This is a birthday gift for the lovely @nocturnalrorobin, it is an Alpha Maekar x Omega Reader Modern AU.
WC: 1,505
Warnings: Accidental knotting, power imbalance, unethical relationship, unsafe sex, Maekar being snippy & loving simultaneously, phone call to Baelor while knotted, stripping, ABO, and everything that comes with that. I think that's it? If you see something else, LMK.
It was late. Not that that was unusual; it had been laid out clearly when you were hired by the Targaryens' law firm that if they were working, you were working. Your dedication to your job was how you had been promoted from a general assistant to Maekar’s personal assistant within a year of being with them. Well, that and your patience. You never stood down when Maekar would lose his temper or lash out. Even though it went against your genetics as an omega, you always took his comments on the chin and grew from them. Not that having a handsome alpha assert his dominance made you wet or anything (who said that? 👀).
Tonight was an average Thursday; the majority of the office had gone home for the evening. No one was left on your floor of the building. Not even Baelor was in. He had left to go home to see Jena between work and a work dinner with his father, brothers, and a potential client. Speaking of. You glanced at the time. Maekar had less than an hour until he would need to depart as well. Just as you were typing a reminder message, you received a message from Maekar through the office’s electronic interface.
Office, now
You didn’t bother typing back. It’d take more time for the message to deliver than for you to step into his office mere feet away. Despite being practically alone, you still maintained appearances and knocked.
“Enter,” he gruffed out,
Your thighs unintentionally squeezed together, in an almost Pavlovian response to his stern tone. You ignored the sweeping heat in your abdomen as you pressed into the office.
You immediately noticed four things: his normally pocketed cellphone was thrown down on his desk, his blue light glasses had also been half-hazardously discarded, his eyes were shut, and his jaw was clenched tight enough to be visible from where you stood ten feet away. You wordlessly walked towards him and around his desk, unworried about being seen through the opaque frosted windows of his office. You stopped behind him and leaned over the office chair that was flush with his shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” you asked softly in his ear, his shoulders visibly relaxing at your presence.
“Bloody school called,” he gruffed,
“Was it about Aegon or Aerion?” you asked, knowing that they were the most likely suspects since Daeron had moved on to university.
“Aegon was not present at his evening dorm check.” He sighed, “For how much money that fucking school costs, you’d think they’d be able to keep track of one eleven-year-old.”
You hummed sympathetically as he continued,
“Dumb fucks attempted to lecture me and threaten to write him up like their science wing doesn’t have our fucking name on it,” he seethed, scent souring.
“It’s better than a call about Aerion,” you pointed out softly,
“Still a fucking nightmare,” he quipped, spinning his chair around to face you. He wordlessly pressed his face into your stomach as you stood between his thighs. His massive hands clutched the material of your slacks. You chirped softly and put out calming pheromones. Your left hand held the back of his head flush with you as your right combed through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp at each pass.
“You have to leave for that dinner with a client within the hour. What can I do for you?” you asked in as neutral a tone as you could muster. All while knowing you’d love any way he’d pick to work through his emotions. He let out a sigh into your stomach as he reluctantly pulled back and looked up at you sharply.
“Strip,” he commanded, releasing your trousers. You immediately stepped back and loosened your tie. You slowly started unbuttoning your shirt, keeping your eyes locked on him; biting your lip as he began to palm himself through the slacks of his suit. He groaned as your shirt fell to the ground and you began to work on your belt. Your trousers joined your top as you slipped out of your shoes, leaving you clad only in your underwear.
“Stop,” he commanded, gesturing for you to come closer. He held your hip as you moved with him until he was back facing the desk. He unceremoniously ripped your underwear down, groaning at the sight of your slicks still connecting you to your ruined underwear.
“Fucking slut,” he quipped, shoving you back onto the desk where you sat nude. An inadvertent gasp ripped from your chest as he suddenly stood up, nearly knocking his chair over as his massive form engulfed you.
“Don’t give me a reason to gag you,” he growled in your ear. You bit your lip to contain a whine, only getting wetter. You loved when he was like this, desperate for you in the same way you craved him. He didn’t even bother properly undressing as he undid his belt and fished his cock out, immediately notching the head against your dripping entrance.
“We need a condom,” you whimpered. “It’s too close to my heat.”
He made no motion to move, the bare head of his cock still pressed flush with your entrance.
“I’ll pull out,” he rasped, face tucked into your shoulder, deeply inhaling your scent. The mere thought of the risk sent a rush of electricity shooting up your spine. That inner thrill caused any argument you had to die on your tongue. A whine keened from the base of your throat as he eased himself in. You bit into the expensive material of his button-down to contain a groan as he thrusted all the way in. You stayed like that as he began to pick up speed and form a rhythm.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your ear, his normal reserved behavior thrown out the window as soon as he was inside of you,
“Such a good fucking omega,” he panted, “always ready to take me.”
Another moan cut through him as you clenched around him,
“Fuck, you like that? You like being a little slut daddy can use however I’d like, whenever I want?”
Another pathetic whine left you, the material of his shirt damp,
“Gods, you’re wet,” he moaned softly, “Not gonna last much longer, love.”
His callused fingers found their way to your clit as he continued his brutal pace.
“Daddy,” you panted in his ear as you released quickly approached,
“Go ahead, love,” he groaned,
A loud, unabashed moan cut through him as you tightened around him like a vice. He worked you through your orgasm, about to pull out, when his hips stuttered.
“Fuck,” he cursed, releasing inside of you. You gasped in response as his knot swelled at your entrance. The office was bathed in silence as you both came down from your highs. You were conflicted as you sat at the edge of his desk. While you knew the consequences of this, your inner omega was pleased. The factual part of your brain made you feel guilty for enjoying the closeness it provided.
“I’m sorry, I should have been more insistent-” you started before Maekar interrupted you,
“No, you were perfect,” he hushed, pecking your forehead.
“Let's get more comfortable, love,” he soothed, carefully picking you up and taking a seat back in his office chair, you now straddling him.
“You’re not gonna make it to the meeting on time,” you pointed out softly.
“It’s not like anyone expects me to lure a client in; I’m just there for appearances.” He sighed,
“You’ll have to call Baelor,” you added. He grunted in response, grabbing his cellphone from behind you. The call tone rang out before he had the chance to dial. He sighed before picking up.
“I’m not going to make it to the meeting,” he grunted into the phone, in lieu of a greeting,
“Hello to you too, brother,” Baelor teased. “Do I get an excuse for father or shall I make one up?”
“Do what you wish.” Maekar replied,
“Do I get to know why?” Baelor asked,
“I’m tied up with work at the moment,” Maekar sighed, annoyance growing,
“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Baelor teased again,
“What the fuck are you implying?” Maekar barked back.
“Nothing, nothing,” Baelor huffed a laugh, “tell your little assistant hello for me-” Baelor started, only to be cut off by Maekar hanging up.
“Idiot,” Maekar scoffed, causing you to laugh.
“What would you like for dinner, love?” he asked softly, or at least soft in comparison to how he was talking to Baelor.
“Mhm, I’m not sure yet,” you replied, slightly dazed. Unable to focus much on anything other than his cock still stuck inside of you. “We’ll order in when we get home then,” he said, sensing the shift in your mood. You only hummed in response as you nestled your face closer to his neck’s scent glands and took a deep breath. He purred soothingly in response, rubbing up and down your back with one hand while the other held your hip possessively.
I hope you liked it and have the amazing day you deserve 💛
P.S. If you like One Piece, Ro's got a decent-sized library of writing on their blog~ here ~
So what are your hc how AKOTSK men deal with jealousy?
I'm so sorry this was in my inbox for so long 😭
5 Jealous Targaryens and 1 Baratheon for Good Luck
Baelor
I kinda head canon that in the moment he appears fine, at least to others. But you can tell immediately, his microexpressions give it away. The crease in his brow, the purposeful unclenching of his jaw, and the rolling of his shoulders to loosen his posture. The rational part of him knew the Ser who helped you dismount your horse wasn't trying to make a pass at you; the gentle cupping of your waist was merely meant to steady you when your footing gave way. He knew that, and yet he couldn't help but feel outrage bubbling under the surface. You were his partner, and as far as he was concerned, he was to be the only one to touch you. What made it worse was your immediate empathy, softly squeezing his hand and silently asking if he was okay. Your face warmed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead and gave back a reassuring squeeze. You weren't used to this level of PDA, let alone him pressing you against the stone wall of the castle's lower hallways as soon as you were alone. No, you were certainly not expecting him to sandwich his thigh between yours and pull you into a bruising kiss. Or for him to lower himself down onto his knees, like he was praying in the sept, and get you off right then and there like only he could. No, the hand of the king could never do anything that reckless.
Maekar
Maekar does not appear fine, and it is everyone's business lol. He was immediately prickly at the sight of a young lord asking you to dance. When he saw the same lord's hands begin to wander, he went nuclear. He didn't care if he made a scene as he wove through the dance floor and grabbed you while simultaneously cursing out the man who dared to touch HIS partner. He kept a firm grip on you until you were back in the privacy of your own bedchambers. Before he could go into a rant, his anger immediately simmers out when he catches the distraught look on your face. You were trying so hard to keep it together and bottle up how uncomfortable you were, but a few stray tears escaped. His face softened as he gently cupped your face and kissed away your tears apologetically, even adding a few more exaggerated kisses before softly pecking your lips. You laugh through your tears, enjoying the playful side of your husband that few non-Targaryens have had the honor to see. He then pulled you in, wrapping his arms tightly around, while resting his chin on the crown of your head, and gently swaying you. You loved this side of him.
Lyonel
I feel like with Lyonel's self-assuredness, he doesn't get jealous over anyone making a pass at you. I think he honestly relishes it and will agree that you're such a catch and gloat that you settled for him. I feel like he'd be more jealous of someone taking your focus away from him, no matter how innocent the intent is. Lyonel, underneath all of his vibrato, is a man who needs your reassurance and cherishes your love and attention. That being said, I think if he were to genuinely get jealous, it would be the biggest spectacle. Gods, you can hear Lyonel's displeasure before you even see him. To the extent that his loud voice echoes around the room, like he's in the walls. You love your partner, but with his gifted vocabulary, status, and volume, any time you need to reel him back in is equivalent to calming a toddler's temper tantrum. Honestly, sometimes you don't have enough energy and let the interaction run its course on whatever poor bastard made the mistake of crossing the laughing storm.
Valarr
Valarr is similar to his father in a way. He's able to mask his displeasure at the sight of the ladies and lords of the court alike flocking around you, but that does nothing to quell his jealousy building under the surface. He knew you were a catch and new to the courts of the red keep, but you were his partner. When you're finally able to break away for lunch, you can immediately tell something's off. He doesn't feel present when you're talking, and he's barely contributing to the conversation outside of nodding his head and a few sparing words. When he excuses himself back to his bedchambers, you follow worried he's ill. You immediately lose your concern when he presses you up against the closed inside of his chamber's doors and pulls you in for a heated kiss. While unsure of where this was coming from, you didn't question it. You loved your soft and caring partner, but you equally loved it when he lost control and was desperate for you. You could only stand there and take it as his lips skated down your neck and began to nip and suck hickeys above your collar. Your whines only spurred him on as he ground his pelvis down on yours, pulling deep moans from your throat. By the time he's satisfied and takes you to bed, it looks like you were on the losing side of a fight with an octopus. Not that you'd ever complain, though 😉
Daeron
Your relation to Daeron is fluid and does not subscribe to a traditional relationship. You agreed and were both happy with an open relationship built on transparency; at least you thought you were. That was until one night, Daeron had one too many and needed your help back to his chambers. While putting him to bed, the prince drunkenly confessed how insecure he was when you'd bed another man, worried you'd grow sick of him and replace him. You shushed his tears and assured him you weren't mad or unhappy with him. You opt to stay the night with your dreamer to make sure he is okay and geared up for a serious conversation with a hungover Daeron.
Aerion
Once again, we have another son who learned from his father (for better or worse lol). When Aerion sees anyone get too friendly with you, he immediately clocks it as a threat. It doesn't matter if he lashes out physically or verbally (or both), he's hammering across the fact that your HIS partner and no one is allowed to have what's his. Gods forbid someone touches you or does something that would warrant an excuse for his behavior. His already short fuse gets clipped in half, and he doesn't care about anyone catching a stray. You're the only one who can calm him down after incidents like that. Between a soft, but firm, squeeze of his hand or distracting him long enough for the perpetrator to get away, you were the only one who could wrangle the hot-headed prince.
As your eldest sister approaches thirty, she and your father hatch a plan as a last-ditch effort to see her married off. Masquerading as a simple celebratory tourney, your sister invites eligible bachelors to your house to hopefully secure a husband. What happens when her top pick sets his sights on you instead?
(A Lyonel Baratheon x Fem-Reader Slow Burn Story.)
A/N: I am aware that women were normally labeled spinsters if unwed by 24, but we're gonna stretch that definition a bit.
CW: Reader's Family Sux
WC: 4,264
“-Elyana’s name day celebration will start at tomorrow’s sunset with a feast; all participating houses have arrived, save for the Baratheons, who will be arriving by mid-day.” Your father droned on as if you hadn’t heard the plans for your eldest sister’s thirtieth name day celebration for the past fortnight. You have had them memorized since day one, when she had ironed out all the details of not only her name-day tourney, but her hopeful engagement to one of the many houses represented. At this point, you were as invested as your sister was in her future nuptials. You were the fourth-born daughter, your sister being the oldest, and then your two older brothers, who have already been married. As was customary, you will not be able to even entertain the idea of a suitor until your elder sister is married off.
You loved your sister, you really did, but after a lifetime of always coming second, if not third or fourth, you longed for her to be married off so that you could move on with your own life. Yes, she cared for you and your siblings after your mother’s passing shortly after you were born; she would never let you forget that. But you longed for more than your home could offer you at the age of three and twenty. It had gotten to the point in the last year that you had been researching the steps to become a septa and be gone of your life here. This tourney was a last-ditch effort to see her wed, and everything had to be perfect. If not, you were already more than well aware where the blame would be cast.
“Father?” you called out as he had moved on to rehashing seating for the opening feast.
“Yes,” he responded, absent-mindedly shooing a servant away.
“May I be dismissed?” you asked lightly, hoping you could be forgotten in the details, rather than be stuck in his study the rest of the evening.
“You,” he paused to dote on another detail. You paused with him, hoping to skate by on his distraction. After another moment and another dozen details, you piped up again.
“Father?” you called,
“Yes, yes, you may leave,” he dismissed you with the flick of his wrist, his back now to you. You bit your lip to hide a smile as you made a beeline to the door, pausing only at the call of your name behind you. Your entire body froze, as a sigh built in your chest.
“Yes?” you asked, turning to acknowledge him.
“I expect you to be in bed at a respectable time; do not dilly-dally with stargazing as you do.” He gruffed. You bit your tongue to keep yourself from responding hotly to him, as your family, past and present, have always relied on the stars for directions while at sea. You knew his response would only be that the stars were a concern only for the men of the house.
“Of course, Father.” You nodded before making a hot exit.
The only sound through the corridor was the swishing of your gown and the steady steps of your personal knight, Ser Ash. You both made it the length of the castle to your private suite. Your siblings and you each took up one corner of the castle, and your father maintained his place in the donjon in the center of the building. Your tower and your eldest brother’s were the closest to the gate; your immediate older brother and sister held the two towers to the rear of the structure. Unsurprisingly, if you were aware of your family’s dynamics. Your sister was the silent force of your house, and your immediate older brother, Sowyer, was her favorite. Her second favorite was your eldest brother, Stefon, who had the better of the two front towers as his faced the sea and horizon. Which left you, the symbolic runt of the litter, to face the surrounding forest.
“My lady,” Ser Ash spoke, breaking the silence of the night, causing you to pause at your chamber’s doors.
“Yes?” you asked, turning to him. Ser Ash had been assigned as your guard since you could remember, originally your mother’s personal guard from before your parents had married for alliance.
“I do hope you heed your father’s wishes; tomorrow is a full day, and you should be rested.” He said, clearly from a place of concern over control. His eyebrows were pinched together above his dark left eye and right eye patch.
“I will try to sleep, but if it eludes me, I may peek out to chart.” You replied.
“Princess,” he responded gruffly, with an unamused look. Ser Ash had always held the feeling of an uncle; some days, it felt like he cared more about you than your actual father.
“I suppose just the Stallion,” you offered as a compromise.
“Aye,” he nodded, knowing with you that’s the best offer you would have. You had not slept without checking and charting the Stallion’s location since you had been able to make sense of the constellations as a child. Outside of cloudy nights or stormy nights, of course.
“Goodnight, Ser,” you nodded with a smile, knowing he would be there in the morning to escort you to breakfast before taking his leave.
“Goodnight, my lady,” he answered as you tugged the door of your chamber closed behind you. You were greeted by the warm smile of one of your handmaids, Emilla, whom you knew well. She aided in your transition from your gown to your night gown before taking her own leave. You heard the clink of Ser Ash’s armor as he took the definite position outside your doors for the night. Peaking your head out of your turret, you were met with a scattering of a dozen tents paired with the temporary structures built for the tourney. You took a deep breath to ease your nerves before turning your gaze to the sky. You picked up your sketchbook without looking, uncapped the ink, and took the quill from the holder built into the side of your windowsill. Diligently, you located the Stallion to the east and began to mark it down. You hummed lightly to yourself as the fatigue of the day began to eat at you. You had just marked the last star in the constellation as a stray star shot by. Whether it was muscle memory from years of star gazing throughout your youth, or the last bit of hope you had over your marital situation, you jumped at the opportunity.
“Star light, star bright,” you began to recite to yourself, “First star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, Have this wish I wish tonight.” You took a breath, “I wish to be taken from here, somewhere far away where I may start anew.”
However childish it was, you hoped with all your will that you were the first to wish upon that star.
You were awoken from a dreamless slumber to the morning light in your eyes. You groaned, turning away to hide in your bedding.
“My lady,” Emilla coaxed softly, you were far in a way, not a morning person, but your bite was never as bad as your bark. Emilla knew as much as she threw your covers away, leading to another deep groan pulled from your chest as you covered your face.
“You have a busy day ahead of you,” she said conversationally, ignoring your side eye as she began to strip the bed. Emilla was only a few years older than you but had been a servant under you long enough to know she could have a firm hand with you without complaint, much to your demise. Unlike your siblings, you had never reported a servant before, which gave those who served you room to toe the line without punishment. Your sister had always deemed this quality as a negative; in her words, you were “Too nice”. As if preventing someone from suddenly losing out on their livelihood was a favor and not something people should be entitled to. Besides, you genuinely liked Emilla, mainly because she was not keen on bullshitting you. Sometimes you need someone who will tell you things for your best interest without worrying about possibly offending you.
“Would it be the worst thing to be a bit late for breakfast?” you groaned.
“Would you like to get up or be dragged out with the sheets?” she asked instead, ignoring your question. With a petulant sigh, you rolled out of bed and stalked to where your tub waited, full and fragrant with preserved flowers and oil. You slinked out of your nightgown and smallclothes and slipped into the tub. You allowed yourself a moment to take a breath before you began to wash yourself. Once you had finished scrubbing, another handmaid, Tacy, began to work at your hair. You let out a pleasant sigh as she worked through your knots and washed your hair. Her efforts made it hard to stay awake as she gently rinsed your hair and began to dry it.
Once she had finished, you rose and dried yourself before slipping into fresh smallclothes and a slip Emilla had laid out for you. With her and Tacy’s help, you had slipped into a buttercup yellow dress. While its pastel color was light enough for the coming spring, it still had layers to protect you from the lingering cold. Once you were dressed, you were shepherded to your dressing table, allowing for the pair to style you as you tried your best to stay awake. Any residual irritation melted as Tacy finished styling your hair and Emilla finished dusting away your setting powder. You were now awake and mentally prepared for the tribulations awaiting for you outside of your bedroom’s walls.
“Good morning, My Lady,” Ser Ash greeted you with a smile,
“Good morning, Ser,” you smiled back, leading him down to the main hall. You were met with the sight of your family already dining as you entered the banquet hall. For once, you were happy they never waited for you; it meant one less lecture on a day you were sure to have many.
“Look who finally has the decency to grace us with her presence,” your eldest brother, Stefon, greeted, garnering a laugh from your sister and father. His wife, as always, shared a sheepish smile to attempt to soften the blow of your brother’s comment. You took a breath as Ser Ash pulled out your chair, before plastering a smile on your face.
“I suppose I have never been good at timing in the morning.” You replied as politely as possible before you were served your preferred breakfast of warm bread and two poached eggs with a sausage.
“My sympathy to whoever weds you,” he sighed again, pulling a laugh from your older sister and your other brother, Sowyer.
“If anyone weds you, that is,” he tacked on, behind his goblet. This time, your good sister did slap his upper bicep in protest, as your sister let out a loud laugh.
“What is it?” he laughed, “I’m only jesting, although I would put money on a sept being in your future, lest you burden our poor father.”
“Stefon,” your good sister scolded, while he and your sister shared another laugh. Sowyer gave you a sympathetic smile, not agreeing with your other siblings, but at the same time making no effort to defend you in the way you knew he would if the same comments were made towards your sister.
“How has your name day been so far?” you asked politely as you took a sparing bite of your breakfast; now self-conscious of any action made in front of your eldest brother.
“Better now that I have had a laugh,” she said with a saccharine smile. She was dressed in an elegant green gown that suited her well. “I will be making rounds to see how every house has settled in after breakfast. The Baratheons sent word that they would be arriving at noon.”
“The Baratheons have your best lied match, Ser Lyonel, correct?” you asked. While your sister had sent invitations to ten noble families, only three had likely matches. The rest were either too young for her or were not up to her standards—Ser Lyonel of House Baratheon, Ser Derron of House Rowan, and Ser Landor of House Swyift. All three were her age or older and had reputations that preceded them. She liked the idea of Ser Lyonel’s moniker of “The Laughing Storm.” To the extent that she had even written her name as Lady Elyana Baratheon, much like the actions of a smitten young maiden that she was not.
“That is correct,” she nodded, her smitten look returning before it devolved into a harsh smile, you were o so familiar with, “I expect you to make yourself scarce, once his party arrives. You may stay in the sept, your quarters, or the library. You may attend tonight's feast at our family’s table, but you may not participate in the dance unless directly asked. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sister,” you nodded, shifting your cutlery on your plate to signal you were done eating to your mealtime servants. Your plate was quickly taken away. You understood she saw you, really, any unwed woman of the court, as an adversary for this week. While a large part of you was frustrated with your treatment, a small part of you did pity her. This was her last real chance at a union before she would be foisted off as a spinster, and you would take priority over her for most likely a marriage of alliance over love.
“I will be taking my leave then,” you said. Your chair was pulled back by another elder Ser, as Ser Ash had taken his leave. You parted with your most convincing smile. You could hear your brother make another backhanded comment about you; Elyana’s shrill laugh echoed across the hall. You simply took a deep breath, knowing that retaliation would only lead to your own discipline and the satisfaction of your elder siblings. Your prayers were with Ser Lyonel.
It was just past noon when you could make out the Baratheon sigil of a deer from the turret of your bed chambers. Their party was approaching quickly from the east; judging from their flag, the wind was to their backs. You had been, for the most part, cooped up in your tower all morning. You didn’t want to risk crossing paths with your eldest brother, but now may be your window. From your vantage point, you could see him and Sowyer on either side of your sister, who had just crossed the drawbridge into the vast field in front of the castle where the tourney was taking place. Glancing back up, you saw the Baratheon caravan break into two groups. One heading straight to the castle, and the rest heading towards where their tent would be set up. The small cluster heading your way was made up of five men, the one in front you assumed to be Lord Lyonel. His golden cloak made him stand out with stark contrast against the green of the field.
“My Lady, lunch will be up in only a moment,” Emilla called from the door, stealing your attention.
“Up?” you asked, confused.
“Lady Elyana arranged for you to eat up here while they entertain Lord Baratheon for a light lunch,” she explained, softly with a sympathetic tone.
“Oh, alright,” you nodded, schooling your face as your gaze returned to the window. The leader of the pack was indeed Lyonel Baratheon. He had just dismounted his horse and was now approaching your siblings. Despite the distance, you could just almost make out what he was saying as his loud voice was carried to you by the wind. Your sister had just curtseyed when Lyonel paused his introduction, holding a hand up to his eyes to block out the midday sun. You furrowed your brow, wondering what he was looking at, until you froze as his gaze locked on you.
Fuck
He had just shifted his hand to point when you forced yourself to fall sideways to the ground out of panic.
“My lady,” Emilla said in shock, rushing down to your side.
“I am fine,” you assured her as you scooted a bit more away from the window before allowing her and Tacy to help you up. You waved off the knight posted at your door as you took a seat at your study.
“What had happened?” Tacy asked, confused.
“Nothing you should worry about,” you said, “I simply have already failed at maintaining a low profile in the Baratheon’s presence.”
“My lady, you are our concern,” Tacy said, while Emilla nodded in agreement. You held your tongue as a few servants delivered your lunch of fruit, cheese, and bread along with some wine. The warmth of their sentiment sat with you as you patiently waited for the kitchen servants to leave and your door to close.
“I believe Lord Baratheon has spotted me from the gate,” you explain, nervously picking and biting into a grape. They both gave you the same sympathetic look.
“That is hardly your fault,” Emilla said, comfortingly.
“Not that her ladyship will see as anything other than a threat,” Tacy replied hotly, annoyed on your behalf.
“Tacy,” Emilla scolded, but did not correct.
“It is all right, I will make myself scarce in the library until the feast.” You responded, “Out of sight and out of mind,” you sighed to yourself. It was going to be a long week. You nibbled at your lunch until you had your fill. You gathered your sketchbook and made your way down to the library, your knight dutifully following two steps behind you. You picked up your pace as you heard the echo of what must have been Ser Lyonel’s laugh through the halls. You had just made it within the walls of the library as you heard his voice closing in on you.
You took a deep breath and made your way to the wall of navigational texts. Running your fingers across the weathered texts helped calm you before you pulled out your desired text. While the bulk of your family texts pertained to the navigation of ships this texts focused purely on the constellations themselves, and it was always a comfort. You spent the bulk of the afternoon studying its worn pages, away from the windows. You had been so locked in, you almost missed the feast; not that that would be the worst thing. Emilla patiently fetched you with enough time to touch up your makeup and inspect your gown from your earlier fall. Once you had achieved her approval, you exited your tower, once again followed by Ser Ash.
You plastered on a smile for your father’s sake as you aligned yourself between your father and Sowyer, as you and your siblings were announced in reverse birth order. After your father had reached his seat, you stepped up and were announced loudly to the now-packed and decorated banquet hall. Mindful of your etiquette classes, you glided down the steps with perfect posture and walked lightly to your seat in the far corner of the room. You stood by your chair waiting for your sister to take her place in the center of your family’s table. You took a breath, attempting to ease your nerves as you took in the room. The table had been formed into a “U” shape, with enough seats to hold the main families of each House invited. Smaller round tables were scattered around the outside of the main long tables, leaving the inner area open for dancing. Your eyes skated around at the anxious feeling gathering in your stomach. You felt like you were being watched. It only took a moment to find the culprit.
You bit your inner cheek to school your face as your eyes locked with Ser Lyonel Baratheon. He greeted you with a dazzling smile and a wink from his, thankfully, far placement for the feast. You gulped as you felt heat rising up your neck from his attention. You broke his gaze as you were seated for the meal, thankful for Ser Ash’s station to your right against the wall. You kept your eyes trained on your plate, trying to be as uninteresting and insignificant as your sister wished, rather than face her wrath. A relieved sigh escaped you as they finished serving dessert and the band began to play more lively music. A decent number of people had ventured onto the dance floor. You let out a breath of relief as you shifted to take your leave. That was until a certain Ser had once again caught your eye.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck
This was not the plan; you were radically off plan. You held your breath as he approached your table with long strides. You prayed he was heading towards your sister, but he was locked in on you. To put salt in the wound, he had actively walked past your sister, ignoring her entirely. In two more long steps, he found his way in front of you. You felt like you were going to puke, mindful of your entire family’s focus on you.
“My lady,” he greeted cordially,
“Lord Baratheon,” you replied with a surprisingly level voice.
“I had the displeasure of missing your greeting earlier. I wish to rectify this with a dance, if you are amenable.” He asked, with a grin. Your panic was purely internal. While your sister said you could only dance if asked, you knew this was not what she had in mind. You were also aware that rejection may cause a scene, which she would also not like.
“Of course, my lord,” you nodded politely. You rationalized that it was just one dance, and then you could take your leave. In a lifetime like Ser Lyonel’s, you doubted that one dance would even be a blip on his radar. You were likely to be forgotten by the morning.
In the blink of an eye, Lyonel had guided you to the center of the dance floor as a new song began. Your right hand was clasped in his left hand, your left hand held lightly to his right bicep as his right hand held firmly against your left shoulder blade. You began a standard waltz, mindful not to step on his toes.
“Your elder siblings expressed your absence this afternoon to you, having petrifying shyness, but something tells me that’s not the case.” He said candidly.
“While I may not possess petrifying shyness, I am sure my siblings had my best interest at heart, as I am wary of strangers,” you responded as diplomatically as possible. He hummed in thought, holding your gaze.
“My lady, if I may, that also seems to be bullshit reasoning,” he said, maintaining a regal tone as his verbiage shifted.
“I-” your attempt at shifting focus was futile as he continued.
“To me, and I may be erroneous, as I have had my share of wine, but it seems to me that this entire celebration is a futile attempt at marrying off your elder sister. Who is so fucking desperate and insecure that she has hidden away her own blood to weaken your competition?” While he had phrased it as a question, it was clear that he was already in the know.
“My lord, I appeal to your humanity to keep this to yourself,” you plead, earning a satisfied smile from the man as you continued to dance.
“Hmm, and what do you know of my humanity, princess?” he asked, with a quirked brow and a small laugh.
“Then I appeal to your duty to protect those as a knight, Ser Lyonel.” You replied, causing him to pause.
“And are you in need of protection?” he asked, soberly.
“My sister will go full scorched earth if I ruin her chances at marriage.” You replied transparently.
“And this is supposed to convince me to ask for her hand?” he laughed.
“No, it is a pleading of a fourth-born daughter to not actively make my life harder than it has to be within my House.” You pleaded, “My father has already lined up potential marriage candidates that were not good enough for my sister, but will garner strong alliances. My days here are already numbered, so I would appreciate it if you could save me some heartache.”
He hummed in thought as he held you closer than necessary.
“And what of your own heart?” he implored.
“I am a fourth-born daughter,” you replied, matching his sober tone, “My duty is to serve my House as a daughter should.”
Before he was able to respond, your brother, Sowyer, appeared at your side.
“May I cut in?” your brother asked. With no reason to deny him, Lyonel allowed it, though it was clear that he had more to say. You danced to one song with your brother before he leaned down so only you would hear.
“Go to your chambers immediately. Elyana will send for you tomorrow if she is feeling lenient in allowing you to participate in any further festivities.”
“Yes, brother,” you replied numbly, as you separated with a curtsey as he bowed. You returned to your seat momentarily to retrieve Ser Ash before discreetly returning to your towers. For far from the first time, the stars are your only comfort.
A/N: Hope you enjoyed ^_^ Masterlist will be posted soon
A/N: Sorry for being gone for so long. I've had this chapter partially written for months, but I lost all my motivation for this story. Thankfully, the ease of writing this has returned. I'm hoping to have the next part out soon. Or at least sooner than three months lol
CW: Angst, Fluff, Cursing, Violence, Yearning
WC: ~4,750
You unconsciously worried your bottom lip as you and Ser Ash walked down the familiar hallways to the dining hall to have breakfast. Your light lilac dress that your sister had picked out for you to wear today did not reflect the heavy anxiety weighing down on you. Your rational mind did nothing to ease your stomach as you approached the open doors, the breakfast table in sight. You knew worst case scenario, you’d be locked away for the rest of the week, but that wasn’t what you were dreading. No, you were anxious to be on the business end of one of your sister’s lectures. They were no fun when over trivial things, you cannot imagine how bad it was going to be for something that may be perceived as actually warranted. The friendly banter between your family members was silenced as you crossed the threshold into the hall.
“Sister,” Elyana said, heatedly,
“Sister,” you greeted back as neutrally as you could muster. She paused, allowing you time to sit before she continued. You could feel yourself beginning to sweat as you were pinned down by the rest of your family’s gaze.
“While I think you’ve done more than enough to earn a week’s stay in your quarters, Father has pointed out that it may reflect badly upon our house to have you absent from the tournament. While you will be attending, you will be expected to keep to yourself unless directly spoken to.” She said, lips pressed together in a firm line.
“And if I am approached by any of the suitors?” you asked,
“As if you’d garner any of their attention,” your oldest brother scoffed,
“You will reply in whatever way ends the conversation the quickest.” She answered, “You will return to your quarters as soon as the jousts for the day are finished and are not allowed to participate in any of the festivities.”
“Understood,” you nodded, picking lightly at your roll of bread. The awkward quietness consumed the hall edged out after a few moments as your family continued on with the conversation they had been having before you entered. You were barely able to stomach one of your eggs, and your roll as anxiety knotted in your stomach. From there, the rest of the morning was a blur. Your anxiety ruled your mind as you attempted to read in the library and pray in the sept. Neither led to anything fruitful. Before you knew it, you were being shepherded to the main sitting area reserved for your family. You were put at the very end, closest to the castle, and as far away from the action as you could be while still sitting near your family and maintaining appearances. You did your best to keep a neutral face. You could do this; you only needed to last until nightfall. Which, despite the warmth that made it feel closer to summer, would still be an early dusk.
You allowed yourself to relax and people watch as everyone was bustling around. You wished that Ser Ash could have joined you, but he had been guarding your bed chambers overnight since the first guest had begun to arrive earlier in the week. His status would have allowed him to stand nearby, unlike Tacy and Emilla, who, while permitted to watch, would not be allowed in your house’s seating area. Your thoughts were interrupted by the gleam of sunlight in your eyes. You squinted as the glare of sunlight shifted, revealing Ser Lyonel already mounted on his horse as he rode it at a lazy pace towards you. His golden colored armor, thankfully, lost its blinding gleam as the clouds shifted. His resting smile widened as he locked eyes with you. You could feel bile rise in the back of your throat from nerves.
Fuck, Fuck, Fuck
You didn’t know what had your heart beating faster: the fallout from your family after this interaction, or the fact that he was somehow more handsome in the daylight.
For the second time within twelve hours, he breezed past your sister to make his way in front of you. You internally cringed at the sight of your sister’s face dropping as he flat out ignored her. You managed to take a deep breath as he stopped his steed right in front of your seat.
“Good morning, my lady,” he greeted, with a smile.
“Do you not mean afternoon?” you asked,
“Ser, we are well past midday.” You expanded at his confused look. He let out a loud belly laugh.
“You’ll have to excuse me then, my lady, some of us have only just broken our fast for the day.” He replied lightly, his smile widening. You bit your inner cheek to keep a neutral face. Gods, his natural charisma didn’t make your efforts to keep this short any easier.
“You are wearing purple today,” he stated, shamelessly giving you a once over.
“Lilac,” you corrected, feeling heat rise to your face under his pointed gaze. He only hummed in response, still taking in the ornate embellishments of your gown.
“Is it a shock to find someone in their house’s colors, Ser?” you asked, snapping his attention back to your face.
“Not at all,” he replied. His ever widening smile warned of trouble.
“While I think you look quite fetching today, I have to confess I preferred your gown from last evening. The color gold suits you well; I can only imagine how stunning you would look in black.”
You could only bite your lower lip to keep from fully balking at his comment. If his loud laugh was any indicator, you hadn’t done a very good job of hiding the shock in your eyes. Your heart thundered at his blatant advance, not only in reaction to his audacity, but also because you were well aware that your entire family could easily hear this conversation.
Gods, you were never going to be allowed outside of your bedchambers again.
“Ser, you forget yourself,” you reply, trying your hardest to divert this conversation back into safer territories.
Before he could reply, a loud sound of drums came from the tree line. You could not stop yourself from smiling as the colors of your late mother’s house came into view. The deep pink and light orange stuck out against the green foliage. Your mother’s people were nomadic, and just like their house colors, nothing about them was quiet. While they are more than capable of protecting themselves, others rarely attack because of their status as entertainers.
Their latest stint of entertainment was in Cider Hall, which was not that far from your family’s territory between Crake Hall to the north and Old Oak to the south. A rogue storm had lengthened their expected journey by what was supposed to be a week's delay. For the first time in weeks, you felt a sudden lightness in your spirit. Their arrival meant that you would be gifted the presence of your cousin Macey. While she was reason enough for you to feel excited, you also hoped you would be able to get your hands on a violin, or rather a fiddle, if you were to play alongside your mother’s house. You were trained in both disciplines but were unable to practice within the castle walls.
Your sister always said it was for your father’s sake, as your mother played the same instrument when she was alive, but you knew better. Your sister did not have your father’s emotions in mind when she would take away your privileges of being able to play. She did care for anything that would make you stick out, going as far as smashing your instrument when you called her out on her behavior. You only made that mistake once. Your latest violin was gifted to you when you turned twenty by Macey and lived under the false bottom of your trunk in your bed chambers.
“Are you acquainted with the beating drums?” he asked, referring to their sigil.
“I would say more than acquainted; it was my mother’s house before she became a sea serpent.” You answered candidly, “They are in high demand, so it is always a joy to be able to host them.”
“Are you a musician?” he asked,
“Yes, I play the fiddle,” you answered, the joy of seeing your family soon taking over the fear driving you to end this interaction as soon as possible.
“I would be honored to hear you play,” he said, in a genuine tone.
“I never said I was a talented musician,” you quipped back.
“Regardless, I would love to see you smile again; it suits you,” he commented in a soft tone, as though he was trying his hardest not to spook you. Your grin shifted to a soft smile; you hadn’t even realized you were grinning. You were taken back to the present as you could see your sister shifting in her seat in your peripheral vision.
“Was there a reason for your impromptu visit?” you asked,
“Well, yes, I was hoping to get your favor,” he said simply,
“And what would that be?” you asked, skeptically.
“No, my lady,” he said, amused, with a loud laugh, “Not a favor, rather your favor as I compete in the tourney.”
Once again, you could feel your nerves rise. You could feel yourself sweating not only from the attention of your family, but also from everyone in your vicinity.
Why did he have to be so fucking loud?
“I’ve never given anyone my favor before.” You stated, hoping he’d drop it.
“I find that hard to believe,” he replied in a genuine tone.
“The last tourney I attended was to celebrate my eldest brother’s nuptials when I was just a girl,” you explained.
“It would be an honor to be your first,” he replied.
“Could I compel you to a trade then?” he asked, sensing your hesitancy.
“A trade?” you asked,
“Yes, your handkerchief,” he said, nodding to your lap, “for a protection signet.”
You unconsciously hummed to yourself before nodding; you were already in this deep, and you’d definitely need protection from your sister after he’d take his leave. You leaned forward and tied your embroidered handkerchief around the base of his lance. The indigo and lilac colors of the design popped against the golden color of his lance. Grinning with a satisfied smile, he bit the tip of his glove and pulled it off in one fluid motion. He held out his right hand to you as the other was still wrapped around his lance. Your soft hands cupped his rough, scarred one, gently sliding off a ring with a carving of the seven off of his middle finger. You turned the ring over in your hand as you examined it. The material was neither wood nor stone.
“It’s made from a shedded deer antler.” He supplied, “Artisans in storm’s end are very gifted in transforming the spring sheddings into many things; from jewelry to décor.”
“It’s lovely,” you said, sliding it onto your thumb for now as it would not fit any of your other fingers.
“I hope it serves you well,” he replied.
“Hopefully, as well as my favor. I do expect you to go far, as you are the first to compete under my blessing.”
“As you wish, my lady,” he winked before trotting off. As soon as his back was to you heard the hiss of your name to your right. You were greeted by the sight of your sister glaring at you, lips pressed into a thin line. Much to your relief, she was interrupted by the calling of her name by Macey. Your cousin quickly approached on horseback; unlike most ladies, she rode astride rather than side saddle. If that was not enough of a potential faux pas, she was no doubt wearing trousers under her skirt as well.
“Cousins!” she greeted with a loud call as she slowed her horse from a trot to walking pace and came up to your family’s seating area, stopping in front of your sister.
“Happy Thirtieth,” She said to Elyana.
“Thank you,” your sister replied, barely concealing her anger.
“I thought you would not be able to join us because of the storm,” Elyana said. While her verbiage was civil, her tone undercut her statement with a feeling of hostility. You were unsure whether it was because of you or because her detailed planning had now been thrown off.
“The winds were in our favor,” Maecy replied, with a smile. She was well acquainted with handling your sister and her barely concealed passive aggression.
“We’re delighted to be able to play at your celebration. We are setting up camp in the open area at the rear near the Baratheon tent. Oh!” she said, interrupting herself.
“Cousin!” she said, now turning to you, “That reminds me our fiddle player has taken ill, and we are in need of someone with your talent.” Before you could answer, she pushed forward on her stead to now come in front of you. She quickly pulled at your left hand.
“Your calluses are almost gone,” she declared, before turning her attention back to you, “Have you not been playing?”
“She doesn’t have a violin.” Elyana quipped, answering for you.
“Oh, I’m sure we can scrounge one up for her to borrow,” Maecy replied dismissively, “But if you really haven’t played since our last visit, you will need to warm up properly.”
“You're too kind.” Your sister replies through her teeth, mask close to slipping.
“No need to worry, if I borrow her now to practice, she’ll be more than ready by this evening.” Maecy once again dismissed your sister with the wave of her hand, “Come now, cousin,” she said, offering you her hand. She shifted back on her horse’s saddle to make room for you. From the height of the seating area, you were easily able to fall back on the horse, sitting sidesaddle as Maecy prompted it to begin to walk away from your family’s raised seating area. You share a smile, choosing to focus on her instead of the iron grip your sister had on the arms of her chair, along with her sour look.
“Have I mentioned my undying adoration for you?” you asked, once you were out of earshot.
“Yes, but I never tire of hearing it,” she replied, “Now, dear, how have you been holding up? I know her ladyship is a nightmare on a good day. I can only imagine her escapades since her celebration has begun.”
“You have no idea,” you sigh, so only she could hear it as you made your way around the tents, “I’d love to tell you, away from hearing ears.”
She nodded, guiding her horse away from the tents towards a fresh water stream you used to play in as children. For once, you were happy for Ser Ash’s absence, as he would not like you out of his sight, let alone for the closest tent to be that of the Baratheons and Swyift. Both of which had never had any alliances with your house. Just as you departed from the temporary yurts and into the open pasture, you heard the now unmistakable noise of Lyonel’s laugh. You shyly duck your head after making eye contact over your cousin’s shoulder. Maecy, with all lack of subtlety, quickly whipped her head around to catch who had garnered that reaction from you. You sighed at the sight of her smirk as she looked back at you with a knowing look.
“You’re the worst,” you groaned, closing it on the tree line.
“I’m the best,” she corrected, smirk still present on her face as you crossed under the shade of the old growth trees, stopping just shy of the stream. She dismounted first before helping you down. She then led her steed, Blossom, to the water before tying her lead to a large root that arched out of the ground into the water. You slipped off your shoes and made yourself comfortable on a large rock, with your feet submerged in the cool water. Maecy sat to your left, confirming that she was in fact wearing trousers as she hiked up her skirt to avoid potential grass stains.
“So, what have you been up to?” She prodded,
“I don’t even know where to begin.” You sighed, lightly swishing the water with your feet.
“Well, I am most curious about what Ser Lyonel has done to garner that reaction from you earlier.” She replied,
“It’s a long story,” you sighed, “I guess it all started before he had even arrived yesterday. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but this tourney is not as it seems-”
“It’s a ploy to get your sister married off.” Maecy interrupted you.
“Is it that obvious?” you asked,
“Not to the general public,” she comforted, “I only put it together because I know your House and the inner workings of it. Elyana is too picky for her own good, and it’s gotten in the way of seeing her married off before she’s relegated to the Sept or spinsterhood.”
“Yes,” you confirmed, letting out a sigh of relief, your shoulders dropping to a relaxed position, “Keeping that in mind, she is trying to gain the attention of suitors of House Baratheon, Swyift, and Rowan.”
“Sounds about right,” Maecy nodded, “Not that I don’t put it past her, but Lyonel Baratheon is an ambitious choice.”
“Why?” you asked,
“He’s next in line to lead House Baratheon. She’d be in charge of not only the Baratheon manor, but also all of their vast landholdings when Lyonel’s father steps down.” She answered.
“He is?!” You bolted up from your relaxed position.
“Oh?” your cousin said in a light, teasing tone, “Why does that concern you? Does this have anything to do with the looks you exchanged?”
“It doesn’t, not?” you offered up sheepishly. Maecy’s smile grew, her own posture straightening from excitement.
“Has he spoken to you?” she asked,
“More than spoken. Um, we danced last night.” You answered hesitantly.
“You danced?!” she squealed in delight. You smiled in response, face growing hot.
“It was only for one song, Sowyer cut in and sent me to my bedchambers immediately.” You added, attempting to downplay the interaction.
“Still, I have never known you to accept dancing requests. I’ve only ever seen you dance in a crowd. Was it like that, or did he formally ask for your attention?” she pressed.
“He asked me for a dance as soon as the dessert was being served last night. We waltzed.” You answered
“Lyonel Baratheon waltzed!?” She said, scandalized, “Like properly? Like he asked you to dance, and he stayed within the lines of a set proper waltz?”
“Is that odd?” you asked, confused,
“Oh, this is too good,” she smiled from ear to ear, “I have played at multiple functions that he has been in attendance for, and I’ve never seen him dance to any of those proper dances. He never sticks to one partner, and I’ve never seen him not dance in a cluster. It’s honestly a shock that he even knows the steps.”
The heat of your face increased tenfold.
“I don’t think he wanted to necessarily dance with me specifically. I think he only did it to confirm that my sister had her sights set on him romantically.” You said defensively.
“Did you only talk about your sister?” she asked,
“Well,” you hesitated as she leaned in closer, “He may have asked me if I had any desires,”
“And?” she asked, leaning in even closer,
“And nothing, I just told him that as a fourth-born daughter, I am set to serve my house rather than marry for love. And I pleaded with him to keep my sister’s intentions to himself. Sowyer immediately cut off the dance before we could converse anymore.”
“Hmm,” Maecy hummed to herself, “even if it did seem benign, it doesn’t explain why he didn’t tear his gaze from us until we were out of his sight.”
“I don’t even know what I did to gain his attention in the first place,” you groaned into your hands, hearing someone approaching.
“Torturing the poor girl already, Maecy?” a male voice teased as he walked up to you. You immediately recognized him as Ruban, a sellsword knight of your mother’s house and one of Maecy’s paramours. He dramatically took your hand in his and raised it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.
“My lady,” he greeted with a smile. Not much had changed with him since their last visit just three months prior, except for the spreading of patches of his vitiligo up his neck and the cropping of his curly hair in preparation for the hot summer months. You rolled your eyes at his antics as he let go of your hand and took a seat at the base of a tree, leaning against it.
“Are you participating in the tourney?” you asked, trying your hardest to shift Maecy’s focus.
“Yeah, one of the knights from House Rowan has taken ill, so I’ll be filling in his spot.” He replied, “I’d ask for your favor, but it seems I’m too late.”
“You gave someone your favor!?” Maecy squealed.
“Not just anyone, I saw her handkerchief tied to Ser Lyonel’s lance. Didn’t it take you over a fortnight to complete that embroidery?” he asked, with a smirk, referring to the intricate design of a sea serpent on the indigo-colored cloth.
“You slut,” Maecy teased with a giddy look on her face.
“I know, our little girl is growing up,” Ruban piled on.
“Fuck off,” you groaned, causing them both to laugh.
“You really buried the lead, cousin,” Maecy scolded, “Why were we talking about a single dance. When he asked for your specific favor.”
“They danced?” Ruban asked,
“Last night,” she filled him in, “Lyonel did a proper waltz if you can believe it.”
“Really?” he asked, letting out a low whistle, “Never seen him focused in on anyone like that, from what I’ve heard, he prefers a crowd,”
“I think he’s just being a flirt,” you said defensively, “Plus, it wasn’t like I just gave it to him. He traded a protection signet for it.”
This caused both of them to pause, their grins widening.
“What?” you asked, in a defeated tone.
“He gave you jewelry?” Maecy asked,
“No, no, no, no,” you immediately dismissed her line of thinking, “Lyonel Baratheon is not attempting to court me.”
“I mean, you don’t know that wasn’t his line of thinking,” Ruban commented
“Alright, if it really meant nothing, let me see the ring,” Maecy said. You sighed, sliding it off your thumb and handing it over. She examined it closely, gliding her fingertips across the intricate carving of the seven’s star symbol.
“What is it made out of?” she asked,
“A deer’s antler.” You answered.
Once again, they silently exchanged excited looks.
“What now?” you sighed,
“Kid,” Ruban addressed you, “You can only get jewelry like this in Storm’s End. It’s beyond expensive. In fact, knowing he’s a knight, he’s most likely following the tradition of wearing jewelry that is expensive enough to cover funeral fees.”
“But-” you paused, trying to process the new information. You were aware of the tradition he mentioned. It was why Ruban always wore gemstone stud earrings as a nomadic knight. Lyonel was far from the safety of his House’s reach; a ring like this was insurance.
“Uh oh, I think we lost her,” Maecy teased.
“But he offered it up. I didn’t even see it because of his gloves.” You said dumb founded.
“And she’s back,” she declared,
“Why would he give me something so expensive in exchange for a linen handkerchief?” you wondered out loud.
“Love, this isn’t a bad thing.” She replied softly, placing the ring back in your hand, “It most likely was just him testing the waters. It’s not like he’s gone to your father to ask permission to formally court you.”
“Okay,” you nodded, thoughts still racing.
“Why don’t we head back? Our tent is most likely set up now. You can get some time to yourself to practice before we perform tonight.” Maecy offered.
“Yeah,” you nodded, “that sounds nice.”
“Don’t worry about Blossom, I’ll ride her down to the stable. I need to see when I’m scheduled to joust anyway.” Ruban said. He and Maecy parted with a kiss before she joined you on the walk back to her tent.
“So, do you like older men?” she asked,
“Really?” you replied, shooting her a look.
“What? It’s a fair question; we’ve never talked about it before, and now you’re closer than ever to being wed,” she replied, “I may have been teasing earlier, but Gods, I keep forgetting you’re an adult now. Like a fully formed person. It feels like yesterday we were catching frogs and fireflies, and you’d flash me a puppy dog look to be allowed to stay up to see the stars.”
“He has kind eyes,” you offered up, earning you a smile from your cousin as you link arms, “I can’t decide if I like how loud he is or if it annoys me.” You confess, “But he is quite handsome in both candlelight and daylight.”
“I hope you are able to marry for love,” she said after a moment, “Your birth order should not rule your happiness. If you weren’t so bloody noble, I would have already kidnapped you away from here. But no, you just have to be earnest and take on the responsibility expected of you.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately at her as you entered her tent.
“Is your fiddler actually sick?” you asked as she scrounges around the packed away instruments.
“No, but we do currently only have one fiddle player, so your addition is sure to improve the music.” She replied, before making a triumphant noise, holding up a fiddle and bow. From there, you tuned the instrument as your cousin did maintenance on her flute. Thankfully, you were like a duck to water as you ran through some of the songs that were on regular rotation. After practicing, you snuck away to watch Lyonel compete, sitting in your guest seating with Maecy rather than your family’s. You ignored her knowing look at your involuntary reactions to the sight of him competing. Before his final joust, he found you in the crowd and winked before donning his antler clad helmet. Your heart fluttered; you had given up on hiding your smile from his attention. You both cheered loudly as he unhorsed his opponent. Among those moving on, he was the highest point earner. You opted to stay with Maecy instead of retiring back to the castle immediately. You were already in trouble; it was safer to be around others to witness your sister’s behavior than on your own. Plus, Ser Ash would be posted at the entrance of the tent, ready to escort you back to your bed chambers when you were ready.
You had the most fun you’ve been allowed to in ages, as you played and danced with members of your mother’s house. You stepped down from the table you had been playing on with Maecy after an especially fast paced song, and ducked out a side flap to cool down in the chilled night air. You were startled by a figure approaching you, only to relax when you realized who it was.
“Ser,” you greeted with a nod,
“I have something important to ask of you,” Lyonel said, seriously. His tone made you stand up straight,
“Yes?” you asked,
“Are you a maiden?” he asked, your hand connected with his cheek hard before you had even realized you were slapping his face.
“How dare you,” you replied, outrage flooding your system. A lady’s maidenhood was held in high regard when deciding her worth in contracted betrothals. The mere hint of your virginity being gone lowered your status, making you only worth the placement as a second wife of a low ranking house at best.
“That’s like me asking how many bastards you’ve sired.” You said sharply.
“Yes, you are right, I could have phrased that better,” he conceded, holding his now red cheek, “Seven hells, you’re stronger than you look,”
“Phrased what better?” you asked, still heated.
“There is a rumor going around that you are with child,” Lyonel explained, softly.
As your eldest sister approaches thirty, she and your father hatch a plan as a last-ditch effort to see her married off. Masquerading as a simple celebratory tourney, your sister invites eligible bachelors to your house to hopefully secure a husband. What happens when her top pick sets his sights on you instead?
(A Lyonel Baratheon x Fem-Reader Slow Burn Story.)
Summary: A forced date between you and your best friend's cousin to ensure an alliance takes a turn in the best possible way. (They Match Each Other's Freak)
!!!MDNI!!!
Warnings: Smut, Dacryphilia, Pegging, Kissing, Dry Humping, Mention of Mental Disorders (Schizophrenia, Contamination OCD, Drinking, Drug Use), Switch Fem!Reader, Switch (Mainly Subby) Daeron, Mentions of Violence, Unrealistic Anal Prep, Reader Is Prepared, Fingering, Little To No Aftercare, PLZ Let Me Know If I Missed Anything
WC: 4,690
“You should be getting ready,” Valarr’s said, leaning against the door of your bedroom.
“In a minute,” you said, not looking up from your computer screen. While it was a Saturday, you were doing some maintenance on your company’s, or rather your family’s company’s, server. Your family ran a well-known cybersecurity company that catered to the general public up to the top one percent. Your name recognition was on par with the Targaryens, and they were old-money rich. Their law firm had been around for forever, and it showed. You were third in line for the CEO position in your family’s company, behind your father and elder brother. As the future COO of your company, your work was never done. You were so engrossed in your project that you didn’t notice Valarr had moved until he spoke directly to your right.
“Back up your work and get up,” he said firmly. You huffed in response but begrudgingly followed his order because you both knew he was right. A car would be picking you up within the hour, and you were still in lounge clothing.
“This is a waste of time, and you know it,” you said, closing your laptop and getting up. Valarr trailed behind you as you returned your laptop to your home office and locked the door.
“It’s one date,” he said, “All you have to do is spend the night with him and confirm to our families that it’s not a match.”
“It’s fucking stupid, is what it is,” you sighed, “Why must our families be allied by marriage? We’ve known each other since pre-school. I won’t let anything happen to your family’s firm the same way I know you wouldn’t let anything happen to mine.”
“It could have been Aerion,” Valarr commented, taking a seat on your bed as you go through your closet pulling out a simple, but flattering black dress with matching heels.
“Your uncle’s too aware to have let it be Aerion. I’d end him before appetizers would be served.” You replied. Valarr hummed in acknowledgment as you stepped behind your room divider and began to get dressed. Despite being a bar-certified lawyer and a Columbia alum, he knew better than to argue with you.
“Daeron isn’t so bad,” he attempted to comfort.
“I haven’t seen him sober since we were children,” you huffed, stepping around your room divider with your back to Valarr so he could get your zipper.
“He’s turned over a new leaf, and it’s just one date.” Valarr said again, zipping you up, “Then you can come home and vent to Kiera and me while you beat me at Mario Kart.”
“With ice cream?” you asked,
“Is that even a question?” he laughed, “Kiera has had our home stocked with sweets in preparation.”
“Alright,” you sighed, walking into your ensuite to apply your five-minute makeup routine and quickly style your hair. If you weren’t going on this date against your will, you would have put in actual effort, but based on Daeron’s reputation and your own experience with him, it only garnered the bare minimum. You, at one point, knew him well through being Valarr’s childhood best friend. But it had been years since you’d talked in person, the last time you could distinguish any memory from him was him getting too sloshed at a New Year’s Eve party in high school and vomiting into a potted plant. What you’ve passively seen in the tabloid over the years consists of flings of models and actresses with no real direction in life.
“Good enough?” you asked, doing a small twirl for Valarr.
“Good enough,” he nodded in approval, “I know this isn’t your idea of a fun Saturday night, but please don’t take it out on him. I can assure you he’s equally excited.”
“I’m a fucking delight,” you scoffed jokingly,
“You’re an acquired taste at best.” He responded deadpan, earning him a real scoff as you smack his chest with your matching clutch.
“Fine, I won’t like actively try to make him cry or anything.” You sighed,
“Thank you,” Valarr said, relieved. Before you could say anything else, you got a push notification on your phone that your car was here.
“Any other sage wisdom before I go?” you asked as you both made your way to the door.
“Try to have fun?” he offered as you locked your door.
“Don’t kill him,” he amended at the deadpan look you gave him.
“Better,” you hummed, as you both made your way to the elevator.
“He really has turned over a new leaf; he’s been sober for over a year now,” Valarr said.
“Is that confirmed or…” You trailed off, looking up at Valarr.
“He got sober last year after our grandfather threatened to cut him out of his will.” He expanded.
“So, he’s like actually sober?” you clarified,
“He has a weekly drug test with our family doctor, and they’ve all been clean,” Valarr confirmed,
“Okay, but like hasn’t your grandfather threatened that since he started drinking in high school?” you asked,
“He had some other motivations,” Valarr responded vaguely,
“Which are?” you asked, getting out of the elevator at the ground floor, exiting into the lobby.
“I don’t feel right telling you,” he confessed, “They’re Daemon’s truth to tell.”
“Okay?” you responded, “Well, on that incredibly perplexing note, I guess I’m off.”
“Be safe” is the last thing Valarr said before you left the lobby and ducked into the awaiting car to avoid the rain. The chauffeur closed the door behind you before circling back to his driver's seat. You absent-mindedly scrolled through TikTok until your short drive to the restaurant was up. You entered through a side door and headed straight for the private dining room, away from the public dining area and back of house. You could make the walk with your eyes closed, as this restaurant was a favorite of your family.
You were shocked as you rounded the corner into the private area to not only find that he had already arrived, but was also holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers. His look confirmed his sobriety; instead of the frumpy boy you remembered, who always looked sickly pale, a put-together man stood before you. His skin tone was even, his hair had been freshly washed and pulled back into a low bun with a few framing pieces around his face. He was wearing charcoal grey dress pants, with a matching blazer and a dark maroon sweater underneath. Fuck, it pained you to admit it, but he had definitely inherited the Targaryen beauty.
“Daeron,” you greeted with a small smile and a gentle nod. He shared your smile as he stood up and said your name upon your arrival. You both shared a brief moment of silence before he spoke again,
“You certainly grew up,” he said, failing to hide his shock at your appearance.
“I could say the same to you,” you replied with a light, teasing tone.
“That’s valid,” he nodded, with a slight blush to his cheeks under your gaze.
“Those for me?” you asked, breaking the tension building between you.
“Erm-yes,” he nodded, closing the distance between you. You couldn’t help but smile down at the purple hydrangeas, held together by a silver bow.
“They’re lovely,” you smiled up at him, as his blush only deepened under your attention.
“I’d ask how you’d know they’re my favorite, but I’m assuming it was-” you started, before he cut you off,
“Valarr,” he confirmed, “He didn’t respond in time to tell me what color you prefer, so I went with your house’s colors.”
“It was a good guess, I’ve always loved purple,” you said, looking up into his violet eyes.
“I’m glad, erm,” he cleared his throat, “would you like to sit?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, this time doing a better job of hiding your shock as he pulled out your chair for you and pushed you in. Before you could say anything else, an older server appeared.
“Can I get you started with something to drink?” he asked after introducing himself,
“I’ll just take sparkling water,” Daeron ordered,
“I’ll have the virgin rosemary-ginger mule, please,” you added,
“Of course, and is there any addition or substitutions you would like to add to the set menu?” he asked,
“No,” you said after Daeron shook his head,
“Right, I’ll have those and your appetizer out as they are ready,” the server smiled, before leaving.
“You can have alcohol if you’d like,” Daeron said once the server was out of sight.
“Nah,” you smiled at him, “Honestly, I’m not really a big drinker,”
“Alright, but just to clarify, you having a drink won’t make me relapse,” he said,
“I know, and for the record, if you were to relapse after I had a drink that’s your own prerogative, I wouldn’t feel like it was my fault,” you responded. He smiled at that.
“Do you have experience with recovery?” he asked,
“Not personally, but I do have a few friends who are sober,” you answered,
“It shows,” he said with a light smile, “Everyone in my family, outside Aegon and Aerion, still walks on eggshells around me whenever alcohol or drugs come up; it's refreshing to talk to someone who treats me normally.”
“Everyone has their own shit,” you shrugged, “It’s not solely V, because I definitely had experiences outside of him, but growing up with a best friend who had contamination OCD made it easier to empathize and learn the line between babying and support.”
Your conversation paused as your drink and appetizer, duck poutine, was served.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” he said once you were alone again, “why did you and Valarr never end up together?”
“Me and V?” you laughed, “That was never in the cards, we make great friends, but I’ve never found myself attracted to him in that way. And I know he feels the same. I was actually the one who set him up with Kiera when he was in law school.”
“Weren’t you each other’s first kiss?” he asked, taking a bite of poutine.
“That was a special, planned circumstance,” you replied, serving yourself part of the appetizer, “Because of his condition, he was the only one in our grade who was going to leave middle school without having his first kiss. He literally watched me brush my teeth and rinse with mouthwash three times before he felt okay kissing, and it was just a peck.”
“That’s oddly sweet coming from you,” Daeron commented, “From what I remember, you were rather brutish as a child.”
“I think that has more to do with Aerion and me always having some sort of beef than me being actively aggressive,” you defended yourself,
“I suppose that’s true,” he said reflectively, “The few family vacations you joined us on Aerion did always bait you.”
“Yeah, I think he always viewed me as a challenge because he knew I wouldn’t take any of his shit,” you said, “He was always on me for being a tomboy and how that made me gay.”
“I do have a clear memory of you punching him in the face hard enough that he fell backwards into a fountain fully clothed,” Daeron said,
“He deserved it,” you shrugged,
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” he laughed softly, “I guess, and I don’t mean this as an insult, that’s why I was so surprised to see you dressed more feminine this evening,”
“I get it,” you replied, wiping your mouth, “We haven’t really talked since high school, and I’ve definitely mellowed out since then. While I don’t love dressing up, I will do it situationally.”
“Well, I’m honored I merited the effort,” he said, smiling at you and for the briefest moment looking at your lips before his eyes darted away. The main course being served cut your conversation short before you could call him out on it.
“So, what have you been up to since high school?” he asked,
“MIT, then working at my family’s company.” You said, “Nothing too interesting, I like to travel as much as possible. I have a trip coming up this summer where I’ll be traveling around South America with V and Kiera.”
“So, you’re third wheeling?” he asked lightly,
“Actually, Kiera and I always joke that V’s the third wheel,” you replied with a smile, “Since I was friends with her from college before introducing them, I’m often mistaken as her partner.”
“You’d make a lovely couple,” he joked,
“Wouldn’t we?” you smiled, with a teasing grin, “How about you? What have you been up to recently?”
He paused for a moment in thought, answering just before you could take your question back.
“I’ve been doing a lot better this past year,” he responded genuinely, “I’ve been sober for seventeen months now, and I am back in school to finish my finance degree from NYU.”
“That’s amazing,” you smiled at him warmly. Once again, a lovely blush painted his cheeks under your attention.
“Thank you,” he smiled back, almost bashful, “I think so too.”
“It’s really been a lot easier since I got my diagnosis,” he started, before you softly cut him off,
“You don’t have to go into detail if you don’t want to.” You said, “You don’t owe me or anyone an explanation.”
“I know,” he smiled, blush spreading, “Fuck, would I sound desperate to say, I’d like to see you again this early into the date?”
“Only if I didn’t feel the same way,” you said, feeling your own face heat up. The man sitting across from you was a full restoration of who he was before he started to drink. He was happier and had a lightness to him that you hadn’t seen since you were children.
“Right,” he said nervously, clearing his throat, “Then you deserve to know this before moving forward. I was hospitalized a year and a half ago and went through detox in a behavioral health unit. Prior to this, I had only gone through detox at drug and alcohol recovery facilities. Because of the nature of a behavioral health unit, the doctors there were finally able to diagnose me with schizophrenia.”
He paused, eyes locked on your face, a light smile ghosted his lips as he took in your supportive reaction. You were silently listening with a slightly tilted head and nodded encouragingly as he talked.
“Their best guess is that the onset was when I was 16 and started to drink to cope with my nightmares and delusions. I’m on medications now and haven’t had any episodes for over a year. It’s just, fuck, I really like you. But I understand if it’s too much.”
He had to stop himself from flinching when your warm hand held onto his cold one as you comfortingly stroked your thumbs against the back of his knuckles.
“That sounds really scary,” you said empathetically without being condescending or belittling him. “Thank you for telling me, but that doesn’t change anything. Like I said, everyone has their own shit. I’m far from perfect and don’t expect perfection from you or anyone.”
“Okay,” he smiled brightly at you, dinner forgotten, “fuck, sorry I haven’t really been on a date in ages, and I feel like I just made everything weird.”
“You’re doing so good,” you praised, almost missing the way his adam’s apple bobbed under your attention or how his pulse quickened under your fingers.
Oh
“You aren’t just being nice because Valarr’s my cousin, right?” he said, attempting to laugh off his nerves.
“No, Daeron, you’ve been such a good boy,” you said, risking everything on your hunch.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, eyes locked on yours, his pulse increasing further as you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. You remain steady as he let out a stuttered breath.
“You know what I think?” you asked, squeezing your thighs together under the table, “you’ve been such a good boy, you deserve a reward.”
“W-what kind of reward?” he asked, with a gulp,
You hummed tentatively, standing up and making your way around the table to stand between his parted thighs. You dropped his hand in favor of cupping his face as you gently tipped it upward.
“What kind of reward would you like?” you asked, lips teasingly brushing against his.
“Fuck,” he panted against your lips, “Anything,”
“Anything?” you asked with a smirk.
“Mhm, fuck I’ll take anything you’ll give me,” he answered honestly. You could feel his cock twitch in his trousers against the outside of your right thigh. You reward him with a peck, pulling him away by his hair as he attempts to deepen it. He doesn’t hide a whine in response to you tugging on his hair. You leaned down against his flushed ear before giving him the order.
“Be a good boy and text your driver that we’re ready to go back to mine. You can do that, can’t you?” you asked, teasingly.
“Mhm,” he hummed, not trusting his voice as he sent out the text. You share one last sweet kiss before you back up, grab your bouquet, and start walking to the side entrance, knowing he’d follow you. He let you get into the car first, shielding you from the rain, before quickly following behind. You reached up as your hand once again found his face, coaxing him down for another kiss. He happily complied, leaning down for a desperate kiss. This time, you let him deepen and set a pace as your other hand easily found the outline of his hard-on against his slacks. You lightly teased him, pulling desperate moans from his throat as he arched into your touch. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together at the pathetic whine he let out as you pulled back.
“We’re about a minute out from my place,” you said gently, “You need to behave for the walk up, or you won’t be getting any reward tonight, understand?”
“But what about my-” you cut off his question by handing him your flowers.
“Okay?” you asked,
“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling down at you. He followed your directions well as you held his left hand, and his right held your bouquet over his bulge.
Once you were back in the privacy of your penthouse, he trailed behind you as you placed the flowers on your kitchen counter and guided him by his hand to your bedroom. Once inside, you lightly push him onto your bed. The rain had picked up as it loudly pelted against the glass of your windows. You kick off your heels and climb into his lap before pulling him back in for a desperate kiss. This time, you stayed in charge, grinding down against his lap, spurred on by his debauched moans and whines. You only pulled back when he braced his hand on your shoulder and pressed lightly.
“Is everything okay?” you asked, looking up at him through your lashes.
“I, fuck,” he groaned, stilling your hips, “I’m gonna cum if you keep grinding on me like that,”
“Do you not wanna cum?” you asked,
“No, it’s just erm,” he took a breath, “because of my medication I can’t always reliably get it up,” he confessed, his entire face turning crimson.
“So…” you prompted,
“If I cum now, I don’t know if I’ll get hard again,” he explained,
“Okay,” you nodded, “I mean, there are so many ways we could please each other, I wasn’t really worried about that. I mean, there’s oral, pegging-”
“You,” he cut you off, swallowing hard, “you’re comfortable with pegging?” he asked
“I mean, yeah,” you laughed lightly, “I have a strap and new attachments to match preferences and keep everything clean.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, tilting his head back,
“I mean, I am a switch who prefers other switches, so I never exactly know where a night is going,” you said slightly self-consciously.
“No, fuck,” he snapped his gaze back down to your face, “Love, that’s not-, I wasn’t judging you, it’s just I wasn’t expecting us to click this seamlessly, is all,”
“Oh,” you replied,
“Fuck, I know we haven’t actually fucked yet, but I rarely am this synced with a partner. Especially since we didn’t meet on a site where we could match based on preferences.” He explained, “God, you’re a wet dream.”
“Do you want me to peg you?” you asked, gaining your confidence back, “or, here,” you said, sliding off his lap and grabbing his hand lightly as you led him over to your walk-in closet and over to an inconspicuous dresser on the side. You opened the drawer, revealing a range of different-sized and shaped dildos that attach to your strap.
“God,” he groaned, coming up behind you so his back was pressed to your front, “You’re definitely prepared,” he teased, reaching around you to glide his fingers against the different unopened boxes.
“I’d rather be prepared than not,” you replied, as he picked up a medium-sized pink dildo that vibrates. “That the one?” you asked, looking over your shoulder up at him,
“Yeah,” he smiled down at you,
“Kay,” you nodded, turning to him, “why don’t you go get comfortable, while I go wash it and get ready?”
“Alright, love,” he said, pressing you lightly against the dresser in a soft kiss, “Lube?” he asked,
“Right nightstand,” you directed. With a nod, he pulled back and left for your bed as you headed to your ensuite bathroom. You quickly unwrapped and slid an AA battery into the dildo before letting it sit under hot water while you got ready. You shed your dress and underwear before pulling the harness up and tightening it to your size. You finished washing the dildo before securing it into your harness. You had to hold back a moan as Daeron came back into view. He was propped up against your headboard, now nude, stroking himself lightly, with his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. You approached his side, pulling him in for a desperate kiss as you once again straddled him. You were spurred on by every moan and whimper that escaped him.
You had to brace his shoulder as his lips chased yours as you pulled back,
“What’s your safe word?” you asked, taking a breath.
“Dragons,” he answered,
“Good boy,” you praised in his ear, smirking as a shudder ran through his body. Your lips lightly ghosted against him as you made your way down his body, stopping here and there to press kisses and praise against his skin. You purposefully avoided his cock, as you pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, encouraging him to part his legs enough that you could get to his hole.
“Still okay?” you checked in as you squirted some lube on your fingers,
“Fuck,” he whined, “Please,”
You smirked up at him as you gently circled his hole before adding more lube as you slowly pressed in.
“Fuck,” he moaned, tilting his head back as you began to finger and stretch him out. You had to bar his hips down with your forearm to keep him from thrusting back against your fingers.
“Fuck, you’re doing so well, baby,” you praised as you worked a third figure inside of him,
“Fuck, please,” Daeron moaned, “I can take it, please.”
“Patience, we’re almost there,” you promised, loosely gripping his cock as you began to jerk him off in time with your thrust.
“Fuck,” he cursed before letting out a guttural moan.
“Stop,” he begged, eyes glassy, “Fuck, it’s too much, it’s-Fuck, I’m gonna cum,”
Your smirk grew as you stopped just shy of his release. You couldn’t help but rub your thighs together for some relief at the sweet sound of his whimpers.
“Ready?” you asked, pulling your fingers out slowly before you lubed up your strap-on.
“Fuck, please,” he begged, saying your name softly. You pulled him in for a soft kiss as the head of your dildo breached his hole. You could feel his bruising grip on your hips as he encouraged you to take him faster. Your kiss began to devolve into a sloppy mess as you rolled your hips into his. You could feel his hot tears against your cheeks as you fully sheathed yourself inside him. You stayed there for a moment as you pulled back.
“Still good,” you asked against his lips, looking up into his glassy violet eyes.
“Fuck, please,” he whined, rolling his hips back into yours, desperately grinding down against you. You pressed your lips back against his as you started to thrust and grind up against him. He didn’t have to direct your movement as his whole body started to vibrate when you angled your hips just right to hit his prostate just right. You pulled back from his mouth and trailed your lips down his throat, marking him up and eating up his moans and whines. You smirked into his throat as you reached down and clicked on the vibrating feature and wrapped your hand around his pulsing cock.
“Fuck, that’s it,” you encouraged him in his ear as he began to fall apart on your cock. He barely lasted a few thrusts before he was gone. Your name was the last thing to leave his lips before he painted both your stomachs with his cum. You slowed down your movement as you fucked him through his climax, clicking off the vibrator before you fully overstimulated him. He let out a reluctant whine as you eased yourself out of him and shed your harness, half-hazardly dropping it off the side, dildo clattering to the floor.
You pulled him into a sweet kiss as he came back down into his body. You whispered praise into his temple as you let his hair down and gently pet it while he rested against your chest. You stayed like that until his breathing went back to normal.
“Fuck, love,” he sighed against your lips as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss. It was now your turn to whine as his fingers found their way down between your lower lips. You couldn’t help but moan as his thick fingers dipped down, tracing over your entrance.
“Fuck, Daeron,” you gasped against his lips, “You don’t-”
“I know love,” he said softly against your lips, “I want to,”
“Fuck,” you moaned desperately as he nudged into you, thrusting two of his fingers in at once.
“Fuck,” he groaned, effortlessly thrusting deep inside of you while grinding his palm against your neglected clit,
“Daeron,” you cried out, squeezing him tight as your orgasm quickly approached,
“Go on,” he encouraged, speeding up as he hit that spot over and over. You came with a scream against his lips as he lazily fingered you through it.
“Fuck,” you sighed, leaning against his shoulder as he gently eased his fingers out.
“Fuck,” he laughed in agreement, kissing the crown of your head as he pulled you in close. You lie contentedly in each other's arms, your phone long forgotten in your clutch in the kitchen as you both nodded off.
You slept deeply until you stirred at the sound of a knock at your door. Through blurry eyes, you watched as your best friend stepped in and paused as he took in the scene before him, buffering in real time. The mess of your room, discarded clothing, a sleepy Daeron spooning you from behind, and your covers thankfully pulled up past your chest.
“Valarr?” you asked, snapping his attention to you before he took in too much of the scene.
“Yes?” he asked back.
“Leave,” you directed,
“Right,” he nodded curtly, spinning his heels before promptly leaving your room. Seconds later, you heard your front door close and lock before he escaped back to his own penthouse. You feel Daeron’s chest vibrate against your back before you can hear him snicker against your throat, pressing a chaste kiss there.
“That was certainly a wake-up call,” he said, before you both shared a laugh. You shared one last kiss before tiredly settling back against each other and letting sleep take you.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed ^_^ This was way longer than I thought it was going to be 😅 I've never written for Daeron before, so hopefully this was okay 🫶
Warnings: Smut, Sacrilegious, Oral (F & M Receiving), Corruption Kink, Coercion, Masturbation, Misuse of a Confessional, Power Imbalance, Age Gap, Inexperienced Reader, Virgin Reader
A/N: I think this is the most sacrilegious thing I've ever written. If you're not into this, please skip. I only felt chill writing this because of years of catholic school trauma lol.
WC: 1,743
Request by the lovely @nocturnalrorobin
It was a late rainy evening when you entered the church. Only a handful of parishioners were scattered amongst the pews, praying their penance. The quietness was unnerving, a direct juxtaposition of the lively masses held twice every Sunday. Although you supposed it was fitting for Silent Saturday, the altar was still stripped of all the normal floral embellishments. The large crucifix stood out against the far wall of the altar, lit with a spotlight after its unveiling during yesterday’s Good Friday Mass. You were relieved that they were holding confessions in the evening today, so that you could receive the body of Christ with a pure soul during Easter Mass tomorrow morning.
You cursed the squeak of your shoes as you made your way to the opposite side of the church, where soundproof confessionals were built into the wall. You could see that only one priest was receiving confessions tonight from the lone red light above the middle confessional. You hoped to God that it was not Father Baratheon. He made it feel like God was testing you in a way you could not cope with. You were ashamed of the lust you felt for the priest. A shame you could not share outside of confession, out of fear of being shunned by the only community you knew. A community that already interacted with you hesitantly because you had not wed or become engaged during college. For the better part of the last year, your romantic life has been under a microscope since you moved back after receiving your degree.
The small light above the door turned green as an older man, whom you recognized as an usher, stepped out. You shared a polite smile as you silently looked around to make sure no one else was in line. Over half the people praying had left as the service came to an end. Leaving only the usher, one of the parish’s nuns, and an older couple.
After finding no one else in line, you took a breath before opening the confessional door and closing it softly behind you. You hiked up your dress slightly and kneeled on the small free-standing kneeler positioned in front of a partition, hiding you away from the sight of the priest. Diagonal to you was a chair set up for those brave enough to look the priest in the eye when recounting their sins.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” a familiar voice rang out from the other side of the partition.
Fuck
You internally cursed as you blessed yourself in time with his prompt, adding profanity to your list of sins. You gulped, trying to control your nerves as you responded.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been a month since my last confession, and these are my sins:” You paused to take a breath before getting into it.
“I have been disrespectful to my parents.” You started, he hummed lightly to prompt you to continue, “While I know their hearts are in the right place, we have been arguing about my future, and I have been unjustifiably short with them. I have used the Lord’s name in vain.” You continued to list, “I have been too focused on vanity and have been vain while using social media. I have lied to others when the truth was harder to tell. I have held grudges against those who have wronged me.” You paused again, taking a deep breath, “I have had impure thoughts and have fallen to lust.”
“How have you fallen to lust?” he prompted, causing you to pause. You have not had a priest prompt you for additional details since you were a child during your first confession. It was so off script that you found yourself answering without any further prompting, your face heating up from embarrassment.
“I have touched myself while thinking of someone who is above their own mortal vices.” You said, hot shame flaring at the back of your neck.
“How have you touched yourself?” he once again prompted,
“How?” you asked back, confused.
“Are you still pure? Or have you penetrated yourself?” he asked.
“I-” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I have never penetrated myself,”
He paused once again, humming in thought,
“Show me,” he prompted,
“S-sorry?” you asked,
“Show me so that you have remained pure, or I will not allow you to have the Catholic wedding your parents wish for you.”
“But-”
“You are a good girl, you must know that you will only be absolved if you bare your heart to God.” Father Baratheon said, leaving no room for argument.
“Okay,” you said, voice trembling.
“Stand and sit in the chair,” he prompted. You rose off the kneeler, impressions of the cushion pressed into your knees. You bit your lip nervously as you stepped around the partition and sat face-to-face with Father Baratheon. He was in his day-to-day black outfit, comprised of slacks and a long-sleeved dress shirt with his clerical collar. You couldn’t tell if his eyes were dark from lust or from the dim lighting of the confessional as he shamelessly looked you over. You sat in the plastic chair across from him as he rose, only to immediately kneel at your feet.
“Father,” you gasped, as he gently cupped each of your knees and pressed them apart,
“Shh,” he shushed you softly,
“Be a good lamb and stay quiet,” he husked, prompting you to sit up enough to bunch the skirt of your dress around your waist. He groaned at the sight of your white panties.
“Show me how you touch yourself,” he prompted,
“I-” Your argument dies in your throat as he smirked up at you,
“I think I deserve to see how you sin with me on your mind, don’t you?” he asked, your face enflamed. Slowly, you reach between your thighs as Father Baratheon's eyes lock in on yours. You swallowed as you spread your thighs a bit farther and began to slowly stroke your clit through your panties as your wetness seeped through the thin material above your core.
“Do you touch yourself clothed or bare?” he asked,
“Bare,” you choked as you pressed harder into your clit. He hummed as he gently wrapped his hands around either side of your underwear and slipped them off you. He slipped them into his pocket without looking away from your core.
“Do you always go right for your clit?” he asked,
“Mhm,” you hummed, speeding up your strokes as your wetness lubricates your fingers.
“Hmm, we can work on your technique later,” he said to himself, causing you to whine, “Are you always this wet for me?”
“Always, Father,” you nod, breath starting to stutter.
“And you can cum without any penetration?” he asked, hands resting on your inner thighs to keep them apart.
“Yes, Fathe-ngn,” You cut yourself off, getting close.
“Stop,” he ordered, his dominant hand wrapped around your wrist. You bit your lip to contain a whine as he gripped your thighs and pulled you forward until your cunt was directly in front of his face.
“If you want to cum, you will do so on my tongue from now on. Understood?” he asked, looking up at you.
“Yes, Father,” you agreed, body thrumming from your impending orgasm.
“Good, girl.” He praised, parting your lower lips. He kept them apart as he examined you.
“Your penance will be helping me release,” he said, looking up at you, “say your act of contrition.”
“O My God,” you started, whining as he licked up from your opening to your clit,
“Go on,” he encouraged, lightly licking your clit. You force a breath before continuing.
“I am heartily sorry for having offended-YOU” you gasped as he began to prod at your opening with his tongue, while he simultaneously began to play with your clit with his fingers.
“And I detest all of my sins because of your just punishment,” you panted, Lyonel, creating a rhythm between playing with your clit and thrusting his tongue in and out of you.
“But, but most of all because they offend you, my GOD-,” you groaned, and he thrusted deeper, tonguing at your tight walls, “Who are all good and deserving of all of my love.” You rushed out, “I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasion of SIN-” you cry out, cumming as he licked back against your front wall, while pinching your clit. He worked you through it, shuddering as he pulled his tongue out.
“Amen?” he prompted you to finish the prayer as he wiped your cum off his face with the back of his hand.
“Amen,” you panted.
“Go in peace,” he said, while blessing you with the sign of the cross.
“Thanks be to God,” you reply automatically, thighs shaking as you come down from your high.
“On your knees, sweetling,” he ordered, sitting back on his chair. You slid off the chair, falling to your knees in front of Father Baratheon as he undid the button and unzipped his slacks. Your eyes widened as he pulled out his member.
“Hold out your hand,” he told you, guiding it in front of his mouth so he could spit on it.
“Go on,” he encouraged you, “Earn your penance.”
Hesitantly, you grasped his member, causing him to hiss at the contact.
“That’s it,” he praised, wrapping his hand around yours and guiding you up and down his length.
“Try tasting me, little lamb,” he prompted you, moaning as you hesitantly licked the head of his cock.
“That’s it, good girl,” he groaned, speeding up your pace and encouraging you to swivel your wrist.
“I-” he paused with a moan, “I want you to swallow my cum. Stick out your tongue”
You immediately comply, opening your mouth wide, with your tongue sticking out.
“GOD,” he groaned at the sight, “such a good girl,”
He tightened your grip, only lasted two more pumps before cumming down your throat. He moaned, still guiding your fist up and down his length. You did your best to swallow until his cock hit your uvula, causing a coughing fit. He cupped your jaw gently as he slipped out. Stroking your cheek softly as you recovered.
“Good girl,” he praised again, you still kneeling between his thighs, “My perfect little lamb.”
A/N: Sorry for another minihiatus. With the combo of being bipolar & getting my period (dysphoria central), I haven't really been feeling myself lately. Still very involved with this series and will be working on my one-shot requests for my "Oops All AU" event (I'll make a separate post for that). Very excited for you to read this update tho; I also have been loving writing Lyonel and the Reader flirting lol. Enjoy ^_^
CW: Panic Attack, Family still suxs, Maecy's MVP of this chapter, A lot of crying (but it's valid), Reader is really in her feels, Mention of dead mother, Lyonel is low-key already whipped
WC: 4,404
Everything was static.
You could only hear the pounding of your heart.
You felt like you were drowning.
No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t catch your breath.
Suddenly, Maecy’s face crowded your vision. Her cold hands cupped your face, like a flicker of a lighthouse in the distance. You could see her mouth moving, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. She removed one of her hands to grip yours as she held the back of your hand to her chest. You copied her chest, timing your breaths with hers as you began to calm down; land was in sight.
“There you are,” she said lightly, “That’s it, you’re doing so well, love.”
You nodded mutely, taking another deep breath; the thundering in your ears started to subside. Ruben was to your left; you could feel his warm palm through the cloth of the back of your dress as he rubbed soothing circles into your back.
“Here,” he said, pressing his canteen to your lips once your breathing had regulated. You took a deep sip of water as you squeezed Maecy’s hand and let go. Suddenly, the rest of your surroundings came back to you all at once. The loud music continued; you could feel the beat of the drums through the canvas of the tent behind you. The cold air bit at your hot skin, causing you to shiver. And at some point, Ser Ash had arrived. He stood between you and Lyonel; his hand cupping Lyonel’s shoulder to keep him at arm’s length.
“I didn’t mean to cause any harm,” he argued, but didn’t fight against Ser Ash.
“Regardless, you’ve caused her ladyship to have a conniption,” Ser Ash replied firmly.
“I’m fine,” you called out after taking one last deep breath. Ruban gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze before he and Maecy helped you up. You brushed your skirt down to make it sit properly. Despite feeling better, your face felt hot from shame. This was the first time in ages that you’ve had an episode. They were rare, but not unheard of for you. The first being a spiral from stage fright when you were a child. The latest was after an intense argument with your eldest brother over a year ago.
“What caused this?” Maecy asked, holding your chin as she dabbed away stray tears from your face.
“Ser Lyonel was just informing me that there is a rumor spreading of me being with child.” You answered, tone even.
“What?” Maecy said, pulling back and looking at Lyonel for confirmation.
“I heard it in your tent,” he said, hands up and palms forward in a sign of surrender.
“If it’s already made it this far,” Ruban started,
“Then there’s no way of telling when or where it started,” you finished with a sigh.
“I should inform my father,” you said somberly, “If he is not already aware.”
“Are you feeling up to that?” Ser Ash asked,
“Does it matter?” you asked, “We both know it will be worse in the morning.”
“Right,” Ser Ash nodded, “I will escort you to the donjon, then your bedchambers. You should not push yourself any further tonight, my Lady.”
“Alright,” you nodded, already feeling fatigued. Maecy and Ruben immediately fell in line behind Ser Ash. You paused in front of Lyonel. His lower lip was sandwiched between his teeth as if he were struggling to find words. His hesitancy a complete opposition to his confident and unabashed nature.
“My Lady, I am-”
“You are forgiven,” you interrupted.
“Really?” he asked, surprised.
“It was not your intention to upset me. Was it?” you asked.
“No, it was not, still most would want me to grovel for forgiveness.” He replied, his confidence seeping back into his words. His tone was lighter, close to a tease.
“Do you wish to grovel?” you replied back lightly, your tone now bordering on a tease as well.
“Perhaps,” he said, failing to hide his smile, “It would help with the guilt.”
You jokily hummed for a moment before replying.
“I doubt I have enough time for an exchange of that nature. If you are amenable, perhaps you could have something prepared for our next meeting.” You offered.
“I look forward to it, my Lady,” he replied, “I hope the rest of your evening goes smoothly as able.”
“Thank you, Ser,” you nodded with a smile, before joining in line with Maecy as Ruban and Ser Ash guided you to the outer edge of the cluster of tents towards the castle. You took a deep breath as your heartbeat began to regulate. Before your thoughts could wander, Maecy was elbowing you softly with a teasing grin. You responded with an affectionate eyeroll as you linked arms. Once you had made it back into the walls of the castle, a knight flagged down Ser Ash and informed him of the request of your summons in your father’s study. You were unsure if it was the fatigue from your episode or the fact that you were surrounded by those who cared for you, but for once, you weren’t scared of being the scapegoat in the meeting with your family.
Ser Ash and Ruben joined the other knights at the door of the study while you and Maecy pressed on into the room. You were greeted by the sight of your father at his desk, Sowyer and Elyana sat on a daybed, and Stefon, who was leaning against the wall next to the fire. The low light of the fireplace mimicked the intensity surrounding the room. Maecy’s hand found yours with a firm squeeze before you could even register your own anxiety.
“Are you aware of the rumor going around about you?” Your father asked, point blank.
Before you could respond, Elyana butted in.
“Maecy should not be here, should she? This is a family matter.” She said, Sowyer immediately hummed in agreement.
“Really? You wish to speak of family?” Maecy started before stopping as you squeezed her hand,
“Maecy, it’s okay, really.” You interrupt her, not wanting her to catch any strays of whatever in the seven hells was heading your way. You nodded encouragingly as she paused to look at you.
“I’ll be right outside,” she said low so only you could hear, before reluctantly releasing your hand.
“I’ll ask again, have you heard the rumor?” your father probed,
“I have,” you nodded, “Just before turning in for the night, I was informed and came straight here.”
“Is there any merit to this conjecture?” he asked.
“No,” you answered, shocked by his questioning, “I am under near constant supervision and have never left the grounds without an escort. When would I have had an opportunity to be with anyone?”
“And you have no idea where this rumor originated from?” he pressed.
“No, father.” You answer.
“Does it really matter? Her worth to our family is pitiful.” Stefon stated. While his statement stung, it also made you pause. For as long as you could remember, he had never missed an opportunity to find fault in you and rake you over the coals. His attempt at diverting the topic made everything click into place.
“You, you didn’t,” you said, staring at him in shock,
“I have no idea what you are on about,” he scoffed,
“Why would you start such a rumor?” you asked, failing to hide the emotion in your voice. You waited in a pregnant pause, your eyes locked on to each other before he glanced away and responded.
“You don’t deserve Lord Baratheon’s attention, let alone to distract him from Elyana’s advances.” He confessed, staring you down with revulsion you were well acquainted with.
“You fool,” your father yelled, throwing his chalice at Stefon’s head, dousing him in the remaining wine; the splatter caused the flames of the fire to spark upward, “If this rumor spreads, we will have no leverage in marrying her off. There are ten noble families here for the tourney; they stretch from all corners of Westeros. This rumor not only burns the bridges with them, but the entire fucking continent.”
“Regardless of how we have gotten to this point, her gallivanting around the grounds surely has not helped with her reputation.” Elyana cut in as your father lowered himself back into his chair, “I think it is only right for her to stay within the castle walls until the end of the tourney. If we act quickly, we could secure her a match before the rumor has time to spread to the rest of the noble houses not in attendance.”
“But-” you attempt to start before your father cuts you off,
“I think you have done enough for the day. Return to your quarters before you can cause any more problems.” He stated.
“Yes, Father,” you replied, not sparing any of your family a single glance before you turned on your heels and exited your father’s study.
“What happened?” Maecy asked, following behind you as you did not break stride on your way back to your chambers.
“It was Stefon,” you quipped, cursing the tears stinging at the corner of your eyes.
“What?!” she exclaimed, now in line with you. Despite your blurred vision, you knew Ser Ash and Ruben were not far behind from the clinking of their armor.
“I-I don’t know,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I have been ordered to stay within the walls of the castle until the tourney is completed.”
“You're being punished for something your eldest brother did?” she asked at a loss.
“Apparently,” you replied, slowing down as you turned into the hall containing your chambers. You took a deep breath, stopping just short of your door as you wiped your face of tears.
“Oh, sweetling,” she sighed, reverting to the endearment she used most in your childhood. She pulled you into a hug, soothingly rubbing up and down on your back, only pulling back when your breath once again came back to a normal pace.
“Would you like me to stay for the night?” she asked, arms still wrapped around you.
“I don’t want to impose.” You replied hesitantly, still trying to wrap your head around how the evening had soured so quickly.
“You have never, and will never be imposing,” she scoffed,
“I wouldn’t mind the company then,” you replied softly. She nodded with a smile before looking past you.
“Nyra or I will come fetch you in the morning,” Ruban said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he turned and gave your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
“Ser Ash,” he respectfully nodded at the older knight before making his leave down the corridor.
“Rest now, princess,” Ser Ash ordered softly, before opening the door of your chambers for you.
“I will, Ser,” you responded with a tired smile, before following Maecy into your chambers. The familiar sound of your door sliding shut and the creak of his armor as he stood guard comforted you with the knowledge that you were safe.
“My Lady-Oh,” Emilla cut herself off at the sight of Maecy.
“Emilla, if able, would you be able to draw a bath for my cousin and launder her clothing?” you asked,
“Of course, my Lady,” she nodded, “Would you like aid in undressing now or-”
“I’ll wait until she is done, thank you, Emilla,” you replied lightly, taking a seat at the foot of your bed as Emilla set off to fill the tub.
“Is this your way of saying I smell?” Maecy teased,
“Well, I fear it would be a lateral move to sleep in the stables, as next to you.” You joked back, causing her to smile.
“I suppose I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” She agreed with a laugh, “It’s been ages since I was able to bathe anywhere outside of a stream. Warm water is a luxury.”
“I’ll never forget how shocked you were when you found out there are no options but a stream while on the road.” She reminisced,
“Maecy, I was only eight.” You sighed,
“You were old enough to know better, though I will admit you did take after your mother well. In a few short days, you had fully adapted to life on the road.” She smiled, “It was a shame that your father forbade any travel after you first flowering.”
“I do miss it,” you agreed as Emilla filled your tub, “It was difficult to return, there was so much to learn and experience outside of these walls.”
“There still is,” Maecy affirmed, “Exploring is in your blood from both sides of your kin. It is cruel of your father to cage you.”
“Would you like any specific scents, my Lady?” Emilla asked Maecy.
“Whatever her ladyship’s favorite is,” she answered, nodding at you.
“Right,” Emilla nodded, sprinkling Epsom salt, oil of peonies, and some dried petals, “Would you like assistance?”
“I’ll manage, thank you,” Maecy answered, stepping around the folded partition that separated your bath from the rest of the room. Emilla helped you undress and collected your and Maecy’s clothing to be laundered while you slipped into a fresh pair of small cloths and an opaque slip. You couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of Maecy’s over exaggerated sigh as she slipped into the bath.
“Is there anything else I can assist you with tonight, my Lady?” she asked you,
“No, I will be taking my breakfast up here. Please make sure there is enough for Maecy as well.” You answered, Emilla parted with a smile and a curtsy.
“You know this may be a blessing in disguise,” Maecy said after a moment, making sure you both were alone as one can be in your castle.
“How so?” you asked, once again taking a seat at the foot of your bed.
“If your maidenhood has been compromised and your ability to marry for alliance is gone, there is no reason to keep you from traveling with our house.” She expanded, the water shifting around her as she began to cleanse her body.
“I,” you paused, letting the idea sink in, “you’re right,”
“Of course, it would ultimately be up to you, but you will always have a place in our caravan.” Maecy added, “I wish for you to do whatever makes you happiest.”
“I suppose that would be anywhere, but here.” You answered candidly, “But if Stefon has fully soured my stock, then I doubt my father would object to it.”
“Even if he does, it wouldn’t be hard to steal you away,” She commented, “I doubt they’d go after you.”
“You’re probably right,” you agreed, “There is no need to waste the resources of tracking me down if I no longer have use to my father.”
“Is there a contingency plan?” Maecy asked,
“They wish to marry me off as soon as possible, to hopefully outrun the rumor,” you explained.
“That’s asinine,” she scoffed, “Maybe if Elyana hadn’t reached out to families from all over Westeros, it’d be plausible. But for a wedding of this nature, the nuptials and negotiations can take many moons. It also thwarts their whole plan of marrying Elyana off if you must be wed first.”
“Even if they can beat the rumor, it’d most likely be at a deficit." You added, mind still plagued by Stefon’s confession.
“I just don’t understand why he hates me.” You sighed, “I cannot remember an incident; he’s been treated this way for as long as I can remember.”
You heard the water once again shift as Maecy exited the tub and began to dry.
“I just wish I knew what it was, so at least I would have a shot at fixing it.” You added,
“Love, I can assure you that his actions are in no reflection of you.” Maecy comforted, rounding the corner of the partition, now dressed in a fresh slip.
“It never felt like my place to tell you, but with his recent actions, I no longer have any apprehension,” She said, taking your hand and sitting beside you. “He was quite close to your mother when he was still a boy. When she passed away months after your birth from an unknown illness, it must have altered his reality. A once sweet boy flipped into who he is now. I am unsure if he blames you or if you were simply the easiest target for his rage, but I know for certain there is nothing you directly did to invite this kind of treatment.”
“I suppose that makes sense, I just, I don’t know how you could treat anyone, especially kin that way.” You sighed,
“That is because you are nothing like your kin.” Maecy comforted, “You are kind and empathic beyond most who were raised in a position of power. It still shocks me that you have no memories of your mother when you exude so much of her character.”
“Really?” you asked,
“Yes, you are even as noble as she was when it comes to serving your house.” She expanded with a soft smile, “When the sea serpents offered our house protection within the western coast of Westeros in exchange for a wife, your father chose her. She was completely within her rights to reject the offer, but she bravely took on the responsibility, knowing it would protect those she loved most.”
“She did?” you asked softly,
“Yes, dear,” Maecy smiled at you, “She was only able to take her fiddle and Ser Ash for insurance of her health and well being within these walls. I believe it was her own fruition to assign Ser Ash to you before she passed, knowing how it felt to be the only warmth surrounded by those cold-blooded creatures that dwell in the dark and lie in wait. If she were alive today, I know she would simply adore you.”
You took a deep breath as you felt the prick of tears for the third time today.
“Oh, love,” Maecy comforted as she pulled you in for a hug. Thankfully, this time you were able to blink the tears away.
“I think it’s time for you to rest, you had an especially eventful day, and we have yet to know what tomorrow will bring,” Maecy said. You nodded, not trusting your voice as you both got situated in your large bed. Sleep took you the second your head touched your pillow.
The morning greets you surprisingly well, to the point where you almost find it suspicious. You broke fast with Maecy and walked her out to the edge of the drawbridge, where Nyra, the most sought-after voice in Westeros (and another one of Maecy’s paramours), was waiting to walk Maecy back to their tent. You briefly caught up with her before she and Maecy needed to take their leave to prepare for a performance this afternoon.
You reluctantly returned to the castle and made your way up to the library to try to find anything that could distract you from your containment. Stefon’s two children were there to greet you as their governess, the same one who had tutored you, was attempting to keep their attention through a lesson of High Valyrian. They both greeted you politely; thankfully, both took after their mother for now. Feeling inspired by their lesson, you selected one of the few and most expensive books in your family’s collection, written in High Valyrian. You settled in the window seat of a turret and cracked open the tome. You were barely through the preface when a knock sounded at the door of the library.
Your eyes widened as you took in Lyonel Baratheon standing in the doorway.
To say he looked out of place was an understatement. His outfit contrasts with the deep indigo and lilac embellishments around the library. He was dressed in black boots and trousers with a golden waistcoat over a smooth, silk-like black button-down. His hair was curlier than it had been yesterday after being reduced to waves from the constant putting on and taking off of his helmet. Before you could process the juxtaposition any further, your eyes were locked on the deep bruise on his left cheek. A bruise you had given in fleeting rage.
“My Lady,” he greeted with a smile, snapping you out of your thoughts and back to the present.
“Ser,” you responded,
“I would like to chat,” he stated, “If we could have the room,” he asked glancing at your governess.
“Mertha, would you be able to take leave with the boys, perhaps to lunch?” you asked. Both your nephews cheered, while Mertha spared you a sideways glance.
“Or you could play a game?” you offered, immediately catching the young boys’ attention.
“What game?” Asten, the older of the two, asked.
“When I was around your age, my siblings and I would see whoever could speak in High Valyrian the longest.” You explained, “If I’m not mistaken, the winner would get an extra serving of dessert?”
“That’s right,” Mertha said, “although I doubt either of you could outlast her ladyship,”
“I can last longer than Asten,” Barden, the younger of the two, declared,
“Can not,” Asten argued.
You bit back a grin as they took the bait.
“Well, let’s see, starting now, whoever out of the three of us can last the longest will get an extra portion of dessert. Understood?”
“Yes,” Both boys answered in High Valyrian.
“Let us give your aunt some privacy,” Mertha ordered, collecting the slate boards they had been writing on as each boy gathered their books. Lyonel stood to the side as the boys immediately started to antagonize each other in HV, running out of the room.
“The door stays open,” Mertha quipped, eyeing Lyonel with a firm look before she turned and followed at a brisk pace after the boys.
“She’s delightful,” Lyonel commented as he walked deeper into the room.
“To be fair, she was my etiquette teacher.” You replied, “She’s been the governess for our family since my sister started her schooling. Although I think she may request an early retirement once Stefon’s children hit puberty.”
“Do you often trick children into learning?” he asked,
“Only when I can make it seem like their idea, or if Mertha looks especially rung out.” You replied lightly.
“I suppose if I were in charge of your brother’s offspring, I’d need a break too.” He mused.
“Is there a reason I’ve been graced with your presence, or did you come just to observe my nephew’s academic endeavors?” you asked,
“I have an ordinance with your father, but I wished to speak with you first.” He responded, “May I?” he asked, nodding at the cushioned seat on the opposite side of the half circle of the seating built into the turret.
“Yes,” you nodded, sitting up from your lounged position so your feet dangled above the floor and your back was pressed back against the window. The light tone in the room shifted to something serious.
“Ruben informed me that it was your eldest brother who started the rumor in the hope that tarnishing your name would draw more suitors, particularly me, to shift their focus.” Lyonel started, “This, however, has drawn negative attention towards your sister as well.”
“It has?” you asked,
“Yes, this morning the gossip has diverted from you to question your sister’s virtue. It has also brought into question the hold your father has over his house, let alone his ability to serve as an ally.” Lyonel summarized.
“It has?” you asked in shock, your posture becoming rigid.
“Unfortunately, yes.” He nodded with an empathetic tone, “All of this is to say is that I have an offer he would be a fool not to take.”
“What kind of offer?” you asked,
“Outside of the Lannister, who now have no interest in merging with your kin, my house has the largest land holdings, wealth, and power out of the remaining houses in attendance.” He started, pausing to take a breath, “I would like to ask him for permission to formally court you.”
“What,” your heart stuttered, “Why would you-”
“I’m aware we have only made acquaintance less than a week ago, but in that time you have shown yourself to have the character of someone I was not aware I was looking for. You have been faithful to your house beyond doubt, you are able to keep up with my spirit, and you are able to handle situations diplomatically with an aura of calmness I'll never be able to possess.” He confessed,
“You also aren’t exactly hard to look at,” he tagged on with a grin as you processed all of what he just said.
“I slapped you,” you blurted out, still trying to comprehend his offer.
“I believed I more than deserved that,” he responded with a laugh, “It only adds to your character that you are not afraid to put me in my place when I am out of line.”
“You're insane,” you replied at a loss, not able to see the situation with his vision.
“Perhaps,” he nodded, “But you are also the first person I have been compelled to ask for their hand.”
“You seriously want to court me?” you asked,
“Deadly serious, I have already sent word of my intentions to my father.” He replied.
“We barely know each other.” You said, still at a loss.
“I do believe that is the purpose of courtship, my Lady,” he replied, grin widening.
“And you have not yet asked my father?” you clarified,
“No, I want it to be your decision if we are to enter into courtship and if we are to wed afterwards.” He said in an even tone, “My ordinance with your father is not until midday. I will leave you with your thoughts. Please alert me to your decision as soon as it is made.”
Nothing had ever been your decision before. Despite your apprehension, you knew well that this was the best option, not only for you, but for your entire house. If you wished to see your family survive the limelight of this scandal, your decision was already made. But, despite your reasoning, there was still an overwhelming part of you craving the anonymity of being a beating drum. The only attention you garnered would be earned through your talent and not by default of your family name. You were at a loss of your heart and mind.
A/N: As always, thank you for taking the time to read 🫶 Hoping to update soon 💛
