terribleandred:

Melisandre just watched as Jaime approached them, saying nothing at first, though she did offer a polite, friendly smile. She did not know a great deal about Jaime Lannister as a person, except that he was dangerous and not to be trusted, even though he technically worked for the Prime Minister. For Robert will soon be our enemy, too.

“We’ve not seen Stannis yet,” she agreed. “This is a rather large place, after all, and we’ve only just arrived.” Melisandre studied Jaime, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. She wondered if he was looking for Stannis, or had only mentioned him because the three of them were nearly always together. The fact that they were not at that moment made her slightly uncomfortable. It was rather difficult to look out for Stannis and his interests among such people if she did not even know where he was. A glimpse of the unmistakable Viserys Targaryen nearby, a girl in a short black dress hanging on his arm, did not reassure her. The press inside the palace seemed infatuated with him—to be expected, but still not a good sign.

“Well,” Melisandre smiled at Jaime, “I do hope you’ll excuse us. So many people to see, you understand. I hope you’re having an excellent time, though, Mr. Lannister.” She glanced pointedly at Davos. “Shall we go find our boss?”

The chuckle Jaime gave in reply to Davos’ question was completely void of mirth and he did his best to return the polite smile the other man gave him. “As much as one can enjoy an eighteen year old’s party when they’re in their fourties and on guard duty.” He muttered, staring down into his champagne flute as he swirled the contents lazily before taking a small sip of the drink. He’d never held an interest in politics or making nice with the media - much to his father’s chagrin - and tonight was no different, although he decided to play a little nicer than usual. After all, the night was not just for Sansa Stark’s benefit. “Quite a turnout, I don’t think you’ll make it around everyone. But I’m sure anyone of importance will be interested in talking to Stannis Baratheon’s most trusted employee.”

He directed his attention to Melisandre when she spoke, smiling courteously as he had been taught to in the presence of women, although he still regarded her with some suspicion. He’d heard the muttered rumours of her less than fond opinion of Robert Baratheon and her intentions for Stannis to replace his brother at the head of the Labour Party. Not that it mattered to him who’s side she picked. The politicians could play their games for as long as they pleased, at least as long as they didn’t try to take him down along with Robert. He wasn’t above jumping off a ship when he knew it was sinking, as he’d proven with Aerys.

“I wish I could confirm if he’s here or not but unfortunately the men I’ve been given to handle the comings and goings of guests are a rather witless bunch.” He shrugged with feigned apology written across his face before tipping his glass in acknowledgement to her. “Yes, of course, don’t mind me. Go on and enjoy yourselves, somebody ought to.” He gave a joking smile that only flitted across his face for a moment. Acting like the gracious high society party goer had never been his forte, any conversation that could be cut short was a blessing to him. “Make sure to give my regards to Stannis.”

thread: alpha shallows (open) 

terribleandred:

Melisandre sighed, turning on her heel. Davos had followed her dutifully, and she smiled at him again, this time more sincerely. Then her eyes fell on another man she recognized, with sleek blonde hair and a bemused expression—and looking right at her. “Evidently Jaime Lannister finds us interesting,” she said softly, tilting her head toward the man, too quiet for anyone but Davos to hear.

An angered shout drew Jaime’s attention away from Melisandre for a moment as his head turned with a few others in the crowd towards the source of the small outburst. The voice was foreign to him - of course, the last time he heard it, it had not yet broken and still contained the squeeky quality most young boys possessed - and so was the boy’s, no, man’s appearance. If it hadn’t been for the bright platinum hair that could only belong to one family, he would never have recognised Viserys. But by the look Aerys youngest son shot him, he knew he recognised him.

He squashed the guilt that settled in his gut as best he could and made his way closer to the entrance, returning his attention to the woman in red and her new companion. Davos Seaworth, while not as flashy in his simple suit, was just as recognisable as the woman he stood next to. He noted that Davos did not quite fit in as well as Melisandre. He looked the part, sure, but his mauled hand, hidden by a glove to stop from offending the high class party goers, was enough to remind anyone why he didn’t belong among them and may never.

He squared his shoulders when he saw Melisandre glance towards him and tilt her head towards Davos as she whispered something to him. Of course, Jaime’s ego assumed it was something disparaging, causing his previous unneasiness to be replaced by slightly wounded pride. He picked up another champagne flute, heading towards Stannis’ stoogies, nodding his head slightly in greeting to both of them. “Davos. Melisandre. I trust Stannis won’t be far behind you both?”

thread: alpha shallows (open) 

terribleandred:

Melisandre sat alone in the back of a limo, lightly tapping her fingers on her knee. The drive from her flat to Kensington Palace wasn’t very long, but she was impatient to get there. Everyone was going to be at Sansa Stark’s party, and seeing the various people interacting with one another was bound to be useful. Her mind spun, wondering about the Targaryens, Starks, Mance Rayder’s people, everyone. Anything could happen with all of them together, and even if the party ended up being relatively uneventful, it could still be a valuable source of information for Stannis’ campaign. When I finally convince him to announce his candidacy, that is.

The actual reason for the party—Sansa’s birthday—was of little importance to her, but Melisandre had taken time to pick out what she thought were suitable gifts. She had chosen a large bouquet of sweet yellow roses in a crystal vase, and an antique illustrated copy of Le Morte d’Arthur, very much like one she’d once owned. Technically they were from Stannis and his staff, since Melisandre wasn’t sure if Stannis had thought to get Sansa a gift; or, if he had, whether it was something Sansa would actually like. Possibly Selyse had gotten something, but Melisandre had not asked. She tried to avoid interacting with Selyse; despite her own people skills and tact, it always felt awkward.

In a few moments the limo pulled up to the curb at the palace, and the driver hopped out and opened her door for her. Melisandre got out gracefully, the single long sleeve of her figure-hugging red satin gown flowing down against her side. Everything from her Louboutins up was red, of course. Red was who she was.

Melisandre headed toward the palace, breathing the cool twilight air. Many people were still arriving, although she did not see anyone especially noteworthy among them—not Stannis or Davos, either. Presumably they were already inside. Assuming Davos actually showed up.

Pushing her irritation at that aside and putting on her sweetest, friendliest smile, Melisandre went inside.

It only takes a few minutes for Jaime to decide that Sansa Stark’s eighteenth will be one of the worst nights of his life. He’d been forced by Robert to arrive early to handle the security detail, the Prime Minister insisting that it was important to make sure that the party  ordering around a bunch of witless idiots to make sure that they knew how to point a gun - which quite a few of them didn’t - before placing them around the room and at the palace entrances.

Jaime himself had been asigned to ‘work the room’, looking out for anyone suspicious or out of place. Personally, he thought that encompassed quite a few of the guests. A normal eighteen year old’s birthday would not have quite as many middle aged men and women attending, but then again, Sansa Stark was no ordinary eighteen year old. He scanned the bar for a moment, noting those he knew - a few politicians in Robert’s pocket, the eldest Stark boy with the Greyjoy heir and a girl he thinks he remembers working for the Starks - and doing his best to memorise those faces he doesn’t recognise.

Turning away, he lifts a champagne flute from a passing server’s tray and drinks half of it in one go, wrinkling his nose at the rich taste. He’s never liked champagne - too light, no bite, and ridiculously overpriced for the buzz most of them give you - but he can hardly sit at the bar all night, at least not until someone else takes over his duties. Then he plans to hand over the hastily bought charm bracelet he’d picked on a whim, and nurse a bottle of scotch until the party winds down, maybe grab a moment alone with Cersei before she has to leave with her oaf of a husband.

Heading to the entrance, he sips at the remainder of his champagne and stalks towards the main entrance, watching as the party goers file in. One in particular catches his eye, and he involuntarily gulps down more than he means to, stifling a cough as his eyes water from the alcohol burning down the wrong tube. He schools himself and places the empty glass on the tray of another passing server, before turning his attention to the woman he’d spotted. He recognises her from some other social event he’s sure. She works under Stannis, Melisandre, if memory serves him correct, which it often does. But it’s not her aliegance that set off the warning lights in his head, it’s simply her. Everything from the vibrant red of her hair, jewelry and dress to the way she struts into the room hints at something dangerous. Something feral and predatory, like a lioness on the hunt, not unlike his twin sister. But she differs from Cersei - instead of exciting him, she simply makes him more aware of the warm weight of his gun resting in it’s holster beneath his tux jacket.