The Winter Child

By Christine Lacsamana

Blood rained on the dark brown earth of the tourney grounds. And this time, it came from the neck of a knight who sported the Tarly banners. The powerful muscles of the chestnut stallion he rode strained under the dead weight of the gasping knight, his throat choking on his own blood while he was bent over on his back, the splinters of the broken lance wedged deep into his windpipe. His blood sprayed everywhere, the subtle metallic smell attacking the senses of a numb and shocked crowd. It had all happened too fast.

"Seven hells," the King had whispered, sitting almost to the edge of his seat, with the Good Queen Alysanne beside him, the black and red Targaryen colors swaying above their heads. At sixty and four, King Jaehaerys, the First of his Name, has been Lord of the Seven Kingdoms for fifty years now. And this great tourney was to celebrate his long and peaceful reign. In contrast, the battles in it have been anything but. They become swifter and progressively more brutal as the days wore on.

Among the royal family sat the princes and princesses, children and grandchildren of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, together with the numerous lords and ladies from all across Westeros. Right next to the queen was the young Princess Gael, her fair silver hair and bright lilac eyes transfixed elsewhere but the source of the blood. She wished to weep, and yet she had no energy for it. She wished to be anywhere but there, she wished to ride her dragon far away. If it hadn't been for her mother, who loved her so dearly and always kept her close, she might have done it. Just like her sister Saera did, when she fled beyond the narrow sea.

Gael had been born in the winter years, the last of the thirteen children of the king and queen. Everyone thought her simple, and she is aware of it. But to her there was not much to do as the thirteenth child. She only ever wished to be wed to a man she loved, and give birth to sons and daughters, and live quietly. She never cared for the throne, for power. Yes, maybe she is simple.

In the sea of fair hairs and bright lilac eyes that populated the tourney ground stands, Gael could see her entire family, gathered together. And that made her happy. But these deaths did none of the sort. She braved a look down at the struggling knight, until he was finally recovered from his horse, his limp body moving no more. She closed her eyes and flinched, looking away.

"Mother, this is too much," she whispered to Queen Alysanne, who now sat stoic as the body was carried away, and the noise grew louder as the winner is proclaimed. Soon enough the people started letting out the breaths they were holding in, and were quickly forgetting about the gruesome death they had just seen, moving on with cheers and chatter. Gael despised it. She wished to leave.

"I am ill, Mother. Please allow me to leave," she pleaded this half-truth, her eyes brimmed with tears, feeling miserable. The Queen was hesitant, for she had always wanted to keep her youngest close by. But at the sight of the tear that finally rolled down Gael's cheek, she obliged. "Return to the Red Keep, my dearest. I should like for you to find some rest," the queen told her wearily, her voice brimming with concern.

Gael did not say any more, and in the chaos and confusion of the crowd's cheering, she slipped away, donning a simple cloak in the shade of ugly brown that made all the other ladies flinch. She blended into the crowd, hoping to pass off as the daughter of a lesser lord. She edged her way out of the tourney grounds, far far away. But too far. The sky began to turn a shade of pink when she started to hear roaring water currents. Blackwater rush, she thought.

Her feet ached because of the distance she had walked, but it was better than having to stay at the tourney. Even as she walked away, past hundreds of tents, she could hear the screams and cheers as one after another a man fell off his horse, broke their bones, or sprayed blood everywhere. Gael shuddered; both at the thought, and at the increasingly colder air that surrounded her.

Gael wanted to see the waters up close, and seeing no one near her: she smiled to herself and ran towards it, though she was very slow. But she felt free. Her footsteps were so light, like snow falling meekly on the ground. A smile had started to form on her face until it was wiped clean off in an instant as she felt the treacherous roll of the small rock that tripped her. With a thud, her body would fall face first into the dirt, and her hands were scratched bloody by the fall, trying to protect her head. Tears began to well in her eyes again, as her hood fell and her hair was whipped by the wind into even greater disarray after her fall. Her hands stung; scratched skin, and blood and dirt. Slowly, she picked herself up off the ground, almost falling again and tripping all over her skirts.

Through the mist of her welling tears she spotted a figure leaning towards her, his back on a tree. As her eyes cleared, blinking repeatedly, she found herself listening to a hearty chuckle. This greatly annoyed her.

"You, Ser, are cruel," she spat at him, desperately fixing herself and her hair. She knew it was meant for her, and her fall. "Rather than help me, you have the gall to sit over there and laugh at my misfortune!" she spoke. Her voice cracked. It was her attempt to be brazen, but Gael, the dear sweet winter child, has always been soft-spoken.

"I apologize, Mi'lady," was his reply, standing up, and grinning to himself until finally their eyes meet. "I-, it was truly wrong, what I did..." he trailed off only to realize to himself that this was no mere lady, why, she was a princess, a dragon! Her lilac eyes shone in the dying light. And he waited for her to correct him, to ask of him that he bow, or kneel, to respect her.

But Gael only found herself silent, only staring at him, trying to work out what he was thinking, who he was, where he's from. The clothes he wore betrayed that he was a singer, and the state of his shoes told her he had been travelling. Not a lord, or a knight. He looked a few years older than her five and ten, and his voice was deep and smooth. Hiding her scratches and wounds into the sleeves of her dress, she said no more, and walked towards the tree whence he came from.

"Sing for me?" she asked, before she turned back to him again, "Sing for me. That is how you will be forgiven," she said. She took a seat beside the singer's small harp. The bronze strings looked worn, with no shine in them.

"Sing for me, and I should forget about you laughing at me," she asserted, her cheeks blushing pink as she herself remembered her recent blunder. She saw the singer consider this, and then his eyes made his decision. "Of course, my princess," he said, crossing his legs in front of her, reaching for the harp. "What shall I sing about?"

"Heroes, the Andals, the lands of Essos, stories...anything," she breathed in excitement. Her eagerness is apparent. He smiled at her, plucking mindlessly at the strings of his instrument, and Gael thought his smile looked beautiful. His green eyes reminded her of forests and the woods, and the speck of gold in them, that she was able to see up close, looked like the sunlight streaming through the gaps of the trees' canopies. And she had been staring. He hasn't begun to play the strings, but only looking at him made Gael feel like he was playing with the ones in her heart.

Was it this easy? To feel this way?

Winding along a path unknown

In a cloak of muddy brown

My fair maiden tripped upon a stone

But by the Seven, no harm to her crown

But I laughed, and laughed

And I thought not to help

Actions I would soon regret

For soon I must come to know

What great beauty is in store

From such a beautiful soul

That makes her glow

Far more than any crown could

And far more than any gold.

His voice echoed in the cold, silent air, and it had wrapped around her, like a warm blanket. He had chosen to sing about her, and she could see the satisfaction in his smile, as if he knew the effect it had on her…perhaps he had done this for a hundred other girls. His dark hair was turning darker as the day turned into night, and Gael wished she could run her hands through his hair.

"Thank you," she said, finally, after a moment of staring at him, again. "That was beautiful."

"Because it was about a beautiful maiden like you," he replied, "And now I feel remorse for only laughing at you earlier. I do hope you forgive me."

"You are forgiven," she whispered softly. Was it this easy? She thought again and again.

"I am relieved, I shouldn't like to think about how I had wronged you, late into the night, not having your forgiveness and losing my sleep over it," he admitted, looking down, though he hadn't truthfully seemed that sorry.

Time passed in conversation, Gael asking all about the lands he had traveled to, the people he had met. All these stories fueled her wanderlust, and she wished with all her heart that she could travel with him. She told him this, but his eyes only grew dark, shrouded in sadness. He knew who she was, and knew it could not happen.

"But- I wish to be with you, Rylon," she whispered helplessly, for in the hours upon hours they have spoken, in the end she has not hesitated to tell him how she felt, and how she had fallen in love with his words, and his song, and his smile. It was an overwhelming feeling, and it took so little time for it to grow, she could not have believed it possible.

"I can bring my dragon, and we will cross the narrow sea, into Essos, to the Free Cities, to Bravos, Volantis, Lys! Everywhere. I want to go everywhere," her voice cracked, "Just like my sister did, and maybe- maybe we will find her there. And we will have children, lots of them," she spoke rapidly, tears welling in her eyes again. She cried easily. She hated it, but she could never keep her emotions locked up into herself.

She kept on rambling, until his hand touched her cheek gently, wiping her tears, his heart breaking because he knew he could not have her. The sweet, winter child of the king and queen would be wed to a great lord of a great house, not a bastard from the Stormlands who had nothing but a harp. And yet he could not help it, that his hand was moving to the back of her neck, and he leaned into her sweet smell, closing his eyes and finally hearing her silence. He felt her eyes close and their lips meet, and he could feel her love for him, even stronger than what he felt. And he believed this great love was wasted on him.

She was passionate, and did not hold back. Coming up for air, she broke their kiss, her forehead touching his and her lips curled in a bright smile. She finally permitted herself to touch his hair, and it was as if she could not feel the scratches in there anymore. Gentle and loving, she ran her fingertips across his cheeks. He caught her hand, and kissed it, "I am sorry, Gael, I am truly sorry." What was he sorry about? Not helping her when she fell? Not being the heir of a great house? Not being able to give her the life she wanted? Or all of them?

Before she could respond, voices are heard and footsteps approach. The distinct clank of armor told Gael it was her father's guards. She had been gone too long. Her mother must be too worried. And now they were calling out her name, asking for her to come out. The reply she had for Rylon was lost in the sea of despair that instantly enveloped her. "I- stay here. Don't let them see you," she whispered. With a short kiss, and a last longing look, Gael stood and appeared from behind the tree, and said, "I am here: Princess Gael. Please bring me back to the Red Keep, at once," she told them, and the guards silently followed her as she walked with purpose towards the horse she recognized to be her own mount. She quickly left astride her horse, tears in her eyes once more. She hoped she'd see him again. But for now, she must ride back home and face her mother's questions and her father's reproach.

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The great tourney for her father's fiftieth year as king ended only after Ser Ryam Redwyne and Ser Clement Crabb broke thirty lances against each other, and Gael's father finally proclaimed them as cochampions. It had been one of the finest display of jousting in Westeros. At least, that's what people said. Gael was there, sitting beside her mother, but never really present. Her mind wanders to far off lands in the East with her beautiful, melancholic singer, and the children they shall have together.

Walking along the hollow, empty halls of the Red Keep early in the morning, Gael was not able to sleep at all. She could only think about his voice, the sweet words they had whispered to each other for hours, and his beauty. She marveled at the worth of titles, of lords and lands, when there was no love. Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again.

She had reached Lady Aemma Arryn's chambers, her niece who had been born a year before her, and yet has already given birth to a sweet babe named Rhaenyra. Gael has always been fond of Rhaenyra for she was a delight to everyone. She, and her mother Aemma, might just be the right people to be with at this moment.

Gael was immediately let through, and caught her niece in the middle of getting her hair braided by her handmaidens. Aemma turned her head to face her, and her smile instantly turned into a frown when she noticed the bags under Gael's eyes. Her hair half done up, she turned to her handmaidens and told them to leave. She rushed to Gael and wrapped her in a warm embrace, and held her by the shoulders. "What troubles you, my princess?" Lady Aemma asked, guiding her to sit down on the plush seat, her hands now wrapping Gael's into her own.

Aemma was said to look like Gael's sister, Daella, a sister she has never met. Daella had died giving birth to Aemma, and since Aemma was born a year before Gael, she could only ever look at Aemma to know what her elder sister had looked like. With fair hair, and the same lilac eyes as her, Aemma looked every bit the Targaryen her mother was. Her father, Lord Rodrik, had been fair-haired as well, though his eyes are the blue of the Andals whence his ancestry directly traces back to.

The young princess sighed, and slowly, began to sob. "Aemma, I-I am in love," she proclaimed, as if it had been the most terrible thing in the world. But then, maybe it was.

Gael recounted the tale of her singer, Rylon, and her great heartache. She wished to be with him, but she knew no one would allow it, and she wished no harm to come to him.

The hours they have spent together have meant so much more to her than the days her suitors had spent around their court. Aemma listened, but as much love as she had for Gael, she knew there was little hope, if there was even any, of the King and Queen ever agreeing to such a match. And now she understands her aunt and close friend's despair.

"What must I do? I despair, Aemma. How could it not have been as easy as it was for you and Viserys?" she asked, her voice cracking as she continued to wail. It broke Aemma's heart to see her this way. The poor princess had always been quick to tears. "Viserys is fond of you, as you are of him and now you both have Rhaenyra, and I want all of these things too," she continued.

"You shall find someone…else, my princess. A lord, from a great house, who shall love you and who will be good to you," Aemma comforted, though of what she was saying she was not entirely certain. "Perhaps this is a passing fancy; you will soon forget and move on." Gael begins to quiet at her soothing tone, but she still found it hard to accept. The princess left moments after, and was finally able to sleep from exhaustion, throughout the hours of the day, and asked not to be disturbed. She had missed meals, and even when she had already awoken, would not have the appetite for it.

Days wore on, until her own mother urged her to come out of hiding, and to show herself at court. Begrudgingly, she obliged, but her heart was not on any of it. On a particular special dinner to celebrate Rhaenyra's nameday, the court was filled with entertainment. It has been dull for her, and Gael barely touched her food. The dancers and the magicians, the young ladies and lords playing their games – nothing could make her happy. Nothing could until she laid her eyes on the dark-haired singer who had come to perform for the entire court. Rylon Storm, she thought, her breath getting caught in her throat, the small gasp audible enough for Aemma to glance at her, while Queen Alysanne talked to her husband. Following Gael's gaze, her eyes landed on the singer whose voice rang clear and loud in the vast hall, his dark hair and his eyes screaming that he was the bastard son of a Baratheon.

Soon, the King and Queen retired to their chambers, and the lords and ladies were left to their own. Gael had asked to stay, and on more than one occasion had caught Aemma's eyes, pleading for help. Rhaenyra had long been put to bed, and as Aemma whispered several more commands for her handmaidens to carry out.

"My princess, you must come with me," she told the princess, pulling her by the hand from her seat.

"I do not wish to rest yet," Gael protested, content to sit in the hall for another chance to see Rylon, should he come back to sing again. She was willing to wait, however long it could take.

Leaning in, Lady Aemma whispered, "I have arranged for you to see him, my princess." Gael's face lit up, she could not believe it. "You have? But Aemma-I, I cannot thank you enough," she whispered back, excitement all over her face.

"We must hurry, I shall accompany you," Aemma said, bringing the young princess outside with her, to the gardens where the vines grew thick and the shrubs tall, and where she had asked for the singer to be.

The moment Gael laid her eyes on him again, she felt as if her heart might explode. She had to take care not to scream out in delight, when she rushed into his arms and into a kiss. "I have missed you, Rylon," she told him. "Where have you been?"

"I was to travel, away, to the Reach, the Westerlands, the Vale, to have my own stories to sing about," he answered. "But I could not leave this place, because for days the only story I could sing of was about you."

And hours they spent again, talking of different lands, and different people, and of their family.

"Oh, how glad I am. But I cannot stay any longer. I will meet you here again at the same time on the morrow," she whispered. "Promise me that you will be here, Rylon."

"I promise, my princess."

"I must leave now. I will see you," she said reluctantly, placing another kiss to his lips, and holding his face.

Together with Aemma, the princess returned into the keep, and into her chambers, glowing at the anticipation of spending time with him again tomorrow, and the day after that, and days and weeks more after. Before, she had not been able to sleep at the thought of never seeing him again, but now she could not for the anticipation of seeing him prevents her. But unlike the former, the latter did not make her feel miserable.

For the following days, Princess Gael had become her usual self, if not happier. She appeared in court, and gossiped among the other ladies, and joined her mother for meals. This has made the Good Queen Alysanne happy. And every night, Gael stole out of her chambers with her handmaidens, disguised as yet another servant to meet with him, to share their stories, and to share small kisses, and take comfort in each other's arms.

One night, Gael had decided to bring him to her chambers, for him to see where she lived. And she snuck him in, under the guards' noses, their heads bowed down like servants of the castle bustling in and wishing to be out of sight as soon as they could. They have played the part so perfectly.

Walking into her warm, lit chambers, her thumping heart finally slowed, and they were safe, inside the warmth of her room. Rylon looked around, the silks and linens all around him must have cost such a fortune, but this was to be expected from a princess' quarters. She is a Targaryen, he must remember. And he wished it had meant nothing, but he knew it meant he could not wed her. No matter how much he loved her.

Gael soon closed the distance between them, as they stood by the fire. Her hand buried deep into his soft, dark hair. He smelled of sun and earth, of travel and the rivers. He kissed her again, passionate but uncertain, and Gael broke it, confusion in her eyes.

"Rylon?"

"I-, I..."

"Do not think about it," Gael knew what he was thinking about. He had voiced his concern to her several times before.

"I do not care what you are, I love you, Rylon."

"And I love you."

They both smiled, and stared into each other's eyes until their lips meet again, as if it was the most natural thing to do. It could only get deeper and more passionate. Gael knew what she wanted, and she loved him just so that she wished to do it with him. Soon their hands roam, and she pulls him into her bed, their kiss never breaking.

Her lips parted when his started to place soft kisses along her jaw, on her neck, her collarbone. And he pulled the thin, servant girl's dress straps off her shoulders, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world, until she was half-naked before him, and he could kiss the valley between her breasts, down to her belly, and even further down.

He straightened to pull the tunic off his body, baring himself before her. He joined her in the warmth of the soft bed, pulling at the dress she wore until they were both naked, in each other's arms, kissing and joining their bodies in a symphony of low moans, of gasps, frantic kisses and muffled screams. They could never get enough, never stopping until finally…the appearance of first light. Gael woke up the next day, from the first of many nights they shall spend this way, and she could think of nothing else she would like to do for the rest of her life, nor think of any other person she would rather wake up next to.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, you could never." Gael beamed up at him and they shared another kiss before Rylon would leave amongst the handmaidens. When he left, her body began to feel all the pain. But she glowed, for it has all been worth it. Wrapping herself in her robe, she looked outside her window, and thought to herself that she could do it. She could leave this kingdom, fly to the East, and leave everything behind, live with Rylon and be happy forever.

She has been meeting with Rylon for weeks now, she realized, as once again clad in her robe, she found herself looking outside of her window and dreaming of freedom. With a smile she started her day, until the night wipes it off her face.

Rylon was nowhere to be found. She had been waiting for hours, alone by the garden until it was too late into the night, and too dark, too cold, and she had to return to her chambers in dismay. Night after night, and day after day he was gone, missing, nowhere to be found. She could ask no one, and could not get help from anyone.

Days turn to weeks, and Gael began to grow sick with worry. What had happened to him? Where was he? Has he left me to travel on his own? Has he finally given up? Weeks turn into months, and Gael only turned even more miserable. The way she had been before, not eating, barely sleeping, now she was worse. She was always ill, her head pounds every morning, and she oft threw up in the morning. And her blood has not come for two months now…

A child was growing inside of her.

"Aemma, I am with child," she sobbed into her embrace. Gael could not bear to tell her mother just yet. Because what would she say? That she had been seduced by a singer, who has now left her with a growing belly, left her without a trace? Aemma could only offer comforting words, what she thought Gael wanted to hear.

Soon, Gael never leaves her chambers, complaining of illness. She sat alone by herself in the windows, still thinking about him as she laid her hand to rest on her belly. It was bittersweet, her tears, which she shed out of happiness for the promise of a child, and despair at the disappearance of its father.

The princess was miserable, and refused to talk to anyone, sobbing to herself, hours into the night. She sobbed in her prayers, cried herself to sleep. He does not wish to return to me, she despaired.

::::::::

In a few days, Princess Gael would stand over the currents of the Blackwater, near the tree where she first met him. Her bloodshot eyes would slowly close, and in the fading darkness and the cold of the first light, she would drown herself in the roaring waters and in her tears, dying along with the unborn child inside her.

The sight of her daughter's cold, dead body almost drove the Good Queen Alysanne mad with grief, for she knew it all: her daughter's lover and their nights spent together. And she had believed if only he was away, maybe if he disappeared from her life…Gael would see sense, and forget. If she thought he had left, she might have carried on.

But she had killed her daughter, and down in the dark cells of the Red Keep, Alysanne had imprisoned the man her winter child had loved, the singer who would soon starve to death before ever knowing that the love of his life, and the child that grew inside her, had already died.