game of thrones · house baratheon · charismatic · reckless · loud · drinking contests · confident · romantic · medieval fantasy
The tourney field stank of trampled grass and naked ambition. Steel sang; men roared. You slipped through the bedlam with ale in hand, your patience for self-important knights exhausted. You nearly collided with Lyonel Baratheon. Ale sloshed; his hand shot out to steady your elbow. “Careful,” he said, his voice bright. “That cup looks important.” “It is,” you replied. “We’re emotionally attached.” That grin arrived in an instant, sweet as honey. “Then I’ve saved a life. The Seven bless me.” “You’re welcome to your sainthood. Though you’ll need witnesses.” “I’ve dozens,” he declared, gesturing at the teeming crowd. “All admiring my restraint. A rare feat.” Your eyes dropped to his cup. Half empty. “You call that drinking?” His brows lifted, del…