The morning at Storm's End had been accompanied, as usually by a heavy thunderstorm and waves crashing into the cliffs below. When Edric had first started living here, the storms had frightened the Seven Hells out of him. Over time though, he'd gotten used to them. Hearing a thunderstorm again was like welcoming home an old friend. We are called Stormlanders after all.
Mira however was struggling to deal with it, he could see. The North he assumed had the occasional snowstorm and not much more, while he knew the Reach would get a rainstorm here and there. Neither compared with the intensity of a Stormlands storm, especially when it hadn't thundered in a while. Concerned, he approached Mira, who was pacing back and forth along the rampart, jumping whenever thunderclap occurred.
"Lady Mira, are you alright?" He asked gently, careful not to make her jump again.
"I've never experienced a storm like this before." She said. Edric could tell that much. Mira hadn't always been a particularly subtle person, at least in the time he'd known her. She'll have to learn that art quickly, considering who she's handmaiden to, he thought. It wasn't exactly a secret that the Tyrells were shrewd players of the game, deftly bending to the political winds before bending the winds themselves. Perhaps that was the reason Margaery had tried to seduce Steffon.
"I always found them calming, myself." He replied.
"Then you're insane." She let out a small laugh. Edric did too. All too often the joke comes up of Stormlanders and their stormy tempers.
"Well standing out here's not doing you any help." He said, as he made to usher her inside, Unconsciously, he put a hand on her hip as he did so. Soon enough, they were inside the castle and the heavy oak door was closed behind them just as the rain came pouring down. Thank the Gods the roofs were sloped!
"Edric, I have been meaning to ask…"
"Yes, My Lady?"
"Is there a reason why you've been so kind to me?" She asked, her eyes catching his.
"King's orders. You're not so much a prisoner than an honored guest."
"But why have you particularly been so kind?" She asked again, this time in a tone that demanded an answer.
Edric had to stop himself from blurting out whatever he was going to say next. He had to think it through. When he'd first come across Mira at the camp in what felt like an eternity ago, he'd taken a fancy to her almost straight away. Her slim figure and the general Northern look about her definitely made her attractive, and the fact that she was also independent and strong-willed didn't hurt his attraction to her either.
On the other hand, it was inappropriate. He was a bastard, she was the legitimate daughter of a Lord. A lesser Lord maybe, but a Lord nonetheless. He could never be with her even though he desperately wanted to, and that fact had been eating away at him. She'd be married off to some other lord of an equal rank to her father, or perhaps greater if they were lucky and made a good match. The only hope he had of ever being with her was to be legitimised, but the stigma of being a bastard would never go away. He'd always be just another one of Robert's bastards.
"My Lady, I…" He tried to stop himself again, but couldn't. "I cannot deny that I've… come to admire you. So much that I wish there could be something between us. Romantically." He said, looking down to avoid her gaze. "You are a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman and I'd consider it a privilege to be with you. But you're a lady and I'm a bastard. I'd never be worthy to have you."
For a second, Mira said nothing. Then, she finally began to speak, "Edric-"
"Don't." Edric said, turning to leave the room. "I'm not worthy. Don't try to convince me otherwise." He continued, still looking down. He made for the door to head back to the barracks, but felt a soft hand on his arm. He turned around and before he could react, Mira had pressed her lips against his in a gentle kiss. He'd never been an expert at this sort of thing; the kissing with the girls he'd been with before had usually been rough and hurried as their clothes came off, but this was very, very different.
She pulled away, too soon for his liking but regardless, smiles adorned both of their faces. "I will wait for you, Edric, and I will make my father listen. When your half-brother legitimises you, I want to be the first to know."
Edric looked at her, his smile widening. "You will be, My Lady."
Steffon was getting stronger all the time now. Swinging his sword still took some effort, but he reasoned he'd get that back in time as well. Right now, he was just content to sit and read by an open window in his temporary chambers at Storm's End. They'd likely move as soon as the rain stopped, but he'd stayed enough days at Storm's End to recognize a light storm from a gully washer.
He glanced out the nearest window. He watched the rain pour down on the castle walls and the wind causing waves to crash along the shore. As a child, he feared that one day Storm's End would finally give in to the elements, but Renly assured him that not even the Seven themselves could tear down the mighty tower. In time, he'd learnt how childish that was; there was no chance that the castle would have been built where it was if it was unstable. He flipped over another page in the book, one of the copies of House of the Dragon this time. He'd always found the story of House Targaryen fascinating, from their rise to their fall. Perhaps one day, he'd be able to end the enmity between Baratheon and Targeryen.
They hadn't always been enemies. Orys Baratheon had been the Hand of Aegon the Conqueror, and the two had been unstoppable. Relations had waxed and waned over the years of course, but it was his father's Rebellion that had been the nail in the coffin.
"Reading again, Steffon?" Came Arya's voice. Steffon looked up from the book. Evidently she'd been practicing her Water Dancing, judging by the fact that she was somehow sweating despite the gale that was blowing.
"Not much else to do, is there?" He asked rhetorically. He could sense that Arya's eyes were rolling as he turned his attention back to the book.
"How is it you're so used to this sort of thing? This sort of noise would keep me awake." She said, punctuated by another crack of thunder.
"It comes with being a Stormlander." Steffon replied, a tinge of smugness.
"I thought you spent most of your life in King's Landing?"
"I spent enough of it in the Stormlands to get used to the thunder. Some say it's a warning of how tempestuous we Baratheons can be." He laughed.
"You lot do have a temper." Arya replied.
"That we do. We try our best to keep it under control, but it keeps coming out."
"The key is to channel it effectively, love. That's what Syrio said anyway." She said, Steffon just nodded. "Now, put that book down so we can do something."
"Arya, I've never had the chance to read this one before." He almost whined. He'd been wanting to read House of the Dragon for years, but he'd never been able to find it anywhere. The fact that he'd found it in Storm's End of all places was a minor miracle. Just as he went to turn another page, Arya took it from his hands, placing it gently on the chairside table. "Arya, what are you-" He started before being cut off as Arya straddled him.
"Shut up and kiss me, stag boy." She said. Steffon obliged, the book now forgotten. He kissed her hungrily, his hands flying up to her back and pulling her in closer. The kisses grew in intensity as he felt Arya begin to grind her hips down against him. Unexpectedly, he felt her tug on his bottom lip with her teeth, causing him to let out a low groan.
"You really are a she-wolf." He mumbled, his hands rubbing circles into her back. She just shrugged slightly before kissing him again. He shifted one hand to run along her thigh, eliciting a very uncharacteristic whimper from the girl. Taking the chance, he broke off their kiss and pressed his lips to her neck. She tilted her head to the side, using her own hands to hold him in place.
"Bloody hell, Steffon." She muttered under her breath. Steffon smirked to himself; he couldn't deny that a little bit of his was proud that he could make her fall apart like this. Still, a voice in his head was telling him to stop before they took it too far. Reluctantly, he pulled back to try and recover his senses, only for Arya to start kissing his neck. He let out another groan as he felt her nip gently at the skin under his ear while she simultaneously sped up the rocking of her hips.
He was starting to lose control, and needed to stop things now. He gently pulled Arya back. "We . . . we have to stop, or I might . . ." He trailed off, unable to find the right words.
"Unfortunately." Arya replied, sliding off of him. "Waiting until the wedding night is going to be bloody torture."
"You can say that again."
Daenerys scowled as she left the meeting. Kraznys the slaver offered her a considerable sum of warriors in exchange for her most prized possession: one of her three dragons, Drogon. To her, the exchange sounded ludicrous, but these weren't ordinary warriors. They were Unsullied. 8,000 of them. A formidable force, no matter who you were.
"I must again protest, Khaleesi." Jorah said. Dany resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Dragons will win you the Iron Throne. And that man . . ."
"Was disrespectful." Barristan said. She had not had him bound in irons yet, figuring that he must have something important to say eventually. Especially if this Steffon Baratheon had sent him, not to mention he'd saved her life from the Manticore.
Not another word was said until they arrived back at their temporary accommodation, an extravagant set of chambers that had been set aside for her by the Astapori slavers. Her stomach still turned at the thought of slavery. There was a reason that Westeros had outlawed it . . . that House Targaryen had outlawed it. The thought of owning another person was completely foreign to her, and made her feel sick.
"Steffon likely would've gutted the man on the spot." Barristan chuckled, bringing Dany from her thoughts. "The boy's temper is something to behold."
"Leave us." She said to Jorah and Missandei, a pretty dark-skinned woman who would now serve as her handmaiden. The two nodded, heading outside the chambers. Dany turned to Barristan. "What else can you tell me about this . . . Steffon Baratheon?"
"He is young. Younger than you." He began. "I knew him from when he was a boy."
"He grew up in King's Landing?"
"When he was not at Storm's End." He said. "He is quite the voracious reader. One story that his uncle Tyrion loves to tell is how Tywin Lannister found him in the library at Casterly Rock, a dozen books spread out in front of him. The story goes that Lord Tywin asked him a series of questions,and the boy answered them all correctly. He was quite young at the time as well."
"And how old is he now?"
"He would be approaching his 18th nameday, Your Grace." He said. Dany had been a little taken aback; she hadn't expected the boy to be that young still, especially with the victories Barristan had already described to her. In another life, he might have made a skilled general, or perhaps a loyal member of her Small Council, but that wasn't possible; he was the Usurper's son and deserved to suffer the same fate as all those who opposed her.
"He thinks to try and broker peace with me when he has claimed the Iron Throne?" She asked
"Not a claim he wanted to make, I assure you." Barristan says. "Steffon never desired kingship. He would've been happy to be left to his books."
"An 18 year old Prince who doesn't desire the Iron Throne?" She quizzed. It was the second time she'd been caught off-guard in the conversation.
"He saw how being King corrupted his own father. The Robert Baratheon who was killed by the boar was very different to the one I fought at the Trident." Barristan said. "If the boy had his own way, he would be nowhere near the Iron Throne."
This was all news to Daenerys. If the Usurper's son didn't want to claim the Iron Throne, then perhaps he could be convinced to back her when she eventually returned. He'd be a good asset as a general, perhaps as a Master of War as well. If he truly did not desire the Iron Throne, then he might be a good servant… if she could stop herself from having all three of her dragons burn him at once. He was still the son of Robert Baratheon, and treason, Viserys had taught her, infested all the children of Robert Baratheon, no matter how charitable they may seem.
She dismissed Barristan and returned to her thoughts of what to do next. Kraznys had taken her for a fool.
And she did not suffer fools lightly.