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Dunk looked up from his cups. They were both drunk, but when was the last time that he did not end up completely drunk in the company of Lord Lyonel Baratheon? The Laughing Storm had an endless appetite for life, which often meant dancing and ale. And lots of food, which Dunk could never and would never say no to.
“DUNCAN!”, Lyonel’s voice was too loud, considering that Dunk was sitting just next to him. The lord placed a heavy hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “We must make haste”.
“My lord?”
“My wife is home”.
“Your… wife is… home?” Dunk was too confused about where this discussion was going to. Generally, Lyonel’s wife, a spitfire from the Reach answering to the name Florence Baratheon, was aware of Lyonel’s way of celebrating life. If the rumors were correct, then Lyonel and Florence met when a drunk Lyonel mistook her accommodation during a tourney as his own and slept off his hangover in her bed. Duncan was certain that if this had happened, Lady Florence would not expect her husband home any time soon.
“Yes, yes” Lyonel waved for more wine, but seemed to be rethinking his choices. “Lady Flo is at home and tonight is the night we first met! She calls it our anniversary, and I can never ever miss it!”.
Duncan groaned. Why on earth did they come out to the festival market stalls if he had to be with his wife today? He might not have a wife of his own, but he had many friends with wives… and no one else scared him as much as the Laughing Storm’s one. “Alright, my lord, let us get you back home”.
The two friends weaved their way through the dancing folk, rueful that they had to move on just now. But duty called, and they had to get home.
The way back to the Keep was long and wet. By the time they reached it, they were muddy and in a remarkably sobber mood. “We are late” Lyonel whispered and pointed up. “Do you see those dark windows? That’s where our chambers are”. He sighed. “She got tired of waiting for me and fell asleep”. The Lord of the Stormlands looked like anything but his usual merry self. Duncan had faced his shifting moods in the past; Lyonel was a man with felt deeply and was unafraid to show his emotions to the whole world. However, it was the first time, he had seen him so… crestfallen.
“It is alright, lady Florence is a wise woman with a soft heart”. Duncan tried to make his friend feel a bit less shitty. “She will forgive you”.
“Forgive me? Huh, you don’t know the witch I am married to, Ser Duncan”. The lord’s eyes flashed with something that was… pride? Dunk could not tell. “They call me the Laughing Storm, but she is the Thunder in this household”.
Dunk thought that Lyonel brought a lot of thunder into that household himself and his statement did not ring quite truthfully. But he had grown wiser during his trips with Egg, so he kept those thoughts to himself. The castle was quiet, but warm, only a few guards and servants were up and about, maintaining the halls while their lords were in their chambers.
“Ah my chambers!” Lyonel started fussing around with his clothes like a nervous maiden. “How do I look?” Dunk’s eyes got stuck at the embroidery detail on his neckline; a glorious, albeit a bit crooked, rose was stitched there, how could he not have noticed it before? Embroidered tunics and shirts were not out of the norm for Lord Baratheon, but a rose…
“You do not like my shirt?” he was getting worked up.
“Of course!” the thunder in the Lord’s eyes, made Dunk clarify. “I meant, of course I like it, my lord. It is nice, I meant to say”.
“Nice?” Somehow Dunk’s compliment had brought out more anger instead of calm. “Only nice?”
“No!”
“No?!”
“It is… glorious!”
“Magnificent!”
“Exquisite!”
“Precious!”
“The most beautiful thing I have ever seen!” Dunk nodded along. Blast that man, what worm has gotten into his brain tonight?
“Exactly!” finally mollified, Lyonel pulled the shirt straighter. “I will have you know that my wife stitched it for me” and with this statement, he went in.
The Lord and Lady’s chambers looked like those of two people, who had merged their lives together and occupied every single inch of the space with their personalities. They looked like home, a fact that made Dunk momentarily jealous. The lord stepped into his chambers, swaying still from the wine running through his veins. “My lady! I am home!” he made to join his wife in bed, trying to drag her close to him, but she skillfully (and very much awake), evaded his grip.
“You reek” her tone was very even. She was pulling a satin robe over her nightgown, no longer in bed. “Did you drink the whole river tonight?”
Snoring was her only answer. Lady Florence sighed, but Dunk could not quite see her face. Was there a ghost of a smile there? A chuckle left his lips.
As she turned towards him, her face was a cool mask “Yes, Sir Duncan?”.
“Hm?”
“Do you have anything to say?” she slowly walked towards him.
“Um…” for the second time in the last five minutes, he was faced with a Baratheon ready to snap at him tonight. “Erm, nice embroidery”. She only raised an eyebrow, “I mean, the rose you embroidered on Lyonel’s, erm, the Lord’s shirt is… exquisitely stitched”.
“Thank you”. Her voice carried a hint of humor and suddenly Dunk was aware that she had probably heard her husband getting angry at him for not praising his wife’s work loftily enough. “Anything else?”
“No, my lady, I should take my leave”.
“Please do take your leave from my chambers, but not my keep. You will find Wylla and ask her to prepare a chamber for you. You look too drunk to go anywhere else tonight”. She wrinkled her nose. “By the Seven above, what did you drink tonight?”
“Only, some wine, my lady, and I can find my way…”
“No”, now she was getting stern. “You will sleep in the Keep and I will see you tomorrow for breakfast, both at dawn”. Her tone did not allow for disagreement.
“As my Lady commands”.
“Great, now go” she waved him away.
“Yes, but… my lady”.
She had an exaggerated tortured expression by now. “Speak”.
“Please, do not be too harsh on him in the morning”. He pointed with his head to the direction of Lyonel, who had turned on his belly, arms spread taking over all the bed, while still snoring. “I practically begged him to have a few drinks with me tonight, on behest of my broken heart, and as a good friend he stayed with me. He was desperate to come back to you, my lady”.
Her expression softened, but her answer was as imperious as any aggrieved wife could muster. “I will be only as harsh as he was the last time I rode out with his stallion” and with that she shut him out of the room.
For a moment, he considered to not follow her orders and leave the castle; rumor had it that when she borrowed, or stole the stallion, as per Lyonel, their screaming match was… loud. Did he want to witness that? But then again, he was quite drunk. Now, where would Wylla be at this time of the evening?
###
The next morning came with a vengeance. Why did he drink so much? Lyonel Baratheon was not seven and twenty anymore. At least nowadays he woke up in bed, next to his… pillow?
“Lord Lyonel Baratheon” came her voice from somewhere out of bed. He froze. It was never good when she called him that. Never, ever.
But dammit all, she was his wife and he was the lord of Storm’s End, the Paramount of the Stormlands, the Laughing Storm. He would not apologize for having a cup of wine. Or ten. Slowly, he turned around and lay on his back. She looked delicious this morning, her thunderous look brought back to him another soft morning, during which she was angry with him and, long story short, it had resulted to their daughter’s birth nine months later.
“Good morning, darling” he smiled devilishly.
“Do not darling me, husband”.
“Oh?” he raised an eyebrow. “What would my wife want me to do… maybe…”
“And do not flirt with me. Yet”.
He was very satisfied as he caught the yet in her sentence, even though he was not out of the proverbial woods yet. “How may I serve you, my Lady?”
“Why did you scare Sir Duncan the Tall yesterday?”
Lyonel’s face paled. The memory of the last evening came rushing back to him. Oh, he fucked up. Big time. He went dancing. Without her. Even though he had promised they would dance together on their next anniversary. Not in their hall, with all the pomp, but in a simple party with their friends, in a tent, just as they did when they were young and attending tournaments.
“I…” he sighed. “Forgive me, my love… I partied a little bit. You see, Sir Duncan was heartbroken and need something to take his mind off things”. Her silence was like a cold knife through his heart. “We danced, my love. My sweet, sweet wife, please forgive me!”
“Forgive you?” Florence was confused, but there was nothing that could stop him now.
“Yes! We got some other people and headed to the tavern, where I hired that band, you like and asked them to play all the jingles we cannot play in the hall and danced to them!! I was so preoccupied with making sure Dunk feels better, that I forgot, till very late!”
“You forgot”.
“I forgot! How could I forget our anniversary of meeting? And my promise to live a day as if we were carefree again?”
“You great oaf!” she rubbed her temples.
“I am an oaf, I deserve it! But do not tell that I admit it to anyone else, please”.
“Our anniversary is next week!”
“Next week?”
“Not only it is next week, but you have actually made all the arrangements about that already”.
“Oh”, was not a very eloquent answer, but it was the only one he had as his mind started working and recalling facts again. “I am not a morning person, I hate mornings”.
Florence stood up and came to curl up next to him in their bed. “It is the drinking, Lyonel, not the mornings…” she chastised him.
“And you are so cross because I drunk without you, my lady, even if it was not our anniversary”.
“No, I am so cross because I promised to Sir Duncan to be as angry at you as you were when I borrowed...”
“…stole…”
“… Storm for a gallop”. She ignored his stern correction. “But I cannot find it in me to be cross with you, when you stubble around like this”. A very unladylike giggle escaped her lips. “It is always like the first time we met”.
The Lord and Lady of the Keep shared a knowing smile, full of memories.
###
Duncan was having breakfast in the hall. The only Baratheons in attendance were the kids. They were all a bit too alive for his hangover brain to deal with. As Ormund regaled him with yet another story of jousting, and the girls across from him threw pieces of bread at each other, Dunk wondered where Lyonel and Florence were. Hopefully, not making another one of those, or the realm would not survive the Baratheon family.