Chapter Text
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PROLOGUE
The Five Storms
“Your stitches are crooked.”
Startled, Alanna Baratheon glanced up from her embroidery, only to see her elder sister, Cassandra, looming over her like a bad omen. “Your hair is a mess,” she retorted, resuming plying her needle. “So much so, I would not be surprised if Septa Elgin found a bird nesting in it.”
“My hair is not a mess,” Cassandra said loftily, swanning over to the window embrasure instead. “It is my crowning glory.”
Alanna rolled her eyes at Floris sitting opposite, who tried not to laugh, ducking her dark head so Cassandra didn’t see. Meanwhile, little Ellyn was in the far corner, wildly twirling her sky blue skirts as she held them aloft, the nursemaids cajoling her in vain to behave herself. As Cassandra sat down by the window, deliberately striking a dramatic pose designed to set off her sallow handsomeness, Maris stalked into the solar, eyes alight with anger. She immediately made towards Alanna, who froze in her seat, needle suspended in the empty air.
“Where is it?” Maris demanded, spit flecking the air.
“Where is what, dearest?” Alanna asked with deceptive sweetness, swiftly recovering herself.
Maris stared down her younger sister. “The book,” she said through gritted teeth. “Where is my book?”
“Which one do you refer?”
Maris suddenly slapped Alanna across the head, making Floris cry out in fear whilst Ellyn dropped her skirts in shock. “Where is it!?” she screeched, snatching up Alanna’s embroidery and tossing it aside. “What have you done with it!?”
“I did not take your damned book!” Alanna yelled, staggering to her feet.
“Yes-you-did!” Maris flung back, shoving Alanna hard in the chest, ignoring the shocked gasps from the nursemaids.
“Come Alanna, dearest, enough with the falsehoods,” Cassandra said slyly, studying her fingernails. “Did I not see you just the other night reading The Mabinion when you should have been at prayers?”
“Why were you not at the sept, sweet sister?” Alanna challenged, hoping Ellyn wasn’t going to start bawling, bringing down the wrath of Septa Elgin upon them all.
“The Mabinion is my book!” Maris hissed, shoving Alanna again. “You have no right to read it, never mind even look at it!”
“It is not yours!”
“Whose, then? It can hardly be Father’s,” Cassandra drawled, rolling her eyes. “Not when he is so resolutely illiterate.”
“That is not kind, Cassandra,” Floris piped up falteringly. “Father is a good and noble man.”
“I do not give two figs about Father’s erstwhile nobility,” Maris cried, her voice carrying out into the vestibule as she stamped her foot, making Ellyn cringe in her corner. “I just want my book back and I shall have it so!” -
- “What is the meaning of this dreadful clamour?” Lady Elenda Baratheon declared, suddenly sweeping into the solar with a furious face, startling them all. “I could hear you from half way across the keep! Your father will be most angry when he hears of this!”
Cassandra was the first to recover herself, tossing her hair back. “Oh, he will hear of it, Mother,” she said witheringly, striking another plaintive pose. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”
“Where is your septa?” Elenda demanded, not even bothering to acknowledge Cassandra. “She should be here at her duties!”
As her sisters either squirmed or fell into sullen silence, Alanna just stood there, jaw tightening. As usual, Elenda didn’t exert the effort to enforce her own authority upon them, always delegating it to another. It never ceased to astonish Alanna that Elenda had borne five beings who bore so little resemblance to her. She could see nothing of herself in Elenda at all, only a warped reflection of Borros Baratheon. Elenda and Borros were opposites in all ways; Elenda quiet and gracious, whilst Borros was loud and blunt.
“Are you even listening to me, Alanna!?” Elenda reprimanded, cheeks becoming flushed beneath the shade of her opulent headdress, a telling sign she was losing what little temper she had left.
“I have not done anything wrong to warrant listening to such lecture,” Alanna flared up, glaring at Maris, who folded her arms across her thin chest.
“Pray do not enlighten me upon such… wrongs,” Elenda said coldly. “Save your breath for when you stand before your father and crave his pardon.”
“And mine,” Maris interjected, narrowing her eyes at the outraged Alanna.
“Why ever for?” Elenda frowned, startling Maris. “You are as much in the wrong as your sisters.”
“But it was not I!” - Maris protested in vain, dropping her arms to her sides, the others immediately loudly objecting at being condemned without a fair trial.
Elenda held up her hand, halting them. “Please take Floris and Ellyn to the nurseries,” she instructed the nursemaids, who were only too eager to obey. “Maris, sit down. You too, Alanna.” Ignoring their mutinous mutterings, she turned to Cassandra, who had resumed languishing upon the windowseat. “Come here, Cassandra,” she said abruptly. “No, over there, between your sisters. For the Mother’s sake, sit up straight! No lord will want you with a hunch!”
“No, he will want me with Storm’s End,” Cassandra said coldly, sweeping over to her sisters, gathering up her skirts with one hand as she moved.
Alanna glanced down at the ground, trying not to wince at her sister’s words, even as it was true. If their mother did not bear their father a son and soon, then Cassandra would inherit Storm’s End and become absolutely insufferable. Her striking appearance and ample dowry was sure to secure her a good match, enough to make any man overlook her ill-nature. But as Borros’s heir, she held the advantage over the rest of her sisters, Cassandra more than making sure they knew it.
As for Maris, she was pleasantly plain, deliberately cultivating her startling cleverness to compensate. Of a religious bent as well as intellectual, she read books to raise her status, whilst Alanna merely read for enjoyment and not enlightenment. But Alanna suspected Maris was suspicious of her innocent interest in books, seeing Alanna as some kind of threat to the one thing that made her stand out from so many sisters.
Trying to curry favor with House Baratheon, emissaries and honored guests would often gift Maris rare and valuable texts to add to her expanding library, accompanied with flattering compliments on her learnedness. Only her tender age protected Maris’s reputation. Otherwise she would risk being seen as unmaidenly, especially in the midst of so many men.
“I do not have your damned book,” Alanna then said in an undertone to Maris as Cassandra sat down with much complaint, “not this time.”
Maris’s only answer was to jab Alanna in the ribs with her elbow under the guise of shifting position to accommodate Cassandra. In retaliation, Alanna pinched Maris’s thigh – hard - under the cover of their spreading skirts. Maris let out a loud squeal as Alanna just sat there demurely, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
“Pray keep your unseemly outbursts under control, Maris,” Elenda said coolly as she stood over them, hands folded in front of her. “You sound like a rutting sow. I shall have to speak to Septa Elgin about your obviously inadequate instruction in comportment.”
“But Alanna pinched me!”
Elenda shot her other daughter a suspicious glance, which Alanna parried with wide blue eyes. “Take your complaints before your father,” she said dismissively, giving Alanna a warning glare regardless. “I do not have the leisure to listen to your whining.”
At this, Cassandra smirked whilst Maris scowled at Elenda, dark brows drawing dangerously together. Meanwhile, Alanna cast her gaze down at the ground lest she laugh, feigning innocence again. Repressing a sigh, Elenda looked at them for a long moment, trying to dispel the disappointment that always arose in her whenever she beheld her daughters. They were not the sons she craved nor the daughters she had dreamed of; loyal, obedient and dutiful.
Only Cassandra had inherited a hint of Elenda’s coloring, sharing the same glossy dark brown hair, but that sallow complexion and those onyx eyes came from her maternal Caron ancestors. She had their grace of carriage and dramatic way of deportment, as well as the fine singing voice and instinctive sense of melody that characterized House Caron. But the core of Cassandra's character was founded on putting herself first and foremost. Cassandra was the epitome of selfish ambition, always attempting to slyly manipulate a situation to suit her own ends. Her predilection to scheme and plot alarmed Elenda, seeing storms in her eldest daughter’s future as a consequence. It was not a woman’s place to decide destiny, yet Cassandra continued to try.
Maris was plain – not homely, but plain nonetheless. She favored dresses of muted shades rather than the bright tones that would have became her better. Her black hair was fine and flat, with eyes of a washed out blue and delicate features that lacked definition; her unbecoming habit of squinting up at people not enhancing them any. She resembled her paternal grandfather, Boremund, in personality to a certain degree, being as hard as stone like him - albeit lacking his brusque sense of humor - and was just as unmoving in her opinions. But Maris was unable to master herself at times, being prone to fits of violence that hinted at a streak of inner instability. She was clever, and alarmingly so, even as she lacked Cassandra’s ability to orchestrate a situation to her own advantage. Socially, she was a wallflower, unless she was holding court in debate, often defeating learned men five times her age with her wit and reason, and when she lost, the Baratheon temper made itself known.
And then there was Alanna, who was a true Baratheon with her unruly mane of thick jet hair and wide blue eyes, the daughter most like their father. Whilst no beauty, she was comely enough; even with her freckled complexion and that unfortunate cleft in her chin, giving her a defiant look. But she’d inherited the best of Borros’s nature without his belligerence to mar it. Intelligent but not overtly so, she possessed a marked taste for reading; unlike Borros, who remained resolutely ignorant of the written word. Under pressure, she would stutter, an unattractive habit no septa had managed to cure yet. Good with a needle, she enjoyed sewing when her sisters didn’t. Alanna also got into scrapes on an alarmingly regular basis, but seemed unperturbed by punishment, stoically bearing its brunt.
“Girls,” Elenda then began, making them all sit up straight, “I have gathered you here for good reason. It is time to discuss your futures now Alanna is on the cusp of flowering.” She turned to Cassandra, trying to ignore the self-satisfied smirk on her eldest’s face, no doubt expecting to hear something to her advantage. “Cassandra,” she said coldly, “it is long past time for you to have your own apartments as befitting your… status. You will receive increased instruction in feminine accomplishments. There will be no more shirking of such duties, Cassandra. You have an example to set to your sisters and a responsibility to your House to do it honor. Maris will also benefit from such further instruction – no, do not even attempt to argue with me, Maris,” Elenda snapped, silencing her.
“You attend too much to your intellect, but not your appearance,” Elenda then continued as Maris scowled at her. “You must also learn modesty. For now, your headstrong forwardness in intellectual company can be excused on the grounds of immaturity but not for much longer. It is becoming inappropriate for you to debate so indecorously with your father’s ministers and maesters as if you were a man yourself.”
Maris just sat there, face now flaming red, fists clenching her skirts. Even in the midst of her anger, her mechanical mind was already mounting schemes to circumvent her mother’s plans. When in his cups and feeling sentimental, Borros would loudly profess how much he loved his ‘girls’ despite having no sons to succeed him. He would particularly boast of Maris’s cleverness, ironically attributing it to himself. At this thought, Maris decided there and then she would go to her father and play the doting daughter before striking. She would feign tears whilst explaining her anguish, Maris picturing herself before Borros, hands clasped in supposed supplication. She had no doubt he would not forbid her the academic avenues she so loved to explore. Even if she was no boy, her mind was as sharp as any sword such sons would wield.
“Alanna,” Elenda announced icily, making Alanna suddenly stiffen, something in her mother’s voice strangely scaring her, “Queen Alicent has honored our House by appointing you as one of the Princess Helaena’s bedmaids. You are of an age, with a merry disposition, and the queen expects you to keep her daughter company and be of good cheer. The Princess is a melancholy girl and it would please the Queen greatly to see her in greater spirits.”
Alanna stared, shocked. “But – but – but Mother, I cannot,” she protested, starting to shake at the prospect of leaving home and everything she had ever known, whilst Cassandra comically gaped in disbelief, Maris too lost in her own mental machinations to care. “King’s Landing is so – so – so far away” –
- “Mother, you must be mistaken!” Cassandra exclaimed, rising to her feet. “The Queen must have meant me, not Alanna!”
“No, she specifically asked for Alanna” -
- “But - but Mother, maybe Cassandra is correct,” Alanna argued, her panicked voice increasing in pitch, “it cannot be me whom the queen wishes to - to – to grace her court” –
- “You gracing court!?” Cassandra said scornfully. “A stuttering fool with freckles? Don’t make me laugh!”
“Hush, Cassandra!” Elenda ordered, drawing herself to her full height. “How dare you!?”
“But it is not fair she was picked, Mother! If she even was!” Cassandra exploded, face mottled. “It should have been me! I am the eldest! I am the heir to Storm’s End!”
“You have every advantage Alanna lacks,” Elenda said coldly, “that is why you were not chosen.”
“But she does not deserve it!” Cassandra spat. “To have new gowns! To be near the princes and other men of consequence – to stand by the Princess’s side and have the chance to earn the Queen’s patronage? What has she done to merit such an opportunity, one she so obviously does not appreciate!?”
“Cassandra, it is time for you to retire,” Elenda said, now sounding bored, “you are obviously overwrought and require rest. Maris, go with her.”
Fuming, Cassandra sketched the merest curtsey in her mother’s direction, before turning and sweeping out of the solar, but not without aiming the deadliest of glares over her shoulder at Alanna. Maris trailed after Cassandra, twisting her elegant hands together as she moved, deliberately allowing the doors to clang shut behind them.
Elenda ignored the insult, concerned with much greater matters than undutiful daughters. Her husband also took a dim view of Alanna’s appointment, not seeing it so much as an honor, but as a hindrance. His family were kin to the Targaryens through Rhaenys Targaryen, and his father, Boremund, had always staunchly supported his niece’s claim to the throne in contradiction to Viserys Targaryen. But years later, Boremund had found himself forced to pledge his allegiance to Viserys’s daughter, Rhaenyra Targaryen, on the day she had been declared Princess of Dragonstone. Now she was wed to Rhaenys’s son, strengthening House Baratheon's kinship to the crown, even as the paternity of her children was coming under increasing scrutiny.
But Borros all but openly opposed Rhaenyra Targaryen on occasion, much to Elenda’s alarm. If he wasn’t drunkenly declaring her sons bastards in private, he was always complaining in public about the time Boremund had hosted Rhaenyra and her suitors at Storm’s End when she was a girl, only for it to unexpectedly lead to bloodshed. Rhaenyra had never apologized for the debacle, merely leaving Boremund to clean up her mess, who had unsurprisingly viewed it as the most grievous insult. After Boremund’s death, Borros took up the mantle of complaint instead, always pointing out to guests the bloodstains on the stone floor that could never be scrubbed clean despite the servants being regularly beaten for their supposed slackness.
He also didn’t appreciate the idea of Rhaenyra Targaryen inheriting before her half brother, Aegon, the idea sitting ill on his shoulders. The notion struck too close to home. A female shouldn’t inherit if there was already a male heir in existence. His own situation was different and would change when his wife gave him a son - if she ever did. Regardless though, Borros had to reluctantly fall into line before the Iron Throne whether he liked it or not. Alanna’s appointment just merely highlighted the precariousness of their House’s position, with every possibility of falling into the dark waters below.
Home has shaped your heart
Into a frightened bird…