for much of her youth, and well into womanhood, julienna had adamantly pushed aside betrothals for no place would ever be the north and she was loathe to leave it behind. she’d done well enough in terms of sweet - talking her way out of them, much to her mother’s chagrin. a princess too stubborn to wed and no alliance held in more than broken promises passed between fathers who knew everything. but with her father’s passing, while her reluctance never faltered, julienna had finally given into her mother’s pressing, if only because she could not bear the sad look that accompanied ‘ it was your father’s wish to see you wed. ’ the whispers of what a difficult woman she’d become, of how she froze everyone away, bothered her little in comparison.
though unsure if she should be relieved or uneasy by her ability to avoid her betrothed thus far, it would seem as though she didn’t have to dwell on it for long. quiet conversation with her ladies is halted at the sound of her name, head turning to place face to the voice. equal parts surprise and uncertainty surely crossing her features before composing into polite smile. ❝ lord baratheon, ❞ she greets in kind, dismissing her previous company absently. ❝ of course you may. though i must warn you, i have been exhausted of most small talk. ❞
there’s a feeling of unease that threatens to consume him. his stomach churns as he calls out for his betrothed and the lord baratheon wonders if he’ll become sick. the decision of their marriage relies on her, he decides, and what she expects to find between the two or them. perhaps they get along well and form a companionship that rivals even the most lovesick of couples in westeros... perhaps she finds him repulsive and wants nothing to do with him. for the latter, cedrik would not blame her. if she was to be so unhappy, he likes to think he would agree to break their betrothal. as of that very moment, he can’t be entirely sure.
❝ would you wish i leave you to your business ? ❞ he questions, becoming quite aware of the anxiety within the pit of his stomach. the last thing he wants to do is anger her or force a conversation where there is none to be had. although he wishes to know her, it is her decision how close or how distant they will become. ❝ you may also call me cedrik, if you’d prefer. i have no desire for formalities between us, if that’s all right with you. i also am not a fan of small talk ... but if i may be honest, i find myself wishing to know you. ❞ the redness in his cheeks and fidgeting hands surely give away the facade of confidence, or whatever he thought he was exhibiting.
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he makes no attempt to hide his displeasure, and jeyne can’t decide if that’s admirable or rather devastating ; she registers, at least, the sinking feeling of having disappointed someone, somehow. but it’s not an altogether unfamiliar feeling, and is genuine displeasure not better than falsified delight ? if nothing else it relieves her of the need to maintain an equally polite and enthusiastic disposition ; the gaze she fixes upon him may reveal a rare sharpness in its inquiry, which must so often be disguised. she says nothing — would not doubt his piety aloud, if only to spare herself the same questions — but the faintest quirk of her eyebrow betrays a skepticism at his devotion.
“ oh, not at all, ” she assures him. “ perhaps with two voices the seven will hear us all the way up here. to hear the northmen tell it, our southron gods can’t make it north of the neck. ” there’s a note of laughter in her tone ; mostly amused, somewhat exasperated. it’s a challenge not to watch him too closely — to let her eyes fall to the floor, to her clasped hands, to the rough-hewn faces of the seven gods — but she cannot help her curiosity. what face, she wonders, does cedrik baratheon pray to ?
once footsteps bring him closer, he begins to recognize the woman he now shares the sept with. a kind woman, certainly a character, but he doesn’t mind her company one bit. as a past guest of harrenhal, the lady whent had been enthusiastic to his stay and filling his curiosity to the brim. though someone not likely to delve into rumors, cedrik had always been intrigued by stories of harrenhal’s curse and decided he did not wish house whent to meet it’s demise. whether that’s for him to change history, or as some would see as the inevitable, he doubts very much so. cedrik stands next to her for a moment before lowering himself and clasping his hands together.
❝ in truth, i’m surprised this sept still stands. a bit of an insult to those who would use it to worship with the shape it is in ... but shocking they chose to keep it at all, ❞ he muses, shrugging as they make eye contact. cedrik grins at her words, more so to humor her than anything else. his gaze drifts to the seven pointed star so poorly crafted above them. could praying in a northern sept for the seven be seen as a sin ? the thought nearly makes him laugh. ❝ what do you pray for, my lady ? i suppose peace seems a good topic of prayer ... perhaps for a kind leadership with the king in the north. ❞
Siddharth Nymeros Martell was caught surprised by the blunt words that were sent flying his way, a welcomed respite from the bleak and drab welcome by the Northmen that he had to endure upon his arrival. He had expected no less from the North, the stories of their grim seriousness having reached Dorne years before Siddharth was born, and was already missing the comforts of the Water Gardens, his paradisaical refuge from the rest of the realms.
Yet his curiosity of the new Northern king and the choice he made of inviting the Southern king to his coronation would not be ignored. The Prince of Sunspear wanted to see for himself what could happen, so here he was, complaining about the expected cold.
Smiling from ear to ear, he turned around to lay witness to whoever was the master of the barb, a truth actually, though Siddharth could imagine some Northmen taking offense to it. Jealousy and insecurity can often twist the innocence of a truth into the sharp blade of a hidden dagger.
The Prince of Sunspear was mildly surprised to find the Lord of Storm’s End, the Storm Lord, standing before him. He offered the Stag a bow, clasping his hands with the apple behind him, the flowing sleeves of his silk and satin robes underneath his Dornish winter cloak becoming one.
“Lord Cedrik Baratheon of Storm’s End… It is an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Siddharth made sure to pronounce his Dornish accent well as an attempt to hint that he was no mere lord of the South, no mere lord of the North, though he would care little should the Storm Lord make the wrong assumption. Those outside of Dorne always do.
“I do hope your travels fared better, my lord. We are both a long way away from our homes, myself farther, though it’s been quite a while since I’ve been made to miss the sands of Sunspear. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I’ve heard.”
in the many travels with his father over the years, cedrik recalls having been to dorne once. it was in his youth, barely a teen, dragged along one of his father’s visits to potential allies and people he wished to see peace with. numerous visits to those south of them, drinking wine while cracking jokes about how northerners and ironborn weren’t to be trusted. he doesn’t remember much of the trip, or who he had the honor of meeting, but he remembers dorne. it’s one of the only places cedrik genuinely loved to go, despite having gone only once. the warm sun, the exquisite treats he never had at home and the culture, how he admired their culture. one day, one day he’ll go back.
there are places he doesn’t mind traveling to now and again, but the north ? he minds very much. the cold is dreadful and there’s nothing that holds his interest in the north. house stark is to become in laws so he figures it’s in his best interest to celebrate the coronation of the new king and queen -- besides keeping up appearances. allies must be found wherever they are permitted, regardless where they may live. his father’s words, and gods how he hates to hear that man’s voice in his head.
he doesn’t recognize the other, having known they’ve never crossed paths before. while names can be tricky, even faces, cedrik likes to think he has a decent memory ... most of the time. at the stranger’s bow, the lord baratheon mimics his actions, despite not quite knowing who the other is. he has his guesses, nearly confirmed with the accent and then there’s the mentioning of sunspear which tells him all he needs to know.
❝ prince siddharth martell of sunspear, ❞ though there’s still a question of whether or not he’s correct, cedrik would surely bet on himself. he was always taught to know the rulers of each house, whether they be lord or prince ... or king. their beautiful attire of dorne, the fact the other knows who he is nearly gives it away. ❝ the pleasure is all mine, your grace. ❞ now, with knowing the other’s importance, cedrik is thankful he chose to bow. the prince certainly isn’t hard to look at, either.
❝ my travels were as to be expected, ❞ not entirely blunt but hinting at such. ❝ yes, riding from dorne ... that’s a very far journey, i hope it was kind to you. ❞ cedrik is not typically one to kiss up to others or practically sink to his knees for another man, unless in times of pleasure, but he knows when to honey his words and put on a show for anyone interested. his true feelings and desires matter not when confronted with lords or princes alike. ❝ as much as i miss storm’s end, i would believe that to be true. ❞
it takes alester a moment to convince himself he is not in some sort of unreachable dream state. so many nights has he spent alone, yet in a faraway place in his mind, tucked safely away in another’s arms, with all thoughts of marriages and ruling pushed aside. because with cedrik, when they found time to visit one another after meeting those years ago, it was never about politics - it was never about how their houses could benefit each other, though money had been given to the baratheons from the tyrells. for alester, it was only ever his feelings for the other. it was only ever the love he grew to learn he had, though at first he adamantly denied himself the pleasure of feeling it.
but as all good things do, alester supposes, it ended. cedrik’s father died, leaving him ruling lord, and then he had lost his wife too. and though the lord would come to highgarden for business, alester saw and heard less of him, though the two still exchanged letters - but after suffering the loss of both of his own parents, alester and cedrik’s communication lessened a great deal more.
but now, by chance, alester is mere feet from the baratheon lord, and his heart is bound to leap from his chest at any moment. he inches forward, willing himself not to shout out the other’s name to grab his attention - and it’s now that he feels lucky lucky that they are not alone, that there are a few other visitors bustling through the corridor, lest alester react in a way he could not take back. the letter he had received from cedrik containing vaguely scribbled words about a betrothal races through his memory, and he recalls the heartbreak as if it were yesterday.
“ cedrik ? ” he cannot be more formal than that; he thinks doing so might kill him. he waits for the other to turn around, and stifles a noise in his throat when he sees his face. “ i … it has been a long while. ” a long pause, and alester hopes to the seven his eyes are not at glassy as they feel. “ how are you ? ” he then he adds, perhaps too quickly, perhaps with too much feeling: “ how is your betrothed ? ”
there are many reasons he fears marriage. one -- the idea that the foundation itself is built on saving house baratheon from ruin and betting on house stark caring for princess julienna enough to extend a helping hand to her new house. that seems to be his biggest worry, as of recent. two -- the concept that his new bride may come to resent him, for the opportunities he has used her for and if she desires children, they will not be fathered by him. if he can learn to trust her, perhaps he will extend the same kindness to her that his late wife was given in a chance to stray, a chance to have a child but claim them as his own. he doesn’t want that, in truth he never wanted it with maegyn, but her happiness was important enough to make that compromise.
a third reason arises, though it had always been there from the beginning, when his name is uttered by a familiar voice. time slows, practically stops when it registers. the second cedrik hears him, he knows who it is and a sharp pang of guilt overcomes him. three -- the marriage he wants the most seems unreachable and nothing will ever amount to who the lord baratheon desires most. distance had grown between them, not at the fault of their own but because of time and responsibilities out of their control. with their communication all but ceasing, there was a terrifying thought that what remained between them was merely history and memories were all he had now. though untrue, cedrik’s paranoia and cowardly manner forced him to make an impulsive, regretful decision, among other reasoning, to seek a betrothal elsewhere. a painful letter sent with his stamp to highgarden and that was the end of that. he had ruined the only potential happiness in store for him.
his heart is pounding and takes over all sounds cedrik can hear. it takes what feels like ages to turn around, biting back tears that he knows aren’t fair to spill. shallow breathing overtakes him as his hands shake, yet remain hidden behind his back. there’s nothing more he wishes to do than launch himself forward, wrapping himself around the only love he’s ever known, begging for forgiveness. he’s convinced himself he deserves nothing of the sort and that he would not be met with the same desire. by the gods, he prays that alester is happy but cedrik cannot pretend to be.
❝ i ... yes, ❞ he stutters, nodding. it’s been too long, he would say, if not a coward. had he a tail, it would be tucked between his legs. his mouth opens to reply, to say something, but it only lowers in shock at alester’s words. a fair blow, he decides, but it takes him a moment to pick his jaw up off the ground. if able to throw his words back, cedrik would say how he could say the same, how it seemed as if the other moved on almost immediately. ❝ i don’t know, ❞ whispered quickly, for he truly knows nothing about julienna. it feels as if he’s been punched in the gut, and he knows he would rather that than this. the baratheon sucks in a quick breath, as to remind himself to breathe, and chews harshly on the inside of his cheek. how can he speak his heart when he feels so close to passing out ? as if he’s ever been easy at that. ❝ alester ... ❞ cedrik tries, but the words get caught in his throat.
the way the other’s face changed , from optimism to suspicion , did not bode well for their interaction . olyvar could only hope the change was not because cedrik recognized him somehow . that could not be the case , he tells himself , for the two had not met prior to this given olyvar’s relative confinement to the vale . he could not at all find fault in the other for any misgivings about finding a stranger outside his door , as these were times when kings had been killed and the world was now in very close proximity . it made sense that a ruling lord would be wary of a new face seemingly waiting for them . that’s what he tells himself , that it has nothing to do with him . whether he believes it fully is another matter .
‘ my apologies , i was looking for someone else … but it is good to finally meet you , lord baratheon … i presume ? ’ that would be it wouldn’t it ? all these nerves around an assumption he made and then it would turn out he was speaking to someone else entirely . he looked similar to katherynne though , and he was certain these were the right chambers ; perhaps that was hopeful thinking in itself . he had hoped to make a better impression than standing slack - jawed outside his room on a random morning . ‘ my name is olyvar arryn . ’
fingers readjust their grip on his cane , letting his hold soften slightly before tightening it again , a way to quietly deal with nervous energy . ‘ it was not my intention to interrupt you , and it looks like you might be headed somewhere . i do not mean to keep you from anything . ’
the skepticism does not fade from his expression, eyes squinting and thoughts racing on possibilities of who this man could be. with no set meetings or expectations of running into anyone so close to baratheon quarters, the paranoia worsens by the second. his decorated sword remains on his belt but cedrik gives no intention to using it. he clears his throat, shoulders held back as there’s an attempt to appear more than he is. a forced feeling of needing to seem as if he’s not a man to so easily be taken down. the fact it would be quite easy for someone to overpower cedrik baratheon is something he does his best to hide with falsified body language.
❝ someone else ? ❞ the notion that the man is lost fades away and the suspicion grows. chambers are easily marked by guards and their sigils, donned in the appropriate colors of the house they serve. yellow and black with the symbol of a stag, the great house baratheon is one that should be known to anyone with any sort of intelligence. it’s when the stranger introduces himself that cedrik’s eyes widen, head tilted in curiosity. ❝ you’re olyvar arryn, ❞ he repeats, clicking his tongue. it’s clear now who he’s come to see and who he wishes he had run into instead. there is plenty his sister has told him of the other and while cedrik is not entirely sure of the nature of their friendship, he is quite aware of how fond katherynne is of the lord arryn. she had spent much time with them in the eyrie, and suddenly he’s unsure of how to feel -- but none of them are presented in a positive light.
would it be inappropriate to begin with a threat ? when katherynne informed him of her marriage, of the true horrors she endured, his heart broke. his father had doomed her and left her to rot. as the ruling lord of house baratheon, he swore to protect his siblings, especially kat, from any potential danger they could face. could lord arryn be considered one of those dangers ? he recalls how his sister mentioned his kindness toward her during such an awful period of time and he’s thankful of that, but nothing of the sort seems evident in his features. ❝ oh, you’re not keeping me, ❞ a single chuckle and the smirk on his lips is more harmful than any threat he could have given. ❝ you’re looking for katherynne, are you not ? she’s told me much about you. ❞
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as a young lord, if anyone had asked him had he ever imagined to marry twice, cedrik would have laughed. to marry once was an oversight, forced upon by his father, though it had worked out between the two of them. a partnership, a bond of trust though their hearts were never calling for one another. with his late wife wanting so badly to be a mother, cedrik knew of her straying and even encouraged such a thing, as long as it made her happy. she wished him the same with his own endeavors and the love he felt for another. it wasn’t perfect, but they’d dealt with the cards they’d been given and wanted the best for each other. now, here he was again, only terrified and unsure and wondering if he had completely lost his mind.
he feels guilty, among other things, to reach his hand out in marriage to julienna. she’s a beautiful woman and though they have not yet spoken, he already feels conflicted with their predicament. could they too be a partnership, a bond of trust ? no. no, because he’s already built a foundation of lies and plans to do what he sees fit to better house baratheon. it’s not fair to her, to house stark, and yet, here he is. the betrothal was impulsive of him to suggest ... is it too late to run ?
cedrik catches a glimpse of her, having been watching her since he’s arrived, building up the courage to approach. what can he say ? impulse, he works to build himself up and jump before calculating the risk. oh, he knows the risk but closes his eyes and jumps anyway. this is not how he was raised and it’s not like him at all -- but he supposes none of this is like him at all. ❝ princess julienna, may i have a word ? ❞
The journey from Dorne to the North was long and hard. Opting out of the proceedings was the first option that came to the clever mind of Siddharth, of House Martell, the Prince of Sunspear. Winter was the least of his favorite seasons, and compared to the beauty of the paradisaical Water Gardens, Winterfell was less inviting and more dreary to the thought.
Still, he was a curious man, and to say his curiosity was piqued when news broke of the young wolf having invited the, for the lack of a better term, tempestuous dragon would be a great understatement. The so-called Sun Snake, the Spear of the Viper, was quick to change his mind then, calling for arrangements to depart Dorne for the bleak Northern wastelands with his retinue of swords and spears and Sands. It was the Dornish way.
The night of his arrival, he slithered out of the Great Hall of Winterfell once he was done with his dinner, choosing instead to bask in the cold night sky’s gaze in the castle yard. Siddharth played with the Northern apple in his hand, feigning ignorance of the footsteps coming from behind him. “Have you heard of a village called Mole’s Town? I wonder if it’s warmer there at night.”
no matter the reason, cedrik hates leaving storm’s end. he hates leaving the stormlands altogether, but his people he trusts -- the rest of westeros is another story. as someone who despises the cold perhaps the same amount of someone who hates to travel, riding north seemed like a punishment. a glimpse of torture, to be dramatic. if forced to go anywhere, he preferred the awful smells of king’s landing and the fairly warm weather. springtime with no snow, yet the biting cold is a constant reminder of his distance from home and the proximity of strangers.
it’s no surprise that he finds himself subtly hiding among the many corridors of winterfell or where no one frequently wanders, doing his best to find alone time wherever he can. he finds himself lost most of the time, having only been to winterfell a handful of times, and he can’t imagine ever living in such a place. it’s a wonder he’s to marry a stark themselves, knowing that they already have differences of temperature preference. though she will ultimately join him in storm’s end, he knows he will always be tied to the north after his marriage and the trips will always be something cedrik must do.
with furs wrapped around him and hoping to clear his head, he figures he cannot catch frostbite if he’s only outside for a moment. with his head dropped and shuffling through the courtyard, cedrik comes to a halt when someone begins to speak to him. his head is picked up quickly, eyes squinting in the dark in an attempt to recognize the voice. even with lanterns and torches scattered throughout, he can’t put a finger on who the person could be. ❝ i have heard of it, yes. ❞ he knows too much about castle black and its surroundings, thanks to threats of the past. ❝ it’s farther north... i can’t imagine it’d be warmer. no where in the north is warm, anyways. ❞
the last time he had been in close proximity to katherynne , it had been in the comfort of his own home . it had been in a place where if he wished to see her , it was a simple matter . perhaps it is because of this he does not think too much about wandering towards the baratheon apartments . it was with innocent intentions , just wanting to resume some of the things they used to do together in the eyrie , like a walk together in the morning . however , as smart as the younger arryn lord was when it came to books and matters of history , he did not think to consider that katherynne was not the only baratheon present in those chambers .
when the door opens as he gets closer , he smiles , and almost calls out to comment on her timing . yet , thankfully he realizes it is not her who is exiting the rooms , but a man he has to assume is her brother . the words catch in his throat and he’s left standing a few paces away looking at lord cedrik baratheon with a level of apprehension . he had not expected katherynne to feel for him the way that she did , had not expected anyone to really . he was not the ideal suitor and he was well aware of that … he had even less expectations that he brother would approve . additionally , he was unsure exactly what cedrik knew , of both himself and his involvement with katherynne .
after an uncomfortable moment of quiet , olyvar finally speaks . ‘ good morning , my lord . ’ @stagborn
different from his own parents’ desires, cedrik wants what is deemed as best for his siblings. though he would prefer them to stay in his company where he can protect them, they are free to choose their own futures and travel where they please. he is not his father, he is not his father, and he will not shout until he is red in the face for his siblings to do what he desires. katherynne’s absence weighed heavily on him, and though he wished her well, he had his own troubles with her marriage before being clued into the horrors his sister had endured. now he was skeptical of anyone who stepped too close, who stared too long ... for what were their intentions with his sister and were they kind ? with what she’s told him about being well acquainted with the lord arryn, he’s done well to keep an eye out.
he’s escaping out into the hall, knowing it’d be best if he show his face. for someone like himself to keep to his chambers would be appeared in an unfavorable way and cedrik knows how important appearances are to maintain. when the door swings open and he’s met face to face with another, any sight of optimism falls from his expression. had they not been smiling or appeared as if the company had been a mistake, the lord baratheon would have mistook him for an assassin. still, he’s troubled by the sudden surprise and it’s evidence on his features.
❝ good morning ... ❞ still suspicious, he eyes the man, unsure of who he is or what he wants. ❝ and who might you be, standing outside my chambers ? ❞
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to the east, over winterfell’s walls, the deep blue of the night sky is just beginning to lighten as jeyne crosses the courtyard. her breath steams in the air, the chill of the dawn mist clinging to her and sending a shiver down her spine, but she is restless, and cannot stand to stay abed. instead she turns to prayer ; although she is hardly the most pious, she appreciates a moment of solitude, and there are few places a lady can go unattended without drawing unwanted attention. she approaches the small sept, head bowed and hood drawn to try to keep out the cold, and does not see the figure near the doorway until she’s much too close. startling slightly at realizing she is not alone, her surprise melts quickly into curiosity.
“ good morning. forgive me, i didn’t think anyone would be here so early. can’t sleep ? ” the question is perhaps a little forward, but jeyne’s courtesies are always rather rusty before noon or so.
by no means is cedrik baratheon a religious man. his relationship with the faith of the seven is ... complicated, and he is unsure how others view his religious stance. most days, he finds himself skeptical of those with the realm in their grasp and the idea of how truthful that could be. for everything is simply of chance and misfortune, is it not ? it doesn’t seem reasonable for anyone to oversee that. still, he retains a public image of himself in a good light, or he attempts to anyhow ... and besides, collecting his thoughts with a moment alone is always welcomed. however, approaching the makeshift sept that winterfell has ... and by the looks of it, is not maintained well enough, the giddiness of a quiet peace is lost as cedrik spots another. his expression falls, regardless of wishing he could put on a smile, and he clears his throat.
❝ morning, my lady. oh, i’ve come here for prayer, ❞ words a bit too sarcastic as cedrik clicks his tongue, he drops whatever masquerade he had planned. his shoulders drop and he lets out a sigh, not yet moved from his spot in the doorway. ❝ i could have slept... alas, here i am. do you mind my company ? ❞
⤷ the courts offer bread and salt to CEDRIK BARATHEON of HOUSE BARATHEON. many say that the THIRTY TWO year old RULING LORD of STORM’S END is known to be INTUITIVE and PASSIONATE, though ill tongues whisper that HE is DISTANT and TEMPERAMENTAL. when his name is uttered, one is reminded of the sounds of horse hooves, skipping of rocks along the seashore & the crackling of burning logs. may he be blessed and protected in this war of crowns.
hello ! my name is cait and i’m going to start off with an apology of how terrible this will be ! summer classes have my focus but i wanted to get something up for plotting purposes and my own muse sake. i am super excited to write w all of you and though i may be a lil scarce for the next few days please know i will make it up with plots galore when i am able ! okay, enough rambling -- onto cedrik !
stats.
full name : cedrik baratheon.
nicknames : he rlly hates when ppl give him these so he probably doesn’t have any !
titles : ruling lord of storm’s end, lord paramount of the stormlands, warden of the south.
age : thirty two.
gender : cis male.
pronouns : he / him.
orientation : bisexual.
place of origin : storm’s end.
allegiance : house baratheon. doesn’t give a single fuck about the southern king or the northern king. peace is fragile and with his own trust issues he will only ever be loyal to his family.
weapon of choice : widow’s wail, a sword owned by joffrey baratheon was smelted down to create a new valyrian steel sword for the new generation of baratheons, first given to cedrik’s father, wyllam baratheon. he then passed it down to the future ruler of their house, which was cedrik. it has ripples of gold in its appearance and has been named stormbringer. this is ALWAYS hooked on cedrik’s hip and while he knows how to use it, will do anything to keep it as a decorative piece.
background.
was born to wyllam baratheon and adella baratheon née caron, their first child of four and their first son of two. a big family ! and cedrik adored it growing up, he absolutely adores his siblings and unlike his father, does his best to put their preferences before acting for them. he was a spitting image of his father, something he used to be proud of and yet, has grown into a reminder of why not to look at his reflection. cedrik grew up spoiled, frequently in the care of his mother and given the most attention of his father’s. he was so naive as a child, thinking his parents favored him -- and they did, but for all the wrong reasons ( as if a parent should favor a child ... anyway ). his mother suffocated him out of fear he’d grow to bring their house to ruin and his father essentially taught him due to the same reason. whether they genuinely loved him or desperately needed him to succeed as a good lord is a question cedrik still struggles with in present time. watching his father turn into a monster ( he always was one, in a way ) after his mother’s death opened his eyes to how cruel the man could be and how cedrik had been modeled after him. he struggles with how he feels for them, but is overall ashamed for how he idolized them in his youth. they really did a number on him !
trust issues are big and cedrik often finds himself incapable of reaching out to others with anything more than surface level conversation. he has friends and people whose conversation he genuinely enjoys, but he often thinks morbidly how one day they could be forced to turn on one another... or kill each other. he’s selfish in the way that he will do what is best for himself and his family but is not outwardly cruel. sometimes you can catch a glimpse or see a break while he mutters under his breath, but cedrik is desperate to have people see him as anything other than his father. he just hopes it’s not too late to be better... and he sure he no idea how to do that.
regardless of how it may seem, cedrik does his best to be welcoming and kind. the genuineness of himself is what differentiates conversations. he’s the ruling lord, he must play the right cards and smile at the right people but most days, all he wants to do is lock himself in his bedchambers and shut off the world. he misses when he was younger and could goof around while being responsible was sooo far into the future ... but he’s never wanted his responsibility and though he’s playing the part, doing what’s expected of him because in some fucked up way, he doesn’t want to let down his father or his house, but he really wishes his life was different.
he was married, for a time. a few years. his father had arranged the marriage a year before he died, to a lovely woman from house tarth. cedrik, as much as he didn’t want to be married off, inevitably sucked it up and accepted his place. maegyn was kind and any man would have been lucky to marry her, but she deserved better, something cedrik was blatantly aware of. they never had children and though cedrik has never told anyone except for maegyn, he was curious enough to go through some odd process a maester suggested to see why -- only to be told they suspected him infertile. though he never had his heart set on being a father, now he’s given up on the idea entirely. after he confessed this theory to his wife, he told her she should look elsewhere for children, that if she were to become pregnant with someone else’s child they’d claim cedrik was the father. she wanted so badly to be a mother and it drove cedrik mad to nearly deny her of that. cedrik himself even strayed from their marriage, thrown into guilt and self hatred over everything he’d learned.
a year ago, maegyn died from a rare and mysterious illness, something of the likes they’d never really seen before. cedrik wasn’t heartbroken, as he was never truly in love with her, but he mourned greatly, for at the very least, maegyn was a good friend and a trusted confidant. there are rumors that cedrik poisoned her to marry another due to the financial state of house baratheon, but those are entirely false. though, because cedrik has no proof and it Does look bad, he refuses to give them any mind.
cedrik inherited the position of master of coin from his father. his father was a selfish man who drank most of the day and was absent during the night. it was no surprise that after his death, cedrik counted through the books and discovered that his father had put the southern kingdom into a hefty debt. throughout the years, cedrik has borrowed from various places ( mostly house tyrell ) and nearly successfully pulled the southern kingdom out of debt -- but at the cost of forcing house baratheon into financial ruin. in an attempt to save his house, he’s sacrificed himself to marry a woman in high ranking... a lady of house stark. when they are married, some of her finances will become cedrik’s. he knows it’s selfish, especially as house stark has no clue of this ( they might be suspicious of why he’s marrying so soon, but not for money reason suspicions ) and once they are married, house stark will either have to help him or watch lady julienna be dragged along with house baratheon. cedrik has his own agenda though, and if house stark needs an ally in the south, cedrik will have no problem making that so if to keep both their houses afloat.
more to come eventually !
yeah ... it’s a lot ! again, i’ll be scarce until at least tomorrow evening so if i’m not replying to plotting messages, i promise i will in time ! if you like this, i’ll message you tomorrow evening ( or tonight, depending on what time i have ) to plot !
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