Chapter Six
Politics and Pride
The wide expanse of the land outside Winterfell was home to little. The ground was considered too rocky to plow, and it was far too open for wild deer or elk to venture far. They often clung to the edges of the Wolfswood, ready to disappear into the darkness of the clustered conifers if the need arose. But at any given moment, one might spy the racing horses of bored lords and ladies traveling across the emptiness at breakneck speeds.
Elyse had been fond of the activity since she was a little girl. She'd proudly ridden a small pony around the courtyard of Winterfell, although she'd often had an eye on the captain's destrier. He was a black behemoth, prone to bouts of stubbornness and volatility when pressed. At seven years old, she'd climbed on that beast, and promptly found herself in a hay bale. She'd continued her efforts, undaunted, until the horse master stepped in. He had narrowly saved her from being crushed beneath the massive hooves of the creature, but Elyse had insisted it was all under control. Up until the horse had died two years prior, it had made a point to snap at her whenever she entered the stables.
The palfrey she rode now was a far cry from that beast, a copper mare that was obedient to a fault and light on her feet. She swiftly carried Elyse across the fields, passing her uncle's roan courser. They traveled quickly into the Wolfswood, slowing to a halt to savor their victory.
"It's a wonder you bother anymore, Uncle," Elyse called with a breathless smirk, patting the neck of her mount. "Perhaps next time I shall circle the castle once, give you a fair chance."
"I don't recall having a say in this," Bennard replied as he rode into the forest. "Every time I so much as look at a saddle, you think it's to race."
"And what else would it be for? You've nothing else to do."
"Hardly."
Bennard Stark was the image of a true Northman, bulky and burly and full of few words to those he knew little. He was half a head taller than most men she met, and on a good, drunken evening, he'd attempt to convince unfortunate onlookers that he had giant's blood. But behind the solemn, intimidating mask, there was a man who was always thinking, of the future, of the past, of wrongs needed to be set right. His physical presence was not so dangerous as that, she believed.
"Then why are we out here, Uncle?" Elyse asked, though she knew well why. They shared a stubbornness, uncle and niece, that both kept them rooted in their ideals and also refused to let them accept that they could not convert the other. It had been a strange little dance of theirs for the last three years.
"House Flint has agreed to join the cause," her uncle spoke quietly. They watered their horses by a small creek, the flowing water barely allowing his tone to travel to her. "That is nearly half the North. The rest will follow suit."
"You mean, you will make them follow suit," Elyse replied, watching the forest. There was no courtly intrigue in the North, no fear of spies around every corner, yet she felt eyes watching her. "Is our honor nothing to you, Uncle? House Stark does not breed oathbreakers."
"An oath made in fear of death is no oath any man should be forced to keep. I'd hardly call the threat of dragon fire an effort made in good faith."
"And has the threat of dragon fire suddenly vanished? They'll burn the North now just as easily as they would have then. Surely, you're not this foolish."
"Watch your tongue, girl," Bennard snapped, provoked to anger far quicker than he was wont to. "I speak with you in this manner out of love for you and your father. But the time is coming, Elyse, and if you won't bow, I will break you."
His words settled heavily upon her shoulders, and her hands gripped tightly the reins of her palfrey. For a brief moment in time, she allowed her heart to stoke the fear that had been residing in it. Not for her well-being, no, her uncle's threat meant little to her, but those words were spoken by a man emboldened. It meant she was running out of time.
In the span of a breath, she'd snuffed the fear out, burying it with the cold conviction she'd protected herself with over the years.
"You cannot love something you're so willing to destroy," Elyse said firmly. "I am either your niece or your enemy. You do not get the luxury of both."
She turned away then, walking her palfrey back towards the forest's edge. Her heart clenched at the action, suddenly so certain that her uncle would run her through with his sword for this slight. There had been a time that her confidence in him was unwavering. He was her hero of legend, come to save her from the pitiful state she had sunken to, but it seemed she had misplaced that confidence, as she had with many before. It was a lesson she feared would never be learned.
"Why do you continue to follow him, after everything he has taken from you?"
Elyse allowed herself to waver. She was a young girl again, begging her uncle to take her away; she was the lord's daughter alone and broken in a world she was seeing properly for the first time. He would treat her kindly, love Sara as his own; he would see her smile again.
And then the forest was covered in flames.
"Because you would take everything else."
A month had passed since the Aemma's revelation, and her belly had swollen as evidence to all. There was a decidedly different air about the keep, as if broken glass had been strewn across the halls. Voices were gentler around her, quieter, or gone entirely. Where once Elyse had seen a woman fully immersed in the political intrigue of the land, she now found a prisoner in isolation, shuttered off from the world in a gilded cage.
In this, she saw her own mother.
"He'd clear the castle if he could," Aemma had admitted to her one evening as they sat upon the balcony. "No disturbances, no watchful eyes, no unnecessary interactions. Viserys thinks it would bring me peace, but I rather hate the silence."
Elyse could tell. She was a woman meant to be in the thick of things, with a wit that wounded worse than a sword. To be suddenly cut off from the world must have frustrated her to no end, as if she'd been forced to lose her sight or hearing. But this was a sacrifice the queen willingly made, and Elyse had come to realize that arguing with her would be fruitless. So, she stayed with Aemma more and more, filling her days with what sound she could.
The days, however, passed agonizingly slow. Her mind was often buzzing with thoughts of home. Every day, she would trek to the rookery for word, rather than wait for the maester to come to her. She did not want anyone to read the messages contained within, not that it had mattered. Her mother spoke nothing of the goings-on at home, and her father never wrote. Uncle Bennard had sent word once, simply congratulating her on her new, honored position, but she could feel the betrayal in every letter. Had he been torn on her position in his life before, his mind was clearly made up now.
Elyse had thought if there was truly turmoil in the North, there would be some commotion about it in the keep or, at the very least, some gossipmonger would have sought her out, but King's Landing was a world away from home, and the occupants clearly forgot about its existence, unless she happened to cross their path. The North meant as little to them as her father had claimed.
But they'll mean something when they declare independence, Elyse thought morosely, frowning as she attempted to concentrate on her book. She had some free hours in the day, and spent them mostly in isolation. When Rhaenyra and Alicent weren't dragging her around the castle, she was often set upon by the vultures, and her tolerance of them was low to begin with. If she did not leave her chambers, then there could be no incidents.
If she did not leave her chambers, she had no chance of running into him.
Daemon Targaryen had been absent from the capital since she saw him leave on dragonback a month prior – a fact that many a lord and lady gossiped about on the daily – but Elyse could feel his presence in the halls, as if his eyes were still upon her despite the distance. Whenever she visited the godswood, she would inspect every corner thoroughly, and still wait on edge for his sudden, miraculous appearance. It was cruel of him to take away the serenity from the one place that felt of home.
She supposed that was the purpose.
Sighing, Elyse flipped the book upon the small table beside her, settling into the cushions of her chair as she looked down upon King's Landing from her balcony. A warm breeze smelling of brine and shit wafted into her face, and she suddenly understood why everyone took to walking in the gardens. The superiority the residents of the capital possessed whilst smelling of the stables at any given moment was a remarkable ability.
Elyse reached for the dagger resting beside her discarded book, and began to toy with it in her hands. Thrice she had attempted to return the weapon to its owner, but Medrick had denied her every time.
"You keep it," he told her last they spoke, when she'd cornered him in the armory. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat from practicing in the courtyard, and blushed like a maiden when she'd grabbed his hand in order to plant the dagger in his palm. "It will serve you far better than it ever had me."
It had only served to get her into trouble with Prince Daemon, but that was not an issue she wanted the knight to be involved in. His honor would compel him to act, and that would be a death sentence.
She turned the dagger over, admiring how the sunlight glinted off the blade. Ripples caught in the light, revealing a tale of how it was made, though it was not one she could interpret. It was a ceremony she had practiced more often than she would care to admit. Though she never brought the dagger to her meetings with Aemma, Elyse often had it by her side in her chambers. Sometimes, she would not realize it was with her until she was setting it down by wherever she planned to lounge the evening away.
One day, it would be used, of that much she was certain. Only time would tell in what manner.
Elyse nearly cut herself when the doors to her chambers opened, and Queen Aemma herself stepped in. She scrambled to her feet, dipping into a small curtsey as the older woman approached her.
"My Queen, I apologize, I did not think we were meeting so early."
Aemma waved her off, entering the balcony and taking a seat. She rested her hand on the swell of her belly and took no notice of the stench of the city below. "We weren't, but I had some business to attend to, and I thought to let you know the news sooner rather than later."
Elyse returned to her seat, hiding the dagger behind her book, though Aemma's eyes watched her every move.
"While my husband can be overbearing in my current condition, he can also be much more agreeable," Aemma continued. "I have convinced him to allow you to speak your piece before the council on the morrow."
There weren't many opportunities for true delight in her life anymore, but Elyse could not deny how her heart soared upon hearing those words. All the plans she had laid and the suffering she had endured, it was finally going to amount to something.
"That was the only easy task in this venture, I fear," Aemma cautioned, undoubtedly seeing something akin to hope dawning on her face. "My husband is not difficult to reason with, but you must see the entire council on your side, and there are those who would be…less than inclined to send aid where they believe it is unneeded."
There was one man in her memory that stood out. For every agreeable trait that Viserys Targaryen possessed, his Hand, Otto Hightower, owned the opposite. He was a serious, unflinching, and unforgiving individual, who was called cold by some, and power hungry by others. But in a place where backstabbing was the pastime, and everyone fought for a station higher than their current, Elyse found the descriptions convenient and laced with jealousy.
She only began to believe them when it became clear that Aemma mistrusted the man.
"He is a brilliant man," the queen had admitted to her. "Possibly too brilliant for his own good, and I fear the danger we will all be in when he goes too far."
"I will have them see reason, My Queen," Elyse said, reining in her emotions. "I do not ask the world of them. Only a simple gesture of goodwill."
"You will find they compare it to moving mountains, my dear," Aemma replied, glancing out over the city. There was a curious look in her eyes as she studied the cityscape. Elyse wondered if she missed home. The Vale was a far cry from the stench and heat of the city. "I'd suggest keeping that dagger close. You certainly won't leave that meeting having made friends."
Surprisingly, Elyse found no difficulty in sleeping that evening, her mind drifting as soon as her head hit the pillow. Perhaps it would be an uphill battle to secure the North's safety, but having been presented with the opportunity had released years of tension. She thought a small breeze might knock her over, she had become so light, and with that, so utterly tired.
Morning dawned quickly, and Elyse dressed in silence. Even her thoughts had strayed away, leaving her truly alone. It was calming, the sense of emptiness that filled the spaces in her mind. There were always too many thoughts, too many sounds, too many problems with no solutions spinning about. The quiet was liberating.
A dress of deep gray and silver was to be her armor for the upcoming battle, with sleeves of flowing silk and white stitched vines crawling up her gown, skeletal hands reaching from the earth. She braided her hair, pinning it back, and reached for the stone necklace that rested at her breast, kissing it once before stepping into the unknown.
Rhaenyra was waiting outside the council chambers, rolling on the balls of her feet, hands tucked neatly behind her back. Elyse had heard the king had made his daughter the cupbearer for his meetings. It was, admittedly, surprising still to see it true.
The princess smiled and met her halfway.
"Father will listen," Rhaenyra said, her tone encouraging. "He's a reasonable man, and a good king, and he will see how pressing this is."
Elyse smiled at the princess's glowing review of her father. "I believe you, but I'm afraid he is not the one I am to worry about."
Rhaenyra frowned then, nodding somberly. "Perhaps, but you'll see it through. There's no one else."
No, there was not.
Grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze, Rhaenyra moved to the doors of the chamber and pushed them open.
For the room that was about to determine the future of her people, it was a simple place. A far cry from anything in the North, yes, but compared to the rest of the Red Keep, Elyse believed the council chambers felt empty. There were no dragon murals to watch her every move nor were there the melted remains of conquered opponents in the forms of swords and axes. It was a space of tables and pillars, windows and marbled floors. Aside from the seven-pointed star that guided her gaze to the balcony, it was a room of carefully constructed neutrality.
The eyes of the council fell upon her then, and Elyse took a breath. It was not fear she felt then, but rather an impatience. Months of careful planning had brought her to this point, and suddenly she wished it over in a heartbeat.
Moving swiftly to the far side of the table, Elyse curtsied. "Your Grace. My lords."
Viserys smiled at her, brimming with the warmth of a father. "Lady Elyse, it is good to see you again."
"The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace."
She watched Rhaenyra sneaking around the other side, gripping the pitcher of wine. The young girl's gaze was studious, landing on each of the members for a period of time. She was watching their reactions carefully.
"I assume you are the reason this meeting has been called today," Corlys Velaryon commented from his position at the end of the table. The Sea Snake, that was what they called him. It was an apt title for the Master of Ships. His words were not unkind, but there was a clip to his voice. Something bothered him, and she suspected it had to do with whatever was discussed prior to her arrival.
She did not like the thought of engaging them after they'd already been at one another's throats. Sour moods made for impatient men. She would have to tread carefully.
"That I am, Lord Corlys," Elyse replied with a nod. "I have a request to make of the king and his council, one that I fear you cannot afford to ignore."
Curious and skeptical eyes turned to her. She looked to each of them, and took note. Viserys was the only unbothered man present, although the Master of Coin, Lord Beesbury, had a kind and patient face. Lord Strong, Master of Laws, possessed an air of indifference, as did the Grand Maester, Mellos, whom she had already counted as amongst her greatest opposition. There had never been a maester who did not find the need to argue the opposite of what a woman stated. She found their chains to be symbols of pride rather than knowledge.
It was the Hand of the King who struck her as the strangest of the lot. She had expected Otto Hightower to look annoyed or frustrated as his time was wasted by a young woman. Instead, he appeared almost expectant, perhaps the most curious member on the council. It made her wonder if he already knew…
Elyse folded her hands together, and offered a small prayer to the gods.
"There are-"
The doors to the chamber burst open. All the lords turned to the sound at once, half-rising from their seats. Ser Harrold had his sword fully drawn before he came to realize who had entered the room. Even then, he was slow to sheathe it again.
Daemon Targaryen strode into the room, a mocking grin gracing his features. His steps were long and slow, calculated. He was delaying things further, and was enjoying every moment of it. When his eyes met hers, Elyse frowned deeply, and found that the desire to stab him had not faded.
"Well, this is certainly unexpected," Viserys said as Daemon slid into the empty seat beside him, his eyes never once leaving hers. He carefully placed his marble into its resting chamber, as the rest of the council had done with theirs.
"Indeed," Otto agreed, glancing between her and Daemon. "Since when does the prince attend meetings of the Small Council?"
When his gaze shifted to Otto, Daemon's whole demeanor changed. The ease in his shoulders had spiked to tension, and there was a predatory glint in his eyes. "Since I became prince and protector of this city."
"As I seem to recall, you were also once Master of Coin and Master of Laws, yet that did not compel you to attend. Why should you do so now?"
Behind Daemon, Rhaenyra was rolling her eyes, while her father appeared on the verge of tossing both men out. Lord Beesbury gave her an apologetic smile.
"Otto, it hardly matters now. Daemon is here, now let us proceed," Viserys said, looking between both men.
The prince looked back to her. "Forgive us for interrupting, Lady Elyse."
Us, he stated, as if he was not the one who had ground the entire meeting to a halt before it could properly begin. If Daemon Targaryen took blame – which she was beginning to see as a rare occurrence – he would never do so alone.
"There is nothing to forgive, My Prince," she said quietly and too sweetly, ignoring the way he smirked. "My situation could use the benefit of another opinion."
If the rest of the council noticed the tension between them, they were very good at not letting it show. She appreciated the effort.
"I will cut straight to it. The North is on the brink of war, and my father needs your help."
The council shared looks with one another, each in their own way surprised. Only Daemon remained still, a hunger growing in his eyes. Yes, a man like him would yearn for the prospect of war. She had seen the way his men howled for violence. He was probably the loudest of them all.
"At war with whom?" Lord Corlys asked, reserved.
"Itself, and the Crown."
Now there were murmurs to accompany the looks. Elyse paid no mind to the words they whispered amongst each other, echoes of treason and weakness and cost. She let them have their piece before continuing.
"There are those who still take issue with the decision Torrhen Stark made in kneeling to Aegon the Conqueror. They would see the North independent once again, and if they must tear the land apart in civil war to achieve it, then they will. And it will be my uncle who leads them."
"And here I thought the Starks were of the honorable sort," Daemon commented, his voice dragging over the syllables to the point of mockery.
"Some would call the choice between life and death no choice at all. There is no honor in an oath made by force."
"And what would you call it?" Lord Strong asked.
"I would call it foolish, or I would not be here at all," Elyse replied, sweeping her gaze across the council. "The North is stronger for its ties with the South, even if it is not obvious. We have our pride, and our stubborn attitude to blame for much of what is happening now, and that is why I came to you under the guise of a lady-in-waiting, because my father could not be bothered to set aside his dignity for one moment in order to ask for aid."
"That is quite the plan you put together," King Viserys admitted, glancing to Rhaenyra. His daughter was conveniently occupied by a string on her dress. "Tell me, Lady Elyse, what would you have the Crown do in order to avoid bloodshed?"
Elyse stepped toward the table. "Your Grace, I would ask that you visit the North, not to address the rumors of unrest, but to meet its people, its lands. I would ask that you meet our lords in their halls, and get to know their customs and way of life. Remind the North that they are remembered, and are as much apart of this kingdom as those in the Crownlands. Your grandsire did the very same, but it has been nigh on fifty years. Few live now who remember it."
No one spoke, but the room grew loud in its silence. The thoughts of the council reverberated across the walls, settling deep within her chest. She breathed deeply, body suddenly spent despite never having moved; she might sleep for a thousand years once this was finished.
Lord Otto was the first to speak, and to disappoint her.
"It is a foolish idea, child's play at its finest," he declared, turning to face her. A lord who offered insults first had little else to give. Her uncle had said that once. "If the situation in the North is as dire as you state, then to send His Grace would be nothing short of a declaration of war. And should one of these great houses he visits be home to these malcontents you speak of, they may take it upon themselves to rid the North of the one thing they despise."
She did not miss the emphasis the Hand of the King placed on great, as if the houses of her home were not worthy of such a description. Oldtown, she knew, was a man-made behemoth like King's Landing, a labyrinth of stone passageways and brick homes. The sight of dirt undoubtedly made him ill.
"Do not take my people for fools, my lord. It is independence they seek, not the entirety of the South bearing down upon them for the death of their king," Elyse replied slowly, eyes narrowed, before turning her attention to Viserys once more. "Your Grace, despite my words, the North has a strong sense of duty and honor. A man come in good faith will not suffer harm, I promise you."
"Is it not their honor that you have just brought into question?" Maester Mellos asked, his tone even and possibly bored despite the accusation he laid before her.
There were nods around the table.
"Your Grace," Otto continued, deeming her unworthy of a direct response. "We should investigate these goings-on, that I believe we can all agree to. If the rumors are true, then the traitors should be brought to the capital to face trial. We cannot quietly give them leave to think what they must. An example must be made."
"If you wish for the entire North to rally behind the cause for independence, then by all means, continue in this line of thinking. It is the North that must punish its own traitors, or you risk war all the same."
"So we are to both act upon this and not. By all means, tell us what sort of logic you are attempting to persuade us with."
"Forgive me, I did not realize that I needed to explain the intricacies of politics to the Hand of the King," Elyse hissed.
Whatever reply he might have provided her was silenced when Daemon began to giggle. It was a strange sound, high-pitched and childlike, one that did not match the normally predatory prince before her, but there was a dangerous sort of mischief glowing in his eyes. She recalled how the two men had interacted with one another upon her arrival. It seemed her insults amused him.
"Perhaps we ought to declare a new Hand," Daemon suggested, glancing her way again. "Certainly that would sate the North."
"And certain warmongers, no doubt," Otto replied, leveling a look upon the prince. It was quite the confidence for a man who lacked a dragon.
"It seems to me that you are the one declaring war today. You've managed to insult and accuse the only Northerner here of not knowing her people."
Elyse misliked Daemon's defense of her, in part because it meant she may owe him again, but she also knew that most of his speech was centered upon upstaging the Hand of the King in any way he could. He would have just as easily spoken against her plan if Otto had agreed to it at the start.
"I agree with Daemon," Viserys stated, resulting in an impish grin from his little brother. "I daresay none of us has ventured far north. Corlys, I believe you have been to White Harbor before."
The Master of Ships nodded. "Yes, but even there they will tell you they are not true Northerners. They are refugees fled from the South, bringing their customs with them."
"Thus the point stands. We must be like foreigners to your people."
"My father likened us to the Dornish once, sharing the same land, but little else," Elyse replied. "Your Grace, I know it is a fool's plan that I bring to you, but those who consider independence may yet waver once they meet you. If you show interest in them, my uncle will lose his strength, and my father may finally have the support needed to put this to a rest once and for all."
"And will he?" Lord Strong asked, leaning against the table. "Should we agree to this plan, will your father do his part? You said it yourself, he was unwilling to ask for help. You are not here on his behalf, but your own."
Her father was the one uncertainty in the entire plot. Had he acted earlier, all of this might have been prevented, but he had not done so, out of weakness or love for his brother, Elyse could not say. If he acted now, some lords might protest, but the solemn honor of the North would see most houses quell the conspirators, but still he would do nothing. She could not guarantee that the backing of the Crown and the presence of the king would persuade him, but Elyse knew that it needed to be done. She would see it through, with his help or not.
If it was her fate to see Northern lords brought to Southern justice, then so be it. There was one Stark yet in Winterfell who knew the true depths of duty.
"He will, my lord."
"Then I agree to the plan," Viserys said, resting his hands upon the table. "I think it would be unwise for the Crown's first visit to the North in half a century to be an accusatory one. Should the issue persist, however, I will defer to the judgment of the Hand."
Elyse nodded once. "Those are agreeable terms, Your Grace."
"However, I must delay the journey. With the queen in her state, I do not wish to leave the capital. Once my heir is born, then I will make my way north."
Unbidden, Elyse found her gaze drifting to Rhaenyra. She watched on with a solemn façade, and a straightened back, but it would take a fool to not notice how the words had affected her. Despite being her father's cupbearer, he was ready to toss her work aside in an instant if the queen birthed a son.
"In the meantime, might a letter suffice?" Viserys continued, ignorant of his daughter's plight. "To open communication with the promise of a future tour?"
Though Elyse could understand the king's reservations, she feared the months remaining to them, and hoped it was not enough time for her uncle to do something drastic. She would have to write her father, and make certain there were no unexpected visitors to the rookery, if he would even listen to her words.
"I believe that would be a fine first step, Your Grace. You have my gratitude."
Apparently unable to stomach being the losing party, Lord Otto decided to speak again. "Perhaps, in the meantime, we might send another in your stead. The prince seems rather eager to treat with Northerners."
She wondered if the Hand could feel her glare boring into him.
It was a slight to Daemon at her expense, and she grew tired of it already.
"My lord, I do not know the history between you and the prince, but if you might refrain from your bickering until I have left the room, I would consider it a courtesy."
Lord Beesbury nodded. "I agree with Lady Stark. These are serious matters, and not the time for foolishness."
Otto turned to her, and Elyse caught a glimmer of annoyance in his gaze. "Forgive me, my lady, it was an uncalled for remark."
"I agree with him."
The entire table turned to face Daemon. Mouths dropped, Otto looked as if he'd swallowed a lemon, and Viserys appeared to no longer recognize his brother.
Daemon glanced around and shrugged. "If the matter is as dire as the lady suggests, a letter may not be enough. As my brother's heir, I should travel there in his stead, until he is able to do otherwise."
Elyse could scarcely breathe. If the council had thought that sending Viserys would be a declaration of war, sending Daemon would be an outright attack. He had a dragon while the king did not. She had planned on the king's non-threatening manner of travel to encourage lords to his side.
Viserys, however, did not notice her panic. "I think that is a marvelous idea. Lady Elyse, what do you say?"
Somehow, her voice remained. "Some may find issue with the dragon."
Daemon smirked. "I seem to recall that my grandparents visited on their dragons."
They also weren't likely to burn anything down out of spite.
She sighed, knowing very well that to deny him now was to look like a hypocrite to the king; she needed to be on his good side, and would have to give some ground if that were to happen. "Very well. The Prince may find he will enjoy the hospitality of the North."
Now he was grinning from ear to ear.
Elyse regretted those words, and wished the floor would swallow her whole.
Even with the council concluded, Elyse was not free of Daemon long.
She had retreated to the godswood again, and the heart tree that had become more a confidant and friend than a place of worship. Resting upon its trunk, Elyse brought her dagger out, which had been buried in the folds of her dress during the entire ordeal. Holding it brought her a sort of comfort now. It was hope, a chance to fight where others like her could not. So long as it was in her grasp, there would always be the possibility of victory.
Elyse heard footfalls in the grass and knew.
Squeezing her eyes closed, Elyse sighed. "Go away."
"And here you were being so proper earlier," Daemon said behind her. "Where is that Northern hospitality I was promised?"
"In the North, which is conveniently not here," Elyse replied, glancing up. Daemon rounded the tree, eying the dagger in her grasp. His mouth quirked. "What do you want?"
He appeared amused by her disposal of his titles, smirking as he stood before her. The sun was still out, the rays lighting his hair until it was almost blinding to look upon. She chose to focus on the hilt of his sword, where both hands were currently resting.
"If I am to play the part of diplomat for my brother, I'm going to need you to answer a question."
"And what question would that be?"
"Dispose of the dagger first."
She might have laughed at that. The idea that Prince Daemon Targaryen, Commander of the City Watch, was afraid of a little girl with an even smaller dagger was a ridiculous one, but she did have a tendency to use it upon him. Perhaps the caution was warranted, though it made her equally wary. What did he wish to speak of that made him believe she would use it?
"Then rid yourself of your weapons too," was her reply.
The smirk he gave her now was unamused. "Should I turn violent, do you think my lack of a sword would save you?"
"Do you intend to become violent?"
"Depends upon your answer."
"Then perhaps I should keep my dagger," Elyse said, neither afraid of his thinly veiled threat nor put off. "Consider this an exercise in equality, My Prince, one foolish request for another."
He stared at her for longer than most would allow, but she was too tired to play his game. If he wanted to wait until the sun fell, then so be it. She could wait him out.
Slowly, Daemon unclasped his weapons belt, holding it out for her to see before dropping it upon the ground. Elyse stood, wiggled the dagger in his face, and tossed it away.
"You hesitated in the council chamber," Daemon said immediately, taking two steps forward. There was still some distance between them, but he could grab her in an instant if he chose to do so. "When Lord Strong asked if your father would do his part, you hesitated, and then you lied."
"What makes you so certain I was lying?"
"Do you deny it?" When she did not answer fast enough, he came closer, faster than she expected. It drove her into the tree, painfully, as his face was suddenly inches from hers. "I will not have my brother involved in your schemes based upon a lie. Do you deny it?"
In those violet eyes now, she saw none of the strangely playful nature he often brought with him. There was only an anger, a fire that burned as fiercely as a dragon's. Whatever his faults may have been, there was no denying that Daemon loved his family, and for the first time, she could not fault him for the way he acted.
"No," she admitted quietly, unable to face him in a rare moment of shame. "I don't know why my father hasn't acted before now, and I can't guarantee he will act then."
Daemon grabbed her chin roughly, and forced her to look up. Now the fire had died. There was nothing in those violet eyes, only empty pits where all light died. He would kill her if she did not answer him properly, and deal with the consequences later. All to protect his brother, the man who he might disrespect within the same breath.
She should have feared him then, yet instead Elyse found a begrudging respect forming for the man.
"You will not send my brother into danger for nothing."
"It will not be for nothing," she replied. "Whether my father acts or not, the North will see its part done. I will guarantee it."
"You word means nothing to me."
"If that were true, we wouldn't be here."
Daemon sighed and released her, a way of admitting her point. Elyse rubbed the skin he had touched, though he had hardly harmed her.
"How can you guarantee it?" he asked, quieter, but no less deadly. He was giving her a chance, a very small one.
"Until my brother comes of age, I am my father's heir. Should he not act, then I will."
The amusement was back in an instant, his eyes lighting in a way that unnerved her. She preferred it when he was angry, feeling that anything that met his approval should be an indication that she was in the wrong.
Daemon crossed his arms, stepping back. "You would have your own father killed?"
"I would have him deposed. There is no need for his death."
The way his smile grew made her feel naked. He was seeing something he shouldn't, and Elyse fought the urge to cling to the necklace lest it confirm what he already suspected.
"No, that's not what you want," he whispered, stalking back toward her. Elyse felt her breath hitch as he leaned over her and whispered in her ear. "Tell me, Lady Elyse, why is it that you want your father dead?"
"I don't."
"Stop lying," he replied, breath hot in her ear. "Your gods are listening."
She thought of the North, of her distant home filled with memories and terrors. She thought of her sister, alone, with no true knowledge of why she was so hated. She thought of a little girl stripped of her innocence in the blink of an eye.
"Because those who deserve to die should not linger in this world."
In a sudden fit of rage, she shoved Daemon. For his height and strength, he was heavy, but he hadn't expected the action from her, thus he tipped over on the spot and fell to the ground. Elyse stood over him as he began to cackle, endlessly amused by the anger she possessed toward him.
Grabbing her dagger off the ground, Elyse fled the godswood, and the echoes of the prince's laughter.
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My apologies for the delay. I hope you enjoyed it. Until next time!