Fury And Pride | Myrcella Baratheon x Male!OC Fanfiction | Game Of Thrones AU

Warm Fever

The Hand's Tourney had everyone in King's Landing buzzing with anticipation.

As the day of the tourney arrived, Steffon found himself in bed, his small frame wracked with fever. Jaime had invited his nephew as his squire to the Tourney, to prove his prowess on the training grounds. But the universe had different plans, it seemed.

"I'm sorry, uncle," Steffon muttered weakly, his voice hoarse. "I can't be your squire today."

Jaime's expression darkened at the sight of his nephew lying in bed, his skin flushed and damp with perspiration. He approached the bed, concern etched on his face.

"It's alright, Steff," he said, his voice soft.

Myrcella quietly slipped into the room, her footsteps nearly silent on the stone floor. She was still in her gown from the morning court, but her hair hung loose around her shoulders, her usual meticulous golden braids undone.

She took in the sight of her older brother lying in bed, a pang of sympathy in her heart. She made her way over, perching herself on the edge of it.

"Steffon..." she said softly, reaching out to place a cool hand on his forehead, which was as hot as a pan in the kitchens.

Steffon opened his eyes at the feel of her touch, which felt like embers in the ashes. "Myrcella..." he murmured, quickly looking away. "Shouldn't you be at the Tourney?"

"No," she said quietly, her voice firm. "I want to stay here. With you."

Their Uncle Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but something in Myrcella's expression stopped him. He sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair. "But Myrcella, the Tourney is a grand event, you are the princess and your presence is to be expected."

Myrcella gave him a stubborn look, her chin tilting up in determination. "I don't care, Uncle. Steffon needs me more than the people need to see my face. Besides, the rest of our family is there to represent us."

"Myrcella, your mother-" Jaime began to protest, but Myrcella cut him off.

"Mother doesn't need to know," she said simply. "I'll make some excuse and join her later in the day. For now, I'm staying here."

Jaime wanted to argue, to point out the potential consequences of defying Cersei. But he could see the resolute look on Myrcella's face, and he knew it was pointless to argue. Besides, he couldn't deny the small flare of pride he felt at his niece's defiant loyalty to her brother.

He nodded, reluctantly accepting his defeat. "Very well," he said. "You can stay. But be discreet about it. I don't want your mother finding out and having my head for it."

Myrcella gave a sharp nod in agreement. "Of course, discreet," she promised. She settled herself even more comfortably on the bed, her eyes never leaving her brother's face.

With a final nod towards the two siblings, Jaime left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He walked down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.

Steffon said, his voice hoarse. "The Tourney is a big deal, I'm sure they would want to see your pretty face there."

Inside the room, Steffon lay in bed, still trembling from the fever that gripped his body. He looked at his sister, her presence bringing both comfort and guilt. She was perched on the edge of the bed, her hand still resting on his forehead.

Myrcella arched an eyebrow at her brother's tone, recognizing the stubbornness that was so typical of him. She had come to know him well enough not to be deceived by his facade of indifference.

"You're feverish and ill, Steffon. You're not fine," she said quietly, her pure green eyes locked with his. He doesn't deserve her care. "And you shouldn't be left alone in this condition."