Hello, and thank you once more for all of your support. I appreciate every one of you so much. Thank you. Now, this chapter is a bit short, but it's good for character work. The plot can continue later.

Now, shall we?

Chapter Four
A Dagger in the Dark

"My lady is looking resplendent this morn," Medrick spoke, smiling widely through the bruises and swollen eye. It must have pained him greatly, but he made no complaint.

Elyse sat in the chair beside his bed, watching as a maester began burning incense. To ward away insects, he had said. Open wounds would attract them, and Medrick was little more than an open wound at this point. It made the air smell decidedly wretched, but Elyse kept her reaction minimal. At least, she hoped she had.

"Those are the first words you have spoken to me in three days," she said quietly. "Was I not pretty enough for conversation before?"

The knight had clearly swallowed a lemon the way his mouth curled in about itself. It almost made her laugh at how awkward the man had suddenly become, looking like a child who was about to be dealt a harsh punishment for his transgressions. But were she truly cross, his state might have smothered that fire entirely.

In truth, she could not blame him for making such a comment. She was dressed in a fine gown of deep blue with silver embroidery lining the bodice and hem. It hugged her frame like no garment in the North had, as their priority had been layers and warmth, but the climate in King's Landing afforded its occupants a vainer sense of things. The fabric barely clung to her shoulders and swept down in a low arc across her chest, making her miss the necklace all the more. She'd refused every replacement that had been offered. That was a betrayal she could not allow.

"Forgive me, that was cruel," Elyse said quickly, glancing around the room. Medrick's armor was lying on a table for a page to clean. The little boy was brushing it intently. There was still so much blood that needed to be dealt with. "You saved my life. I should be more mindful of that."

Despite the mottled coloring of his skin, Elyse could spot the shame growing on his features. "I did no such thing."

The room fell silent, and Elyse noted there were too many ears with them.

"If you would excuse us, I'd like to speak with Ser Medrick alone," Elyse requested, looking pointedly at the maester. The man watched her a moment before acquiescing, taking the small page by the shoulder to guide him out. It was a strange feeling, having those not of her household obeying her; it made her feel exposed, perhaps even more so than the streets had, but in a quieter, wicked sort of way.

"To be my lady-in-waiting is not a kindness, Elyse. It is, in fact, the opposite," Queen Aemma had spoken to her, moments after declaring her punishment. "You are now closer to me than any lady at court, save for mine own daughter. You shall be watched, you shall be measured, you shall be judged. Those who once would have never given you a second glance will now find you to be more fascinating than their very families. They will seek to charm and befriend you, but remember well that it is I they see when speaking to you. Does that make sense?"

"Perhaps too much, My Queen," she'd admitted, feeling a ball of nerves tighten in her gut. Approaching either the king or the queen openly was considered to be in poor taste, unless invited to do so first, and what better way to receive such an invitation than to convince a young and naïve lady-in-waiting that it would be in everyone's best interest? She'd become a guard in those moments, but her armor and sword were smiles and pleasantries, and her enemy less obvious, though no less deadly. "However, Southern words are lost on Northern women. I'm afraid my newfound companions will be hard-pressed to sway me in any direction other than my own."

When the door clicked shut, Elyse leaned forward. "You will not speak such nonsense about yourself, Medrick. If it weren't for you, I would be dead. You cannot deny that."

"I can and I will, my lady," the knight retorted, turning to her with eyes that glistened on the verge of tears. She was taken aback by the sight, for Medrick was a man quick to smile and laugh, and to see him in such a state felt forbidden. "I swore to protect you on your journey here, and I could do little more than send you running deeper into their trap. It was the mercy of the Stranger that saved you, not me."

"I should have died in that carriage, Medrick. You are the reason I escaped, and the reason that none of those men who came for us laid a hand on me. Had you not let me go, we both would have perished, surely you know this," Elyse insisted, resting her hand upon his. It was covered in bandages stained in dry blood. "Do not blame yourself for something out of your control."

He watched her a moment before turning his head away, determined to wallow in his self-pity. Might all the gods curse men and their stubborn, delicate pride.

Elyse stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We're both alive, Medrick. Try to think upon that before we speak again."

She left him alone with his dark thoughts, exiting the chamber to find the maester and the page dutifully standing on the other side of the hall, awaiting their chance to enter once again.

"Might you have something that could cure a man of his foolishness?" she thought to stupidly ask.

The man briefly smiled. "Were the Citadel to create such a draught, we might no longer have need to exist."

She nodded once and bade them a good day.

The queen had given her another week to get accustomed to her new surroundings, and Elyse had spent the time wandering the endless halls of the Red Keep. She'd become lost on numerous occasions, having to seek out the aid of guards, maids, and one particularly overenthusiastic kitchen boy in order to find her way back again. The boy knew well of her escapade with Prince Daemon, and would not keep quiet about it, much to her dismay.

It did not help that upon gaining her new position, Elyse had been given new quarters. It was closer to the queen's, and even larger than her previous room. This one favored more the dragon lords she now served with deep blacks and reds, drawings and carvings and whatever else could be made into the vaguest shape of a dragon. A sweeping mural of what appeared to be Dragonstone covered one of the walls, its angles drastic and sharp. She found it would instill a sense of dread in her if she stared too long.

Perhaps that had been the intent. She could hardly languish in her room if she feared it so.

Aemma was as cunning as she was kind, it seemed.

Her words would return to her as she wandered the halls, quietly walking past rooms of opulence and smaller chambers for entertaining guests. Eyes followed Elyse wherever she went, though none yet openly stared at her when she turned in their direction. They were still observing her, trying to make sense of the Northern girl so far from home. First, a practical captive of Prince Daemon, and now the lady-in-waiting to Queen Aemma. What a fine impression she had managed to land upon them all.

She wondered who would be the first to speak with her, or if they all waited in the shadows, watching the other onlookers to see who would make the first move. Undoubtedly, that poor soul was bound to fail, and the others wished to learn from their mistakes. Elyse wondered herself how she would react. She could not give herself away, and risk exposing a weakness, but to blatantly and foolishly lie would not help her either.

So, in the moments when she wandered, she began to construct a story about a Northern lady, and her reasons for wandering south. She was young and curious, and her father was a friend of the king – a not so terrible lie as her father had been one of his staunchest supporters for his claim to the Iron Throne – and she wished to see the realm before being confined to the dreary North for the remainder of her days.

That young lady was full of joy and a life well-lived. She knew nothing of sorrow or pain, or the savage acts that men could commit upon the world, save for one unfortunate day in the city. That young lady was surprised by it, though the one weaving the story was not.

She would play the part of the naïve little girl, and learn of the game they played through them.

As long as they knew nothing of her true intentions, she could play at anything.

Later in the evening, after she'd had to pitifully ask for directions once more, Elyse found herself wandering the Red Keep's godswood. Or perhaps pacing was a better term.

Winterfell was built around its godswood, acres of untouched foliage centered around the heart tree itself, a forest confined within the walls of a castle. The Red Keep may have once boasted as large a space, but over the years, they'd whittled it down, tearing apart trees in favor of scenic walkways or additional stone outcroppings for the keep. The weirwood of King's Landing was closely surrounded by walls, the centerpiece of a tiny gathering place, the backdrop to a small celebration or dinner. It was no longer a place that commanded respect, but rather one that begged for attention; it was an insult.

She had to remind herself that few in the South worshipped the old gods. Perhaps she should count herself as lucky that a heart tree remained at all.

Elyse came to a rest under its blood red leaves, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes as the wind passed through them. It was a familiar sound that greeted her ears; it was the sound of all that she knew in this world.

Her hand came to rest on the trunk, just above the carved, crying face that watched the world as it passed by, the eyes of the gods themselves. Sara had cried when she first laid eyes upon one. When she herself was a child, it was said she tried to lick the bloody tears. Her father had boomed with laughter that day, for all the keep to hear.

The moon broke through the clouds overhead, bathing the godswood in a glow as bright as daylight. Elyse turned to the sight, watching the light pass through the leaves, a pale red light that somehow harkened to peace rather than violence.

"What's it like worshipping a tree?" a familiar voiced asked behind her.

Elyse could not help but jump. Of all the things she had expected to encounter in the godswood, Daemon had not been amongst the contenders. A squirrel perhaps, or a mouse, but not a dragon.

Not this dragon.

At first, she did not see him, until her eyes focused on the soft gleam of his hair in the moonlight. It gave the prince a deceptively ethereal glow that ran counter to the mischievous grin stretched across his features. He was nestled in a corner, sat upon a stool far too small for his frame, though he hardly looked uncomfortable.

"Prince Daemon," she spoke slowly, easing out of her alarm lest she embarrass herself further.

"Lady Elyse," he replied, tilting his head. "This seems rather formal given your explicit knowledge of my unclothed state."

She narrowed her eyes, ignoring how warm her face grew at his comment. "Is this what you do? Lurk in dark corners waiting to mock any lost souls who stray into your path?"

"Well, it's night, so I hardly imagine there are many bright corners for me to lurk in, as you say," Daemon replied, glancing about their surroundings before focusing on her again. He made no effort to oppose the second part of her accusation. "You've grown feisty since we last met. Found your tongue again?"

Elyse could only glare at him, unwilling to fuel whatever indignity he wished to visit upon her that evening. Whatever gratitude she had felt toward him that first night had been washed away by the shame he'd brought upon her thereafter. The fog of shock and confusion had worn off in her days at the keep, and she was left with a bitter anger toward his treatment in her most desperate hour.

"Mm, perhaps not," the prince continued, swinging his long legs outward and standing. He joined her beneath the weirwood, hardly noticing as the lowest branches caught his hair. They formed upon him a bloody crown. "Care to answer my question now, since I have so graciously answered yours?"

"It was hardly an answer."

His eyebrows quirked, the man further fascinated by her ability to speak apparently. "It was more than yours."

Her lips pressed together as she studied the prince. She wondered now what sort of charm he'd possessed that had quieted her so easily in the city, for gazing upon him now only drew an ire. That argumentative nature her father had grown accustomed to was forming about her, a shield against the coming storm.

Elyse sighed. "We don't worship trees."

Daemon frowned, tilting his head back and forth in thought as he glanced at the weirwood. For a brief moment, she saw a light pass across his eyes, the smallest warning before he lunged.

Acting before she realized what was truly happening, Elyse suddenly found herself pinned between Daemon Targaryen and the weirwood, both hands desperately clinging to his wrist as the prince made an effort to stab the tree with his dagger. She could feel the strength in his arm, and knew her efforts would be for naught if he truly wished to carry out his vile act, but it seemed Daemon was simply satisfied by her reaction. His eyes were shining.

"I think you worship trees."

Elyse sputtered. "And were I to say I don't worship a man, would you stab him as well?!"

"Depends upon the man," the prince replied with a shrug. She stared at him, incredulous, as the smile returned to his lips. "Tell me why you worship trees."

"We don't."

He pushed the dagger closer toward the tree as Elyse struggled against his strength. It was only now that she noticed the piercing white of its hilt, ivory from a land far away. It was Medrick's.

"They are the eyes of our gods," Elyse finally spat, glaring at the child of a prince before her. "It is through the heart trees that our gods see the world, and so we worship in their presence to be closer to them. It is something any maester would have their pupil read, unless My Prince is predisposed to illiteracy."

That coaxed a soft laugh from the prince. Daemon's eyes briefly vanished as his cheeks lifted in a wide, mocking smile. He retreated from his campaign against the weirwood, shrugging easily out of her grip and returning the dagger to his belt. She watched the ivory glow in the moonlight, nearly within her reach, but it may as well have been lost to her; she did not dare ask for its return and beggar herself before a man whose debt she did not wish to remain in.

"Well done," was all he said, and she refrained from sneering at his condescension.

"Is mocking me truly the only reason you are here, Prince Daemon?" she asked, straightening and putting herself firmly between him and the weirwood. She placed her hands delicately behind her back.

"I would have you recall that I was here first. So, perhaps I should be the one asking questions," the prince replied. "Tell me, how do you always know where I am?"

Because the gods possess a humor I fail to grasp.

"It is a misfortune on my part. No more and no less."

"Maybe so, but not tonight I think," Daemon replied, reaching into a small pouch on his belt. He produced a trinket, tiny in his grasp, but bright in the moonlight. A simple white stone made into a necklace.

"Elyse! Elyse! Look what I found!"

Sara ran up the hill toward her, huffing in effort and nearly falling on her face twice. Elyse watched her sister from the blanket they had been lounging on at one point in the afternoon, when the sun was high and they slept in its warm embrace.

There were muddy markings on her skirts from where her knees had sunk into the earth, and her hands had turned a thick grayish brown from the muck. It had sprinkled across her face, and it was very evident she had wiped at her cheek once.

"Mud, I take it?" Elyse teased, wiping Sara's face with her sleeve.

"No! Well, yes," the girl admitted, slapping Elyse away. She presented her small hand, and the gray blob contained within it. "But this too!"

Elyse blinked at it. "Looks like more mud to me."

The girl huffed, spitting in her hand and rubbing furiously on the spot.

"Sara!" Elyse chastised, though she was laughing as she did so. "You've been spending far too much time with Uncle Bennard. He's turning you into one of his sons."

"Just look!"

Her sister's efforts had transformed the gray blob into a white one. A small rock that shimmered in the sunlight. She had to admit, it was a pretty little thing, though she had seen its like strewn across the fields and valleys of the North.

"It's shaped just like a wolf, see?" Sara said, pointing to various parts. "The tail, the head, the legs."

If she squinted, Elyse might have been able to make out what her sister spoke of, though to her it just looked like a formless rock. But she hadn't possessed the imagination of a child for a long time. They always could see what others did not.

"Yes, of course," she lied, smiling up at her little sister. "And what a fine little wolf it is."

"It's just like me. A wolf white like snow."

There were no thoughts that passed through her mind at that moment, no attempt at reason. The instant Elyse understood what was in Daemon's possession, she made her way toward him, attempting to snatch the necklace back. But the prince was fast, and his reach longer than hers.

"Give it back!" she shouted as he held the necklace above her. She jumped for it like a foolish child, no longer caring how she appeared before him. Never mind that she knew he was not the one to steal it from her, only the one to recover it, but there was a possessive desire that drove her forward. It was sacred to her, more so than the weirwood that quietly witnessed the debacle. Were she to choose between the two, she'd drive the axe into the wood herself.

His brief shock quickly melted into amusement as he continued to keep the necklace from her, switching it from one hand to the other, holding it high above his head.

"I had thought to, but now you have me reconsidering," Daemon replied. She snatched his wrist and refused to let go, though she could not pull his arm down. "That's quite a lot of passion for an ugly little necklace."

Her answer to that was to reach down and extract the ivory dagger from his belt. For one moment in time, Daemon Targaryen was too stunned to move, until the blade bore down upon him. He caught her wrist quickly then, eying her with equal parts fury and fascination. His face bore a smile, but his eyes a threat. It was, perhaps, the most terrifying thing she had witnessed.

Daemon pushed her arm away from him, drawing her closer until they were flush with one another. She was forced to stare up at him, her chin nearly resting on his chest.

"This is the second time you've tried to stab me. It's not a good look," he spoke, the words rumbling beneath his coat.

"Give me the necklace."

"Let go of the dagger."

"Not until you give me what is mine."

"I could have you killed for this."

"Then be done with it. You have a sword, do you not?"

Daemon pulled his head back a moment, studying her. Those were the mysterious eyes she had seen on the first day, the violet turned black in thought.

Elyse felt his arm slowly slide down her grip, though she never took her eyes from him, nor he from her. His hand slowly passed over hers, briefly enveloping it as he deposited the necklace over her wrist. When Elyse felt the weight of the stone hanging from her arm, she dropped the dagger.

He did not release her.

They stared at one another in the darkness, unmoving and silent. The pulsing anger in her ears began to lessen, and Elyse could feel the shame building in her body, the totality of her foolishness threatening to crush her beneath its weight. It was only her need to not release his gaze that kept her standing and calm.

He ducked away the instant he let her go, retreating out of the pathetic little godswood to a place unknown to her. She watched him leave, and continued to watch the empty space he'd left well after he was gone. The memory of his presence kept her upright, until her mind accepted that he was truly gone, and her knees buckled.

Elyse held the necklace closer to her chest, allowing the tears to freely fall down her face.

I won't lose you, Sara. I never will.

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Elyse has some issues. Daemon has some issues. They're a mess. I do plan on diving into why Elyse is the way she is throughout the story, so don't worry. Or do worry, because she has a sad life.

Anywho, thanks for reading! Until next time!