Jaime
In truth, it hadn't taken Jaime long to learn the harsh realities of the world.
It took only one burning of a man who didn't truly deserve it. Followed by the terrified screams of the queen that evening to bring the truth of his life crashing upon him.
He'd always idealized knights, striving to be the best with his sword and honorable as well.
That was what a knight was in the stories, a skilled and valiant warrior who protects the weak and the vulnerable.
That was what he thought he'd become when the Sword of the Morning knighted him on the battlefield.
That was what he thought the Kingsguard was when Cersei proposed his joining to avoid marrying the Tully girl and keep them together at court.
Perhaps once upon a time it had been. But now it was a mask to be worn posing as honor. A gilded armor with white cloaks that were costumes meant to show their status.
He had always been in awe of these costumed knights, relishing in the stories of the great Kingsguard warriors and how they held the most honorable position that could be achieved: protecting the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms.
When he had first visited Kings Landing as child to see his father and sister he'd sought out the training yard day after day to spend hours watching the knights train, studying their moves and knowing he would match them all if given the chance.
But, if he was honest, he hadn't truly considered joining the prestigious order until Cersei put it in his mind. He had imagined, played pretend some days, but when she told him that he could do it and that if he did they'd be together in Kings Landing it was all that occupied his mind until the cloak was secured on him at Harrenhal.
And he had never felt more honorable than in the moment when Ser Gerold Hightower raised him to the Kingsguard. That feeling of pride and honor continued even after he learned his father was no longer the Hand of the King and that Cersei would no longer be in Kings Landing with him. He'd been disappointed and angry at their father but his pride in his new position didn't begin to deteriorate until later when he saw his first man burn to death.
It wasn't long before Jaime saw past the mask he hadn't even realized he had donned. He was a knight, but he wasn't expected to protect anyone but a paranoid king who burned people alive for joy, before raping his queen with the ashes still clinging to his cloak.
At first he'd been angry when he found that the others looked the other way at the kings' actions. But he learned quickly to say nothing when his Lord Commander himself told him that they had vowed to protect the king, not to judge him.
So as his first year as a knight of the Kingsguard went by Jaime became quite proficient at blocking the horror out, escaping within himself to avoid facing the truth of what happens in the Red Keep.
When the king decided a man's punishment would be burning Jaime turned his thoughts to Casterly Rock and his sister. When he was to guard the Queens door and could hear her cries while the King did as he pleased, Jaime would recall the words to songs he'd learned long ago as a child to drown the noise from his mind.
Now Jaime stands once more at the foot of the Iron Throne, the skulls of the ancient dragons of the Targaryens watching as the Starks are brought before Aerys Targaryen.
Brandon Stark and Alys Stark had arrived first a while ago with a party of men accompanying them. Brandon Stark apparently having been yelling outside the walls of the city for the crown prince Rhaegar to come out and meet his sword. He and his party were thrown in the black cells of the Keep not long after that, their fathers all summoned to answer charges of plotting to kill the prince.
It was whispered about the court after that Rhaegar had apparently run off with the other Stark girl, the one he'd crowned Queen of Love and Beauty at the tourney of Harrenhal.
The others had barely arrived before they and most of the party were executed, save for the Starks themselves and one lone squire.
That was when Lord Stark and his son had demanded a trial by combat and Jaime had felt his stomach drop as he cursed the Northern lords' idiocy and ignorance.
Now the day was here, with Jaime stood by the throne while his eyes followed the Starks as they entered. The father and son ahead of the daughter. Jaime notes she looks as young as him, perhaps younger by a year or two. He forced the realization of her coming fate from his mind and instead wondered on whether Tyrion had written him back yet.
Neither he or the rest of the court were surprised when the king declares fire as his champion, the Starks quick to begin to protest and struggle as they were restrained and prepared. The father put into a suit of armor while the son was chained by the throat. And Jaime moved without thought when he was told to restrain the daughter, the girl struggling against him as he held her in place with no true difficulty.
It made him wonder, was she to be spared? Or perhaps simply burned after her family.
He heard her cries loudly as the fire was lit and her fathers resolve broke into screams as he was cooked alive in his suit of armor. She continued to struggle against Jaime's grasp as her brother was choked while reaching for the sword that would allow him to cut his father free.
A sword that he would never reach.
It was only when her fathers screams died and her brothers breath left him that she lost her own fight, falling limp in his arms and her sobs quieting to a silent sense of numbness.
While the king declared his 'champions' victory the Kings Hand, Owen Merryweather, instructed Jaime to take the girl to a room in the Maiden Vault and guard the door until it was decided what to do with her. Jaime simply nodding and leaving the throne room with her, more than glad to move away from the far too familiar stench of burnt flesh and wildfire.
He would say he escorted her to her new rooms but in truth it was more as though he was dragging her through the Red Keep. She leant heavily upon him and her feet dragged more than they walked.
Jaime couldn't help but wonder if he should say something, but what was there even to say?
He stops outside the room Merryweather had instructed him to put her in and opens the door slowly. She pauses outside of it and he wonders if he'll have to drag her in. But it's only a brief pause before she follows his lead into the room, still resting heavily on him but less as though he were pulling her along and more as though she didn't trust herself to stay upright without his help.
One glance around the room he recognizes why Merryweather told him this one. There were no windows within, and the room itself was close to the guard quarters and far from any significant exits of the keep.
He slowly led the Stark girl to the bed waiting until she's sat herself on it and seemed as though she won't collapse before he heads for the door.
"Wait…"
Her voice was barely even a sound, but it was a broken one. He pauses in his exit, considering the merits of ignoring her as he holds no reason to speak with her. If he let himself think of the reality of this situation he would know it to be better to simply leave as she'll likely be dead soon anyways.
But he hardly ever thought things through with honest effort, thus he turns and looks at her. Her eyes were grey like stone and wide as they looked to him, begging for something from him that he couldn't give. She wipes at her cheeks as she seems to mull over what she had meant to say.
"What…" she pauses once more before finally asking, "what will he do with me?"
Jaime sighs, glancing over the northern girl. She has the Stark look, dark hair and a long face. It was a young face. But that wouldn't save her if Aerys got the itch to burn her alive. Nothing could save someone with that fate, Jaime had learnt that quick. But as her eyes stared him down, awaiting an answer Jaime knows she doesn't want, he can't find the heart to inform her of her future.
"I haven't a single clue." He leaves the room with those short words between then, and takes his position in front of her door.
Alys
She believes it has been near four days before she sees anyone other than a handmaid or a guard. She believes this due to the amount of times food has been brought to her. She hasn't eaten much of it, especially the first day and half, but she recalls them bringing it. Twice a day, what she can only assume is in the morning and in the evening. Though she hasn't been sure which was which as she hardly has left her bed unless pulled from it, and even if she did leave her bed her room held no windows, no chance to see the sun or moon.
After the man who'd brought her there, a member of the Kingsguard she believes, left her with little idea of what was intended with her she found no way to distract her thoughts. She found patches of ash stuck to her skin and clothes. prompting her to strip herself quickly. Rubbing her skin raw with the water left in the room until she was clean and shoving her clothes off into a corner while wishing there was a window to throw them out of.
She'd found the room empty of any other clothes, and thus she simply crawled under the far too warm and soft covers of her bed and let herself be smothered by them until consciousness left her.
Sleep was no more pleasant than being awake.
In sleep she found her dreams filled only with the throne room, green fire licking at the armor her father wears and the sight of her brother struggling against a collar to free him. And her, stuck motionless unable to do anything but scream.
The first night she woke choking as though she was still breathing in the ash and smoke.
When she is awake it's hard to not think of it. The smell, the sight, the feeling of the heat from flames or the sounds of screaming and choking. It assaulted her senses to the point where she started to feel as though she were to die as well. But then a handmaiden came in, with a plate of food and a basin of water for her. She appeared to notice Alys' lack of sleep and the next meal had come with dream wine to grant her a hopefully dreamless night of rest.
It worked, but only for so long. She'd be granted a few hours of rest before her dreams returned to fire and ash. When she was awake she found herself trying to occupy her mind. She found a small and dusty book in a drawer and read it over and over. She counted the flowers upon the bedding, finding seventy-one flowers decorating it before she counted all other items in the room.
Her mind would still find any second of emptiness to fill with her grief.
She was nibbling slowly at a piece of bread, tearing bits off as small as she could, when a man entered her room.
Another Kingsguard, she noted. They wore gilded armor and cloaks of white, and looked different than the common guards who often stood outside her door and let in the handmaid.
"My lady," the man gave a slight bow, "your presence is requested in the Great Hall." He was kind looking, his blue eyes gazing at her with a large amount of sympathy laced within them. He was older than the other who'd brought her to the room. "I'll leave you to dress, but I would suggest you do so quickly, my lady."
Alys simply nods, she hasn't spoken since the first day and she wasn't entirely certain a voice could come out if she tried. Still she moves towards the wardrobe and pulls the first dress her hand comes upon. The handmaid who had tended her these last few days had filled it with spare dresses that have no home. They fit well enough, the one Alys slid on only a bit loose around the waist.
She opens her door slowly, and is met again with the older knight. He was likely near her father's age, she realizes. A thought she quickly shoves from her mind and instead turns its focus upon placing the old knight with a name. Not long ago she would have been able to identify the man, looking at him and perhaps a few words spoken she could state his name and perhaps the deed that had gotten him knighted.
But now her knowledge of history and the houses left her and she could hardly even recall all the names of who served in the Kingsguard currently. She knew Ser Arthur Dayne, but that was because she'd met his sister at Harrenhal.
Another memory best left from her mind.
She keeps quiet, and the knight is kind enough to grant her a silent walk. Once she's given up in her quest to recall his name she studies the Red Keep as they walk.
She admires the decorations upon the halls and whenever they pass a window she looks out at the city she'd once imagined visiting; giddy and lightheartedly whispering to her sister under the covers of their bed, all before marriage and death had been a true part of their lives.
They go outside here and there, passing over bridges to get to other parts of the castle. When she breathes a deep breath of clear air she can almost catch the scent of the Blackwater, and she turns her head to try to catch a glance.
"There," the knight stops, she glances at him quickly worried she's overstepped in some way, but notices he's pointing away from her, "that's the Blackwater that way." She follows his direction and spots it.
It's a pretty image, the sun reflecting off the water in an almost mesmerizing way. And all those ships. She looks to them with fascination in her and wonders, did her father come by ship? Or did he ride south like they had? If he sailed would his ship still be out there?
A northern ship surrounded by southern sails.
"Thank you," she manages once they continue.
He simply nods his head in reply and they continue on. Now she looks at him once more.
Barristan Selmy, she decides on finally. Barristan the Bold as he could be called. He fit the tales she'd heard well enough.
She needed to be bold now, she thinks as they walk towards the Great Hall. Bold like Barristan is said to be.
Bold like Lyanna.
Bold like Brandon.
The Kings Hand met her in the Great Hall, with Aerys gratefully absent. The chain of the Hand was hanging in a heavy way around his neck as he greeted her kindly. But even with the apparent kindness he offered her way she watched him warily.
How could she not? He was the Kings Hand. He should have been able to stop what happened to her father and brother. Advised Aerys against burning them and prevented it all.
She stands at the base of the throne, looking up at Owen Merryweather where he stands upon the dais. He doesn't sit on the throne, but she can understand that enough. It was a frightfully sharp thing, and far more foreboding in person than she could have ever have imagined.
Others are in the throne room, the lords and ladies who stay at court, castle guards and a few of the Kingsguard as well. She doesn't look too closely at anyone here, keeping her attention instead to the man who would tell her fate.
"My Lady," Lord Merryweather looks down at her his face wrinkled perpetually and redness on his neck that added to the strained look to his face. "Your father and brother have been declared traitors to King Aerys and the Seven Kingdoms after asserting a threat against the crown prince. Your brother Eddard, and the Storm Lord Robert Baratheon have also been declared traitors to the crown by his Grace. Lord Arryn has been informed of their treacherous plans and will deal with them as is expected of a loyal vassal."
Ned's done nothing, she can't help but think, does he even know of any of this yet? Of Lyanna? Of Father and Brandon? Of me?
But she holds her tongue, because what could she say? If she speaks against this claim she'll be likely to burn, her ashes to mix with the others burnt before her, to mix with father and Brandon. So she is quiet as he informs her of her status here at court.
"A ward of the crown," He states, "and hostage." He adds hastily before continuing. "You will be kept here at court, watched and guarded by a member of the Kingsguard so that the North with will remain loyal to the crown."
She'll be kept so that Benjen will be a loyal Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, once Ned is dead. Kept in obedience with the threat of the last of his family dying.
As she is given leave from Merryweather to be escorted back to the Maidenvault her thoughts turn to Ned.
He is Lord of Winterfell now. He is Lord Stark, with father and Brandon both gone. A position he never would have believed he'd hold but now has had thrust upon him.
But he's in the Vale, far from home and far from her.
She only knows the Vale so well, but she knows it prides itself on its honor. Would Jon Arryn turn on her brother? Ned had told her he was like a second father to him. Would loyalty to the crown be enough to make Jon Arryn forsake Ned?
Please, she prays silently as Barristan walks her back to her room. Please Gods, old and new, protect my brother.