King's Crossing Tavern

Azaroth rose in the morning mere minutes before his attendants appeared in his room with new choices of fresh clothing while others brought in food, crested eggs with basil, rosemary, potatoes and cheese along with some fresh bread had all been placed onto the tray before him, all of which he had requested the night before. As the young Lord sat at large table on a heavily cushioned chair he took in the meal before him, savouring the taste that brought back memories of week prior but knowing something was missing, the texture perhaps, the ingredients used or maybe even the order of which they were put into the dish; either way the morning meal only did so much to bring about the breakfast he was trying to recreate.

All thoughts that ran through his head worked their ways back to what he and his sister had been talking about some nights prior, even as the warm water fell from his body and fresh unscented soaps were applied to his being by his chambermaids, his sisters ruling of Dante needing men around him that he could trust, family that he could rely on to speak the truth above those would say just what the King wanted to hear. His eyes closed as more water was poured over his head, soft small hands lathered in more product against his almost none existent hair and finally around the stubble that had built up on his face; the latter to be quickly removed with a straight razor before bath time was over and the toweling down process begun.

After being dried off and left to his own accord to dress himself, at his own orders of course, the young Stag fitted himself out in his own particular style, although instead of dark brown tunic and matching pants with boots he now wore a darkened blue colour, yet still with gold embroidery on the shoulder pads and chest of his tunic. After wrapping the dark leather belt attached to his sword around his waist and tying it off he simply picked up weighted bag, tied it around the same position of his blade and moved out from his room where his more masculine attendants where already waiting; of course two extra daggers were already placed on his person in secure locations that he often changed up so that even the men at his side and back never knew exactly where he kept them hidden. Much like on his way to King’s Landing the people following him were few in numbers, other than his main six companions there were but an addition of four extra guards who had been sent with him by his mother, yet the small number of men at his back should definitely not be thought of as a relaxed guard or mediocre protection as each man was born of the Storm and even the lady who took up position at his rear was more than enough to handle whatever situations may come his way.

Unlike Azaroth his attendants had given up their weapons upon entering the Red Keep, they had been asked rather nicely to leave all leather belongings in the guard armory and as such that was their first destination of the morning before they left the Keep and headed off into the city itself. It didn’t take long for the men to grab their items and replace them onto their bodies; the majority wore castle-forged steel swords while a few others wielded long swords while one of the bunch insisted on carrying around a bow with a short sword and dagger to finish off his rogue like appearance.

Hours passed slowly as they moved around the city, every few corners and streets would bring about eyes from the guards who made sure to note just who it was that carried weapons so casually inside the walls of King’s Landing, after all unless you were from a higher up family who had sufficient standing the guards would be more than likely to request your weapon and have you pick it up upon leaving the City, such was their attempt at stopping random murders and robberies from happening in broad day light; but there was always one or two who flew under the radar.

Azaroth had been to a few rather fancy shops in the past few hours, the majority of which being filled with fancied jewelry that would make almost any lady buckle at the knees, some of the pieces he inspected where worth more than most would make in a lifetime and those pieces all had one thing in common; they reflected the sunlight into a more beautiful shine and each piece was said to be able to cut even the thickest of glass while being able to withstand large amounts of pressure without breaking. From what information he had gathered from the different shops he had visited there were a set of brothers who supplied almost all of the jewels in King’s Landing and perhaps even the other cities in Westeros and beyond; light laughs where present when their alias was spoken and when he heard that they were named the Toad Brothers, Azaroth had to wonder just what type of people these men were.

Finally the group that accompanied him had stopped off at the inn, the very same one he had met his sister and saw his elder brother devour all manner of foods in. The minute he entered the doors with his people the owner of the bar rushed forward in a manner that spoke to just how much money his sister had spent over the course of her stay in the city. The same table as before was empty and the owner did well to inform the Young Stag that it would remain so until the festivities was over and that there would always be a clean table available for any Baratheon or man thereof. With food served to his men the drink soon followed, however the second would be far from abundance, like his sister Azaroth didn’t have many qualms with drinking on the job or being one hundred percent stern and stoic at all times, though unlike her he did have harder limits on just how much enjoyment they would have when it came to alcohol; especially when the sun was still high in the sky.

There was one more stop he had to make this day and that was to someone closer to home than most, his sister’s Lady, Xara Xaq. Although he couldn’t claim to have an abundance of knowledge when it came to the second of the summer sisters, he did know where they came from and even now could remember years past of stories about the Summer Isles and their fancy gems and expensive stones. He knew if there was someone that he could both trust in keeping things quiet and be able to confirm his thoughts on the matter; it would indeed be the sister of the Summer Witch.

Rana remained aside of the beaten path for most of the journey that had no true destination. She foraged for food and slept high in trees or in small caves abandoned by their original inhabitants. She drank from fresh running stream and kept her times in town to the smaller villages, remaining alone even amongst the crowds. If the girl used a single coin from the remaining purse of her father, she had used quite a bit. A resourceful young woman, there was little she required that would lighten her purse.

Time within populated areas was severely limited due to the commodities carried on her person. Within her rucksack held the deeds and legal titles to her father’s land but much more difficult to hide was his sword. She would be pressed for the item by many as it was quite finely made and deemed of no use to a woman. Deputies of the little townships oft tried to con her out of the possession but that was a difficult task for one lacking in greed and foolishness. Others would try to pry it roughly from her, but Rana had the fighting instinct of a rabid dog which was enough to deter lower born brawlers.

The absence of the Lord of Nightsong in his keep upon her arrival gave her enough pause to wonder if she truly wanted to be rid of the land. With a gateway of nearly six months before taxes upon the property were due, there was a lengthy amount of time before she could truly be forced to deed the permanent fate of the farmland. Aside from Ryke, who was now in the company and employ of a noble, the other person to come upon the land with intent would have been the deputy to collect the taxes. The chances of anyone with the notion to report the absence of the house or the owner to the Lord of Nightsong coming upon the land prior to the deputy would have been slim to none and closer to none. For the time being, Rana concluded that her sentimentalities were stronger than she’d given them credit for and the deeds remained in her possession.

Meandering from place to place with no real destination in mind, Rana moved with the wind and found herself in amidst the common of the capital during this singularly focused Harvest Festival. The air about the landing was one of joy and festivities but only managed to be a thin veil for discomfort and suspicions. Traces of those that would endure past the departure of visiting nobles, their companies and the many that followed the heightened gathering of coin to be stolen, won or earned, was easy enough indeed. Native commoners were struggling to stave away thoughts of the retribution to be had at the hands of a king that did not give freely. Thus, crime had risen with the mistrust of the entire situation. Simply crossing the harbor from the kingsroad to the River Gate had been a task simplified only by the presentation of coin from one with the appearance of less than capable possession. Her form was then pushed and pulled and angled along The Hook road, moving with the gathering crowd and carriages, until she was able to break from the crowd and find some open space to breathe freely under the heavy wood sign of the King’s Crossing Tavern and Inn.

There would be far little options to forage for food within the walls of the capital and the high noon sun sync’d easily with her desire for food. Sweeping her hands down along her gold trimmed black robes, Rana stepped into the establishment pushing her hood from her head as she made her way to the bar. There would be a momentary pause before anyone would be available for the newest patron as the others were happily busy keeping the attentions of the men who cluttered the bar regaling of a noble woman whose company had not so long ago brought lively party to the place.

Fresh well cooked and seasoned food was placed in front of all in his group, accompanied by heavy beers that were soon used to flush down said food. As they ate the warriors sent by his mother talked amongst themselves for the most part, after all they had been a troop for years and were like brothers, as where his original guards and almost everyone else at the table. Conversations come and went about King’s Landing, from the larger of the men the topic of meat and lack thereof in his meal brought a laugh to the table; mainly because there was plenty on his plate but the man was from the Stormlands after all and one thing they had in abundance was meat. From bear meat to hares, goats to pigs and wild boar to wolves the Stormlands had them all in copiousness amounts; after all aside from the Wolf Wood up North they had the largest mass of forests in the Seven Kingdoms, not to mention the amount of animals that took shelter in, on and around the mountains.

Azaroth waved over one of the barmaids and request another plate of food to be served; at that point anyone else at the table was also free to request more nourishment which a few of the warriors did not miss out on doing. Like his elder brother Azaroth had a voracious appetite for foods, as well as other things that were heavily touched upon during his time in the Reach. Though unlike the way he saw Kainen, he had no love of it, no care for it other than the fact that it fueled his form and kept him in fitting condition. Many times in the past The Young Stag Lord had seen just what lack of food could do to a man, those who sew the fields, worked the animals, beat steel till their brows were quenched in sweat and dark soot did so at varying levels but the highest was always when well feed and as such he would never see anyone go without; something that as he grew up racked his mind over and over again.

Mid swallow the Knighted Lord froze, all features on his face turned stoic and his posture stiffened to that of a statue. All but his eerily bright blue eyes halted in that moment yet they continued to dart back and forth, taking in the sight before him as if slow motion had taken over the scene. A fresh scene of fiery red hair made all of his sense stand to attention yet even more so his core turned to fire, the longer his survey of the woman continued the more a scowl of sorts formed on his features, something that wasn’t at all common for the Young Baratheon. Fiery red hair, check, freckles brushed across her cheeks and looking like they lined up to the bridge of her nose? Check. Hell even under the gold trimmed black robes she wore he could make out her the divine shape of her form, the curves that had him so enthralled upon their first and only meeting and the mounds that stolen away his attention through half of their conversations.

No, it wasn’t possible. It wasn’t like he had just said goodbye to this woman and they had met again at the hands of fate or some benevolent God who looked down upon the Stags. His ending with Rana had been an explosive one, one of certainty and absolute finality yet here was her doppelganger, standing there sweeping her hands down along her black robes. His blue unnatural orbs followed her strokes to the golden lines of her attire, enchantment or disbelief caused them to continue upwards until once again he was looking at her from the side, looking fixedly upon those features that both forced upon him too many feelings at once that all seemed to churn into what would be properly termed fury.

Azaroth pushed up from the table with little to no care of how his mass affected the chair at his rear, as such it slammed backwards against the wall, causing it to shatter into a pile now fit for the fires. His eyes were still focused on the woman, narrowed and locked on to the prey that had brought about these feelings inside of him; though she was far from any former prey he had seen before. Once again that nature of his took over, just like it had back in her farmhouse when he woke up that morning to find her cooking breakfast, his body moved of its own volition, nearing her without even noticing if she had heard the noise he had caused when he stood up. With each step he took towards her form blood quickened around his body, fury gathered in his centre and he could feel it burn as if trying to get out, needing to escape. Yet as he neared there was no stopping the involuntary reactions of both his hormones and feeling to her close proximity, the sweet scent of her skin made his blood burn and his mouth water. Before he could step himself, he found that he was probably all too close to her, for her own want anyway, rather than his own; the front of his body was very clearly pressed to her own and his head was tilted so far down that he could just as well have been looking at the floor. Each millisecond passed like hours in that moment, the words were rushing through his head at miles a second, his hands were clasped so tight his knuckles would begin to turn a bright fiery white and for anyone looking on wards they would probably assume he was trying to force lady backwards, pressing his form to hers as a means of strength or pressure to get her to move out of his way; but that was furthest from any truth.

“You…You died…We saw your house, we watched it burn…The door was forced open and the only thing inside living were the flames. How did you survive? Where have you been? Why…Why did you do it!?” his last words were much louder than the previous ones, his voice practically boomed thunder in that moment, and as the levels of his voice changed so too did the oddity of his accent. Few people had an accent like he did, words usually rolled of his tongue like they were coated in sugars or honey, that’s what happened when growing up one would frequent different places in the world, where many different accents, cultures and even views on the world and how it should work would seep into you and grow with time.

Finally a woman started to move down the bar in Rana’s general direction but a loud clattering sound caused her to pause wide-eyed. In the company of many other’s curious as to the source of the disturbances whether it be to preserve their own lives by fleeing a scene of violence or to further arouse it, head’s turned. Rana turned as well, knowing she would get no help from the woman behind the bar until the commotion quelled anyway. What she found as the source was a familiar Baratheon lord with a shaved head looping directly toward her. He carried the same determined, predatory gait he had the morning of their last encounter though the look in his eye was not so focused. Instead they were a storm of emotions none of which Rana would understand the source of until he spoke.

Each man and woman nearest the red head would give her and now this lord a wide berth as he crowded her space with such ferocity she was backed into the bar top and cornered. He could have struck or strangled her in that moment and not a single person would have stopped him. It was clear that he was a Baratheon lord, were it not for his looks it would be for his garb. No one would risk their necks for a woman whose crime they would have known nothing about, but Azaroth did not even attempt to touch her other than with the great staggered breathing of his frustration. Crowd or not, his looming presence was quite aggravating, prompting her to press her hands to this chest in an attempt to push him back as his questions rushed forward.

“Move away from me, beast.” She said flatly, her tone undisturbed by his own. The single statement gave them even more room to speak. The crowd, though curious, were all sure of her death now. “I’ve no course to explain myself to you while you speak to me as a man and not my liege. You were not harmed by my decision and the land is well and fit to be tilled as it was when I left.”

Even now in the heat of the moment and with her pressed against him, with her darkened dress hugging her figure and fiery red hair coaxing his wants and needs he could feel eyes on him, many e yes from many different directions all moving between he and the woman before him. Before she even spoke a single word her hands moved up to press against his chest, both creating some space between them and then in an effort to push him backwards away from her, yet his form remained there unmoved by her actions. Words soon followed her movements and as she spoke collective gasps echoed in the tavern, not only had she placed her hands onto the young Baratheon but she had a mind to call him a beast; no that would not do, after all that was his sisters moniker.

Her tone caught the attention of every patron in the tavern, whereas once their eyes were firmly attached to the Lord to see his reaction now they were placed upon the Lady in front of him who clearly cared none of the impending doom that could befall her for such simple things. Her further statements caused a turn in his stomach, maybe it made no sense to her but to say he was not harmed by her decision and then to go on about the lands caused another uproar of fury in the Stag, so much so that he reached out and gripped the bar top at her side, large gloved fingers pinched down hard on the wooden top and as steam almost drew from his mouth as he spoke his grip tightened, even in such a feral state he wouldn’t harm her, he could never be that far gone; but Gods would have to bless the bar top by the time he was done with it.

“Not harmed? NOT HARMED? We thought you dead. I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. And I give no fucks about your land or how well it can be tilled, if that was your plan all along you could have said something, you could have gone about it another way. You selfish girl!”

Azaroth may have looked older by way of his form and mass, but even then he wasn’t sure if he was indeed older than Rana and even if he was it wouldn’t have been by many years. For him to call her out as a selfish girl was rather amusing and probably would have been to anyone who knew the Young Stag well, after all he was just stepping into adulthood himself.

It was not surprising that her attempt to move him out of her personal space so effortlessly failed. After all, he dwarfed her and many men in not only in the tavern but in the city. Yet, through all of his actions he inspired no fear at least not to the woman whom had his full attention. There was nothing menacing or malicious wafting from his form despite the tumultuous roil of emotions passing over his features while her own remained unchanged. Her hands remained upon his chest continuing to give what little space he would relent.

She was not unaware of the source of his outburst and in truth suspected she might have been more aware of his motives than he. The first rebuttal to pass her lips had been a thinly veiled attempt to brush past his obvious attraction to her. Rana was not without her wiles or her feminine mind. It was not lost on her that his body trembled with need or his eyes bore lust and want. The young Baratheon was not unattractive. He carried the same raw appeal as some caged wild animal alongside his more obvious physical traits. It would have been a lie to say she was not flattered by his reaction to her supposed death and in truth it had never been her intention for him to think her such, or think of her again. To find that he had not only been thinking of her but mourning her was indeed flattering. However it changed nothing. He was a lord and she a commoner, allowing these minor moments of flattering and attraction to breed hopes and wants was a fool's errand.

So unaware of his own fixation was he that he could not even relent the conversation. At this point he reached around her, locking her in the circled muscle of his arms as he gripped the counter behind her. If the wood could have cried out in pain it would have. His words continued to tumble forth, voice rising with his anger and yet... a smile broke her features. It was swiftly followed by laughter. Rana softened her press on his chest a moment before giving him a good hard push.

"Oh you stupid boy." She replied shaking her head. "Give me space and calm yourself. Once more, I do not and have not owed you a single thing since our first encounter. I did not owe you an explanation of my situation then and I do not now. My choices were my own and so long as they did not damage what is right and truly yours, as I am not, move. I will be leaving now."

There would be so surprise as the the amount of hanging jaws and shocked visages filled the room in that moment. They all thought her mad speaking to a noble in this manner. What other explanation could there have been for a low born girl with no name to address a man of stature with such insolence? A rather simple one in fact. To Rana, a man was a man. Some men had means, some men were cruel and some were not. Some men lived on the coat tails of their station and their title and others did not. No matter the situation, the girl had been raised by a man who bent a knee to his lord out of choice and bred his offspring never bend to anything less. She did not live in some fantasy world where her actions had no consequence it was simply that she had considered these consequences and resolved to bare them should they arise.

As her smile moved her lips and sat on her features soon followed by laughter from her, Azaroth knew not what to do with himself. Even in the midst of laughing she pushed him with enough force to send him back a single step, but he soon caught himself and held on well to the bar top. It was surprising to say the least she had even managed to move the mountain of a man, even though he wasn’t fully matured yet, even if he still had some growing and filling out to do before his adult years were set in, the Young Stag still stood above almost every other man he knew, save from his cousin and elder brother so for her to have moved him in even the slightest was just a show of how much she wished for his presence to be distanced from her own.

Even in the moment he was sent back he didn’t know what to do with himself, her smile had caught him off guard, her laughter had brought about a new reaction in his core and when she finally started speaking he had managed to regain some semblance of his mind. There she went again with her logic and common sense, something Azaroth at this point and time hated, though if being honest with himself it was a rather endearing trait of hers; one of many. He gave no care to the looks that would plastered upon the faces of those still watching, and there weren’t many that would miss the opportunity to see how this spat would turn out, some would say light prayers for the girl but others, probably the majority of people would wait and delight in the punishments to come, to scalding or canning, the gallows or the stones; most people loved that kind of thing until it approached their own doors.

Once again her words ran through his mind like a stormy sea, the logical part of his brain knew she was right, but that other part, the part that was more animal than man, the piece of himself that he had personally locked away to stay away from fury and anger wanted to reach out and grab her, to hold her and tell her to be quiet in that moment, that all he really cared about was that she was actually alive and not dead like he had thought; but no words came, perhaps his feelings would show through his bright blue orbs though. Shaking his head to clear away any thoughts of letting her leave as to her last statement, Azaroth denied it, and he hated the idea of her presence vanishing yet again. No, this would not go down like the last time, he wouldn’t walk away from her like he had at her farm house, he wouldn’t be forced to watch another building burn and wither because she was absent from it.

No real thoughts took place in his head as he moved on instinct, bending at the waist and his hand that previously gripped the bar, his right hand, wrapped around her form and lifted her from the floor, hoisting her over his shoulder in one fell swoop, only to wrap around even more to keep her firmly in place as he moved towards the stairs watched closely as he stepped up them, any attacks from her person, be it punches or kicks, knees to the chest or even biting if she felt so inclined would be met with no remarks or actions, after all the thick leather of his clothes along with his practiced body was enough to hold out on some damage; unless the fiery redhead got inventive then he would be in for some pain.

Azaroth didn’t stop moving till he opened a room on the third floor of the inn, like most other taverns the their top floor was reserved for the larger rooms for the more wealthier clients, and since it was clear who was now occupying the room there would be no interruption and any payment that need be made in his stead would be done so by his men. After the door was closed over and she was placed down on the opposite ends of the room away from it, The Young Stag once again closed in on her form, this time he had no words to speak, no thoughts of doing anything else but the actions he did in that moment. His hand passed up to her face, thumb brushing over her chin as he took her face within his grasp, fingers trailing over her cheek though padded glove and he moved his form in even closer till his lips met with her own; brushing over the same cherry red smackers that had smiled not so long ago and also let out that oddly wonderful laugh even if it was aimed at him, he didn’t care.

A moment’s reprieve from his smoldering presence was soon snuffed out by his rabid antics. Rana released a growl of annoyance, her hand sweeping around to grip the sword wrapped in burlap as she was so unceremoniously tossed over his shoulder and carried upstairs. The farm girl did not put a fight; she was simply happy to have been quick about her wits and retrieved her father’s sword before being carried away. She was not, however happy about being carried away or the looks of horror and smug satisfaction at her perceived punishment. Planting her elbow uncomfortably into the back of his shoulder, Rana simply waited to be set upon her feet once more, wherever that might be.

The Baratheon Lord took up residence in an empty room and shut them in tactfully placing her far from the door and his massive form between them. Impudently, she pushed the hood from her head once more as it had fallen over her features while being upside down. It was the only moment of solitude she would be given, for as she brushed wayward tendrils of hair from her face, another set of hands would join. His gloved fingers came upon her features with a tenderness that did not match his prior ferocity. The young stag was rewarded with her cooperation out of sheer surprise giving her but a moment's notice before his lips found her own. The moment had not been long enough for the girl to process exactly his intent. Rana had never been kissed before save the chaste kisses of admiration and love bestowed upon her by her parents and siblings. There had been prior attempts, all of which came with the usual flirtations leaving well and prepared to move away.

Reflexively, her hand gripped the wrapped sword in her hand harder. Only burlap saved her alabaster skin from running red. Soon, however, the tension of surprise ran from her body leaving only limp refusal. Logically this could not happen. There could never be anything between them and to nurture any idea to the contrary was a path to pain she could not bare. It was easier to be alone. There had been months of preparation on the matter, stealing her heart away, secluding both emotions and mind from thoughts of any sort of grandeur. Love, even passion as it's base level was afforded to rich wives secure in their place and whores; neither of which presented Rana with much desire or opportunity to become. Yet, despite her better judgments on the matter, the girl found herself sinking into his kiss. Her free hand, completely disregarding the internal stance on the allotment of passion, reached for his features in turn, drawing herself deeper into the madness; madness was all it could be.

Minutes, though they passed with the speed of years, later Rana freed herself of his grasp and his kiss, stretching her hand from his face to his chest, keeping at least that arms length, which would do her no good should he reach for her, away. "Stop. We cannot. Whatever ideas you have of this you must cease them immediately. I am not mistress or a tart to be taken at your leisure. Whatever fascination you have with me, you would do well to place upon someone more available."

The anger that had been boiled up inside his person seemed to turn to steam in the minutes that passed where his lips touched hers, his thumb even though it could not feel her soft pale skin still brushed lightly against her cheek as his other fingers sat at the side of her head almost holding in place for the duration of the event. Azaroth’s form softened as the seconds that felt like hours ticked by; well all but one part of his person. Even now in the midst of kissing her, in the thrall of her scent, taste, and finally the addition of her touch when she placed her hand to his face like he had hers, it still took him a few moments to realise why he had made such a fuss at her cottage, why he had been so annoyed when she dismissed him time and time again and eventually why he was rather defeated after watching her home go up in flames with the thought that she was within the walls.

Finally the kiss came to an end by the motions that the redhead goddess made, in breaking off the kiss she also took the opportunity to press her hand out once more against his chest and keep him at arm’s length from her body. Whether or not this movement of hers was to have her own space back for a moment to keep his hands and lips to himself, was yet to be seen; though a few of his questions would be answered rather quickly as she started speaking, her first word saying it all with the accompanied sentences just adding reasons to why this couldn’t happen again.

He made no attempt to breach her personal bubble this time, he was rather content where he was for the moment and the added benefit of her hand still pressed against his chest for some odd reason was still more comfort than not. What she said he couldn’t argue, she was neither whore, mistress or anything in between, though as her words echoed around in his mind his tongue played out against his own lips, tasting her still upon them and in that moment along with the previous minutes of their kiss; her reasoning meant nothing. All of his life Azaroth had an advantage when it came to almost everything there was, when he wanted to learn about wars and battle the best teachers around were given to him, when he showed interest in training with the sword his family had did their all to send him off to the Reach, even in his younger years when he felt like no matter what he did he was outshined by his elder brother, Rhaelle had taught him to rise above it and to make sure the man he ever competed with was himself. Yet now it seemed all of that was for naught, instead of aiding him in what his heart wanted it was precisely this privilege and station he had that would keep her from him.

“Whatever fascination I have with you, I can assure would never transfer to anyone else. If you really wish for me to leave you alone and forget about you then tell me that you do not want this because of the man I am or even for the man I am not; but if your reasoning’s are the titles I hold or the blood that flows through my veins then I cannot, and will not accept your idea of placing my feelings elsewhere.”

As he spoke the Young Baratheon moved his hand towards his own torso, his gloves had already been pulled off his hand and now his calloused hand covered her own that was pressing into his chest, to feel his hand on top of hers was a similar feeling that her lips had given him, only without the added heat or instant passion that they had ignited within him. His thoughts on why Rana acted the way she did and said the things she said all seemed to fall down to the way she would be viewed by others or the station she would have if she were to be with him. Things that should have sunken into the Lord’s mind hadn’t yet breached his thoughts while other reasoning’s seemed to come into his wonders about her. “Mistress? Tart? As much as I would like to be taken by you as it so pleases you or to take you at my leisure as you said, I would never view you as anything else but my own.” Ownership, yes this was definetly the right way to go about convincing a strong headed woman to be with him, though his view on the meaning probably extended far beyond that of which she or many other people may imagine, how it came across was at the end of the day whichever say she would see it.

“People judge and label each and every one of us, my sister has more resolve and a better mind than anyone I know, including myself and yet there are those who speak ill of her when her back is turned. My nephew who had no choice in how or to whom he was born is seen as lesser for something he never had a say in, yet I can tell you the amount of times someone has had the guts to speak ill of any of my family in front of them and I can assure you that number is almost none existent. Whether I am a Lord or not, whether you had a higher station or were Queen of the Seven Kingdoms people will think of you what they will and nothing will ever change or stop that, all I can say I what and how I think of you and when I do neither of those labels come to mind.”

Heat swept across her hand, the rough pads of his unrefined fingers wielding a powerful heat behind them; the sensation deeper than that of just personal body temperature. Rana slipped her hand free from under his own and took another step back. Behind her form was a small desk which her backside signalled had stolen any further opportunity for distance. It did, however, come with the availability of a flat surface upon which she rested her father’s sword, keeping her hand upon it.

“You are quite naïve or perhaps it is just that you are a man and a noble one at that. I am not a man, I am not noble. The opportunities afforded to me are of those I created with what little control of my own fate that I have. I will not burn the bridge of opportunity by attaching my person to yours in any manner of the sense. I require something permanent and stable in my life and that you could never be. Like your mother and sister, I care little for the whispered words of others. My care extends just far enough to be aware that should whispers spread too far or become too knowledgeable that they may be seen as fact what little options I have will be dwindled further.”

Giving pause to her speech, Rana let her eyes fall to the dusted floor between them,”My intention was not to twist your heart with my actions. For that I am truly sorry.”

Azaroth’s fingers pressed together as heat left his body, brushing over his own skin he tried to recreate the feeling of her there but nothing came of it, as the situation died down so too did the increased emotions that controlled him so easily in those kind of moments. He watched her walk back enough that she was basically sitting on the writing desk at her rear, with the sword in her hand placed at her side on the desk his storm blue eyes narrowed to it as she started her retort to his words. Even though he was currently looking at the sword her words still found their way to him and he took note of them all, slight changes in his features would have taken place until she finished speaking only for his view to be brought back to her just as her own eyes fell to the floor and she finished off by clearing up her intentions or lack thereof.

He stepped forward in a manner opposite to the way he approached her before, it would be easy to tell from the steps he made, the posture of his body and even the lack of intent or pressure coming from him; almost as if a different man stood before her at this moment. As he moved he freed his left hand from the glove and tossed both to the side so they landed on the large bed that would have still been rather awkward for him to sleep in. Now that his hands were free of the gloves certain details could be made out of them, the first being that they clearly weren’t hands of a noble, from the tip of his fingers to his palms Azaroth’s hand had small cuts and bumps lining them, time had been that his hands remained clear of any marks even when training with the sword though after a certain situation he had come to realise the importance of training without gloves on. Another new feature without the gloves covering things up would be the rings he wore, though not as many as some he had three across both hands. On his right index finger was a gold sovereign ring that held the Sigil of House Baratheon, under which Azaroth Baratheon was engraved. Further down that hand on his rather large little finger was another lavish gold ring but this one held a rather different look to it, one of a large shield with a sword down the centre, it signified his connection to the Knightly Brotherhood. On his opposite hand sat on his middle finger was a ring that almost outshines both on the right hand side, a gold stag’s head with narrowed antlers, still growing and clearly not yet full matured. Unlike the other two rings that still held importance with the Young Lord this one was of a different value, due to it being a gift from his eldest sister, and the reason that aside from certain differences it matched the one she wore rather often.

“I do not recall a single time where it seemed like your intention was to twist my heart, yet that seems to be exactly what has happened. I would be lying if I said I understood it, because I do not, and perhaps that is the worst of it all.” Azaroth’s words were honest and his tone was rather different from before, much like his walk, posture and even the look in his bright blue eyes as they came to fall upon the frame of her face.

He would have to think over her words, for his mind wasn’t working at the moment, it was all he could do to answer her final sentence so to try and figure out the meaning of her fate and having a stable life was something he would most certainly have to focus hours upon, after all even within his personal bank he had enough coin to last ten well off lifetimes; what more stability did she need?

His hand moved out, the tips of his rough pads brushing against the hilt of the sword she still held within her grasp. “Your father’s sword I take it? Was he a warrior of the Stormlands? A guard perhaps?” There was no prior knowledge that would even bring Azaroth to think that her father was anything higher up than a guard or well-worn warrior, perhaps he was even like Ryke in the sense that he was a mercenary, but that word usually held negative meaning so he would strike that from the question as he queried further into her life, in the slight chance that she would reveal something to him in the softened moment.

Narrowed green eyes watched the man before her remove his gloves to reveal a myriad of polished stone. The gloves themselves were more than a woman of her stature would be able to afford within a year of skimping and saving. Each ring that bared fruit upon fingers that had yet to fill out in similar fashion to the rest of himself could have been traded for a years worth of grain and two good plow horses. If barter were to be good enough, one could come away with decent seeds as well. Yet there he stood in utter confusion to plight or rejection. The pampered noble lacked any and all realization of just how pampered his arse was. From his time within her dilapidated cottage, Rana deduced that he fancied himself a man of his people but years of life in the richest most lavish region of the land did not make you a man of the Stormlands; a man of burden and war.

The narrowed gaze had been set upon his features, watching as he gazed upon her father's sword. His words fluttered about the room as he brought himself closer to her person yet again. His single-minded advance to one thing then the next was not an endearing quality. Lifting her free hand while simultaneously pulling the sword from his touch, Rana snorted at the idea that her father was merely a guard. They'd led a quiet and secluded life upon that gifted land, with is songs sung in the taverns spanning each direction of their home. It was not uncommon that brief visits to the populated areas about their small home resulted in an bard unknowingly singing his adventures to the man himself. So raw was the wound of her father's recent departure that the girl's response was accusatory,"He was a knight, the Crow in the Storm. The Bladed Wing of Nightsong. He was no mere guard. Everything he was, was everything I had."

He had only touched the sword for a split second before she snatched it away from his touch, even before she started speaking it was easy to identify that his words had somehow insulted her, or more so the words he matched to her father. As she started speaking of her Knighted kin his gaze fell upon her once more, listening as she continued on of her father, watching her features as his details were placed in front of the young Lord. Azaroth nodded a few times to her words as his mind he had to wonder how her father had come to hold those aliases due to both of them sounding rather impressive and one being very similar to an alias he had earned himself.

Perhaps for lack of knowledge of her father or the deeds he had done in the Stormlands Azaroth couldn’t quite figure out the meaning of being a Crow in a Storm, perhaps he went unseen for the majority of his attacks or moved like the winds of a storm were assisting him. Perhaps this was how most people views most aliases, not being there to see them at their creation left reasons to be deduced elsewhere, such as he had heard many discuss the reasons for not only his brother and sister’s aliases but also his most recent one that had been given during his time in the Reach. For most people the Sword of the Storm was a call back to many centuries ago when Arthur Dayne was known to be the most bad ass man to ever wield a sword, to others it was simply an addition to where the Young Lord was born and the fact that he trained in the sword, for those who knew more of him though it was references to the duality of his personality, the calm storm that could turn dangerous and unleash great winds and bright lightning that could cover an entire region. In truth the reason behind the alias was probably a mixture of all three things and perhaps more, since at the very forefront of the reasoning would be from the man who had started it, Julian Tyrell, and the simplest reason from his position would be the fact that Azaroth was trained in the Reach, so any honour, victories at tournaments or even achievements later in life could be somewhat said to be related to the training he had received in Highgarden.

“Forgive me, it is clear that your father was a sturdy Knight, so I apologise for lessening his position.”

Azaroth knew nothing more of her father than she had told him, though there would be ways around her lack of information spilling and he wouldn’t even have to wait that long to get the information he wanted. With alias like her father’s he was sure his sister would know of him and if she didn’t then Greyson surely would; whether or not his brother knew was neither here nor there considering the hassle it would take to get him to focus on anything other than food.

After his thoughts died down of finding out more information on her father his mind went back to her burning cottage, she seemed rather proud of her father’s position, the deeds he had done for the Stormlands and the man he was, so the burning of his own home was rather confusing to him.

“Everything you have.” Azaroth changed her wording ever so slightly, perhaps in her mind she had lost all that was her fathers and that’s why she burnt the cottage, or maybe the memories were just too much to handle. “No matter what has happened with your home, you could rebuild and see to it that your father’s deeds in life not die alongside him.”

Of course this talk of rebuilding her home and keeping it was a nice thought but reality would soon take over and he knew the chances of her keeping land without having a husband at her side or at least a brother in her family, none of which she had that he knew of. To say thinking of her having to marry just to keep the land her father had earned was a feeling that turned his stomach, but not as much as the idea of her being with someone that wasn’t him; he had tasted only a fraction of her being yet he would have it that no one else ever got to share in those delights. The reality of the situation was starting to become clearer to the Young Lord, at least clear enough to know that his previous comment about her keeping her father’s land would be something not easily sorted.

Stability. His previous thoughts on her words so few minutes ago were ones of wealth, comfort and perhaps station but it was starting to seem like those weren’t exactly what she was thinking about when she mentioned her needs in life. Not unlike her father’s land that she now had little to no control of, if she were to be seen regularly with him she would probably be branded a mistress at the very least, leaving any opportunities in the future with someone else probably rather baron. Most men wouldn’t risk offending a noble even if it were just petty rumours that caused it, if she was so inclined to leave his side eventually it would probably take a trip across the sea to find someone who had no knowledge of it; and now her reasoning was becoming clearer to him, and as such created a back and forth in his thoughts.

The farm girl could only nod to his sincere apology. Indeed the wound was raw and her throat to follow suit. She could no longer bare the shared space between them; between herself and the man present for the last breath of the only man she'd loved.

A single word changing the past and returning it the present was not enough to relieve the symptoms of grief. It changed nothing. All that she had had lived and died with her father -- her mother, sister, brother, and the land with them. She was a girl that presented a visage of woman driven by reason and logic, but her motives in that dark hour had been purely of passion, ridding herself of the memories of strife and love both rested well upon that land. It was time to move on and here stood before her a fool in love offering riches and lifestyle with no pause for the consequence of what would have more likely bore no more fruit than a single night of interest.

"You know nothing."

Gripping the sword so tightly the blade began to strip bare the thread of burlap that bound it, Rana moved from the pressured space of being locked between the stag and the writing desk. Moving with purpose for the door, the hood of her dark clothing came upon her head once more. It would serve no purpose to draw back the emotion which threatened to come forth in the form of unwelcome moisture, yet the action brought with it a certain comfort of anonymity. The suffocating air of grief could only be staved away by the cool breeze of the afternoon and finding freedom in an exit to the outside could not have come quick enough.