They left the next morning, making their way to a small encampment a stone's throw away from Storm's End. Several tents had been set up, with several more being arranged. Soldiers and maids hurried back and forth, carrying wood, food, and banners adorned with the new symbol of House Baratheon of Storm's End: a Stag and a Wolf, standing back to say that Steffon was taken by surprise was an understatement. He turned and noticed Arya's slightly sheepish look.
"What did you do?" He asked, arching an eyebrow.
"While you were busy getting yourself right again, I sent a messenger to Stannis. I figured we should celebrate both the victory over Renly and the fact that our King is turning eighteen." She said.
Steffon blinked as those last words sunk into his mind. "Seven hells…" He finally mustered. "Is it today?" He was almost embarrassed that he'd forgotten; it was his eighteenth nameday today. And you missed her last two as well, you dolt. "Arya, I . . . thank you, but I forgot your name day… days. I–" He was cut off when she held up her hand to silence him.
"No apologies. We're at war. They were the last things we should've been paying any attention to. When this is all over, you can make it up to me."
"Agreed, but…" He trailed off as he saw a wagon with a dead aurochs in it pass by. "There are people who need this food more than we do."
"Oh, lighten up, Steffon." Edric said, stepping forward with a large barrel of mead in his arms. " We're being careful with how much we're borrowing. Besides, we did plenty of hunting, too. Deers, rabbits, even pheasant. And most of the grog is coming from the local lords. Everyone wanted to pitch in to celebrate the union of the Stormlands. And to honor Renly's defeat."
"I hate to admit, but the dunce has a point." Arya said. "These last few months have taken a huge toll on us. This kind of celebration could help morale."
"Besides, even Stannis was privy to the idea." Edric added.
Steffon blinked. He couldn't have heard that right. "He was…?"
"Well, he needed a little convincing."
"Steffon!" A familiar voice called out.
He turned to see Shireen come barreling towards him and threw her arms around his waist, nearly knocking the air out of him. After a second, he managed to hug her back, even if he was still struggling with the wound slightly. "You convinced Stannis to allow this?"
"He can't say 'no' to me." Shireen said, a little too confidently. "I managed to convince him that the soldiers needed to lift their spirits and enjoy life a little. Besides, this is the first nameday I've been able to celebrate in years!" She added.
That struck deep in Steffon's heart. Had Selyse kept the poor girl locked up all her life? That would change if they won the war, he swore it. Eventually, he let out a sigh in defeat. "Alright. I forfeit. Let the celebration move forward as planned. The men deserve a chance to enjoy themselves." Everyone around Steffon let out a cheer of mirth before going their separate ways to set up food, tents, tables and events.
Well, they'd been treating her very kindly since she became a 'prisoner' at least. Mira knew at least part of her kind treatment was down to the fact that Steffon had no wish to antagonise the North, as well as the fact that Edric had taken a fancy to her. In all honesty, she'd known he was handsome when they first met during the raid on the Tyrell camp, which felt like a lifetime ago. Time travels slowly during war.
The arrival at the camp had been inauspicious to say the least. The revelation that it was Steffon Baratheon's nameday was one that had taken her by surprise. She supposed the war had gotten in the way of any celebrations, though part of her couldn't help but think that perhaps he preferred it that way. She'd only known him a short time, but she suspected that King Steffon was not the sort of person to just celebrate every little milestone like Renly.
It was shortly after their arrival she was escorted to a tent and given a token guard standing out the front. It was sparse; a cot was in one corner, and the only luxury that it had was a desk and chest of drawers. It was less than what she'd had at the Tyrell camp by far, but she supposed that's what happened when one went from the second-richest house in Westeros to another that was considerably less well-off. Still, it wasn't all bad. She was at least comfortable in her tents, was given the best food they could spare, and was even allowed to write to her family in Ironrath; just to assure them that she was fine, and that her captor was an honorable man.
As of recently, she wished her last letter included her decision to promise herself to Edric Storm. Even if he was a bastard, he was the half-brother of the rightful king of Westeros. Regardless of one's status as a bastard, being a brother to a king was a higher station than a house of her family's status could ever dream of. She still remembered when she told Edric of her intentions to inform her family.
"Don't tell them." He had told her.
"Why not?" She asked.
"It doesn't matter if I'm Steffon's half-brother. So long as I carry the name of Storm, they'd never understand. Your family wouldn't be interested in Edric Storm. It's Edric Baratheon."
Mira remembered the feeling of his skin when she cupped his cheek to look her in the eye. "What about what I'm interested in? Storm or Baratheon, it's Edric I choose."
She felt herself blush at the memory of the kiss they shared after. Perhaps it was better to wait. Her father might take it better after the war was won and Edric legitimised.
"My Lady?" A voice said. She turned around to see Edric holding a half-decent looking bunch of flowers.
"Yes Edric?" She asked. "Those are for me?"
"Oh, erm, yes." He stuttered through, holding them out to her. They weren't like the ones that grew around Ironrath, and Edric clearly had never done this before, but at least he was thinking of her in that way. She gladly took them and set them on the table.
"I'll find something to put them in later." She smiled.
Edric nodded before shifting from one foot to the next. "I also wanted to talk… about us…"
This caught Mira's attention. "What about, Edric?"
"My Lady, I just wanted to know if this is what you really wanted."
"What do you mean?" Mira asked.
"Just… us. Even if I do get legitimized, the stigma will always be–"
Mira stepped forward, gently placing a finger on Edric's lips. "We'll find a way. I understand your anxieties about it, but it doesn't matter. I care for you a great deal, Edric. I'm very fond of you. My father will consent when you're legitimised." She smiled sweetly. Edric had been nothing but kind to her and she did the best she could to assuage his anxieties about them. She knew that they'd never really go away, but they could work on them together.
"I hope he does, My Lady." He smiled back. Cupping his cheek, Mira leaned in and kissed him, softly at first, then harder as his arms slid around her waist. Edric was obviously experienced at this, but Mira didn't want to think about that right now. They pulled apart.
"I have been asked to prepare for your brother's nameday…'' She said reluctantly.
"Unfortunately. I will see you later?" He asked.
"Of course."
The two shared one last brief kiss before Edric left the tent to continue with the preparations. Mira, looked back at the flowers he had given her fondly, before picking one that stood out to her the most. It was a lovely bright yellow; almost the gold colour that featured on the Baratheon sigil. She smiled and pulled the stem from it before sliding it into her hair.
Things were progressing nicely, even if Stannis was still being his standard stony self about the whole thing. The regular soldiers seemed to be enjoying the chance to let go of their duty for a change. Apart from the sentries, that was. Much as Arya wished that they were safe, there was still a war on and the situation could change at any moment.
She made her way to the tent where Mira was waiting for her. She'd decided that for appearances, she had to wear a dress, even if she hated it. If she was going to be their queen, it was necessary to project that image. She was still going to have Needle at her hip though; there was no way she was going to part with that blade for even a second. "I hope you know I'm not wearing one of those silly Highgarden dresses." She said as she entered the tent. Mira laughed.
"I would not expect that of you, Lady Arya." She said.
"So, what am I wearing then?" Arya asked. "I can't wear any of your clothes; I'm shorter than you."
"True, but Lady Shireen has actually been working on something . . ." Mira said, before retrieving something from the table. It was a simple white-and-grey dress, reflecting the colours of House Stark, with the outline of a direwolf stitched across the chest. "She even made sure to fix a frog to the waist so you could wear your sword."
"Needle." Arya corrected out of habit.
"Needle." Mira repeated. Arya sighed as she pulled the dress on, with a bit of help from Mira. Instantly, she felt as though she was constricted again. "Do you like it?" Mira asked.
"I hate dresses." Arya grumbled. "But I'm resigned to wearing one for today." Much as I hate it
She slid Needle into the frog at her hip and left the tent, tugging at the sleeves. She was feeling self-conscious again. She knew she didn't have Sansa's slender figure or anything, and she hated wearing dresses. They made her feel like some stupid little girl.
"Is that you, Lady Arya?" She heard a vice say. She turned around to see Edric with a puzzled look on his face. "Are you wearing a dress?"
"No, I'm wearing chainmail. Yes, it's a bloody dress, you idiot." She said testily.
"It's just . . . I've never seen you wearing a dress before. I thought you hated them?"
"I do hate them."
"Then why are you weraing one?"
"Bloody appearances." She said, "I have to look like a queen if I'm going to be one."
'Trust me, Steffon won't have any objections when he sees you." Edric laughed. Annoyed, Arya stormed off, trying to find her betrothed. All around her, there were more preparations taking place. More soldiers were bringing in casks of wine and ale, slaughtered farm animals, and wood; likely for cookfires. What got her attention was the makeshift arena that was being set up in the middle of the camp.
A wooden fence was being put up and banners being hammered into the ground around it. "Lord Selmy, what's this?" She asked, prompting the Lord of Harvest hall to turn to her.
"Some knight had the idea of setting up for a melee tourney as part of the celebrations. No one raised any objections, so we decided to go through with it." He said.
"I might've taken part myself, if i didn't have to wear this stupid dress."
"And no doubt you'd embarrass a good many knights, My Lady." He smiled. "You should find His Grace. I think he's on the edge of the camp on top of that hill there." He added, pointing.
Arya nodded and headed off through the tent columns. She eventually found Steffon exactly where Selmy said he'd be. "Are you alright, Steffon?"
"Yes, Arya. I'm just . . ." he sighed. "It feels like I haven't spent a day away from this war in years, now I'm having my 18th nameday."
"Enjoy it love. The war can wait." She smiled before kissing him.