The Valiant and The Storm // Lyonel Baratheon

Introduction

Ser Duncan's pov:

Ser Duncan the Tall had not meant to linger long in the Baratheon tent. After weeks upon the road, supper and a seat beside his new friend Raymun had seemed blessing enough.

Music spilled through the canvas walls, boots striking packed earth as men and women danced in loose, uneven circles. Dunk watched them with mild curiosity — until one woman caught his eye.

She moved as though she owned the floor. Not like the others, who stumbled or sought attention. There was something assured in her steps, something effortless. As if she had been born for it.

Eventually, she slipped from the dancers and made her way toward him, carrying two cups of ale.

"Hello, ser," she said, offering one as she settled across from him. "Having a good night?"

Dunk blinked, startled, before accepting the cup. "As good as you can, I suppose. I'm Dunk. Or... Duncan."

She smiled faintly. "My friends call me Vae."

She finished her drink easily, as though she'd done so a hundred times before.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Dunk. Are you planning to take the floor?"

"Oh... I'm not sure."

And just like that, she returned to the dancers.

Dunk watched her go, turning the cup slowly in his hands before rising from his seat.

He had barely taken a step when a voice called across the tent.

"You ever been punched in the face before?"

Dunk turned sharply. "I beg... I beg your pardon, Ser Lyonel?"

"Big men get punched more than little men. Did you know that?"

"No, but... but I believe it."

"Is that why you slouch? So you don't get punched?"

"I... I don't slouch."

"Oh, you've been cowering all evening like a maiden on her wedding night." Lyonel chuckled.

"I meant no disrespect, ser, honest. Where I grew up, you... you learn to go unnoticed, is all."

"The Seven above gave you tallness. So be tall. Or I will name you a heretic and burn you. Drown you. Drop you off a tall pl— I don't know. What do they do to heretics?"

"Burn them, my lord," someone replied.

"Fine."

A blade clattered onto the table between them.

"What have you brought me?"

"Um... uh, ser..." Dunk cleared his throat. "Beggin' your pardons. I... I didn't realize."

"You wish to curry my favor, some. Yet you come with an empty hand. Lord Cafferen — the smug cunt in red—"

Cheering and laughter broke out.

"—he is scarce to pay his rents. His people starve each winter, yet even he shined up this bauble from his family's cellars. For he understands that all men, in their way, wish only for your help... or your head." Lyonel leaned closer. "You've come for my head, then."

"W-What? No! No."

"Then why the fuck are you in my tent?"

"S-Supper."

There was a beat.

Then Lyonel burst into laughter.

"Alright," he said through chuckles. "Actually makes sense."

"Supper," Dunk repeated firmly.

"What is your name, man?"

"Dunk... Ser Dunk."

"That's ridiculous." Lyonel smirked. "Do you like dancing?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

Moments later, they were pulled into the circle. Guests stomped rhythmically, cheering as Dunk stumbled through the steps.

Vae reappeared beside them, laughter bright beneath the lantern glow. Lyonel caught her hands and spun her — not as roughly as he had spun Dunk, but gentler this time. She laughed freely, skirts catching the light.

For a while, they were simply three strangers drinking and dancing beneath canvas and candlelight.

Eventually they collapsed back at the table, breathless. Dunk now wore Lyonel's antler crown, slightly crooked upon his head.

"The swells heaved," Lyonel was saying. "You could lick salt from the air. But I'd come to find what men do when they die at sea. So drove I on into the storm."

"Weren't you afraid?" Dunk asked.

"Ahh." Lyonel leaned back. "Within every man, there are many men. But that I had to do. Stormlanders had always done it. And if they had done it, I could do it too. You know, it's best not to agonize."

"Yeah, I... I agonize a lot."

"Mm."

"Sometimes I think I agonize too much, and I just end up agonizing over that."

"Mm."

"And I'm quick and strong, sure."

"Sure."

"But so are you."

"Sure."

"Plus, you've trained sword and lance with the finest masters-at-arms in the realm. I mean... what chance do I have? Truly?"

"Oh, you have no chance." Lyonel grinned.

Vae set down her cup.

"Well, I believe you have a chance," she said calmly. "Any man with a good heart and a strong sword has a strong chance."

Dunk looked at her. "Are you certain?"

"I'm more than certain. Trust me — I've seen a great many tourneys."

"Utter bullshit," Lyonel scoffed. "Hope and fantasy doesn't win tourneys. Strength and persistence does."

"Perhaps," Vae replied, rising to her feet. "But I've seen what hope can do."

She gave them both a small, knowing smile.

"Goodnight, sers. I wish you both luck at the tourney."

"Thank you," Dunk said quickly. "I'll take all the luck I can get."

As she slipped from the tent, Lyonel stared after her.

A long pause.

"Who the fuck was that?"

He snatched the antler crown from Dunk's head, stepped onto the table in one reckless motion, and stormed toward the exit.

His head struck the hanging chandelier on the way out.

Author's Note

Hi everyone 🤍

I hope you enjoyed the intro! This is only the beginning for Vaela the Valiant. I can't wait for you to see what's coming next.

In the next chapter... the Targaryens arrive.