Important author's note:
Please know that the disgusting comments left by kirito emiya have not gone unnoticed from me, I've asked him to delete them, and I've repeatedly reported them to Fanfiction who haven't done a thing.
His language and comments are foul and have no place here. If he reads this, go away and delete your vile reviews.
Please enjoy this latest chapter.
Layla III
She had tried her best to keep up with the small crowd that of usual hanger-ons surrounding her brother; the boorish Harry, Waymar the smug, Robar the quiet, Rolland the bastard, Alyn the Ass, Denys the ambitious along the four King's guard; Ser Richard Horpe, Lord commander Barristan, Ser Timind Costayne and Ser Jaime Lannister. The first three of whom were here for her brother specifically, while ser Jaime had been assigned as her protector for the time.
At the end, she gave up and followed at her own pace. The route that they were going was a hidden passageway that led out to the back of the Red Keep, a path that faced the sea and would lead them through to the keep wall and baily that was connected to the keep that snaked all around the city.
Jaime kept behind her, holding the torch in his left hand as he ensured they knew where they were going, and without words, encouraging her to keep up before the excited boys ran off without them.
"Their speed is an eternal reminder me of my own age, princess. It will come for us all." Ser Jaime quipped bringing a tiny smile to her face.
"I'm certain it will, ser. Though I doubt it's pointless to assume that will factor into it for my brother."
After many turns and twists. They made it to the bailey tower, where the Gold Cloak kneeled before the king, Rickard quickly asked him if the party had arrived yet . This relatively quiet guard post being the meeting point.
The captain nodded, "they arrived half an hour ago, Your Grace. Through here" he gestured to the heavy door which Rickard promptly entered. There he found whom he had come for. The young man looked up from the wooden chair where he sat sharpening his blade with a whetstone.
"You little bastard…" her brother quietly stated. The younger man getting up.
Rick proceeded to engulf him in a hug.
"Brother!" he happily exclaimed. Both laughing in joy while remaining entangled.
"It's good to see you again, Your Grace…" he smirked playfully.
Edric, or Ser Edric Storm now, had grown in the long years since she had last seen him, almost standing as tall as her brother. The loud and energic young boy with the big ears that she had known had grown into a very handsome young man that no doubt had many girls chasing after him, bastard or not. Short and pitch-black curly hair, with great blue laughing eyes, a small mouth and shadow of a beard on his perfect cheekbones.
He wore a rich light blue silk shirt under which stood dark breeches with stylish black boots, with a belt that held a dagger and longsword. A dark purple cloak, held on with a golden stag brooch was the finishing touch.
Rick placed both his big strong hands on their brother's shoulders. A stubborn and strongminded look passed over his face.
"Ed, I don't care for the circumstances. You're our brother. Whatever happened, I'm glad you're with us now."
Edric turned to her, a happy and boyish smile upon his features and embraced her in a warm hug that she happily returned in kind.
"I'm so happy to see you again, Layla. You look as beautiful as they say." He praised.
She smiled back, "It's good to see you again, Edric. They say you're growing to be a great warrior and champion. I was so proud when I heard you earned your knighthood." He gave a proud smirk at the acknowledgment.
Their bastard brother of Storm's End. The result of a drunken tryst between their father and the Lady Delena Florent during Stannis' wedding night to Lady Selyse. No doubt that while father had made many bastards through his life, Lady Delena's highborn status ensured that her child was to be acknowledged and fostered at Storm's End under Uncle Renly.
Mother had been furious and insisted that he not ever be allowed within her vicinity. Her brother and her only meeting him three time in their lives when sent to visit Storm's End, and one other time at Brightwater.
Despite being an eternal sign of the dishonour heaped upon their mother, Rickard had never held ill feelings towards Ed and had embraced him when they had met as children. Always wanting a brother to call his own.
She herself had taken some time. The first meeting at Storm's End, she avoided him at all costs, knowing it hurt mother deeply, as well as the birthing of bastards being a sin against the Gods. She had followed the advice of Septa Moria and simply not acknowledged him then. Despite Rick insisting he was their brother and deserved respect.
Back then, she hated Edric the bastard, and his stupid big ears. Praying that he be struck down to ease her mother's pain.
It had changed when she first noticed she felt nothing towards men like she had been told would come. She had tried. She looked for men she found attractive to look at. Ser Loras was that way when she had seen him at a young squire's tourney at Cider Hall one time and found him quite beautiful and boyish, high cheekbones, soft looking skin and brown curly hair. In hindsight, the fact many said he had looked more girlish than like a man was probably an early sign.
To love another woman or girl was sinful before the sight of Gods, and she had prayed and prayed for her feelings to dissipate. To be allowed to admire and truly blush at the knights and other young men. To look forward to having to marry one someday.
Instead, all she felt was apathy, mixed with the dread of what that day would mean.
Years later, when she had seen him again, she saw herself; someone who did not wish for the way they had been born into this life but made the best out of it. Then it had been impossible to hate him, knowing hypocrisy to be a worse crime than almost any other sins. And she was nobody to judge.
Only then did she see how good her brother was, bastard or not, he was her family. And she had embraced him so.
"I would have loved to see you participate at my name day tourney…" she spoke. But it would have been in poor taste and broken the agreement to have the bastard in such a position, an affront to mother's honour. Even now, Rickard had gone out of his way to ensure that this meeting would remain discreet the meet their brother, who would spend some days here before returning on his way to Brightwater Keep, visiting his mother.
As King, Rickard could easily overrule and ignore any objections from their mother, but he would never do such a thing as to intentionally upset mother.
"An honour it would be, princess. But alas, I don't intend to disrespect your mother. Father…" he spoke of the former king with a heavy heart. Even though their father had never paid much heed to the boy, he remained eager to hear of his progress over the years.
"I heard the news from Ser Cortney Penrose. He said it was an accident, he fought some lord and died by a wound. I wish I could have spoken to him at least once… I had so much I'd have wanted to say to him."
"Father would have loved to hear how great you've become." Her brother stated arm over Edric's shoulder as they walked. "Under my reign, you have a bright future. We'll accomplish much together. I know it."
She followed them all back to the Red Keep then. Her brothers and his friends laughed and japed, asked questions on each other's progress as knights and their future ambitions.
Her poor brothers and their friends. Young and dumb and eager to die.
The arrival of their bastard brother had certainly been an event.
Mother had avoided coming to court then for those last few days. Even as the king was allowed everything, he could to not overly praise Edric whose presence brought about tense circumstance. Uncle Garth had been giving the boy a glare or two, even as the lord commander of the Kingsguard. Though not enough that it was noticeable. He disparaged that the boy, intentional or not, was here to dishonour his younger sister.
Aside from the brief visit of the king's bastard brother, mother would again be hosting another one of her costume parties within the Red Keep; the entire court would be there, as well as many visiting lords and ladies from across the realm, and even some from across the Narrow Sea. She heard that the Archon of Tyrosh and his children, and some Lyseni princes would appear to.
The worst she had had to endure was the news that Rick and his Crakehall girl had a falling out. Apparently, she had caught him and one of Lady Margaery's ladies in the middle of the act on top of the table. Rick had chased after her down the flight of stairs, almost completely naked aside from some sheets he had found.
Aside from it being one of the funniest things she had heard in some time, it led to a scandal in the court. It had been the main topic of conversation, from the highest of the noble lords within court, down to the lowly kitchen servants.
The Half-way Kingwas the new whispered nickname. Many jibed and laughed within the corridors of the Red Keep, but all knew to keep quiet when doing so. Of course, none were so stupid enough to even whisper such foulness within her brother's hearing.
The King's new plaything, lady Rhaena, seemed to relish in her newfound attention, showing absolutely no shame in her position.
The bitch even had the nerve to try to befriend her.
The room continued to dance as the music played. The minstrels sung the familiar songs she knew of by heart; most were her brother's favourites; The Lusty Lad, The Name Day Boy, The Ride of the Seven and The Fair Maids of Summers.
As well as that, Moonboy preformed his usual routine, he joked of the High Septon's crystal crown being a compensation for his manhood, and something else that involved a whore, a shoe smith and a unicorn.
At best, it brought a brief faint of a smile that disappeared before it truly came.
Her brother was unhappy to be certain; the lady Ceresa had not spoken or approached him all night, retiring extremely early, where in-turn, Rick himself left early.
She went into the corner, her ladies, Talla Caron, formally of house Tarly, and the newly arrived lady Floresa Caswell, her only company, she stayed there hoping that no man would approach her. Most didn't, but some still did. Layla was well-known by now for her stiffness and unapproachability just as she was for her beauty. It served its purpose, and if the Gods were good, it would prevent her from having to marry for a long time.
Whores, on the other hand, did not seem to get the message.
The lady Rhysling dressed in a fine raven dark dress that barely contained her chest. She found herself staring longer than she should have.
The lady smirked as she curtsied, "Princess." She spoke in a sultry tone. Eyes like too grey stones, descended from the stars themselves.
She could not blame her brother for having her as his new mistress.
She maintained a levelled look, "My lady."
"I hope your night goes well, princess, if I may, we could- "
"Spare me, lady Rhaena. Please,"
The harlot looked puzzled.
"My princess, I am afraid I don't-"
"You believe that just because you happen to share my brother's bed like a common harlot, that you dare think you have the right to speak to me as if we were on friendly terms?" She cast her gaze onto the smaller girl, who despite being some years her elder, still took a step back before her princess, "How dare you, madam" she sneered. The others, the Mallary girl before her, they all knew to not insult her by trying to speak as if they were equals. None until now had ever mustered up the insolence to do such a thing until now.
"Here is the truth, My Lady." She sneered the last two words, she walked up to the girl, invading her space, eyes transfixed, just daring the other girl to speak.
"The King may entertain himself on you now, but he'll get bored before long. Probably allow the others to have their fill of you before discarding you too. Just as he's done countless times before."
She did not allow the girl to speak, walking away with Lady Caron and Caswell at her side. They had enjoyed the show by the looks on their faces.
"Good day, Lady Rhaena. Try not to get any bastards in your belly. The Seven Kingdoms can do without any more Blackfyres."
A quiet air of serenity came over her in her chambers; she sat quietly within her chambers as she stitched her embroidery, Lady Caron and Caswell alongside her, also working on theirs. Her maids stood quietly in the corners of the room, awaiting a command at any time from their princess.
This was the peace she craved, normally hard as it was on an average day at court, but now with the servants running and preparing the whole Keep to its opulent designs and decorations and bringing in enough meat and wine to feed a small city, and bards and mummers practising their acts to perfection for the King and his many honourable guests and lords who would be there.
She was almost finished now; it she went to work on the final touch of the legs. She had decided to focus on crafting a wolf, like the wild one that was down the stables, the pet of her future good-sister, Lady Arya, its pen was opposite to her brother, Bran's own wolf, Summer.
The boy's had been opposite in personality as it was possible to be compared to his sister's, obedient and non-confrontational, and acted more akin to an overgrown puppy when the wolf and its boy owner had been allowed to spend supervised time together around the King's Wood.
The idea had come when she had earlier seen the lady being forcefully escorted back to her chambers. The girl had tried to sneak in and free the massive beast from what she had learned later. A desperate ploy to get her, then flee the capital and return to the North.
The poor girl had not even managed to get out of the Red Keep before being caught by guards.
Later that night, the wolf had bit off the arm of an unfortunate Goldcloak that was passing by. She could only shake her head, her brother had been true to his word and refused any suggestion of visiting the defiant Northern lady, not even to ask her to temper her increasingly wild dire wolf for the sake of everyone else.
"Why should I? she's to be my wife, we have our whole lives together and that beast is no concern for me." He had practically spat before storming off.
She sighed, clearly this was not a marriage that the bards would be singing of in years to come for good reasons. It was not going to work; that much was clear to everyone by now. Both were too stubborn for it.
At least on her end, there was good news, the offers of marriages from across the realm and beyond had slowed down to almost none, and her brother had not spoken to her of any potential plans to have her wed.
"Layla darling, where are you?!"
The sing-song voice rang out suddenly rousing her from her daydream, while also causing Floresa to prick her finger with the needle, causing her to give an adorable squeak before sucking on the finger.
She knew the voice; it was the familiar pitch of her mother. Layla could not think of just what she wanted at this time.
"Oh yes" she remembered with a feeling of dread in her stomach, "Another damned masquerade ball. She'll want me to go as a Targaryen woman again."
Her poor handmaid, Nia, almost had her face bashed as the door was flung open when she attempted to open it herself, mother ever the one for a dramatic entrance.
All within the room immediately went to kneel before the dowager Queen, accompanied by both her own small army of maids, as well as her ladies: lady Cersei Crakehall, one of the more newly made of her companions, as well as the Queen's dear friend and favourite, the Lady Taena Merryweather, of the city of Myr. A gaggle of others also followed her – ranging in ages from elderly to as young looking as two and one.
Not much had changed in the months since Father had died at the tourney, even for the very fact that the lady Taena was the wife of the man who had killed him, accidently or not. There seemed to have been no change in their friendship. She could appreciate Lady Merryweather of course, full lips curved into a seductive, raven hair and almost golden skin. The woman was a true beauty.
The dowager Queen looked immaculate too of course, even as she looked around half-dressed for her costume of choice, she had chosen to go as Nymeria this coming night, the famed Queen of the Rhoynar who fled the Valyrians and conquered Dorne as her new domain.
She was wearing the dress she had planned for tomorrow night's event that promised excess and debauchery of its own kind. Mother had put much effort into her costume, a dark blue silk that hugged her curves and left her arms bare, just as they did in Dorne, and their ancestors. Her mother had even gone to the extent of having antique Rhoynish jewellery to complete the eventual image as it glistened brightly through the sun in the red sky, with a dark wig of raven dark hair that covered her normal silver as the finishing touch, and that would be covered with a same style hairnet.
"Ahh now love, where have you been, we still have not decided on your costume."
Queen Lynesse looked on, concerned like the world would end that her maiden daughter not having a chosen costume for the event.
Before Layla could give an answer, her mother brusquely spoke up again, clicking her fingers, bringing a small retinue of servants in with even more potential costumes.
"Let me look at you, darling dearest… oh, such a young beauty, you get it from me of course. But that's beside the point, what can we have you as… I'm Nymeria, so that could leave you to be…." Lynesse put a gentle hand on her chin.
"What would you like to go as, sweetheart? You could be Queen Helaena, or Queen Naerys?"
Layla gave a slight frown, trying not to seem petulant to her well-meaning mother.
"Must I always go as a Targaryen to these events?" she complained.
The Dowager Queen only gave a high giggle at that, as she gently stroked a look of her shimmering hair:
"Darling, you are blessed with that beautiful silver hair as few others are. Why would you not want to take advantage of it?"
Layla raised an eyebrow at that. "Yet its acceptable for you to plan to go as Queen Nymeria?"
Lynesse's cheerful expression dampened further, clearly not liking her daughter to talk back in front of so many others, who all stood silent. But it soon returned, a girlish giggle escaping her lips.
"No arguments, dear. You will go as a Targaryen and that is the final word of it."
Knowing that there was no way she could get out of this, she decided that she would concede. Better than bickering and having to be forced into it, at least this way she could have a choice as to who she would go as.
"Very well, mother, I shall go as the Queen, Naerys."
Even for her brother and mother's tastes… this was excessive.
"I suppose I could ask him about it when he decides to show up." She thought, noting that the king had delayed his arrival to the ball as it was underway.
Rickard liked to make his very presence an anticipated spectacle. And from what she could hear and gather, it was certainly working out that way.
"When will his Grace be here?" one lord asked another, he was young, and looked eager to lay eyes upon the King. No doubt wanting to gain the chance to ingratiate himself within Rickard's good graces, and the many favours that would come with it.
"You will be waiting a long time for that." She thought, "Unless you can amuse Rick in a way nobody has already done before, you'll be hard pressed to keep his attention for more than a few fleeting minutes."
She knew about the money troubles the crown was experiencing. By now, that had become very well known in King's Landing.
The chambers were packed. More lords and ladies in one setting than she had ever seen in her five and ten years. There must have been one thousand people. From her position at the edge of the pier above, it was a mix and mash of endless colours, shapes and sizes.
Some of the bizarre outfits took her attention more than others.
It was madness, she spotted a pair of men with hair, the colour of copper, moulded in the shape of horns.
"Queerly inspired from the Ghiscari in the Slaver Cities, no doubt, princess." Her Uncle Garth spoke with unhidden distaste as he shadowed her from behind. He and the other Kingsguard glistened in their pale white amidst the diverse multicolours in the chamber. Themselves free from this Mummer's Farce.
If only I was so lucky… she thought wearily.
Everything was as outlandish as it possibly could be, seven hundred and seventy peacocks were served, half a hundred roasted pigs, cakes of various flavours: lemon, orange and carrot. White sculptures of angels poured an endless supply of wine like it was a water fountain, with cups the size of her leg that required two hands.
Overall, her brother had spared no expense, despite what both his Hand and Uncle had advised.
Her uncle would not be making an appearance of course. For what use did the Brooding Storm have for masquerade balls?
Stannis dancing or just enjoying himself? She would be more shocked at that than if Aegon the Conqueror flew in naked on a winged donkey.
No doubt he preferred his chamber within the Tower of the Hand, and from what she could hear from some of the guests – especially many of the merchants, the event was all the better for it.
"Lord Stannis is truly one of the worst Hands we have had." One spoke in a candid and distained voice, a foreign accent she could not place, with a grey forked beard and heavy-set.
"I agree" another spoke. This one looked to be a Lyseni, his silver hair, piercing purple eyes and a noted jawline.
"Ever since he became Hand, the price of imports has gone through the roof. How does his Grace mean to allow commerce to flourish when his Hand chooses to attack those of us who seek to conduct it?"
"Mmmm" the large merchant nodded, suckling on the remnant meat of a clam.
"Life was easier before, back with King Robert, and when we had dear Lord Arryn as Hand. Littlefinger too, yes, yes, he was a man who knew to be open to the benefit of free enterprise within the city. I fear those days are behind us with Lord Stannis. They say the man feels so empty, his manhood as not gotten hard in years."
"Well, there may be some element of truth somewhere on that." She mused. Deciding then and then to walk past behind them, notifying them of her presence.
"Oh princess!" the idiots both stumbled and mumbled at the same time. Heads facing down, not even thinking of the consequences of what could occur if someone loyal to Stannis heard them.
She gave a small, graceful nod before moving through the crowd. Despite having her Kingsguard with her, who glared through their helms at the mass crowd to defend their princess, she still felt the eyes of the many men on her. She did not need to be a mind reader to know their intent. They all wanted her… but they would never have her.
No, she thought to herself, she held her head high and ignored their stares of lust. Her thoughts went to Allyria. Sweet, beautiful Allyria Dayne, her eyes that could seduce like a succubus, and a laugh that could bring joy to even the darkest of hearts.
And yet it was the Lighting Lord who had taken her as a bride. Her thoughts went bitter at the picture of the Young Marcher, Beric Dondarrion, he was undeserving of her. Holding her in his keep, so far away…
For the longest time, thinking of her beloved Dornish Maiden could always put her at ease.
It was something she had confided in Ser Jaime in one time, who had surprised her when he had revealed that he does the same. She had not pushed for him to tell her just who this mysterious lady love had been, and he clearly did not wish to. Of course, this was Ser Jaime, he was handsome, rich and skilled at arms. Of course, there would have been someone.
But… what if Allyria loves Lord Beric? It was not unreasonable; they had been together at Blackhaven for half a year at this point. Does she enjoy his company, does she take him to bed as eagerly as she once kissed you under the pale moonlight? The thoughts troubled her more than she wanted to admit to herself. Shaking away any thoughts, she returned to the moment at hand, her face as controlled and stony as possible.
"Darling daughter!" came a high voice that caught her attention. Her own mothers of course.
Her Dornish garb was… revealing, and the men seemed to enjoy that very much. The raven wig complimented the Queen very well, especially with the many rubies and diamonds that dangled from the headpiece.
A large posse had gathered around her mother of ladies, lords and some foreign dignitaries. All looked to have Lyseni features: tall, beautiful and with silvery hair much like her own.
Queen Lynesse smiled brightly, first towards Uncle Garth, "Dear brother, I pray you will take time later to enjoy our wonderful festivities." She gestured with her arms, "You defend our family so valiantly." Greysteel only gave a small smile and bow of his head, "If it is the will of my Queen, it will be done."
Layla was unlucky that she was not forgotten in the conversation.
"Oh yes, my lords and ladies, as you can see, my beautiful daughter has decided to honour Queen Naerys. One of our most revered and pious Queens."
Layla's face went red as an apple as the small group's eyes examined her. The horrible itchy robes did not help either. The whole chamber was hot and heavy, and she could feel the sweat down her back.
She curtsied with a modest smile, "Mother… Queen Naerys acts as an example to all women. Were I to even embody just a small fraction of her person, the Gods would be pleased."
"The Gods could never be happier in allowing me to bare such a beauty of a daughter."
"I must concur with that, my sweet queen." A deep and soothing man's voice spoke, almost musical to her ears as the words rolled off the tongue. Foreign but familiar.
She looked to the man as his ringed hand caressed her mother's shoulder, probably more inappropriately than would be acceptable towards any lady, let alone a Queen in such a public place. The man was definitely handsome, with a pointed face, eyes which were a lively grey and wore a black cloak that seemed to shimmer in the bright flaming lights above.
With a smile, Lynesse looked towards the man with a smile as she spoke.
"Daughter, may I introduce Treger Ormollen, Merchant Prince of Lys." She then turned to his side, looking towards the small woman just behind the tall prince with a look of bemusement and annoyance, "And the Prince's wife, Lady Ollorio."
Lady Ollorio held none of the grace of her husband, despite her silver hair and blue eyes, there was a mousiness about her. She was quiet and looked petrified of everything. Layla instantly felt a stab of pity.
Layla gave a curtsy, "My prince, my lady. It is an honour to make your acquaintance."
Treger gave a smile; she did not like it one bit though and it only made her uneasy. There was an arrogance and pridefulness that immediately rubbed her the wrong way, and his eyes did not hide the lust he seemed to have for her.
The arrogant man seemed to brazenly ignore the glare Uncle Garth aimed in his way.
"Likewise, Princess." He said to her as he then looked towards Lynesse, he took the palm of her hand and laid a gentle kiss.
"My Queen, please let us dance. I am nothing more than a humble merchant, but to take the stage with the Candle of the South herself, a woman of such unparalleled beauty, that would be a true honour"
Mother gave an eager smile. Putting out her hand. She always loved flattery.
"Yes, my prince. Let us do so." With that, the Merchant Prince and the Queen went to go towards the dancing area, all but ignoring the Lyseni's meek wife who turned away without saying a word, but they were stopped by Uncle Garth.
"My Queen, there may be other guests yet to be introduced. It would be unbecoming to not make yourself known to all before indulging in any entertainment."
Lynesse had an almost childish look of annoyance on her face at being more or less chastised, but soon regained her smile regardless.
"Prince Treger, may I introduce my gallant brother, Ser Garth of the Kingsguard."
"Greysteel." The foreigner's voice inflected as if testing the name on his tongue, the prince only narrowly bowed his head, almost mockingly. "Greysteel is what they call you, Ser. An honour to meet such a renowned knight such as yourself, the Queen has spoken highly of you."
Layla could easily imagine Garth's face behind the white helm. He clearly had no love for this man who seemed to faun and simper over his younger sister.
"Brother, there will be plenty of time for introductions later while we are drunk and happy. Come Prince Treger, show me how the Lynseni move on the dance floor."
She let out a giggle as the pair went off into the crowd that was quick to make way for the Queen.
The whole room suddenly seemed to quieten down for some reason.
A young woman arrived through the main door. Her face and body were covered in chalk grey, her dress was also grey, and she walked barefoot.
She spoke in a dramatic voice much like the mummers in Mother's shows.
"Behold the grief of Gods, come and gone. He who chose love against the world. Durran and Elenei loved and lost. Know their tale and know their state, for it is Durran who has come tonight."
Out from a haze of strange smoke came Durran Godsgreif, or Rickard dressed as the ancient King of legend who had once defied the Gods of the sea and wind for Elenei, the daughter of both.
He wore a crown made of what seemed to be made of pure wood and was shirtless with the cloak and dress breaches he wore.
Behind him his two Kingsguard as well as Waymar, Rolland, Alyn, Robar, Denys and Harry, themselves dressed as many historical figures.
And by Gods, were they already drunk.
Leading the pack, her brother stumbled and staggard as he went in, the call by the herald went out to acknowledge the arrival of the young King.
"He has arrived!" her brother slurred out, arms out.
Everyone bowed and chose not to notice the king in his state.
He then took a moment to analyse the crowd, as if he were looking for someone, the Crakehall no doubt. He then turned back and addressed the eager audience.
"My lords and ladies, this celebration goes on tonight at the generosity of your king. Please, enjoy yourselves."
A yell of cheers and clapping went up, but her brother seemed to not pay attention instead going straight to her.
Layla did not even have enough time to address him as he took her arm into his own. His companions going off to socialise and feel up some skirts.
The two Kingsguard, Sers Timind and Barristan kept well back as they followed.
"I hope you're enjoying the festivities, sister." He spoke in his usual bravado, confident and while technically a question, clear that he expected his party to be praised above all.
"Of course, Your Grace. The efforts and expenses have paid off quiet well."
He gave a laugh at that.
"It truly has, and just look at it, this is what a court should be; full of life and living to the epitome. Can you believe Stannis came to me last week and practically wrote off a list on how much it will apparently cost the treasury and that I should cancel it? I told him, it was happening and its not even his job to worry about financing. Leave it to Ser Tybolt. He's the Master of Coin."
As they walked, everyone made way, careful to bow with the usual mutterings of "your grace".
"Uncle Stannis has all of my love. He does… but by Gods, does he have no sense of fun, no vision? Its madness. Truth be told, I may end up having him replaced by the end of the year. Give it to Waymar."
At that, Layla could not hold back her laughter, drawing a look of confusion from Rickard.
"What's funny?" he asked.
"Brother please. I know he's your friend, but how can you possibly put him in charge of the second most powerful post in the Kingdom? He's foolish and has never had any experience, plus he's too young-"
"Lord Tywin was a young man when he became King Aerys' hand." Her brother answered back.
"Lord Tywin was smart, and he was already a proven lord after the Reynes and Tarbecks… Waymar has never proven himself."
And unlike Stannis, Waymar will go along with whatever you desire and tell you exactly what you want to hear and not what you need to, that was what she wanted to truly speak. But taking such an approach was never the best way of getting through to Rick, few people were as stubborn as her brother, and the more someone was to aggressively tell him not to do something, the more he would stubbornly cling to doing the opposite.
For a moment, Rick seemed to be considering something, but then gave a light laugh.
"We will see sister. But enough talk of politics…" he suddenly leaned in close, the smell of wine clung to him like a perfume. "I need you to do something for me."
She looked at him curiously.
"What would that be?"
"I need you to talk to Ceresa and win her back for me… she hasn't spoken to me since…" He turned his head away; she knew what he meant though. The two had not spoken since the Crakehall girl had caught Rick and the Rhysling slut fucking on top of his chamber room table.
We've eaten dinner on that table before too, Rick. For the love of the Gods.
She was puzzled though, keeping her voice low, she responded, "Why me, I barely know her. I've probably spoken to her only a handful of times. How am I meant to be the-"
"Come on, sister. You're more persuasive than you think, and who else can I trust?"
"I suppose I have no choice in this?" she asked. The eagerness evident all throughout her tone.
Rick only flashed a smile, "Of course not. Convince her that I made a mistake, and she is my one true love."
Before she could argue any further, the King walked away to socialise in the crowd. She stopped and looked around, if the Westerland lady was here, she was not noticeable, and Layla could not recall seeing her at any point all night.
iAhh, there you are she thought to herself. Spotting Ceresa in the rafters looking down towards the party. She was dressed in an all-white dress, but from the angle she was at, Layla was unable to make out what the actual costume was.
She looked sad though, sad in the way that men would want to take her into their arms. She could still not confirm whether Rick truly was in love, or this was just an exceptionally long-lived fling.
She sighed, realising that either way, her brother had given her no choice but to try to act as peacemaker between the two. Gods know why it had to be here.
Let's just get this over with she thought wearily.
Ceresa IV
Everything below was beautiful. It was out of this world with what she could see, the sights and smells made it like nothing she had ever seen.
"You look like an angel, Cer" Lanna had told her in a voice of adoration as she had helped do her hair.
And she did, she had gone as one of the angels that had brought the stars on the orders of the Father that were formed to carry the seven pieces that made Hugor's crown.
It was pure white silk, that ran down her hands, her gold hair was left loose to tumble down her shoulders naturally, the wings had been the most expensive pieces of course, handmade and imported from wherever they had come from. Her grandfather had wearily reminded her that such fabric was the most expensive money could buy.
The truth was she did not care anymore.
Seeing Rickard with that whore had left her hollow.
When she had ran far away to hear the distant echo of the king's futile calls for her to come back, it was only as she had arrived at her mother's room. Shoving past the servants, she had collapsed in tears as her mother took her into her arms.
She had explained everything then, what she had seen, but what Rickard had promised her… that she meant something.
She felt the tear on her cheek then. She looked to her maid standing patiently to the side, head down.
"I wish to go outside." She Not even waiting for a response as she walked over to the nearest glass door. The little girl, barely a child, scurried to keep up.
The wind and fresh air were in start contrast to the hot and stuffy atmosphere inside. By now, it was well into the night. The stars and moon covered the sky like a veil.
From here, King's Landing truly did look as majestic as it was meant to.
She had refused to speak or acknowledge Rickard since then. She had not even looked at him.
His many presents had been ignored or sent back: dresses, jewels and even a new horse. He had lied to her.
He may be her king, he may command her as he will, but he could not have her heart.
That was still hers to give.
He tells me he aches for me, and everyone says the king has been unhappy for these last few weeks… but does that not imply he does care?
No, she shut down that foolish part of her brain. If he had cared, he'd have never blatantly lied to you and taken that whore.
"I find the night sky relaxing too." A lady's voice said.
Princess Layla
Why was she here?
Ceresa hastily gave her best curtesy. Face already red.
"My Princess."
"Rise, my lady. Does the evening treat you well?"
"Of course, I cannot fault his Grace for his generosity."
They both gave smiles. Forced smiles. The awkward silence soon came out in full force. What was she meant to say to Rickard's own sister?
Your brother who happens to be the king lied to me and humiliated me when he made me believe he loved me?
Despite the two being around each other for many occasions, aside from the basic formalities to be expected, the two had never had a substantial conversation.
She had her own cousins and ladies. The princess had her own companions of course, lady Allyria Dayne having been her most well-known before having been married off, but she usually appeared to be solitary by choice, and kept few friends. All the young ladies in the court knew to not cross her either.
After some more awkward silence, Ceresa decided to break it.
"You look beautiful, Princess."
In truth, it was not an exaggeration.
The Princess was tall, fair and graceful. Even at such a young age like herself, she carried herself with such an air of dignity and a manner expected of a princess. Even in the Septa rags that she had worn as part of her outfit as Queen Naerys did not take away from her in any way.
It was clear that the princess alone out of the three of King Robert's children had taken the most after Queen Lynesse, the silver hair was hidden under the hood, but one could still make it out.
Few ladies within the realm could brag of being blessed with silver hair, but even without showcasing it as she normally would, Layla looked every inch as to what a princess should be.
"Lady Ceresa?" a gentle voice suddenly came.
She was shaken from her daze, her face reddening as she realised, she had stopped paying attention as Princess Layla had spoken, who patiently waited.
Blushing, she responded, "I… I did not catch that, princess. My apologies."
Layla raised an eyebrow, clearly annoyed, but repeated herself, "I was hoping to talk with you about the king."
Now it was her turn to be annoyed, though she could not afford to show it.
"If it please, my princess."
Layla looked to the two ladies who had followed her and nodded her head, singling them to leave. Her own maid did the same.
Both alone, Layla looked back at her.
"Lady Ceresa, please understand that my brother care for you, more deeply than you can imagine. I agree he can be… passionate, but it runs in the blood, just as it did with father."
There was hesitation then, as if the princess was unsure at saying such things about her father and their former king, but she continued.
"I will be honest, my lady, my brother has always been chased by girls and he has been happy to chase back. He loves quickly and deeply, but then moves on. This isn't the same with you however."
She stopped, allowing Ceresa to take it in.
Could this be true?
"I understand neither of us know each other that well, But I know my brother well, and I can say without any hesitation that I have never seen him this deeply in love. He hides it well, but he thinks only of you, nobody has ever captured his heart like you have. That business with that Rhysling slut was nothing more than a moment of weakness."
Ceresa said nothing, only choosing to look back out at the night sky.
She felt the princess take her hand in hers.
"He suffers, my lady. Give him another chance, I beg you. Allow the King to be in your company once more."
She would have liked nothing more than to say yes, to believe every word she was hearing. Grandfather would be happy if he heard this. When she had told him, he had merely asked why she let another get so close, saying that she had to bear a portion of the blame.
The images of his betrayal still stung and played in her head… but so did all the fond memories. The races upon their horses, his laughter as he told her stories and heard her own in turn.
His smile was the best though.
"Lady Ceresa?" the princess asked, "Will you give my brother another chance?"
The Lord of Peaches
He tussled and turned him around, foreplay was the least of his thoughts tonight; he wanted release. Now.
The silk sheets smelled fantastic and felt divine beneath them, almost as good as the other man he now mounted from behind. The groans of lust fuelling him. Their costumes for tonight's masquerade ball strewn everywhere, Renly, his knight of Flowers, was never one to be suitable, so had gone as Daeron, the forthborn son of Aegon the Unlikely, rumoured lover of the knight, Jeremy Norridge. All the wine that flowed like the Mander and the noises and echoes of the still active party, still going strong even as the sun could be seen coming up from the window of his chamber. It all made it… out of this world.
This was what he wanted; what was the envy, the rage and burning compared to being with the one he loved… what was it?
He spilt his seed on the younger man's well-muscled leg before collapsing to the bed.
Loras smirked as he crawled to his side, cuddling into him, a content smile on his face. It even made him draw a smile – something that he had been struggling with for some time now; weeks, no, months and months now.
He turned to the mirror at the left side of the bed. He'd spend hours every early morning aiming to look the best, but he was never one to be satisfied.
"Is something bothering you, love?" asked the Tyrell. Those fine features looked good always, no matter whether they were in concern or happiness.
Renly only pouted though, not wanting to be the first to admit that anything was wrong.
"Come on, just say what's on your mind." The mischievous little minx smirked, hand stroking his hardening manhood, stirring him to arousal again.
Renly only stared up towards the Mable white ceiling.
"It's not fair. He mocks me, he humiliates me." He looked back towards his lover, "He insults you and your family."
He was not a man of violence, nor of anger. He did not tend to hold grudges like Stannis did, nor had he ever been one to furious with bile like Robert had been.
But when he remembered his nephew's smug little face as he revoked his Lordship of Storm's End and the Stormlands had been stripped from him, for the first time in maybe his life, Renly could only feel hate. Venom towards the blasted little vermin who was his own kin and king.
The more he had dwelled on it, the more he became angry.
"He treats me like I'm a jester to be humiliated at every turn. By what right do I ask you?"
He got up from the bed, picking up his half empty chalice, a name day gift from Lord Mace himself and filled it with wine.
A bowl of fresh peaches also sat there. Renly took one and took a bite, juice going down his chin as he swallowed it.
Taking a huge swig of the chalice, he continued, "In fact… what right does he have to any of this I ask?" almost stabbing the cup down back on the table to emphasise his point, drops of red spilling on the table.
Loras' expression suddenly turned to one of anxiety.
"Renly you-"
"He has no right. It is the truth everyone knows but refuses to admit. What was the great claim that propelled Robert to becoming King? It was that stupid hammer of his that did it. Robert seized the crown at the Trident, then it became some Targaryen great grandmother. Not even through the male line."
"What are you suggesting?" Loras asked.
"I'm simply stating, my love, that his claim is no more valid than mine or Stannis'. He may be his son, but I'm Robert's own brother. Why should I not become King?"
Loras got up from the bed, hands gently stroking the former lord of Storm's End's face.
"Renly, you know I hate Rickard as deeply as you do, he dared to humiliate me as a wine taster. But It would be treason, and regardless of how much of a prick he is, he's still your nephew. It would not look good to the rest of the kingdom. You would be portrayed as a villain."
Renly shock his head, "As were the Targaryens our kin, but that didn't stop Robert. Besides, history can be rewritten as needed." He gave a mischievous smile, "And don't you think a crown look good on me?" he said as he rubbed a hand through his thick dark hair.
Loras gave only a light laugh, both tumbling back to bed. Loras straddled Renly as they continued to talk.
"Rickard may have given Stannis the Stormlands… but they still love me. And a little bird has spoken that, despite the royal seal, None of the Stormlords have given their loyalty to the so-called new Lord of the Stormlands. Stannis is furious behind closed doors."
Both could only give an uncontrolled laugh at that.
Loras made circles with his finger on Renly's hardened chest, no chest hair and perfectly groomed.
"My father would support you; we could bring half the Reach to your cause. Hightowers or not, House Tyrell can still provide you with the largest army and enough food to outlast everyone."
Renly smiled. It was all coming together now. Himself as King, Loras at his side, as either his Hand or captain of his Kingsguard. No, he thought, definitely his Kingsguard. His beloved would never have his refusal of marriage questioned, and he could spend as much time with him and nobody would ask why.
Lord Mace could have the Handship. A suitable reward. As for ships to meet the Royal Fleet and give him the power of the sea… Lord Redwyne of the Arbor was still said to have not forgotten the King's slight of having a smuggler made Master of Ships over him. He had that, as well as the fact that the Redwynes were the closest of kin to the Tyrells.
"A King needs a Queen." Loras said suddenly, bringing back his attention.
Renly rolled his eyes and sighed, "Oh please do remind me."
As King, nobody could compel him to marry, and even as Lord of the Stormlands, he was free to go on without marriage for as long as he chose.
But either way, he would need to at some point.
He raised an eyebrow, Loras brought it up for a reason, "Who do you have in mind?"
"Of course, who would be a better choice than Margaery?"
He had many interactions with Loras' sister over the years and they had always been on friendly terms, he liked her, even if he held no attraction as with any other woman. She had a sweet wit and knew her place.
It was a very poor secret that Mace Tyrell wanted his daughter as Queen. The many attempts by House Tyrell to endure her to Rickard had even caused him secondhand embarrassment at times. And yet, it made sense.
Mace Tyrell could be happy with the reward of a Handship, but for his daughter to finally rise as Queen, that would be top anything he could hand him.
Yes, he thought, Margaery will seal the bond with Storm's End and Highgarden. She would be a worthy consort, much better than the Stark, who was nothing more than a savage girl, one of the few things he could agree with Rickard on.
The Tyrells would rally the Reach and provide him with the largest army in Westeros alone, and he knew he could gather the Lords of the Stormlands behind him. All he would need was to send word and announce his intent, and they would know where their true loyalty lay.
The Hightowers would be reminded of their place, they are vassals and not the Lord Paramount of the South. Oldtown itself was a bountiful prize, he could give it to someone loyal, Ser Garlen Tyrell perhaps.
Hells, he thought to himself in amusement, he could even give Lynesse away as a prize of his victory. Her abilities in the bedroom where said to be unrivalled.
"Yes Renly, you will be king. A better one, a kind one, and house Tyrell will be at your vanguard." Loras stated passionately.
He slept peacefully in Loras' arms that night. Better than he had in a long time.
It all fell into place, as soon as he wed Margaery, the crown was his. Rickard was untested and unproven. He'll either break or get himself killed in a blind charge in his first battle. If not, he'd simply send him to waste away at the Wall, now that will be a suitable punishment. Killing him, while satisfying, would be a poor choice. Kinslayer was not a label that get his reign off to the most stable of starts. He would ensure that Rickard would not die, at least by his own hand.
What to do with Layla and Delina though was another question… Layla was a good girl, always his favourite of Robert's children, he could give her to someone loyal, perhaps one of Mace's uncles or nephews, or maybe just keep her close at court and unwed, better for her not to have any children to rivel his own.
Delina was but a child, she'd be sent off to the Silent Sisters and – no, In fact, better to send both of them off to the Faith. Out of the way and unable to pose a threat.
He smiled to himself in absolute satisfaction,
Yes, it is only a matter of time before I have my crown.