caffeinemyloves

[caffeinemyloves]

Of Iron and Light - Update

So sorry for not publishing anything for a while! Rather spontaneously moved to a different country and got a new job. Last month has been crazy. And now I have to redo my plan of "Of Iron and Light" because the USB drive that I saved that on (which I deemed safer than a harddrive) died on me when I finally wanted to start working on it again...

Have a day off on Friday and plan on working on this fic almost the entire day, so that maybe I can publish it by Sunday? No promises, though since I have to build up the foundation once more. Could also be that I'll just rework the three first chapters a bunch now to accommodate whatever my new plan will be. (Lots of story beats will stay the same but I fear some are lost to time and space).

[caffeinemyloves]

Of Iron And Light [CHAPTER III]

About this fanfiction AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34821415 Pairing: Stannis Baratheon x OFC (Lydia Hightower) Chapters: One, Two, Three

For a while, Lydia could only sit there – eyes turned onto the Cyvasse board but not seeing it.

War.

Brandon and Rickard Stark dead, and Lyanna kidnapped by Prince Rhaegar. Robert, Ned, and Jon Arryn all raising their banners in… Rebellion. And she’s stuck here – a hostage at war. All because of… Damn it.

Gods. She has to find a way to warn her father not to come here. She won’t be allowed to write him a letter, surely. Though, then again keeping him as a hostage would assure war with the Reach, while she can be a bartering chip between them. Or… The guards that had come with her are stuck here too now. If she manages to convince him to free them, then she may be able to give her father a message through them. And the sellswords would be able to return to potential families.

But all of that comes down to Stannis. She had underplayed just how good he was at the game, regardless of whether he played it for the first time or not. It’s an assumption but one she’s willing to risk that he has a mind for war strategies. But this one is as much political as it is martial – and that’s where he’s inept. Otherwise, he would have done what Robert told him to.

It doesn’t matter now. She has much to do; and moreso, she has to find out a way to get out of here. Before she leaves the room, she glances over the Cyvasse board one last time and sets one of her horses closer to his King.

Outside stand two guards already.

“Pardon. I’m Lady Lydia of House Hightower. Are you the two to accompany me?”

“We are,” a gruff voice says on from her right. Both are taller than her, though he is the smaller of the two. She can spot an unkempt black beard beneath the helmet with streaks of white and grey.

She looks at the other one. Clearly younger, with a light scruff on his broad jaw. She meets his eyes and smooths out her dress. There is a slight tightening in his shoulder. “Since we are likely to spend so much time together may I ask for your names?”

He gives a proper bow of his head, breaking the prolonged eye contact. “I’m Ser Gawin of House Errol, my Lady.”

“I’m Brandon,” answers the other.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, though I am surprised a knight is here to guard me.”

“My family has been serving the Baratheons for years, my Lady. I’m glad to offer the same.” There is a small smile to his lips. A handsome smile that, no doubt, tends to work on ladies. A smile rises to her lips, too. One that he must take as encouragement, judging by how they quirk up further.

Oh, she has found her way of escaping.

“I see. Well, I hope I won’t challenge you both too much. If you are ever unhappy, do say so.”

“You may regret that, my Lady. Unhappy is Brandon’s usual state of mind.” “Only when I have to work with you, my knight,” he barks back, though his voice holds no true bite.

She giggles at their exchange, and looks from one to the other. Holding Gawin’s gaze a little longer.

“I have the distinct feeling this won’t be as dull as I feared it would be with you around.” She lets out a sigh. “For now, I must discuss a few matters with Lord Stannis regarding my… Prolonged stay.”

“You know the way?” Brandon asks. “I fear not.”

Without another word spoken, the man inclines his head and walks in front of her, while Ser Gawin walks slightly behind her. She turns her head to look outside the windows of Storm’s End – just in time to see his gaze lower than it should be. She smirks to herself, acting as if she hadn’t caught him.

He seems sweet enough, and depending on how serious he takes his knighthood, he may want to play knight to the poor fair maiden stuck in a castle with the ‘dour’ Lord Stannis. Only time will tell if he’s a good fit for such an endeavor.

Before she could continue thinking on the matter, a small force crashes into her legs. It almost lifts her off her feet, had it not been for said knight reaching out and managing to catch her. He lifts his hands from her hips as if they had been burned, and she bets that is what his head feels like now.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” she says with a kind smile. The lad has a mop of dark hair, with the brightest smile to accompany his blue eyes. A Baratheon?

“Are you Lady Lydia?”

“I am. And who are you?”

“I’m Lord Renly Baratheon. I wasn’t allowed to greet you because the maester was unhappy with me,” he says with a slight pout. Then, he bows his head in an almost over-the-top manner. “I’m glad to meet you now! Your braids are really pretty.”

“Thank you, my Lord. You’re making me blush,” she says with a smile and a small wink. It’s easy to see which of the brothers he takes after.

“They say you’re here to marry Stannis. Is that true?” “Ah, well. It’s a little more complicated than that, I’m afraid.”

“Everyone keeps saying that.” An annoyed sigh comes from the young Lord. “When we have more time, I’ll explain it to you.”

“Maybe you could help Maester Cressen with my lessons! You could talk about that, and the Hightower! Is it truly as big as they all say? Bigger than Storm’s End?”

“It is. And there’s a fire burning up high. Like a second sun in the sky.”

His eyes light up, a large smile on his lips. Gods. He’s a sweet one. “If you marry Stannis can I visit, too?” “Even if I wouldn’t, you could… But for now, was there a reason you ran?”

“Oh! Right!” And with that he starts to dart off again. She chuckles… He had been so good with his courtesy earlier.

“My Lord,” she gives him another smile, and his eyes narrow. He has such a suspicious mind. “A word?”

He motions for her to step closer. Sitting there behind the desk with a ledger of letters in front of him, and a frown etched into his face, he looks a lot older than he is. Though, still handsome with his broad jawline, and high cheekbones. His brown hair, and his dark blue eyes round it off. If only he’d smile more often, she can hear the ladies chatter.

“What is it you want, my Lady?” He asks as she takes a seat. She crosses her leg, dangling it leisurely.

“I am not the only one here. There are those that accompanied me, mostly sellswords. What will happen with them?”

“I have already spoken to them,” he replies, “Some were more than eager to leave, and so, I’ve allowed them to. A few wished to speak to you first. Likely for the coin.” “I’d like to think that it’s because of my winning personality.”

He scoffs. “Then you are as delusional as those who wish for a never-ending summer.”

“See! What a perfect fit we would have been.”

“I’m not delusional.” “You are. About misliking me.”

“I have better things to do than to have the exact conversation over and over again,” he cuts back, grinding his teeth.

It almost makes her laugh. He says it as if he isn’t talking so much to her – so much that people had noticed at the tourney. The chatter surrounding them had amused her greatly. The questions – why she would attempt it. Not only that, but it had also led to other Ladies to attempt the same and Stannis had gotten increasingly hostile – toward her, too. But whatever he hurled at her, she had a quip ready for, and it annoyed him even further.

“You get riled up way too easily, my Lord.”

He glowers at her. And as he does, she finds herself disagreeing with the ladies. He certainly does not need to smile. “I’m sure you can find someone else to irritate.”

“I could.” Her voice is softer now, almost as if coaxing out a kitten. “But none of them will ever compare to you.”

“Leave,” he barks.

She chuckles, and slowly rises to her feet. Her eyes steadily glaring back into his. If she is to be a hostage, she will sure make him regret it. Maybe he’ll end up begging Robert to return her to her father.

When she reaches the door, she turns back one more time. “Oh, and I have made my move with the Cyvasse game. I expect for you to answer.”

He furrows his brows shortly but she doesn’t give him time to question her further, and instead joins the guards. She smiles at them, and nods before leading the way to the guest chambers. That way, she remembers. But only two of the sellswords had stayed, and had looked at her expectantly. She tells them to go speak to her father, and tell him of what has happened her.

“In case he doesn’t believe you, tell him you know of Pumpernickel.”

“Pumpernickel?”

“He’ll know.”

One frowns, the other nods. Not his place to question it. Then, the two men make off to the gates. How she wishes she could simply go with them but instead… She looks back at her guards as the sun starts to set behind them. A large grin appears on her lips.

“Well, if I am to stay, then I wish to have bit of enjoyment. Is there a tavern you frequent?”

“There is.” Ser Gawin rubs his neck. “Perhaps not the best place for a Lady, though.”

“I’ll survive a few crude remarks. Barely, but I will.”

“Our shift is almost over, milady. If we go to the barracks first, we can change with Markus and Borros.”

“Of course. If you wish to, feel free to join anyway but I understand if you’d rather rest.”

“An ale in the evening is as good as any rest, my Lady,” Ser Gawin says. She catches the warning glare Brandon sends him. The older man sighs; clearly not as on board with this but nods his agreement.

Her best bet is that he’ll look out for the young knight, just in case he takes it too far with her. After all, she doubts they know of hers and Stannis exact circumstances either and offending your Lord like that rarely brings good merit.

The walk to the barracks is spend in companionable silence. Spend focusing on memorising the way. When they arrive, Brandon holds the door open for her. There are a few men sitting and talking to the side of it, quieting down as they see her. Surely, a woman is a rare occurrence in the barracks.

“Good evening,” she greets with a smile, following Gawin to the back of the room. On his way there, he sets down his helmet.

Admittedly, he is a good-looking man with a sharp chin and a crooked nose, short brown hair mussed from the helmet.

The pair sitting at the table is a peculiar one. One is small, young boy with blond hair and a boyish smirk on his lips, whereas the other may not be the biggest man she has ever seen, but she has no doubt he seldom meets any of them. A black beard, and the long hair hide away most of the features on his round face.

“This is Lady Lydia of House Hightower. She wishes to go to the tavern next.” Gawin eyes are gentle as they regard her again. A short smile crosses her lips, and widens when she sees the shade of red his cheeks take on... It’s a shame.

Brandon’s gaze rests on the younger man, disappointment apparent in his narrowed eyes and clenched jaw. He’s a bald man, with rather soft features completely unlike his gruff voice. He reminds her of their Master-At-Arms, Erik. Only that Erik has an even longer, unrulier beard and the size and hair of a bear.

“Milady, pleasure to meet you,” the smallest one out of the bunch says. “I’m Borros. This one’s Markus. He’s a tad quiet ‘round people but no doubt, he’ll warm to you, milady.”

Borros gives him a pat on the back as the other man bows his head to her. Then, Markus puts on his helmet.

“Heard you were taken hostage ‘cause you were supposed to marry Stannis,” Borros says with a lop-sided smirk.

“There was a potential of a betrothal.”

“Either way, now you’re stuck ‘ere with him. Probably got the shortest straw of any in the war.”

“Mind your tongue. He’s your Lord,” Markus reminds him. His voice is a dark, rich tone – the sort that did not need raising to be heard.

“Aye. He’s a good Lord but ain’t got no feelin’ for the finer parts of life.”

She arches a brow at that. He may be sufficient, too, but he’d take it too far too quickly.

“She’s a Lady.” No. Gawin is a better option. At least judging from the way he clenches his jaw, and seems somewhat concerned with her honor.

“She’s gonna go drinkin’ with us, isn’t she? Milady will I only be allowed to sing sonnets at the tavern?”

“I sure would like to hear you sing a sonnet about wanting another ale but if you’d rather discuss matters such as fornication with your fellow men, I might faint.”

Borros barks a laugh at that, while Markus has a small grin.

“If you have finished gussying up, shall we?”

The tavern is already bustling when they arrive. A few wave to her guards, and in some corners she finds people looking at her before chattering.

“There’s a free table there,” Brandon points out, leaning down a bit so she can hear. She nods, and walks over to it.

“How ‘bout a lil’ drinkin’ game, eh?”

“Feel free to but admittedly I don’t hold my liquor well.”

“Nor should he drink too much. Lord Stannis will have your head if he finds you drunk guarding her room,” Brandon says, glaring at the younger man. But he just shrugs.

“How’s he to find out?” A dirty grin appears on his lips. “Unless he pays milady a midnight visit.”

She snorts. Him being so rigid around her, all to be thrown out by night. Sure. He’s the type of man that even if it would ensure the safety of humanity to marry first and foremost, since anything else is improper. And thinking of Robert, and what he demanded of them in the letter… It’s a good thing he is.

“To talk about taxes together, maybe.”

Lydia looks up at the new voice joining them. A young Lady with a pale face, and a cheeky grin similar to Borros’. Her hair is equally blonde, though messier.

“Aye. Or ships,” Borros joins back in, and then turns back to her. “This is my sister, Mya. She works the bar.”

She holds out her hand, smiling at the woman. She must be the older one out of the two of them. “Nice meeting you. I’m Lydia.”

“I know,” Mya says, and shakes her hand, “Everyone knows. What brings you here, milady?”

“A fun evening out before I do something that gets my walking area restricted.”

Mya smiles at her. “Then, we better get it started, eh? This one’s on the House–”

“Ah, thank you but you shouldn’t. Don’t give those who already think they’re better because of their family names even more.” “I’m not. Just givin’ a pretty woman a free ale... That’s usually a good way into their hearts.”

“Into their hearts or their pants?” “We’ll have to find out.”

Lydia smirks. “I fear I’m not a good one to find out with, though.”

“Bummer. Free one’s comin’ anyway.”

The laughter that rings is a sudden one. Borros has thrown his head back, and shakes his head. Their eyes meet, and she can swear there are tears in them. She smirks back at him, a brow raised.

“Sorry but who thought you and Stannis would be good?” “Robert and I did.” “You?” Gawin’ smile falters, though he recovers quickly enough. Damn. Should have thought more.

“Well, politically it is a good match. And I kind of enjoy how he hates me so,” she smirks, readying herself for the lie. “It’d be loveless but I could do much worse.”

“Like who?” “You’re making me feel right at home, Borros. It’s almost like I’m right back with the gossipy ladies at court.”

“I know,” he gives her a teethy grin, “Someone oughta!”

“Here’s the ale, lads, milady.”

The evening turns into night soon enough. Conversation flows freely. Gawin is the one to bring up different topics, and changing them while Borros’ and her have back and forths that cause the group to laugh. Sometimes Brandon would join in with some deadpan snark that would catch her so off-guard, she wouldn’t be able to hold back her snorts. Whenever Markus would pipe up, his words would bring them into silence – and she has learned that he must be one of the most intelligent men around, despite lacking education.

[caffeinemyloves]

i don’t even know how to explain to non musical theatre people that we genuinely just lost shakespeare — i can’t even think of another comparison that may even remotely come close. there was no one like him and there never will be. a league of his own, the greatest of the greats.

[caffeinemyloves]

Short info: I'm planning on publishing another chapter of "Of Iron and Light" by tomorrow. With Christmas coming closer, I'm hoping not to procrastinate as much as I am currently doing (or rather getting distracted by other projects... :'D).

As mentioned, I plan on doing imagines and perhaps even preferences on Game of Thrones characters. So, if you have any suggestions I'd be happy to take them on! :)

See you soon!

[caffeinemyloves]

* indicates smut

Stannis Baratheon

Series

Lydia Hightower, daughter of Leyton Hightower, is sent to Storm’s End for a possible betrothal between herself and Stannis Baratheon, much to his dismay. Stannis believes this to be another plot by Robert to humiliate him - only for the idea soon to be forgotten when Jon Arryn raises his banners in rebellion against King Aerys II. And House Baratheon starts off with one hostage stronger…

Pairing: Stannis Baratheon & Lydia Hightower (OFC) Chapters: One, Two, Three Other platforms to read on: AO3

[caffeinemyloves]

Of Iron And Light [CHAPTER II]

About this fanfiction AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34821415 Pairing: Stannis Baratheon x OFC (Lydia Hightower) Chapters: One, Two, Three

Stannis sets his dragon close by her King. He hates to admit it but she was somewhat right. This is way better than walks. And for once, she is rather quiet – too focused on the game and there has never been a more welcomed change. He studies her as she looks over the board. There is a slight creak in between her brows, though her mouth is quirked upwards. Then, a short twitch of her eye, a lopsided smile crossing her lips.

He looks back to the board and watches as she takes his dragon. He had overlooked that damned catapult. Her eyes met his, her brow raised just a bit in a challenge.

“You’re pretty good for it being your first time. I have no doubt you’ll outplay me soon enough,” she admits with a grin, her arms placed on the table. “Though I won’t make it easy for you.”

“I would be insulted if you did.” He leans on his hand, scratching his jaw. Perhaps he can turn this around. But there are still so many of her horses and rabbles – he had not paid them too much mind, if he’s honest. And now, they are in the way of every figure he has left apart from one elephant.

As if she reads his mind, she smiles and goes on, “Most don’t pay any attention to the rabbles but a good defense helps you win – I’d say 8 out of 10 times.”

It’s… True. Even in war. It is partly how Dorne defended themselves against Aegon the Conquerer, and why they could stand on their own for so much longer than any other Kingdom. Defend what matters, and then in small, calculated raids, they would go into battle. He doesn’t know why he overlooked it when he had these exact lessons…

Maybe he should fall back. Let her make the attacks. He should attempt it at least.

“Is there an even better strategy?” “Yes. Distracting your opponent.”

Of course that would be her answer. He rolls his eyes, and sets his elephant further back. The move piques her attention, gaze narrowed at the piece.

“I would have expected a retort to that.” “Why should I bother?” He asks, watching as she begins to tap a rhythm with her finger on the wood. It’s just quiet enough not to be annoying. “You know my opinion of you.”

“Of my public behavior,” she corrects, and rather quickly decides on setting her dragon ahead. Taking her turn as the aggressor. How easy it seems to bait her...

“Is there a difference?” “There is.”

He doubts it. Even now she is like this. All smiles, a jibe here, a compliment there. Why attempt to change his mind? He grinds his teeth, and motions for her to go on.

“How many women do you know that have any sort of power?” “Few,” he admits. Is that her excuse? Power?

“If I could I’d wield a sword and ride against the enemy but alas I am a woman. So I wield a woman’s sword instead. A pretty smile, a few lovely words, a hand on an arm – scantilising but not overt. Only enough to charm, and suggest.”

“You wish for power, so you manipulate those around you. I knew that beforehand. It’s precisely why I do not like you.” “Is it bad to wish for power then when those in power care little for those who need it most?”

“What are you referring to?” “I doubt I need to educate you on Tywin Lannister’s reforms regarding the smallfolk. He single-handedly undid Aegon the Unlikely’s improvements within – what? Three years?”

He can’t hold back the snort. This is outrageous – even by her measure. “You are doing this out of your compassion for the smallfolk then?”

There it is. The crack in her perfect armor. Her smile falls flat, glaring at him instead. Before she could reply, there is a knock on the door.

“Enter,” he calls out, though his gaze is set on her. Another crease between her brows but this time, her blue eyes seem colder. A smirk tugs at his own lips. She’s angry. Oh, how he wishes he could see how far he could push it now.

“My Lord,” Maester Cressen greets, but there is an edge to his voice. Stannis turns to him. It’s not much that has the Maester like this. “I apologise for interrupting, but I require your presence for a moment.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll wait here and think up a surefire strategy.” Her smile has returned – at least as she looks at Cressen. When her eyes fleetingly meet his, he could swear she clenched her jaw.

Oh, what a lovely day.

“What has you so, Maester?”

“You should read this.”

Stannis frowns when he hands him the parchment. It’s Arryn’s symbol. He re-reads the letter twice, heart beating fast before he starts grinding his teeth. He looks at Cressen.

“I cannot– I have a duty towards the King. And what they ask of me… It’s not right.”

“It’s war, my Lord.”

“Not my war,” he snaps.

“But your brother’s.” Cressen’s hand is set on his arm. “You have as much a duty toward him as toward the King.”

He shakes Cressen off, and without noticing his hand turns into a tight fist. So tight, it causes him some pain. But it doesn’t matter right now. His brother needs his help, and he could not even bother writing him. Instead, it’s Arryn asking for his assistance. Arryn asking him to betray his King.

He takes a deep breath, and looks once more over the letter. The way Arryn describes what had happened in King’s Landing – the execution of Rickard, and Brandon Stark without a proper trial… It’s not right either. By that, King Aerys had betrayed his own people.

But Robert– No. He is his older brother, and the head of their House. He will do what he asks of him. Except for that. How would it be different from what Rhaegar did to Lyanna?

He turns on his foot, and walks back into the room. Her eyes are focused on the board – about to play another one of her ‘mind games’ but he slaps the parchment down in front of her. She frowns, and then starts reading. Once more, her smile disappears. Only that this time, it is in no way satisfying to watch.

“What will you do with me?” Her voice is chilling. A picture of calmness as she hands him back the parchment. It calms him a bit, too. She can hazard a guess what is to happen, and yet… He grinds his teeth even harder.

“You’ve read it. You’ll remain here as a hostage,” he pauses. A tightness spreads in his chest when he finds the words in the letter again. Robert can marry her for all he cares.

“But I won’t do the rest of it. Vows said at swordpoint are null, and this may as well be the same. Even if the sword is not held at your neck.”

“I see.”

“I will assign guards to assure you won’t escape. If you attempt it, I will throw you into the dungeon cells instead. For now, you may be free to walk as long as two guards are present,” he explains.

“Thank you.”

Only she could possibly thank someone for taking them hostage… He sighs, and is about to walk out to make preparations. Not only in regards to her but to Storm’s End. He reaches the door when she calls out to him once more, “We’ll finish this another time then. Except if you wish to surrender.”

He turns and meets her eyes. Glaciers. At least that he can appreciate. “Never.”

[caffeinemyloves]

Of Iron And Light [CHAPTER I]

About this fanfiction AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34821415 Pairing: Stannis Baratheon x OFC (Lydia Hightower) Summary: Lydia Hightower, daughter of Leyton Hightower, is sent to Storm's End for a possible betrothal between herself and Stannis Baratheon, much to his dismay. Stannis believes this to be another plot by Robert to humiliate him - only for the idea soon to be forgotten when Jon Arryn raises his banners in rebellion against King Aerys II. And House Baratheon starts off with one hostage stronger...

Damn Robert. Truly, damn him, and damn her. Had she not babbled on, and on, and on to him at the Tourney – with her incessant smile, and attempts of ‘charming’ him – this would not be happening. She probably only did so because of Robert. Another attempt to humiliate him.

Damn him. Stannis grinds his teeth, glowering at her. Pale skin, blue eyes, blond hair, a pretty face, a smile somewhere between innocence and wickedness – and it is enough to get fools like his brother to be at Lydia Hightower’s every beck and call.

Cressen nods at him, motions him to play the good host. Stannis looks for her father but he cannot seem to find the man. He frowns, only for Cressen to motion more obviously. He exhales deeply and moves to her horse. “Are you here on your own, my Lady?”

“A storm caused my father a delay but he should be here within the next two days, my Lord.” “I see,” he grumbles. So, no man of sense anywhere near. Instead, he will have to help her down her horse. Glaring at Cressen. Glaring at anyone that he could somehow fault.

“I am sure you would like to rest.” “My men would, surely. But I’d rather see the legendary Storm’s End for myself – if you do not mind, my Lord.”

“I am sure Lord Stannis would be glad to show you around, my Lady.” Damn Cressen, too.

He grinds his teeth, but nods. “If you wish, my Lady.” “Thank you for taking the time, my Lord.”

Stannis motions for her to follow him. Others may have offered an arm, but he is not intent on misleading her as to what she would have to expect were this betrothal truly to happen. It seems wrong, too, without her father around. Instead, his hands are firmly placed by his side. She doesn’t seem to mind, looking around the keep instead.

“This is the Round Hall,” he says matter-of-factly. His eyes fall to the high table, the chair that had once been a throne to the Storm King in its midst. Otherwise, the hall is empty. Without Robert throwing his feasts, it often is – thankfully.

“While I am sure the keep has many a great sights, if you would not mind, my Lord, I would like to see the battlements. It is a rather imposing sight, but I can only imagine how breathtaking the view must be from up there.”

He turns to the staircases, which hides away the roll of his eyes. Imposing. Of course, it’s imposing. It’s a bloody castle. He doesn’t doubt that if she could, she’d decorate it with flowers. His patience is already thin, and he has no doubt it’ll be null once they’re up there. Without a word spoken, he motions for her to follow him.

“Incredible that no gust of wind seems to reach the insides of the tower,” she says. Her voice is no longer closeby, and only now does he notice that she had left his side. Like a child, she traces where two stones of the walls meet with her index finger and smiles.

He takes a deep breath. He knows that a union between their Houses would be indeed a good political move, and would effectively secure parts of the Reach. Not to mention that the Hightowers are a well-respected family, though her presence makes part of him wonder how much longer that will be the case. And how productive this ‘union’ would truly be. If Robert had wanted for him to have a child bride, he may as well have asked the Tyrells.

“They say that the first Storm King, Durran Godsgrief built it after he declared war on the Sea God, and the Goddess of the Wind for killing his family,” he says, and images of the ship flicker in front of his eyes. He grinds his teeth, hoping that the pressure will keep his mind off things.

She nods, standing by the small window that allows view to the sea. Robert’s screams ring in his ears. “And then Orys Baratheon won it in the Last Storm.”

He blinks. Her voice had taken him out of the memory. Or rather, her words. He is sure she took all the lessons the Septas gave her seriously but this is beyond common knowledge, so why…

“You read up on Baratheon history before you came here,” he accuses.

She scoffs amused. Lips always turned upwards. “I have not ‘prepared’ myself if that is what you think. I must have read it years ago, probably in The History of the Great Houses and their Keeps.”

“What Lady wouldn’t read that?” He spits. It grates him that she is still upholding her appearances, though he had seen through them as early as the Tourney. He had told her so. But she keeps it up. Likely, unable to believe someone does not fall for her charms. Maybe it is also why she’s here at all.

“Tell me more of your ideas of what a Lady should know and what not, my Lord.” “It’s not a matter of should. Some ladies may be interested in such things. But you? You know songs rather than history.” “I’m scarier than that, my Lord,” she says, a brow raised in challenge, “I know both.”

“Do you?” He questions. He remembers the book of course. Full of stories, filled with lies, spiced with a truth every now and then. “That book consists of songs without melodies.”

“What book does not – in your humble opinion, my Lord?” “The Blacks and the Greens. For instance.” “I found it a refreshing take on the Dance of Dragons, too. I liked how thorough Archmaester Gyldayn was in questioning what was written before him.”

He scoffs, and looks at her with furrowed brows. “Why dally with songs when it’s clear you are interested in more sensible matters?”

“Sensible to you,” she replies, walking beside him again as they make their way up to the battlements. “Is a song not part of history?” “Something such as The Bear and the Maiden Fair? It’s only nonsense to entertain empty-headed people.” “It is romanticised,” she admits, “But behind the pretty words are truths of what the smallfolk think. Or what the Lords and Ladies forced them to think. You only have to look for them.”

“Tell me the truth of The Bear and the Maiden Fair, then.”

“You can see it in one of two ways. Either the romantic yet unrealistic idea that only what matters is a good heart, and not appearance,” she explains. They reach the top, and while her eyes hush over the view, she does not gush on. Against his expectations. Once more.

“Or that women are often forced into marriages with men beneath them because of the pressure around them. From families, from courts, from the smallfolk, even.”

He grinds his teeth, hands firmly pressed on the cool stone. There it is. Thus far, she had tried to be pleasant, and now there is the subtle insult. He has waited for her to show her true face...

“You think I deem you the bear, don’t you?” Her voice seems amused. Amused because she is about to humiliate him further. “Robert will be here soon, and you can commit to whatever you have planned, but do not insult me by pretending to be anything else.” "Robert? What would I have planned with Robert?”

His chest heaves in anger. A glare harsh enough that the guard close by looked away. “You are only here because you did not stop annoying me at that tourney. You did it to see how far you can push, and Robert found it all too amusing.”

“I must admit, I did enjoy the way you would grind your teeth if I dared look your way. Like you are doing now.”

Stannis grinds his teeth even harder. His jaw is beginning to ache by now but he could not stop it.

“I hate to disappoint your brother over my lack of outrage, though.” “What?” The word tumbles out of his mouth. His grip tenses, daring her to continue. And she does with a gentleness to her voice. Still playing.

“I laud your attempt at being courteous thus far but I find talking to you rather refreshing because you do not seem to care about the pressure of courts. Though it makes me wonder why you attempted so in the first place. Perhaps I have left an impression?” “Do not flatter yourself. I am merely doing my duty. If it were up to me, you would already be on your way back to King’s Landing.”

She grins, and somehow it is more irritating than her usual one. This one lets her dimples show. There is a plan behind her blue eyes, and he detests being part of it. “You don’t dislike me, not truly.” “Oh, but I do.”

A moment of silence takes over, then she breaks through it. Unable to accept the truth of his words, surely, and ready to somehow force him to deny it. But he is no liar. “Say, have you ever played Cyvasse, my Lord?”

“I have not,” he says, irritated by her sudden change in topic. He would have loved to bring up all the reasons he dislikes her. “And I have no interest in playing a game.”

“My Great-Uncle, Ser Gerold, believes it can improve one’s understanding of military strategy. Better than dallying with dutiful walks in the gardens, is it, my Lord?”

Chapters: One, Two, Three