#luthor largent

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The Red Keep was aflame with petitioners. High and low, all came with requests, needs and expectations. 

Your mother was incredibly busy balancing herself on a fragile peace. King’s Landing was won, but at what cost? Your brothers were killed, setting an emptiness in each of your souls. 

On the very next day after King’s Landing opened its gates to your family, you took up half of your mother’s duties. She said you could help her, in the very brief moments you encountered her, you could help her. She never mentioned you speaking with the Queen’s voice, yet you thought it was expected of you. 

You were her eldest after Jacaerys, fathered by Daemon Targaryen and rider of Vermithor. Wasn’t it to be understood that you were her heir? You rode the second most formidable dragon, its rider was the Old King before you. Surely, that would count for something in her eyes. 

Yet, when she heard of you telling the maesters they could write to Dorne, asking for their soldiers and friendship in return for whatever terms they ask for. She chastised you. In front of that blubbering oaf Ulf and Addam. Ulf barely contained his laugh as your mother raised her voice at you and your father only looked at you with an expression you couldn’t possibly understand. She told you that you should behave. From now on, she doesn't need your help anymore. You fancied yourself a Visenya, but she’ll rather make a Helaena out of you. 

Why couldn’t she see? Dorne could greatly aid you. Pushing against the Hightowers from Oldtown, you could attack them from both sides. She didn’t even wish to hear of your argument. 

You wanted to ask whether she will proclaim you heir, now you’ll rather not say anything. 

Vermithor was restless in the dragonpit tonight. 

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You broke your fast the next morning on bacon, boiled eggs and warm honeycakes with your favorite berries inside of them. 

Your maids brushed your hair and dressed you in your favorite scarlet dress, carefully beaded on your waist with two dragons. You read, listened to your ladies-in-waiting singing, then sat gazing upon the horizon like some great dragon of old. This was maddening, you were a woman grown, yet your mother confined you into your bedchamber like some spoiled child. You could hear the voices of the court outside, always asking, always questioning. You wondered what the septon might say to your mother crowning herself queen after he already crowned Aegon-

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. Your father’s voice came from behind it. You allowed him to enter. 

He wasn’t alone. 

“Good morrow.” He came to press a kiss on your cheek. “How has this day treated you?” 

You didn’t need to answer as he already saw the displeasure in your eyes. 

“Better to not answer, aye? I’ve brought you someone- A princess needs a guard.” 

You didn’t even look to see the Gold Cloak standing behind him near the door. 

“I have no wish for it. My Ladies are company enough, kepa.” 

Your father had that disappointed look in his eyes again. He didn’t wish to argue with you once more. Sometimes you wondered if you reminded him too much of himself and your mother. 

“Order from your Queen, tala. I do not wish to make a fuss of this. Your ladies won’t help you with anything if some rogue guard wants to kill himself a dragon.” 

You turned your back with a thud on the ornate chair. 

“Tell the Queen her thoughts are appreciated.” 

He squeezed your shoulder before shutting the door behind you. You could feel the man’s presence in the room, interrupting any womanly peace you found amidst your ladies.

You turned your head to the side to address him. 

“What is your name, Ser?” 

“Luthor, Your Grace.” His voice was strong and deep. You couldn’t care enough to turn around and look the Golden Cloak in the eyes as you addressed him. 

“You can exit now, Ser Luthor. A guard should sit outside the door, not inside.” You couldn’t fault the man, Gold Cloaks were merely the guards of the city, not protectors of Princesses. 

“Yes. Your Grace.” He left. 

You dismissed the other two women, as your favorite lady, Meredith, came to your side. She was of age to you, and followed you from Dragonstone to King’s Landing, even if she was born of a lesser house, you regarded her as your best friend. 

She joined you in silence as you gazed upon the sea. 

“What are you thinking of?” She asked you. Somewhere in the room, the wood from the fire crackled and sent sparks in the air.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. What if you were the one who went with Jace? He would know what to do. What to tell you so you could relax. Nothing could bring him back now. 

You had to stop thinking about what was, “Addam looks quite handsome, don’t you think?” She blushed profusely, trying to mask it with a laugh. 

“You’ve turned to matchmaking now?” Her copper hair shone in the sun, and her blue eyes turned bashful as she tried to shrug off your comment. 

“Yes… I think I shall take up singing after. I think becoming a traveling bard would suit me.” 

“Stop it.” He held your hand on the table “It’s not all bad…your mother will come to her senses and all will be well. I heard talk of a tourney-“ 

“She’s thinking of tourneys? Now? What else have you heard?” 

“Nothing, just rumors. She has yet to appoint a Queensguard you see.” 

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Sleep found you hard, tossing and turning and unable to stop thinking about your mother. About your future. There were still alliances to be forged. She could marry you to someone who could actually help you and you wouldn’t mind it, you would do anything to see the realm at peace and your family on the throne. Even if in your heart you wished to find happiness with someone of your own choosing. 

You took the heavy covers off of you as you stood from the bed.

Your nightshift brushed the floor with each step while you padded over to the heavy wooden door. You slowly opened it and looked outside, the night embraced the Red Keep with its columns and their torches blazing and crackling into the night air. You wished to wander the halls a bit, discover it and-

“Your Grace.“

“Seven Gods!” Your heart jumped to your throat. 

“Apologies, Your Grace, I didn’t wish to frighten you.” 

You completely forgot about the other column your father has anointed with your protection. You finally looked at him properly in the darkness of the great hall. The torches allowed for enough light that you could finally see his features. Black eyes and a heavy beard, with almost perfect curls on his head. 

“It’s alright.” You tried to retain your composure “I must apologize, ser Lothar. I didn’t see you there.” 

“Ser Luthor, Your Grace.” You saw how quickly he remembered that correcting a member of the royal family was not something anyone like him should ever do. 

“Ser Luthor, yes. Sorry.” Here you were, in an awkward circle of apologetics with this man. 

“Her Grace, the Queen, has forbidden you leaving the room. I am afraid I can’t let you leave.” 

“I didn’t wish to leave… I merely wanted,” What did you want? 

His eyes masked a hint of amusement, with the smallest smirk upon his face. Your heart dropped into a pit in your stomach. And suddenly you felt as if you were a child again. 

“Oh, nevermind.” You shut the door and returned to your gilded cage. 

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The next day brought the same stale quality. Your dragon tapestries only made you long for Vermithor and the sky he could offer you. He was as restless as you, and as restrained. 

Your ladies brushed your hair and braided it into the custom of your house after you were dressed.

You told them to bring the guard inside as you dismissed them. He stood almost as broad as the door as he took off his helmet and bowed his head, the sun filtered behind his stature. His gold cloak hung about his shoulders, his gaze set as to not make eye contact, as that would be unbecoming of him. 

This Luthor was a formidable man. You couldn’t help but remark at how much he looked like a soldier.

Your hands ached for something, and while your mother locked you in your chambers, she didn’t say you couldn’t have fun. You wanted to know more about this guard of yours. 

“Your Grace.”

“I presume you know how to fight.” 

He nodded, almost skeptical as to why you’d ask such a question “Yes, Your Grace.” 

“Good.” You pushed the chair behind you and stood to gaze up at him. “Can you teach me?” 

“I’m afraid not, Your Grace.” His answer came quickly and definitively. 

Your smile dropped in an instant. You knew it was a wager, but hidden behind the door and with no one to ask or too busy to care about you now, it seemed like one you dared to make. 

“You disobey me?” It was easier to look at him when his eyes weren’t upon you. “Look at me.” 

His eyes went to your face and all courage left you. 

“Your Grace, I was ordered to guard you.” 

“And?” 

“Not strike you.” 

“You shan’t strike me.” You wanted to bring yourself more arguments in your favor. But all manner of thoughts escaped your mind as you looked at him. 

“That is not a gamble I am willing to take.” 

Desperation dug her claws into you. You wanted to scream and plead. Run out the door before he could catch you.

Maybe you could. 

You were in the middle of the room, with him towering over you even if he was quite far. 

In the back of your mind you knew it was for your own good, but this was cruel and unjust. Your mother couldn’t possibly handle you gone as well and you understood her in that regard. But couldn’t she see your desperation, doesn’t she think of you? How could she chain you up like this? You're not some dog. 

You looked at the door, five steps. Slightly to the right of him and out. That’s all. You made a step to the right, and he noticed at once what you wanted to do. 

“Don’t-“ 

You made a break for it. The floor heavy under your feet. One, two, three- a hand went to your shoulder, then he went before the door and you. You couldn’t possibly go or push past him. 

Your father already knew, somehow, maybe, that you would want to escape. He knew what he was doing while appointing a man the size of a tree as your guard.

“Please…I don’t want to be here anymore“

“I apologize- I cannot let you leave.” 

You felt a rush of tears to your eyes as you turned away from him. 

“Leave me then. Go.”  

You refused supper, deciding to chew on your current situation and state. You didn’t want to see anyone. 

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When dawn broke, you refused everyone, deciding to dress yourself and brush your hair under the soft sun escaping through your windows. You settled with a book on the table overlooking the sea. It was a book about the customs of the Free Cities, even if you read it twice already, it seemed as interesting as the first time. You have wanted to visit them desperately since you were small.

Maybe when you wouldn’t be imprisoned.

Someone else entered, without announcement. You knew who it was at once. 

“You think I want you to run and fly off to Gods know where- to press my claim and fight my war?” 

You and your mother had been locked into another argument. It started softly at first, with her wanting to know why you got the idea to write to Dorne and you insisting that your plans were better than hers. If only she would take heed of them. Dorne couldn’t be conquered, they needed terms and acceptance and while granting them that, you could sweep the Hightower forces off their feet.

“And you wonder why I must bar you inside this room!?” 

“If it was Jacaerys, you would let him sit on your small council and speak with the Queen’s voice!” 

You wanted to be strong, not to have your voice break and tears threatening to fall.

“You are not Jacaerys!” That was the final phrase uttered in the room. A stillness fell upon you both. Rhaenyra softened after what she said and after the look on your face.

“You are my life…I cannot lose you too. Please, obey me. As your Queen and as your mother, obey me.”

You decided you didn’t wish to see anyone that day afterwards, deciding to shed your tears in your chamber, alone. He probably heard everything your mother said, sitting outside the room in his armor.

Someone knocked. You told them the princess is not requiring any visitors. They knocked again and you begrudgingly allowed them to enter. 

It was the voice of your guard. 

“Your Grace, pardon my interruption.” Interruption from tears and despair, you thought. With your back to him and a pillow closely tucked in your arms. 

“What is it?” You lifted your head at once. 

He was standing in the middle of the room. Two wooden swords at his side. He dismissed his armor and cloak for a simple black woolen tunic and trousers. He still looked as big as a carriage without the armor. 

You tried to make sense of what you were seeing, then your heart soared and you quickly wiped your tears and tried to fix your braid. You came to stand in front of him. He looked at your face. If he noticed the redness about your eyes, he gave no sign of it. You wanted to wear pants as well, so you quickly sent him away as you changed then beckoned him back inside. The shirt was too long on you, and your pants had to be tied at the waist so as to not slip down.

Now that would be a sight.

You looked into a mirror and decided you looked as if you were a squire stealing his knight’s clothes. It would have to do.

His hands dwarfed the hilt of the practice sword, calloused across the palms and marked by old white scars. You found yourself wondering where the scars upon his hands had come from. Battle? The City Watch? Training? Before you realized it, your thoughts had wandered so far from your quarrel with your mother that the ache in your chest had quieted.

“Your footing is wrong.” 

“You would be dead before you knew it.” 

“That is not humanly capable of happening.” 

Seeing your father and brothers practice, you truly thought it was as easy as it looked.

You saw an opening as he dodged your blow, and your sword went almost to his chest. At once he raised his and threw yours across the floor. 

The practice weapon began to spin around the chamber until it landed in the corner. And struck the wall.

“Fetch it.” 

“Again?” 

“Yes. Again.”

Ser Luthor had a practice of throwing your sword with his own to the edge of the room whenever he caught you gaining too much confidence and making you get it. In truth, this was the most fun you’ve had in months.

No, years. 

You laughed whenever he would retaliate and strike you, as his blow would come so hard and when it made contact with your skin it landed as softly as summer’s kiss. It almost tickled you. He seemed to enjoy it too, a smile breaking upon his face whenever you laughed and scurried away. 

After a few hours, you started to get the gist of the easy movements he made you do. And could thoroughly enjoy the lessons. Whenever he would throw your sword across the floor you would ask:

“Again?” And sigh dramatically. 

“Again.” He would answer, solemn as ever, with the slightest of smiles and his chest rising to catch his breath. 

You realized after a few hours, as the sun was beginning to set across Blackwater Bay, bathing the royal chamber in orange and red, that each opening in his stance existed because he allowed you to believe it was there. He was formidable indeed. 

Either that, or you were just incredibly bad at sword fighting.

He sat himself down next to you, the day’s exertion finally showing upon him. Damp curls clung to his brow, and the sleeves of his tunic were darkened with sweat at the forearms. The scent of worn leather lingered between you, softened by the jasmine climbing beyond the balcony doors. 

You poured both of you water from the ewer on the small table next to the balcony. 

You drank the first cup, then drank another. 

“Thank you.” You looked at him as you rubbed your hands, already forming callouses from how tightly you gripped the sword. 

“The honor is mine, Your Grace. Can’t say I ever taught a princess to fight before.” 

“Now you can.” You asked the question before he could leave you once more. 

“Will you be back tomorrow?” 

He looked at you and nodded. 

“As my Princess wishes.” 

“Is this something…you want as well?” The thought of becoming a burden on him somehow made you miserable inside. 

“It is my honor to be your guardian, Your Grace.” He folded his hands upon his lap.

However, you already had a guardian. Mightier than a mountain. His armor was stronger than Valyrian Steel and his fire burned brighter than the sun. With wings like a hurricane and bellows like thunder. 

He longed for you each day.

“I already have a guardian, Ser Luthor.” He looked at you quizzically. 

“He sits a few feet below the ground in the Dragonpit.” You smiled as you remembered your dragon. Vermithor was your pride and glory.

He smiled softly and the corner of his eyes wrinkled.

“I have heard the smallfolk petition Her Grace to keep their sheep from the dragons.”

You scoffed, yet it was light hearted.

“Vermithor would sooner swallow an aurochs whole.”

“Well we do have something in common.” 

“And what is that?” 

“I prefer beef as well.” 

You laughed and he smiled. He looked the tiniest bit surprised at his joke, like he was completely serious about his statement and didn’t intend for it to be funny.

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Routine set in the next day. When all your handmaids were sent away and gossip turned into wooden swords. 

Again and again he disarmed you. And you tried once more, every lesson tucked away into your mind to somehow make him be the one to get his sword. You never could disarm him however. 

You would sit facing the door to the balcony once more and questions fluttered into your mind. Each more curious than the last. What was his story?

“Where did you get that?” He had a long scar stretching from his thumb to somewhere up his arm.

“Flea Bottom.” His answers always came short and to the point. 

“Did you hear anything interesting from Her Grace?” 

“No, my Princess. Just talk of soldiers and logistics.”

“Do you have someone?” 

It came faster than you could stop it. And you immediately regretted it, wishing somehow to catch the words before they left your mouth.

He seemed almost surprised, for the briefest second. He re-adjusted himself on the chair. Black hair catching the setting sun. 

“No. Your Grace.” 

Immediately embarrassed, you tried to grasp at what dignity you had left.

“I merely wondered.” 

“I understand, Your Grace. No harm done.” You wanted to bury your head in shame in the ground. What madness had possessed you? He was neither your friend nor one of your ladies. He was your sworn guard, a man grown, weathered by years you had not yet lived.

You dismissed him soon after and lingered in your bath until the water had gone cool.

Gods… what had possessed you?

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The following day, you resolved not to ask another question.

No more curiosity, only lessons. He was the commander of the City Watch, not some young boy you could fancy. Besides, he wouldn’t even think about being with you like that. It would be unbecoming of one of such low birth.

Rumor had reached your chambers that Daeron had arrived within the Red Keep, and the news lifted your spirits enough that you thought you might finally give Ser Luthor a proper challenge.

Instead, you fought worse than before.

You missed openings you would have seen yesterday. Your footing faltered. Your grip slipped. More than once, you found your attention lingering upon the broadness of his shoulders or the certainty with which he carried himself, all while taking great care not to meet his dark eyes.

Your sword clattered across the floor once again.

“Fetch it.”

You obeyed in silence and as you bent to retrieve it, a miserable thought settled over you.

This was never what he wanted.

It was probably your father who urged him to busy your time. So you wouldn’t think to escape again. He was Captain of the City Watch. A commander of men. A soldier whose days belonged on the streets of King’s Landing, not shut away in a princess’s chambers humoring her childish whims. He had never asked about Vermithor, nor your books, nor why your eyes had been red the day he first entered your chambers with the swords.

You rested the practice sword against the table instead of returning to him.

“Is something amiss, Your Grace?” He tried to lean down and catch your eyes. 

“I am sorry. It seems I am not myself today. You can leave. I’m sorry to keep you from your duties, Ser Luthor.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace?” His voice echoed through the grand room, even if he never raised his tone. 

“You can go back to guarding the door.” You didn’t want to have tears prick at your eyes, but it seems that lately all you’ve encountered were disappointments. 

“This was all a childish folly.” You turned your gaze towards him, “I am truly sorry to keep you from your true duties.” 

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but you are my duty. Your father commanded as such.” 

“Yes, but that is not what you want and I don’t wish to impose that on you.” You muttered, already wishing you could forget all about this and him. About what you felt when you looked into his eyes.

“With respect, Your Grace.” He paused before continuing: “It was me who asked King Daemon for the wooden swords.” 

“What?” 

“I believed it would do Your Grace good.” 

You remained in silence, staring at him dumbfounded. He did this for you. He was the one who asked your father for this. Yet, he didn’t say that. He made a motion with his head for the sword on the table and you picked it up immediately. 

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As Meredith joined you for supper, you found yourself speaking of Ser Luthor more often than you intended.

“Aye,” she said around a mouthful of lamb. “He is a handsome man. In a rather rugged sort of way.”

You frowned into your cup. Sweetened wine already turning sour at how quickly she could read you.

“That is not what I said.”

“No,” Meredith replied. “But it is what you meant.”

You toyed with the chased silver handle of your goblet.

“I merely told you he teaches well.”

She fixed you with a hard look, even if you knew it was light hearted.

“You speak of him as though you’ve known him half your life.”

“I do not.”

“You’ve spoken of nothing else since I sat down.”

Heat rose to your cheeks and took hold of your ears.

“I will not be lectured, Meredith.”

“I am not lecturing you.” Her voice softened. “I am warning you.”

She set down her knife.

“The court feeds upon gossip. A princess spending hours alone with the Captain of the City Watch…” She shook her head. “It will not matter whether anything happened. They will say it did.”

“Nothing shall happen.”

“You should hope Her Grace never hears of these lessons.”

“My mother is busy.”

Your mother herself had once favored a certain Gold Cloak. If the Queen came demanding answers, you already knew what you would tell her.

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“I heard Vermithor grew restless in the Dragon Pit.” 

Ser Luthor had already set aside the practice swords, though his sleeves remained rolled to his forearms. The afternoon’s training had left loose curls clinging to his brow, and the fading sun caught the edges of them with copper light. He was handsome. So handsome in fact you almost forgot what he said after he said it.

“He’ll be fine.” You toyed with the Valyrian bracelet on your wrist. An old gift from your father. 

“Would you like to meet him someday?” 

He looked at you and smiled softly. Your belly was restless under his gaze. Did he think you were beautiful? 

Why are you asking such things?

“-I would much rather prefer to not be burned to bone.” You didn’t catch the first part of what he said, only that his mouth was moving and he seemed larger than life next to you, legs stretched out in front of him. 

“He won’t burn you. Not while I am there. He can saddle two, you know?” You wanted to show him something that you were good at. Truly good at. 

He chuckled and looked away for a moment before saying: “It would be my honor, Your Grace. One day.” 

“Yes, one day.” 

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The next day brought another lesson. Another foot to be corrected from his place and movements to be shown. The balcony allowed for a cool breeze to drift through. Sea gulls called out for each other somewhere in the distance. 

After you were done, with your arms sore and legs heavy, Ser Luthor remarked from his seat next to you:

“You are getting better, Your Grace.” 

“Yes, I only had to pick the sword a hundred times, not a hundred and fifty times.” 

“A good swordsman is trained upon years of practice. Do not be so harsh upon yourself.” 

“Tell me, Ser Luthor. What have you heard from the corridors of the Red Keep?” 

He gave a deep breath and you could see him deciding if he should tell you this. 

“What is it?”

“Not much, Her Grace asks frequently about your youngest brothers, many think it’s because she wants to call them back from Pentos.”

“Does she?” 

She wants to make little Aegon her heir. You were sure of that. A woman has been named heir and look at the ruin it brought. 

Still, you felt an indescribable sadness and…disappointment.

You changed the subject before he could try to make it better. 

“Have you ever visited the Free Cities, Ser?” 

“No, Your Grace. Have you?”

“No. But I have lost myself countless times in books about their customs and ways. I dearly want to visit Myr and Pentos, as well as Lys and Braavos. To see the great titan standing tall.” 

You found yourself imagining him and you on a dock yard in Pentos, both scorched from the sun and smiling. 

What has gotten into you?

“Would you ever wish to go?”

“The thought has never crossed my mind, Your Grace.” 

“After all this is over. Would you like to come with me?” 

He shook his head and tried to break the news as softly as he could. He hesitated a bit before saying:

“With all due respect, Your Grace… my place is with my men.” 

Of course it was. You decided to put on a brave face and mask your disappointment. 

“Then, I shall leave once this is over. Get on the Bronze Fury and fly hard and away.” You imagined the great white walls of Lys standing tall, its people gaping at the size of Vermithor and its Magister toasting you in his grand hall of white marble as a daughter of the ancient freehold. 

“Maybe I’ll travel to Volantis and see Valyria’s last daughter. Then I’ll go south to Sothoryos and see the great apes rumored to walk the land. Maybe I can glimpse Valyria and the Smoking Sea and look upon Asshai by the Shadow from afar-“ 

You stopped your daydreaming. 

Ser Luthor looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite name. His eyes soft and the ghost of a smile on his lips towards your dreams of escaping to grand Esoos.

“Then…Your Grace shall be dearly missed.” 

“I wouldn’t be so quick to think that.” You looked at your hands, not bearing to look upon him and see his eyes. 

“At most, I’ll aid my mother in her claim and marry a Lord. Then I’ll be back in a bedchamber, sprouting his children and taking care of his household.” 

You felt your eyes sting, that would be your future, not fighting, not jousting nor seeking glory upon a battlefield. Soon you’ll be another daughter of a ruler in the annals of history, no one important enough to remember. 

“Duty rarely asks what makes us happy.” He tilted his head to catch your eyes.

“I want to decide my own happiness.” 

“Would traveling the world bring you happiness, Your Grace?” 

Yes.

If you were with me.

We could cross the Narrow Sea together and never look back. You could teach me sword fighting properly instead of sending my blade skittering across the yard. We could wander the painted streets of Lys and lose ourselves amongst the markets of Pentos, dine beneath magisters’ gilded ceilings and watch the Titan of Braavos rise above the sea. I would take you upon Vermithor’s back and we could watch the whole world be swallowed in his bronze wings. Grand castles would look like nothing but children’s toys.

I could kiss you where no one knew our names, nor cared enough to learn them. I could marry you where no one cared that you were not born a lord. I could have your children, with hair as black as your own. Maybe some could have a silver streak from me to remind the world of the might of their mother’s homeland, long scattered to ash by The Ruin. We could be free.

“I think so.” You answered him.

He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering upon the floor before finding yours once more.

“Then I hope Your Grace finds the life she dreams of.”

He looked sad, though you could only be imagining it.

“What do you dream of, Ser Luthor?” 

He pondered a bit on your question before answering.

“Peace.” 

“Everyone wants that, tell me true.” You ardently wished to hear more from him. What were his hopes and dreams?

“Your Grace, I must admit I’ve never thought about it.”

“How come?”

“When I was a boy in Flea Bottom, I dreamt of warm bread and boots without holes in their soles. When I was older, I hoped to earn a place amongst the Gold Cloaks. Later, I hoped to command good men.”

He looked at his hands for a moment before lifting his eyes to yours.

“I have lived a life far greater than any I ever imagined for myself.”

He wasn’t dreaming of you, nor about what you could offer him. That was a foolish, childish thought. 

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You didn’t see him the next day. There was no knock on the door from him, nor any wooden swords for practice. You paced the room and wondered why. 

Surely he will come, surely.

He hadn’t. 

You asked your ladies if they have heard word of him and Meredith told you he was dismissed from your guard. Your heart sank in your chest.

You didn’t have to ask who did it. 

You left the room the following morning, with a fire under your skin. The guard your mother had placed in Luthor’s stead didn’t argue when you, quite loudly, told him to be quiet.

You didn’t know Maegor’s Holdfast well enough but you knew that the grand doors in front of the long corridor you rounded the corner on could only lead to the chamber meetings being held. 

You tamed the Bronze Fury at two-and-ten, the second most formidable dragon in the known world. You were a Princess of the Blood, not some child hiding beneath her mother’s skirts. 

You pushed the grand doors at once. 

They were all locked in a debate, but every eye turned towards you at once. Your father called out your name, happy he could see you. 

The Sea Snake and the Lady Mysaria bowed as you came closer. Your gaze was locked only unto one person.

“Why did you remove him?”

Your mother looked dumbfounded, eyes searching your face, “Who?” 

“Ser Luthor. You removed him from service.” 

She just watched you. 

“Answer me.”

“I haven’t removed him.” She looked at Daemon and back again at you. 

“Ser Luthor asked for the dismissal of his duties to you and I granted his wish.” 

You paced the floor once more in your chambers, the tapestries on the wall showing great conquests only sought to further your despair. Your kind were conquerors and here you were, reduced to a sobbing mess. He didn’t want to see you, he had no wish to see you again. Was it something you said? Something you did? 

In truth, you thought he warmed up to you as you did to him. 

The day turned into night slowly so you lit up your chamber’s candles and fireplace for warmth and light.

It had been hours since you sent for him, with each dragging harder than the last.

There was a knock on the door and by the sound of it, you knew who it was. 

You straightened your back, rubbed your eyes clean of tears, and bid him to enter. He wasn’t dressed as you knew him to do. He was in full armor, with the golden cloak atop his shoulders. He was probably ready to join his men on the city streets. You stopped him from that.

He bowed before you, “Your Grace.” 

“Ser Luthor.” 

He didn’t say anything else, awaiting your instructions as if nothing had happened between you nor any conversations had been talked. You came at once next to him. Close enough you could smell leather, steel, and the faint musk of him beneath it.  

His eyes were locked unto the floor, those dark eyes you loved. 

You loved him and you didn’t care if it was a flight of fancy. You wanted to love him and he didn’t want you. The least he could do was offer you answers, you deserved that much.

“Why did you ask to leave?”

His eyes were locked on the floor.

“Why? If you disapprove of me so, you could be a man and tell me.” 

His eyes returned to your face and they were empty of any warmth. 

You whispered, tears threatening to fall again: “Why did you leave?” 

He finally mustered up the words to say: “I am trying to remember my place, Your Grace.” 

His voice was that of the commander you remembered him as from the beginning.

“And what is that place? Taking hands off criminals? I thought you were happy here…with me.” 

“I was happy, Your Grace.” He swallowed hard before his next words. “But I began to wish for things that were never mine to wish for.”

He looked over your face and he looked mournful. Some part of you knew what he meant, yet you asked anyway,

“Like what?” You whispered. It seemed that all anger had left you, leaving only a gaping pit in your stomach under his gaze. 

His eyes settled over your lips. 

You don’t remember if it was him that leaned down or you raised yourself up, but his lips were on yours and he tasted sweet. His beard slightly scraped against your skin, rough enough to make your skin tingle. One gloved hand came to rest uncertainly at your waist, almost trembling, before thinking better of it and falling away almost at once.

His breastplate was hard and cold compared to his tender kisses. Your lips parted and met again, each quiet sound of him and you traveling to your belly and lower still. 

You brought your arms uncertainly to rest around his neck as he leaned down, to kiss you better.

When he finally drew back, it was only enough to rest his forehead against yours.

You could feel his breath upon your lips. The fire sent sparks into the air somewhere behind him. The sea to the left of you both crashed against the cliffs below, sending its song to your bedchamber.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, with his eyes closed.

You did not know whether he sought forgiveness from you, your mother in her bedchamber, or the gods above. And you didn’t care. You kissed him again, emboldened by the fire in your belly and the man in front of you.

He moved ahead and you stepped back before your back was brought to the wall, the cold stone hard against your dress and body. Luthor was everywhere and close enough you could taste him with every kiss, yet he wasn’t close enough.

Your hands traveled to his soft curls that you wished to run your hands into time and time again. 

You had to be quiet, the guard was sitting outside your door. He couldn’t stay long.

This couldn’t be all. You decided at once.

His kisses turned desperate, mayhaps he came upon the same realization. His lips moved to your cheek, then your neck as his beard tickled you. You had to stop yourself before you let out a sound.

So this was what the books you read talked about during all those nights spent in the dark, with only a small candle to let you see the words on the page. You almost felt ready to write of it yourself, if only words could ever come close to the feeling of him. 

His hands remained braced against the wall on either side of you as he pressed open mouthed kisses on your neck. He groaned as you let out a whisper of a moan and your legs felt like giving out under you. Luthor didn’t press himself against you, nor allow his hands to roam as freely as you thought he wished to. Your hands never left his hair and when he finally broke apart, they moved to the sides of his face.

His skin was warm, with a delightful redness across his cheeks.

“I…” He debated kissing you again, as his eyes returned to your lips, “I must go. I apologize, this shouldn’t have happened.”

“Will you come back tomorrow-” 

“Yes.”

He answered before you could continue and your heart felt full. You were already thinking of how you could get rid of the guard outside your bedchamber as he took a step back, eyes never leaving your face. 

His hands covered his crotch immediately and your ears and face felt on fire even more so than before. 

“I…Good night, Your Grace.” He departed and the great door to your bedchamber swung under his heavy arm. 

You heard his footsteps disappear down the hall.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘˖*᯽*˖⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The next day you told your ladies to not bother you tomorrow or later that evening, they helped you wash and get ready for bed with knowing smiles you had no wish to question. You dismissed your guard as well, forever. 

The day stretched on with the expectation of who will come to you later in the evening.

He would be here, with you. 

The chamber was quiet, save for the fire cracking softly in the hearth and the sea singing somewhere below the cliffs. Moonlight spilled pale upon the floor.

You sat gazing into the fire, then you moved to the balcony. Somewhere below, the Gold Cloaks under his command were moving. 

You blew out the candles, leaving only the fireplace for warmth.

There was a knock on the door and you bid him to enter. He looked almost nervous and uncertain, a clear change from the man who kissed you yesterday.

Luthor had no armor on, just the simple clothes he usually wore beneath it.

“Do you wish me to leave, Your Grace?” You were both whispering as you talked.

“No. Where did you get that idea?“

He merely looked at you, deciding if this was wise. It wasn’t, but you didn’t care. 

The light from the fireplace bathed the room in the softest of lights, you could see him, and that was the most important for you. 

He looked put together, more so than usual. 

You moved to pour wine for you both, and he was close enough you could smell the soap and cold air still clinging to his skin. His fingers touched yours as you passed him the goblet. 

“I must ask, is this something you wish for as well? And don’t come telling me about honor and respect.” He smiled before he took a deep breath.

“I do not wish to offend Your Grace, but I have wished and thought of it often. More often than a man in my place should.”

Luthor didn’t drink, only looked at you as you blushed. You wanted to kiss him again, and it seemed like he read your mind in that regard. He looked so impossibly handsome and as his lips collided with yours the wine was all but forgotten.

With your pulse in your ears you started walking backwards toward the bed. This time, he had enough courage to grab your waist with his strong hands while your hands rested on his face.

He bent down and lifted your nightshift high enough so he could rest comfortably between your legs. You could feel him there, hard and wanting, and your face burned at the knowledge that his longing had a body too.

He braced himself near your head as he trailed kisses down your neck. He was entirely too dressed for this. So you softly tried to get his tunic off, he lifted himself above you on his knees and quickly discarded it somewhere before returning to your neck and lips with hot kisses. 

“When…when was the first time you’ve thought about us this way?” Hearing him say it would bring another type of pleasure. Luthor’s beard almost tickled you whenever he pressed his lips to your neck.

He broke apart only to speak before returning to your skin. 

“When you thought-” He kissed you again near the middle of your neck, “-that I didn’t want to teach you.” He whispered against your skin. 

Luthor continued before you could ask, “I had to imagine your hand instead of mine that night.” 

He pushed his hips forward into yours as you moaned at the feeling of him. 

“Then again the following night, and the night after.” His kisses traveled to your ear and you’ve never heard anything better, “I couldn’t wait to leave so I could imagine you like this.” 

He looked into your eyes, curls wild and with the same redness your own face harbored. 

You pressed another quick kiss to his lips before he lifted your dress entirely, you would be lying if you didn’t turn a bit shy under his gaze. His lips traveled lower, between your breasts and lower. 

The air touched your bare skin and made you shiver. His hands moved to your knees, rough and warm, his thumbs smoothing small circles there as if to calm you.

You gasped as his lips touched you between your legs. This was infinitely better than anything in the world, you decided at once. His tongue moved again and again, steady as any lesson he had ever given you. 

Whenever he made a sound of pleasure it only served to push against his face. Your fingers flew to his hair as you tried to find something to hold on to. You felt a coil wrapping tightly in your stomach and you wished to pull away, close your legs, even if it felt good. It felt better than good. 

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut as he groaned and continued, his hair was soft in your hands. As you finally came undone, he stopped. 

You stared at the canopy ahead trying to catch your breath. Hopefully the sounds leaving your mouth were not loud, though you couldn’t count on it. He rose up to kiss you again and his lips and beard tasted of you.

While you were trying to catch your breath, he removed his shirt and pants entirely, leaving him in the clothes he was born in. Your eyes traveled down his chest, all muscle and scars to the hair leading down between his legs. 

The feeling of his skin on yours made you dizzy. He pushed a hand down between your bodies and you immediately braced. 

It felt queer, a mixture of pain and discomfort coupled with the remaining pleasure you felt mere minutes earlier. 

He groaned whenever he would give a thrust of his hips, yet he couldn’t enter you. 

“Breathe.” He whispered against your face, as tears threatened to fall, “It’ll hurt just a moment.” 

It did hurt, sharp and strange, enough that your nails dug into his sides when you both gasped. He stopped at once, breathing hard against your cheek, though you could feel how much it cost him to remain still.

The pain began to subside as he gently moved.

He kissed your cheeks and lips and muttered praises, “That’s it. You’re alright.”. 

The bed creaked whenever his hips moved, but the sound only furthered both of your pleasure. You lifted your legs higher up his body as he picked up his pace. You tried to be quiet, truly, you did. The only sound was the bed, while you and your lover’s moans were merely whispered in each other’s mouths. 

You’ve never felt more full, nor more alive. You wanted this to last forever and ever, have him on top of you and his heat on yours. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck as he continued, harder, then slower as to not spill himself too quickly. 

Luthor’s breath came hot against your skin, uneven now, no longer the steady breathing of the commander you had known. His hands remained beside your head, gripping the sheets instead of you, as though he feared what he might do if he let himself touch you freely.

It was no longer pain now. Not truly. It was pressure and heat and the strange feeling of him filling a place inside you that had always been empty before. You wanted him closer than this somehow. 

His breathing was becoming heavier and his thrusts more erratic, the bed creaked in protest continuously and you prayed no guards were patrolling outside at this hour. Your hands traveled to his shoulders and held him there. Luthor started moaning, sweet sounds traveling to your ears and between your legs. You felt him push so hard it almost felt like he was in your stomach, but the slight pain only furthered your pleasure.

Luthor’s restraint began to leave him in pieces. His sounds were quiet, almost broken, sweet against your ear and low in your belly. You whispered his name again and again, as if saying it could keep him there with you forever. 

You thought, for one foolish, desperate moment, that you wanted all of him. 

His hand went between your bodies again and he furrowed his brows shut as he came. Luthor kissed your lips again, before he went to clean the last part of him off of you.

The light from the fireplace was almost gone by now. You stared at the canopy above you, a smile on your lips. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘˖*᯽*˖⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

He came beneath the covers to embrace you and you’ve never felt happiness like this. His thumb rubbed circles on your hand as the sea continued singing down below.

“I want you here tomorrow as well.” Your voice was slightly hoarse.

“What if I get you with child?” He moved his head to sit better on the pillows behind you.

“Then I will marry you before my belly has time to grow.”

“Your mother might object to that.” You could hear the smile on his face.

“We will be quicker than her.”

A chuckle escaped him.

“You speak as if it is so simple.”

“It is.”

“It is not.”

“Then we will make it simple.”

He said nothing for a while. His hand tightened around yours, just enough for you to feel it.

“You are very sure of me.” 

“I am.”

Your eyes had already begun to drift shut, ready to dream about him once more.

‘I love you,’ he said, so quietly, as if believing you already asleep. 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘˖*᯽*˖⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

One little stall selling painted glass birds had caught your eye while your fellow ladies chatted amongst themselves. You had wandered only a few paces, stopping to admire how the afternoon sun caught the tiny wings.

When you turned your ladies were gone.

“So strange…” you murmured to yourself, standing on your toes to try and get a better look. There were too many people.

A fishwife shoved past you carrying two buckets. A butcher dragged a squealing pig through the crown. Merchants shouted over one another.

“Fresh bread!”

“River trout!”

“Fine Dornish silks!”

You hurried in the direction you thought your party had gone. Only to find yourself somewhere entirely different.

“…Gods.”

Your heart began to pound. Every street looked the same. The towering walls hid the Red Keep from view, and the city swallowed every landmark you’d thought you’d remembered.

You stopped beside a fountain, turning slowly. “I was just…” you whispered helplessly. “It was this way… was it not?”

A whistle echoed somewhere nearby, then shouting.

“Move aside! Gold cloaks coming through!”

The crowds parted almost immediately.

Men in dark armor trimmed with gold strode though the street with practice confidence, their golden cloaks billowing behind them.

At their head rode a broad shoulder knight atop a dark bay horse. Even seated in the saddle he looked imposing.

His armor was immaculate despite the dusty streets, polished until it caught the sunlight. A trimmed beard framed a stern face weathered by years beneath the sun, while sharp brown eyes swept over the bustling marketplace with quiet authority.

The commander. You know him at once from whispered conversations, you’d overhead since arriving.

Ser Luthor Largent. Commander of the City Watch.

He noticed you almost immediately. Perhaps because every other noblewoman hurried from the streets with their escort.

You stood completely alone.

His horse slowed and the men behind him halted without question. Ser Luthor studied you for a long moment before speaking.

“My lady.” His voice was deep and calm. “You appear rather lost.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. “I…” You attempted a smile that quickly faltered. “Perhaps only a little.”

“A little?” he questioned.

“I do know I am somewhere in King’s Landing.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “That is quite the remarkable deduction, my lady.”

You couldn’t help smiling despite your embarrassment. “I became separated from my fellow ladies.”

“I gather as much.” He responded. He swings easily from his saddle. Up close he seemed even taller if that was even possible. His cloak settled heavily behind him as he approached, removing one leather glove. “You are no common merchant’s daughter.”

“No.”

“The embroidery on your gown gives you away.”

You glanced down. Your traveling gown bore your father’s sigil stitched in silver thread across your sleeves as typical of a daughter of a noble house.

“I am the daughter of Lord—”

He nodded before you finished. “I know of your house, my lady”

That surprised you, “You do?”

“Your father arrived yesterday.” He replied.

“Do you mayhaps remember every visiting lord that comes to King’s Landing?”

“I tend to make it my business.”

Of course he did. He commanded the safety of the entire city.

“You are fortunate.” He paused looking around the crowded streets. “There are worse place in Flea Bottom to lose one’s way.”

Your stomach dropped at hearing where you were. You heard the tales of Flea Bottom and were told to stay far from there. “This is Flea bottom?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You did not know?”

“I thought I was near the Street of Silk at least.” You said sheepily.

One of the Gold Cloaks behind him let out an unmistakable snort. Ser Luthor cast him a look. The man immediately found the ground suddenly fascinating. Luthor returned his attention back to you.

“The Street of Silk is several turns away.”

“…Oh.”

“You wandered quite far it seems.” He spoke.

“Yes. I noticed.”

Another faint smile touched his lips. “So, you did.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. The noise of the city rushed around you. Finally, he inclined his head. “If you permit it, my lady…”

He offered his arm to you. “I shall return you safely to your father’s apartments.”

You looked at the offered arm. At the commander standing so patiently before you. “I would be most grateful.”

Your fingers rested lightly against the leather covering his large forearm. His armor was warm from the afternoon sun.

Without another word he began guiding you through the city and up to the red keep. His men followed several paces behind.

You discovered quickly that Ser Luthor knew every inch of King’s Landing. Every alley, every shortcut, and every merchant greeted him with respectful nods. He acknowledged each with a brief inclination of his head.

“Do you know everyone?” you asked.

“Not quite everyone.”

“It certainly seems that way.”

“I know enough or who matter.”

A little boy darted between them carrying stolen apples. Before anyone else could react, Ser Luthor reached out, caught the child gently by the shoulder, removed two of the apples from beneath the boy’s tunic, and handed them back to the furious fruit seller.

He looked towards the boy giving him a stern look, “No more stealing today. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded miserably and Luthor released him from his grip. With that the child sprinted away.

You asked, “You let him go?”

“I did. He was hungry.” The fruit seller grumbled but accepted the two silver coins from the commander in exchange for a couple of the apples.

“Why did you pay for them?”

“The city is quieter when hungry boys become honest ones.” He replied.

You stared up at him with that answer. “You are kinder than your reputation lets on.”

“My reputation?” he asked.

“They say the Commander of the Gold Claoks is stern and does not falter.”

“I am.”

“But they also seem to neglect the fact that he is also generous.”

“I try not to advertise it.”

You laughed softly. His eyes flickered towards you then. It was the first time you saw genuine amusement there.

“You laugh easily, my lady.”

“I’ve always been told that is one of my better qualities.”

“I would agree.”

The words came so simply and so matter-of-factly. Yet they sent warmth rushing to your cheeks that you had hoped he did not notice.

By the time the familiar banners of the Targaryen’s came into view, servants were already searching the street in a panic.

“There she is!” you heard your father say. Your father came rushing through the courtyard before dignity could stop him. “My sweet girl!”

He pulled you into a fierce embrace. “Seven save us! We feared—”

“Do not worry. I am well, Father.” You looked toward Ser Luthor. “The Commander found me.”

Your father’s expression transformed immediately. He released you before bowing respectfully. “Ser Luthor.”

“There was no harm done to your daughter, my lord.”

“You have spared me a terror I shall never forget.” A Lord though he was, your father clasped the commander’s forearm with heartfelt gratitude. “I owe you and thank you greatly.”

“No debt exists, my lord. It was my duty to make sure she was brought back to you safely.”

“Nonsense. There most certainly does.”

Your father looked towards the keep up to where your apartments were located. “You must allow me to thank you properly.”

“There is no need.” Ser Luthor said.

Your father was not having it. “But I insist.” He smiled broadly. “You will dine with us tonight and I will not have any more disagreements about it.”

Ser Luthor hesitated, “My duties—”

Your father cut him off before he could finish. “They can survive for one evening. I will ask Prince Daemon to approve this.”

At this point you found yourself speaking to the large knight standing next to you. “I would very much like to thank you as well. Please.”

For the first time since meeting him Ser Luthor looked almost uncertain, but only for a heartbeat. Then he inclined his head.

“I would be honored.”

Dinner passed in easy conversation. Your father asked endless questions about the city and Luthor answered each patiently.

“The crime has lessened this year.”

“And the prince supports your patrols?”

“He supports results. Prince Daemon was the one who gave me this Gold Cloak and I do not try to disappoint him.”

“And the people? Do they also agree?” your father asked.

“They tend to complain less when they feel safe.”

You watched him far more than you contributed. How carefully he listened before speaking. How respectfully he addressed your father despite their different stations. How his laugh—rare though it was softened his entire face. At one point he caught you looking.

Your eyes met then. You looked away first.

Gods… how embarrassing.

That night, long after the candles had been extinguished sleep refused to come.

You laid there staring at the carved canopy above your bed. Your maid thought you restless from the fright. She was wrong. Every time you closed your eyes you saw golden cloaks sweeping through the marketplace. Brown eyes meeting yours.

“You laugh easily.”

“I would agree.”

You remembered the warmth of his arm beneath your hand. The quiet confidence that followed him like a shadow. The way everyone in the city seemed to trust him.

You smiled in the darkness. It was ridiculous, you had known the commander for scarcely half a day. And yet… The handsome commander of the Gold Cloaks had become the only thing occupying your thoughts.

Somewhere beyond your chamber window, the bells of King’s Landing rang in the late hour.

You wondered if Ser Luthor was still awake. Whether he had already returned to patrolling the streets. Whether he had already forgotten the young noblewoman who had gotten hopelessly lost amongst painted glass birds and winding alleys.

You rather hoped he had not.

The Red Keep was infinitely easier to navigate than the street of King’s Landing. That did not make it any less lonely though.

Your father had spent nearly the entire morning preparing for his audience with Queen Rhaenyra. Every ribbon upon his cloak had been straightened twice over, every word of his oath rehearsed until even you could have recited it to her.

“It should not be long,” he’d assured you.

It had nearly been two hours at this point. You had watched squires hurry through corridors carrying messages. Lords in rich velvets passed one another with carefully measured smiles. Ladies whispered behind jeweled fans while servants moved as silently as ghosts.

You had explored nearly every gallery that was open to visitors over the last few days. Admired tapestries depicting Aegon’s Conquest. Paused before narrow windows overlooking Blackwater Bay. Counted the dragons carved into the stone columns simply to pass the time.

By the time you reached one of the long galleries overlooking the inner ward, you rested your forearms upon the stone balustrade with a sigh.

“I should really have brought a book.”

Below, knights crossed the yard. Stableboys hurried after horses. Gold Cloaks entered through one of the gates.

Your attention drifted lazily across the courtyard until one familiar figure appeared.

Black armor edged with gold and a heavy golden cloak. His broad shoulders that seemed impossible to mistake. Ser Luthor.

Your heart gave an entirely unreasonable leap. He crossed the courtyard with purposeful strides, disappearing through one of the council entrances.

“He’s here…” You smiled to yourself before quickly looking away, as though someone might accuse you of staring.

It had been four days since you saw him last. Four days since he’d escorted you safely back to your family. Four days of finding entirely too many excuses to wonder what the commander of the Gold Cloaks might be doing.

You wondered whether he remembered you at all. Surely, he met dozens of noble ladies. Surely you had been nothing more than another duty for him.

You sighed softly, “Foolish girl.”

Not terribly far away, Ser Luthor emerged from a chamber, the heavy oak door closing behind him. His conversation with Prince Daemon had been…productive.

Daemon has wanted additional patrols around the harbors after rumors of the greens coming in by ships. Luthor had given his reports. The prince had argued and Luthor argued right back.

The meeting had ended precisely as most conversations with Daemon did—with mutual respect from decades of friendship that was hidden beneath sharp words.

He rolled one shoulder as he walked the corridors. Then he slowed.

Something made him glance toward the gallery above. A familiar laugh, one that was soft and warm. His eyes lifted to the sound.

There you stood near the balustrade, sunlight spilling through the tall windows behind you. You were the vision of the Maiden herself, he thought to himself.

You were looking out over the courtyard completely unaware he’d seen you. For reasons he couldn’t entirely explain and yet his feet changed direction.

You had nearly convinced yourself to continue wandering when a familiar voice sounded behind you.

“My lady.”

You turned so quickly your skirts swirled around your ankles.

“…Ser Luthor?”

He inclined his head. “It is good to see you again, my lady.”

“And you!”

Gods. Was that too eager? Judging by the faint smile that touched his lips…perhaps not.

“I trust you’ve managed to avoid becoming lost again?”

You laughed then. “Sadly, I have remained entirely within the Keep to avoid such things.”

“A wise precaution.” He said with a smirk.

“I thought it would be.”

For a moment neither of you spoke. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but merely quiet.

“I hope,” he said at last, “That your stay has been pleasant.”

You nodded, “It has.” But then you hesitated. “Although I confess I have grown rather bored as of late.”

He looked a bit confused by that. “Bored?”

“My father has attended meetings nearly every day.”

“The affairs of lands and kingdoms are rarely exciting for those waiting outside of the room.”

You realized you nodded in agreement a bit too quickly. You tried to change the subject hoping you haven’t proved yourself boring to him as well.

So, you blurted out, “I’ve begun naming the ravens.”

One of his eyebrows rose. “You’ve named the ravens?”

“Yes. There are six I see most often lately.”

You two slowly began to walk down the hallway relishing in each other’s company.

“I should like to know what you named them.”

You wrung your hands together before you spoke, “Well there is Lord Peck.”

Ser Luthor blinked. “…Lord Peck?”

“Yes. He is the one who seems to carry himself most importantly. There is also Lady Feather. She is a very distinguished bird.” You couldn’t help but giggle then. You drew another rare smile from him.

“You truly do laugh easily.” He spoke.

“You remembered.”

“I remember many things. Especially the sound of a lovely lady’s laugh.”

The words settled warmly inside your chest.

He looked toward one of the open archways leading outside. “Have you had a chance to visit the gardens?”

“No, I have not actually.”

His gaze returned to yours then. “If it would please you?”

He offered his arm once more. “I could show them to you.”

Your answer came before propriety had the chance to interfere. “I would like that very much.”

The gardens were unlike anything in your father’s lands. Stone pathways wound through flowering hedges. Roses climbed up white trellises. Lavendar swayed in the breeze while bees drifted lazily from blossom to blossoms. Somewhere nearby water trickled from a marble fountain.

“It is beautiful.”

“Many princesses from prior years favored this place.” Ser Luthor said.

“I can understand why. I would too if I had a garden like this.”

You both walked side by side beneath flowering trees. Neither of you felt rushed to fill the silence. It surprised you how comfortable the quiet could be when enjoying someone’s company.

Eventually curiosity won.

“May I ask you something?” you asked.

“You may.”

“Were you always commander or did it take years for you to get to?”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “No. I have only been commander over the last few years.”

“Huh. I cannot imagine anyone else doing it.” You admitted.

“I began as any other gold cloak, but I have the pleasure of having Prince Daemon to be the one to give me this cloak nearly twenty years ago.”

“I’m sure that was an imposing sight a younger you with Prince Daemon.”

“One could say that. I was also considerably less patient then.”

“I find that difficult to believe.” You jested.

“I assure you, it is true.” He spoke.

“Well, you are patient now.”

“So, I’ve been told.”

“By everyone?” you asked.

He looked sideways at you.

“Only by one lady in particular.”

Heat blossomed across your cheeks hoping he was meaning you. You lowered your eyes with a smile trying not to make it obvious.

The gardens eventually gave way to a stone overlook. The wall overlooked the cliffs below. Far beneath, waves crashed against black rocks. Beyond stretched Blackwater Bay, glittering beneath the afternoon sun. Ships dotted the horizon with various colored sails.

The sea breeze tugged gently at your hair.

“It feels…” you searched for the words. “Peaceful here.”

“It is.” He agreed.

You rested your hands upon the weathered stone. “I think this may be my favorite place in King’s Landing.”

“It is mine as well when I can get the chance to see it.”

You looked up to him. “Do you come here often then?”

“Not usually. Being commander, I do have more time to patrol all over King’s Landing. So, whenever I get a chance to come see the gardens I try to. Just for a few moments of quiet. King’s Landing truly never sleeps.”

For several moments you simply watched the sea together. Then, quietly you gave yourself enough courage to finally admit your thoughts.

“There is something I’ve wished to tell you, Ser Luthor.”

He turned towards you. His brown eyes are fixated on you now. “What would that be?”

You swallowed. “I fear it may sound terribly foolish, but I believe I must get this off my chest.”

“I do not think it would be possible for you to sound foolish.”

You laughed nervously while wringing your hands together. “I’ve scarcely stopped thinking about you.” You blurted out.

There was a long stretch of silence between you two.

Gods. Perhaps you should not have said it, but you only continued. “I know we have met only briefly.”

Your words tumbled over one another again. “And perhaps it is terribly improper and perhaps I ought not say such things. But after you found me and after dinner and now seeing you again…”

You looked down at your hands. “I simply wished you to know how grateful I am.”

Before you could continue, he broke the silence. “You’ve been thinking of me?”

You nodded once right away. “I have.”

A long silence followed this time. It wasn’t awkward or uncertain. Only thoughtful.

When he finally spoke, “I had hoped I was not alone in my feelings.”

You looked up quickly. Almost shocked that he said that. “What?”

“I’ve though of little else these past four days.” He admitted.

Your breath caught. “You have?” you asked taken aback.

“I have found myself wondering whether you had returned back to your home.” He smiled faintly. “And whether you’d become lost again.”

You laughed through your surprised “I have not thankfully.”

“I wondered whether I’d imagine how easily conversation came between us and I wondered whether inviting you to see the gardens today was inappropriate.”

“I am glad you invited me.” You said with a smile on your face.

“So am I.”

The breeze stirred between you. He took one step closer as if the breeze was pushing him towards you. It was close enough that you could see the flecks of gold hidden in his brown eyes.

“I am no prince,” he said quietly to you.

“I know.”

“Nor am I some great lord and my life belongs largely to this city.” He added.

“I know it is.” You said reassuringly.

“And still…” his gazed searched yours hoping it would reveal what he was looking for. “You’ve occupied my thoughts from the moment we parted.”

Your heart felt impossibly light now.

“So we have both been equally distracted.” You quipped.

“It would seem so.” He agreed.

For a moment neither of you moved and then very gently he lifted one hand. Not to seize yours, but only to brush a loose strand of hair back behind your ear that the wind took. His fingers barely grazed your skin.

“If this is unwelcome, my lady you must only say.” He said comfortingly.

“It isn’t.”

His eyes searched yours one last time. Giving you every opportunity to step away.

You didn’t. Instead, you closed the small distance left between you. You stood on your tiptoes to reach up to his face and as he leaned down, he kissed you and it had been impossibly soft. Barely more than a brush of his lips against yours.

When he drew back, you found yourself smiling before you even realized it.

“So…” you whispered.

“So.”

“I believe,” your smile widened. ‘I shall be thinking of you even more now Ser Luthor.”

A quiet laugh escaped him. “I am afraid the feeling is mutual my lady.”

Behind you, the sea continued its endless song against the cliffs, and for the first time since arriving in King’s Landing, the great city no longer felt quite so overwhelming.