The Last Stag • Game of Thrones

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Prologue.
The Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

On the night that Jon Arryn died, the clouds hung low over the head of Kings Landing. 

For a bustling city, overflowing with people, it was an unusually quiet night. The bells stopped their toll, wives scrubbed the dishes left over from supper, and slowly, the lights in the windows went out as the citizens of Kings Landing found their beds, giving into the compelling lure of the night sky.

At least, most citizens.

 On the outskirts of the palace sat a tavern, a tavern that was always busy and had a reputation for overpriced, low-quality ale. Better taverns surely could be found deeper in the city, but the soldiers who frequented that tavern cared not, and continued on at this particular tavern, as they had for generations. There were two reasons for this: one, the tavern was immediately beside the barracks, and so the location could not be beat. And two, the tavern was known for attracting low-born girls seeking a stray soldier to take to husband. 

One of these girls sat alone at a table in the far corner of the tavern, nursing a mug of shite ale that she had paid far too much for. Her eyes periodically flickered towards the door. She analyzed each face that entered. 

"How about that one?" Her companion mused, watching the girls face carefully. She was a stoney women, honey-brown eyes nearly always set in a hard stare - but her companion knew her too well, and could see through the cracks that would appear. 

The girl eyed the blonde bannerman that had been pointed out. He had a strong jaw and golden ringlets that were pushed out of his face, and was suited in unscratched Baratheon armor. The girl crinkled her nose.

"Too blonde," She responded with snark. "And too pretty. There's not a scratch on that one. He might wear Baratheon armor, but thats a Lannister man if I've ever seen one."

"You're too picky, as usual." Her companion straightened, taking a swig of his ale and pulling a face. "I'd eat him for supper." 

"And face my uncle's jealous wrath? You're not that stupid, Loras."

"Maybe I'm not," Loras turned his body towards her and grinned. "But you might be. You leave for Winterfell at first light, and here you are in a tavern looking to be the sheath to a guard's mighty sword. The Queen would have your head on a spike if she knew."

"If I'm going to be under constant supervision on the journey north, then I must squeeze in my vices now. Gods forbid I have a bit of fun." 

The door to the tavern swung open again and the girl looked up, distancing herself from the conversation. The man who entered took a scan around the room, his grey eyes landing on her. Tall and broad, with a head of brown curls and a trimmed beard.

The girl straightened, her plump pink lips pulling back to reveal a blinding smile. 

"Ah," Loras laughed. "You've found your sword."

Loras watched as she slid off of the barstool and stepped into the firelight, the skirts of her barmaid's dress brushing against the dirty wooden floor. The low cut of the dress revealed far more of her chest than she would ever be allowed to show otherwise, the light casting shadows across her prominent collarbones and broad shoulders, the cloth clinging to the slope of her waist and the curve of her hips.

While Loras had never acquired an appetite for women, he had to admit that his dear friend was as beautiful as he imagined one could be. It seemed that the men of King's Landing agreed - he had yet to see her turned away.