Game of Thrones: StormBorn

291AC

While my mother scolded me after my little escape for wandering off by myself unattended, there was little true harshness in her words, she knew why I had snuck off after all and was sympathetic given the sheer amount of propositions I had been rebutting.

It was only when I was laying in bed trying to get to sleep that I realized the error I had made. Brienne was not a danger, at least if I read her eight, but it had been utterly stupid to ever admit my ambitions aloud, especially in the red keep where the walls often literally had ears.

It had been a fit of passion, ironic to say, Brienne's presence had given me a way to voice my frustrations with the court, and then I had just kept going from there. Monologing like doctor fucking doom as if there weren't spies every ten feet.

Stupid Stupid Stupid.

Still, it hadn't been all bad, Brienne had been nice enough, certainly the most honest person I had met since coming here, though the poor girl seemed half terrified of me at the start. The bruising around the grayscale on my right shoulder showed that she had little to be afraid of, even if she did not know it. The Girl was a regular titan, perhaps only an inch or two shorter than my father, though she didn't seem to quite realize it herself yet.

Ultimately, I did manage to get to sleep. The tournament would continue another five days, and I needed my rest. Especially since I would surely be doing yet more politicking by week's end.

The next few days went largely the same, albeit hopefully without such colossal blunders on my part. If any of the numerous spymasters of the keep were aware of my speech then they didn't make it known to me or try to blackmail me with it. Somehow it got out that I spoke to Brienne, and I figure some maid must have seen us on the balcony, but aside from some unfortunate lurid whispers at the edge of conversations I half overheard, nothing really seemed to come of it. Robert's latest bedmates were apparently far more interesting for the gossip-mongers, and dreadfully more scandalous from what I could tell, though sitting mostly at the high table I never did figure out who it was that my uncle had decided to start fervently bedding.

The social events after the feasting became no easier to navigate with time. Whatever rumors existed, there were still young women trying to surround me at every turn, many of whom made lecherous proposals entirely unfit for an eleven-year-old's ears, and a few of which had even my twenty-first-century mind blushing from ear-to-ear.

Where on earth did they even train those girls to do that?

Still, I persevered by virtue of playing innocent and denying requests I managed to make it through the nights of what should absolutely constitute sexual harassment. The tournament came to a close, at Ser Loras' victory in the joists no less, which had my uncle crooning over his squire's newfound knighthood.

I'm sure it looked innocent enough to the court, but to me, his praises came off as a bit creepy with context. Still, I clapped along with the rest of the crowd. Loras was undeniably chivalrous even if he was Renly's minion. Perhaps I was only on edge against such things due to the advances I had been fending off all week.

Finally, however, came my cousin's blasted nameday, and the presentation of gifts.

I walked in alongside my parents, my hands locked around my gift to the bastard prince.

My father led off for us. "The Baratheons of Dragonstone present three gifts for your son, your Grace."

Robert nodded slightly, looking more bored than anything else. "Present them then." I actually felt a bit bad for Joffrey given how little his father seemed to care for his nameday. Though if the princeling noticed it, it did not show on his face as he watched us approach.

Joffrey seemed to enjoy lording over us from his spot by the side of the throne, "Let me see them."

Dutifully, however, we complied, each revealing our gifts in short order. My father gave the prince an ornate helmet, carved in the shape of a roaring lion, it was purely decorative, but I was certainly a work of art at that. Joffrey seemed to like it well enough, though not enough to smile.

My mother gave him a jacket of Dyna's make. It was a fanciful thing, Lannister Red striped with Baratheon Black with golden threads woven into the edges and frills. It had no doubt cost a pretty penny on materials alone. An appropriate gift for the prince, though he seemed uninterested, and finally he came to me.

"What do you bring for your prince cousin?" He asked, glaring down at me, and I drew my gift out of the linen I had wrapped it in.

"A copy of the Seven-Pointed Star," I said plainly. Lifting it up so he and others could see. It was a heavy thing of thick pages and big block text, it's cover was ornate and beautifully woven to reflect the seven aspects of the one god, and its paper was of the greatest quality.

Straight off of the presses. I wasn't going to give Joffrey a handwritten book to use as toilet paper.

My Cousin must have been schooled for his acceptance, however, as for once he didn't throw a tantrum or cause a scene, merely accepting the gifts as they came, before moving on to Renly's and beyond.

The Queen however never stopped glaring, her eyes following our family whenever she thought us not looking.

If she thought that a glare would cow us she was sorely mistaken.