bloodrite

ii.

Leanna Baratheon is not a fool, nor is she naive. She knows what the stark absence of her newlywed husband in their marriage chambers means. This will be a lonely marriage, something she was warned of by her father long before she ever met Daemon Targaryen. He had sworn it would be unlikely, but he would still continue to prepare her for everything that might come her way.

There are three nights that she spends in solitude in the marriage chambers. Each night she acts as if nothing is amiss. After wishing her guards well for the night, she closes herself into her round room and sheds the dark dress. After donning her night shift, she seats herself at the wooden vanity and focuses on preparing herself for sleep. She braids her dark hair away from her face, creating a long plait down her back.

In the dark hours, when she is certain all servants have retired and even the murmured conversation of the guards has fallen away, she moves to the chest at the foot of her bed. From the thick wood case she pulls forth an heirloom of her house. She cleans it carefully, putting her attention to it. This is a routine as normal to her as braiding her hair. Something she has done for years, ever since it was gifted to her.

Then she sleeps. Fitfully, for the heaviness of her fate weighs heavy on her mind.

After the third night, she retires to her own chambers. There is nothing else for her to do, for she knows she won't be seeing her husband anytime soon.

So, in her waking hours, she overcomes.

This marriage is purely political. For her, for the Baratheon House, this marriage is everything. The plan is set, and now the wheel has begun to turn. It is Leanna's job to weave the story together.

In the days when Daemon is busy elsewhere, for she has not seen him and does not dare to ask where he spends his time, she sits with the ladies of Court. Often under the shadow of the Godswood, Leanna begins her work. The ladies of Court speak of trivial things. The newest fashions, who holds the best feasts, upcoming celebrations, and occasionally the business of their families.

This is where Leanna excels. They think her foolish and dull in the mind. Leanna is a girl who grew up without a mother, or any other ladies to tutor her in the ways of conversation. To them, she speaks her mind far too freely. Gossiping right along with them, but giving away far too much. She is an overflowing barrel of mead spilling every secret of the Stormlands. At least, that's what they think.

Her brother Borros had some unpleasant habits. He is a horrible spender, wasting the Baratheon coin on whores. He lavishes them with dresses and food and anything they ask for. He wastes time on them that could be better spent on procuring troops to help quell the unrest in the Stepstones. Boremund has long struggled with the Myrish pirates, but now there was a new threat. Dorne's support of the Triarchy was known to most in this city, and it made them uneasy.

Borros Baratheon speaks ill of the crown. He believes Jaehaerys an old fool, incompetent of being a king any longer. His heir Baelon is a witless worm, his brain addled by the amount of times he has been hit in the head during tournaments. He believes the Targaryen family to be inbred bastards, and that the Iron Throne should be passed on to a stronger family. He thinks himself a god with his harem of whores, and he wants to be a king. He sends support to Dorne, where he believes their morals are more sound.

Words like this could mean Borros's death, if any investigations were made into the claims. Leanna, in the eyes of the ladies, is an utter fool. Endangering her family, giving away the secrets of her own blood freely. The women eat her words up greedily, then turn and spread them to anyone who will listen.

It's all part of the plan.

At night, in her empty chambers, Leanna opens her trunk and releases her birthright from its sheath.

The Stormlands are about to be in a war of succession, should Borros go after their father. He believes the elder Baratheon to be just as much a fool as Jaehaerys. There is no doubt between Boremund and Leanna that Borros will make a killing move soon, and that Leanna must act before he does.

The bannerlords of the Stormlands are sworn to follow the Baratheon House. To follow the Lord Guardian of the Stormlands. In this time, they have all given their allegiances to Boremund. As far as succession went in Westeros, they would soon swear to Borros. Perhaps some already had, behind closed doors.

Leanna has something Borros does not. She has Stormswaith. The inheritance of her house. The blade that makes her the heir. It is the very reason she has a claim, for no lord would respect her birth right otherwise. Still, she will not forsake this claim. Nothing will convince her to abandon her lands, her people.

So, each night in her chambers, she oils and cleans and sharpens the blade. She keeps Stormswaith glistening, the pale Valyrian steel as sharp as the tooth of a dragon. Leanna knows, despite the histories, this fight will not be easy. The bannerlords will give her trouble just for being a woman. There are no guarantees they will follow her in her father's absence, even with Stormswaith at her hip. This is why she must start at the source.

Marrying a Targaryen, the son of the future king. Sewing doubts about Borros with the wives of the strongest Targaryen supporters. It was all to help herself, and her House.

Leanna was a weapon, honed carefully by Boremund. The man was a strategist, a powerful planner. There was a reason the Stormlands were such a force, and it was a direct result of the iron fist of the Baratheons. Firm and strong-willed. Leanna has been tutored by Boremund for years in how to rule. How to be just and kind and stern. Borros was never his heir. Not from birth, even. It had always been Leanna.

Her plan must go smoothly, even without Daemon directly at her side. She must pray that his name is force enough. Surely, someone like him would still hold claim even without being present. She had to hope that was the case, especially when she departs King's Landing for her homelands.

There was a game to be played here. The pieces were beginning to shift across the board. It was time for her to guide them into place. It was time for her to shine.