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Chapter Text

Elyse was on her final batch of potatoes for the day. She had been slaving over peeling the potatoes all morning, and her back was sore and angry. With hair slipping out of her servant’s cap and her dirt-smeared apron, she was the picture of a hard-working kitchen girl. But she was boiling inside. Furious as she peeled every potato. 

Why? Because only three months ago, she had been living a completely different life. Living in New York City with her doting parents, a group of amazing friends, and the comforts of modern technology. She was a content, well-adjusted fourteen-year-old girl with hopes and dreams for her future. What else could she want? 

Everything changed in an instant when she was waiting for the subway after school like she did every day, and a pair of hands pushed her onto the tracks just in time for the incoming train. All Elyse remembered was a bright glare followed by crushing, blinding pain. And the screams from the bystanders as her entire existence faded into oblivion. 

She doesn’t even know who pushed her. 

There was no warm, glowing light awaiting her. No rest or peace. Instead, her eyes flew open one morning, and she found herself in a red, floor-length dress, broom in hand. Two seconds later, she realized she was standing in the middle of a medieval kitchen and thought she had lost her mind. Because she was sure she’d died. Who doesn’t die after getting squashed like a bug by a subway train? Five minutes later, she was blindly given a stack of dishes to wash, only to realize that there was no dishwasher or even running water. Hours later, she thought that everyone else must have either lost their mind or joined some Dungeons & Dragons cult, because why were they all speaking in old-time English and looked like they had no idea what TikTok was? Two days later, everyone else thought she had lost her mind since she kept insisting that she needed to get back to New York. 

No one had a clue what New York was. 

But Elyse was always highly adaptable. Even though she still had no idea where she was, or what she was doing, she thought it would be smartest to at least keep up appearances. Just until she could figure out what the hell was going on. So she wore the servant’s uniform, a boat-neck red dress with long sleeves and a white cap, and slaved away in the kitchen from morning till evening. 

The first time she heard another maid whisper the word Targaryen, she halted in the middle of the corridor, completely confused. Then she kept hearing it everywhere. In the gossip as they washed the dishes. While the girls shared their evening meals. Then she started seeing it everywhere. Banners, sigils, statues. Dragons, dragons, and more dragons everywhere. 

Two weeks later, Elyse realized that somehow, through reincarnation or teleportation or whatever possible method, she had become a scullery maid in the Red Keep, the royal family’s residence in King’s Landing, the capital of Westeros. 

It was not a very happy realization. 

“Elyse! I need you watching the bread,” Marscha snapped, hands on hips. Elyse shot her a sickly sweet smile that masked her annoyance. 

“Yes, Marscha.” Her voice was cordial, but the moment the head cook turned her back, Elyse made sure to stick out her tongue at the older woman to make her frustrations known. She finished peeling the potato in her hand and then headed over to monitor the bread baking in the wood-fired oven. 

Anger simmered deep within her gut, fueled by her stomach’s desperate growls of hunger. None of the bread was for her. Or any of the servants. They wouldn’t get to touch a single bite. All this labor, seventy-five people shouting and sweating in the kitchens, countless more serving girls piling decanters of wines into their arms, was all for the royal feast happening a few flights of stairs above them. 

The Targaryens , she thought mockingly to herself. Elyse was familiar with Game of Thrones to a certain extent. Her father, an avid reader, was practically a fanatic for the books. He loved the lore behind the Targaryens --- a royal family joined together through their dragons and fiery dispositions. Each family member gorgeous and godly. She’ll admit that she thought they were cool, too. But after spending three months serving them, tending to their every need (at least food-wise), Elyse now found them all insufferable. 

“Pompous, entitled, spoiled. All of them,” She grumbled to herself, tossing a fresh-baked bread onto the counter with slightly too much force, causing Marscha to eye her suspiciously. Elyse pretended she didn’t see the dirty look and kept her attention on the bread. The Head Cook hated her, for god knows why. The feeling was mutual. 

What’s worse was that she knew exactly which part of the Targaryen dynasty she had so unfortunately landed in. Right smack in the middle of King Viserys I's reign, with the civil war lurking in the future. Famously known as the Dance of Dragons, it was a bloody event in the book that horrified Elyse, especially since so many characters died in the most brutal way possible. During her first month here, Elyse had entertained the notion of trying to change the story for the better, but that fantasy was squashed almost immediately. 

Servants had no voice here. No autonomy. Seen as less than human. Overwhelming fear shook her to the bone every time she recalled Aegon II’s slaughter of all the ratcatchers in the city after his son’s murder. The actions of two men condemned hundreds of innocents to death. No. Better to stay silent and eventually try to flee before the war starts. Because if there’s one thing that she’s picked up on in her three months here, it’s that none of the nobles or royals would pause to save the low-born when the world burns. 

“Why are all these platters just lying around? Someone carry them up to the feast before they get cold!” Elyse rolled her eyes, tired of the head cook’s continuous bellows. Marscha never did take stress very well. 

“There aren’t any serving girls available,” Another cook squeaked, “the summer ailments had bedridden several in the prior week. We’re short-handed!” 

“So you’d rather all this food sit, growing cold? Use one of the girls here! You, grab the wine refills and make haste!” 

Elyse didn’t need to turn around to know that the object of Marscha’s fury was her. With only a few seconds to swipe a wet towel over her face and neck, she prayed that she didn’t stink of sweat as she grabbed three decanters of wine in each hand and stalked to the feasting hall. Rowdy music and laughter echoed through the halls, an indication of the well-received festivities. Elyse was used to the commotion by now. There was always some sort of banquet, feast, or other celebration every other week. 

No wonder the freaking kingdom is failing. All the money was spent partying.  

When she neared the half-closed doors, Elyse knew better than to draw attention to herself.  She squeezed in, ignoring the ongoing festivities, and approached the wine cart soundlessly. Tonight’s wine bearer was a girl she faintly knew---- Cressa, who, at the current moment, looked pale and clammy as Elyse approached. 

“Oh thank goodness it’s you, Elyse. Quick, take this!” Her fellow servant all but shoved her gilded decanter of wine into Elyse’s hands with frantic whispers. “Take over for me, just a moment? I desperately need to relieve myself.” 

She gave Elyse no chance to respond before sprinting out the doors, leaving Elyse hissing after her, “Fine but hurry! I need to head back to the kitchen!” But the girl was long gone. She glanced at the room full of boisterous royals and nobles, took a deep sigh, then lowered her head and began to slowly make her way around the room, checking for any goblets that dare be half full. 

Her first refill was that of a red-bearded lord who was laughing with his mouth full of food. Elyse tried not to gag when she smoothly poured more wine into his goblet, then hurried along. The second refill of the night belonged to Prince Aegon, whose light violet eyes were already glazed with drunk stupor. That one had a nasty reputation among the female servants, so she made sure to fill his cup far from his wandering hands and backed away before he took notice of her.

The king was nowhere to be found. Elyse has yet to see the elusive monarch in her three months here. Gossip around the castle whispered that the king spent most of his days inebriated with milk of poppy, which she guessed was the medieval version of a sleeping pill. Her heart went out for the poor man. He reminded her of her grandfather, who suffered a painful death from pancreatic cancer. Hopefully, whatever he was sick with, the king had a good support system that would help him through the pain. 

His wife, Queen Alicent Hightower, on the other hand, can be seen adorned in green, looking rather pinched while holding a low conversation with one of the other noble ladies. She did not look very pleased, and her hand kept drifting to her pendant, a seven-pointed star as a symbol of her faith. Elyse filled her companion’s cup, but not the queen’s. Devotion to the Seven kept the queen from consuming too much alcohol. 

“You there, girl! My cup is empty again!” Aegon Targaryen leered after her, words slurred from the overconsumption of wine. Elyse pursed her lips, returned to the intoxicated prince, and gave him a hefty pour of the glistening red liquid. He didn’t bother to thank her. 

Pig.  

Princess Helaena’s cup remained full. Her Highness was whispering to some unknown creature in her palms. According to Elys’s roommate, Dyanna, the princess had a fondness for bugs. For her own sake, Elyse hoped the princess wasn’t playing with a spider. Or worse, a cockroach. Surprisingly, whatever she was holding didn’t seem to bother the person beside her, but perhaps it was because Prince Aemond looked as interested in the banquet and his sister’s strange behavior as Elyse was with her chemistry homework. 

Out of all the guests present, Elyse was the least comfortable pouring his wine. If Aegon Targaryen was horrifying in his drunken habits, then Aemond Targaryen was terrifying, even without wine. He had a vicious reputation and stalked around the Red Keep like the freaking grim reaper. She didn’t like him. Not one bit. He was arrogant, vicious, and petty. And she hated petty people. No matter the problems he had with his nephews as children, nothing could justify him giving chase to Lucerys Velaryon at Storm’s End later on. Perhaps the only person who could trump Elyse’s distaste for the second prince was his grandsire, Otto Hightower, who was absent tonight. Abhorrent to the core, that one. 

After finishing her rounds of wine refills, Elyse returned to the wine cart, grabbed another decanter, and began walking the room again. Glimpses of conversations revealed topics such as the upcoming tourneys or weather in the Riverlands. For the men, Elyse internally sighed as they discussed their mistresses with gusto and not a drop of shame. An hour had passed before Cressa returned with whispered thanks while reclaiming the wine decanters. Elyse was finally able to escape the stuffy banquet hall with the nagging sensation that Marscha would be waiting to chew her out. 

“You took too long!” Marscha snapped, temper flaring. 

Just as I predicted. You old bat. 

“Cressa needed to relieve herself,” Elyse defended herself calmly, trying to quell the oncoming irritation. “She asked me to take over until she could return.” 

“You are needed in the kitchen,” A sharp glare was thrown her way by the older woman, which Elyse ignored, returning to her bread station, “and until you can figure out how to deliver wine refills without disappearing for half the night, you’ll be on night shifts.” Elyse stiffened. She battled the strong desire to spin around and glare back at the smug old bat. 

One day. One day she will get her revenge. But for now, Elyse remained silent and focused on the bread. 

All the food was delivered to the banquet hall within the next few hours. With no more cooking left to do, the rest of the kitchen cooks were ready to retire for the night. All but Elyse. Oh no, Elyse still had a long night of cleaning and prepping ahead of her. Many of the cooks offered hushed apologies and sympathies as they left, but the only one who lingered was Dyanna. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay behind?” Her roommate rubbed her shoulders comfortingly. 

“No,” Elyse shook her head with dismay, “it’s fine. Marscha would chew me out if she found out I had help. This will have to be all me.” 

Dyanna hesitated. Her sweet, freckled face scrunched as she said, “She’s not that bad, you know. She just likes to be harder on the newer maids. You know, toughen you up. The Red Keep is not a very forgiving place for servants who make mistakes.” 

Elyse snorted, devoid of humor. No, she was almost certain that the head cook’s disdain for her had nothing to do with hazing and had everything to do with the two weeks she spent insisting that she did not belong here. It wasn’t her intention to announce that she didn’t want to be a scullery maid, as she was just trying to say she belonged in New York, snuggled on the couch with her chubby cat and a good book. But the head cook took it personally nonetheless. 

“Well, I’ll be going then.” 

“Don’t wait up for me.” 

Her roommate patted her back gently before heading to their shared room, leaving Elyse alone with a wreck of a kitchen. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes scanned the carnage with a sad sigh, then got to work. Scrubbing, scouring, and cleaning every pot and pan. All while steam was hissing through her ears like an overboiled tea kettle.  

“It’s not my fault I got held up at the feast,” Elyse hissed, wiping the counters furiously. “This is a travesty to workers’ rights. What happened to fair hours, fair wages?” But even she knew that there was no such thing as fair hours, fair wages here. Only indentured servitude. 

It was past midnight when she finally finished cleaning and nothing would feel better than collapsing onto her bed with a sigh before drifting into an exhausted, dreamless sleep. Unfortunately, her night was just beginning. Night shift servants work through the night, in case the royals wanted a meal or snack past dinner. That means if Prince Aegon suddenly found himself in a raging headache from the copious amounts of wine he downed that night, there must be someone present to swiftly make his honeyed milk, per his demands. Other than the occasional bratty request from their masters, the night shift also spent their time preparing ingredients and stoking the fire. Queen Alicent, for one, takes her breakfast at the brink of dawn. And heavens forbid the Queen’s fresh fruits and strong tea are not ready in time. 

These royals were more pampered than literal newborns. Seriously the worst bosses of all time. Elyse grumbled internally while she began her first task, loading the stock pot, grumpier than ever when her stomach let out a large, whiny gurgle. Frowning, it occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since the morning. Her eyes drifted to the banquet leftovers sitting on the counter with a knowing smirk. 

“A girl’s gotta eat, right?” Technically, servants weren’t allowed to eat the leftovers either as they were saved for the night, in case one of the Targaryens were hungry, then thrown out to the hounds. Even the dogs ate better than her. But who was here to stop her? “Let’s see,” Elyse took a scan of the available food, “What am I feeling tonight? Perhaps a sandwich?” She pursed her lips as she contemplated, then nodded. Sandwiches sounded good. 

In a few swift motions, Elyse snatched a loaf of stale bread, sliced it, and tossed it into the oven with a sprinkle of water, which she hopes will bring life back into the dry bread. Tonight’s choices of roasted meats were venison and chicken. She wasn’t that into venison. The chicken, however, Elyse sliced evenly and set aside while she perused for other fillings. She would kill for some pesto, she realized with a groan. But alas, Westeros's culinary options were…lacking, to say the least.

The leftover cheeses caught her eye. An idea glimmered in her head, and with a grin, she ran and fetched the apricot preserves and plucked some vibrant greens from the garden. Some, not much, because her hands would probably be sliced clean off if it was discovered that she was stealing from the Crown. Or burned alive, since they were, you know, dragons. 

Elyse fetched the toasted bread from the oven, squealing as she tossed it into the air like a hot potato before setting it on the counter, filling it with layers of chicken, greens, a soft cheese that reminded her of brie, and apricot preserves. Finished with a little salt (they don’t have pepper, how very unfortunate) and some herbs, and voila! A roast chicken sandwich. Hunger surged like an insatiable monster as she sliced the sandwich in half with a dreamy sigh. 

“This would go so well with some mint tea,” She murmured, admiring her work. Too lazy to wash another plate, Elyse placed her handiwork on a piece of linen while she searched the pantries for dried mint, completely unaware of the silhouette that stood by the doorway. When she finally turned around, mint tea in hand, Elyse shrieked when she saw a man with an eye patch watching her silently. 

“P-Prince Aemond, Your Highness, did you need something?” Deeply bowing so the prince wouldn’t see her catch her breath. What was he doing here? Even if the prince was feeling hungry, usually it’s their chambermaids or guards that send the request, not themselves! Just for a second, Elyse dared herself to peek up at the prince and found, with a sinking heart, that he was frowning at her. 

Aemond Targaryen opened his mouth, and said with a low, cold voice, “Something simple to eat.” 

Elyse snapped upright instantly, “R-right, Your Highness. I will prepare something for you, right away.” Without a second look his way, she started rummaging through all the options, “Would you prefer something sweet or savory, Prince Aemond?” 

“Savory.” 

Palms and forehead slick with cold sweat from the jumpscare, she rummaged through the kitchen for something appropriate. There were several currant cakes left from the afternoon, but those were sweet. Venison stew did not seem very appealing to her as a midnight snack, so she concluded that the prince might share the same opinion. 

I guess I could just select some of the meats and cheeses from the banquet. Hurried thoughts ran through her mind at lightning speed. From her recollection, however, the prince had barely touched his plate at dinner. If he didn’t eat it at dinner, would he eat it now? Oh who cares, just give him something before he gets annoyed and runs a sword through you! 

“What’s this?” The same low voice questioned behind her. Elyse twirled around and found Aemond inspecting her sandwich with a narrowed eye. 

Crap.

“That’s uh…uh… it’s uh, a new recipe I was developing, Your Highness,” Elyse fibbed. Nervously adjusting her apron, eyes darting everywhere. Liar, liar, pants on fire , “Just some meat and vegetables between bread.” 

“Hm.” 

Elyse tried to steer the conversation away from the sandwich that may land her in the dungeons, “Would you prefer venison stew or roast meats and cheeses, my prince?” But the darn prince was still staring at her sandwich, intrigued. Long, tense seconds passed without a word from Aemond Targaryen until finally, Elyse mentally cursed the prince using every word in the book, then hesitantly said, “Would you like to try some, Your Highness?” 

He lifted his one violet eye and tersely replied, “Yes, let’s do that.” 

Seven hells. Forcing a bright smile, Elyse responded with gritted teeth, “I will steep some tea for you as well, Your Highness,” A raging, dark storm brewed within her while she snatched the kettle and filled it with water before placing it on the fire. As Elyse violently shook some mint tea into a delicate porcelain teacup, she pondered why the prince was up in the wee hours of the night. More importantly, why he decided to grace her with his presence and make her life harder instead of just sending a freaking maid like the rest of his family. Exhaustion and hunger fueled a near-delusional level of hatred for the young prince at that very moment. Maybe she should be thankful that he didn’t suspect her lies and send her to the dungeons for stealing food, but she was hangry, and mourning her sandwich.  All she wanted was a moment of peace to indulge in a meal before working for another many hours, and apparently, she was not allowed that either. 

The prince did not say another word while the pair waited for the water to boil. When the kettle started screeching, Elyse pulled it off and poured the hot water onto the tea. Half of the sandwich had been placed onto a plate, along with a crisp apple that Elyse had sliced. She stared with deep sadness at the meal she had lost and slid the plate to the waiting prince. 

“Your Highness, I apologize for the wait.” 

Aemond scrutinized the sandwich once more. Prodding the bread with his finger in a manner that made Elyse want to roll her eyes. Finally, after a copious amount of suspicion that nearly prompted her to snatch her beloved sandwich back, the prince raised his face and asked, “You did not give me cutlery.” 

“It’s finger food, Your Highness, you can eat it with your hands.” 

He frowned, confusion apparent on his adolescent face. Elyse swallowed a sigh, “Like this, you just grab it and bite. Like so,” using her half of the sandwich to demonstrate, she took a big bite, “See?” 

Following her motions, the prince hesitantly plucked his sandwich up with both hands and took a bite. Elyse watched him as he chewed, slow and thoughtful, almost anxious for feedback. But the boy gave none. Instead, he silently took another bigger bite. Then another. Within five minutes, his half of the sandwich was gone, save a few crumbs that were stuck to the Targaryen prince’s face that made Elyse want to giggle. She didn’t. She knew better. 

After his plate was cleared, Aemond turned his gaze towards the unfinished half beside Elyse. While he did not say a word, his stare was so intense that Elyse placed her half onto his plate as well. She watched as the prince ravenously inhaled the other half without so much as a thank you. 

What good are princes if they cannot mind basic manners? She thought while picking her nails. What, so because I’m a servant, I can’t be afforded even a thanks? 

When both the plate and teacup were empty, the prince wiped his mouth clean with linen, turned on his heel, and left the kitchen without a second glance to the servant who had gifted him her dinner. Elyse’s mouth fell open as she watched his shadow disappear around the corner. 

“W-what a--- he’s so---- jerk !” Disbelief at the second prince’s lack of manners left her in sputters. Anger blurred her vision as she cleaned the dishes left behind by the boy. There would be no sandwich for her tonight since she did not dare steal more ingredients.  Instead, Elyse pushed a bowl of plain porridge around, her appetite long gone. 

By daybreak, she had been left to stew in her negative emotions for hours, and one thing was for certain. She hoped that she would never have to encounter the Targaryen prince again, or else she wasn’t sure if she could contain her contempt. 

*****

But of course, the gods of this strange world loved to toy with her, and Elyse found herself staring at Aemond Targaryen again the next night. 

Irritation dangerously simmered beneath the surface as he entered the kitchen, stoic and cold, and bluntly said, “I am hungry. Make me the same thing.” 

She had to clench her jaw shut to keep her mouth from dropping to the floor. Elyse took a sweeping glance at the mountain of chores behind her that Marscha had demanded to be done by dawn and felt one small tear threaten to escape as she replied with a sigh, “Right away, Your Highness.” 

And so, Elyse labored over another sandwich with a sour look on her face. There was no chicken tonight, so she took inspiration from the roast beef instead.  Slices of roast beef and cheese layered heavily onto thick bread then toasted until golden and bubbly and slid onto a plate, accompanied with gravy and pickled onions on the side. Elyse poured some water into a goblet and added a small slice of lemon before presenting the prince with his meal. 

Suspicions clouded Aemond’s face as he, once again, poked and prodded his food, and even went in for a delicate sniff before casting a glare onto his servant, “This is not the same one as yesterday.” 

“That’s correct, Your Highness ,” At this point, ‘Your Highness’ rolled off Elyse’s tongue more as an insult than anything else, “Sandwiches can have many different fillings.” 

“Sandwich? Is that what these things are called?” The word sounded so foreign on his tongue. 

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Hmm.” 

 Seriously, she was at the end of her wits. Elyse took no time to watch the prince eat as she had done previously, choosing to tackle the large bowl of peas she had been tasked to de-shell instead. In the corner of her eye, however, she sensed the prince taking a hesitant first bite, then continuing to devour his meal without another word. Only a few moments later, the Targaryen prince had pushed his plate forward with a satisfied grunt and disappeared. Without a word of thanks, of course. 

And so this pattern continued for the rest of her week. Prince Aemond would appear past midnight, stomach growling, and Elyse would fix him a sandwich with whatever she could scavenge. He ate in silence as she worked, and left immediately once he was finished, leaving her with extra dishes and a gradually building anger. By the end of the week, Elyse was so exhausted she could barely walk. Never in her previous life had she experienced exhaustion to this level. Where she wept nearly every morning at daybreak as she dragged her worn self to bed for a few hours of restless sleep. Where her body was pushed to the brink of exhaustion and her bones ached. But at least her punishment was over. No more night shifts, for now. No more stolen sandwiches. No more rude Targaryen princes demanding food in the middle of the night. 

She was free! 

Life fell back into her normal rhythm, consisting mainly of kitchen chores from dawn till nightfall. Elyse hardly saw any of the royals for the next few weeks, staying in the confines of the kitchen and her room. Dyanna and her grew closer after finding a shared love for cats. Whenever they had a spare moment, they would sneak morsels to the Keep’s cats, giggling and whispering from a distance as wary kittens would snatch up the food and dart away.  It’s not that she was happy, or content with her current situation. But Elyse had learned to cope with it. 

Sometimes, her chores would take her outside the four walls of the kitchen. Mainly when she was tasked with carrying back the food trays or gathering the kitchen linens from the laundry girls. Elyse appreciated those small moments away from the kitchen as they were the rare chances she had to see more of the castle. Not everyone can boast that they live in a medieval-style castle, and it’s a shame not to explore every nook and cranny. On that day, it was exactly one of those chores that had Elyse deep in Maegor’s Holdfast when she came face to face with a Targaryen prince in the corridors. One with an angry sneer on his one-eyed face and arms crossed as he blocked her path. 

“Your Highness,” she bowed immediately, “is there something you need of me?” Elyse inquired, her face scrunched in confusion.  

Aemond was silent as always. But he stared. Emotional turmoil swirled behind his violet eye as his teeth gnashed. Elyse didn’t know what to say. Did he need something? Was he upset at her? Impatience seeped into her stance as she was held captive by the prince, who was keeping her from several chores yet refused to say why. 

Finally, “You haven’t been in the kitchens.” He spat. 

Elyse tilted her head, “I'm not sure what you mean, Your Highness,” She had been in the kitchens all day, every day. Every waking moment was spent in the kitchens. 

“No, you haven’t been past nightfall.” Aemond’s voice was accusatory as he spoke down to her. 

“Ohhh, is that what you meant, Your Highness? Then yes, you are right. I had been relieved of night shifts.” 

“Well, put yourself back on the night shifts. I need you to make me that..that sandwich.” 

It was the tone in which the prince said it. And his facial expression. Annoyed. Haughty. Like he was saying, how dare she inconvenience him by not working day and night like a dog, doing double the work, just so he might have a midnight snack when he so pleases. That was what sent Elyse over the edge, as she felt a taunt string in her brain snap. 

Slap him. Punch him. Grab him by his annoyingly perfect hair. 

No, stop it, Elyse. You like your head. Do you want to keep your head? 

Fine, just an insult?

No, avoid being burnt to a crisp, please. 

“Did you hear me?” The prince’s exasperated sigh brought her back to reality. She lowered her head, clenching her teeth to repel the delicious images of violence she would love to enforce upon the royal pain in her butt. Stomping on his foot. Slapping him across his smug face. Screw it, sumo throw him over her shoulder?  

But she didn’t do any of those. Instead, she heard herself saying over the roars of anger surging through her veins, “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, Your Highness. Marscha, the head cook, is in charge of assigning the night shifts. I will be sure to ask her for more night shifts so that I will be available whenever you need me. Now, if that is all, excuse me, Your Highness.” Vision hazy with rage, Elys managed to side-step the prince and stalk down the corridor. Whether or not the prince was finished with the confrontation was none of her business. She needed to escape. Any more time spent in the presence of this pompous, self-important jerk, and she’ll definitely land herself in the Dark Cells. 

Elyse ran through the castle, trays in hand, and returned to the kitchens in a whirlwind of rage, slamming the trays down against the counter as she seethed. A couple of the cooks eyed her warily before scooting away as she breathed heavily, gripping the trays tightly. Black dots swam in her eyes from sheer frustration. God, she needed to scream into a pillow. Or listen to some screamo. 

Dyanna wandered over, arms full of linens. “Everything alright?” 

“Not really.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Probably not the best idea either.”

Dyanna hummed and floated away. Elyse’s eyes fluttered shut, taking a deep breath to calm her anger. Obviously, there was no way she was going to talk to Marscha and ask to work herself into an early grave, as the royal jerk had so confidently demanded. She’ll just have to avoid him instead. How hard could it be? She'll live like a mouse if she had to, and in a few weeks, he'll forget all about her.

He has to, right?

Chapter Text

The newest piece of gossip around the castle was Princess Rhaenyra’s return to King’s Landing, for the celebration of the birth of Aegon and Helaena’s first children, Jahaerys and Jahaera. Elyse was brimming with excitement, ready to sneak a glimpse at the Heir and her children. According to Dyanna, the Velaryon boys were quite lovely, but she still had her reservations. After all, Rhaenyra’s two brothers were such delights. 

Unfortunately, scullery maids rarely got a chance to see the masters of the Red Keep. Nonetheless, Elyse could feel the tension everywhere, like a layer of fog settling over the castle. It was no secret that the Greens or Blacks held no love for each other. After Prince Aemond lost his eye in a brawl with the Velaryons four years ago, the animosity festered into full-blown hatred. No one spoke a word on the matter, but Elyse knew that everyone prayed that a similar incident would not happen during Rhaenyra’s time here. For one brief moment, Elyse’s mind drifted to the maimed prince, with his wounded pride and bitter demeanor, and hoped that his insecurities would not lead him down a warpath, as they did in the books. But with anger issues like his…maybe war was inevitable. 

She thought about the second Targaryen prince obsessively after their encounter. At first, it was out of sheer disbelief over his entitled behavior. Then, she was terrified, spending every night burrowed in her blankets, praying that he wasn’t out looking for her with the Kingsguard. To her knowledge, the second prince wasn’t wandering through the kitchens every night in search of her and her darn sandwiches, but if he did, she’d be dead. Executed on the spot. Her crime? Disobeying a direct order from a royal. Or, lying about working more night shifts to satisfy Sir Pompous One-Eyed and his midnight munchies. 

Her dreams shifted from missing home to nightmares of Aemond Targaryen, watching with a soft smile as his knights gouged her eyes out. She’d wake up drenched with cold sweat and blubbering about the importance of worker’s rights. Even Dyanna would cast her strange looks in the morning sometimes. 

In the kitchens, Elyse was meek and paranoid. All her chores were done while in a corner furthest from the door in hopes that he would not walk in and see her. She even kept her attitude towards Marscha at a minimum in fear of being given more night shifts. But a month went by, then another, and Aemond had not come to exact punishment upon her. Slowly, she started to breathe easier and stopped casting looks over her shoulder wherever she went. 

Maybe he forgot? Or he just doesn’t care enough to seek punishment? Elyse attempted to persuade herself. But then she remembered Lucerys Velaryon being swallowed by Vhagar and an involuntary shiver would go down her spine. No, Aemond was not that forgiving. Yet he never showed, and the tightness in her chest loosened. With the arrival of the Velaryons, there was plenty more chores to keep Elyse busy and her mind free of one-eyed princes. Gradually, Aemond Targaryen became an afterthought. 

Time flew by peacefully, and then it was three days before Jahaera and Jahaerys’s celebratory feast. Elyse was struggling to lug a bushel of potatoes into the kitchen. Grunting and sweating, she had all her attention focused on the potatoes, and none on the crack in the stone floor before her. 

She tripped, yelping with pain and collapsing to the ground. The potatoes fell out of the sack and tumbled around her as she clutched her right ankle to her chest.

“Oh my good lord,” Elyse moaned. Pain pounded like sharp nails through her foot, pulsating and throbbing with her racing heartbeat. Very gently, she tried to roll her ankle around to see how bad the damage was. A breath of relief escaped when she determined it was merely a bad sprain, not a fracture or, gods forbid, a break. 

Elyse took a deep breath and gingerly attempted to stand up, only to slip on a potato and land on her tailbone with a whimper. Now both her ankle and her butt was sore. Fantastic. “Why am I so clumsy. Why, why?” She could only hope that no one was around to witness her mortifying accident, because seriously, this was worse than the time she walked around with toilet paper stuck to her jeans in the fourth grade. 

“Do you need some help?” Her head whipped around to locate the voice. Embarrassment tinted her face a blotchy scarlet when she saw two boys, dressed in Targaryen colors of black and red, with dark brown hair and matching eyes, looking down at her. 

Just her luck. Of course she would run into not one, but two princes while sprawled on the floor, surrounded by potatoes. 

Can someone please find me a hole to crawl into? Like, now? 

“U-uh, no, I’m fine, Your Highnesses,” She was a stammering mess, desperately trying to scoot out of the way for Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest two sons, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys. “P-please do not mind me.” 

The taller boy knelt beside her and gestured to her ankle, “May I?” 

“No, it’s truly fine, Your Highness, I can manage on my own. There’s no need to trouble you. Please, do not mind me.” 

Through her rambles, the dark-haired prince was examining her ankle, brow scrunched,  careful not to touch her, before turning to his younger brother, “Let’s bring her to a maester. It should be a sprain, but she’ll still need a salve and some bandages.” His brother nodded. While his older counterpart was talking to Elyse, Prince Lucerys had taken the time to pick up the fallen potatoes. Jacaerys might be closer to manhood, with sharper jawlines and broader shoulders, but Lucerys carried a certain charm that was just… “good”. Like the perfect kid in school who never got into trouble that you secretly hated because all the parents would gush over how sweet and polite he was. But not as annoying (at least she hoped). 

“Really, there is no need, Your Highnesses. I can manage myself.” She tried again. 

Prince Jacaerys shook his head with a grin, “It’s no trouble. Mother would be disappointed with us if she knew we left someone injured to fend for themselves. Pardon me.” Elyse thought her heart might have stopped when he reached over and gathered her into his arms. She squeaked, stiff as a board, as he lifted her effortlessly and began walking down the hall, Lucerys trailing not far behind. “What’s your name?” 

“Elyse, Your Highness.” Her answer was barely audible. Heat blazed like fire from her ears down to the nape of her neck as they passed other servants through the halls, blatantly staring at her. She would have been staring too, if the prince was parading another servant around in his arms. It was just so…out of the ordinary, for a royal. Servants here were more accustomed to grunted commands or condescending dismissals. 

“That’s a lovely name. And you work in the kitchens?” She nodded. “How long have you been working here?” 

“Only a few months, Your Highness.” 

“It must be hard work.” Jacaerys gave his observation with a kind smile, revealing a deep dimple on his left cheek. “What do you spend most of your time doing?” 

Elyse hid her blush by lowering her head. She was very pleased at the young prince’s attempt to have small talk with her. His demeanor and actions were so different from his uncles, who sauntered through the castle with their noses turned to the sky. “Anything and everything. Mostly, I wash a lot of dishes.” 

“Is that a difficult task? Forgive me, I only ask because I have not washed any dishes before,” Prince Jacaerys’s sheepish attitude drew out a little giggle. 

“It’s not particularly difficult. But at the end of the night, my shoulders and back can become very strained. Especially after a banquet, when there are many guests to service.” Oh how she longed for modern conveniences like a dishwasher. Or even running water? She wasn’t picky.

“Ahh, I see. In that case, I apologize in advance for the upcoming banquet.” There’s a twinkle in his warm eyes. “I expect there will be many dishes to wash.” Elyse decided, then and there, that the elder Velaryon boy was very handsome. He didn’t possess the ethereal beauty that the rest of his Targaryen brood did, but she could imagine Jacaerys being extremely popular back in her high school with his head of coffee-tinted curls and his crooked smile. 

 As they chatted, Jacaerys had brought her to the maester’s quarters. “Luke, help me open the door.” His younger brother obliged, pushing open the door for Jacaerys to bring Elyse inside and settle her onto the chaise. 

“Prince Jacaerys, what ails you?” said the elderly maester standing by his bookcase. 

“Maester Llewell, Elyse here is suffering from an injury to her ankle. Could you provide her treatment?” 

Maester Llewell looked over at Elyse in her red servant’s dress with thinly veiled disdain, and replied, “As you wish, my prince.” Elyse swallowed her winces of pain as the maester examined her swollen ankle with a light, professional touch. “It’s merely a sprain. Some rest and a tight bandage are all that’s necessary.” 

“Give her something for the swelling.” Jacaerys urged, “I remember there was a balm or salve that you used when I sprained my wrist.” Elyse’s eyes widened, surprised at the prince advocating for her treatment. Maester Llewell looked like he’d rather swallow razor blades, but walked to his shelves of treatments and selected a small blue pot. 

Reluctance was painfully obvious on the old man’s face when he handed the medicine along with two rolls of bandages to her. “Spread this on, then wrap tightly with bandages.” 

“Thank you, maester,” Elyse accepted the medicine. To her surprise, both princes and the maester stepped out of the room simultaneously, shutting the door tightly behind her. Then she understood. Scoffing, she slipped off her shoe and pulled up her skirt. How very improper of her to even think of showing her ankle in a male’s presence. For a second, she had forgotten she lived in a place that was as pious and conservative as the Middle Ages. God forbid a slip of skin on her ankle is revealed. 

Tsk, tsk. Whatever will happen to my honor? Elyse thought mockingly as she gingerly spread the balm on her swollen injury, grateful for the cooling sensation that it brought to her painful ankle. The bandages were more difficult, but she managed to wrap them somewhat tightly and secured them with a knot, sliding her bundled foot back into her shoe. There was lingering pain when she stood up. Nothing unbearable, though, so she took a deep breath and hobbled to open the door, where the two princes and maester stood waiting.  

“How is it feeling?” Jacaerys inquired, hands clasped behind his back. An easy smile always gracing his lips. 

“It is much better,” Elyse informed him with a grateful smile,  “Thank you, Your Highness, for your kindness.” And she meant every word. Although she had spent barely half a year in this strange environment, it didn’t take very long to understand the harsh realities of a hierarchical society as Westeros had. Either you were high-born, or you were nothing. Jacaerys had no reason to show her kindness, but he did. 

Rhaenyra did well raising her kids. She gave a silent affirmation to the Crown Princess. 

“No need to thank me. It did not require any effort on my part,” Jacaerys shrugged nonchalantly. “Would you like me to help you to your room? As the maester said, it would not be wise to put pressure on the sprain.” 

“I believe it would be better for the maiden to rest here before returning to the servant’s quarters, Your Highness.” The maester stepped forward to interrupt, “Why don’t you leave her with me and I will see that she will have help getting back.” 

Jacaerys looked to Elyse, who nodded in agreement. “Then, I will bid you a good day, Elyse. I hope your injury recovers quickly. Maester, thank you.” And with a warm, polite smile, Jacaerys Velaryon walked away. 

To her surprise, his younger brother stepped forward, “I placed your potatoes beside the kitchen entrance.” said Prince Lucerys with a small smile of his own before turning to follow his brother. Elyse watched the pair disappear around a corner, her heart warm from the encounter, thinking of how perfect Jacaerys would be as the future king. The warmth quickly cooled when she remembered the fates of the Velaryon brothers during the Dance of Dragons, replaced by somber sympathy. 

“You would do well to avoid these situations in the future. It is below the princes’ stations to be helping scullery maids as yourself,” the maester tutted behind her. 

Elyse turned with a frown, ready to defend herself and say that she had tried to dissuade the Velaryon prince from helping her. But the maester continued before she could open her mouth, his elderly face curled into a disgusted sneer, “You would only be bringing more shame and scrutiny upon their name. Girls like you are leeches, trying to mount the first high-born you can to raise your status. It’s repulsive. I suggest you ponder my words while you walk.” 

The maester’s door shut in her face before she could react. Astounded by the blind accusations, Elyse chewed on her lip, biting back a scowl. The geriatric scumbag had no intention of letting her rest her ankle here. Was it beneath him as well, to give a scullery maid medicine and care? He, who wasn’t a noble, or royal, but just a maester? Was she worth so little in this world, deserving of scorn and belittlement just by existing? 

“I miss democracy,” Elys mumbled, brushing a tear away. The maester’s cruel words landed like punches to her gut and left her feeling dispirited as she began the long, arduous journey down to the kitchens, where there was, without a doubt, a mountain of chores awaiting her. Every step was agonizing, and she wanted nothing more than to lie down for a nap. But did she have a choice? As the maester had demonstrated, there will be no kindness bestowed to scullery maids like her. Rest, she assumed, would also be out of the picture. So Elyse hobbled her way back with one hand on the wall for support and a heart full of bitterness. 

*********** 

She didn’t bother petitioning for rest. Marscha was already high-strung, dealing with several mishaps around the kitchen. One cook had knocked over all the egg crates, splattering the eggs into a puddle of yolks on the kitchen floor, and from the look of Marscha’s near-purple face, she was ready to tear out her hair. One more problem and the older woman might just pass out on the spot. So Elyse told Dyanna instead and her roommate willingly switched all their chores so Elyse would be tasked with the chores that involved less walking. 

On the night of the banquet, the festivities echoed through the entire castle. Laughter and music bounced off the red stone walls, a clear indication of a well-executed party. Passing whispers said even King Viserys was present, although still half-delirious from all the milk of poppy. 

The kitchen was in absolute mayhem. Cooks pushing past each other with platters of roasted meats and assortments of pies. Serving girls ladened with wine decanters, hurrying to the Great Hall. Marscha barking out orders to pull the bread or check the meats, graying hair spilling from her cap. Elyse watched them in her peaceful little corner, her hands never stopping as she scrubbed plate after plate. 

It’s always the same food. She noted mentally as her eyes roamed over the food selections for the night. Roast meat, pies, and breads. Even the desserts are the same. Don’t they get sick of eating the same thing every day? Her tastebuds yearned for the 21st century. Where takeout Thai food was available in an half hour. Where there’s pizza and pasta and iced coffee. 

God, coffee. 

Most of all, she missed her mom’s food. Her mom made a point of only cooking Chinese food at home. To preserve their connection with their culture, she would say. And boy was it amazing. What wouldn’t she give for a fresh dumpling dipped in chili oil right now. Her daydreams were interrupted by loud stomach growling, and Elyse sighed, heart heavy as she dutifully scoured another pot. 

Hours later, the dying noise from above hinted that the banquet was slowly coming to a close. The rest of the kitchen help had left, ready to get some well-deserved rest. Only Elyse was left with her unfinished dishes, slowly working by the roaring fire in the oven. It was just her luck to be stuck working late into the night, even when she wasn’t on a night shift. 

Dyanna and Maisy, another scullery maid who Elyse liked a lot, had offered to stay behind to help her finish. But she could tell from the dark circles under their eyes that they were just as exhausted as she was. So she urged them to retire, claiming that the remaining dishes wouldn’t take too long. Both girls eventually left with sheepish, tired smiles. 

Working alone in the empty kitchen, Elyse’s mind wandered and thought about all the things she missed from her old life. Friends, family, food, internet, entertainment. And music. God, she missed her playlists so much. Losing music was like losing part of her soul. She listened to everything. Pop, alternative, rock. Rap sometimes, too. And as much as she appreciated the lilting lute music, Elyse was so sick of hearing it everywhere. Like, could we have some sick drums, please? Or some electric guitar? 

So once everyone left, Elyse began singing to herself. Whatever she could remember, in an attempt to save the melodies from fading away. Starting with some Taylor Swift, then Lana del Rey, who she obsessed over. Rap was lost on her (she had no talent for spitting bars), but she did love classic rock. In middle school, there was a few months of her life where she would only listen to Queen. To honor that memory, she sang We Are the Champions and Hammer to Fall. She was on Dancing Queen from Mamma Mia when she heard the chuckles. 

She froze, voice snuffed out like a candle’s flame in a strong storm. Because there was only one person she knew that tended to wander into the kitchens so late. A certain grumpy, one-eyed prince that Elyse wasn’t ready to face yet. 

The footsteps neared. Elyse allowed her eyes to drift up, bit by bit. Chocolate curls. Matching dark eyes and a lopsided smile. Her fear melted away in a heartbeat as Jacaerys Velaryon watched her, a cheeky smirk tugging at his full lips, “No, please continue to sing. I am fascinated by that strange tune.” 

A blush bloomed in her cheeks, “Your Highness, what are you doing in the kitchens so late? Do you need a snack, or some tea?” 

“No, that won’t be necessary. I was taking a walk to clear my head from all the wine, and I was suddenly curious if you were washing dishes still.” Flashes of humor danced through his amused eyes. Elyse beamed, remembering their first conversation. He squatted beside her and peered into her basin full of hot, soapy water, “You seemed to have finished?” 

Elyse shook her head. With a quiet laugh, she nudged her head towards the pile of unwashed plates and saw the prince’s jaw fall. “I am not even close to being finished, Your Highness.” 

“Let me help, then.” He insisted.

Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, “You cannot be serious. No, thank you, but that is not necessary, Prince Jacaerys. I can finish my chores.” 

But the prince had already found another stool and placed it beside her. He rolled his sleeves up with a grin and said, “Do you want to spend all night here? Come on, hand me a plate.” 

Nerves danced around in Elyse’s gut as she tried to process the ridiculous situation. A prince. No, the future crown prince of the realm, offering to help her with her kitchen chores. It’s preposterous. But…her lips formed a mischievous smile, because she couldn’t help but admit that she wanted to see Jacaerys attempt household chores. “Fine, I guess I must thank you then, Your Highness.” Jacaerys laughed as she handed him a dirty plate. She demonstrated first, showing him how to scrape off the leftover bits of food, then dipping it in the soapy water and scrubbing off the grease and stains before drying it with clean linens. 

To his credit, he made a valiant effort. Brow furrowed, lips pursed as he tried to scrape the food bits in one go. In the time that he washed one plate, Elyse had washed three. But when he held up a perfectly dried plate with triumph on his face, she clapped for him. “Well done, Your Highness!” 

“Do not jest. I know how slow I was.” Jacaerys scoffed. 

“It’s your first time. My first attempt was far worse.” 

“Hmm, that does make me feel better. Hand me another plate.” She arched a brow, choosing one of the dirtier plates and placing it into the prince’s waiting hands as a challenge. “Ugh, who would leave plates in this state?” Jacaerys exclaimed, nose scrunching with disgust at the plate smeared with gravy and mashed peas. 

“Your lords and ladies, Your Highness.” Elyse giggled when his face turned slightly green. Maybe she was delusional, but she felt a friendship begin to build with the oldest Velaryon boy. Even with only two conversations, she felt comfortable in his presence. He reminded her of her eldest cousin, Dean, who had a mischievous, goofy streak in him but never let that deter him from taking care of his younger siblings and cousins. Jacaerys was more formal and polite, but Elyse knew that if he didn’t have the burden of the Seven Kingdoms on his shoulders, the teen had the makings of a goofball. 

They had fallen into a comfortable silence, tackling the dishes, when she asked, “How was the banquet? Was it to your liking, Your Highness?” 

She could feel Jacaerys visibly stiffen beside her. His face dimmed, jaw clenching while he responded with a tight voice, “Banquets with my extended family are typically not enjoyable.” 

Watching him visibly sulk made Elyse regret asking. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she offered softly, hoping to salvage the ruined mood, “I wish you had a better time.” 

“With my grandsire’s second family, it is nearly impossible.” The image of one snarling, grim prince with an eye patch drifted through her mind as he spoke. “At every opportunity, they insult my mother and brothers. Mother hates when I respond, but what kind of man would I be if I did not defend my family?” 

He did not elaborate, but Elyse knew the issue he had vaguely described was concerning his lineage. Jacaerys was not a true born son of Laenor Valeryon. His dark eyes and even darker hair were clear evidence. A bastard, as his uncles so sweetly label him. As a reader, she found herself rolling her eyes every time the word bastard was thrown as an insult. It was the most immature, petty revenge leading to years of feuding started by Queen Alicent and ended with a full-blown civil war. Elyse wished she could offer Jacaerys comforting words on the situation, but a gnawing feeling told her that it would do more harm than good to reveal her knowledge. So instead, she answered, “Family can be very hard to navigate.” 

“Indeed,” the prince sighed back, “what about yours? I only hope they are less difficult than mine.” 

“I haven’t seen mine in a long time.” Just the thought of her parents plunged daggers into her heart. She missed them so much she couldn’t breathe. 

“Do they reside in King’s Landing?” 

“No. Not anywhere in Westeros.” 

“Across the Narrow Sea then?” Jacaerys offered. Curiosity danced across his face, but quickly faded when Elyse did not respond. She could only imagine the expression on her face that would cause the prince to laugh so nervously and change the subject. “Well--um, anyways, what was that strange song you were singing when I approached?”

“You mean Dancing Queen?” 

“Is that the name of the song? What is it about?” He offered the relatively simple question to her, trying to ease the somber atmosphere. 

“Hmm, let me think,” Elyse pondered the lyrics, “I would say it’s about having the confidence to enjoy youth and life while you can?” An overly deep interpretation of the ABBA song, but she couldn’t exactly tell the prince that it was just a disco song from a movie.

“How interesting. Could you sing it again? I want to hear the lyrics.” 

She gave him a sly look, “I have many interesting songs, Your Highness, but I will not be singing any tonight. I’d rather not embarrass myself by squawking like a chicken in front of my prince.” 

That drew a hearty laugh out of the dark-haired boy. He was still chuckling as they worked comfortably to finish the rest of the plates, with Jacaerys getting better and better with each plate. With his help, the pile was finished in half the time. Elyse stood from her stool, taking a big stretch to relieve her muscles, wincing slightly at her ankle. In their light-hearted chatter, Elyse had almost forgotten her injury. But the pain was still present. Throbbing and sharp. The last time she had unwrapped her bandages, her swollen ankle had begun to bruise, turning the skin shades of purple and blue. It was starting to worry her how the injury was not healing properly, but there wasn’t anything she could do at the moment, considering how Marscha would never give her time to rest. 

A loud grumble brought her out of her worries. Elyse looked down. It wasn’t her stomach that growled. An awkward pause ensued, and her eyes landed on the slightly embarrassed prince beside her. “I take it that you’re hungry, Your Highness?” She said, traces of humor in her lighthearted observation. 

“I did not eat at the banquet,” Jacaerys confessed, a slight flush in his cheeks. “Frustration overtook my appetite.” 

“No worries, Your Highness. I can make you something. What would you like? I can slice the duck from the feast, or a bowl of the fish stew?” Elyse made her way to the leftovers from the banquet on the counter, trying her hardest to hide her limp. 

“None of that sounds appetizing, in all honesty.” His long sigh confirmed Elyse’s thoughts from earlier. They were all bored of eating the same thing at every meal. “It is fine. I can wait until breakfast.” 

She chewed on her lip, contemplating what to do. “Can you give me a few moments, Your Highness? I’ll prepare something simple.” Jacaerys nodded his approval, and Elyse went into the cellar, where she knelt and began to move aside the sacks of flour and vegetables on the floor to reveal a small jar that she had cleverly hidden. She brought the jar into the kitchen with a loaf of fresh bread, slicing the bread into thick slices. Using a small knife, Elys opened the jar, spreading a thick layer of its contents onto each slice while the prince watched with a doubtful expression. There was only one thing missing. She searched through the shelves of teas and jams until she found a raspberry jam, which she then added to the bread. A smile blossomed on her face while she worked, feeling the memories of her childhood return, one by one. 

When she placed the food before the prince, he eyed it suspiciously. “What’s this?” 

“Try it. I think you’ll like it. You can just use your hands,” Elyse coaxed him. Distrust was still plastered on his face when he grabbed it and took a small, hesitant bite. He chewed, and then his eyes snapped up to her face, wide with amazement. Elyse laughed as Jacaerys took another bite. “See? I told you you’d like it.” She didn’t bother to hide the smugness in her voice. 

“What is this?” He demanded between bites. 

She poured him a cup of fresh milk, “A PB&J.” 

“A what?” 

“A peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Do you see that brown layer? That’s made from ground peanuts. I added it with jam between some bread, that’s all.” 

Jacaerys pulled back one slice of the bread to examine the fillings, a face full of marvel. “I’ve never had this ‘peanut butter’ before. Where did you find this?” 

“I made it.” 

“You made it?” His eyes were filled with awe, “How?” 

Elyse shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant, but pride made her puff her chest out like a peacock. It was the first time she had attempted to make peanut butter from scratch. But from her many hours watching cooking videos on TikTok or YouTube, she decided to attempt it secretly during one of her previous night shifts. The process was pretty simple. She de-shelled the peanuts, roasted them, and then ground them using a mortar and pestle until it had turned into a smooth paste. Grinding by hand took forever and gave her two hand cramps. God did she miss her mom’s food processor. For extra flavor, Elyse added some salt and honey to finish and the end product was divine. It almost brought tears to her eyes when she tried a spoonful. Creamy, nutty, and perfectly balanced between salty and sweet. Scrumptious. 

Eating it herself was delicious, but watching Jacaerys enjoy her food brought inexplicable joy. Elyse sat, watching with a smile as he ate every last crumb then sat back with a satisfied sigh. The prince flickered his eyes over towards her peanut butter jar, chewing on his lip as he contemplated. Then, he asked, almost shyly, “Do you have enough to make me another one?” 

“Hmm,” Elyse peered into her little jar, “I am running a bit low,” slightly teasing. “But I think I can make another, Your Highness.” 

“Two, actually. Two please.” Jacaerys requested with a boyish, lopsided grin that had Elyse giggling as she went to fetch more bread. 

The prince ended up eating three more sandwiches, completely shocking Elyse with his appetite and nearly depleting her stash of peanut butter. But it was worth the peanut butter, because Elyse had gained a friend of sorts that kept a smile on her face as she drifted off to a deep sleep that night. Gods know she’ll need as many friends as she can get if she was going to survive here. And Prince Jacaerys, Elyse could tell, will be a fantastic one.

Chapter Text

On her only night off that month, Elyse decided to go explore King’s Landing. According to some of the cooks, the markets in the city sold ingredients from every corner of the realm, from rare cheeses sourced from Pentos to Dornish wine. Elyse couldn’t stop thinking about the markets for three whole days. She was dying to explore them herself in hopes of finding ingredients she could experiment with. Plus, she ran out of peanuts due to one new peanut butter aficionado (Jacaerys), and she couldn’t keep swiping peanuts from the royal kitchen to refill her stash. 

Jacaerys popped in often after that first night, before his lessons, or on his way to the training yard. The prince always found a spare moment to come in to have a snack and a conversation. His presence was surprising to the rest of the kitchen help, but he was always courteous, and Elyse enjoyed his company immensely. Even more so after he started dragging Lucerys in with him, who didn’t share his brother’s love for peanut butter, but loved Elyse’s suggestion for adding cream and sugar to his tea. 

Both brothers were fascinated with all the “ideas” she wanted to try, and it was so much fun attempting to explain what ice cream or soup dumplings are to the two princes that Elyse’s intense passion for the culinary arts was reignited. It had faded for a while, in the absence of her mom, who was her loyal taster, and Tiktok, which she drew all (maybe too much) her inspiration from. But seeing the look of confusion on Lucerys’s face at the description of a pizza was too good. She needed to find a way to recreate these classics here, in Westeros. And the first step was to see what ingredients she could source. 

“Be careful, there’s a lot of craven miscreants in the city,” warned Dyanna as she watched Elyse get dressed. 

“Don’t worry, I can handle myself,” Elyse grinned back, pulling on the plain brown trousers and tunic she had borrowed from her roommate. Her long black hair loose but tucked inside her tan cloak. “I’m just going to explore the markets for a few hours.” 

“Keep the coin pouch around your neck, and tuck it inside your tunic,” Dyanna fussed, standing up from her bed to help Elyse with her boots, “There’s a lot of pickpockets in King’s Landing. Keep a close eye on your coins.” 

Elyse rolled her eyes with sass, “Yes, yes, I know.” But she knew the value behind the older girl’s words. Dyanna was born and raised in King’s Landing for all fifteen years of her life and knew firsthand how dangerous the city could be. She expressed extra concern for Elyse’s safety after realizing that Elyse was not familiar with King’s Landing at all. To all who knew her in the Red Keep, Elyse spent half her life traveling through the Free Cities. It was the only lie she could substantiate about her background since she knew little to nothing about most of Westeros’s many regions. So far, no one had suspected her lies. Let’s hope it stays that way. 

Dressed and ready for a night of exploring, Elyse called over her shoulder as she was closing the door, “Goodnight! Don’t wait up for me!” 

Dyanna huffed, sinking back onto her bed, “You know I will,” causing Elyse to laugh as the door closed. Excitement bounced through her like a rubber ball while she walked to the massive iron gates, a heart full of anticipation for her solo adventure. She even smiled at the guards standing beside the gates, who looked at her like she grew two heads. Eh, whatever, Elyse shrugged as she walked into the city. 

As soon as Elyse stepped outside the castle walls and ventured into the capital’s narrow streets, her enthusiasm was dampened by the putrid smell of sewage and human waste. Her first impression of the glorious capital city? Foul. Stinky. Worse than New York in the summer, and that’s saying something, since New York always smells like hot garbage in July. Elyse had to hold her breath on certain streets just to keep from gagging. 

Everything about the city was grimy. From the filthy, trash-lined streets to the puddles of brown sludge she didn’t dare trudge through. Passing smallfolk all had hardened, weary expressions on their faces that reflected their daily struggles. Only a few streets in and Elyse already knew the sad truth. People didn’t flourish in King’s Landing. They barely survived.

And it pissed her off. 

Kings, politicians, nobles, Congress. They’re all the same. 21st century or medieval, people in power could care less about their own subjects. She thought angrily, It is an injustice, what’s happening here. And the king and his advisors are too busy throwing their lavish feasts to notice. 

Her gut warned her to turn around, go back to the Red Keep, and stay there. But Elyse had a wavering confidence in her street smarts, and a burning determination to find the ingredients she needed. So she kept going. 

Southeast from the Red Keep, about twenty minutes of walking, was where the markets resided. Elyse continued in that direction, taking longer than she would have liked due to the constant, dull pain in her ankle. 

The persistence of her injury had begun to worry Elyse. Normally, sprains heal on their own after a few days. All of her sprains from soccer practice back in middle school did. Yet Elyse’s pain only persisted after two weeks. The medicine Maester Llewell gave her only helped soothe the pain slightly and nothing else. Why wasn’t it healing? At this point, she was at a loss for what to do. A horrifying thought prodded her mind. What if this becomes a permanent injury? Elyse tried her best to shove those thoughts away, but they were there, in the back of her mind, always whispering. 

Soon enough, once she passed through a square with a dragon statue standing center, Elyse began to hear the commotion. Hawkers shouting prices for their wares. Street performers hoping to woo their audience for some coins. Children laughing as they chased each other through the narrow streets. Market-goers pushed past her with baskets of goods and chatter on their lips. Just past the square, lining the winding streets were crowded, overflowing stalls selling everything from leather to strawberries. Elyse even spotted a stall selling baby chicks for ten copper pennies each. She was so close to buying one of the fluffy yellow peeps, but she’d have no way of raising it, so she walked away, sad. It was tempting though.

“Fresh lemons! Freshly picked this morning!” 

“Hot mulled wine for sale, only one copper penny per ladle!” 

“Pentoshi cheeses! Pentoshi cheeses sold here and here only! Come take a look at Pentoshi cheeses!”

Elyse wove through the crowds, the bustling activity bringing a smile to her face as she thought back to Sunday morning farmer’s markets. When her mom taught her how to pick the ripest fruit while they shared a pastry. Dad would be standing in line for bagels from that one spot that always had a line wrapping around the block. She’d complain if the cream cheese was too light as they walked home. 

Nostalgia tasted like sour candies in her mouth, melting against her tongue in a blend of sour and sweet that left her longing for more. Maybe she spent too much time dwelling on her past life, but how could she not? It ended, quite literally, in a split second. She’ll never know the aftermath. If her mom collapsed in the hospital upon hearing the news. If her dad has the same look on his face as when Grandpa died. If her friends would cry at school when her desk is left empty for the rest of the year. 

Her footsteps slowed, and Elyse closed her eyes, Stop it. Don’t think about it. Don’t go down that rabbit hole. Enjoy yourself. 

A deep breath. An affirmative nod, and she started walking again. 

Every stall enticed her, with their displays of glistening, ripe produce, artisan goods, and fresh breads. Merchants relentlessly advertised their wares, shoving fruit in your face for you to smell. Some spun crazy tales about how they sourced the wine. It didn’t take long for Elyse’s mood to lift as she floated from stall to stall with glee, marveling at the sweet plums or strange jars of dried scorpions. The temptation to buy everything was too strong, and Elys had to constantly remind herself to be smart with her hard-earned money. Nonetheless, when she strolled past a stall selling freshly roasted nuts, the rich scent of sweetened nuts was irresistible. After an intense internal battle, Elys allowed herself a small bag of nuts to munch on while she walked. They were worth the splurge. Just like the roasted nut carts you’d find in the Christmas markets in Bryant Park.  

Elyse approached a stall selling a variety of spices and dried herbs, “Excuse me, how much is this?” Elys asked the loud, red-faced merchant, holding up a handful of cinnamon sticks. 

He barely acknowledged her, “10 copper pennies.” 

She frowned, “How about seven?” 

“The price is not negotiable, girl,” The merchant finally shifted his eyes down to glare at her, sneering, “If you can’t pay it then move along! You’re blocking my stall”, and shoved her away with his large, beefy hand. 

Stumbling backward, Elyse stuck out her tongue at the grumpy merchant, rubbing her sore shoulder as she wandered to another stall, disappointed. Twenty-five copper pennies was all she had left after her treat, and she was beginning to realize just how little that was. Other market-goers were bartering for their lives, engaging in shouting matches with the hawkers until they were satisfied with the price, but Elyse didn’t have much faith in her bartering skills. So she meandered aimlessly from stall to stall, hoping that some of the merchants would have better prices. 

How naive she was. Midnight approached in the blink of an eye, a dark sea of stars settling over the city like a blanket as the merchants began to close up for the night. Yet Elyse remained empty-handed. Every stall held goods worth buying, but none had a convincing price. Wallowing in her discontent, Elyse began the walk back, trudging past the crowds with a frown and a heavy heart. 

She was nearing the edge of the market when she spied a smaller, unnoticed stall at the edge of an alley. An old woman with dark, wavy hair and tanned skin was sitting beside the booth. Seeing the woman, alone, with no customer broke her heart. On impulse, Elyse found herself approaching the stall. 

“Hello,” She smiled at the old woman and took a quick survey of her wares. A jumble of spices, teas, and dried legumes sat on her display. Nothing special, but Elyse still said brightly, “You have some very nice spices here!”

“Thank you.” The old woman’s voice was raspy. She did not attempt to sell her goods, content to sit and watch as Elyse examined the display. 

“How much for a handful of cinnamon sticks?”  

“Five copper pennies.” 

Elyse nodded, very satisfied, “I’ll take a handful, then,” counting and handing five coppers to the old woman, who stuffed a handful of cinnamon sticks into Elyse’s waiting hands. Elyse thanked her and turned to leave when a small burlap sack of beans on the table’s edge caught her attention. “What are those?” She pointed to the beans. 

The hawker stood up and hobbled over, “Ah, you have a good eye, girl. Those are coffee beans from Braavos. Here, take a look. Do you know what coffee is?” She scooped a few beans into Elyse’s palm. 

“Yes,” Elyse breathed, staring at the beans in her hand. They were unroasted, but the shape was unmistakable. It was definitely coffee. “How much for a small bag?” 

“Thirty coppers for five ounces.” 

“Oh, well, um…” Immense disappointment flooded her. Her little pouch only had twenty copper pennies left. Previous failures at haggling with the other vendors had provided very little faith, but the little beans were too precious to give up on. So Elyse gathered her courage to barter. “What about twenty coppers? T-that’s all I have on me.” 

The old woman eyed her. Moments passed without a single word said. Elyse was ready to accept defeat and step away when the hawker finally replied, “Fine. Twenty.” 

“Really?” Elyse breathed. 

“Hurry up before I change my mind, girl.” Elyse couldn’t keep the smile off her face as she shook all the coins from her pouch into the woman’s hands, and tucked the small bag of coffee beans securely into her pockets. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” The woman gave a terse nod and Elyse gave her a final, grateful look and rushed away. Pockets full. Heart bursting with excitement. Mind occupied with the aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans. Back in New York, coffee had been her biggest vice. It was an addiction that she shared with her dad. Both of them never started a day without at least one cup, to the dismay of her mom. She thought that it was lost forever, seeing how Westeros’s preference for beverages was strictly limited to herbal teas, water, or wine. But tonight, she’ll go to sleep, a grin plastered on her face, dreaming of the rich, dark beverage waiting for her in the morning. It’s crazy how much happiness a cup of coffee could bring to her life.

Satisfied with her shopping spree, Elyse began the journey back to the Red Keep. her footsteps pained but joyful while she hummed a lighthearted tune. Most of the city had settled in for the night, leaving the streets sleepy and tranquil. Feeling the happiest she’d been in a while, Elyse enjoyed the gothic architecture as she followed the same route she’d taken to the markets back to the castle, satisfied with her adventure. Then, she spotted the dimly lit tavern just ahead.

A group of older men gathered by the tavern’s entrance. From the loud, raunchy behavior of the gathered men, Elyse deduced that they were too drunk for her to walk past while feeling safe and ducked into a side alley, hoping to cut through to another street. Was her mind playing tricks on her, or did one of them wave at her? Whatever. She wasn’t going to stay long enough to find out. 

Her detour was darker than she expected. And longer. Unease settled on her skin like a thick fog, drawing out goosebumps as she walked further in. Deep in her mind, her mother’s voice was reminding eight-year-old Elyse to never walk through side streets.

“At least on a main street, you’ll have people nearby. Don’t ever go into a backstreet by yourself. You understand, my love?” 

Then it was Dyanna’s voice. 

“ Be careful, there’s a lot of craven miscreants in the city.”

Faint echos of footsteps, too many to be from one person, crept up from behind, and Elyse cursed herself for not following their advice. She quickened her pace, limping through the throbbing pain in her ankle towards the main street just ahead. It was only a few more steps. A few more steps and she’ll be safe. 

Bursting out the alley onto the next street over, Elyse’s brief feeling of relief died when she realized she was standing alone on a dark street with not a soul in sight. No one nearby to help, or even hear her scream. The cold, clammy hands of dread began to trace their fingers along Elyse’s throat, toying with her. Drinking in her fear. 

“You there, with the dark hair!” Chills ran down her spine at the sound of a drunken voice following her. She hadn’t noticed they’d gotten so close, “Why are you walking so fast? We saw you by the tavern, lovely girl. Come over and join us.” 

“Don’t be scared. We just want to have a drink with you, we promise!” Her pursuers laughed. Instinct took hold and Elyse darted down the street, sick to her stomach, praying that there would be someone, anyone close by. 

Reality sunk in that she was a young girl alone with two drunk, older men. All the previous Dateline episodes she’d watched with her mom played like movies in her head as she fled. 

“No no…” she whispered. Heart dropping into her stomach when the street turned into a dead end, leaving her no choice but to duck into another alley. Terror was nipping her heels now, urging her to go faster. Why could she still hear them? Were they chasing her? It didn’t help that the backstreets had turned into a maze of sorts. Elyse was walking in circles. Breath shallow. Head pounding. Hitting dead end after dead end all while the men’s laughter rang in her ears. 

I don’t want to get raped. I don’t want to get raped. Please, please. 

She rounded a corner, then cried out when she finally saw glimpses of people, illuminated by firelight, at the end of the backstreet. She stumbled towards the softly flickering lights, shaking in the knees, but relieved. Finally, the men’s laughter in her ears began to fade, and Elyse stumbled out of the alley, mentally exhausted. She placed both hands on her knees, taking a moment to regain her composure, then stood up straight and raised her head.

“What the---” Her jaw fell open. Her eyes bulged as she took in the clamoring activity. Memories of New Orleans flashed before her eyes. That was the best comparison she could make, although New Orleans was significantly cleaner and less…rated R than wherever she was. New Orleans smelled like Creole food and tobacco. This alley was perfumed with rose oil and musk. Or sweat. She couldn’t tell. 

“Watch it!” barked someone as Elyse nearly got trampled over by a swarm of jeering, laughing men making their way towards a tavern where several half-nude women smiled and waved from the balcony. 

“S-sorry,” She sputtered, eyes roaming around, taking in the scene. Everywhere she looked were women with their breasts bare or butts uncovered. Or both. They cooed at the passersby below their balconies, batting their eyelashes and pursing their lips until the mesmerized men drifted to the entrance of their taverns. Elyse flattened herself against the wall as one couple walked past, eyes widening as she caught pieces of their whispered conversation. Her entire face went bright red, flushing down to her neck. 

“Oh… oh my god, ” Her breath caught in her throat when she finally realized that the street wasn’t lined with taverns. 

But brothels.

“Oh, my dear god. What have I gotten myself into.” A hand instinctively drifted to her throat and clenched her cloak tighter. She couldn’t just stand there. Some of the brothel’s customers are starting to take notice of her, and Elyse had a feeling that they thought she was also a... a...prostitute? A woman of pleasure? So she willed her shaky legs to start walking. To get out of there. The pain in her ankle was pretty much unbearable at this point, after the copious amount of running she had just done. Paired with the swirling scents of rose oil and musk suffocating her senses, Elyse was really not doing well. A tiny, childish voice inside her yearned for her mother to just wrap her arms around her in a big bear hug. Whispering against her hair that it was going to be alright. 

She didn’t sense anyone approaching her until her shoulder was painfully jerked back by a huge hand and she was inches away from the panting, sweaty face of a middle-aged man. Elyse struggled to free herself to no avail. Her heart drummed with panic as he leaned in and whispered huskily, “Hello there, you’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Lost, or here to get your first taste of pleasure?” Her assailant was practically salivating. His eyes glazed with lust as his other hand roamed over her form. 

“P-please,” Her whispers were brimming with desperation. “I just want to leave, sir. I wandered here by mistake. Please,” Elyse hoped that he would have some humanity and unhand her. But her pleas had the opposite effect, only invigorating her attacker. A panicked whimper escaped her mouth as his hand squeezed her waist so hard it’d leave bruises. 

“By mistake? Ha! You’re not fooling me, girl. I can smell the wetness between your thighs. Come on, then, let me get a taste,” The man pressed her against the wall and pushed his leg between hers. She could smell the alcohol on his hot breath as he tried to kiss her. 

“No, no, get away from me!” She struggled against him, screaming and swiveling her head to find help. No one was even paying attention. All too engrossed in their own thralls of pleasure to care that she was being assaulted. Elyse was on her own, trapped in the embrace of a man twice her size. Scratching, clawing, kicking. she was like a mad woman, trying to pry her body away from his lusting hands. “Get off of me! I said get off! ” 

“Shhh, shh.” The man hissed against her ear. Elyse let out an agonized wail when his hand slipped into her tunic. Feeling his sweaty fingers against her bare skin made bile rise in her throat. Then it was his tongue. Wet and slimy on her neck, licking up to her chin.  

“No…no no…no,” Her eyes squeezed shut when she felt the impatient fingers tugging at her trousers. Suddenly, it was a different set of hands touching her skin. A different voice by her ear. She was younger. Still ignorant of what was going on until after it happened. But the tears. The tendrils of fear that held her down. Her despair. Those remained the same. 

I’d rather die. Just let me die instead. 

“What do you think you’re---!” There’s a surprised yelp. Then all the weight crushing her to the wall disappeared, leaving Elyse to collapse to the ground in a puddle of shivers and sobs. Arms wrapped tightly over her chest as she trembled. 

Her attacker was on the ground too, groaning and clutching his knee. Someone wearing a long black cloak stood between them, back facing Elyse as he landed a solid kick to her attacker’s torso. “Get out of here before I call the City Watch. Now.” The man glared up at the intruder, lips curled into a sneer, ready to hurl back insults, then halted. His porky face paling, white as a sheet. He was mumbling something incoherent under his breath as he scrambled backward, hauling his flabby body up and escaping. 

She should be thanking her savior, but Elyse couldn’t stop shaking. Tears blurred her vision as the cloaked person turned to face her. Her eyes slowly trailed from his boots, up the length of his body, and settled on one bright violet eye. Most of his face was hidden by his cloak, but that color, and the eyepatch over the other. There was no doubt who this man is. 

Aemond Targaryen stared down at her, a bored expression on his face, and asked, “What are you doing here?” 

And Elyse bursted into tears once more.

Chapter Text

Aemond was having a very rough day. 

His mother was in a terrible mood after Aegon made a fool of himself by being brazenly drunk during the family lunch. Her mood was only worsened by the presence of his bitch half-sister and her brood of bastards. Since their arrival, the tension in his mother’s shoulders had doubled. He also noticed that her nail beds were bloodied and torn to near shreds. 

He sympathized with his mother. Out of all four of her children, Aemond probably understood Alicent best. Knew the reasons for the fear in her eyes whenever she looked at him and his siblings. 

But he wished she would stop lashing out at Aegon. 

The sharp slap she gave to his older brother’s face was crisp. Filled with menace. “Have you no shame, Aegon?” She hissed, eyes narrowed, “Do you intend on embarrassing me further in front of our court?” Aemond did not come to the defense of his brother, only sighing at the spectacle while he stood beside a frightened Helaena, who withered in the face of their mother’s fury. “How many times have I told you to stop this debauchery and quit your cup? Aegon, are you listening?” 

Aegon barely gave a hum in response. He was too inebriated to hold a conversation. Swaying back and forth like he could collapse on the floor at any moment. 

When the object of her anger would not respond, his mother’s wrath turned upon him. Her copper eyes flashed as she hissed, “What did I tell you before they arrived? No provocations. Do not hurl insults. Rhaenyra has enough grace with your father already. We do not need her weeping about your constant hostility to the king.” 

“I only offered to assist with their training.” 

“You did more than that! ‘How proud I am of my two strong nephews,’  is what you said. Do not deny it, you knew what you were doing!” His mother’s voice was frenzied. Frightened, almost. As if his father could hear their conversation beyond the thick stone walls. But Aemond only felt a cold tendril of satisfaction tickle his chest when he recalled how Rhaenrya’s sons stiffened at his comment. He almost laughed aloud when Jacaerys mumbled a thank you through clenched teeth and stalked away, his brother in tow. 

Queen Alicent shut her eyes. Hands held against her braided, chestnut hair. Always the perfect, pious queen, except when dealing with the improprieties of her eldest son. She took a shaky breath, “We cannot be so reckless, Aemond. It only serves to endanger our cause. Remaining steadfast and true is the only way for us to prevail. Rhaenyra’s sins will come to light without your interference ----- Helaena will you please stop shaking?” 

Instinctively, Aemond stepped forward to shield his sister. Helaena had a far more delicate disposition than her two brothers. She never took well to their mother’s shouting. As a child, Aemond found her whispering and muttering strange. But when he lost his eye, Helaena was one of the only people who showed him kindness, and he grew to become fiercely protective of her. With a husband like Aegon, gods knew she needed someone to protect her. 

When she sensed that all three of her children were unsympathetic to her anger, the queen threw up her hands in defeat. “Aemond, take your brother to his quarters. Let him sleep off his wine. Inform all the servants that they are not to serve him any from now on.” 

The second prince nodded, then reached over to haul his brother away, “Come on, brother”, with a sigh. Aegon could only manage a disgruntled scowl as he stumbled to the door. Helaena trailed behind, head lowered. 

Before he dealt with his half-wit of a brother, Aemond stopped to address Pansy, Helaena’s handmaid, who was waiting outside, “Help my sister to her apartments. Keep visitors away today and let the princess rest.”  

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

Aemond turned to his sister, “Do you need me to come with you?” 

Helaena paid him no mind. Instead, fiddling with the golden threads around her dress, face drawn, muttering under her breath, “ The mended will break. The broken will mend. The mended will break. The broken will mend. ” 

“Sister?” 

This time she locked eyes with him, “ The mended will break. The broken will mend . Dancing dragons overhead, bleeding green until the end. ” Only after repeating the phrase two more times did Helaena relax. Her features softened with her smile, “I am fine. Take care of our brother.” 

Aemond nodded, fondly brushing his fingers on her shoulders. His brother made a grab at Pansy with a wicked sneer, eyes still glazed with alcohol, and Aemond whisked him away before another maid would have to be sent away in tears. 

He was not gentle with his brother as he escorted him back to his room. Aegon was howling like a rabid dog the entire way there. Swearing and snarling as he tripped over his own feet. Of course their mother was furious. This was no way for the future king to be acting. For any prince to be acting, really, but the first-born in particular. 

“Shut up, you drunk, whoring fool!” He hissed at the elder prince, who was lusting after two terrified maids hurrying past.
“Fuck off, you sod.” Aegon laughed. Aemond clenched his jaw, yanking open the door then threw his brother onto the bed. 

He pointed a finger at Aegon in warning, “Sleep. Do not cause any more trouble or I swear I will feed you to Vhagar, family be damned.” Not bothering to wait for a response, he slammed the door and stalked off to the training yard. Hopefully, hopefully , he prayed, Aegon would come to his senses and stay out of trouble for a few days, but he did not count on it. He could never count on his older brother to care about duty or decorum. 

The training yard was half empty when he arrived. Aemond scanned the yard and smirked when he didn’t see his nephews. As expected, they were nowhere in sight. Discipline was not taught by his half-sister to her pups. 

Ser Criston Cole was barking at some younger Kingsguards, his displeasure with their progress evident in his furrowed brows. The man had little patience for most others, save his favorite student --- the sullen one-eyed prince. 

Ser Criston Cole saw Aemond approaching and dismissed the boys with a wave of his hand, “Prince Aemond, I can always count on you to be prompt with your training,” His mother’s sworn protector was pleased. Criston Cole hated Rhaenyra’s bastards with an intense passion. Perhaps even more so than Aemond. Aegon was a degenerate that did not give two shits about swordsmanship. But Aemond. Criston Cole trained Aemond like he was his own son. 

Aemond grabbed a longsword from the rack, “Do not go easy on me today.” 

“Warm-ups first,” His mentor ordered with a firm glare, “then we train.” 

Aemond rolled his eyes but dropped the sword and did his warm-up drills that only served to irk him further. He was here to fight. Release some unwanted anger before he runs his sword through his brother and watches while he bled to death like a pig in a butcherhouse. “Alright,” he snapped after finishing his drills, hand gripping his sword tightly as he rolled his wrist, “now let’s spar."

Ser Cole readied his stance. His steely Dornish eyes locked on Aemond, “As you wish, Your Highness”, and charged. 

Aemond parried his first three blows with little effort, pushing his mentor back slowly before lunging for a slash to the knight’s knees. Ser Cole ducked just in time and responded with an attack to his shoulder. The prince fell over from the sheer power behind the blow, but it only brought a deadly grin to his face. Now it’s getting interesting. His Targaryen blood roared, demanding victory by all means. He was back on his feet before his mentor could land another swing. Blades glinting in the sunlight as he deflected a blow to his abdomen. And another. He returned the attacks with a few slashes and jabs of his own. Ser Cole and him circled one another like hounds in a fighting pit. Aemond rolled his wrist with a smirk and allowed his instincts to settle in. Perhaps in all other parts of his life, his dragon blood made him quick-tempered and impulsive. But during battle, it grounded him. Kept him level-headed. 

He’s going to try and catch me off guard with a lunge, He deduced. 

Sure enough, Ser Cole lunged out to strike, quick as a Dornish viper. Aemond sidestepped his attack, letting him stumble, giving himself the capacity to finish the duel with a kick to the back of Ser Cole’s knees and resting his blade beside his mentor’s neck.

“Well done,” Ser Cole breathed, hands up in surrender. 

Aemond withdrew his sword, walked back to his position, and said, “Again.” Ser Cole raised a skeptical brow, but didn’t say a word as he readied himself for Aemond’s attack. They sparred for an entire afternoon. Swords clashing. The steel singing. A crowd gathered to spectate, commenting on Aemond’s impeccable form or the Dornish knight’s proficiency with the morning star. By dusk, when Ser Cole finally refused another match, Aemond shoved his sword back on the rack. Drenched with sweat, but satisfied that his anger towards his brother had defused. 

A bath was waiting for him in his quarters, as he had requested. Aemond rolled his aching shoulders back with a long sigh, ready to end the night with a relaxing soak and a book on Old Valyrian law. 

How unfortunate that his brother had other plans for him. 

A knock on the door halted him from undressing. “Prince Aemond, I am here on behalf of Her Grace.” 

“Tell my mother I am to take my dinner in my room today.” 

“U-uh, that is not why Her Grace sent me.” 

Aemond sighed, walked to his door, and yanked it open to find a meek servant boy staring up at him, practically shaking. “Then what is it?” He snapped. 

“H-her Grace implores you to find Prince Aegon, who had disappeared from the castle.” The servant squeaked. 

Aemond closed his eye, feeling the flames of anger sputter back to life, “You have searched everywhere?” 

“Yes, Your Highness. He is not anywhere.” 

He bit back a scoff. He knew exactly where his brother had fled to, no doubt after being refused his usual cup of wine after waking. Why. Why can he not be granted one day of peace? Aemond cast a glance back at his waiting bath and swore under his breath. 

“Tell my mother I will drag the fucking twat out by his collar if I have to”, growled the prince, grabbing a cloak as he head out the door. 

“I-I do not think I can s-say that to Her Grace.” 

Aemond ignored him, radiating fury as he stalked towards the castle gates. Silver hair rippling like a satin sheet against his back. At this hour, there was only one place his whore of a brother could be. Gods, even the guards knew what a rake their future king was and offered Aemond a sympathetic look as they raised the gates. 

Pathetic, just pathetic. 

He barely saw where he was going. Muscle memory drove him as he wove through the alleys and streets toward Flea Bottom. The Street of Silk, to be precise. His dear brother was the most valued patron of every pleasure house lining that street of sin. As soon as the famed Targaryen silver hair was spotted, the whores knew that they would be drowning in gold as the King’s first-born son drank and fucked his way into an early grave. 

When he spotted a cluster of warm, glowing buildings amidst the dark, unlit streets, Aemond knew he had arrived. The real headache started now, as Aegon favored each brothel equally and shared his love and devotion to different ones on each visit. Aemond had no choice but to search each one. 

Oh he is going to enjoy feeding Aegon to Vhagar. 

With a grim look on his face, Aemond stepped into the first pleasure house, instantly displeased at the scent of sweat and rose oil. He was surrounded by writhing, entangled bodies, too enamored in their pleasure to see the cloaked figure sweep through the premises. He checked every corner. Every private room. No sign of his brother. Alright, the next one then. 

Five pleasure houses later, Aemond still had not located his brother and his patience thinned dangerously. Maybe throwing Aegon into the Dark Cells for a few weeks will sober him up, but his mother would never agree to that. No harm can come to her precious firstborn. Bitter and displeased, Aemond turned to leave. 

“Prince Aemond, do my eyes deceive me?” An irrational dread coursed through his veins at the sultry voice by his ear. Aemond cursed silently. He had hoped she would not be here today. The Madam closed in, one hand wandering over his back, shoulders, and then chest as she circled him, blowing on a pipe. “How lovely to see you, my prince. You have not come to visit in so long, I was starting to think you had forgotten about me.” Her hooded, dark-lined eyes roamed over his body hungrily.

“I have been busy,” Aemond answered. 

The Madam raised one dark brow. “Too busy to see a friend?” She laughed, shaking her head, “How sorry I feel for you, dear prince. But more reason to relax once in a while, no?” The Madam’s hand was now lingering on his lower abdomen, tracing the skin behind his leathers while she leaned closer. “You will come find me soon, yes?” 

His confidence wavered like dim candlelight, “Yes,” he whispered. He hated how small he sounded. How much like a little boy. 

“Good, I look forward to it.” The Madam pressed her robust body against him one last time before sauntering away. “Oh, right, your brother is at the Blue Pearl. Better fetch him quick.” She called over her shoulder, laughing as she blew into her pipe.

Aemond was left, rooted in place, breath ragged. The Blue Pearl was close. Good. It allowed him to focus his attention on capturing his brother rather than the turmoil of emotions brewing in his mind. He allowed himself one moment of respite, then marched out the door. 

All Aemond could think about was the beating he was going to give Aegon tomorrow in the training yard and the hot bath waiting for him back home as he approached the Blue Pearl. If he did hear Aegon’s name on the lips of two whispering, giggling girls, Aemond would have never raised his head. Then maybe he would have never seen her. 

A familiar small figure, standing across the street to another brothel’s entrance. Frightened and overwhelmed, she clutched her cloak, as if it was her only lifeline. Aemond did not recognize her at first glance. But when she swiveled her head, he caught a glimpse of her face . 

It was her. That strange kitchen girl from a few moons back. 

She was a peculiar one, in her mannerisms. Her accent. Her appearance. The foods she would prepare for him. Aemond had tracked her down when she disappeared from the kitchens like a shadow, mainly to satisfy his craving for one of her strange sandwiches. Sandwiches, yes, that is what she called those bread and meat combinations. He did not know why she was never in the kitchens anymore, but she agreed to make him more sandwiches from then on. She agreed! But her words were all lies, the girl was as slippery as an eel, always evading his presence whenever he searched for her. He had even tossed aside his pride and approached the head cook to ask for a sandwich. How he burned with embarrassment when she looked more befuddled than he did. 

If his brother had not been particularly vexing those few weeks, Aemond would have personally hunted her down and punished her for lying to a prince. His half-sister arrived soon after, and Aemond’s attention was redirected towards his bastard nephews. Besides, it was unseemly for a prince like himself to appear so interested in a maid. The craving subdued, and soon after, her existence had slipped his mind. 

Now, the girl was standing across the street completely unaware of his presence. Aemond ground his teeth as his previous frustrations came in surges. He will not let her get away this time. She will need to be sternly questioned for daring to make false promises to a prince. He prowled towards her, eye narrowed. But Aemond only got halfway across the street before he slowed to a stop and frowned. 

Something was wrong. She was anxious. Skittish, like a dragon hatchling. Wait one moment, why was a girl her age standing alone on the Street of Silk in the first place? It did not seem like she was here for…. So then, what was she doing here?

Aemond watched as the kitchen girl wandered nervously along the street, a slight limp in her gait. He trailed at a distance, observing her entire body flinch when she witnessed a couple kissing sloppily nearby before hurrying along. He snorted, amused by her flustered behavior. What did she expect? Wanton, sinful behavior was the normality here. 

You fool, have you forgotten about your brother? Stop following her and go do what you came here to do. 

 Right, Aegon. Aemond turned towards the Blue Pearl once more. The servant girl will be an issue for another day. His wanton brother must be apprehended first. 

A sharp cry rang out. Aemond paused. His head snapped back in time to witness a slurring, fat old man pull the girl against him. She struggled against him, face twisted in terror as the man’s hands roamed over her body. 

Walk away. It is not your business. 

Aemond’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he did not move in either direction. 

Walk away. 

 The fat man slammed her against the wall, and the girl let out a pained whimper. Desperate to escape, she clawed and thrashed against her attacker. 

The sooner you find Aegon, the sooner you may return to the Red Keep. Walk away. 

She was sobbing. Unable to fight the fat man off as his hands lowered to her trousers. 

You are no hero. Walk away. 

Right, walk away. He should walk away. 

Walk away. 

Walk away. 

Aemond pinched his nose bridge and released a frustrated sigh. Aegon will have to wait. With a few long strides, Aemond closed the distance, ripped her assaulter off, and tossed him to the ground. Onlookers gasped as Aemond kicked him a few times in his fat gut. “Get out of here before I call the City Watch,” he ordered, “Now.” 

The porky man had the audacity to spit at his feet, so Aemond relished the next kick he delivered to the man’s gut. Enjoyed his every squeal. Scum like him deserved to be beaten to a pulp. If only he could do the same to his brother. 

Aemond raised his eyebrow when the pig did not run and instead, dared to sit up with vengeance behind his beady eyes. Perhaps he was a small lord of some sort. That would explain his unwarranted arrogance. The man opened his mouth to spew more filth, but Aemond’s patience ran thin. So he pulled his hood back, just barely, so his eye glared upon his victim, who turned into a pale, whimpering mess the moment he recognized the tell-tale violet of Aemond’s iris. An arrogant lord no longer, the man fell over himself as he fled the scene. 

Scum. Pig. Aemond made a mental note to inform the City Watch of his crimes later. For now, he turned to face the girl, who was still shaking and crying softly, hands wrapped around herself. It took her time to raise her head, revealing her clear hazel eyes, twinkling with tears. Sympathy prodded his sullen heart as her face morphed into Helaena’s. Memories of the morning after Helaena and Aegon’s wedding night resurfaced. His sister sat on her floor, silently shaking as she stared into the distance. Helaena had also wrapped her arms around her body like it was the only thing she could do to keep herself from falling to pieces.

“What are you doing here?” He found himself asking. No answer. The girl only sobbed harder, caving into herself. Then it was Helaena before him again, giving no response no matter how much Aemond begged, coaxed, or pleaded.  Aemond recalled that eventually, he had no choice but to sit in silence with his sister, giving her the time she needed until she was willing to speak again. So that’s what he did now, standing in front of the girl to block her from the curious onlookers, waiting for her to gather herself. 

Her tears eventually dried. The kitchen girl swiftly wiped away the remnants of her tears, eyes focusing once more. Calmer than before, but not completely fine. Not yet. She struggled to her feet, “Do you know the way back to the Red Keep?” She avoided his gaze. 

A long pause, a heated mental deliberation, then he said, “I’ll lead you.” 

Those honeyed, crescent eyes flew up to meet his, surprised, then grateful. Aemond didn’t wait for her response, just pivoting on his heel and awkwardly setting the route back to the castle. The girl staggered after him, following his path closely, wincing with every step. They barely made it out of the area before Aemond spun around, causing her to bump her head against his chest. 

“Ow,” she muttered, rubbing her forehead. 

“You’re injured.” 

She tossed a nonchalant look at her feet, “I twisted my right ankle last week.” 

“It had not healed?” A shake of her head. “Let me see.” Aemond did not miss how fast she flinched away when he moved forward, terror clenching every muscle in her body. 

“I’m fine.” Her bottom lip trembled. But she wasn’t fine. He could hear her soft gasps of pain the entire time. 

“I will not touch you,” he grumbled, “just show me.” The kitchen girl’s eyes ran across his face. With a defeated sigh, she limped to the wall, leaning against it as she slipped off her boot and unraveled layers of bandage. Aemond fought back a hiss when he saw the injury. He could not even tell where her ankle was under the swelling and bruising. It must have gotten further injured during the attack. How has she been walking on that foot this entire time? “That is not just a sprain anymore. You might have fractured it.” 

“What am I supposed to do then? That’ll take forever to heal.” Panic was creeping into her voice. 

“For now, you cannot walk back to the Red Keep on that foot. It will only worsen. I can carry you---” 

“No!” The word was a strangled, guttural cry. Aemond blinked, stunned. “I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But no, I can walk.” 

“You cannot. Your ankle is a serious issue. If you keep putting pressure on it, you could be left with a permanent limp.” 

Permanent limp had an effect on her. She shook her head once, lowering her face to the ground as she pondered her options. An eternity must have passed before she finally answered, “And there’s no other option?” 

Aemond rolled his eye, “What other solution do you propose?” She did not reply, “Then yes, it is your only option.” 

The kitchen girl chewed on her lip, “Alright, but not in your arms.” A vein of irritation ran through him. Although it was in his favor that the girl did not treat him as royalty in such dangerous streets, he could not help but feel that she was too comfortable with her casual language and demands. He was still a prince, after all. But on accounts of her injury, Aemond kept his opinion to himself (for now) and lowered his body. 

Hesitantly, the girl leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Aemond hooked his hands under her legs and stood up. They traveled in silence, both individuals expressing nonverbal discomfort at the proximity of their bodies. Halfway back to the castle, Aemond noticed that the girl, whose body was rigid as Valyrian steel, had relaxed against his back. Barely. He had also noticed tresses of her long black hair spilling over his shoulder, and the pleasant scent of lemons that it came with. Lemons, and roasted nuts? Strange combination.

“I wasn’t there for…you know…that.” The small female voice by his neck sounded. 

“Hmm?” 

“The brothels,” Aemond wondered if she looked as flushed as she sounded, “I wasn’t there for that. I got lost on the way back to the Red Keep. I was visiting the markets.” 

“Hmm.” 

That was the end of the conversation. They continued the rest of the walk in silence. Or so he thought. 

“Do you want to know what I got?” 

“Huh?”

She had the audacity to huff. Aemond tried not to think about the tingles her breath left on his skin, “What I got from the market, doofus.” 

“Doofus?” 

“Oops.” 

“What is a doofus?” 

“Oh right, you guys don’t have that word.” Must he always be surrounded by girls that spoke in riddles? Although, this girl might enjoy Helaena’s company very much. 

“So what is it?” 

“Just a word, forget it.” Aemond made a mental note not to forget it. He will question her later. “I got coffee beans.” 

“I see.” 

“Have you had coffee before?” 

“I have not heard of it.” 

She paused, clearly disgruntled by his replies. “Well, it’s a beverage, and it’s delightful. I should let you try some, as thank you for saving me. It’s really rare, you know.” Aemond hummed in response, not fully focused on the conversation. 

Soon after, the Red Keep came into view. Its pale red stone walls, illuminated by torchlight against the dark sky. Breathtaking. This uncomfortable encounter would shortly come to a close after he walked through those gates and placed her into the hands of a maester. Maester Llewell was a twat. Perhaps Maester Orwyle would be better in this situation? 

Wait. Aemond’s footsteps stilled to a halt. 

“What’s wrong?” His little passenger piped up from behind. 

“I cannot carry you inside the gate like this. They would ask questions.” 

“Who?” 

“The guards.” And his mother. His siblings. Pretty much every living, breathing creature scurried through the Red Keep that had eyes. If Aemond walked in with a servant on his back, not only would he be subjected to his mother’s intense line of questioning, but the girl’s honor would be under scrutiny, should it be discovered where he found her.  

“Oh, I’ll just get off, then.” The girl squirmed against his hands, but his hands did not budge, “You can let me go now.” She prompted. 

“You cannot make it by yourself to a maester.” 

Her whole body tensed, “I’m not seeing a maester.” 

“So you do want to end up with a permanent limp.” 

Another huff, “I don’t want to end up with a limp, but a maester is not an option. Look, it’s ok. You can put me down. You’ve already saved me from walking all this way, I can make it back myself.” Aemond ignored her and kept walking. “Hey, what if I get help from the guards? They can help me to a maester and you wouldn’t be seen.” 

“...Fine.” 

Aemond gently lowered the girl on his back, not retracting his hands until he was sure that she could steady herself. He kept his eye on her as she adjusted her cloak. “Try to keep your weight off that foot.” He advised. 

“I know, I’ll hop if I have to.” 

“Hop?” 

“If I have to.” 

His lip quirked. No one past age eight uses the word “hop” in a sentence seriously. What was she, a rabbit? “The guard on the left is Ser Blain. Ask him to help you.” She fidgeted nervously, displaying discomfort at his suggestion, “He is an honorable man. I swear it.” Aemond promised. 

She chewed her lip, lost in thought, then gave a terse nod in response. Aemond stood, monitoring her while she hopped on one foot towards the gate, and allowed himself a small chuckle. 

Then, all of a sudden, the girl looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. She opened her mouth, “Thank you, for everything. You’re nicer than I thought.” then hurried away. 

Aemond blinked. Stunned. But his shock lasted less than a heartbeat before his signature scowl settled in once more. He kept his eye on the peculiar girl, waiting until the gates closed behind her and Ser Blaine with a clang before leading himself deep into King’s Landing again. He did not allow himself to dwell on her words. Or the lingering scent of lemons. 

Besides, there was one more person he had to drag back tonight. And although his brother would be horrid company, at least he did not need to be nearly as gentle. The promise of a good violent throttling gave him something to look forward to. So Aemond vanished into the darkness with a grim smile. Ignoring the bright hazel eyes that still lingered on his mind.

Chapter Text

Aemond was right. Ser Blain was alarmed when Elyse hopped up to the gate, but kind as he helped her inside with minimal physical touch. She pleaded with him to not involve a maester, and after five minutes of her best arguing, Ser Blain gave in and escorted her back to her room. 

Elyse held her composure well throughout the whole journey. Chatting lightly with the knight and spinning lies about her adventures in the city. She made sure to keep an easy smile on her face until she had thanked Ser Blain, watched him turn the corner, and opened her door. 

It was the sight of Dyanna that undid her. 

Elyse fell apart instantly. Heaving, shuddering sobs poured out her mouth like a waterfall as she collapsed to the floor. Dyanna rushed to ask her what was wrong, face twisted with worry. And Elyse told her everything. Well, almost everything. She omitted Aemond’s assistance, knowing that if the prince didn’t want the guards to see him, he’d probably not want anyone to know of his involvement. By the time she finished, Dyanna was as white as a ghost. 

“You need to get your ankle treated first. I’ll go fetch someone,” her friend murmured, getting up to her feet. 

“Wait,” Elyse made a desperate grab at Dyanna’s skirts, “Dyanna, no maester. I don’t want a maester.” 

Dyanna was confused. She searched Elyse’s face for a brief moment, before nodding, “I won’t get a maester. I promise.” 

A breath of relief escaped as Elyse let go of her friend’s skirts and allowed Dyanna to slip out. She sat against the wall, legs in front of her, with tears involuntarily dripping out like a leaky faucet. 

Nothing actually happened. 

She wasn’t raped. 

That should comfort her, yet when she closed her eyes, Elyse could still feel the heavy breaths and his eager, wanting hands touching every inch of her skin. Then the images changed, and another memory was drawn out of her little box. This one a few years older, of another pair of hands trailing up her thighs as a kind, mellow voice whispered against her neck to placate her panic while her shorts were pulled down.  

A wave of nausea surged through her body and Elyse retched, leaning her head to the side so all the contents of her stomach could spill onto the floor. Black dots swam around the perimeter of her vision as she heaved and heaved and heaved. 

Until she was hollow. 

The door flew open. “Seven hells, what is goin’ on here, child?” Elyse recognized the voice. Marscha stood beside her, a horrified expression on her weathered face, hands on her hips. “Come on, tell me then!” 

Elyse opened her mouth, but only ragged, hoarse wheezes would come out. Dyanna stood on her toes and whispered some frenzied words into Marscha’s ears. Marscha’s brows flew to her hairline. She sank to the floor, using her callused hand to tenderly turn Elyse’s face to hers. 

“Did ya fight it?” asked the elderly cook. Elyse managed a weak nod. “And did he succeed?” She mouthed no. Marscha’s face shone with fierce pride. “Good!” was all the older woman said before getting to work ------ stripping Elyse from her dirty clothes. 

Together, Dyanna and Marscha lifted her tired, limp body into a washing basin. Dyanna gathered her clothes and hurried out as Marscha brushed her fingers through Elyse’s jet-black hair, whispering comforts to her while she sat, trembling, with her knees tucked to her chest. 

She could not stop shaking. 

Dyanna returned with two buckets of hot water that she poured into the basin, “Do you want me to do it?” Her roommate offered her hands, but Marscha shook her head. 

“Go get her an extra blanket. I’ll handle this ---- wait!” Marscha waved Dyanna back, “Grab me box from me room while you’re at it. The one with the carved leaves.” 

While Dyanna ran the errands, Marscha took charge of bathing her. Using a sponge to gently wash her arms, legs, then back. Elyse still had her chest pressed to her knees. Thankfully, Marscha didn’t pressure her to unravel and avoided the area instead. 

“Thank you,” Elyse whispered, thick with tears again. “Thank you, Marscha.”

“Oh lass,” Marscha sighed as she worked soap into her hair, “Do not thank me. Thank the Mother for sparin’ ya tonight.” 

“I think,” Elyse was barely audible, “I think I would rather die than be…” 

Marscha’s hands paused. Elyse heard the sponge drop into the water with a splash, and then the elderly woman took her hand, “I know, lass. I understand. Tis the greatest sin that could be committed against a woman. But death’s never the answer. You’ll heal, I know it.” 

“N-no, I don’t know if I can survive…another.” 

Marscha tensed. The implications behind Elyse’s words resembled their shadows from the wavering candlelight, looming over the room. Then, “Child, are ya sayin’ that this has happened before?” 

Elyse didn’t utter another word. Her silence was answer enough. Marscha gave a long sigh and stroked her hair, then proceeded to finish her bath, dry her, and dress her in her shift, all without a word. Elyse remained steadfastly silent. Even when Dyanna came back from her errands. Even when both women worked together to carry her to her bed. 

Dyanna dried her hair with the softest touch while Marscha unloaded her little apothecary box and began to treat her ankle. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the older woman hiss at the sight of her swollen mess of an ankle, then ordered her to bed rest for the next two weeks, at least. But Elyse no longer had the energy to open her mouth. A strangely tranquil lull washed over her while Dyanna combed through her damp tresses, dragging her into the deep, bottomless ocean of her mind. She couldn’t tell when Marscha had finished bandaging her ankle, or when Dyana pulled the blankets to her chest. 

Elyse stayed silently confined within herself until the candle finally burnt out, hours later, only falling asleep after Dyanna had gotten into her small cot and wrapped a comforting arm around her. Even still, she felt one final tear slide down her cheek as the darkness finally claimed her consciousness. 

*****************

Dyanna was the only one who checked on her. Twice a day, her roommate would bring her meals that went untouched. She’d made sure Elyse drank water and kept basic hygiene. But for most of her waking hours, Elyse was alone. Lying in bed with her eyes glued to the stone ceiling. She didn’t cry. Or scream. Or throw a fit. 

She just laid there. 

Hot, sticky breath trailing up her neck. Lustful hands pressed against her curves. The crushing pressure of his weight on her trapped body. 

Elyse fluttered her eyes closed and swallowed. It’s fine. She just needs to shove the memory into her little box ----- the one holding the other bad things she doesn’t think about. 

It wasn’t trauma that kept her chained to her bed. It was grief. 

Grief. Regret. Yearning. For her mom, New York, and the rest of her perfectly chaotic little life from before. Her huge, crazy Italian family on her dad’s side and her sweet, doting maternal grandparents. Her best friends since kindergarten. Her friends from soccer. Friday nights with her cousins, demolishing a stack of pizzas while arguing whose turn it was to pick the movie.  

Since landing in Westeros, Elyse did not permit herself to think about her homesickness. But it was always there, just beneath the surface. Pacing and growling like a caged animal. She refused to acknowledge it. To let herself feel it. She bore the pain and the suffering with a stiff upper lip. All smiles, all sunshine. It was easier that way. 

But now that something else had happened, something darker that brought back demons she would rather die three times over than face again, Elyse finally released the caged animal and let it roar. Let it feast on her broken, shattered heart. Her grief became a distraction so that she could forget about the…

Whatever. It doesn’t matter anyways. Think about something else. Think about anything else. Just don’t think about it. It doesn’t matter. 

Right, it doesn’t matter. 

Elyse released another shaky breath and focused on her homesickness again. Let her mind wander to her best friend, Leah, and if she ever got to kiss her crush from second period. Whether or not her cousin Dean finally got his motorcycle. Do they miss her? Did they hold a funeral for her? What did her mom’s face look like when they lowered the coffin into the ground? 

After the accident, was there even anything left of her to bury? 

Elyse lunged over the bed and dry heaved. Right. She hadn’t eaten. There was nothing to vomit. She flopped back on her back and stared at the ceiling once more. Thinking of her family was painful too. Maybe it would be easier if she just stopped. Stopped thinking. Stopped existing. Just stopped. Elyse lowered her lids and let darkness claim her again. Her mind was blank and raw when sleep finally claimed her for the day. 

**************************

On the fifth night, Dyanna sat beside her and ran a comb through Elyse’s straight black hair. “The Velaryon princes were looking for you,” her friend said as she braided. 

Silence. 

“I told them your ankle had worsened and required bed rest. Prince Jacaerys was very worried. He tried to come visit, but Marscha firmly rejected his goodwill.” 

Silence. 

A remorseful sigh, “I…I know you are struggling, Elyse. I know you’re hurting. But you can’t lie here for much longer. Please, at least eat something?” 

Silence. 

Another sigh. Elyse heard some rustling, and Dyanna was once again gone. 

On the eleventh night, Dyanna brought fresh bread with the usual hot broth. Elyse knew fresh bread wasn’t normally allowed to the servants, and her friend must have stolen it just for her. But she still couldn’t take a single bite. So Dyanna set aside the food, again, and began to brush through her hair as usual. 

Elyse would have been perfectly content to stay curled up in bed for another ten days if she hadn’t heard the tears dripping like raindrops onto her cot. Tears that belonged to Dyanna. Elyse sat up, shifting herself forward to face her roommate, whose gentle, freckled face was wet with tears,  and folded her into a hug. 

“Sorry,” her roommate sobbed, “I’m just so worried for you.” 

“I know,” Elyse murmured against Dyanna’s neck, “I’m sorry. I know.” Dyanna returned the hug and shed her tears into Elyse’s shift. 

God, she was pathetic. Lying in bed for days. Having her closest friend take care of her like she was a newborn. Because of what,  a half-attack? An attempt that failed? Elyse rubbed Dyanna’s back as her friend wept, and realized that she needed to stop wallowing and just freaking get over it. 

That night, once Dyanna fell asleep, Elyse slipped out of her cot. She needed to be distracted, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do. Elyse threw on a blue woolen shawl and grabbed the pouch of coffee beans and cinnamon left beside her neatly folded clothes, then hopped out of her room. The swelling on her ankle had all but subsided, but Elyse was still mindful to keep the weight off her injured foot. Thankfully, her room was only a ten-minute walk to the kitchens.

Someone was in the kitchens when Elyse arrived. She stood by the doorway and peered inside. It was Marscha, who was kneading a mountain of bread dough, all alone. Elyse chewed her bottom lip, debating if she should just leave when Marscha looked directly at her. 

“Stop haunting the doorway like a ghost. Might as well come in if ye already here?” 

Elyse obliged. Half-limping to the stool beside Marscha, “Do you need help with the bread?” 

“Hmph! Who’s helping? You? With ya twig arms and half-broken ankle?” Marscha punched the bread dough to release the air, “No, better ye stay there and don’t wear yerself out. Can’t have ya bedridden fer weeks.” The elderly cook looked Elyse up and down then grumbled, “Seven hells, lass, look at ya! Ya coulda eaten a few bites, can’t ye?” 

Elyse was quiet. It took a few minutes before she could mumble, “I couldn’t stomach anything.” 

Marscha harrumphed in response, nothing more. Elyse was glad the head cook didn’t push her further on the matter. So she sat, watching Marscha divide and shape the dough into perfect loaves. The elderly woman worked like a machine. Years of experience maneuvering her hands to divide the dough into perfectly even pieces. Neither of them said a thing, content to let the crackling of the oven fire fill the silence. Until finally, Marscha asked, “What’s that yer clutchin' in yer hands?” 

“Hmm? Oh right, these. I got them from the market. They’re coffee beans from Braavos. I wanted to roast them…” 

Oh, shoot. Elyse bit her tongue, cursing herself for being a blabbermouth. 

“Oh no need to stop yerself, ye defiant lass,” Marscha chortled, “Ya think I don’t know ya ‘ave been using the kitchen behind me back?” 

Her mouth fell open. She could try to deny it, but Marscha’s ferocious glare hinted that it’d be pointless. “How did you know?” 

“Well, first, Prince Aemond came in a while back askin’ fer a sandwich , which confused the lot of us. I knew something was amiss when the prince said one of me lasses told him it was a new recipe. Then he came in again, asking fer a hazel-eyed maid who makes the sandwiches, and I knew it was yer damn arse.” Marscha glowered at her, “Yer the only lass in the kitchens with hazel eyes and is reckless enough to lie to a prince. Now tell me, what’s a sandwich?” 

“Just something I made,” Elyse mumbled. 

“Somethin’ ya made by stealing ingredients, huh?” 

“They were going to feed the scraps to the hounds! I only took a bit of it.” Elyse argued back, crossing her arms. 

Then, for the first time since Elyse stepped into the kitchen, Marscha looked angry. The head cook dropped the dough in her hands and stared at her, horrified, “Ye stole from the nightly leftovers? Oh ya stupid lass!” the head cook hissed. 

Oops.

“It’s one thing to steal a handful of peanuts ------ oh yes, lass, I know about that too----- but to steal directly from the king’s table?” 

“I didn’t steal from the king’s table. I stole his scraps, for Christ’s sake.” She snapped back. “I only did it like, twice, before Prince Aemond started coming in. Then it’s not really stealing, right? Since I’m making food for the prince?” 

“Stealing from the royals, no matter once or twice or a hundred times, is punishable by the loss of yer hand!” Elyse flinched, confidence wavering, “D’ya want a stub for a hand? D’ya, girl?” 

“N-no. But---” 

“There are no buts! How could ye be so stupid?” Marscha’s wrinkled face was a distinct shade of red. 

“It’s just leftovers,” Elyse spat, “It was going to the hounds if the royal family doesn’t eat it. And they rarely do anyway. What’s so wrong about taking a teensy bit?” 

“That is not for ye to decide. If the king says to feed the scraps to the hounds, it’s a royal decree. It’s law. It must be followed.” 

“Well the king is wrong,” Her emotions could not be contained anymore. All the stress from the past few days came pouring out, “His subjects are starving and living in misery out there and he’s feeding roasted duck to his hounds. He’s a horrible ruler and he shouldn't be ruling  ----” 

“ Do not dare to finish that sentence. Shut yer damn mouth, right now. ” 

Silence befell the room. 

Elyse and Marscha glared at each other, chests heaving from their heated argument. The older woman raised her eyes to the ceiling and took a shaky breath, “Ye are to never repeat the words ye just said. Do ye understand me?” 

Elyse narrowed her eyes. Rebellious fire lighting behind her hazel pupils. 

Marscha leaned forward. Voice barely audible as she hissed, “There are rats in the castle. They hear everything. See everything. If these rats heard yer words just now, then ye have committed treason. Treason , Elyse. Punishable by death.” 

Elyse stilled. The kitchens were several degrees colder. As if the Grim Reaper himself was standing behind her, breathing his wispy breath against the nape of her neck. 

“Never repeat those words, do ya hear me?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

Marscha relaxed. Returned to her dough while mumbling, “Seven hells, ye will send me to the Stranger soon enough, with yer trouble-making. Running yer mouth. Getting involved with cruel princes.” 

“Actually,” Elyse toyed with her loose black hair, “He’s a good person. Prince Aemond,” thinking back to the sullen boy who had carried her back to the Red Keep without complaint. 

“He’s a royal. Good person or not, he holds the power to send ya to the execution’s block for any reason.”

“No, he’s really not like that. He helped----well, he’s not that bad. And his nephews are nice too.” 

Marscha scoffed, “Naive lass. Listen closely, Elyse. The Targaryens, they are dragons. Majestic creatures, true, but impulsive. Selfish. Violent. Sooner or later, they’ll burn the world down. And the dragons in the sky can’t see the burning masses beneath them. They’ll be unharmed in the seas of dragonfire. But ye? Yer no dragon, lass. Yer smallfolk. And no matter how close ya fancy yerself to the dragons, they won’t be able to save ya when the world burns. Better to keep yer distance. Be smart, and keep yerself safe.” 

Elyse played with the strings on her little pouch.  Marscha’s words weighed on her heart like bricks. As much as she hated to admit it, the elderly woman was right. Getting involved with the Targaryens was a bad idea. But… she thought of the Velaryon boys, who were born with silver spoons in their mouths yet treated her as equals. And Aemond, who she would like to thank again for his help. “So what do you want me to do, ignore them?” The words came out harsher than she intended, but she didn’t care. 

“I want ya to be careful. Understand yer position. Understand theirs. Don’t be naive.” 

She was sullen. “You don’t like me very much, do you?” 

To her amazement, Marscha burst out into hearty laughter, clutching her sides. “Oh really? Is that what ya think?” She guffawed, “I’d go out of me way to send fresh bread up to ya if I despised ya?” 

“Dyanna didn’t steal it?”

“If ya think Dyanna is brave enough to steal, then ya dumber than I thought.” 

Elyse’s cheeks flushed rosy pink. “Oh. Well, then why were you so mean to me before?” 

“I may not hate ya, lass, but ya grind me nerves like no other.”  

“Ah. Well, in that case, can I keep using the kitchen?” 

“Hmph,” Marscha shook her head with a snort, “As if I could stop ya. Ye only find new ways to get in trouble.” Elyse shrugged in admittance, a ghost of a smirk playing on the corners of her lips. “But again, be smart about it. No more stealing banquet scraps. And don’t waste me ingredients.” 

“That sounds like a deal. Ok, I promise,” Elyse shrugged. 

“Now, what do ya want to do those beans? I’ll help.” 

Elyse gratefully accepted Marscha’s help, glad to not have to struggle to handle hot pans while on one foot. The two poured the beans onto a roasting pan, spreading it into an even layer then sticking it into the oven. Elyse kept a close eye on her coffee beans, watching them like a hawk, estimating about fifteen minutes before taking them out to flip. It took a lot of patience, but all surfaces of the beans needed to be evenly roasted for a great cup of coffee

Forty minutes later, Elyse pulled the beans out and waited for the cool, watching Marscha braid her dough in the meantime. The head cook even let her try her hand at braiding a few pieces into a plait. It didn’t look nearly as pretty as Marscha’s, but it was still fun. 

Once the beans cooled, Elyse rolled her wrists, ready for a few more hours of grinding with the mortar and pestle, when Marscha pulled out a gadget that made her jaw drop. “A spice mill,” Marscha proclaimed, “ye did not know we had one?” 

“No, but this changes everything!” She grinned. Thank god, because she planned on grinding cinnamon soon and that would have been a nightmare with the mortar. 

Elyse only ground a fifth of the beans. In her mind, she made a list of all the people she was saving the rest for ----- Dyanna, Jacaerys. Maybe Lucerys (he might be too young to enjoy it but hey, Elyse started her addiction at ten, so who knows?) 

And Aemond (maybe). 

Soon, the entire kitchen began to smell like freshly roasted coffee. Suddenly, she’s back in New York. Saturday morning cartoons are playing in the background while she pours the milk for her dad’s second cup of joe. It was a good memory to recall.  

But here comes the biggest problem. How was she going to brew the coffee? She did not have an espresso machine (and god did she miss hers), so Elyse settled for a makeshift pour-over method with a cheesecloth in each cup. She awkwardly soaked the grounds in hot water and waited for the coffee to brew, tapping a finger impatiently. God, she could just scoop the coffee grounds into her mouth at this point. But she willed herself to wait. Only a little longer.

An eternity passed, and then she gingerly pulled out the cheesecloths, squeezing out every drop of the glorious, dark liquid, and set the grounds aside for later. There will be no wasting in this kitchen. 

“Alright, this is coffee.” She presented Marscha with her cup with a flourish. “I suggest adding a splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar.” 

Marscha obliged. Elyse watched as the older woman took a hesitant sip of the creamy, rich drink, dying for her reaction. The head cook raised one eyebrow and took another longer sip. “Well, that’s lovely, innit?” 

A grin grew on her cheeks, “I know,” she preened, prideful as a peacock while she picked up her own cup. Elyse tried the coffee pure first. No milk or sugar, so she could really taste the beans. A small moan exhaled as the robust flavors swished around her mouth. It was a good dark roast, with notes of hazelnut and a smoky, bold aroma. She hated astringent beans, so she was thankful that these beans did not leave any sour aftertaste. 

Elyse poured in a drizzle of milk and took another sip. Tears pooled in her eyes as she swallowed. Exquisite. Sheer heaven. It’s crazy how much joy could come from something so simple. A cup of coffee had her ready to burst out in tears. Marscha tossed her a glance when Elyse brushed away the bit of wetness by her eyes, “Ye alright, lass? Why the tears?” 

“It’s nothing,” her voice was huskier than usual, “Just…missing home.” 

“Don’t we all,” Marscha sighed, “don’t we all.”

Elyse and Marscha finished their coffee in silence. And when her cup was empty, Marscha ushered Elyse back to her room for more rest. The caffeine ensured that she wouldn’t sleep for the rest of the night. But even as she laid in bed with her eyes glued to the ceiling once more, Elyse felt peace. Marscha was right. She will push through this. She will survive this. As she did before, she’ll shove this experience into her little box and lock it away, and it will all be fine. 

She’ll be fine. 

Daybreak came. And when Dyanna woke with a yawn in the cot beside hers, Elyse gave her friend a big, bright smile, and told her she was finally hungry.

Chapter Text

Sleep never came easy for him. Tonight was not an exception. The phantom pains in his hollow socket plagued Aemond for hours as he tossed and turned restlessly. When they first retrieved the eye from its socket ----- nothing more than a useless piece of flesh after the events at Driftmark ----- the maester had forewarned that the pain would never truly fade. 

“But the prince is resilient. I am sure he will brave these challenges, through prayer and grace.” 

Aemond now lay in bed, staring into the green canopy, and laughed bitterly, cursing himself for not pulling the maester down by his chains and carving his eye out. Let’s see how that self-righteous bag of bones “brave the challenges”. 

He released a weary breath, then pushed himself off the bed, gliding across the room to pull on his flying leathers. Dressing quickly, Aemond kept his long silver hair loosely tied by the nape of his neck, then adjusted his worn leather patch over the hollowed socket as he shoved his feet into supple leather boots. Somewhere deep in the Dragonpit, Vhagar was humming with anticipation. The realm’s largest dragon knew her rider was coming to release her from her cave, and she was thrilled. 

His horse ride to the Dragonpit was serene. No one had seen him slip out of the castle, thank the Seven, and King’s Landing felt fairly peaceful tonight ---- a rare occurrence. Only one handler was on duty at this late hour. Aemond found him half-dozing by the entrance and woke him with a shin kick. The handler woke with a start, then sombered immediately when he saw the One-Eyed Prince scowling down at him. “G-good evening, Your Highness.” stammered the handler, wiping away his drool. 

“Prepare her,” was all Aemond said. 

“Right away!” While the handler rushed to free Vhagar from her confines, Aemond secured his horse to a post with a loosely tied knot. A faint smile grazed his lips as he felt his bond with Vhagar awaken, vibrating through his bones as his dragon’s thundering steps shook the earth. Vhagar emerged from the depths of the Dragonpit like death itself. Scarred, burned and battle-worn, but still the most beautiful creature in her rider’s eyes, with her glistening emerald scales and matching eyes. 

Aemond grinned and crossed the distance, “ Rystas, issa haēdar.” - Hello, my girl - He ran his fingers along her scales, leaning his forehead beside her bright green eye. “ Jāhor ao sōvegon rūsīr issa tonight?” - Will you fly with me tonight?

His bonded dragon hummed beneath his touch. The sound  ------ a low rumble vibrating through every taunt muscle. Aemond laughed, giving Vhagar one more pat before taking hold of the ropes and pulling himself onto the saddle with ease. He guided her further out, whispering words of encouragement in High Valryian as she readied herself to fly. Vhagar was no longer a young, sprightly dragon in her prime. Getting her in flight was a ritual in itself, which started by giving her the space she needed to unfurl the entirety of her massive wingspan. But Aemond was in no hurry tonight. He waited for Vhagar to loosen her muscles properly before giving her the command in a low, confident voice. 

“ Sōvēs, Vhagar.” 

She roared in response. With powerful wing strokes, Vhagar launched herself into the night sky, pleased to take her rider higher and higher until they disappeared into the clouds. Aemond chuckled, guiding her out towards Blackwater Bay.  It was the perfect night for flying, with the salted ocean air in his lungs and the wind beating against his skin. King’s Landing and all its insufferable politicking was nothing but a speck from this height. And the pain of his missing eye was long forgotten as they soared across the vast, dark ocean. 

  Once they were halfway across the bay, Aemond released the reins and let Vhagar fly free. The dragon purred, pleased with her newfound freedom, and flew leisurely. It was perfection. Just a rider and his dragon. Two hearts as one. Two halves of one soul. 

With every passing minute in flight, Aemond felt his shoulders relax, one muscle at a time. He fluttered his eye shut and breathed in the cold, salty air. Damn. This was what it meant to be Targaryen. He was sure of it. Dragon’s blood was not made for staying grounded. To be suffocated under the weight of self-serving lords and their petty politics. Targaryens were meant to soar above the clouds, closer to gods than the common man. Perhaps Aemond was bound by duty to his brother. Destined to be his loyal watchdog while Aegon wasted his life away on the Iron Throne ----- an idea that, more days than not, left a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet when Aemond rode Vhagar, his shackles would disappear. For a short while, he was bound to no one but himself, his dragon, and the sky. It’s unfortunate that his mother hated dragons with passion and gave him little to no time to spend on dragonback. 

Vhagar flew for a good while, dipping between the clouds and the ocean with ease, until Aemond finally leaned over and whispered, “ Gūrogon īlva lenton, issa hāedar ” - Take us home, my girl. 

The majestic dragon hummed in response and tilted her massive body to glide back toward the glittering lights of King’s Landing in the far distance. Her rider kept his eye fixed on the stars, savoring the last moments of freedom before he grasped the reins once more and guided Vhagar to the Dragonpit, landing with a rumbling thud. 

“She’ll be needing extra sheep tonight,” Aemond informed the handler as he gave his dragon several pats and rubs, sliding down her back with no effort at all. 

“Yes, Your Highness.” The handler muttered commands in High Valryian, urging Vhagar back into the Dragonpit. His she-dragon huffed in irritation, blowing a cloud of soot onto the handler, which Aemond found hilarious. 

“We will fly again soon, issa hāedar, ” he promised as he mounted his horse. Vhagar whined as he rode away ----- a sound that pierced his heart like a dozen Valyrian steel daggers. His heart grew increasingly forlorn as the distance between him and his dragon grew. The bond was dormant again. And the shackles returned. 

When he returned to the castle, well into the night, the Red Keep was eerily quiet. Not a single person lingered in the corridors as Aemond walked to his room. He was almost there when his stomach growled. Loudly. Nothing like a few hours on dragonback to trigger his appetite. Thank the Sevens no one was awake to hear that unbecoming sound. Aemond slowed his walk to a stop, pondering his choices, then sighed and rerouted towards the kitchens instead. 

In retrospect, Aemond wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he strolled into the kitchens, but it certainly wasn’t the sight of one small, hazel-eyed maid. He stopped dead in his tracks as their eyes met. A faint shiver ran through his body. Aemond hadn’t seen her in nearly two moons ------ their encounter in Flea Bottom a blurred memory in his mind. Though, he would be lying if he said he did not occasionally think about the peculiar maid who smelled of lemons. But never enough to seek her out after that night to check on her well-being. He was a prince, for Seven’s sake. He had more to worry about than a common maid. 

And yet, now that they were face-to-face again, Aemond couldn’t get the image of her haunted eyes out of his mind.  

She lowered her eyes first. He noticed her nervous swallow before she said, “Your Highness, are you looking for something to eat?” 

Aemond clasped his hands behind his back, “Yes.” 

“Right, what would you like? There is seafood stew, fresh bread with goat cheese, currant cakes…” her voice trailed off. He tilted his head, pondering his choices. 

“What’s that smell?” Aemond asked, referring to a wonderfully rich smell wafting through the air. 

“O-oh. That’s just something I’m trying out,” the girl blushed, “I-if you’d like to wait, it’ll be ready in a few minutes.” 

He took another breath, inhaling the deliciously sweet aroma that triggered another ravenous growl in his stomach, then answered, “I can wait.” 

For reasons unknown to him, the girl visibly brightened. A pleased smile played at the corners of her lips as she said, “Then I will prepare some tea while you wait. Is chamomile fine, Your Highness?” 

Aemond hummed a response, and she went straight to work while he eased himself onto the spare stool. He kept a scrutinizing eye on the maid as she rummaged through various jars of herbal teas, paying special attention to her gait. While there was a slight limp, she didn’t seem to be in terrible pain. Aemond felt the sudden urge to inquire if she went to a maester for her injury. The question sat restlessly on his lips, but he did not ask. 

Instead, he silently observed as she prepared the tea. No words were exchanged as she placed the cup before him, though his eyebrow raised with intrigue. Rather than the clear, amber liquid he was used to, the chamomile tea before him was creamy and opaque. He took a tentative sip, mildly surprised at the richness of the beverage. 

“You added milk?” asked the prince. 

The girl flinched, appearing bashful, “O-oh yes, Your Highness. I call it milk tea. It’s how I like to drink my tea, though usually I’d take it iced with boba. But obviously, we don’t have either of those here.” He didn’t understand half of what she said, but before he could raise the question, the girl hastily blurted, “I know I promised you coffee, but it’s kind of late and I don’t want you to get the jitters. But don’t worry, I saved you some. Maybe another time, earlier in the day?” 

Now he was completely lost. Fragments of their conversation from that night resurfaced while he took another sip. Oh right, coffee. That strange drink she was rambling about. “If you say so,” he responded, mild and disinterested. 

“Oh for sure, I promise, Your Highness,” she grinned as she approached the oven. Aemond drank his tea, which he had grown to rather enjoy, and watched as the kitchen maid stared at something inside the oven with unwavering concentration. Then, her linen-wrapped hands darted into the oven, quick as a Dornish viper, and pulled out a round pan. 

“Hot hot hot hot!” The girl yelped as she dropped the pan onto the counter. Aemond’s lip quirked as she wrapped more linens around her hands before pulling out the second pan. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring down at both pans with traces of triumph on her flushed face. “Looks pretty legit,” murmured the maid under her breath as she wiped the sweat from her brow. 

He took a delicate sniff, marveling at the irresistible aroma. What exactly are in those pans? Aemond was tempted to meander over and take a curious peek, but his princely composure kept him glued to his seat, observing quietly as the girl flitted about like a little bird. 

Intrigue quirked his brow as she rolled up her sleeves, picked up a strange object made of several loops of wire attached to a handle, and began to stir a mixture in a large bowl with ferocity. Eyes narrowed. Jaw clenched. Beads of sweat glistened around the rim of her creamy white cap. She was relentless, beating the mixture like a mad woman. 

“What in the world are you doing?” The question was out of his mouth before he realized it. Shocked him, in fact. 

“I’m making whipped cream,” she grunted, tilting the bowl this way and that before resuming her furious motions. 

“What’s whipped cream?” 

“Uhhh, you’ll see. It’s hard to explain.” And that was the end of the conversation. Aemond finished his tea while the girl sliced into the pans with a sharp knife. She plated two slices on one plate and then scooped a dollop of the fluffy white mixture on top. The girl slid the plate across the counter and fidgeted nervously as she handed him the fork. “Sorry for the wait. I needed it to cool a bit so it doesn’t burn your mouth.” 

“Hmm,” Aemond inspected his plate, “What is this?” 

“Try it first,” she urged, “It’s good! Well, I hope it is.” 

Aemond gave her a suspicious stare before cutting off a small piece with his fork. He ate it hesitantly, unsure of what to expect. 

Whatever reservations he had flew out the window as soon as the rich, robust caramel melted against his tongue, followed by the surprisingly mellow flavor of apples. Judging from the bits of perfectly flaky pastry at the bottom, it was a sort of apple pie ---- though nothing like any apple pie he’d ever had. Aemond pointed his fork at the pie and demanded, “What is this?” 

The girl giggled, face shining, “It’s good, right? Now try it with the cream,” nudging her head towards the white dollop beside the pastry. Aemond obliged. Oh, my gods, it was delicious. Whatever she did to the cream made it dissipate like a fluffy, sweet cloud in his mouth, blending with the pie in perfect harmony. “Ok, now try the other one.” The girl suggested, pointing to the other slice. Hmm. Equally delicious, but slightly tart when compared to the apple. Aemond deduced it to be some sort of plum. 

“You have not answered my question,” reminded the prince. 

She stood up straighter, voice laced with pride, “It’s a tart tatin. It’s like a French apple pie, but I made another variation with spiced plums.” 

“A what?” 

“A tart tatin. It’s French,” she explained. 

“What is French?” 

“Never mind,” the girl waved his question away. Aemond blinked. Wait, when did she do away with the formalities? When did she start conversing so casually with him? “So, do you like it?” 

“Hmm.” 

The girl frowned, “Not very talkative, are you? Ok fine, let me try”, and cut another slice from the pan, “I wanted to try and make some desserts, but with limited equipment and ingredients, I didn’t have a lot of options. Tart tartins are easy since it’s just caramel with fruit and pastry. My mom taught me to make one when I was like, four. Ok not four, but still young. You get it. They’re so low effort, but so tasty, right?” 

Aemond did not respond. He was focused entirely on his food when the girl tasted the pie. Her face scrunched. She chewed on her lip, then said “Wait. It’s missing something. Hold on,” and snatched Aemond’s plate away while his fork was still mid-air. He blinked, stunned, while she hastily ran into the pantry, remerging a few moments later with a little wooden box. There was a knowing smirk on her face as she sprinkled a mysterious brown spice onto his apple pie. Or tart. Whatever it was called. 

“Cinnamon,” she explained to Aemond’s questioning expression, “Not typical for tart tatin, but cinnamon and apples are like soulmates, you know? It feels like something’s missing if I don’t add a pinch. Go on, try it again!” 

“Are you sure? Or should I expect you to whisk my plate away without notice again?” He drawled. Her face turned beet red, which he found slightly amusing. But as per her instructions, Aemond took another bite. And she was right. The flavors were still the same, but there was an underlying warmth that brought life to his tongue. A warmth that was mirrored in a cold, wintry night reading in the library beside a roaring fire, or feeling Vhagar’s hot breath against his skin when he nuzzled his dragon. 

“What do you think? Delicious, right?” 

“Hmm.” 

She scoffed, “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.” Aemond just took another bite. 

They ate in silence, perfectly content to enjoy their food rather than engage in another conversation. Aemond drank another cup of “milk tea” and had three slices of tart in total ---- two apple and one plum. He had to fight the urge to pick up the pastry crumbs on his plate when he finished. Seven hells, he was a prince! Not a common beggar. Leave the crumbs be! 

His thoughts were interrupted when the kitchen girl cleared her throat. 

“So I wanted to thank you again, f-for that night.” The girl mumbled while playing with her frayed hem, “I don’t think I can express how grateful I am that you were there to help. There was no way I could have gotten out of that situation by myself.” 

Aemond was pleasantly surprised, “No need for flattery. It did not require any effort on my part.” Though he was quite pleased with the flattery. 

“N-no, you don’t understand!” She leaned over the counter. Her huge hazel eyes were close enough that he could see all the hues of greens and browns swirling in her pupils, “I am so, so grateful, really. You’re a good person, Aemond.” 

Aemond. 

Aemond? 

Not Your Highness? 

Suddenly, Aemond realized her intentions. It ran through him like a wintry breeze, chilling him to the core. Why he was blind to her many affronts tonight and before, he did not know, but he felt a familiar discomfort take hold in his gut. One that always appeared when women approached him in an overly affectionate manner. Such as the ladies in his mother’s court. Or Madame Sylvie. 

The girl, oblivious to his change in demeanor, continued, “You know what, I think we could be friends!” 

***********

“Too busy to see a friend?” The Madam laughed with a shake of her head, “How I pity you, my dear prince. But then again, more reason to relax once in a while, is it not? To spend time with a…” Her hand trailed down his navel as her lips grazed his jaw, “friend?” 

***********

“Wait, Prince Aemond!” He glared at the simpering lady chasing after him in her heavy brocades and dark-lined eyes, “Do not be angry, I only wanted to pursue a friendship.” 

Aemond stiffened when she latched on to his arm, clinging to him as she batted her eyelashes. He looked around the gardens for a possible escape, Unfortunately, they were surrounded by nobles, “Please stay out of the library, Lady Sabella, if you do not intend to read.” He said coldly. 

“But…you could read to me?” She pouted, fingers running up and down his arm as she wantonly pressed her bosom against his bicep. Aemond felt disgusted, but a pointed look from his mother, who was strolling nearby with her ladies, sent a signal that he was not to offend the young lady. “Come, your voice would be perfect for reading ballads, Shall we go, Your Highness?” 

**********

He forced the unpleasant memories away and responded through gritted teeth, “I would rather you not entertain such a notion.”

She laughed, completely unaware of the tension, “Yeah I get it, maybe being friends with a maid doesn’t seem appealing to you. But trust me, I’m a good friend! I’ll make you snacks and listen to your problems. I’m a great listen----”

Slam! The girl flinched when he slammed both his hands on the counters. 

A moment of tense stillness. 

“A-aemond?” 

“It is clear to me now I have been overly enabling your inappropriate behavior”, growled the silver-haired prince. 

“E-excuse me?” She stammered. 

Aemond flickered his eye to glare at her. He snarled, “I am Aemond Targaryen, son of King Viserys I of House Targaryen. You are nothing more than a common servant, and yet you speak to me as if we are equals.” The girl opened her mouth but he raised one threatening finger, “I saved you, once. It did not mean anything, nor did it establish any camaraderie between us. If I find you ignoring etiquette and decorum again, I will have no qualms about tossing you out of the Red Keep myself. This castle does not need another rodent clinging to the dragon’s leg, trying to climb to glory and riches.” 

“I was not----” 

Aemond laughed coldly, face curled into a cold sneer, “What other reason might you have for attempting to establish a what, a friendship?” He spat out the word with menace, “I have seen enough of Aegon’s whores to know when I am face to face with one.” 

The girl blinked, silent. If he cared, he would notice the glistening in her hazel eyes. If he cared, he would notice the trembling of her lips, or how she was tightly gripping onto her apron. But no, he did not care. She was a servant, and he was a Targaryen. There was a clear chasm between their standing in this realm ------ one that his momentary blindness had entertained her delusions of crossing. No more. 

“You will refer to me as Your Highness. You will banish your foolish ambitions and thoughts at once. Live and serve quietly, as you should, and I will forgive your previous transgressions. You have been forewarned”. And without another word, Aemond spun on his heels and stalked out of the kitchens. 

How did he not see it before? This castle was crawling with people trying to curry favor with his family for riches and glory. What made him think she was any different? What, because she experienced a similar pain as his sister? What a joke. 

Aemond slammed open his door and flung himself onto his bed, seething. He cursed himself for his momentary lapse in judgment. No more. He will not involve himself with the maid any longer. He will banish all thoughts of her, never frequent the kitchen again, and be the perfect, pious prince that his mother raised. And he will, for Seven’s sake, stop regretting the fact that he never even learned her name. 

Chapter Text

Avoiding the one-eyed prince proved to be far easier than she expected. Elyse kept herself away from the training yard and Maegor’s Holdfast, staying within her small area of activity that she knew Aemond Targaryen wouldn’t intrude upon. But she was fuming. 

In four words: Elyse hated his guts. 

The more long-winded answer? She had never met someone so incredibly grating and frustrating in both of her lives. 

Yes, she was in the wrong for forgetting to call him by his proper title. And yes, she was wrong for trying to make a friend out of her ----- well ----- her boss. But it was an honest mistake. Seriously, he was like, what, sixteen? Dean, her eldest cousin, was sixteen. The captain of her soccer team was sixteen. Jacaerys (who was also a prince, by the way) was fifteen. So forgive her for forgetting that this world is freaking archaic and you can’t be friends with every person around your age. 

And also, what was with everyone thinking she’s a whore? The maester. Now Ae--- sorry, His Highness. Did she give off a vibe or something? Was a scarlet A sewn to her chest? 

Ugh. All in all, everything about the whole situation was so frustrating Elyse wanted to either pull out all her hair or scream into a pillow. Maybe both. 

Whatever. She’s never making an effort with His Highness again. Some people just aren’t worth it, and there was no reason to subject herself to more insults and wrongful accusations. She had it hard enough already. 

Besides, Elyse was more than happy with the company of his nephews ----- who didn’t jump at every chance to remind her that she was their maid or call her a whore. Though the Velaryon boys did not come in every day, Elyse would visibly brighten whenever the pair shuffled in, whining for snacks. Both Jacaerys and Lucerys were as sweet as sugar to her after she came back from her weeks of bed rest. Asking after her injury and making sure she didn’t strain herself too much. Especially Lucerys, who was literally the most perfect kid to ever exist. No, really. The kid was an angel. Beloved by all the servants, including Marscha (and that is like, nearly impossible). He just had the best manners and the sweetest disposition. Jace on the other hand, was cheeky, sassy, and always teasing. Courteous, of course, with manners befitting his status. But he also always made her blush. With his mischievous smile, deep dimple, and perfectly compatible humor. 

Did she mention the dimple? 

Every time the Velaryon boys came in, Elyse was more than happy to set out snacks for them to munch on while listening to the princes recount their days. To her very deep dismay, Jacaerys was not a huge coffee lover, unlike Marscha and Dyanna ---- both of which immensely enjoyed the exotic beverage and pleaded with Elyse to search for more. But Elyse wasn’t ready to venture out into King’s Landing again. Not yet, at least. 

“I’m sorry, Elyse,” The elder Velaryon boy shook his head and pushed away the cup, “But that is not for me. Gods, why is it so bitter?” 

“But you can add milk? And sugar?” Elyse half-pleaded, placing both before him. Jacaerys raised a brow, then poured in a criminal amount of each and took another sip. 

“No, nuh-uh, sorry. I do not think I enjoy that. Truly, I am sorry. I know that you are very passionate ab out this…strange beverage,” His dark curls flopping over his eyes as he apologized,  “But I much rather take a cup of milk tea instead.” 

“I like it!” Lucerys spoke up. Both Elyse and Jacaerys snapped their heads toward the younger boy, surprised. 

“Really?” Her eyebrows touched her hairline in awe. 

“Oh yes, I have never had such robust flavor before! Tell me, what is this called again?” Sure enough, Lucerys’s cup was almost empty. There was a telltale buzz in the boy’s warm brown eyes and a little quiver in his shoulder ------ evidence that the caffeine was kicking in. “I feel incredible! Jace, let’s go for a dragonride, right now! I feel like I could run to the Dragonpit, I swear! Do you want to race there?” 

“Luke, are you alright?” Jacaerys frowned, “Why are you shaking your leg like that? Calm down, my gods.” 

“I feel perfect! Amazing! Elyse, may I have another cup?” At this point, the second Velaryon prince was practically bouncing like a rubber ball in his seat. A look of manic excitement danced through his large puppy eyes as he reached for the rest of the coffee. 

“R-right, maybe you should take it easy…” Elyse laughed nervously as she swiped away his cup. 

Note to self: caffeine for twelve-year-olds, not a good idea. 

Jacaerys came back later that night complaining of how Lucerys’s dragon almost burned down a fleet of merchant ships in a burst of strangely invigorated excitement, and that was when Elyse made a mental vow to never give coffee to Lucerys ever again. Eh, it’s ok. More for her! (Especially since she will not be sharing any with “ His Highness ”. Not anymore.) 

Other than their opposing opinions on coffee, Jacaerys and Lucerys had a shared love for her newest “invention” ----- buttery biscuits. She had drawn inspiration from those Danish biscuits from the tin that you’d get at Costco and added some embellishments to her taste. Surprisingly, butter wasn’t used heavily in Westerosi cuisine. Animal fats like lard or tallow were favored more. But Elyse was determined to change the precedent. Starting with her new butter biscuits. 

Dyanna peeked over her shoulder, “Who are those for?” 

Elyse’s hands worked swiftly to pack several butter biscuits into a small basket lined in pretty blue fabric. Three raspberry jam thumbprint ones, three with dried currants, three lemon ones, and three dusted with crunchy sugar. “The smithy’s boy,” she smirked as she added in two more plain butter cookies. 

“Mycah? Why are you gifting cookies to Mycah?” The twinge of hurt in her friend’s voice was not lost on Elyse. She turned to face Dyanna, who was fighting to keep her soft, freckled face passive. 

“I don’t like him like that, don’t worry,” Elyse promised, “I’m bribing him so that he can make me a few things I need ------- some more gadgets for baking and stuff.” 

“Oh, I see.” Her roommate blinked, a telltale blush forming on her ears.

Elyse couldn’t help it. She reached a hand to pinch her roommate’s cheek, teasing, “Oh? That’s it? No, ‘good because I like Mycah so so much and I want to have his babies so back up, Elyse, before I hurt you?’” 

Now Dyanna’s whole face and neck were as red as a ripe tomato, “Do not jest,” she sputtered, batting away Elyse’s hand, “You always tease me so.” 

“But it’s true,” Elyse cooed. But her friend didn’t look amused. “Fine. I’ll stop.” Elyse conceded with a sigh. Still, smugness seeped through her every pore as she watched her flustered roommate nearly trip over her broom when she walked away.

If only Dyanna would give her a chance to explain, Elyse would have told her that Mycah had a similar, if not even bigger, crush on her. She was sure that if the two just had an actual conversation for once instead of making moony eyes at each other, they’d figure it out immediately. But for now, Elyse will have to sit back and watch the teenage romance unfold naturally, like a real-life K-drama. Some popcorn would be perfect right now, really. 

“Oi! Where’ya going, lass!” Marscha demanded, waving a spatula threateningly as Elyse hurried out of the kitchens. 

“I’ll be back!” She called over her shoulder, “I’m taking my fifteen!” 

“Ye talking nonsense again, what’s a fifteen? There are three basins of onions that need to be chopped!” The head cook yelled. 

“Fifteen-minute break, Marscha! It’s called worker’s rights, and those onions will be finished by the end of today, I promise!” Without waiting for approval, Elyse sprinted away as Marscha’s loud complaints rang behind her. Affectionate complaints, of course. Their relationship had improved hugely after her accident. 

Mycah, the smithy’s son, worked with his father in the castle’s smithy located near the training yard. Normally, Elyse would rather eat worms than go anywhere near Prince Aemond’s territory. But a) she really needed Mycah to make some kitchen gadgets for her and b) it was lunchtime, and according to Lucerys, the entire royal family was having a “family lunch” in the gardens. There was no better opportunity to sneak over and bribe Mycah with fresh cookies. But Elyse still took the route through the Godswood, far from the gardens. Just to be safe. 

In the ever-suffocatingly regal Red Keep, the Godswood provided a peace and serenity that Elyse adored. A thickly wooded area with trees that, Elyse deduced, probably rivaled the California Redwoods in terms of age, and lush greenery, the Godswoods was the Central Park of the Red Keep ------ an escape into nature from all the chaos. Elyse strolled through the woods, basket in hand, and inhaled the fresh air. A smile danced on her face as she marveled at the spiraling, twisted branches above. Something about nature always made everything better. The world felt bigger. Her problems felt smaller. 

In the distance, Elyse spied a bush of blackberries amidst all the forest green. She squealed in delight, then skipped over to pluck a berry off the bush, marveling at the plump, ripe berries that were begging to be made into a jam, and popped them into her mouth. 

Juice burst through the berry’s skin at first contact with her teeth, gushing down her throat in a stream of tart fruity sweetness. She groaned. It would be criminal not to turn the berries into a dessert. “Hmm, a blackberry lemon cake, with a jam filling and lemon whipped cream,” she brainstormed as she picked a few more, careful to avoid the prickly thorns protecting the fruit. Elyse made a mental note to return after she had finished her errand to strip the berry bushes, turning to be on her way again when she heard the sob. 

She paused, swiveling her head. Did she hear wrong? 

Then, a wail rang out. Vibrating like bell tones through the serenity of the Godswood. “What in the world?” Elyse mumbled. 

It sounded like a baby, but what baby would be out here? A shiver ran through her as her mind went down the rabbit hole of several horror movies that her cousins forced her to watch. But of course, in true “dumb and usually first to die character” fashion, Elyse cleaned the berry juice off her hands and cautiously went in search of the screaming baby somewhere deeper in the Godswoods. 

She searched. And searched. And was about to turn back, thinking it was a trick of her mind when she finally pushed into a clearing and saw Princess Helaena sitting under the weirwood tree. Surrounded by the vibrant red leaves that had fallen to the forest ground. Her beautiful Targaryen features were marred with tears as she attempted to soothe the crying baby in her arms ----- the source of the wailing. Nothing the princess did helped to calm the red-faced, screaming babe, who writhed and struggled in his mother’s embrace. And in response, Helaena wept silently. Cornflower blue eyes staring blankly into the distance. Elaborate braids falling into loose strands against her neck.

Oh no. That poor girl. 

Elyse chewed her bottom lip, sympathy washing over her in a gentle wave. Because she knew exactly what was happening. She’d seen it before in her Zia Giulia, her youngest aunt on Dad’s side, when she gave birth to her third baby. Before her was an image of an exhausted, worn-out mother at the end of her wits. The poor princess was having a mental breakdown under all the stress that came with motherhood. But where were her ladies? Why were they not here to comfort her? Why was the princess alone? 

The baby wailed again, and Elyse winced. She should leave. This was clearly a private matter and, as the princess’s gracious brother had said before, she’s just a maid. Nowhere high enough in social status to interfere in this situation. She really should leave, but… 

Her shoulders slumped forward with her long sigh. She couldn’t leave. Elyse was proud to call herself a girls’ girl. And how could she be a girls’ girl if she left this overwhelmed mother to fend for herself? No. Elyse was better than that. Her mother taught her better than that. 

Well, guess it’s time to overstep again. Hopefully, Aemond’s sister doesn’t share the same level of contempt for overstepping servants and throwing her into the dungeons. Or call her a whore. 

Elyse stepped forward, softly clearing her throat to announce her presence. Princess Helaena’s eyes darted to where she stood. Fresh tears caught like dew drops on her long, pale lashes. “Um, Your Highness,” she gave a quick curtsy, “May I ask if you are alright?” 

The princess didn’t say a word. Staring at Elyse with glassy eyes as the baby squirmed and wailed against her chest. 

Ok, never mind. She definitely does not want me here. Maybe I should just go… 

She had just pivoted on her heel when Helaena finally spoke. “He will not stop crying. He does not want me.” 

Oh…

Elyse’s heart broke at how hoarse and hollow the young mother sounded. No woman should have to struggle through post-partum depression alone. And one would think that a such beloved princess would have swarms of ladies and others to tend to her, yet here she sat, alone in her misery. Elyse kept her voice mellow and soft as she inquired, “How long has he been crying for, Your Highness?” 

“I…I do not know. His sister is sick with a cough and I tire of my ladies. They do not…” Helaena’s raspy voice faded. “...I tire of them.” 

The maid chewed on her lip as she wrung her hands, contemplating what to do. “Would you like me to hold him for a bit? You must be tired, right? Would you like to rest your arms, Your Highness?” She offered. 

The princess ran her weary eyes over Elyse’s fidgeting form, then nodded once in permission for her to approach. Elyse let out the breath she had held and approached ------ slow as a snail to not overwhelm the already over-stimulated young mother. She knelt beside Helaena in the piles of crimson leaves beneath the ancient tree and offered her arms. After several doubtful attempts, Helaena eventually handed the blubbering babe to the maid, Elyse noticed how the princess avoided all physical contact during the exchange, and made a mental note of the princess’s aversion to touch.  

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking, has he eaten, Your Highness?” 

“Yes.” 

“And he’s been changed, Your Highness?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hmm,” In all honesty, Elyse was also stumped. It’s not like she had a lot of experience with babies. She didn’t even like babies (except her baby cousins, but family was kind of mandatory). But the look on Helaena’s face hinted that any more of this god-forsaken screaming and the princess might just fling herself out a window. So Elyse willed herself to clumsily rock the little prince in her arms. 

Goodness, he was a fussy baby. Fussy, but beautiful. With a head of blinding white curls,  violet eyes, and a set of strong, healthy lungs. Ugh, the Targaryen and their perfect genes. Must they all come out of the womb looking like a future high fashion model? 

“Shhh, shhh, you cutie. You must be tired, hmm? How about I sing you a little song, and you go night-night for me?” Elyse cooed right by the little prince’s face. Then, in her best singing voice (she did not feel like squawking and making a fool of herself next to the ethereal, poised beauty that is Helaena Targaryen), Elyse sang Mary Had a Little Lamb. Then Itsy Bitsy Spider. But she quickly realized, to her horror, that she did not know any other nursery rhymes, and was forced to switch to I Wanna Be Yours by the Artic Monkeys, and then Young and Beautiful by Lana del Rey. Solid choices, in her opinion, though maybe a little mature for her infant audience. 

It took forever, but gradually, the baby prince calmed and turned into the perfect, docile darling in her arms. Staring at her with wonder in those starry eyes as he sucked a thumb. Elyse grinned as the baby grabbed onto her pinky with his tiny, pudgy hand. Ok, maybe babies weren’t that bad. He was kind of sweet. Still, she couldn’t be convinced that nine months of hormones and backaches were worth the trouble. Then again, Elyse was only fourteen, and having babies was the last thing she’d like to think about. 

“He does not love me.” 

Her brief sense of accomplishment faded as she lifted her head to the exhausted princess, who was watching Elyse soothe her child with the most heart-breaking expression of yearning on her angelic face. 

“Your Highness…” Elyse didn’t know what to say. 

“He does not love me. They both do not love me. I am not fit to be their mother,” Helaena repeated the words like a mantra. As a punishment to herself, almost. “I do not know how to love them. And they will not love me.” 

“Do not say that, Your Highness,” Elyse shook her head ferociously, “You love them. You’re just tired. And overwhelmed. That’s how every new mother feels. You’re not alone.” 

“I do not think I know how to be a mother.” Fresh tears dribbled down Helaena’s cheeks and Elyse had to force away the urge to hug her. The princess was only seventeen, yet already married with two kids. Elyse couldn’t imagine how’d she fare if she was in that position. Much, much worse, she predicted.

“My mom told me once that she never thought she’d be a mother. Even after I was born, both my grandmas and my dad had to help take care of me because my mom was convinced she couldn’t do it. She was miserable for months after giving birth,” She lowered her gaze to the babbling baby, eyes stinging as they always did when she thought of her mom. That’s why she avoided it at all costs, most of the time. “But you know what? They were all super patient with her, gave her time, and she came around. Turned out to be the best mom ever and I couldn’t imagine not loving her. She wasn’t perfect, but I love my mom so much for trying her best to raise me and I am sure that your baby ---- uh, Prince Jahaerys will love you as well.” 

Helaena didn’t say a word back. They sat in awkward silence for an eternity before Elyse opened her basket and selected a lemon cookie, “Here, have a biscuit. You must be hungry, Your Highness.” The princess blinked. Still as a statue. “It’s lemon?” Elyse tried. 

The pale-haired princess reached a wavering hand out and took the cookie. She nibbled delicately on the sweet treat. Ever so poised and lovely. A perfect Targaryen princess, even just two minutes after a nervous breakdown. 

“I heard that babies are very intuitive. They can tell when their mothers are stressed, and that makes them stressed too. Sometimes, it’s good to take a deep breath and relax. Prioritize taking care of yourself first.” Elyse explained as the princess finished her cookie. “You can’t bond with your babies when you’re always so overwhelmed, right?” 

Helaena parted her lips. Closed them. Then parted them again, “Can I have another one of those?” The maid broke out in a huge grin and handed her a raspberry jam cookie, thrilled to watch the princess regain her composure, one bite at a time. “What kind of biscuits are these?” The princess inquired between bites. 

“They’re butter biscuits, Your Highness. I made them with egg, butter, sugar, and flour. Actually, I have a whole basket here. Would you like the rest?” She placed the basket beside the princess without a second thought. Mycah will have to wait for the next batch. 

“Thank you,” Princess Helaena murmured with a strained smile. 

Wow. 

This sweet, well-mannered, humble princess was related to that one-eyed gargoyle? If it wasn’t for their copy-pasted, mirrored physical features, Elyse would have never known they were from the same family. His Highness should take a page out of his sister’s book and just, you know, be nicer. Or maybe Helaena’s the black sheep of the family, since Aegon was equally notorious as their brother, only for his addiction to wine and perversion rather than his cruel sneer.  

Soon, the baby drifted into a peaceful slumber, tuckered out from his tantrums. Curled against Elyse’s chest, Jahaerys looked like an angel with his long white lushes and puckered lips. Elyse bided her time, patiently waiting until Helaena had finished half the biscuits and looked significantly calmer before inquiring, “Your Highness, would you like to hold him?” 

Panic cast a shadow onto the princess’s face, “But…what if he starts crying again?” 

“Then you will calm him down,” Elyse coaxed, “You can do it, Your Highness, I promise.” 

“I don’t know how…” Helaena murmured, dejection grasping onto her slim frame. Yet, though she was vocal with her self-doubts, the princess’s body gravitated naturally towards her babe. So Elyse passed the sleeping prince back to his mother. Careful not to touch Helaena in the process. 

“You could try talking to him,” the maid suggested, “doesn’t matter the topic. Stories, signs, even just mindless chatter. Babies like to hear their mother’s voice. It makes them feel safe.” (At least, that’s what Zia Giulia said). 

“Even…even if I talk about my insects?” Helaena’s voice was small ----- full of doubt and shame. 

“Of course! Why not?” 

The princess hummed, appearing slightly more confident when she tilted her face to her son’s and began to whisper about tansy beetles. Elyse had no idea what most of the insects she was referring to were, obviously, but she felt a fierce pride ignite in her heart when Jahaerys snuggled closer to his mom, almost purring in his sleep. Helaena’s cornflower blue eyes widened. Reinvigorated, the princess clutched her baby tightly. Stroking his hair and tracing the outline of his chubby cheeks like he had her whole soul. 

Elyse watched, fighting back the urge to jump and squeal in joy for Helaena’s little victory. She was not an expert.  But judging from the perfect picture of mother-child bonding before her, Elyse knew that Helaena would be fine. She’ll be a great mother. 

“What’s your name?” Helaena suddenly met her eyes. 

“Uh, me? My name is Elyse, Your Highness.” 

“Where do you work?” 

“I work in the kitchens, Your Highness.” 

“I see,” Helaena smiled, “That’s why your biscuits are so tasty.” 

Elyse blushed, lowering her face to hide her big smile. She would never tire of verbal validation, especially since most of the people around here usually treated her like a dung beetle that should be squashed. “Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“Elyse…” the older girl repeated her name. It sounded so much prettier coming out of her mouth, “from the kitchens. Hmm.” 

For a second, Helaena sounded so much like her younger brother that the image of the scowling one-eyed prince plagued Elyse’s mind again. They shared the same nose and brow. But Princess Helaena was delicate whereas her brother was as sharp as a Valyrian steel blade. She had the grace and elegance of a ballet dancer, and Elyse imagined that Helaena would have made a great ballerina. If only the princess didn’t have that sorrowful, lonely look in her eyes all the time. But then again, if she was crying in the Godswoods alone instead of in her mother's or ladies’ arms, maybe Helaena didn’t have anyone to confide in either. 

Nope. You’re overstepping again. Just because you sympathize with her, doesn’t mean you can be friends. Remember her brother? Haven’t you learned your lesson? Jacaerys is the exception, not the rule.

Right. The coziness of the moment wore off and the kitchen maid snapped back to reality. Time to leave. Elyse rose, dusting off the stray leaves on her maroon skirt, and said, “I have to get going now, Your Highness.” 

“So soon?” Elyse must be imagining the regretful look in Helaena’s bright blue eyes. “Can’t you stay a bit longer?” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” And truly, she was. “But I’ve been away from the kitchens for a while now, and the Head Cook will be upset if I don’t return soon.” 

“Well…in that case, I look forward to speaking with you again”,  responded the princess with an elegant nod. Elyse smiled sadly. Most likely, she will never have the opportunity to speak with Helaena ever again. All she could do was watch from afar if they ever were in the same proximity again. That was the reality of her station, according to His Highness, the One-Eyed Menace. 

“Then, I bid you a good day, Your Highness.” Elyse had turned to leave when a sharp tug on her skirt nearly made her fall backward. She looked down. Helaena’s spare hand gripped the fabric of Elyse’s long skirt tightly in her fist. The princess’s cornflower blue eyes had gone vacant. All the color drained from Helaena’s face while Elyse tilted her head in confusion, “Your High----” 

“ The mended will break. The broken will mend . Dancing dragons overhead, bleeding green till the end. ” The princess rasped. “ The mended will break. The broken will mend . Dancing dragons overhead, bleeding green till the end. ” 

“Y-Your Highness? Are you alright?” 

The blank, vacant look in Helaena’s eyes faded away, leaving Elyse completely baffled as the princess frowned at the patch of grass by her skirt. “ The mended will break. The broken will mend . Dancing dragons overhead, bleeding green till the end.” The princess repeated. More to herself than to Elyse, if anything. 

“R-right,” Elyse laughed awkwardly, “I’ll be leaving, then, Your Highness?” 

The young mother finally looked up. A thousand unspoken words passed through Helaena’s open lips as she stared at Elyse ----- holding her in her gaze like a priest holds his audience's attention during his sermons. Helaena resembled a priestess at this moment more than any nun Elyse had ever met. Her eyes…and her expression…

Elyse could not shake the feeling that Helaena was holding a mysterious wisdom within her. Something big. Something that was on the tip of her tongue, but couldn’t recall. What was it that her dad had said, "Helaena dreams?" What did he mean by that? 

“Yes, Elyse. My apologies, you may go.” The princess released her skirts and Elyse swallowed all her questions, curstying clumsily before hurrying back towards the kitchens. 

Her mind was swimming from the princess’s cryptic mumblings: The mended will break. The broken will…what did she say again? Bleeding green? All of it went straight over Elyse’s head, and she couldn’t get rid of the goosebumps on her arms even long after she had left the Godswoods. She wished for another chance to talk to Helaena. To ask about her strange, poetic words. Words that, for reasons unbeknownst to her, Elyse’s gut was filled with an impending sense of doom for the rest of the day. A doom that though she did not understand, had her waking with nightmares every night for the rest of the week. 

What exactly was she forgetting? What did her dad mean by “Helaena dreams”? 

She’ll need to find out somehow. The churning unease moving into her heart like storm clouds hinted that something devastating would be the consequence, should she not understand Helaena’s message. 

Chapter Text

“This is supposed to be a hand pie?” Lucerys Velaryon’s skepticism was plain to see. He poked at the square pastry with his fork, “But it is so flat, where is the filling? And what is this crusty substance on top?” 

Elyse rolled her eyes, “Yes, there is filling, and that is called icing. Please, Your Highness, just try it first. I promise it’s good.” She used her best coaxing voice. One that she reserved for her youngest cousins when they would refuse a nap. 

“Fine,” Lucerys huffed, “just one bite.” Elyse chewed on her nails nervously as he took a bite, nearly dying from the suspense. She knew it was a success when his speckled brown eyes flickered to hers with awe. “Oh my heavens,” The prince broke off half the tart to shove into his mouth, chewing vigorously. “That is amazing!” 

“I know,” smirked the girl. Smugness oozing out every pore of her body.

Her newest invention was the childhood classic that drove her mother insane ------ the instant sensation, the favorite breakfast of children across America, the only and one… (drumroll please) Pop-Tart! Oh how her mother hated that processed, sugary breakfast pastry. In fact, Pop-Tarts were banned from the house since Elyse turned twelve, but Leah, her best friend, always snuck an extra one to school for her.  

-------------------------

“It’s all processed sugars, Elyse. I’d rather you have a real breakfast in the morning,” Mom waved the empty Pop-Tart wrapper at her disapprovingly. There was a perfect Chinese breakfast laid out on the table, consisting of chicken congee and fluffy scrambled eggs with Chinese chives. All of it went untouched in favor of the Pop-tart box. 

“Yeah well, jams have fruit.” Elyse defended, “And Dad said a perfect Italian breakfast is a coffee and a pastry. Therefore, the coffee and the Pop-Tart.”

“Ooh, look at that sass,” Mom chuckled, “You’re your father’s daughter, that’s for sure. But too bad, Pop-Tarts only once a week, got it?” 

“Fine,” Elyse grumbled. 

--------------------------

“How did you make this crinkly topping? It is marvelous!” Lucerys chirped.

“It’s a mixture of milk and sugar,” she replied, nonchalant and breezy. As if trying to figure out how to make powdered sugar didn’t send her into a mental spiral ------ sweating and aching in the kitchen with sugar everywhere . Powdered sugar was just ground sugar with a bit of flour or cornstarch mixed in. Which sounded easy. Except grinding sugar into a fine powder took saint-level patience and good arm strength (she had neither). By the time her little jar was filled with the fluffy white powder, Elyse was ready to throw the mortar and pestle into the trash and never look at it again. 

“And the filling? What is the filling made of?” 

“This one, with the brown flecks in the icing, is cinnamon and brown sugar. And that one, with the plain icing, has strawberry jam in the middle.” 

“I think I like the cinnamon better,” Lucerys admitted as he snuck another one onto his plate. 

“Hey, no more for you! Too much sugar is not good for your health. Or your teeth. And you’ve already had two.” Elyse clucked like a mother hen and confiscated the Pop-Tart, ignoring his protests. 

Oh Mom, if you could see me now. I bet you’ll be proud of me. Nagging about sugar consumption and all that. 

“You know, we should bring some to Jace!” Lucerys suggested. 

“You should! I’ll pack some for you to go. How many do you think he can eat?” 

“Actually, why don’t we bring it to him together? I know he will be happy to see you.” 

Elyse tilted her head and pondered. It would be nice to see Jacaerys. The eldest Velaryon boy had been all but absent from the kitchens the past several days. Luke had come bearing his brother’s apology in his stead, stating that Jacaerys was busier than a worker bee ------- assisting his mother during Small Council meetings while balancing his lessons. “Sure, I’d love to! Where is he right now?” 

“At this time of the day, Jace should be in the training yard.” 

Shoot. 

Elyse bit down on her lip. Harsh remarks made by a certain Targaryen prince resurfaced and lingered like soot in her mind, tainting every nice memory and soiling her mood. Helping Helaena in the Godswood was already toeing the line. But trespassing onto the training yard, knowing very well that His Highness might be there, would be tossing herself into the fire (Dragonfire, that is). Sure, he didn’t specifically order for her to never appear before him again, but what girl would want to face the person that slut-shamed them out of nowhere? She wouldn’t shed a tear if she never saw the tall, scowling prince ever again, really. 

Her displeasure was too obvious because Lucerys idled over and peered at her face. Worry flickering in his cinnamon eyes. “Elyse, are you alright? Does your ankle still hurt? Would the walk cause you pain?” His brown waves brushed his brow as he spoke, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. Jace would truly enjoy your company…but I can go myself if you are unwell.” 

She smiled at the younger boy, whose genuine concern touched her heart. Both the Velaryon boys were so respectful and cordial to her when, as their emo, bitter uncle had demonstrated, society told them to treat the lowborn like trash on the street. 

Jacaerys, in particular, was such an outstanding friend. Cordial, respectful, and playful from the moment they met. Who offered to help out with her chores every time he came over to hang out (though he wasn’t very good at kitchen work, it’s the thought that counts). Who had no idea how to comfort a crying girl, but still sat with her while she cried her eyes out after that terrible encounter with Aemond.

No, it’s wrong to hide away just because of some stupid prince with stupid prejudices. Defiance flared like a roaring fire in her stomach. Why should she pass on an opportunity to see a good friend? “You’re right, it’d be nice to see your brother. I’ll go.”  

Lucerys beamed while Elyse packed the Pop-Tarts into a basket. Before she lost her nerve to be in His Highness’s presence again, she marched out of the kitchen with conviction. Lucerys happily guided the maid towards the Outer Yard, yapping about all sorts of things while they walked ------ his lessons, his dragon, the shenanigans that his younger brother, Joffrey, had been up to recently. It was a pleasant walk with pleasant, light-hearted chatter. And before long, the pair had arrived at the Outer Yard.

They searched for Jacaerys as they wove through the gathering of knights conducting their daily training. While Lucerys was distracted, Elyse’s eyes did a nervous scan across the yard, praying that she did not spy any long, silver hair amongst the men. So far, so good. No sign of His Highness . Let’s hope it remained that way. 

“There he is,” the boy murmured, pointing to the elder Velaryon prince training with a dummy further into the yard. Elyse drank in the sight of his well-proportioned body rather shamelessly. Admired how his dark curls were slicked away from his forehead, damp with sweat. Chewed her lip as his biceps flexed through every swing of his sword. 

Sigh….he’s so hot. 

Oh, no, stop it, Elyse. Pull yourself together, you're so embarrassing! 

But like *bites lip*, his face card is literally lethal. And that body, my GOD. 

STOP IT. STOP IT! 

While she simultaneously admired the view and engaged in a fierce internal battle with her…less appropriate thoughts, Lucerys trotted over to his brother and jerked his head towards Elyse, saying something she couldn’t hear, which prompted Jacaerys to turn his attention towards her with a grin. Flutters and jitters blossomed in her gut as he sauntered over. 

“Elyse, I heard you brought food,” Jacaerys laughed.  Sweat drenched the front of his tunic and made the fabric cling to his torso, faintly displaying the muscles lying underneath. “Wonderful, I am starving.”

She blinked. Then swiped quickly at her mouth with her sleeve, checking for signs of drool. Thankfully, there was none. She would have been mortified.  

“So? Whatever it is, does it have peanut butter?” 

And there he was again. Not the Prince Charming with a killer smile that made every girl in the Red Keep, highborn or not, swoon, but her goofy friend with the appetite of a linebacker. 

“No, Your Highness, no peanut butter this time.” She stuffed the laugh back down her throat, “But I think you’ll like these pastries.” 

“The cinnamon one is amazing, Jace, trust me,” Lucerys added. 

His older brother shook his head, comically exaggerating his disappointment, “Perhaps, but nothing can replace peanut butter. I crave it with every meal.” 

“Really? You crave it with your boar stew or your lamprey pie?” Elyse was quick to counter with a hint of mischief dancing in her amber eyes, “Then shall I ask Marscha to add a hefty spoonful of peanut butter into your dinner tonight?” 

Jacaerys’s face turned a nauseated green at the idea of peanut butter with either of those two Westerosi staples before chuckling, “Fine, maybe not every meal,” he conceded, “but I do crave it quite often.” 

“Message received, Your Highness. I’ll make another batch soon,” Elyse promised. 

The prince grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth, “I can always count on you, Elyse. Thanks, in advance.” 

As he joked and chatted, Jacaerys tugged the hem of his shirt up to his forehead to wipe away the beading sweat, revealing a set of well-defined abs in the process. Elyse’s eyes instantly flickered down. It took immense willpower not to run her fingertips over the hardened muscle on his stomach. Tremendous willpower. 

Oh my god, he is delicious. 

ELYSE STOP. YOU SOUND SO THIRSTY RIGHT NOW. 

But look at him! Just look! 

Oh, I know. But please, your dignity is in shreds right now. Please kindly pick up what’s left of it and STOP. STARING. 

Rather unwillingly, Elyse tore her eyes away while scolding her inner demons. And thank god she did. Because if she hadn’t twisted her head to the side when she did, Elyse would have never spotted the silver-haired prince prowling in their direction like a silent, lethal predator. The embarrassed smile on her lips withered away. Wilting like an underwatered flower when she glimpsed the look of absolute hatred on his modelesque face. 

Shoot. He was here to arrest her for sure. Or at least unleash another torrent of verbal attacks on her character. Maybe Helaena had told him about their encounter in the Godswoods, and now he was here to question her about her “less-than-proper” intentions with his sister. 

Whatever he hoped to accomplish, the sheer force of the prince’s contempt was enough to make Elyse subconsciously take a step towards Jacaerys, who frowned, then tensed as soon as he saw his uncle approach. 

His Highness stopped several feet away. Elyse’s breaths were erratic as she fought the urge to slap him across his smug face. The silver-haired prince opened his mouth. 

Here it comes. Here it comes, prepare yourself. 

“Nephews,” His voice dripped venom, “Done with training so soon?” 

Elyse blinked. Wait, did he not see her? Was he not here to…do away with her? 

“Thank you for your concern, Uncle, though it is unneeded,” Jacaerys replied with equal disdain, “Daemon will be overseeing our training later.” 

“Hmm. I see. Do let me know if Uncle cannot attend to your training. Though I know both my nephews are quite strong… ” Lucerys drew in a sharp breath, hands trembling by his side. Elyse grabbed one and squeezed. Whether it was fury or fear that made his hands quake like a leaf, she wasn’t sure, but his uncle drank in the reaction like it was the finest Dornish wine, before continuing, “I am happy to offer my expertise, should you want it.” 

Jacaerys growled, knuckles white and tight as his hands clenched into fists. Every muscle in his back was coiled and tense, resembling a tightly wounded crossbow. Elyse, standing in his shadow, swallowed the lump in her throat. Her eyes flitted through the crowds of gathered spectators and found that the entire training yard had fallen dead silent. All eyes fixated on the commotion between the uncle and his two nephews. 

Behind Aemond, a tall, tanned man with pitch-black hair watched the exchange with flares of triumph in his beady eyes. He was the only man present who expressed satisfaction for the obvious bad blood.

Aemond did not twitch a muscle under Jacaerys’s seething rage, and Jacaerys did not crumble under his uncle’s merciless taunting. Both princes, equal in their hatred for the other. Opposites in their coloring, but mirrored in their scalding temperament. 

For some strange, unwarranted reason, Elyse’s heart broke at the scene of this fractured family. Maybe it’s because she’s so close to her own that she can’t stand it when family members turn on themselves. She couldn’t imagine Dean and Luis, who resembled the princes in age, ever talking to each other with so much raw, unfiltered hatred. Annoyance, for sure. And they certainly argued and brawled almost every week. But never hatred. Never real animosity. 

That’s why right now, she wanted nothing more than to step out from behind and jump between the two boys to demand they apologize and stop this stupid feuding. Be a family, and get along, for god’s sake! But she didn’t. Because a) she was too much of a coward to step between two seething dragons with pointy blades and b) she wasn’t delusional enough to fancy herself as the solution to years of infighting and resentment. She did not have the power to reverse the damage. She was just a maid. 

Did an eon pass by while the Targaryens stared each other down? It must have felt that way to the restless onlookers. But finally, the pale-colored prince smiled. A predatory and calculated sneer unfurling on his perfect lips. As if he had just found a way to change the tides in his favor. The best way to crack his nephew’s mental fortress. Then, he said, in a sickeningly sweet tone, “Although, you might not need my advice. Your previous mentor, Ser Harwin Strong, was a very qualified teacher, I am sure. And he was oh, so….attentive to your training, wasn’t he?” 

Snap. 

She heard it first. Then she saw it. The last taunt string holding together Jacaerys’s composure disintegrated like ash into the wind. A glimmer of cold glee shimmered in Aemond’s violet eye triggering a tendril of fear to grip her throat. 

No. 

This was dangerous. 

Instincts told her that this was far beyond a simple family feud. Aemond was hunting to kill like a shark sensing the smallest drop of blood in waters miles away. Unrelentingly in his pursuit of prey. All the snippets her father had told her about Aemond’s future role in the war replayed like a movie ------ one dedicated to immortalizing his penchant for cruelty and violence. How was she so stupid before, to think that he was a good person, for helping her once? 

This was his true colors. This was his true character. 

The second Jacaerys lunged forward, Aemond’s sword was unsheathed and ready by his side. Her friend was too blind in his fury to notice. Lucerys moved as one with him, ready to assist in any way he could with a fierce protectiveness in his dark eyes that startled Elyse. Did he always have this temper?

“You cre---” Jacaerys snarled, “That is treason you are speaking of!”

“Treason?” Aemond asked with a look of false innocence, “Whatever are you referring to, nephew? I simply pointed out the proficiency of your previous mentor. Unless…” His face twisted into a vicious smirk, “did you think my words had hidden meaning?” 

“You will settle this with honor ------” The eldest Velaryon boy’s shouts faded into the wind. He looked down to his sword, where Elyse’s hand was wrapped tightly around his to prevent him from unsheathing the weapon. She herself was still reeling from shock. Her actions were completely on impulse, sourced from a primal fear of the bloodshed on the horizon. Jacaerys’s eyes drifted up her arm and landed on her face. Hurt and betrayal deeply burrowed in his brows as they shared silent communication. 

This was improper. Touching a royal so casually was beyond improper.  If it was Aemond, her hand would be sliced off already. But it was Jacaerys. Her dear friend. Who she needed to influence to see reason before he lost his life to his bloodthirsty rival. So fuck etiquette (pardon her language). 

“Don’t do it. Don’t let him win.” She pleaded through her gaze, “ You are better than this. You don’t have to give him the satisfaction. Walk away, Jacaerys. Walk away. He’s not worth it.”

Jacaerys met her stare, enraged. But Elyse did not back down. Even when Aemond gave a mocking laugh from where he stood. Even as her knees shook like a newborn lamb from all the stress. 

“Elyse, you should not get involved,” Lucerys warned, gaze unwaveringly fixed on his uncle. As if he was terrified that Aemond might run his sword through Jacaery’s ribs while his back was turned. Was he capable of that? His nephew clearly thought so. 

“Your Highness, please,” Elyse murmured to Jacaerys. Her hand gave a comforting squeeze to his, “the pastries are getting cold. Shall we leave?” 

Her friend clenched and unclenched his jaw three times. Then tightened and untightened his fist four times. Finally. Finally, the burning rage in Jacaerys’s coffee-colored pupils simmered away. He loosened her nervous hands on his wrist. Calloused fingers grazed her palm as he twisted back to face Aemond. “Thank you for your kind words, Uncle, though they are truly unnecessary. But do not worry, I will be sure to inform my mother and Grandsire of your good intentions.” 

Aemond’s face cracked. A semblance of panic slipped through his perfect facade before he sneered, “Oh, running to hide behind your mother’s skirts? Surely, you can handle our little quarrels without involving Father.” 

“Quarrel? What quarrel? As you said, Uncle, you simply meant to compliment my late mentor,” Jacaerys smiled, “Now, if you will excuse me, my training has finished, so I bid you good morrow.” 

And without another word, Jacaerys stalked away with Lucerys closely behind. The latter’s eyes still darting back at his uncle with mistrust. The remaining knights let out a collective breath before idly returning to their half-hearted training, glad to not have to bear witness to another bout of Targaryen family drama (more like they were scared Aemond might call down his colossus of a dragon to burn his nephew to a crisp, and all the bystanders with him). 

But with no one to block her from Aemond’s view, Elyse was left to face the brunt of his pent-up anger as he glared at her with enough malice to kill three grown men. 

“Your Highness,” she bowed deeply. Reverently. She backed away, ready to break out into a full sprint the moment she reached the stairwell. But instead, she felt her head bang against a hard, flat surface. Elyse stumbled over her feet as she twisted to see what was blocking her way ----- a man.  

“What’s your name?” The tanned man with a white cloak demanded. It was the same man watching the princes fight with unbridled joy. 

“U-uh, Elyse?” 

He stepped toward her. She took an instinctive step backward. “And what are you doing here, in the training yard? Women do not belong in the training yard.” Voice booming like a cannon as he narrowed his glittering, beady eyes. “And that accent, where are you from?” 

“U-uh, I-I’m f-from P-Pentos -----” she squeaked. 

“No, your accent is not Pentosi. Why are you lying?” Elyse was suddenly very aware of the weapon in the knight’s hand ----- a dangling, spiky ball attached to the handle by a heavy metal chain. What would her head look like when he smashed that thing into her skull? “Answer me! Or I will have you arrested and questioned, by order of the Kingsguard.” 

“I-I ------” She was a stammering mess. 

Shoot. Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. Up till now, everyone had bought her lies. Elyse never had to substantiate her story with details because almost everyone she knew was from regions of Westeros with little to no contact with their neighbors across the Narrow Sea. The princes never asked either, so she was sure she had gotten away with it. Who was this guy? 

Wait. 

The dark hair. Black eyes. Dornish descent. The white cloak and the same look of contempt that Aemond shared when they looked at Jacaerys, who was Rhaenyra Targaryen’s firstborn. 

Oh. 

She was facing the wrath of Ser Criston Cole. 

Ugh, can’t the universe send her one psycho, narcissistic murderer at a time? Let a girl get some rest? She hesitantly replied, “I am from Pentos, Ser. At least, my parents were?” He scoffed, obviously not buying her lies, while she gulped. Uh oh. This did not bode well for her. Would she be getting acquainted with the rats in the dungeons soon? 

“Let her be, Ser Cole.” 

Both the maid and the knight turned their attention to the Targaryen prince. Shock on both of their faces.  Aemond’s cold, lavender eye stared into her soul as he sneered, “She’s just another opportunistic maid hoping to rise through the ranks by climbing into one of my nephews’ beds.” 

Her cheeks warmed. Ser Cole protested, “But Your Highness, either way, we should sharply question -----” 

“I said drop it, Ser Cole,” Aemond snapped, “Or does my authority mean nothing to you?” 

Criston Cole roused at the word “authority”, straightening in his heavy, clunky armor and standing taller. “Your authority is of the highest importance to me, Prince Aemond.” 

Elyse dared not move an inch as Aemond breezed past, terrified that one wrong move and her head would be offered to the prince on a silver platter by the knight behind her. 

As he passed, the prince slowed, just barely, by Elyse’s side, and murmured, “Lowborns attract lowborns, it seems. Your new friends suit you, Elyse. ” 

Shivers formed on the nape of her neck. Her name rolled off his tongue too smoothly ------ more a promise for future retribution than anything amicable. Her eyes did not budge from the patch of dirt she was staring at, but she sensed his smirk as he walked away. Criston Cole trailing behind at a calculated distance. 

If Lucerys hadn’t come back to find her, Elyse probably would have remained in that spot, literally shaking in her boots. He led her to where Jacaerys was waiting, somewhere in the Godswoods, while her mind raced. Marscha was right. Simple folks like her and the rest of the servants were too mundane to withstand the presence of the Targaryens for a prolonged duration. She was terrified from a simple locker room brawl between the boys. How will she survive the incoming war? 

She won’t. That was the simple, obvious answer. Because none of them will. Their stupid family feud was going to kill them all. 

Elyselifted her gaze to Lucerys, the first victim of the war, and her heart shattered. He was what, only twelve right now? Only twelve, and his life was already almost over. How cruel can the author be? 

Jacaerys was pacing like a madman in the same clearing that Helaena was crying in when they arrived. The moment the eldest Velaryon boy saw Elyse, he marched over and demanded, “Why did you get involved? You could have gotten yourself killed!” 

“Jace, calm down.” His brother said softly while placing a hand on the furious prince’s trembling shoulders. 

“I am as calm as I can be,” Jacaerys shot back, jerking away from Lucerys’s hand, “She does not understand the gravity behind our Uncle’s insults. It challenges more than ourselves, Luke. Mother’s integrity and honor come into question every time the Greens make their backhanded comments, and I will stand for no more. I should go back there and challenge him to a duel as I intended to. Settle this with honor.” 

“Mother would not be pleased if you further this ------” 

“Mother does not get to speak for us at every turn! You are ten and two now, little brother. Do you intend for Mother to be your advocate in every manner of life?” 

Lucerys flushed, snapping, “Better that than be the boar-headed twat you are sometimes!” 

“Boar-headed--------”

Amidst their bickering, Elyse burst into tears. Both Velaryon boys faltered in their shouting and gawked while she wept into her apron. Several seconds passed before Jacaerys cleared his throat, “S-sorry, Elyse. I may have gotten a bit ------- oof!” She cut him off with a tackle, wrapping her arms around his ribcage as she cried into his tunic.  

Lucerys sighed, “Now look what you have done.” 

“What? I did this?”

“Well, if not you, then what?”

“No,” Her voice was muffled against his chest, “It’s not him.” 

Silence. 

Lucerys softly asked, “Then, can you tell us why you are crying?” 

She couldn’t answer. How could she? How could she tell them that this entire time, all that was running through her mind were the details of their gruesome deaths? How could she tell Lucerys that his vivacious, stubborn, wonderful older brother was destined for a watery grave? 

She couldn’t. And the inability to communicate the turmoil of emotions in her heart caused her to cry harder. 

“There, there,” Jacaerys awkwardly enveloped her into his embrace and patted her back. “Was it our uncle? Did he scare you?” 

“That must be it,” declared his brother. 

More comforting pats, “Do not worry, Elyse. He would not hurt you. He has no grudge against you. It is Luke and I that are subject to his fury, not you.” 

“Mostly me, but Jace is right. He bears no ill will towards you, Elyse. You are perfectly safe.” 

Ha! If only they knew. 

Several moments of crying later, Elyse finally lifted her swollen eyes to glance at Jacaerys, who grinned down at her. Full of life and youth. Apollo in human form, with his sunny demeanor and bright personality. “Sorry,” she stepped away, sniffling, “I-I know this is inappropriate…” 

Lucerys placed his hands on her shoulder, “No need for an apology. My uncle is an intimidating man. You are not the first servant he has sent away crying.” 

“Abusing servants is a common trait in my Grandsire’s second family,” Jacaerys snorted. 

“And they all hold grudges like a dog with a bone.” His brother added.

The princes’ efforts to comfort her drew out a short, meek laugh. She felt a little better. Enough to smile and converse normally. For now. 

“Anyways,” she tried to change the subject to lighten the terribly somber atmosphere, “I almost forgot about the pastries I had brought for you, Your Highness.” 

“Please, call me Jace,” Jacaerys urged. “Your Highness this, Your Highness that. Too much of a mouthful, in my opinion.”

“I can’t, Your Highness. I have broken enough rules today and I’d rather like to keep my head on my shoulders, and not on a spike.” 

“Oh dear, that is gruesome.” 

“Certainly is,” She fetched a cinnamon Pop-Tart and handed it to Jacaerys. “Here, Your Highness. It’s a childhood favorite of mine.” 

Jacaerys eyed the pastry, unimpressed, “This is a pastry? But where’s the filling? It’s so flat it’s practically a sheet of parchment.” 

Elyse sighed. He was Lucerys’s brother, no doubt about it. At least the older prince didn’t need extra encouragement to take a bite. “Huh! Actually, this is quite nice. I rather like this! How many do you have in there?” 

“Wait a moment,” Lucerys complained, “Elyse, save some for me. If you give them all to Jace, they will all be gone within the hour.” 

“No, that is untrue!” Jacaerys sniped, “I only plan on eating two more. Maybe three.” 

“He’s right, Your Highness. You have the appetite of a linebacker.” 

“What is a linebacker?” 

“Never mind.” 

“No, tell me.” 

“The point is,” Elyse ended the pointless back and forth, “you are in desperate need of a bath anyways. So how about you go take a bath, then come back to the kitchens together? Prince Lucerys, I’ll set a few aside for you.” 

“Yes!” The prince pumped his arm, “Come on, Jace, you stink.” 

“I do not stink!” His brother protested. Lucerys just sniffed him and gagged to make a point, causing the older boy to turn flaming red and then punch him in the arm, which turned into a full-on wrestling match as they started the journey back to the Red Keep. 

Elyse trailed behind, content to watch as she battled the overwhelming emotions that had dominated her mind. Was it fine for her to enjoy small moments like this, knowing what she knew? They had a right to know about their futures. But would they believe her if she told them everything? 

She hated how powerless she felt. How indecisive she was. Pathetic. Useless. As always. Maybe it would have been better if it was someone who got pulled into this world instead. Someone older, wiser. More mature. What were the gods, thinking, choosing her to toss into all this chaos? 

“Elyse, hurry up!” Lucerys beckoned her to follow. 

“I’m starving, can’t I just eat the pastries now?” Jacaerys whined. “A bath would take so long. It would be practically dinner by that point.” 

She sighed. Right. Whatever she should do, tell them or not. Try to save them or not. All of it needed to wait until after Jacaerys was fed. That boy was an absolute menace when he was hangry. 

Chapter Text

To be honest, Elyse was very uncomfortable with the idea of going into King’s Landing again after her…disastrous first experience. But the Red Keep had been too overwhelming lately, with all that drama with certain Targaryen princes. So when Dyanna offered to take Elyse to visit her younger brother, who resided in the city, Elyse decided it was time to face her fears. Plus, it would be nice to see if the coffee merchant was still there. She desperately craved caffeine. 

Still, Elyse couldn’t help but check over her shoulder every few steps as they maneuvered the narrow streets of Flea Bottom. There was a paring knife hidden in her boot that brought her a small sense of safety, but her senses were overly alert, causing her to jump at every passing noise. 

Dyanna glanced back, “Just a little further, I promise.” 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t mind me.” She hopped out the way as a passing wagon almost splashed puddles of murky, wastewater onto her cloak. If Flea Bottom was rowdy at night, then it was plain grimy during the day. Laundry lines hung between buildings, displaying all sorts of scraggly clothing like swaying banners over the passersby below. Vendors on the street corners sold wares not good enough to sell in the more official markets -------  like produce with a teensy bit of rot or cups of soured ale. Things that only the truly desperate and downtrodden would buy. 

It was filthy, hot, and overpopulated. Truly a cesspool where King’s Landing’s least fortunate resided, and where crime was allowed to fester. 

“Watch out for those boys over there,” Dyanna murmured into her ear. Elyse clung to her friend as they passed by the group of preteen boys that Dyanna had pointed out, “Pickpockets.” the redhead explained. 

“Ah,” Elyse whispered faintly. 

“And that street, over there, starting with the tavern with the painted blue door. Never go down that street.” 

“Why not?” 

“A lot of girls have gone missing down that street. No one knows what happened to them. Most likely sold into foreign brothels or servitude. Either way, best to avoid it if you can.” 

“A-ah.” 

Elyse realized, then and there, just how lucky she was that night when she found herself on the Street of Silks. If Aemond hadn’t-----

No. She wasn’t going to think about him. Not today. 

“Good thing you’re here to guide me then. I probably would have gotten kidnapped already if it wasn’t for you.” It was a joke, but Dyanna shot her an expression that said ----- You have no idea, which humbled Elyse immediately. 

They had reached the heart of Flea Bottom, where the commotion was the biggest and the smell was the strongest. The stench was indescribable. And it didn’t just come from the piles of waste lining the streets. It came from the people itself. Bad hygiene always led to a plethora of health problems, and Elyse was sure she had seen an entire medical encyclopedia’s worth during their walk. Several homeless people sat on the unpaved streets, sprawled about, with patches of festering wounds on their bodies. Elyse looked away and swallowed the vomit that threatened to escape. It wasn’t their fault, obviously, but she couldn’t help her reaction to seeing gray, rotting flesh.  

“The orphanage is just ahead, shouldn’t be too long now.” 

Elyse frowned, perplexed. “Orphanage?” 

Her friend nodded, “Jory and I spent our childhood in an orphanage when our parents died from a bout of plague.” 

“Oh…I’m so sorry, Dyanna. That must have been such a tough time.” 

“Eh, others have been through worse,” Dyanna shrugged, “Our uncle eventually took us in. But he’s a mercenary, always off fighting for some lord. Before I started working in the Red Keep, Jory and I practically lived alone. And now that I’m never home…he gets lonely.” The look of guilt on Dyanna’s freckled face broke her heart. No fifteen-year-old should have to bear the heavy amount of responsibility that Dyanna did.

“Hey,” she looped her arm into Dyanna’s and leaned against the redhead, “You’re doing the best you can, girl. That’s all you can do, right?” She didn’t respond, so Elyse continued, “Besides, like you said, all of his friends are in that orphanage. He’d probably be running off all the time, even if you were home.” 

With her supportive words, Elyse finally coaxed a strained smile out of Dyanna, who said, “Right. He wouldn’t listen to me anyway. Wild as an untamed horse, my brother. Watch out -------” 

The older girl pulled her off the street just as a thundering horde of City Watch soldiers passed by on their horses. Did they ever do anything, the City Watch? To Elyse, they felt like glorified security guards. No. More like glorified mall cops, with the way they flouted about. 

“A bit like me, your brother, don’t you think?” Elyse grinned as they dove into the chaotic streets once more. 

Dyanna rolled her eyes, “Speaking of you, why has Princess Helaena been searching for you of late, and why are you avoiding her like she’s the Stranger himself?” 

“Yeah…right, uh…” She hadn’t filled Dyanna in on the situation with Aemond. Partly because she was embarrassed, and partly because she didn’t want to talk about him. They had irreconcilable differences, it seemed. Contrary to One-Eyed Maniac, Helaena had attempted to summon Elyse for the past several days. Elyse had no doubt Helaena’s kind soul wasn’t trying to punish or demean her the way her brother did, but she wanted to avoid all possibilities of running into Aemond. Ever again. Especially since she had chosen her side of the Targaryen family already.

“I don’t mind going in your place,” her friend added as they turned into an alley barely the width of their shoulders, “I’m fond of the Princess, but she’s so disappointed whenever I show up instead of you. She inquires about your fake illness constantly. I feel terrible lying to her. She’s such a kind girl.” 

“I know, and graceful too.” 

“More than her husband. That much is clear.” 

Elyse snorted in agreement. Aegon’s debaucherous shenanigans were famous around the castle. Just two days ago, Mycah had whispered to them that Aegon was found in the pigs’ pen. Dead asleep, snoring louder than thunder. Queen Alicent was furious and ordered him to be locked in his chambers for a month, not that it ever did any good. “She’s wasted on a man like him.” 

“Agreed. Did you know there was talk of betrothing her to Prince Jacaerys, quite a while back?” 

“Really?” Her jaw dropped. 

Dyanna nodded, “She would have been much happier in that union.” 

“Way happier! Why did they end up choosing Aegon?” 

“The Queen was not pleased with the prospects of the brown-haired prince, you understand?” Elyse shook her head at how Queen Alicent’s prejudices landed her own daughter in the most unhappy, unsatisfying marriage of the century when they stopped before an unassuming doorway. “Here we are.” Dyanna stepped over the threshold with Elyse in tow, entering a small courtyard. 

They arrived at midday, with perfect blue skies lying above------ the most temperate weather they’ve had in a while (King’s Landing was prone for summer storms). And the orphans were taking advantage of every ray of sunshine they could get. They gathered in the quaint courtyard to play and chatter, filling the entire space with youthful laughter. If you didn’t notice the tatters on their clothing or how their joints protruded, you’d think they were normal, happy children of loving families. Unfortunately, that was probably the furthest from the truth. 

One boy took notice of their presence and shouted, “It’s Dyanna! Jory, your sister’s here!” Like a game of telephone, the children passed the message around until somewhere inside the orphanage, there was a scream. Then a blur of red came tumbling out the doorway on their left to tackle Dyanna with a hug. 

Dyanna squealed as she swung her little brother round and round, “You little rascal, can’t you stay home for once?” She scolded. With love, of course. 

“What about you? Why haven’t you come home for so long?” Jory demanded. The boy clinging to Dyanna’s cloak was a carbon copy of his sister, with the same head of smooth red hair and tanned, freckled cheeks. He had big ears and a missing front tooth ------ every bit the scrappy eight-year-old Dyanna had described. 

“The kitchens were busy these past days, with all the King’s banquets and such.” His sister replied, attacking him with a flurry of kisses to his forehead, “I did send home coins and food, did I not?” 

“Yes, but it’s better to see you.” Jory whimpered, “I always prefer to see you.” 

“I’ll try to come back more. I promise.” And the young boy snuggled deeper into his older sister in response. Elyse couldn’t help but grin at the display of sibling affection. So heartwarming. So sweet. This was how a family should be. Take notes, Targaryens.  

I’m talking to you, Aemond. 

“Jory, this is my friend, Elyse,” Dyanna pulled her over by the wrist, “She works in the kitchens with me. Say hello.” 

Jory grinned, revealing another missing bottom tooth, “Nice to meet you, Elyse!” 

Elyse bent down to his eye level and grinned back, “Nice to meet you too, Jory. You’re kind of famous, you know.” 

“Really?” The boy puffed his chest out like a little peacock. 

“Oh yes, your sister told me so many amazing stories about you. Also, I brought treats for you. Do you like cookies?” 

At the mention of cookies, suddenly, the number of children swarming the two girls tripled, then quadrupled when she fished out the package of butter biscuits from her satchel. 

“Excuse me, do you have any treats for us?” A girl with a long scar down her right cheek asked. 

“Can I have a cookie as well?” 

“Me too!” 

“All of you, back off!” Jory took the cookies and clutched them to his chest like it was a bundle of jewels. He glared at the gathering children, “She brought them for me!” 

“Come on, Jor, share some with us. We don’t all have sisters working in a castle.” A sandy-haired boy complained. 

“That’s right!” 

“Don’t be a twat, Jor.” 

“If you don’t share then I will never let you borrow my wooden sword again.” 

“But they’re mine! She brought them for me!” 

“Jory, share with the others,” Dyanna lectured her brother with a few pats to his head, “I can always bring more.” 

“But they’re my cookies.” 

“Fine, then the next time I swipe fruit from the market stalls, I won’t give you a single bite!” The sandy-haired boy snapped. Jory stuck out his tongue in spite. 

“Woah there!” Elyse cleared her throat to capture every bickering child’s attention, “Let’s all calm down. I have plenty of snacks for everyone.” The orphans lowered their voices, but Elyse was still wary of the possibility of getting jumped for cookies. So she took out the dozen Pop-Tarts originally also meant for Jory and split them the best she could between thirty-something children. Not a single child complained of their small share. Instead, they squealed as they snatched up their piece, uttering a quick thanks before shoving the tart into their mouths. Clearly, they didn’t get treats often. 

“You always spoil them, Dyanna,” A warm, matronly voice uttered from one of the doorways. A woman clad in the traditional Septa garb danced over and enveloped Dyanna in a strong embrace. “It is so good to see you, my sweetling. How do you fare, are you eating enough?” 

“Septa Nemera,” her friend breathed as she returned the hug, “I’m so sorry that I have not come often to visit. How is everything?” 

“Good as they can be. We manage, as always. Do not worry about Jory, my dear girl. He will always have a bite to eat here while you are away.” 

Dyanna’s voice was thick with emotion, “Thank you, Septa Nemera. For everything. You are too kind.” 

“Only upholding the faith as the Mother intended, dear. And who is this?” 

The redhead turned to Elyse, “Oh, this is Elyse. She also works in the Red Keep.” 

“Nice to meet you, Septa.” Elyse bobbed her head.

“Ah, Elyse, a lovely name. Come here,” The Septa beckoned her over. Elyse obliged. She took one of the Septa’s outreached hands, catching a strong whiff of lye soap from Septa Nemera’s crisp linen dress. She was a woman of almost forty, with deep wrinkles around her eyes and a strong nose. “What a pretty child,” Elyse blushed as Septa Nemera tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, “ Tell me, do you have family in King’s Landing?” 

“No, I come from Pentos, Septa.” 

“Pentos, you say? My my, how far you are from your homeland.” That was the understatement of the year, “How do you like the city?” 

“It’s…” she struggled to come up with a compliment for the stinky, crime-ridden capital, “very busy.” 

Septa Nemera laughed and squeezed her hand, “Indeed. Busy, overrun with rats, and neglected. Tis a shame you did not see the city under the Good Queen Alysanne. It was quite beautiful.” 

“I can’t imagine, in complete honesty.” 

“Yes, well, it’s fallen far from its glory days now. But do visit the Grand Sept if you have time. It is, in my opinion, one of the last places in King’s Landing where one might find peace.” 

Amidst the women’s easy conversation, Jory reappeared with cookie crumbs across his cheeks. He tugged on Dyanna’s braid, “Sister, will you come play with me?”

“Bless the Seven!” Septa Nemera cried, “Look at how I have stolen your sister from you. Yes, Dyanna, go spend this precious time with your brother. We can finish this talk anytime.” With firm, motherly hands, the Septa pushed the girls towards the courtyard. “Go on, now. Don’t mind this old woman and enjoy the weather.” 

Dyanna looked over at Elyse apologetically, “Sorry, do you mind if I spend some time alone with Jory? I get to see him so rarely…” 

“Oh of course! Go on, I’ll keep myself entertained for a bit.” Her friend flashed a grateful smile as Jory dragged her away. Elyse turned to Septa Nemera and asked, “Do you mind if I spend some time with the children, too? Or would I be intruding?” 

“Absolutely! No intrusion at all. I am sure they will adore your attention. They get so little of it, after all,” Septa Nemera waved her away. 

Grinning, Elyse left the Septa and walked deeper into the courtyard, taking a survey of what activities the kids were engaged in. With little to no real toys to play with, most of the children made do with makeshift wooden swords (basically just a big stick) and dolls made of straw and fabric scraps. Some kids tossed around a hacky sack sort of thing, while others made mud pies in the corner. But what drew her eye was the largest group of kids passing a ball around in the backend.

“Hello there, whatcha playing?” She wandered over. 

The sandy-haired boy who had bickered with Jory motioned to the ball, “We’re playing catch, can’t you see?” Condescension oozed through his words. 

She ignored the urge to pinch his cheeks, “But, catch’s kind of boring, don’t you think? Why don’t you play soccer or something?”

“What’s soccer?” Another girl piped up.

Elyse’s mouth fell open, “You don’t know what soccer is?” Unanimously, the children shook their heads and looked at her like she grew two heads. No way. This world has freaking dragons, and they don’t have one of the most iconic sports of all time? Elyse took a moment to think, chewing on her lip, then said, “How about I teach you a game? I promise it’s lots of fun and everyone can play. It’s really simple if you follow the rules.” 

“No. Catch is fine,” It was the same sandy-haired boy who shut down her idea without hesitation. Again, she fought the urge to pinch his cheeks. What was it about boys that were so grating on your patience and sanity? No matter the age, they all seemed to possess the qualities to make you want to pull your hair out. 

But of course, Elyse had dealt with her fair share of annoying brats like him. She did, after all, have seventeen cousins. Eight of which were younger than her. So she casually tossed out, “Play with me and I’ll bring cakes next time I visit.” 

She had less than a second to catch the ball that was thrown her way as soon as the words left her mouth. In one heartbeat, she was once again surrounded by a swarm of eager children with shining eyes. 

“You can’t go back on that promise.” Another boy with wavy black hair commanded. 

A girl with silvery eyes piped up , “What kind of cakes will you bring? They sell currant cakes on the Street of Flour, but none of the bakers ever spare a stale one for us.” 

“I’ll bring whatever kind of cakes I can find, but only if you listen and remember the rules, deal?” 

“DEAL!” All the kids shouted in unison. 

Elyse tossed the ball in her hands with a smug smirk. Light, but sturdy. Not a modern soccer ball by any means, but it’ll do. “Ok, these are the rules…” And every orphan leaned in closer, hanging onto her every word as Elyse condensed the basic concepts of soccer (football, for the purists out there) into a short, simple explanation. “It’ll make more sense when we play, so how about we do a practice round first?” She suggested.

“Those cakes better be worth it,” grumbled the pale-haired boy. 

Pettily, Elyse made him the captain of the opposing team. She was going to have a great time winning over him. (Yes, beefing with a ten-year-old, not very mature. She knows.) Ten minutes of sorting the kids into two teams and appointing goalposts and goalies later, they were finally ready to start.

“Remember, absolutely no hands, got it?” Elyse warned. The orphans echoed their understanding as Elyse dropped the ball by her feet, “Alright, ready? Here we go!” 

And began Westeros’s first game of soccer. 

********************

It was exhilarating. 

Time flew as they ran around for almost the entire afternoon. Elyse was severely, embarrassingly, out of shape. Wheezing and gasping for air after barely thirty minutes of playing. But in her defense, it’s not like she could spare a moment from her long work hours to get in a workout. By the two-hour mark, her legs felt like jello, and she knew she would have sore muscles for days after. But it was worth it. 

To her delight, the children caught on rather quickly. And before long, the orphans were playing some pretty solid soccer. They were fast, nimble, and ruthless. Elyse winced a few times when some of the boys full on tackled their opponents to the floor. But it was all good-natured, so she let it go. Boys will be boys. The girls, on the other hand, played more strategically. More focused on clean, well-placed passes than brawling with the boys. Not afraid to work with each other instead of chasing the glory of a winning goal. However, Pearl, the girl with the scar, was not afraid to get down and dirty when her team needed her to. Elyse really liked her. 

“Wait a minute, that goal doesn’t count!” Yazeel, the dark-haired boy, hustled over angrily. He was on the opposing team. 

Pearl crossed her arms and scoffed, “Of course it counts! It went through the pillars, did it not?” 

“But it was too high,” Sylas, the sandy-haired captain of the other team, protested, “There was no way Bron would have stopped it.” 

“But it went through the pillars, so it’s a goal.” Pearl reaffirmed stubbornly. 

Yazeel whipped his head over to Elyse and demanded, “What do you think? Is it a goal?” 

She shrugged, “Looked fine to me.” 

Their opponents broke into protest, complaining about the height of the ball and the limitations of how far they can jump and blah blah blah. Elyse just leaned against the stone steps, resting her spent body, and watched the arguing like it was the latest episode of her favorite reality TV show. She was more than familiar with scenes like this. In fact, these childish fights were nothing compared to the absolute chaos that was Thanksgiving family soccer games with her Italian side of the family. Now those. Those were crazy. 

“Oh my Seven! What in the heavens are they shouting about?” Septa Nemera appeared beside her with an awestruck expression on her weathered face. 

“A ball game I showed them,” Elyse admitted, abashed.  

“Terrifying, though admirable, their youthful energy. These old bones can’t keep up with them much longer,” The Septa sighed. 

Elyse hesitated, then offered, “I really enjoy spending time with them, actually. They remind me of my cousins. So, if time allows, I’d like to come over more often.” 

“Really? Oh, that would be splendid, child.” Septa Nemera smiled, “You’re always welcome here, just like Dyanna.” 

She beamed, “Great! I’ll try my best to make it over whenever I can. Speaking of Dyanna, have you seen her around?” 

“Right here, sorry. Lost track of time,” Dyanna reemerged with Jory by her side. “We should be going soon. Before nightfall. I’m sure we have a mountain of chores waiting for us.” 

Jory was visibly pouting at Dyanna’s mention of leaving. He gripped tightly only Dyanna’s tunic as his lip pushed out like a little duck. “Can’t you stay a little longer? I don’t know when I’ll see you next.” 

“I’m sorry, Jor, but…” 

Her roommate couldn’t finish her sentence. Distraught, Dyanna held back her own emotions as she hugged her brother. Thankfully, Septa Nemera was there to assist. The Septa stepped forth and placed a comforting hand on the boy’s head, “Your sister will be here before long, Jory. She has never abandoned you, has she?” 

The boy shook his head. Fat tears rolled down his splotchy cheeks as Elyse added, “And I’ll come too to play with you! I promised everyone that I’d bring cakes next time. You like cakes, right?” 

“I guess,” Jory mumbled. 

“Besides, it’s time for dinner. Shall we round up the others together?” 

Jory’s dull eyes lit up at the promise of more food, and finally, the young boy wiped away his snot and nodded in agreement. Dyanna’s face was visibly less strained once she saw Jory’s mood improve. 

“Wonderful, go on then. Tell the others.” The older woman nudged Jory towards the group of quarreling children. Jory ran over to announce dinner, pulling apart Pearl and Sylas, who were this close to an actual fight. “Come on now, time for supper!” Septa Nemera called out. A collective groan from both teams. “No complaining, please! The girls need to leave anyway. You can finish this game another time.” 

All the orphans crowded Elyse at once, demanding, “When will you be back?” 

“You promised to show us more tricks!”
“Can we play again next time?” 

“So who won then? Did we win?” 

“Oh, that’s right! Who won? I think we won since that last goal was far too high.” 

“It was not !” 

“AHEM!” This time, Septa Nemera was far stricter in rearing the children. Her matronly face set in a serious expression as she ushered each and every grumbling orphan into the kitchen. 

“I will be back with cake and I promise to show you more tricks next time,” Elyse vowed, mussing Pearl’s wavy brown hair with affection. The silver-eyed girl, Ara, beamed with joy at the mention of cakes before she ran off. One by one, the children trickled away after Elyse personally made promises to each kid to return as soon as she could. Her heart was bursting at the seams. Altruism always made her feel better. 

Dyanna said her final goodbyes as Elyse peeled off the final group of kids, joining her roommate outside the courtyard, haggard from manhandling thirty-plus children. 

“Sorry, they can be a handful,” Dyanna apologized with a bashful flush on her round cheeks as they started walking. 

“No, no! Don’t apologize. I needed this. Thanks for bringing me,” Elyse grinned, nudging her friend on the rib affectionately. “I’ll have to come more often. They’re great kids.”

“That’s because you haven’t lived with them,” her friend joked. “They’re little monsters, the lot. Especially when sweets are involved.” 

“That’s normal kid stuff, I think.” She chortled, thinking back to how her cousins would fight over the last popsicle in the freezer. “I’m glad I finally met Jory though. He’s such an adorable kid.” 

At the mention of her little brother, Dyanna was crestfallen again, and Elyse cursed her stupid self for ruining the mood. “I’m a terrible sister. Abandoning him for weeks on end.” 

“Hey, don’t do that to yourself,” she scolded, poking Dyanna in the cheek, “You’re an amazing sister and Jory loves you. We all see it. It’s not your fault you have to earn money, right? Like I said, you’re doing the best you can. And when we go back, let’s see if we can get Marscha to work on a schedule of some sort so you can visit more. I’ll do extra chores to help you make the time. Sounds good?” 

Dyanna granted her a shy smile, “Thanks, Elyse. You’re a good friend.” 

“I sure am. And you can repay me with a quick stop at the markets before we head back.” 

“Yes, I almost forgot. We must check for your coffee beans!” The older girl laughed, “In that case, we are walking in the wrong direction. The markets are to the east.” 

“You’ll have to escort me again.” Elyse nudged her roommate with a playful wink, “However will I survive in this terrifying city without your valiant protection?” 

“And there you go again with your cheeky jests. What am I, your knight?” 

“Nope. You’re much more useful than a smelly knight. And prettier too.” 

“Again, you jest.” 

“Mycah certainly thinks so.” 

Dyanna’s round cheeks colored, turning the same vibrant red as her hair as she exclaimed, “Oh you evil girl! I told you I do not have feelings for him!” 

Elyse wiggled her eyebrows with a sly grin, “You’re not fooling any of us. Even Marscha knows.” 

“M-Marscha knows?” 

“Oh yeah.” 

Her roommate stopped in the middle of the alley and buried her flaming cheeks into her hands. “I can never look him in the eye again. I can never face anyone again. Just let me crawl into a hole and stay there. This is mortifying. I am mortified.” 

“It’s only mortifying if he didn’t return your feelings, which, in that case, he’d be the biggest idiot in Westeros. But trust me, that boy is smitten. Smittened as a kitten.” She assured. 

“Really?” Dyanna’s voice was muffled through her fingers. 

“Oh Dy,” Elyse sighed, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders, “would I ever lie to you about this? And I love you, but this conversation is best had in our room with snacks later tonight instead of standing in a pool of unidentifiable liquids in the middle of Flea Bottom.” 

“Damn,” Dyanna muttered, finally taking notice of the puddle of brown water dangerously close to where they stood. “Right you are. Let’s get a move on.” 

And the girls hurried out of Flea Bottom before the sun lowered into the distant horizon. Arms interlinked, heads lowered in gossip as always, and feeling much closer than when they left in the morning. When they finally returned to the Red Keep just after nightfall, Marscha did in fact have a mountain of chores waiting for them. But Elyse’s pockets jangled with more coffee beans and her heart was warm and fuzzy from the outing. And as Dyanna and she fought through their waves of exhaustion, post-completion of their many chores, to gossip and whisper about the many details of what made Mycah perfect for Dyanna, Elyse felt like she could take on any adversity thrown her way in this scary world. As long as she had her friends by her side. 

Well, except maybe Aemond Targaryen. That was an adversity she’d rather not face. A dreadful feeling in her gut told her that despite her best efforts, she was always tightly gripped in the palm of his hand. Like a rabbit quivering before the soul-crushing presence of a dragon. 

Hopefully, Helaena will give up on trying to find her soon, and she can resume her normal routine far from the watchful eye of His Highness. Yep, the princess will give up soon. 

Right?

Chapter Text

“I am hungry.” 

“It’s almost time for lunch, Your Highness.”

“I told you to call me Jace.” 

“No thank you, Your Highness. I would like to avoid getting thrown into the dungeons. And if anyone hears me calling you that, I will for sure be arrested for insubordination.” 

Jacaerys huffed then popped another blackberry into his mouth, causing Elyse’s eye to twitch. “You are such a bore sometimes,” the prince complained as he nicked more fruit. 

She scowled, “If I call you Jace, will you stop stealing?” The boy shrugged, a teasing smirk on his stained lips. “Fine, Jace . Jace Jace Jace. Happy? Now can you please stop stealing my berries? Because I have to fill two whole baskets and you have done more eating than helping . ” 

“If you’d rather me not eat the berries, then just feed me.” Jace challenged. 

Elyse threw her hands up in exasperation and cried, “Why can’t you go find Dyanna? Why bother me?”

“Because you are more fun to bother.” 

“If you weren’t a prince I’d punch you.” 

“You have my permission to do so, but after, make me a sandwich?” 

The maid pinched her nose bridge and exhaled a shuddering sigh. Attempts to cool her irritation went unnoticed by the lazing prince beside her as he tossed and caught another blackberry in the air with perfect ease. Since early that morning, Elyse had been hard at work stripping the wild blackberry bushes deep in the Godswoods for a jam Marscha had tasked her to make. And yet, three hours later, her baskets were nowhere close to full, while Jace’s fingertips were stained purple with berry juice. “This jam is for you, you know. For your birth----sorry, name day banquet. You could contribute a little?” 

Jace scoffed, propping his elbows against the soft moss-covered ground as he stared at the forest canopy above, “Who cares about banquets and such? They are always a suffocating bore. Not to mention, my entire family will be there. Entire. Family.” 

Ah yes, who wouldn’t want to see Aemond Targaryen’s sneering, arrogant face at their birthday party? 

“But there must be something you look forward to, right? Like the presents, or the cake?” She urged. 

“Cake?” Jace frowned, “What cake?” 

Her mouth fell open. Elyse sat back from the blackberry bush and gaped at him, “You don’t have a cake on your birth---ugh, name day?” 

“Why would I have a cake?” 

Wow. That’s crazy. In her past life, cake and candles were such a universal thing that she just assumed it would be the same here. What fun was a birthday if you didn’t get to make a wish and blow the candles out? 

“I am sure my Grandsire will urge the Queen to throw a luxurious banquet. And the Queen will do so, begrudgingly,” Jace mocked as he folded his hands behind his head, “The whole court will gather to make smarmy comments about my mother and me while I am forced to endure it with the help of several decanters of wine. And yet, what I really want is to eat a whole jar of peanut butter and spend the day with Vermax.” 

“Such low expectations,” Elyse teased, “the whole kingdom is coming to celebrate you, and you’d rather be with your dragon and a jar of peanut butter?”

Jace grinned. A mischievous spark in his honey-brown eyes as he twisted over to face her, “And you, of course. I got Vermax to master a free-falling barrel roll just last week. Want me to show you?” 

“Absolutely not. I’m good, thanks.” 

“What? Why not?” 

“Because I’d rather not get anywhere near your fire-breathing murder pet, sorry.” 

Jace recoiled in horror, “Wha----- he is not a fire-breathing murder pet! Vermax is sweet and very loving.” 

“You do know what his nickname is, right? Vermax the Ill-Tempered?” she chortled, hands once again busily plucking the berries off the thorny branches.  

“That is a misnomer,” The prince declared. Fiercely championing his beloved dragon while Elyse rolled her eyes. “I mean it! He’s misunderstood, that’s all. Come with me and I will show you. Perhaps we can even take a quick flight.” 

“Oh no. No, we’re not. These feet are staying planted on the ground, thank you.” 

“But it would be so fun.” 

“No.” 

“I promise he will not take even a small nibble at you.” 

“Nope. Never.” 

Jace sunk down, defeated, grumbling, “I thought most people would jump at a chance to ride a dragon.” 

She snorted. You’d think so, right? Unfortunately, while dragons are cool and majestic and all that in fictional circumstances, they’re an absolute pain to live with. Imagine being a smallfolk, trying to live your life. You look up, and a literal fire-breathing winged lizard is swooping in to steal your sheep. And you can’t even protest because the lizard is some mythical symbol of the royal family! Not to mention, you’re always in danger of being turned into barbeque by a rogue fireball or something. Being burned alive? Not a good way to go. Probably even worse than being squashed by a subway train. 

So no. Elyse did not want to get close to any of the dragons. She preferred animals that were smaller. Fluffier. Less fire. 

Dejected by his friend’s firm dismissal, Jace took to moping and twisting the blades of soft grass between his fingers as he pouted like a kicked puppy. Finally, after maybe ten minutes of her friend’s sulking, Elyse was on her last nerve. With a long sigh, she stood up and brushed off all the residual dirt. The berries will have to wait. “Come on,” she muttered.

“What is it?” The prince grumbled. 

She lifted her eyes to the sky, hands on hips, and took an extra long breath. God, please give me the strength to deal with this moody brat before I throttle him. “I’m going to make you something to eat, so are you coming or not?” 

Mentions of food was all it took to get Jace out of his mood. He leaped up instantly with a huge grin, “Really? Wonderful! I thought I was going to waste away.” 

Patience, God. Patience and strength. “Right then,” she scowled, “let’s go.” 

As they left the Godswoods, Jace continued his passionate glorification of Vermax, painting the snarling, prickly dragon to be as obedient and sweet as one of the noble ladies’ lap dogs. In her opinion, the dragon resembled a spoiled, yappy chihuahua, if anything. But she didn’t bother to argue, content to nod along as Jace recounted every trick Vermax could do. 

They were halfway across the Outer Courtyard when she spotted Helaena strolling with her ladies. 

“Oh no,” she hissed. 

Jace raised an eyebrow, “What? What is the matter?” 

“Quick, hide me!” 

“What?” 

Alas, she was not quick enough. Helaena had already spotted her. Before she could duck behind Jace, the princess rushed over with a delighted expression. “Elyse! It is so good to see you. Are you still ill?” Helaena was an absolute vision in a midnight blue gown that accentuated her eyes. Loose silver waves cascaded down her back, pinned away from her gentle features with bronze hair combs that matched her jewelry. She had the caliber of beauty that would give Audrey Hepburn or Elizabeth Taylor a run for their money. Timeless beauty. Beauty that would be idolized for decades and centuries after her time. 

 Seriously, it’s a struggle trying not to be jealous of the Targaryens. They really had the whole world in the palm of their hands. 

“Dyanna might have told you, but I have been asking for you. How unfortunate that you have been sick,” Helaena continued. Jace gave her a scrutinizing look. Yes, yes. She wasn’t actually sick. It was a ploy to avoid the princess for as long as she could. But Jace obviously had no idea, so Elyse threw him a glare that wordlessly communicated for him to keep his mouth shut as she curtsied to his aunt, “Yes, Your Highness. Thank you for your concern. I am feeling much better.” 

“I am glad…” The princess’s lilted voice faded when she turned her attention to her nephew, “Jace…hello. You are…acquainted with Elyse?”
Jace dipped his head. Dark curls brushed against his chin as he answered, “Aunt Helaena. I hope all is well. I was unaware that you are also familiar with Elyse.” 

“Yes, she helped me, once. She is…most kind.” 

“Kind? Perhaps. Though I prefer the word amusing.” 

“Amusing,” Helaena repeated. A reserved smile on her lips. 

Elyse cleared her throat. Hesitant to interrupt a conversation between the royals but desperate to escape, she murmured, “I’m so sorry, Your Highnesses, but I have to bring these berries to the kitchen. If you’ll allow me to excuse myself.” 

“Oh, but I wanted to introduce you to my daughter, Jaehaera. Do you have a moment to spare?” 

“I-I apologize, Your Highness, but I really needed to -------”

“Jaehaera?” Jace interrupted, “I have a moment to spare. May I come along? I am ashamed to admit that I have not spent much time with my little cousin since I arrived in King’s Landing.” 

Helaena clasped her hands together and exclaimed, “Yes! Then both of you shall come with me to the nursery?” 

“Actually-----”

“Let us do so!” 

“But my berries ------” 

“Perfect! I will have my ladies retire, then. I do not like crowding the nursery with too many people at once. One moment.” 

Ah. She was completely ignored. 

“You know, I am rather excited to visit Jaehaera, really.” Jace added happily as Helaena rushed back to dismiss her ladies, “I only hope that she resembles Helaena more than Aegon----- why are you glaring daggers at me?” 

“You!” She whispered frantically, shaking a finger at the prince while panic seeped into her voice, “Couldn’t you tell I was trying to get out of this? Why did you drag me along too? Just let me go back to the kitchens!” 

Jace frowned. Perplexion etched into his strong brow as he asked, “Why would you not come along? Are you not fond of my aunt?” 

“No! I mean yes! I mean, ugh, it’s not Princess Helaena I’m worried about. Do you get what I’m saying?” 

The Velaryon prince’s face was strikingly handsome, as usual, but also as blank as a piece of unused notebook paper. No critical thinking skills present. No thoughts running through that head of his.

“Come on, Jace. I can’t say it out loud so take a guess.” 

He blinked, “Huh?”

Elyse facepalmed and groaned, “I’m going to die today. Yep. Today is the day. RIP Elyse. You tried your best.” 

“What in the seven hells are you rambling on about?” 

“You are such a dumb----” 

“Shall we go to the nursery?”  She clamped her mouth shut when Helaena reappeared by their side, face shining with anticipation.  “Is something the matter?” 

“U-uh…” Jace glanced at her, hesitant to answer. 

Swallowing her frustrated scream, Elyse forced a cheery smile instead. What, like she could refuse again at this point? After the princess herself has offered to personally escort her? That is like the literal definition of insubordination. “Nope! Nothing’s wrong, Your Highness.” 

“Oh, then, shall we go?” As Helaena turned to lead the way, Elyse paused to glower at her friend, who raised both hands to signal his confusion. 

Sigh, boys. They have the emotional intelligence of a rock. 

Elyse shook her head. Filled with remorse and dread, she shuffled after Helaena like a prisoner walking to their execution. 

Similar to the rest of the royal residences, the nursery resided in Maegor’s Holdfast. From the Outer Courtyard, it’s about a twenty-minute walk. Twenty whole minutes were spent in awkward silence sandwiched between the two Targaryens, who, apparently, had nothing else to say to each other. Normally, Elyse might crack a joke or two to ease the tension, but she was too focused on the possibility of running into Aemond and couldn’t spare the brain power. 

She just had this gut feeling that he’d be there. She can’t explain why. She just…had a feeling. But it was too late to turn around. Not when they’d already passed the moat and were halfway up the stairs. Not when they’ve already turned into the corridor that led to Helaena’s apartments. Not when they finally stop in front of a set of double doors a small distance away from the princess’s quarters. 

“Here we are,” Helaena murmured, pushing open the doors, “Jaehaerys is with my mother. So Jaehaera is napping alone today.”  Jace stepped inside. Elyse followed, chewing on her nails the entire time. 

Wow.

Compared to the rest of the Red Keep, the royal nursery was bright and breathable. Maybe it’s due to the higher elevation, (Helaena lived on, like, the fourth floor) or the five massive windows on the western wall that bathed the room in sunlight. Hanging from the ten-foot ceilings were powder blue and silver drapes ------- an interesting color choice, considering the usual reds and blacks that the Targaryens favored. Elyse glanced at Helaena’s dark blue gown and wondered if the princess had a hand in decorating the space herself. 

One consistent detail, however, was the dragons. You just can’t escape them. They were everywhere you look in the Red Keep. Here, they were more subtle. Not in a staunch political fashion like the propaganda banners in the throne room, but embroidered in the brocades. Carved into the doorknobs. Hidden in the murals painted on the eastern wall. Even the stone tiles beneath their feet had etchings of dragons. Still, it was tastefully decorated and, admittedly, the most ideal place to raise children when compared to the rest of the castle.  

Helaena crossed the room during the time Elyse spent marveling at the decor and approached the two cribs against the painted wall. The princess bent over the left crib to nuzzle her daughter before gathering her into her arms. As she walked back to where Jace and Elyse stood, nothing but pure maternal love was on the princess’s face. 

“This is Jaehaera,” Helaena smiled. She pressed a light kiss on the baby’s forehead while Elyse stepped forward to get a better look. “She can be a bit fussier than her brother, but she has my eyes. Don’t you think?” 

Elyse peered down at the young princess. As Helaena described,  Jaehaera indeed had her mother’s cornflower blue eyes. Jaehaerys’s eyes were more violet, probably in resemblance to Aegon, but his sister inherited Helaena’s unique shade of blue. “She does have your eyes,” Elyse agreed, glancing up at the beaming mother, “and she’s beautiful Your Highness.” 

“Would you like to hold her?” Helaena offered. 

“O-oh, sure?” 

Without hesitation, Helaena nestled the baby princess into Elyse’s arms. To her credit, Jaehaera didn’t burst into tears when her mother retreated. Instead, the little princess examined her newest admirer with wide eyes and pursed lips -------- clearly debating if Elyse was worthy of her attention. Elyse offered her a sweet smile and some gentle pats, which seemed to satisfy the baby princess. For the moment. 

“Let me see too,” Jace whined. The prince leaned over Elyse’s shoulder to examine his cousin’s face, “Hmm, those are your eyes without a doubt. What a blessing! She will grow to be as beautiful and kind as her mother.” 

Oh?  

Did Helaena just…blush? 

Elyse watched, intrigued, as the princess tucked her hair behind her ear, unable to meet Jace’s smile. With a rosy flush in her cheeks, Helaena, for once, looked her young age. Not an exhausted mother trapped in an unhappy marriage, but a youthful maiden with the promise of love and happiness on the horizon. Elyse thought back to her conversation with Diana and wondered how different things might be if Jace was Helaena’s husband. Not Aegon. Maybe it would have been a union with love. Maybe there was a possibility for happiness there. But at this point, they’ll never find out.

“Hello Jaehaera. You may not know me yet, but I plan to spoil you with many sweets and gifts in the future,” Jace promised his cousin, who was too busy sucking on her thumb to give him her attention, “And I plan to take you on several rides on Vermax’s back when you are old enough.” 

At the mention of Vermax, Elyse twisted Jaehaera away protectively and demanded, “When will you stop asking people to ride with you on your murder pet?” 

“First of all, stop with that strange nickname. And second, Jaehaera is a Targaryen. Dragonriding is in her blood!” 

“Yeah well, she’s like literally three days old.” 

“Three moons old, not three days,” Helaena added, not understanding the sarcasm. 

Jace puffed out his chest like a proud peacock, “I went riding with my mother on Syrax when I was five moons old. Surely my cousins will be ready in two moons?” 

Elyse rolled her eyes, “How about you try holding her first before you go making all these promises? What if she doesn’t like you, hmm?” 

“That is impossible,” Jace scoffed, “I helped raise Luke and Joffrey, you know. Babies love me. Watch.” She made no complaints as Jace scooped Jaehaera out of her embrace with considerable skill. “See?” The prince smirked as he bounced the baby, “She adores me.” 

But his victory was short-lasting. Jaehaera stared up at her cousin, took her thumb out from her mouth, and started to wail. With her short baby arms, the princess struggled and flailed about against her older cousin until she was back in Helaena’s arms a heartbeat later, leaving Jace dumbfounded.  

“Right,” Elyse said dryly, “she just loves you, doesn’t she?” 

“W-well…” The Velaryon prince rubbed his neck, clearly bewildered. Both his cheeks and neck were flushed bright red with embarrassment. 

“It is not your fault. Jaehaera is not fond of any men, I think,” Helaena offered as she cast a nervous glance at her nephew, “she cries even harder when her father tries to hold her.” 

“Ah, is that so?” 

An awkward silence befell the trio. Elyse and Jace stood like idiots, unable to contribute any help while  Helaena shushed her daughter, who was screaming her lungs out. Under her breath, Elyse asked Jace, “Should we go?” 

The Velaryon prince stared at the chaos he caused and nodded, “That might be best. Give them some time alone.” 

“Wait!” Helaena cried out over Jaehaera’s whimpers, freezing the retreating duo in their steps, “You could stay. It is no bother at all.”  

“Well, I did promise Joffrey that I would be taking lunch with him and the hour is approaching.” Jace flitted his eyes to Elyse nervously. “He would be very distraught if I did not eat with him.” 

“I-I see,” Helaena faltered. 

“Besides, my cousin would do better without my presence, it seems.” Jace attempted to joke, except the lighthearted comment fell flat in the face of Helaena’s obvious hurt and disappointment. Elyse watched the exchange in silence, unsure of how to clear the atmosphere. She didn’t know why Jace was so keen on escaping the situation when he was the one who insisted on coming with her in the first place. She also had no idea why Helaena was so hurt by his intentions to leave. 

“Then…maybe another time.” 

“Yes,” Jace agreed, “another time, perhaps.” 

“Maybe sometime soon?” 

Oh, now she understood. Elyse cursed herself for coming to the realization almost too late. 

She was lonely. Helaena was lonely. How could Elyse have forgotten? Doesn’t she remember how the princess was crying her eyes out by herself in the Godswoods, just a few weeks back? For whatever reason, she wasn’t close with any of her ladies, and the only company she had were her two horrid brothers ------- one of which she was married to. Elyse’s heart softened when she spotted the veiled sadness behind Helaena’s pretty features as Jace turned for the door. Suddenly, she felt horrible for avoiding the princess for as long as she did. 

“You know,” she said softly, ignoring the pinched sensation in her gut, “I can stay, for a little bit.” 

Helaena’s entire aura brightened in an instant. “Really?” The young mother breathed. 

“Well, not for very long, Your Highness. I do have a lot of chores to get back to, but maybe just a little while?” She suggested. 

“Oh yes! Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Elyse. Thank you,” Helaena sighed. All the tension in the young mother’s slim shoulders melted with Elyse’s promises to stay. 

Elyse turned back to Jace, “Go ahead. If you can’t find Dyanna for a snack, just wait a minute and I’ll be back soon.” 

“Are you sure? I think Helaena might want some peace and quiet.” 

“Yeah, we’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” Elyse gave her friend a comforting smile. 

Jace looked back at Helaena once more with worry plastered on his face before releasing a long sigh and stepping into the hallway. “Then, until next time.” 

“Yes, next time.” Helaena nodded. 

“Bye.” Elyse waved after him. Waiting for him to descend the stairs, then turning around to give Helaena a big smile.  

It will only be for ten minutes or so. Ten minutes and she’ll be out that door and back in the safety of the kitchens, where Aemond never frequents anymore. Surely she can survive ten minutes, right? “Would you like me to hold her, Your Highness?” 

“You do not mind?” 

“Of course not. It’s my pleasure.” 

“Then,” Helaena smiled shyly and handed her daughter to Elyse’s waiting hands. Jaehaera was done wailing, thank god, but kept fussing and sniffling as Elyse adjusted her into a more comfortable position. 

“Hello there, little angel. I sang songs for your brother to calm him. Should I sing you a song too?” Elyse cooed. Then, in the same way that she sung for Jaehaerys, Elyse sang a few songs for Jaehaera -------- mainly ballads and love songs, like Here With Me by d4vd and Everybody Loves Somebody by Dean Martin. After four consecutive songs, Jaehaera finally fell silent and returned to sucking on her thumb. Good. Elyse’s throat was beginning to hurt. 

“You have the most beautiful songs,” the princess complimented. In the time that Elyse took Jaehaera, Helaena had migrated to the armchairs beside the windows, where she now sat with her hands folded.   

“Thank you, Your Highness.” She replied demurely while she cuddled Jaehaera to her chest. 

“But I have never heard such melodies. And the lyrics are so different from what the bards sing. Where did you learn these songs?” 

Oh boy, here we go again. Elyse cleared her throat, “I grew up around Pentos, Your Highness.” 

“Pentos? Really?” 

“Yes…” 

Helaena frowned, then shifted her gaze out the window, “Hmm. Pentos is too close. I thought further. Much further.” 

“Anyways,” Elyse hastily changed the subject before the princess could raise more questions, “this nursery is decorated wonderfully. Did you do the decorating yourself, Your Highness?” 

“Pentos is far too close,” Her question went unanswered as Helaena continued to murmur, “It really should be further than that.”

“Your Highness?” She tried again, “Did you decorate this nursery?” 

This time, Helaena answered, “No. Not me. My mother.” 

“The queen? Wow, Her Grace has amazing taste in decor.” It was shocking to learn that the Queen knew of colors outside of her signature green. 

“Powder blue is my mother’s favorite color,” Helaena replied as if she could read Elyse’s mind. “But she does not wear it anymore.” 

“Oh, I see. Then what about you, Your Highness? What’s your favorite color?” 

The princess blinked several times, flustered. From the way she fiddled with her sleeves so nervously, it was like no one else had bothered to ask her the question before. “Brown,” she finally whispered. 

“Brown, Your Highness?” 

“Yes, brown.” 

Huh. That’s certainly…interesting. Elyse expected blue. Or green. Definitely not brown. “Brown is a pretty color, Your Highness. I like brown, too. It reminds me of fall, which is my favorite season.” 

“Fall?” 

“Uh, right, autumn.” 

“Oh.” 

“Is that why you like brown, Your Highness?” Helaena shook her head and didn’t answer. Her silence signaled the end of that topic, so Elyse focused her attention back on the baby nuzzled in her embrace while Helaena continued to stare out the window. 

“You are a natural with children.” 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

“You have your own?” 

Elyse had to swallow her laughter. Just the idea itself was enough to make her want to cackle. Children? Her? Now? Please, that’s like the biggest cosmic joke possible. “No, Your Highness. I don’t have children of my own. But I did have cousins. Seventeen of them. And eight of them are younger than me, so I spent a lot of time around babies and toddlers growing up.” 

“Seventeen?” 

“Yes, Your Highness, seventeen.” 

The princess hummed in response. “Tell me about your cousins.” 

“Um, Your Highness?” Elyse stammered, “What do you want to know?” 

“Anything is fine.” The princess replied, twisting one silver curl in her fingers as she watched Elyse expectantly. With the sunlight hitting her at this angle, Helaena looked like a living, breathing Renaissance painting. 

The maid swallowed nervously, “I mean…I guess I’ll start from the top. There’s Dean, who’s sixteen-----” 

“Sixteen?” 

“Oh, right. Six and ten. He’s the oldest of us all. Huge troublemaker. Always causing headaches for his parents. But great heart and fiercely protective of the rest of us. Then after him is Laura, who is the most amazing dancer. Then there are the twins, Enzo and Antonio. To be honest, I can’t tell them apart. They love it though. It’s like their favorite prank to pull on the rest of the family. Laura’s brother Luis is next. He’s a huge soccer fanatic. Soccer is this ball game that we used to play all the time. But he calls it football because he’s a purist.” 

“What is a prank?” Helaena interjected.
“It’s like a joke you play on others,” Elyse explained. 

“Ah, like mischief.” 

“Yes, exactly. Very mischievous. After the twins, we have Vicky, who’s Luis and Laura’s step-sister. She’s so sweet. Super quiet, though, and Luis tends to pick on her a lot so I have to step in all the time and stand up for her. Roman is also a step-cousin. He’s baby Mona’s older brother and also a huge soccer fan so he gets along great with Luis.  After Vicky is Joseph, who’s Dean’s little brother. Joseph and I aren’t very close because he’s…” Actually, Joseph’s at boarding school on a wrestling scholarship, but Helaena would have no idea what that is. So Elyse took some creative liberty here, “...apprenticing with a blacksmith.” 

“Ah, I see.” 

“Yep, he’s going to be a, uh, real good blacksmith. Wait, I almost forgot Hannah. She’s older than Joseph and I. She wants to be a singer when she grows up. She’s really good, too. We always have her lead all the songs at family gatherings. Then it’s me. After me is another set of twins ------ Mario and Maria. But I don’t see them often because they and their little sister Brooke live very far away. Lorenzo just turned nine, but he follows Dean around like a little puppy. Most of the boys do, to be honest. After Lorenzo is Brooke, who I’ve mentioned. And then we have our ‘babies’, or the seven and unders. There’s Evie, Danny, whose’s Hannah’s little brother, and Gene. And lastly, baby Mona!” She finished with a triumphant grin. 

“That is certainly a large family,” Helaena giggled. 

“My father had four sisters and two brothers. They all got married around the same time and ended up having all their babies at the same time. Just chaos, honestly.” 

“But you sound so close to each other.”
“Yeah, we are. Other than Mario and Maria’s family and Joseph, who’s apprenticing, the rest of us live pretty close to one another. So we all grew up together. Dean is like the unofficial leader of our little clan. But if we let him get his way all the time, we’d all end up in trouble from all the mischief he and the twins like to pull. One time, he had the smart idea of dying our neighbor’s dogs.” 

“What does that mean, to dye one’s dog?” 

The recollection of that key childhood memory brought warmth to Elyse’s heart. She snuggled Jaehaera closer to her neck before taking a deep breath for the animated retelling of her sixth-grade summer,  “So what had happened was we were at our Grandma----- Grandmother’s house, and she had the grumpiest old man as a neighbor. Ugh, he hated us. Every time we went to visit, he’d scream at us for trampling his garden or breaking his fence or something. Half the time, it was true. And it was Dean and Luis’s fault. The other half of time…well, I mean I guess I can’t blame the man for thinking it was us. Anyways, so one time, he was really mad about something and he took his ranting to our Grandma. Just shouting and screaming at her to get her stupid grandkids in control and stuff. Now Dean took that horribly. He wanted to beat the man up and of course that was not an option.”
“Beat up?” Helaena tilted her head with a blank expression. 

“Uh…he wanted to fight him.” 

“He wanted to fight that old man?” 

“Like I said, Dean is a hotheaded mess.” 

Helaena shook her head with a chuckle, “I think I can relate to that. My brother Aemond can be rather hotheaded as well.” 

Boy was she right. 

“We couldn’t let him fight a man that was like, I don’t know, ten times his age? But he wasn’t going to let the matter go. And so, later, on that same night, Dean dragged us all out of bed and told us we were going to get even with the old man. That neighbor had two of the fluffiest, whitest little dogs I have ever seen. They actually looked like walking piles of snow. Then out of nowhere, Dean pulled two bottles of dye from his pockets, with the most evil, malicious grin on his face. And he said, and I quote, ‘We’re going to dye the damn dogs.” 

The princess gasped and leaned forward. Eyes sparking with anticipation as she asked, “Then? How did you do it?” 

“It was just crazy but -------” 

Slow, languid claps from behind halted Elyse in the middle of her sentence. Her smile faded immediately. 

Uh. Oh. 

“Well, well. What an…intriguing story,” Aemond drawled. Against her best judgment, Elyse turned her head towards the door, where Aemond stood. His lean, tall frame blocked the entryway completely, leaving no room for any hopes of escaping. Her eyes flitted down to the three daggers hanging on his belt and she gulped. 

“Brother!” Helaena stood to greet the prince, who halted her in her steps with one raised finger. Helaena frowned, “Is something wrong?’ 

Aemond’s eye had not left her form since she turned around. Nothing but icy rage simmered behind that one violet pupil. 

I’m doomed. So doomed. I’m not leaving this room alive. Stupid Elyse. Look at you. Wasting time to tell stories? You should have left with Jace. You should have never come. 

Well, maybe he’ll be merciful? 

Ha! Mercy? Don’t be delusional. Remember the training yard? He was willing to kill his blood-related nephew. Do you think you’d be any different?

“Aemond, what is the matter?” Helaena inquired again with a face of concern. 

After a long, drawn-out, painstakingly tense silence, Aemond finally unclenched his jaw and spit out, “So you thought, after approaching me and those baseborn mutts, that you would try your hand at weaseling your way into my sister’s favor? My sister? You audacious little rat. I should kill you with my bare hands.” 

Ah, shit. 

Chapter Text

“Aemond, what are you talking about?” Helaena’s voice was clouded with confusion. The princess glanced between her brother and Elyse, fretfully wringing her hands. 

“Ha! Do you not know?” Aemond barked. His sudden intrusion into the nursery caused the temperature to drop several degrees. Even the sunny skies outside the tall windows retreated behind a thick covering of storm clouds in the face of the Targaryen prince’s impending rage.  

“Know what?” the princess pressed. 

Her brother took one menacing step towards Elyse, who dared not move. Dared not even breathe. The murderous intent in his snarl hinted that one wrong move and those bejeweled daggers on his belt would be jammed into her throat -------- all three of them. In her arms, Jaehaera began to cry, squirming against her holder’s trembling hands as Elyse tried for her dear life to not drop the baby on her head. 

“You.” Aemond hissed with pure loathing carved into his sculpted face, “Is there anyone left in my family that you have not tried to covet favor with? Whoring yourself to my nephews was not enough, so you decided to cling to my sister? Have you no shame?” 

“Aemond!” Helaena gasped, “How could you say such horrid things?” 

The prince jabbed a finger in Elyse’s direction then glared at his sister, “Horrid? What is horrid is you letting a kitchen maid, for Gods' sake, hold your child! What are you thinking, Helaena? What if Mother hears of this?” 

At the mention of the Queen, Helaena paled. With one singular sentence, Aemond managed to sap the life right out of the silver-haired girl, who now hung her head like a criminal on trial. A small flare of defiance lit in Elyse’s heart. Why was he yelling at her? What did Helaena do wrong? Besides, no matter the reason, Helaena’s delicate disposition was well known around the Red Keep. Aemond, of all people, should know best to be gentle with his older sibling. 

“U-um…” 

Elyse wanted to ride the wave of foolhardy bravery she mustered up and clear the air, but then Aemond snapped his gaze onto her, and that reckless notion withered away immediately.  Under his intimidating aura, it took every ounce of Elyse’s willpower not to crumble like a sandcastle under a strong wave. 

God, she was such an idiot. All his little jabs and sneers from before were child’s play compared to his current state. Now Elyse knew that Aemond was never actually angry with her up till this moment. Annoyed, definitely. Maybe off-put or irritated. But nothing could compare to the sheer anger radiating off his form as he approached, step by step, like a tiger cornering its prey. 

“Go on, defend yourself,” Aemond sneered. She blinked away the tears dancing in the corners of her eyes. “Nothing to say? Use that silver tongue of yours that managed to gain my sister’s favor. Let us hear how you attempt to weasel your way out of this debacle.” 

“I…I…” 

“Speak up.” 

“Y-Your Highness I----” 

“ Speak up. ” 

Her breaths grew erratic as Aemond continued his prowl towards her. Out of pure terror, Elyse blurted out, “I d-don’t have any bad intentions towards Her Highness I-I only helped her o-once and -------ow!” 

Without warning, Aemond wrenched his niece out of the maid’s arms, scratching the back of Elyse’s hand in the process. Jaehaera’s screams triggered Helaena’s maternal instincts and the princess went into autopilot, flinging herself at her brother to rescue the baby.

“Stop it, Aemond! Stop this now! You are scaring Jaehaera!” Helaena wailed. On cue, Jaehaera let out an ear-splitting screech. 

The prince scoffed, shoving the baby into her mother’s embrace, and ordered, “Step back, sister. This is none of your concern.” 

Helaena, with her daughter clutched desperately to her bosom, obliged. She collapsed onto her armchair and wept into Jaehaera’s curly silver locks. As she watched the tears slide off the princess’s cheeks and fall onto the baby’s head, Elyse couldn’t begin to describe how guilty she felt for getting Helaena into this situation. Something told her that the siblings didn’t fight like this often, if ever. And if the situation wasn’t so catastrophically bad for her, Elyse would step in and demand Aemond to apologize to Helaena immediately. But, well, her head could roll any minute now so maybe she’s not in the best position to be making any demands. 

“Now, you . Listen carefully,” Aemond seethed, closing in until there was less than a foot of space between them. Tall and threatening, the older boy towered over her as she stumbled backward to escape. But Aemond did not give her the chance. His hand shot out and snatched her elbow in his vice-like grip to hold her in place while the other seized her chin and tilted her face towards his. In a low, vicious voice, the prince hissed, “Your relationship with those baseborn mutts, I could care less about. Befriend them. Climb into their beds. It does not concern me in the slightest. But my sister? You will never come within her sights again.” 

Elyse tried, very unsuccessfully, to turn her head away from his accusing stare, but the prince just tightened his hold and pulled her back in. 

“You will not ever enter these quarters again. You will never speak to Helaena again. And as for me?” Aemond laughed humorlessly, “If I ever see you again, I will personally feed you to my dragon as an afternoon snack. Do you understand me?” 

She didn’t respond. 

“I said, do you understand?” 

Elyse’s heart was hammering as she finally pried open her mouth and whispered, “Y-yes.” 

One minute, Aemond had her in his clutches. The next, she had tumbled onto the floor, landing butt-first as she held back the anxious tears that were begging to escape. Aemond rolled his wrist while looking down at her with something that resembled disgust or contempt. Maybe both. In an even voice, the prince commanded, “Go. Get out of here. Now.” 

Oh, she will. As soon as the feeling returns to her jello-like legs. Though crawling out of here doesn’t sound too bad either. Aemond had already taken the last shreds of her dignity and pride and used it to sweep the floors anyway. Thank god, after a few seconds, Elyse managed to climb back to her feet. 

Her eyes drifted to Helaena, who was ------- at this point, frantically mumbling something under her breath as she hugged her daughter, and felt nothing but sympathy for the poor, delirious princess. With family like this, she couldn’t blame the princess for all her…quirks. 

“What are you waiting for, go !” Aemond snapped, causing her to jump. Then, with one final look at both the princess and her brother, Elyse walked out with her chin tucked and eyes lowered. 

The whole way back to the kitchens, she held her tears back. Not because she cared about what any of the entitled, pompous nobles and their wards would think of seeing her with snot all over her face, but because she was still in shock. Complete, utter shock. 

She thought he was a good person. A kind person. Now, all she could think was that Aemond Targaryen was the most terrifying person she had ever met and that all his future lore made perfect sense, considering his dangerous temperament. But most of all, Elyse just blamed herself. For her stupidity. For getting herself involved with him in the first place. For wanting to be friends with him -------- god, how blind was she? 

When she stumbled through the kitchen doors, the entire kitchen crew was in full swing. Everyone was slaving over a hot stove or laboring over the prep work for lunch. From the looks of it, one of the royals had requested a full roast suckling pig ------- an interesting, yet highly inconvenient choice to prepare.

Amidst the blazing hot chaos stood Marscha, who was red-faced and shouting with her wooden spoon in one hand. The head cook took notice of Elyse trailing in and demanded, “Where have ye been? How long does it take fer ye to pick berries? Oi! Where ye going?” 

Elyse wandered deeper into the kitchen, numb to Marscha’s scolding and the pandemonium in her surroundings, and found herself opening the door to step inside the dark, cool pantry. She nestled herself between the large sacks of grains on the floor, placed her head on her knees, and took a long breath. The last threads of willpower that held her composure together on the walk back from Maegor’s Holdfast dissipated, and she felt nothing but…exhaustion. All this drama had drained her to the bones. 

“And just what do ye think ye doin’ in here, ye crazy lass?” Marscha yanked open the pantry door, polluting the cool, crisp air with the sweltering kitchen heat. She squeezed through the supply stash of root vegetables and cured meats as she made her way to where Elyse was huddled in the very back. “Ugh, me back and knees are going to hurt like hell tonight,” grumbled the older woman before settling into a squat, “now, why have ye hidden away in the pantry like a mouse lookin’ fer cheese?” 

Elyse raised her watery eyes to stare at Marscha, whose face carried more concern than annoyance as she adjusted Elyse’s lopsided cap with a motherly touch. “Marscha….” she mumbled. 

“Come on now, speak up! Don’t have all day, and where are ye baskets?” 

Oh, shoot. Her baskets. They’re still sitting where she left them by the door in the nursery. Well, that's a lost cause. 

Marscha’s voice softened as she rested her hand on Elyse’s elbow, “What happened, lass? If ye can’t fix it yerself. Tell this old cook and we’ll figure it out together.” 

She was so sick of crying. So sick of it. But in the face of Marscha’s genuine support, the tears plopped onto her sleeves in big, fat drops as she sobbed, “I messed up, Marscha. It’s all my fault. I didn’t listen to you a-and I made a f-fool o-out of myself and h-he was so m-mean to me ----------” 

“Who? Who was it?” The cook questioned. “One of the stable boys?” 

Elyse shook her head.
“The smithy’s boy? Can’t be. Gentle as a lamb, that one.” 

“N-no it was…I d-didn’t listen t-to you, and I r-ran into…” 

“Seven hells,” Marscha grumbled. “Alright, enough said. Which one was it, the older one or the one with a permanent scowl?” 

She wiped away her snot with her sleeve, face blotchy and red from all the crying, and meekly whispered, “The second one.” 

“And what did he say to you?” 

“H-he told me that if he ever saw me again, he’ll feed me to his d-dragon as an a-afternoon snack.” Even now, her lips trembled as she recalled the prince’s snarling face when he made that threat. 

“Dragon, huh? No surprise there,” Marscha muttered, “ye’d think the dragon was his own mother, the way he treats it.  At least he didn’t execute ye on the spot. Well, then ye know what ye need to do then, right? Stay away from him. Far away.”

“I know.” 

 “He’s not someone to trifle with, ye understand me? Lay low for a good few moons until he fergets about ye. Keep to yer room and the kitchens, don’t wander about like you usually do.” 

Elyse bit her bottom lip, mumbling, “Marscha, I’m sorry for causing a mess. I should have listened to you when you told me to stay away the first time.” 

Marscha harrumphed, “Yer young. They never listen when they’re young. Now, go clean yer face up, eat something quick, and join the dishwashing line. Dyanna’s out visiting her brother and we’re shorthanded.” 

“Ok,” she sniffed. Wiping away the tears on her chin, Elyse helped the head cook to her feet, who was grumbling and groaning about her aching joints, and murmured, “Thank you, Marscha. Again, I’m sorry for being stupid.” 

“Yes, yes.”  the elderly woman patted her shoulder comfortingly, “We take care of our own here in the kitchens, don’t ye worry. Now, go treat that hand of yers. We’ve got work to do. Lord Borros Baratheon requested a whole roast suckling pig for the mid-day meal. Why he’d want to eat one of his own kind, I’ll never know.” 

“Borros Baratheon? Who’s that?” 

“Another slovenly lord to serve.” 

“Ah,” Elyse giggled. When she reemerged from the pantry, she felt just a tad better than before. Like Marscha said, what else could she do at this point but stay away from Aemond? Soon, hopefully, it’ll all blow over and he’ll forget all about her. She’ll be as quiet and unnoticeable as a ghost in the next months and that’s that. 

Yep. Quiet as a ghost. That’s the way to go. 

*******************

When Aemond went to visit Helaena a few days later, he was stopped at the door. Perplexed, he questioned Helaena’s ladies why his sister refused to see him, to which one of the women said, “She ordered us to relay that she is not pleased with you, Your Highness.”

Huh? 

Aemond blinked, stunned beyond belief. 

Helaena. His sweet sister, who always had moments to spare for him. Who was his confidante and only support in a family that manipulated each other like pieces on a cyvasse board. Who had never raised her temper with him --------- not once, ever. This gentle, kind Helaena was displeased with him? Whatever for? Tongue-tied, Aemond begrudgingly obliged with his sister’s wishes and returned to his room for the day. 

He tried again the next day. Nothing. Then the next day -------- turned away without so much as a word on both. By the fourth day, Aemond’s patience thinned dangerously. 

“Why will she not see me?” He demanded, cornering the same lady with corn-colored hair who refused him the first time. 

“I-I do not know, Your Highness. The princess instructed to send you away, should you ever come. I am only following orders, my prince,” the lady squeaked. Unable to make sense of his sister’s continuous rebuke, Aemond glowered at the lady, then stalked off feeling quite sorry for himself. 

Three additional failed attempts later, Aemond started losing his mind. It did not help that Aegon found the whole situation to be hilarious, and took to teasing Aemond profusely for falling out of favor with their dear sister. Has he truly fallen so low that even Aegon thought it appropriate to mock him? This must stop, and it must stop now. 

So the following day, Aemond abandoned his usual training and snuck into the royal nursery right after breakfast. He hid in the blind corner beside the door and felt rather pathetic for needing to take such drastic action as he waited for his sister to make her daily appearance. Sure enough, Helaena breezed in with two cricket cages in her hands right before the mid-day meal, humming a tune as she set the cages down on the heavy oak table.  

Four long strides were all it took for him to get to the door, close it, and latch the lock before the princess could react. Aemond turned around and faced Helaena, who was blankly staring at him, and grumbled, “Well? Do you have anything to say to me?” But Helaena just sighed, turned around, and wandered over to the cribs instead. “What?” the prince protested, trailing after his sister, “Helaena, what have I done to deserve your scorn? You have been avoiding me for days now! At least explain the reasons behind your anger.” 

Helaena did not reply. Instead, she gave her attention to baby Jaehaerys, who she gathered into her arms and showered with kisses. Aemond had little choice but to wait, bewildered, while Helaena whispered affectionate words into her son’s ear --------- a stark contrast to her behavior right after giving birth, when she would not even look at her babies. No one knew why she would twist her head away every time the midwife offered for her to hold her twins. They all watched, helpless, as she lay in bed for several moons afterward, staring into the ceiling with lifeless eyes. For a moment, Aemond was petrified that he had lost his sister forever. But Thank the Sevens. Because somehow, the princess made a turn for the better. Just recently.  Their mother shed tears of joy when her ladies brought news that her daughter was finally bonding with her children and returning to her normal activities. 

No one knew what brought about the change. 

Now, Helaena pulled away from her baby and tossed a piercing stare in his direction. Then, in a flat, cold voice, she said, “You were cruel.” 

“Cruel?” Aemond repeated, stunned. 

“Yes, cruel. Cruel and needlessly rude.” Helaena responded with contempt in her features. 

“To you? When?” 

“No, not to me. To Elyse, days ago. And now she will not respond to my invitations.” 

Unbelievable. This must be a joke. Aemond swallowed the torrent of retorts he wanted to hurl at his sister, then answered with a strained voice, “Helaena, please do not tell me that your unending reproach is because of a kitchen girl .” 

“She is not just a kitchen girl, dear brother. She is my friend.” 

“Friend?” Aemond bit back a disbelieving laugh, “You barely know the girl!” To which Helaena just sighed. Exasperated, Aemond pinched his nose bridge and resisted the urge to reach out and shake some sense into his sister. “Trust me, sister, her intentions are not pure. You do not know the improper behaviors she has shown in my presence. One can only guess as to why she had chosen to target you as well.” 

Helaena nestled Jaehaerys back into his crib and picked up his sister as she answered, “Everything you just said was conjecture, not truth. You do not know of the kindness she has shown me, Aemond. She would be a true friend to me. A loyal one.” 

“You have five ladies ready to wait on you from head to toe. Five! Their sole purpose is to serve you and be your companions, yet you choose a scullery maid?” The prince scoffed, “Are you aware of the rumours and detriment that this ‘friendship’ would bring to your reputation?” 

“Five ladies, yes. Yet none are here for me.” Helaena spat. Her normally serene face twisted with bitterness as she walked past and settled onto the cream-colored chaise. “Do you also take me for a fool? You know they are mere puppets, here to keep an eye on me by Mother’s bidding. They are not here to serve me. They laugh at me, Aemond. Behind my back. Pretending to sympathize with me while labeling me as poor, mad Helaena.” 

“If that is true, and they dare spew such preposterous nonsense, I will silence them for you,” Aemond vowed. To his utter shock, Helaena burst out laughing. Speechless, the prince propped his hands on his hips. White, hot anger brewing beneath the surface of his marble skin as he demanded, “Why do you laugh? Do you think I would not maim their simpering faces with my bare hands if they dare disrespect you?” 

“Of course, I believe you, but I do not condone violence.” 

“We are Targaryens! Fire and Blood are our words. Violence is in our blood.” 

Suddenly, Helaena snapped her head up to meet his gaze, warning, “Careful, brother. They may be our words, but they are dangerous words.” 

“Dangerous?” Aemond jeered, “What possible danger could come to us? Targaryens are closer to gods than men, it is known. Who dares to harm a god?” 

“Gods, perhaps. Yet gods fall. And like gods, we shall fall…” Two heartbeats were all it took for Helaena’s face to cloud over. Aemond stifled an exasperated groan as his sister’s clear blue eyes turned hazy. “ ...Fall, fall, falling. Proud and tall but Gods see all. Four falls, three falls, the final fall seals fates for green and blacks all.” 

He knew better than to try and bother Helaena during one of her…episodes, so Aemond collapsed into the armchair beside her chaise, folded his hands, and tried his damn best to patiently wait for Helaena’s senseless rambles to die out. 

“ Fall, fall, falling. Proud and tall but Gods see all. Four falls, three falls, two falls, one. The final fall seal fates for green and blacks all. Fall, fall…” The princess repeated herself thrice before the haze finally lifted, and Aemond had his sister back. Helaena patted Jaehaera’s back gently and frowned, “We will all fall, Aemond. I will fall.” 

Seeing his sister plagued by her own mind always tore into Aemond’s heart. He hated seeing her with that look of absolute despair on her face --------- the one she had when he lost his eye, when she married Aegon, and when she had her babies. After an eternity of sitting in strained silence, Aemond leaned back against the armchair and threw up his hands in surrender. There was a desperation in his voice when he finally gave in and grunted, “Then, how do you want me to fix this?” 

Helaena brightened, slightly, “Then, an apology.” 

“Fine, I am sincerely------” 

“Not to me.” Helaena interrupted. The young mother turned to meet her brother’s stony stare, unabashed. “To Elyse. And Jaehaera.” 

“Helaena, you cannot be serious,” Aemond finally answered through clenched teeth. 

“I am, brother. I am serious.” 

Neither Targaryen sibling looked away. Neither backed down. Veins bulged on the prince’s forehead, jaw, and neck, threatening to burst open any minute as he sprung to his feet and roared, “You want me to apologize to a servant ? Preposterous, out of the question !” What would be left of his honor and pride as a Targaryen after cowering to a peasant? 

His sister pressed her cheek to her daughter’s cheek with a long tired sigh. With one hand on Jaehaera’s back as she used the other to delicately caress the baby’s silver curls, Helaena responded, “Yes, I want you to apologize. I want you to do whatever it takes to help me salvage this friendship.” When she met his eye again, Helaena appeared much older and sadder. “I need her,” his sister said softly, “She is kind, Aemond. So kind. And I need more kindness near me.” 

Aemond avoided her gaze, jaw clamped painfully tight while he fidgeted with the daggers on his belt. He hated that it was true. Helaena’s misery was plain to see to anyone who bothered to pay attention. Most of it stemmed from her sham of a marriage. Every time he saw Aegon abuse and mistreat their fragile sister like she was an unwanted toy, Aemond’s blood boiled. He does not know who he resented more------ his brother, for being a drunkard and a whore, or his mother, who willed the marriage into existence while knowing Helaena would have been much happier with him. Or even his bastard nephew, Jacaerys. Gods. A bastard would have treated Helaena better than his twat of an older brother. 

“Fine,” Aemond finally gave in with a rueful shake of his head. Honor and pride be damned. He would walk through dragonfire to see Helaena smile once. What was one meager apology? “I will find her and apologize.” 

“And to Jaehaera?” 

“Of course, that apology is deserved without question. Turn her towards me.” He knelt beside the young mother, who twisted the baby to face her qybor (uncle), and poked the little girl on her nose, “I am very sorry for scaring you, Jaehaera. When you are older, I will teach you how to fly your dragon as reparations.” He raised his eye to Helaena, “Is that sufficient?” 

Helaena smiled-------- a breathless sight, then leaned over to brush a feathery kiss onto Aemond’s brow. “You are my favorite brother, did you know that?” 

“I should hope so,” he grumbled as he rose to leave.

“Be genuine in your apology,” The princess reminded, “And patient! I look forward to hearing about it later.” Aemond just murmured words of displeasure under his breath while he shuffled out of the nursery and headed down towards the kitchens in search of Elyse. 

Fine. He will apologize. But let it be known that this humiliation was forced upon him. 

Aemond tunneled into the kitchens, aware of the alarmed looks cast his way by the cooks, and scanned the room for the familiar hazel eyes. They were nowhere to be found. He stomped to another scullery maid and snarled, “Where is that girl named Elyse?” 

“E-Elyse?” The maid stammered with her hands stuck in a mountain of dough, “I think s-she’s on an e-errand, Your Highness.” 

“When will she be back?” he demanded.
“I am not sure, Your Highness.” 

Aemond grunted, unsatisfied with the maid’s answer, though there was nothing he could do. Fine, he will come later then. Surely Helaena could wait a day or two? Without another word, Aemond spun on his heels and stalked away, noting to himself to come back tomorrow and finish this damn thing.

Chapter Text

x

Aemond:

The gods must find joy in his misery. This must be some form of unusual divine punishment. There was no other explanation as to why when Aemond needed to find her, that dratted kitchen girl had disappeared into thin air. 

Two weeks. 

Two weeks have passed since his conversation with Helaena. For two weeks, Aemond had been trying ------- and failing, to track down Elyse to make his apology. And yet, for two weeks, the sly girl had stayed out of his reach. 

How. How was she doing this? When he wanted nothing to do with her, she was everywhere—prancing around with her little basket. Darting here and there with his damn nephews wrapped around her pinky--------- not that he was surprised by their lack of etiquette. They took after their mother, after all. Yet now, when he needed to converse with her, she was nowhere to be found. 

Another day, another instance of Aemond storming into the kitchens. He stood by the doorway and scanned the premises for one hazel-eyed girl. Nothing. The cooks and scullery maids greeted him politely as he searched around, but the glances they shared behind his back irked him like no other. 

They must think me mad. He thought to himself. The vein in his forehead bulged when he spotted another curious glance his way. Could he blame them, though? Every other day of the past two weeks, he had been in here, inquiring after a lost cause. To make matters worse, Aemond could not bring himself to order the guards to search in his place either. Because whatever would happen to his pride should court gossip hear of his feud with a scullery maid? If it were not for Helaena, who was still awaiting the ‘good news’, he would have dropped the matter entirely by now. Alas, Aemond could not stand being the object of his sister’s ire, so here he was, continuing to contribute to his own humiliation.  

“You there,” he scowled towards a particularly rotund cook, “where is Elyse?” 

“U-uh,” the cook’s eyes darted around, “I think she’s on an errand, Your Highness.” 

“Another?” Aemond snapped. “How is it that whenever I come searching, she is always on an errand?” 

Doing nothing to aid him in locating his target, the cook stammered an apology, only adding fuel to the pooling vat of fiery anger simmering in Aemond’s mind. He closed his eyes, counted to five to prevent himself from strangling the clumsy, sweaty man, then stomped away to find another servant to harass, though he knew it would be no use. They all had the same excuses lined up, day after day. 

“Is she not here, Your Highness? Oh, then perhaps she’s on an errand?” 

“I think the head cook sent her to gather the mid-day dishes in the Holdfast, Your Highness.” 

“I heard she was ill with a stomach ache, Your Highness.” 

“Marscha sent her to the henhouse, Your Highness.” 

Excuses. Excuses upon excuses upon excuses. He should execute them all for the crime of lying to a royal. But then he would have to explain what lies were told, and once again, this shameful ordeal would come to light. What a terrible corner he has backed himself into. 

What was the most frustrating, perhaps, was this gnawing feeling that he had just missed her, every time. That she was within his grasp and somehow managed to wriggle her way out like a worm. Just two days ago, he was sure he had seen a pair of keen, honey-hued eyes watching him from somewhere. But when he rushed over, there was no one there. Was he truly going mad? Or losing sight in his one good eye? 

By the sweltering hot oven, the head cook’s shouts caught Aemond’s attention. The elderly woman with peppered hair and apple-red cheeks was barking orders at her staff, waving a wooden spoon like a great sword. When he approached, the head cook nodded in his direction and said crisply, “How may I help ye, Yer Highness?” 

“Same issue as before.” Aemond sniped back, “Where’s your kitchen girl named Elyse?” 

The woman sighed and crossed her arms, “I sent her to the smithy to pick up some pots that needed fixing. Won’t be back fer a while, Yer Highness.” 

Aemond held back his scoff. Right. The smithy’s . They thought him stupid enough to embark on another wild goose chase, it seems. “Right, and what about tomorrow? Will she be in the henhouse, or out feeding the pigs?” He asked with bite in his tone, “When exactly will your kitchen help be back in the kitchens ?” 

She shrugged, “I’m sorry, Yer Highness. Busy times of recent, with Prince Jacaerys’s name-day banquet coming up soon. We’re shorthanded, so my girls are doing double the chores recently.” 

“If the kitchens are shorthanded, then hire more servants!” 

“Right…we will do just that, Yer Highness.” Oh, he hated the look that the head cook shot him. It was the look the maesters gave Aegon during their childhood when his brother could not answer a single question with real intellect. Aemond was not used to being on the receiving end of this particular look.

“Yes, well, if you see her, you would do good to tell her to find me immediately.” 

“I certainly will, Yer Highness.” 

“Be sure to do so,” Aemond ordered. A weak course of action, yet what else could he do? The weathered old cook’s lips were sealed tighter than the vaults in the Iron Bank, and he was not cold-hearted enough to use physical force on such an elderly woman who had been cooking his meals for as long as he could remember. 

 Reluctant and empty-handed, Aemond turned around and shuffled out of the kitchens in a terrible mood that could only be relieved by several hours of hacking at a practice dummy in the training yard or a ride with Vhagar. Rest assured, he will be back. 

Elyse: 

“Ye can come out now,” Marscha’s muffled voice prompted from outside the pantry. On her cue, Elyse peeked through the door, scanned the entire kitchen three times, then let out the breath she held this whole time and stepped out. The head cook eyed her and noted, “He’s stubborn, don’t ye think?” 

“I know,” The younger girl grumbled while rolling her sleeves. Every day or two, Aemond Targaryen would come barreling in here to search for her. If it weren’t for the cooperation of the entire kitchen staff, Elyse would have been caught already. Fortunately, as Marscha said, the kitchens took care of their own. For a price, of course. In this instance, it was pushing all of the heaviest, grimiest chores onto Elyse for the rest of the month ------- a small price to pay, in her opinion. 

“When will he stop looking for you?” Jonah, the plump cook with bushy brows and a missing tooth, handed her another blackened pot to be scoured. His face was drenched in anxious sweat from Aemond’s intensive questioning as he whined, “I don’t know how much more I can stand his presence here. The prince gives me nightmares.” 

“I know, I’m so sorry Jonah,” Elyse answered with sincerity, “but I think he’ll give up soon. And I’ll make you another batch of cookies as thanks.” 

Jonah brightened, “Cookies? Yes, I would like some cookies.” 

“And what about the rest of us?” Maisy, one of the other scullery maids, called out. “No sweets for us? We’re helping ye out too!” 

“I will make sweets for everyone once I get through my huge pile of chores, I promise!” Elyse laughed. Maisy grinned back and returned to cutting carrots. 

“But it is concerning how he continues to search for you.” Dyanna popped over with an armful of clean dishes, “What do you think he wants?” 

“No idea and I don’t plan to find out,” Elyse sighed. She dragged the growing pile of greasy pots and pans to the washing basin with a labored grunt, “I wish he’d stop already. He was the one who told me that he never wanted to see my face again, and now he’s the one looking for me. Like, make it make sense? Ugh, I have migraines from all the stress, I swear.” 

“Sounds like someone’s caught the attention of the handsome, cold-hearted Targaryen prince,” her roommate teased. “However did you do it?” 

“Yes, we are all very intrigued to hear that story,” Maisy added as she passed. 

“Please, both of you, don’t even start,” Elyse made a gagging motion. “I’d rather swallow slugs than entertain that thought.” 

“But he is so dreamy, isn’t he?” Maisy’s roommate, Ellyn, leaned her head onto her broom and stared into the distance with moony eyes, “He’s so tall and commanding. I wish someone that handsome would come looking for me every day.” 

Dyanna and Elyse exchanged amused looks. Ellyn was slightly boy-crazy, to say the least. She had all the gossip on every knight, squire, guard, you name it. Thanks to her, all the kitchen girls knew about Ser Clarence’s preferences for…male companionship, Ser Arryk’s love for anything with oranges, and Ser Criston Cole’s hatred for any beverage other than plain water (ugh, ew Criston Cole.) 

“Right…anyways, how was Jory?” Elyse changed the subject, referring to Dyanna’s visit into King’s Landing the day before. Instantly, her roommate’s shoulders slumped forward. “What, what happened? Is he ok?” 

“Well…not really, I suppose. He’s devastated. Yazeel ran away a few days ago.” 

“Ran away?” Elyse questioned with a frown. 

“Yes. It’s common for orphans like us. But he was one of Jory’s closest friends, and Jory is rather upset that he left without a word.” 

“Are you sure he ran away? What if someone, like, kidnapped him or something?” 

Dyanna shrugged, “It is a possibility, but it’s so commonplace for orphans to run off and join thieving gangs or something of the sort. Most likely, Yazeel did the same. When I lived in the orphanage, a handful of my friends left too. But I at least had a chance to say goodbye. Jory didn’t.” 

“Aww…the poor kid, he must be so upset. Hey, I’ll visit soon and bring him sweets. Maybe play some soccer too. Hopefully, that’ll distract him for a few days.” 

Dyanna shot her a grateful smile, “Thanks, Elyse. You don’t have to go so far, you know.” 

“But I want to,” Elyse smiled back. “Being around so many kids reminds me of my family back home, so it’s no biggie.” 

“It would be nice for you to visit again….but first, you’ll have to find a way to get the dashing One-Eyed Prince to forget about you.” Her red-headed friend winked playfully and hurried away before Elyse could chuck her dirty dish brush at her head.

“Ha ha, so funny.” She rolled her eyes and returned to her scrubbing, dreading the next time Aemond came to disturb her day. 

Aemond: 

He was on his last nerve. His very last nerve. By now, Aemond had frequented the kitchens over twenty times only to be slighted by one inconsequential scullery maid on every occasion. Such defiance had never been practiced by any servant in the Red Keep. He was positive that Elyse was avoiding him purposefully, and it was driving him insane. He had made himself clear to the kitchen staff, right? To inform her that it was of utmost importance that he spoke with her? So was it the kitchen staff not relaying his message, or was she willfully ignoring him? 

Whatever the reason, it did not matter. That sneaky, spiteful girl will be found, one way or another. And if it meant he needed to come in three times a day and abandon all other duties to hunt her down, then so be it . 

Elyse: 

That stupid annoying pompous entitled jerk of a freaking prince was grinding on her very last nerve and she wanted nothing more but to literally kick him in the face or throw a shoe at him or something.

Sigh.  

Three times a day? Really? REALLY? 

Her fellow kitchen staff were running out of excuses and Elyse had exhausted every possible place to hide -------- under the counters, in the pantries, in a freaking empty barrel. Just this morning, he popped up out of nowhere and Elyse sprinted out the back door like a track star, diving into the pig pen to hide. Only she slipped and landed face-first in the mudpiles. Yeah. Real graceful. 

Marscha sent her back to her room to clean up, but not before the entire kitchen stood and roared with laughter for a good few minutes. She would have been mortified if she wasn’t boiling with rage. 

Why. Won’t. He. Leave. Her. Alone.  

On one hand, Elyse was slightly relieved that he hadn’t employed his posse of guards, because there was no way she’d be able to hide from all of them. On the other, she was also petrified to the bone that Aemond wanted to personally inflict punishment on her. Maybe roast her on a spit or something. Who knows what kind of methods these weirdo royals employed to torture people. 

Either way, she can't hold out for much longer. Both Jace and Luke were beyond confused as to why she had informed them not to come to the kitchens anymore (Elyse was paranoid that if Aemond saw them, they would hack away at each other with all the pointy kitchen tools). Plus, she had things she needed to do. Chores. Work. All of which had to be abandoned whenever he came in to disturb the peace. Not everyone had the luxury to wander around their massive castles with perfect hair and expensive clothes.

“Stupid…entitled… jerk !” She growled, scrubbing the caked mud off her uniform with vigor. By the time her red servant’s dress was washed three times over, the water in her basin was a disgusting shade of murky brown --------- symbolic of her recent foul mood. Elyse dressed in her spare uniform, pleated her damp hair, and neatly pinned it into her cap before heading out of her room. 

Hopefully, I can get some work done before His Royal Nuisance comes waltzing in again to make my life more difficult again. Elyse thought grumpily while fidgeting with her cap. Tonight’s dinner was lamprey pie, and that meant Elyse was in charge of cleaning and prepping all the slimy, yucky lampreys. One of the worst chores to be tasked with, in everyone’s opinion. 

Her mind had wandered for one second. Just one second, yet it was her fatal mistake. For when she rounded the corner leading to her destination, there he was. 

Oh my god. 

The little tune she was humming softly died out as Elyse halted in her tracks, looking like a deer in headlights. Her eyes were fixed directly ahead, where Aemond stood at the opposite end of the hallway, looking just as astounded as she did. 

She saw him. 

And he saw her. 

Facing the person she’d been avoiding like the plague for the past weeks, with her heart racing a hundred miles an hour, Elyse didn’t have the brain capacity to logically deduce what was the best action. So her instincts took over and urged her to do what felt most natural at that moment. 

She ran. 

Aemond: 

Aemond watched, aghast, as Elyse turned around and darted down the connecting corridor, quick as a Dornish viper. “Why you little ------ STOP! I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!” shouted the prince, who tunneled down the passageway and gave chase with a frustrated groan. 

The audacity of this baseborn, peasant maid was confounding to him. She did not truly think she could outrun him, did she? He was Aemond Targaryen, for Sevens’ sake! A promising warrior comparable to the Rogue Prince himself! 

“You dare to run?” Aemond roared after Elyse, who was flying up the spiraling stairs at an alarming speed. His words went completely ignored. “I demand that you halt!” 

Though furious at her refusal to comply, Aemond was begrudged to admit that for someone with such small stature, she was astonishingly fast. But not fast enough. Within minutes, he was on her heels, ready to capture her at last. When Elyse made the wrong turn into a dead-end hallway, which held the only door to the royal library, Aemond felt victory shine down upon him like rays of warm sunlight. He smirked as he turned the corner and saw the library door ajar. 

Finally, finally, she had nowhere left to run. 

Slowly, at almost a leisurely pace, Aemond followed after her into the library, locked the door behind him, and began the search for her within the aisles. Prowling through the rows of bookshelves containing ancient Valyrian texts and centuries of knowledge, he checked every corner of the library for his prey. Yet, he did not spot her in the politics and old Valryrian law section, nor by the extensive collection of botany and medicine books shelved in the very back. Finally, out of the corner of his eye, the prince spied a tell-tale red hem under the writing table beside the fireplace. 

Found her. 

Aemond prowled around the armchairs and settled himself against the table's edge. “Are you comfortable down there?” he drawled, smug and assured. 

No response. 

“I can see the hem of your dress, you know.” Aemond leaned his palms against the table, “Tell me, why have you chosen a table as your hiding spot? Do all smallfolk prefer small, dark places to hide? Quite the resemblance you share with the common rat, if so.” 

Not even a peep from the girl under the table. Aemond felt his patience wearing thin, so he threatened, “You should do well to answer me while I am still choosing civility.” 

A short pause, then, “Um, I’m avoiding you, Your Highness?” said the girl in a wavering voice. 

“Yes, I can sense that,” Aemond snapped, “but are you not aware that I have been searching for you all this time?” Once again, no response. 

Damn it all. He had no time to entertain this pathetic show of futile resistance. In one swift motion, Aemond leaned over, grabbed hold of her ankles, and dragged Elyse out with considerable force. The kitchen maid squeaked when his hands gripped onto her ankles, but otherwise remained silent and meek while Aemond glared down at her. “Answer me! Why were you avoiding me?” 

Elyse swallowed. Eyes wider than saucers blinked up at him innocently while she chewed her lip for several seconds before answering, “B-because…you told me to, Your Highness?” 

The prince opened and closed his mouth, stumped by her response, then retorted, “While that is true, I also clearly needed to speak with you. There was an important matter to be addressed.” 

“The…uh, the matter of feeding me to your dragon, Your Highness?” 

“Wha-----no! That was------no! Damn it, just stand up first, would you?” He took several steps back to give Elyse the space she needed to pick herself off the floor. The maid looked rather disheveled with her lopsided cap and rumpled uniform. She kept her gaze on her clasped hands as Aemond paced the floor. Between them hung an awkward tension that Aemond was unsure how to diffuse. 

“S-so…what did you need me for, Your Highness?” Elyse asked tentatively. 

“Right,” Aemond cleared his throat. “I needed to speak to you because…because…” The words were lodged in his throat. He glared at the stack of leather-bound books by the table, hating everything about this entire situation. 

Just say it. Say it and be done. 

“...I must apologize for my past actions.” The prince tossed a fleeting glance at Elyse, who stood against the table and watched him with a face full of confusion. “And Helaena hopes that you will visit her. That was all,” he added. 

An eternity of uncomfortable, tense silence ensued as Elyse shifted from one foot to another. Finally, the maid opened her mouth and said, “Ah. Ok, thank you, Your Highness.” 

Aemond frowned. “Thank you”. That was it? He did not expect her to burst into tears of gratitude or such, but surely a more dramatic reaction could have occurred? The prince folded his arms and tilted his chin upwards arrogantly, “Ah? That is all you have to say?” 

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you for taking the time to apologize.” Elyse replied, an image of calm. 

“But your face hints that you have much to say,” Aemond pressed. A spark of irritation caught flame in those clear hazel pupils, which urged the prince to further his amused interrogation. There was no harm in teasing her a little. She did give him such trouble in the past weeks, after all. “Surely you must be carrying some form of resentment. Perhaps hatred?” 

“Of course not,” Elyse answered. There was a hardness in her voice that reached her eyes, “How would I dare to resent you, Your Highness.” 

“Such lies.” Aemond smirked, tapping his finger against his upper arm, “Though it is true that it would highly improper for someone lowborn as yourself to have such sentiments towards the royal family, I shall permit you to air out your grievances towards me. Such opportunities are more rare than Valyrian steel, you should know.” 

“No grievances, Your Highness, really. May I go now?” 

“Lying to the royal family is a crime punishable by death.” 

“So you are threatening to feed me to your dragon, Your Highness?” 

Aemond rolled his eye and snorted, “If I wanted to toss you to Vhagar, I would have done that weeks ago. Besides, Vhagar does not prefer the taste of humans. She enjoys livestock like sheep or cows.” 

“How reassuring. Even so, I’m fine. Thank you, Your Highness, truly, for your apology.” 

Now the maid’s tone was bordering snippy, and Aemond was having too much fun to let her run free yet. So the prince bared his teeth into a sly smile and raised the stakes, “What if I granted you a pardon?’ 

“A pardon?” Elyse cocked her head curiously. 

“A pardon. A full pardon for you to freely express your true thoughts with no further consequences.” Aemond explained as he approached. 

The kitchen girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously, “And why would you do that, Your Highness?” 

Aemond shrugged, “I prefer to know people’s honest thoughts. Better that than a knife to your back.” When Elyse did not respond, he continued, “If you doubt my intentions, I can swear on my Targaryen blood that no consequences will befall you. Should I break faith on my word, I shall lose Vhagar and never claim another dragon.” 

“You are swearing…on your dragon, Your Highness?” Elyse repeated, full of skepticism. 

“If you have any knowledge of what it means to be a Targaryen, you should understand the weight behind the vow I just made.” 

But no matter his probing, the maid still looked reluctant to carry forth the conversation. Aemond was ready to give up on his fun and games when out of nowhere, Elyse blurted out, “Fine! But I wasn’t the one who wanted to open this can of worms. You were. So a full pardon, and you better not go back on your word or I hope your butt never touches another dragon saddle for the rest of your life.” 

“P-pardon me?” Aemond sputtered. He did not expect her to take the bait. After all, who in their right mind would be brave enough to voice their displeasure towards a Targaryen? 

“Fine.” Elyse ranted while wringing her hands, “I do resent you. I do hate you. I think you are the most difficult, pompous, entitled brat that I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Maybe it’s because no one in your life has ever told you no before, I don’t know. All I know is that I regret ever trying to be friends with you.” 

“You dare-------” 

“Nope! Nuh-uh. Be quiet, mister. My turn to talk now.” The maid hissed as she marched right before him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been holding this in. I am so sick and tired of how you prance around this castle and terrorize everyone, including me. What, just because I don’t have your precious ‘Targaryen blood’ and can’t ride a freaking dragon, I’m less of a person than you?” 

“Exactly!” Aemond snapped. 

Elyse folded her arms with a scoff, “You are such a prick!” Aemond moved to refute but Elyse shook one warning finger at him, “I’m not done yet so shut your trap! You think I hate you? Oh you have no idea. I think everything about you is annoying and despicable. I hate your stupid hair and your stupid voice. I hate the way you walk around with your nose in the air and I hate your stupid obsession with ‘decorum and duty’”. The last part was said with a mocking gesture that made Aemond want to hurl curses at her. “Oh! And I hate how a kid of eight years old -------- an orphan, by the way, has better manners than you and knows to say thank you whenever he is served food!” 

“Manners? Why are my manners now being called into question?” The prince demanded. 

“Clearly you don’t remember our first few encounters, hmm?” 

“I remember you making me a few meals, that is all.” 

“You!” Elyse buried her face into her hands and screamed while Aemond watched with a mixture of perplexion and amazement. “Fine. I should have known you wouldn’t remember. Look, the point is, if I’ve offended you somehow in the past then ok, I apologize for that. I never meant to offend you. All I wanted was to thank you for helping me out that one time in King’s Landing and maybe be friends. Or acquaintances or something. But for some reason, you have taken every opportunity to be the most insufferable pain in my ass and it is killing me!” 

“Royals do not make friends with their servants.” Was this not common logic? Why did he need to clarify this at all? 

“Your nephews found a way to be my friend.” 

“My nephews? Ha! Those pups are ------” 

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence!” Elyse snapped. She reached forward, grabbed the front of his doublet, and pulled him to her so quickly, that the prince nearly stumbled. “I don’t know what exactly happened between you and them and that’s certainly not my business, but they have gone out of their way to show me kindness so yeah, I consider them my friends. And I do not tolerate people picking on my friends!” 

Aemond’s blood boiled. How dare she. Commenting on matters she knew nothing about. Was she aware of how her ‘friends’ mocked him for years of their childhood with no remorse? Does she know about the vicious glint in Lucerys’s eyes when he lashed out with that dagger? Does she know about the pain he must endure daily as the consequences of their actions? 

In one swift move, Aemond ripped the maid’s hands from his doublet and pushed her into the table. “You mind your tongue this instant!” He howled.
“Or what?” The girl taunted. “You’ll feed me to your dragon?” 

“Or I will rip your tongue out of your throat with my bare hands,” he seethed. The edges of his vision were hazed with red. Aemond could not recall the last time he was so enraged. Not that anyone dared to challenge him so blatantly. 

As if to further push him over the edge, Elyse clutched her stomach and laughed. “Go ahead, do it then! That’s what you’re best at, right? Threatening violence when the argument doesn’t go your way?” 

“You have some nerve------” 

“What’s the worst you could do, Your Highness ? Kill me? Too bad because I’ve already experienced it on--------” 

Mid-sentence, Elyse’s voice faded out. Like a snuffed candle, the maid’s previous raging behavior disappeared and was replaced by sullen silence. Aemond had no idea what brought about the change. Nor how to respond. But he was angry enough to sneer, “Go on, keep spewing your nonsense!” 

But Elyse did not. The spiteful girl who was just loudly contesting his authority stood there, pinned against the walnut table, with a crestfallen expression on her pale face that Aemond could not fathom. Eventually, she spoke. “I got derailed. The point is, all I wanted was to be your friend at first, but you went out of your way to insult me, belittle me, and just be downright mean. I don’t know what I did for you to hate me so much. And maybe I’m holding this grudge for far longer than necessary, but I think there’s better ways to let me know you don’t want anything to do with me than to call me a whore every time you see me.” 

The anger drained out of him instantly. For once, Aemond found himself at a loss for words. He stepped away, awkward and maybe with a twinge of guilt. 

“It’s all in the past now, so whatever, I guess.” The kitchen girl shrugged, “It just kind of sucks when you wanted to be friends with someone and they end up labeling you a whore. Anyway, I’ll accept your bad apology. Not for your sake, but so I can stop avoiding Princess Helaena, who I actually enjoy talking to. Oh, right. Before I forget. Your sister and I first met when I ran into her crying in the Godswood alone.”

“What?” Alarmed, Aemond’s fierce protectiveness over his favorite sibling resurfaced and he immediately prodded further, “When was this? Why was she crying?” 

The maid shook her head. “It’s not my story to tell. You can ask her about it. The only reason why I’m even telling you anything is because you seem to be the only person who cares about her. Like, actually cares. So, I don’t know. You figure out what you want to do with the information.” And without another look his way, Elyse straightened her cap, smoothed down her dress, and walked to the door. 

“You are finished with your ranting and raving?” Aemond found himself asking when she unlatched the lock. 

Elyse stared at him with no emotions and said, “Yep. All done. I have to go. There’s an insane amount of chores waiting for me to finish.” She moved to open the door, then paused and turned back, “That reminds me. Stop wandering into the kitchens all the time. You’re disturbing the entire staff and our jobs are hard enough without you coming in to add more pressure. It’s rude, inconsiderate, and…well, yeah exactly. You’re being rude and inconsiderate. Then, I’ll get going now, Your Highness. Thanks for hearing me out.” 

Aemond stood in place, unsure of how to proceed. He certainly did not expect the girl to respond to his goading. Now, he was left feeling rather defeated. A strange feeling, indeed. It took a good minute, but eventually, the prince was able to settle his facial features back into the cold, unfeeling mask he preferred before he walked calmly out of the library in search of his sister to report the news. The only solace that Aemond had through this humiliating experience was that at least Helaena would be pleased.

Chapter Text

“ELYSEEEE!” The pack of screaming children tackled her to the ground and piled on top of her like she was a human bouncy house. Elyse went down, groaning, while the number of kids crushing her diaphragm increased by the minute. 

“Where are our cakes? You promised us cakes last time!” 

“Elyse, can you show me those soccer tricks you did last time?” 

“Why did it take you so long to come back? We were waiting for you!” 

“That’s right, you took too long!” 

“Cakes? Did you bring cakes?” 

“Alright now, children,” Septa Nemera’s voice rang out. “You might just kill her before she can answer any of your questions. Now, off!” 

One by one, the children reluctantly climbed off her and Elyse was able to breathe again. She took Septa Nemera’s outreached hands with much gratitude and grinned, “Thank you, Septa. It’s good to see you again!” 

“And you, Elyse.” The Septa’s eyes crinkled with her warm smile, “As you can see, they have been waiting for you to visit.” In unison, the children started their rambling questions again. “Quiet, you all!” Septa Nemera scolded, “You will have plenty of time to play with her!” 

“Oh, first, I have something for you, Septa.” Elyse rummaged through her sack and produced several wrapped parcels that she shoved into the Septa’s arms, explaining, “This one here is bones. Pork and chicken bones, to be exact. If you boil them with water, the broth is very nutritious and great for children. This one is fabric scraps that I got off the seamstresses. They were going to waste, so I swiped them. You might not be able to make entire clothing pieces, but I figured you could use them for patches, maybe? And this last one is medicine. Not any of the fancy stuff, sorry. Plus, I could only afford to buy a little bit with my salary.” 

“Oh my.” Septa Nemera breathed, face overcome with delight as she examined the packages, “This is very kind of you, Elyse. You did not have to bring all these gifts!” 

“No bother! I wanted to help in any way I could. And like I said, it’s nothing fancy. The bones and the fabric were going to get thrown out anyways.” (She left out the part about how it’s technically  illegal to smuggle things out of the Red Keep. But hey, who’s checking to see if the bones actually are in the trash, right?)

Septa Nemera leaned over and pressed a light kiss to Elyse’s brow. Beaming, she said, “May the Seven always be with you, my child.” 

Elyse blushed from the Septa’s generous blessing. A small tug on her tunic from the right caught her attention. She peeked over to her right and saw a grey-eyed girl with her fingers latched onto Elyse’s tunic, shyly murmuring, “Hello Elyse, did you bring us cake?” 

Elyse smiled widely then bent down to her level, “Your name is Ara, right?” 

Ara nodded with a bashful smile. 

“Why yes I did bring cakes, Ara! And these are very special cakes too. Would you like to try one?” The girl’s entire face lit up with excitement as she nodded so fast she resembled a bobblehead, drawing a laugh out of Elyse. 

“Wait, I want cake too!” 

“No fair, why does Ara get cake but I don’t?” 

“You said you’d bring enough cake for all of us.” 

“Woah!” Elyse cried. She held out her hands to shush the children, “Ok, I know, I know. Cakes for everyone. But first, would you like to see what kind of cake it is?” 

“YES!” The kids all screamed together. 

With a dramatic flourish, Elyse fished out the final package in her sack, opened it so painstakingly slowly that some of the children started to whine again, then pulled out one mysterious cake with a triumphant grin and shouted, “TADA!” 

Crickets. 

“Um, what is that?” 

“I don’t know,” Ara’s friend, Pearl, whispered to the boy beside her, “but it doesn’t look like cake.” 

“Maybe she tricked us?” 

“That wouldn’t be very nice of her.” 

“Why is it shaped like that?”

“Well, food is food. I’ll still eat it.” 

“I would too, but it’s not cake. ”

“Children, remember your manners!” Septa Nemera lectured from behind, not that it could pacify a horde of sugar-hungry children. 

“Hold on, let me explain! This,” Elyse pointed to the thing she was holding, “is called a donut!” (Well, donuts aren't technically cake but hey, it's sweet and fried. It's good enough.)

“Huh?” 

“What’s a donut?” 

“Does a do-nut have nuts in it?” 

Elyse rolled her eyes and turned towards the girl beside her, “Ara, would you do me the honor of tasting the donut for everyone?” 

Ara jumped up and down, exclaiming, “Oh yes! I would love to.” 

Elyse handed the little girl a donut and waited with the rest of the on-looking kids as Ara examined the dessert. The suspense of waiting for her reaction was almost unbearable. But then, Ara took a bite, and her entire face flushed with joy ----- eyes growing twice in size as she gasped, “This is delicious! It’s so soft and sweet, and------” the orphan’s words were drowned with another big bite.

“I told you so,” Elyse said, preening like a peacock.    

At the sight of Ara scarfing down her treat, the rest of the kids instantly clamored around Elyse to get their donuts. Elyse imagined herself as Oprah as she handed out the rest of the sugary pastries. You get a donut! And you get a donut! Everyone gets a donut! It was very satisfying. 

“Ohhhh that is the best thing I have ever eaten!” One of the kids moaned. 

“How did you make this?” Pearl demanded. Cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk storing nuts for the winter. “Can I have another?”

Elyse tossed her thick braid behind her shoulder with a smug expression. She never doubted that the donuts would be an instant hit with the kids. Who could resist the soft, fluffy dough encased in a perfect layer of sugary glaze? There was a reason why every fundraiser at school that involved Krispy Kreme did the best in raising money. Not to mention, her donuts were kinda healthy(ish) because the dough was sourdough and better for digestion. When she introduced them to the Velaryon brothers, Luke ate seven in one go. Jace inhaled two dozen without taking a second breath, leaving both his brother and Elyse speechless. Seriously, where does all that food go? The muscles? Maybe… 

All the kids sat around the courtyard, licking the sugar off their fingertips while Elyse looked around with a frown. “What’s wrong?” Septa Nemera asked. 

“Septa, do you know where Jory is? Dyanna wants me to check on him, and make sure he’s doing fine.” 

“Yes, Jory.” The Septa pointed a finger up the stairs, “he should be in the children’s sleeping quarters. Poor boy. Yazeel was always a wild one, but I didn’t think he’d have the gall to run off so abruptly.” 

“I guess Jory’s still upset, huh?” Elyse bit her lip fretfully. 

“They were great friends,” Septa Nemera admitted. The older woman took Elyse by the elbow and guided her up the stairs, “when Jory and Dyanna lived here, the two boys were inseparable. Two peas in a pod, they were.” 

“Jory must be so sad right now.” The girl murmured, solemn as she recalled her own best friend, Leah. They had been friends since first grade, where they shared all their snacks and spent hours in Elyse’s living room making up choreography to the High School Musical 3 soundtrack. The last time Elyse saw her was in sixth period the day she died, when they had made plans to go thrifting that weekend. 

Lost in thought, Elyse only returned to reality when the Septa stopped by an open door and nudged her in, “He should be in there. Shall I leave you two alone?” 

“Thanks, Septa Nemera.” She left the Septa by the door and wandered into the children’s dorm to find the red-haired boy, squeezing through the maze of makeshift cots with some difficulty. There must have been at least forty cots cramped inside the stale, dark room. Not all of the cots had blankets or pillows, to Elyse’s dismay. She made a mental note to try and smuggle out some pillows next time. 

Jory was sitting in the corner with his head buried into his knees. Elyse would have missed him completely if it wasn’t for his head of shocking red hair. “Jory?” She whispered, approaching cautiously. There were muffled sniffles coming from his direction. “Jory it’s me, Elyse. Your sister sent me to check on you.” 

The boy lifted his head, revealing teary eyes and dirt-smudged cheeks. “Hello.” he mumbled, “You can tell Dyanna that I’m fine.” 

With a sigh, Elyse settled herself down on one of the cots, careful not to break the flimsy frame, and said, “You don’t look fine to me, kid. Dyanna told me about Yazeel.” 

“Yes, well, nothing else to say about it.” the boy answered gruffly. “He didn’t tell me where he was going. I won’t ever see him again.” 

“He just left? Without saying anything?” 

Jory rubbed his eyes with his dirty sleeve, “He left in the middle of the night. I went home to sleep and the next morning, he wasn’t here anymore.” 

“That’s terrible, I’m so sorry, Jory.” Elyse patted his knee comfortingly. “You know, I lost a friend too.” 

“Really?” 

“Really. She and I had been friends since I was your age, maybe a little younger. We spent almost every day together and I loved her like a sister.” 

“How did you lose her?” Jory asked. 

Elyse hesitated. Her eyes drifted down to her boots as she held back the sudden bout of shaky breaths. “Well…we got separated and then I had to come here, which is very very far from my home. I don’t think I’ll see her again.” 

The boy leaned his head back on his knees and let out a long, dejected breath, “That’s just like Yazeel.” 

“I guess so.” Elyse agreed. 

Dyanna’s little brother and Elyse sat in the dim, cramped room for a long while, content to keep perfectly silent as they mourned their lost friends. But after what felt like fifteen minutes, Elyse forced a grin onto her face and attempted to cheer him up, “Do you want cake?” 

Jory shook his head, “No, I’m fine.” 

“But it’s special cake, see?” 

Elyse pulled out the donut and showed it to the boy, whose interests were peaked at the round pastry with a hole in the middle. “That’s a strange-looking cake,” he observed. 

“Come on, take a bite. All the kids loved it.” Jory gave her a hesitant look but gave in to her coaxing and took the donut. He took a bite, then stilled. Without a single word, the little boy shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth in one go. “See?” Elyse laughed, “Told you you’d like it.” 

“Do you have another one?” Jory asked through a mouth full of food. 

“Nope, sorry. But I’ll bring more. As long as you keep yourself safe and promise to not run off like Yazeel.” 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t do that to my sister,” Jory answered. Elyse beamed and ruffled his hair. “Besides, I don’t take to stealing the way Yazeel did. I would never last in a thieving gang.” 

She hesitated, then asked, “How do you know if he ran off to join a thieving gang? What if he’s in trouble or something?” 

Jory shrugged, “Yazeel mentioned before that he wanted to. Asked me to go with him, even. Said it was better to learn how to survive on our own than stick out here waiting for us to come of age with no skills to put food in our stomachs.” 

Wow. That’s sad. Elyse wanted to continue the conversation but was interrupted when several pairs of footsteps came barreling into the dorm. It was Sylas, followed by a few other boys who still had sugar crusted on their lips. 

“Are we playing soccer? You promised last time that we’d play another game.” Sylas pressed. 

Elyse chuckled, then answered, “I’ll be there in a minute. Why don’t you ask the rest of the children who want to join?” 

“As long as I can be team captain.” Sylas grinned. 

“Fine, you can be captain.” She rolled her eyes as Sylas dragged the rest of the boys with him and ran down the stairs, shouting and yelling for the rest of the children to get ready for the game. “What about you?” Elyse turned her attention towards the sulking boy on the cot, “Do you want to play? I bet you’ll feel a lot better after a game or two.” 

“I guess…” Jory hopped off the bed with a long sigh. They were nearing the door when Jory slowed. “What if…” Elyse’s heart prickled with sympathy when she saw the wavering in his bottom lip. “What if I never see him again?” 

Elyse reached over and gave Jory’s shoulder a sad squeeze. She had no idea what to say. After all, she herself still hasn’t unlocked the secret of how to stop missing her old life. Her family. Her friends. 

“He was my best friend,” Jory added, a single tear rolling down his cheek. 

“I know, Jor,” she sighed, “I know. And while I hate to admit it, you’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. But that’s normal. He’ll miss you too. And with time, you’ll make more friends and have lots more fun with them, and little by little, you’ll start to feel better. He’ll always be in your heart, but with time, it will hurt less. I promise.” 

“Really?” 

She gave him a pinch on his round cheeks, “Why would I lie?” Through her reassurance, her roommate’s younger brother finally perked up, and Elyse felt a huge weight lift off her chest. “Now, how about we go downstairs and kick Sylas’s butt in soccer? You can be on my team, what do you say?” 

Jory giggled, “That does sound fun.” 

Hand in hand, Elyse and Jory ran downstairs, where Sylas was already waiting with a soccer ball under his arm and an impatient scowl on his face that was mirrored by the rest of the boys. Elyse rolled her eyes and hurriedly divided the kids into two teams. She made sure that Pearl and Ava were on her team. It’s a secret, but they were Elyse’s favorites. 

**************

Unfortunately, due to the terrible Westerosi weather, their afternoon of fun was cut short as the children were herded inside to escape the summer showers. After much coaxing and promises of treats the next time she visited, Elyse finally managed to wriggle free from the swarm of children clinging onto her legs and set out on the journey back to the Red Keep. 

Flea Bottom was a miserable place to get caught in a hot summer rain. The puddles of murky wastewater turned into ponds in the middle of the streets, and the humidity made her feel like she was a red bean bun in a steam basket. So she hurried along, determined to get out of the miserable weather as fast as possible.  

Out of nowhere, almost halfway back to the castle, she heard a voice. A familiar voice. A voice distinctly dripping with disdain and contempt.. 

No freaking way. 

Elyse turned around and gasped audibly when she saw Aemond Targaryen dragging along his older brother, who looked like a drenched rat. Yep, it’s Aemond, without a doubt. His entire figure was covered by a sweeping cloak, but his voice and swaggering walk were recognizable anywhere. 

“Why is he always out when I’m out?” she hissed as she ducked into a side alley. “What is he, like a stalker or something?” Her heart was palpitating wildly as the two princes approached. She wasn’t prepared to face Aemond again. Especially since the two had seen each other since that day in the library. 

And if she wasn’t so embarrassed to admit it, Elyse would confess that on that day, after the…confrontation, she had fled back to her room and screamed into her pillow for three consecutive moments from frustration and rage. But mainly, Elyse was mortified at herself. Curse her stupid big mouth and her stupid temper. Her mom used to warn her that her terribly short fuse would land her in some big trouble one day, and boy, was she right. 

Why did she take his bait? Why? It’s like criticism, right? Just because someone asks for constructive criticism doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to tear them into shreds. Same concept. Just because you hate your boss’s guts and think they are the most annoying SOB to ever walk the planet doesn’t mean when they say, “Hey Elyse, tell me why you hate me?” THAT YOU ACTUALLY TELL THEM WHY YOU HATE THEM! 

Stupid. Dumb. Idiotic. No self-preservation in mind. It’s a wonder that she’s survived this long. Probably because she had been hiding from Aemond like a mouse in the baseboards, terrified that his best friend Criston Cole would come to drag her out of her bed and toss her onto a chopping block at any moment. Judging from the way the Dornish knight sometimes glares at her in passing, she knew he’d be happy to do it. 

“Psychos. All of them are psychos,” she muttered, flattening herself against the wall as the Targaryen brothers passed. 

Aemond looked exhausted. Exhausted and furious. From the looks of Aegon’s drunken state, it was apparent that the Queen had sent her dutiful son to retrieve her favorite son back from another night partying up in the city. 

“Next round is on me! Bring out the finest wine for everyone! Wine for all!” Aegon slurred. Hair greasier than the drippings in a roast pan. With a sallow complexion paired with sunken, red-rimmed eyes, the eldest prince was a stark contrast to his younger brother’s regal charisma in every manner. 

Elyse raised a brow in disbelief as Aegon stumbled over his feet and went crashing into a massive pool of dirt-brown water. This was what they thought would be the best match for Helaena. Were they blind? 

“Get up!” Aemond snapped. He yanked Aegon to his feet violently (it was a surprise that Aegon’s arm didn’t dislocate) and shook his brother with aggression. “Wake up, you drunk! The fun is long over. I would rather not have to carry you back to the castle, so start walking!” 

“Oh, Aemond, is that you?” Aegon guffawed. God, she could smell the wine from here. Did he jump in a wine barrel or something? “When did you get here, little brother? Never mind that, join me for a toast! Here, here! My spare, everyone ------ Aemond the One-Eyed!” 

Elyse saw the flash of absolute rage in Aemond’s remaining eye as he steadied his brother. To her surprise, she felt the tiniest bit bad for him. Dealing with Aegon, day in day out, must contribute to at least forty percent of his terrible personality. It was a miracle that he didn’t toss Aegon in a ditch somewhere, from the murderous look on his face. 

She still hated him, of course, but everyone deserves a little sympathy. 

“You should be glad, little brother,” the older brother choked out. Words blurring as he jabbed a finger into Aemond’s chest, “that you are not missing one of another more vital body part. Be glad that they do not call you Aemond the One-Ba----” 

Ok then, moving on. Elyse inched deeper into the alley to escape the horrifyingly awkward conversation she just overheard as Aemond pushed Aegon forward and ordered his brother to keep walking as Aegon rambled on and on about…body parts. Again, sympathies and kudos to him. Glad it’s not Helaena’s job! 

In her haste to escape the scene, Elyse ran right smack into someone walking up the alley and dropped her empty sack onto the filthy ground. 

“Ah darn it,” she sighed. “My bad. Sorry for running into you…” 

A slender, tanned hand had already reached over and picked up her sack as she was reaching down. Elyse looked up into the face of a mysterious beauty with dark waves framing her almond-shaped face. Her narrow eyes, blacker than ink, pierced into Elyse’s soul as she stammered out another apology to the stranger. 

“No worries, dear.” The woman smiled back. She had the strangest accent. Nothing like Elyse had ever heard in King’s Landing. “What a pretty girl. You must be careful. Beautiful maidens like yourself are always the victims of the most heinous crimes, no?” 

“U-uh, yes. Thank you.” Elyse stuttered. The woman offered Elyse her soaking wet sack, which Elyse took hesitantly. 

“Your friends have left. You can stop hiding now.” The woman jerked her chin in the direction of the main street. “Go that way. It is safer.” 

“Huh? Oh, they’re not my friends.” 

Once again, that mysterious smile. “Sure, pretty girl. If you say so. Nonetheless, go that way. Stay on the main roads. It is the quickest way to the Red Keep.” 

“Ok…thank you.” Her voice faded as she turned, perplexed and frowning, and walked back into the main street. 

When Elyse flipped her head back to ask the woman how she knew she was heading towards the Red Keep, the woman had already vanished. “That was weird.” muttered the girl under her breath. She couldn’t shake the feeling of the woman’s eyes on her. Even now, when she was nowhere to be found. And how weird was it that the woman acted like she knew her? 

Maybe just another weirdo? No…didn’t feel that way. Maybe another servant in the Red Keep that she had seen in passing? No…that didn’t feel right either. 

Elyse spent the rest of the journey back to the Red Keep pondering the identity of the mystery woman with the strange accent. By the time she was back in her rooms, drenched from the rain, she still couldn’t figure it out. Oh well. She had bigger things to worry about ------ like Jace’s upcoming birthday and angry, spiteful princes wearing an eyepatch. Better just let it go for now.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you know the way?” Luke was the one who raised the question.

“Yes, I do. Now stop nagging,” His older brother retorted. Jace was in charge of leading the trio through the mysterious, damp passages, with only the dim light of his hand-held torch to illuminate their surroundings. “And keep quiet! I told you these passages are not all sound-proof.” 

“Fine,” Luke sighed, “I just hope you know the way.” 

“Where exactly are we going?” Elyse piped up as they descended another flight of steep stairs. Her eyes wandered around the dark tunnels with a degree of skepticism. 

Jace shot her an annoyed look, “You told me to find a wide, flat area that is good for running around. I am taking you to find a nice, flat area that is good for running around.” 

“Ok, got it, no need for the sass.” She grumbled, adjusting the burlap sack she slung over her shoulders. 

Elyse has been planning for a while now to introduce soccer to the Velaryon boys. Tonight was finally the night, and she prayed that they took to it as the orphans did. Westerosi nobility’s usual preferences for sport were limited to jousts or tourneys, and in her humble opinion, both were way too gory and violent. Like, come on. Getting stabbed and thrown off your horse? Cracking your head like a ripe melon? Not her idea of fun. 

“Are we there yet?” 

“Ah! Something just dripped onto me!” 

“Jace, I think you are going the wrong way.” 

“And why do these tunnels look like they lead to secret torture chambers?” 

Alarm rang through Elyse’s head when Luke paused to ponder her question. She hurriedly asked, “Luke please stop scaring me. There’s not actually any torture chambers in the castle, right?” 

“Not any secret ones. Well, none that we know of,” the younger Velaryon boy answered, nonchalant, “though there are some down by the dungeons, and these tunnels are lined with traps. Arrows, trap doors, swinging axes. Our ancestor, Maegor, was quite paranoid, you see.” 

Elyse paled. She tugged on Jace’s sleeve with urgency, “J-Jace, is he telling the truth? He’s joking, right?” 

Jace exasperatedly ran his fingers through his thick curls and snapped, “Both of you shut up or I swear I am heading back inside and going to bed!” 

Before she could hound Jace for taking them through the Targaryens’ underground maze of death, another voice called out from behind, “Aha! Caught you!” 

The trio froze, gaping at each other. Were they found out so soon? Great, she was going to be in so much trouble. She could hear Marscha’s nagging already. The head cook had a talent for belting out lectures like she was a professor at NYU. You could hear her roars and shouts halfway across the castle. 

“Luke, check who it is,” Jace muttered. 

“Why me?” 

“Because I told you to and I’m older!” 

“Ugh.” Elyse and Jace kept still as Luke turned around. “Oh, seven hells,” Luke groaned, “it’s just Baela. Great, Rhaena is here, too. Did you two follow us?” 

Jace relaxed. Under his breath, he grumbled something incoherent while Elyse twisted her head just in time to spot two girls with creamy toffee-colored skin and matching silver curls emerging from the darkness.      “You weren’t exactly being discreet.” One of them smirked, “So? Why are you sneaking around at this hour? Going out for a bit of fun in the city?” 

“If that was my pursuit, I would not have brought Luke.” Jace snorted. 

“What?” Luke protested. “Why not?” Both the girls and Jace snickered in unison. 

“Then what are you doing here?” The other sister piped up. 

The older Velaryon boy grabbed Elyse by the forearm and pulled her forward, “Our friend Elyse was going to introduce us to a new game she invented, so we are taking her out to the beach. El, meet Baela.” Jace jerked his head towards the first girl. Baela’s indigo eyes shifted to Elyse. Elyse gave her a wavering smile, to which the young noble lady returned a curt nod. “Rhaena is her younger twin sister------ the less annoying one at this current moment. Now that you have all met, can we please continue before we get caught by Crispin Cole or one of the Hand’s other lackeys?” 

“We are coming too,” announced the older twin, to the horror of both her brothers. Rhaena nodded wordlessly in agreement. Before Jace or Luke could open their mouths, Baela cuts off their protests with a threat, “Either you bring us or I will tell kepūs about your little midnight adventures. You know Rhaenyra wanted no trouble from any of us, so how do you think kepūs would punish the two of you? ” ------ effectively shutting up both brothers without a single protest. 

Right, Baela’s dad was Daemon Targaryen. Scary. 

“Fine. But you tell muña and I am never taking you anywhere again.” Jace growled, stabbing a warning finger at the sisters. Baela just smirked. Her older brother rolled his eyes, turned back around, and stomped deeper into the passages. 

As they shuffled in a single file line through the dim tunnels, Baela made it her personal duty to fill the silence and annoy the living daylights out of Jace, to everyone’s amusement. Rhaena was more content to listen, while Luke occasionally threw in a snort at one of Baela’s witty jokes. And Elyse? Well, Elyse was more preoccupied with examining every stone she walked over, terrified that an arrow could come flying at her when she was unaware. 

Before long, the group of five reached the end of the tunnel, where Jace pushed three consecutive blocks on the wall, triggering a mechanism to roll open the stone door like a scene out of an Indiana Jones movie. Very very cool. 

They filed out, one by one, climbed down the rocks, and snuck through the dark cave until they saw the streaks of moonlight shimmering down on the calm, flat waters of Blackwater Bay. Her breath caught in her throat as Elyse took in the view. 

It was a perfect night. An obsidian black sky above. A full moon illuminating the beach with its soft, ethereal glow. Lazy waves lapping gently against the fine sand as the gentle ocean breeze blew through the strands of her dark hair on the nape of her neck. “Where are we?” She breathed in delight. 

“A stretch of flat beach on the far side of the castle,” Luke grinned. He pointed towards the sharp, rocky cliffs to the right, “Around those cliffs is Blackwater Rush. This little alcove is not accessible from the other side.” 

“So it’s like a medieval private beach,” Elyse concluded with an amazed laugh. Out of everywhere in the universe to experience a private beach, she never imagined it would be Westeros, looking out to the blobs of dimly lit ships in the Bay. 

“Does this suffice?” Jace asked her, nudging her arm. 

Elyse fluttered her eyes shut and inhaled the salty ocean scent, “It’s perfect, Jace.”

“Now then, what is this game you have mentioned?” Baela’s reminder prompted Elyse to stir out of her peaceful moment and focus her energy back on the main objective. 

“Right, so I have brought with me -------” She rummaged through her burlap sack, producing a leather ball that Mycah, the smithy’s boy, lent her for a dozen spiced butter biscuits in return. Before she could continue, Luke, Jace, and Baela groaned in unison. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“We came out here to play catch?” Disbelief colored Luke’s voice as he folded his arms with a pout. “I will not lie. I am slightly disappointed.” 

The maid rolled her eyes and dropped the ball onto the sand. “It’s not for catch. This is a soccer ball.” She explained while she quickly braided her waist-length hair into a messy braid. 

“I have not played catch since my dragon was big enough to ride,” Baela added with a toss of her head. 

“Baela…” Her sister reprimanded. 

“Me neither,” Jace confessed. “Dragons are comparably more exciting than ------ well, a ball.” 

Elyse shook her head at the lack of support by all parties present, “Hold on, give me a chance to explain!” she protested, “You know what, let me just show you.” With a flick of her feet, the ball sailed into the air. Elyse caught it with her chest, then proceeded to bounce it off her knee, ankles, and even her head. 

“Whaaaat?” Luke’s mouth hung open as he stared, “How are you doing that?” 

She tossed him a triumphant grin as she juggled the ball with ease. “Not so boring now, huh?” She sassed. Elyse was rather proud of her juggling. Her dad had her juggling a soccer ball from the moment she could walk. Her Italian side of the family was uh…passionate, about the sport, to say the least. Every Thanksgiving. Every family gathering. There was always a huge family soccer game that turned into a wrestling match as the boys argued about who fouled and who cheated. Elyse was not nearly a soccer fanatic like some of her cousins and uncles, but the sport was in her blood. 

“Let me try!” Jace insisted. Elyse shrugged, caught the ball, and passed it to the eldest Velaryon boy. No one could hold back their chortles when Jace tried and miserably failed to bounce the ball with his knee. Not even Rhaena. “How did you do it?” demanded the prince when his third consecutive attempt ended with the ball plopping into the sand with a thud. 

“You aren’t even trying, Jace. Move! Let me try.” Baela shoved Jace aside and snatched the ball from his hands. Daemon’s eldest daughter tossed the ball into the air and stretched her foot out to catch it, but she missed, earning a roar of laughter from her onlooking brothers. “If you have not noticed, I am in a dress,” Baela shot back immediately, “what is your excuse?” 

Jace’s mouth clamped shut mid-laugh and he glared at his sister. “Alright, let’s all calm down.” Elyse jogged over to the ball. “Why don’t we try something else? For example, Lady Rhaena?” 

Rhaena flinched. “Y-yes?” 

“Can you try stopping the ball with your feet?” 

“Sure…?” 

Elyse offered her an encouraging smile and then lightly kicked the ball in her direction. Rhaena received the pass perfectly. “See! That was perfect, my lady!” At her praise, the sweet curly-haired girl blushed profusely before kicking the ball back to Elyse with astonishingly good aim. “Now Luke, your turn.” 

“M-me? Wait, I need a second to prepare!” 

“Nope, sorry. Here I come!” 

“El!” 

He barely had the time to protest as Elyse dribbled the ball towards him. When she was close, Luke lunged his foot forward to block the ball. Elyse smirked, then flicked the ball over his head in a perfect, graceful arch. 

“WOOOOO!” She cheered for herself as she caught the ball and dribbled it away. 

“That is not fair!” Luke complained, his shaggy hair hiding his scrunched brows. “I said I needed to prepare!” 

“It’s all good, Luke. That was just a demonstration, ok? Now, let’s play the real game, yeah? First, we need to split up the teams. How about Lady Baela, Lady Rhaena and you on one team. Jace and I can be the other.” 

“Why do they have three members?” The older Velaryon boy complained. 

Elyse gave him a pointed look, “Would you rather play against me? Because I would love being on a team with Luke.” 

“No, no. These teams are fine.” Jace hastily added. He idled over to her with a lopsided grin. “You better teach me all the tricks.” 

She rolled her eyes. “How about we start with the rules?” 

“Fine,” the prince grumbled, “but afterward, you must teach me how to bounce the ball off your knee.” 

Elyse exhaled an exasperated sigh. Boys. All they wanted was to learn the flashy, eye-catching moves. “I will. But first, listen up, ok? This is how you play…” 

*************************

Two hours later, Luke and the girls had a good enough grasp on the concepts to keep with Elyse in a game. Jace, on the other hand, was more of a hindrance than any help as her teammate. He has not kicked in a single goal or even received a single pass this entire time, to his siblings' never-ending amusement. So essentially, Elyse was a one-woman team, ducking and weaving through her opponents as Jace jogged along, whining for her to pass the ball. 

“Ok, I’ll pass it!” She snapped, finally, after another ten minutes of Jace flailing his arms to show that he was open. “But you better catch it this time!” 

“I am trying, my gods!” Jace yelled back. Elyse muttered a prayer before sending him the ball. It wasn’t even a tricky pass since no one bothered to check Jace (he was pretty bad, after all). But of course, Jace’s foot missed the ball and it rolled into shallow waters behind him. 

“Oh my -----” Elyse threw her hands up in defeat as he chased after the ball. 

“Ha!  How is it possible for you to be this uncoordinated?’ Baela chortled beside her. “Are you sure you are a dragon rider?” 

“Shut up!” Jace snapped, picking up the ball. “I am a better dragon rider than both you and Luke!” 

“Debatable.” Luke snorted.  

Before Jace could pummel his little brother, Elyse stepped in, “Ok, break it up now. Let’s just play because we have to go back in soon, ok?” 

All of four Targaryen teenagers murmured their agreement. Luke tapped his sister on the shoulder and requested, “Rhaena, switch with me on goal?” 

“Alright.” Rhaena shrugged and trotted to replace Luke on the goal ------ a crooked line drawn in the sand to replace a real net. 

“Last round, for all the marbles. Whichever team gets a goal past Rhaena first wins everything, sounds good?” Elyse rolled her shoulders back as Jace handed her the ball, disgruntled. 

“What do you mean for the marbles?” Baela questioned. 

“Uhh…for all the stakes. For the win.” 

The curly-haired girl frowned, “You use such strange language. And your accent, too. Do all smallfolk talk like you?” 

“I have gotten used to her interesting dialect moons prior,” Jace added with an airy wave of his hand. “I suppose it is how------” 

“Right,” Elyse interrupted with a nervous giggle. Better stop this conversation before again, her lies came under speculation, “Jace, focus this time, ok?” 

The prince grimaced, “I always focus.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Here we go, stay focused!” 

And she was off, dribbling the ball through the sand as Baela and Luke lunged for her in unison. Baela managed to swipe the ball from her with a whoop and immediately started kicking the ball toward Rhaena, albeit a little clumsily. Elyse twisted around Luke and sprinted after Baela. By now, her lungs were drained from all the continuous cardio and her legs were threatening to give out under her, but Elyse kept going. Too invested in the heat of the game. Too thrilled to be playing the sport she loved again to care. With an artful sliding tackle, she stole the ball from Baela, who swore colorfully as she went tumbling into the sand. 

“Yes!” Elyse squealed as she maneuvered the ball from Baela’s grasp and scrambled to her feet. But her victory was short-lived. In a matter of seconds, Baela had bounced back and Luke had joined his sister, both hounding Elyse for possession of the ball while Elyse struggled to get past them. 

“El, over here!” Jace shouted from the side. “Pass it to me!”

Elyse’s eyes darted around, taking in her options. She couldn’t get past Baela and Luke by herself again. They were too darn relentless in blocking her every path. Passing it to Jace was the best option. Both Baela and Luke weren’t paying an ounce of attention to the eldest Velaryon boy and he was closer to the goal than she was. 

Ugh. It was a gamble, to say the least. 

Elyse took a deep breath, locked gazes with Jace, then kicked the ball. She watched as the ball shot towards the prince in slow motion. Like one of those dramatic movie shots in those feel-good coming-of-age movies that she used to watch (any She’s the Man fans here?) all the time. 

Then, by some miracle, Jace leaped into the air and headed the ball. When the ball dropped a way in front of him, Jace gaped at the unmoving sphere with his jaw slack. From the corner of her eyes, Elyse saw Baela and Luke flip their attention onto their brother and start sprinting towards him. She heard herself scream, in slow motion, “KICK THE FREAKING BALL YOU IDIOT!” 

She saw Jace kick the ball toward Rhaena, who stood with her arms outstretched, ready to block any incoming goal. And, with her heart in her throat, she saw Jace put his weight into his foot and kick the ball towards Rhaena just as Baela and Luke tackled him to the ground ------ the rules of no tackling and fair play long forgotten in the intense moment. 

They all watched, wide-eyed, as Rhaena missed the ball by a few inches, resulting in the ball sailing over the line and landing somewhere in the sand behind the curly-haired girl. 

A brief of moment of silence, where nothing could be heard but the crashing of the waves. Then: 

“WOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I DID IT! I DID IT!” Jace yelled as he climbed to his feet and ran around with his arms in the air. “Elyse, did you see that? Did you see me kick it? I did it! I kicked it in!” 

“I did! That was amazing!” Elyse ran to him while exclaiming. “We won, Jace! We won!” 

“That was not fair!” Baela complained in the back, “He was useless the whole game. Who would have known to pay attention to him in the last minute?” 

“Baela, it is just a game.” Rhaena reminded her sister, who scowled furiously. 

“Well played, El.” Luke joined them with an impressed laugh. “Shall we play as a team next time?” 

“No, she was my friend first so she will be on my team, right?” Jace turned to her with an expectant look. Elyse just gave a coy shrug. “You have to be on my team, El! Look at Baela! She would tear me to pieces if we were on a team together!” 

“And you would deserve it, you bumbling idiot!” Baela snipped back. 

“And we did meet her together, you twat.” Luke added to the cacophony of sibling banter. 

“Ahem,” Rhaena cleared her throat politely, “should we not be returning soon? The servants will notice our absence if we are not back by sunrise.” 

“Rhaena is right, we should return.” 

“Fine,” Baela sighed. “But we will have a rematch, as soon as possible. I say perhaps tomorrow night?” 

Elyse was thinking about the lady’s proposal, wondering if she was on the night rotation or not the next night, when out of nowhere, Jace tackled her into a bear hug. The prince squeezed her tightly against his chest as he chuckled by her ear. “Thank you, Elyse. This was much fun.” 

At first, she was surprised. 

Then, she felt his arms around her like a cage. And his low voice. And the sensation of his warm breath by her ear. 

  What sent her over, however, was the feeling of his weight on her body. Crushing her. Trapping her. Giving her no room to escape. 

“This was the most fun I have had in a while. Thank you for teaching us this game. As Baela said, we should------El, are you alright?” 

She can’t breathe. 

She can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe she can’t breathe. 

“Elyse, can you hear me?”

“What has happened? Is she already?” 

“Damn, her face is whiter than a sheet! What happened?” 

“El, if you can hear me, say something? Are you alright?”  

Elyse raised her face to the face of the boy who was looming above her and felt the blood drain from her body. She couldn’t see Jace in that face. She couldn’t see her friend, his obvious concern, or his kind voice. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. 

“Seven hells, she is convulsing! Jace, let go of her!” 

“W-what? What did I do?” 

“I can’t…breathe…” The weak, lifeless voice belonged to her, it seemed. 

“Lie her flat on the sand, hurry!” 

“What did you do, Jace?” 

“Me? I-I did not do anything? I just t-tried to hug her!” 

Elyse couldn’t hear the rest of the muffled ongoing conversation as she was dragged into the deepest pits of her consciousness. She couldn’t sense anything other than the crushing pressure that still lingered on her body. Squeezing the life out of her. Draining her soul and leaving her behind as a lifeless, grey corpse. The world spun around her, leaving her a nauseous mess who threw up the remnants of her dinner onto the person holding her up. 

“Ah shit! What is going on?” 

“El, can you hear me? You need to calm down. Can you do that for me?” 

“Luke, back away. Give her some room to breathe.” 

“Sister, should we get a maester?” 

Her heart palpitated against her ribcage. The vibration of her own heartbeat made her skin crawl as she gasped for air. Why couldn’t she breathe? Who was choking her? Where was everyone? Where have they gone? 

Then, out of the blinding darkness, emerged a figure in her vision. The looming silhouette over her body was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Elyse’s voice was raspy and weak like the air was punched out of her lungs, as the image before her eyes began to change into another night. Also summer. Also after a riveting game of soccer with her cousins. Also ending with someone’s weight on top of her as she laid there-----frozen, confused, and afraid. 

“Elyse, do you need me to bring some water------” 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” 

“Seven hells, Jace. Step back!” 

“H-huh…?” 

“GET AWAY FROM ME GET AWAY FROM ME GET AWAY FROM ME GET AWAY FROM ME!” 

“DAMN IT, BROTHER, MOVE!” 

In her struggle to break free from the shadow above, Elyse pushed and scratched at her captor until he stumbled away with a grunt. She would have kept screeching and flailing around if it wasn’t for the hand that connected sharply with her cheek. 

“BAELA!” 

“Both of you, stay out of it!” The older girl ordered. Four more times, Daemon’s eldest daughter sent crisp, stinging slaps across Elyse’s cheeks until she fell limp against the sand. “You! Can you hear me? Stop convulsing and come back to your senses!” 

“Baela, leave her alone.” That was Jace’s voice in the background. 

“She needs to come to her senses.” 

“I said, leave her alone.” 

A long pause. Then Baela removed herself from the situation and Elyse instantly curled into a ball on her side, bawling into the sand with huge, fat tears. Crying like her soul was shattered. All the deeply rooted pain that she kept hidden away came pouring out, dampening the sand beneath her cheeks. There was arguing and shouting all around her, but she didn’t care. All Elyse could do was wrap her knees to her chest and cry her heart out as she stared into the gentle, lazy waves. 

************************

She had no idea what happened after. 

She had no idea when Baela and Rhaena left. She had no idea how she ended up in Luke’s arms, walking through the passages while raspy sniffles still sputtering out her throat. She had no idea how she ended up sobbing into Dyanna’s nightgown as her roommate shushed her and soothed her into a restless sleep. 

But by the time she woke up the following day, eyes swollen and throat raw, Elyse finally came to terms with what had happened. It was a panic attack. She hadn’t had one in a crazy long time. Not even after what happened in King’s Landing with that old, gropey man. No. What triggered the panic attack was something that, in full honesty, she hadn’t quite come to terms with yet. 

So when Dyanna brushed her fingers through Elyse’s long, messy hair and murmured, “Do you want to talk about it?” Elyse just shook her head. 

“Not yet, Dy.” She choked out, “Not yet. Some day. I will tell you about it someday.”  

Dyanna nodded, hesitantly, “Sure…but the Velaryon princes are here already. They seem worried…” 

Elyse pulled the covers over her head and whispered, “Can you get rid of them for me, please? I don’t want to see them right now.” 

Her roommate stayed still, clearly wanting to say something else, but Elyse’s firm silence was enough to shut down whatever Dyanna was hoping to convey. With a long sigh, the red-haired maid rustled away to fend off Jace and Luke while Elyse closed her eyes and tried her damn hardest to shove all the bad feelings back into the tiny box in the pits of her consciousness. 

Chapter Text

A week and a half after that night on the beach, Jace’s birthday was finally here. Elyse was a terrible grouch that morning, trudging through all the banquet preparations with a scowl on her lips. 

She missed Jace. And Luke. 

Since her…meltdown, she hasn’t spoken to either of them ------ through no fault of theirs. After all, she was the one who shut that door on them. Leave it to her to ruin two dear friendships in one go. 

“Prince Jacaerys hasn’t come to find you?” Dyanna whispered as they peeled potatoes side by side. Marscha was in a foul mood, as she usually was when there was a banquet to prepare, so all the girls chattered at a lower volume. No one wanted a wooden spoon thrown at their head (Jonah had gotten hit twice this morning). 

Elyse shook her head with a dejected sigh. 

“You should go to him, then.” Dyanna nudged her. Her roommate was nothing but perfectly supportive since Elyse cried into her nightgown that entire night. She didn’t quite understand the concept of a panic attack, but still, Dyanna stuck by her every day this past week to make sure she was ok. What an absolute gem of a human being. 

“I mean…” Elyse plucked another potato from the pile, “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

“That’s ridiculous. He cares for you, El. He came searching for you the morning after. Of course he wants to talk to you.” 

She didn’t respond. Her hands busied themselves with cleaning and peeling her potato, but her mind was elsewhere, wallowing in misery. 

Dyanna scanned the room, then leaned right by her ear and murmured, “The prince doesn’t know what happened to you that night in the city, so he must think it his fault-----” 

“But it’s not!” Elyse protested too loudly. Marscha turned her head so fast it was a miracle she didn’t get whiplash and both girls ducked down, suddenly very interested in their potatoes. When the head cook marched away to berate the bakers on the temperature of the oven, Elyse lowered her voice, insisting, “None of it was his fault! If anything, it’s my fault.” 

“It’s not your fault, Elyse.” Dyanna firmly rejected. 

“Maybe it was…” 

“It’s not.” 

“Whatever you’re gossiping about, I also don’t think it’s your fault!” Ellyn whispered across the mountain of potato peels. 

“I second it,” Maisy added. 

Elyse forced a meager smile, “Thanks, girls.” 

Deep down, she was still unconvinced. Jace didn’t sign on to be friends with a wailing, screaming lunatic, after all. He probably is like, terrified of her. She doesn’t blame him. What sucks the most is that she spent so long working on his present and now she won’t get to give it to him. Maybe she should put it in front of his bedroom door or something? Ugh, she’s so pathetic.

“Look, Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest is an honorable young man. And from what we have seen ------ kind, too. You will benefit from an honest conversation with him.” Elyse’s roommate urged. “Better to explain the truth than to wallow for days on end.” 

“I do not wallow!” Elyse objected. 

Maisy and Ellyn shared a knowing look that made her sputter. “We have heard enough of your sighing to know the sound by heart now, idiot,” Maisy replied, examining the silver fork she just polished. “You’re fooling no one.” 

Elyse chewed her bottom lip and dipped her eyes to the lumpy root vegetable in her hand. Of course, the girls were right, but the idea of…well, actively talking about everything sent a shiver down her spine. She never allowed herself to put thought towards those traumas. Not to anyone. It was easier pretending that she was fine. That none of those horrible events happened. Life was so much simpler when she just barreled forward with a smile glued to her cheeks. 

Sighing, Dyanna reached over and rubbed her back, “It’s your choice, of course. But I hate to see you so miserable all the time.” 

Elyse nodded solemnly. “I know everyone means well. And I will talk to him, I promise. But…maybe not today.” 

“Another day, then.” Dyanna agreed. 

Right. Another day. It’s probably best to not burden Jace with this kind of stupid stuff on his birthday. Elyse let out another sullen sigh, earning herself a look from all three girls, then returned to her chores with her mind preoccupied with whether or not she should leave Jace’s present beside his door. 

*************************

Tourneys, in Aemond’s opinion, were ridiculous. Merely a chance for knights greener than grass to prove their worth. Laughable, really, since none of them would last a minute in true battle. But by his father’s decree, Aemond had been forced to sit through an afternoon of witnessing half-wits braggarts and sniveling squires make fools of themselves in front of the roaring crowds ------ all in the name of his good nephew, Jacaerys and his damned nameday. 

Gods, what a bore. 

Unable to withstand another minute of the knights flouncing about in their new, polished armor, Aemond turned his attention to the Realm’s Whore and her horde of pups in the row beneath him. Settled next to their pureblood Valyrian mother, the three Strong bastards’ dark curls were a hilarious testament to their mother’s sins. Perhaps his mother was right. No action was required on their part when his sister’s impropriety was displayed for the realm to see.

But it was still amusing to intimidate them. 

His ice-cold stare bore into the back of Luke’s head as he imagined carving the word “bastard” into the boy’s cheek. Or toss him into the arena to be stampeded by the jousting knights. Both scenarios brought Aemond a twinge of cold glee as he daydreamed of his nephew’s demise. 

 Not long after, Luke sensed his gaze, turning around to match his glare. Jace followed suit. Aemond wanted to laugh. He did not flinch one bit under the snarls of the snapping pups. In fact, he reveled in it. Because deep inside those dead, muddy eyes, he saw hints of their fear. 

Good. Let them fear him. They should. 

“Aemond, keep your eyes focused ahead. I implore you.” Queen Alicent murmured beside him. “There is enough tension here without you pouncing on Rhaenyra’s brood every possible moment.” 

“As you wish, Mother.” He replied smoothly. Tossing one final sneer in their direction, Aemond returned his eye to the arena and felt the boredom settle in once more. “How many more matches must we endure?” 

“I have no clue.” Aegon slurred through his wine goblet. He sat beside Helaena, who was on the Queen’s other side and had drunk his weight in wine by mid-morning. “Though I must say, it is all quite bland sporting. More blood, I say! To brighten up this dreary event.” 

“Aegon, please.” Their mother rubbed her temple wearily, “Do relieve me of your antics for today?” 

“Yes, please do shut up.” Aemond bared his teeth into a vicious smile. He was particularly displeased with his older brother after catching him in bed with two whores. Not only is he flouting about in the city, no,  now the damn fool thought it his right to bring his nightly fucks into his quarters, right under Helaena’s nose. Disgusting. 

“Both of you, stop your bickering now!” Queen Alicent snapped at her sons. “How tiresome must you be? Focus your gaze on the tourneys and stop this incessant fighting!” 

“Alicent.” 

The Hand’s quiet chiding from behind instantly made the queen press her lips tightly shut. Aemond did not bother to look back at where his Grandsire sat in the King’s chair. Of course, Viserys was bedridden, as he had been for the past two moons. So who else but the respected Hand of the King to host in his place? 

Just as his boredom was reaching new heights, two serving girls appeared ----- one holding a pitcher of wine and the other holding a tray of food.  

“No more wine for Prince Aegon.” Queen Alicent waved away the first girl, to Aegon’s sputtering disappointment. “And what is this?” Their mother motioned at the tray.

“These are called finger sandwiches, Your Grace.” The girl murmured. 

Aemond’s eye twitched. 

“What did you say they were?” The queen questioned once more. 

“Finger sandwiches, Your Grace. We layered roasted meats, condiments, and cheeses between slices of bread and cut them into smaller pieces so that they may be easier to eat in a less formal setting.” 

Sandwiches, huh? Must he be plagued with reminders of that damn girl everywhere? 

“How novel!” His mother chuckled. Aemond watched with tightly pressed lips as the queen selected a ‘finger sandwich’ and took a delicate nibble. “Oh, these are lovely! Helaena, do try one.” Helaena obliged her wishes with a mysterious smile. “Aegon…never mind. Aemond, you as well. They are rather delicious.” 

“I am fine.” He said. Voice pinched and strained. 

His mother gave him a curious glance but did not press further. Instead, the Queen turned her attention back to the serving girl, asking, “How did you come up with the idea to layer the bread with meats and cheeses?” 

The girl hesitated, then quietly replied, “It was the idea of another kitchen girl, Your Grace. She has many clever recipes that we have never seen before.” 

“Hmm, how interesting. What is her------” 

“Mother? Is that the Bracken knight on the left?” His interruption successfully transferred the Queen’s attention to the knights entering the arena. Aemond then glared at the serving girl, who flinched and scurried away with her head down. He kept his eye trained on the stout girl, watching like a hawk as she approached the mutts with the same tray of finger foods. To his surprise, Jace flinched at the sight of the dainty sandwiches. Luke reached a hand to pat his older brother on the back, further drawing Aemond’s intrigue. 

Were they no longer on good terms? Hmm, perhaps that defiant little minx managed to burn yet another bridge. Good riddance, he says. He always knew it was only a matter of time before her true, infuriating personality came to light. Now, Jace’s long, mournful sighs across the span of the morning made more sense. Not that he cared. He could not spare a second thought for that infuriating girl. 

Though, he must wonder, what was the straw that broke the dragon’s back? What exactly instigated the fallout between the two? Seems to him that Luke was somewhat involved as well, judging from his immediate reaction. 

“ Ao lua aōha laesi naejot aōla ”  (You should keep your eyes to yourself.) 

Aemond’s entire body stilled at the crisp, fluent Valyrian. 

A perfect High Valyrian accent that could only belong to the rider of Caraxes ------ his uncle, Daemon Targaryen. 

Queen Alicent turned to stone beside him. Body facing straight ahead that trembled with unspoken fear. Her hands returned to their usual terrible habits of pulling and peeling at the skin encasing the nails until the nail beds were a bloody mess. The queen's long-standing opinion of her brother-in-law was less than favorable. Aemond remembered once in childhood that Alicent had referred to the man as a “malicious, blood-thirsty hound more animal than human” before his father promptly chastised her. 

She never spoke on the issue again before the king. 

Aemond glanced to his left, perplexed as the Rogue Prince settled into the seat beside him, propped his feet up, and took a nice long sigh. When the older prince showed no signs of leaving, Aemond finally greeted politely, “ Kepūs. To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Daemon Targaryen beckoned over the serving girl to pour him a goblet of fine Arbor Gold, which he sipped on as Aemond waited tensely for him to answer. He felt slightly prickled at his uncle’s lack of acknowledgment towards his mother. No matter the personal feuds, she was still the queen and Daemon was lower than her in ranking. Frankly speaking, why was his uncle sitting beside him? Should he not be tending to his bitch wife’s many little pups? 

“ Not enjoying the festivities ?” Daemon finally questioned wryly. The High Valyrian rolled off his tongue as smoothly as the common tongue. Like he spent his whole life in Old Valyrian. Aemond had always been bitter that his Valyrian sounded like that of a learned pupil, unlike his uncle. Daemon continued, still in Valyrian, “ Does the might of the Seven Kingdoms’ finest warriors not impress you, nephew ?” 

Aemond couldn’t hold back his snort, to his mother’s horror. The queen made a displeased noise under her breath when he replied to his uncle in Valyrian, “ What might? All I see are knights greener than grass flouting about. ” 

Daemon’s lips paused by his goblet’s rim. With a knowing smirk, he answered, “ And you are so seasoned yourself? ”  Shame rolled through his body, clenching each muscle as Aemond curled his hands tightly over the walnut armrest of his chair. “Such a waste.” His uncle purred, “ To possess a dragon like Vhagar and never see battle. ” 

Rational thought was nowhere to be found when Aemond snarled back, “ Still better than being dragonless. Tell me, how is Rhaena doing? ” 

In one heartbeat, Daemon’s demeanor changed. His bright violet eyes were cold and steely. His lazy smile grew wider. More predatory. He held Aemond’s glare with ease and confidence. Like Aemond was nothing but a bug beneath his boot. And as much as he hated himself for it, Aemond found himself averting his gaze as shivers ran down his spine. 

“ Careful, ” The Rogue Prince said with deadly precision, “ You would not want to upset the festivities, would you? ” Aemond did not respond. He kept his composure as steady as he could while Daemon tapped a finger against his goblet. “ Such fire. ” His uncle observed with a muted chuckle. “ You would have been a pillar of our house if it not for your bitch mother leading you astray. ” 

His chair scraped back with a loud screech as Aemond lept to his feet. “ You will refrain from speaking ill about my mother. ” He half shouted, causing everyone in the close vicinity to point and murmur. 

“Aemond!” The queen gasped. “Stop this nonsense and sit down!”

Slowly, almost lazily, Daemon Targaryen stood up with a languid sigh. Hands resting on the hilt of his Valryian steel sword, Dark Sister, as he smirked down at his nephew, whose anger was on the edge of boiling over. Aemond’s jaw clamped down so tightly his teeth threatened to shatter as he squared his shoulders. 

“ Or what? ” Daemon taunted with a tilt of his head. 

He was challenging him. Daring him to raise his sword and forcibly defend his mother’s honor. Did Daemon think he would back down? When his brood of pups were watching every second of this encounter? When his slut of a wife was observing with that keen, smug expression of hers? Aemond placed one hand on the dagger he always carried ------ the only gift his father ever gave him for his two and tenth name day, and kept his chin high. “ I would be glad to show you the fruits of my recent training. ”

“Aemond, sit down!” His mother ordered again. He ignored her. They were starting to attract quite a crowd. “Ser Criston, escort Prince Daemon back to his seat.” 

“Lay a hand on me, Ser Crispin, and I will slice your throat and bleed you dry like a pig in a slaughterhouse.” 

Aemond’s mentor had murderous intent on his face when he lumbered forward to tackle the silver-haired rogue. 

“ Ser Criston, stand aside,” Aemond ordered. 

“I take orders from the queen, my prince.” His mentor snapped back. 

His mother pressed a hand to her forehead and sighed, "Ser Criston, stand aside." The Dornish knight sent a final glare in Daemon's direction before begrudgingly halting in his path.

“Yes, we all know how close you are to your precious queen.” His uncle mocked. Reason and rationality were teetering dangerously close to the edge. Aemond narrowed his eye, growling from his chest. “ Look at you, ” The Rogue Prince sneered in Valyrian ------ lips curled back to reveal his bared teeth, “ a dragon in green is no dragon at all. You bring shame to the bloodline. ” 

Aemond hissed back venomously, “ Your wife birthed bastards with dirty blood and you comment on my lineage? ” He did not flinch, not even a hair, when Daemon stepped so close he could smell the Arbor Gold on the older man’s breath. Gods, he was tall. Aemond was the tallest of his siblings at six feet and two inches, but Daemon Targaryen was like a pillar at his height of six feet and five inches. 

“What ho?” Aegon cried in a drunken slur, “Are we forgoing the theatrics and getting into a brawl of our own?” His older brother waved his goblet around like a madman, “Now that is what I call entertainment!” 

“Aegon, be quiet!” The queen snapped. 

“If I may,” the smooth, buttery voice of the King’s Hand cut in. Aemond stiffened. He had almost forgotten his Grandsire’s presence. But there he was. The power behind the veil. The real power over the throne. Otto Hightower straightened his robes then offered, “Might I suggest we diffuse this situation, in the name of Prince Jacaerys’s name day festivities? We would not want to disturb our guests.” 

Daemon’s eyes casually trailed over to where Otto Hightower stood. “Yes, we would not want to disturb this swarm of pestering, cocksucking cunts who lick the Hand’s boots as if he’s the King himself.” 

A wave of mortified gasps swept the eavesdroppers. The queen stood up and cried, “Daemon you will not speak to the Hand in that manner!” 

“You may be my brother’s new wife,” Daemon spat, “but you will never be my queen. My respect will never be given to a false green cunt . You should not covet what does not belong to you.” 

“I suppose the same could be said for your brood,” Aemond growled, blocking Daemon’s path towards his mother and squaring his shoulders. He could hear the idiot brothers yapping in the background and it only fueled the endless rage burning in his heart as he bared his teeth at the Rogue Prince. “Though my sister and her heir have no regard for tradition or duty, it seems.” 

“Hear hear!” Aegon bumbled, slouched in his chair. 

“Aegon…” Helaena’s voice quietly interjected. A rare occurrence. They must be causing quite the ruckus if Helaena felt the need to involve herself. 

“You keep my mother’s name out of your mouth!” The smallest one, (Joffrey, was it?) fought against the knight who held him, kicking and screaming spitefully while Jace’s entire face shifted from red to purple. 

Daemon held a hand out to shush the pups. When he spoke once again, the edge in his voice was enough to draw blood. “Wars have been started over statements as such. Tell me, nephew, do you dream of glory in blood and fire so desperately to stand by your claim?” 

Do not shake. 

Do not tremble. 

Do not look away. 

Do not give them the satisfaction of seeing your fear. 

“Daemon, that is quite enough!” Otto Hightower commanded. “I will have to inform the King of your transgressions today. And on the prince’s name day. What a shame you have cast upon our house.” 

“Ha! Hahahaha! Shame, you say? Shame is a quality that you and your cunt daughter lack.” 

“As does your slut of a wife,” Aegon called out.

They all watched, half in fear, half with anticipation, as Daemon’s face unfurled into a dangerous smile, and he began to unsheath his prized weapon. Dark Sister was almost completely out of her sheath when a clear, bell-like voice rang out. 

“Keligon, Daemon. ” (Stop, Daemon.) 

Every head in the vicinity swiveled to where Princess Rhaenyra stood with her three dark-haired sons and two stepdaughters around her like a pack of snarling wolves. She handed her youngest son, a silver-haired babe, to Rhaena, who stood with wide, alarmed eyes, before addressing her husband in fluent Valyrian. “ You are causing a scene, my love. Come enjoy the joust with us. ” 

“ The Hand and his hound insulted your-----” 

“The Hand meant well,” Rhaenyra interrupted in the common tongue. “Whatever our differences, we should not sort through them in front of our guests.” She was tall, commandeering, and, if Aemond was being honest, a rather majestic-looking woman. Especially when compared to the drunken fool sprawled in the corner. The princess placed a calming hand on her eldest, then smiled grandly to the audience, “Come! Let us celebrate these talented young knights!” 

A moment of hesitation, then a roar of applause. While some of his grandsire’s most fervent allies, namely, the Lannisters, scowled at the Realm’s Delight taking control of the chaos, the rest of the Houses clapped admirably at Rhaenyra’s brilliant smile and display of authority. 

It made Aemond almost crumble with fury. 

“Long live the Targaryens!” 

“Hail the king! Hail his heir!” 

“To Prince Jacaerys’s health! Toasts for the young prince!” 

“To Princess Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight!” 

“Long live Princess Rhaenyra!” 

“ Do you hear that, nephew? ” Daemon sheathed his sword. “ That is the presence of a true Targaryen. We rule over the common men. We ride dragons that bath the land in fire. We are closer to gods than men. But you,” his uncle looked at him with a mixture of hatred, contempt, and scorn, “ you and your siblings are no true Targaryens. ” 

Then, willfully, almost frantically, Aemond blurted out, “ I ride the largest dragon in the skies. How can you say I am no true Targaryen? ” He wanted to throw himself off a cliff. He sounded small. Young. Insecure. Like he was eight years old and dragon-less. The sounds of Jace, Luke, and Aegon laughing as the winged pig oinked and squealed replayed like a prayer in his mind. 

But Daemon only gave him an icy scoff. “You? You are no more than a piece on the board for your dear grandsire. Look, nephew, at the Lannisters. See how that girl watches you? ” 

Aemond followed the older man’s instructions and found a girl standing beside Jason Lannister observing him with a dazed expression. She had a lion’s mane for hair and murky green eyes that paled in comparison to the rope of dazzling emeralds around her neck. Drenched head to toe in enough gold to feed a small village, she was certainly a sight. But what made him sick to his core was how she batted her eyelashes at him. As if he was Florian and she, Jonquil. Like she was already infatuated with him, even without ever speaking a word to him. 

“I had my Bronze Bitch, and it seems you will have your Golden Bitch.” Daemon murmured, then cackled with laughter as he sauntered away. Aemond stood, frozen with horror, while Daemon rejoined his family, pressing a kiss to Rhaenyra’s ring. The family of eight, dressed in pristine Targaryen garb, turned towards the tourneys, but not before Baela tossed him one final glare and Rhaenyra sent a curt nod in their direction. 

As soon as Rhaenyra had Daemon in her grasp, the queen let out a breath of relief and sank back into her seat. But not Aemond. Aemond watched the Lannisters cheer on their knight, with their frizzy corn-colored locks and boorishly gaudy attire and felt an anxious hand squeeze tightly around his heart. 

“Sit down, Aemond.” Otto Hightower’s voice ordered beside his ear. He jumped. The Hand guided his grandson back to his chair and pushed him down with a firm grip before settling down in the chair Daemon once occupied. “You have caused far too big a commotion today, do you hear me?” 

“You know I despise that horrid language.” His mother added, flushed and irritated from the entire occasion. “I told you not to converse in it if possible. There is no use for Valyrian in the Seven Kingdoms. And what were you thinking, provoking Daemon? Your father will not be pleased with ----- Aemond, can you hear me?” 

The queen’s fussing went over his head as Aemond honed his attention on the laughing cluster of Lannisters draped in gold. 

“Aemond, whatever is it that has caught your attention?” 

“The queen is addressing you, Prince Aemond. You would do well to respond.” 

“Brother, are you feeling well? You look pale.” 

“Are you planning on pursuing an engagement with the Lannister girl?” Aemond suddenly interrupted all the voices swarming around him. 

His grandsire was taken back. Then the calm, composed mask of the King’s Hand fell into place once more and Otto replied, “This is neither the time or place to discuss such matters.” 

“You are.” Aemond choked out. “You want to marry me off to the Lannisters like a broodmare.” 

“Son, we shall speak of this at another time.” Queen Alicent tried. “Aemond, Ae-----Aemond!” 

But he was already out of his seat and halfway down the stairs. Heart drummed against his chest as he stalked across the courtyards and towards the stables. The stable boys barely had enough time to saddle a horse before Aemond threw himself onto the seat and rode off toward the Dragonpit. 

Daemon was right. 

Daemon was right . 

They were going to sell him off. They were going to sell him off like a common whore for the Lannister’s gold and support all so his drunken cunt brother could have a chance to sit the throne. His grandsire wanted to ship him off to Casterly Rock to waste away, surrounded by clawless lions while those bastards prance about on Dragonstone, their ancestral seat. No. His ancestral seat. 

How much more? How much more must he give? Was this the fate of second sons? Was this rage and desperation he felt at this moment the driving force behind his grandsire’s climb to power? To Daemon Targaryen’s bloodthirsty campaigns? 

He did not know how he got onto Vhagar’s back. He did not know how he flew Vhagar out into the clear skies with no chains and no leathers. But when the pair were finally lost above the clouds, with King’s Landing nowhere to be seen, the emotions buried in his gut finally burst out like a raw, guttural scream. One that his dragon echoed with an angry roar of her own. 

The pair circled the skies as Aemond pounded his fists onto Vhagar’s back. Unwilling to accept his miserable fate. Unwilling to accept the reality of being the second son. Unwilling to accept that Daemon was right, and he would never be a true Targaryen.

Chapter Text

It was past midnight when the kitchen help finally finished cleaning up after Jace’s birthday banquet. They were all dead tired. Ready to haul their carcasses onto a flimsy mattress for some well-deserved shut-eye. Elyse was no exception. Marscha had her on pies and god, there were so many pies . Cherry pies. Meat pies. Lamprey pies (ugh, eels in pie, really?) 

Yet when the rest of the kitchen staff went to rest, Elyse had stayed behind. Anxious thoughts about Jace made it impossible for her mind to settle. So instead, she took the time to fiddle with a yogurt recipe she had been experimenting with.  

“Wasting me ingredients again?” Marscha grumbled, wiping her hands clean from pan grease. She pursed her lips while Elyse lugged in a pail of fresh milk. 

The pail was dropped with a plunk by the large pot, then Elyse looked the head cook dead in the eye and declared, “You were an absolute menace tonight, Marscha.”  

“Me? Ha! Yer always a menace, lass. Bit of a hypocrite, wouldn’t ye say?” 

“I’m just saying, you could ease up. For a second, I was really worried about your blood pressure ----- uh, overall health.” 

Overflowing with complaints, the head cook muttered, “Me health has been terrible fer a long time now. Just look at me hair. Oh it was gloriously golden, backen the day. Like honey, the lads would tell me. Now look at it, grey and drab.” 

“So untrue. I think you look beautiful.” 

“Then yer crazier than I thought.” Marscha chortled. She untied her apron and hanging it by the oven. “These cooks. Not a brain between all of them.  If ye don’t yell, they don’t listen. Look at Jonah! Burnt three of the roasts today. He’ll be the death of me, mark me words. If ye don’t beat him to it.” 

“Hey! I’ve been behaving myself recently! And leave Jonah alone!” Elyse giggled. 

“Damn fool. But he won’t be my problem ferever. He’ll be yer problem in the future and good riddance fer that!” 

Her laugh stopped abruptly. She wrinkled her nose, “My problem?” 

“When I retire, I’ll put ye in charge and ye can deal with these bumbling dolts yerself. It’ll be a good punishment fer all the chaos ye’ve caused.” 

“Oh, stop it.” She bounded over and tackled Marscha with a hug, planting light kisses all over her cheek. “You’re not retiring unless I say so. You’re stuck with us, got it?” 

“My greatest nightmare ------ surrounded by fools when the Stranger greets me.” Marscha would never admit it, but she softened significantly under Elyse’s affectionate behavior. 

“Yes, yes. We are all fools. But we adore you, so no talks of dying, ok?” 

The older woman batted away Elyse’s puckered lips with a half-hearted scowl, “Eh, go away! Ye stink of sweat. Bathe yerself tonight with the scented soap from me box, ye hear me?” 

“Just look at how you spoil me,” Elyse crooned. “I know you love me.” 

“And don’t waste all me milk! I need it fer tomorrow’s gravy.” 

“Yes, ok, got it.” She pushed a protesting Marscha out the door, laughing, “Now go to bed! I promise nothing will be destroyed by the time you come back.” 

Her boss gave her another side-eye. Elyse gave her a cheerful wave when Marscha finally disappeared down the hall. Their relationship had improved so much over the past months, she could barely remember the days where they’d snipe at each other like a bunch of upset neighbors. It was nice to have Marscha on her side. Dare she say, she almost saw her as a grand-maternal figure? 

Humming lightly under her breath, Elyse returned to the milk pail and began to work. She poured the milk into the pot and stoked the fire, adding more firewood to increase the heat. While she waited for the milk to boil, she cut the lemons and plucked out the seeds. Dairy products weren’t hard to make from scratch. Her dad taught her a few times back home. Usually, you’d use some store-bought yogurt to start the process, but since that wasn’t option, Elyse opted for lemon juice to curdle the milk instead. 

It was good to distract herself from the turmoil inside her mind. By focusing on the boiling milk and calculating the time it would take to cool, she could spare a moment from thinking about how she ruined a friendship. Really, she could use a break from obsessing over ------

“Ahem.” 

Elyse shrieked at the sudden noise. The metal ladle she was holding fell to the ground with a clatter as she whirled around to face the door, where Jace stood staring at her. “U-uh Y-Your High------I mean, Jace, hi!” 

Her friend nodded back, tense and unable to meet her gaze. Since Jace made no move to enter, the pair stood at an awkward distance from each other until, out of nowhere, he suddenly stumbled forward. He glared behind him and Elyse could swear she saw a hand push him in.

“So…um, happy birth-----name day! Did you, uh, have a good time? I mean, how was the banquet?” 

“It was fine. A lot of wine. A lot of dancing.” 

“Ah. So…you didn’t get to spend the day with Vermax?” 

He melted into a subtle smile. “No. Unfortunately. I did not.” 

“I’m sorry, that sucks.” 

“I was indeed disappointed.” 

And like that, the conversation turned dryer than the Sahara desert. Elyse stood beside the counter, miserable under the silence. God, this was worse than she imagined. Way more stressful than her encounter with Aemond. With that jerk, she couldn’t care less what he thought of her. But Jace…his opinion of her mattered. She cared too much. 

Come on, Elyse. Stop being a wuss and just clear the air. Fix this, because you know you’ll regret it if you don’t. 

Right. Clear it up. Shouldn’t be too hard. 

She took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry ------” 

“I apologize ------” 

Both froze, mid-sentence. They blinked in unison, then started chuckling. With every giggle, the bad energy cleared like storm clouds chased away by a shining sun. Elyse looked into the face of her dear friend and felt her confidence invorigated by relaxed energy between them. “I guess we both have a lot to say.” She smiled bashfully. 

“I suppose so.” Jace agreed.  

“But, do you mind if I go first?”  He nodded his consent. Elyse took a moment to prepare herself, then began, “I’m sorry, about that night on the beach. I was…going through something personal and I caused a whole ruckus. I must have scared everyone and I feel terrible.” 

She paused and looked up at her friend, who looked stunned. Jace took a good pause then slowly responded, “I thought that you were angry with me ------ that I had made you uncomfortable?” 

“No! No, that’s not true. It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I promise.” 

 “If so…then why were you so adamant that I was not to touch you? You screamed whenever I approached. Even when we returned, Luke was the one to carry you.” 

“Because ----- because----- ugh, look Jace I swear it’s not you.” She started to pace the floor. Frazzled and jumbling her words, she tried her best to rectify things, “You’ve been an amazing friend and I’m so so sorry for making you feel like you did something wrong because that’s the furthest from the truth and I would have said all this earlier but I didn’t want know if you wanted anything to do with me anymore because yeah I was acting a little crazy, I’ll admit it ------” 

“Uh, may I ------” 

“And I didn’t want to ruin your birthday because how horrible of a friend I would be if I did that though I probably ruined it anyways ------” 

“Elyse, I would like to ------” 

“Of course, you are absolutely within your right to find me annoying or maybe you even hate me but that would me very very sad because I care about you a lot and that’s crazy because hello? Prince. Maid. Not really my place to say that but I don’t have a lot of people here and ------” 

“ELYSE!” 

Oh, she was rambling. Oops. 

She waited, abashed and flushed, as Jace rubbed his jaw, lost in thought. “So to clarify, I do not hate you, El. Not at all.” 

“Ah, uh, that’s good to, uh, hear.” The knot in her stomach loosened. 

“Second, I wanted to find you sooner, but I was not sure if you would see me.” 

“Of course!” She blurted. “I’m always here to talk!” 

Jace relaxed, “And I am glad that you are not upset with me. Though…if I may, and purely out of concern,” He closed the distance between them. Gentle in his demeanor and patient with his words, her friend asked, “What happened?  Did you think I would…perhaps, hurt you?” Guilt darkened his handsome features. “If I did, I sincerely apologize, Elyse. I never meant to inflict harm upon you.” 

“No. You didn’t hurt me. It was just ----- I was just…” 

Elyse took a shuddering breath, trying to stop the tremble in her knees. She gripped the counter tightly in fear that her legs would give out underneath her. No matter how hard she tried to form her next words, nothing would come out. 

How. How could she explain? It was a carefully crafted yet volatile system that she had in place: shove all the bad stuff into a box, lock it away and never speak, think or mention it ever again. Pulling out those memories beyond painful ------ equal to getting flattened into a pancake by a full-speed train. 

But one glance at Jace’s earnest distress, and Elyse knew she had to buck up the courage to reopen the box. To fix this. To save a friendship. 

“So…w-when I was…” 

Easier said than done. 

“T-thirteen. So when I was thirteen there w-was…” 

Damn it, why won’t it come out? Why can’t she just say it? Why was she so freaking useless? 

“I h-had this…this…” 

Ugh, damn it! Damn it damn it damn it! 

“What I’m trying to s-say is t-that-----” 

“May I interrupt?” Jace suddenly intervened. 

Her eyes fluttered up to his face. “Oh, sure.” 

Jace nodded, then strode forward and leaned against the counter beside her. He folded his arms and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Never had Elyse seen such deep notes of somberness buried in the young prince’s brow as he exhaled. 

Before she could ask the reasons behind his serious expression, Jace said, “I never had any friends in my youth.” 

She blinked. “E-excuse me?” 

The Velaryon prince ran his fingers through his carefully combed curls, mussing them into his usual messy tresses, “Luke, Baela, and Rhaena are family. I value them more than my life, that goes without saying. But they are family.” 

“Oh…um, ok.” 

“It was inevitable, I knew that.” Jace continued. “As my mother’s firstborn, there are expectations placed upon me. When my mother inherits the Iron Throne, I must be her source of strength. I must not make any blunders or bring shame to her legacy. These expectations…” Elyse patted his arm comfortingly as his voice trailed in and out. “Made it difficult for me to be familiar with children from the other houses. There is always politics at play. Quite exhausting, if I am frank.” 

“I can’t imagine.” She murmured.

“Then there were rumors about my parentage…” Her heart lurched. Jace coiled his hands tightly over the counter’s edge ------- knuckles white against his tanned skin. When he finally found his voice again, it was poisoned with hatred. “I am not very keen on associating with those who believed the lies the Queen and her cohort whisper behind my mother’s back.” 

Elyse imagined baby Jace trying to keep a stiff upper lip as the other children laughed and pointed at him. Standing beside his pale-haired mother with his chin high, fists clenched. Tears stung her eyes. How confusing it must have been for him, to hear all these horrible rumors about his mom. How unfair it was to put someone so young and naive in a situation like that. 

“It was much too difficult to keep an honest friend in my position, and I thought it did not matter. Until I was able to make a true friend out of you.” Jace shifted his gaze onto her. Elyse found herself staring so hard into his eyes she could see all the different hues of brown that made up Jace’s wonderfully honest pupils. “Do not abandon me in this pit of vipers, Elyse.” 

“Jace…” 

“Whatever haunts your past, you may confide in me at your discretion. I will not pressure you. Not when I can I how pained you are when you think on the matter.” 

Her voice was thick with tears. “Jace…you…” 

“In return, I only ask that you grow confident of our friendship so that one day, no matter when, we can talk earnestly about the memories that agonize you so.” 

“You’re ok with it?” Elyse asked, tears dribbling down her cheeks. “You’re ok with me not telling you about…about…” 

Jace shrugged. “I do not see how it would affect my opinion of you. Unless you are spreading rumors behind my back, I cannot think of another instance where I would forsake our friendship.” 

“Never.” Elyse vowed with ferocity. She closed the distance and rested her hand on the prince’s shoulder. With passion and gusto, she promised, “I would never betray you, Jace. I swear. No matter what happens, you will always be my friend and I will support you however you need me to. I give you my word.” 

A cheeky smirk emerged on his wine-stained lips, “Then, how about you celebrate the last hours of my nameday with me? Perhaps with a ride on Vermax?” 

Her weeping evolved into laughing.  Jace playfully wagged his eyebrows at her. “Can’t you be serious for more than ten minutes at a time?” She complained, wiping away the wetness in her eyes. 

“I suppose not.” The prince smirked. “Now, how about that dragon ride?” 

“Sorry, still no. But I do have your present if you’d like to see it.” 

“I will get my dragon ride, one day, you shall see.” 

“So the many many jars of peanut butter that I slaved over holds no meaning, then?” 

“Oh no, no! I did not say that. Peanut butter is very welcome, yes. How many jars did you say there were?” 

She threw her hands up in defeat and chuckled, “Hold on.” Elyse hurried to the opposite end of the kitchen, where she had nestled three ceramic jars of nut butters behind the tea tins. She adjusted the lopsided bows she had tied on each jar with strips of blue linen before proudly presenting them to Jace. “Here you go. Peanut butter, as promised.” 

“Only three?” Jace frowned. “I can finish this in one sitting.” 

Elyse swatted his hand before he could dip a finger into the jar, “No, you won’t. Eat it in moderation, you hear me? Hey don’t use your finger!” 

“I thought this was my present, I should be able to eat it as I wish.” her friend retorted. 

“Oh my -----” She snatched the jars and set them on the counter with a huff. Against Jace’s protesting, she added, “I have another present if you could just wait !” 

“One more? You spoil me.” 

“Glad you’d aware.”  

A crisp knock on the kitchen door captured their attention. A cautious voice called out, “Ahem! Have the two of you resolved your issues?” It was Luke. 

“We were not eavesdropping!” Another voice ----- Rhaena’s, perhaps, quickly added. 

Jace groaned. Elyse hid her giggle as he shouted, “You might as well come in!” Luke, Rhaena, and Baela popped their heads in, one by one. They were all dressed in their finest attire for the banquet: Luke matching his brother in a scarlet doublet and black trousers. Baela, curls pinned up to expose her swan-like neck that was adorned with layers of gold jewelry------striking in her bold blue gown. Rhaena, with her petal pink dress embroidered with silver threads that accentuated the flecks of silver in her pupils. 

Elyse looked at her soot-stained and dirty apron, then back at the Velaryon/Targaryen bunch, then sighed. Some were destined to be swans. Others remain the ugly ducking forever. 

As they filed inside and surrounded the counter, Jace punched Luke on the arm and threatened, “If I ever catch you eavesdropping again, I will toss you off the highest spire here.” 

“Again, we were not eavesdropping!” Luke protested. 

“I was.” Baela piped up. 

“Baela!” Rhaena, panicked, turned to explain, “We left as soon as Jace walked in. All we caught was the very tail end of the conversation just now.” 

“Though Baela urged to stay for the whole duration.” The younger Velaryon brother added.

“I only intended to make sure Jace did not stumble over his words like the bumbling idiot he can be.” Baela tossed back. Her siblings snickered in the background. “All you spoilsports misread my intentions. How rude.” 

“Baela, you are the bane of my existence.” Jace snapped at his stepsister. Stepsister? Cousin? The Targaryen family tree was far too intricate and disturbing for Elyse to fathom on most occasions. 

“Ok then,” she stepped in before the two eldest of the family got into a physical brawl and wrecked the kitchen, “Jace, I’m going to grab your present.” 

“Another?” 

“He already has a mountain of gifts.” 

“Firstborns. Privileged and spoiled.” 

“You are a firstborn too, Baela.” 

“Twins are different.” 

“Can all of you shut up for once?’ 

Shaking her head at the chaotic sibling banter, Elyse disappeared into the pantry to retrieve the surprise. Excitement bubbled through her as she added the last minute touches. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Jace’s face. 

The Targaryen Velaryon brood was still arguing when she reemerged with Jace’s birthday cake in hand. It took her five tries to get the darn cake right. But now, with the ten mini candles flickering on top of its creamy white surface illuminating Jace’s face full of awe as she approached, Elyse had never been prouder of herself. 

“What in the seven hells?” Luke sputtered. “Why would you put candles on a cake?” 

“And such small ones,” Rhaena marveled. 

“This, miladies, is a -----” 

“A birthday cake.” 

She blinked, slightly taken back that Jace finished her sentence in her stead. “Yes…exactly! It’s a birthday cake.” 

“You made me a birthday cake.” The birthday boy repeated. His face shone with sheer amazement while he examined the cake with laser focus. 

“A birth----what?” 

“For the rest of us not in the know, do explain,” Baela commanded. 

“Where I come from, when we celebrate name days, we have a tradition of putting candles on a cake.” 

“Whatever for?” Rhaena asked eagerly. 

Elyse darted around the kitchen, grabbing clean plates, forks, and a knife, “Well, we believe that if you make a wish on the candles and blow them out, your wish will come true in the next year.” 

“You and your strange stories, El.” Luke laughed. “I certainly have never heard of such a tradition before.” 

“Though it is very intriguing,” Rhaena admitted. 

“Go on then, Jace,” Baela clapped her older brother on the back, “make a wish.” 

“Oh, and you should close your eyes,” Elyse added quickly. Jace snorted but obliged. Hands clasped under his strong jaw, he mouthed a string of words that Elyse couldn’t quite make out.  As the crowd waited for Jace to finish his wish ----- one eye on the melting wax dripping into the pillowy soft cake, the other fixed on the boy’s serious expression, Elyse found herself making a wish as well. No. Not really a wish. More like a prayer. An earnest, desperate prayer that her on the tip of her toes like a bird ready to take flight. 

Please . She prayed. Please keep Jace safe. Please let him live until he’s old and wrinkled and surrounded by grandchildren. Please let him overcome all the hardships in his life and never lose that warm, kind heart of his. Please keep Luke alive, so Jace never has to experience the devastation of losing a sibling. Keep them all happy and healthy for as long as you can. 

When Jace finally finished his wish, he lowered his head and blew out all ten candles in one breath. The smoke rose in graceful curvatures, taking Jace and Elyse’s secrets with it as it melted into the ceiling, while the teens clapped and cheered. 

“Happy birthday, Jace!” Elyse cried. A lump lodged in her throat made it impossible for her to speak without choking on her emotions. 

“Yes, yes.” Baela joined in, pulling Jace into a headlock with a grin, “Happy name day to you, you twat!” Rhaena gently removed her sister’s arm before pressing a light kiss to Jace’s temple and giving him an appreciative hug. 

“Happy nameday, brother.” Luke clapped the hardest. He couldn’t hide the admiring look in his warm brown eyes if he tried. Elyse could recognize that adoring, worshipping gaze from a mile away. Dean also commanded such respect from the younger cousins. 

“It is just a nameday. No need for such a fuss,” Jace mumbled back, flushed from his hairline down to his collar. “But thank you. Especially you, El. Thank you for this cake. I know you put in much effort, as you do with everything you make.” 

“What kind of cake is this?” Rhaena poked at wax stubs curiously. “Currant or lemon?” 

“Neither,” Elyse replied. 

“But that is the only two kinds.” Luke frowned. 

“There is also honeyed cake.” 

“It’s none of those, miladies.” 

“Then what is it?” Baela demanded. 

Elyse cut into the buttery soft cake, smug and quiet. She cast a mysterious smile at Jace, who watched her with a puzzled look, then replied, “It’s a cheesecake, miladies.” Baela cackled at the top of her lungs while Rhaena echoed her sister’s disbelief in a much softer volume. Luke was green in the face. The younger Velaryon prince inched away from the cake slice Elyse set before him, clearly unnerved. “You should know better than to question my genius, Luke. Trust me, it’s good.” 

“I believe you, El. But I need a moment to adjust to the idea of, um…” Luke swallowed audibly. “Cheese in a cake.” 

“Take a bite,” She urged. Luke actually gagged when she shoved the fork in his hand, “I promise you it’s good.” When Luke shook his head manically, she sighed and turned to Jace for assistance. “Jace?” 

Luke’s older brother hesitated. His fork hovered over his cake slice while all the teens watched him like a hawk. “Come on, take a bite!” Baela scowled. Under his sibling’s pressuring, Jace gave in and jammed the fork of soft, creamy cake into his mouth. 

“S-so? How is it?” Rhaena inquired. Her stepbrother just continued to savor the mouthful of cake. “Tell us, Jace. What does it taste like?” Jace didn’t say a word, only nodding his head continuously like a bobblehead on steroids while gobbling up the rest of his slice.  

“Oh for hells’ sake,” Baela snatched a fork and took a nibble of the cheesecake. “Wait, this…this does not taste like cheese.” She whirled around with narrowed eyes at Elyse, “Tell me, what did you actually put in here?” 

Elyse fluttered her eyes over to the pot of warming milk with a knowing smile. Turns out yogurt wasn’t the only product you’d get if you added lemon juice to milk. If you blend the curds (or, in Elyse’s case, grind it in a whetstone) until it's smooth, you get homemade cream cheese. From there, all Elyse had to do was add some sugar, cream, and eggs to make a tangy batter, poured on top of a biscuit base, and baked in a water bath at the lowest heat possible. 

“Give me a bite, Baela.” Rhaena insisted. Baela fed her twin a small morsel of the cake, “Oh this is divine ! Luke, you simply must try a bite.” 

“A-are you sure? Cheese in a ----- mmph!” His words were promptly cut off when Jace lunged over and smeared Luke’s face with cheesecake. “Jace!” The boy shouted. The twins roared with laughter as the dollops of cream cheese splattered from his chin onto his velvet doublet. 

“There, does it taste like cheese?” Jace smirked, wiping his hands clean. 

Luke licked off the cake on the edge of his lips. “Huh, not at all! How is it so soft and creamy? This cannot be cake!” 

“Give me another bite!” Rhaena reached for her cake with gusto, but not before Baela pushed her out of the way and took a huge forkful. 

“Baela, stop hogging the cake!” Luke complained. 

“Clean your face, idiot.” Baela stuck out her tongue before shoveling more cake into her mouth. “Rhaenyra is going to kill you for ruining that doublet. The velvet was imported from Braavos, you know.” 

Rhaena offered the whining, grumbling Luke a handkerchief with a long sigh, “Baela, save us some, please?” 

“For you? Anything. For the boys? They can kiss my ass.” 

In the blink of an eye, Luke and Baela were in a full-blown sibling fight, while Rhaena kept herself in the middle, trying to calm both teens while avoiding the fork that Baela was swinging around. Elyse stood to the side, watching the entire encounter with an easy smile. It’s been a while since she’s felt this type of atmosphere. Heard the banter and bickering she had grown so accustomed to during her childhood. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear Dean’s voice in the mix. She could picture Enzo and Antonio fighting over the last popsicle in the freezer while Hannah and Vicky threw couch cushions at the boys because they accidentally knocked over the pitcher of lemonade they just finished making. 

“A bunch of crazed monkeys.” Jace joined her with a scowl. He had finished his slice and was sneaking another piece while his siblings blindly fought. 

Elyse elbowed him with a laugh, “You love them, shut up.” 

“Most of the time. Sometimes, I want to strangle them.” 

“Yeah well, that’s family for you.” Her heart swelled with affection. Jace hid a chuckle when Baela and Rhaena joined forces after Luke accidentally stepped on Rhaena’s toes. “You love them, you hate them. You want to strangle them. But at the end of the day, they’re all you’ve got.” 

“I suppose,” Jace admitted. 

She smiled and gently patted Jace’s hand. “Well, anyways, happy birthday, Jace. I hope it was a good day for you.” 

“It would be better if you were willing to meet Vermax.” 

“Shut up and eat your cake.”

Chapter Text

Ever since Aemond issued his crappy apology, Helaena had formed a habit of summoning Elyse to her apartments at least twice a week, which she didn’t mind. She enjoyed the time she spent with the soft, reserved princess and her twins. 

Not to mention, it only took a few visits for Elyse to notice the immense loneliness that plagued the young mother. Other than her embroidery and the several insect cages piled around the room, Helaena seemed to have no other companions. Even her ladies, who turned their noses up whenever Elyse popped in, barely engaged the quiet princess in conversation and preferred to gossip between themselves. From an outsider’s perspective, Helaena was isolated from the rest of the world, and Elyse tried her best to ease that isolation whenever she was there. 

The only problem, however, was the brother. 

Ugh, the brother. 

More often than not, Aemond would be perched by some window with a musty old book too thick to be interesting. Or if not a book, then a dagger that he twirled with finesse while staring at her like she was a fly that should be swatted. The feeling was mutual. 

Today was no exception. When Elyse wandered in with Helaena’s dinner, Aemond was once again sitting on the windowsill with a book. “Princess Helaena. Prince Aemond.” She dipped into a curtsy. Helaena looked up from her stitching and smiled broadly. Her brother, on the other hand, scowled harder. 

 “Elyse, hello. I do wish you would call me Helaena,” She was prettier than a fresh garden rose in her dark green dress trimmed with silver. The scoop-neck bodice exposed her elegant decollete, where an emerald pendant sat on a woven silver chain. (The emerald was the size of a quail egg, might she add.) 

Aemond closed his book with a crisp snap, then cast a judgmental look her way. “Do not encourage her lack of etiquette, sister. This one is prone to defiance already. No need to plant more seeds of unruliness in her head.” 

And just like that, her mood was ruined. 

“Oh do be quiet,” Helaena chided ------ kind, but firm. “You sound like Mother when you speak of etiquette.” 

“Mother is right. You must keep the servants and lowborns at a distance or they think themselves one of us.” 

Before she could stop herself, Elyse retorted back with a sickly sweet tone, “Oh, I didn’t realize how much you hated lowborns, Your Highness. Considering how much time you spend in Flea’s Bottom.” 

A twitch formed on his one good eye. Elyse could see the storm clouds brewing under his smooth marble mask. God, she loved to poke the bear, didn’t she? At least she had Helaena on her side. A couple of days of keen observation was all it took for her to discover Aemond’s dirty little secret. The foul, grouchy prince that stormed through the castle with a walk as dramatic and gothic as Severus Snape (Harry Potter fans, anyone?) goes soft as pudding in the presence of his precious sister. As long as Helaena was a fan of her, Aemond couldn’t do a thing (hopefully). 

“Do not mind him, Elyse.” Helaena interrupted the ongoing staring contest between the feuding duo, “Please, I insist you that you call me Helaena.” 

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” Elyse shook her head with an apologetic smile. 

“Fine,” the princess shrugged, “but in the future, you will call me Helaena. I am sure.” 

“Ok…anyway, your dinner, would you like me to set it up?” 

“Yes, that would be nice.” Aemond and Elyse exchanged icy glares when she passed, but the prince didn’t toss a single insult her way. 

“The last time I was here, you mentioned you lost your appetite, Your Highness.” 

“Yes…I blame the heat.” 

“I thought it’d be good for you to take a break from your usual rotation of heavy roasts and pies to have something easier to digest instead.” 

Helaena peered into the silver tureen, “What is it?” 

“Chicken soup with knife-cut noodles,” Puffed with pride, Elyse poured one more ladle of soup into the silver bowl, then set it before the princess with a fork and spoon. “The broth is made with nourishing ingredients like leeks, garlic, ginger and mushrooms. I shredded the chicken so it’s easier to chew and added turnip greens for digestion.” 

It was her mom’s ultimate cure for all sorts of ailments. The flu? Chicken soup. Her first period? Chicken soup. Bawling her eyes out because her cousin Luis lost her hamster? Chicken soup. Of course, she had to make some adjustments since there wasn't any Shaoxing wine or sesame oil. But even with the tweaked recipe, mom’s chicken soup was a warm hug in a bowl. 

“Noo…noodles? What is that?” 

The princess’s clumsy pronunciation drew a giggle out of her belly, “Hmm, how do I explain…they’re basically tiny slices of dough that you boil in water until they’re chewy. It’s one of my favorites.” 

“Peasant food, sister,” Aemond added from his perch. Elyse huffed, annoyed, while he furthered his input, “Peasants cannot afford meat for most meals so they boil it into broth.” 

Ok now he was trying to be an ass. She was so tempted to chuck her tray right at his stupid, smug face. And by the way, has he paid any attention to the smallfolk in the city? Bones were considered a luxury for the masses, let alone actual meat. Most survived on gruel and watered wine ---- maybe some cheese and bread, if they were lucky. 

“Well, I find this dish intriguing.” Helaena picked up her spoon and took a long sip of broth. Elyse watched, wringing her hands fretfully, while the princess nibbled on an oddly shaped noodle, anxious to hear her opinion. She always got so nervous when people tried her food. 

Helaena remained silent until she tasted each ingredient before setting down her spoon and smiling at Elyse with twinkling eyes. “Well?” Elyse asked nervously, “What do you think?”

“I think I would like this same meal tomorrow. I like how clean the broth tastes.” Helaena murmured. 

“R-really?” Elyse squeaked. “You like it?” 

The princess nodded, “I love it, I do.” Helaena’s glowing review gave her immediate relief, but her bashful giggle quickly dissipated when she heard Aemond’s scoffs. Helaena sighed, then beckoned her brother over, “Aemond, come try the soup.” 

“I’d rather not,” Aemond replied, nose in the air. “Peasant food does not align with my taste.” 

Yeah right. I didn’t see you vomiting up those sandwiches you stole from me you entitled piece of sh------

“Aemond…” Helaena’s gentle voice cut through Elyse’s internal grumbling. “Just come try, hmm?” 

Unable to disregard his sister’s coaxing, Aemond’s gruff attitude withered away. With a deep scowl, the prince shuffled over and awkwardly accepted Helaena’s attempt to spoonfeed him a sip of broth. His ears were flushed and pink as Elyse snickered in the background. 

“So, what do you think?” Helaena tugged on a strand of his long hair. 

“Hmm.” Was all her brother grunted before stomping back to his book. The princess shrugged, exchanged a knowing look with Elyse, and then returned to her food. 

They spent the rest of the meal engaging in small talk. Helaena excitedly informed Elyse of the newest additions to her insect collection and was eager to hear any gossip circulating amongst the maids. Of course, Elyse couldn’t tell her that the latest piece of gossip was Aegon’s roll in the hay with one of the laundry girls, so she quickly deflected to an update on Dyanna and Micah’s budding romance. Just yesterday, the smithy’s boy came stuttering and stammering to visit Dyanna with a bouquet of handpicked daisies. Her auburn-haired roommate was swoony and distracted for the rest of the day while all the girls cackled at her smitten behavior. 

Suddenly, Aemond stood up and shut his book, drawing their attention. “I must head to the training yard.” He informed, “I will see you later, sister.” 

“You will not stay?” His sister asked. She had just finished her meal and was dabbing at the corners of her mouth with a silk napkin. 

Aemond approached her, “Ser Criston has doubled my training in recent weeks. I must make haste before I am late.” 

“Oh, then, be safe.” 

The One-Eyed Prince gave his sister a rare smile. He pressed a light kiss to her head and marched out of her apartments ------ sending a final stinging stare in Elyse’s direction that she reciprocated. 

“He is not a bad person.” 

“Pardon?” 

“My brother, he is not a bad person,” Helaena repeated, playing with her napkin. 

“Of course, Your Highness.” Elyse smiled passively. 

“You do not believe me.” The princess observed, “I must say, I cannot blame you. Aemond is prickly on his best days. But he has a good heart.” 

Who cares? It was none of her business if Aemond had “a good heart” or not. What did it have to do with her? 

“You must know that he is kind. And many maidens find him handsome.” 

“R-right…” 

“What about you?” 

Elyse blinked, startled, “I’m sorry?” 

“Do you find my brother handsome?” 

“Uh…uh…” 

Helaena peered through her long, silver lashes ------ hope and anticipation apparent in those cornflower blue irises, waiting for an answer Elyse was scared to provide.

She chewed on her lip. Well. He’s not ugly, she supposed. And if she’s being honest, she could see why he’d be popular with the girls. But Aemond wasn’t her type. Elyse preferred dark-haired boys like Percy Jackson or Jude Bellingham. Funny, sassy boys with a great laugh and a light-hearted personality. Aemond was none of those. He was dark and broody and looked like he’d probably listen to emo rock and give himself stick-and-poke tattoos. 

“I suppose he’s handsome”, she managed (only objectively so).

The princess nodded smugly, “Yes, he is. I am glad you believe so.” 

“How about a story?” Elyse’s voice was falsely cheery as she attempted to steer the conversation in another direction before she let her true opinion of Alicent’s second son slip out. 

“Oh, yes, a story would be nice.” 

“What kind of story would you like, Your Highness?” 

Helaena pondered briefly, then replied, “Anything. Perhaps one about your cousins?” 

“My cousins? Hmm…” Elyse sorted through her arsenal of memories to find a good story, “I suppose I could tell you about the time Enzo and Antonio, the twins, ruined my grandma’s garden.” 

It was quite an iconic story in the family. Sometime during the spring when she was ten, Nonna had the twins help weed her famed vegetable garden out in the yard. But the twins had no idea how to tell the difference between a sprout and a weed, so they pulled out everything. When Elyse and Vicky returned from getting boba, Nonna was chasing the twins around the house, beet-red in the face and brandishing a wooden spoon. 

To make matters worse, Nonna demanded all the cousins there that day (like six or seven of them) to help replant all the seedlings that could be salvaged, which took the entire day . Dean and Luis were furious, (they had plans or something) which eventually led to some insults tossed back and forth, which led to a full-out brawl. 

“But what if they hurt each other?” Helaena gasped. She was fully immersed in the story and had moved to the settee for more comfortable seating.

Elyse poured a cup of digestive tea with peppermint and honey and handed it to Helaena with a shrug. “Eh. Boys will be boys. It happens. Besides, our grandmother was used to breaking up fights between all of us and she had a particular method to punish us for fighting.” 

“Which is…?” 

“A slapfight.” 

“A s-slap fight?” Helaena repeated, confounded. 

“Yep, a slap fight. No fists, kicking, biting, or whatever the heck else they usually do. Just good old-fashioned open-handed combat. It helps the boys release some of their pent-up energy without doing too much harm. We did it all the time.” 

“I suppose it is a good way to relieve tension, albeit quite violent.” 

“Well, Non----my grandmother had to keep seven kids and eighteen grandkids in line for every major holiday, which was quite a task.” A shudder escaped her as she recalled Thanksgiving madness at Nonna’s house. 

Helaena suddenly pulled her sleeve. “You know, you talk extensively of your father’s side of the family. Why do you not mention your mother’s?” 

“Oh! My mother was an only child. And her parents didn’t live close to us at all.” To be exact, Elyse’s Gong Gong and Wai Po still lived in Guangzhou. Her mom tries to visit as much as she can but tickets aren’t cheap.“But my father’s side had always lived close, so I spent my entire childhood surrounded by my cousins.” 

“I see. Go on, then, what happened during the slapfight?” 

“It didn’t happen.” 

“What? Why?” 

She fought the urge to rub her temple. Just thinking about was stressful, “Most of the time, we all know to never talk back to our grandmother. You know, respect your elders, right? Enzo, however, was on one that day. He was feeling particularly… feisty and decided to make the horrible, mind-blowingly stupid decision to snap back at our grandmother and told her to kiss his ass.” 

Helaena’s hand flew up to her mouth. She gasped, “Oh my!” 

“Stupid. Idiotic. Just plain dumb. And we all knew it, but Dean was the one who acted on it. I think I said this before, but Dean has a terrible temper and hates it when anyone disrespects our grandmother. So he jumped Enzo and started to pummel the living daylights out of his cousin while the rest of us were screaming and trying to pull them apart and then Antonio got mad that Dean was beating up his twin so he jumped in then Luis jumped in because he’s always been Dean’s little lackey so now four boys was fighting while Vicky, me and Roman ----- bless his soul he’s always been so calm and level-headed----- tried to pull them apart.” 

She paused for a deep gulp of air. 

“How very chaotic,” Helaena quietly giggled. 

“Oh trust me, it gets worse. The boys weren’t listening ----- they never do. So Vicky and I resorted to dousing them with buckets (actually, they used the garden hose) of water until they looked like wet dogs. Then, our grandmother grabbed each one by the ear and tossed them into the street. She said, ‘No grandson of mine will come into my house looking like a wet mop and ruining my carpets! Go dry off and learn to get along with each other or else don’t bother coming back!’” 

“So did they resolve their issues?” 

Elyse laughed, “No. But by dinnertime, they knew if they didn’t pretend to get along at least our grandmother would actually starve them out. So they showed up at her doorstep, nice and dry, with their arms around each other and a fake smile. It worked, but we could feel them kicking each other under the table.” 

Helaena sipped on her post-meal tea, then asked, “So they kept fighting?” 

“Not visibly. In our grandmother’s eyes, everything was resolved. Until Dean shaved Enzo’s head the next night. Then Antonio broke Dean’s favorite guit-----uh, lute? Then Enzo left a massive ----- eh, well, maybe that’s too inappropriate to say. It was a whole mess, trust me.”  The princess laughed into her hand. “But, in the end, they resolved it in their weird boy way and everything was fine again.” 

One second, Helaena was bright and giggly. The next, her laugh faded away and the princess’s cornflower blue eyes fell to the floor as she drifted into a somber silence. She looked so defeated. Elyse leaned forward and carefully prodded, “Um, is something wrong, Your Highness?” 

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Nothing at all.” Helaena brushed her off. But she wasn’t fooling anyone. 

“Did I say something to upset you?” 

“No, not at all. It is just that…I just…” The princess’s voice drifted in and out as Elyse moved to kneel beside her, careful to control her urge to pat Helaena’s hand. “I wish that my family could resolve our differences as easily as yours does.” 

Ah. So that’s what it was. 

The confession spilled out of the troubled Helaena in a rush. “Sometimes I wonder where the schism lays. I look at my sister’s family and see harmony. Love. Unity. And yet, I am married to a brother who never bothers to look at me, and my other brother is so deeply lost in his hurt sometimes I wonder if he is destined for…for…” 

There it was again. That unreadable turmoil that darkens Helaena’s beautiful eyes. Her skin drained into a ghostly grey. The tea in her hand was dangerously close to spilling over from how hard her hands were shaking. Elyse quickly snatched the cup away before the dark tea ruined Helaena’s dress.

“ Red, blue, black, green. Destined to lie in a grave unseen. Red, blue, black, green. Destined to lie in a grave unseen. The mended will break, the broken will mend. Who mends, who bends? Who mends, who bends? ” 

Sheens of sweat glistened on the princess’s ivory skin. Elyse didn’t know what to do. Helaena was rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her like ------well, she’d hate to say it because it sounds terrible------ but like she was in a psych ward. What was it? Visions? Delusions? What was it that made the ----- 

Her thoughts were brutally interrupted when Helaena lunged forward and gripped tightly onto her shoulders. “P-princess Helaena?” 

“ Do not let him fall. Do not let him fall. Do not let them fall. ” Helaena rasped, mind somewhere far far away. She was much stronger than she looked, and Elyse had no idea how to get her to snap out of her trance. So all she did was nod as Helaena repeated, “ Do not let him fall. Do not let them fall. Do not let him fall. Do not let them fall. ” 

“O-ok, I won’t let them fall. I promise. No one is falling.” 

“You cannot let him fall. ” 

“I will not let him fall.” 

“You…cannot…” Gradually, Helaena returned from her frightened rambles. Unsettled whispers still plagued the princess, but at least she wasn’t shaking Elyse around like a salt shaker anymore. The girls sat in total silence as Elyse waited for Helaena to compose herself. She didn’t miss the single tear under Helaena’s left eye, which the princess quickly wiped away. 

Oh Helaena. 

If only she could help ease some of her pain. Growing up in such a toxic environment must have been terrible for such a gentle soul. All of Alicent’s children had their traumas, she’s sure, but Helaena doesn’t have the outlet that Aegon and Aemond have. If only there was a way for the princess to let loose once in a…

Wait. 

Wait a minute. 

There was a way! 

“If you don’t mind, Your Highness,” Elyse cleared her throat. “There was an idea I wanted to share with you.” 

Helaena stirred. She raised her head from her hands and mumbled, “What is it?” 

“Well, you might be opposed at first, but I think you should hear me out.” She leaned forward, careful not to frighten the sensitive girl, and whispered her proposition in a low, guarded voice so that any eavesdropping annoyances outside Helaena’s door wouldn’t hear. 

When she heard Elyse’s entire plot, the princess shirked back immediately. Eyes wide and alarmed as she stammered, “No! I cannot do that. Mother would be furious with me and…and…not to mention all of the consequences!” 

“Your Highness, you and I both know you would have an amazing time. It would be good for you!” Elyse urged. 

“But…but…what about…” 

“Trust me, Your Highness.” A devious smirk grew on her lips. She wanted to rub her hands together like a cartoon villain plotting their latest scheme. “I’ll handle the details, you just have to agree.” 

Helaena couldn’t sit still. She darted to her feet and flittered around like a canary in a cage, “But how would we-----well, how would I be able to…” 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all figured out” Elyse assured, “And it would just be once. Unless you would want to do it again.” 

“If Aemond found out, he would be so upset with me.” 

“His Highness will never find out. We can be sneaky about it.” 

Helaena paused her flittering. She turned to Elyse, worried but so obviously eager, “He really would be so angry with me, Elyse.” 

Her grin grew wider. Devilish mischief took hold of her as she promised Helaena, “Then we’ll just have to make sure he never finds out.” 

The princess pressed a hand to her forehead. Staring at her with a mixture of nervousness, wonder, and disbelief, Helaena murmured, “Dear Seven, what have I gotten myself into?” 

Elyse looked directly at her and replied, “Fun, Your Highness. Lots and lots of fun.”

Chapter Text

Things at the orphanage were starting to improve when Elyse learned that Ara and Pearl had run away.

“Ara?” She repeated in disbelief, foot barely into the courtyard when the Septa pulled her aside to inform her of the latest development. “But why?” 

Septa Nemera patted her hand with a long sigh, “Some children mentioned Pearl’s desire to travel to the North, where her mother was born. As for Ara, she would never leave Pearl to be on her own.” 

“Still,” Elyse handed the Septa a bundle of beef bones and stale bread she stole out of the kitchen; a frown pasted on her lips, she uttered, “Ara’s so sweet. So quiet. And Pearl, she’s not even nine years old.  How could two little girls like that fend for themselves?” 

The Septa nodded in agreement. “If only I knew sooner, I would have talked them out of leaving so suddenly. My heart is plagued with regret that this happened under my nose.” Septa Nemera looked at her hands wistfully, “It is my fault. I should have been more attentive to Pearl’s sorrows.” 

Elyse rubbed the Septa’s arm, “No, Septa. You do the best you can. Everyone can see that.” 

“If only it were enough.” The older woman sighed. 

“I still…I can’t wrap my brain around it. Ara? Really?” She let herself be led to the kitchen, where Septa Nemera poured her a cup of tepid water that she sipped on, deep in thought. It was obvious Pearl and Ara’s departure unsettled both women. According to Jory, Ara had been at the orphanage since she was a baby. Pearl, on the other hand, was brought in last winter when her family died from starvation. The two were inseparable. So if Pearl wanted to leave, it made sense that Ara wouldn’t let her go off alone. 

Still, an unsettling, nagging voice lingered in Elyse’s mind. “Are you sure that they left by themselves?”

Septa Nemera crossed her arms and sighed, “It is not unusual for children to leave on their own accord. Should you ask Sylas, however, things around the orphanage have been strange.” 

Her eyebrows flew to her hairline, “Sylas? Why? What is he saying?” 

The older woman pointed out into the courtyard, where Sylas and Jory were sparring with each other -----drenched in sweat and armed with sizable sticks. “Convinced we have an unseen intruder, he is. He demanded that I report it to City Watch, and he was so adamant that I eventually made the report. Not that they were any help.” 

“An intruder?” That nagging sensation morphed into shards of ice that melded into her veins. “What do you mean? What kind of intruder?” 

Septa Nemera tilted her head towards the boys, “Go on, ask him yourself.” 

Elyse stared at the Septa, whose eyes were averted to the pot of gruel she was stirring. An icky, nauseous feeling inched its way into her consciousness. The feeling trickled into her gait as she set down her cup and hurried to the two fighting boys.  Jory was on the offense, striking at Sylas with wild overhead swings. Sylas’s entire attention was honed on blocking Jory’s blows, sweat dripping from his brow. Neither boy heard Elyse approach until Jory shoved Sylas backwards and the sandy-haired boy tumbled into her arms. 

“Woah there!” She laughed nervously, “What’s going on here?” 

“Hi Elyse!” Jory chirped, rubbing his dirty tunic across his sweaty forehead. “Have you brought any treats?” 

“Not this time, sorry. So? Why are you guys waving around those sticks?” 

Sylas peeled away from Elyse’s hold and repositioned himself with a grunt. “To protect ourselves.” The boy grunted, both hands on his makeshift weapon. 

“Protect yourselves? From what?” She probed cautiously.

“Well…” 

“Go on, tell her Jory.” 

The boy with bright red hair looked at her and rubbed his neck awkwardly, “Sylas is convinced that we have an intruder.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. “An intruder? What do you mean?” 

Jory shrugged. “Sylas you tell her.” 

Sylas lowered the big stick he was waving around. The scar on his left cheek scrunched with his scowl, “I bet you’d think I’m lying too.” 

She crossed her arms, “Try me.” 

The lanky boy eyed her with mistrust, but eventually gave in and detailed, “Every once in a while, I get woken up by the sound of heavy footsteps around the room. No one is there when I sit up, but I swear on the Seven that I hear footsteps.” 

“Do you think it’s a ghost?” Jory teased, only to get bonked on the head by his friend. 

“Ghosts don’t have footsteps, you idiot!” Sylas snapped, “They float! And it wasn’t Septa Nemera because the Septa doesn’t have a limp in her step, so it had to be someone else!” Jory glared at his blond friend and started winding up his fist. 

“Hey, no fighting, come on.” Elyse pulled Jory to her side, trying to diffuse the brewing fight. She turned to Sylas, “And you told the Septa about this?” 

“Of course, and Septa Nemera did go to the City Watch. But they just laughed in her face. I didn’t count on them anyways.” 

“Bunch of drunken pigs who only care about where to stick their cocks.” 

Elyse blinked. Woah, ok then. Some very, um, disturbing language there for an eight-year-old. “Ok…I guess I can ask Mycah for a sturdy iron bar or something. If there really is an intruder, those sticks won’t do you any good. NOT that I’m encouraging you boys to fight anyone. Your first course of action should always be to tell an adult, do you hear me?” Both kids scoffed and shared a disbelieving snort. Elyse yanked them closer by the collar, leaned in super close, and gave them a menacing glare. “I said, do you hear me ?” 

“Yes, yes.” Sylas grumbled. “You’re worse than Septa Nemera.” Jory echoed his grumbles under his breath. 

“The Septa is looking out for your safety, so both of you better listen to her or no more sweets, am I clear?” When she finally got a begrudging confirmation from the boys that they won’t rush headfirst into a fight, Elyse released their collars with a big smile, “In the meantime, I’ll go make a report to the City Watch too.” 

“Uh, I doubt they would do anything.” Jory nervously scratched his mop of brilliant red hair. He shuffled over to Sylas, who had an equally disapproving look on his face. “They practically laughed in Septa Nemera’s face.” 

“Nonsense!” Elyse beamed. “It’s still better to keep them on alert, right? Where do I find them?” 

“The brothels.” Both boys responded in unison. 

A flush traveled from her cheeks to her ears, “U-uh…ok then. Right, um. You boys go play or something. Do kid things. No more talking about male appendages and um, those places. Go be kids.” She mumbled hastily. Her arm reached over to give Jory a quick hug, courtesy of Dyanna, “Jory, your sister plans to come next week. She told you to wash the back of your ears and don't steal fruit off the merchants.” 

“She nags too much,” Jory complained, but the slight pink flush on his neck gave away his love for his older sister. 

“Just the messenger here,” Elyse chuckled. She ruffled Sylas’s scruffy hair one last time before darting out the courtyard in search of a City Watch guard to make an official report. Through the snaking streets and the crowded squares, Elyse searched and searched, but there was not a single Gold Cloak to be found. How was it that in a city this big, with so many members in the City Watch, she couldn’t find a single one on patrol? She narrowly dodged an obvious pickpocket with a frustrated sigh and dove deeper into the narrow alleyways towards the Street of Silk. 

“Men.” She muttered, pulling her hood over her deep black hair, “They’re all pigs.” On cue, the swarm of lecherous laughter to her right made her turn the corner on instinct. No more incidents for her, thank you.

 When the scent of rose and musk overwhelmed her senses, Elyse knew she had stepped foot onto the seedy brothel-lined alley she so despised. Entering the first brothel she saw required a deep, bracing breath and a lot of fidgeting with her heavy hood. She tunneled inside, ordering herself to stay focused on her task and not be distracted by all…that. 

But it was still too much. 

Too overwhelming. Too much grunting and moaning. Too…carnal. 

Ew. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew. That’s all that was on Elyse’s mind as she navigated through the crowds of sweaty, stinky, drunken men with giggling girls draped over their plump bellies. Her face was twisted with disgust when she saw one man literally licking a woman’s ear. Like, tongue in ear. Oh god, she was going to vomit. She just needed to find one guard, get this over with, then like, take five baths and scour her skin raw. 

“You there.” 

She spun around to greet the husky, low voice. A curvaceous woman, looking to be in her thirties, observed her with dark-lined eyes. She wore nothing but a thin robe so sheer you could practically see her private parts and had a long pipe balanced between two fingers. “Are you lost, little lamb?” Smoke escaped the woman’s mouth with each word. 

“Oh, sorry. No, I’m not, um, here for…” She waved her hands in the general direction of the activity surrounding them, blushing madly, “this.” 

“Are you in need of work, perhaps?” The woman closed in. Her smoky eyes ran over the length of Elyse’s body. “You are very pretty. Unique looking ----- from the East, perhaps? Young, too. Tell me, have you bled?” 

“No no, no . I’m so sorry. I’m here looking for someone. Uh, not anyone I know. I’m looking for a City Watch person ----- man? The Gold Cloaks?” Elyse rambled. She instinctively stepped away from the woman’s probing hands. “Do you know if there’s any Gold Cloaks here, M-Ma’am?”

“Madame. My name is Madame.” The sultry, pipe-smoking woman replied. “This is my establishment, and I do not take kindly to disturbances to my patrons.” 

“I’m just looking for a guard to make a report. I’ll be in and out, I promise.” 

Madame took a deep inhale of her pipe and tilted her head. Elyse shifted from one foot to another, desperately waiting for her response as raunchy music and laughter filled the air around them. 

Finally, the Madame nodded, “Over there,” Madame pointed at the northeast corner of the room at two men slurring over a bored-looking girl. “Those two are members of our valiant Gold Cloaks. Noble men, as you can tell. Make your report and leave my establishment, before one of these fine men mistake you for a whore and make a grab at you.” 

“R-right, thank you!” A forced smile towards the Madame, then Elyse nervously wove through pairings of horny couples and dodged puddles of spilled ale to approach the two leering men in the corner. Yet the moment she reached them, Elyse’s heart sank. One look at their stringy hair, pink-tinted cheeks, and dazed eyes, she knew they were way too drunk to be of any use. 

“Well look here,” The guard with mousy brown hair slurred, “A free one! The Madame sure is generous!” He released his hand from the girl’s butt and lunged for her. “Come on then, come here and give me a kiss!” 

“Um, no thanks. I’m not a working girl or something like that. I’m here to make a report?” Elyse tried. 

The men looked at each other, then guffawed. Spit spewing everywhere as they howled in laughter. Elyse frowned. “A report, you say?” The other guard, slightly older than his partner with an overgrown beard, sneered. “Go on, make your report!” 

She stood a little taller. “So there’s an orphanage, a few blocks from here to the north, and one of the orphans had -----” 

“Bah! I should have known.” The bearded guard scowled. 

Elyse scoffed, “Excuse me?” 

His partner gulped down the rest of his ale and slammed the cup onto the table, “Orphans, you say? Who gives a flying fuck what orphans have to say?” 

A gasp flew out her mouth. She narrowed her eyes and repeated, “ Excuse me ?” 

“Street rats. Urchins. A bunch of flea-bitten thieves, the whole lot.” The younger guard wiped his mouth with the girl’s hem, snaking his arm around her waist again as he tossed back, “Listen here, girl. Orphans are all liars. Bottom-feeding bunch that prey on the rest of us. Stay far away from those orphans, I warn you.” 

“B-but I thought you were supposed to-----” 

“Stop talking about these useless matters. Come here, girl. Have a sip of my ale and loosen up a little!” The look the older, bearded guard gave her sent pinpricks down her spine. His eyes canvased her cloaked body like she was nothing but a hunk of flesh for them to defile. She was used to looks like this, and in recent years, she came to know of the dangers that came with these looks. 

She stepped backward, hyperaware of her surroundings and coming to the realization that these men were as helpful as a hunk of rock. The bearded guard’s younger companion leered after her with greedy hands, “Now, now, don’t leave yet! There’s plenty of fun to be had!” 

“Sorry, but I have to ----oof!” 

A strong hand closed around her hood and dragged her away, leaving the two men behind agape. Whoever it was, they were so strong that Elyse was tripping over her feet in her struggle to break free. “Let…go….of…me!” She shouted, writhing against her kidnapper. “Get off of me!” 

Patrons angrily dodged her flailing limbs and clawing hands on her violent journey to the door. No one thought to help. As she was vacuumed out the door, the last thing Elyse saw was the Madame watching her with scrutiny, then she was tossed onto the ground. Down she went, rolling into the street like a lumpy potato, eventually landing with a groan.

Through her whimpers and whines, a flat, monotone voice deadpanned, “What are you doing here.”

Elyse cradled her bruised bones and panted, “What do you mean what am I doing here? Who the hell----- wait.” She froze.

That voice. She knew that voice. 

A mixture of frustration and dread pooling in her gut, Elyse peered through her hood. Against the dark fabric of her attacker’s cloak, a single violet eye flashing with anger stared down at her. “Oh god, are you kidding me?” Elyse snapped. Grumbling and groaning, she picked herself up, dusted off her clothes, and faced Aemond Targaryen, red hot with anger. “What is wrong with you? Are you following me or something?’ 

“That is my question for you!” Aemond snarled back. The vein in his neck pulsated through his pale skin. He looked more tired than she remembered. Dark circles rimmed his unpatched eye, matching the hollows along his cheekbones and the slight gray hue of his lips.“Why are you always wandering around in the city? Does the head cook not discipline her staff?” 

“Right back at you, Your Highness. ” Elyse seethed. “For someone so high and mighty all the time you sure spend a lot of time in the slums. Does Helaena know about your love for brothels?” 

The prince took a menacing step forward. “You keep my sister’s name out of your dirty mouth.” He was thumbing the dagger at his side, and the glint in his eye made Elyse wonder if he’d really cut her down right here on the street.  

“Answer the question!” Aemond spat, “What the fuck are you doing prowling around a brothel? Did your bastard friends send you to keep an eye on me? Or are you one of Larys’s rats?” 

“What are you even talking about?” She sputtered. The prince narrowed his eye. “How the heck am I supposed to know you were in there? I had some personal business, ok? Personal. Business.” 

“What business?” 

“I just said it’s personal.” 

“And your prince commands you to answer the fucking question.” 

A scream was building in her lungs. She could feel it. Every second spent in this insufferable douchebag’s presence was the countdown to her ticking time bomb of a temper. And since punching Aemond in his annoying perfect nose was not an option, Elyse chose to stalk right past him and flee the scene. 

“Stop! I command you to stop!” Aemond bellowed behind her. She ignored him. “You impudent ----- I said stop !” 

“No!” She shouted back. 

“Stop or I arrest you and throw you into a cell myself!” 

“Yeah, Helaena will be real happy with you after that. Try me!” 

She wasn’t even past the intersection when Aemond caught up to her in no time with his stupid long legs. Passersby watched in wary amusement while they stomped through Flea Bottom, shoulder-to-shoulder with matching scowls on their face. “So you admit it, you are using my sister for your own gain.” Aemond accused, “How vile. Not that I expected anything less from a lesserborn.” 

She halted abruptly. Anger boiled and bubbled in her as she faced his accusations with her head held high, “I would never take advantage of Princess Helaena. She’s a decent human being, unlike you.” 

The prince snorted, “Really? Then what other reason would you have to cling onto my sister so?” 

“BECAUSE I ACTUALLY LIKE HER?” 

Duh! Was that so hard to believe? Yet Aemond was stunned into silence. What, was the fact that she’s not a gold-digging social climber that hard to fathom? Elyse rolled her eyes in exasperation and brushed past him again. Forget it. Forget him. She should focus on finding another Goldcloak. Hopefully, at least one guard was sober enough to take her seriously, right? She’ll make her report and be done with this whole freaking thing. 

Unfortunately, through every twist and turn she took, the prince was glued to her heels like a wad of chewed-up gum, making it impossible for her to shake him off. He didn’t say a word to her, choosing to voice his hatred inaudibly by glaring daggers at her back. Hissing after each turn. And if she walked, he walked. If she ran, he ran. The whole thing was so immature Elyse finally couldn’t stand it anymore and halted to snap, “Don’t you have anything better to do? Stop following me!” 

“Tell me what you were doing in the brothel and I will leave,” Aemond replied, stoic and stubborn. 

She folded her arms with a scoff, “I wasn’t spying on you or whatever, ok? God, you’re acting like you have something to hide.” 

There it was. Fleeting as a shooting star passing through the sky, but it was there. A momentary expression of guilt and doubt appeared on Aemond’s chiseled features. Most wouldn’t have caught it, but Elyse has enough experience with her younger cousins and their many mischievous misdeeds to know better. A smirk formed at the corners of her lips, “So you do have something to hide. No freaking way. The perfect, arrogant Prince Aemond did something bad. Come on, tell me, what did you do?” 

“Shut up.” Aemond seethed through gritted teeth. 

“Tell me.” 

“I said shut up.” 

She couldn’t help it. She cackled. Seeing that flustered look on his usually well-composed features was just too good----and the way his nostrils kept flaring as she keeled over in laughter was just the cherry on top. "Whatever,” She finally answered after the final wave of giggles had passed, “I don’t care about whatever your little secret is. Just stop following me and go back to doing whatever you were doing. I won’t tell anyone I saw you, not that anyone would believe me.” 

“You do not wish to question me further?” The prince’s voice was uncertain. 

“Nope.” 

“Hmm.” 

“How about you extend me the same courtesy?” 

“Unfortunately, I cannot do so.” 

“You’re kind of an ------ whatever.” 

“Say it.” 

“Say what?” 

“Whatever insult you were just about to hurl.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Really, I was only going to say very nice things about you------woah!” One second she’s stepping into the street. The next, she’s flung backward as an incoming horse thundered past. With her hood blocking her peripheral vision, Elyse didn’t spot the horse. If it wasn’t for Aemond’s lightning-fast reaction, she would have been squashed like a bug. 

“Are you blind?” He hissed by her ear. 

“O-oops,” she gulped, a little dazed. Back pressed into the cobblestone wall behind her. Aemond towered above her, blocking her completely from the street traffic.  Shoulders squared and stiff as he watched the horseman pass with a deep scowl. “T-thanks, my bad,” Elyse muttered. Aemond returned a stern nod.

Long after his hand had released her elbow, she could still feel the lingering sensation of his fingers pressing into her flesh. She didn’t like it. 

Wait a minute. A horse? Elyse strained her neck to catch a glimpse of the disappearing horse. Sure enough, its rider was equipped with a billowing golden cloak. “Dang it! I missed him! Ugh, he was right there!”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Eugh!” Elyse smacked her forehead in frustration. “That was a Goldcloak, right? I needed to find a freaking Goldcloak!” 

“A Goldcloak?” Shoot. She froze. She glanced up. Sure enough, suspicion darkened the prince’s steadfast glare. “What do you need from a Gold Cloak?” Aemond demanded.  

Just great. “Fine!” Elyse threw her hands up in defeat. “You win. I’ll tell you. I was in the brothel looking for a Gold Cloak, ok? I need to make a report.” 

“A report.” 

“Yes, a report.” 

“What kind of report?” 

She adjusted her cloak with a sigh, “There’s this orphanage that I sometimes help out at. Like volunteer work, you know? Anyway, one of the kids -----” 

“The orphans.” Aemond corrected. 

Irritation returned in tiny prickles against her consciousness as she shot back, “Whatever, fine, orphan . He insists that he’s heard an intruder prowling around.” She was interrupted by Aemond’s sudden chuckles. Jaw on the floor, Elyse watched in shock while the prince’s entire body shook with laughter. “What? Why are you laughing?” 

Aemond shook his head, “Who in their right mind would prowl around an orphanage?” 

“What do you mean?” 

A condescending look, followed by, “There is nothing of worth. Not a coin to steal. What thief would waste their time?” 

And there he was. The entitled, pompous ass that she knows so well. “Even so, there’s still children there. I just want to notify someone so that they can keep an eye on the orphanage, just in case.” 

“You are wasting your time.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No, I’m not!” She snapped. “God, why is every person in this city hell-bent on not giving a damn about these children?” 

“Because these ‘children’ are some of the most cutthroat criminals on these streets.” Aemond retorted back. Elyse folded her arms with a scoff. “Do you know how many coin pouches these orphans have nicked from my pockets? They collude with one another to steal. They engage in all types of criminal activities. Do you know how many reports the City Watch receives per week in complaints of those street rats?” 

“They’re children!” She protested, “Neglected, lonely children who need to make a living somehow. Not everyone gets a cushy castle and hundreds of servants to tend to their every desire. Some of us have to work for a living! It’s honestly no surprise you feel this way though, considering how your family-----” 

Woah. Ok, definitely take a deep breath. A shuddering sigh traveled from her diaphragm and out her mouth, calming her rearing temper from a crackling fire to smoldering ashes. 

But Aemond didn’t miss a thing. With his hands on his hips and the previous easy expression wiped clean off his face, he growled, “Go on, spit it out. Say whatever slanderous words you keep hidden in that petty mind of yours.” 

This needed to be handled with utmost care (or off with her head!) Elyse sweetly tucked her hair behind her ears then spoke in a much evener tone, “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I overstepped. It’s nothing.” 

Aemond barked a laugh. “As if you care about etiquette and propriety. Just spit it out. I prefer hearing insults to my face rather than behind my back. Spit. It. Out.” 

Damn it. 

Damn it. 

Damn it damn it damn it. Why couldn’t she control her stupid temper? Now she’s done it. Crimes like slandering the royal family were not excusable, even if Helaena was on her side. Elyse can almost hear her mom’s voice in her ear reminding her to think first and talk second ---- a piece of advice she notoriously never took to heart. “I didn’t mean anything…” 

“Spit it out.” 

Seeing that her attempts to placate Aemond have failed miserably, Elyse artfully attempted to rephrase her initial outburst into something a bit…less accusatory, “I just noticed that you don’t seem to notice the common folk around you much.” 

The prince raised an eyebrow, “Elaborate.” 

“There’s not much to it other than-----” 

“That’s an order.” 

Elyse fought back an eye roll. “Like I said, there’s not much to it, Your Highness.” 

“A pardon.” 

“What?” 

“I shall grant you another pardon.” 

Her mind sorted through the few interactions she shared with the prince and recalled their heated argument in the library. “You want to grant me another pardon, really? For something as trivial as -----” 

“I will be the judge as to whether or not it is trivial.” Aemond interrupted bluntly. Sundown was approaching, and Elyse would usually feel antsy being in this part of the city past dusk. Strangely enough, it was actually Aemond’s presence that calmed that worry. One hand rested on the dagger resting on his left hip, shoulders tensed, the prince ready to spring on any eager thugs, not that anyone in their right mind would jump this monstrously tall man. Even with his entire form hidden in a plain cloak, he exuded a deadly confidence that sent unsavory characters scurrying in the other direction ----- something Elyse desperately wished she could do at this very moment. “Go on, I have granted you a pardon so speak your mind.” 

Chewing on her bottom lip, Elyse pondered why Aemond was so intent on making her spill the beans. But no matter what pardons or promises he threw her way, she was not willing to risk her head to satisfy his curiosity. So she quickly blurted, “Sorry, Your Highness, but I have to go. Bye!” and hurried past him with her head down. 

Not that she got very far. Elyse took maybe ten steps down the diagonal street when Aemond scooped her up and herded her in the opposite direction, hauling her along like she was a limp sack of flour. “H-hey, wait! Stop jerking me around. Use your words!” Elyse exclaimed. But her attempts to shrug him off went duly unnoted. “Prince Aemond, stop this! Don’t you have other people to torment? Why can’t you just leave me alone?” The One-Eyed Prince had his lips pressed tightly together. “Your Highness, please take your hands off me. Your Highness .” Ignored, again. “What in the world did I do to make you so keen to torment me all the time?” Still nothing. “ Prince Aemond !” 

“I am taking you back to the castle.” The prince snapped. 

Annoyance licked at her mind as she glared upwards into the depths of his hood. “The castle? Why? I haven’t made my report yet. I need to make my report!” 

Aemond muttered a string of curses under his low tenor voice then answered with frosty bite, “Do you pay attention to your surroundings, or do you walk around with your head stuck in a milk pail? What resides in the Outer Yard?” 

“What do you mean what resides in the Outer----” Elyse blinked. “Oh. Right. The barracks.” 

“Yes. The barracks.” 

“Oh. I forgot.” 

“You forgot.” He repeated mockingly. 

“...My bad, sorry. Sometimes I, um, get a little too excited and rush headfirst into things. It’s a bad habit of mine.” 

Aemond’s footsteps lulled to a stop. He stared down at her, towering over Elyse’s small stature with a face full of loathing that contradicts any accidental acts of kindness he may show on occasion. “You have the intelligence of a newborn calf.” 

“D-did you just call me a cow?” 

“Stay away from the Street of Silks. You do not possess nearly the intelligence or tact to navigate a seedy area.” 

“And now you’re calling me dumb, great, thanks.” 

“Though I would not be impacted by your demise, I imagine my sister would be quite distraught, and I would like to avoid placing more stress on her fragile mind. So, do stop gallivanting around the city. Make your report, which I deduce will go rather poorly, and return to your kitchen chores.” Aemond finished his monologue with a curt nod. He released his grip on her and was charging down the side street----not even bothering to say goodbye. Elyse was left flabbergasted and staring after his arrogant silhouette, unable to make sense of his peculiar behavior. 

Did he hate her? But then, he kind of just…helped her? And what was he doing in the brothel? (Yeah she said she wasn’t curious but she was actually dying to know.) Maybe he was just as twisted and pervy as his older brother? If so, then poor Helaena for having two weird, sex-crazed siblings. 

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Not my business.” Besides, she’s already sworn to not meddle with his affairs many months ago. With a casual toss of her head, Elyse walked the last few blocks back to the castle with the dimming sky behind her. She left all thoughts about Aemond behind in Flea Bottom and refused to let herself ruminate on his many frustrating traits, though they kept popping up uninvited in her brain. 

And to make matters worse, the Goldcloaks did usher her away with a sneer when she made her report, just like Aemond predicted. Elyse stalked to her room that night with steam coming out of her ears and a passionate monologue on how the entire City Watch needed to be replaced immediately. 

Seriously, the Goldcloaks suck.

Chapter Text

She knew it was going to be a tough sell, but seeing the guarded expressions on the four teenagers waiting on the beach still sent a shiver down her back. 

It’s fine. Just be casual. Breezy! You can do it, Elyse.

“Hey everyone!” Elyse said cheerfully. “We have another player tonight. Should help even out the numbers between the teams. Nice, right?” She gestured for Helaena to greet the others, but the princess shirked into the shadows, fiddling nervously with her tunic’s hem. Tonight, the princess was free of her elaborate jewelry and heavy brocades and donned one of Elyse’s scratchy brown garments instead. It’s a pretty silly sight ----- Elyse’s drab clothes that were far too short on the princess’s tall, willowy form. But what could they do? Helaena didn’t own anything that was good to run around in ----- not even riding leathers. 

“Ahem,” Elyse cleared her throat and walked directly in front of Jace, whose slack jaw resembled a dead fish. “I said , nice, right?” 

The older Velaryon boy jumped. “Oh…yes…very nice. Welcome.” 

“W-welcome.” Luke mumbled from the side. Rhaena offered a weak smile. 

Baela, on the other hand, was displeased. She glowered at the meek princess behind Elyse then announced loudly, “Elyse, can I talk to you?” 

“Sure,” Elyse replied, even and calm. She figured Baela would be the toughest nut to crack. Daemon’s eldest daughter, Elyse had come to understand, shared her father’s ferocity and possessed a severe hatred of the Greens after Aemond claimed her late mother’s dragon. So when Baela took hold of her by the wrist and pulled her a distance away, she didn’t resist. 

They walked about a hundred feet when Baela halted, gave her a piercing glare, then jerked her head at Helaena. “What were you thinking, bringing her ?” 

“I share Baela’s confusion.” It was Luke, who had followed them with Jace and Rhaena trailing behind. His mop of chocolate curls was loosely tied at the nape of his neck, exposing his bewildered expression. 

“If I may, how do you know her?’ Rhaena inquired. 

“The twins…” Jace mumbled on her behalf. He still had a stunned look on his face ----- literally like a deer in headlights. 

Elyse nodded. “We kind of know each other. I bring her meals sometimes.” 

“And you neglected to tell us this crucial piece of information previously?” Baela scowled. 

“Baela…” 

“What?” The spirited twin snapped at her weary sister, “You know I’m right. We don’t know if she has been secretly slipping intel to the Greens behind our backs.” Baela turned her distrusting gaze back to Elyse, “We cannot trust anyone in King’s Landing.” 

Elyse gently wrestled her wrist out of Baela’s grasp and shifted over to join Luke, who placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “No, it’s not like that! She’s not…like that, I promise. She’s just lonely.” But her words landed on deaf ears. Baela’s anger was unquenchable, it seems. And if Baela was not on board, neither was Rhaena. Luke was too lost in his thoughts to contribute, so Elyse turned to Jace for help. “Come on, Jace. You know she’s not a bad person. She spends all day in her room. No friends. No companions. She wants to have fun, that’s all.” 

The brothers exchanged a knowing look, but it was Luke who hesitantly spoke up, “Perhaps…she prefers it that way?” 

Elyse frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“Well…there are whispers about her tendency to…people have mentioned…she can be-----” 

“A lunatic.” Baela interrupted with an eye roll, “Spit it out, Luke. She’s a ranting, rambling lunatic prone to fits of delusion.” 

“Baela.” Jace warned sharply. 

Elyse’s eye twitched. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. But Rhaena backed her sister’s statement, “Jace, you must admit, the rumors surrounding her are worrisome.” 

Luke bobbed his head fervently, “And I heard that she is Aemond’s favorite sibling. There must be a reason. Perhaps she shares his hatred towards us?” 

“Remember the fit she threw a few years back, at Aegon’s name day banquet?” 

“Oh yes, horrible night.” 

“I swear her eyes rolled to the back of her head.” 

“Really? I did not see it, but I did hear her screaming -----”

“HEY!” 

Four heads swiveled to her in unison. Elyse pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to calm her seething, simmering temper, but it was no use. Steam hissed out her ears like a boiling kettle in a cartoon as she narrowed her eyes at Luke, who was probably the only one she could lecture here (Baela lowkey terrified her) and scolded, “Luke, you should know better than to listen to baseless rumors!” 

Luke scowled down at his feet, “But----” 

“No buts! You know firsthand how hurtful gossip and rumors can be, so have some empathy, please?” Well, at least he had the tact to look ashamed. Elyse’s glare melted (slightly) at the sheepish-looking boy before turning to the twins, “Lady Rhaena. Lady Baela. I don’t have a good understanding of all the details of this familial feud----” 

“Then maybe you should keep out of it and stop meddling!” Baela snapped back. Ouch. 

“Baela!” That one was both Jace and Rhaena. 

Elyse thrust her chin higher. She wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. Aegon, she probably would never get close to. Aemond…well, let’s not discuss him. But Helaena, she will never give up on Helaena. “BUT, I swear on everything dear to me that Princess Helaena isn’t this crazy, raving lunatic the rumors are painting. She’s sweet! And right now, she’s suffering. Damn it, she’s married to Prince Aegon! Isn’t that enough to have some sympathy for the poor girl?” 

A low rumble of murmured agreement echoed through Baela’s three siblings. And even Baela had to grunt her acknowledgment. “I suppose I would have gone mad too, if I was forced to share a bed with that drunken cunt.” 

“Don’t put that image in my head.” Jace muttered in the background. 

“She was quite nice to me in my childhood,” Luke admitted, “before we left for Dragonstone.” 

“See!” Elyse beamed. She granted Luke a proud pat on the back. “Now we’re talking! So what do you say, we let her join for the night?” 

Baela folded her arms, poking her cheek with her tongue, refusing to answer. Rhaena only stood to the side and watched her sister worriedly. It was her usual perch ---- by her sister’s side, one comforting hand on her elbow. Luke had previously told her that Rhaena used to be much more outspoken, but their mother’s death changed everything. Rhaena, with the loss of her mother and a potential dragon, withdrew into herself. Baela’s ferocity grew, as did her protectiveness.

At a loss once more, Elyse turned to Jace again, earnest and hopeful, “Jace? What do you think?” 

The eldest Velaryon prince rubbed the back of his neck wearily. “She does not like to be touched, El.” 

“She can be the goalie.” 

“It is quite a demanding game, what if she tires?” 

“Then I can take her back early.” 

“If she is hurt, the Greens will never forgive us.” 

“I’ll make sure she’s safe.” 

“What if her brothers find us?” 

“They won’t.” 

“But what if----” 

“God, Jace!” Elyse threw her hands up in frustration. “It’s one night! One game! What’s the worst that could happen? Stop being such a party pooper and just say yes!”

“Party pooper?” Luke sputtered, appearing bewildered, “What is a party pooper?” 

“Ugh you medieval folk.” A trace of exasperation lingered in her voice as she marched right up to Jace’s face and proceeded to stare him down, channeling intimidation through her hazel pupils. “Say yes.” 

“Elyse----” 

“Say yes.” 

“There are many things to consider.” 

“SAY YES.”

“FINE. YES!” Jace blurted out. Everyone was stunned in silence. Even Elyse couldn’t believe he actually gave in. Jace took a gulp of air and ran his hands through his curls, then grumbled, “Seven hells, El, you will be the death of me, I swear it.” 

She wiped the death stare off her face and replaced it with a sweet smile. “Thanks, Jace! You’re the best!” Beside her, Baela scowled nastily and marched off without another word. Elyse prayed that the feisty twin wouldn’t hold this against her for too long. Having Baela as an enemy was…terrifying. “Then, shall we head back?” Before anyone could protest further, Elyse hurried away to inform Helaena of the good news. Luke jogged off to grab the ball, while Rhaena rushed to soothe her fuming sister. Jace was…somewhere. He was acting kind of weird tonight. 

“S-so?” Helaena asked breathlessly when Elyse approached her. “What did they say?” 

Elyse gave her a reassuring smile. “You’re in!” 

Helaena released her nervously held breath. In the time that Elyse was advocating for her attendance, the princess had moved on from the hem to her braid, causing it to come half undone. “I just…I thought they would say no.” Helaena admitted, “Since our families…and my brothers…” 

A softened smile on her lips, Elyse gestured to Helaena’s messy braid. “May I?” The princess gave a shy nod, allowing Elyse to step in and neatly replait her long silver tresses. Were all of Alicent’s children blessed with such luscious, soft locks? Eh, maybe not Aegon. His hair looked musty. “Look, Your Highness,” She began in a soft, coaxing tone, fingers working swiftly down the braid, “There’s a lot of bad blood, I know. And I can’t begin to fathom all the resentment happening. But what I do know is that this----” She nudged her head at the gaggle of laughing teens several feet away, “---- is a group that knows how to have fun. And you need fun. So, for tonight, just enjoy the moment! All the hatred and, you know, other stuff, can wait till the morning, hmm?” 

“I don’t hate them.” Helaena confessed hesitantly. As if admitting such a thought out loud was committing a cardinal sin. “I don’t hate them at all.” 

Elyse’s hands secured the braid with a narrow strip of plain leather. She tucked the stray strands behind the princess’s ears. “I know.” 

“Ahem.” 

Both girls looked to the left. They were interrupted by Rhaena, who gave Helaena an awkward wave. From how intently Luke was watching them, Elyse deduced that Rhaena was probably their appointed ambassador. “H-hello, Helaena. Um, I can…um, explain the rules, if you want.” 

Helaena frantically looked back at Elyse, who gave her an eager nod and gestured to her to go with Rhaena. “Sure…I would like that. Thank you, Rhaena.” 

Rhaena blinked, looking befuddled. Like she expected Helaena to start screaming her head off or something. She smiled with practiced grace and guided Helaena towards her siblings, softly explaining the basics of soccer in her honey-sweet voice. Helaena tossed Elyse a nervous glance, to which Elyse gave her two big thumbs up as encouragement. 

You can do it! She mouthed with a big grin. Then, internally, Elyse uttered a frantic prayer that everything doesn’t turn into a raging garbage fire by the end of the night ----- a necessary procedure when you’re dabbling in the family politics of some seriously short-tempered individuals who had huge, fire-breathing lizards as pets. Then, with a heart full of hope and a stomach quivering with nerves, Elyse jogged off and joined the rest of her team. 

***************

What’s crazy was that the night went so smoothly Elyse thought she was dreaming. 

Helaena was goalie for the first half. Did much better than anyone expected, really. Elyse was on her team, as a show of support, along with Luke, who was on the offense, since Elyse wanted to stay closer to Helaena in case she needed something. 

And dare she say it? Helaena was glowing. Elyse’s tight defense ensured that Jace and Baela rarely got near their goal. But on the rare occasion that they did, Helaena put in her heart and soul as their last line of defense. She dove into the sand. She jumped into the air. She was breathless, flushed, a twinge sweaty, and honestly, by god, so freaking gorgeous (Elyse wasn’t crushing on her, she promises). 

Luke jogged past Elyse on his way up to midfield and muttered by her ear, “She’s quite different than I remember”, which made her smile from ear to ear. 

“Told you.” She teased the younger boy, poking him on the cheek. Luke rolled his eyes and sprinted off.

When they stopped for a breathless water break, they were one goal up and riding the high. Elyse took a second to chug down some water and wipe the sweat off her hairline. Playing soccer on the sand was as difficult as it sounds. Though her legs have grown accustomed to running through the soft sand, the first few nights had Elyse practically crawling through her daytime chores. 

There’s a shy tug on her sleeve. It’s Helaena. Elyse turned around. “Hey! What’s up?” 

Helaena shifted from one foot to another, eyes cast to the ground. “Can I…try to play on the field this time?” 

Elyse blinked. “Oh! Uh…sure! It’s different though, so don’t feel discouraged if you’re struggling. You should tell Luke that we switched.” 

The princess faltered. “Me? You want me to go tell him.” 

“Well, you’re going to be playing with him now, so probably a good idea to get used to talking to him, right?” Elyse teased lightly. 

Rose-tinted blush painted over Helaena’s pale features. “I suppose.” She demurely answered. 

“I promise he doesn’t bite.” Elyse joked, “None of them do, seriously.” Helaena muttered something that Elyse couldn’t quite catch. “What did you say?” 

“Nothing.” The princess quickly responded. She looked over at where Jace stood. He had doused his face with water and his dark curls now hung in loose ringlets over his strong features. Grinning and good-humored, Jace was too preoccupied with teasing Rhaena to spot Helaena’s intense stare. Baela noticed, though. And so did Elyse. The two girls shared a look before Baela twisted her lips into a frown and turned her attention to her sister. Hmm, weird. “Does Jace hate me?” Helaena asked, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Elyse choked on her water. “Huh?” 

“Jace. He hates me.” 

“What the----no! He doesn’t hate you, I promise.” 

Helaena tore her cornflower blue eyes away from Jace and his laughing sisters. “Oh. I see.” 

Before Elyse could figure out what the heck was going on, the princess already left to find Luke. She was rooted to her spot, water dripping off her chin, feeling rather dumbfounded by Helaena’s pointed question. Out of everyone here, she was sure that Jace and Helaena were good. Was she wrong? But the moment had passed, and everyone was waiting for her to rejoin the game. So Elyse was forced to shake it off and refocus her efforts on the game. “Luke!” She called out, “Play it safe! Don’t be too aggressive. We can afford to take it easy. Give her some time to adjust, ok?” 

Luke nodded and flashed a thumbs-up back at her. Elyse rolled her shoulders back and squared her stance. It wasn’t going to be an easy win. Baela and Jace were a formidable team. In the short time that they’ve learned the game, their improvement was mind-blowing. (Was there anything that the Targaryens weren’t good at?) The sibling duo played fast and dirty. None of their tactics would fly in modern soccer. But in Westeros, where referees and red cards don’t exist…eh, well, who was she to regulate them? 

Right now, they were sprinting up the field at breakneck speed. Luke had his sights on Baela with the ball, which left Helaena to check Jace. Baela found a crack in Luke’s defense, maneuvered around him, then passed the ball to her older brother with expert aim. 

“Oh shoot!” Elyse whispered at the scene before her. Jace ----- a burly, six-foot warrior in training----- facing Helaena. Timid, shy Helaena. She contemplated running out the goal to help since there was no way Helaena could block Jace alone-----

Except…she somehow did? 

Huh? Elyse cocked her head to the side. Eyebrows raised with disbelief as she watched Helaena steal the ball from Jace and clumsily dribble it up the field. She didn’t get very far, of course, on the account of Baela being an absolute BEAST. But it was safe to say that everyone present was slightly stunned at Helaena’s astonishing performance. 

Jace faced his fellow teammates’ shocked sputters with a nonchalant shrug. “I tripped.” He said. And it would have been believable too, if it wasn’t for him losing the ball to Helaena for another five times in a row. 

“That’s it!” Baela howled, stomping her feet into the sand. “Luke! Switch with him! If I have to deal with this fucking idiot for one more second I swear I am going to lose my mind .” Luke looked back at Elyse, who raised her hands in complete confusion and motioned for him to make the switch. 

“Jace!” She beckoned the prince over. “You ok?” 

“I’m fine. Why?” Jace replied. He pulled his hem up to wipe the sweat from his neck, revealing his defined torso. 

She kept her eyes glued to his face. “It’s just you’re kind of dragging tonight.” 

Jace shot her a goofy smile. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” then proceeded to run back up the beach, leaving Elyse alone in the goal completely befuddled. 

She didn’t miss the way he purposely avoided Helaena throughout the next twenty minutes. On every occasion that Helaena was open for a pass or frantically waving her arms to get his attention, Jace would glance over, then run in the opposite direction with the ball. Honestly, Elyse was getting lowkey irked. Whatever his problems with the Greens were, couldn’t he set it aside for one night? Like, come on. She thought he was more mature than that. She’ll have to give him a long-winded lecture tomorrow.  

The game ended in a loss. Jace’s refusal to work with Helaena gave Baela’s team the edge it needed, which led to Baela and Luke scoring a goal each. Safe to say, Elyse was annoyed. She was just about to go over and give Jace a piece of her mind when she saw Helaena stomping over with her hands balled into tight fists. 

“What is wrong with you?” The princess shouted, cheeks redder than beets as she confronted Jace, who looked dumber than a piece of white bread. 

“Oh this is going to be good.” Luke muttered under his breath. 

“H-huh?” Jace stammered, looking dazed and disoriented by Helaena’s sudden outburst. He wasn’t the only one. All three of his siblings immediately sidled over to Elyse and watched the exchange in awe. 

Helaena huffed, then responded impatiently, “You would not work with me. You would not touch me. You would not speak to me. What am I, a leper? Am I contaminated with the plague?” 

“Oh my.” Rhaena marveled. 

“I’ve never seen her this mad. Do you think I should get involved?” Elyse asked no one in particular. 

“No. I want to see how this ends.” Baela answered eagerly. The older twin had her hands on her hips and an excited twinkle in her dark violet eyes ---- her previous scorn of the princess long forgotten in the rush of her victory. 

“I-I mean…I did not mean to offend you----” Jace tried. 

“Then just tell me why! Are you so unwilling to accept me and this is how you choose to show it?” Helaena retorted. Jace’s flustered, bumbling display had Elyse in a fit of snickers. She hid her face behind Luke’s shoulder and silently cackled. Luke didn’t bother to hide his smirk. Who knew Helaena had this fire in her? “I know that we were never close, but surely if Luke and Rhaena are willing to converse with me, you could have found the maturity to set aside your prejudice for one night?” 

“That’s not it! You have misunderstood!” The prince blurted, now flaming scarlet from his hairline to his neck. Baela gripped Rhaena by the elbow and shook with laughter. 

“Then TELL ME!” 

“You do not like to be touched!” 

“What?” 

Jace stood a little taller. “You do not like to be touched, am I wrong? I was trying to maintain respect towards you.” 

Helaena stared at him. “Yes, I do not like touch, but I am not a leper . You do not have to avoid me so.” 

“Jace, you should apologize.” Elyse chimed in, adding to the chaos just for fun. 

“I believe an apology is in order.” Rhaena agreed. Luke nodded fervently. Baela just kept guffawing. Jace shot them all a death glare before facing his aunt again, head lowered like a scolded child, and muttering a hasty apology under his breath. To their never-ending astonishment, Helaena just narrowed her eyes, turned on her heels, and stalked away without another word. 

“W-wow.” Elyse uttered. “I didn’t know she had that in her.” 

“Me neither.” Luke echoed. 

“I imagined her to be like the queen, but quieter,” Rhaena observed. 

Baela smirked. “She’s certainly got Alicent’s quick temper.” 

“Very quick,” Jace muttered to himself. 

Elyse skipped over and placed a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a teasing grin, “You kind of deserved that one though. You were lowkey a huge ass tonight.” 

“Yes, yes. Team up on me. Let us all take a jab at Jace.” Her friend grumbled, crossing his arms and kicking at the sand pettily. 

“Also, why is she wearing that hideous garment?” Rhaena suddenly spoke up. 

Elyse looked back at the lady, aghast. “That’s my tunic.” She said defensively. “And she had nothing else to wear so I lent it to her.” 

“Well, we will have to find something else for next time. The sleeves barely reach her forearm. It's comical.” Baela added. 

Elyse nearly dropped her water jug. She faced Baela. “Next time?” 

Baela rolled her eyes. “We need to even the numbers, do we not?” 

She couldn’t help it. She squealed. “Yes! Yes, we do! Oh thank you, Lady Baela! You are so kind and understanding and----” 

“No need for flattery.” The lady interrupted. Her eyes fixed on Helaena’s back as the gears in her head turned. A smirk tugged on the corner of Baela’s heart-shaped lips. “She will be my secret weapon against that idiot over there. I want her on my team from now on. You can have Jace.” 

“I am not an object to be traded back and forth!” Jace protested weakly. But Baela was long gone, chasing after Helaena while Rhaena offered Jace an apologetic look in her sister’s stance. 

“Oh Jace,” Elyse sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. Together, they watched his siblings chaotically swarming poor Helaena, who appeared delighted and terrified all at once. “I know you were trying to take care of her. Thanks, you’re a sweet kid.” 

“Strangely, that sounds rather wrong coming from you.” Jace chuckled, prodding her forehead. “You do know I am older than you?” 

She giggled. “Spiritually? No. Spiritually, I’m older than all of you.” 

Jace ruffled her hair. “Keep dreaming.” 

Looking out at the twins, Luke and Helaena, laughing and walking along the serene beach, Elyse really thought she was dreaming. It was a moment so perfect, it made her heart burst with happiness. Maybe. Just maybe. If things kept going down this path. Maybe tragedies could be prevented. Maybe families could be mended. And hey, if she could help make it happen, then maybe her presence in this world was worth something after all.

Chapter Text

Chapter 20:

The sky was studded with stars by the time Elyse started hurrying home. Her pockets were full of wares from the markets and her eyes vigilantly surveyed her surroundings as she darted through the dim alleyways. It was a mistake to be out after dark, she knew that, but the coffee beans rattling in her cloak pocket justified the risk. 

For once, the city was pretty quiet. No leering drunks or brawling youths lining the streets. She felt confident that she’d make it back to the Red Keep in less than fifteen minutes if she hustled. Marscha was going to kill her for being late. 

A sudden shout from the left set off a blaring alarm bell in Elyse’s mind. Her boots hit the cobblestone streets at an urgent pace. She swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and kept pushing on, trying to ignore the encroaching commotion on the next street over. Whatever it was, it was none of her business and she wanted nothing to do with it. 

CRASH! 

A blur of a figure tunneled out the side alley and slammed right into Elyse, which sent her tumbling to the ground, butt first. “Ow…what---hey! Watch where you’re----” Her eyes bulged. She took in the small, scrawny child that had collided with her. “Ara? No way. Ara, is that you?” 

She was unrecognizable. Caked in blood and dirt. Barefoot. Hair matted against her skull. But it was her. It was definitely her. “E-Elyse?” 

“Oh my god, where have you been ?” Elyse exclaimed. She pulled Ara into a tight hug and then immediately jumped back when Ara released a strangled yelp. “Sorry, are you ok? Did I hurt you? Wait, what am I doing? We have to take you back to the orphanage. I don’t know what you were thinking, running away like you did, but you need to go----” 

“ No time !” Ara whispered furiously. Her quivering hands clung to Elyse’s arm as her head swiveled to the side. “H-help me, Elyse. They’ll find me. I’m so scared please I’m so scared please help me.” 

“They? Who are they? Ara, what’s going on?” 

“No time. NO TIME!” And that’s when Elyse noticed the line of cuts and bruises along Ara’s arms. Her once soft cheeks were hollow and sunken. She had a wild, rabid look in her grey eyes ---- like a cornered, injured prey. Then the voices sounded again. Goosebumps trailed down Elyse’s neck. The commotion from the next street over wasn’t random drunks making trouble. They were shouting at each other to find something. 

No, to find someone. 

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. This was bad. Really, freaking bad. “Uh….u-uh…ok, follow me.” She snatched Ara’s hand and ran down the street. “You have to tell me what’s going on, Ara. I need to know what’s going on. Are those men trying to hurt you?” 

“Yes!” Ara sobbed. “T-they are bad men. T-they k-killed Pearl1” 

Elyse’s knees wobbled beneath her. Panic seeped into every pore of her body like a tea bag in hot water. Pearl was dead. Pearl ----- who was alive and laughing just weeks ago, was dead. What kind of fuckery was going on here? Her eyes spared a quick glance at the little girl she was dragging down the street. “Ok, we have to hide. You know this city better than I do. Help me find a place to hide. We have to hurry.” But Ara was too overwhelmed to answer. “Damn it, come on, think! P-pretend we’re playing hide-and-seek. Don’t think about the men. Just focus on me. Where would you hide if you were playing hide-and-seek with the other kids?” 

They were losing ground. Blindly running around the city was going to get them nowhere. Not when their pursuers were quite likely double their size and have no qualms about killing children. Fear materialized again, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her throat. Whispering, threatening, laughing at her desperate attempts to save their lives. “ARA, HURRY!” 

“D-down that street!” The little girl finally blurted out, “There’s a stable. We can hide in there!” Elyse nodded. It was too early to release that tight breath in her chest. Not when Ara was unable to run on her own. Not when the voices were nipping at their heels. 

They made it one more block, hand in hand, before Elyse cursed colorfully, pulled the girl onto her back, and started sprinting down the diagonal street that Ara had pointed out. Heartbeat pounding like the beat of a bass drum setting the scene for their escape. She’s seen plenty of scenes like this on the screen ----- the main characters fleeing their enemies through a crowded bazaar. Thrilling, action-packed chases that involved several exploding vehicles and wrecking mayhem to the hawkers that were just trying to sell their freaking wares. 

Real life was nothing like a movie. Because as she ran down the entire length of that street ----- legs screaming, lungs wheezing, adrenaline holding her together, just barely ----- all Elyse could do was pray. Pray to any god that would listen. 

Please save us. 

Please have mercy. 

“There!” Ara stuck a finger out. “Turn that corner!” she skated around the corner, nearly tripping over a loose stone. Then she saw it ------ an unmanned stable about eight hundred feet away. It was the slowest, most agonizing eight hundred feet Elyse had ever run. Sure, she was pretty fit. But running with at least fifty pounds of extra weight on her back was no small feat. All she could hear were the loud, angry voices closing in like a pride of lions ready to take down their wounded gazelle, and that gave her the strength to push through the fatigue, charging headfirst through the creaky wooden doors just as the men turned the corner. 

Horses in every stall whinnied and reared ----- displeasure at the late intrusion into their dwelling. “Where now?” She panted, releasing Ara. 

“The last stall is sometimes empty, hurry!” 

The girls scrambled into the stall just as the men’s voices neared. Elyse pushed Ara against the wall and clamped her hands over their mouths. Sweaty, trembling, and brimming with tears, she said another prayer ----- for the shadows to swallow both of them and keep them far far away from whoever stood outside those doors. 

“Fuck!’ A male voice yelled, jolting both of them. Elyse tried to signal Ara to stop hyperventilating but to be honest, she was about to start sobbing herself. “Where did that little cunt go? You said you saw her go this way!” 

“She did!” Another man insisted, “I swear!” 

“Then what are you doing standing around,” A third voice snarled. “Search!”  

Ara let out a strangled noise, forcing Elyse to clamp her hand down harder. They flattened themselves against the wall. Elyse dragged Ara to the floor, crouching in the hay while the horse in the next stall snorted. Maybe its animal instincts can smell the fear on their shaking, frightened bodies through the stink of hay and horse dung lingering in the stale air. 

“No sign of her!” The first voice shouted from one of the windows. “Fuck me, Lord Crimson will have our skin for this!” 

“ Our skin? You’re the one that let that little bitch run free on your watch. I swear, when we find her I am going to gut her like a fish.” 

“My fault? MY FAULT? You piece of fucking horse shit. You think I don’t know you left your post to go fuck that whore you love so much?” 

“You fucking cunt----” 

“BOTH OF YOU. STOP FIGHTING.” It was the third voice that carried some semblance of authority. He was calmer than his two companions. Colder. “And there will be no touching the merchandise. Lord Crimson’s direct orders. Now, check the stalls, both of you.” 

Drip, drip, drip. Ara’s tears fell onto her hand in big fat plops. The stable doors opened with a creak. Three sets of heavy footsteps rustled in, kicking up the hay as they inspected the first stall. 

“Gods, it smells like horse shit in here!” One of them complained. 

“We’re in a stable, you half-wit”, his companion sneered, “And I think the horses smell fairly pleasant compared to your breath.” 

Once again, the third voice cut through the fighting, “Any sign of the girl?” 

“No, but we have a few more stalls. She’s in here somewhere.” 

“Here here,” the first voice cooed, “come out, you little shit, wherever you are.” Ara squirmed, causing Elyse to shift her weight to hold her tighter. 

Crunch!

“Did you hear that?” The authoritative voice cut through the air like a sharp knife. The girls froze. Still as statues, they stared at each other. Suddenly, Elyse remembered the pouch of coffee beans in her cloak ----- the very bag that she had just accidentally sat on and crushed. 

“Hear what?” His friend mumbled. 

“Hmm.I swear I heard..” He was right outside. He was so close, there was no way he couldn’t see them huddled in the back corner. 

Please. 

At least save her. 

The door opens half an inch. 

She’s just a little girl. 

It opens two more inches. 

She’s just a little girl. 

There’s a hand wrapped around the wooden door. 

SHE’S JUST A LITTLE GIRL. 

…

…

…

“Oi, Landon!” 

A fourth voice appeared. 

The hand paused. 

“Bennet saw her run south!” 

The man stepped away from the stall, demanding, “You’re sure?” 

“I-I mean, that’s what he said.” 

“Then what are you two doing ----- twiddling your thumbs?” Landon roared, “ Let’s go!” The other two men hastily echoed his sentiment and tumbled out the stable. Before long, their voices had completely vanished from the vicinity. Still, Elyse and Ara remained numb and terrified, hidden in the shadows, long after the men had vanished. They stayed crouched in their corner for a good fifteen minutes before Elyse finally released her hand and let out a shaky breath. 

“I…I think they’re gone.” She rested her head against the cool wooden wall. Sweat clung to her like dewdrops on a spiderweb ---- lasting evidence of their encounter. 

Ara broke into sobs. Raw, unfiltered, raspy wails poured out of the little girl’s mouth as Elyse kept a comforting hand on her cheek. “My god, who was that? What happened to you?” She whispered. 

“It hurts. It hurts, Elyse.” Ara wept. 

“Did they hurt you? You know what, let’s go find help. I know the Gold Cloaks are all pigs and stuff but if they see you like this they’ll definitely help----” 

“NO!” Her hand darted back, startled by Ara’s sudden shriek. The girl swiveled her head furiously, “No Gold Cloaks. Promise me, Elyse, no Gold Cloaks!” 

“O-ok, no Gold Cloaks. Shh… shh…” She pulled the crying girl in for a tight hug, smoothing her matted hair down. 

Something catches her attention. It’s her hand. The one resting on Ara’s rib. Elyse pulled it away. Her fingers are covered with something slick and wet. She moved her hand into the small sliver of muted light shining through the window and saw the shiny, scarlet blood on the tips of her finger. “Hey, what’s this?” Elyse moved Ara into the light and felt her mind go numb at the sight of the little girl’s bloodstained tunic. She looked like she stepped straight out of a slasher film. “Holy…where is all this blood coming from? Can you show me?” 

Ara nodded feebly. Hands quivering as she lifted the front of the tunic to reveal a severely mangled torso, dotted with bruises and several slashes. “I t-think my wounds r-reopened.” The orphan blubbered. 

That was an understatement. The state of Ara’s body was horrifying. Elyse was not a medical expert, by any definition. But it didn’t take a professional to gauge the catastrophic nature of Ara’s injuries. And how did she not notice the sheen of cold sweat along the girl’s hairline? Or the pale grey hues of her skin? It’s a damn miracle she hadn’t passed out from the pain alone. They had to get her to a maester. And fast. But where? 

“U-uh, ok, We’re going to find you a maester. Do you have the strength to climb on my back?” Ara gave a weepy nod. “Good. Now, do you know any maesters nearby?” 

“N-no…” 

Her heart sank. She unclasped her cloak and fastened it snugly under Ara’s chin to hide her bloody tunic. With shaking hands, she pulled the hood over the girl's head, then turned around to let Ara climb on her back. The soft, helpless whimpers of pain the little girl let out as she struggled onto Elyse’s back crushed her heart with the force of a two-ton-truck. 

First, she saves Ara. Then, she’ll make them pay. Whoever they are. They’ll pay. 

“Ok, hold on tight. Let me know when it hurts. You have to tell me if it hurts, promise?” 

“Mhm.” 

“It’s going to be fine. I promise. Everything will be fine.” She wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure, but the mantra gave her enough strength to stand up and hobble out of the stables. 

They clung to the safety of the shadows and wandered the city in search of a maester. But finding a maester in Flea Bottom, especially so late in the day, was like finding a needle in a haystack. To distract both herself and Ara from the shock and fear of this entire ordeal, Elyse told Ara a story: Little Red Riding Hood, praying that like Red Riding Hood, Ara will beat the odds and come out of this alive and well. 

But with every passing minute, the panic rose higher and higher in her throat. She was so desperate that she started banging on doors to ask someone for directions to a maester. No one would help. Every door slammed in her face felt like another nail in Ara’s tiny coffin. 

“I-it’s fine!” All attempts to keep the strain out of her voice were futile, but she still gave Ara her best reassuring voice. “We’ll keep looking. Someone will help us.” 

“I feel cold.” 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now! We haven’t finished the story yet. Don’t you want to hear how the little girl defeated the big bad wolf?” 

“Maybe…later…” Ara mumbled against Elyse’s neck. 

Crap. This is not good. Elyse adjusted her hold on the little girl and pushed through the cramped alleys with renewed vigor. Yet she felt like she was running on a treadmill. Huffing and straining to make that distance only to realize she was still in the same spot. Each step was barely a foot in the serpentine streets that seemingly stretched miles long. How was she going to do this? How was she going to get Ara to a doctor? And why was it that in this entire damn city, no one was willing to -----

“They took me.” 

Elyse twisted around to look at Ara. “What did you say?” 

Ara leaned her head against Elyse’s shoulder, breath shallow and feathery as she whispered, “They took me from my cot. They took Pearl too. I couldn’t see anything. And then I was in a cage.” 

“A cage ?” 

“I…I was not alone. There were other…” 

The little girl took a big, shivering breath, like even whispering was painful. “Take your time.” Elyse coaxed. 

“...other children with me. They wouldn’t give me food. Just water. And…and…” A new sob ripped out of Ara’s throat. “There was a pit. And…they told me to f-fight the other boy.” 

No fucking way. “They told you to fight another kid?” 

She was crying so hard now that Elyse could feel her hot blood seeping through the thin fabric pressed between them. Hysterically crying. “I didn’t mean to kill him.” She sobbed, fingers gripping tightly on Elyse’s thin shoulders. “I…he…they said that…he was going to kill me. I didn’t mean it Elyse I…really didn’t…mean…it.” 

“I know. I know. It’s ok. Shhh. You didn’t mean to. It’s not your fault. It’s their fault. You have to tell me, Ara. Tell me who did this to you.” Her boots thumped against the cracked stone streets ---- every step more sluggish than the last as her body battled exhaustion. “Ara!” She shook the little girl. “Ara, can you hear me? Who did this to you?” 

But Ara didn’t respond. 

She shook her again. “Hey, can you hear me? Don’t fall asleep on me. You can’t sleep right now, we’re almost there.” They were alone in that long, neverending alleyway. No light could be seen on either end of the street, and the darkness of their surroundings was reflected in Elyse’s heart as she fought against the inevitable. 

Her eyes closed. She tried to swallow her tears. When she spoke again, her voice was thick and raspy. “Ara, can you hear me?” Ara did not respond, and Elyse began to cry. 

Because through the thin layers of fabric between their bodies, she could no longer feel Ara’s heartbeat against her back. 

“No. No no no no NO!” She screamed, collapsing to her knees. With feeble arms, she pulled the little girl off her back and gathered her against her chest. “Please, Ara, please don’t do this.” Elyse sobbed. One hand on Ara’s slack jaw, and another wrapped around her frail body. God, she was so small. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should have known. I should have gone to look for you.” 

It’s no use. Ara could no longer hear her. Her bright grey eyes have dulled to the color of soot. Her mouth was softly parted like she was trying to take one last breath when her heart stopped. Elyse threw back her head and wailed. Her cries bounced off the narrow, empty space and echoed down the street. She must have looked like a lunatic, with blood smeared across her hands, neck, and face. Her hair a tangled mess. A corpse clutched against her ribcage. 

But nothing, nothing , could describe the absolute, earth-shattering devastation that tore through Elyse like a natural disaster. Like a high-magnitude earthquake. Like a level-five tornado. Any remaining shreds of dignity and reason left in her were swept away in the tsunami of grief that came with the death of the little girl in her arms. 

She had no idea how long she knelt there in the dark, weeping over Ara’s limp body. Maybe she could have kept vigil for her the entire night. Until her knees bled against the hard, pebbly ground and she withered away from dehydration. But Ara deserved better. She shouldn’t be spending a single second more on these filthy streets. She should be buried somewhere with flowers. And fresh air. With a view of the bay and a big tree. 

“Ahem.” 

Elyse glanced up, so numb she muster a single flying fuck for her own safety at this point. A bystander stood against the opposite wall, dressed in an ivory cloak that covered them from face to toe. “Go away.” 

The bystander took three steps forward. “Might I…offer my assistance?” 

“No. Go away.” 

“Trust me.” The stranger answered. They pushed back the hood. It was a woman. Dark hair. Dark eyes. A strange accent. Elyse’s memory stirred. The woman smiled. “You will want my help, Elyse.” 

Chapter Text

“...Elyse…”

“El…”

“...so strange lately…” 

“ELYSE!” 

Someone snapped their fingers inches from her face, causing her to stir. It was Maisy. Her face was twisted into an irritated scowl. 

“Sorry,” Elyse mumbled, lowering her head. “Did I miss something?” 

Maisy huffed impatiently. “We must get all this grain to the cellar before dinner preparation starts.” She waved a flailing arm at the huge pile of burlap sacks behind her in the courtyard. “Have you been listening at all?” 

“Leave her alone, Maisy.” Dyanna interrupted. “You go ahead. I’ll make sure these get put away.” Maisy looked dissatisfied, but Dyanna’s firm tone was hard to refute, so she made a frustrated noise and shuffled off. 

“Sorry, Dyanna,” Elyse apologized immediately. She bent over to pick up a sack of oats. “You don’t have to help. I can get this done on my own.” 

“No, it’s fine. I have a spare moment.” Her roommate grabbed two sacks and dragged them along the ground. Her dark brown eyes kept darting over to Elyse’s sullen face. “Don’t worry about Maisy. She’s been in a bad mood since Ellyn was moved to laundry.” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

Their conversation lulled between the struggle of lugging five hundred pounds of grain into the kitchen and Elyse’s refusal to speak. Quietly, the two girls worked in tandem and managed to carry in more than half the grain. She knew Dyanna’s eyes rested on her back the entire time. Her concern was easy to sense. But Elyse didn’t bother to bridge the gap. Like a machine, she worked stiffly and efficiently. No chit-chat. No emotions. 

“Though…” She held back her sigh. Here it came. Dyanna pulled her into a secluded alcove by the chicken coop. “You have been acting strange recently. Are you…alright?” 

Elyse stared blankly at her. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. My---um, my shoulder has been kind of sore recently.”

“It’s just, well, you’ve been distracted.” Her roommate insisted. Elyse avoided her earnest gaze and tried to tug her sleeve away from Dyanna’s fingers, but the older girl didn’t relent. “If something’s going on, I can help. Is it…you know, him again?” 

“No, it’s not him.” She responded quietly. 

“Did you get into another argument with Prince Jacaerys?” 

“No, Jace and I are fine.” 

“Then what is ----” 

“Dy, seriously I’m good, please. Can we just get this done?” 

Her friend’s brows furrowed. She released Elyse’s sleeve, but stubbornly refused to step aside as Elyse tried to maneuver around her. “You’re not fooling me.” 

She swallowed the flicker of irritation licking at her mind. Dyanna was just trying to help, she knew that. But she was in no mood to talk. “I’m not trying to ---- oh, look, it’s Mycah.” Dyanna whirled around just as the big, brawny boy bounded over with a shy smile, a basket in hand. “Hey, Mycah!” 

The blacksmith’s boy held out the basket, “The cookware you asked for last time. I finally finished it.” His eyes wandered over the pretty redhead beside him, “h-hello…Dyanna. You look, um, pretty today. N-not that y-you don’t look p-pretty every day! Just t-that you look p-prettier than usual. Today.” 

Elyse hid her smile by pretending to examine her nails. Mycah was a gentle giant by every definition. A hulking physique sculpted from years of blacksmith work. Corn-colored hair and splotchy cheeks. Intimidating at first glance, but one of the kindest souls you’ll ever meet. From his slightly clumsy movements to his shy personality ------ his temperament was perfect for sweet Dyanna. 

“Hello Mycah,” Dyanna answered. Her voice softened and her cheeks flushed demurely. “Thank you for the flowers last week. I truly loved them.” 

Mycah’s blocky face lit up. “R-really? I’ll pick more for you tomorrow then.” 

Her roommate blushed profusely. “Thank you, you’re too kind.” 

“I saw some daisies growing by the r-riverbank, actually. Do you like daisies?” 

“Um…not really. Daisies give me…rashes.” 

His cheeks turned tomato red. Mycah sputtered some nonsensical apology, stumbling over his feet while Elyse observed from the sidelines, eyebrows raised. Seriously, she’s seen grandpas at her mom’s mahjong club with better rizz. Is this his best attempt at scoring a date? 

“Ooookay then,” She interrupted, idling in to save the poor boy from his awkward self. “Mycah, I’d love to pay you back for the cookware but ----” She nudged her head at the remaining sacks of grain, “as you can see, I’m kind of busy here. You think you could settle for a sandwich from Dyanna instead?” 

Her roommate’s eyes widened, “Me? But I was going to help you -----” 

“Nope, I’m all good here. You should make Mycah that sandwich. Thanks, Dyanna, you’re a huge help.” 

Mycah straightened his tunic, barely able to contain the delight in his light brown eyes. “Y-yes, I would very much like a sandwich ---- if it’s not t-too much trouble, Dyanna.” 

Dyanna looked back at Elyse, doubt on her face as she contemplated whether or not to leave ----- a dilemma Elyse solved by giving her a soft nudge towards Mycah. “I’ll be fine. There’s only, like, five sacks left anyway. I’ll find you later.” 

The older girl took another look in Mycah’s direction and blushed. “I suppose…I could make you a sandwich.” 

“T-thank you, you are t-too kind!” Mycah stammered, unable to meet his crush’s eyes. 

“Come, then.” Dyanna herded the stumbling boy gently towards the kitchen door. Before she headed inside, she turned around and called, “Don’t be late for dinner service again, or Marscha might put you on the night shifts again!” 

“Yeah yeah, I know.” 

Her roommate’s head popped back out one last time with a stern look, “I’m serious, Elyse. Don’t dilly dally!” 

Elyse waved her off with a smile that faded instantly as soon as Dyanna was out of sight. Damn it, any longer in her presence and she would have cracked. She didn’t deserve Dyanna’s concern, not one bit. Elyse turned her back to the kitchen door and wiped her sweaty palms on her apron in one shaky motion. Could words begin to describe the weight of guilt and shame weighing like stone bricks on her back? The daggers that plunged into her heart with every probing question?

God, she was a horrible fucking friend. The truth was on the tip of her tongue. And she wanted nothing more than to tell Dyanna everything. But she couldn’t. Not with what’s at stake, which Mysaria made perfectly clear that night. 

“You! You’re that woman!” Elyse exclaimed. She shielded Ara’s body with her arms and narrowed her eyes, “What do you want with me? Are you following me? Did you do this?” 

The woman laughed ----- a sound that echoed down the street like a brass-toned bell. “No, I did not do this.” 

“Then go away!” Elyse shouted angrily. “Mind your own business and get lost.”

“I must not have been clear. You, pretty girl,” The woman moved in, causing Elyse to scoot back, dragging Ara with her. She paused, then smiled. “You are in dire need of help. I can help.” 

“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want your freaking help.” Weeping softly now, Elyse pressed her cheeks against Ara’s rough, matted hair. Deliriously tired and overwhelmed, she blabbered through the tears, “All of you are insane. You’re all insane. What kind of place is this? M-making children fight each other a-and killing children. Yeah, New York is shady too, but at least children weren’t getting YANKED out of their own beds and t-trafficked!” Her hands clutched desperately around Ara’s frail shoulders, balling the bloodstained fabric into her fists. “And not one person willing to help? Point me towards a maester?” 

“You are too naive,” the woman interrupted, “even if you took her to a maester, they would not have treated a street rat like her.” 

Street rat. How many times has she heard that phrase in the past two weeks? Black and red dots danced around the perimeter of her vision as rage rose from her gut, spilling out into a guttural growl, “So you’re one of them .” 

“Quite the opposite,” the woman replied. “If anything, I was her,” she pointed at Ara. “I almost died at her age too. My father raped me and then cast me out to rot. By pure luck, I survived and ended up here, in Westeros. Trust me, Elyse, I know exactly what she went through.” 

Well then. Elyse had no idea what to say to that. She wiped the snot off her face with her dirty sleeve and sniffed like an idiot, “You know my name.” 

The woman smiled, “I know more than you think.” 

“So? What do you want?” 

“Do you hear that?” The woman gestured down the street. 

“Hear what?” 

“Listen closely.” 

She obeyed. Through her shuddering sobs and uneven breaths, she tried to focus on her surroundings, where the faint sounds of hooves and shouting men began to materialize. Panic slammed into her, tossing her underfoot and crushing her into the ground like a stampede. “They’re coming for her again oh my god they’re still here what do I do what do I do what do I ----” 

“Hush.” The woman knelt before her and placed two hands on her cheeks. “Be calm. Come with me, child, I can hide you.” 

“No! I w-won’t go with you. I can’t trust you. I can’t trust anyone----!” A sharp, stinging slap sent her head whipping to the right. Elyse ----- stunned, fell silent. 

“Calm down and think. Use logic.” The woman commanded. With each second that passed, her voice got lower and more insistent. “Where do you plan on burying her, hmm? Your unfamiliarity with the city is too obvious. What could you do by yourself except wander aimlessly around the city all night? And those horses. Do you know who they are? Those are Gold Cloaks. Remind yourself, has any Gold Cloak been of help to you? Did they care when you made those reports for the orphanage?” 

“How…did you…” 

“If you stay here by yourself you will be seized. And her?” The woman jerked her head at the girl in Elyse’s arms, “They might toss her in the bay. They might feed her to the dogs. She will not rest in peace. Will you condemn her to such a fate?” Elyse blinked away the stray tears. She stared into the woman’s eyes, dark and intense like sharp obsidian. The sound of hooves against pavement marked the seconds that passed. Tick. Tick. Tick. “What will it be, Elyse?” The woman asked quietly. One hand emerged from her stiff white cloak and extended to Elyse, “Will you let me help you?” 

It was a lose-lose situation all around. Elyse was too overstimulated to think clearly. God, she could barely breathe, yet she needed to make a split-second decision about who to trust? An Elyse of another time would have told her to trust herself. That she was more than capable of figuring out the right choice. But was she? Hasn’t she made every wrong decision possible since she stepped foot in this medieval hellhole? Her gut told her to take action earlier ---- ask more questions and look for Ara and Pearl the minute they went missing ----- no, even before, when Yazeel went missing. She ignored it. Her gut told her to leave the Targaryens alone. Instead, she leaped into the fire headfirst. But she was always like this. Never listening to the blaring alarms. Ignoring the “DANGER” signs in front of each cliff she blindly runs off. 

“They are getting closer.” The woman reminded her. “Make a decision. Come with me, or not.” Elyse lowered her head to look at Ara’s peacefully still face. Bile rose up her throat at the imagery of Ara’s body being torn to pieces by a pack of snarling dogs. Fuck it. Did she have anything left to lose? What’s the worst that could happen ---- she dies again? She should have died on those subway tracks anyway. 

“Fine.” She grabbed the woman’s hand tightly. “I’ll go with you, But ONLY if you vow to help me find a good resting place for this girl.” 

The woman pulled Elyse to her feet. “You have my vow.” She replied. “Now, shall we?” With her help, Elyse managed to drag Ara onto her back again and hobbled down the street at a hurried pace. Under the woman’s guidance, they maneuvered the narrow alleyways and dark passages with ease. They slipped through a crack between two buildings barely the width of her shoulders. They tunneled down a wide set of stone stairs into a crowded plaza, where they blended into the masses that barely noticed the dead girl on her back. 

Finally, they turned onto that rose and musk-scented street. Elyse halted mid-step, “Hold up. Where are you taking me? This is ----” 

“The Street of Silk, I know.” The woman interrupted. She wrapped a hand around Elyse’s tired, trembling arm and tugged her along. “We are almost there.” 

“But ----” 

“Come.” 

She swallowed nervously, then obeyed. Following the woman into a side shoot of the main street, where the commotion was less rowdy and that suffocating scent was weaker, they stopped before an unassuming door -----  blue paint, brass handles. The woman knocked five times and waited. All that filled the air were the sounds of Elyse’s labored breathing until the door opened and a girl’s head poked out. 

“Lady Mysaria? Where have you…” The girl’s gaze trailed to Elyse. Instantly, her face hardened. A honed determination glinted in her eyes. “How can I help?”  

“Find Edmun and Arley. Tell them I have a task for them. Be discreet. Do not draw attention to yourself.” The woman answered, “Tell Sae to bring hot water and washcloths. She will need a bath.” The girl gave her a curt nod then sprinted off to complete her given tasks. In the meantime, the woman ---- Lady Mysaria, peeled Ara off Elyse’s back and pointed at the open door. “Go inside. Up the stairs and down the corridor. Go into the last door behind the orange curtains. I will be there shortly.” 

“A-and her? What are you going to do with her?” One of Elyse’s hands still lingered on Ara’s forearm, refusing to let go. 

Mysaria looked straight at her and quietly replied. “I will be preparing her for burial. Before her corpse bloats and the stench perfumes my entire brothel.” 

“Oh.” 

The older woman’s demeanor softened slightly. “Would you like to say goodbye to her?” 

Elyse bit her bottom lip, drawing blood. “Y-yes, please.” She moved closer and leaned down to caress Ara’s ice-cold face. A tear dropped onto her marred cheeks. Then another. “I’m so sorry.” Elyse whispered. Her forehead was pressed against Ara’s as she squeezed her eyes closed. “I’m so sorry, Ara. I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. But I’ll catch them. I’ll catch every one of those fuckers and I’ll make them pay. I promise. You just…” the lump in her throat throbbed painfully as she hoarsely finished, “...rest easy.” 

She doesn’t remember stepping back from Ara’s body. Or the thank you that she choked out to Mysaria, who watched her with an unreadable expression. Somehow, she tumbled up the stairs ---- exhausted, traumatized, completely spent ----- and made it to Mysaria’s room. Beyond the closed door, the nightly activities of the brothel rang out. Laughter. Singing. The giggling of the flowery girls that accompanied the drunken ramblings of their patrons. Inside the room, Elyse waited in the unlit corner beside the empty wash bin. Knees tucked against her chest, tears dripping down her chin in rhythm with her sullen heartbeat. Time slipped past, unbeknownst to her through grief, until the door finally opened and Mysaria walked in.

“Wash yourself. You cannot go back to the castle with blood all over you.” The dark-haired woman commanded. She poured a pot of steaming water into the wash bin and tossed a rag to Elyse. 

“Did you…is she…” 

“She is leaving the city as we speak.” 

“Leaving the city? Why is she leaving the city? That wasn’t part of the deal!” 

Mysaria sighed. “The city has nowhere to bury a young child. I have my men finding a good site for a grave. Once the matter is finished, I will tell you the location.” 

Elyse let her arms fall to her side. “I feel stupid. I shouldn’t have trusted you.” 

 “You were desperate. But also correct. Trusting me was the smartest thing you could have done.” 

“How so? I don’t even know you.” 

“Because, pretty girl,” Mysaria sat on the window seat and crossed her legs. Without her cloak, stranded of her pinned hair brushed against her forehead. Her obsidian eyes pierced into Elyse’s soul. “You and I share the same goals.” 

“What goals?” asked Elyse stupidly. 

“You just said it yourself. You want to catch the people who did this.” There was no trace of that previous softness or empathy on the older woman’s face now. All that was left was a bone-shivering conviction as she continued, “I, too, want to catch the people behind these horrors.” 

“Uh, no offense, but why?” She wasn't the smartest tool in the shed, but she knew altruism was dead here. Mysaria wouldn't help her unless she had an agenda of her own.

“My girls.” Mysaria answered bluntly, “Seven of my girls have gone missing in the past three moons. Girls that I know had nowhere to go. Girls who would never leave on their own.” 

Dyanna’s previous warnings echoed in Elyse's ears. “So… you think these incidents are related? You think the same people who took Ara also took your girls?” Elyse repeated. 

Mysaria nodded, “They must be.” She stood up and paced the floor while Elyse fell into the chair beside the roaring fire, shocked. “Listen closely, Elyse. Kidnappings are not rare in King’s Landing. Many slave merchants swipe women or children off the streets and take them overseas to sell. But rarely, very rarely, are the kidnapped girls discovered dead in the city again.” Elyse’s heart stopped. Her lungs tightened, making it painful for her to breathe as she willed the incoming panic attack to go away. “Now we must ponder two questions. First, why? These girls are worth nothing dead to slave merchants, so why kill them?” 

“Ara mentioned that she was taken from her bed in the middle of the night and thrown into some cage.” She blurted,  “A-and that she had to fight another child.” 

“Child fighting pits, not uncommon,” Mysaria replied. 

Elyse frowned. “Are you serious? You’re telling me there are people that ----- what, bet on these children like dogs or something?” God she was going to throw up. She gripped tightly onto her knees and took a shuddering breath, but the urge to hurl persisted. “That’s sick. That’s actually so sick. Why isn't anyone doing something about this?” 

Mysaria’s serious attitude loosened with a small chuckle. “That would be the second question. You may not believe this, but the Gold Cloaks were not always this useless.” 

Elyse snorted, “Yeah, right. Sure.” 

“Really! In the past, they were quite harsh on crime. Under Daemon Targaryen’s leadership, crime in King’s Landing decreased.” Daemon Targaryen, huh. Elyse’s knowledge about Jace’s stepdad consisted of one adjective ----- scary. “Now, Gold Cloaks are nothing but ale-drunk pigs pretending they are blind. Why?” 

“Because,” Elyse answered slowly, sorting through the facts bit by bit, “there was a change in leadership. Someone else is in charge of the Gold Cloaks now. Maybe the new leader is terrible at training his men?” 

“Or, the new Lord Commander is belligerent on purpose.” 

“You mean…they’re ignoring all the unrest knowingly? But why? Isn’t that literally their entire job?” 

Mysaria sat down across from her. She poured two cups of amber liquid as she said, “I will be frank with you. Corruption, child. Corruption.” 

One cup slid across the table to her, but Elyse was too shocked to notice. Her jaw fell open. “Y-you mean, you t-think that a noble or s-someone like that is running these fighting pits?” she stuttered. 

“The Gold Cloaks are not funded by nobles, Elyse.” The woman sipped on her drink. “They are funded by the Targaryens.” 

The chair screeched as Elyse shot up. Her hands slammed down on the table. “No fucking way. Are you trying to tell me that the King or Princess Rhaenyra might be behind this? You can’t be serious. What would they have to gain? They’re like the top one percent of this world already!” 

Mysaria calmly drank her beverage, ignoring Elyse’s frazzled outbursts. “Perhaps not the King himself, but what about Rhaenys Targaryen, the Queen Who Never Was? Her husband sits on the King’s Privy Council and wields immense power. And the Hightowers? Or even Daemon Targaryen, the King’s own brother. I was there when Daemon lost the succession to Rhaenyra. He is not above killing his wife or brother to ascend the throne.” 

“T-that c-can’t be possible.” 

“ Think about it, child. Who else could it be? You are not familiar with the power struggles within the House, but a Targaryen would burn the realm down if it meant they could sit on the Iron Throne. They would rather rule over rubbles and ash than not rule at all.” Mysaria pushed her cup to the side and folded her arms, “Besides, only the Targaryens have the authority to command the Gold Cloaks. No one else has the authority to name the Lord Commander. They are the most obvious choice.” 

“If it’s really one of those people you named that are behind everything then we have to report it now! I’ll tell Jace as soon as I get back and he can get Princess Rhaenyra involved -----” 

“Once again, you are too naive, girl.” Elyse fell silent as Mysaria snapped at her. She ran a hand through her dark tresses with a frustrated noise. “A word of advice, do shed that prideful naivety of yours quickly. It will be the death of you.” Shame colored her cheeks as Elyse lowered herself back into the chair like a scolded child. “What good will it do for us to bring this issue to Prince Jacaerys? Do we have evidence? Motive? We have nothing. The Targaryens will sooner toss you into the maws of their dragons before accusing one of their own unless there is irrefutable proof.” 

Her savior was right. The adrenaline and stress of tonight were making her rash. Involving Jace or the Princess at this current stage was not an option.  Ok,” Elyse started, tracing the cup's rim with her finger, “so we need proof. But how do we find it?” 

Mysaria poured another drink for herself. “That is what I need you for.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes. You.” The woman leaned across the table and gripped Elyse’s chin, tilting her head back and allowing her stone-hard gaze to drill into Elyse’s eyes. “You will be my eyes and ears in the castle. You will gather the whispers in the wind and the chattering of the rats and report it all back to me. You will use your connections with Jacaerys, Lucerys, Helaena, Baela and Rhaena, and Aemond to search for any scrap you can find.” 

Elyse shoved her hand away and stumbled backward. “N-no, I can’t do that.” 

“You will.” 

“No!” She shouted, panting and sputtering. “I-I’m not a spy. I don’t know how to g-gather secrets or whatever. I’m just a freaking maid. And a terrible one, too! Why don’t you use your other spies? The ones that told you about my friendship with Jace?” 

“Because, Elyse,” Mysaria circled the table. She grabbed Elyse by the arm and yanked her closer again. “None of my spies are nearly as close to the Targaryens as you are. None of them have the trust and confidence of the future heir. You do. If you want justice for your little friends, or to protect your roommate’s brother, then you will listen and work with me.” 

Elyse collapsed to the floor in a heap. Shit. Jory. God, how did she forget about Jory? Her hands scraped against the hard flooring as the image of Dyanna floated around her mind ----- devastated, broken, a shell of the person she was before. Jory’s death would ruin her. 

No. It won’t happen. She won’t let it happen. “If this is the only way, fine. I’ll do it. I’ll spy for you.” The words were choked out, one by one, “But where would I even start?” 

The brothel madame hooked her arms under Elyse’s armpits and pulled her to her feet. She took a fresh cloth and dipped it into the wash bin. With careful, patient motions, Mysaria wiped Elyse’s face clean of grime and dried blood. “You start with Daemon Targaryen.” 

“Daemon Targaryen? No freaking way! He’s actually insane! If he discovers me trying to SPY on him he’ll rip me to pieces!” 

“You will not get discovered,” Mysaria answered. “You will not allow yourself to be discovered.” Her hands moved to clean Elyse’s neck and ears. “I admit, it will not be easy to approach Daemon. He is ruthless.” Elyse detected a slight tremble in the older woman’s voice that quickly dissipated, “and he is nicknamed the Rogue Prince for a reason. I would not put it past Daemon to be responsible for such heinous crimes, and though he is no longer the Lord Commander, the Gold Cloaks still revere him as their true leader. They would listen to his orders.” 

It made sense, sure, but in practice? Pure suicide. Every servant in the Red Keep spent their time running AWAY from the Rogue Prince, and she wants her to sidle up to him? “I guess I could try, but…” Elyse’s voice trailed off. 

“While you work inside the castle, my girls and I will be gathering intel on the outside. We will meet every ten days and share our knowledge.” The older woman set aside the tainted cloth. There was a somber note to her voice when she spoke again. “It will not be easy, I know. But what choice do we have? You have seen the state of the city. We have been forsaken. Justice will not be dealt with by those who hold the power, so we must take matters into our own hands.” 

Elyse nodded hesitantly. “But, what about Jory? Dyanna’s brother?” 

“What about him?” 

“W-well, should we tell Dyanna or -----” 

“No. Absolutely not.” Mysaria clamped a hand on her shoulder and shook her violently. “You will not tell the boy or his sister a word about this, do you understand? We must not let the culprits know we are looking for them or they will wriggle out our grasps like eels.” 

“But what if he gets taken? He should be told ----” 

“Elyse. No.” 

Their eyes interlocked in an intense battle. Part of Elyse wanted to shove the older woman away and scream that she was wrong. But she didn’t. She knew if the true criminals behind everything weren’t caught, nothing would change. “Can you…at least…keep an eye on him? Please?” Her bottom lip trembled through the plea. “I’ll do my best to find anything you need me to find, but just…make sure those kids are safe.” 

Mysaria turned away. Elyse watched helplessly while she paced the room, hands clasped behind her back. Peals of laughter rang out across the corridor ----- a stark contrast to the tension inside the room. Finally, the brothel madame stopped pacing and faced her. “I will keep an eye on them, but I cannot guarantee their safety. That is all I can promise.” 

Her knees nearly gave out in relief. “That’s better than nothing.”

The woman smiled, “Then, it is a deal?” 

Elyse looked down at her bloodstained clothes. A tremor of fear hummed along her spine. Because she was frightened. She was terrified of what was to come if she walked down this road ----- the consequences they'd face if they failed. Still, she swallowed, took a deep breath, and sealed her fate. “It’s a deal.”

Her hands wrapped tightly onto the last bag of grain. Beads of sweat formed along her hairline as she pulled and yanked the heavy sack towards the door. She was in way over her head, no doubt about it. The thought of Jace or Helaena being responsible for those horrid tragedies made her want to vomit. Mysaria’s theory made sense on every level, but Elyse didn’t want to accept the harsh realities. What would she do, if it really was them? If Princess Rhaenyra, or Daemon Targaryen, the queen, or, heavens forbid, her friends were somehow involved ----- what would she do? 

The sack wouldn’t budge, no matter how much she yanked and pulled, so Elyse gave up and collapsed against it to rest. Panting, sweaty, and somber, she tilted her head to the cloudless sky and wondered how her life got so complicated. What would she be doing right now if she was home, in New York? Heading to a museum with her friends? Picking out a movie for family movie nights? Racing to soccer practice on a Citibike? When did kitchen chores and power struggles become the norm for her? God what wouldn’t she give to go back home to her parents and her cat, Miki, and the comforts of modern-day technology and ----

“Elyse!” 

Crap. “Yeah?” She shouted back, angrily wiping off the stray tear. 

“Marscha needs you to fetch some milk from the cellar when you're done!” 

Elyse forced a cheery note into her voice and answered, “Got it, I’ll go get it right now!” 

Yeah. No use thinking about unnecessary stuff. It was pointless, anyway. This was her life now. She gritted her teeth and hauled the sack across the courtyard with haggard movements, rolled it down the stairs into the cellar, grabbed a pail of fresh milk, and went upstairs to help prepare dinner as she did yesterday, and as she probably will for the rest of her miserable time here. 

Chapter Text

A hand gently caressed his loose silver hair as Aemond rested, eyes closed and lazily sprawled across the mattress. Nothing but a sheet covered his lower half while the rest of his muscled torso was bare and exposed. 

“You seem tense,” The woman playing with his hair observed dryly. She took a long inhale from her pipe and blew it into the stale summer air. “What troubles you?” 

“Nothing,” Aemond answered, mind drifting up in the clouds. 

Madame Sylvi shifted her body so that she could look him in the eye. Her peach-tinted breasts were partially hidden within a loose silk robe that draped to her knees. In their previous physical entanglements, her braids had loosened into a wavy mess around her oval face. “Tell me your troubles. You know I would not betray you.” 

 A long sigh exited his lips. He wedged his arm under his head and confessed, “There is a girl clinging to my sister of late.” 

“A girl?” 

“A maid. Elyse. She is everywhere. In my sister’s chambers. In the city. Everywhere I look, she is there ----- scurrying about like a little mouse.” He scowled at the image of Elyse’s stiff white cap bobbing up and down as she flitted through the corridors, her black hair peeking through the rim messily. “She has bewitched my sister. I do not know how, but Helaena now speaks of her like she is the moon and the stars. It concerns me how fond she is of a simple maid.” 

“Would this be the same girl you dragged out of my brothel weeks back?” 

He swerved his head around, surprised, “You know her?” 

Smoke exhaled from the madame’s mouth as she lounged leisurely on her pile of pillows. “No. I spoke to her once when she came in searching for Gold Cloaks. I was more surprised at how you dragged her out my door. What, were you afraid the patrons would harm her?” 

Her words poked at him like blunt spear points. “Nothing of the sort!” Aemond snapped. He flopped back onto the bed, smoldering in his anger as she chuckled. “I thought she was a spy, that is all.” 

“A spy sent by the Blacks to expose our relationship?” A finger trailed from the crook of his neck down his torso, landing just above the sheet’s edge. Gently, Madame Sylvi slid her hand into the sheet as she crooned, “Should I be offended or flattered, as the honorable Prince Aemond’s paramour?” Aemond’s jaw clenched as her hand curled around his manhood. He shut his eye and took his mind elsewhere as his lover traced the outline of his thighs with languid hands. “Relax. A little lamb like her could do you no harm. Stop thinking about her.” Her lips rested by his ear, whispering, “I think we have enough time for another round. What do you think?” 

She didn’t wait for him to respond. With one swift move, she swung her leg across and straddled his hips while sensually disrobing herself. Aemond lay stiffly beneath her as she aligned their lower halves and pushed him inside with a soft moan. She moved with years of practiced ease and sultry grace. Purring. Sighing. Every move was designed to draw a reaction out of him.  Any man would be deliriously happy to spend a night with her, but Aemond’s mind drifted away as the woman’s face grew dazed with pleasure. He thought back to the first night he spent with the Madame ----- when Aegon dragged him out of the castle in the middle of the night and tossed him into a room with two nervous whores. He had just turned three and ten. It was the Madame who dismissed them and comforted him while he cried. 

“Those girls might have hurt you with their inexperience.” She murmured. “What you need is a woman to guide you. Here, see?” She drew his gaze down to his throbbing appendage. “It feels good now, doesn’t it?” 

He didn’t need nor want the pleasure that the Madame demanded whenever he sought her out. What Aemond wanted was a place to rest, free from the pressures of the palace and the rage that burned in his gut. If giving his body to the Madame was the price…perhaps it was worth it. 

“Mmm…” The woman above him moaned. Her lips parted. Eyes half closed. Chasing the high that he was tasked to provide. 

“A-ahem.” 

At the sudden intrusion, Aemond grabbed the Madame’s waist and forced her to stop. “Who goes there?” He growled at the arched doorway.  

“I-it’s me, Madame,” A young, feminine voice squeaked beyond the brocade curtains. 

“What is it?” His lover panted, holding onto him as support while pulling on her robe once more. 

“I…I must inform you that a Ser Criston Cole is waiting outside. He said he is waiting to escort the p-prince back to the castle.” 

Ser Criston? What was he doing here? “Which prince was he referring to? My brother?” 

The girl fell silent. After a long pause, she answered, “The knight asked for you by name, Prince Aemond.” 

Aemond’s eyebrows flew to his hairline. In one swift move, he pushed the Madame off of him and rolled off the mattress to pull on his dark, fitted tunic and leather boots. “W-what should I tell the knight, Madame Sylvi?” 

“Tell him the prince will be out shortly.” The older woman replied, still breathless and fanning herself with her hands. 

“I will let him know.” And so, the girl pattered away from the archway with light, quick steps, leaving Aemond to finish arming himself with his array of daggers and rebraid his long hair. His eyepatch was thrown astray during the first bout of heated passion. He picked it up and readjusted it over his sapphire eye, grimacing at how the strap snagged on his braid. 

“So, the girl.” 

He glanced at the woman on the bed, “What about her?” 

The Madame toyed with her pipe in one hand. There was wariness in her tone. “Do you care for her?” 

Aemond’s hands hovered over his cloak’s clasp. He scoffed, “Have you gone mad?” 

His lover shrugged, “I’ve never heard you mention any girl by name, let alone worry so deeply about her safety.” Her eyes shifted to meet his, “Perhaps you care more for her than you think.” 

The commotion outside the heavy brocades echoed against the high ceilings, filling the brief stillness as Aemond stared at the Madame in disbelief. Finally, his eye narrowed. Hostility poisoned his voice as he responded, “Mention her in my presence again and I will slice your tongue out.” 

Madame Sylvi threw back her head and laughed. “Such fire! No need, my love. I was simply curious. Dare I say…” She rolled to her side, eyes hooded, lips pulled into a smirk, “...jealous? I prefer being the only woman to hold your attention.” 

Unable to let on the discomfort her words brought him, Aemond scowled and wordlessly stalked out of her chambers. He kept the hood pulled over his face as he maneuvered through the lustful chaos in the main hall. No good would come of any of these drunkards to recognize him, though most had their attention focused on the nude girls or the barrels of free-flowing wine. 

Ser Criston Cole was indeed waiting for him across the street. His mentor also wore a sweeping cloak for anonymity, but Aemond could recognize him anywhere. He joined the knight, who gave him a curt nod and greeted, “My lord.” 

Aemond relaxed, slightly. Good of him to be discreet. “What is it?” 

“Your mother and grandsire require your presence.” 

He frowned. “What for?” 

His mentor hesitated, then answered, “I am afraid I cannot answer that question on their behalf. I was only ordered to escort you back.” 

“Then, I suppose we must make haste.” 

Ser Criston nodded, spun on his heels, and started the trek back to the Red Keep. His mentor was tenser than usual ----- stiff in his movements and prone to scowling at any brothel whores that pranced past. Aemond noted his strange behavior with dry amusement. He knew of the knight’s contempt for promiscuity, but he never imagined it to be so intense. “So, tell me. Was it one of Lord Larys’s rats that reported my whereabouts, or does my grandsire possess his own arsenal of spies?” 

“Your mother may…have mentioned Lord Larys’s involvement.” 

He was not surprised. His lips curled into a sneer. “Am I under constant surveillance, then?” Ser Criston ignored him. Annoyance toyed with the edges of Aemond’s mind as he pictured Lord Larys’s pasty face pressed against his mother’s ears, feeding her his poisonous whispers. He never liked the cripple. He liked him less now that he knew the man was watching his every move. 

Finally, when they were well out of Flea’s Bottom, his mentor turned to him and sighed, “Aemond, these are tumultuous times. Princess Rhaenyra shows no indication of leaving King’s Landing any time soon and the Queen and the Hand prefer to be…prepared. Your…activities in the city must not be discovered by the princess, lest she uses it in her campaign to destroy your mother’s reputation.”  

“That approach may be necessary with my brother but I thought I would be afforded a little more trust,” He snapped back. “I am not Aegon. I am discreet. And my loyalty to our cause has never wavered. Surely I can spend a night in the city without you herding me back to the castle like a lost sheep?” 

Their conversation came to a halt at the castle gates. Both guards scrambled to straighten their postures as the prince and his knight passed through. “Welcome back, Prince Aemond! Ser Criston!” The younger guard of the two squeaked. The pair duly ignored him and beelined for the Tower of the Hand. 

“My prince.” A familiar sternness soaked into Ser Criston’s attitude that Aemond groaned to. Compared to his sickly, neglectful father, the Dornish knight was Aemond’s true mentor in his youth. Training him. Nurturing his talents for the sword. Now, after nine years of daily training with the Kingsguard, he was well aware when a lecture was coming. “The Queen is a kind, gentle woman. Her patience has worn direly thin of late due to the increasing tensions within the family. She prays to see you healthy and safe. It does not reflect well on you to lash out at her concerns.” 

Except, sometimes, the knight could overstep his boundaries. Speak above his station. Such as now. “And your sister has been acting strange. The queen was informed that she had been spending time with a common -----” 

“Ser Criston,” Aemond interrupted. “Do refrain from speaking against my sister. It is not your place to criticize her.” 

An expression of surprise and hurt flashed across Ser Criston’s face before the knight regained his composure. “My apologies, I overstepped.” 

The rest of the walk was spent in silence, to Aemond’s preference. They maneuvered through the stone-walled corridors and up the serpentine stairs to the top of the garrisoned tower, where his grandsire resided. Ser Criston greeted Ser Willis Fell, who stood guard by the doors. Ser Fell nodded in return before announcing their arrival. 

“Let him in.” His grandsire’s voice ordered through the door. The knight pushed open the thickly reinforced doors and stepped aside so that Aemond may enter. 

Otto Hightower kept his apartment clean and simple. No paintings or ornate vases could be found here.  Only a set of sturdy oak furniture, neatly stacked parchments on the desk, and a large fireplace that Lord Hightower kept lit at all times. A tapestry of the Seven-Pointed Star hung above his bed ----- the single piece of artwork the Hand allowed in his room. The simplicity was an honest reflection of Otto Hightower’s personality. There was no time to enjoy such frivolities when the throne had not yet been secured. 

Aemond heard the door shut behind him. He approached his grandsire, who sat at his desk ----- his daughter on the left. Hands clasped behind his back, Aemond bowed his head and murmured, “Lord Hand. Mother.” 

“Aemond, thank the Sevens.” The queen breathed, rushing over to envelope him in a hug. Aemond’s eye shifted to Ser Criston. He raised a brow, but the knight looked as bewildered as he did. Queen Alicent held him tightly for a few heartbeats before addressing Ser Criston with warmth. “Thank you, Ser Criston, for fetching the prince. Please stand guard for us while we talk. You are the only one I can trust to safeguard our secrets.” 

“I will be outside should you need me, Your Grace.” Ser Criston replied with a deep, respectful bow to his mother. They shared a long look until the Hand cleared his throat and Ser Criston retreated with haste. 

As soon as the Kingsguard exited the room, Aemond pulled away from his mother, “For what reason did you summon me?” he asked, truly puzzled. Queen Alicent’s bottom lip trembled as she placed a hand on his cheek. He wasn’t used to the hints of shame darkening his mother’s copper eyes. Fury, perhaps. Usually towards her eldest son. Or sorrow. But shame? …Now he was alarmed. “Has something happened? Did Rhaenyra make a move? Has the King…?” 

“No. Nothing of the sort.” His mother’s smooth, regal mask fell back in place. Her hand fell, and she rejoined her father at his desk with her chin high and shoulders squared. “Aemond, we summoned you to discuss the terms of your engagement.” 

“You must be joking!” Aemond exclaimed. 

“No.” Queen Alicent responded, a whisper of doubt in her mellow voice. A shadow of guilt in her rapid blinks. “I am not.” 

A scoff sputtered out of him as he pinched his nose bridge, shocked and angry. Neither Hightower said another word as he paced the room like a caged animal, trying to bring his temper down to a manageable level. He spun on his heel and glared at the pair, “Do not tell me it is Cerelle Lannister.” 

Their silence was answer enough. 

“You will condemn me to a marriage with someone outside my House?” Panic seized him, closing his airways and quickening his heartbeat. He had not felt this level of irrational fear in years. This gripping, knee-weakening fear that the sky would crash down on him. 

Did they not understand? He must marry the blood of the dragon! His blood was already tainted. Only a Valyrian union could save his line. How did they not see that? But of course they could not. They were not Targaryen. Perhaps only Rhaenyra’s bastard sons would know this tantalizing fear of being common, and even they would be gifted the respect of a Valyrian marriage. Rhaenyra would not allow other options. So he was alone. Again. Alone to suffer through a Lannister marriage. 

Aemond slammed his hands onto the desk so hard parchment flew into the air. He seethed through gritted teeth and raised his eye to Otto Hightower’s composed features. “No.” 

“Aemond,” His mother worriedly interrupted, “You must under-----”

“NO.” 

“But ------” 

“NO!” He howled, punching the polished wood. A crack formed under his fist, spider webbing out inch by inch. “Do you want me to kill my own wife, as Daemon did? “Do you wish me that cruel fate, Mother? I refuse. I REFUSE. I will marry a woman with Valyrian blood, or I will not marry.” 

Sometime during his blinding rage, his grandsire had stood up. “Do not be naive, Aemond.” The Hand replied in his perfect, cold stance. “You are not afforded the luxury of such a union.” 

“Father,” Queen Alicent stepped forth, wringing her hands desperately. Her eyes trailed to Aemond, still hunched over the desk like a rabid animal, “Perhaps we were wrong to bring this matter up so rashly. Aemond has not yet celebrated his ten and seventh nameday. Perhaps we can -----” But one look from the Hand, and she was silent. The power Otto Hightower wielded was unmatched. Who else could show the queen of the Seven Kingdoms such force?

“You must be rational, Aemond.” The Lord Hand continued. He strolled casually across the floor while the flickers of firelight cast shadows across the vast ceiling. “Your marriage, and Daeron’s, will secure us powerful allies for the future. A Valyrian bride, is that your desire?” The tall, imposing man paused by the bookcase across the room. One hand traced the hundreds of leatherbound texts lining his walls, “nothing but a futile dream, boy. There is no Targaryen for you to marry, and the Sea Snake would never send his precious granddaughters to be the wife of a second son. Especially not you.” Aemond hissed at the insult, punching into the desk again. “That only leaves the Baratheon girls.” When his grandsire turned around, his eyes were shining. “But why marry a Baratheon, when you can marry a Lannister? Their wealth is unmatched, Aemond. They have as much gold as grains of sand on our beaches. They are crucial allies. We cannot miss this opportunity to join Houses with them.” 

“So I am nothing but an offering.” Aemond spat. 

Behind him, his mother made a strained noise. She rounded the table to join him. “My son. I-I know it is a lot to ask,” Queen Alicent began with faltering confidence. Her thick copper coils were tucked behind her ears almost in a youthful fashion. Her hands rested on his shoulders, fussing over his loosened braid and kneading his tensed muscles. “but you have always prevailed. A-A marriage with the Lannisters is not as bad as you think. She is a pretty girl. Well spoken. Devout.” 

“But she is not Valyrian.” Aemond shirked from his mother’s touch. He wrapped his arms around his torso like a bandage and stared at his boots. “She is not a Targaryen.” 

“Yes…and…good riddance! We do not need another Targaryen with their brazen disregard for honor and duty. Their…their...brash personalities and their strange customs. Cerelle is pious. I have seen her often at the Sept to pray. She will be a good wife to you.” His fingers curled into his flesh. He could not respond to her. 

Doom was not a dark, vast oblivion. Doom was his grandsire’s chambers compacting into him ----- forcing the air out of his lungs and pushing him onto his knees. Doom was the picture of Cerelle’s golden hair splayed across his pillow, and the green of her eyes that their children would share. Doom was looking into the skies and seeing the bastard melded into their dragon saddles ----- airborne and free ----- when Vhagar had never flown together with Sunfyre or Dreamfyre. Not once. It was hearing the free-flowing Valyrian across the dinner table while he responded in the common tongue to his mother. 

Doom was his Targaryen heritage bleeding out of him, drop by drop. 

It was all he had left. He had one eye. No inheritance. No respect. And now they will strip him of what made him powerful. He might as well be a beggar on the street. Even they had the freedom to choose their unions. 

A sigh permeated through the air. It was the Lord Hand. “Let us discuss this at a later time,” Otto Hightower finally relented. “There is another matter at hand.” 

“Right…right…” Queen Alicent mumbled. “Another time.” 

“Then, Aemond. Let us discuss the other issue?” 

He did not look up. 

“...I will not ask you again. You will give me your attention.” His grandsire’s voice sent a tremor through his bones. He pried his gaze off the floor and rested it frostily on the gaunt man standing in the center of the room, who folded his hands before him. Serious and drawn, he reported, “There was a call for an emissary at the privy council meeting today.” 

“Where to?” Aemond asked sullenly, not the least bit interested. 

“Braavos.” the queen answered. “Braavos, Pentos, and Myr.” A pause, then she added, “Your Grandsire had recommended you for the role.” 

He stood taller. The previous agony over his impending doom melted like the last winter snow in the strong Westerosi sun. “Me? You recommended me as an emissary?” His surprise drew a chuckle out of his grandsire. But then another question formed in Aemond’s mind. “One moment, why are we sending emissaries? Our diplomatic negotiations with the Free Cities usually occur during Father’s nameday celebrations, when they gather in our capital.” 

“In full transparency…” The Lord Hand stroked his light brown beard. “There has been unrest in the Stepstones again.” 

“ Again ?” 

“Yes, such terrible news. Our allies have caught wind of pirate activity far south. Recently, the unrest has edged dangerously close to our waters.” His grandsire looked at him somberly, though Aemond may have caught a spark in his wrinkled eyes, “we must be prepared for another war. Our last encounter with the Triarchy was successful by a hair's width. Should our swords clash again, we must finish the war and recapture the Stepstones swiftly.” 

“And so…you need an emissary to confirm the loyalty and neutrality of Braavos and Pentos?” Aemond finished his grandsire’s thoughts. “And you have chosen…me?” 

The queen took a sip out of her nearby goblet and explained, “Your grandsire believed it would be best to send our oldest, biggest dragon ----- to remind them of our might.” In less subtle words, the Hand wanted a show of force. To warn the Free Cities to not align with the Triarchy. 

“And Myr? Surely they are a lost cause?” 

“Myr is crucial. Word has it the Triarchy has fallen victim to in-fighting. If we can dismantle their alliance this early, perhaps further violence would not be needed.” His grandsire replied. “It is quite an important mission, I dare say. We cannot trust this task to anyone other than you, Aemond.” 

Gods. This…this was everything ! A chance to prove his worth! “When do I leave?” Aemond pushed off the desk, brimming with eagerness. “I can fly out with Vhagar tonight, and be in Pentos by morning. Shall I ready my supplies?” 

“Not so fast.” 

The smile on Aemond’s face faded. He studied his grandsire’s expression carefully and felt his excitement dissipate into the wind. Of course it would not be so simple. This was Otto Hightower, after all. As a child, Aemond often admired his grandsire’s ambitions and ability to carve his path in the world as the second son. Cold, calculative, and creative in his methods to achieve his wants, Aemond knew better than anyone what that slight eyebrow arch and thin smile entailed. 

“The date has been set for your departure.” Lord Hightower uttered, leisurely strolling back to his desk. “Two moons from now, after your sister’s nameday.” 

“Two moons? That is too late!” Aemond protested. 

“Aemond, do not show disrespect to your grandsire.” The queen murmured on the side. 

Ugh. “ Respectfully , Lord Hand,” he tried again, forcing patience into his attitude. “Two moons are quite far away. Would that not give our enemies a chance to gather influence?” 

“It has already been decided. Two moons from now, an emissary will depart for the Free Cities. However.” There it was. The catch. The bottom line. The price he needed to pay. Otto Hightower pasted an easy smile onto his pale lips. “The Privy Council is…unconvinced of your ability to complete the diplomatic negotiations.” 

He was stunned beyond words. “But…I…thought you had recommended me.” Gods, he sounded so small. So immature. Like a scolded boy. 

To his surprise, his mother also looked baffled. “You said you were confident that Aemond would be the emissary!” Queen Alicent exclaimed, fluttering to Aemond’s side once more. 

“Yes, but the other members of the council require further convincing. We will take the two moons to determine the most suitable candidate for the role.” The Lord Hand glanced over, casually, “Lord Beesbury had recommended Jacaerys Velaryon.” 

“NO!” Aemond shouted. He lunged off the desk in a frenzy. Red dots danced at the peripherals of his vision as he protested, “I am a much better fit. He and his puny dragon would be laughed out the door! Grandsire, send me. I swear that I can secure the Free Cities and help disperse this threat before it forms.” 

 Otto Hightower lowered himself into his chair. There was a silky, serpentine hiss to his next words, “Then I suppose you will have to convince me in the next moons that you are qualified.” 

Fuck. He fell into his trap. The Lord Hand had seduced him with honey then tightened the noose around his neck. Aemond locked gazes with his grandsire, simmering with anger. With defiance.  He knew what Otto Hightower wanted. It was laughably obvious. 

Agree to the engagement. Seduce the girl. Secure the alliance, and I will let you flourish under the strong Westerosi sun. Defy me, and I will let you rot in the pits of the seven hells. 

Be a broodmare, or be cast aside as a useless fool. Was the answer not obvious? Perhaps Daemon also faced the same dilemma in his youth ----- marry his Bronze Bitch or be regarded as the unfavored, unwanted Targaryen in every history book. Forgotten, alone, and unvalued. 

He’d rather jump out of the tower to his death at this very moment than be thrown aside to rot in some small corner of the realm. 

Aemond snapped his feet into position. He stood tall, tucking his bloodied knuckles behind him. With ferocity, he answered, “I will not disappoint you, Lord Hand. I will prove my capabilities to you, so please endorse me for this mission. I swear on the Seven that I will not fail you.” 

Otto Hightower watched him with a coy glimmer in his beady eyes. One hand on his bearded jaw, the other tapping a dry quill against the ruined desk, he smiled, “I knew I could count on you, Aemond. I look forward to seeing your…progress.” 

A long stretch of silence followed, interrupted by the queen with soft coughs. “It is getting late. You should retire, Aemond. I shall send a servant with wine and bath oils to your room. Rest well tonight.” 

Aemond knew his grandsire had his eyes on his back the entire walk to the door, so he did not release the breath he held until he had exited the chambers and down three flights of stairs. The walk to his room was a haze ----- too unimportant to remember in light of recent events. Racing through his mind were dreams of flying Vhagar over the vast sea, plans to sharpen his diplomatic skills, and excitement of his first, real contribution to House Targaryen. But the nagging whispers nipping at his heels never left him ----- shaming him for selling his body. For being a willing pawn on his grandsire’s board. Like gnats, they swarmed him at any idle moment. 

But he would not listen to them. He did not care. Cerelle Lannister will be his wife, and his grandsire will choose him for this mission. He will prove his worth so that when Aegon sits on the Iron Throne, his place will be at his side without question. No one would laugh at him. No one would scoff at his shortcomings.

He would stand above them all and they would respect him. 

Chapter Text

Ok yeah she was screwed. Like, really screwed. 

Time flew by almost ten days after Ara’s death, which meant her scheduled meeting with Mysaria was approaching in the blink of an eye, yet she had absolutely nothing to show for days passed. No news. No whispers in the wind or blah blah whatever. Nothing! She was about as useful as a rock in terms of spying (not that it was a surprise). 

And it didn’t help that Daemon Targaryen was this elusive, larger-than-life figure in the castle ----- more myth than human in most eyes. She even asked around for any tidbits of information she could scrounge up, only to be bombarded with stories of the Rogue Prince that were fascinating, but terrifying. 

“Oh, absolutely not!” A laundry girl cried when Elyse asked her if Daemon Targaryen was easy to serve. She swiveled her head around to check for bystanders then leaned in and whispered furiously, “There’s a story from a few years back ----- a chambermaid who forgot to change Prince Daemon’s chamberpot. She snuck into his apartment in the middle of the night to fix her mistake. The next morning, he dragged her bloodless corpse out by her hair!” 

“N-no!” Elyse gasped, hands flying to her mouth. 

“Oh yes! I heard it straight from the source ----- her roommate! Well, not her roommate. Her roommate’s sister who works in the gardens knew the dead girl’s cousin.” 

Then another story from Mycah, who Elyse was surprised to find out was a hidden gem for good gossip. Something about his gentle, awkward demeanor just made people tell him things. “A good mate of mine knew one of Prince Daemon’s many squires,” Mycah informed her as he labored over the sword he was crafting. The clanging of hammer against metal set the rhythm for his story while she sat on the nearby stool-----legs swinging, hands propped on her knees, intrigued, “The poor lad was too curious. Wanted to know how a Valyrian steel blade felt in his hand. Prince Daemon caught him swinging Dark Sister around and…well, no one ever saw the boy again.” 

She even went to Jace (a last-ditch effort that she regrets), who gave her a strange look then responded with, “Daemon? What do you want to know about him?” 

“You k-know, if he’s as bad as the rumors say. Just curious! Nothing’s going on, I promise! Just really, really curious, that’s all!” Elyse squawked. His hostility was unexpected. Out of everyone, she expected him to have a nice thing to say about his stepfather. 

But Jace just glowered at the floor ----- jaw set in a strong, stern line, and said, “Stay away from him.” 

“Oh…ok.” 

It was safe to say at this point Elyse was seriously considering if she should throw in the towel. Maybe this was beyond her pay grade. Maybe she should get someone else involved, like Jace or Princess Rhaenrya. 

But then again, what if Mysaria was right? What if by telling someone else, they spook the real culprit and they run off, free of repercussions? Every time she thought of the person whose hands made those horrid, life-ending injuries on Ara’s tiny body escaping all consequences, her blood boiled. Her body shook with rage. She would gnash her teeth together in true, unfiltered hatred and the burning need to seek revenge. How many sleepless nights had she spent in the past week, laying in bed and staring into the ceiling? Replaying that night over and over in her mind on a loop? Feeling the guilt and despair soak into her like a sponge as one question hacked away at her consciousness: 

Was it her fault? 

If she had reported things sooner ------  if she had figured out that these children weren’t running off, but taken from their beds, would it have made a difference? If she had done something ----- anything, would they all still be alive? 

Perhaps it was the desperate need to cleanse herself of her suffocating guilt, or the all-consuming rage at the injustice of it all, but something kept her going. A mixture of adrenaline, exhaustion and determination coaxed her back to the drawing board whenever she thought of giving up. A potent cocktail that left her wired and so distracted that she accidentally singed off half her eyebrow while baking bread that ended up burning anyway, which led to Marscha kicking her out tof he kitchen and barking for her to “come back when yer wits are back in yer head, ye scatterbrained lass!” 

And now, she wandered the corridors aimlessly. Hands running along the rough stone walls as she shuffled through the castle, absentminded and unmotivated. If only there was a clue. Just one clue. Something for her to start looking into. Even if it had nothing to do with Daemon Targaryen. All she needed was one breadcrumb. One indication that she was going down the right path. 

When she came to, Elyse found herself standing at the base of the stairs leading to the Gold Cloaks barracks. Bustling with commotion and boisterous laughter, the barracks were alive with activity from the resident Gold Cloaks. From where she stood, she could spot a few of the younger City Watch guards laughing by the railing. They looked sober. Much more approachable than usual armored men that sauntered through King’s Landing with their noses in the air. 

“...should I?” She murmured to herself, one foot poised, ready to ascend the stairs towards the barracks. But on impulse, her foot withdrew. Memories of horrible interactions with the Gold Cloaks flooded her brain and warned her to turn back. Then the guard on the right laughed again. He looked no older than Jace. With a head of bronze, shoulder-length curls and teeth that glinted in the afternoon sun. Something about his appearance resembled a peacock ----- proud and flamboyant, and it brought her ease. It was never the flashy ones that you should worry about, but the easygoing, gentle-looking ones ----- a lesson she learned through cruel experience. 

Elyse chewed on her lip thoughtfully and pondered her options. If she could just approach the bronze-haired guard. Befriend him or something (she was terrible at flirting). Make him spill the beans. But then again, he looked too young to have been a Gold Cloak when Daemon Targaryen was still the Lord Commander. It would be more useful for her to make friends with an older guard. Ugh, but they all looked so sleazy. Did she really need to ------

A hand clamped on her shoulder and pulled her backward. She squeaked in surprise as she stumbled into someone from behind. 

Rule of thumb: as a servant, always apologize. Even when it’s not your fault. Elyse quickly tucked her chin in and gave a hasty curtsy, “My apologies. I did not mean to fall against you.” 

“Oh?” A familiar voice drawled, “I was unaware that you were capable of such proper etiquette.” 

Ah great. Of course she ran into him . 

Aemond: 

Cerelle Lannister was insufferable. 

He tried. He truly, truly tried. The gods above could attest to his effort. But Cerelle Lannister was about as interesting as a pile of garden dirt. 

It was his mother’s idea to take his future betrothed for a stroll around the gardens. Show her the roses and whatnot to secure the alliance. Except the girl had prattled on for the last twenty minutes about the merits of hiring foreign slaves as maidservants and how drab and dull the Red Keep’s gardens were when compared to Casterly Rock and how he ------ “must see the new fountain Father had installed! It is a lion on its hindlegs, cast in pure Lannister gold and the height of a full-grown man! No other House could afford such luxury. How fortunate you are to be marrying into such wealth.”

Aemond gritted his teeth and attempted to shift out of her clawing hands that clung to his arm with surprising force but to no avail. She stuck to him like a fly in a honeypot. And she looked like one, too. With her heavy gold jewelry that clinked with each step and her bulging green eyes. Even the way she buzzed on and on about how she only drinks Arbor Gold and never Dornish Red because ----- “who could ever trust such brutes to make good wine?” sounded like a fly darting past his ear. 

“My lord? My lord?” Cerelle whined, pushing her bosom into his arm once more, “Are you listening?” 

He forced a tightly pinched smile, “Yes, I am.” He was not. 

“Hm, well, as I was saying. I do not think your dragon pet would be able to follow us to Casterly Rock. Where would it stay? Does it have a cage?” 

It took all of his willpower not to fling the whining, screechy girl off of him. Dragon pet. Vhagar would swallow her in one bite. A daring idea entered his mind ----- surely it would not be his fault if she was eaten, right? The Lannisters would not war with the Targaryens over a simple accident? Over one death? 

“My goodness, it is hot in King’s Landing.” The Lannister girl complained to no end. She wrestled against her mountains of gold jewelry to fish out a pocket fan, which she fluttered under her chin while simpering on, “Casterly Rock gets much better weather. The ocean breeze is nice and cool. On a clear day, you could see straight across the Sunset Sea. Truly breathtaking. Father says that we may marry in King’s Landing and stay in the Red Keep for a few years, but should return to Casterly Rock once I am pregnant ------” 

“Apologies, my lady,” Aemond finally interrupted, frustration reaching dangerous highs at her prideful personality, “but I have a… training session with Ser Criston Cole that I must attend. Shall I escort you back to your quarters?” 

“A training session? But…but…can you miss it, for today?” His future betrothed pouted her glistening red lips. If it was meant to be endearing, the sentiment was entirely lost on him. 

“I am afraid that I cannot. My apologies. Shall I escort you to your quarters?” 

“No.” Cerelle sighed when she realized she would not get her way. “Take me to the Sept. I imagine Queen Alicent might be there. It would be good for me to join her for prayers and tea.” 

Aemond took another look at her gaudy adornments and wondered how Grand Maester Mellos would react to seeing such lavish attire in the Sept, but he kept his opinion to himself and instead answered, “Of course. Shall we?” 

As they passed through the Godswoods, Cerelle made it perfectly clear that she was greatly disappointed in having to cut their walk short. To keep his sanity and calm his rearing temper, Aemond kept his attention elsewhere. On the serenity of the scenery. On the gentle, warm breeze rustling through leaves. On the daydream of riding Vhagar through the skies later tonight, and the feeling of being above clouds and man. 

It was his wandering eye that eventually caught a glimpse of the girl when they entered the courtyard. She hovered like a little lark near the Serpentine Steps ----- apron and cheeks dusted with soot. Like a bird, she hopped up and down the steps in repetitive motions, never making it three steps up without scooting down again. The sight of her white cap bobbing up and down tugged at Aemond’s lips. Whatever was she doing? 

“Prince Aemond?” He tore his eye away and rested on Cerelle, whose face was twisted into an irritated frown. “Did you not hear what I said?” 

“I did.” He lied. 

“How do you feel about it then? Gifting my father a dragon egg as a wedding present?” 

“ You must be -----” The words burst out of him in a fit of shock, but he hastily retracted the rest of the sentence and said unevenly “...that is not a matter for me to decide, but the king.” 

“Then you simply must speak to your father!” Cerelle beamed while shaking his arm in excitement. “It would be the perfect gift to symbolize the joining of our houses, do you not agree?” 

No. He did not agree. He thought just the notion itself should be enough to warrant Jason Lannister’s head being hung on Traitor’s Walk. He was aghast at the audacity she had to suggest such horrors in the first place, and he wanted nothing more but to give in to the itch to run his sword through her chest. To test the bounds of Jason Lannister’s love for his ‘favorite daughter’. Would he be willing to go to war to avenge her death? What if he just married another Lannister girl? Though, he had hinting suspicions that Cerelle’s sisters were just as, if not more unpleasant than she was.

“My prince!” Oh, thank the Seven. His bubbling rage cooled to a manageable simmer when Aemond heard the voice of his Dornish mentor approaching. Ser Criston Cole jogged across the courtyard, stopping several feet away,y and gave a solemn, polite nod to the strolling couple. “My prince, Lady Cerelle.” 

Aemond’s eye darted over to Elyse, who was still pacing back and forth near the steps. “Ser Criston, I was just looking to come find you for our midday training.” The Dornish knight blinked, confused. They had no training today. But before he could reply, Aemond quickly added, “I am very embarrassed that I must abandon my lady for our training, but it is imperative that I train twice a day.” Ser Criston kept staring at him blankly, so Aemond prompted his answer in a much harsher tone. “ Right ? It is very important that I attend this training?” 

Finally, understanding flashed through his mentor’s dark eyes. “O-oh, yes…very…important. Training, yes.” 

A brief exhale of relief, then Aemond exclaimed, “Then I shall see you in the training yard as soon as I escort Lady Cerelle to the Sept.” 

“Just one moment.” Cerelle suddenly interrupted. Both men stood, stiffer than boards, as Cerelle sauntered over to the knight. She stood right underneath his nose, hands crossed over her chest, while Criston Cole glanced over at Aemond in alarm. Aemond shrugged. “Ser Cole, was it?” The Lannister girl asked, tilting her head. 

“Yes, milady.” His mentor answered warily. 

Her painted lips curled into a smile. “Surely the prince can miss one day of training? What do you think?” 

Aemond let his violet eye pierce into Ser Cole’s face like a Valyrian steel dagger, daring him to say yes. Daring him to succumb to Cerelle’s abhorrent whining. He knew better. The Dornish knight swallowed visibly, then replied, “The prince’s training is…not negotiable.” 

Cerelle harrumphed, flicking her hair behind her shoulder, and scowled, “I am Cerelle Lannister, daughter of Jason Lannister of Casterly Rock. He -----” she jabbed a finger at Aemond, who stood innocently behind her, “is to be my husband. Do you think that a meager training session for brutes like yourself is more important than our union? Than the joining of our houses?” 

When Ser Cole looked desperately at Aemond for rescue, Aemond’s attention had drifted elsewhere ----- to the girl who continued to hop up and down the steps in light, quick motions. Curiosity sparked, catching flame faster than dry kindling as he pondered what she was doing. Should she not be in the kitchen? Or in the Holdfast, with Helaena? 

“Prince Aemond?” His mentor called for him, “Can you, um, explain to the lady why we must train today?” 

“Apologies, Ser Cole. I just remembered that I must change attire for our combat lessons.” Aemond said, his eye never leaving the silhouette of the small girl a distance away, “Could you please escort the lady to the Sept on my behalf?” 

“P-pardon?” The knight sputtered. 

“This is ridiculous,” Cerelle snapped, flushed and red. “I cannot fathom what you are thinking, but I expect you to join me for dinner tonight and be ready to apologize for such rude behavior.” She turned her whining to Ser Criston Cole, “Do not bother bringing me to the Sept. I shall return to the gardens for tea. Go fetch my maidservants and tell them to bring me candied almonds and a plate of pitted cherries.” 

If Ser Criston made any objections to the Lannister girl on being treated like a pageboy, Aemond did not hear it because his legs were already striding through the courtyard. Like an arrow, he cut through the wide, open courtyard and curved inwards so that he stood directly behind her. Then, he watched. She was unaware of his presence ----- completely drowned in a cloud of her own anxious mumblings and flurried hand movements. His ears strained, but he could not catch any of the words. Finally, his curiosity won over, and he reached a hand out to tap her shoulder.

He barely touched her. Really! Yet she flinched like a startled rabbit and stumbled backward into him. If his hands did not catch her when they did, she might have fallen and bruised her tailbone against the hard paved steps. Instantly, she scrambled away from his touch and ducked her head, “My apologies, I didn't mean to fall against you.” 

Aemond folded his arms. “Oh? I was unaware that you were capable of such proper etiquette.” 

Elyse raised her eyes. Recognition lit up her hazel eyes as she straightened with a stiff frown. “Prince Aemond.” 

He smirked, waiting for her to finish smoothing down her dirty apron, when he caught a glimpse of her left eyebrow, which looked sparser than usual. “What happened here?” Aemond pointed to the hairless patch. 

Her hand flew up and clamped over her forehead. She glared at him and hissed, “It’s none of your business!” Then, like she remembered where she was and who she was talking to, the maid hurriedly added, “Your Highness.” 

A snort spilled out of him. “You might as well drop the titles. I am already accustomed to your lack of respect. So? What happened to your eyebrow?” 

Quickly, so quickly he almost did not hear her, Elyse muttered, “I burnt it.” 

“You what ?” 

“I burnt it!” She snapped, hand still firmly pasted to her forehead. “I burnt it, ok? I was baking bread and yeah, somehow I burnt it.” 

“Pfft!” Aemond bit his lip to hold back the rest of the laugh, but it tumbled out regardless. His shoulders shook silently with each chuckle, which only earned him further reproach from the annoyed maid. “You burnt your eyebrow, alright, but that does not explain what you are doing in this part of the castle. Does the head cook allow all her staff to run wild like you do?” 

“No! I just…I…I…got kicked out.” Elyse confessed with a trembling pout. “I was not paying attention and I almost burnt all the bread so Marscha told me to get it together before coming back.” On his second look, Aemond noted the sheer exhaustion on the girl’s face. In the beads of sweat forming along her hairline and the dark shadows painted under her eyes. Her complexion was sallow and she swayed with the breeze. In short, she looked like a person who had not slept in days. “I’m just taking a walk to gather my thoughts.” 

He contemplated if he should press further. After all, it was none of his business how she chose to gather her wits, but his curiosity possessed him ----- urging him to say, “I watched you. You climbed up the steps then climbed down over and over again.” 

On instinct, Elyse’s eyes widened then darted upwards. Aemond followed her gaze to the Gold Cloaks’ barracks sitting at the top of the Serpentine Steps. That’s when he saw the boy with the orange hair grinning down at her. He leaned against the railing, head propped on one hand, coy and lean like an alley cat, watching Elyse from his perch with a look of intrigue on his face. Aemond felt a scowl form on his lips. Who was he? Did they know each other? 

“So?” His words came out sharper than intended, and she glanced back with surprise, “What are you doing here?” 

“Making a decision, ok?” Elyse shot back. 

Aemond blinked. What in the world was she talking about? “What do you mean you are ‘making a decision’?” 

“Exactly that. I have a decision to make and I’m trying to make it and you’re not giving me the space to make it! … Your Highness.” 

“Drop the titles already, it sounds forced in your mouth.” 

“I can’t. I like my head on my shoulders.” 

“You dropped them before.” 

“When we were in the city!” Elyse exclaimed. Aemond scoffed, waving her off but she protested again, “when there was no one nearby that could get me in trouble!” 

“So you are saying that you only refer to me by my title because you do not want to get in trouble, and not out of true respect?” He demanded, feeling annoyance graze along his spine like an unscratched itch. 

She blinked. “Y-yeah?” 

My gods. This girl. She was the death of him. She was absolutely disrespectful. Completely out of line and who-----where----the audacity! “Then you might as well just drop the titles like I said. There is no point in addressing me with such if you do not respect me.” He sniffed, kicking at the ground. She stared at him, wide-eyed and motionless. “What?” He sneered. 

“It’s just…you’re kind of sensitive.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. Never mind. It’s nothing, Your Highness.” Before he could edge in another response, Elyse brushed past him and started trotting across the courtyard, “I have to go! Uh, good to see you, Your Highness!” 

“Now wait one moment!” He followed after her. It took five steps for him to cut her off and corner her against the wall. “Answer my question.” 

“What question?” Elyse huffed. 

“The question!” He shook his hands in frustration. Did she not listen when he spoke? Did his words go in one ear and out the other? “What decision are you referring to?” 

There was a second of brief hesitation that colored her face, then it was gone. When she responded, her voice and attitude were dull, “I can’t tell you about it.” 

“Why not?” 

“I just can’t.” 

“What if I order you to?” 

Elyse glowered at him and lifted her chin in defiance. “Then you wouldn’t be acting very noble or respectable, Your Highness. I don’t know why you even care. It has nothing to do with you.” 

“Of course it does. Since you are so closely associated with my sister now, I must ensure that you are not scheming for her misfortune behind her back.” 

“Schem----you----you----oh I wish I could just-----ugh!” Aemond smirked as her cheeks, neck, and ears flushed ruddy red. “Can I go now? Can you please let me go do my job now?” She moved to shift past him again, but he just shifted with her, keeping her pinned against the wall. “Please, Prince Aemond. What would people say if they saw us talking like this?” 

Instantly, the bubble around them popped. Reality slammed into him like a crushing boulder and Aemond stepped away, clearing his throat. Elyse eyed him mistrustingly then hopped out of his reach. “And I would never do that to Princess Helaena.” She added. 

“Then what are you hiding?” He found himself asking. 

“I’m not hiding anything.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

“No, I’m not.” 

“You are.” 

She whirled around,  brimming with frustration. “If I tell you, would you please stop nagging at me?” 

“I am not nagging!” Aemond sputtered.

Elyse rolled her eyes, “You are. But can you promise?” 

Preposterous behavior on her part, really. He must speak with the head cook and heavily criticize her ability to teach proper etiquette and manners to her staff. But first, “Fine. No nagging .” 

The maid rubbed her neck with a long sigh, then admitted, “I’m looking for someone.” 

An image of the orange-haired boy looking down at her with a sly smile and obvious interest in his eyes flashed through Aemond’s mind. “Who?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know.” He repeated. “Is this a joke? Are you trying to poke fun at me?”

“No! I’m serious, ok? I don’t know who I’m looking for. I’m just, looking for someone.” Aemond shook his head in disbelief. She was speaking in riddles. Not even the Crone could decipher her ramblings. “Don’t give me that look like I’m dumb! I’m not! I’m just…struggling.” 

“If you tell me who you are looking for, perhaps I can help.” He suggested. Elyse looked taken back like she did not expect him to offer such kindness. 

“Well…I mean…” He waited, leaning against the wall while the girl fought a fierce internal battle, chewing on her lip until blood was drawn. Whatever she was dealing with, it rested on her shoulders like a permanent shadow that swallowed her whole. Aemond was suddenly reminded of Helaena commenting on Elyse’s lack of energy in the last few days. “If I tell you, will you promise to not ask any unnecessary questions or tell anyone else a single thing?” 

“Yes…?” 

“No. I’m serious.” The girl flipped her head around and then rushed towards him. Aemond flattened himself against the wall, shocked at her unexpected urgency. She cupped her hands by his ear and whispered, “You have to promise to never, ever , tell anyone ever. Or ask me any questions. Scout’s honor?” 

“Scout----what, uh----” 

“Right. Not a thing here. Um, swear on your dragon or something.” 

“I swear…on Vhagar…?” 

She nodded and stepped away, satisfied. “Good. Ok.” Elyse took a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone in the Gold Cloaks.” That was obvious. But who was it? Was it that orange-haired rat? “Someone that’s easily approachable, not a creep, and also was here when Prince Daemon was still Lord Commander.” 

“Daemon?” Aemond grimaced at the mention of his bloodthirsty uncle. “What does Daemon have to do with this?” 

A glare flew his way, “No questions, remember?” 

“Right, no questions.” He grumbled. He pushed off the wall with a sigh and motioned for her to start walking across the courtyard. There were a few curious passersby that were noticing their interactions and it was better for them to have the rest of this conversation in the seclusion of the Godswoods. “So someone who is approachable and has been a City Watch guard since Daemon was Lord Commander.” 

“Yes, exactly,” Elyse confirmed. They ducked through the courtyard archway and set a path through the twisted, gnarled trees. “Preferably not a creep.” 

“I am afraid that no such guard exists.” 

“So you’re telling me that there’s not a single guard that’s not a creep? That can’t be possible. There has to be at least one.” 

He rolled his eye. “No. Not that part. There are no guards working in the City Watch from Daemon’s time.” Elyse nearly tripped over a rogue tree root, but Aemond caught her by the arm. “Watch where you are going!” He snapped. 

Her jaw fell slack. Eyes rounder than tea saucers, she twisted around and demanded, “There’s no one working here from when Daemon was in charge?” 

“No. Not one.” 

“But…why?” 

Aemond contemplated how to answer the question. The truth was, once Daemon was essentially exiled for various reasons, Otto Hightower took the first opportunity he could to replace everyone on the City Watch in fear that Daemon might have eyes and ears lingering amongst its ranks. It was a valid fear since his uncle was worshipped by his men for his ferocity and intolerance for crime. A lot of the Gold Cloaks were handpicked from the deepest, rankest corners of Flea’s Bottom and offered a new life as a member of the City Watch. They would run into enemy lines, unarmoured and unarmed if it was Daemon’s order. 

The threat of Daemon having his own standing army right under their noses, in the center of their carefully woven web ----- well, the risk was more than they could withstand. In mere moons after the Rogue Prince departed from King’s Landing, the Lord Hand had promoted a new Lord Commander who was softly aligned with House Hightower and replaced the entirety of the Watch. Wherever Daemon’s men were, they were not resting in those barracks anymore. 

But he did not say any of this to Elyse. He withheld the information and carefully answered, “He was well-loved by the men. When he was replaced, many of them felt no need to remain.” 

“Hmm. That’s strange. That’s not what I was told.” Elyse murmured, scratching at her temple.  

“What were you told?” 

“That Daemon still had significant influence with the Gold Cloaks.” 

Her words struck a nerve in him. His hand, still on her arm from before, tugged her to face him again. “Why are you suddenly interested in Daemon Targaryen?” 

The innocence on her face was clearly fabricated. “No reason.” 

His brows furrowed into a grimace. “Tell me now. Why are you asking questions about Daemon Targaryen? Who is spreading rumors that he has influence with the Gold Cloaks?” He will have to report this to his grandsire immediately. If rumors are circulating that Daemon is consolidating his power again, it would be a blow to their efforts to destabilize Rhaenyra’s position in the city. Aemond shook her arm again. “Where did you hear it?” 

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” His hand loosened immediately. Elyse rubbed her elbow with a full pout. “It’s nothing, I’m serious. I was just curious because of personal reasons.” 

What an obvious lie. What personal reasons could there be for her to be asking questions about Gold Cloaks and Daemon Targaryen? “Daemon Targaryen is a dangerous man. It would not do you any favors to keep asking about him.” 

“Everyone says that. Why is everyone afraid of him? I’ve heard stories but…is he really that bad?” 

“He faced forty Triarchy soldiers alone with no dragon, then split the Crabfeeder in half and dragged his bloody, lifeless torso out of the cave he was hiding in and single-handedly ended the war.” 

The blood in Elyse’s face drained. She swallowed nervously. “That’s, um, brutal. Is he normally this…extreme?” 

“He has to be,” Aemond answered as they continued their walk. His steps lulled to an easy pace to match her shorter legs while Elyse hopped over the exposed tree roots carefully. “He is the second son. Many believed him to be the superior son, but Jaehaerys’s council determined my father to be the heir. Then my father named Rhaenyra as his heir, effectively robbing Daemon of everything he was set to inherit. Everything that Daemon has today ----- his monikers, his reputation, his respect, he earned through bloodshed and sweat. That is the path of a second son.” 

Without looking over, Elyse asked casually, “Do you think that’s your path?” 

He was so surprised at the sudden question he almost stumbled over his feet. “Pardon?” 

“Well, you’re a second son, like Prince Daemon. Do you also think that you have to win everything you want through bloodshed and sweat and stuff?” Her words were plain. Her voice, clear and honest. There was no hidden insult or judgment in her question. Only pure curiosity. 

“I…suppose. Yes. I would have to.” Aemond answered, feeling exposed. 

“And what is it that you want?” 

Everything ------ would have been his answer. The throne. Respect. Fear. A true Valyrian marriage. For his father to admit that he was wrong in his neglect. That he was the better child over Aegon or Rhaenyra. But Aemond only said, “You know…just…same as Daemon, I suppose.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Hmm? What is hmm?” He prodded, like when he would as a child waiting for the maester to pass judgment on his lessons.

“Nothing!” Elyse quickly remediated. She paused, brushed her hair behind her ears, then added, “I just think it’s kind of an exhausting way to live and kind of unfair. That’s all.” 

“It is what it is. This is the way the world works. I gain nothing through sulking and complaining.” Aemond responded with stiff pride. His hands flicked away a stray branch too close to his head. 

“I don’t think it’s sulking though,” the maid answered thoughtfully. “It’s true that it’s not good to dwell on the bad stuff but, I mean, it’s also not good to ignore the injustice of a situation or ignore how you feel. You’re right to feel snubbed if you are being snubbed. Why try to make it seem like it’s not a big deal when clearly it’s a big deal to you? And I think this whole thing is kind of stupid. Inheritance or whatever should be given based on merit, not when you were born. It’s kind of outdated, in my opinion.” 

He stared at her, speechless, while she skipped ahead, hands swinging by her side. When she said it like so ----- in her nonchalant, effortless manner, it almost felt possible. He had the sudden urge to rush into his father’s chambers and demand why he was not considered the better-suited pick for the throne. That Rhaenyra did not carry out her royal duties as an heir should and that Aegon was far better suited as a bard than a king. But the useless notion faded as quickly as it formed. “You are too naive for your own good.” Aemond snapped, voice colder than the edge of a steel blade. “The world does not operate on your whims and notions. Laws are set. Traditions are respected.” 

“That’s not true,” She retorted, tongue-in-cheek, “ I know of places where people overturned traditions when it’s wrong and established new laws to right old wrongs. It’s possible, really.” 

If such a place existed, he would surely like to see it. Such realms and kingdoms only existed in the songs of the bards. “Do not speak on issues that you do not understand.” 

Elyse paused, hovering above a tree root. She turned to face him, tilting her head with a frown, “I don’t know why you’re upset, but ok. I’ll drop it. I have to go anyway. Marscha kicked me out but I know she’ll be mad if I’m not back in time for dinner service.” Before she left, she looked at him again and grinned, “Thanks, by the way. This was really helpful. Bye!” 

Aemond was left standing by a weirwood tree, staring after her long after she had disappeared into the gardens. Every moment spent in her presence was like riding Vhagar through a strong gust of wind ----- disarming, sometimes uncomfortable, and always ending with him feeling absolutely disoriented. When he finally trekked back through the courtyard towards the training yard, the orange-haired guard was still lounging by the railing with his friend, laughing boisterously and freely. Aemond tossed him a withering glare that dried up the laughter instantly then stomped up the steps with menace. 

Ser Criston was waiting for him with two swords. His mentor looked absolutely drained of life and five years older. “ Never leave me alone with that girl again.” The man warned, tossing Aemond a sword. “And you did not change, so where did you go?” 

“Nowhere,” Aemond replied, rolling his wrist and settling into his stance. “No warm-ups today. I need to release some pent-up anger after spending the day with the Lannister girl.” 

“For once, I will agree.” Ser Cole grumbled, raising his sword. “Shall we?” 

With a grunt, Aemond charged. Steel clashed against steel, sending a ringing vibration into the air as he slashed and cut and stabbed ------ each time with more ferocity as the knight dodged with ease. If he was honest, he would admit that it was not Cerelle’s face in his mind every time he swung his sword. If he was honest, he would admit that Elyse’s smile knocked the wind out of him like a good solid kick to his chest from the skilled Kingsguard. If he was honest, he would say that he smiled the entire walk up to the training yard. But he was not honest. He was Aemond Targaryen, and all he had to do was walk the path that his grandsire had laid before him. That was the way of the world. There was no changing it. 

Chapter Text

Hi my lovelies!

Sorry for the jump scare. I think everyone would have expected a chapter but unfortunately, it is not.

I wanted to come on here and give a brief life update. Long story short, no, I am not giving up on this fic and yes, there are many many many chapters to come. I am simply in a terrible position right now and have no bandwidth to write at all. My job is working me to the bone and I am juggling so many things at once. (don't go into corporate, people. it's as bad as they say it is. my soul has withered away.) Thankfully, my project deadlines are coming up soon and that means I will be free!!! (in about two weeks lol). After I sort out my career and my life I plan to update frequently and push the story along.

Until then, thank you all for your continuous support. Writing has made my life so colorful and I can't wait for everyone to see how Elyse grows as a character (and Aemond). This is just a short hiatus and I will be back!!!

Love,

matchabae06

Chapter Text

“Pass it! I said pass it!” 

“I am trying to!” 

“Seven hells, Luke, just pass the ball!” 

“Baela.” 

“What? He has been hogging the ball this entire time and we are about to lose to Jace again! I would rather swallow rocks whole than lose to that halfwit another time.” 

“If your big head were not blocking the way, I would have passed it to Rhaena already!” 

“My big head? MY BIG HEAD? Say it again, I dare you!” 

“Baela!” 

Elyse rubbed her temples with a deep sigh. “Dear Lord, please grant me strength.” 

“Get your finger out of my face!” 

“Get your face away from my finger!” 

She could feel the migraine coming from a mile away. Not even halfway through the game and Baela’s team had descended into chaos. After conceding two consecutive goals to Jace’s team, Daemon’s eldest was on a rampage. The first target of her frustration was Luke, who she bickered with at rapidfire speed while her sister stood to the side, looking as drained as Elyse felt. Jace was howling with laughter as Baela shoved her finger into Luke’s cheek, which left Elyse and Helaena watching the whole affair go down, dumbfounded. 

“I never want to be on your team again!” Luke yelled, chucking the ball in Baela’s direction, face beet red from sheer anger, “You are the most pigheaded person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing!” 

“Luke, calm down,” Rhaena begged. She tugged at his tunic in warning, eyes shifting between her fighting siblings warily. “Baela is frustrated, but you need to calm down too. Both of you, stop bickering, please!” 

“At least I did not cling to my mother until I was four!” Baela sneered back with a smug laugh.

Oh, shoot. If Luke was red before, now he was purple. Like, a dangerous shade of purple. He reached forward and shoved Baela, causing the girl to tumble to the ground. “YOU TAKE THAT BACK RIGHT NOW!” He roared. Baela’s bright purple eyes narrowed. Her lips curled back into a snarl. In one heartbeat, she lunged for Luke like a panther in hunt, tackling him into the sand and planting punches along his side. The two rolled along the beach, slapping and kicking at each other in an entangled mess as Rhaena threw her hands up in defeat. 

Light fingers pulled at her sleeve. Elyse turned to see Helaena watching the fight with wide eyes. “Should we intervene?” The princess whispered. 

Elyse glanced back at the fighting siblings. “No,” she sighed, massaging her neck in exasperation, “just let them deck each other for a bit. Baela might rough Luke up a bit, but Jace won’t let it get out of hand.” 

“Oh. I see.” The older girl shifted nervously from one foot to another. “I have never seen such…passionate arguing between siblings. Is this normal?” 

“Do your brothers not fight?” Elyse asked, one eye fixed on the ensuing chaos across the stretch of soft, white sand in case she did need to pull the tussling duo off each other since Jace had collapsed to the ground in a fit of gasping laughter. Boys. All useless.

“No. Aemond is quiet and Aegon ignores us, usually. And when they do, it feels more…vicious.” The older girl answered quietly. 

“Ah, ok. Well, this -----” Elyse nudged her chin towards the scene before them, “is super normal. I’d even go to say that this is pretty tame compared to how my cousins used to fight.” 

“Oh. Sure. Right.” A short pause, then, “I-I…wanted to…I wanted to ask you something.” 

“Sure! What is it, Your Highness?” 

A pretty blush fell onto Helaena’s soft cheeks. With her hair braided back into two thick ropes, the princess looked fresher than a dew drop with her large, blinking eyes and quivering lips. She fidgeted heavily with the hem of her leather tunic (borrowed from Rhaena), leaving Elyse to wonder what question could be so hard for the princess to ask, before finally blurting out, “Would you be my handmaid?” The question hit Elyse like a truck. Her jaw slackened like a dead fish as she stared at Helaena, confused. Before she could speak, Helaena quickly blurted, “One of my ladies is leaving King’s Landing. She is to be married in three moons. My mother is looking for a replacement and…and…I- I was thinking that if you could be my handmaid, then I would not need to take on another lady.” Helaena tossed her a nervous glance, then quickly added, “They are not the most fond of me. My ladies.” 

Elyse blinked. Then swallowed. “Wow. That is…very generous of you, Princess Helaena.” She marveled faintly. And it was. It was a hugely generous offer. Being Helaena’s handmaid meant better hours, better pay for sure, and less straining work on her body (her joints already creaked like a seventy year old ----- not a sign of good health). Plus, she loved spending time with the princess, whose calm and composed personality perfectly balanced Elyse’s sometimes spasmic energy and tendency to ramble on and on about random topics. One could go so far to even say that being Helaena’s handmaid was probably the best job in the castle. 

But .  

Her heart sank. Because she knew that no matter how tempting the offer was, she couldn’t accept it. As much as she hated it, with the state of the Targaryens’ current family dynamics, being Helaena’s handmaid would be like a slap to the face to Jace and the others. Getting together secretly every other night to play soccer was one thing, publicly aligning herself with the Greens was another. Not to mention, she would cut off all possibilities of ever getting close to Daemon, whose hatred for the Greens was etched into his persona. 

After her talk with Aemond, she thought she had made progress in the investigation. She was so excited to tell Mysaria about her findings last night, only for Mysaria to completely disregard everything she said.  

She was watching the ensuing brawl outside the window when the door opened. Elyse spun around to see Mysaria walking in with an unreadable smile. “I was not sure I would be seeing you again.” 

“Well, we agreed on ten days, right?” Elyse laughed ----- a high-pitched, squeaky sound that reflected her nerves. 

“So?” The brothel madame sailed across the floor with a dancer’s grace. The jug in her hand was filled with rich, amber ale, which she poured into the two cups on the table. “What have you found? Anything useful?” 

Elyse adjusted her cloak, hating how the fabric constricted her throat. Or perhaps it was the mountains of anxiety that made it hard for her to breathe. “S-so, I did a bit of digging around the castle and well, yeah I couldn’t find too much because, like I said before, it’s not like spying is my forte, but whatever, anyway the point is that what I did find was that Daemon is definitely not involved.”

For one brief moment, Mysaria’s hand froze mid-pour. Her dark almond eyes lifted. “Daemon is…what?” 

Elyse took a gulp of air. The flicker of annoyance in the older woman’s expression was unexpected and maybe a bit alarming. “D-Daemon. I d-don’t think he’s involved. I spoke to some people and t-turns out, Daemon doesn’t have influence over the Gold Cloaks anymore. Once he left King’s Landing, the Hand had all the guards replaced to prevent Daemon from interfering. If that’s true, there’s no way he could manipulate any of Lord Hightower’s goonies to do what he says. Maybe…we should start looking elsewhere?” Her voice faded like an uncertain child waiting for criticism. 

“Goonies?” Mysaria repeated with a ghost of a smile. 

“Henchmen. Followers. Something like that.” Elyse mumbled back, abashed. A silence ensued. Outside the window, the swearing and shouting of the drunken brawl filled the narrow alley. She waited anxiously for Mysaria to say something------ anything, but the older woman sat sipping on her ale while staring into the fire. 

“I was once personally involved with Daemon.” 

“P-pardon?” 

The brothel madame turned to face her squarely. Staring right into her eyes, Mysaria continued, “A long time ago, I was personally involved with the Rogue Prince. He often frequented this brothel back when I was just another whore. He was the one who bought the brothel and gifted it to me, you know. In the time that I have known him, I have seen much of the man. His charisma. His leadership.” She paused for a drink. “His cruelty. Do you know about the king’s second child?” 

“Uh, no?” Elyse’s voice caught in her throat. She was fairly certain that Rhaenyra was an only child. Wasn’t that the whole plot of the story? That the king had no male heirs? 

Mysaria gave her a knowing smirk while drumming her fingers against the rough wooden table. “Queen Aemma gave her life in exchange for a beautiful baby boy ------ Rhaenyra’s younger brother. The King was overjoyed. A male heir! His own seed to replace his current heir: his callous, warmongering brother.” A pause. Another sip. Another look in her direction. “Imagine his grief when the babe died within a fortnight.” 

A sympathetic noise escaped Elyse’s mouth as her hand came up to her chest. He lost his wife and his baby in less than twenty-four hours? No wonder the king is practically a hermit nowadays. She could only imagine the shock and the grief the poor man endured, losing his wife and baby all in one day. 

“That night,” the woman sighed, dropping her head into her hand and gazing off into the distance ------ eyes clouded and expression blank like she was watching the events unfold before her again, “Daemon visited me. He was happier than usual. He demanded that I open my finest wines and bring out the prettiest girls. He and his men sang, drank, feasted and fucked from dusk to dawn. I warned him to be wary of his words. To not celebrate so…callously. His enemies had eyes and ears everywhere. He knew that, but he ignored my warnings, going so far as to rouse his men for a toast. I watched, in shock and horror, as that man raised his cup and said, ‘To the king, and his heir for a day!’” 

An involuntary shiver ran from Elyse’s neck down her spine. An heir for a day ------ too cruel to be a simple joke and certainly not something that a person with empathy would say less than a day into mourning. About his own nephew, especially. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of someone saying something so abrasive at her grandfather’s funeral. “I… can’t believe ------ why would he say that?” 

Mysaria barked a sharp laugh. She pushed back from the table and circled to the window, back facing Elyse, who watched the older woman intently. “That is who he is, child. A cruel, selfish man with no regard to anything but his ambitions. Not long after that incident, he was banished. I went with him, believing in his honeyed words to protect me and my unborn child, only to be abandoned like a piece of forgotten trash the moment the Stepstones War erupted. He tossed me aside for glory. For validation. For his brother’s forgiveness. I think I was less than a fleeting shadow in his mind when he married Laena Velaryon and sired two pure Valyrian daughters.” 

Swallowing nervously, Elyse said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories for you. It’s just that, well, from what I heard, I thought we were chasing a dead end.” 

“It is alright,” Mysaria answered, still facing the open window. Her voice was steady, but the slight tremble in her angular shoulders betrayed her emotions. “I understand your naivety, Elyse. I was once a child as well. But trust when I say this: do not think for a single second that any of the Targaryens have your best interest at heart. They are selfish, cruel creatures. And Daemon is the worst of them all. If there is trouble afoot, he is involved. I swear it.” 

Guilt colored Elyse’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes to the milky sand beneath her feet, taking a second to calm the rising shame that came with recalling that tense conversation. She remembered walking out of Mysaria’s brothel feeling two inches tall, stripped of confidence and plagued with self-doubt. She could be so dumb sometimes. She knew nothing of this city, this world, the Targaryens, and she thought she could just prance in and find the culprit behind an intricate crime syndicate? Mysaria was right. She was too naive. It’s better to listen to the expert in this situation. If Mysaria says Daemon’s involved, then she better keep looking at Daemon. 

Yet there was a twisting feeling of unease that refused to leave her. A gut feeling, or something like that. A whisper by her ear telling her that she was looking at this all wrong. 

What if Mysaria is letting her personal grudge with Daemon get in the way? Why was she so sure that Daemon was behind everything in the first place? No matter how hard she tried to unravel this complicated web, she couldn’t pinpoint Daemon’s motive. With his prestige, family ties, and reputation, what did Daemon Targaryen have to gain from running a child slavery ring? Was it purely for sadistic pleasure? No. That didn’t feel right. From what she’d gathered from Jace, Luke, and even that annoying prick Aemond, Daemon was dangerous ------ cruel, even, but not sadistic. So then, what ------

“Elyse…Elyse?” 

“Hmmm?” Lost in her thoughts, Elyse drew back, startled, when Helaena pressed her slender fingers against her shoulder. She blinked, taking a second to gather herself before apologizing, “Sorry, I zoned out there. What were we talking about?” 

“We were…talking…about you being my…maid.” 

A mixture of guilt and upset formed like a storm cloud over her head. With a sigh, Elyse said, “I’m sorry, Your Highness. It’s a very tempting offer, but I don’t think I’m nearly qualified enough to be your handmaid…” But the crestfallen look on the Helaena’s face was almost too much to bear. Paired with the hurt in her cornflower blue eyes, Elyse could feel her heart breaking in two for this poor, lonely princess. Her hand reached out to smooth Helaena’s braid, and in a soft, encouraging tone, she murmured, “If a friend is what you need, I will always be your friend, Your Highness. Even if I’m not your maid. But if you need a maid, what about Dyanna?” 

“Dyanna?” 

Elyse nodded, adjusting Helaena’s silver braid gently. “She tells wonderful stories, and she raised her brother from a young age, so she’s great with children. I can vouch for her character. She would make a great maid.” 

“Dyanna,” Helaena repeated. A shy blush formed on the apples of her cheeks. “Yes, I suppose Dyanna would be nice as well.” 

Elyse nodded eagerly. If anyone deserved a promotion, it was Dyanna. Better pay and better hours meant she could spend more time with Jory. Not to mention, Dyanna’s gentle disposition matched Helaena’s perfectly. It was the best outcome for all parties. “If you’d like, I could set up a ------”

A scream rang out from the other side of the beach, startling both girls. Alarmed, Elyse twisted around to find the source of the noise only to see a small boy, dark hair and round cheeks standing near the rocks. 

Jace, who had been preoccupied with his fighting siblings, instantly sprinted towards the boy without a second thought. Rhaena wasn’t far behind. Even Baela and Luke, who had been at each other’s throats this entire time, scrambled to their feet and ran after Jace. 

What in the world was going on?  

“Is that Joffrey?” Helaena frowned. She tilted her head innocently to the side. “But what is he doing here?” 

Joffrey…Joffrey…so familiar…wait, isn’t that Princess Rhaenyra’s third son? In other words, Jace and Luke’s little brother? “Should we go see what’s going on?” Elyse suggested. Hesitantly, Helaena nodded. Together, the girls hurried across the sand to where the group had gathered. By the time they arrived, Joffrey had descended into a full-fledged meltdown. Screaming. Wailing. Snot rolling down his nostrils. Flailing his limbs around like an angry octopus. 

Elyse peeked over Jace’s shoulder at the crying boy. “Hey.” She whispered to Jace, “What’s going on?” 

Jace grimaced, “Joffrey.” 

“Joffrey.” Baela agreed on his left. 

“Joffrey.” Luke sighed, hands on hip. 

Elyse made a confused noise, then looked to Rhaena, who jerked her chin at the wailing boy and shrugged, “Joffrey.” 

Well, that’s helpful. Geez, was no one going to calm him down? Why were they all standing around with that look on their faces? 

With a frustrated grunt, she squeezed past Jace and Luke and knelt next to the crying child. Upon a closer look, Elyse noted that Joffrey was a cute looking kid. Long dark lashes. A head of neat curls ----- the exact opposite of Jace’s messy mane. Round, toffee-colored eyes rimmed with red from crying. She’d never met Ser Harwin Strong, but he must have been one good looking dude, from the looks of his three kids. 

Keeping her tone mellow and soft, she plastered on a patient smile and said, “Hi there, Prince Joffrey. I’m Elyse. It’s very nice to -----” 

“I would not do that!” Luke warned just as Elyse reached out a hand to pat Joffrey on the head. 

“Hmm? What do you ------ OW!” She stared down at her throbbing finger in shock. “He bit me!” 

“Oh dear!” Helaena gasped in the back. 

“JOFFREY! What did I tell you about biting people?” Jace demanded in the sharp tone of a disappointed older brother. He was beside Elyse the next second, examining her bitten finger gingerly before glaring at his sniveling brother again. “Apologize immediately!” 

“NO!” The little boy shrieked, “NO, NO, NO! I HATE YOU, JACE. I HATE YOU ALL!” 

“It’s fine. It’s fine, Jace. Don’t make a big deal out of it.” Elyse waved the eldest boy away, slightly dazed. “He didn’t mean it.” 

“No, he absolutely meant it.” Baela interrupted with a snort, hands resting on her head. “That little ankle biter does it all the time.” 

“Joffrey, what did we talk about before? Biting people when you are upset is never allowed.” That was Rhaena. Always the voice of reason. Always the calmest of the group. 

“NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! I HATE YOU ALL. YOU LIED TO ME! YOU ALL CAME OUT TO PLAY WITHOUT ME!” And the boy sobbed ------ big, sloppy tears that fell into the sand, tinting the soft grains deep brown. 

Huh. 

Elyse took a peek at each of the older siblings’ faces, which displayed a mixture of guilt,  embarrassment, and boredom (Baela). Though her finger still stung from Joffrey’s nip, she found it hard to resent him. Her older cousins were great most of the time, but they also tended to ditch her for ‘older kid stuff’ on several occasions. Being left behind never feels good. 

“You p-promised that you would t-take me along the next time you snuck out and you…you…you LIEEEEEEEDDDDD!” Joffrey wailed and thrashed about while Jace rubbed his neck with a groan.

“I did not lie!” Jace protested, “I said I would take you if I went into the city!” 

“I DON'T CARE, I DON'T CARE, I DON'T CARE!” 

“Joffrey,” Luke interjected harshly, “be reasonable. You are making far too big a fuss.” But Luke’s words only made Joffrey angrier. Now, the red-faced child was screaming at a volume that made Elyse’s eardrums wince. He continued to kick and flail, tossing sand in every direction and snapping at any stray hands reaching his way. 

“Someone shut him up!” Baela stuffed her fingers into her ears with a hiss. “At this rate, his screaming will wake up the entire castle. Then Daemon will truly skin us all!” 

“Joffrey,” Rhaena tried, “We did not lie to you. This is a game for older children. You might get hurt------” 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” 

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. Seriously, like, she’s seen her fair share of tantrums (some of her younger cousins had the lungs of a seasoned opera singer), but Joffrey Velaryon’s howling took the cake. Elyse raised her eyes and gave Jace a blank, lifeless stare. “Please make him stop. I think my ears are bleeding.” 

The eldest Velaryon grumbled complaints under his breath, mainly questioning why it was always his job to deal with Joffrey, while rolling up his sleeves. With seasoned ease, he lunged forward and grabbed Joffrey by the ankle in one smooth move, lifting his little brother into the air and letting him dangle upside down. Elyse thought Joffrey resembled a thrashing fish in the hands of an amateur fisherman. She stifled her giggle. 

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! I HATE YOU!” Joffrey screeched, twisting and kicking at his older brother, who rolled his eyes. “I HATE YOU JACE. I AM GOING TO TELL MOTHER EVERYTHING!” 

“No, you are not.” Baela snapped, arms folded across her chest. “You tell Rhaenyra a single word about tonight, and I swear I will never take you riding on Moondancer again!” Baela’s threats were like oil on fire, causing Joffrey to continue his ear-splitting shrieking while Jace let out a string of colorful curses. 

“Jace!” Elyse gasped, “Language!” 

“Is that the most important thing right now?” Jace shot back. He raised his little brother higher and gestured at the thrashing boy, “We need to figure out what to do with him. He really will tell Mother about our little adventures, and I promise you that no good will come out of Daemon knowing about this.” His chocolate eyes blinked in Helaena’s direction for half a second, but Elyse immediately sobered up. Right. It’s all fun and games until the wrong people discover their secret gatherings. 

“How could you even think about spending time with her ?” Joffrey shouted, taking jabs at his older brother’s shins with his tiny fists, “She’s a piece of Green trash who does nothing but spend her time playing with dirt!” 

“JOFFREY VELARYON. YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH. NOW.” 

Silence seized the group instantly. The thinly concealed rage in Jace’s voice was obvious to all. Even Joffrey, whose tantrum quieted as his brother lowered him to the ground. Elyse took a cautionary glance towards Helaena, but the princess was gone. Walking towards the goal line with slumped shoulders and quivering hands. Elyse looked back at Joffrey. Disappointment soured against her tongue at his crass words. 

Take it easy. He’s a child. 

He’s just a kid. 

He can’t help being prejudiced. 

He’s only repeating what he hears the adults say. 

But Jace was not as willing to let it go. He loomed over his little brother, veins bulging against his tanned forehead, seething, “You are to never repeat those words, do you understand?” Under Jace’s large frame, Joffrey looked like a wounded, whimpering puppy. Elyse exchanged a wary look with Rhaena, thoroughly perplexed by Jace’s outburst. After all, it wasn’t that long ago when he shared similar prejudices towards Helaena. 

“Jace, calm down.” Rhaena stepped forward. She offered a hand to Joffrey, who sniffled then clung to her like a baby koala on a tree as she petted his head soothingly. “He is still a child. He does not know better.” 

Just as Jace was opening his mouth to retort, Elyse stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Cool it. Don’t say something you’ll regret.” She murmured into his ear. The muscles in Jace’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “Go check on Helaena. Make sure she’s ok. Luke and the twins can handle it here.” She patted Jace’s broad shoulder comfortingly. Seconds passed, filled with nothing but Joffrey’s sniffles, but finally, to everyone’s relief, Jace released a huff of impatience and stalked away. 

“I just ----- I just wanted to play too.” The boy blubbered into Rhaena’s tunic. “You all snuck out without me. You promised you would play with me.” 

“Like we said,” Baela scowled, “we snuck out to play soccer, which you are far too young for. What happens if you get hurt and we get interrogated by Daemon?” 

“Maybe next time, we can take you into the city? We can go to a puppet show.” Luke suggested. 

“No! No no no! I want to play this game with everyone!” 

“Well, I mean, he could. I know kids in the city who are around his age who play.” Elyse added with a shrug. “We could teach him. It’s not hard.” She flinched involuntarily when Joffrey’s toffee-colored eyes locked onto her. 

“And who are you?” The youngest Velaryon demanded. 

“Uh…” 

“This is Elyse.” Luke answered for her, “Our friend. She is the one who invented the game. She can teach you too, if you be nice.” Technically, she didn’t invent soccer but eh, details, right? 

Joffrey’s face scrunched into a searing scowl. “So it’s you. You stole everyone and lured them in with your stupid game. You stole my brother!” 

“Huh? Wait, what? I’m sorry, Your Highness, I think you got the wrong idea------” 

“No! It is all your fault! I hate you. I hate you I hate you I hate you!” 

“Joffrey…” Rhaena looked up to the sky with a sigh. 

Unfortunately, Joffrey was no longer listening. He flimsily shoved Rhaena away with his skinny arms and wiped away his snot with his sleeves. Then, with menace, he pointed at Elyse and shouted, “I hate you! I hate your stupid face and your stupid game, and I am going to make you pay!” before dashing up the rocks and disappearing into the darkness. 

“Should we?” Rhaena started. 

“No,” Luke grimaced, “We definitely should.” Together, the pair clambered up the rocks and sprinted after their younger sibling.