The wide, rusted, Dragon gate of the rampart had been kept open as the party of forty gruntling Northerners rode past the ten feet thick city walls. A sense of foreboding loomed over me. A sense of being trapped. A sense of being locked, as the wide red walls with fierce dragon sculptures, hurried past my sight.
With my gloved fingers clutching tight on the harness, I allowed the horse to trot, as the looming view of three hills of my ancestors' came with its majestic appearance.
As the party slowly slithered along the road beside the Rhaenys's Hill where an extravagant broken bronze dome shimmered, all my previous foreboding and reasoning ceased to vanish. The old lessons learned from the withered Maester Luwin about the civil war where all the dragons perished into thin air, where the dragons broke their chains and left the control of the Targaryens loomed as imaginative roaring dragons appeared as wisps of smoke and air.
Why did the dragons die?
Why did they cease to grow?
As I came to think of it, did it even matter? Did it even matter if the dragons were just history?
There was no time to ponder, there was no time to wonder about what heart and mind sought, when one sight after the next, Kings Landing proved to be something beyond the control of nature.
Chaos!
Screaming people in tattered clothes.
Multiple luxurious wagons filled with rich merchants on the cobbled stone road.
On one side, the stench of filth and stagnant poverty while on the other side perfumed treachery of richness overfilled the chaos.
Everywhere I turned, I came to face the disorder that isolated me as an alien. Even though Winterfell was vaster and huge, it didn't possess such an enormous number of distrusting eyes, or… scowling faces for that matter.
"Lya! Lya!" Sansa called from inside her wooden carriage, head peeping out of the window. "Did you see the Sept of Balor? Did you get a chance to look at the broken dome? The sun blinded me." She gushed as her cheek painted pink with excitement.
"The sun blinded you, milady?" Mya snorted with her derisive tone. "The stench of this place almost killed me. What do they wash it with? Horse piss?"
"Oh, come on, Mya! Aren't you being a killjoy?" I chided the raven-haired girl, who became sullen with my tone.
"We are on the poorer side of the road." Sansa waved her hand in a dismissive manner. "Once we cross this and reach the Red Keep, all the stench will vanish. Speaking of which—" Sansa steered her eyes on me. "Why are you still not dressed?"
"The King will be ashamed to death to learn that his daughter has grey fur growing on her naked body." I gleamed, rubbing my mild rabbit furred tunic and leather breeches, pointing out the obviousness that I was dressed, even overdressed.
"I meant a proper dress!" Sansa was appalled.
Before I tried to explain to her how we would have enough time to prepare and meet my family, or how I wouldn't go blasting through the court with a week old ridden dirty cloth, and roughly swaying untidy hair, the party halted to an abrupt stop. We were already close to the Red Keep's battlements. And I was sure within a fifty-foot distance we would be entering the castle walls.
My heart hammered again, like destiny and fate laughing at my cheekiness for disobeying their command, for dirtying their sinned city by setting foot. I slowly trotted along the sides, advancing to the front to see what could be the new disruption.
Part of me wanted to consider this a bad sign and return to the city gates through which I entered, but a sickly, needing, despaired part of me hoped beyond hope that my father was waiting in front to welcome his daughter who he'd missed for almost half his life, with a wide, warm embrace. Suddenly, I was conscious of my appearance. I didn't want him to be disappointed. I didn't want him to feel myself lacking for his status. Sansa was right in condemning me.
Slowly, as I crept to the front, Ghost ever taking my side, a voice boomed — an older voice in a commanding authority, and the Northerners gave a roar as a response, few of their hands darting to the hilt of their swords.
"It is the order from the King himself!" The man in question screamed, almost a hundred golden cloaks fluttering behind his back, as he shoved a parchment into Ser Jaime's hand.
"The last I remembered, the Targaryen's sigil—the King's sigil was a three-headed dragon. When did they change it into a rooster?" Jaime scowled, examining the sealed parchment before tearing it open.
Rooster? For the life of me, I couldn't gather what had happened to arouse the Northerner's anger, or why the party had been halted. But if any sense of reality should hit me, a hundred golden cloaks, standing with their lances drawn behind a stern old man, who I assumed to be the Commander of the City Watch, didn't look like a warm welcome with open arms.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ser Jaime crumpled the parchment, and I trotted close to him, impassive to react to anything.
He handed over the parchment at my request, which had words that made no sense at first glance. It had mentioned something about spies, enemies, the Northern army, and traitors.
"These men are escorting the Princess." Jaime insisted once again.
"As I said, the Princess will be escorted, Ser Jaime." The commander in control spat out the words with bitterness of being questioned, as his eyes raked my presence with a pinch of disinterest. "But, not those lots!"
At the blatant disrespect of the people who had come all the way to protect me—even if they'd begrudgingly accepted it—with such low-taste twitched every part of my sensible skin. "Those are my men, Ser! And no. I will not abandon them because you have a distrust of them."
Ghost kept prowling in a circle around me, and every time she approached a golden cloak, they backed away, her majestic violent stature already threatening them.
Jaime held my elbow, instantly sensing my anger and danger erupting like a volcano around the air. The bitter guard marched his horse right in my direction, his sneer widening.
"You have to take your grievances to the King, my lady." His perfunctory glance moved to the guards behind me. "Until then, they will be checked and guarded in the dungeons below."
The man ordered the golden cloaks to surround our party, and Jory was already commanding the Northern men to follow the orders. To my chagrin, few of the Northern men who'd protested were mollified by Jory's command.
"No! You cannot—" I demanded.
Jaime pulled the reins of my horse close towards him. "Stop fighting this unwanted battle!"
"It's unfair. They did nothing wrong, Jaime. They came here just to protect me."
"Now is not the time. We will be overpowered. Allow Ser Alliser to do his duty."
Each Northerner was flanked by two gold cloaks after their weapons were seized towards the dungeons of the Red Keep. Five golden cloaks surrounded my horse, as though they were trying to guard me.
But I knew it well. I knew what was happening. Even a fool would know what this treatment meant. Just like that, all my hopes had once again crushed. Fate had once again lashed its fat fist and grabbed the last ounce of my self-respect.
"Is this how the Royal family welcomes their guests?" I hissed at the guards, who showed indifference to my anger, while their eyes measured Ghost's enormity around me.
"Welcome to King's Landing, my lady!" An aged man with fiery red hair, which was graying here and there, arrived at the spot where I was standing with Jaime, in a palfrey.
I was annoyed, angered, repulsed, and if I had a chance to wriggle my way out from Jaime's iron-clad grasp around my elbow, I would have thrown myself to battle at the very sarcastic jeer from the man in front—whoever the hell he was.
"Lord Connington!" Jaime addressed, his tone neutral. "Has the King ordered you to welcome his daughter too? What an unlucky predicament?"
"Oh, I am here in my own interest, Ser!"
"You do seem to take a lot of interest on the King's behalf, Ser." Jaime chuckled.
"Comes with the duty as the Hand of the King!" Lord Connington casually dismissed with a wave of his hand. "We both know how unlikely it is for you to understand the meaning of duty." The Hand of the King mirthfully grinned, and just as he wished to taunt Jaime's pride, it instantly worked, as evident with Jaime's grip tightening on my elbow, bruising it purple, his anger clearly crossing lines to contain.
I wished so many things would happen then. Probably let Ghost pounce on the red-haired man's throat and bring a blood bath down the road for insulting me. Probably asking Jaime to flank me, as I bring down the last of the golden cloak and reach my father in the Red Keep, so I could point my sword to his chest, for insulting me, shaming me, over and over and over.
All my cunning thoughts were knocked off as the carriage in which Sansa, Mya, and Jeyne Poole resided, rode past me, and I instantly drove, urging my horse to move, still fighting with Jaime's hold on my elbow. At that singular moment, when the carriage passed, I saw Sansa's ocean blue orbs through the window, glistening with tears full of fear and anxiety, the hope to see a new world destroying down, the hope of a naïve love already starting to diminish with the harsh reality of wicked men and cruel world. A drop of her tear fell through her red cheeks, and it hurt me. It hurt me to see myself in her, when all the times I'd been mistreated, when all the times I'd been denied of any respect or worth for my presence on this cruel earth.
I wriggled against Jaime's tight bound arm, almost screaming at him for being a coward, almost asking Ghost to take a part of Jaime's heart for stopping me from reaching Sansa, my cousin, the girl with whom I grew up sharing silly tales of Prince and Knights, singing odd songs of all sorts, and dancing with a new gown that came to town.
"Ease, my lady!" Lord Jon Connington cast his odd gaze at me. "The Stark girl will be escorted to her chamber, safely…" He paused, turning to see Ser Alliser Thorne's horse riding next to the carriage. "Of course, after the Septas declare the ladies won't cause any harm."
"What do you mean by declare?" I roared and the horse between my legs neighed, resonating with my fighting anger, legs swinging high in the air. Jaime still held my arms, still trying to control me, rather to fight. What happened to the man who kept calling everyone for a fight in Winterfell? "Jaime, release me now. If anything happens to Sansa—"
"Is that a threat, my lady?" Lord Jon enquired, utterly unabashed by my anger, but more enthused with my declaration of a fight. It was… as though… he wanted me to fight.
I wanted nothing less, but Jaime kept me grounded, not letting my emotions be unfurled or to release a monster in my wake. Lord Connington might not have cared for my anger, but he had to put enormous effort into controlling his palfrey, which wanted not to be anywhere near a grown dire wolf, baring its teeth.
Jaime barked at the guards, who raised their lances at me while I made a good staring contest with the Lord Connington, deciding if his last of five gold cloaks would be sufficient for my Ghost, me and Jaime.
Not even before setting foot inside the Red Keep, I learned that I earned an enemy for myself. Lord Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, the lord of Griffins, was challenging me to bring on a fight.
With a whip of hot air, and plummeting horses's shoes against the cobblestoned road, filled with common-folks waiting for a fight to happen, I heard another group of men ordering for the people gathered to disappear.
"And now, little girls are frightening you, Lord Connington?"
I turned around to hear the source of such a commanding voice, a dialect that was far Southern rather than belonging to King's Landing, and sure enough, the owner of that tone was not a Crownlander, nor from anywhere north of King's Landing. With a spear piercing the sun for arms and shimmering bronze skin, flanked by seven Southern guards of his own, a man dripping with whimsy and poison in his tongue landed with ease from his Dornish black steed on the cobbled path, walking with careless edge towards the five gold cloaks, and a grumbling Hand of the King.
"Did you come all the way to overthrow my authority here?" The Hand shivered, pointing his finger at the Dornish lord.
"I surely must apologize. Your authority is well fit for only terrorizing children and little girls. Isn't it?"
My anger evaporated, my trepidations almost lost its cues to exist on a battlefield, and I wanted nothing more than to wake up from this horrible dream.
I knew this was unjust. I knew this was disrespectful. I knew this was how enemies were always treated. And I had been treated worse than this, always seeking respect, always hoping to be loved. Yet… yet… against all odds, I'd somehow fooled myself to demand it. Somehow presumed my father was more than that, or even better than anyone else I'd met.
"You must forgive our Hand's lack of hospitality and a heightened sense of humor, my lady." The Prince of Dorne gave a bowing gesture while extending his hand towards me.
I followed cue, as Jaime's hold on my elbow loosened, which the Dornish lord did not fail to notice. My cheeks burned at the way the Dornish Prince raised his brows, which went up to his widow's peak.
"This will be taken to the King, Lord Oberyn." Lord Connington warned.
"Hurry up, my lord. Take it to the court sooner. We don't want to delay a father and daughter's reunion. Do we?" The Prince chuckled. "And don't forget to take back your puppets."
Lord Connington whispered silent curses and turned around towards the castle, the golden cloaks emptying the pathway, leaving only Ser Jaime and Ghost around me. I smoothened Ghost's snowy fur, consoling her as a way of calming my nerves, while her red eyes were now newly directed on the new intruder, baring teeth at him to step away from my vicinity.
"That beast doesn't seem to like me or anyone. All ready to rip off someone's throat, it seems." Prince Oberyn lamented.
"That is surely an exaggeration, considering my beloved father sent a hundred men to keep me arrested in a dungeon, Ser." I spat away at his insincere apologies.
The man smiled with a terrible satisfaction on seeing me blast out, but his eyes were calculative of everything around me. The fact that he was the Queen's brother wasn't helping me to create any good acquaintance either.
"Spoken like a true Northerner. True to heart and no fancy lies." Even his pleasant compliments felt like an insult to my pride. "If you would allow me, I shall escort you to your chambers." He climbed back on his tall steed with greater elegance.
It disturbed me that he wasn't refusing my claims, nor did he insist that the set of events had nothing to do with my King father. Unwilling to let him know how much I was disturbed or how much I was disappointed, I climbed on my own destrier with a fury tingling along with my fingers to crash down the entire castle if something would happen to people who came to trust me. Especially to Sansa…
Ser Jaime came closer, dragging me farther from the party, his eyes burning down on Prince Oberyn, and on the surroundings, the long-sword being drawn already, expecting an attack to happen.
"This is what I have been warning you all along." He chided. "Nevermind, we still have a chance…" He eyed the Dornish guards. "I will bring you to someplace safe and you shall write a missive to your uncle—"
"Jaime!" I had to stop him controlling me at every chance he'd got. "Sansa is taken to God knows where. And there are forty men, probably arrested in the dungeons for God knows how long. They came for me, Jaime."
I knew Jaime would not care. He had less care for Northern men who'd hated him, even lesser for Sansa whose name he'd probably forgotten. But he exhaled out a long sigh. "The Stark girl will probably be in the Maidenvault. They might also keep you there. How will you help her, if you are given no choice and kept along with her?"
"I will find a way. We will find a way." I promised, not bothering to look at his eyes. "We cannot fight by running away." I thought for a moment about everything that had happened since I left Winterfell, trying to make some logical sense. What would have Robb done in my place? What would Ned Stark have done in my place? What would anyone sensible would do in my place?
I cleared my throat and gave a cold, penetrating summon. "I want you to go to Sansa. She must be scared. Very scared, in fact. Ask her not to panic. Ask her not to worry. And be with her." Jaime scowled, ready to defy and slap some sense into me. "Please, Jaime. Don't ask questions. Just do it."
"Do you think I will obey orders from the brat who I slapped bloody and purple?"
"No! It is a sensible request. And I know, you will do it for my sake." He was ready to scoff again, but I denied giving him another chance to mock me. "Because I am not leaving anywhere from this place without Sansa. Even if that will be the death of me."
For all the times he had put his neck to save me, protect me, and guard me, I knew he wouldn't ever risk my life for anything else. "You have more of your foolish uncle in your blood than your father." He bellowed out before seeing the Dornish man who was awaiting to escort me. "Do not trust anyone! Especially the Red Viper. Find me before sunset, else I will find you… and then we are leaving this rotten place."
Once he left, his white cloak swishing out in the crisp morning air, I followed Prince Oberyn and his men, mind reeling to find a calm place that had never been within me. I had to force myself to stop raging, to stop cursing, to stop spinning out of control.
"I suppose, Ser Jaime has gone to the aid of Lady Sansa Stark." Prince Oberyn muttered, his gaze still directed on the white cloak of Jaime. "Towards the Maidenvault—" He pointed. "I suppose your chambers are not allocated there, my lady."
"That's kind of you to know, my lord."
"Oh, I must apologize. This is not kindness. I am well aware of where the high-born ladies are kept as prisoners in the Red Keep. You see, my sister, your Queen—" He insisted on the last word in much-pressed warning than others, searching for any sign of refusal on my features, before he continued. "—Elia Martell was once arrested too, albeit in a different part of the castle. All the same, though."
For a fine moment, I had considered him to be a saviour—of a sort—to rescue from the evil red-haired monster. And of course, I was a fool to allow myself to trust the Red Viper, even for the slightest bit.
"I never knew the Queen of Seven Kingdoms could be arrested, my Prince."
"You must have lived in a safer place then. Welcome to the city of rat's nest. Kings will be killed, murderers will wear the white cloak of honor. What is a helpless woman locked in a safe tower?"
There was a slight strain of resentment and anger in his voice, like a slow poison emanating through his demeanor, and somehow I knew how that could be. Somehow I knew why he came all the way before anyone to meet me personally. To see me, to warn me, to threaten me or to slay me… if needed.
"Are we not going to the Maegor's holdfast? There should be a fine chamber for you there. A different one than that of your dear cousin's." He asked, sensing my horse riding towards the majestic Great Hall.
"I thought we agreed that no helpless women should be arrested in a tower. I don't want my cousin to be tortured, in the name of protection, my Prince."
"Of course, you don't." He looked amused, even eager to know what I was going to do. I didn't acknowledge his amusement or encourage his curiosity. As far as I considered, he was also my enemy until proven otherwise.
God, I hated this place. My uncle was right… in fact, totally right. He was right when he accused this place of rotten with viper's nest filled with treachery, betrayal and backstabbing.
There were several circumstances I had dreamed of meeting my family that I never got a chance of knowing. When I'd been young, I'd always thought my father would burn down the castle of Winterfell one day, for bringing forth pain to his beloved daughter. And, he would take me back to his high castle, promising of no more pain and hurt and abundance of endless love and care.
When I'd begun learning dragons were just a history, and I was a bastard, I still dreamed of my father sending all the white cloaks to escort me back to the Red Keep, because he couldn't bear the thought of living without his daughter in the image of his beloved mistress. And he'd shower me with gold and rubies to show the world how much he'd cared for me.
When I'd finally saw the proof that he'd always tried to reach out, all those buried dreams and desires had danced wickedly. All those monsters burned to come true for real.
But never, ever, had I once dreamed, even in a near possible way, that I would walk down the aisle of the Throne room, with spectators of high lords and ladies, in their silk sewn bejeweled clothes, and perfumed phony appearance, and accusing eyes to blame me for my presence, to ask for justice.
In my week ridden soft woolen jacket, leather breeches, and knee-length heeled boots that softly thudded for each step to silence the Great Hall, I appeared out of place, out of world, unbelonging than I'd been in Winterfell. Ghost brushed close to me, ready to strike down any guards who were ready with their lances pointed to attack, I earned several audible gasps and whispers of 'beast', 'barbaric', 'bastard', thrown effortlessly in my direction, along with the herald's loud cry of my titles, and my arrival to the court.
None of this would deter me from proceeding—from seeking the goal. None of their taunts and jeers would make me a fool for not going closer to the throne.
The Iron throne was what they had said—majestic, cruel, build on a thousand swords to unite the realms. But all those feelings of surprise were suppressed, when I had my gaze focused clear and set on the man sitting on the barbed chair, with elegance and grace, kindness and nobility, and more importantly with oozing charisma of threatening power and strength.
The fingers that were set on his knee speedily tapped, and the three headed dragon ring on the forefinger resembling the one he'd sent me, glimmered as ruby eyes caught the light. That small, minuscule detail of connection to me with my father, somehow, elated me even amidst the frightening change of events.
I stood in front of the Iron Throne, taking my full measure of what I'd always yearned to witness, or whom I had always hoped to meet, with a bit of frustration and anger that I'd once again disappointed of how I had wanted to know him. Even in front of Prince Oberyn I was able feign indifference to not let my guard down, but when I found my father's astonishingly purple orbs, which were quite shocked or even surprised to an extent at my presence, I couldn't feign my anger.
Perhaps he was as disappointed as me. Perhaps he didn't like my attire, which—to tell the truth—no proper lady would even think of wearing. Because with the way his eyes travelled every inch of my body, from head to toe, taking his eyes full of what I have grown up to be, and even measuring the towering wolf half the size of a horse beside me, I just couldn't bring myself to be delighted of how I appeared, although his face did not spell out a direct offense. It exhibited more of a curiosity or, if I dared to tell, a little fear combined with fascination as though I had been the ghost he had avoided in his dreams.
There were two girls sitting beneath him, on the stairs of the throne, one after the other. I didn't even need to guess who they were or what they were doing sitting next to the King. Yet, at that singular moment, when I found them decorated in ornaments of gold and glimmering stones, soft silks of rich embroidery with golden threads wrapping them in curves, each owning a circlet crown of their own, a pang of thirst pulled inside my stomach at the realization of what I was—a mere bastard.
"Princess Visenya!" Lord Connington moved towards the dais, his menacing eyes full of rage. "It is a pleasant delight to finally meet you." He acted as though he was meeting me for the first time. "Yet, my lady, I insist you that the Royal court is for addressing grievances and matters of higher importance. The court is already disturbed by your presence, and of your wolf's." The Hand moved a few feet farther at the sight of Ghost. "Let us not terrorize the gentle courtiers." He awarded of sheepish smile that never reached his eyes.
He was an awful liar and everyone in the court—if sensible—could make out his intention much clearly.
Although, I was not swayed. "I appreciate your good heart and gentle soul, my lord. Although, assuming Ghost hadn't tasted the men who you had ordered to arrest me, I can assure you that she is as gentle as you to not cause any harm to anyone."
A girl on the throne snickered at my answer, and I met the young Targaryen lady, who had a similar appearance of my father, with silver-blonde hair and purple orbs, the back of her hand muffling the noise that came out of her mouth. The entire court took her amusement as they all jeered at the Hand's embarrassment.
Lord Connington's face went red. "What is the meaning of that?"
"I am definite that I got your message well, when you brought a hundred men behind you to arrest me." I glowered. "Or are you telling you haven't taken the Northern guards who accompanied me to the dungeons?"
"The Northern traitors, you mean?" The Hand bellowed, his scowl deepening. "You better be happy that I haven't executed them yet." He turned towards the throne. "Your Grace, it was wise of us to capture them before they acted. All of them owned secret weapons in their ragged tunics. You have to look at these odd little weapons they carry. Not a long sword or a dagger, it was just small, handy, fitting right in their palms—" The man ranted, but the King did not hear a word of him. The King's eyes—the deep purple as I observed—were all set on me, crucially examining me, gathering every reaction of mine, every aspect of my stature, absorbing the good and bad. And I loathed that my father wasn't stopping such baseless accusations.
"I thought the Hand would know the difference between kitchen cooks and veteran soldiers who went to war. They didn't come to cook for me, my Lord. They came to protect me, ready to sacrifice their life. Of course, they were going to have more than a weapon or two." I bit out.
Lady Daenerys gave a hearty laugh, and the Hand became terse at her mocking manner. On the other hand, the Princess Rhaenys was still sitting stiff and erect, her stunning beauty being marred by coldness of her posture.
"Are you teaching me how to do my duty?" The Hand accused.
"No." I said firmly. "I am accusing you of causing trouble to the Northern men and to my cousin, Lady Sansa Stark, with baseless and biased judgements."
"Baseless and biased?" He chuckled. "Are you going to deny that two of those traitors killed a leal and loyal Riverlander knight under the pretense of guest right? Are you going to deny that Lord Ned Stark has no ulterior motive in sending you here after sixteen years?"
My throat became parched. How did he become aware of the incident in the castle Darry? Would the Lord have sent a missive here before our arrival? Somehow, I couldn't picture the lord doing it, considering he was wroth enough to send a warning to the King through me. Assuming that the Lord Connington didn't even know the name of the knight, I was sure he got it through other means.
"Cat got your tongue, my lady?" The Hand mused. I wanted to control the impulse that was bursting through my veins. My fingers were twitching at my father's silence. The King's impolite and crude observation of things unfolding in front of him, without a word told, encouraged the Southerners in the court to take the Hand's side. For a pregnant moment, I wished I could do what I'd always wanted to do. To punch my father's jaw and see if he would show any reaction other than just looking at me like an object of rarity.
"Didn't I warn you, Your Grace?" The Hand spared a glance at the King. "I am sure even the Princess needs proper cleansing after all the time she had spent with the traitor and his family."
I flexed my gloved hand tight, trying as hard as I could to force my shaking jaw to utter the words that I wanted, rather to kick his bloody mouth.
"My uncle, Eddard Stark, is the honorable most man in the Seven Kingdoms. And if I hear you accuse him of being a traitor one more time—"
"Ah… the warnings. Your Grace must duly note that the Princess has been warning ever since I met her of some premonition or some threat she is yet to unleash."
My father hadn't said a word. Even now, he was simply observing, all the six white cloaks behind him in silent contribution, and the court soon began to whisper in yet another chaotic argument.
"I have not brought any threat other than your own presumption of seeing a lion in a cat's form." I said with uncertainty.
"Yet, all the proofs point out your uncle's traitorous motive. Who sends fifty guards to escort a child?" He mocked.
"Anyone who has sense."
"And what sense is that? To suddenly incite war? Or to grab power after executing the royal blood?"
"Common sense, my lord. And if you have any of that, you would know no one has sent me or the guards to execute anyone."
"Oh, I have a lot of that particular sense you have mentioned. I know from what kind of people you have come from." He approached me, his eyes glinting with pleasure, taking the King's silence as approval.
"What are you insinuating?"
"You tell me, Princess. What is the plan for such a grand exhibit, after sixteen years? What is your plan to come with fifty guards? Or are you convincing me that Lord Eddard Stark has sent the traitor's bastard all the way to King's Landing, for no reason?"
My patience withered at his stupidity and even more at the court's stupidity at even listening to his baselessness. "I have nothing to say, other than to demand the King to release the Northern men, immediately, and my cousin Sansa Stark to be treated with respect."
"And you dare to demand this from the King of Seven Kingdoms? Have you not got any respect for the crown?" He threatened.
Blood flowing through each part of my vein, eyes red as sin, I directed my gaze towards the throne. "Oh yes. I surely demand his Grace to release the Northern guards. And I demand him to be much more respectful in welcoming his guests, rather than sending bigoted, half-rotten paranoic lunatics to arrest loyal men and high-born women at whims of fancy. I demand him to do his duty as a King and a father."
The unfaltering gaze of my father suddenly mellowed and glinted with familiarity, but the white cloaks behind him tensed for being disrespectful of the crown and the King. The court erupted in loud noise of objection for demeaning the court. Even Princess Rhaenys, who had nothing but contempt on her face, glared at me for my stupid tongue.
"How dare you accuse the King?" The man moved in anger towards me. "Being brought up by a traitor, I can't expect anything less from you."
"Stop calling him a traitor."
"Ned Stark is nothing but a traitor. Sending a woman to do his bidding. What else do you call him? Do you think I am a fool? Hiding behind a woman's skirt to accomplish his vengeance."
I bristled and my temper lost the last bit of sanity as he approached towards me, his eyes red as his hair. His temperament lost its edge as he inched closer to insanity.
"You are nothing but his spawn. Just as barbaric and traitorous as those Northern savages."
It happened in flashes of seconds. One moment the Hand in his madness accusing me by raising his finger to brandish me as a barbarian, and another moment he was lying on the floor, Ghost knocking him out, standing on its four legs, claws digging into his skin.
I was quicker than my instinct would have granted me and kept a hand right on Ghost's snow white fur to not let him catch the Hand's throat, who was screaming curses, still blubbering like a madman. Right at the same moment, the Kingsguards began unsheathing their swords.
I remembered Jaime at that moment, of how he'd warned me not to be stupid, to not let my emotions control me, and just like he'd expected, I'd made every single mistake. At that moment, though, I knew Ghost was as likely to die than to see another day and till I would live I would fight for her life as she would fight for me.
Without second thoughts, I unsheathed my own sword glinting of gold and a lion's pommel, waiting for the Kings guards to launch at me, readying myself to face this fight, eyes going around every one's stern gaze wondering which one could I bring down. The guards didn't rain down on me, as I was expecting, but rather a few grinned at how stupid I was, already underestimating that I was a girl and more likely to make a good humor than to fight a battle.
And God, did I not want to prove to them my strength. Even if I would die, I wanted to show what I was capable of. I was trained by Ser Jaime Lannister, after all—the finest hand in the whole Seven Kingdoms.
"Enough!"
The iron tone of my father pierced like ice tips to the last person of the murmuring crowd that silence was brought at once. He rose from the throne, and both the Princess followed his cues, coming down step after another. Standing behind their King, the girls were exhibiting every ounce of authority as much as the King himself, and the subtlety was not lost on me of their demonstration of authority as the Royal blood with the favour of their King.
"There will be no more blood spilled in the court. Especially that of mine." His eyes penetrated my own.
I didn't grasp his meaning for a moment until his eyes landed nowhere but in my gray eyes. Realizing the King's orders, the Kingsguards behind lowered their swords and retreated back. Slowly and gradually, I lowered my own.
"The court seemed to have rejoiced more than their share, today." He examined the crowd. "And as for the Princess's demands—" He bit his words quite menacingly and did not forget to raise his brow for such improper behaviour at me. "It challenges the morality of my rule. Lord Commander Ser Alliser Thorne!" He called for the same gray-haired knight, who I hated even more than before, and he shared the same feeling as he measured me with displeasure. "I do not wish to hear another accusation of loyal men arrested with no base, Ser. Release the knights who came protecting my daughter all the way from the North and provide them with the needed arrangements for their stay here, as long as they wish."
The knight instantly bowed and left the long throne room. The King's gaze faltered towards a man in the court crowd, with a hooded black cloak hiding his features, and just like me, Princess Daenerys followed his gaze.
"Daenerys!" King Rhaegar called back the Princess's attention. "I have no doubts Lady Sansa Stark is panicked and dare I say, shocked of all the events. Will you be kind enough to take her to the royal apartments and ensure that she is taken care?"
The silver-haired Princess gave a hearty grin, playful chuckles coming out as she dipped down for a charming curtesy. "And shall I escort my niece to her chamber too?" She enquired, looking at my disheveled, the most non-feminine form, making my cheeks go red in shame.
"Ah, that!" King Rhaegar walked close to me. "Will the lady forgive my Hand's misgivings in not figuring out truth from lies and ask that creature of hers to spare his life?"
His tone was charming, and no anger—even traces of it were not present. I gently patted on Ghost's back, who was still baring her teeth at Lord Connington's face, which had long back frozen to amazement, and he was clever enough to not incite more struggle, else even I wasn't sure if I could control my direwolf. Ghost came down and whirled around my legs, still wary of the surrounding people. I petted her snow fur, and unrelenting as she was, for quite some time, she began calming down under my hard fingers, before I found Lord Connington standing on his legs, showering murderous gaze at me.
"That beast will not see another day!" He announced.
"Jon!" For my father's words, the Lord tensed.
"Your Grace, you must see what the beast is capable of."
"Anyone is capable of killing, if you keep pushing them to do the act, Jon." At those words, the Hand frowned, as though he was wounded. "Seek for the Grand Maester for those wounds, and I am sure you can forgive the hotblood of the youth. Don't you?"
Not even hours before I was about to be arrested, the guards escorting me kept in dungeons, my cousin locked as a prisoner, and my mother's maiden family tarnished for taking a different side in war, and within a flick of his finger, the King managed to change everything.
I didn't like the feeling of it. I didn't like anything here. The fact that I was powerless, and I had to justify in front of the court, and raise a sword, only to be fixed just like that, made the resentment in me to boil. Had I ever got a chance to change my life with such power, I would have lived a better life—a respectful one, just like the Princesses who'd got a position to sit on the Iron Throne.
"Of course, Your Grace." The Hand was ready to please the King, even if he truly would rather dip me inside a boiling water.
"That being said—" The King moved to the crowd of lords and ladies in attendance. "There is no more joy than having my family together and close. And Princess Visenya's arrival will strengthen our ties to the North, I am sure. To celebrate the occasion of her arrival, we will have a feast on the morrow."
Delighted for unknown reasons, the crowd laughed and talked in delighted voices, and my eyes moved to the hooded man, before finding a few Highgarden sigils, and the Stormlanders sigils amongst the crowd.
Princess Rhaenys, in her gold spun silk that showed her rich bronze skin, elegantly walked towards the King and whispered a few inaudible words, before bowing in a curtsey and directing me with an accusing, pointed stare.
That single pointed cold stare was enough for me to cower, reminding me of the status that everyone in my life had over and over repeated, reminding me of the powerless life I'd to live just moments ago, mocking me of how undeserving I was to receive any attention.
For the first time, I realized even the words unsaid could hurt as much as the wrong words said.
She removed herself from the throne room, and a few of the ladies ran down from their stands to accompany her, throwing cold daggers just like her.
"For the life of me, I can't understand why you put up with that fool." Princess Daenerys brought me back to the court, to my father, who had eyes at me, longingly lingering once again just as he'd done during the trial.
"He is a war commander, Dany. And my Hand. Correct your language before—"
Princess Daenerys rolled her eyes and glowered at the retreating form of Lord Connington, who was frightening another group of young lords in the court.
"Serves him right to be humiliated. The man is always terrorizing everyone and poking his nose in all unwanted matters."
"Dany! How many times—"
"Alright, alright! I solemnly promise you that I won't tell the truth to you anymore." She raised her hand in admission of defeat, and even I couldn't stop the grin from escaping. "I promise you, Visenya, I will bring big bones to your wolf for doing the one thing that I'd always wanted to do."
How was I to explain to her that my direwolf doesn't get wavered with bones?
"A direwolf is no hound. And I am sure you will lose your hand before you pet it. Besides, you will stop this attitude of undermining Jon in front of the court." King Rhaegar condemned his sister, like condemning his own mischievous child. As much as I was jealous seeing their close relationship, I couldn't bring myself to hate Daenerys. She was emanating as much charm as the King himself.
"Alright. Now, Visenya, I can't wait to show your chambers and I have prepared it close to mine—actually right next to mine. We can share the parlour and you have to accept my handmaids. Of course, my beloved brother, did not mention anything about Lady Sansa's arrival. But I assure you, we can make arrangements for her close to us—"
I smiled, suddenly all the tiredness of the journey crashing down on my shoulder.
"Ser Jaime's sword." The King opened his palm, his eyes resting on the lion head pommel. My eyes moved to the Kingsguards right behind him, a few of whom were eager in observing me, just like how my father had been, and I slowly surrendered the sword to him. "Where did he go?" He enquired with curiosity.
I didn't want to answer him. Father he might be, but telling it seems to be giving up on my secret. "He accompanied Sansa to the Maidenvault."
"And he gave you this sword to protect yourself?"
Answering that seemed to be giving away something personal to the person who'd relished a fleshy part of the court hours, where I had been put down and mocked and suffered with helplessness. Of course Jaime didn't give me the sword at the last minute to protect myself. He awarded it for unarming him the first time, back when I was vengeful enough to try. But why would I share such sweet moments that were personal to only me and Jaime with a stranger who had all the power to bring me back but had never tried?
Realizing I wasn't going to answer his question, the King gave a sad smile, full of remorse and regret written on his face, and I collected the golden sword, hurrying in panic, ready to bolt away from the place, ready to escape far away from him. The chase and glory of seeking something that I'd lost soon began weighing down on my chest like a mountain that I'd always carried since birth. I badly wanted to loosen it to the ground, without anyone bearing witness to it.
"Take rest. The journey must be taxing you. We shall meet on the morrow, in the feast."
I nodded, holding up my dignity in front of the rest, and mentally thanked him for not letting me to shed down even those angry tears that were so up to my chest, before taking long steps towards the exit, while Princess Daenerys came right next to my other side, ranting about the ladies who she had already planned on introducing to me.
The moment I reached the Maidenvault and found Sansa, I launched onto her, hugging as tight as possible, whispering apologies for my stupidness in bringing her in the first place, against my uncle's wishes.
Sansa only gave an odd smile with no anger, and we were escorted back to the Meagor's Holdfast, where Daenerys showed me to my chamber. I waited for all the questions to die down, from Jaime, from Sansa, from Mya and at last when they'd all settled down after I gave vague answers, they left the chamber. Finally, alone to my own thoughts, I entered the bath chamber and slithered down on the cold stone, and all my pent up anger, panic, the hurdles, the pain began swimming down as salt tears.
I sobbed till I felt tired enough to even move, not even half-understanding why was I so sad, even if there was a spark of joy in my heart. So many more questions were on my mind, but I was sure I could deal with it later. Somehow I knew I could do this. The set of events that happened today was the proof of it. I was sure, my uncle would have definitely appreciated of my braveness even if it was the stupidest thing to do.