MY FAIR WARRIOR - VERSION II

This version of my Jaimienne Othello, My Fair Warrior, is going to be five short thirteen-sentence chapters. I will obviously abide by the constraint.
The cast, the same as usual (with an added extra):

MY FAIR WARRIOR - OTHELLO, JAIMIENNE STYLE

Othello: Jaime Lannister

Desdemona: Brienne of Tarth

Cassio: Renly Baratheon

Iago: Petyr Baelish

Emilia: Catelyn Stark

Roderigo: Margaery Tyrell/Loras Tyrell

Bianca: Loras Tyrell

Foreign Envoy: Oberyn Nymeros Martell

Jaimienne, Renloras, Renlienne friendly, Petelyn, Oberyn/everyone good-looking, Reach/Dorne rivalry, death of many characters in the end.
Ah! And the author has got the following constraints:

1) All chapters shall be 13 sentences long.
2) The story taken will be the Verdian Othello, with a few liberties (but not too many).
3) The story will be entirely set at Storm's End.
4) All of the ships and features listed below the dramatis personae must be present.

If any of these constraints is disobeyed, the penalty is taking a cold water shower.


ACT THE FIRST

On horseback, in their Payne squire's company, the young lovers have reached Storm's End at last.
Far behind them lies now Casterly Rock, the confrontation, the hard yet finally attained victory.
"I love the Maid of Tarth like you loved my lady mother," Tywin Lannister had been told by his heir ere the latter left the Westerlands for good.
"I won his heart without any tricks, by kindling the hope he had lost," said, to shatter his resolve, the one the Warden of the West disapproved of as a daughter-in-law, ere he realized that so it was.
All of that happened a month ago, but it seems like an era: will they tell the children they will have that story?
Looking into one another's eyes, his green as meadows, hers blue as summer lakes, they now see each other reflected in countless sparkles of joy.
"Last time I saw Renly, he was but a little stripling," Jaime says, tucking a wisp of golden hair behind his right ear, while Brienne, in response, chortles and kisses his lips fast as lightning, innocently.
Now, in the courtyard of Storm's End, a tall and raven-haired young lord with honest blue eyes comes towards them and kisses Brienne on the cheek: a friend's or a brother's kiss.
Jaime sees how dashing Renly Baratheon has become in his early twenties, the comely Reach youth he's taken for a squire, who can be none other than Loras Tyrell, the adorable Reach maiden he's taken for a bride, who must be Loras's younger sister Margaery, courteously smiling and addressing them welcome.
The lord of Storm's End ruffles the freckled maiden's flaxen hair, introduces his bride and prospective brother-in-law to her, wonders why Jaime Lannister is there at Storm's End, and receives for a reply that he's Brienne's fiancé.
This was the fortress where Durran Godsgrief and his nymph lover resisted seven times the storming by the old elemental gods whose daughter had been taken, until these gods surrendered, Renly explains in his usual outrageous style, stressing the characters' feelings, as the Reachers and Jaime listen to a dramatic legend of love, passions, and defiance, one that the Maid of Tarth knows already since childhood.
In a corner of the courtyard stand a fiftyish fellow with a wit as sharp as his dark goatee, looking at the whole scene, a beautiful auburn lady in her thirties or forties wearing black by his side, turning her bright blue Riverlands eyes away from his, grey and hard like the rocks of the Vale.
"Lord Baelish, from the Vale, our new steward, and the unfortunate widow of Lord Stark..." Renly Baratheon, in a lively tone, his bright summer blue eyes shining with confidence, introduces them to the Lannister heir and the Maid of Tarth, as the goateed steward bends the knee before the fair-haired newcomers and the auburn dowager modestly curtsies.

ACT THE SECOND
The sun is setting behind Storm's End, gilding the ramparts and towers of the Baratheon keep, as Jaime and Brienne, from the bastion that serves as their balcony, watch the Sapphire Isle across the straits, the lone evening star shining brightly above them.1
"My Evenstar..." he says, clasping her waist, now clad in a gown of shimmering cobalt blue silk, in his scarred warrior arms, as she shuts her azure eyes and receives a fiery kiss.2
As the fiancés share a tender moment together, a scheme begins to unfurl downstairs in the Great Hall.3
Lord Renly's younger adoptive brother, a Baratheon in everything but surname, is cupbearer at the supper table, and, after he's served the new steward, the latter takes a little flask out of his dark sleeve and pours the crystal-clear liquid within into the costly flower-jewelled tankard still half-full of Arbour red, crimson and shimmering like freshly-shed blood.4
A shiver runs down Edric's spine: "the new steward... planning to poison Renly!?", yet Lord Baelish, who appears to have read his mind, strokes the little cupbearer's free left hand and reassures him that 'tis not as it seems, that he's diluted His Lordship's wine with spring water, that Renly Baratheon might not be able to hold such a strong drink on its own.5
As the dark-haired stripling, reassured, saunters off to serve his liege lord, the upstart watches the first act of his plans unfurl as smoothly and perfectly as foreseen: tucking the little flask of brandy back into his sleeve, then stroking his dark silver-streaked goatee, the steward observes how Edric Storm fills His Lordship's golden cup, which the twentyish Stormlander, after raising it to the health of his bride and brother-in-law, as he slightly throws his head back, gracefully puts to his lips... then, within an instant, Renly tilts his right wrist, his throat works to swallow the laced draught, and, with an already elated expression, he hands over the empty cup to his ward, who fills it again: everything is going as planned.6
In his twenty-one or twenty-two years of short life, Renly Baratheon had never drunk Arbour red before, yet, to keep up with his Reach lover and Loras's younger sister, he has to sample their lore, sharing the usual fare of Highgarden courtiers, to become part of the Reach by absorbing the blood of its fruits... 'tis finely scented, neither that sweet nor that sharp, and goes down smoothly, even searing his throat and warming his heart, a draught of fire or sunshine, as it descends into the depths of his system, flows through every vein with his own bloodstream, drowns every thought and every worry in its wake, estranging Renly from any other feeling but elation: feverishly lighthearted, he passionately feels that drinking Arbour red is just like making love with Loras, as he whispers in his lover's ear all the while embracing the young Reachman and stroking his curly golden hair.7
Once more, the Lord of the Stormlands reaches out the golden goblet for Edric Storm to refill it, and drinks as heartily and confidently as before, yet, by the time he asks Edric for a third cupful, His Lordship's cheeks are ablaze and glow scarlet, his bright blue eyes have turned blood-shot, and he asks his ward and cupbearer, in a slurred voice, why the room is reeling: and thus, after pouring Renly a third drink, though at first a little doubtfully, the young Stormlands bastard, tankard in hand, saunters back to the cellars of Storm's End, looking back at his liege lord every now and then: Renly, usually a sensible drinker, so easily intoxicated?8
At the edge of the table, a sharply dressed goateed Valeman and the bald, red-bearded castellan of the fortress, the guardian of Renly's childhood, watch the young lord gradually drown his reason in strong drink: 'tis the Baratheon flaw, it took Robert away, and, though Stannis has always rejected it, the youngest brother is already spiralling towards the same downfall... thus says this Baelish, though no born Stormlander, in that friendly and honest tone which always tells the truthsayer apart from the liar: Ser Penrose worries that his young ward, whom he raised with all his care since Renly's older brothers left, may wreck his health and life... perchance, as a warrior not used to rearing children, the veteran had been too lenient to his ward, letting Renlykins, without any disappointments and with every wish or whim fulfilled, grow willful and headstrong: this is the price Cortnay Penrose has had to pay for not knowing how to raise a child, and now, at twenty, Renly's self-will is leading him down the path to downfall his eldest brother walked... there he is, already lying half-asleep on the table, yet, though he has come of age, he is still young: it may not be too late for all hope to be lost.9
Loras Tyrell has never seen his lover in such a state before: he knows Renly as a sensible drinker, yet he never expected Arbour red to take such a hold of his mind and of his heart, though the tall and muscular Baratheon frame of the Lord of Storm's End appears so strong and so resistant... there he lies on the table by Loras's side, his ponytail undone and his long raven locks spread across the flower-embroidered tablecloth, his clean shaven face quite buried in that cascade of midnight-coloured hair, either asleep or unconscious: there is beauty even in his drunken stupor... Tempted by Renly's unconsciousness to come closer, the young Tyrell parts his lover's dark locks as if they were curtains, seeing through the gap a shut eye and a rosy cheek that seem to ask for a kiss. However, as soon as the crown of Loras's head nudges that of Renly's, the unconscious lord suddenly raises his weary head from the table, awakening with flashes of rage in his bloodshot eyes and a dreadful countenance, his right hand springing to the hilt of his sword: seeing what he has unwittingly done, the Knight of Flowers clutches his rose-shaped pommel, prepared to draw steel as well.10
The flash of steel and the clank of blades soon attract everyone's attention; Renly and Loras, once courteous lovers, cross swords fiercely and passionately: for the Baratheon lord is so bereft of reason that his whole worldview is wrapped in a dark haze, and he does not recognize his beloved, but sees the one who threatens his life with a drawn sword as an enemy... from a certain distance, Ser Penrose watches his drunken ward, staggering and reeling yet thrusting a flashing blade to slaughter the brother of his bride: this cannot be true, the Lord of Storm's End must be brought to his senses... and thus, standing up in haste, the middle-aged castellan heads for the sparring young men, to try to make peace in between them, hoping that Renly will pay heed and reason with his former caregiver. 11
Through the haze within Renly's mind, another half-spectral enemy appears, and neither does the young lord realize that his own father figure has stepped in between him and Loras, to try to stop their scuffle and make peace between them... Cortnay sees nought but rage and unreason in his ward's sparkling blood-shot eyes, full of blue fire, and hears his slurred, loud chant of the Baratheon house words: "OURS IS THE FURY!!", as a painful blade enters his right forearm and blood flows from the stab wound... Still, the injured castellan sees no other choice, since Renly won't listen, and quickly pins the intoxicated young lord to the ground, as Renly lands on the pavement with a thud and shuts his eyes, his breathing growing steadier and steadier. 12
The clash of steel and roar of battle-cries rouse the Lannister heir and his love from their reverie, plunging them back into harsh reality and urging them to rush downstairs into the Great Hall, Brienne first, since she has recognized Renly's voice from afar, followed by her golden-haired fiancé... and, when they have reached the Great Hall, they find the young lord unconscious on the pavement, with blood on his sword and gloves, his guardian clutching a right arm bandaged with a torn-off sleeve of the shirt, bleeding and wincing yet swallowing his pain