Thank you, pinke289 and thunder18, for reviewing.

Storm Untamed

Chapter 2

Even before it became clear that she would be her father's heir, Argella had been brought up to be a lady of substance. Had King Argilac prepared her to take over from her lord husband, whoever that might be, Argella wondered many years later. He had been nicknamed Argilac the Arrogant, after all, and he might have well expected from his daughter to be the king in her new home. He had certainly educated as such, exuled in her stormy, imperious temper – and then, she had become the future queen of the Stormlands.

Perhaps it was only right for the four girls to learn obedience at their father's hands , rather than their husbands – and Argella could say that at least for two of them, it did not came more naturally than it had to her. But it angered her nonetheless, this disrespect of their worth, this modeling of them to be obedient lady wives, attuned to every arch of their lords' eyebrows. She found herself gravitating towards their solar more and more, avoiding Borros as much as she could.

"The very thought of him gracing House Baratheon's family tree is enough to curb my self-esteem," she said darkly.

Orys, the wretched scoundrel that he was, merely laughed. "What's so funny?" she snapped. "You've never treated our girls this way and you've never raised a hand against me, even as I was praying that you would. I can't believe you approve of Storm's End being turned into a practice yard for meek wives."

He rolled his eyes. "When I remember how I thought I was taking care of you… You could have fared just fine without me, my lady. You could have become a great poet or… mummer…"

She glared at him but while in the beginning of their shared, well, life, it might have affected him, now it only made him grin wider. "So it's care about House Baratheon's family tree now?" he asked. "I seem to remember a lady who told me that no matter what I did, there would be no such house, just pretensions. "

Argella blushed and then joined in his laughter. "I guess I did turn into a meek wife after all," she conceded. "Somewhat. But I still don't like him," she added.

Orys looked thoughful. "Nor do I," he said. "But perhaps there are less than stellar people in every House. I do hope that Lord Boremund will do something to curb those inclinations of his. He does love his granddaughters and he likes Rhaenys' high spirit."

But while Lord Boremund doted on the girls, he never tried to change anything about their circumstances. Did he seem to think that his niece whom he was so close to had just turned out to be the way she was? It never seemed to occur to him that spirit and backbone needed to be nurtured and not squashed to achieve this result. He resembled Argella's father so much, yet in this so important respect, he was nothing like him at all.

But then again, it wasn't as if he and Borros were preparing queens for the throne. The kingdom of the House of Storms was fading into a distant memory, getting more indistinct with each day that passed. As they watched the girls slowly turning into model wives-to-be and none of the spirit Argella had been praised for, Orys would take her hand and give it a squeeze and she would uniformly look at him with the fondness and affection that she had fought so hard against, the feelings that had come much more slowly than her lust for him, the things that had stayed with her in this unlife as her body turned into an empty shell devoid of any desires. It was odd that only now was she getting the answer of the question that had plagued her throughout their shared life: yes, he had admired her strength, her imperiousness, her queenness in the face of no queenship at all. It had not only been a show, another means to win the affection he had longed for.

And yet, when the pull came, it did not bring them to the girls they both felt so protective of. It brought them to that boar Borros – so appropriately named! – in his great hall as a one-eyed Targaryen stood cockily before him and a boy, resplendidly attired but so very ordinary, advanced forward.

"Look at this sad creature, my lord," the one-eyed called out. Looking at him closely, Argella noticed the huge sapphire in the socket of his missing eye. So Targaryen-like! It was so pretentious and garish. He undoubtedly thought it made him look princely. Dignity was one thing that Houses newly risen to prominence could never adopt, it seemed. Orys shook his head in distaste and Argella smiled, remembering his insistence that he wore a false hand in the aftermath of his return from Dorne. She had put an end to this quite efficiently. How many were the ridiculous things that she had burned or cut in pieces? Two or three? Finally, he had gotten the message but it had been years before her words took roots in him – trying to powder one's scars only made them look more visible. Battle scars should be worn with pride and the Lord of Storm's End should not be whispered about as someone trying to put on appearances. "Little Luke Strong, the bastard."

Orys' breath hissed between his teeth and Argella bristled. Oh, the Targaryens did not change, did they? Not now, not ever. She couldn't remember when exactly she had started feeling anger on his behalf, instead of insult over the reminder that a bastard she had been wed to. Why did words have the power to hurt so? The boy didn't flinch. He must have heard the accusation leveled at his feet often enough, for it was only Lord Borros that he addressed.

Argella's eyes went wide as the suspicions she had been harbouring for so long were finally confirmed. Shame spread down her lifeless body as it had the moment she had been presented to Orys with nothing but her hair to hide her from view. The Lord of Storm's End! An illiterate boor!

"What on earth…?" Orys murmured and she followed his eyes before her own widened. The maester was lying blatantly to his lord's face! Instead of Rhaenyra Targaryen's eloquent plea and reminder of old friendships, he read an incredibly insulting order, one that even Visenya Targaryen would have thought twice before issuing!

"Does he want a war?" Argella asked, incredulous, as blood rose to face of the current lord of Storm's End. He looked so much like her father reading Aegon's suggestion that Argella wed Orys instead of him that she knew: something terrible would follow. The image of two hands flashed in her mind as the four Baratheon girls whispered among themselves, one curious, the other blatantly terrified as they stared at their father with the same dark foreboding that Argella had once stared at hers with.

"And if I do as your mother bids, which one of my daughters will you marry, boy?"

Argella could have slapped him for treating his girls like this. She tried, in fact, without thinking at all but of course, her hand went straight through his face. He didn't even feel a whisper of air.

The girls stirred. Jocelyn that Argella had a particular soft spot for suddenly looked hopeful.

Orys stared at Argella curiously. She hesitated. She wasn't sure what she thought about this. She didn't want any Targaryen on that blasted throne of iron, for sure! She had dislikes for each of the two claimants and they clashed with each other: accepting Rhaenyra Targaryen's claim as the rightful one meant accepting the Targaryen kings' authority to further spit on the lands they had no rights over and break the established order of succession once again; deciding that Aegon was the King, no matter how unlawful the whole kingship or queenship of those two was meant admitting that those who had cheated Rhaenys out of her birthright, who had stripped her naked and thrown her at Orys' feet had had the right of it. Would anyone have dared such a thing with her father? No, they would have starved to death, to the last man and still no one would have dared even think of betraying Argilac Durrandon the way they had all betrayed his daughter.

"My lord, I am not free to marry," the boy said, blushing. "I am betrothed to my cousin Rhaena."

Jocelyn's shoulders sagged miserably. Argella wanted to give her a hug. Something in the girl's eyes told her that for a short, glorious moment she had seen herself free of her father's will – and perhaps something more. The sixteen year old Cassana gave the one-eyed Targaryen a guarded look and Argella's heart went out to her as well.

"Which one is he going to give him?"Argella asked angrily as the dark-haired boy – as unlikely a Targaryen as she had ever seen one – headed back for the door. "They're clearly all scared of him, and this missing eye doesn't flatter his looks!"

She regretted saying it even as she did. But now, Orys had no time for wondering if his missing hand had ruined her desire for him, leaving only pretenses in its stead. "Listen!" he said urgently and Argella's mouth opened in a silent scream as the fateful words, "It is not for me to tell you what to do when you are not beneath my roof."

They had both seen the two dragons in the courtyard. They had both recognized Visenya's mount immediately. They both knew what would follow.

The Lord of Storm's End. The head of the House they had founded with hope, hatred, distrust, and affection slowly building. A murderer in all but name.

"That's what the Targaryens brought to my House!" Argella hissed and she did not know if she meant her old ancient line or the family she had started with Orys. The pull send them behind the two dragonriders, although none of them wished to see what they knew would follow.


Thank you for reading! I hope you all had great holidays and I wish you a happy New Year.