#cause like

"Lady Havarn," you croak, briefly at a completely loss of what to even do.

"My lady," the Captain thankfully fills in the gap. "Please do not be alarmed, your lady in waiting is tending to my comrade, he's taken ill."

Lady Rae raises one eyebrow in artificial disbelief.

"Oh, of course, ser, he's taken ill. That's why my lady in waiting is on the floor, with his hands up her skirt."

You look down as if you'd forgotten about using said skirts to try and keep the Prince warm. It was bad enough that you've got the Prince down to a single layer of ripped clothing, even taking into the account he is actually quite ill, you've got to admit the picture you two make is actually kind of damning.

"He's ill," the Captain insists firmly, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. You desperately wish he was close enough that you could extend a leg to kick his ankle. "The lady has been kind enough to offer sustenance, tending and dry clothing. I would hate to think of anyone slandering her because of such kindness."

Alright, that response was actually pretty good.

"My lady," you interject though, because you need Lady Rae's attention on you, and not thinking too hard about these four men, and wanting details. Like their names. You purposefully haven't asked the Captain for his name, because you have a horrible suspicion it would be instantly recognizable. Men who rise in the ranks of the Kingsguard often are.

Thankfully, she turns her bright eyes back to you. "My lady, he took over with dizziness, and when I examined him I could see that his wounds needed tending. I am only trying to honor your house and see to your guests."

"Yes. You are indeed seeing to them," she laughs meanly. You grit your teeth against snapping at her. The Prince stirs fitfully against you. Looking down you can see his eyes flutter open, and before you can second guess yourself, you press your hand against the place where his shoulder and neck meet. He freezes.

"Be still, please, ser. I haven't finished cleaning your wound yet," you try to put as much pleading in that sentence as possible. If Lady Rae gets a glimpse of both his eyes, you're all ruined. The Prince must hear enough of your caution because he stays where he is. But he doesn't close his eyes, and you feel a conscious tenseness spread through him under your hand.

"I see you've shared plenty from our stores with them," the Lady Rae remarks, drifting somewhat unsteadily into the kitchen a little more, looking at the teapot on the table, and the clean linens scattered about that the knights used to dry the Prince off.

"Of course, my lady, I knew you would not want me to be discourteous." you say demurely, lowering your eyes, but still keeping her in sight through your lashes. She gives you a poisonous look, but doesn't contradict you.

"Your household has been so very welcoming, my lady," the Captain adds helpfully, almost cheerfully sincere.

"Naturally, ser, House Harvan stands at the ready for the realm, be that its Kingsguard, its noble houses, or sad bedraggled strays." She simpers back at the Captain. He blinks, surprised at her tone. The Prince draws in a tight, slow breath. "You must forgive us, however, for leaving your injured man to be tended by my untrained and unlearned lady in waiting. Should we summon a maester for you? We have none here, but one of our guests is Lord of Leafy Lake and brought one of his maesters with him. We could wake them if you'd like."

"That's not necessary," you say quickly, unable to keep your hand from pressing protectively on the Prince, as though you could shield him somehow. "He only needs it to be re-bandaged, we shouldn't wake the maester for something to trivial."

The Captain shoots you a questioning glance, you can't look back at him. Lady Rae may be inebriated, but she's not blind, and despite what her current state might demonstrate, she plays the games of stolen glances and half whispers better than most you've come across. You just have to hope he will go along with it.

Lady Rae just smiles at you, and the smile is all teeth. "Of course, my lady," she mocks, "something as simple as redressing a wound is well within your…formidable talents."

The Prince shifts like he's trying to find a way to push himself up, you dig your fingernails into his skin for lack of any other wordless option. A warm hand finds your calf under your skirts, his broad palm presses back in response to your hands on him, one of his fingers hooking under your garter like a demanding question. You press harder with your nails in what you hope desperately he can translate as a very firm and clear: Don't.

"Thank you, my lady," you manage to say without choking on it. "I only need a bit more time to have him back on his feet."

"Don't forget to check over his comrades with the same dedication, dear," she chortles. The other knights, even poor Godwin, actually look insulted on your behalf.

"That's…not needed ma'am," the Captain says disbelieving at how vile she's being. "We're all fine. As the lady says, we only need a little more time and we'll be out of your hair. We appreciate the shelter, but you're clearly busy with your guests, we will try to leave by dawn."

"That's such a shame," the Lady Rae replies, "So many of my guests were already abed when you arrived, sers, I was hoping to introduce you over the breakfast feast."

"We would hate to take away from the festivities, my lady."

"Nonsense! It isn't every day we out here in the marshes get to entertain members of the Kingsguard! I imagine you all on your way to Ashford Meadows then? We heard the Targaryen House would be attending a tourney there."

"Well remembered, my lady," the Captain replies and you want to congratulate him on such a neutral, non-committal, but still perfectly true statement.

Lady Rae taps the side of her temple, "Mind like an iron trap, mine. Good to know, I do hope the tourney went well and all, I should send the Ashfords a note or something. A task for the daylight hours!"

She turns back to you, "My dear, do remind me later to write the Ashfords, once you've had some sleep of course. I'm sure you'll be tired after all of this…stimulating work. Have a lie in, you needn't come to the breakfast feast, find me after the noon bell."

"Thank you, my lady," you force yourself to say. You'll have to do it too, she's gotten what she wanted from this hastily hatched plan of hers and she's going to see it come to fruition no matter what. If you can't stop her, then you are going to use the free hours she's just handed you to the best of your abilities.

"Hm, and if he's gotten blood on any of those linens that is coming out of your pay."

"We are happy to cover the cost of anything we damage, my lady," the Captain interrupts.

"So gallant, ser, that is very kind of you to offer-"

"I insist. I would be appalled if we caused an undue burden to anyone in your household."

"Oh, very well." she mutters, clearly annoyed at having one of her barbs for you being deflected. She turns to you once more.

"You'll still need to get the morning chores done, no waking up any of the servants to pick up your slack, you hear?"

"I understand, my lady." The two of you lock eyes across the room. Her, sloppily dressed in her feast finery, cheeks flushed with drink and a smug grin on her face. You, with your plain woolen dress that you had to dye yourself with Lady Marissa's help because this woman wouldn't give you an allowance for clothing, and a half conscious Prince in your lap. Yet again, you find yourself having to suppress a burst of hysterical laughter at the fate that has found you.

She sneers at you, and you know your time at this keep is absolutely over. She's won, and she's going to make sure you're out by the end of the month. You can only hope to somehow manage a new position elsewhere, because there is no way you're going to give yourself over to her plan completely. You'll find a way to turn this to your advantage, you promise yourself silently. The battle may be lost, but the war goes ever on.

"See that you do not leave a mess," is her last instruction, before she sweeps back out of the room, not bothering to shut the door behind her.

The Captain, looks over at you, his confusion and shock plain on his face.

"My lady, what in all the realms -"

With your free hand you make a frantic cutting motion against your own throat, before nodding your head at the open door way. Tarly, bless him, seems to catch on instantly, because he strides over to the door, checks the hallway and then shuts it tight.

"She's at the end of the hall, still walking away." Tarly reports softly, staying near the door.

You let out an explosive breath of relief and lean forward just a little, letting the release of all the stress curl your spine. Looking down, you find the Prince looking up at you, his mismatched eyes serious.

"There's a maester here?" the Prince asks flatly, his voice is still a little muddled, but he was obviously able to follow the Lady's Rae's words.

"The Lord of Leafy Lake is a cadet branch of the House Osgrey." You answer the question he's really asking, knowing you won't be able to dodge around the issue now. The Captain curses softly looking up at the ceiling for a brief moment as if praying for strength, meanwhile the Prince lets out a miserable groan of frustration.

"Of course they are," he mutters into your skirts, his tone defeated.

"I don't think that the maester would do anything to actively harm you, your Grace, but he is his Lord's man, and from what I understand, only recently gained his chain. He's quite young." you explain choosing your words carefully, like stepping between dry branches in a forest.

"So you don't think he'd be of much help and might actually start rumors about my condition to harm my house?" the Prince asks.

"Just so," you reply. You do not add that you're also more than a bit afraid what the Lord of Leafy Lake himself might do. Or try to do. The house is full of men drunk on wine and their own egos. Not a good atmosphere for most things, and certainly not for a badly injured Crown Prince who fought in the Battle of Redgrass Field, where famously three sons of the Osgrey House died fighting on the opposite side of said Prince.

"Let me up, please, my lady." Prince Baelor requests. You startle, realizing belatedly that you still have your palm pressed against his bare skin. Looking down you're somewhat horrified to find you've left marks on him: tiny crescent moon divots from your nails biting into his flesh. You snatch you hand away as thought it was touching fire.

"Rivers take me, you Grace I am so sorry, I wasn't…I mean I didn't intend - "

"At ease, my lady," the Prince says simply, and this time when he pushes up, you do nothing to stop him. He, astoundingly keeps his hand on you though, pushing himself up with his other one. He goes slowly, clearly still a little unsteady, but most of the dizziness must have passed. The chemise gapes at his front as he moves, your eyes flick over his collarbones, the dip between them, and the open line of his chest without your permission. Your skirts slide off him, pooling between you and at long last he lets your calf go, his fingers sliding out from under your garter with not even a whisper. Your throat clicks when you swallow, your mouth is dry.

"I understand a little better now, why you've been hesitant to speak about this house. I imagine the guest list does not include a great many supporters of my family."

You let your shoulders drop, looking down at your lap, twisting your fingers together.

"It does not, your Grace. I don't think you'd come to harm, but…well. You turned up in disguise yourself, so I think you were at least somewhat aware of the dangers too."

"I had concerns, yes. They were mostly ignored." the Prince acknowledges, while the Captain you notice from the corner of your eye looks sheepish. "But given the state I was in…am in," the Prince grimaces, "I can't say the decision to come here was wrong. Just that we will have to continue being careful."

You sigh, and look over at the bowl of clean water, the tea pot waiting on the hearth and the clothing draped over the rail by the fire, faintly steaming.

"We may need to post someone on the door outside," you say. "I can't guarantee someone else won't wander in. The servants left food out in the great hall for anyone who wants it, and typically the guests wouldn't come down to the kitchen for anything, but well…Lady Rae is likely to gossip about what she did see down here to anyone still awake. Someone with the wrong impression might get, um, curious."

Prince Baelor looks at you, appalled. "Curious?" he asks, stressing the word like he's questioning your use of it.

"Not every nobleman is a knight, ser." Is all you can think to say in reply.

"She would be so callous with your safety? Your reputation? Your future?"

You laugh a little at that.

"What future, you Grace? I'm sure you've put it together at this point, but she was hoping for exactly this kind of situation that she can use to slander me. She wants me out of her House and sworn to the Silent Sisters. This was her golden opportunity."

"But why?" he asks, his eyes searching your face. In this light, his right eye looks more lavender than blue, the fire reflecting in it makes you think of the stories about dragons and their breaths of flame.

"I'm politically inconvenient," you say simply. "The last vestige of a dead house, a reminder of a bloody war. They can't marry me off to anyone, who would pay my dowry? What connections would I bring a noble house? Taking me on in the first place was supposed to gain them favor with the house I was last the guest of, but that didn't go well after the Lady Rae was caught sleeping with that Lord's brother."

The Captain lets out a noise like a mouse being trod upon, clearly shocked, and turns it into a manly cough. The Prince just looks at you, stunned.

"And she implies you're the woman of loose morals?" Prince Baelor asks forgetting for a moment all tact. You laugh again.

"Of course she does. The weapons used on her she can only turn on others. That's how she works."

"Ser Tarly," the Prince orders, his tone even and firm for the first time since he nearly fainted. Tarly snaps to attention in an instant. "Please step outside the kitchen and guard the door from the hall. You do not need to bar anyone access, but please be loud in your greetings so we are alerted."

"Of course, your Grace." And Tarly takes himself out the kitchen as directed. Before he closes the door, you see him plant himself like a tree in front of it.

"Ser Godwin," the Prince directs next, who also falls into formation like a lock clicking closed. "The other door, if you please, to the courtyard." And off Godwin goes to stand guard in the rain, the poor man.

"That will give us some warning if there's to be any other disturbances," the Prince says, he presses the fingers of one hand against his right eye again. You watch his knuckles turn white from the pressure. Before you can stop yourself, or even second guess the desire, you reach up and take his wrist and pull his hand away from his face.

"Stop," you whisper gently. He blinks at you, too surprised to respond. "Your head is still hurting?"

"Yes," he breathes, "It hasn't stopped."

"Alright," you say, reassembling your previous plan in your mind. "I'll redress your wound while you eat something. Then more pain remedy after that. We're going to stay right here where it's warm. Captain, could you fetch me another bowl down? Spoons are over there, grab a ladle too if you please." you point to a cabinet near the cook's station.

"Your Grace, if you would turn just slightly away from me? I need to see your back." He slowly does, as though reluctant. You wonder if he's still feeling dizzy.

The Captain, rivers bless him, comes over with the bowl, ladle and a spoon, and before you can direct him further, goes ahead and ladles some of the broth bubbling away in the cauldron into said bowl and hands it down to the Prince.

"Go slow, your Grace," the Captain requests, and the Prince nods his assent. You look over the back of the Prince's head again, mapping out where to start with your cloth and clean water to hopefully make this painless.

"My lady, with your permission, might I clean up a few things? Make your job later easier?" the Captain asks.

"Oh," you say, startled. The Captain looks down at you, his face open and earnest. "That would…that would be very helpful Captain, thank you. But surely a man of your station -"

"Wasn't always a knight, my lady. Was plenty of things before it, including a helper to my mother who had her own kitchen to run."

You smile at him, somewhat charmed. "In that case, I leave it in your experienced hands, ser. Thank you."

The Captain bows, like you are a real noble woman, someone important, rather than the remnants of a house no one remembers the name of. And then he's off, collecting the wet linens from the floor, corralling the mugs from earlier, poking about for a broom to sweep the floors.

"My goodness, is he always like that?" you ask Prince Baelor without thinking.

"Generally speaking, yes," he answers before blowing on a spoonful of broth.

"He's so…sincere?"

"Hmm, not an ounce of artifice that one."

"I'm doubly impressed with how he handled Lady Rae now."

"He's sincere, and smart enough to use that sincerity to his advantage when called for."

"I can see then, why you made him a Captain."

"Yes, he rather was a good pick. Hasn't disappointed me."

"Huh," you pause for a moment, thoughtful, "Well, your Grace, if you had to be lost in the Dornish Marshes with someone, I suppose you could have done much worse." You pick up the clean cloth and dip it into the bowl of water, then wring it out.

"Yes," Prince Baelor says faintly as you lay one hand on his shoulder again in warning before very gently starting to wipe some of the dried blood and poultice from the skin of his neck. "I could have done much, much worse."

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