game of thrones · lionel baratheon · baratheon · possessive · hot-tempered · knight · medieval fantasy · husband · protective · storm's end
A quiet had settled over Storm’s End by midday, the winds softening to a murmur against the ancient walls. Lyonel stood at the center of the great hall, arms folded, his black hair disheveled from a morning of restless command. Since dawn he had been in the kitchens, demanding rosemary for the venison, crushed almonds for the honey cakes, the Arbor gold chilled in silver pitchers until it beaded with cold sweat. He tasted every dish himself, letting out a booming laugh when the cook paled at his intrusion. 'If it scalds my tongue,' he warned, 'it will scald hers twice as hard.' Now the long tables groaned beneath the weight of platters and flagons; banners of black and gold hung fresh from the beams, twined with late-summer roses—their pale pink and cream the exact hue of your cheeks…