Daena had realized at a very young age that the library was the best place to go when she didn't want to be disturbed. Aerion and Aegon were always too busy with their latest prank or game to go there and Dany shadowed Cersei, who only came to the library for the fire. Thus whenever Daena wanted to hide from anyone, or anything, she climbed to the topmost turret of the library. Here were all the books that no one in the keep cared about, except maybe Uncle Tyrion. They were filled with the old stories, from before even the Age of Heroes, stories nobody cared about anymore.
Daena had already read all the books up there as a child. But that didn't stop her from pulling an old red book from the shelf and curling up on the window seat to read.
Once more her brothers were allowed to go riding in the Kingswood and Daena had been confined to the castle to sew and gossip. She was once again bored, she always was these days, while her younger brothers roomed free and she was shut away with her Septa and the idiot ladies of the court.
Immersed in her book, Daena didn't hear the telltale creak of the old stairs as Petyr Baelish made his way up to the tower. Even in seclusion, the walls had eyes. Not until his hand brushed her shoulder did she stir. "Sweet Princess," he purred, in that queer voice of his, "On such a lovely day, a beauty such as yourself should hardly be shut away."
Daena looked up at him and smiled as sweetly as she could, she never could stand the Master of Coin being close to her. She blinked innocently, "The weather is far too warm, and I fear I would burn, which would not do so close to my wedding day."
He chuckled softly, his hand giving her thin shoulder a squeeze. "I expect you needn't worry. After all, your Royal Mother spends the winter in the Dornish sun, does she not?"
Daena smiled, trying to find a way out of this conversation. "Yes My Lord, but she does not have a wedding coming up. I must look my best for my future Lord Husband."
"And you wish to be as pure and pale as the northern snow?" Lord Baelish smiled, though it appeared more like a leer than anything, and his eyes flicked to the neckline of her dress. "I can hardly imagine he would refuse you even if you looked more... southron." It was hardly difficult to miss the implication that he would not refuse her.
She laughed nervously, "It is not just about pleasing my Lord Husband my Lord, and I must also please the Queen and all the court." She smiled rising to her feet, "I'm sorry My Lord but I must leave, I have a dress fitting soon and my mother will have both our heads if I am late."
He reluctantly nodded. Daena knew that even the Master of Coin feared her mother's temper. If only she had either of her parents claws.
"Allow me to escort you then, Princess, so many terrible things could happen to a Lady alone."
Daena smiled sweetly, "Oh don't worry My Lord, I won't be alone. My Uncle Jamie is waiting just outside the library, I'm sure he will see my there safely." She noted the look of hesitation, or maybe fear in his eyes as she said it.
She swept past him; ignoring anything else he may have to say to her and hurried down the stairs, pausing only to set her book back on the shelf. When she stepped out of the library Jamie was leaning against the opposite wall waiting for her.
"Hello Uncle," she said with a bright smile, "How long did it take for you to realize that I was here?"
Jamie laughed and offered her his arm. She took it as they began to walk through the keep at a leisurely pace. "Only about half an hour this time around," he said with a chuckle.
Daena laughed with him, trying to cover up her frayed nerves. The encounter with Petyr had left her frazzled, but she didn't want Jamie to know. He pulled her around a corner into a more secluded hallway and stopped turning to face her.
The knight's green eyes had that same knowing quality as her mother's (of course they did, they were the same eyes), but without the smugness. Still, she hated that look. "Are you frightened?" He asked her softly, sounding confused.
"No," she shook her head nervously, "Not frightened. It's just that," She paused and bit her lip, unsure if she wanted to tell him what had just transpired, "I just had a bit of an encounter with Lord Baelish."
They may be the same eyes, but Jaime's betrayed far more of his emotions than her mother's ever would. Anger, worry, sadness. "An encounter? Of what sort, Princess?"
She paused, taking a deep breath. "Nothing wrong exactly it was just, well, I was in the library up at the very top where I like to go to read. And he came there and started talking to me. Asking me about things... and he kept smiling at me like he knew something that I didn't, or like I was something he was sizing up, pricing, deciding what I was worth. And he wouldn't stop touching my shoulder." She realized that she was blinking back tears, "He scared me, uncle."
It took merely a second before her uncle had her wrapped in strong arms, pulled against his breastplate. "Don't be scared Daena," he murmured, "Lord Baelish will be taught his lesson." Something in his voice made her look up, but he went on. "He should not take such liberties with you."
Daena blushed, "Please don't make a big deal out of this. I don't want everyone to know, really uncle he just scared me the one time."
"Baelish takes liberties where he should not. The King and Queen have spoken at length about the prevalence of his whores in the Keep and the city." He shook his head and sighed, leading her down the hall. "As one of the Kingsguard it is my duty to protect you. And as your uncle it is my right."
Daena blinked, still trying to keep from crying. "Please uncle, it was just once. I don't want the entire Keep to know. Maybe if he does it again."
Jaime sighed, kneeling in front of her. His armor clanged against the stone floors, a racket in the near silent hall. He shook his head. "Surely you know it could be much worse the next time. And I hate to see you cry." He wiped her eyes, gentle despite the rough calluses on his thumb. "Allow me to help you."
Daena nodded, "I don't think he'll do anything if you're nearby. Maybe if you just make sure there is always a guard on me he won't bother me." She hoped he would agree to this, she didn't want all of the court to know that she had had one uncomfortable encounter with Littlefinger.
He stood, and nodded, offering her his arm again. "As you wish." But she didn't believe him, even then. Her uncle was a poor liar.
Still, she took his arm once more and allowed him to lead her down the hall through the Keep to the Queens solar. She arrived less than a minute late, still earning a disdainful look from her mother. Of course, she would take that over Petyr's leers everyday. "Apologies, mother," Daena mumbled, making her way into the room and letting the handmaiden's and seamstresses set to their work.
Westeros was a harsher place than Melisandre had thought. Of course, one could never truly believe the stories of passing tradesmen in the East, or those of the awestruck women who trailed them. But Storm's End paid her no courtesies when she stepped onto its shores. And fewer still when she requested an audience with the young Lord.
She knew what to expect, having seen him in the flames, but the flames could never give her a man's voice, his personality. And this "man" was more of a boy. "Lord Baratheon," she curtsied, the name catching on her tongue in a way she would never shake, no matter how many time's she repeated it.
"Yes, that is me," Snapped the boy sitting above her, "What do you want?"
Arrogance was nothing new, though he had it in abundance. Such a pity the Lord's chosen had to be so difficult. Forcing a placid smile, Melisandre bowed low, her scarlet tresses slipping over the exposed skin of her neck. "My Lord," she smiled, "I am Melisandre of Asshai, a servant of the Lord of Light. I have come to aid you."
"Why would I need your aid?" he asked, "I have plenty of Lords here already to assist me. What good is a priestess of some heathen cult from the East?"
She rose, starring the boy down, red eyes barely smoldering. "I have seen your future in the flames, my Lord, and if you are to rise against the Dragons, you will need the Lord of Light on your side."
He blinked, clearly confused. "Rise against the dragons, with the Lord of Light. That gets me absolutely nothing, I would be crushed!"
"Have you such little faith, Joffrey Baratheon? Your father's house is fabled to be strong."
"We are not fabled, woman!" He roared, rising to his feet and glaring down at her. "We are the strongest house in all of Westeros! Our castle has stood against all the storms of Shipbreaker Bay and we are as strong as it." He paused, "I have heard tell of your Lord of Light, yet I have yet to see any proof of his power."
Melisandre held her ground, never once flinching in the face of such fury. Ours is the Fury, indeed. "I meant no insult, My Lord. What display would you require? You are Azor Ahai reborn, it is my duty to serve."
"Azor Ahai? Who is that?"
Sighing heavily, she stepped towards him, "These lessons will take time, My Lord, and I have come a very long way." It was doubtful that the boy even knew where Asshai was. "Allow me rest, and I will give you all you desire."
He considered it for a moment, "Give me some proof of the power of this god and then you will be allowed to go and rest." He said, a smirk spreading across his face.
"Proof?" Melisandre hummed, "The Lord of Light requires faith, my Lord." She noticed the flash in his eyes, the way they rolled, and went on. "But, if you would have one of your guards hand me a knife, I could show you a small part of his power."
He nodded, "GUARD!" he yelled, and one hurried into the room, "Give this woman your knife," He snapped.
Surprised he would trust her with a weapon; Melisandre smiled and took the small blade, plunging it through her palm, until the tip rested between the knuckles of her hand on the other side. She didn't flinch. Joffrey on the other hand gasped in surprise and swiftly sat down in his chair. Carefully, she wrapped her good hand around the blade and removed it, the ruby at her throat flaming. But not a drop of blood spilled from the wound. "Do you see?"
"You're not bleeding," he gasped. Then he rose to his feet and hurried to stand in front of her, taking her hand in his, turning it in search of a wound. When he found none he looked up into her eyes. "Is this the power of the Lord of Light?" he asked.
Smiling serenely, Melisandre took his hand in hers, warming his skin. "Indeed, my Lord. A power with which I promise to aid you." She caressed his palm, her eyes swimming with promises.
"Aid me in whatever I need, whatever I ask of this power?" he asked.
"As much as you and I can give," she nodded.
He smiled, "Guards!" he called once again. This time when one entered he was smiling, "Show this lady to the chambers my Lady Mother used to occupy, and have a servant see that all her needs are attended to." The guard nodded and motioned for Melisandre to follow him.
It was difficult to feel relief, but at least he seemed easily bent to her will. Just a boy, after all, even easier than a man.
"Thank you, my Lord," she hummed, pressing a lingering kiss to his hand before following the guards, keeping her eyes on him. She would rest until he came to her, and he would. The flames had shown her so, and though they were sometimes difficult, rarely were they wrong about something so consistent.
Handmaidens, something she had never had before, flocked to her, smiling politely. "Just a bath, if you will," she smiled softly, allowing the girls to disrobe her and help her into the steaming water before sending them away. As tiring as the journey had been, she did not sleep, though it must have appeared she had. Still immersed in the deep copper tub, she lazily opened her eyes at the sound of the door.
"Is this a bad time My Lady?" asked the young Baratheon lord.
"Only if it bothers you," she replied politely, "I was simply enjoying respite after several months journey."
"Several months?" he asked, clearly trying to make small talk while avoiding looking at her, "From where did you come?"
She chuckled softly. "If you fear for my modesty, there is no need. I am the Lord's servant, and yours. It bothers me not if you look." In fact, she sat up slightly, and smiled at him again. "I told you, I came from Asshai, far to East. In Essos, if you know your lessons."
"Asshai, I have heard of it. It is at the edge of some great shadow right?" As he said it he moved toward her and allowed his eyes to drift from her face down to her chest. He smiled at what he saw.
A boy, but an eager boy, by the looks of it. Still, she relaxed and smiled back at him. "Indeed. Nothing you have ever seen the likes of, My Lord. A place of magic and darkness."
"My maester says that all the magic has already left the world," he moved a little closer, "Have you seen magic?"
She reached out, taking his hand. "Much, very much indeed." she arched a brow at him and brushed her thumb over his knuckles. "Do you believe him? Your Maester?"
"I did, until today," he answered.
"What changed your mind?" She smirked, looking up at him with knowing eyes.
"You did. You and your magic and your god," he said with a smirk. He sat on the edge of the tub and allowed his eyes to travel down the full length of her body and back up to her face.
Melisandre smiled, inviting his gaze and keeping his hand in hers. Of course, she knew he would be interested, but it would be keeping him interested that proved the challenge. "Not me, the Lord of Light. I am merely his servant," she repeated, and then cautiously cupped his cheek. "And yours."
"And how would you start to service me My Lady?" he asked.
Interested indeed, and lacking tact, but well, she'd had far worse in her younger years. Smirking, she sat up. "What is it you desire, My Lord?"
"I desire what is mine by rights, My Lady." He stepped closer to her and ran his other hand up her arm to her breast. He took it in his hand, and ran his finger over the nipple. "You are what I desire, and I always get what I desire."
Melisandre remained rather emotionless under his touch, her smile as placid as still water. "Then you shall have me," she purred, taking his hand off her breast and standing, the water rising off her skin in soft steam. Arrogant, entitled, and certainly inexperienced, but this was the wish of the Lord.
Joffrey stared at her, naked as she stood above him. He clearly had never seen a women nude before. Then the cocky smile returned to his mouth as he rose up to meet her, he was already several inches taller than her. "Good, finally a woman who understands her place in the world," he sneered. Then he leaned in and kissed her.
Her place in the world. Well, she could add insensitive to that list of flaws, but Melisandre did not flinch back. Nor did she reply, knowing he would want to lead his placid woman like a well-trained horse. But she needed him; her Cause needed him and all his arrogance. So she merely smiled and leaned closer, letting the heat of her body seep through his doublet.
He pulled back sharply, "Your warm, like a fire!" he gasped.
She chuckled softly, caressing his face. "Indeed. He is the Lord of Light for a reason…"
Joffrey smirked, "I am starting to like the Lord of Light more and more."
As the wedding drew closer the keep became even more frantic and it became harder and harder for Daena to slip away. She knew Jamie was keeping and even closer eye on her than usual after the incident with Petyr, but that didn't stop her from occasionally slipping away from him and finding a place to be alone.
On one such day Daena was hurrying down a private walk outside the keep, trying to make it to her favorite shaded grove without being seen when Petyr stepped out onto the path in front of her.
Daena stopped in her tracks, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She wished she had listened to Jamie and kept him nearby. Daena forced a smile onto her lips and gave a brisk curtsy. "Lord Baelish, what a pleasure," she said.
Petyr smiled at her, but Daena didn't miss the way his eyes traveled up and down her body, lingering where they shouldn't. "The pleasure is all mine, sweet princess," he murmured, taking her hand and pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers.
Daena was sure he could hear the way her heart was hammering, but she maintained a gentle smile on her face. "I don't mean to be rude Lord Baelish, but I am afraid I must go meet my mother for a gown fitting." She tried to pull her hand away but Petyr kept a firm grip.
"I'm sure Queen Cersei will not miss you for a few moments," he hummed, the glint in his eye hungry and rather startling. Daena tried to pull away again, but he pulled her against him more. "I have something that might interest you. An... Early wedding gift, if you will."
"My lord," Daena tried again to pull her hand away, but he held on. "I'm sure what ever gift you have would be better save for my wedding breakfast! Then you can present the gift to me and my Lord Husband."
Petyr laughed, and she felt the sound slither across her skin. She shivered.
"I would rather give it to you in person, in private."
Daena gasped, "I'm sorry My Lord, I do not feel that that would be appropriate." she finally managed to pull her hand free and hurriedly made to turn away.
Petyr slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back, causing her to jolt slightly and fall into his chest. "It seems you tripped," he purred, causing her heart to quicken, and not in the pleasant way it did when she thought of Robb. "Allow me to tend to you."
"My Lord," She gasped trying to pull away, his grip only tightened. "Really I am fine, now I must go and meet my mother!"
"Must you?" He hummed, leaning close to her with his eyes full of lust. Daena knew the look well, she had seen it on the faces of men ever since she had begun to show signs of womanhood, and her mother had warned her of it. But there was little she could do but struggle now. "This way, don't make a fuss, or I'll tell your Royal Mother how atrociously rude you were to me."
Daena's heart faltered, and then she remembered a conversation with her mother a few months ago where she had snarled at what a horrible man Petyr Baelish was. Daena doubted her mother would care about her being rude. Still the look in his eyes was scaring her. It was full of lust, but also something deeper, something more predatory.
"My Lord please," she hissed, "I must insist that you let me go."
He smiled, sweet and sinister, like poisoned honey. "Princess, I merely wish to give you a gift, I would never do you harm," and yet his hand was sliding over the rich silks of her dress up, from her stomach to below her bosom.
"And I thank you for that, My Lord," she snarled, feeling more and more like the lion of her mother's house, "But I really must insist that you let me go." She wrenched away from him firmly and took a step back, glaring. She hoped she was channeling the look her mother had used a thousand times on Aegon and Aerion when they had done something wrong. That look could burn.
She hoped, but as she watched him gaze grew darker, hungrier. About to speak, she faltered when he stepped to her; only to see Aerion's silver hair in the corner of her eye, and her uncle a half step behind him, hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Lord Baelish," Ser Jaime nodded, his eyes emerald fury that would have rivaled her mother's. "I believe the Princess told you to leave her be." He was patient, tactful, but Aerion was not.
Her brother had never been good at knowing when to simply use his words, and stepped between Daena and Lord Baelish, glaring at the man. "Aeri…" she murmured, placing a hand on his arm, only for him to shake her off and shove Baelish into the wall. Tall and broad shouldered even as young as he is, Aerion towered over the older man. "She's been telling you to, you letch," he hissed, gripping the velvet lapels of his coat in his hand.
Baelish's feet were nearly off the floor, and her brother and her uncle didn't seem to be stopping.
Maybe the man deserved the blows they gave him, but Daena turned away, running down the hall to her mother's chambers. The guard at her door barely had a chance to announce her before Daena ran inside, throwing herself into Cersei's arms.
"Sweetling?" Her mother murmured, her voice concerned. She had every reason to be. Daena tried her hardest to be the perfect princess, she never broke decorum, and certainly not like this, not since she was small and she had caught Aegon in the tall trees of the Kingswood.
She pressed her face to the crimson silks of her mother's dress, breathing shallow as she tried to calm her nerves and silence her tears. "L-lord Baelish," she mumbled, "He was… he's been bothering me… mother," she started, finding it difficult to speak.
"Bothering you how, darling?" Cersei murmured, her hands feeling cool as she trailed them through Daena's hair, and her daughter relaxed slightly. She leaned up and pressed her face into her mother's tumble of golden hair, smelling the soft lavender the woman always wore.
It took her a moment to speak. "He… he would come to me when I was alone and... make advances, mother. And today… he offered me a gift. But it wasn't a gift, I know it wasn't! And he grabbed my arm, but Uncle Jaime and Aerion… they stopped him, and they were beating him. Mother it was terrible! I never wanted them to hurt him."
Cersei's green eyes flamed like wildfire when Daena looked up at her. She almost pulled back, afraid of a scolding, but the Queen's hand on her back was gentle. "Perhaps," her mother paused, her voice soft and yet unyielding, like when she spoke in court, "Lord Baelish should learn his place. I will speak with your father."
Daena flushed, "Mother... "
"Hush, it will be discreet, I promise."
She didn't see Petyr again, only the back of his ship as he was sent back to the Fingers, the small spits of land from which he'd come. Her father had exiled him, banned him from ever returning on penalty of death, taken his whorehouses from him. Her parents seemed far more serious about the issue than Daena had believed they would be, but she was happy he was gone.