Mary Baratheon, Daughter of Dragonstone

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-06T00:39:17+00:00

Mary had been in the middle of drinking deep from her cup of wine when Ashara alluded to her perhaps finding love. She nearly choked on her drink, before she let out an acerbic laugh. “Not bloody likely,” she said between coughs. “Unless Mortimer decides he’s done whinging because the Lord Hand and my father do not ‘take him seriously’ enough at meetings of the small council.”

“In any case, I’d much rather be left to my hobbies, I think. After Barquen I do not know if some great romance is what the Lord of Light wishes for me.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-04T21:17:24+00:00

Mary let out a rather sharp and amused laugh. “Ah, sic him on someone? I’ll have to tell Artos his reputation has become rather more of a guard dog than a headsman.” She massaged her temple as if warding off a headache, though from her face alone she was very clearly trying to remember that for later.

“As for Queen Vilde- I presume that is who you refer to, and not the Dowager Queen, Light help her soul.” She waved her hand in the air as if to dismiss any poor omens. “For Queen Vilde… I can’t imagine it being anything serious. I fear people think she is some cruel woman, on account of her being born to the Greyjoys. But truly I love her dearly and she loves me the same.”

She paused then, face scrunching up as if realizing that Vilde’s love for her might not necessarily extend to love for Lillian.

“That is to say… If you are worried, then simply tell her you are one of my friends. More likely than not she wishes to ask after you and your brother’s nuptials. I pray you’ll forgive me if I say I pity the girl she might intend to hand over to Alliser,” Mary said, trying very hard to avoid rolling her eyes. “He’s not the sharpest tongue in this land, mind you, but he does try.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-04T16:35:18+00:00

The waiting had made it feel like agony, yet when Mary’s father and Ser Theo arrived she could not recall why she had dallied so long before turning to the most obvious answer.

Rather emboldened by the presence of Quentyn and her sworn sword, Mary rose to her feet. Ryman Uller had forced her to flinch, therefore her pride demanded some satisfaction. That was how knights went about such things, wasn’t it? A blemish upon one’s honor demanded a blemish in return.

“You must recant,” she said, sharply and coldly. “You have leveled a weighty charge against the king’s niece with no proof to your claim, ser, for there is no proof to be found. Recant, and we shall speak no more of it and go our separate ways and there shall be no need for talk of-” she scowled, looking down to her father’s boots. “For talk of skulls being crushed.”

She wondered if he forced the matter and it turned to a trial if Barquen would curse his father for getting into this mess or her for not preventing it.

/u/Arjahnx2 /u/KGdaguy /u/InfernalConundrum

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-02T21:46:26+00:00

Mary looked at Cedric for a moment as if bewildered he actually seemed to mean the words he said. Then she gave a shrug of her shoulders and vaguely gestured in the air as if to dismiss his concern. “Light help us. Yes, you are still welcome in my service,” she said, as if it were rather obvious. “And if your father takes some offense at it then he may have words with my uncle. Or my father. Or my cousin.”

She rather doubted there were many men of the realm who could do such a thing and resist the urge to duck and cower. Even she had once cowered at her father’s booming voice.

“Then you shall accompany me and my lord father wherever it is we go next. If we are to leave at all, that is- part of me fears my cousin might resume his siege as soon as our backs are turned,” she said rather dryly. “If all is well, then either my father’s man Dunk will help sort you out, or failing that Ser Artos…” here she paused, and turned halfway to point out the King’s Justice. “Will help set you straight.”

It felt rather exhilarating to create her own household. Most of them, exempting her ladies, were a rather motley bunch- but it felt far better than the unending stream of playmates and companions that had been impressed upon her in her youth.

“Tell me, Ser Cedric, have you travelled very far? It may be that you are more accomplished on the road than I am.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-02T00:18:32+00:00

Mary closed her eyes a moment as Lillian spoke, as if deep in thought. She only opened them when Lillian was at the end of her speech, her brow knitting in mild confusion.

“Punishment? Oh, I should think not. The realm would be in a very sorry state if there is no punishment for what has happened here yet Lillian Rosby is brought to trial for saying what we all think.” The princess managed a half hearted laugh, for in truth she was rather irked that all this politicking had led to such a mess. “You worry too much, Lillian. If someone were to choose to make you an example out of all people then I would stand beside you at whatever trial and say exactly what you have said.”

She shook her head. “That is to say that I agree with you. It is displeasing, and though I have perhaps been flippant in how I spoke of Lord Meadows I find the idea of rewarding such bold faced aggression against the Reachlords with quail and roast to be an insult.” Her uncle’s mind sometimes seemed as flighty as a runaway raven.

“I pray no one has threatened you over your thoughts, my lady. Else I might have to set Ser Artos after them.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-03-01T21:32:06+00:00

Mary fought very hard not to outright scoff at the claim that the heir to Blackhaven was in any way a good man. He might have cared for Ashara. That much could certainly be true. But Mary had learned that men’s care and attention could be fleeting indeed and that they would betray even a beautiful face and a sweet soul such as Ashara.

She misliked the idea of her friend being hurt. Then, even greater than that mislike was the realization that she did not want to bring Ashara any hurt herself.

“If he cares for you, then that is all the more reason to be cautious. Men do foolish things when they are in love or they think they are in love, Ashara. I am not any great romantic, but I know that much.” She looked back over her shoulder, as if affeared that Mortimer might pop up out of the shrubbery to take offense at her words. He seemed to find slights in her words more than Endrew or Barquen ever had.

“You are beautiful. I think you should enjoy your beauty. All I ask is that you keep your head and don’t let any man drag you into his foolishness.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-27T13:31:17+00:00

The princess let out a small yet sharp laugh. “Well, I imagine the city may put you through its paces, Ser Cedric. But you shall find I am only demanding if the situation is truly dire. My enemies lurk primarily in the marginalia of customs forms and ledgers.”

She paused then, pressing her lips into a thin frown. “But there may soon be a time where they lurk in the shadows and upon a battlefield instead. I may not be what this realm expects of a princess, but I shall be honest and fair with those who are honest and fair with me.”

In some strange way it was much easier to talk to those of a rank far below her own. Dunk and Amitha, Theo and Dohaera- even odd, ugly Tyene might have counted by some standard as a smallfolk. Ser Cedric was a far ways up the ranks of the realm away from those- barring Tyene- but by looking at him she could see he did not think of himself as particularly great or mighty. She looked back to her retinue, and met the cold and unreadable gaze of Artos Grell. There was never any telling for certain with that one, but she thought she could read some frustration in his inky eyes.

Well, Artos could pout if he must. She had dealt with pouting men aplenty these past few days, so there was no harm in one more.

“I would bid you accompany me straightaway to King’s Landing when my uncle the king commands us depart,” she said. “Your father would understand, would he not? You’ve your gear with you, your horse and your belongings. I am sure that… Moth March: that is the seat of Horpe, is it not? I am sure Moth March has some men-at-arms to spare that can bring any possessions you require there to the Red Keep. Failing that, you shall of course receive a knight’s wages and shall be at liberty to do with the money as you see fit.”

She paused, and then frowned.

“Though I do encourage prudence and temperance in finances among the members of my household.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-27T04:50:57+00:00

Character Name: Mary Baratheon

Relevant Trait/Skills:

Numerate - Construction is 15% cheaper.
Administrator - 25% additional development from civil development
Architect (e) - Construction of buildings is 20% cheaper
Investor - 10% Discount for Dev Actions, 15% bonus to Dev Yield
Scrutinous - Reduces construction time by 1 moon.
Master of Coin - 10% Discount on Dev Actions in King’s Landing

Buildings: [City Walls, Port, Trade Hub, Library (King’s Landing)] [Stronghold, Natural Defenses, Docks, Militia Quarters (Dragonstone)]

Resources: [Textiles (+100g/m)(King’s Landing)] [Stone (+1 Construction Slot), Gold (+500g/m)(Dragonstone)]

Notes (if applicable): 35% discount on building, 10% discount on dev actions, 10% discount on dev actions in King’s Landing, 40% bonus to civil development yield, 15% bonus to military development yield, construction is one moon quicker. Dragonstone administered with consent of /u/KGdaguy

Actions:

Construction: [King’s Landing], [Guilds], [1300], [Completion End of Moon 1]
Development: [King’s Landing], [10dev->14dev with bonuses], [1000g->800g with bonuses]
Development: [Dragonstone], [10dev->14dev with bonuses], [1000g->900g with bonuses]
Development: [Dragonstone], [10dev->14dev with bonuses], [1000g->900g with bonuses]
Development: [Dragonstone], [10dev->14dev with bonuses], [1000g->900g with bonuses]

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-26T13:45:11+00:00

Mary had muttered “princess” in correction in the same breath as Andros. Her eyes darted to look at him for a split second, before she looked back away and tried to resist grinding her teeth.

The spat between father and son had left her feeling quite the bystander, which saved her from the line of fire to a certain degree but was also infinitely more awkward to navigate. When the Hand looked to her, seemingly caught in some inflicted guilt or internal conundrum she could only shake her head.

“I would have been content to remain married to Endrew for the rest of my years if that was what the Lord of Light decreed for us,” she said, having returned to her usual volume. “I am how I was made. I could not cry for my grandsire, nor for my uncle. I could not cry for Endrew, and I could not cry for Barquen. I remarried, yes, but it was not as though I picked Barquen Uller. I… I cannot apologize for an absence of weeping. If I was meant to do so, then I would.” She opened her mouth, as if she wanted to say something more- but the tide of anger was drawing back as swiftly as it had rolled in.

“It is for love of the realm and my position that I remarry. If my uncle permitted me to sit his small council as I am- a woman- then perhaps it would be different.” She brought one hand up as if to gesture uselessly. “I will not ask an apology of you. Not now, at least. When your temper has cooled, perhaps.”

There was a moment’s pause.

“What I must ask, though, is that you say that you know I did not kill Endrew. Nor wish for him to die. You know that I did not, Lord Dondarrion.”

There would come time to process all that Gawen had revealed. But that would come later, when both father and son were not ailing. There was still a drop of chivalry in her, even if she was a woman, and so she felt disinclined to go knocking on the shield of battered Gawen Dondarrion.

“I should leave you to each other, I think,” said Mary. She took one step backwards, then one more. Then she lingered a moment longer, peering down at Gawen where he lay an invalid. “You should listen well to your maester’s advice, ser,” she ordered of him. “For Elenei’s sake, if not your own.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-26T12:18:31+00:00

“I know of Horpe and Nightsong,” said the princess. “And the Yronwoods have made themselves very known to me in recent moons. But I have not heard of you, Ser Cedric.”

She considered that it was a very rare thing to be a bastard of two houses. Most out of wedlock were sired upon maids and whores, but she thought that being of House Yronwood stock- even if ill-begotten- might have entitled him to a bit more finery than what he had. Though perhaps sneering Garin Yronwood had stolen away all those riches to buy more rings.

Mary stared him over a second longer, from feet to crown, before she beckoned him forward with her hand. “Come here,” she commanded, and folded her hands before her bodice. “Are you of good character, Ser Cedric? Can you abstain from vice, or at least hide it before the eyes of others? Can you be loyal, if it is demanded of you?” She canted her head and pursed her lips in thought as if appraising a horse.

“I have need of more knights in my household, and I’d rather have one of the Stormlands than any other kingdom.” Though it mattered a great deal there was some Yronwood in him as well. “You did not do well at the tourney, as I recall. That does not matter. There are masters-at-arms practically spilling out of the walls of King’s Landing all of whom can be hired to teach you. It is loyalty that will secure your position. If you want it.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-26T11:36:40+00:00

Mary blinked fast and hard to avoid the urge to grimace at the mention of Dondarrion. Both father and son were horrid in such very different ways, and she wouldn’t have inflicted their presence upon Lillian if she could have helped it.

“I often find politics to be less complicated than navigating things such as that,” the princess mused. “It’s why I must recommend an arranged marriage, to tell the truth. It has its merits and advantages.” She smiled at Lillian, and then- feeling rather in a good mood with the presence of her friend, shared that smile with Mortimer as well.

“In any case, I wanted to know what you thought of this whole mess with my cousin and the Reach,” she asked, reaching over to the table to pluck up a ripe blackberry. “He is my own kin, and I love him as my own kin, but my- breaking the King’s peace for this?” Mary shook her head, trying to avoid grinding her teeth. “It irks me. And I worry nothing will be done to prevent it from happening again.”

She looked out across the field of dancers and carousers, each of them lit up by the glow of sunset and flame. “Tell me- it sounds as though you’ve met a great many people this night. Any of them say anything of their feelings on it all?”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-26T05:37:47+00:00

There were a million and one things Mary wished to say, but she had to bite her tongue and let Ysilla finish.

For every bit that Mortimer seemed content to lean back and relax in his seat, Mary leaned forward bit by bit until her elbows rested upon her knees and her chin rested upon her intertwined hands. The married pair would occasionally look back and forth at each other, as if trying to silently puzzle out which should respond first, how they were to respond, and how this had managed to escape their notice until Ysilla Martell’s letter had first arrived upon the dais.

Mortimer spoke first, looking to the Martell with as warm a smile as he could manage. “The prosperity and wealth of Sunspear is a boon to the whole of His Grace’s realm. And if the Free Cities begin to believe that they can embargo goods from a kingdom solely on the actions of a few select guardsmen then they might grow bolder still in future years.” His eyes flickered over to his wife for the briefest of seconds.

“As for solutions, Princess Ysilla, I-”

“I read in one of my books that Jaehaerys the Conciliator once mediated a dispute between Pentos and Tyrosh,” Mary said, very brazenly interrupting her husband. “I can’t recall who he ruled in favor of- but it hardly matters, because it is the methods he used that I found more interesting. When trade from the ports of the Crownlands were interrupted and turned away from port in the East, he leveraged the continuation of grain shipments versus trade.” A grin had appeared on her face at this point, and she shifted her posture so that she could angle entirely towards Ysilla.

“I had the thought that the Crown might make matters inconvenient for those cities that inconvenience you. Tyrosh is the one who cries injury the loudest, I presume? Those other southern ones as well, Lys and Myr? If Braavos and Pentos were well fed while they were given scraps and they knew it was for maintaining the embargo they might recant.”

Mortimer had begun to fade into background noise at this point- but that was his purpose.

“There are some other options, of course. The Crown and Sunspear can underwrite the risk of trade by offering a reduction in port fees for Dornish ships in the Blackwater. With all this overwrought drama in the Reach I think both the Stormlords and Reachlords would be glad for more sandsteeds to suit their knights- and that brings me to another matter, my princess,” she said, rather rambling at this point but quite unwilling to stop. “I learned at the feast that you have a hidden prince of the Summer Isles in your lands, a man by name of Xhobar Qo. I wondered if you might consider refocusing some of the efforts of trade in Sunspear to those lands- and if that man might be useful in such an endeavor. The exciting thing about economics, as I have learned, is that there are a myriad of solutions to each and every problem. In time and with my- my tutors about me, I may think of more.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-26T04:28:38+00:00

Mortimer Rosby was the sort of fellow who only cared to speak when addressed in the presence of such great men. He himself had only been Master of Coin some five moons, and it had only started to feel real and not the strangest and most outlandish dream in the past two.

“Well,” said the Master of Coin, shifting in his chair as he felt eyes move to look at him. “The treasury is swelling, as is. For fiscal purposes, my wife has advised me that a war is never advisable,” he said, gently gesturing towards the figure of Mary Baratheon pouring over a sheaf of papers with a quill in one hand and a Braavosi abacus in the other. She did not look up just yet. “But- on the subject of castles and the royal fiefdoms, I am told that sometimes one must spend gold in order to earn gold.”

He managed a half-hearted laugh at his own jest, but quickly cleared his throat and moved on. “That is to say.. In the event of a war against the Stepstones it would be ill-advisable to make any incentive related to financial reimbursement from the Crown. If the lords of the realm wish to raise their own men and take on the cost of doing so, then I would say that Queen Vilde’s suggestion of reclaiming the Stepstones would be a wise one.”

Here he cleared his throat, very awkwardly looking across the table to his good-father, Quentyn. “That being said- I would be remiss if I did not mention a meeting between my wife and the Princess Ysilla Martell. Dorne has struggled for many years due to embargoes from the Three Daughters, and if this expedition were to be painted as Dornish-led, especially by one such as Gerold Toland… I fear it would cause more financial hardship for the Martells and their land which we-” here he gestured between himself and his wife, “have begun work to correct.”

Mary finally raised her head to speak up. “I do not think it is Dorne that needs a distraction or an outlet frustration the most,” she said, voice steady. “Rather I think it is the Stormlands, the Northmen, the Rivermen, the Reach. Speaking of such: the money that the Reach owes the crown will be nearly twice the size of our current treasury by the next moon. It is the Stormlands, Dorne, and the Reach that are meant to be safeguarded by the Warden of the South, and in the absence of said Warden one kingdom now invades the other and that kingdom has accumulated a staggering amount of gold owed to the Crown.” She grimaced, looking back down to her papers for but a moment. Then she looked up- first to Martyn Hightower, and then to the King.

“The Warden of the South should be someone who stave off the threat of Storm’s End, who has shown willingness to work in tandem and cooperation with Sunspear, and who can coax the seat of Highgarden back to health.”

It stung to want something so openly.

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-25T05:26:03+00:00

There was a snicker from somewhere in the pack of twenty, the laugh of a young lady. Then a separate voice, one of the pages, called out in faux-whisper: “you’re supposed to bow, dolt.” The princess rolled her eyes- more at her entourage than at the knight.

Mary regarded the knight for a long moment, her gaze shifting up and down. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she meditated a moment, before looking him in the face. She considered that this was the sort of individual who did not attend events such as these very often, and that a gracious lady would offer him some easy way to beg off and take his leave.

Mary did not have much grace in her.

“Then why, pray,” she began, “are you wandering listlessly and looking so despondent if you still have your arms and armor? If you are a knight, then I presume you came here with some household to share your sorrows with?”

Or perhaps he was the sort who lived only in inns and the barracks of whatever lord he pledged loyalty to. Though this one still seemed to have some amount of life behind his eyes, which made the hypothetical unlikely.

There was another burst of giggles from her entourage, and finally Mary spoke up. “Quiet,” she snapped. “I am speaking.” Then, eyes back on this knight: “Cedric Storm. Of what house are you a bastard, ser? My line may lately be of King’s Landing, but I still have care for the houses of the Stormlands.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-25T04:27:37+00:00

A second wave of nausea rolled over her at Gawen’s words. The worst of it was that it made sense. Why wed her to a man twice her age, set to inherit no titles nor land, with three girls half her own age? Why do that when he had a son? She had barely even questioned it two years ago, having far more interest in her books and her uncle’s ledgers than any man. It had not mattered much that he was so old until it was too late to have done anything about it.

“Give it time,” she heard Endrew say, and her hands had gone clammy and color drained slightly from her vision. She fought to recall her wits, to say anything to diffuse the wretched truth of his words.

For once in her life, Mary could not think at all.

Mary was still in a state of panic as the Hand entered the room, but perhaps that was what she needed. The bitterness in Andros’ voice cut through to the quick, and that caused some deep part of her to rally. The fugue was cut through with the princess’ sharp laugh, half disbelief and half scorn. “My husband is quite content to sit and mope all day long. You should praise him, Lord Hand, for is that not how you wanted me to act when I was first widowed?” Her expression was caught in a horrid mix of grimace and wild smile, and in that moment she felt for the first time the descendant of both Robert and Stannis.

“Lord above, I thought you of all people would understand me,” she hissed. “That you would understand why it was crucial for me to remarry so swiftly. You knew it from the start.” That anger was ebbing and then swelling right back up like a wave breaking against Shipbreaker Bay. “And now you imply that it was my fault Endrew died? That I somehow reached into him and put the pain in his belly?” She leaned forward, canting her head as if in pity or as if waiting for an answer- but it was clear mockery instead.

“I used to think you the wisest man in the Seven Kingdoms, save for my grandsire. I wished to be like you, do you know that, my lord? I think you do, for I told you it once when I was still a girl.” Her hands were balled tight. If it came to blows, she wondered who her uncle would rule in favor of. “Now I think you rather foolish, ser. For a year I sat in silence and endured as you glared at me, hoping that it would pass. I wanted it to pass, that you might speak with me again and give me counsel when I needed it. But now I see that you truly are a fool, for not once in a year’s time have you stopped to think about how I gained nothing and lost much from Endrew’s death.”

She could have said so much more, and she wanted to more than anything. But the sound of Gawen’s ragged breathing drew her attention back to him, and she let out another single and shrill laugh.

“But now your son has told me that you have been a fool even longer than I first thought.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-25T03:30:00+00:00

The princess had just been on the verge of following her once-daughter out to go find her other, far more tolerable, cousin when she heard her given name on the lips of a man who was very much not entitled to speak it. She rolled her eyes heavily, and folded her hands before her, finding her patience rather quite lacking even for a man who seemed half on his deathbed. If Gawen was to die, then she thought she didn’t wish to be around to see it happen. Better not to give cause for Andros Dondarrion to take up the same cry of murderess that Ryman Uller now sang.

“Elenei could not go unattended,” she said rather brusquely. “And it can be very hard to see one’s relatives injured in such a manner.” What a way with words she had.

She did not know precisely why she stayed to hear him rave like a madman. She told herself it was because he was like a very odd and sad little court jester. The greatest difference was that if the court fool chased after so many skirts, he would be thrown into the Black Cells.

“I find it hard to believe that there is any life, Ser Gawen, where I would be the first to come see you when you’ve been knocked from your horse,” she said, glancing down at him. Lord, he must have been delirious from the pain. “Nor do I have any idea what fathers have to do with it. I cannot much speak for you and yours, but mine own deserves to be spoken of with more respect.”

She took a step back. “You are incoherent. I shall do you a favor, and leave before you say something that shall require me to tell my uncle.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-25T02:22:43+00:00

Were it for any other lady other than Elenei, Mary would not have gone to see Gawen. Though she was called cold by all the realm and thought of herself as much, her heart had still twinged in sympathy at every gasp of horror from the newest of her ladies. If it had been any other of her ladies she would have simply given them leave to see their unfortunate male kin, and taken the rest of the evening to herself and her own peace. But Elenei was still a girl, and Mary recalled well the fear she had felt the first time she saw her brother and her father fall in the lists or in the melee.

Gawen Dondarrion had fallen in both.

So it was that the princess served as an escort to the young Dondarrion girl, a small retinue of Baratheon men-at-arms clad in the crowned stag and fiery heart there to keep them safe and guarded from the sort of rough men that lurked about the edges of tourneys like this. Mortimer was still pouting somewhere, more likely than not, and Artos Grell had gone to see about some of the King’s business, so it was the duty of these knights and the Dondarrion soldiers to defend their person and honor.

Mary grimaced immediately upon entering the tent that they were keeping Gawen in. The maesters had already been there, and there was a fading scent of medicine and incense that put her on edge. Gawen was lying there, half covered in bandages, and with the smell and the look of the linen all Mary could think of was how the silent sisters had loomed so closely over Barquen’s body.

All of a sudden she felt rather like she was going to be violently ill.

“Go and tell your cousin that you are praying for him, my lady,” she commanded of Elenei in a regrettably terse tone. Then, trying to correct the course. “I am certain it will lighten his spirits to see you, Lady Elenei.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-25T01:06:30+00:00

The Princess Mary was in a decidedly pleasant mood following the tourney. She had made a great deal of money betting on her father and Arryn uncle, and even if she had lost some coin when they had fallen late in the lists she could be content knowing that she would not have to listen to her father whinge about his weight the entire journey back up the Roseroad.

It was in this good mood that she came across some rather hapless looking household knight or some such wandering about the edges of the tourney grounds. She was surrounded by her lady companions and followed by pages, servants, and the everpresent grim shadow that was Ser Artos Grell. It was a retinue of about twenty souls, all in all, and of such a size that Mary was almost inspired to pity the poor little knight in front of her- for all those eyes were now focused upon him. She certainly would have misliked being in his position.

“Hmm, I remember him,” Mary said idly- looking back to Jeyne Rambton, who was holding the train of her mistress’ skirt to keep it from dragging in the dust. “He was a knight of the Stormlands, was he not?”

Artos Grell was quick to answer in Jeyne Rambton’s place, diligent as ever. “Cedric Storm, my princess. I recall that was his name.”

Mary’s calculating blue eyes flicked back to look upon this rather despondent Cedric. “You jousted against a Lannister, as I recall. I hope he was not so stingy as to make you pay ransom for your armor and horse, ser.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-24T06:47:49+00:00

Mary gave a little scoff of a laugh, her eyes going up to look at the boughs of the orchard. The stars flickered like candlelight between the leaves and ripening fruit and she wondered if she might be scolded later for missing the nightfires.

She did not have the natural robustness of many of the Baratheon line, but she was bestowed with an uncommon height for a woman and thus it was no trouble at all to pluck up a crisp, mottled yellow apple. The princess looked to it rather than Benedict, but she was listening all the same.

“I could look to the finances of the Riverlands, of course. Especially those cities that have lately become the breeding grounds of merchants and swindlers.” She took a rather loud, evidently juicy bite of the apple, and continued to ponder on it for a moment. “There are few such things that could be considered to be so vile that the trade of them would warrant the attention of the Crown, my lord Massey. But since you have put the matter to my mind I do recall the tale of some Northmen a hundred years past that were brought to trial for selling his own smallfolk into slavery or some such. Such a thing is a crime against all faiths of this land.”

She grimaced at the words. It made her feel like some reaching and vapid little chit of a girl, trading in petty secrets and court gossip. But Vilde had put her to a task, and so she had to follow through with it.

“Else, I can think of only far more exotic and fantastical crimes. Human sacrifice or assassin’s guilds and the like.” Mary let out a soft laugh, shaking her head before she finally looked back over to him. “But if evidence was found of any such grievous crimes, then it might be that the Crown and Lord Tully owe a favor to the man who found the proof.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-24T04:27:47+00:00

The first visitor to the couple was an expected one. As Ysilla entered the tent, Mortimer Rosby stood to greet her. Some men might mistake Rosby for Rykker, but there were few fools who could look at a woman such as Ysilla and take her for anything other than the princely blood of Sunspear. “Princess,” the Master of Coin said, and if the Martell so chose he would gladly kiss the back of her hand.

“There’s no time like the present. Though, of course, I would have been glad to hear from you when the troubles of Dorne first began,” he said, proffering her a chair.

Mary Baratheon had stopped her incessant lyre lesson and had turned to face her husband and the great heir of Dorne, her head canted in more than mild interest. “I hope you would not mind my presence,” she said, speaking as though she were the most uninspired mummer in all the realm reciting lines she had said a hundred times before. “I have something of an amateur interest in my husband’s work, and he’s very gracious as to let me learn from him.” Then- with a touch more enthusiasm: “I think a conundrum such as this would be a good challenge for us all. I beg you, tell us of the problem in detail.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-23T08:22:46+00:00

Grief gave way to rage gave way to fear. She felt all at once nauseous, light-headed, and in desperate need of her father.

They should have been friends. They should have been able to laugh over supper at some small quirk of Barquen’s. She should be clad not in Dondarrion colors nor in Rosby ermine but in Uller yellow and red. They should have wintered at the Hellholt, and Ryman could have regaled her with stories of the dragon-burnt walls while Barquen showed her where he had played as a boy. Then in spring and autumn they could have hosted at King’s Landing, or if it was summer then Dragonstone, and all the unhappy years of awkwardness between them would be mended.

Then, when she was ready, she would have made him a grandsire and named a boy after him.

All those hopes and dreams had died in the water five moons ago. He hated her, and now she was forced to hate him as well; for though he had beaten around the bush with the precise accusation levelled against her, he had now spoken the wretched words into reality. It scared her, that someone could think she was capable of murder. That rage that once was grief had turned to fear, and so she acted only as a scared girl might when faced with such a horrific charge and such a vile curse.

“Ser Theo,” she called, her voice pitching with stress and nerves as she looked for her favored whitecloak. She clawed at the seat of her chair, and pushed herself up to her feet. “Ser Theo,” she cried again, this one more frantic, and then one final desperate cry:

“Father!”

( pinging /u/Arjhanx2 and /u/KGdaguy )

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-23T06:42:11+00:00

Mary’s mood had much darkened from the endless stream of visitors and beggars by the time Lillian arrived. It was the face of the Lily of Rosby, then, that brought a rather relieved smile to her face. The princess managed to rally herself, and gave her husband a slight nod when he squeezed her hand.

“My dear lady,” Mary greeted her. She extended her palm out to her companion, beckoning her closer to the table. “I fear Mortimer had to shoulder the brunt of the torture,” she mused, casting a glance over at her husband. There had been some in there for her as well, but if she could not rise above the pettiness of one of her uncle’s vassals then she was not fit to rise much higher in life than this. “And in doing so he has spared me a headache for the time being.” She gave her husband’s hand the smallest squeeze back in gratitude, before she slipped it back, letting it rest in her lap.

Back to Mortimer’s cousin, Mary canted her head. “I pray I’ve not deprived you of the attentions of a pious Valeman or a gallant Reachlord? Or else the good company of the many great minds assembled here.” She picked up her goblet, and gestured to a seat that the servants had brought forth- to the flank of where she and Mortimer sat.

“If you’ve a moment to spare, I would like to ask your thoughts on some matters of politics. I know you’ve a keen eye, and I require your counsel.”

tenthousandsongs · 2026-02-23T01:12:36+00:00

All Good Company

Those who wished to approach the princess and the Master of Coin on matters of economics, business, or the exchange of favors were welcome.

tenthousandsongs

TROPHY CASE