Warning: Implied non-consensual content ahead. It is very brief and non-graphic, but if you do not wish to read it, skip ahead to the next line break.

Chapter Seven
A Lesson on Dangerous Things

The occupants of Winterfell affectionately knew little Elyse Stark as "The Wandering Lady," as the young girl was not one to remain still for long periods of time (her idea of long was really quite short – as was her patience). From the deepest cellars to the highest towers, her footfalls and laughter could be heard, though she would disappear quick and quiet as a mouse should the threat of being returned to where she belonged ever arise. She only stopped for sleep, and even then, it was not a guaranteed thing; she tended to roll, and slept on the floor as often as her bed.

The day Elyse Stark lost her innocence was like any other that had come before. She had escaped from Senna, the maid often tasked with keeping an eye on her, for the third time that week. This time it was by climbing onto the roof from a nearby window and escaping to another room in the adjacent tower. Her poor, beleaguered keeper would have to climb down one stairwell and up the other to find her again, should she remain. Though the winds had caught in her skirts and nearly sent her flying to her death, Elyse had only laughed, thrilled by the fear coursing through her veins.

She'd taken to hiding in the armory after her escape, panting behind a row of spears in the darkness. Dust drifted slowly through the air, revealed by pale light pouring through thin slits in the stonework of the castle. Elyse watched it settle upon Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark, its Valyrian steel blade almost glowing from the center of the room. Not once had her father taken up the weapon; not once had he reveled in the glory of their house. She had often begged him to allow her the honor of cleaning it, but the honor was not hers to have.

"It will be for my son, and my son's sons. You were meant for finer things."

But her father had no son, only her, and was not any child better than none at all?

Scrambling from her hiding place, Elyse ran to Ice, standing before its stony pedestal. The blade was as long as a man was tall, and perhaps heavier than her. It rested upon the Stark banner, the blade neatly dividing the direwolf of her house in two. She stared at the steel, wondering if her reflection would stare back, but finding only the dark rippling patterns that ran the length of it. Maester Willem told her the blade had been forged in Valyria, before the great doom that had destroyed its people and lost its secrets. Legend said that spells were woven into its metal, though he was a practical man with little patience for the fantastic, and dismissed the words as nonsense.

Elyse thought their maester a foolish man as she ran her hand across its smooth surface. There was magic here, a story of dragons and blood and fire, all contained within Ice. With care, she cleaned it of dust and webs and other unrefined things, watching carefully the edges. It was said Valyrian steel never dulled, and the thoughtful daughter of House Stark was not eager to test that theory.

Slowly, her hand made its way down to the hilt. Not with four hands could she have gripped it in its entirety, and yet in that moment, Elyse was certain that Ice would allow her to lift it, a gift for the care she had given, but before she could tug upon it, a commotion rose nearby.

With a gasp, Elyse relinquished her hold, spinning around to face whomever had caught her in the act, but the doorway to the hall was empty and the household none the wiser to her actions.

She glanced to her left; the door there was slightly ajar. It was a storeroom, filled with sacks and old furniture, and other things mostly forgotten. She had fallen asleep there once, only to wake to the sound of the entire castle calling her name. Her father had threatened to tie her to her chair. She'd laughed and asked if she had missed dinner.

Elyse quietly moved across the room, gently bracing herself against the doorframe. She strained to hear what was inside, but there were no words spoken. There was a grunt, a groan, the sort of sounds animals made.

And then a woman weeping…

When Elyse opened the door, she froze.

Senna was lying across one of the old tables in the room, her skirts thrown above her waist, her dark eyes rimmed red with tears. Above her was a man covered in a great fur cloak, boots still wet from mud he had tracked into the castle. He panted and shook the table, and Elyse knew well what it was he did – she'd caught servants at it before.

When Senna turned her way, she watched the woman close her eyes, sobbing again. She tried to push the man off her. In return, he grabbed her neck.

The cloak shifted, and she was met with the face of her father.

The mornings had grown far hotter than Elyse cared for, but it was not simply the heat of the sun that assaulted her. No, the bloody air itself had to attempt to choke her as well. In the North, the air was a dry, nonexistent thing. Here in the capital, she may well begin to swim in it. Even in her Southern styled dresses, she was overheating, sweat tickling the back of her neck as she made her way to the training grounds.

Through the windows beside her, Elyse could hear the clatter and clang of sword upon sword, metal upon wooden shield. Even without the prospect of a tournament, there were always knights from various corners of the kingdom wandering about the Red Keep, waiting for an opportunity to display their skill and valor, and honing them in the idle meanwhile. Unwed ladies – and occasionally the wed ones too – would stop by often and offer favors and compliments. She'd listened to their obvious flirtations with thinly veiled disgust and wondered what could possess a woman to trade her dignity for a pretty face.

Ser Medrick was practicing by himself on the far side of the courtyard, as he often was. Still battling the endless war with his self-doubt, Elyse believed he did not find himself wanting to engage with the others. It was a preposterous notion. He was larger than most of the men who frequented the place, and was far more skilled than the rest, save for Lord Strong's son. Breakbones they called him, and she had seen well why. Not many men could cleave through a dummy like butter, fewer still could make it halfway through the next.

Elyse waited for Medrick to complete his current set before interrupting him. She watched his broad shoulders rise and fall from heavy breaths as he practiced his stances and killing blows. What passed through his mind, she wondered. Did he see the faces of the men he killed or was it her pleas he heard?

Was it guilt or pity that had lodged itself in her throat?

"Surely you're back to your old form," Elyse said, freezing him. Medrick glanced over his shoulder, a wary blue eye peeking out from under sweaty locks. "You should take to knocking finer things into the dirt. I can see several Southern knights who could use a lesson in Northern discipline."

The knight shrugged, hoisting the broadsword onto his shoulder. It may have been her height. She certainly could never dream of lifting it. "I had not cared to, but if it would please my lady."

She did not miss the sarcasm in his tone – frankly she hadn't thought him capable, too noble. It smacked her as hard as the broadside of his sword might have. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Medrick stepped away from the practice yard, ducking into the small, nondescript doorway that marked the entry to the armory, and she followed. The scent of leather and iron filled her nostrils as her eyes took in walls covered in various weapons of differing states. Swords, maces, flails, and spears with notches, scratches, and distinctly blunt edges. She supposed a sharp blade amongst practice weapons marked one of questionable quality.

A handful of squires had been inside, laughing at some joke. At their arrival, they went quiet and scattered.

"You only come to see me when you want something, Lady Elyse," Medrick eventually said, placing his sword upon the racking before him, his back to her still. "I would much rather you say it than attempt to flatter me first. That way I might deny it all the sooner."

"When I want-!" she stopped, clenching her fists together until her nails dug into the skin. Elyse thought to demand he turn around if only so she could slap him. "The last three times I saw you, it was to return your bloody dagger. If you consider that wanting something of you, I'd hate to remind you of your oaths as a knight."

He turned then, a stubborn attitude evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened. She'd never seen him this way. Awkward or sociable, yes, but never so closed off before. She wondered what might have come over him.

Medrick sighed. "Then what would you have me do?"

Stand still and let her beat him senseless with one of the dulled weapons.

"Right now, I'd have you explain yourself."

He sighed, softening, but looking no less ready to wage war. "You know as well as I do the reason I am still here. My father would see a union between our houses, and I am not to return until I have secured it."

She almost laughed. What a ridiculous joke her life had become in the span of a few months. Here she was attempting to prevent war, and now she had to deal with the hurt feelings of a knight, which was apparently the more pressing of the two, at least according to the man who was supposed to understand war. What was marriage next to the carnage that would befall her people should she fail?

But Elyse kept her composure – barely – and leveled a look at the knight. "Medrick, you should know why I am here too. Your father is one of my father's strongest supporters when it comes to the king."

"And for that, he feels he should be rewarded."

"I am not a reward. I am the only one actively trying to prevent this war. If his loyalty hinges on what he can be given, then perhaps you ought to consider your journey at its end."

Medrick raised his hands briefly, balling them into fists, as if he were struggling not to throttle her. The feeling was mutual.

"Argue with your words all you want, but we both know you are only half as strong as you could be. Marry into a house as strong as ours, and those who oppose your father will be forced to reconsider their position. Saying we are loyal is one thing. Showing we are is another entirely."

Elyse frowned. She was starting to wish he was still the self-pitying little knight who refused to look her in the eye, but he'd gone and figured himself out. Now he was fully staring at her, expectant, and unfortunately, he had a point she could not deny. A woman alone could never matter as much as a woman with a powerful husband at her side.

House Manderly would be the victorious heroes of the North, and Elyse Stark would fade away…

Medrick clearly did not care for her silence, shifting from one foot to the other. "Unless there is another you've already set your sights upon."

She blinked. "What?"

The knight shook his head, moving past her. He grabbed a mace and tested its weight in his grip. "Don't take me for a fool, my lady. Prince Daemon is his brother's heir, and a Stark as queen would certainly solve many problems in the North."

"Even if that were true, which it is most certainly not," Elyse started, attempting to swallow her anger. Even now, the prince was a plague upon her. He'd become more her shadow than an actual person. "The prince is married to some woman from the Vale. She is the future queen."

Though she hoped that would not be the case for Aemma's sake. The petrifying idea of King Daemon Targaryen aside, the thought that the queen would have wasted her life and health for nothing was a sorrow she did not wish to be witness to. There had been more than enough heartache in her life already.

"And every man, woman, and child knows there is nothing the prince would like more than to be rid of his lovely bride," Medrick replied. "He's yet to persuade his brother to set his marriage aside, but for the chance at peace, he might have an opportunity."

She almost laughed. Daemon was neither tactful nor patient. If that had been his true intent all along, he'd have announced it at the council, and cornered her with his proposal. A desperate woman could hardly say no to what many would consider a golden opportunity.

Elyse doubted Viserys would have agreed to it anyway. Trading the offended North for the offended Vale was hardly a diplomatic victory.

Medrick picked up a morning star next, swinging it with quite a bit of force. Elyse watched him, utterly perplexed.

"Is this jealousy, Ser Medrick?" Elyse asked, taking a tentative step toward the knight. He movements slowed. She could see him weighing things in his mind, his eyes dancing over the weapons before him.

"It is what it is," he said at last, moving toward the doorway.

Elyse thought to let him leave. She did not have time for his wounded heart over imagined slights. If he wished to punish her for the interests another man may or may not possess, then that was his mistake to make. However, she could not afford to keep him unhappy. How many men had destroyed their world because they had once been denied? To lose House Manderly would cost her dearly.

"I will accept your proposal," Elyse said, looking at the rack of swords before her, at the mouse scurrying across the ground, anywhere except him. "But you must do something for me first."

She could hear him walking back toward her. "So you did come for something."

Elyse dared to glance at him, and a wide, teasing smile rested upon his features. How joyful he was, now that he had gotten his way. Men could be such insufferable creatures, and she'd just agreed to suffer with this one until the end of her days. She was neither disappointed nor enthused by the idea, and that was perhaps the most damning part about it.

"Don't be smug. I can just as easily change my mind," she replied, grabbing one of the swords from the rack. It wasn't terribly heavy but felt awkward in her grasp, as if fighting against her possession of it. "I want you to teach me to fight."

He was quiet for so long, Elyse thought he might have disappeared. "Surely you jest."

"Has any part of this conversation felt like a joke to you?" she asked, taking a slow, steady swing with the sword, mimicking the motions she had seen time and again. It was an awkward and clumsy affair, but all things were at the start. She was not embarrassed by the shortcomings that came with inexperience. "We are on the precipice of war, and as you well know, I have seen what the inability to defend myself results in."

"Do you plan on leading a foray as well?"

"Of course not," Elyse replied, lowering the sword. Men wanted to consider women fragile creatures, but balked at the idea of them learning to be less so. "But my uncle has made it abundantly clear that he will cut me down before allowing me to stand in his way. Should he stand closer to me than you, the strength and loyalty of House Manderly will matter little. I refuse to die helplessly."

Medrick walked closer to her, placing a hand on her arm. "No harm shall come to you, I swear it."

A hundred cruel replies rested on her tongue, but she chose to disappoint them. "I am not asking you out of fear. This is practicality. You can no more swear to always defend me than I can to always be happy with you. Teach me how to survive this war, and I will be your doting wife when it passes."

A month passed, and already rumors had begun to circle the keep about a tournament held for the birth of the heir. They had yet a few moons until that day, yet more and more knights began to trickle into the capital, silly feathers in their helms and sillier depictions on their shields. Most were hedge knights or sons of minor lords, hoping to better their standing in the fights ahead, but in the meanwhile, they simply served as nuisances.

Ser Medrik had taken to fighting again, if only because he did not care for the looks she received from the newcomers. He took their tentative betrothal seriously, and rather quickly decided only he could react to their apparent transgressions. She found the whole thing childish, but if it kept him sated so that he might continue to teach her, she would not stop him.

They would meet early in the morning or late at night, when only the barest glimpse of light was visible on the horizon. There were fewer prying eyes in those hours. It also meant there were fewer hours in which she actually slept. Aemma had joked that she was the far more tired of the two of them, and perhaps she ought to care for her instead.

The queen had been doing better as of late. She no longer had nausea, and could keep her meals down. It had been the same with Rhaenyra, she told her, which gave her hope that things would turn out alright, though she had said those words quietly, afraid that fate itself would hear and intervene.

"What is he teaching you?" Aemma had asked as they supped on blackened fish. Rhaenyra and Alicent had joined them for a time, until the ever-distracted nature of young girls whisked them away.

"No more than I need," Elyse replied, picking at her food. The callouses on her hands were still newly formed, and grasping anything was proving difficult. "How to block, how to deflect, disarm if I can. Mostly how to keep someone stronger than me from knocking the sword out of my grasp. We're still working on that one."

She'd grown tired of the sound of her steel clattering on the ground. It would echo in her mind in the dead of night and rouse her from sleep.

"I pray you need never use those skills."

"As do I, though if I may be bold, I believe I may only end up using them on your good-brother."

The queen had attempted to keep a straight face at the remark, but eventually she'd broken down into little giggles. She looked so young then, her violet eyes alight with a joy she could not place. For all the pain it had caused her, Elyse believed Aemma had hope for every pregnancy as well, and in her distracted moments, she let it surge forth and brighten her world.

When she left the queen's chambers some time later, the halls of the keep were dark and quiet. Her footfalls echoed across the marbled flooring, keeping her company as she made her way through the castle. When Daemon drifted into the hall from a dark corner, she was hardly surprised. Mostly, she was disappointed that she could not go to bed just yet.

"My Prince," she said with a bow of her head. He was smirking, always amused. No doubt her propriety was humorous to him, but they were within the walls of the Red Keep, and her voice would be heard in places she could not see. "What are you doing here at this late hour?"

"Lurking, as you would say," Daemon replied, stepping beside her. He was wearing the colors of his house, as he always seemed to, black and dark red that served to further pale his skin and hair. "I wanted to discuss my visit to the North."

"Here I had thought you'd forgotten."

"Thought or hoped?" he asked, staring down at her with half a smile.

"Both are unspoken. Pick whichever pleases you, My Prince."

His shoulders bounced, a small laugh. "I had thought to go on the morrow, if that works for you. I assume you are joining me, after all. Either that or I should expect a rather rude welcome when I return."

Her mouth went dry. In truth, she hadn't considered it at all, and what a fool she was for it. Daemon had already admitted he would fly there, and there was no horse or ship that could match that speed.

But there was, deep in her heart, a flutter of excitement.

During her silence, footsteps could be heard nearing them, and Elyse turned to see Otto Hightower. She bit her tongue to keep quiet, for of course the night could only make turns for the worst.

"Surely the prince does not intend to damage Lady Elyse's reputation," Otto remarked, nodding to her in greeting. She briefly thought to apologize to Daemon. Clearly everyone in the castle lurked. "A young woman alone with the crown prince makes for terrible gossip."

"As I seem to recall, this was your idea," Daemon replied, squaring up against the Hand of the King. Elyse rolled her eyes and did not care that they could see.

"I did not intend for you to whisk anyone away."

"The choice is entirely hers."

"Is it now?"

Daemon narrowed his eyes, hand twitching near his sword. "Careful, Otto. My brother isn't here to protect you."

Now the Hand of the King was grinning.

"Perhaps the two of you ought to go together, seeing as how you both agreed to the idea, and Lord Otto is keen on defending my honor," Elyse interrupted, stepping between the two of them. They both turned to her with matching expressions of disgust that had her lips turning upward. "I did not think so. As that is the case, I will take the prince up on his offer. I should like to see home again, and to make certain the meeting between him and my father goes smoothly."

The prince looked like a child who'd won a prize, giddy and prideful. She thought to mention changing her mind if only to wipe the look off his face.

"That is not a wise course of action, my lady," Otto said, voice low.

"Neither is war, Lord Hand."

She'd leave her reputation in tatters across the muddy earth if it meant her people could continue to know peace. Given the intent of those around her, Elyse was not certain she had any other choice to begin with.

Elyse rode to the Dragonpit before the sun had broken over the horizon. She only spoke to Aemma before departing, unwilling to go without her blessing. There was a mother's disappointment in her eyes, but the queen understood the difficult position she was in, and ensured her that while Daemon was a belligerent, spoiled brat, she would be safe with him.

To Medrick, she said nothing. He was the reason she left so early, to avoid him in any way she could. There would be no explaining her position to him. He would object until he turned blue in the face, and then lock her away in a room for good measure.

She felt like a criminal, checking every corner, and then every street, for any sign of him, utterly convinced that somehow he knew and would arrive to stop her at any moment. But the roads and alleyways were clear, most citizens still in their homes, and the only sounds were birds and the hoofbeats of the horses passing through.

Daemon was already there, standing in the gaping entrance at the bottom of the pit with Caraxes. The dragon nuzzled into the prince's grasp, content with the affection he was being given. Elyse watched them for as long as she dared, before dismounting and handing the reins to one of the guards who had accompanied her.

Slowly, she walked the distance between them, feeling her body tremble harder with each step. It was not fear that awakened in her, but an excitement, a feeling of impossibility. She never imagined coming so close to such a creature, a remnant of Old Valyria, powerful and mysterious. It made her think of Ice.

Caraxes noticed her presence and turned in her direction, prompting her to stop. Perhaps twenty feet separated them, and she could still feel the warmth of his breath wash over her, blowing her hair. She tucked her hands in front of her, waiting. Surely to simply approach from here was the wrong decision.

Daemon looked at her. "Are you afraid?"

She shook her head. "No."

He was silent a moment, searching for a lie perhaps. "Move to the side, then come to me, slowly."

Elyse did as he asked, moving to the side he was on, before making her way toward him. She could hear Daemon whispering in Valyrian to Caraxes as she approached, holding his head in his hands as if he had the strength to keep him there. Soft squeaks came from the creature's mouth, and what she thought might have been some kind of purr.

Daemon held his hand out, and she gently took it without question. He guided her toward Caraxes, placing her hand upon his face, holding her there, allowing the dragon to become used to her presence.

She flexed her fingers along the scales, feeling how smooth the texture was. It was softer than she imagined, but she could still feel that power that lurked underneath her skin, the heat that felt like a fine summer day.

A golden orb stared down at her, nearly as large as her head. Elyse watched it, and felt a smile break out upon her face.

"He's magnificent," she said, unashamed of the awe in her voice.

A soft smile grew on Daemon's face. Nothing mocking or impudent, as was his usual way. It was a smile a parent might reserve for their child or a teacher their student, a pride at their accomplishments and the recognition they rightly deserved.

"I admit, I did not believe you'd come."

Elyse felt her smile disappear. "When Otto Hightower all but insisted I remain, I thought it right to do the opposite. A war in the North means little to him, but a failed prince? He's all too eager for it."

Daemon hummed, and she thought Caraxes did the same. "And you trust me?"

"Not in the least, but I prefer a knife to my throat than to my back," Elyse admitted, showing the dagger at her hip, much to Daemon's amusement. "But I do believe you care greatly for your brother. You don't want to let him down."

There was a vulnerability in his face then, or perhaps it was the glow of the light playing tricks on her eyes.

He led her away to a stone stairway within the Dragonpit. Knowing what it was for, Caraxes shuffled over, lining his saddle up perfectly to the edge.

Elyse carefully stepped into the saddle and allowed Daemon access to her belt as he fastened chains to it. He worked quickly and quietly, strangely distant. She wondered if she ought to say something, but was too fixated on the beast she was currently riding.

He settled in front of her, and spoke to Caraxes. The dragon launched forward, making his way out of the pit. Elyse wrapped her arms around Daemon in an instant, worried she might fall and make a fool of herself. Still, he did not mock her. She found it strange as well.

"We should be at Winterfell some time tomorrow, should the weather prove clear."

Home in a day? It sounded like madness, but she was riding a dragon after all.

A dragon.

When they reached the exterior of the building, Elyse caught sight of riders entering the area, one of them a familiar large man with a silly trident helm.

Elyse barely caught his gaze before Daemon shouted in Valyrian and Caraxes launched himself into the air.

Feeling as if she might fall out of existence, Elyse could not help the surprised cry that came from her mouth and buried her head into Daemon's back, clinging to his form for dear life. She was deafened by the rush of air passing her ears, feeling them pop as the dragon climbed higher and higher. She could feel every wingbeat reverberate across her body, and the shrill cry of the dragon shook her to her core.

Eventually, Caraxes stopped climbing, and the sensation of slipping took leave of her. Daemon sat up in the saddle, prompting Elyse to look up.

White and blue, that was all she saw. Misty fingers that reached out to them, only to be swiftly thrust away by the wings of the dragon beneath her. Tentatively, Elyse reached her hand out, watching white spirals dance around her fingers, leaving only wetness in their wake.

Clouds.

She was in the clouds.

Elyse began to laugh, unable to control herself, for she had been possessed by a young girl who had been locked away for so very long.

And in the midst of her spell, she thought Daemon might have been laughing too.

.

.

.

Until next time!