surprised if she was as passionate about this marriage as he was.
That being said, he manages to make her feel like the most important and beautiful person in the entire world that night. That he was put on this planet to pleasure and worship her.
It does not take long for her to, not only warm up, but find herself endeared and enthralled by the heir to the Stormlands. At first, she was staying in her own chambers in Storm's End, and she would wake to wildflowers by the door every morning. He's observant and would have the cooks make her favorite meals without her needing to ask. Then he found his secret weapon. There's something so prim and proper about Tully women, always has been, but Lyonel squirms his way beneath all that and finds ways to make her laugh.
It wasn't long after that she lowered her walls and bared her heart.
Then there's the affection. His gentle touches and heated stares, he knows no shame when it comes to looking at the woman he adores, and she finds herself blushing at every brush of his skin.
Of course, Lyonel is ecstatic when he notices her newfound bashfulness and something boyish overtakes him.
It was in this childish nature that he did something silly and showed her a worm he had found in his boot when they were out in the courtyard, and, as she stood on her toes to see it in his hand, she realized she had come to unabashedly love him.
That night, when he mentioned their marriage bed, her face went bright pink, even as she agreed. It was as he was drawing a fourth- no, maybe fifth orgasm from her with his mouth and fingers alone, that the words fell from her lips- "I love you."
They're muffled by her thighs squeezing his head, but it's clear enough that he freezes and his head shoots up to look at her.
"Say that again," He begs, clawing his way up toward her face, nothing short of stars in his eyes.
Something magical happens when she takes his face in her hands and says them again, softer but more sure.
"I love you."
He is unsure if it was simply the heat of the moment or if she truly meant it, but it is a moment he will never forget. The sex they have after is passionate, not wild per se, but more emotional than before, and he is absolutely delighted when, instead of going back to her private chambers after, she falls asleep in his arms.
Their first time of feral sex was a few nights after. He had felt like he was living in a dream, waking with her in his bed, the kisses from her lips, as unsure as they still were, the gentle touches during the day, and how she shared his bed even when they weren't making love, it was all like a fairy tale.
She boldly climbed into his lap, surprising him and said told him to fuck her like one of those whores he loves so much. Now, he hadn't been with another woman since he realized he wanted to marry her months ago, but he admittedly had a reputation. Nāenelle did not fall first, but she is tied with him for falling hard, and the thought of him with any other woman, suddenly churned her stomach with jealousy.
Lyonel, ever the lover, was, of course, sweet to any man or woman he found himself sharing his bed with- but he didn't love them, and even if he did, it was not to the intensity he does her.
Her demands were clear enough to him. She didn't wish to be treated like a prostitute, but fucked like a woman who needed to be shown his devotion, needed to feel claimed by her husband. She wanted rough but loving, adoring yet frantic, as though he cannot help but lose himself in her.
So he obliged. He gave her all she yearned for and more, relishing in her clinging arms and biting nails, the way they raked along his back. He kissed her as though he couldn't breath without her lips, touched her as though he knew her body better than she herself, and in return she whimpered and moaned his name in a way he thought he could only dream, those same three words tumbling from her lips, urging him on.
By the time they were too exhausted to continue the sun was rising, and her body was covered in love bites from his constant attentions.
The first time she found herself feral and desperate for him outside of the bedroom shocks her. He, on the other hand, is more than happy to take her in the empty drawing room she'd all but dragged him to. He can't help but be a bit proud for having a hand in awakening her sexual appetites, and will gladly take responsibility for doing so.
She becomes a bit insatiable for a good few weeks as she starts to realize how genuinely attracted she is to, not only him, but many of his mannerisms.
As for hunts, Nāenelle doesn't usually partake, but on the road to tournies the others in their traveling party grow to hate them for keeping them up at night and for volunteering to help gather wood, only to come back an hour later, disheveled and empty-handed.
It's honesty a shock they didn't get pregnant sooner with how often they go at it.
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?"
"I can't fucking believe- Fucking cunt! Not even a fucking word! The bastard!"
Nāenelle sighs, as she watches her husband wince, pacing around on his crutch in a rage over his pet Hedge Knight running off without so much as a word.
"Lyonel-"
"Ungrateful, lousy, cunt!" He spits, kicking over a chair meant to be packed with their things, only to exclaim in pain from using his wounded leg, "Cunt!"
"You'll aggravate your wounds you stupid man!" Nāenelle snaps, moving to help support him, ignoring the stares of servants busting around them.
"After everything I did- everything I risked, and he leaves!" He goes on, as if she hadn't spoke, shrugging her off. "Where the fuck does he get off spitting in my face like tha-"
He freezes mid-step when her hands catch his face, groaning slightly in discpmfort when she pulls him down to her lips, the points of his antlered crutch digging into his side.
"Would you calm the fuck down?" She hisses, "You'll re-open your wounds storming around like this!"
He stares at her for a moment, brown eyes wide before he lets out a deep, barking laugh, wincing again as it disturbs his bruised ribs.
"Your Mormont is showing, darling." He chuckles, pecking her lips again. She huffs when she pulls away, having tasted blood from his lip, the scab splitting again from his laughter.
"You absolute fool of a man," She mutters, running her thumb along his bloodied lip, "Falling apart at the seams. What would you do without me?"
"I would be naught but a heap of bruised flesh on the floor." He admits, licking at the pooling blood, his tongue brushing her thumb.
She hums in agreement, rising up on her toes to kiss him again.
"Come," She takes his free hand, "We'll be leaving soon, and I wish to see you settled."
"Settled," He scoffs, hobbling along behind her, "I have no issues riding, I needn't ride along in a carriage or wagon like an invalid. No, I shall take my horse and-"
A stifled laugh escapes him against her lips when she kisses him again.
"Is this becoming a habit?" He teases, only to be met with a shrug.
"It's working, is it not?"
"Mmmm, indeed." He grins, following her like a dog toward one of the wagons.
