Esmae Baratheon was the golden darling of the Seven Kingdoms, or so the measly common folk liked to call the firstborn child of the glorious king Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei. The princess, however, was anything but a darling and despised the r...
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Eddard Stark wished to see her.
Esmae was approached by the captain of his guards, the quiet Jory Cassel, who had dutifully relayed Lord Stark's short massage to the princess and kindly accompanied her to the Hand's Tower. Of course, Esmae was rather puzzled by the sudden call, but let none of the surprise show, allowing only a curt nod and following the obedient guard to his master in silence.
Lord Stark was sitting behind his table, hovering over what looked like a very cumbersome piece of reading when the door to his solar opened with a creak.
"Her Grace, the princess," Jory announced as Esmae walked in, her face perfectly guileless.
Eddard's head snapped up at the sound. He closed the thick tome and rose from his chair to greet her, "Your Grace," he nodded and said to the guard, "Thank you, Jory. You may leave us."
The man made a bow and walked out, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.
"Lord Stark," Esmae intoned and sauntered into the solar as if it were her own, "And so we talk again."
The south did not become Eddard Stark. He looked as out of place here as the poor northern beast Esmae had saved from death some months before. The man in front of her was worn out, his face bearing an unhealthy ashy color, eyes tired and bloodshot. Eddard looked stern, more so than usual, which led Esmae to believe that whatever she had been called here for, didn't bode well. And somehow she didn't need to guess why.
"We do," he said gruffly, "Although much has changed since the last time we spoke."
Esmae quirked an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"What can you tell me about the day Lord Arryn died?" she was mildly taken aback by the straightforwardness of the question. It was rather bold, she'd give him that.
"Not much, seeing as I was halfway to Casterly Rock when the news had reached us," Esmae replied nonchalantly and watched as Eddard's jaw tightened, his face ponderous, "Why, Lord Stark? Am I a suspect in your little investigation? Don't look quite so surprised," she told him with a saccharine smile, "I am sure our mutual friend has told you all of my pastimes as well. For someone who is hailed as the keeper of secrets, Lord Varys does a rather poor job at it. Much like you at trying to be discreet," Esmae chuckled, ignorant to the effect her words had on Lord Stark. Clearly, he had imagined this conversation going in a very different direction.
At last, he regained his composure, "What is it that you're trying to achieve, Your Grace?"
"It gets excruciatingly boring within these walls, Lord Stark," she told him airily, "I occupy myself in whatever way I can."
Esmae let her eyes run over the leather cover of the book. It was impossible to decipher anything from such a distance, however. And so she wandered closer to the table to make out the golden imprint "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children" by Grand Master Malleon. She could feel her brows fly up in fascination.
