HERE COMES PART 3 OF CHAPTER 2!
DISCLAIMER: Recognizable characters, plots, and settings are property of GRRM. I, unfortunately for my crescive student load debts, make no profit off of this. All I get in return is sleep deprivation, means of procrastination, and anxiety over whether readers will like the story enough to review or hate it enough to flame ;)
STORY SO FAR
(I know I take too long to update, and I'm sorry! Use this summary to reacquaint yourselves with where we're at in this AU!):
Chapter 1: Rhaegar Targaryen loses in his one-on-one against Robert at the Battle of the Trident, but Lewyn kills Robert by stabbing him in the back. Rhaegar has his knights bring Lyanna and their newly born son (Jon) to King's Landing, where he crowns Lyanna as the Second Queen and starts dealing out "Rhaegar's reparations" (essentially punishing families who didn't support him as well as he feels they could have, or those families who supported the rebels). Lyanna becomes the second queen. Elia dies shortly after the rebellion ends. Lyanna dies giving birth to Rickon. We learn that there are some people who believe that Robert should have been King (calling him Robert the Wronged instead of Robert the Rebeller), and that there are already whispers of sedition being seeded around the Kingdom.
Chapter 2 Part 1: We saw why Rhaegar was so brutal with his reparations (punishments for the rebel supporters), as well as how Cersei and Stannis came to care for each other (with some hints as to what Maggy's new prophecy to Cersei was throughout the chapter). Renly, who is traumatized from the branding, essentially vows to protect Cersei's child. Cersei has fears she will die in childbirth. This spurs her epiphany re: Tyrion not being to blame for her mother's death. She invites Tyrion to Storm's End.
Chapter 2 Part 2: We see how Rhae becomes close to Lyanna. Lyanna makes Rhae promise to look after Rickon, fearing that Rhaegar won't because Rhaegar wanted a daughter (for the prophecy, though Rhaenys isn't made aware of that). Lyanna's POV re: why she ran, and we see that she writes letters to her brothers (sent to Winterfell). She also writers letters to the children (given to Rhaegar). From Lewyn's POV we see his struggle re: his vows, as well as Jaime's. We see that Rickon and Rhae are super tight, and that Rickon thinks of her as his sister/best friend/mother/etc. From Rickon's POV, Aegon hates him and Jon sides with Aegon. Arrow incident happens. Rhaegar is a jackass about it. Rhaenys finds out about the arrow incident and gets Sam (Maester in training) to be put in charge of Rickon's tutelage while ordering Ser Arthur Dayne to train him in swordplay. From Sam's POV we learn the Citadel is an independent city state
[I am well aware that in cannon, the Citadel is NOT a city state and NOT between the Reach and the Riverlands. However, for the purpose of this story, the Citadel is like the Vatican (an independent city state) – I am warping characters, history, and geography in this fic to suit my plot needs because ffn LOL. The significant of this will make sense later.]
Rhaenys gets sick, Rickon tells her Aegon tried to poison her. Rhae tries to get herself betrothed to Robb Stark and Rickon made a ward of the North so that they can escape King's Landing, but Rhaegar is again, a jackass. They try to run, Rhaegar accuses them of planning to usurp crown from Aegon and 'punishes' them by sending Rhae to Dorne the next morning and banning her and Rickon from writing to each other. Rhae says something that mirrors Elia in chapter 1, Rhaegar gets drunk and essentially offers to wed her to make her Queen. Rhae says no, and gets an unfortunate dose of betrayal when Ser Darry doesn't step in to help her against Rhaegar's advances. Rhae repeats the knight vows, making Ser Darry question them. She makes an appearance to Sam, the members of the Kingsguard (though you won't know what for until later!), and then finally Rickon (to whom she gives Balerion as a "loan"). Rhaenys leaves for Dorne, worried for Rickon's safety, as well as fearing what Jon & Aegon are capable of.
Note: to fully understand the first part of chapter 2c (this chapter), I would recommend re-reading the segment of 2b (last chapter) under "Rickon is the only one who sees Rhaenys" (i.e. the bit with Rhaegar and Rhaenys and Ser Darry).
A/N: As always, responses to reviewers, updated timeline, and preview for Chapter 3 at the bottom.
A/N: Side note – I just realized that one of Cersei's first lines was "surely the dead can wait" (it was to Robert re: him wanting to visit Lyanna in the Stark crypts). GRRM's foreshadowing truly knows no bounds – WHAT A BRILLIANT WRITER.
A/N: Another side note: remember, you have not seen Jon's POV yet! So Jon fans, and reviewers wondering why the fudge he is apparently so OOC, please don't give up on this story quite yet. His actions will make sense when his POV comes, I promise!
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"A man should never refuse to taste a peach. He may never get the chance again."
~Renly Baratheon, A Clash of Kings, Chapter Catelyn III
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"Promise me, Ned... Promise me."
~Lyanna, A Game of Thrones, Chapter Ned I
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"The best part of him died with her."
~Gerion, A Storm of Swords, Chapter Tyrion V
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"It should have been you"
~ Catelyn [to Jon], Game of Thrones, 1x01
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"An open heart is what you'll get in Flea Bottom if you're not careful, my dear."
~ Cersei, Game of Thrones, 3x01
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Wolves Aflame
Chapter 2: children without mothers
(Peaches & Promises & Penance)
Part 3
.x.
First, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Elia's face
294 AC
When Rhaenys Targaryen's wheelhouse finally trundles onto Dornish sands, the bruise on her cheek is gone.
Its repercussions are not.
There are no scars left (on the outside, at least). Her shining dark hair cascades over smooth tawny shoulders, while burnt orange fabric cords around her body. She looks like her mother reborn. This is not coincidence; it is deliberate calculation. It's an equation that pans out as expected when Dorne meets her arrival with effusive fanfare. The smallfolk cheer with starry eyes; the nobles rejoice.
'Elia. Elia. Elia.' they whisper in awe. 'Elia. Elia. Elia.'
Do they even know her name?
'Of course not,' Rhaenys thinks bitterly, as she keeps a pleasant smile plastered to her face.
She will forever be Elia Martell to everyone.
("You have her beauty, but without her frailty.")
Rhaenys's no-longer-blemished cheek burns.
She loves her mother, she does. But Rhaenys does not forgive the prolific concept that she is crafted by the Gods for the sole purpose of being her well-loved mother's replacement.
Rhaenys approaches her mother's family for the first time with a quiet hello (Ser Arthur Dayne once mentioned how shy her mother could be when she was younger). She regally waves at the smallfolk lined up to see her, while kissing the smooth foreheads of their outstretched babes ("They loved when the Queen embraced their children," Ser Lewyn Martell told her, years ago). Rhaenys even begins spinning her charm onto the nobles of Dorne (even the old, disgusting ones. The ones who tell her that - despite her face - she has some of Queen Rhaella's beauty in her, all while running their eyes up and down the curves of her body). Rhaenys tolerates their lecherous gazes with a pleasant expression.
It's all not necessary, not truly, because after all: 'Elia. Elia. Elia.'
Rhaenys has to forcibly stop herself from falling to her knees and sobbing when she sees how plentiful and strong the peach trees are in her mother's homeland. But she doesn't dare look too close. Even just a glimpse of them propels her into her past, where she hears four-year-old Rickon laughing and squealing, "Rhae! Rhae, look! Look how high I am!"
She passes many of the haunting trees – the ones that look so much like the ones she once taught Rickon to climb, like the ones Viserys once taught her to climb – on her way to massive atrium of Sunspear's Glory Gallery, where a grand welcoming banquet awaits. By the time she shakes her mind from the past, she is seated at the head table and in a conversation with her infamous uncle, sampling her way through the lavish foods.
The main table is lined with plump nectarines that burst in her mouth, honeyed duck that is perfectly glazed, and dear goodness, the sweet roasted peaches —
"Did you know those were your mother's favourite, too?"
{They don't taste so sweet anymore, do they doppelgänger?}
"No, I did not." The sugar turns to acid in her throat. "Please, do tell me more, Uncle Oberyn."
Does her smile still look real? She hopes so. Even if it falters, she suspects the haze of alcohol will blind the others to it. Arbour Gold saturates the feast in honour of her arrival. And yet, despite her cousins' and half-cousin's (and even Uncle Oberyn's) persistent prodding, she politely declines any. Not even a sip of the amber liquid. Uncle Doran is pleased by her abstinence, "your mother wasn't fond of alcohol either." At that, Rhaenys almost hisses out that, believe it or not, her every decision isn't an attempt to be like her mother (well it is, just not for the reasons they think).
After all… his breath smelt pungently of wine, an odour she will forever associate with that awful night. And it is already all she can handle to just steady the roiling of her stomach when noblemen speak to her with fermented venom on their lips.
("Enjoy Dorne, my sweet. The Martells will treat you so very well.")
Her welcome celebration lasts both a second and a decade. Afterwards, she spends some time exploring her new residence arm-in-arm with Arianne (Rhaenys makes a mental note of her uncle's solar during the tour she requested of her cousins). A young Quentyn and an even younger Trystane trail behind. The duo playfully take turns shoving each other into the shallow pools that line Sunspear's gardens, before an exasperated Sarella and Tyene yank them apart and haul them off to bed. This happens despite the boys' avid protestations that – at ten and seven years of age - they are "men" and too old to be put to bed by their cousins "like babes". Once the four of them and their ruckus finally fade away, it is just sixteen-year-old Arianne and fourteen-year-old Rhaenys (and a silent shadow, but she chooses to disregard that traitor).
Rhaenys feels guilty for being so glad at her youngest cousins' departure, but Trystane's overdramatic whining in response to Sarella's playful reprimanding was too close to too many personal memories of her own.
("No, Rhae, no! I don't see why I have to go meet all your lady friends, again. They always smell too flowery, and they always pat my head, and they always pinch my cheeks, and they always giggle too much, and they always—"
"You'll know well enough later, Rickon. Just be polite, and endearing."
"I'm always polite, and in-dah-ring!"
"Oh? And pray tell, baby brother, what do—"
"I'm NOT a baby! I am six! SIX!"
"Well then. My 'six years of age' brother, what do you think en-dea-ring means?"
"Just so! It means being in. the. ring! Like in the courtyards, when the knights are ready to spar. Oh, oh, oh! Now that would be fun. Are we sparring with your friends today?"
"In a sense.")
Arianne rolls her eyes affectionately at the antics of her younger brothers, before she nudges Rhaenys away from the garden and towards their rooms.
"Come along, Rhaenys. Don't waste your time looking at these small pools. When I take you to the Water Gardens, then you will have reason stare so dazedly."
Arianne continue to chatter endlessly about how glorious it will be to get to know each other – extolling promises to share only the most salacious of gossip, and vowing that they will embark upon an unbreakable bond of sisterhood. Rhaenys smiles warmly at the older girl's exuberance – not doubting that the two of them will become closer than sisters by the time her tenure in Dorne reaches its end. 'It will be nice,' Rhaenys thinks wistfully, 'to have a true confidant again.'
("You are banned from writing to each other.")
She nearly frowns. Will I forever hear his voice? A flash of wet grey eyes and she knows; so long as Rickon is held prisoner in that pit, neither will ever escape the King's words.
("Please don't leave me, Rhae. Please, please don't leave me. I'm scared. I don't want to stay here without you. I can't. Please. Please don't leave me here all alone.")
Rhaenys gently extricates herself from her cousin, before the girl can discern the half-moon divots being carved into Rhaeny's palms. "I have a few words to share with Uncle Doran, but then I promise that I will join you once more in your rooms so we can return to our conversation. And continue to know each other better." Rhaeyns smiles to her cousin, easing the sting of the Targaryen's rather abrupt leave. Those false smiles are truly becoming second nature to her now.
{Perhaps she belongs in King's Landing after all?}
Arianne pouts childishly. The mischievous expression on the older girl's face reminds Rhaenys so poignantly of Rickon that she loses her breath. But her smile stays steady on the outside. 'I will not show anyone my weakness, not ever again.'
("Learn your place.")
Rhaenys approaches Doran's solar with her silent shadow. Ser Darry still hasn't spoken much since departing King's Landing, beyond the occasional mandatory "Your Grace," and Rhaenys finds herself okay with that (forces herself to be okay with that). After all, he is a knight sworn to the King first and foremost. It is a lesson she learned the hard way, and a lesson she will never forget again.
("How badly do you want to be Queen?")
The heavy door to the lord's solar is opened by one of the Dornish knights, a large and dark-skinned man who carries a fierce-looking halberd. 'Areo Hotah,' she recalls from the introductions. She thanks him by name, offering an especially kind smile. His mouth stays solemn, but she can just make out the easing of his harsh eyes as he finishes opening the doorway.
{Now she knows better how to recruit an army loyal only to her.}
When Rhaenys turns to face the shadow/traitor, her smile stays. She may learn slowly, but she learns. She voices her command to him sweetly. "You may remain out here, Ser Darry." Not Ser Hairy, not anymore. Ser Hairy would have never let her father raise a hand to her. The man who held her while she sobbed as a child would have protected her with his life. Ser Hairy is dead. Or, more likely, Ser Hairy never existed at all. He was just the fanciful wish of naïve little girl who relied on others to keep her safe, a stupid little girl who cared too easily for people who never cared half as much for her.
'Not anymore.'
Mayhaps she will warm towards her cousins and her uncles, but she will never let them into her heart. Not fully, not anyone, not ever again. The battered thing has just enough space for her and Rickon, some ghosts, and a cat with one ear.
(She feels so stupid for her earlier thoughts. What is to stop Aegon from seducing Arianne with a betrothal? How will her cousin's pretty-sounding 'sisterhood' stand versus a chance for power? If Rhaenys has learned only one lesson from King's Landing, it is that power always wins.)
{And there is power in a dead Queen's face.}
Rickon is the exception; he would sooner carve out his own eyes than ever hurt her. The rest of that wretched place is a cesspool of liars and backstabbers and sycophants and men idolizing a to-be-deposed King and her horrible would-be-kin-slaying brothers and why does she still feel the King's hand on her skin?
("It'll be okay. I'll make it okay. But you have to listen to me very carefully. You have to do everything I say. Do you understand, Rickon?")
Rhaenys steps inside the room gracefully, to meet the surprised brown eyes of Doran Martell. She seems to have interrupted the Lord Paramount's as he was sorting through the vast piles of papers heaped upon his desk. For all their towering, the documents seem well-kept.
("Rhaenys will be kept in the Maidenvault.")
In her (frequent) nightmares, Ser Darry does nothing to help her as the King (not father, not ever again) repeatedly takes what he sent her to the Maidenvault for. Every time he climbs astride her it is to the twisted background of 'Elia. Elia. Elia.' At the thought, she inadvertently brings her hand up to her neck, echoes of pain and disgust from an unwanted touch, an almost-reality. Then, she sharply rips her hand away. 'No weakness.' She commands herself sternly. 'Not ever again.'
Rage thrums through her veins. But it is not un-tempered. Oh no, not at all. She has had weeks of travel to simmer, to channel the rage and hone it into something that will change the realm.
'You signed your death warrant, the moment you dared to threaten me.' She resolves with a straightened spine, her heart hardened.
("Please don't leave me here.")
Because no one knows this, not even her traitorous shadow, but Rhaenys whispered dangerous words into her little brother's ear before she left the Keep. Not a soul but them will ever know the seditious seeds she carefully planted in his mind, the way his soft grey eyes steeled when she promised him…
"One day, Rickon."
"Princess Rhaenys," her eldest uncle addresses with a warm smile. Then he meets her dark eyes, and perhaps he recognizes the volatile churning, because his casual voice turns concerned. "Is something wrong?"
("I will not have you conspiring together against the Crown.")
the prince that is loved by all
295 AC
Despite the fact that Princess Rhaenys had left for Dorne just over a year ago, Ser Arthur Dayne keeps his word to Elia's daughter and continues to train the ten-year-old Prince Rickon as often as his schedule allows. Despite the princess's… warnings… to the Kingsguard the night before she left, Arthur could technically stop these lessons. However, he finds himself incapable of it. The princess's departure had cost the boy his only shield. And by the time of her exit, Arthur had already grown too fond of the youngest prince to leave him without any means of defending himself in this nest of predators.
And truthfully, it is… pleasant. To have a student, a protégé, someone to whom Arthur can pass on his hard-earned knowledge. Someone that Arthur can watch grow with pride.
(Someone that Arthur can help raise.)
They have just finished another early morning practice session in one of the peripheral training yards of the Red Keep. Now, Arthur watches the royal boy clean his sword carefully. The young prince is patient with the blade. 'The way a true knight should be,' thinks Arthur with teeming pride. "Well done, Your Grace." He says, smiling warmly at the boy. "You're progressing at an outstanding pace. I haven't seen anyone take to swords so naturally since Jaime Lannister."
Rickon's cheeks flare red in the most endearing way, clearly embarrassed and delighted in equal measure. He brings a hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head and shyly smiles. "I think my improvement is more a credit to your teaching than my skill."
Ser Arthur laughs heartily and gives the boy an affectionate ruffle of his dark brown curls. The boy of ten playfully bats the knight's hand away.
"Truly, Rickon," Ser Arthur says gently. "I am impressed."
Rickon's gaze shoots down to his dirtied training boots, but Arthur can see the genuine grin that breaks out on the boy's mouth.
"I… I thank you for the praise, Ser Arthur. I hope to one day become worthy of it." The boy's cheeks are truly aflame now, the red spreading down his neck as well. The prince stumbles back into the courtesies that his sister no doubt taught him, likely because he is uncertain of how to respond to such commendation.
(After all, Arthur knows that Rickon is no longer used to such open praise, not since the King sent Princess Rhaenys away.)
At Arthur's raised brow, Rickon seems to shake off his lapse of insecurity. He returns to his usual rambunctious self, as he sheathes the blade and confidently hands the scabbard back to Arthur. Rickon offers a larger grin. "Thanks again for the training. I guess I'm off."
Arthur's hand on Rickon's shoulder foils the boy's attempt at a quick escape. The purple-eyed man's mouth quirks up as he teases his pupil. "Off to play at peasant again?"
Rickon bristles. "Hey! Those are my friends!"
Arthur sighs. "Just try not to make any trouble this time?" He entreats.
Rickon smirks, reminiscent of the way a young Rhaenys once did when she promised to stop climbing trees (which of course never happened). "I'm not a troublemaker, I'm a trouble-chaser. There is a distinct difference, Ser Arthur."
'That doesn't make any sense, you unruly boy,' Arthur thinks fondly. "Mhm." Arthur nods indulgently. The Sword of the Morning attempts to make his voice come out stern with his next words, but doubts he is able to cover all of his underlying amusement. "There is also a distinct difference between caution and carelessness."
Rickon snorts. "I'll be careful enough. The last thing I want is to waste any more time in Pycelle's Torture Room."
"I think you mean Grand Maester Pycelle's healing chambers."
Rickon shrugs. "Agree to disagree, Ser Arthur."
Ser Arthur laughs deeply before mumbling out an affectionate "insouciant brat" and shooing Rickon away. "Whatever trouble you undoubtedly intend to incite, at least try not to get caught?"
"You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur." Rickon drawls with a tight smile, before it curves into a playfully smug smirk. "I can be quick."
Ser Arthur swats the back of Rickon's head and gives the boy a genuinely stern look. "Which means nothing if you become overconfident."
Rickon nods seriously, a solemn look overtaking his eyes as his right hand comes to rest over his left upper arm, where Arthur knows a scar from an arrow lays under his tunic. "I don't think I'll ever be in danger of that." Rickon mumbles. "Not here."
("But I bet you both don't believe me. No one ever does.")
Arthur frowns, his gut twisting at the thought of the arrow-made wound. Arthur doubts that scarring afternoon will ever leave him.
"Once more."
Rickon looks up at Arthur's curt words. The prince's grey eyes widen in a mixture of confusion and gratefulness. And yet, despite the offer for more training, the boy's smile stays buried. 'Buried under the past, under memories of how his own family is capable of hurting him.'
("I don't care! He never talks to me or looks at me, but even he should care if Aegon could have killed me! I'm his son too!")
Arthur's frown deepens as that afternoon continues to replay in his mind. "One more spar, and then you may leave."
Rickon nods, clearly still confused, but raises his sword.
(Arthur understands the lad's puzzlement. Rickon doesn't understand that Arthur blames himself for many things; that Arthur needs some form of reassurance that he will not awake one morning to castle's servants whispering that his playful, rambunctious, unruly, endearingly petulant, and innocent student has been slain by another of the royal family. If not for their lack of trying, then at least, for Rickon's skill in defending himself.)
At some point during the spar, Rickon's smile returns.
When they finish, Rickon is on the ground heaving for air and drenched in sweat. Of course, Rickon has never won a spar against the Sword of the Morning (not yet). But he is taking longer and longer to lose. Arthur nods at Rickon approvingly. The prince grins back.
"You did well." Arthur says. "I'll clean the blade so you aren't too late to meet with your friends. But," Arthur's eyes narrow. "No mischief."
Rickon slowly climbs up onto his feet and nods solemnly, mimicking the severity of a septon. "I will not actively seek out any new mischief, I promise."
A pause.
There are so many obvious loopholes in that vow, that Arthur and Rickon both snort before the latter bursts into carefree chuckles.
(It's easier to laugh over little things, than to address the horrible things. Things like how Rickon got that scar on his arm, and why Ser Arthur trains him so diligently.)
Arthur's own escaped laughter tapers as Rickon races off, excited to converse with the smallfolk and find trouble with his motley band of misfits in Flea Bottom. "Tomorrow at dawn!" Arthur yells at Rickon's back. "Don't be late!" He adds, even though Rickon never is. "And get some breakfast in you, too!"
Rickon waves a hand to show he heard the instructions, just before he turns the corner and his northern form leaves Arthur's sight.
With Rickon gone, Arthur is now alone in the training area. His gaze shifts up to meet the burning light of the sun. It is not so glaring as the Dornish one, but blazing in a different way. Arthur briefly wonders how the princess is doing back in his and Elia's homeland. 'She will have adapted well,' he thinks. 'She is stronger and smarter than anyone knows.'
Arthur frowns, once again remembering Princess Rhaenys's warning from her final night in the Keep. The princess had been ruthless in her reprimand of both him and Lewyn the very moment she left Rickon's room after having put the grief-stricken prince to sleep. Apparently, per recounts from his other brother-in-arms', she had done the same with all the Kingsguard members. He remembers her harsh words clearly, her blatant threats, and the darkening bruise on her cheek even more so. He never had a chance to ask Jonathor about what happened in the Maidenvault before the man left the Keep with his charge. Then again, if the blackness in the princess's gaze was any indication, perhaps it was best that Arthur didn't know. One less thing to mull over, one less confirmation that the Rhaegar he once knew and admired is gone.
("Are you so ambitious for your brother's crown?")
That night in the throne room – after foiling Rhaenys and Rickon's attempt at escape – had been… jarring. In more ways than one. He still remembers the betrayal in Rickon's eyes as he held the boy back when Rhaegar harshly gripped Rhaenys. He also remembers loosening his grip in shock the moment he realized Rhaegar meant to strike his daughter. Elia's daughter.
("You run away to support the prince that is loved by all, usurp your brother, the rightful heir. Treason.")
Not for the first time, Arthur muses on Rhaegar's accusations.
Rickon has been well-liked by the small folk and nobles since his birth.
'Humans are fickle with their affections.' Arthur grouses as he thinks on Prince Jon. Lyanna Stark's older son: the one who the smallfolk and nobles alike despised. In their minds, Jon symbolized the affair that their Realm bled for, while Rickon did what they could not and disposed of a hated monarch. In their minds, Rickon's birth was an act of the Gods – a "just" punishment for the woman they heatedly remember as the "Duty-Dodger" Queen.
But, of course, it is Rickon who made himself well-loved instead of just well-liked.
He is friendly with the small folk. The boy often uses Rhaegar's neglect and consequent lack of royal responsibilities to meander around Flea Bottom and other areas of King's Landing. He uses that time to befriend the smiths on the Street of Steel, the dyers and the bakers, the tavern workers and the dock workers, and word has it, apparently even the smugglers.
And then there were the nobles. The nobles adore Princess Rhaenys, who is beautiful and charming and elegant and graceful ('just like Elia had been'). The nobles love Princess Rhaenys, and Rhaenys was absolute in her love for Rickon. There is no doubt in Arthur's mind (now, at least) that the girl had used her unending time with the noble ladies to gush over the adorable antics of her youngest brother, endearing him to them through her stories. 'Protecting Rickon, both subtly and overtly. Cunning. More so than anyone ever expected from gentle Elia's daughter.'
Even among the knights of the city, Rickon is well-respected. Despite being Arthur's pupil, and his reputation as a burgeoning protégé, Rickon never wastes an opportunity to seek out instruction. He is eager to learn from anyone. 'Just like how Jaime once was.'
In truth, Rickon is good at burrowing his way into the heart of everyone he meets. 'Well, everyone except the male royals.' Arthur thinks bitterly.
So, in a convulted way, Arthur understands Rhaegar's suspicions.
'It is too easy to see Rickon with a crown on his head.'
- And in the shadows, Rhaenys with a hand's pin and a pretty smile, slowly poking holes into her father's reign. After all, no true player believes the King to be the one in power. Oh no. -
'The one who controls the King, controls Westeros.'
And Rickon Targaryen would do anything for his sister…
Perhaps even plot for a crown he doesn't want.
("You'd be surprised at what I can get away with, Ser Arthur.")
Parading around the alleys of Flea bottom with a guise of no wealth is easy and fun
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(it takes him too long to realize that he treats their squalor like a pageant)
Balerion joins Rickon mere moments after the prince escapes Ser Arthur's skeptical gaze. Rickon grins at his furry companion. "Eager to see the streets again too, huh, Bal?"
The duo casually makes their way towards the nearest entrance to the tunnelways below the Red Keep. It takes a few turns, but eventually Rickon reaches one of his hidden clothing stashes. Ever since he started his secret escapades, he had made sure to always leave a bundle of dirty clothes to wear through the streets, along with a couple of coins. It was easy enough to station them strategically once he grew more comfortable with the tunnels. Rickon quickly changes from his dirtied royal training garb into something even dirtier, and even rubs some dust onto his cheeks, before he and Bal sneak out of the Red Keep. 'Rhae would probably roll her eyes at my clothes.' He thinks with a budding smile, before he forcibly stops the thought because it hurts too much to think about her.
("It doesn't matter what you feel. Rhaenys will leave for Dorne at dawn.")
"Hmm." Rickon examines the sun's position in the sky. 'It's not even near midday yet,' he thinks with a contemplative frown. "Everyone will still be working for a couple hours still. Maybe we should hang out by the docks for a while." Rickon rubs his jaw. "Maybe Griff is about?" Rickon turns down to see an entirely unaffected cat. He nudges his companion playfully. "Well? Say something if you disagree, Bal, or I'm taking your silence for acceptance."
Balerion gives Rickon a decidedly unimpressed look.
.x.
As Rickon strolls along the Hook towards Fishmonger's Square, the young prince dressed as a pauper finds himself accompanied by both his cat and his thoughts.
'Mayhaps it is a good thing that I hate the Keep so much.' He ponders. After all, if the King and the other princes' presences were bearable, then he would have never started exploring the tunnels. He had used them since he was five to hide from his supposed family whenever Rhae left for her lady duties, and he had lost himself within the winding paths for weeks while he grieved Rhae's departure.
("You ripped through my happiness, and now I send away yours.")
Moreover, without the tunnels, Rickon would have never had such unfettered access to start his frequent trips through the streets of King's Landing. He would have never met the ensemble of friends he has now. And what a band of misfits they all were. There was a prince playing at pauper. There was Gendry, the apprentice at Mott's shop ("The only smith worth the steel," per Gendry's loyal adverts). The black-haired apprentice likes to pretend to be gruff, but Rickon suspects that almost thirteen-year-old Gendry is secretly the softest of them all. Then there is Griff, a fourteen-year-old Essosi trader's son. Griff doesn't actually know the rest of the lads, since he is usually limited to the trading docks by his father. Then there is Lommy, a dyer's son who looks more like a girl, and didn't appreciate Rickon pointing it out back when they first met. (They became especially fast friends.) Then there is Easel, the innkeeper's daughter, who Lommy affectionately calls Weasel, much to the thirteen-year-old girl's annoyance. There is even an eleven-year-old baker's boy who calls himself Hot Pie, could you believe it? Hot Pie.
{"Misfits without Mothers" – that's what Old Man Osim called you lot two days ago, remember?}
('A stupid, wrong name.' Ten-year-old Rickon had seethed with wet eyes in the dark twists of the tunnels, after he returned to the Keep that evening. 'I have a mother; she was just sent away. But she'll come back for me, she promised. And Rhae always keeps her promises.')
Rickon ignores his past murky thoughts. Instead, he focuses on the hours leading up to stupid big-mouthed, cranky Osim's words. Before the old man's stupid words, Rickon was at The Lattice – one of the only taverns that tolerated himself and his fellow under-aged friends.
.x.
The moment he enters the Lattice, a lithe arm throws itself around his shoulders.
"Well, well. If it ain't my fav'rite runaway royal!" Whispers Easel, as the tavern girl ruffles Rickon's hair.
The prince scowls. "Not my hair!" He playfully bats away her hands. Easel merely responds by chuckling before leaving to tend to one of the beckoning patrons. She tosses out a half-hearted warning to "stay away from the ale" as she turns away. The well-intentioned almost-threat is…
'It's exactly what Rhaenys would do, if she were here'.
The painful reminder nearly swallows Rickon's jovial mood, before he forcibly pushes it away, and stalks towards a table occupied by a pair of familiar faces. He exaggeratedly rolls his eyes as he approaches his companions before grumbling out a greeting. "I can't wait until I'm taller than her. Why does everyone always have to pat my hair?"
"Gods, you spend too much time with Lommy." Snorts the typically gruff voice of Gendry, as the smith's apprentice munches on some bread.
"Hey! It ain't no crime to care about lookin' good!" says an affronted Lommy, who is seated right across from Gendry. Rickon smiles as he pulls up onto the bench next to the twelve-year-old dyer, who is working his way through a bowl of brown.
"Care about yer looks, eh?" Easel pops up from behind, in her typically unpredictable way. Rickon's gaze pays particularly close attention to the tray on her arm, which supports a wobbling haphazard pile of empty dishes, just one whisper away from finding a new home on his head. "Try wipin' up those grubby green paws of yers, then." Easel sneers as she whacks Lommy's offending hands with a used ladle that she pulls off the precariously perched platter. (Rickon really doesn't appreciate the way her action makes the leaning tower of dishes angle even closer to him). "The same ones which be leavin' bits of dried dye on my Pa's tables. Mess that he be makin' me to clean up!"
Lommy puffs out his chest and brings his hands up in pride. "These are 'cause of my skills. They're a…" Lommy frowns, thinking of how to convey his thoughts.
"A badge of your trade?" Rickon offers.
"Ya!" Lommy nods emphatically. "What Rick said! And you should be respecting your customers, yuh know, Weasel! Or we'll be taking our business to… to… to The Cony instead! Ya, to the Cony!"
Rickon can't help but snort at that 'threat'. It's well known amongst their group that the only reason The Lattice even tolerates their under-aged, non-ale drinking selves is because apparently the innkeeper had been friends with Lommy's late mother. And, of course, because the man was Easel's father.
Easel rolls her eyes and makes sure to smack Lommy's hands once more – even harder – with the ladle, just because she can, before strutting back to the kitchen with her miraculously upright tray. Lommy yanks his hands away and lets out a rather high-pitched, "eat mud, Weasel!"
She just tosses him a select finger over her shoulder, much to Gendry and Rickon's amusement.
Within seconds, the ragged cloth covering the Lattice's entrance is shoved aside once more, to reveal a familiar hefty form lumbering towards the seated trio.
"Rick!" Exclaims a cheerful Hot Pie, as he plops down next to Gendry. "How's it?! Been too long! Much too long!"
Rickon barely holds back a snicker as the annoyed smith's apprentice shoves his bread away from Hot Pie's straying hands. "Well enough, I suppose." Rickon shrugs.
Hot Pie being Hot Pie, needs no prompting to continue the conversation. "Since I last seen you, I got this new bread recipe I tried at the bakery. You gott'a try some! The trick is to batter the dough with—"
"Ain't no one care about yer bakery's bread, Pie!" Lommy cuts in with a long-suffering eye roll.
"Well you wasn't saying that when I gave ya a batch the other day, huh, were ya!"
"Speaking of bread, how about keeping away from mine, Hot Pie." Grumbles Gendry as he once more plucks his bread roll out of Hot Pie's hand. Hot Pie makes a wounded sound, and Gendry being Gendry, sighs loudly before shoving half a roll back to a pleased Hot Pie.
Rickon's stomach decides to join the banter, and lets out a loud growl. The table is quiet just for a moment, before the four boys descend into a round of deep, belly-aching laughter. Then it's Gendry's turn to roll his eyes, as the apprentice tosses his last half of bread at Rickon.
Laughs and insults flow easily between the four boys. Throughout it all, the three boys from Fleabottom call him Rick, the initial alias the prince had used when meeting them all those many months ago, despite the three now knowing his true name.
Despite them now knowing they sit at the same table as a prince.
'And wasn't that a story? How we first met? How they learned my true name? How annoyingly long it took to get Gendry to stop bowing and looking to the ground and calling me 'yer grace' back when-'
Lommy pulls Rickon out of his memories and back into the table's conversation.
"So, Pie, did yuh know Rick fancies himself a knight nowadays?"
"Really?!" Hot Pie's eyes widen, the exclamation sending drops of recently ordered stew from the baker's mouth onto Gendry's exposed forearm. Hot Pie shrugs (somewhat) apologetically towards the disgusted smith (who is dramatically wiping his spittle-covered arm on the table), before Hot Pie returns his eager gaze back to Rickon."A knight?" Hot Pie stuffs another bit of bread (Rickon's, this time) into his mouth, expression contemplative. He looks ready to open his mouth to talk, but a stern look from Gendry has the now abashed baker pointedly swallowing before he speaks. "A knight, wow… 'cause you've got armour now, right?"
Gendry groans loudly. "We've talked about this, Hot Pie."
At Hot Pie's clueless look, there is a loud smack as Gendry's palm hits his forehead. Lommy pinches the bridge of his nose, while Rickon laughs so hard his eyes start to tear.
He's glad he hates the Keep. He found his true brothers in the streets.
.x.
Back to the present time, Rickon and Bal make it to the docks by Fishmonger's Square easily. Bal trails loyally beside Rickon as the incognito prince casually browses through the stands. Rickon beams as he breathes in the smell of salt and fresh fish and spices from around the world. He meanders around all the merchants arguing over prices in different languages, and jests with a couple of hecklers who he is familiar with. He almost passes by one of the smaller stalls – though stall is an exceedingly generous term. A young boy with ruddy hair and an older man with a ruddy face show off their oysters, no doubt collected from the edges of Blackwater Bay. The boy is thin and tall, similar to his father, with disproportionately long limbs and fingers. The boy – who appears probably two or three years younger than himself – smiles at Rickon with some missing teeth. Rickon smiles back before offering some coin to buy a handful of oysters.
He walks a couple of metres down the bay before catching up to his furry companion (which is a rare thing – Rickon usually lets Bal wander where he may, never bothering to chase him down). Rickon kneels to offer a piece of his breakfast to Balerion, who bristles in indignation before turning away from the sticky shell.
"Picky, picky." Rickon chastises, before impishly flicking the cat's sole ear and swallowing the salty meat between the rejected shunned shell.
"Rick! Bal!"
Rickon rises and turns with a bright smile towards the familiar voice. "Griff!" He greets back.
The older boy runs up to Rick and they meet arms.
"How have you been?" Rickon asks.
"Good, good." Griff's smile broadens, as bright as the blue tips of his hair. "My step-mum just told us I'm due for another sibling some months from now."
"That's great, Griff. Tell her and your dad I say congratulations. Your brothers as well." Rickon smirks. "I'm sure they're excited for another brother to shove around."
Griff snorts. "I think I've had enough of rowdy little brothers." He smiles. "I kind of want a sister this time, you know? Not that I don't love the rest of them. But…"
Rickon stills and cannot hear the rest of Griff's words. He knows Griff didn't mean to mention sisters, didn't mean to pour salt into a wound that still gapes a year after her departure. Griff is from Braavos – a well-learned boy from a fairly well-to-do trader. He's the only one of his immediate group of friends who doesn't yet know that Rick from Flea Bottom is truly Prince Rickon Targaryen. And so, Griff does not know that Rickon has a sister who was hurt and sent away because she tried to protect him, and does not know that Rickon has a sister who he would die for. Rickon cannot stop the barrage of memories now. Rhae, showing him how to climb. Rhae, introducing him to Sam. Rhae, demanding Ser Arthur teach him swordplay. Rhae, defending him against Aegon and Jon and the King.
Rhae, the only person who ever loved him. ("I will not leave you here alone.")
Rhae, his best friend who was ripped away from him ("Promise me, Rickon. Promise me.")
Rickon's smile grows tight. "Ya, I hear sisters are the best."
("This is a secret between us, Rickon. You cannot ever tell a soul, do you understand me?")
Rickon's fists clench as he remembers the bruise on her cheek from that night. As he remembers the pallor of her skin when the Maester said she would die in that godsforsaken bed.
'They hurt her. They hurt her. They hurt her. How dare they lay a hand on-'
"Rick!" Griff's hand on his shoulder shakes Rickon from his memories. Griff's brow furrows in concern. "You all right, mate?"
("One day, Rickon.")
'I will be.' Rickon smiles, forces his fists to unclench. "I am. Sorry, I was stuck in my head. What were you saying about—"
"Help! Someone, anyone, please help!" A stranger's wails steal the attention of both Rickon and Griff. "My dad! Help, please!"
Rickon and Griff race towards the yelling, where a small crowd already gathers. Rickon and Griff push their way through, and Rickon is surprised to recognize the person who was crying out.
'It's the boy from before,' Rickon realizes as he looks upon the redhead. He looks to the ground beside the boy, where his father is collapsed, one hand holding his chest and his breathing laboured.
Rickon steps forward. "We need to take him to a maester."
The boy looks at Rickon, confused before his eyes start tearing more. "We ain't no money fer one."
Rickon frowns, confused. 'People pay for maesters?' The man on the ground gives another laboured groan and Rickon decides that his stray thought is a contemplation for another time. "I'll pay for it. Griff, you and two others need to help me take him and his father to the nearest maester."
Griff comes up, as do two volunteers from the crowd. Rickon addresses the crowd. "Where is the nearest Maester?" The prince is further confused when the crowd seems to have no clue, looking at him as if he has grown another head. Rickon grimaces when he hears another pain-filled moan from the man who is being hoisted up by Griff and the two volunteers from the still-growing crowd.
Rickon runs a hand through his matted hair, remembering Ser Arthur's laments about Rickon always finding trouble. He decides that maybe Ser Arthur is onto something after all. "Griff, I need you all to carry the man towards the Keep. Follow along the Hook, the right side of it. I'll run ahead to get a maester and bring him to meet you. Don't swerve off the Hook, or I won't be able to find you when I come back."
Griff, the boy, and the other two men nod.
.x.
Samwell jumps out of his seat with a unfortunately high-pitched squeal when Rickon barges into the Maester's Library, dressed in rags and gulping for air. "Rickon?! Wha—"
"You need to come with me, now." Rickon interrupts, chest heaving from exertion. "A man collapsed at Fishmonger's Square."
For all of Sam's infamous blundering, he is razor focused when it comes to the matters of others' wellbeing. "Tell me what happened?"
Rickon tells Sam what he knows as quickly as he can while trying to catch his breath, and Sam quickly gathers some tools before following Rickon through a set of tunnels.
Sam follows Rickon's quick pace, clearly trying his best to keep up. When they pass by one of the larger openings with a dozen or so branching hallways, Rickon has to pull a shell-shocked Sam out of his stupor. "Rickon, are you sure you know where we're going?"
Rickon bristles, and Sam admits that perhaps the question was poor form. "Yes. I know these tunnels like the back of my hand." (How can he not? They have been his favoured hiding place for years) "Now come on."
Sam nods and follows the prince, who now sets an even faster pace, out of the tunnels and onto the streets. They follow along the Hook until they see a red-haired man being carried by Griff, the two volunteers, and his teary-faced son.
Sam immediately takes charge, instructing the men to take his patient to the side of the path. They've gathered a bit of a crowd from the street, but Sam ignores it while examining the sickly man. Rickon even recognizes more than one of the viewers from the docks, and wonders exactly how many have followed to see the end of this adventure. Rickon frowns, noting that the man is now sweating and his breathing has grown even more laboured. The red-haired boy seems to notice his father's decline as well, and shudders before wiping some of the wet snot from his face.
{How sad, another orphan in the making. And as always, you are useless as the people around you suffer.}
Sam seems to have discerned the cause of the man's illness, because he nods to himself before shuffling through his box of Maester items. He quickly pulls out some sort of sharpened cannula. Sam instructs one of the volunteers to clean the man's chest with the wine from the other volunteer's belt. Then, Sam raises the needle, seeming intent on stabbing the man in the chest with it.
"NO!" Screams the redheaded boy, as he makes to lunge at Sam. Rickon stops the younger boy easily, holding him back with a firm grip. Sam turns to them, and Rickon nods. "Sam is the smarted person I know." He soothes the boy, loudly and clearly enough that the crowd can hear. "If he thinks this will save your father, I believe him."
The boy settles at Rickon's words. Seeing this, Rickon removes his arms from the boy's, and instead places a firm hand on his shoulder, looking the redhead right in the eye. "It will be okay."
And perhaps Rickon has no right to make that promise, perhaps it could be considered bating the Gods, but he trusts Sam almost as much as he trusts Rhae.
The needle sharp cannula pierces the man's chest, and the man gasps. Then, as though a miracle from the Gods, the man breathes and his body relaxes.
"I can breathe." He says hoarsely, weakly. He turns to Sam. "You… you saved me."
The Tarly boy smiles, blushing at the praise. "Not without the help of the rest of these good men."
"Father!" The boy yells out in relieved and unfettered glee, before quickly leaving Rickon's loosened grip to tightly hold his father's hand. "Thank you, milord maester sir. Thank you! Thank you!" His eyes are bright as he looks at a sheepish Sam, and then the redhead looks towards Rickon with such bright gratitude that Rickon is breathless.
Sam smiles at Rickon. "Nicely done, Your Grace. I—" Sam flinches as he stops himself.
Rickon's shoulders slump, and he internally groans. 'Oh, Sam.'
Not for the first time Rickon bemoans Sam's reflexive descent into formal address when surrounded by others. For half a second, he hopes that no one has heard, but of course the entire crowd is watching with rapt attention and listening with sensitized ears, including Sam's newest patient and the red-haired boy. The boy's look is now one of absolute reverence.
"You're the prince?" He asks in awe.
.x.
Of course, once the crowd realizes that Prince Rickon Targaryen is amongst them, they clamour for his attention. Rickon does his best to talk to them all, and tries to redirect their praises to Sam, Griff, and the two volunteers. Rickon, of course, has to voice his own apology to a dumbfounded Griff. The shocked blue-haired boy tries to bow before Rickon smacks him upside the head and tells him quietly, but genuinely, that "friends don't bow."
Griff grins before shaking his head. "I always knew you spoke too well for a street kid, but I never expected this."
Sam explains to his patient (whose name Rickon now knows to be Dale) and his son (Davon) that the condition called pneumothorax was common among men of their build. While Sam describes what to do if it ever happens again, how to balance the air for their lungs by letting it escape in between certain ribs, Rickon uses the moment to take the two volunteers to the side. He offers a genuine thank you to the two men who helped bring the patient along the Hook with Griff.
The two volunteers give him an odd sort of look, almost measuring, before introducing themselves as Anguy and Thoros. They share a meaningful look amongst themselves, before Thoros speaks. "Should you ever need assistance, my Prince, know that the Brotherhood will come to your aid."
Rickon tilts his head, confused. "The Brotherhood?"
"Aye," smirks Anguy. "Just a group of riff-raff who like to run around training in the forest. Started up during the last war." He continues. "Nothing formal or the like, but we've a few sharp eyes, well-aimed bows, and quick blades if you ever find yourself in need."
("We will need allies, Rickon.")
.x.
By the time Rickon and Sam start to make their way back to the imposing spires of the Keep, it is dusk and Sam has apologized about a hundred times.
"It's fine Sam," Rickon responds for the hundred-and-first time. He cuts off Sam's next deluge of apologies with a question. "They said they have to pay for maesters." Rickon frowns, voicing his prior concerns. "The people at the docks didn't even know where the nearest one was."
Sam nods, his expression somber. "Rickon, you and I both had the luxury and privilege to grow up in castles, which came with maesters at our beck and call. But these people, they don't live in castles. Honestly, there are many who probably don't even have a home at all."
"So who do they go to when they get sick?"
Sam shrugs, uncertain. "I suppose they try to take care of themselves. If they're lucky, they live near the Sept where the priests or silent sisters sometimes give a certain degree of care, though I'm not sure how well they are trained."
Rickon scowls, thinking of how such a circumstance almost made an orphan today.
(A boy without a father is a tragic thing, something both Rickon and Sam know too well)
"That isn't right," Rickon fumes.
Sam looks at the ground, with a grim gaze. "No. No, it really isn't."
.x.
Rickon feels guilty. He had used Flea bottom as an escape for years. He had treated their conditions as a… as a novelty. All this time and he didn't register that while he returned to his amenities in the Keep, they continued to live in true destitution.
They died in destitution.
Rickon's face crumples in shame. 'I treated their squalor like some pageant, one which I could dress up for, then leave whenever it was convenient.'
The next time he goes to King's Landing to visit his friends, he asks them what they need. The fact that their list ("food", "houses", "maesters", "less shit on the streets") comes out so easily and with little prodding makes Rickon feel worse. 'How did I never think to ask before?'
Rickon has to prioritize, of course, based on what he can actually accomplish. The first thing he does is use part of his own royal funds to start up a free community clinic once a week in Flea Bottom. Sam volunteers to serve in it. It surprises Rickon immensely when Maester Tarot also offers his services. Rickon is hesitant to trust the creepy man with the rippled chain, the one who (per Rhae), was instructed to let Rickon die for his gender so his infamous mother would live.
("I chose your mother, and yet you breathe while she does not.")
Unfortunately, the people don't have the luxury of Rickon declining the questionable maester's services for a personal grievance, and so Rickon bites his tongue and begrudgingly thanks the man with a rigid smile.
.x.
Rickon doesn't plan for his sponsorship of the clinic to be advertised, but somehow every peasant and noble learns of it.
(They hear about his involvement through the twittering of little birds, but Rickon won't realize that until many years later.)
She is a collector of secrets.
And for all the hushed whispers about Prince Aegon, she suspects Prince Jon might be just as terrible.
After the arrow incident and the princess's removal, Prince Rickon Targaryen spends most of his time either in the courtyard training with Ser Dayne and the other knights, or in the streets of King's Landing wandering alongside his lowborn companions. It's unsurprising. Why shouldn't the youngest royal spend time with people who love him in all the ways his remaining family members don't?
Or so Wren thinks.
It is now a year and a half since Princess Rhaeny's departure. Wren knows, because it was just two years ago that she started her side services as a little bird to the Master of Whispers. After all, she is small and slight and quiet and plain-faced. Wren is the perfect shadow (even if she isn't the perfect cleaning wench). So she sees things and hears things, while staying unknown and unnoticed.
Invisible, she sees Prince Aegon's envy as he watches from an upper walkway as ten-year-old Rickon spars in the yard below, the other knights impressed as they cheer on the little Prince when he faces off against a squire. Ser Dayne, obviously, seems bubbling with pride.
She sees the way the eldest Prince's eyes narrow when Rickon wins.
She hears him order Prince Jon to challenge Rickon, to "remind him of his place."
She sees Rickon beat Jon, and watches the fury build in Aegon's eyes.
She hears the foreboding silence amongst the men, when Aegon challenges Rickon next.
She sees Ser Lewyn Martell attempt to distract Aegon with sparring against himself instead.
And of course, when Rickon astutely declines the heir's challenge, she hears Aegon taunt him about his dead mother.
("A coward for sure, just like your whore mother. A lifelong regret of mine; not being the one to send her to the Seven Hells. That credit belongs to you, perhaps the only usefulness you ever had.")
'He's clueless,' bemoans Wren, 'to think Prince Rickon will interpret an insult to his mother as an insult to Lyanna Stark.'
Then she – along with the entire courtyard – sees Rickon stiffen, turn, raise his blade, and beat Aegon in their spar with brutal effectiveness that has even Wren backing from the pillar she leant behind.
'The boy is not yet eleven, is he truly so lethal already?'
That afternoon, she hears the whispers alight amongst the court as they spread the hottest gossip like kindling. "Did you hear? The crown prince beaten in sparring by his youngest brother! A boy of ten."
Later in the evening, she hears Jon knock on Rickon's chambers. "I hear you know the tunnels well?"
'Naïve boy, don't you dare follow the lure into such an obvious trap.'
Wren sighs when the foolish child gives a tentative smile and follows Jon. The arrow incident taught him to stop trusting Aegon, but clearly did not completely erase his trust in his other brother. Or perhaps the youngest prince is really that desperate for the affection of his only full sibling? Especially now, with the princess long gone. Wren suspects someone will be dispatched to kill the princess sooner or later. Why else would the King have sent her away? Then again, with how much the North must hate Targaryens (not to mention betrothing the girl to a man who was the grandson of Hoster Tully and the namesake of the rebeller), perhaps the King is waiting for her intended to beat her and humiliate her first. Actually no, Wren bets the King will wait until the princess bears her husband a spare. It is easy to hide an assassination under the guise of childbirth. A simple lip of poison in between blood weeping and wails ricocheting off chamber walls.
Wren is good at compartmentalization. She is good at dissociation, good at keeping emotional distance from the acts she sees and the acts she hears (it is a necessary adaption for little birds serving in this predator-infested jungle).
And yet…
Even she cannot withstand the stench of burning flesh, as Prince Jon and Prince Aegon brand their little brother. The young boy's wails echo in the tunnels, and her gut churns. She staves the bile creeping up her throat only because fear for her life outweighs her disgust. What would the older princes do to her if they discover the audience to their despicable act, given what they already do to their own blood.
In between Rickon's sobs, she hears every one of Aegon's grievances towards the boy.
"Rhaenys was sent away because of you – you ruin everything. You took her away from me when you were born and now you've had her sent away too."
"You're nothing but a bastard. Not a single Targaryen feature. You even burn. Why do you think father hates you so? Your whore mother cuckolded him, and he's too obsessed with the Dodger trollop to see you hang for it."
"Remember your place, bastard."
Young Rickon screams until he whimpers, and then there is silence.
'He screamed until he passed out,' realizes Wren, as she struggles to contain her nausea.
"Might as well leave him be." It's the first she's heard Jon speak since Rickon started wailing. "He'll get up sooner or later. No use wasting anymore of our time."
Perhaps Aegon agrees, as Wren hears two sets of footsteps leave the tunnels, thankfully in the direction opposite of where she hides.
When she is absolutely certain that the depraved duo are gone, she slowly approaches the prone form of the youngest prince. 'So naïve. Mayhaps this time, it is a lesson you will remember.' Her own eyes burn as she examines the angry and ugly wound below his left knee. The child's quiet breaths come out in wounded, abrupt gasps.
She wonders which of his brother's held him down, and which held the burning blade to his leg.
(She notices that Rickon never walks without his own blade ever again. 'At least he learned,' she thinks woefully.)
She never quite forgets the sounds of his screams.
.x.
Jon doesn't realize it then, but one day in the future, when he finally reads buried words, this will be the day he regrets the most.
In the end, it is steadfast Balerion who finds Rickon and attempts to coax the prince awake. It is Balerion who finds Sam, and urges the maester into the tunnels, to help the boy escape his crypt.
("I promise, Lya. I promise.")
But no, you see, perhaps that isn't quite right. There was a bird who saw and who heard, and who ran towards a cat and a spider the moment the predators left their carcass.
"They called him bastard, said that was why he burned when they pressed the blade onto him," whispered the bird to the spider.
"I bet things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won."
298 AC
Tansy, proud owner of the Peach, is thrilled that the Red Keep is hosting another tourney. Her business is always bolstered by the many Westerland and Riverland knights stopping by her establishment while on their way to the Goldroad. An influx of knights with deep pockets eagerly seeking a break from their horses and longing for feminine company.
The inn is currently bustling with drunken patrons and her dazzling peaches, but Tansy still easily overhears one of her girl's at the nearest table. Alyce, a buxom girl with a tenacity as fiery as her hair, is chatting with a pair of Riverland knights.
The redhead slowly trails her hand up the armoured arm of the taller of the two knights as she coyly inquires, "So, where're you fine Sers headin'?"
The taller one looks beguiled by her pretty smile, too enchanted to speak. His shorter friend clocks the back of his head, and laughs before answering Alyce. "Heading to King's Landing for Prince Jon's nameday celebrations. Same direction that I imagine these fellows-" (here the shorter knight makes a grand sweep of his arms, which wobble with the weight of liquor) "-are headed. There's to be a tourney."
Alyce tilts her head, playing at interested despite knowing the answers to all the questions she asks ('Drunk men tell all the same tales,' Tansy thinks with a snort.) "Prince Jon, is that the Targaryen son of the Wrecker Queen or the Stark son of hers?" she inquires, while signalling one of the Peach's serving girls to refill both mens' cups.
Both knights bark out loud, deep laughs. The taller finally finds his voice, which turns out to be more grizzly than his companion's. "Stark son is right. I hear the Second Queen's younger boy has not a single Targaryen feature. Not one at all."
The shorter one continues. "Aye, I saw them both at the last tourney. The elder of the Wrecker Queen at least had the King's eyes, even his fair skin. And I even heard he was prone to the same bouts of melancholy the King was at his age. The younger lad though, he is all northern: brown hair, grey eyes, blunt words, and burgeoning broad build." He takes a big gulp of his newly refilled ale tankard before continuing. "They even say he spars as northerners do – all brutal efficiency and the like. Heard from the other knights on our way over that the boy apparently is able to beat either of his older brothers in a spar. I won't believe that 'till I see it with my own eyes though. The youngest can't be what, more than twelve years? Why, he's still green as grass."
Alyce nods, as if the shorter knight has imparted her with some great words of wisdom. She curls a finger by her pouting lips, her brows slightly furrowing as she wonders aloud in an aimless voice, "Hmm... How does a King love trueborn sons that come from two different mothers?"
The shorter one snorts. "I hear the King paid none but his daughter any mind, and even that is probably out of guilt given the princess's resemblance to Queen Elia."
The taller knight grows a bit quieter, and Tansy has to strain a bit to hear his gruff voice over the cacophony of the other patrons. "I hear the King completely ignores his youngest, has ignored him since the lad was a babe. Blames him for the death of the Second Queen. Some say the King doubts the boy is even his, but doesn't name him bastard out of respect for the boy's mother."
"What about Queen Elia's son - what have you heard about the heir?" Alyce frowns. "I hear some… whispers…" she trails off.
"Aye," the taller knight replies, though both knights' expressions darken. "I bet we've all heard the same."
Alyce sneers. "Targaryen madness, the lot of them. I bet things would'a been better had Robert the Wronged won, and the Wrecker Queen did us all the favour o' dying in the birthing bed in her damned Dornish Tower."
The knights don't disagree, even the taller one, who respected the crown just enough to say 'Second' Queen even when drunk.
Tansy supposes she should be reprimanding the effusive girl, but honestly, she doubts anyone in the entire brothel disagrees. And if there is one thing that fills her coffers, it's regret.
Many years before Rhaenys was shipped to Dorne, there was another girl who was forced from King's Landing too.
(only she was a lowborn bastard. And players in the game have no use for the ones without expensive blood.)
285 AC
She had liked working at the Peach, but then she'd gotten pregnant with the Rebeller's son.
She ran to her old post at The Cony the moment she realized she was pregnant. The old man who ran the joint had liked her well enough when she'd worked there as a girl, and he had been childhood friends with her late father. And then when her precious little boy was born, she stayed working at that tavern at the edge of King's Landing for as long as she could.
In the days she worked as a tavern wench, and in the nights she prayed. She had prayed every single night to every single one of the Seven that her sweet Gendry would grow out of his looks.
He didn't.
So a sennight after she hears about the branding of Shireen Baratheon, she leaves the tavern under the cover of the night. She saved enough money to reach the Riverlands at least, and she was sure she could once more join the roster amongst the Peach. Whores made more coin than tavern wenches anyways. (She doesn't want to raise her son at a brothel, but the boy's trademark cobalt eyes and ink-black hair leave her with no choice but to run from King's Landing.)
She gets just past the gate when she is approached by a round man with sharp eyes.
"Surely you understand what will happen should anyone know the truth of his parentage?" Says the rotund man who blends with the shadows.
"It's why I'm takin' him away from here," she hisses, pushing nearly three-year-old Gendry behind her leg.
"I could give him a place here. Even give him to a master who would teach him a trade. An apprenticeship. A much better life than you could ever offer him."
"I know well enough what fancy speakin' men like you give. You wan' him so you can give him to the King, another blue-eyed babe for the sick bastard to brand. Well fuck off. My son is comin' with me."
One does what one must
The blond haired tavern wench dies in her sleep at an inn three days out from King's Landing. A wailing Gendry is taken back to King's Landing by two birds, where he is dropped off at Master Mott's doorstep. Varys had already discussed and paid for the boy's apprenticeship, well aware that he would find a way to ensure that Robert Baratheon's oldest boy stayed on the board. Especially until he discerned the natures of the potential Targaryen heirs.
The Spider really hadn't wanted it all to come to such an end for the girl, having a personal distaste for small folk being turned into collateral, but the stubborn tavern wench left him no choice.
'Alas, one does what one must for the security of the Realm.'
No one will hurt me here
298 AC
"Please, Uncle Renly. I implore you. Leave me off to the library so I might avoid all their pointing and whispers. This library of the Red Keep is said to be second only to the Citadel's!"
"Implore?" Renly raises a fine brow at the elaborate word choice from his young niece as they walk arm-in-arm between the tents lining the tourney grounds. "Such a complex vocabulary for such a small child. Well it's reassuring that Maester Cressen is doing his due diligence at Storm's End, despite you seeming to prefer the company of backwater smugglers."
His neice petulantly removes her arms from his, then steps right in front of him, hands at her hips. "Ser Davos is a knight," she says with all the license of a girl of twelve namedays.
"Yes, yes, yes." Renly half-heartedly concedes, with a leisurely wave of his good hand. "I've heard the same from your father. Now come along." He once more offers her his arm, only to face a wall of pure Baratheon pig-headedness.
"And I am two and ten, not some babe."
"In age perhaps, but you're still just as short as one."
"I am not short. And stop trying to distract me, Uncle!"
"Is that what I'm doing, dear niece?"
She rolls her blue eyes, before a mischievous glint lightens them. "I believe I saw Ser Loras just around the corner we passed not thirty paces ago. Isn't he the acquaintance from the Reach that you still write to? You should let me escape to the library so you might enjoy your time in the capital as well."
Renly stiffens, no longer in a teasing mood. He feels his own blue eyes narrow as he heatedly whispers. "There is no such thing as an acquaintance from the Reach, Shireen. Mace Tyrell starved us in our own home during the war. Let the Seven Hells take them all."
"Uncle!" Shireen hisses. He feels her hurriedly grab his arm before pulling them both to the side of the path. She looks about carefully, making sure no one else on the tourney grounds overhead his subversive words. Luckily, it's only their own Ser Bronn and Ser Gilbert Farring within hearing distance.
Renly knows better. He should know better. And the reprimanding look from old Ser Farring says the same.
But Renly can't help but be on edge. The last time he was in this godsforsaken city, he was a boy of six years being held back by the noble Kingsguard as Stannis screamed, before Renly was held down and forced to feel and hear his own skin sizzle from a scorched blade. So no, he will not entertain Shireen's requests to be left to the library – left alone in this den of dragons. In truth, Renly did not want to come. At all. Let alone bring Shireen into this den of mad dragons. Unfortunately for him, his brother and Tywin Lannister thought it "imperative" to give some sort of appearance at Prince Jon's nameday tourney – one of the few opportunities that families from all the kingdoms were represented at King's Landing. And so, he found himself leading troops from both the Stormlands and the Westerlands. Said joint forces were probably an idea of Tyrion's, to show that their niece had the support of both kingdoms despite her gender. Regardless, the politics were beyond him. He just did as his brother bid. In fact, that had been the only reason he even affected friendship with any of the Reachmen. It was the only reason he tolerated being sent to the Reach so soon after what happened to Cersei.
("Protect her. You have to protect her. My daughter and my son. You must protect them.")
He apologizes to his niece easily, running a hand over her black locks. As he does so, the yellow trim at his wrist catches on the sharp end of the half-mask that covers her entire left cheek. 'An extravagant gift from her grandfather.' He knows. 'Something to cover Rhaegar's cruelty, to remind everyone just who he dared harm.'
And yet, despite the mask engraved with thick and expensive golden filigree, he still hears the whispers that follow her.
"Traitor's blood."
"Poor girl, scarred for life."
"Lady Cersei's daughter. A pity, to lose one's mother in such a horrid way."
"Such a shame, what happened to Lady Cersei. A greater shame that the daughter of the most beautiful woman in the kingdoms lives with such an unsightly face."
'She shouldn't have to endure these vultures,' he seethes as he inwardly curses both Stannis and Tywin for putting Shireen through this charade. His grip on her arm tightens, and Shireen gives him a soft look.
"Please relax, no one will hurt me here."
At her words, Renly gives a pointed look to the left side of her face and then a sharp look to his own left hand.
She shakes her head, keeping her voice low so only he can hear. "You deserve happiness too. Even if it's someone from the Reach. Even if it's the son of Mace Tyrell. We shouldn't blame others for the actions of their fathers." She gently removes her arm from his.
Renly sighs. 'She truly is the heart of Storm's End.' For all the turmoil his sort-of relationship with Loras causes him, in so many ways, it is everything to have the support of at least one member of his own family. He smiles at her as he crouches down to meet her gaze. "I wonder how such a sweet creature comes from my stern brother."
"I imagine growing up with you and Uncle Tyrion had something to do with it." She gives a playful grin, one that reminds him of Jaime Lannister.
Renly smirks. "Hmm, too true. We can thank Tyrion for your wit, and myself for your good humor."
Shireen brings a finger to her chin in mock-consternation. "And who am I to credit for my unseemly bawdy jokes? And for my love of frivolous fabrics?"
They both smile at her teasing imitation of her father's well-known and well-advertised criticisms of both Tyrion and himself.
Renly rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Go on then, you sharp-tongued menace, before you poke your own eye out and I change my mind."
She rushes to give him a hug, before she makes to prance off towards the castle, no doubt in search of its fabled library.
And yet, the moment he sees her back, doubt once more overcomes Renly.
("Protect her. You have to protect her.")
So Renly pulls her back once more, his voice thick. "You'll be… vigilant?"
Shireen sighs with a strained smile. "Yes. You've warned me, Uncle Tyrion's warned me, Uncle Jaime's warned me, Father has been warning me daily for the last moon turn, and Grandfather even explicitly ordered it of me."
To a degree, Renly understands her exasperation with all the sheltering men in her life. "I know I'm over-protective; we all are." Himself, Tyrion, Jaime, Stannis, Lord Tywin, even that up-jumped smuggler that holds his brother's esteem. Every adult in her life need only look at her face to be reminded of what had happened to her, of the constant threat that both her name and her blood place her in.
(It is not the first time that Renly curses Lyanna Stark's name, and prays she rots in the Seven Hells for her role in Robert's death. And for her role in all the horrors that his family continues to endure, all because that selfish oath-breaker wanted to play dress up with a crown.)
Ironically, it is because of that same horrible mark on Shireen's cheek that Renly gets to keep his darling niece for a bit longer. The Baratheon is well aware of the fact that at twelve years of age, and a child of two Great Houses, she would normally (at most) been only a few short years away from betrothal. A few short years from being sent from his protection to another's. However, the mark – both for its appearance and what it symbolizes (the crown's displeasure, a constant target on their families) – had the one good outcome of keeping power-hungry suitors at bay. After all, Shireen was currently both heiress to Storm's End and granddaughter of the richest man in The Seven Kingdoms.
Seeing the beseeching look in her eyes, Renly can hold out no longer. He offers her a tired nod of acceptance, loosening his hold just enough for her to laugh in delight ('and gods, but she truly has her mother's laugh') as she drags a hesitant Ser Farring forward towards the Red Keep's gates.
"Little Lady's got you by the balls, doesn't she?"
"Fuck off, Bronn. Do what Tyrion pays you to do, and look after my niece."
Bronn shrugs insouciantly, before making to swagger away and follow his charge. With an abrupt grip, Renly pulls the man back roughly by the shoulder, close enough that the skilled sellsword can hear the seriousness of his quiet, but vehement, orders. "And don't you dare let a single dragon come near her, do you understand?"
Their first meeting is a collision
"You are part of the Lannister Legacy. You bow to no one. You fear no one. Do you understand?"
Despite her Grandfather's words, Shireen is very much afraid of very many things.
The thing she fears worst is her past self – the girl capable of harming her own family. But she's been trying to not think about that so much anymore (after all, those dark thoughts already steal her nights, she refuses to let them consume her days as well).
Another thing she fears for is the safety of her remaining family, which is why she so desperately pleaded permission to retreat to the Red Keep's library as soon as possible. She heard the King was obsessed with prophecies, and so knew he would likely be in his private research tower with his infamous ripple-chained maester. Not in the library. She heard that the princes were all soldiers, so they'd likely be out in the tourney grounds. Not in the library.
So being in the Keep's main library, Shireen knows, is the best way to avoid dragons.
(They'll recognize her too easily, whether by mask or scar. And if they call her forward, Uncle Renly will get himself and their bannermen killed trying to deny them. And she'll not cause the death of another member of her family, not again. Not ever again.)
It's lonely in the library, but that's okay. 'I'm used to being lonely.'
She frowns at her gloomy thoughts, reprimanding herself. 'I shouldn't sound so ungrateful.' Back in Storm's End, she has her father, Renly, Davos, Uncle Tyrion who visits frequently, as well as her Grandfather and Uncle Jaime who she visits fairly regularly as well.
'My father loves me, truly, I know.' Davos even tells her so, repeatedly. But her Lord father is… stern. (Davos offers her reasons for that too: "sweet girl, sometimes you just remind him too much of your mother.") She knows she should feel grateful for all she has… but sometimes… sometimes it feels like the only true confidants she has are Davos and her Uncles. 'And even to them, I am a burden.' She thinks morosely, thinking on how sometimes – when she laughs – Uncle Jaime acts as though looking upon her is the most painful thing he's ever done.
Storm's End is lonely. She should have ladies-in-waiting to keep her company, but her father has refused her request for them enough times for her to stop asking. ("He just wants to make sure you aren't unduly influenced by anyone, my Lady," explains Davos.) She doubts that is the whole reason. She suspects that at least part is because they worry the other Stormlander ladies would be repulsed by the very sight of her. Even now, she had initially been so excited to attend Prince Jon's tourney. With her new golden mask covering the heinous scar, she thought people would accept her. She thought she might make a friend. But instead, they still mock her behind their hands. They still recoil from her when she approaches. It is as if trying to hide the scar only drew more attention to it, and that veiling it only let the other ladies intensify its gruesomeness in their minds.
She doesn't know why she thought the mask would make a difference. Even when she visits Casterly Rock, the ladies there only address her when her Uncle or Grandfather are watching. (Worse still is her Aunt Lysa, who stares at Shireen with suspicious eyes and takes every opportunity that they are alone to angrily remind Shireen that the Rock belongs to her own future child, not "Cersei Lannister's spawn.")
Shireen shakes away the unpleasant thoughts of her increasingly unhinged aunt and focuses instead onto the covers of the many books lining the shelves.
'It truly is incredible,' admires Shireen. 'The amount of history and knowledge and stories – all collected into this one place. I could spend a lifetime here, and probably not finish every tome.'
She skims over the titles in admiration. The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling by Grand Maester Munkun, The Rogue Prince by Archmaester Gyldayn, and even Rhaenyra Targaryean: the Queen who Challenged a Dynasty. She adds them all to her mental reading list, but what she more truly searches for is one piece that even Uncle Tyrion has lauded and cited secondhand, but has yet to snag his own copy of. Unfortunately, it is a novel that her own father would never allow within Storm's End, let alone her hands. She is hoping that the Red Keep's renowned library might possess one of the last intact copies of The Testimony of Mushroom.
To her disappointment, she cannot find the book, nor can she find a maester or library hand to help her sift through the great number of shelves designated just for the histories. Of course she knew she was alone in the large space from the very beginning, when Ser Farring and Ser Bronn made a grandly unnecessary show of scouting and clearing the area before standing guard outside its sole entrance. After hours of searching, a resigned Shireen resolves to sate one of her other curiosities and heads towards the area with the maps and geography scopes.
'Uncle Tyrion mentionned there were secret passages, tunnels, false walls, and even trapdoors all built within the castle all the way through to Aegon's High Hill. There must be some record of them, or a map at least.'
After her hunting and gathering is complete, Shireen has a tower of books and three rolled up maps barely staying upright in her arms. They're covering her line of sight, so she isn't entirely surprised when she turns a corner and crashes into something, resulting in her pile (as well as herself) toppling to the ground.
It isn't until she feels another body overtop of her, that she comes to the mortifying realization that she didn't crash into something, but rather, someone.
An apology is already half way out her lips when she meets his surprisingly-close-to-her grey eyes. In an attempt to avoid direct contact with the unknown male's gaze, her line of sight lands on the silver circlet around his head of dark brown tousled locks, and then to her growing terror, the blood-red Targaryen crest on his black doublet.
("I hear the youngest Targaryen looks entirely northern. So just avoid broody, dour acting folk and you should be alright! Those are the types to avoid when having any fun, after all." Teased Uncle Tyrion, before she left Storm's End.)
Prince Rickon Targaryen.
She is underneath a Targaryen.
'How did he get past Ser Bronn and Ser Farring!?' Shireen's heart races, her palms sweat. She wants to call for her guards, but her throat closes in terror. And to her utmost horror, her mask has fallen off. Her grey scar is visible. So are her trademark hair and eyes, and of course her stupidly chosen yellow gown lined in black. She sees her name flash across his eyes the moment he realizes who she is; her chest tightens.
'I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.'
.x.
'Shireen Baratheon.'
He identifies her almost immediately, the scar easily putting a name to her face.
He notes her discomfort almost as quickly as he recognizes her. He feels his own cheeks warm as he realizes he is literally laying astride her (Rhae would have his head if she saw him like this, draped over a lady of a Great House).
He abruptly rises off of her, and in some misguided attempt to help her shocked form stand as well, ends up pulling her into his chest, to which she responds by violently shoving herself away from him. It's reflex when he reaches out his left hand to grab her arm again, steadying her so that she doesn't once more meet the floor from the momentum of her push.
He feels the tension through his grip on her forearm. She's frozen, her eyes locked to the ground.
'She's… scared?' Rickon finally comprehends, though he is perplexed as to why. He is about to ask, when his gaze is drawn again to the infamous mark on her face. It's unconscious curiosity – truly – when Rickon raises his right arm. He abandons all semblance of propriety when he uses a finger from his free hand to trace the smooth grey scarring on the girl's left cheek. The silvery wound spans from the cheekbone under her eye to her chin in height. In width, it runs from beside her lips nearly all the way to beside her ear. Though, it appears to be far enough away from her mouth and eyes that it doesn't seem to restrict her expressions.
She flinches her face away from his touch, and his frown deepens when she leans back. "Does it hurt?" He asks calmly.
Shireen looks even more petrified when she meets his gaze, and almost immediately her blue eyes dart back down to the carpet. "…No," she lets out with a quiet voice, softer than a whisper.
Rickon uses his full hand then, palming her cheek. She does nothing, as his fingers border along the edge of the traitor's brand. He lowers his voice. "My father did this to you?" It's more a statement than a question. "When you were just a child, not even a year old."
Shireen finally steps away, eyes widening as she hurries to respond. "His Grace was merciful to my family. A traitor's brand was justice for my uncle's treachery."
Rickon notices that the words flow together too easily, and recognizes the well-practiced lines. 'She's not just scared of my name,' Rickon realizes, with a sinking feeling in his gut. 'She is scared of me. Scared that I will harm her, and face no repercussions just because of who are families are. Because of the crown on my head. We're alone, and she thinks I'm going to use the chance to hurt her.'
Rickon knows exactly what it is to be scared of someone with more power than you – someone who will face no justice, not even a word of reprimand, for harming you. He makes his decision then, as he leans down to the side and begins to pull up the right leg of his trousers. Shireen looks confused, before blushing bright red and turning her face to the side. "Your Grace!" She squeals, "you can't just - this isn't - this is hardly prop–"
Rickon snorts. "I'm sure the virtue of my leg is safe with you, my Lady. Now come on, take a look, there is a point to this."
.x.
Her curiosity truly is a powerful thing for it to outweigh her fear in that moment. When she finally looks down, she notes the stark mark on his left leg. Her eyes widen, and she is unable to hold back her gasp. "Oh! Oh my. W-what is that?"
It is an ugly thing, a mottled scar that runs almost a hand's length up the lateral side of his calf. It looks like a knife of some sort was used to burn it into his skin. It is as wider than three finger-breadths. And the way the thick cord of scar juts outward, with tight and tiny spider-like branches along its edges, suggests that the wound was quite deep.
Shireen shakes her head and tries compose herself like she knows her grandfather would tell her to do. "How did you get such a wound?" She finally asks, as her gaze slowly returns to his face. Shireen knows the jagged cut cannot be from training, no knight would ever dare harm a prince so gruesomely. And she's pretty sure there have been no assassination attempts or anything of the like towards the royal family. (If there had been, there is no doubt in her mind that her family would have toasted over it.)
The prince's expression twists, his slate eyes darken, and his mind seems to go to place outside the wooden doors barring the library. "A 'bastard's brand' according to my brother. I guess he learned that branding was a form of 'justice' from my father. I learned to not best my brothers in sparring quite quickly after this." He offers a bitter smile, eyes blank. "One held me down and the other carved the mark with a heated blade."
Shireen is curious, and her own courtesies have clearly left her, chased away by the prince's own easy familiarity. She bends down and stretches out her hand to follow the meandering of the scar. Her finger tips easily feel it's angry ridges. 'What hate.' She shivers. 'What kind of person is capable of doing something so violent to their family? To a younger sibling?'
(Like a blaze, her errant thoughts set alight a memory from her own past, and she realizes she is the last person to judge another for harming one's younger brother.)
The prince's words grab her attention, as she tilts her head back up to meet his soft gaze. "I know what it is to fear someone who will face not even a tongue-lashing for harming you because of their position. Trust me, my Lady. No harm to you will ever come from me."
With a start, she realizes that his words are sincere. Purely, wholly sincere. And with that honest vow, with their shared shy smiles, Shireen Baratheon begins to trust Rickon Targaryen.
.(This meeting is the resurrection of revolution. They just don't know it yet.)
After such heavy words, there is a heavier pause. And then, with zero care for the somber atmosphere, the Prince flippantly tilts a brow towards the pile of tomes and unravelling maps gracing the ground.
"So what are you researching?"
Shireen's eyes widen as she realizes the mess her clumsiness made. After replacing her mask, she quickly bends down to collect the scattered items. She is surprised when she sees the Prince kneel to do the same. They are both making their way to the nearest table with half an arm's full by the time she responds.
"I couldn't find the book I was searching for initially, so I tried to find books about the hidden tunnels." She carefully places her books onto the desk. "But there weren't any obvious ones, so I tried to find some about the architecture of the Red Keep, to see if I could work out the locations of the passages on my own."
The royal grimaces. "Seems dull," he says nonchalantly as he haphazardly drops the aged books onto the table.
'The nerve!' Shireen, now more than mildly affronted, cannot help the way her pitch rises. "It is not dull!'
Like a smack to the face, she realizes her own audacity in speaking to a prince in such a brazen manner. A Targaryen. Embarrassed, pulse racing, she hurriedly looks to the floor while apologizing. She inwardly curses Uncle Jaime thrice over for letting her get away with every outburst of indignation she's ever had at his jests towards her scholarly pursuits.
And then, the Prince, he… he…
He pokes her forehead.
She brings a hand up to spot, dazed at his benign reaction to her insolence.
He grins. "Why waste time reading about the tunnelways, when you could be exploring them?"
She frowns. "Well how would I explore them without getting lost if I haven't read about them?"
The Prince rolls his grey eyes, his tone almost condescending. "Getting lost is exploring."
Shireen huffs, hands on her hips. "That sounds like the same lackadaisical drivel my Uncle Jaime spouts when he doesn't want to do his research." (She's quite proud of herself for using lackadaisical had just learned the term last week from Uncle Tyrion.)
The chestnut haired boy smirks, clearly choosing to take her reprimand as a compliment. "Besides, no book will tell you about the secret tunnels. King Maegor had the plans – and the builders – burned."
'Surprise, surprise, a Targaryen burning the innocent.' Shireen swallows her bitter thoughts, refusing to let them slip through her teeth. Not only does this confusing but so-far-not-cruel prince not deserve her ire yet, but she doubts he will remain so pleasant towards her if she openly insults his House. She settles for a relatively neutral response. "Well, that hardly seems an adequate payment for their services."
"I doubt that's what you actually wanted to say," he snorts. "You know, if you truly want to explore through the tunnels…" He pauses, his internal deliberation obvious. "I know them well enough. You seem a good enough sort. If it was just you, only you, I could take you throu—"
A loud knock on the entrance blares between the shelves, interrupting his offer.
"Little Lady, are you about done reading your books? Ser Farring won't stop blathering my ear off about lessons that you apparently just can't be late for. Do help me, lest I go deaf from his jabbering."
"Just a moment!" She calls to her guards while looking at the Prince, signalling with her hands for him to wait. She quickly goes around the shelves towards the entrance.
She cracks open the heavy door to see her steadfast guards, and smiles. "Just a few more minutes to finish my chapter, please. Then you can escort me to my tents so I can dress properly for my lessons."
After ensuring the door is closed, she returns to the brown-haired royal with an eager bounce to her gait. With each step, she grows increasingly excited by his promise of adventure, increasingly excited to be near someone her age who actually wants to spend time with her, and who doesn't recoil from her face. "Your Grace, I would really, really like to explore those tunnels. I- I'll be here tomorrow. Likely around the same time, if… if you'd… if you want… that is, if Your Grace wants to…" She hesitates when she sees his confused frown, fearing she overstepped. Perhaps she misinterpreted his earlier offer?
Then he grins, scratching the back of his head. "If you'll be here, I'll be here too. I can show you the back entrance to the library first, in case you ever need it. It's how I entered today, actually. It's one of the entrances into the tunnelways. But, on one condition." Before she has the chance to fear his stipulation, he pokes her forehead again. "You call me Rickon."
She smiles as she pushes his outstretched hand away from her face. Joy overcoming propriety, she replies, "only if you call me Shireen."
{Silly girl. If only you knew what this boy's affection will cost you.}
"My ears, Little Lady, my ears."
Shireen rolls her eyes at Ser Bronn's dramatics from the other side of the door, and Rickon grins. "See you tomorrow then, Shireen."
Their first meeting is a collision
(though it is years before the Realm will feel the aftershocks)
and yet in the moments leading up to final quake, there are small tremors of change
During the two weeks of the tourney, they spend multiple hours a day chasing after each other in the tunnels.
It's the most fun Shireen has ever had. She rarely gets to be so carefree, to indulge in acting her age, and she suspects the same is true for him.
.x.
Bal (surprisingly) takes to her right away.
'Bal doesn't even let Sam pet him as she does,' observes Rickon with no small amount of confusion.
"He might just like you better than me," Rickon teases, playfully whining with a putout air.
He crosses his arms, and Shireen responds by giggling brightly as Balerion licks her cheeks.
He steps closer to the duo that accompanied him into the eastern part of the tunnels. "You know, I was looking for him the other day, when I found you," he says.
{'Liar, liar.'}
Rickon waves at Bal, signaling for the cat to return to him.
"Hmm, I was wondering what you were doing in the library that day. Especially since you left without a book." She smiles when Balerion ignores Rickon's beckoning to instead pounce into her arms. She tosses a smug look towards an increasingly befuddled Rickon.
"Traitor." The prince mock-accuses.
He decides he quite likes the sound of her laughter.
'It's warm and it's kind, just like her.'
.x.
"What was the book you wanted again?" It is the third day, and he is showing her the beginnings of the southern tunnels.
"What do you mean?" She says, a cute confused look upon her face.
Rickon continues. "On the first day we met, you said you were looking for a book, but you couldn't find it. Remember? You said that was why you started researching the tunnels instead."
"Oh! Yes, you're right. The Testimony of Mushroom. One of my uncles always quotes it. It's referenced and sourced in many other tomes, but even my uncle has yet to acquire a copy of the book itself."
"Hmm. Isn't that the history written by that fool dwarf?"
"There is nothing wrong with being short!"
Rickon raises his hands in a soothing gesture. "Calm down, I didn't mean it like—"
"My Uncle Tyrion is a dwarf, and he is the smartest man I know," Shireen storms on proudly, barreling over his attempted explanation. "Well, him and Maester Cressen." She amends.
Rickon smirks as he turns them down a corner, the one leading to the branch point they can use to reach the dragon pit. "Well I bet your uncle isn't half as smart as my friend Sam. Even if he is half the height."
Shireen whacks the prince's arm, feeling the need to defend her family even from his innocent ribbing. "Uncle Jaime told me that once my grandfather was so angry at Uncle Tyrion, that he put my uncle in charge of all of the drains and cisterns at Casterly Rock as punishment. And you know what Uncle Tyrion did? He did such a good job, that even my father hired him to fix the sewers at Storm's End! That's how smart he is. He's smart enough to turn anything around." Shireen frowns, facing Rickon with a serious expression. "Just because he was born a dwarf doesn't mean he is anything less."
"Like I was trying to say," he pauses with a pointed look, and Shireen feels her cheeks catch aflame. "I just meant that I was taught that Mushroom was a known fool – as in the position. And as a known fool, who was loyal to only Rhaenyra, I don't know why you'd put much stock in his version of events."
"I like to think every story deserves to be heard."
"Well you might not hear this one." Rickon shrugs. "Sam told me that Baelor I had most of the copies of Mushroom's book burned. I doubt there's even a copy left in our library." Rickon smirks at her. "Too salacious, according to Sam."
Shireen bites her tongue on hearing about yet another Targaryen with an affinity for burning innocent things. For all that Rickon seems to hate his brothers and father, his sister who he adores is a Targaryen by birth too. Instead of telling him exactly how apropos it is for his ancestors to set alight good things, she frowns and teases. "Do you even know what salacious means."
Rickon flushes, defensive. "Well, it can't mean anything good can it? If even the saintly Baelor thought them so bad!"
Shireen snickers. She's overheard Uncle Tyrion use the term enough times to know exactly what it means.
"Well then, lady know-it-all? Do tell?"
This time it is Shireen's turn to flush. There is no way she is explaining the meaning of that word to a boy. She shakes her head.
Rickon counters by reaching out and yanking on an unbound strand of her hair.
Shireen yelps, smacking his hand away. "Ow! What was that for?!"
Rickon shrugs playfully, before he turns and runs down the nearest tunnel. "Catch me if you can!" He goads over his shoulder.
"Oh you!" Shireen yells, before once more chasing him through the winding paths.
{look at that girl, he's already practicing how to hurt you then leave you.}
.x.
They alternate between talking and games. Using the tunnels, he shows her the dragon pit, and even leads her to a private bank of Blackwater Bay. They chase each other through the hidden underground paths for hours and hours, and crash into each other more than once.
It is on the sixth day that they crash so hard, the gift from her grandfather flies off her face.
Rickon retrieves it for her in apology, and when he goes to give it to her, he pulls his hand away before she can grab the mask. He offers her face a funny look she can't quite decipher, which serves to augment every insecurity about herself she's ever had. Her hands clench at her sides in shame. In that moment, she has never hated her scar more.
She expects some sort of flippant comment about how it's a good thing she has something to cover the hideousness of her face.
Instead, he gives a quiet, "you don't need it, you know."
Her insecurities flare. She stutters, bringing her hand to cover the burn reflexively.
He frowns, pulling her hand away from her face. "At least with me. I know the other nobles here for the tourney can be cruel. But you don't have to wear the mask with me. You look just fine without it."
This time, it's her cheeks that flare. 'And he's still holding my hand!'
(the next day, she puts the mask in her lady's satchel after she enters the library. Rickon smiles when he sees her.)
.x.
"What did you read today?" Asks Ser Farring, as he guides her towards Septa Saranella's sewing lessons.
"The Age of Heroes by Grandmaester Arlow." The lie slides so easily off her lips. She knows that neither he nor Ser Bronn suspect a thing.
"You spend so much time reading, and you'll go blind!" Teases Ser Bronn.
"And are you familiar with the perils of over-reading, Ser Bronn?" Shireen inquires with a pointed brow and a burgeoning smile.
Ser Bronn laughs loudly. Even Ser Farring cracks a smile at her barb.
Neither tell her to forgo the library to join the festivities. She's glad for that, at least. She spends her days with Rickon, learning the tunnels and sharing stories. She eats breakfast with her bannermen, spends a few hours with her Septa for lessons, and then she meets her Uncle for a private dinner in the Baratheon tents. Her days are perfect as they are. But she knows that's not why her guards don't encourage her to be more social. 'They're probably just relieved that I'm doing something so benign as holing myself up in the library, and not running about places that Targaryens can see me.'
She has only been required to attend three large public events. And more than once during them, she felt the burning gaze of the white-haired prince. Both her, as well as the entire Baratheon and Lannister retinue, were subject to his repeated angry glares. There is no attempt at subtlety; she even sees Prince Aegon frown when Uncle Renly makes it to the quarter-finals of the jousting tournament.
Rickon, however, was never in the Targaryen box at the events. Neither was the King, at least to the three events she was required to attend. It seemed to only be Prince Jon and Prince Aegon representing their House. She notes that, though it is Prince Jon's nameday tourney, Prince Aegon sits in the primary seat of their family's red and black box.
(It isn't until many years later that she realizes Rickon spent his time wafting between noble houses, endearing himself to their heirs and their Lords.)
.x.
The entire tournament is going so well. Undeniably, his favourite part is the time he spends with Shireen Baratheon.
It's at the very end of the tenth day when Rickon says something that almost ruins it.
He mentions her mother. It's an innocuous comment, and he doesn't even remember how the topic came up.
But when he says it, she looks at him with such angry confusion. 'How could you not know?!' Her wounded expression seems to scream. Rickon wonders if his father did something to her mother too, when she instead quietly whispers her response.
"My mother is… unwell. She has been unwell for a while."
He opens his mouth to tell her that it's okay, that he's sorry for bringing up something that clearly causes her so much pain, but she's already turning her back to him.
"I have to leave." She says coolly.
Rickon gapes at her tone and her obvious lie. "But your lessons aren't for another two hours!" And he knows they are, it's how it has been every single day. And she never leaves him before she has to, not ever.
"Well, they're earlier today. I'll see you tomorrow." In his stupefied shock, Rickon lets her walk away.
That night, he tosses and turns. He suspects she was lying about seeing him on the morrow. In fact, Rickon suspects his careless question poisoned their friendship, and his gut swirls with regret. He turns once more, his hands claw into the cloth of his pillows. 'It's fine. It will be fine.' He tells himself. 'I'll find a way to make her forgive me.'
.x.
When Shireen enters the library on the eleventh day, she finds her new friend agitatedly pacing in the shelves with the books on lineages. When he sees her, his taut shoulders sag in relief, and he grins brightly despite the bruised creases under his eyes.
At his reaction, she realizes that he suspected she wouldn't come, that she would abandon him. The realization exacerbates her already brimming guilt. She'd thought on it all last night and this morning, how unfair their friendship was. Rickon had opened up to her the very first time they met, had told her something deeply personal and painful for him. And here she was, eleven days into the only true friendship she has ever had, and she has not revealed anything of consequence in return.
("A Lannister always pays their debts.")
She wants to show him that she trusts him.
She wants him to stay her friend, to not think of her as someone who will take and take and take, but run when she is expected to give.
She could tell him a great many things to fill her debt to him. And yet, last evening, the nightmares of her past mistakes allowed her no respite, and she suspects they never will if she doesn't reveal her nature to this boy who so genuinely offered her his friendship.
{He won't want friendship once he knows who you truly are.}
"I have something to tell you." She whispers, voice thick. "I don't want to. I think you'll not want to be my friend after you know it. You'll probably be disgusted." An ugly soul to match an ugly face. "Actually, I think knowing might make you hate me as much as you hate your brothers."
Rickon seems shocked, and entirely doubtful, at her words. He opens his mouth as if to question her, but she shakes her head. He nods in solemn confusion, then pulls her hand towards the back entrance. He guides her through the tunnels, reaching an especially dim corner.
And under the cover of darkness, she tells him the story of her brother.
Kinslaying: the sin most certain to split sanity
End of Chapter 2 Part 3
Review pretty please : - ) Reviews help encourage me to keep writing!
See below for A/N, Preview, Updated Timeline, and Responses to Reviewers.
A/N: Can someone please tell me the correct times of when to capitalize Lord / Lady/ Prince / Princess/ King / Queen. I am so lost, and I think I just keep going back and forth as a consequence of it?
A/N: Final call on if you want Gendry x Arya, or Jaime x Arya to be endgame in this fic.
Likes? Dislikes? Grammar mistakes? Let me know!
And In case you need to cry – check out 0:57 - 1:04 (www) / (watch?v=5sdTm08Ak-c) or youtube "House Stark | Light Carries On"
I also started a new fic (because I'm crazy fickle like that) called Hallowed Hearts. Basically a collection of Hogwarts AU Shireen x Rickon and Arya x Gendry stories, for anyone who is interested :-) I also recently updated Alloys of Arryn (more gendrya, Rickeen later on), so give that a peak if you haven't yet!
Preview
(flashes of upcoming chapters)
~ He thinks the gods are cruel in their japes, to give him his sister only to take her away.
~ "They're going to kill him, aren't they?"/ Tyrion frowns. "No, they can't. He's a Lord Paramount, they'd have no grounds. No reason."/ She scoffs bitterly. "Kings don't need reasons. Or have all those history books taught you nothing."
~ Tyrion's uncertain of how to react when he sees a letter addressed to him, sealed by red wax in the shape of a three-headed dragon.
~ If Lord Tywin was searching for an excuse to be rid of you, you've surely given him that.
~ Jaime adores Shireen, because she is the last piece of Cersei he has left…It is why he keeps her secret.
~ Robb recoils. "I'd never hurt you." / Rhaenys smiles bitterly. "I wonder if the King made pretty promises like yours to my mother when they were betrothed too."
~ First, Rhaeny learns how to weaponize Elia face. Second, Rhaenys learns how to weaponize Rhaella's body… "Are you drunk?" / "Not so much that I don't know what I want."/ "And what is it that you want, my Lord?" She eyes him warily. "A kiss. Just one. From the beautiful girl who'll be mine forever."
~Bran appears hesitant to broach his topic… "Lady Shireen is already at the Reach….she would be an appropriate bride to consider."
~ Ser Brynden scowls. "This could end in war, Bran!"/ "It was always going to come to war, uncle. I just put our families on the right side of it." / Brynden sighs deeply, and for once the lines on his face appear deep, and the fabled Blackfish looks his age. "There is no such thing as the right side of war, Brandon."/ Bran pauses before responding. "There is a side that bleeds less. And this time it will be ours."
~ Tell me, does it give you some sort of sick thrill to warm the bed of the family responsible for destroying yours?
~ I know a threat when I see one, Lord Varys. What it is that you want…
~ "Lady Baratheon, where is your crown?" A sinister voice drawls from behind her. Shireen's blood chills.
~"So I prayed to the gods "Take him away, make him die". He got the pox and I knew I was the worst woman who ever lived. A murderer. I'd condemned this poor, innocent child to a horrible death all because I was jealous of his mother, a woman he didn't even know! So I prayed to all Seven Gods "Let the boy live. Let him live and I'll love him. I'll be a mother to him... And he lived. And I couldn't keep my promise. And everything that's happened since then, all this horror that's come to my family...it's all because I couldn't love a motherless child." ~ Catelyn Stark, Game of Thrones 3x02: 'Dark Wings, Dark Words'
Updated Timeline
275 AC: Cersei hears Maggy's prophecy (in which there is no valonqar)
279 AC (Year -2): Rhaenys Targaryen is born. Elia takes a long time to recover from delivering Rhaenys.
281 AC (Year 0): Elia pregnant with Aegon. Maester Pycelle tells Rhaegar that if this second child doesn't die during labour and/or kill his wife, the next one will. Harrenhal tourney (and thus the QOLAB passover) is thus even more shocking because it happens when Elia Martell is pregnant. Aegon Targaryen is born. Lyanna 'abducted', Brandon Stark and Rickard Stark die per canon, Robert's Rebellion starts, including Ned's marriage to Cat. Willas Tyrell is 2 years old, Loras Tyrell is 1 year old, Renly Baratheon is 4 years old.
282 AC (Year 1): Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell born. Viserys and a pregnant Rhaelle sent to Dragonstone for protection, but when Baratheons seize it, they run away via ship. Stannis chases them, but due to a storm, cannot find them. They are considered lost at sea and dead.
283 AC (Year 2): Jon Targaryen born and Robert's Rebellion ends. Lyanna Stark crowned the "Second Queen". End of war reparations (infamously known as 'Rhaegar's Reparations') announced. This includes the beheadings of Jon Arryn, Hoster Tully, and Balon Greyjoy; Stannis and Renly getting traitor brands on their arm and hand, respectively; Lannisters paying reparations to the crown; and Tyrells being denied the betrothal of Margaery to Aegon at the time (though Rhaegar tells the Tyrells she is still one of the females to be considered in the future). Ned returns to the North sans fake-bastard. Gendry Waters born.
284 AC (Year 3): Stannis marries Cersei Lannister. Elia dies leaving behind three-year-old Aegon and five-year-old Rhaenys. Rickon Targaryen conceived. Sansa Stark born to Catelyn Stark. After stint in Maidenvault to ensure she wasn't pregnant with an Aryrn heir, Lysa betrothed to Jaime Lannister.
285 AC (Year 4): Shireen Baratheon (born to Cersei Baratheon). Rickon Targaryen born (Lyanna dies while giving birth to him). Shireen branded on her cheek. Arya and Bran – twins – born to Catelyn. Gendry's mother killed.
292 AC (Year 11): Aegon shoots an arrow into Rickon's back. Rhae arranges for Rickon to get lessons with Sam (instead of with Aegon and Jon), and for Arthur Dayne to teach him.
294 AC (Year 12): Rhaenys poisoned. Rhaegar agrees to betroth Rhaenys to Robb, but refuses to let Rickon ward there. They try to run away, but are stopped by the Kingsguard. Rhaegar propositions Rhaenys in front of Darry, she declines. She is sent to Dorne.
295 AC (Year 13): Rickon and Sam save a boy by the dock, gaining support of the Brotherhood. Rickon starts his clinic. Wren witnesses Jon and Aegon brand Rickon with a 'bastard's brand' on his leg.
298 AC (Year 16): Shireen and Rickon (age 12) befriend each other during Jon's nameday tourney.
Responses to Reviewers
Illythir – Ya, Rhaegar kind of sucks in this story, but I needed a "big bad" if that makes sense? But I am planning for at least one more Rhaegar POV, which will hopefully convey more of the reasons why he is acting the way he is acting, especially towards Aegon. That one won't be coming up for a while though ;) Thank you so much for your kind words!
Supremus85 – remember, you haven't seen Jon's POV yet. ;) It's coming, but will probably soothe the readers who are confused by Jon's apparent siding with Aegon over Rickon (see reply to XanderP764).
XanderP764 - I always appreciate honesty and love it when reviewers ask critical questions! Just remember, you haven't seen Jon's POV yet. I don't want to give too much away, but so far you've only read the POV of people who are seeing Jon the way he is trying to be seen, if that makes sense. Although Jon isn't cannon hero (because remember, he isn't raised by Ned Stark nor is he constantly berated by Catelyn Stark), he isn't a big bad in this story either. His actions will make a lot more sense with his POV (I hope), but it'll be 2-3 more chapters before I can reveal the motives behind his actions. If you really read into his dialogue so far, there are some very slight hints as to why he is acting so OOC. But don't worry, there is a reason I didn't tag this fic on AO3 as "not for Jon fans" ;-) I commented on the Citadel thing above. Again, ffn, so I'm taking some creative license and shifting some political and geographical landscape to make certain things more plausible in upcoming chapters. Thank you so much for your kind words! Cersei and Stannis was such an "out there" pairing when I initially started thinking about this fic, and I was so worried readers would at them, but it seems like they are actually one of the favs so far!
sr168 – I LOVED the smithing reference (alas, my gendrya heart). Thanks for picking out a line you liked, I love it when reviewers do that. Did you enjoy Shireen's POV! Unfortunately, Aegon and Jon's POV won't be making an appearance for a while. Thanks for your review : - )
Guests – thanks for your kind words! See response to XanderP764 re: Jon ;)
Lightningscar – Thanks for your kind words and your constructive criticism! Hopefully the timelines will help with point (1), but I'll try to also incorporate their ages more into dialogue/description. I totally agree with your point (2). I did it that way for two reasons: because I wanted to show how growing up in the Red Keep and in their family forced them to mature earlier, and for convenience (I needed a lot of the bad emotional stuff to happen when they were relatively young, so that I could move onto the more political stuff when they were older. But yes, definitely one hundred percent correct, they aren't age-appropriate in terms of their plotting and their thought processes. Thanks for pointing it out! Hopefully this chapter met expectations : - )
Amazing – thanks! Unfortunately, I guess I fell a bit into the trope. Jon won't be a big bad (though he definitely won't be cannon either, since as you said, he was raised a Targaryen without Catelyn constantly berating him, without being seeing as the "only stain" of an honourable man, and without Ned Stark). See reply to XanderP764 for details. Thanks for your kind words!
iffy0420 - I can't wait to finish writing their reunion! Thanks for your kind words! Oh, I promise, Rhaegar and Aegon get their just desserts. See reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but I promise you're on the right track ;) Did Shireen and Rickon's meeting "meet" your expectations? : - )
Becky Blue Eyes – thanks so much for your review! Reviews like yours definitely power me to keep putting out more chapters! And LOL goblets :'D Don't worry, Rickon's got something plotting ;) So happy you enjoyed Lyanna and Rhaenys! I definitely expected some backlash from that (since in lots of AU fics, it seems like Rhaenys blames Lyanna/Jon for her mother's death). Oh I can't wait to write the end of this story, I hope you'll be happy where Rhae ends up! I'm going to try to make her and Robb come up in the next chapter, though based on length, it might have to be in two chapters from now! Thanks so much for your kind words, hopefully this chapter met expectations!
Muramasa96 – Oooooooohhhhhhhhh good question! I promise, their story is coming. Remember, Dany x Jon is a pairing in this story ;) Happy you liked Cersei and Stannis, I really had a fun time writing them!
kurotenshi-08 – Happy to see another reader who enjoyed CxS ! Rhaenys and Rickon are so much fun for me to write, their reunion is coming up in 1-2 chapters so I hope you like it! : ) Thanks for the review!
rainingsun2811 – Good eye! See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but you're right to be suspicious! No comment to the rest of your comment, but let's just say you're on the right track ;) Thanks for your kind words :D
IronSaint98 – Ahhh I am SO happy you commented on the Kingsguard! Hopefully you enjoyed Arthur's POV too! I promise there will be more Kingsguard, e.g. I can't wait to write Jonathor's POV!
flevantein c – Thanks for your kind words! Jon and Aegon are coming, but might not be for quite a few chapters still! Darry's will probs pop up sooner ;) Remember, I haven't revealed what Rhaenys said to the Kingsguard before she left for Dorne, but I'm sure you smarties can figure out the jist! Ohhhhhhhh so happy people are getting the blackfyre/Targaryen civil war vibes. See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but you are definitely correct to be questioning him!
Guest – definitely agree with your opinions the whole obsession for family honor, ambition, and expected roles. Those are themes that will definitely be incorporated into this fic! Very interesting though re: Baelish and Brandon, I wonder if that did play a role?
Guest – very interesting point re: Stannis being given the seat traditionally given to the heir apparent. Too bad no one in cannon pointed that out to him! Robert really was a bit a of a goof in terms of soiling his relations with his own brothers. It's definitely something you see in the upcoming chapters of Alloys of Arryn, but probably won't see any of Robert in this fic.
bigdog666 & Sylvage & Guest & waterbender19 – thank you so much for your kind words : ) Their reunion is coming 1-2 chapters from now!
.10 – I promise, Rickon and Rhaenys will get their revenge ; )
Another Guest – thanks so much for taking the time to review and for your king words! So happy you liked Cersei and Stannis, there will be more of them! I tried really hard to make the character's actions plausible, so I'm happy it seems realistic! You will definitely get some holes filled when you read Jon and Aegon's POVs ; ) You will definitely get the aftermath of Shireen's branding, partly through Tyrion's upcoming POV next chapter!
SilentReader97 – Ya, based on my other fics, I'm definitely not known for writing fluff LOL. But hopefully there was some happy-ish moments in this chapter! See my reply to XanderP764 for details re: Jon, but I promise the Jon and Aegon and other KG POVs are coming! They might take a few chapters though, just so it doesn't give everything away ;-)
Aryadna Stark – thanks so much for your kind words! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!
Please remember to review! : - )