Peace. A word that Westeros never seemed to understand. She knew much of those things not to be cautious. But while there was a short moment of tranquility hanging in the air, Jamiela Baratheon has decided to cherish it for as long as it exists.

And, oh poor Narylia Reisse, may not escape the darkness the Gods had written over her Fate ; to be doomed for the hells Gods knows.

Jamiela closed the book, with a slight huff. That goes another off the list, the Baratheon thought, as she stood to take a quill from her bedside, and the rolled parchment, to cross off Dark Rose written over the paper. Sighing, Jamiela slumped back at her bed.

She slowly shook the curtain at the side, and opened the windows. The seashores' smell immediately filled her boudoir's ambiance. Jamiela inhaled the sharp scents of the seas, and smiled shortly, before it was interrupted by the abrupt clicking of the door.

Jamiela turned to see her raven-haired handmaiden Myriane, holding a tray of tea. "M'lady. Here is your morning cup."

Nodding, Jamiela took one last look at the stony shores, before closing the windows. After hearing a satisfying click, the brown-haired lady sat down at her bed, and drained the cup slowly. "Thank you, Myriane." She offered her handmaiden a small smile.

Jamiela turned away, when Myriane's voice rang through the room. "Another book? How could you finish a novel in nights?" chuckled Myriane. Jamiela shrugged her shoulders, nonchalant. "Gods above knows how."

Myriane closes the door behind her, and Jamiela scoots over, as Myriane took a seat beside her. "You know that you are already in a suitable age of marriage." Jamiela stops, and nods solemnly. She dreaded this.

"And you know that Lord Robert knows that, too." A silent nod again. Of course he knew. They had just briefly celebrated her eighteenth birthday a few weeks before.

Knowing her brother, Jamiela might have thought that he would have been busy finding suitable betrothals for her, to strengthen an alliance with any strong House.

"So you have to be prepared, my lady. You have to brace yourself for any big Northern or Southern lord who want want you, or possibly use you to their advantage."

Jamiela shuddered at the thought. She has heard of stories. Of tales about men raping young women to their amusement. She most definitely did not want to be a plaything.

"That's all. Have a blessed morning, my lady." said Myriane dutifully, and bowed, before heading out. After making sure that no one was there, Jamiela sighed and looked out at her window again. Time to play dress up.

Jamiela got up to check her closet for any simple looking dress she got possibly wear. After minutes of scouring through glamorous ball gowns to shimmering dresses, Jamiela pulled out a baby blue sleeved dress, that didn't really shone unlike the others, since it was quite ancient. But for Jamiela, it was perfect.

Rolling up the sleeves just below her elbows, Jamiela grabbed her purple cloak from the nearby dresser, and tightly coiled a baby blue ribbon around her brown hair, keeping it away from her face. "Fine? Of course, Jamiela." A tendency to talk to herself, most found her unusual, no doubt about that. Just another dumb pretty face, a target for bandits.

Well, some facts were true. Admittedly, Jamiela inherited some good looks from her parents, and was kinda proud about it, but not to a certain level of cockiness. Gods, she was different from her brother, Robert. A total womanizer and pighead, she often called him. But Jamiela isn't dumb. Definitely not.

She has spent weeks spending her time in the castle's library, reading away. Day to night, sunrise to sunset, Jamiela stayed there, her nose stuck in the crisp pages of the book, before her brother ordered her to go to her bedroom, because instead of reading, Jamiela should be learning how to weave and act like a proper housewife men would want her to be.

Even though she was condemned to weaving lessons, Jamiela never got over her interest in reading. She often sneaked a book or two in her room, and stayed up late reading. It was a privilege to have Myriane by her side, who sometimes helped her get some books to her room late at night. Those times were Jamiela's gratitude blossoming towards her handmaiden.

Jamiela tucked a book beneath her cloak, one that she had borrowed from a commoner, a week ago. She promised to give it back to him, with payments of gold, but the man refused, saying it was his honor to satisfy his lady. Jamiela decided to smuggle him a loaf of steaming hot bread as a repayment of kindness. Surely, he won't be rude enough to reject a gift from her. Hopefully.

She pinned the cloak over her petite body, and headed for the kitchens. There, she sweet-talked the head cook to lend her some bread, and boy, for once, Jamiela felt grateful for the lessons she learned from reading on sly manipulation, even though she was in spite with the mere thought.

Being boastful, the cook agreed proudly, thinking that he somehow earned her affections. Thanking him, Jamiela wrapped the loaf in white sheets, before stuffing it in her satchel, along with the book.

As soon she was gone, Jamiela shook her head feverishly at how the cook acted. She even used the term lend, and he didn't mind! How foolish, how can someone lend his food? Do they think they, in any hope, get it back?

Jamiela sighed, and kept the thoughts to herself. She didn't want her emotions and thoughts scrambled, if the Baratheon wanted to act composed and nonchalant.

♚•♚♢♚•♚

          The crisp wind let her chestnut hair ponytail flapped behind her back, as Jamiela walked down the windy stone shores of the Stormlands, heading for the village nearby.

Jamiela didn't bother to bring a horse along, since she actually hasn't have proper horseback riding lessons, and just went through a brief introduction about it while reading about them in the library. Nor did she have a nerve to ask for a guard, since by doing so, it'll alert Lord Robert on why she was out in the villages. Shaking her head, Jamiela shooed the lingering thoughts in her mind, and approached the village with a wary state.

The village was noisy, from afar it looked quiet, but boy, Jamiela was sure wrong. Men shouted from different corners, as merchants walked the streets for as long as Jamiela knew.

As her dark brown boots clanked against the coarse ground, Jamiela watched the simplicity of village life unfold before her. A mother draining the water from her son's clothing, with men drinking from a nearby pub.

Little she had notice of, men had stares lingering on Jamiela's body, as she turned abruptly to a corner, desperately finding the commoner she had borrowed the book from.

Jamiela turned to another corner, when a towering man blocked her path. "Excuse me." She turned to go past him, but another man blocked her way. Desperate, Jamiela turned around, to see two more men surrounding her. Slowly, she looked up front.

"Well, well, well. What is fragile girl like you, doing out here in the far sides of the village? Or haven't you heard the stories?" chuckled the one at front, Jamiela assumed him to be the leader. A bandit, no doubt, she thought.

Jamiela took a step back, as the bandit stepped closer. "Oh, a pretty one, I see." He suddenly grasped her chin, and tilted it up forcefully. Jamiela squirmed from his grip, as the two behind her surged to grip her arms tightly.

"Get off me, you.. you filth." She managed, before the man's eyes widened and strike her across the face, the men releasing their grip on her at once. Jamiela fell down at once, as she clutched her swollen cheek.

"Feeling feisty, whore? Wait 'till I get a good taste of you." He snarled, as Jamiela stumbled backwards quickly, desperate for an escape.

"No-no, girl. There's no place of you, here." He hoisted her up, and slammed her body against the wall with such force, leaving Jamiela exhausted and weary. She now regretted not bringing a guard with her.

"Now let us see what you are made of." He says, as he reached for her the zipper, before everything else happening in a blur.

Jamiela could remember bodies spewing blood out of their bodies, a silver blade protruding from their chests. The bandit holding Jamiela lost her grip on her, and the blur immediately slit the man's throat, quick and effortless. She could remember fear clouding her mind, as Jamiela's vision grew fuzzier.

She remembered the sun's blinding rays, and Robert's angry face staring down at her, before her world turned into a murky void of black.

So, I actually deleted the premade chapter before this, because I just realized that it didn't really fit the plot well, so I went on and did this instead. Okay, moving on with the harassment, it wasn't my intention to do that, but it is part of the Game of Thrones world. I wouldn't expect a village safe and sweet, not noticing a pretty face like Jamiela. Of course, there has to be those bandits out there, waiting to do their mischiefs. But I'm kinda apologizing in advance about that, not really that graphic, but I'm gonna minimize that as much as possible. I'm also kinda uncomfortable with those scenes. So yeah. Thanks for reading, and I would really appreciate the comments!     ~ Rey ~