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tinygrove · 5 months ago

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Safehaven | Stannis x Wife!Reader

Summary: Each year, Robert insists on throwing a grand feast on the anniversary of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana's passing. This year, it weighs on Stannis more than usual, but his wife has a plan to ease his burden.

Length: ~7k words

Warnings: A bit of smut at the end, but mostly it's just a lot of acts of service fluff. Also Reader has an uncle who is Master of Law, a brother and a nephew. No House mentioned, though.

Also lightly inspired by @a-libra-writes wonderful Stannis works! :) (Those have kept me going more than once lol).

Y/N was on her way to his study, a plate balanced carefully in her hands, laden with his favorite morning fare: warm bread, thick slices of cheese, a few plump figs, and a small bowl of honey. Steam curled up from a mug of spiced tea, filling the hallway with its comforting aroma as she walked.

Her lord husband was rarely in bed for long, and in the almost eight moons that Y/N had been married, she had never managed to rise before him.

Yet, despite his early hours, he would almost always make it back in time to break fast with her. She still remembered the first time he did, upon her request. He had drawn his brows as if she had instead asked him to take up juggling for the court’s amusement. But he’d returned, hesitantly taking the seat across from her. They had spent that morning quietly eating, only interrupted by small questions about his day.

“I have a small council meeting this evening,” he had said. And from the way his hand curled tighter around the mug, Y/N knew it wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

She tilted her head. “A meeting about what?”

“A petition from Lord Ainsley,” he replied, his expression darkening. “He claims his lands are owed compensation for alleged damages caused by… geese from a neighboring estate.”

Y/N blinked, trying to hold back a smile. Usually, such a matter would be regarded during the hours of petition. However, Ainsley was one of Robert’s friends. It was a wonder he was not on the small council himself. The realm could use a Master of Geese, perhaps.

“A serious concern,” she replied, her tone mock-somber. “Perhaps we should knight these geese for their tireless service.”

A snort escaped him, and then, to her astonishment, he smiled. The smallest, briefest of smiles, but a real one, his eyes glinting with reluctant amusement. She felt a flutter of warmth at the sight—it was the first time she had seen his stern exterior crack.

“Lord Ainsley may not agree with you,” he murmured, though his voice had softened, the edge in his gaze replaced by something almost warm.

Y/N smiled back, basking in the quiet success of having drawn that rare, unguarded moment from him. The room fell into a comfortable silence once more, and he returned to his meal, his hand resting a little more relaxed around his mug.

But this morning, he hadn’t been there to tell her about the small council. His seat had remained empty, drawing a sigh from her. It usually meant that duty had drawn him elsewhere and kept him firmly in place. She’d be lucky if she saw him before nightfall if she didn’t stop by his study.

With the grand tourney and feast planned for the day, Y/N had little doubt as to the source of his unease. She had known before she married him that he viewed court life as little more than frivolous pageantry. Though Y/N wasn’t one to indulge in every celebration and certainly didn’t delight in them with Robert’s enthusiasm, she could still find enjoyment in them—especially when surrounded by the right company.

Since becoming his wife, however, Y/N had tried to make up for his absence at these gatherings. She attended every feast, every dance, every event, often with more enthusiasm than she truly felt. She moved through the halls, engaging with nobles and courtiers, dancing when asked, and always responding cheerfully whenever someone inquired about her husband’s whereabouts.

When Y/N reached his study and knocked softly, she heard a familiar, terse “Enter.” Stepping inside, she expected to find him hunched over his desk, absorbed in whatever documents or maps required his attention. Instead, he was standing by the window, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. His back was tense, hands clasped behind him, his shoulders drawn tight in a way that hinted at something more than mere annoyance. He didn’t turn to greet her; the weight of his thoughts was so palpable that it almost felt as though he hadn’t noticed her arrival at all.

He turned as Y/N placed the plate on his desk. Spotting her, his shoulders straightened even more, though she wasn’t exactly sure how that was possible. The sight of her often brought about this response in him, a subtle bracing, as though he faced a challenge to be meticulously assessed. He looked at her as if she were an uncharted territory on a map, or perhaps a report he needed to decipher, line by line, until he made sense of every part.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice a touch softer than usual—so at odds with the way he was appraising her. His gaze flicked to the plate she had brought—bread, honey, tea, and other comforts he’d never think to ask for himself but now accepted as part of their morning routine together.

Y/N smiled back, then moved to the windowsill—a place that had become hers in his study. Marked by the pillows and blanket that had appeared one day. Ah, the blush on his face when she had thanked him that day, kissing his cheek. He’d tried to pass it off as a practical measure: “If you’re to sit by the window, best you don’t get a chill,” he’d muttered.

As she settled, he shifted, glancing at her and then quickly back out the window, clearly a bit unnerved by her closeness. A faint pink crept to his cheeks, though he tried to hide it with a quick clearing of his throat.

"You didn’t need to bring breakfast here," he muttered.

"I wanted to," Y/N replied simply, watching as he looked anywhere but at her. It didn’t matter. She could still tell from the way he was now absent-mindedly massaging his jaw, that he had been grinding his teeth for the past hour or so. That was excessive for a feast, even for him. “You’re… troubled.”

He didn’t look, clenched his jaw. Y/N half-expected him to brush it off, to tell her it was nothing for her to concern herself with. But Stannis wasn’t one to evade the truth, however difficult.

“The feast and tourney…” he began, each word seeming to weigh heavily on him. “They fall on… on the day my parents died. And Robert has made it his custom to use this day as an excuse for revelry. Drinking and…” he trailed off, pressing his lips into a thin line. “He insists I attend.”

Y/N’s heart twisted at the conflict she saw etched into his face, the silent frustration, the sense of duty wrestling with a desire to honor the memory of his parents in his own way. She could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, and as much as she admired his devotion to duty, she wanted—just for today—to offer him a respite from it. Knowing Stannis, she couldn’t say this outright. He would deny her without second thought.

She watched him for a moment, her heart aching for him. Then an idea sparked. Leaning forward with a glint in her eyes, she said, “My brother has asked me to visit recently. Rather urgent business. A matter with the harvest. And I know he didn’t plan to attend the tourney today… And, well, since it’s rather far and by the coast, I’m surely in need of my husband to accompany me. For safety.”

Stannis blinked at her, the faintest hint of understanding dawning on his face. He shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“For… safety, you say?” He asked, his mouth tilting ever so slightly in what might have been the beginnings of a smile.

“Oh, yes,” Y/N continued, her eyes widening theatrically. “Who knows what dangers could be lurking out there? Pirates could roam the coast; sea monsters waiting to awake. I think it’s only right that my husband, Master of Ships no less, should accompany me to ensure my well-being.”

He looked at her, half-amused, half-incredulous, and for a moment, the tension melted from his face. “Pirates?” he repeated, a rare glimmer of warmth in his voice. “I highly doubt—”

“Pirates,” Y/N insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “They’re ruthless, my lord. And, of course, pirates have a penchant for capturing particularly foolish noblewomen—”

“Enough,” he interrupted, his tone somewhere between exasperated and entertained, though the latter was a rarity for him. Yet he was close to laughing, Y/N could tell, and he was growing more at ease in this moment than she’d seen him in days. “My lady, I—”

She reached for his hand, gently lacing her fingers with his. The feel of his rough, calloused fingers against hers was grounding, and Y/N softened her voice, gazing up at him with a touch of sincerity. “Would you come with me, my lord?”

His expression faltered, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her hand in his. In the warm morning light streaming in from the window, he seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable.

A faint sigh left his lips, and he nodded, murmuring, “Very well, my lady. If pirates lie in wait, I suppose I have little choice.”

Filled with gratitude and something warmer, Y/N leaned up and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. She felt his faint intake of breath, the way he tensed slightly, but he didn’t pull away. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered, and he seemed frozen, his hand still held in hers.

Y/N straightened, a playful glint in her eyes as she looked at him. "I’ll let my uncle know of our plans. And then, my lord, I shall meet you at the harbor—after you’ve had your fill of breakfast."

Stannis watched as Y/N moved gracefully from the room, and though the door closed behind her, he found himself unable to tear his eyes away, as if willing her to reappear. He replayed the conversation in his mind, the warmth in her eyes, the way she’d leaned in close, and a reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. His sense of duty should have barred him from entertaining such a reckless idea, but she had managed to sway him so easily. He almost laughed at himself, shaking his head.

She had effortlessly drawn him away from his duties—wrapped him up in a tapestry of her gentle scheming, leaving him strangely willing to follow wherever she led.

From the first time he'd met her, he should have known she’d be trouble. He could still picture her, sitting in her uncle’s study by the window, much like she had now, half-illuminated by the afternoon sun. Her presence had been unassuming at first; she was merely the niece of the Master of Law, listening intently as the men discussed matters of trade with Dorne. She was quiet, poised, and perhaps a bit too young to be involved in council matters. But when she’d finally spoken up, it had changed everything. He remembered the way she’d tilted her head, her brow furrowing thoughtfully as she interjected.

"But if you’re so eager to limit our trade with Dorne, my lords," she’d said, her tone calm yet firm, "perhaps you’ve no use for the southern wine you enjoyed so much last evening?" Her words had cut through the room like a knife through silk, silencing even the most pompous lords in attendance. Stannis had felt a rare flash of amusement at the stunned expressions around the room. The other lords had been taken aback, sputtering their excuses, but she’d only watched them with a quiet, knowing smile.

After that day, he had expected to see her only in passing, if at all. He hadn’t anticipated marriage—it had been a political suggestion by her uncle, one he’d accepted out of duty. And now…

He looked again at the plate she had brought him, and finally willed himself to sit down to eat.

After finishing his meal, he moved methodically to prepare for the journey, gathering his traveling cloak and satchel, then, almost as an afterthought, reaching for another thick cloak. The sky outside was darkening, and it wouldn’t do for his lady wife to be caught in the rain. Holding the extra cloak in his hands, he allowed himself a brief smile, imagining how she’d protest that she hadn’t thought to bring one herself.

When he finally made his way to the harbor, he spotted her at once, standing near the gangplank, a light in her eyes as she watched the boats. The wind tugged at her hair, pulling stray strands free, and he felt a strange rush of pride seeing her there, looking so steady and assured.

As he approached, her eyes met his, and she grinned, an expression so full of warmth that he felt it settle around him like armor. Before he could speak, she stepped forward, slipping her arm through his with an ease that left him momentarily speechless. He stiffened for just a moment, acutely aware of how close she was, of the gentle weight of her hand on his arm, of the trust that small gesture conveyed.

"Thank you for coming with me," she said softly, a smile in her voice.

He managed a nod, his gaze shifting to the gangplank. "It… wouldn’t be proper for you to make this journey alone," he replied, though his words felt insufficient, as if they didn’t quite capture why he’d agreed.

As the boat set out from the harbor, a gentle drizzle began to fall, the droplets misting across the deck. Stannis glanced up at the darkening clouds before looking back at her, one eyebrow raised in mild curiosity.

“So,” he began, his voice carrying the faintest hint of teasing, “you mentioned the harvest. Tell me, what other urgent duties has your brother tasked you with?”

She laughed, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “For one, he’s been asking for assistance with his steward’s accounts.”

Before he could respond, she continued with a mischievous smile. “And, naturally, there’s the matter of entertaining Willem.”

At the mention of her nephew, Stannis allowed himself a faint smile, remembering the lively child tugging at her skirts during their wedding feast, demanding to know what sorts of fish swam by Dragonstone’s shores and how many ships could fit in the harbor.

“And I mustn’t forget my most important duty,” she added, feigning a solemn tone. “I’m required to pet the dog, Sand, at least three times. My brother was quite firm about that. Apparently, he’s developed a fondness for belly rubs.”

“I don’t remember your brother mentioning a dog.”

“Oh, Sand’s rather new. A great beast of a hound, all paws and drool and the need for constant attention,” she replied, eyes twinkling.

“Sounds like a hound made for Robert,” Stannis muttered, without thinking.

She laughed, the sound warm and bright against the backdrop of the gray sky, and he found himself watching her with a softness he would never allow in the council room or on the field. She had a way of drawing him out, easing the rigid barriers he’d spent his life constructing. But as she described her “duties,” he caught himself lingering on the sight of her, bundled in his extra cloak, her eyes still shining despite the gathering clouds overhead.

Just then, the drizzle turned into a light rain, pattering against the deck. Without a word, Stannis drew the extra cloak he’d packed from under his arm and handed it to her, his movements uncharacteristically gentle. His brow furrowed slightly, and he looked almost bashful, as if he were uncertain how she’d react to such a small gesture.

She took the cloak, smiling as she shook it out. “Thank you, my lord. I suppose you anticipated my poor judgment in packing.” A playful glint danced in her eyes as she teased him, though her voice was full of warmth.

He cleared his throat, a hint of color rising in his cheeks, but he nodded in acknowledgment. “It looked like rain,” he replied gruffly.

She laughed, and before he could react, she leaned in to place a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, truly,” she murmured, her voice soft as she drew back, pulling the cloak around her.

~~~~~

She stepped off the boat ahead of him, her eyes bright with anticipation. He followed, adjusting the weight of his satchel and feeling a faint sense of belonging in this small moment by her side.

The moment her boots touched solid ground, there was a loud, enthusiastic bark. A large hound bounded out from the nearby grove, barreling toward her. She laughed in delight, dropping to one knee and throwing her arms around the massive creature’s neck as it eagerly licked her face, its tail wagging with an unrestrained joy that seemed to echo her own. “Sand!” she exclaimed, rubbing the hound’s belly with practiced ease. “There you are, boy.”

As Stannis looked on, he felt an unexpected fondness for the big, drooling beast, as though it somehow fit perfectly with this moment, with her.

Quite the introduction. But before he could dwell on it, a high-pitched laugh rang out, and a young boy, perhaps six or seven years old, with an impish grin that immediately reminded him of her lunged forward. The boy took no time in lunging forward and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She laughed as he clambered up her back, and, with surprising ease, she lifted him, securing him on her shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Willem! You’re getting heavier!” she teased, lifting him up and settling him comfortably on her shoulders as she stood, laughing. Willem grinned, his hands gripping her shoulders as he looked around, a wide smile on his face.

“Still not as tall as Uncle Stannis, though!” Willem declared, staring at Stannis with a mixture of awe and determination. “How are you still taller?”

Stannis raised an eyebrow. He had never truly considered the title, or even what it might entail, until now. His position was always Lord Stannis, Warden, Master of Ships. But in that moment, with Willem grinning at him and her laughing up at the boy with such unabashed love, he felt something shift, a gentler kind of duty he hadn’t known he wanted.

“I suppose I’ve had a few more years to grow.”

Willem, still perched on her shoulders, wobbled slightly, and Stannis instinctively reached out a hand, steadying him. The boy looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you staying with us long, Uncle Stannis?”

Stannis cleared his throat, unsure how to answer, but she stepped in smoothly. “Just long enough to remind you to mind your manners, Willem,” she teased. “You know, you can say hello properly, can’t you?”

Willem ducked his head slightly, a shy smile overtaking his initial boldness. “Hello, Uncle Stannis,” he said, his voice bright yet a touch bashful.

Stannis offered a small nod, unable to help the faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Hello, Willem.” It felt strange, that title—uncle—falling into his life like a new cloak, fitting him awkwardly but somehow… comfortably, as if he could grow into it.

Before he could dwell too long on the thought, a familiar voice called out, drawing her attention. Her brother strode toward her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Well,” her brother greeted, his tone half-surprised, half-amused. “I wasn’t expecting you today. But I see my son has already claimed his rightful throne.” He nodded at Willem, whose face lit up even more at his father’s words.

“Ah, you know, I didn’t need to see Ser Barristan winning again when we could use our time a bit more productively.”

Her brother gave an enthusiastic nod. “Indeed… We intend to go to the feast later—”

Willem, still perched on her shoulders, tugged at her hair gently, clearly vying for her attention. “Auntie, are you coming to the feast too?”

She gave him an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be there, Willem, but only if you promise not to fall asleep on me during the meal. You’re getting far too heavy to carry back to bed.”

Stannis felt an odd thought creep into his mind, one that took him by surprise. He watched her, her effortless affection for Willem, the natural way she balanced him on her shoulders, laughing as he leaned forward to ask her something in hushed, excited tones. The ease with which she fit here, among family, made him wonder, just for a moment, what it would be like for her to have children of her own.

Children. His children.

He had, of course, considered heirs before, but always in a practical, distant manner, a responsibility more than a desire.

Yet, now the image of those children held the mischief he had come so used to find in her eyes, her easy laugh.

~~~~~

The ‘duties’ of the day passed by in an easy flow, the air warm with the feel of home, of familiarity. She worked closely with her brother, helping him review the steward’s accounts and discussing ways to stretch provisions after the recent harvest had come up short. Stannis stayed nearby, offering the occasional insight and giving his stern, practical guidance, though he found himself watching her often, appreciating the diligence with which she worked. He hadn’t expected to be part of this quieter side of her life, yet he found himself drawn to it, to the easy camaraderie between her and her brother, and even to the way she glanced over now and then, catching his eye and giving him a smile that made him feel inexplicably… seen.

Willem would occasionally wander in, wide-eyed with the curiosity of youth, tugging on her sleeve and urging her to join him outside to see something new Sand had “discovered.” Each time, she would give him a small task to “help” his father and uncle, filling his face with pride as he eagerly set to work on these little responsibilities.

~~~~~

The ship rocked gently as it cut through the waves, heading back toward King’s Landing. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a warm glow across the water. Stannis stood at the edge of the deck, his hands resting on the railing, his gaze fixed out over the endless stretch of sea. The tension that usually shaped his posture had softened, his expression calm, even reflective, as though the open ocean had drawn something tender from within him.

She stepped quietly to his side, leaning against the railing and watching him for a moment.

It was rare to see him so… at ease. From the beginning, she’d found him handsome, drawn to the intensity in his dark eyes, the strong, chiseled lines of his face. His hair was dark and kept short, his face clean-shaven, giving him a look of sharpness, of restraint. He often seemed older than his years, carrying the weight of duty and responsibility in a way that hardened his expression.

But now, with the soft light of evening casting gentle shadows across his face, he looked his age—a man in his twenties, strong and steady but unguarded, even peaceful.

“What are you thinking about?”

Stannis was silent for a long moment, his gaze drifting back over the water. Finally, he spoke, voice almost lost in the sound of the waves. “My parents.”

She leaned in a little closer, just watching as he spoke, his face painted with gentle memories.

”My father, Lord Steffon, was… a man easy to laugh.” A faint smile crossed his lips, a shadow of some forgotten warmth. “Not unlike Robert, in some ways. He had a way of filling a room, bringing laughter with him. And my mother…” He hesitated, his eyes softening. “She was quieter, but no less spirited. Gentle, but strong. She had a laugh, though—soft, like the waves at dawn.”

She felt a quiet ache at the way he spoke of them, his words laced with a nostalgia she hadn’t often seen in him. He rarely shared anything of himself, and yet here he was, as though the vastness of the sea had given him the space to voice what he kept so carefully hidden.

Stannis’s hand tightened slightly on the railing. “They were…” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t quite find the words, then cleared his throat. “They suited one another.”

She hoped that, in some small way, he was beginning to think the same of the two of them. Her gaze lingered on his profile, the way his jaw had relaxed, the lines of tension smoothed away as he looked out over the waves, lost in thought. Gently, she lifted her hand and let it rest on his.

He didn’t tense or pull away.

“You remember them well,” she murmured, her voice quiet, inviting him to share as much or as little as he wished.

“Aye. There are few things that stay as clear as that.”

~~~~~

The hall at King’s Landing was alive with music and laughter, the warm light of countless candles casting a glow over the feast. She moved through the crowd with ease, greeting familiar faces and occasionally stealing a glance back at Stannis, who stood by the edge of the room. He seemed less stiff than usual, a subtle ease in his stance as he sipped his wine, observing the bustling crowd.

She slipped over to him, a mischievous smile on her face. “Come now, my lord, I promised you wouldn’t be stranded alone tonight.” Gently, she steered him toward her uncle, who was deep in conversation with a few lords. He looked up as she approached, eyes brightening.

“Niece!” he greeted warmly, giving her a nod before casting a respectful look toward Stannis. “And Lord Stannis, it’s good to see you again.”

She leaned in to her uncle, voice low. “Keep Robert’s… attentions from lingering too long on my husband, hmm?”

Her uncle chuckled, understanding instantly. He didn’t say another word, instead drawing Stannis into a conversation with her brother.

Moments later, a small hand tugged insistently at hers. She turned to see Willem, his face alight with excitement. “Dance with me?” His cheeks were flushed, and he could hardly contain his excitement, standing on his toes in anticipation.

Laughing, she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, twirling him around as he laughed, his small feet trying to keep up with the rhythm. His laughter echoed in the hall, infectious, and soon others were watching, amused by the spirited little boy and his doting aunt.

After a song or two, Willem grew distracted, caught up in the swirl of color and light around him. She let him run off to find his father, and she continued to make rounds, chatting with old friends and acquaintances, dancing a bit more, stealing glances across the room whenever she could. Each time she looked, she found Stannis still engaged in conversation, comfortable but ever vigilant.

But then, she noticed Robert making his way through the crowd toward Stannis. She saw the gleam in his eye, his slightly too-wide grin that meant he was in a particularly merry—possibly reckless—mood. Without missing a beat, she called to Willem, who was only a short distance away, and whispered to him with a wink.

Willem’s eyes went wide, and with a grin, he dashed over to Stannis, tugging at his sleeve. “Uncle Stannis!” he whispered urgently. “Could you tell me more about ships? I want to know everything!”

Stannis glanced down, surprised but clearly pleased by the eager request. With a nod, he began guiding Willem toward the quieter end of the hall, away from Robert’s boisterous path.

She let out a breath, smiling as she watched them go. Willem was practically bouncing as he peppered Stannis with questions, and Stannis took his time, explaining in quiet tones, gesturing here and there to illustrate points.

As the evening continued, she caught sight of them now and then—Willem raptly listening, and Stannis guiding him through the answers.

After a while, she made her way back over to where Stannis and Willem were still deep in conversation about ships, anchors, and all manner of things that kept her nephew wide-eyed with fascination. She gently touched Willem’s shoulder, guiding him away with a warm smile. “Willem, why don’t you go find your great-uncle and tell him everything you’ve learned? I’m sure he’ll be eager to hear.”

Willem nodded with enthusiasm, offering Stannis a little bow before running off in search of her uncle, leaving her and Stannis standing together in the quieter corner of the hall. She leaned in close, voice low and filled with a playful edge.

“Well,” she murmured, tilting her head to meet his gaze, “your brother has seen you now—duty fulfilled. We could… simply leave.” The suggestion lingered between them, light and tempting.

For a moment, Stannis seemed to study her, a spark in his eyes that softened as he took in the warmth of her expression, the slight arch of her brow. He took her hand, a gesture firm and purposeful, and without another word, he led her from the hall, guiding her through the grand doors and into the quieter corridors beyond.

As they made their way out of the bustling feast and into the cool, quiet air of the night, a new ease settled between them, laughter bubbling up as they both felt the freedom from the formalities of the evening. She kicked off her shoes, balancing on one foot, and Stannis instinctively reached out, steadying her with a strong arm around her waist. His hand was warm, holding her close, his grip firm but gentle.

As they walked together down the quiet corridor, she couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension of the evening melting away. “I think I can finally breathe,” she joked, tugging off her shoes, sighing in relief.

She wobbled slightly, and his hands moved to steady her, one warm hand on her arm, the other at her waist. “Careful,” he murmured, his voice low.

Then, without quite knowing why, he leaned in. The kiss was intense, a flood of feeling and longing he couldn’t contain. She melted into him, her hands slipping up to his shoulders, and he drew her closer, his mouth moving over hers with a fervor he hadn’t known was possible. It wasn’t just passion—it was an overwhelming pull that felt as if it had been waiting to surface for longer than he cared to admit.

She felt his heart pounding, each kiss more fervent than the last, as if he were finally, finally letting go.

And maybe he was.

When she pulled back, her breaths coming fast, her cheeks flushed, she looked at him with a depth he’d rarely seen. He swallowed, his thumb brushing over her waist as he steadied his breath, his gaze still on her. Something was different tonight, something beyond what words could explain, and though he couldn’t name it, he felt it keenly. His heart pounded in his chest, a heavy, aching feeling that he had no name for, but that tugged him toward her with an urgency he hadn’t expected.

“Y/N…” he murmured, the weight of his own heart in his voice.

She reached up, running a hand along his jaw, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath her fingertips, a smile flickering at her lips. “If I’d known you would kiss me like that, my lord, I might have whisked you away from these feasts a little sooner,” she teased, voice soft but edged with the thrill of this unspoken, simmering connection.

He swallowed, his thumb grazing her cheek in a gesture that was almost reverent. “You—you did all of this tonight,” he murmured, voice low, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “Arranged every moment… you didn’t have to.”

She leaned into his touch, a gentle smile playing at her lips as she looked up at him. “I wanted to, Stannis. You bear so much, day in and day out. I only wanted to give you a day without that weight—a moment to simply… be.”

A flicker of something softened in his eyes, something almost vulnerable, and he released a breath he didn’t seem to know he’d been holding. “You see more of me than most,” he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns against her cheek. “And yet, you’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” she whispered, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

His heart pounded with a vulnerability that felt dangerously close to surrender, a feeling he wasn’t prepared to face here. His grip tightened slightly at her waist, searching for some way to escape the tumult within him.

Then, as if finding a solution, he slipped his arms around her and lifted her in one swift, unceremonious motion, cradling her against his chest. It was purely practical, he told himself, sparing her the discomfort of walking barefoot through the stone corridors and making sure she didn’t have to endure any more of the evening’s festivities.

“Stannis!” She laughed softly, surprised but delighted, as he held her close and set a brisk, determined pace toward their chambers. “There’s no need—”

“Your shoes clearly need refitting,” he replied, his tone gruff but his expression softened by the warmth in his eyes. He held her as if he’d never let go, his heart racing with each step.

As he moved down the hall, she tucked herself against him, her arm wrapped around his neck, allowing herself to relax in his hold. She caught sight of several of the guards casting curious glances her way, and one in particular, Ser Barristan Selmy, raised his brows ever so slightly, his expression unreadable but with a faint glint of quiet amusement in his eyes.

Stannis quickened his steps as they approached their chambers. Once inside their dark chambers, he carried her directly to the bed, lowering her gently down. The shoes clacked as they fell onto the floor. The moment her back touched the sheets, she reached up, catching his face in her hands, her thumbs grazing the rough lines of his jaw.

“Stay,” she whispered, pulling him down with a softness and strength that left him unable to resist.

Stannis hovered above her, every careful breath he took betraying the restraint he was struggling to hold onto. But in the quiet, with only the soft glow of the candles around them, her fingers in his hair, the warmth of her body beneath him, his resolve was beginning to crack.

As Y/N’s hands roamed down his back, she felt the tightly coiled strength in him, the tension he always seemed to carry. She pulled him closer, pressing herself fully against him, urging him on with each gentle, deliberate movement. And slowly, he let himself relax, leaning into her embrace, his mouth moving over hers with a hunger he could no longer contain.

His hand slipped from her waist, tracing a line up her side, feeling the soft fabric of her gown and the warmth of her skin underneath. Her breath hitched as he leaned down to press his lips against her neck, a trail of heated kisses that left her skin tingling in their wake. She tilted her head back, granting him access, and he took full advantage, his mouth lingering just above her collarbone before returning to her lips with a fierceness that made her heart race.

Stannis’s hands moved back down her body, finding the edge of her gown, the delicate fabric gathered in his grip as he lifted it slightly, exposing more of her to the cool air and to his warm hands.

His fingers deftly traced along her bare thigh, igniting a shiver of anticipation. She, in turn, brought her hands up to his collar, her fingers steady as they began to unlace the front of his tunic. Each pull of the string brought him closer to her, each tug freeing him of the armor of fabric that separated them. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint tremor in his muscles as he fought to keep some semblance of control.

But when her hands finally slipped beneath his tunic, feeling the warmth of his bare skin, the wisps of dark hair on his chest, beneath her fingers, his restraint shattered. He shrugged off the garment, letting it fall carelessly to the floor, and leaned down to capture her lips again, his kiss more urgent, almost desperate.

Her gown loosened under his touch, slipping further down her shoulders, and he helped her free herself from it, his hands reverent, almost trembling as he guided it away.

His mouth found hers again, more fervent and hungry, his hands exploring her body with a tenderness and intensity that left them both breathless.

Her bare legs wound their way around his waist, forcing his body against hers, fingers scratching along his back. The groan escaped him unbidden, his self-control slipping further as he pressed himself against her.

“Stannis, please,” she murmured, her voice a soft plea, almost musical in its sweetness. The sound unraveled him entirely, and without hesitation, he discarded the last of his clothes in a hurried, almost frantic motion, heat rising at the thought of her watching him, feeling this fierce need he could no longer restrain.

But before he could move to cover her, she pressed a firm hand against his chest, guiding him back against the bed, her movements steady and assured as she positioned herself over him. He let out a sharp, involuntary breath as her warmth settled against him, her skin brushing against his, igniting every nerve.

Her hands rested on his chest as she leaned forward, her lips trailing from his jaw to his neck, setting his skin alight with each soft kiss. He gripped her hips, steadying her as she began to sink onto him, her body enveloping him in a warmth that left him utterly undone. His breath hitched, a moan escaping him as she began to move, her hips rocking against his, each movement drawing them closer together.

The rhythm she set grew steady and insistent, her movements graceful and unrestrained, her hands splaying against his chest as she rode him with an intensity that bordered on reverent. His calloused fingers pressed into her hips, anchoring her, guiding her, holding her as close as he could, as if he could fuse himself to her completely.

Her fingers traced patterns along his chest, her nails grazing his skin, leaving faint marks that felt like small claims on him. He looked up at her, his gaze following the lines of her form in the dark, her hair cascading over her shoulders. He imagined her skin flush, the same way he had seen it so many times before.

His head fell back, a low moan breaking from him as she moved over him, her rhythm unwavering, their breaths mingling in the quiet of the room. Minutes passed, each one charged, each one adding to the heat between them until he heard her soft whimpers, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. She clenched around him, and he could feel himself unraveling with her, his fingers gripping the cover beneath him as she brought them both to the edge, his entire being focused solely on her and this moment they shared.

Finally, she gasped, her body shuddering as she reached her release, his name spilling from her lips in a broken whisper that sent him over the edge. He felt himself follow her, his own release crashing over him in waves, his body tensing, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he held her close, grounding himself in the feel of her.

She leaned down, her mouth finding his neck, lips grazing the sensitive skin as she whispered his name, her voice low and breathless. The sound of it, spoken so intimately, ignited something deep within him, a possessiveness he couldn’t deny.

They remained there, bodies still intertwined, hearts slowly calming, yet neither willing to part. He was acutely aware of her every movement, every gentle rise and fall of her chest as she lay on him, her face pressed against his neck, her fingers tracing gentle circles over his skin. The touch was comforting, grounding him, and he found himself reaching up, hand drifting up her back, drawing lazy lines along her spine as they lay together in silence.

Stannis felt her breathing slow. He wanted her to stay, to linger in this quiet haven they’d found, he found. Glancing at her, thinking back on the day, of how much dread he held this morning… She had swept it away so effortlessly—from the breakfast she’d brought him, to her playful scheming, to the way she’d led him away from the feast. All of it, he realized, had been for him.

When she dared move her head even a little, he felt his grasp tighten.

"You..." he began, his voice soft, "... you should stay here."

A small, surprised laugh escaped her, and she lifted her head slightly, before she leaned in to plant a gentle kiss on his lips. Her voice was barely a whisper as she replied, “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere, Stannis.”

With that, she nestled back against his chest, contentment settling over them both as he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close as they drifted into a quiet, shared stillness.

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