THE PAWNS IN GAMES

Standing all day long, without muttering a word, listening to weak men who could not even defend their homes and families, was not what he had expected when his father asked him to attend the court. Brandon brushed his thumb on the hilt of his long-sword, which had a wolf's head pommel made of moon-stone with bright red rubies for eyes, staring at him. Who would have thought that a sword which would gash and draw blood could be made beautiful? The sharp blade was his own passion, while the crown of moon-stone was the present Allara gave him, for his last name-day.

This was how they both were supposed to be. The pride and beauty of House Stark. Wasn't that how the people of Wintertown whispered and praised about his house? Why couldn't his sister see it through, and behave like the obedient, dutiful girl she should be?

His thoughts were drawn out when his father coughed and a servant bought a goblet of water. Lord Stark's eyes strained on Palla's shaking fingers, before he grunted displeasingly and waved his hand, rejecting the offered water. The maid was pale and shaky, as she rushed down to escape from his father's berating. She was the fourth maid who was replaced in the last six moons. Probably, his father wouldn't have preferred plain water but wine. Or hot soup. But who would drink soup while holding a court? Perhaps spiced ale was his taste. No one knew what his father preferred to intake at what hour and sometimes Brandon wondered if even his father was aware of his own schedule.

To whoever he enquired about, the only person they pointed to, was his sister. Brandon laughed initially, considering it to be some sort of jape, but every single fucking thing in this castle was known only to his sister. And last time, even Ser Rodrik, who father trusted with his whole heart for his dedication and sincerity, brought up his concern to father.

"Milady Allara is the jewel of Winterfell. It is not well to banish her from the court and keep her confined only for stables, my lord. Walder says she never allows him to groom or feed the horses and mules. Sometimes she takes a few for a trot, assisting the boy. I saw it with my own eyes. I know it is not my place to tell this, but do consider letting milady resume her old duties. We all miss her." The castellan of Winterfell had remarked his feelings over the situation.

Father hadn't responded to his loyal servant but simply hummed along hearing to what the household had to say, for none of them knew the exact reason why his sister was removed. What Ser Rodrick said was not the whole truth though. Father had ordered her not to come within the sight of him, ripping away all the duties she had been performing. It was Aly's own choice to tend the horses and spend time in the library tower with the Maester Walys.

"My house has been burned down, milord." An old man whimpered, allowing Brandon to bring his attention back to the court. "They say it was a forest-fire. But I ask, how snow catches fire?"

"What else did you lose in the fire?" His father enquired.

"I lost my wife, five years back to a fever, milord. I weep for her even now." The old man muttered, pressing his wrinkled fingers to those hollowed eyes, wiping the tears. "She came to work upon this castle once and told me a story of your little girl, milord. The one with two colored eyes and bright sun-shine hair." The man smiled, with wrinkles winding up his eyes. "Valla, my sweet Valla, sang a song about your beautiful girl, calling her the Old God's gift."

Brandon saw his father's mouth twitch in displeasure, and he was sure the old man was going to return without a coin for bringing up his sister's name in the court. Why wouldn't these dumb small-folks speak anything straight? If his wife was dead long before, why would he even bring it up to the court?

"I will send three of my men to build your house back, and twenty silver stags must help you get along with your life." Lord Stark declared.

"I still have blood running in my veins, milord. I didn't come here for a few silver stags." The old man proudly proclaimed, straightening his chest. "I came to get my justice."

"Justice?" His father's impatience was evitable through his voice. "I hope you understand, I am not in a position to arrest fire. All I can do is to offer you some help."

"But fire can't come from snow, milord. It is one of the Bolton men, who beat me up that evening, near the market." The old man shrilled. "It was 'em, milord. They promised to burn my home, and they did."

"And why would they promise to burn your home?"

"I caught 'em milord. They were..." The old man licked his chapped lips. "I caught 'em tearing the skin from ankle of a girl. She begged milord. Oh... She screamed for help, tearing her hair. I can still hear her cries for help. Those gutless monsters raped her and skinned her, milord. She was so young, same as your girl." The old man now cried with hot tears rolling down his cheek. "So young... But I was too late and too old to stop all three of 'em."

Once the old man started to blather, his father motioned his fingers and few guards surrounded the old man, holding his arm. "This will be enquired. For now, these men will find you a hut to stay and food to eat. Soon, you will get your home back. Leave."

Brandon felt his gut get twisted, especially when the old man mentioned the girl was as young as Aly. Somewhere, his heart pained to imagine his sister endure the same, and he instantly wanted to see her. As his father, emotionlessly continued to hold the court, Brandon slipped away, even when he knew his father's glares were throwing daggers at him, from behind. To hell with his justice and enquiry. He knew what his father would say. "Boltons are not to be rivaled against, Brandon. We need them to be loyal to us and promising justice against their men will make them our enemies."

A true lord should plunge a sword in and rip the guts out to give justice, not measure the loyalty of his bannermen. Perhaps Brandon was never fit to be a lord. Allara had the natural ability to sit through those boring long courts and help his father. Sometimes, she even changed his father's judgement, by bringing some valid suggestions. But this case of Boltons was beyond repair, even for her. Even his sister wouldn't agree to this. But at least she would be able to endure this pathetic life, without complaining, unlike him. And Gods... did he miss her? Had she not pulled that stunt, it would be her place to endure this hell, in his stead.

He remembered that day, when that ugly black direwolf which Brandon himself once requested his father to let it stay with his sister, lunged on his father, pushing him to the cold stone floor, as all the servants of Winterfell witnessed. Father had ordered Brandon to slit its throat. And as a good son, he should have done it, instead of choosing to be a good brother, when his sister begged on her knees with tears to let the dire-wolf live for one night.

"I promise you, brother. I will bring DarkWing to you, come morning. Please, let me hold her for the night." Allara begged, holding his legs. She never begged... except for that staunchly creature and it was his little sister, who he himself brought up. How could he kick her away when her big childish eyes looked up at him with hope simmering?

"If you do any foul play by sending it away, in the middle of the night, I will hunt the whole wolfswood and kill any wolf that I lay my eyes upon." He warned knowing the wolf had to go after it threw his father to the ground. A beast as mad as that had no place in a castle.

"I will not dare to, brother." She sobbed, nodding her head and thanked, hugging in gratitude. "I want to hold her tight for the whole night, before I let her go. Just like how you used to hold me, when I was alone and scared as a child."

Brandon could never forget those days and eventhough she grew up to be a woman now, she was the same little pup, who always used to hug him to sleep, when their mother had passed away. And so, he kissed her on the forehead and left her to bid farewell to that beast.

When the morning came, a surprise visit from a few of the lords from the mountain clans had put everyone busy and he forgot the execution of the wolf. The Flints, the Liddles, the Wulls gathered with a huge stock supply of cattle and lambs, shocking everyone with their arrival. The clans never lived in a castle and didn't train any ravens to send missives. It might be the reason why no one was aware of the sudden arrival. Brandon was delighted when he ran to the Great Hall to meet his grandmother, Lady Arya Flint, who had apparently accompanied with her family.

When he reached the Great Hall, there was a huge chaos, and he heard loud bawling noises coming from grown-up, tall men. Lord Torghen Flint, his grandmother's brother, laughed roaringly with a horn of ale in his hand spilling on the floor, as Aly's dark beast crawled up to his chest and gave a lick to his beard.

"Bloody beast! I wager you that this fur will make me warm even when the long night comes." Torghen commented and brushed the shiny hair of DarkWing curiously.

"Don't speak crudely, Torghen. With one snap from my granddaughter's finger, your throat will be clawed before you mutter another word." Lady Arya Flint chided wrapping her arm protectively around Aly's shoulder. More than Aly's presence, her appearance made him speechless. With two braids that ran past her waist, she looked younger like an innocent child. Sitting, prim and proper like a lady she was raised, in her white woollen dress, she appeared like a child goddess, with big mismatched eyes that stared at everyone, with charming naiveness.

"It always wonders me, sister. How one of your litter managed to pop out a girl as beautiful as Allara." Torghen japed moving towards Aly, giving a peck on her forehead.

"You lewd fool! Stop bringing your foul mouth anywhere near my little girl. Had my husband been alive, he would have knocked out two more tooth of yours like the last time, when you came to ask for Lyarra's hand." When Lady Arya ended, everyone surrounding cheered with thunder of laughter booming the hall, eventhough Brandon couldn't understand the reason. "For all the rigidness, and even after siring a boy of his own and taking two wives, my brother still craves for my daughter. You all have seen my daughter to know Allara takes after her mother's beauty and wit." Lady Arya chided looking at other men who accompanied them.

The crowd made of men wearing ragged skins and studded leathers raised their ale horn up above their head and cheered for the Flint Lord, but Brandon was getting uneasy hearing anything about their late mother or how other men courted for her hand.

"Well, now that I didn't get your daughter's hand, why don't we make a match for my boy and your granddaughter? Donnel will take care of my fair lady." Torghen replied patting Allara's cheek, but before their grandmother said any word, DarkWing snapped at the Lord's arm, making him pull back his hand.

"This time the wolf will take your balls off, Torghen. Keep your hands away from my little girl." Lady Arya yelled.

"This is no wolf, sister. Its a direwolf. Even those wildlings didn't possess a direwolf in all the raids, when they came. Aye, some had Shadowcats, a few had dogs, some possessed birds, but none had a direwolf as big as this. All of them were skin changers."

"What do you mean by skin changers, Lord Flint?" Allara asked curiously, leaning forward.

"They wear the skin of animals and go into their body. It started from the children of the forest. And the blood of first men that runs through your veins will make you a skin changer too." Lord Flint paused, observing Aly, tilting his head. "Have you done it anytime, milady? If so, then you must learn the rules too."

"No... Of course not. I was just curious."

When his grandmother gave a wary look at Lord Flint, as if Aly was lying, Brandon pushed past the crowd with a loud voice. "She will have no need to learn any rules, for the direwolf will be killed today, by my own sword."

Everyone shifted their gaze towards him and Theo Wull gave a warm hug and shoved an ale horn to his hand.

"Come here, my dear boy. Tell me how many years it has been since we last met." His grandmother invited opening her arms and when he gave a gentle hug, she kissed him on his cheek full of love. "Your mother would have been proud of you, Brandon. You have grown up so well."

"Thank you, grandmother."

"And what is this matter of you threatening to kill that direwolf?" She asked, catching his ear, and twisting it to render pain. "Have you not learned the rules of our lands? What your father has been teaching you?"

When he was so embarrassed of getting humiliated in front of the people who he would one day rule, his father walked in with folded arms.

"Has my goodmother came all the way from the mountains to accuse me of how unfit a father I have become?" Lord Rickard growled, but when his grandmother rose up from her seat and walked to him, a smiled crept up on his hardened face that lightened the whole hall. They both embraced each other with long-lost memories and when their grand mother parted, she looked at both Aly and Brandon with a sigh of relief.

"They have grown up just like how my daughter always dreamed. You are doing so fine, my Lord. But only my granddaughter seemed to remember my arrival today, unlike you. And my grandson has forgotten our rules about killing a wolf."

"It is a direwolf, my lady. And my daughter is a dainty little girl. There is no way she will be able to control it." His father replied uncomfortably.

"I can, grandmother. I showed you how she obeys to all my commands. You have seen it too. Please tell my father not to kill DarkWing." Allara interfered running to his grandmother's side and Brandon knew she had cooked up this plan the previous night itself, knowing she could always extract favour from their grandmother.

"Where are your manners, Allara? Have you even started to interrupt when elders speak? Leave from this hall before my anger gets the best of me." Lord Rickard threw a venomous glance at his sister, making everyone become silent.

"Lord Stark!" Lady Arya called with furrowed brows. "Don't you dare to threaten my grandchild. Have you forgotten the promises you made to my late husband when you begged for my daughter's hand or to my late daughter in her deathbed?" Brandon was astonished to see a woman raise her voice in front of his lord father. But instead of taking control of the old woman, his father cowered, bending his head down in shame. "All the girl wants is to keep that wolf to herself. Everyone North of your castle knows that it is a sin to kill a wolf. And you are trying to bestow that sin on my grandson. Don't all of you lords agree on me?" Lady Arya questioned and every single man who came from the mountains raised their horns to agree in approval. "Now tell me Lord Stark, what the direwolf had done to you that you want it gone?"

Unable to convey how the beast had pushed his father down, before of his own subjects who might consider that as an ill-omen, his father simply stared at Allara, who connivingly planned to go against his words and shook his head. "Nothing, my lady. If that is what you all wish, then the wolf can stay." He promised.

Brandon hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should really go check on his sister, but when DarkWing ran to him with head drenched with water and howled yapping, trying to tear his cloth, an alarm rang in his head warning about a danger and he rushed to her chamber.


Early in the morning,

"Corn... Corn... Corn..." The black little bird perched on her shoulder crying loud to her ear and she offered her hand with food to it, unable to bear the sound.

"Take it, you greedy bird. Always asking for food and grains." Allara chided.

"Food... Food... Food..."

When the door of the library opened, the bird flew to the rack of books and sat atop one of them. "Get down here and sit on my shoulders. Else, I will not feed you food."

As if it can clearly recognize her words, the bird came back to the same place putting its beak into its body to ruffle its feathers.

"Interesting, my lady." The Maester Walys stared at the bird in disbelief, shaking his head. "I didn't know you are trained in ravenry."

"I know nothing about ravens, Measter Walys. The greedy bird knows with whom it can play tricks to get food. Look, how fat it has become in the past few months."

"No, I don't think the bird stays with you because it cares about food. But if you wish, I can help you learn ravenry."

Allara politely refused, taking the book about dragons from his hand that she had asked a sennight back. "Whatever I learn is going to be of no use, if I am going to only stitch embroidery sitting in my chamber." Allara expected some comfort words that the Maester would often offer, but the man before her was silent, which was unusual. "What happened?" She enquired.

He pulled out a chair, motioning her to sit, and he took another opposite to her. "It was your father's doing. I have no hand in it. I promise you. He dragged the process more than it should be. Had he accepted the offer right when Tywin proposed, all would have gone smoothly."

Suddenly, her heart pounded against her chest, and she didn't want to hear what the Maester was about to tell. The last six moons had been a living hell, when she wasn't allowed inside the Great Hall other than to attend feasts. And she wasn't allowed to do the duties she always relished in, when her father refused to even look at her face. The only hope she clung to was Jaime.

"Jaime will send me a missive." She declared strongly, unable to bear the thought of spending more days in the miserable castle where she wasn't welcomed. "He promised me. He will not forget."

"He won't be, my lady. The stupid boy decided to swear oaths to take the white cloak. I heard it from my close companions of the Capital. Even Lord Tywin is not aware of this and don't reveal this to your Lord Father, yet. Although, I wouldn't be surprised if your father will find it to be an easy riddance."

Allara stared blankly at the golden ring Jaime had given, unable to believe a word that the Maester spoke. "Why?" She questioned in a sad voice. "It doesn't make any sense. He said he will-" Allara stopped speaking when her voice broke, and tears begun to blind her eyes.

The Maester warily patted her hand that was on the table and flipped a few pages in the book about the Dragonlords of Old Valyria. "Mind is a fickle thing, my lady. And people oft change their mind when it suits their needs. I know you had a thing for that boy but I assure you, someone far better than him will find you."

She wanted to scream telling how she didn't want anyone other than Jaime. For two years, she had dreamed of meeting him and marrying him. Although, every time she had those dreams she was always beneath a heart tree, surrounded by a dragon. The same black dragon that would do so many vile and lecherous things to her, often greeted her in the dreams. Come morning, she would convince herself that it might be Jaime who came to her as a dragon and did those unspeakable things. But then Jaime was a lion, not a dragon. Perhaps this was the punishment from the old Gods to her for being impure in her thoughts and dreams. She didn't deserve Jaime, and it was a silly notion to think he might come rescue her from Father like all those knights in love with their lady.

"Who are you?" Allara asked, twirling the golden ring on her finger. "You have always been on my father's side and I know you wanted him to get the Lannister alliance. What are you, up to?"

Maester Walys simply laughed leaning back on his chair giving her an apprehensible look. "I thought you are better in playing games than your brothers or your sister. But asking so bluntly like that, will not help you survive in a southern court."

"But I won't be going to a southern court, anymore. Will I?"

"Probably not." He agreed. "My given name is Walys Flowers."

That piece of information was new to her as she never knew he was a baseborn Lord. "You are from Reach..."

"Aye... Baseborn son of a Hightower woman. Nephew to the White Bull. You must have learnt in your lessons about the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, by now." He leaned forward offering his hand to the raven which had corns in it and the black bird started to peck. "Do you think blood matters when it comes to place our loyalty?"

His cryptic questions started to trouble her. What were his motives? Did her father knew about his identity? He primarily involved in all the decisions made by her father and she felt uneasy for the first time staring at him. "Loyalty? Of course it will matter. If I have to choose, I will always choose my own blood."

"Not me, though." He instantly replied. "My father was a lunatic who couldn't control his urges when he met my mother. And when she swelled with me, he left to do his chores in that damned Citadel. But my uncle took me as his own and brought me up like his own son. Now tell me, with whom my loyalties should serve?"

"With my father..." She replied with gritted teeth, evoking a thunder of laugh from him.

"With your father... Aye... But the man wouldn't listen to anything I tell, anymore. There are things happening in the capital, which will need immediate attention. He only wants my information but not my suggestions." He slammed his fist onto the table making its leg shake and she withdrew from that place immediately.

"I don't know what plans you are spawning in your head but if you do anything to destroy my family..." She warned unable to contain the anger witnessing his abnormal behaviour.

"That is not my intention and you know it, my lady. If anyone is capable of destroying your family, then it is your own father." He answered in the same monotonous tone, and she regretted for trusting him in the past few moons. "But you know that too. Don't you? Look, what he has done to you. Sending you to settle in your own chambers to knit by the fireplace where a woman's place is reserved, while replacing you with your brother who is as worth as horseshit. Your father had to fire five stewards to replace your accounting works. Everyone in this castle knows your worth, but you are replaced, in the end."

"And you will be replaced too, if you don't control your tongue."

"Glad to be... But then how will your father get those valuable informations? My place is secure here, my lady, but not yours..." The Maester walked towards the door and paused for a while. "I have seen the way you look at your brother with hatred and anger, as though he snatched everything that you deserved. And I understand where that anger stems from. But it's nothing to do with your brother but your father. Everything you lost, including Jaime, is all because of your father."

Guilt of being confronted by a near stranger of how she started detesting Brandon, the brother she loved more than her father, began to eat her conscience. Allara tried her best to not turn into such a scornful, spiteful woman, but how could she feel nothing when Brandon was replaced in every aspect of her life?

And when the Maester left from the tower something surged through her chest in pain, and all she could remember was Jaime. Did the Maester's words have truth to it? How did it matter if Jaime himself offered to take the white cloak? Out of nowhere she started sobbing like a foolish girl who had hopes of getting married to Jaime and be far away from her father's clutches. And what was the Maester plotting along with his uncle from the Kingsguard? More importantly what was her father's plot?

She ran to her chamber unable to contain all those tears and fell on her bed, in anger more than sorrow. Her father despised her existence, Brandon was always scowling at her, Jaime rejected her and yet everyone who visited the castle praised her bewitching beauty to make men fall to her leg. It would be better to get lost under DarkWing's skin. She had learned a few rules of skin changing from the Flint Lord, eventhough she never admitted of doing that. And whenever she slipped under her wolf's skin, she felt powerful and in control of the chaotic world which felt distant in her head.

When Allara slipped she went for hunting, fighting away a pack of wolves after successfully killing a boar. The taste of blood was sweet, while the memories and pain of her real life faded into extinction. For a fine moment, she wished to walk into her father's chamber and rip off his throat too, for discarding her like a piece of trash and taking away everything that mattered. Suddenly that idea made more sense, and she ran on her four legs back to the castle, unable to control the madness in her mind when the picture of seeing her father dead gave a satisfaction of drinking thousand boars' blood.

A chill passed down her spine, and she woke up from her slumber and felt disgusted of even thinking evil to her own blood.

What has become of me? I never even dared to kill a deer, but now... I am ready to taste my own father's blood that too brutally. Perhaps father was right to not allow the wolf to stay. Or I am just a monster...

Unable to control and contain all wild emotions, tears started to pour, and she felt so lonely even while surrounded by her family. The slipping into a beast, killing and tasting animals like a critter, delighting in the thought of murdering her own father and this spiteful jealousy towards Brandon, being rejected by the boy who promised to show her the world was too much to bear. If only Ned was there, she could have openly shared everything with him. Lya wouldn't understand any of this. With an urge to cleanse herself, she entered the bath chamber and immersed into the tub of hot water and rubbed her whole body till her skin became red, removing the remnants of her secret activities.

She stared at the ceiling above and for a moment, a thought of ending her sorrowful life with no reason to look forward to the next day, emerged as a peaceful offer. When she closed her eyes trying to remember her mother's face, she found a woman, who looked like Lyanna crying holding her father's hand. Her father was young and charismatic unlike now, with no lines of worry on his face but he was hugging the woman. They were a perfect couple, and she left them to their devices walking away from that chamber.

For every step she took forward, destiny drew her down the spiralling staircase to fall thousand steps below. She was falling, into a dark hollow pit, where the noises of the world was mute filling the emptiness with a dreadful eerie silence, like the Winterfell crypts, where the Kings of Winter were buried, with their stone dire wolves guarding their tombs. Cold, dark things with blue frozen eyes stared at her, as she fell lower and lower, thudding against the cold ground. The chilled icy breeze from the Other's breath froze her body numb, and she screamed in panic when the monsters with a blue sword made of ice approached her, with a cackling sound.

Allara ran while her heart pounded against her chest, inhaling the cold wind which made her lungs freeze. Death didn't have that same appeal as she had a few moments before and she felt a need to remind herself that this was just a dream and she would be safe, when her eyes opened. But her legs failed, as usual. The cold was intolerable to move, and she slipped on the thin layer of ice, falling face first, earning another chuckle from another monster. When she flipped around, her heart raced faster while a thousand monsters surrounded her, who was on their dead horses or even worse, some were on dead bears and some had huge ice spiders that could eat five aurochs at a time.

"Help... Brandon... Help me..." She screamed as the pale creatures neared her closing the distance but Brandon didn't come, instead the same stupid crow sat on her shoulder.

"Fly... Fly... Fly..." The raven whispered.

This can't be real... Someone must wake me up.

"Lya... Please wake me up from this dream. I am so scared."She cried, but her tears froze when one of the creature climbed down from the ice spider and unsheathed his pale sword.

"Fly... Fly... Fly..." The crow pecked on her neck, bruising her skin and she almost shoved the bird away, before realizing some strangeness in that raven's eyes. It had three eyes.

"What the hell, are you?"

"Fly... Fly... Fly..."

"I don't have wings. How could I fly?" Her shaking fingers froze, but just so to show her how to fly, the crow launched itself into the sky, and the abandonment from the crow amidst that blizzard was painful than her mother's demise. When Allara stared at the sky, where the raven left, the tiny dot grew large and larger until it became a monstrous lizard with wings, spitting red flame to melt the cold. And she was flying, as the crow instructed, while calmly observing the disappointed pale dead faces of the Others, until another dragon chased her.

The dragons always scared her, especially the one with black scales as night. The monstrosity of the creature was proof enough to know how strong and powerful it was, but she found calmness being controlled by its claws. In those two years of dreams, she became fond of the black dragon even when it showed love in lustful ways. It was the only thing associating her to any form of love and when they were far away from the pale creatures, for the first time, she wanted to make love with that creature. But for some reasons her breathing became erratic, and she struggled to keep her eyes opened. Her lungs was filling with water and she realized that she was dying by getting drowned in the bathtub.

The black dragon moved in panic around her, seeing her struggle and it roared, in pain of losing its mate. Nudging its nose near her face, it started pushing her to wake up but she couldn't even move her arms. Her death wish was slowly coming true but the idea of being close to the person whom she loved made it easier, just like how she had found her father with her mother, in those dreams.

"Aly, Tell me, if I can come in. Your wolf bought me here..."

When she heard Brandon's voice in distant, she wanted to raise up and tell him something but her body was immobile.

"To hell with propriety... I am coming in."

And within seconds the door broke, and she felt him lifting her from the tub, while shouting like a madman. "What the fuck..." And she felt herself dissolving from the dream while the black dragon screeched, not knowing if she was dying or going to live. She knew though, as long as her brother lived, he would never let her go. And with a loud cough spitting the water that entered her lungs she clutched to Brandon's tunic and he let out a big gasp. "You scared me, sister. Gods... How the fuck did you drown in a damned bath tub?" He yelled, holding her shoulder straight.

When the chill air kissed her skin, she felt embarrassed being naked and understanding it, Brandon immediately pulled her out of the tub and carried her to the bed. Even though, he had given bath several time when she was a kid and they often played by the hot pool when they were young as Benjen, the idea of him seeing her grown up body felt awkward enough that she wanted to bury her head under any ground that she could find. He pulled out a robe from the cupboard and stood before her. When she dared to look up at him, she found his eyes trail on her naked form and she couldn't stop remembering the whorehouse where she found him a few years before. When she crossed her arms across her body, he carefully wrapped her with the robe and kneeled before her with a frown on his face.

"I... I slipped and hit my head. I think I passed out when I drowned." She blabbered so she could soon get rid of him from her chamber.

"I wish I could read everything that you think in that head of yours." Brandon said with a sigh and placed his hand on her head. "You know that I love you more than anyone, right?" He questioned and for the first time, she found something deeper in his eyes. When she was about to ask what he meant, he rose from the floor and left from the chamber. "If you could only be the same girl you were..."

And with that last line, she turned her head away, unable to contain the anger that simmered to get bursted. Brandon would never understand. He was just as controlling as father was and foolish... in believing she would become the same timid girl who never raised her voice.


"Rhaegar..."

"Is he fine? Do we need to call a Maester?"

"My Prince... You are scaring us. What is happening?"

With sweat beads rolling down on his naked chest, Rhaegar opened his eyes which became red as blood from the dream and stared at Arthur and Elia who stood by his bed. With his shaking fingers that shivered for the cold, he instantly walked to the fireplace to get as much as warmth he could. It was the she-wolf. Something happened to it and he didn't know if it was alive or dead.

The dreams were so mysterious but it was recurring over and over, but this time he found himself in the dead cold north, surrounded by monsters.

"Nothing to worry about, Arthur." He whispered as his body shook for the cold. "Is there anything that you both want to speak about?" Rhaegar forgot to observe the silence that prevailed between them both while he immersed in the memories of what he saw in his dreams. Finally, he stared back at them both and Arthur bowed to leave from his solar, while Elia remained.

"Is everything fine, my lady? Has my father troubled you, again?" When his real life miseries started to crunch his heart, he regretted of leaving Dragonstone. If Elia didn't persist on bringing Rhaenys to the court, he would have kept his little girl locked away in Dragonstone until his father died like Meagor the cruel, as the blades of the throne slit his veins.

"No... I wanted to meet you, my Prince." Elia answered in a frightening voice which was so unlike her. The Princess might be very frail, but she was from Dorne.

"What happened to Rhaenys?" He worried as all mad thoughts of his child being taunted by his father's insults swirled in his head. Rhaegar wanted to leave, immediately, when he heard his father dared to insult his Rhaenys, if not for his mother, he would have done the same. "I promise you, Princess, once we leave this foul city, I will remove my father and make you the Queen."

"A Queen without an heir." The Princess replied, and he frowned.

"Sorry for being crude. I am not following you. Viserys, my brother, will be my heir."

"And I am so sorry for telling this, Rhaegar. Your brother is not you. By all the accounts that I hear from the Keep, he is groomed by your father and is trained to grow up to be your father. If I don't give you a son, there is no assurance that Rhaenys will live under his rule. She will always be a threat to him and... we all know what happened to Rhaenyra."

Rhaegar sighed, shaking his head, unable to believe he was hearing this from one of the women he valued in his life. He and Elia might not share any love that a man and his wife must share, but he valued her knowledge for all its worth, same as he valued his mother's but this sounded so nonsense to him, considering how she laid in bed for the last six months after Rhaenys' birth.

"You are not making any sense to me, Elia. Have you forgotten that I know where your interest lie with respect to having sex? And more important is your health. You are the mother of my daughter. Do I need to put your life at risk, just so we can have an heir of our blood?" Rhaegar was unable to contain snapping out, while the clear memories of his wife and Ashara in the bed flashed in front of his eyes. Not once had he thought it was wrong, when he himself enjoyed in all the dreams. Moreover, it was with another woman and he found himself less guilty of straying away from the vows that they both took in the altar.

"This might not seem important to you, now. But, as a mother, I need to make sure my daughter's life is safe. With what your father said about her smelling dornish-"

Rhaegar flinched at the mention of that insult again.

"My daughter is half dornish and I am more than glad that she took over her mother's blood. My father is an insensitive, incapable prejudiced moron and I know that, Elia. I am trying to do the right thing but... this doesn't seem to be the right thing."

Elia smiled and hugged him to his surprise. He struggled not to embrace her back when she sobbed on his chest.

She didn't deserve me... Perhaps, I should lay with her, so she will be content that there will be no fight for the throne.

When he closed his eyes wondering if he should proceed, he remembered his dream and the she-wolf he saw in his dreams. Had he never been immersed in that madness, he would have gladly done what a husband was supposed to do with his wife. But that felt cheating his soul mate from somewhere North. So, he patted Elia's head in fondness and replied, "Ashara might kill me, if she came to know that I took you to my bed. You better go find her, and I will take care of Rhaenys."

Elia stared up with pursed lip. "Do you not feel angered of what I do?"

"No... You are seeking comfort and as long as..." He paused, unable to finish the sentence. "To be blunt, Elia... Ashara doesn't have a cock for me to worry. And I am happy that you can at least find someone you love when I can't offer such a thing to you."

Elia's face brightened and with a smile she left his chamber when the sun started setting down. And far beyond in the sky, he saw a bleeding star towards the direction of the North. The bugging curiosity in him of what the prophecies spoke and how the dreams led him forced him to walk towards the library after taking his daughter in his arms, telling all the tales of dragons making her giggle and smile. The smile that never graced his face was so charming on his little girl.


I must apologize for my late update because I almost lost motives in writing this story. I gave up for two weeks and again resumed just a few days back and maybe this chapter is not so great. But there is more brewing, and I didn't want to leave out the details. Hope it's not very disappointing.

Guest : Oh I am so sorry but I decided to go with the love triangle. None of these characters are perfect so I don't want to go ahead with typical good behaviours. But I am trying to reason behind their motives instead of simply creating a triangle.

Arianna Le Fay : In my perspective, Elia could never be a weak woman and we all know how powerful Dornish are and here in this story, I will not kill Elia or get humiliated by her husband because I often felt she had a bigger role in what was happening. Hope this chapter gives you a view of it.

Swiggs : Thanks for your detailed review. I truly enjoyed reading it. And yes, Jaime is a great mess when it comes to Cersei. And that Rickard Stark is as worse as Tywin Lannister, there is no doubt he has something brewing in his head. Do let me know how you took this chapter.

jankitty13 : Absolutely true with both Rickard and Jaime. Such a shame with these men.