Work Text:
Time passed differently within the walls of Storm’s End. In the dead of winter, day and night blurred as turning black clouds blocked out the sky. The only hint of light came from strikes of lightning signaled always by riotous thunder. If one were to place their hands against the stone, they could feel the vibrations of nature tearing at the walls.
It was a testament to just how long Alys called the keep home that such dramatics no longer turned her head. The storm outside had not broken down the walls for centuries. They would not fall for centuries more. She instead occupied herself with the one stirring inside her own mind.
Pages laid scattered on her desk like scattered leaves on the wind. She was not one to waste paper, but the words that flowed from her quill were so abysmal she threw them to the floor in crumpled lumps just to get them out of her sight.
She was a fraud. Any talent she claimed to have was misplaced ego at best and delusion at worst. The ghosts she hoped to give voice to were no doubt turning in their graves. Perhaps it would be better if she remained silent.
Without looking at the page in front of her, she balled it into her fist and threw it toward the fireplace.
“I was going to ask how you fared, my lady, but it seems I have my answer.”
Alys lifted her head blinking to see her husband standing just beside her.
He looked well, his lips curled up in a teasing smile, but there was just a hint of true concern hiding behind those mischievous eyes. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She was rather concerned for herself too.
“A slight block in the road,” she conceded, rolling her shoulders. The effort of even turning her gaze upward was enough to bring a slight ache to her shoulders.
Lyonel caught her discomfort, placing a warm hand on the nape of her neck. He applied just the smallest amount of pressure, rubbing small circles into her skin.
The relief was instant. She let her head fall back, leaning further into his touch as a long sigh escaped her lips.
“Perhaps a stretch of the legs?” he offered.
She gave a grimace. She had tried pacing before, but to little progress. A stone view was less than stimulating.
“What I need is fresh air, but I’d only get a lung full of water.”
His gaze turned to the window, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. “Winter will not last forever,” he said.
“It cannot end soon enough.” With some reluctance she straightened, pulling herself away from his touch as she turned back towards her pathetic excuse for pages. “Perhaps that won’t help either. I’m hopeless.”
“Alys –”
“I am,” she insisted. “How can I claim I have something important to say if I cannot even find the words to say it?”
“Because you agonize about putting down the wrong ones.”
She let out a dry laugh, gesturing to the mess surrounding her. “Clearly not.”
“Fuck that,” he declared. “C’mon give us a page.”
She blindly handed him one of the few pieces that had yet to meet her fist.
Lyonel plucked it from her, stepping around the chair to face her. He leaned against the desk, bending slightly to catch the light of the fading candles.
She watched him as his lips moved, muttering what passed for the paragraph she half started before giving up. His brow furrowed the longer he went. The final nail in the coffin was the finishing line as his eyes squinted in a visible wince.
“Well, maybe some agonizing is warranted,” he admitted, crumpling up the offending page himself and throwing it into the fire.
Alys let out a laugh, a real one this time, despite the strain. He was an honest man. No one could claim otherwise.
He grinned at her, taking her hand in his in a comforting gesture.
“It may help if you eat something,” he pressed.
“I ate.”
“Water and bread from this morning doesn’t count.”
“I…” She glanced over at the plate she had asked to be brought to her, completely untouched. How long had it been sitting there? The cheese certainly appeared questionable.
She caught Lyonel looking at her, his eyebrow raised expectantly.
“I will eat,” she amended. “I simply want to get one workable page down.”
She began to pull her hand away to do just that only for Lyonel to squeeze it tighter keeping her and it in place.
“Dearest,” she warned. “I need that hand.”
“And you shall have it back,” he promised. “In a moment.”
He took her one hand in both of his, his thumbs gently messaging the muscles.
She let out another sigh, half exasperation, half relief. Damn him.
“Poor hand,” he lamented. “Your lady does not treat you well.”
She rolled her eyes, only to pause as he grabbed the unused napkin from her plate and dipped it into her water goblet.
Her brows furrowed, but before she could ask his purpose, he placed the damp cloth against fingers and began washing away the ink. He did not speak all the while. As each one digit was wiped clean, he pressed a kiss to her skin before moving to the next.
Alys felt her breath catch, when his eyes finally met hers.
There was mischief there, that never really went away, and something else, raw and real, that left her mesmerized.
He slid from the desk, kneeling at her feet as he kissed the palm of her hand before guiding it to rest against his cheek.
“Lyonel…”
“Have supper with me,” he said. He took her other hand then, kissing each finger as reverently as he did before. “Allow your body time to recover. And let me fill your mind with more pleasant thoughts.”
He placed her other hand on the opposite cheek so she now cupped his face.
Gods, what a face. Wild black curls. A pointed beard with just the start of grey hiding a strong jaw and playful lips. Clear dark blue eyes that looked at her now with a softness that at times she couldn’t believe was meant for her.
“My lord husband, I believe you’re trying to seduce me,” she teased.
“If you are in doubt of that, my lady wife, I must not be doing a good job of it.”
She let out a soft laugh, silenced by his lips pressing against her own. It was a gentle kiss, warm and loving, the type that made it so easy to forget everything except the one in your arms.
“Sup with me?” he asked again, the words a breath against her lips.
She nodded. Defeat between them was difficult to speak aloud. Thankfully he was not searching to gloat.
Rising to his feet, he took her hands again and pulled her to her own.
She stumbled slightly, her head spinning at the sudden change.
Lyonel let out a bark of a laugh, guiding her to lean against him.
“Apologies, my love. If I had known a simple kiss would leave you trembling, I would have been more careful,” he teased.
“No need to apologize, my lord. Standing too suddenly and little food leaves me weak,” she said, dryly.
He countered with a kiss on top of her head, pulling her with him towards the door.
“Then I shall see you fed. If you were to faint tonight, I would have it be by my doing alone.”
Alys only smiled, the storm inside her quieting as she pressed herself into her husband’s warmth. There would be no more writing today. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing.