part xix

295 AC

Elyanna would like to say that, all things considered, she handled the situation fairly well. Mature and logical, as is befitting of her age, station and training.

[She would like to say that the sight of her dead father lying there in a pool of his own blood made her throw all of Sister Barba's precious lessons — all her thoughts and plans — out of the window. That she sank down by his side, took Father's hand into her own, felt his skin grow cold beneath her touch. She would like to say she cried.]

The truth is, for one eternal moment, Elyanna does nothing at all. Doesn't think, doesn't understand, just doesn't. Then she sags. Mern sways — perhaps under the additional weight, perhaps under the stress of the whole situation — but he manages to keep them both on their feet. Has the presence of mind to gently lower her onto the ground.

"Elyanna—"

It might have been Joffrey, it might have been Ser Jaime. Elyanna honestly wouldn't have been able to tell if anyone asked her. Not that it matters, she's not listening. She's too busy staring at the hem of her dress, which is touching the ground too close to her father's body. Watch it slowly soak up the blood.

Mern steps away from her, not that his movement registers as more than an absently filed notion in the back of her mind. Mostly due to the absence of warmth. But this is a coldness that goes deeper, reaches right into the core of herself. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's really got nothing to do with Mern.

Then Joffrey is kneeling by her side, one arm slung around her chest to hold her up. He's not talking— or if he is, Elyanna hears none of it. His grip around her is tight enough to bruise and when Elyanna draws in a deep, forceful breath, she can smell him. The scented oils Mother gifted him on his last name day that he's used religiously every day since she told him how good they smelled, the leather of his favored clothes that are almost as suited for studying as they are for fighting, and something uniquely Joffrey that she's been associating with her brother since he stopped smelling like baby.

[She can smell the rusted, salty smell of blood hanging heavy in the air as well, and that's probably her imagination talking, but that doesn't make it any easier to swallow— nope, not thinking about it.]

"He attacked me."

As though in trance, Elyanna turns her head and finds Joffrey's gaze fixed on her father's body. His face is blank, a code she cannot decipher. Doesn't want to, maybe.

"I though— He was so mad." Joffrey's voice breaks and it's not alone.

The sound of his heartbreak reverberates through Elyanna, leads her straight back to the beginning. Back to a wall she began to build in the depths of her mind before she was old enough to understand the difference between process and lock up and throw the key away. [She might not be there yet either, but that's not the point.] A dam that she created herself because she didn't know better — because she was desperately trying not to drown, to carve herself out of the chunks of a ruined life, a broken spirit, a shattered soul — and has grown so used to in time, she's forgotten it exists in the first place.

She had forgotten. Until Joffrey sits there, pressed to her side as though he's trying to sneak himself into her skin, shaking hard enough rattle her bones.

[There's Father, too, but she can't—]

A very, very soft crack that echoes through Elyanna's mind, drowns out her pounding heart, even the blood rushing in her ears. It's not so much a gaping hole in her chest as it is a hairline fracture running through the foundation of a wall so old, even she has forgotten what it's supposed to do. And like a large glass window, the fractures, too small to be perceived by the naked eye, spread out and out from their center point. A spiderweb of tears and fractures compromising its structural integrity.

When she closes her eyes, Elyanna can see it. Watch the inevitable unfold as the cracks continue to grow, increase in size and depth at dizzying speeds and even if she wanted to stop it, to fix it, to hold it all together, she wouldn't even know where to start. This isn't some cut you can cover with a plaster and wait for the skin to knit itself back together. It's the kind of snowball that starts an avalanche and for all that Elyanna wants to flinch back, to avert her eyes, she can't. She stares, fascinated and disturbed and terrified. Barely dares to breathe because— Because.

It's not gonna hold. It's gonna fall.

It does.

There's no thunder, no screams, no flood. Not even pain. It's almost anticlimactic. Elyanna— isn't sure how to feel about that. Isn't sure why the wall was there in the first place. Why she kept it up faithfully all these years. Why all it took was half a sentence from her brother to bring it all tumbling down.

[But that's a lie, isn't it.]

In fact, if Elyanna hadn't instinctively known that the wall was there, felt the absence where its solid presence used to be, she wouldn't have noticed the difference. She certainly doesn't feel any different for it.

Although it's nicer to think about than the fact that my father went after my brother and my uncle killed him for it, she thinks and feels her lips twist at the bitter irony of it all. Family. What can you do?

"Elyanna?" It's the tone of voice and the fact that it's Joffrey who's speaking that has Elyanna snap to attention instantly. The same tone he used when he broke mother's favorite painting, when he was afraid of letting down father, when he was scared of the dark. The terrified look in his green eyes — a mirror of her own — only solidifies the impression. "What are we gonna do?!"

Elyanna stares down at the blood soaking her dress. Looks back up into her brother's eyes glazed eyes. Very consciously doesn't look at Ser Jaime or the sword in his hand.

This is a disaster. They have to get this situation under control immediately if there's any way her family — the people she cares about the most when it comes down to it, or what's left of them at least — is going to make it through this mostly unscratched. And alive. That part's the most important. And the toughest.

This. This is going to be a problem. This is going to ruin everything. Involuntary, Elyanna clenches her hands into fists, which is when she realizes she still hasn't let go of the papers she found in Pycelle's chambers.

Another problem that can't wait but will have to. How is this my life? What the fuck happened?

It's too much. There's no way to keep this contained. Her fath— the bloody king is dead. The repercussions from that alone… And Ser Jaime? He's the fucking Kingslayer. Last time, there was a war with multiple sides to justify his actions, but this time? And the maesters really can't wait. The longer she leaves them alone, the more people will pay the price. She'd be enabling them or at the very least let them continue. And none of that touches on the fact that she's still fucking dying and doesn't know who's responsible and it's just—

"Fuck." Elyanna closes her eyes, feels the paper crunch in her hands. Joffrey a grounding presence by her side. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

She doesn't have time for grief and she sure as hell doesn't have time for panic. They need to move right the fuck now or they don't even have to bother. Which is easier said then done when you can't figure out how to pull the air back into your body, how to make her lungs hold on to that fucking oxygen.

She can't do this. The realization is like a punch to the gut. Like having all the air driven out of you at once. Like feeling your ribs crack under a pressure you can't escape from and you know it's gonna crush you completely and you're still not moving. Ser Jaime is in shock, Joffrey is out of it, and Elyanna is fucking useless.

She's gonna have to watch her family be torn apart because she can't focus for a bloody minute. She's gonna—

Elyanna doesn't think because she can't. There's no room to think. So she does the only thing she can do, the only thing that's left to do — because she has to protect her family and she will, always, failure has never been an option. She reaches into the absence of everything that is where there used to be a wall inside her mind and pulls.

There's nothing there. Nothing happens. There's—

Elyanna blinks. And the world flips.

[There's no big change. No feeling like an entirely different person. It's more like— staring at a red circle on a white paper for a very long time, blinking and looking at the white paper and seeing a green circle instead. A shift in perspective that doesn't level the foundations of your worldview, just mutes the colors a little, let's them appear in a slightly different shade. So similar to the original, you almost don't notice the shift, even as you feel it settle into your bones.]

Elyanna breathes.

[The mind is full of mysteries, a young, female voice echoes through her from beyond the wall. Curious and eager, always eager to learn more. Even fully trained occlumens only have a very basic understanding of it. Muggle and magical alike, there's so much we still don't know about how our brains work, so many ways in which human mind continues to surprise and astonish us.]

What Elyanna sees in that moment isn't her father's body, features frozen in a mask of surprise. It's not a bushy-haired girl with a book thick enough to break a grown man's spine. It's the table in her father's council room that she and Joffrey used to sneak into when they were much, much younger. The figurines of lions and stags and wolves that they used to play with, push back and forth on the map, topple off hills and castles.

"When people cling to what they know, stick to the plan even though everything has already fallen apart because it's what they know, what they're comfortable with, that's when they become predictable. That's when they lose," a red-haired man with a grim face murmurs to her left.

"Only one can stay," a crippled boy with a dirty cloth wrapped around his head whispers to her right.

And from behind her, in the voice of all those who came before her; "Leave."

When Elyanna speaks her voice is steady and void of any emotional inflection, much like she herself feels. Like a thin window sheen has been pulled down and locked, enabling her to gaze freely upon her churning emotions from a safe distance.

"Pack your things, Ser Jaime. You're leaving the city before daylight dawns."

That, at least, finally seems to get through to her uncle because his head snaps around from where he's been staring at the bloody sword like he's never seen it before.

"What?!"

"You heard me."

If the circumstances were slightly different — if there wasn't a nebulous fog slowly encroaching upon Elyanna's whirlwind of internal emotions that has her unsure whether she will ever find them again once she looses sight of them for good, yet lets it happen anyways because she can't afford the distraction — she would've been amused by the indignation rippling across Ser Jaime's features before they are drawn into a stubborn expression so achingly similar to Joffrey's own when he's about to dig his heels in.

"I'm not running."

Elyanna turns, looks into those green eyes so much like her mother's. She can see the fear in them warring with determination, and she wants to feel bad for him, wants to comfort and explain, but this is not the time.

"Excuse me?!"

"You heard me," Ser Jaime echoes her words back at her with a mocking twist of his lips. Straightens his shoulders. "I'm not running."

Yeah, how about no.

"What do you think is going to happen?" she asks despite herself. "You know we can't cover this up. You know you'll have to answer for murdering the king. You'll be beheaded and that's only if the judges are feeling graceful and Joffrey as the heir to the throne will have to pass the sentence." She meets his eyes evenly, unyielding. "Do you want to do that to him?" Your son? "Do you want to do that to mother?"

Ser Jaime visibly falters at that, though not enough if the set of his jaw is any indication. He swallows but there's still too much conviction ringing in his words when he continues. "What are they gonna do, call me a Kingslayer?" His laugh drips with bitterness. "They've been doing that for years already. It's time I stand before the Gods, let them decide my fate. I'm not running away from this again."

Elyanna feels cold and burning with rage at the same time when the realization sinks in.

["Of course you have a death wish." Luna chuckles. "I've yet to meet a warrior who doesn't have one."]

"And what good are you to anyone dead?" she bites out before the fog inside her smothers her fury in bottomless darkness, cools her down fast enough to give her whiplash. "What will you have accomplished, except break mother's heart and have me and Joffrey grieve yet another father?"

Elyanna can see the way her uncle winces, the way those too-sharp words hit their mark. Good. They're supposed to. "No," she continues, cool and uncompromising. "You're leaving King's Landing tonight."

"And how exactly are you going to make me?" Ser Jaime sneers, with that same challenging viciousness some of the less favored court members have received upon calling him a kingslayer one too many times. Elyanna doesn't let it faze her. She couldn't if she wanted to.

"You swore an oath to protect me, Ser Jaime," she says. "You're not gonna do that dead and you're sure as hell not doing it here in King's Landing. So now you get to decide what it is your word is truly worth. Because if it means anything, anything at all to you, you'll leave the city tonight."

Elyanna squares her shoulders, not with nerves but with anticipation. "And you won't be going alone."

"Mern!" Elyanna calls out to the kitchen boy her uncle is more or less dragging towards the door. He's still an unhealthy shade of pale but he doesn't look like he's gonna throw up any second now, which is a big improvement.

He turns towards her immediately, dark eyes wide but focused. Mern's taken too many risks she hasn't truly earned for her tonight and this is hardly the right way of thanking him, but none of them can risk him getting cold feet. Not until King's Landing is a far-away shadow behind Ser Jaime. She hopes he understands that, but it doesn't mean she owes him any less. They all do.

"Thank you." She means it, really, she does.

To her honest surprise, Mern smiles. "It was my pleasure, m'lady."

The door falls shut behind him before she can think of how to react to that."

"You can't leave!" Joffrey exclaims the very moment Ser Jaime and Mern have disappeared through the door.

Which is not an unexpected response. If anything, it's a miracle her brother has held it together until now. In a show of self-restraint, Elyanna resists the temptation to pinch her nose. Instead she turns around and takes a hold of her brother's shoulders. Feels him trembling through her touch. Gods, this is not how she wanted this conversation to go.

"Joffrey. Hey, Joff, look at me."

His breathing is too fast and shallow, his pupils are unfocused and if she doesn't calm him down in the next few minutes, she's gonna have to log his unconscious body around. Wonderful.

"Joffrey!" she snaps, tightens her grip until her fingernails dig painfully into his shoulders. It seems to help a little bit. At least now he's actually looking at her. "I need you to calm down and listen to me now okay? I know it's scary, but we don't have a lot of time."

Elyanna takes another calming breath. This isn't at all how she pictured this moment. But it is what it is. What did Mother tell her once? What kind of world would we live in, if everyone were to receive exactly what they deserve?

"Father is dead, Joffrey. You're his heir. The realm needs a king, right now more so than ever. It needs stability. You need to step up and take the Iron Throne. You always knew you would, little brother." And damn it if she doesn't sound choked up.

"I'm not his heir, you know that!" Joffrey hisses, half-hysterical. "I'm a bloody bastard, I can't take the throne! It's not mine, if anything it's yours!"

"No! No, listen to me, Joff." Elyanna shakes her head hard enough to dislodge a few strands of hair from her braid. "I never wanted the throne, not at your expense. Besides you've been preparing for this day all your life. These may not be the circumstances we expected, it may be a bit earlier than it should've been, but if anyone can do this it's you. You're ready, Joff. You're never going to be more ready because you have to be. There's no one else but you."

"You—"

"I can't stay," she cuts straight through the chase. "Joffrey, I'm not sick. I'm being poisoned."

"What?!"

"It's true. Pycelle knows, I found proof in his notes. But, Joff, no, pay attention! It wasn't Pycelle. He doesn't seem to know who it is, he just figured he'd let me die off because no one would notice foul play. Joffrey, aside from you, Mother and Ser Jaime, there's no one in this keep I can trust right now. I need to go or I'm gonna be dead within the year. I need time to figure out who is behind this and I won't be getting it here."

Elyanna closes her eyes. Opens them again. Joffrey's staring at her with an almost feverish expression now and she's still got more to tell him.

"That's not all of it. I've found evidence of— here." She pushes the notes into his hands. "Take them. Hide them somewhere not even Littlefingers or Varys would find them. It's all the proof you need to sentence Pycelle — and any other maester you have access to — to death, should you need to."

"I don't—" Joffrey stares at the parchment. "What is this? What am I supposed to do with it?"

"Nothing. I'm going to handle this. Joff, I need to get to the bottom of this and I will. Until I'm back, don't do anything with this information unless you have no other choice. Then use it however you see fit."

Elyanna's hands close around her brother's shaking ones, squeeze them gently. She tries for a smile even though there's no joy she's feeling right now.

"When you'll be back?" Joffrey wets his lips. "So you will be back?"

"Of course! I just need to figure out how to heal myself or maybe recover, if being away from the culprit is all it takes. As soon as I'm strong enough, as soon as I have the answers I need, I will be back. And if you truly need me, call for me and I will come. No matter what."

"Promise?" Gods, he's so young.

"I swear it, Joffrey. By the Old Gods and the New," Elyanna murmurs and pulls him into a hug. "By your side or not, you won't be alone. You have mother and the Hound. You'll be a great king. You couldn't be anything else if you tried. Fuck, I'm so proud of you, little brother."

"Ladies don't cuss," Joffrey mutters into her shoulder and if she can hear the tears in his voice, Elyanna doesn't say a thing. All she does is hold him a little tighter and pray to every God she can think of that they'll watch out for her brother.

"Alright." Joffrey swallows hard enough that she can feel it. "Alright."

Slowly he frees himself from her grasp and takes a step back. Wipes his eyes in harsh, jerky motions. "You should go." He grins weakly, like his voice hasn't cracked on the last syllable. "Take care of yourself, El. And of Uncle Jaime too. And come back to me, okay?"

"Always." It's nothing but a whisper, but it feels like so much more.

With a heavy heart and a hell of a lot of pissed-off determination, Elyanna turns and walks to the door.

"El? Where will you go?" Joffrey asks as she reaches for the doorknob.

Elyanna looks at him over her shoulder, standing in this terrible, terrible room that will soon become his, clothes pristine and eyes glittering with tears.

"To Oldtown." The smile on her lips transforms into something more honest. Something more wicked. "Where the Citadel has its stronghold. If I find answers anywhere, it will be there. And make no mistake, I will find them."

"Of course you will," Joffrey says, without the shadow of a doubt .

Elyanna rushes out of the door before she can give in to the urge to cry. Pulls the cool fog closer, wraps herself up in it, until it's all she can feel and her fingertips tingle with numbness.

Not the time.

Elyanna barely remembers anything from the walk back to her chambers. There's no exhaustion or pain to drag her down and hold her back. No excitement either. She is a ghost walking through familiar hallways, unheard, unseen. Uncaring.

As soon as she reaches her chambers, Elyanna slips out of her nightclothes and into her favorite Ella-appropriate dress — it's not like she can be Princess Elyanna Baratheon once they leave the Red Keep behind. She grabs her satchel and works quickly through her belongings. It's a balancing act between what she doesn't want to part from and what's sure to draw attention if she takes it with her.

There's the dagger her father gave her that she's taking with her no matter what. And the golden necklace with the little lion-shaped charm her mother gave her on her thirteenth nameday. The hairpins with the hidden blades — another of Mother's ever practical presents — and the dagger from underneath her pillow from Ser Jaime also go into the bag. More than anything, Elyanna wants to take the bow with her that Joffrey had secretly made for her a few years ago. Back when she was still strong enough to use it. But for all its sentimental value, even if she could use it, she has long outgrown it.

No. In this, practicality matters more than emotional attachment. Decision made, Elyanna pulls a small sack of coins from her nightstand. They'll need money and won't be able to rely on the Lannister name if they want to make it farther than a day's ride out of King's Landing. A few sheets of paper and two dresses are all she can fit into her bag. It will have to be enough.

There's nothing in particular that tips Elyanna off. No sound, no suspicious footsteps, no absence of sound either. It's an instinct honed over a lifetime of war that trickles down her back, so sudden, Elyanna tenses against her will. And it's sheer luck that has her twist around immediately in response to whatever it is that set her instincts off.

A choked gasp that isn't quite a muffled scream leaves her lips without permission, even before the tearing sensation in her left side registers. On reflex, Elyanna presses her hands against her side, feels warm blood pour over her fingers where her dress has been torn by a knife — a dagger, and really, this is already the second blade dripping with blood too many she sees today — even as she looks up at the face of her assailant. Draws in a stuttered breath of surprise when she recognizes him.

"Eon?!"

Gratifyingly, he looks just as surprised as she is. Apparently, she's finally managed to catch him off his guard. If only he hadn't done the very same thing by stabbing her, this could've actually lightened her mood just a little.

"Forgive me, m'lady." He bows his head, the first true sign of respect he's ever shown her.

"What are you…? Why…?!" Elyanna stares at the bloody dagger, Eon's unnaturally wide eyes.

[It's the first time she's ever seen him without the cloth and with his eyes open. They don't have the same milky look she knows from other blind people, but she understands why he hides them from sight nonetheless. They're black. Pure, unbroken black. As though his pupils have grown so huge, they've swallowed the color of his eyes up, left no room for anything else.]

She doesn't understand. There's already been too many shocks today, she doesn't have the mental capacity to process this one on top of everything else.

"The price of Life is Death, m'lady," Eon murmurs as she stumbles. Feels her knees give out underneath her. He catches her — must have because the next thing Elyanna becomes aware of is the hard, cool stone pressed against her cheeks. The heaviness of her arm when she tries to slap Eon's hand away as he brushes strands of hair out of her face.

She smacks her lips, once, twice, before she manages to force her tongue into compliance. "Valar morghulis."

Eon's chuckle brushes against her cheek, a sharp breath that holds no joy or amusement.

"Valar dohaeris."

Elyanna blinks her eyes open once more. It takes far more effort than it should. Licks her lips. The pain is already fading, barely noticeable beneath the fog. The deep sense of betrayal tastes more bitter and reaches deeper, but that too dissipates into nothingness eventually. It's her stubbornness that she clings to instead, her determination to see this through.

"I am no man, Eon," she rasps. It's a threat and a warning and a plea.

[It's not an absolution.]

"No, m'lady." A fleeting pressure of dry lips against her forehead. "Indeed you are not."

The first time Mern lied to a Kingsguard's face, he was ten years old and the Kingsguard in question was the one currently dragging him through the hallways of the Red Keep, towards the one place no servant likes to see from up close: The dungeons.

[The first time Mern told Littlefinger the names of the King's more elusive guests, he was eight. The first time he told Varys the name of the King's favored whore of the month, he was also eight. The first time he told Jon Arryn about one of Littlefinger's bloodier dealings? He was eight as well.

This is the single truth about the Red Keep: Everyone, from the lowest dungeon to the highest watchtower sings and everybody whispers. It's who can afford the most expensive songs that differs and shifts all the time. But while the lords and ladies fall out of favor and change, the servants remain. Bow your head deep enough and nobody even remembers your name. Remembers whom you used to serve, whom you might serve now.

It's said that the nobles play their games while the people just hanker down and go about their lives. What the wise men telling you these simple truths forget is this: Life is a game, no matter your station, and nowhere is this more true than in King's Landing.]

Everyone knows this is how things work and even if they don't like it, they still play along because they're too afraid to be left out. To afraid to lose through lack of participation alone. That's how it works.

It never quite worked that way with the prince and the princess though. Not for as long as Mern remembers — and he has a very good memory.

[He's seven and barely old enough to heat the oven when he first runs into the prince. "Have you seen my sister?" the little boy demands.

"No, m'lord," Mern says.

"Oh. Too bad," the prince says, shrugs and walks away. He runs through the kitchen door a couple of minutes later, out of breath and startles Mern so bad, he almost drops the water jar.

"I forgot to say thank you," the prince informs him. "Thank you. Don't tell Elyanna I forgot."

And he's gone.]

[He meets the princess a few minutes later, trying to sneak through the kitchen and utterly failing to not stand out.

"Can I help you, m'lady?" Mern asks because one of the other kitchen boys dares him to.

"It's 'may' not 'can'," the little girl says. "May I help you. At least that's what Sister Barba says. But I think that's just stupid, yours sounds way better. What's your name?"]

"I'm no expert on this," Ser Jaime Lannister grumbles as he pulls him along. "But considering we're about to get hanged for treason if we're caught, I don't think this is the right time to be smiling."

Taking stock of his facial muscles, Mern notes that he is indeed smiling. "I'd imagine you're more of an authority on treason than most living men," he says because sometimes he forgets that Elyanna and her brother are the exception and not the rule. "Ser."

The Kingslayer — double now, Mern wonders if that will change his title or simply increase his infamy — grits his teeth audibly, before he barks a laugh. "I get it now."

"Get what, Ser?"

"Nothing. And stop it with the 'Ser' crap. I think we both know that won't last much longer."

Moving through the Red Keep with Ser Jaime Lannister, it's obvious how well the Kingsguard knows this place. They take a couple of shortcuts even Mern hadn't known existed and only almost run into a patrol twice. Ser Jaime doesn't just know the keep, he knows the guard schedules and placements and even their habits. It's how they make it into the lower level, down to the cells unseen.

Ser Jaime leads them into a guards' room filled with clothes and the odd weapon. It's abandoned, like he'd been sure it would be. Mern wonders suddenly, if the Kingslayer would've wanted to kill more than just the king, could anyone have stopped him? Would anyone?

He watches the man strip with quick, practical motions. "Should've done this a long time ago," he mumbles when he throws the white Kingsguard cloak onto the floor and kicks it for good measure.

Mern averts his eyes.

It would be easy, he supposes, to drive a sword in the man's back right now. Justified even. The queen might have him killed for it, but he's also the Kingslayer for the second time, which might just be the only scenario in which Mern would have a small chance of getting away with it. Not that he's seriously contemplating it. Mern's never even held a sword in his hands, he's not about to start now. Certainly not like this. Give him a frying pan and he might reconsider.

Alright, so he wouldn't. Big surprise there.

"You still here?" Ser Jaime looks genuinely surprised. He doesn't look as much like the Kingslayer, one of the infamous Lannisters, anymore. Not with his hair darkened by dirt and dressed in the shabby, fraying clothes of what must have been a very low-level guard. "Huh. Thought you'd have run for it by now."

Mern frowns. "Why would I run?"

The incredulous look he gets in return is startlingly reminiscent of Elyanna when she thinks he's said or done something stupid and isn't sure if telling him would hurt his feelings. "Boy, you're about to release prisoners in the Red Keep. You could be put to death for that. And you're taking that risk for what? To help let the traitor escape justice who murdered your king."

"And to help Elyanna and Joffrey," Mern adds because that's an important distinction.

There's delivering information to the various powerhouses in this keep that fancy themselves the rulers from the shadows and then there's the two kids who spent many an afternoon with him in the kitchen, laughing and trading jokes and stories. Mern wishes it was more of a contest sometimes, but it's really not.

"Ah." Ser Jaime snaps his fingers. "You in love with my niece?"

The question comes out of nowhere and leaves Mern reeling, all the more so because of how unbothered the Kingslayer sounds. Like he doesn't much care one way or another. Which does not fit the way he's looking at Mern in that moment at all.

"I— I don't— I mean—"

There's really no good way to answer such a question, as Mern learned a long time ago. The Seven know, the only boys Joffrey hates more than his sister's admirers are the ones who are stupid enough not to admire her.

Ser Jaime chuckles. "Calm down, boy. I'm not gonna kill you for wanting something you can't have. Might want to watch out for Cersei though, she's not quite as— tolerant, sometimes."

The smile drops from his face at the mention of the queen. Mern isn't sure whether that's a sign that he's not joking or just realizing that he might not ever see his sister again. Either way, he sure as the Seven Hells isn't going to ask.

"You sure about this?" Ser Jaime asks as he slides a dagger up his boot. "After this, there's no going back."

Mern takes a deep breath. Thinks about bright green eyes — Everyone always says the royal siblings all have their mother's eyes, safe for Princess Gwyneth, who shares her father's bright blue, Lannister colors, but Mern's never agreed with that. They all have a different shade, for all that they look similar enough when you aren't paying attention. Mern always pays attention — that a mere smile can light up from the inside. Thinks about how pretty eyes are a stupid reason to get yourself killed and if his mother knew what he's doing right about now, she'd cold-conk him with a pan.

"There wasn't the moment I walked into the King's room," he ends up replying because that's a truth in its own way.

Ser Jaime rolls his eyes, but he doesn't sound upset when he speaks up. He sounds bitter. "To love and all the stupid shit men do for it."

He pushes the door open and that's that.

Elyanna doesn't know when Eon leaves. She doesn't remember much about how she got up from the floor either. There must've been something on that dagger — another poison? How ironic — because the cut isn't that deep. She's managed to bind it with parts of her blanket that she's cut apart.

Not the cleanest work ever done, but the best she could do under the circumstances. There's no one to call for help to. No one who wouldn't raise an alarm — an attack on the princess cannot go unpunished — and there's no point. Eon's long gone. Elyanna doubts any of the gold cloaks would find him.

Valar morghulis indeed.

But Elyanna meant what she said. She's no man. The world hasn't let her forget that since she's been old enough to understand the differences between her and Joffrey's treatment. And she hasn't quite forgiven the world for that yet, but that's not the point.

The point is, Elyanna has no idea how she's walking — well, stumbling drunkenly, with at least one hand and sometimes her entire face pressed against a wall — through the keep or how no one's found her — or the blood — yet. But she's not questioning it because if she does, if she allows herself to think about this, she'll stop moving.

And she won't get up again a second time.

Somehow, and she'll never be able to explain or replicate that feat, Elyanna makes it to the stables without being found out. Leans right against the outer wall and just breathes for several minutes to collect her strength.

[They don't have time for medical attention or panic over her state. She's gonna have to look a lot less dead than she feels in about fifteen seconds.]

Inside, Ser Jaime is already reading the horse. Just one, thank the Gods, Elyanna wouldn't have made it out of the keep on horseback without support. Mern's nowhere in sight, but Elyanna can't blame him. Hopefully, he'll stick to the plan. And if not, there should be enough chaos reigning in the Red Keep in a few moments that it won't matter.

She hopes.

[She's building a hell of a lot on hope and faith right now and that doesn't sit well with her at all. But it is what it is.]

There's footsteps approaching — running actually — and Elyanna has just enough time to get through half a heart attack and see Ser Jaime draw his sword before her brother steps into view, gasping for air and still running towards her.

"Thank the gods, you're still here!" He's hugging her, strong and warm and fuckthishurts. Elyanna bites her lip hard enough to taste blood, which is still better than screaming, so. She's gonna count that one as a win.

"Joff?"

He pulls back at her weak response, worry written all over his face, but the impatient gesture from Ser Jaime seems to distract him. "Right, I wanted to give you this."

"He drops something small, cold and heavy in her hand. Metal. A ring. Frowning, Elyanna lifts her palm up to inspect it. The Baratheon sigil on it is very easily recognizable.

"This is… Joffrey, you can't give me this."

"Of course I can!" Joffrey scoffs. "Father gave it to me on my thirteenth nameday. Said it was, you know." He shrugs. "Time 'cause I'm his son and heir and now I have the ring to prove it. Well." His lips twist, but he doesn't waver. "I don't need it anymore. I won't be the king's heir— you will."

Gently, Joffrey reaches out and covers her hand with his own. "I want you to have it, Elyanna, and no one else. You deserve it, more than I— more than anyone else does."

Elyanna swallows. This time though, there's really no hopes of holding the tears back. She pulls her brother into another hug and fuck how it makes her side feel like it's set aflame.

"Take care of yourself, Joff. Watch out for Myrcella and Gwyneth— and Mother, too." She steps back, but lingers, ignoring her uncle's obvious impatience. "You'll be the king now, Joff." She smiles through her tears. "Don't fuck it up until I get back to clean up your mess, little brother."

Joffrey smiles back. "No promises."

That's when Ser Jaime has enough and lifts Elyanna up into the saddle without further ado. If he and Joffrey exchange any words, she doesn't hear them. The tight grip of her uncle has the world whiten out for a moment there, and Elyanna is trapped motionless under the cruciatus — at least that's the closest she comes to describe it — as she tries to stay upright and not scream and not cry and not make it obvious that she's bleeding again.

It's only when Ser Jaime settles into the saddle behind her, a steady, warm presence, that Elyanna manages to refocus. Meet Joffrey's gaze once more.

"You'll be a great king, Joffrey," she whispers, more to herself than to him. "Be kind. Be brave. Be strong."

Then Joffrey's pushing the stable door open and they're moving.

By some miracle that most of the Gods' must have had a hand in, nobody stops them. Elyanna blinks into the darkness as screams and shouts become audible behind them. But they've long left the keep, are almost at the city gates and then they pass those as well. Ser Jaime, tense as a bowstring but completely still, doesn't spur the horse until they're out of sight of the guards, further down the King's Road, swallowed by shadows and fading moonlight.

The moment they pass those gates, Elyanna feels a tension ease inside her. Despite the aching pain in her side, it feels like this is the first fresh breath she's taken all night. All her life really. And the further they ride from King's Landing, the more that feeling intensifies.

Elyanna hasn't left the city she's been born in all her life. She knows it smells terrible, sure, but she's never really realized how much. Not until she's here, riding slowly through the woods. The air is heavy with wet leaves, earth and wood.

This, she thinks absently, must be what freedom tastes like.

The beauty of it, the relief, lures her into a restless doze for a while. She's adrift in the world, aware but no true participant, as the horse's strong muscles move beneath her and Ser Jaime skillfully compensates for her deadweight.

Maybe. Maybe this is a dream. It certainly feels like one.

Peck.

Elyanna jerks. Startles herself — and Ser Jaime — out of a comfortable state of absentminded thoughtlessness.

"Elyanna? Everything alright?"

"Fine."

She barely pays attention to him though. All her focus is directed inward. Where something— doesn't feel quite right.

Elyanna swallows. Returns to the wall she's torn down. But no, that's not it. That wall, she's been half-aware of her entire life. It's one she built, subconsciously or not, and even though she knows tearing it down will come back to bite her in the ass, this feels different. This feels—

It's not just a wall down there. If she goes deep enough, reaches further than she's ever gone—

[She's been afraid of this since she was a girl of six years old walking down into the darkness of the Red Keep's dungeons, telling herself that there is nothing down there to be afraid of. Feeling that coldness of unbending iron bearing down on her, inside her, chaining her—

She never went back.]

It doesn't feel quite like that anymore. It feels— hard to put into words. But there's something off. Something that's been knocked loose, out of balance. Elyanna presses a hand to her chest where she feels her heartbeat pounding away beneath her rips. And. And.

There's— a flutter. Something soft and gentle and fast. Like a hummingbird, flapping his wings for the first time, slowly remembering their strength.

A hummingbird that's been locked up in a cage for so long, it's forgotten how it feels to fly. Except now the cage isn't made of metal and steel and blood-coated iron anymore. It's made of wood and the hummingbird isn't just stretching its wings.

Peck.

It's picking at the wood. Weakening it. Fighting it. It— wants out?

Elyanna blinks. Comes back to herself in a disorienting shift, only to realize that Ser Jaime must have been asking her name for a while because he sounds like he's rapidly approaching hysterical levels of worry.

"'m fine," she mumbles, although she's not entirely sure that's true.

The hummingbird trapped in her chest certainly doesn't seem to think so.

Peck. Peck. Peck.

"I think—" I remember this feeling, is what Elyanna wants to say when she feels a sudden rush of pure warmthlovehappinesseagerfreeyes rush through her. The sensation is so intense, she feels her fingertips tingle with it several moments after it passes still.

Yes. She remembers this now. All too well.

[She's spent the better part of ten years desperately trying to forget it.]

"Ser Jaime?" The words feel like stones rolling around in her mouth and refusing to come out in an orderly fashion.

"What? Elyanna, what's going on?"

"I think—"

[His fingers close around it, a wooden stick like all the others, and he feels ridiculous waving it around, except this one is different. This time, there's a rush of red sparkles and that's nothing compared to the warmth that fills him, from his toes up to the tip of his hair and this, this is amazing, this is—]

Peck. Peck. Peck.

The second rush is different. It's still warmcomfortfamiliarlove, but it's also a bit like an electric shock running through her entire body. Not painful, not even hurtful, but not comfortable either. It sparks, right down between her fingers and.

Elyanna's crying. She definitely is. She hasn't felt this happy, this wonderful, this free since— nothing comes to mind.

The horse almost throwing them off is a bit of a kick back to reality though.

"What the—"

Ser Jaime is a great rider, otherwise they would've already been thrown off. Still, Elyanna can't keep this up. Whatever this is — and she doesn't dare to think it, to name it, not even inside her mind because if she's wrong about this it might actually kill her — it's getting worse. Another shock runs through her, this one not as intense. But. The hummingbird isn't calming. If anything, Elyanna can feel his wings flap against her sternum, harder and harder the more seconds pass.

Calm, she tries to think. Stop. You need to stop.

"We need to get off the King's Road," she croaks out.

"What? Elyanna, we're no more than a few miles out. They'll catch us within days!"

"They'll catch us even faster if we lie on the road with broken backs," Elyanna bites out behind gritted teeth. "The horse is gonna keep spooking. Ser Jaime, we need to get off the road now and I need to get off this horse."

"What—"

"There's no time!" Elyanna screams over the endless PeckPeckPeckPeckPeck echoing in her mind.

Her uncle curses, loud and creative, but he gets them off the road as fast as he can in the darkness. Which, unfortunately, is not very fast at all. Elyanna bites her tongue and tries to keep calm for as long as possible but all too soon — not long enough — she knows she's done for. There's no controlling this or keeping it contained any more than there is Father's death and that's a terribly bad thought if she wants to keep calm and—

"Stop!"

She's gliding, stumbling, falling off the horse before Ser Jaime's fully stopped. Ignores his cries as she stumbles further away from him. Trips over the thick roots, but crawls on. She doesn't feel the pain in her side anymore, hasn't in a while, and she can't worry about that now. Because the shocks have stopped coming, gotten replaced by a near-constant warmth and the pecking sounds are deafening.

"Elyanna!"

"Stay back!" Elyanna shouts blindly in the direction of her uncle and crawls on. Her arms are trembling, she's sweating terribly — it's so hot — doesn't even hear the sound of her own breath. Doesn't feel the twigs dig into her palms, the spikes, thorns and rocks that tear her skin open.

PeckPeckPeckPeckPeckPeckPeckPeckPeck—

Her arms give out just as the wooden cage shatters and Elyanna doesn't fall. Elyanna doesn't do anything at all.

Jaime tries to keep track of his niece but with how dark the woods are, it's harder than it seems. Luckily, she doesn't make it very far. Unluckily, she doesn't make it very far.

[His skin itches where her blood is drying and he can't believe he didn't notice.]

He never should've left King's Landing. Jaime knows that, now more than ever. But the truth is, once Elyanna's made up her mind, it's almost impossible to convince her otherwise. The truth is, he's not ready to die. Certainly not for a crime he can not, will not regret. He'll face his verdict before the gods when the time comes and not a moment before.

Elyanna's given him an excuse, like she always does, and being the weak man that he is, he's run with it. Now Cersei's firstborn is bleeding out in the woods too far away from her family or any useful help, possibly crazed by pain or fever and he can't fucking do shit about it.

Then he has her in his sight again and Jaime hurries towards her, pulls the stubborn mount with him. He's walking — afraid to accidentally trample her — which turns out to be a very good choice because when she calls out in warning, Jaime doesn't even pause.

He probably should have.

What happens next will give Jaime nightmares for years to come. It starts with the way Elyanna falls forward, only to suddenly jerk back upright and further back, bending her back until he's sure it must break, like some invisible enemy has grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back around. Her in the light of the early dawn, her face is cast in shadows but he can see the way her mouth is wide open in a silent scream, the way her entire body jerks and trembles like he's seen dead bodies do sometimes when you've driven an axe deep into their spine.

There's a pressure building in the air that makes the hair on the back of his neck and his arms stand up. It weighs down on him, makes it harder to breathe. The horse neighs nervously and Jaime's grip on the reins tightens. Then, without any warning, the pressure just drops.

Explodes, actually. Which is a far more accurate description because what Jaime feels next is something passing through him — a bit like he's been doused with cold water. It's a gentle, if not entirely comfortable sensation that the horse clearly doesn't appreciate.

When Jaime opens his eyes — when the hell did he even close them? — he can't help but gape. Because he's clearly and undeniably not going mad. Something just happened. Something that leveled all the trees around them to the fucking ground. Like an invisible force has ripped them all out and cast them away as useless. He — and his horse, which is still dancing nervously but at least hasn't panicked, unlike Jaime, if he's being honest — are the only things left standing in the near vicinity.

Perhaps even more terrifying is the sight in the center of the devastation, where Elyanna is lying slumped down on the ground. Motionless.

[If he cries when he feels the weak flutter of her heartbeat, there's no one around to witness it.]

end of part xix

This chapter was one hell of a mess and I hope I didn't screw it up beyond recognition. [The mess mostly reflects the mental state of everyone involved in the chaos, so I feel like this gives me some creative liberty - yeah, I'm gonna run with that excuse.]

It made me so happy how many of you were worried about Mern tbh. He's a sweetheart and he deserves so much better, but this is GoT, so you were perfectly reasonable expecting his death. Truth be told, he's still not out of the woods. And if Elyanna hadn't been planning to leave with Jaime, they definitely would've had to kill him. As it is, it was a calculated gamble Elyanna decided to take for multiple reasons.

Okay, I'm genuinely afraid to ask, but what are your thoughts on this? I know there was a lot going on, from the initial fallout of Robert's death to Eon's sudden appearance [let's be honest, if he's gonna decide to kill Elyanna after all, he's obviously gonna do it at the worst possible moment] to the whole hummingbird bit that should make some of you who've been asking about this very happy. Three guesses what happened there at the end and everyone who guesses right gets to ask one plot-related question ;)

That said, WE'VE FINALLY MADE IT TO THE END OF THE FIRST ARC! As you can probably guess, Elyanna's childhood is now well and truly over. Next chapter will contain some interludes with additional POVs from various characters that I think will be interesting as well as a rough overview of things that currently and over the next few months happen all over Westeros. That's when you'll also get a first impression of the wider ramifications of Elyanna's presence and actions. After that, we will start the second arc, where the Starks (beyond Lyanna) will finally get a speaking role and canon-similar-but-not events get started.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry for any mistakes, I haven't been able to do more than a cursory re-read, but I'll get back to it and correct any mistakes, promise! Also please leave me a comment because your feedback is honestly the main reason I keep working at this fic so regularly. Thanks everyone and I wish you a great start into the week!