Back in Winterfell, where my growing, gnawing days were spent on either making snow castles with Sansa or dragon-egg searching adventure with Arya, I had learned that I wasn't a court-appealing Princess. I lacked tact. I lacked diplomacy. And I lacked humor. For all those lacking aspects of my pathetic personality, I compensated for all of it in anger, distaste, and animosity. The curled lips sneering at any playful taunt, the curved brows always questioning the lords' and ladies' lowly presence, always made sure that I'd assumed myself to be above them.

I'd made no attempts to please or appeal, or bow even an inch of my neck to show humility. And I knew… and I damn knew, if I bowed a bit, even an inch and exposed the raw vein in my neck, I would be cut down and would end up weeping at their feet. I could never give them that satisfaction. So, I walked alone, leaving trails of blood on my feet, letting the ugly scavengers pick and mock the sin of my birth, call behind my back of my cursed presence.

Now, sitting among my family, sitting with the blood of my blood, sitting next to my father, I had to be better. I could not let him see my vulnerabilities. I could not let him come save me every time I felt overwhelmed by the taunting comments about my birth. I should prove to him that I was better. Better than anyone. Better than everyone.

"If you give your father, a copper every time he broods, you could pay off the debts of this kingdom to that fat Pentoshi." Dany whispered in my ears, her lips wet and red, a strong essence of cloves and nutmeg burning my ear. She seemed to have indulged in the spicy Dornish wine.

My father indeed was brooding, his ringed fingers swiping left and right of his chin, eyes wandering to every corner of the Hall, while his ears giving attention to my brother's dutiful sermon.

"It must be a lame conversation for my father to listen to our beloved Prince." I lamented, taking a sip of my own wine — a liberty that I hadn't experienced in Winterfell, with what my uncle allowed of that single cup on special occasions. Although, I smiled, mildly recalling how Robb would sneak a pungent wine borrowed from a guard if there was a celebration to celebrate.

"Is it jealousy I am smelling of this burnt bacon?" Dany took a deliberate crunch of the smoked strip, her lips smirking, eyes crinkling in playfulness. I scoffed and took a gracious sip of the strong wine. Sansa was sitting prim and polite, her lips red and ravished and puzzled, a smile pasted through her eyes in between Viserys and Dany, as Viserys was whispering in her ear. I was too far away to reach out to her, physically and emotionally.

"You must presume too low of me." I refused to be a fool in front of Dany. When the wine in my goblet emptied, it was poured to the brim with a maid, who refused to take her eyes neither from my father's face nor my brother's face.

"A humble mistake of a noble-born, that we all do. We think we know better. Don't you agree?" Dany gave a stern locking gaze to the maid that the woman scattered fast, fleeing with trouble and tension between her brows. The goblet was half empty already, and my plate was still full when it was replaced by the next serving. It was not the same maid who returned, though. Dany's words whirled in my mind, unable to stop recollecting my mistakes since I'd arrived here. Do I think I was far better than anyone? Do I think I can outwit this game of lies?

"Did you just scare that maid away?" I asked, my wary getting on my nerves, as I still heard my father nod solemnly to all of my brother's perfect, proper, complete relay of a day's events. A perfect Prince! A perfect son! I curled my lips and emptied the goblet. "Besides, neither am I a noble-born nor am I humble," I admitted, removing my armor to show my shame.

Dany stopped smiling. With curiosity dripping through her gaze, she turned towards me, which didn't help me from feeling vulnerable, weak, and exposed. She took a long sigh and pushed her goblet to my side. "You are a legitimate Princess, Lyarra! And don't let them make you believe otherwise. Don't give them that power." I didn't sip anymore wine, but I drank all her words; like I wanted to believe; like I should believe. She locked her fingers. "Besides, yes, I did scare that maid away. Probably, she will be scratching the pot chambers till she learns her place. This family cannot handle yet another scandal. It's already enough of a nightmare to give golds and ships for every silver-haired child born in the alleys, to stop the whispers. We cannot make ourselves look any more of a fool than we are. It doesn't help that the Queen isn't in King's Landing and that the lords are throwing their daughters to your father's bed. The last thing that we want is a low-born woman like the maid, claiming to have a place next to us. And trust me, it is not beneath them!"

I smiled and gulped down Dany's wine, a stronger and spicy one. What would they do if the maid claimed a place? I wondered. Would they kill her? Would it surprise me that no one would kill her? A sorrow stretched my throat, unable to disassociate my mother to be far from the maid. Could I forget that my father arranged a feast when his wife and his Queen was far away to oppose?

"I agree!" I told Dany, still with that sad smile on my lips. "I did think I knew better." She cocked her head to the side, a victorious smile at making me accepting my flaws. Perhaps I was reading too much, even of her smile. Perhaps I was too drunk to even sit on the dais and converse with her. But I was enjoying this far more than I had enjoyed any feast. "Teach me something that will make me know better."

There was that slip of a moment when Dany gave a soft, tender smile, a genuine tribute of friendship, but it vanished the next moment with a guilt-ridden pursed-lip of forlorn, distant memory from her flawless face. I was distracted when I found Sansa playing with her food, her eyes growing heavy and distant, her fingers tapping the table, all the while she spoke fastly, crisply to my uncle Viserys who threw odd glances at my cousin, the corner of his lips curling up in achievement of becoming the source of her sorrow.

My nails dug into my skin, itching to pick a fight, itching to curl it between the hard grip of my lion-headed pommel sword. What would Ser Jaime tell of my callousness, for not even having a blunt knife on me?

Dany went on a lesson about the ladies of the court, a heartless attempt in teaching about the houses that stayed in my father's counsel. She explained about the Redwynes and the Tyrells. About the Tarlys and the East's involvement, all of which — all of everything did not enter my head as much as I wanted to.

I realized Rhaenys wasn't sitting next to us, not on the dais, and I began wondering if she felt too insulted to sit alongside me. I drank another full goblet, and my empty stomach ached for a piece of bread to compensate when I began searching for my half-sister midst the crowd of lords and ladies who'd gathered in a form of union.

The Minstrels screaming at the top of their voice, their mismatched finger plucking the chords, the court fool making a set of ladies giggle, the consistent stream of unrecognizable sentences formed of 'an honor', 'fools', 'sword', 'victory', coming out of my brother's honest lips — all of it, every single aspect of it was making me sick. And I nearly thought I would sooner than later disrespect my father's court, making a fool of myself by puking my guts out.

"Did he come from the Other's arse? Creaking and shrieking every time he opens his mouth." I muttered, swallowing a large amount of red liquid.

The sharp silence in response to my comment on the table made me want to wash my mouth with horse piss. My father had an arched brow and a tilted head, but damn, wasn't I feeling relieved with his smiling lips that forgave me for my uncouth words.

"He might have!" My father conceded and called a maid to with a wave of his eyes, who began the next serving of desserts. My plate and my goblet went missing, replaced with lemon cakes — Sansa's favorite and Apricot tarts. I was beginning to feel humiliated, my cheeks and neck crawling up with the red as to that of the wine that was present in front of everyone's plate, except that of mine. "I bear with them for the sake of courtly manners."

I realized he was speaking about the minstrels who sang, and that he thought I was cursing their fickle talent in picking proper strings of their fiddle. I picked up the tart, happy for my luck, happy that my ill-will wasn't discovered.

The burning side of my neck, the sickening crunch of the tarts being broken with a fork, and the slurp from the golden goblet made me turn to my right, and find his loathing sneer. He knows I meant him.

Delectation, euphoria, a piss-poor victory, a small tug of power in hurting him but leaving him no option to fight back, pulled my lips, and I smiled. I knew my uncle, Ned Stark, would be gravely insulted if he'd come to know of my pettiness. I could even hear Lady Catelyn's cluck of her tongue. But there I was, unable to hide my petty smile, unable to get over my envy.

"It's interesting sister!" He poured love on the word 'sister'. "The North seems to be running in your blood."

"Of course, brother! Have you forgotten where I lived for the last sixteen years?"

"How could I?" He breathed a sigh, a serious concern etching on his brows. "Tell me more about the North." He sipped his wine. "Last time, Rhaenys informed the counsel that the widows were going mad without their husbands at home." A glint of joy and glee swept over his face. "No one told that the war wasn't costly. But it was madness to hear these stories of widows striking innocent children, right under the watch of Lord Eddard Stark."

Panic began setting into my belly, and I looked up at his reviling face to realize that he knew. He knew about the attack that happened to me, almost a decade back. The one where a widow attempted to kill me. I scratched the stub of my finger, wondering what else did he know, what else did all of them know—what else my father knew.

"These are our people, Father," Aegon explained in that noble voice of doing greatness. It was so believable with the way he charmed his words. "We must send some of our men to the North, to help these widows to build a life. It isn't uncommon in war."

"How kind of you!" I gritted my teeth, controlling my drunken lips, looking into my father's eyes. "The war happened sixteen years back. Sixteen fucking years, within which time no one from this family visited the North. And now, you want to insult them, by sending men from here? To do what? To play cats and rats?"

When Dany's hand touched my elbow, I calmed down and found my brother, smiling wickedly, swirling the tip of his tongue across his pearly teeth, the crystal drops of red wine in the center of his lips made him look dangerously beautiful. He was humored by my own outrage, excited to see me lose control, while my father gave a long sigh, disappointed that I was an emotional fool, who could not maintain my court manners.

"It was a mere suggestion to help run the Kingdoms, sister." Aegon appeared to apologize sincerely, which made my father take my brother's side involuntarily.

"Lya!" My father reached out to me with concern. King Rhaegar was perplexed, worried, sitting at the edge of his seat unable to know anything about me, any single thing to make out of a cohesive conclusion of my behavior. All he could see was a girl, volatile, emotionally weak, shielded by anger, bubbling to avenge the betrayal she was feeling inside — all to merely see something worst in him, to think worst of this family she never had a chance to know.

I wished I could feel different. The truth was, I was all of that, and even worse. And Aegon, the brother for whom I wanted to be a sword, knew well-enough to play right, and bring out my worst impulses. I wasn't any different from him. Was I? Did I just not insult him because he was taking all of my father's time? Did I not find my chance to feel the tug of joy, when I found he figured my insult was targeted to him? To tell the truth, I was aroused by the challenge my brother was creating here. I knew he was challenging me, to fight him, to play with him, to lose for him, in the end, to make him the ultimate victor, because I would do the same if I was sitting in his place, and he was sitting in mine.

"Visenya, for you, your grace!" I raised from my seat, doing a small curtsy, and before my father began to question, I leaned and placed a delicate kiss of affection on the King's cheek, and smiled like a child he was desperate to see in me. Of course, he didn't want to see that I had been robbed of my childhood, even when I was a child. "I apologize for being rude before. Can I blame all of it on that wine? It was my first time drinking that much." My lies made my father feel better. He was waiting for a chance to act as a father to me. It must come naturally to him, with what three children he brought up of around my age.

"I should have known." He accepted my apology graciously. "Don't be shamed on your first drink. Although, the first time might hurt your head in the morning. I will ask Arthur to escort you to your chamber."

"No need for it." Aegon rose with a polite smile and a cunning gaze. "I cannot be any more honored than to escort my gentle sister to her chamber. Father, I want to make amends for hurting her earlier."

I took the liberty of locking his offered arms and walking down the dais before he had another chance to display his faux chivalry.

I saw a flock of women turning their attention to witness my walk with the Prince, a curiosity igniting in them to speak about me, to wonder what I'd done to get the attention of the Royal family in a short span of time. I enjoyed that awe they felt for me, the attention I was garnering, the gossip that would spin around me.

"You are enjoying this attention. Aren't you?" Aegon asked, and I could still see his grin even without having to turn my face.

"Do you want me to answer that question?"

"No. It was a statement, not a question. You ought to know the difference."

We were just walking out of the Hall, and when I turned to look back, it was Sansa I found; her face was a blank parchment, with no joy or sorrow, hollow and empty, with Viserys still close to her ear. The pit of my stomach churned for abandoning her that way. I could not go back though. Not now. Not when everyone would wonder why I had to return.

A cold wind began blasting as we moved chambers away, paths unknown to my legs, and the distant singing voice of the minstrels faded, which meant there wouldn't be anymore sneaking eyes on us. I slid my arm out of Aegon's clasp.

"I thought you were shit scared of grumkins and snarks that you wanted me to take you safely to your chamber." Aegon mimicked a scared little girl's voice. He walked closer, a wolf-like look in his eyes, deciding if he should eat the lamb or not.

His eyes raked my body, reading it, memorizing it, and evaluating it. It thrilled my bones at having a man to see me as prey. It thrilled me even more that he was the Prince who was chosen to sit next to my father, it was my brother who made me look like a fool just moments before. "And so, did you decide to protect me in your chamber? I am new to this castle, sure, but I remember my way well to my own chamber."

He grinned, biting his delicious lips. "So, you aren't stupid as I thought you were."

I wondered if he was plotting something. He probably would slander my name just by keeping me inside his chamber. He could tell anything, and everyone might believe. Even my father. Why would he be above it? Would I be above it if I were him? "Oh no! I will visit your chamber when I become available. Now, though, I have a duty to attend to."

"Your duty lies in serving the crown, little sister." He leaned closer to my face, the spiced wine of his breath heating my cheek, the dust of his silver-gold hair swiping my forehead, his hand worming up its way toward my waist. At that moment, in that touch of skin to skin, in that maddeningly small space to breathe with my chest heaving up and down, when I saw his careless smile, his charming cheekiness, I thought he was beyond beautiful.

A snap to the wrist, a crunch to the boot, a knee to his thighs, and he was cradling his bruised wrist, with a tightened jaw, shock, and disbelief drawn on his face. He was better at recovery, much better than I would be. He didn't even register the sequence of events, but he was unsheathing his sword already.

It just made all of this delightfully interesting.

All I had to was to block his good arm that was busily unsheathing the sword and grasp his leather trousers and pull him close to my body. He was confused, angered, but well clear and out of his stupidity.

"You were trained." His voice dripped with an enthusiasm for a new challenge.

"Surprise, surprise! Did your spy not spill it to you?"

"Ah!" He took a closed fist to his heart. "An honest slip of detail from my memory. Perhaps the eunuch reported it to our father." I shrank, my heart squeezing, eyes bleeding. "You didn't think father knew nothing about you. Did you, sweet sister?"

Something hit me like a rock, with such a blatant admission, and something soft inside me, a part of my innocence, a part of my love, was becoming hardened. I didn't want myself to give more weight to Aegon's words. His words were meant to hurt me. He wanted to see me suffer.

I knew I was not oriented. I knew I was trying hard to not give him leeway to enjoy my sadness, but I could hear the scratch of a blade on its leather, even in my sleep. His hands were careful, but not careful enough. His eyes were watching, but not watchful enough.

I was on him, my legs close to his crotch, his own dagger that I plucked out from his scabbard dangerously close to his skin, and he held his breath, neither swallowing nor breathing.

"What a night for me!" He whispered, dropping the sword that he managed to take out.

I slowly released my dagger, knowing he won't hurt me, realizing he was playing with me, toying with me, wanting to make a fool out of me.

"You make me want to fuck and kill, both at the same time, sister."

Before I wanted to stop feeling his words, wishing to stop search for a meaning behind it, he left the place, taking away his weapons, as though nothing conspired there.

I roamed around, unable to find my way back to the Feast Hall, unable to stop hearing Aegon's taunting voice. My legs ached, and over and over, I kept returning to the same place where moments before I was ready to skew the Crown Prince. The oil lanterns were dimming, and I began wondering if I would die searching for the Hall.

Who knew if this was one of my brother's poor jape to taunt me? Who knew if he lied about my father, knowing about my life in the North?

Although my father knew some of it. He certainly didn't look surprised when we were dining in the Hall, and Aegon was sharing it as a piece of pleasant information. Did my father really know that the little girl who was about to be murdered by a widow was me? Did my father know that the Northerners hated me to every inch? Did my father know how unwanted I was there?

I wanted to cry. I just wanted a person to lean on and cry. I wanted Jaime. I wanted Sansa. I wanted the cold. I wanted the North. I wanted Robb and Arya. And I was loathed to admit it, I wanted to see my uncle's hardened face.

I leaned against the wall and dragged down my body, tired and giving up, burying my head between my legs, controlling the sobs.

"You are a bloody fool! A simple fool!" I heard a soft whisper coming from a distance. I pulled myself, ready to search for the direction of the voice, to seek out my chamber and hug ghost and sleep myself to death.

Sliding against the wall, coming from a corner where I didn't find any stairs before, stood a door, with the same color as that of the wall. I pushed it open, and the voice grew louder.

"You are mine, Dany! Mine!" A man whispered just like how Aegon had been whispering, although I found this voice more threatening.

"I am not yours. I was never yours, to begin with, Viserys." Dany responded with a long sigh, and I climbed down the stairs, feeling stupid, nauseous, and I nearly stumbled before reaching the end of the stairs.

I found them both at the end of the stairs, which was my lost way down to the Feast Hall, where the minstrel still seemed to have been singing. It was Sansa I wanted to find. And seeing Viserys, who definitely spoke some unkind words to her that she appeared hurt when I last saw her, made me want to pounce on him and warn him to never come close to her. For a moment, Viserys face registered the pain of hurt at Dany's words, but the next moment it was replaced by malice and anger. "It isn't your choice to choose, Dany. You have to listen to me. You are not seeing this right. The northern bitch—"

Dany raised her hand, her gesture halting his speech. "You have said enough already. And you have to stop interfering with anything that has to do with me. Go to bed, Viserys!" She left the place, with a twirl of her skirt, and my uncle slammed his hand to the wall, before turning and finding me seeing his desperate act.

"There! There! My bastard niece!" His words poured like wildfire to my ears. "Have you started sneaking around now?" He scoffed. "Didn't expect anything better from you, bastard! Now, make way for your Prince."

I remembered how he kicked that poor wine-seller in the town, and I remembered how angry I felt for not defending that man. I walked close to him, never taking my eyes away from him.

He notched his head to a side and looked down at me with distaste and disgust. "Did no one teach you the manners of the court, bastard? Well, let me do the honor." He leaned down and took a good look at me. "Bend your neck if you see a proper Royal." His hand was turning my head, like arranging a toy. "And if it is someone like me, bend your knee too. I will disregard you like dirt. Surely, you don't want to get on my wrong side? Now, let me see that knee bending for me. Go on!"

I peered up to him, finding that sure glee, that winning power, that madness which made him kick poor starving people. "How about this, uncle?" I questioned, my knuckles connecting with his jaw, and him scrawling to dirt, a registering moment where he seemed to not recognize what was happening to whom.

I landed squarely on his chest with my knees, and I wished I didn't wear a gown for this. "What the fuck is wrong—"

"Listen to me, sweet uncle!" I leaned close to his face, lifting his collar to match my level, and realized how close he appeared to my father. The perfect jaw cut, that perfect tilt of his brows, that perfect length of my father's hair, even in height and demeanor, he was more like my father than Aegon was. "If I ever see you coming anywhere to my cousin Sansa, muttering even a word to her, I won't mind slitting your throat."

He sucked in his bloody lips, and laughed, a madness glowing inside him, while his fingers began rubbing against each other, feverishly. "You just don't know what you brought upon yourself, bastard!" He warned. "You think you can get away with this?"

I wasn't too sure, but considering there was no witness to this, he was unlikely to brag about this incident to anyone. Admitting that he was slapped by a girl would hurt him more, than actually getting hurt.

I squeezed his neck with my bare fingers, feeling a lot better than how I had felt since I came here. He choked, trying to maul my hands out. "I can kill you now. And I can get away with it. I doubt if my father will care should you die. Now, listen!" I tightened more and saw my father's resemblance clear as water. "I won't warn again if you come near Sansa. And if I see you threatening Dany…"

I left him there before I felt the urge to end his life, especially while thinking of him as my father.

By the time I reached near the Feast Hall, only a few soldiers remained, enjoying the free flow of wine and songs. I rushed towards my chamber, fear gripping my throat, disgust crawling up to my skin, unable to believe I could feel such satisfaction, such power, such malice thinking of squeezing my father's neck. How was I any different than my uncle, Viserys?