It took Lyonel two hours to notice your absence from the feast. He turned to whisper something salacious in your ear but found your seat besides his vacant. His eyes darted over the crowded hall, curious at first then irked. The host's wife was supposed to stay by his side. Yet you had wandered off... What could possibly be keeping you from him? When he couldn't find you in the throngs of people, he simply assumed you had gotten bored and told him you were retiring to bed. Perhaps he had simply forgotten about it.

He would regret this assumption for the days to come.

When the party had died down and he had retreated to your marital bed, you had already been asleep. Rather than waking you, he chose to lay beside you and throw his limbs across your body as was his habit. Sleep came quickly after that, the comfort of your flesh a calming presence for his spinning head.

But you hadn't been asleep. The pillow was wet at the corners of your eyes where you'd spent the better part of an hour crying with sadness and frustration at your own emotions. What a silly thing to cry over. What a small word and yet... Your moods were just as volatile as his own, really. Exhaustion hadn't yet claimed you when you had heard him come into the room and bang around the furniture like a drunken stag. You froze, back turned to him. When he climbed in bed and draped himself over you, you shuffled away from his overwhelming clammy heat. Prick, you thought with venom.

In the late hours of the morning when Lyonel woke, he found your side of the bed to be cold and empty where it should have been filled by your warm body. Ready to welcome him with open arms and open legs. There was nothing he loved more than to close off an evening of mirth by taking his time with you the next day. His quiet reward for a successful night of debauchery.

"My love?", he called out drowsily as he turned his head towards you.

You lifted an eyebrow at him from your seat by the fire, flipping a page of your book. You had been up for an hour now and had taken the time to eat and get dressed. While he snored away his drunkenness, you planned your silent revenge.

"Come back to bed.", your husband purred, his arm reaching out in your direction.

When you rose from your chair so did his lips, parting in a wide toothy grin. Your husband and his big, molten brown eyes. His dazzling smile. His soft, greying curls. His looks had been the first thing you had been drawn to, as many other ladies had been. But his humour and challenging attitude had been what had kept you by his side throughout the years. He didn't care for the Gods or for anything besides the two of you remaining content and amused. And besides, he never failed to make you feel worshipped. Especially in bed. Yet he was thoughtless enough to say what he had said...

One look at his open arms and you almost caved right then. Almost.

Instead, you left him in bed by his lonesome. Quietly, you made for the door which slammed behind you. You weren't there to see his beckoning hand fall flat onto the sheets and the confusion that replaced his joy. But you weren't too far to not hear him shout after you.

"Where the fuck are you going?"

─ .✧. ─

You managed to avoid him for the day but once evening came, he found you at your vanity, brushing through your hair with a comb. You were already dressed in that almost transparent shift he loved. The one he had bought for you from a merchant from Pentos. The very same one he had almost torn to shreds the first time you had worn it to bed. Years had passed and yet the effect of the garment was just as potent. It made him crave you in a illogical, pitiful way. Like a stray dog after its next meal.

"There you are! I almost sent guards to fetch you..."

You watched him in the mirror as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your shoulders, bending to kiss your temple. You recoiled from him, jaws clenched and eyes set forward to watch your own reflection this time. His touch felt like a jolt of pure lightning, burning and shocking at once. You almost hissed at him. Throughout the day, your anger and sourness had only grown, threatening to overtake you.

"What is the matter with you today?", your husband asked with surprise.

"Nothing...", you whispered tiredly.

How like him to move on to another subject like water off a duck's back, the matter settled in that thick head of his. No, not quite. It was as if nothing had ever happened. A passing storm cloud, never low enough for rain. The rumbling of thunder far off in the distance. Just once you would have liked to make him feel like you were feeling right then. Small and pathetic.

"No? Then stop being so fucking, so... so ghastly."

"Boring, you mean.", you said under your breath.

"What?"

"You don't even recall, do you? Too deep in your cups, as it were, to even notice your wife was gone."

"What are you talking about?"

You rose, crossing the room and pacing like a trapped animal. It felt too stuffy, suffocating. You were bursting. Your rage barely restrained. It was stupid of you to have assumed he would rush after you as soon as you had left, to assume he would know why you had been upset.

"Stop gaping at me like a fish! What you said last night, Lyonel.", you hissed at him.

"I said a great deal of things last night if I recall."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, pouring himself a cup of wine. Your nostrils flared in disbelief, your vision flashed red. Was he really going to act like this was a casual matter? Was it a casual matter to him? Could he not have opened his eyes to the turmoil of emotion you were going through in front of him?

"Yet you don't recall the one thing that seems to upset me at present."

"No, I do not, because clearly I didn't fucking mean it!"

His tone was rising to meet your own. Your voices bouncing off the stone walls. You cringed internally as you knew this was far from the first fight your servants had heard. On one occasion you had even thrown a few cups and shattered a carafe. It was almost as if Lyonel liked to fight you the way he fought on a battlefield or at a tourney, only with words instead of weapons. There was too much love between the two of you for him to ever raise his hand at you, but you could take it out on the furnishings of your home. From the twinkle in his eye after a fight, he clearly delighted in it.

"How can you say you didn't mean it if you can't remember?"

"Because it didn't matter!"

"It matters to me!", you bellowed.

Tears were threatening to leak out of your eyes. His face fell as he saw it, a pressing quiet descending upon the room. Just as quickly as he took a step towards you, ready to fold you into his arms, you scurried from the room. Lyonel ran a jeweled hand through his hair in frustration, a long sigh leaving him. The issue would never be resolved if you refused to face it head on. You noted with bitterness, but no shock, that he did not follow you out.

─ .✧. ─

"Won't you tell me what it was?", Lyonel whispered against the skin of your inner wrist.

You had spent the day glaring at each other whenever you entered the same room. The sight of him made your blood boil, fists clenching on themselves as to not reach for his neck to choke the life out of him. For his part, he was angry that you were angry at him. With such a sour mood, he hadn't been afforded a single kindness, a single kiss in almost two days. And he did not even know or understand the reason why. What a stupid fucking thing!

You had sent servants back and forth to relay messages and make demands of each other. But he had finally worn down your resolve when he had come to you with a bouquet of flowers and a cup of wine late in the afternoon, looking sheepish and desperate like a kicked puppy. Curse that bastard and the way he played with your heart. Curse him for being a romantic, for good measure.

While you mulled over whether to tell him the reason for your silent mistreatment of him or not, he was on his knees, pleading as you allowed him to kiss your hands and caress your palm. You recognised the signs of him knowing he had made a mistake. But you would not let his self inflicted misfortune sway you quite yet. No matter how his miserable face tugged at your heartstrings.

"You said I bored you.", you murmured quietly as the words stung in your mouth.

"...Is that it?"

You snatched your hands away from him at the first sight of his smile. He realised his mistake only a beat too late, grabbing you by the waist and pushing you back down onto your cushion as you made to rise. He would not allow you to run from him in the midst of an argument again. Gods knew he could not stand one more day of sulking and solitude.

"I'm sorry, alright? I didn't mean to upset you--"

"But you meant those words?", you cut off before he could try to soliloquy is way out of your ire.

"No, of course not my sweet. I cannot even guess why I said them."

"In jest, then?"

"Yes! Precisely, in jest.", he concurred.

"And you are sorry?", you asked dubiously.

"Deeply so."

"You're dishonest as well as careless."

This time, his hands could not hold you down. You rolled your eyes and moved to the window, distracting yourself with the rain that had begun to pelt against the glass. Lyonel followed you with slow measured steps as if he were approaching a wounded prey for the killing blow. In truth, it was not dissimilar to it. He felt you stiffen when he wrapped his arms around your middle and buried his face in your neck. Knowing better than to kiss you and lavish affection upon you yet, he used his hidden position to speak his truth. No matter how disarmed and bare it made him feel. You had made him feel as such most your marriage. As uncomfortable as it still was for him to open his heart to you, he knew how much it mattered.

"Please. I need... I need you. Every fucking day I wake up feeling like the world is dull until I remember you're my wife.", he breathed against your skin.

"Even if I bore you?"

"In truth? You're the least boring person in the Seven Kingdoms. It's why I married you. It's why I keep you with me at all times, my love."

At last, he placed a kiss upon the column of your neck. You relaxed in his arms, leaning your head back against his shoulder. A single kiss from him could melt away all the ice that had wrapped around your heart. Whether he knew it or not, Lyonel had a soothing effect on you, like a balm on calloused hands.

"I love you."

You turned in his arms, wet steaks upon your cheeks where your tears had fallen. His eyes searched your face to ascertain whether you would strike him or concede to let him console you. You chose the latter.

"I married you for your looks.", you sniffled, allowing him wipe your cheeks free of tears.

He laughed, the sound loud and boisterous in the quiet of your rooms. The Laughing Storm returned. Your husband again. The very fabric of your soul.

"Are my looks enough to be forgiven then?"

"No," you said after a moment, "they are not."

"Tell me what to do.", Lyonel whispered, lips brushing yours.

"Beg.", you said, steadfast in your resolve.