Red Keep, Maidenvault's Flower Hall
Grenn followed Ser Jaime into the flower hall and soon spotted the small figure of Princess Myrcella.
Surrounded by handmaidens and septas, the young princess turned toward him.
A flash of joy lit her delicate face, her small frame shifting as if to rush forward.
But at that moment, an elder septa gave a discreet cough.
At once, Myrcella straightened, hiding her smile behind a mask of regal composure. Her chin lifted imperiously, a practiced gesture learned from her mother.
Myrcella Baratheon, Queen Cersei's second child, had milk-white skin and golden curls. It was Grenn's first time seeing her this close — a miniature echo of Cersei in her youth.
He had seen her earlier that day during lunch at Maegor's Holdfast, but he'd only spared a glance at the freckles across her cheeks before turning away.
Before Grenn could kneel or greet her, Myrcella lifted her chin in imitation of the queen and began to speak with a soft, childlike voice:
"Forgive me, Ser Grenn…"
A sharp cough from the septa behind her cut her short. The princess froze, cheeks flushed, and instinctively lowered her head.
Quick-witted as ever, Grenn sensed a possible escape. He had little time to entertain children, not even royal ones — the royal hunt now rested on his shoulders.
He placed a hand over his chest and bowed. "At your service, Your Grace."
Myrcella returned the gesture with delicate poise. "Lord Grenn, I hope I haven't disturbed you by asking for your company."
Grenn smiled politely. "To be summoned by Your Grace is an honour beyond words."
Myrcella's face lit up, joy rippling across her cheeks like spring water breaking through stillness.
The septa hesitated, but said nothing. For a moment, Myrcella's simple, sincere happiness scattered the weight from Grenn's heart — clearing away the fog of politics and responsibility.
And in that moment, Grenn began to understand Ser Jaime's protectiveness. He found himself with a touch more patience for the queen's daughter.
Myrcella's bright green eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I heard the tale of the mermaid. They say the Mermaid Port is your land. Have you ever seen one?"
The question nearly caught Grenn off guard, rare for a man of his tongue.
He crouched to her level, a soft amusement glinting in his brown eyes. "Would Your Grace like to meet one?"
They were only a few paces apart. Myrcella's posture eased — it was easier to look someone in the eye when they weren't towering above you.
Grenn noticed the little things. Her affection for him quietly grew.
Myrcella hesitated, then shook her head. "No… Mermaids are shy. We shouldn't disturb her."
Grenn nodded solemnly. "Even if we've never seen them, we can still wish the kind and beautiful mermaids a life of happiness. Don't you agree?"
Myrcella nodded. "I will. Thank you, Lord Grenn."
Grenn couldn't help but marvel at the precocious wisdom in one so young.
Her gaze drifted through the window of the flower hall toward the sea. She seemed to murmur more to herself than anyone else:
"I envy them… how free they must be, in the sea…"
Another sharp cough broke the mood — the septa again.
Grenn took that as his cue to leave.
His expression, once soft, turned cold. He rose to his feet, hand drifting to his sword.
His voice cut like steel: "You dare, septa? How bold, to repeatedly interrupt Her Grace in my presence."
The room turned tense in an instant. Even the handmaidens were caught off guard.
Ser Jaime had been ready to intervene — but what Grenn said made uncomfortable sense.
The septa's name was Yagris. She was responsible for Myrcella's education in courtly manners. In private, correction was her duty. But in the presence of outsiders? She had slighted a princess.
Faced with Grenn's intensity, Septa Yagris involuntarily took a step back. "What... what are you doing?"
There was a dangerous glint in Grenn's eyes as his fingers tightened on the hilt.
Jaime moved quickly, placing a firm hand over Grenn's. "Baron Grenn," he said evenly, "you must not draw your sword in front of the princess."
Hot-tempered as ever, Jaime thought. Maybe "wildling" was the right word for this man.
The handmaidens finally gasped — belatedly realizing the tension.
Myrcella's stern voice rose above them. "Enough. Quiet."
The room fell silent under her command. Her clear green eyes swept across the maids, full of quiet warning.
Even Grenn was briefly impressed.
Then Myrcella stepped forward. "Lord Grenn, I thank you for your protection, but I believe Septa Yagris meant no harm."
She spoke with flawless grace — the composure of a true princess.
Grenn's tone remained ice-cold. "If it happens again, I'll mount your head above the city gate."
Septa Yagris paled. "You… I'm a servant of the Seven! That's blasphemy!"
Grenn didn't blink. "Then test me. Pray to the Seven that I'm bluffing."
She saw it in his eyes — he wasn't.
Her lips trembled. "I…"
"Enough, Septa Yagris."
Myrcella's voice, young but unwavering, silenced the septa once and for all.
Yagris bowed her head and stepped back to join the handmaidens.
"There will not be a next time," the princess said calmly.
Grenn glanced at Jaime, then released his grip on the sword and bowed deeply.
"Your Grace, forgive my outburst. I did not mean to spoil the moment."
Myrcella shook her head. "Lord Grenn, you are a knight of honour and loyalty."
At that, Jaime's face darkened again.
Claw Isle – Mermaid Port
Sunlight shimmered on the calm sea, the breeze dancing over silver waves.
The warship Black Betha pulled slowly into the dock at Mermaid Port.
On the prow stood Lord Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships. His face was hard, carved from stone, his gaze fixed on the growing signs of prosperity in the harbor below.
Stannis was tall, broad-shouldered, his skin tanned and weathered by the sun, rough as beaten iron.
He was thirty-three, but only a thin crown of black hair remained. His beard was trimmed short and straight, lining a square jaw with military precision.
.
.
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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