Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"IF YOUR MOTHER HAD GOTTEN WORD OF YOUR INVITATION TO THE TRAITOR, SHE'D HAVE YOU HANGED HERSELF," Lord Estermont raged, expression a peculiar mix of fury and disgust. Rikkia should have been grateful he was in attendance at all to her meeting - being one of the few Baratheon bannerman to actually pledge allegiance to her. But if there was one thing the woman had learned from her grandfather, it was that loyalty was no excuse for disrespect.
"If my mother wanted me hanged for every letter I've ever sent, my neck would be broke ten times over by now," she waved off uncaringly, silently thanking herself for making the decision not to tell anyone of her invitation until the day of his arrival. For she'd surely have gone mad listening to this onslaught day after day.
"The man that was accused of murdering your own brother is to sit at your table and sup with you by the eve, what could you possibly say to excuse that?" Lord Grandison continued on his companion's behalf.
"That I am surprised it took that long for Tyrion to kill him?" Rikkia joked with a light smirk, leaving them flabbergasted at her blatant disregard for the late King. "My Lords, you all met my brother at one point in time. He will go down in history as a stain on this family, a cruel and foolish stain that has no place being mentioned at our table. My sole interest is the protection of House Baratheon's vassal houses, not of the opinion of those I invite to talk for the basis of peace."
"Perhaps, my lady," Lord Estermont sighed as he rose to leave, sensing their meeting was drawing to a close, "if you truly wish to protect House Baratheon you would invite potential suitors and secure an heir instead of traitors to the Crown."
Her nose twitched at the insult behind his words - knowing well what he was implying. Rikkia was still young, but how many fertile years she had left meant nothing if she wasn't producing as many heirs as she could until then. In a land in as volatile of a state as Westeros was - she'd need as many as she could have.
When a servant knocked on the door to inform her that her uncle's arrival was imminent, she was all too thankful for the distraction before she could think much longer about having to find a match. Gathering her dress in her hands to prevent from tripping as she took the stairs, she couldn't quell the swell of excitement from within. Traitor be damned, Tyrion and Rikkia had been rather close at one point. There were times in her youth she felt he was the only one that had a brain on the same wavelength as her own.
When finally she saw him again, standing on their side of the gate and looking around at the flurry of guards with slight anxiousness - it was all she could do not to sprint toward him and hug him there. But she was Lady of Storm's End now, and had to uphold appearances at all times. The closer she neared the more she saw the distinct differences in him, three years apart had aged the man to be sure. His hair was barely the signature Lannister blonde any longer, more of a burnt auburn.
