When was I born?

The question nagged at me, lingering in the back of my mind, not drowned out even as the crowd cheered all around me. Down below in the arena, gleaming knights sat proud on beautiful horses, the light of torches reflecting brilliantly off their armor. The day had been one full of gallantry and men seeking their chance at honor, wealth, and glory from participating in the Hand's Tourney.

They were leaving the arena now, making way for the entertainers and mummers, the remaining knights having to wait on the morrow for their own duels before the melee.

Gallantry. The words brought an image to my mind and a smile to my face. A knight of my own, neon-lights outlining his visage in armor, the helm unclasping to reveal the fair face and blonde hair that I had known and loved all those years ago. I could still remember how he looked at me, eyes that saw more than any normal man, locked entirely on my own.

Another man next, older, face tanner and hair black as night. He wasn't a knight, but he held himself with grace and pose, and his blades with more skill than any I had seen in all my years. Not a knight, no, but a dashing rogue who was keen minded and bold in battle, nervous and flustered when it came to winning my heart. A kind soul that I took fond of.

The twins were next, their similar appearance only serving to contrast with how different their personalities were. Like night and day, the man in red who could light up a room with a smile and the man in blue whom you could enjoy a comfortable silence in peace.

My knights. My heroes.

Gallant, Anelace, Capricorn Crimson and Lapis.

Dean, Ethan, Tristan and Byron.

I remembered telling my mother and father about these knights, these men I loved in different ways, and the rueful smiles they had given me. Mere dreams, they had said. Imaginations of a young girl who couldn't wait to be betrothed and wedded to a fair knight.

The smile on my face was tempered by a profound sense of loss.

I had wanted to believe it. I wanted to believe them so badly, because of that loss. Not all the dreams were of those knights and heroes I loved. Some of them were nightmares of monsters with the faces of man and woman.

Betrayals of the highest order. Personal failures of similar gravity.

"What's wrong my child," my mother asked. She gently grasped chin, manicured nails turning my face toward hers. "You smile, but your eyes are so sad."

Nothing could get past her. Cersei Baratheon - my mother - was a beautiful woman, no one could deny her that, just as no one could deny that her mind was a steel trap. I couldn't count the amount of times she saw straight through me; whether it was getting me to confess to stealing the last lemon tart or catching me trying to train myself in secret.

I could just as easily recall memories of another woman brushing my hair aside, admiring the wound she had stitched up the prior night, telling me how proud she was of me.

Where Cersei was adorned with royal gold and jewelry that was equivalent to some lords and ladies' entire fortunes, Carol wore a trendy but professional suit top and skirt, blonde hair curled at the ends to give it a bit of bounce.

I hadn't been so good at hiding lies from her either. Not as child.

I wasn't a child anymore. In more ways than one.

I avoided looking into her eyes directly.

"Victoria?"

I smiled more, putting some forced cheer into my expression, "I'm fine, Mother. Just a bit tired is all."

"I was wondering if seeing that poor knight meet his end hadn't been too frightening for you. I know how much you hate the sight of blood."

I hate the sight of people dying and nothing being done to stop it, I thought. And a lot of people around me have been dying.

Lord Arryn, his squire just today, and the young Bran Stark who might as well be dead.

Beside me, my father barked out a laugh, "Woman, my daughter is made of stronger stuff than that! Stop fretting over her as though she hasn't seen these duels hundreds of times, lest she end up like Joffrey!" I could hear the wine in his goblet swirl within from his laughter.

Cersei's face went deathly still and I saw what truly separated her from Carol. From the hero Brandish. The kind of look I had learned to look out for, because it brought to mind monsters I've dreamed about far too often.

The same look she had in her eyes when I argued against her killing of Lady Sansa's pup, a promise of punishment in some form.

I grasped her hand in mine, getting her attention, "Thank you for worrying Mother, but I'm fine. Truly. Let's just enjoy the tricks, yes?"

"Yes, yes," my father answered instead. He took a strong gulp and smacked his lips, "Maybe I'll see Eddard crack a smile for once. Wouldn't that be a sight to see? A miracle at the Hand's tourney they'll call it." More laughter and more wine swallowed.

Mother said nothing in reply, silently turning back to the arena, the dark look never leaving her eyes.

My father - King Robert Baratheon - was not in a good state. He still had the body of the warrior that had claimed the Iron Throne, but that warrior was weary and aging poorly. My insistence on him continuing to train for his health and pride was far more successful than my pleas for him to cut back on the wine, and the resulting appearance was that of a man at war with himself.

The alcohol spilled on his gown was so strong that it overpowered every spice and powder dabbed on him, making it hard to breathe without it stinging my nostrils and eyes. It was clear he didn't notice or care about the sudden quiet of Cersei.

He might have even been grateful for it.

I could see Mark, Flashbang, my father in the background as Carol dictated punishments for something I had done. Staying out with my Dean past curfew, maybe. Nodding along, not saying anything other than to give a warning tone if I spoke up too much, but so noticeably detached that it was also distracting to Carol and I.

Depression was his ongoing struggle, much as alcoholism was Robert's, but he had Carol. He had me and... and Amy to find that strength to take care of himself.

I wasn't enough for Robert. Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen didn't understand or didn't care. Cersei hated him and I couldn't blame her. Not with what I knew.

But I loved him, as much as I loved Cersei, as much as I loved Mark and Carol. I couldn't deny this Victoria that fact.

The entertainers came and went. I marveled at the jugglers as they moved on from wood balls, to pins, and finally to knives. The musicians that followed were fun, but they didn't quite strike a chord with me despite their songs of heroes and monsters. I was more attached to the metallic twang of my dreams, of that beautiful flying machine to a man named Eugene, before saying goodbye.

Moon Boy did his act as well, though I couldn't find much to laugh about. I just felt awkward as Robert guffawed and the crowd cheered, the boy going through the motions, and I was left wondering how many were laughing at the act or at him.

I glimpsed Joffrey and Lady Sansa in the stands as well, watching and talking closely to one another. I frowned at the way he looked at her when she wasn't paying attention.

Something to ruminate on how to handle, without making it a tragedy.

The entertainment was wrapping up, and Robert sighed, "What a fine night, wasn't it my dears? Well, pity the poor boy. Hugh was it?"

I nodded, "You knighted him after Lord Arryn's death father."

"Yes, I remember." He looked down thoughtfully, wine goblet still full, "Mayhaps I fight on his and Arryn's behalf in the melee tomorrow eh? They were both good men to me, to you children too. Remember how he crafted you that wooden sword after you begged for days?"

I smiled, "He made me swing it a hundred times until I got sick of it."

Robert laughed, overly dramatic, "Indeed! Indeed he did. It would be nice to represent them with more than a funeral."

"You will not."

Her voice was like ice-cracking in an empty lake, cutting through all cheer in the atmosphere, everyone's breath held as they waited for another crack to come.

Don't, I wanted to say, but I wasn't sure to whom.

Robert turned to look at Cersei, incredulous, "What did you say, woman?"

"The king going into the melee is an idiotic plan. Let the minor lords and sellswords break themselves upon each other, but I forbid you from killing yourself in that damned pit."

"Mother-"

"No," Robert thundered. Where Cersei's cold statement cut, his shouts drowned out all others.

I felt my ears burn as he stood, still keeping his goblet in hand, "You do not tell me what to do, woman! I am king here, do you understand? I rule here, and if I say that I will fight tomorrow, I will fight!"

I could see Ser Barristan, Uncle Renly, and Lord Baelish watch with expressions so ungiving that they might have been carved from stone. The guards were better shielded with their helms, but I could see the uncertainty of their stances.

I was painfully aware of hundreds, maybe near a thousand, eyes on us as Cersei and Robert stared each other down. Of how obvious the wine stains on his shirt were, the dribble of it in his beard.

Beside me, Cersei rose from the table while gathering her skirt, and stormed off in silence. I could see the poor servants trailing behind, desperate to keep placid expressions in the face of such monumental focus.

Calm. I put a hand on Roberts wrist as I stood up, thinking of how we would sit together in my bed chambers when I was young, Robert quietly listening as I told him how I would be the most beautiful knight this realm had ever seen.

I put that memory into that touch, keeping it close so that only the two of us can feel it. "Father," I said quietly, "It might be time to head back to bed. We're all very tired."

The anger, the fury, it was all still there... but the calm was a like balm on a burn. Not enough to rid the pain entirely, but enough to work through it, if he focused.

A big if, with how much wine he swallowed this day and night.

Robert pulled from my touch, which hurt, but he also looked at his goblet like he didn't know what to make of it. Uncle Jaime approached and Robert was quick to thrust it in his direction, "Take this, Kingslayer. Enjoy my leftovers or dump it out on the street, I don't care. I'm going to my tents to look over my armor."

Jaime accepted the goblet, seemingly uncaring of how the thrust splashed wine across his breast plate. "Of course, Your Grace." The stiffness in his voice was apparent.

Lord Renly and Baelish soon crowed around Robert, ignoring me save for small smiles, asking if they could assist their king in any matters that didn't really matter. None of them, Father included, asked if I needed an escort.

Jaime handed off the goblet to a servant, who was quick vanish from the scene. Jaime smiled at me, so similar to Cersei in good looks, it was no wonder so many maidens vied for his attention. "Your silk tongue continues to reach him, my dear niece. A gift that is underappreciated by others."

I gave a small smile back, reaching for a handkerchief to wipe at the wine, "If I had known what Mother would say, I would have done the same to her. It's like oil and water between those two."

Jaime stopped my hand, taking the handkerchief with a wink and began wiping down the mess himself, "Your mother is a master at taking people by surprise, I assure you, Victoria. Do not blame yourself for her words, I beg you."

"As long as you do not beg me of anything else then."

Another smile, "A hard bargain indeed. Would you like for me to escort you to your chambers? I should follow our Grace, but I have the strange suspicion he would not like my company."

I enjoyed talking with Jaime. He was a kind - if whimsical - uncle to me, even if it was hard to not see Neil's shadow tower over him. Still...

A glance showed Lady Sansa following Sandor Clegane, the Hound, with no Joffrey in sight.

"I'll be fine," I gave a small curtsy, "I'll just find Joffrey and have him escort me instead."

"Alas, another time then. My guards are at your beck and call, simply shout for assistance if you need it."

I bid him farewell, fully intent on not using any guards if I could help it. I didn't want gossip and even guards were prone to it.

It took me a minute of passing fair ladies and young lords, giving the accepted greetings and goodbyes, but I could notice Joffrey anywhere. My brother was making his way around a corner, enjoying how people nearly dove to get out of his way, when I came into view.

Joffrey paused as he saw me, a flash of several ugly emotions crossing his expression in an instant. He settled for an arrogant scowl I had seen him practice in polished metal when he thought no one was looking, "Sister. I thought you would be off with Mother, turning in early with the other women. I think you've all made a big enough commotion for the night."

I ignored the remark, crossing my arms, "Why didn't you escort Lady Sansa to her room?"

He rolled his eyes, "My dog would scare off any real threat to her. I did not see the need to waste my time any further."

"He's not a dog, Joffrey. He's a man like you-"

"You dare compare me to that animal?" He asked incredulously.

"-and I don't trust him. What if he frightens or hurts Lady Sansa?"

"If she is to be my bride, then it would be good for her to have fear of the tools I use," he replied angrily, lips pursed in a thin line. "Besides, that dog knows better than to go against his owner. Not that it's any of your concern, sister. All you should be worrying about is whether the Stark boy will be able to get his sword up in that cold when Mother and Father finally give you up. Gods help you if you end up with a child as cursed in fairness as that savage who ambushed me."

Her name is Arya, I wanted to correct. Instead I studied my brother. I had called him a man, but he was still very much a child carrying the last traces of baby fat from his cheeks as he grew. I could imagine him sharing uncle Jaime's height and physique, with enough training, just as easily as I could remember him as a kind boy not that many years ago.

I remembered holding him in his blankets, rocking him to sleep while Cersei rested, telling him that he would be a hero greater than any knight in the kingdoms. We would sneak out together to watch the knights spar in their courtyard, both of us practicing with sticks we picked up along the way. He had been the first I'd shown of my drawings for women's pants and female knights, even when he clearly thought dresses were better.

What happened to you? What changed you when I wasn't looking?

He looked like our mother, but his temperament was definitely inherited from our father. And there was no great illusion about what he did in spare time regarding women. If Joffrey learned the wrong lessons about how one should act as royalty, that was the most likely source.

Joffrey moved to walk past me, smirking, "If we are done wasting my time here, then I would like to converse with mother before she turns in as well-"

I grabbed Joffrey by his arm, halting him in place. His expression was one of anger, but the widening of his eyes betrayed a sense of concern. Just as I remembered the kindly child I brought along with me on adventures in the castle, he remembered how I could act as a disciplinarian if need be.

I often overheard some of the older cooks still laughing about how I had spanked him over the knee for throwing a hot bowl of soup at a serving girl because he thought it would be funny. That was why he didn't remind me of others like the rest of our family; I hadn't known anyone in that past life who would do crude things just for the sake of doing crude things.

Not even my former sister.

Two of me were reflected in his eyes. One wore a gown and crown that wouldn't be out of place for a noble lady, sans the one shouldered cape. The other wore knightly armor with a white-trimmed cloak and hood, all gold and black as major colors.

Both were older than me, the noble lady giving a confident but slightly arrogant smile, while the hooded knight looked on with a professional curiosity.

Glory Girl. Antares.

A reminder for why I hated making eye-contact.

Joffrey tried to pull out my grip, but he might as well have tried to break out of iron chains. Feel concerned, I pressed, flowing that emotion into him. Not fear, not exactly, but something like trepidation. The sense that someone might have spotted me sneaking out to walk along the edge of the castle balcony's, wondering whether dreams of flight were true.

I could see the effect it was having on him as I spoke, "Behave yourself, Joffrey. Something is going on behind our backs and I don't like it. I can't figure this all out if I have to worry about you making another scene like at Winterfell."

"Release me or Mother will hear about this!"

I released him but stepped closer, "Keep your distance from Father and Mother too. I don't like what's going on between them, and I don't like how that is making them act in public or around us."

"You do not give me commands, sister," he hissed, rubbing his arm lightly where I grabbed him. "You are stuck playing these children's fantasies, trying to run away from the fact that even if you are Father's favorite and the eldest, you'll never be heir to his kingdom. Just another pawn in politics to be married off for more power."

I frowned, "Is that what you really think of me, brother?"

A look of regret flashed across his face briefly. HIs voice was softer as he spoke, "It's how these games are played, sister. There's no escaping it."

"I don't believe that. We can be better than what they expect of us."

"Victoria," he said in the most pitiful tone possible, "No one cares what you believe."

Joffrey turned away, "Least of all, me. Don't bother me tomorrow unless it's an emergency."

With that, he stalked off, still rubbing his arm gently.

No one cares what you believe.

I put my hand on the stone wall beside me, fingers tracing along it's rough surface, grit tumbling to the ground as I went to work. Most girls would worry about this ruining a fingernail, but not me. I had learned that when I lifted Robert's warhammer with a single hand.

There was something wrong with Cersei and Robert. Uncles Renly and Stannis seemed shockingly detached despite Robert's increasing dependence on wine to get through the day, and uncle Jaime was beside Cersei as always. I didn't know much about the council Robert kept, but I knew of Lord Baelish, Maester Pycelle, and the Spider from the outset at least.

And I had seen Arryn, Stannis, and Baelish ride out together more than a few times before Lord Arryn's sickness claimed him.

Where to? And why together? A blind man could see how much the three lords hated each other.

I stepped back from my work on the stone. It was a circle with lines intersecting it, almost like a sun, but with the lines running into the circle. The drawing was offset, so the lines were shorter to the left and top of the sun. Another circle was carved in the middle.

My emblem from a past life. Or maybe a concurrent one. Regardless, one thing still remained true to ourselves.

We hate being ignored.

It was time to start figuring out how this game worked and, if necessary, how to stop it.