Archive of Our Own ^beta

Alyssa Targaryen hated stitching. She hated it beyond reason. Septa Marlow always chastised her for her poor needlework, then complained further that Alyssa was ruining her hands whenever she accidentally pricked her fingers with the needle. 

“You must practice more if you wish to be more like your sisters,” the septa would say. “Aemma was a natural at this from the day she picked up the needle.”

Helaena sat next to her most days and would try to help, giving her tips and showing her how she would stitch her pattern. “Make sure your threads don’t get twisted, it’ll ruin the pattern.” It was always for naught though, Alyssa simply didn’t have the skill in her to do it, nor did she care enough to cultivate it.

What made the sewing circles she was forced to attend all the more unbearable was her eldest sister, Aemma. Perfect Aemma, the picture of grace and beauty. She laughed at the other ladies’ unfunny jokes and charmed the Septa with her silver tongue.

“Lady Massey was telling me the other day how grateful she was to have her husband at her side during her last pregnancy,” Aemma told the group. “Gods, I simply cannot wait until the day I am wed and have a family of my own.” A bald-faced lie, Alyssa was sure.

The Septa smiled, “I’m sure His Grace is hard at work at arranging the best possible match for you, princess.”

“I grow giddy at the thought,” Aemma replied, her stitching never missing a beat as she did. They spoke as if her match was not already set in stone. It was not official, Alyssa supposed, but Aemma was the obvious choice to wed Rhaenyra’s heir, Jacaerys, and be his future queen.

Alyssa hated how all the other ladies believed her sister’s act without question. None of them saw the mocking jeer on her lips or the twitch in her eyes when the Septa mentioned their father. Alyssa knew that Aemma thought all the other ladies were idiots but she had learned precisely what to say to please them. Her eldest sister relished in her deceit, keeping them wrapped around her finger, as if they were merely props in a play where she was the star.

And with such a perfect older sister, Helaena, Alyssa, and Daena could not help but fall short.

Alyssa huffed and stormed away as soon as the Septa dismissed them. Aemma walked off with her posse of handmaidens in tow, her head held high in superiority, meanwhile Helaena took their youngest sister to get lunch. Though Alyssa’s stomach growled, she was not inclined to follow them. 

She had only one destination on her mind.

The training yard came into view as she darted across the castle’s ramparts. Already, she could see her valonqars at their lessons.

Jace and Luke stood side by side, barely paying attention to what Ser Criston was teaching them. Luke splashed his foot through the mud, enjoying the noise it made, meanwhile Jace kept getting distracted by a bug buzzing around his face. Their silver hair glowed in the sunlight. They favored their mother’s looks more than their father’s, Uncle Laenor, as Alyssa often called him, despite the truth that he was technically her goodbrother.

“Your shield is just as important as your sword. Even moreso, at times. A good offense means nothing if you can’t stay on your feet long enough to fight back,” Ser Criston explained. Alyssa hurried down the steps to the training yard. She hung on the outskirts of the conversation but was deeply invested in every word.

Criston’s eyes met hers for but a moment, acknowledging her presence, before he continued. He wasn’t supposed to teach her anything as it was improper for a lady to be a knight, so he had opted to simply pretend not to notice her while she learned all the same lessons the boys did from the sidelines. It was an unspoken agreement between the two.

With a shield in one hand and a sword in the other, he showed the princes the proper stance. “Keep your shield up, feet apart, back straight,” he told them. The princes poorly imitated his stance and Criston had to stop the lesson to help them correct it.

Alyssa clenched her hand on the sidelines, imagining it was her holding a sword and shield. She would do it right and her instructor would find no fault in it. She loved her valonqars , of course, but they frustrated her all the same. Jace and Luke were freely given the opportunity to train and be knights, and they were squandering it. 

Ten and eight years old they may be, respectively, but that was no excuse to Alyssa.

She watched as Ser Criston set the two to spar against each other. Jace was clearly going easy on his younger brother, who had recently joined his lessons. It made Alyssa antsy in her spot, wanting nothing more than to have her own chance to prove herself. She could beat Jace, she was sure of it. She could beat any squire their age.

“Interested, are we?” A voice startled her from behind. Alyssa jumped and spun on her heels, seeing her muña approaching with a fond look on her face.

Alyssa flushed, embarrassed at being caught. “A little,” she admitted.

Rhaenyra smiled softly, brushing a hand through Alyssa’s hair. “And what is it about swordplay that interests you so?” She asked.

Alyssa fiddled with the fabric of her dress, avoiding eye contact. “Knights protect people, in all the stories that I’ve read and that you and Mother used to read to us. They’re heroes and people love them. At tourneys, whole crowds cheer for them. They still sing songs about knights like Ser Joffrey Doggett a century later.”

“You want glory then?” Rhaenyra questioned.

Alyssa shook her head. That made her sound vain and her septas said that was unladylike. “I want…” she thought about it for a moment. “Aemma is beautiful and charming. Helaena is so kind and loved. The septas always say that Daena’s piety is unmatched for a girl of her age. But I’m not like that. I get restless in gossip circles and I stumble over my words with people. I could do this though. I could be a knight, I know I could.”

Something for her to stand out in, something only she in their family could do.

Rhaenyra looked at her with a sympathetic glance. “It is…a wonderful wish,” she started, seemingly unsure of how to say exactly what she meant.

Alyssa already knew what she would say, however. “Mother and Father would never allow me to.”

Her muña nodded, placing a comforting arm on her shoulder. “My own mother told me that a lady’s battlefield is meant to be the birthing bed.”

The younger sister could not resist the urge to pout. “Jonquil Darke did it! She was the Good Queen’s protector for decades. And Queen Visenya trained with the sword, she was one of the conquerors.”

Rhaenyra hummed, fondly recalling the stories of the knight in her youth. “That’s very true. Knights can come from anywhere,” she noted. “Ser Harrold is the fourth son of the old Lord Westerling’s third daughter. He was supposed to be a maester until he unhorsed Lord Lannister in a tourney and proved his valor. And our Ser Criston is the son of a lowborn steward, making a name for himself in the marches before beating Prince Daemon before half the realm.”

Alyssa nodded along. She imagined in a hundred years, if people would say her name and tell her story alongside the greatest knights of her time. The first lady knight, a rowdy princess who could not be contained by her septas. Oh, how she wished for it to be true.

She watched longingly as the boys continued their sparring session with Ser Criston shouting advice to them, to which they barely followed. “Jace, keep your shield up. Luke, you have to keep moving. Use your feet, both of you.”

Rhaenyra squeezed her shoulder lovingly. “Perhaps I’ll speak to your mother about this.”

Alyssa’s violet eyes lit up. “Truly?”

“I make no guarantees,” Rhaenyra clarified quickly but Alyssa barely cared. She hugged her muña tightly, uncaring of any who saw the display of affection.

The mere thought of joining her valonqars in the training yard made her giddy with excitement. She could see it already. Herself, hair tucked into a fanciful helmet with dragon wings on the side. A great green plume for her mother’s house flowing in the wind. A shield of her own personal arms in one hand and Dark Sister in the other. A cheering crowd all around her, calling her name.

Ser Alyssa the Adamant, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms…

Alicent had a long, frustrating evening. Viserys had decreed they were to have a family dinner and, with six children between her and Rhaenyra, it was an ordeal wrangling them all together.

The Four Flames was the nickname her daughters had garnered from the nobility and common folk alike. Four daughters of House Targaryen, close in age and each wildly different. The nobles were more concerned in the fact that they were all open to marry, a thought which curdled Alicent’s stomach, but the common folk cheered their names, especially when Aemma and Daena flew together on their dragons, Sunfyre and Tessarion.

Each of them had a queer Targaryen nature about them, in their own ways, which made every day a challenge.

Aemma was late, as had become maddeningly commonplace. She didn’t know where that girl snuck off to but no amount of lectures ever seemed to make Aemma change her behavior. She had also begun sneaking cups of wine whenever she was convinced neither she nor her muña were looking. Aemma could be the Maiden incarnate when she wished to be, so her septas said, but away from prying eyes, she was anything but.

Alicent recalled when her eldest daughter was young. When it was announced that Rhaenyra would be having her first child with Ser Laenor, the king clapped happily and spoke about how excited she must be to have a child of her own at last. Aemma had grown sullen and weeped in her chambers after that, crushed by the idea of her muña preferring her children with Laenor over her. Alicent and Rhaenyra had to hold her all night and promise she would never love her or her sisters any less.

Alicent dearly missed when the love of her mothers was Aemma’s biggest concern, not causing her heartache and grief.

Helaena was well-behaved, as always, but broke Alicent’s heart all the same. It seemed, no matter what Alicent tried, she struggled to connect with her second daughter. She spoke in riddles and wanted to bring her collection of bugs to the table. Alicent tried to be invested, to make her feel comfortable talking about what she liked. She never wanted Helaena to feel lesser for her hobbies, but it seemed like nothing worked. 

Helaena was always quiet and recoiled from her touch. Every time she did so, a little piece of Alicent died, thinking herself a failure of a mother.

Daena, Jace, and Luke were easy comparatively. They did make a mess at dinner though when they started tossing bits of their food at each other, but they stopped quickly after Rhaenyra scolded them.

Her husband presented his own issues. The dinner was his idea and yet, he seemed unaware of his limits given his current state. Illness had begun ravaging his body, his own arm blackened and decayed. The maesters said often that they would have to amputate it if it did not get better soon.

Tending to him was the most exhausting of all. Alicent knew that was improper to think but deep down, she knew it was true. He spilled food on himself with his shaky limbs and caused a fuss over the most minor of things being out of place. And he never offered the least bit of gratitude for any of her tireless work. Most days, they spoke little and less.

He blames me for not having a son, Alicent figured. He wouldn’t say it. He presented himself too kindly for that. But Alicent was sure it was true. She had failed four times to give him a son and they couldn’t try for more because of her.

Rhaenyra would always brush the tears from her face when those thoughts arose. “It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re perfect, you did amazing,” she would whisper in that sweet tone of hers. Alicent tried to repeat it to herself often, hoping it would stick, but it hurt all the same.

By the time dinner came to an end and Alicent made it back to her chambers, she was quite ready for her weariness to overcome her. Rhaenyra joined her soon enough using the secret passages, already dressed in her nightgown. She embraced Alicent from behind, pressing a kiss to her neck.

“I missed you today,” she whispered. Alicent chuckled lightly, craning her head to press a kiss to Rhaenyra’s lips. Rhaenyra quickly pressed the kiss deeper, wanting more, and, much as Alicent was always eager for Rhaenyra, she knew that she was too exhausted for anything tonight.

Pulling away lightly, Alicent told Rhaenyra as much to which the princess relented. Changing into her own nightgown, Alicent laid in bed and waited for Rhaenyra to join her, the princess wounding her arm tightly around her torso.

Alicent burrowed her head into the princess’ shoulder, relishing in the feeling of being next to her. No matter how tiring her day was, it always seemed like cuddling with Rhaenyra could make it better.

Before they fell asleep, the pair talked idly about their days. Rhaenyra had council business to deal with for most of the day, meetings with the Lord Commander of the Watch, Lord Lyonel, and Lord Beesbury, among others. Once it became clear that Alicent was not going to have a son, Viserys had begun preparing Rhaenyra for rule in earnest and honorably dismissed Alicent’s father as Hand so Rhaenyra could move into the position.

Alicent still wished she had tried to speak with her father before he left, that final day. It was too late now though. He was a thousand leagues away in Oldtown and hadn’t sent even a letter inquiring as to how she or his grandchildren were.

Shaking that thought away, she told Rhaenyra about her own day. She’d been planning for the upcoming tourney to celebrate five and twenty years of Viserys’ reign. Over half the realm was coming for the event including, dreadfully, Prince Daemon. But the less she wasted her time thinking about him, the better.

Rhaenyra got her attention before Alicent drifted off to sleep. “I had something to ask of you tonight. I spoke to Alyssa this afternoon, she was with Jace and Luke in the training yard.”

Alicent smiled to herself, glad that their children got along so well. They’d raised them to be as close as siblings. Her daughters called Jace and Luke valonqar, their little brothers, and likewise, the boys called them mandia. She remembered vividly the four girls all crowding around the birthing bed when Jace was born, eager to get a look at him and it was just the same when Luke was born.

They had talked recently to Laenor about potentially having another child. She idly dreamed of the sight of their six children huddling around the new babe, cooing and smiling.

The smile was wiped clean off her face when Rhaenyra told her exactly what she and Alyssa had discussed.

“Absolutely not,” Alicent refused.

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra tried. “Take a moment to think about it, at least.”

“Alyssa is barely past twelve years old, she shouldn’t be anywhere near swords,” Alicent insisted.

“Jace and Luke are younger than that,” Rhaenyra pointed out. 

“That’s different.”

“Perhaps it should not be,” she argued. “You must recall when we were girls, I wanted nothing more than to be a knight myself.”

Alicent did. She remembered Rhaenyra, barely taller than Ser Harrold’s waist, proclaiming loudly that she would be the greatest knight in the land and making all sorts of promises to crown Alicent her Queen of Love and Beauty.

“That was a long time ago,” Alicent said.

“And I still wish I could’ve been a knight,” Rhaenyra mused. “I am content with my life as it is, of course. But should we not strive for more for Alyssa? If swordplay is what she wants to do, we should not deny her.”

Alicent hummed noncommittally. She could see the sense in Rhaenyra’s words. It wasn’t as if she wanted her daughter to be unhappy. All the same, she could not shake her worries.

“She’s just a little girl, Rhaenyra. I don’t want her getting hurt,” Alicent confessed.

Rhaenyra caressed Alicent’s arm soothingly, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You cannot keep her from harm for all time, my love.”

“I only want her to have a safe and peaceful life,” Alicent told her.

Her mother and her septas had drilled it into her from a young age. All ladies should be proper wives, serve their house, and give their husband sons. Ladies who did not follow this were ostracized and mocked, Alicent knew this all too well. She didn’t want that life for Alyssa, facing endless hurdles and hardship.

“And what if that’s not what Alyssa wants?” Rhaenyra said. “She won’t be a little girl forever and I think she’ll be miserable for the rest of her life if she’s made to be a ‘proper’ lady.”

Alicent sighed, knowing that her love’s words were true. Alyssa was always so different from her sisters and so unhappy during her usual lessons.

If this was what Alyssa truly wanted, if it would finally make her happy, Alicent knew she would never wish to deprive her of it. 

Still, her worries ran rampant. She recalled Ser Joffrey, Laenor’s companion. They spoke just a handful of times, but the young man was bright and charming. They had bid him good fortune in an upcoming tourney, unknowing it would be their last words to him. A simple mishap, a blow struck too hard and at the wrong angle, and Joffrey never woke again.

It would tear her in two if anything like that ever happened to her dear daughter.

“I’ll think about it,” she compromised with Rhaenyra, holding back an answer until another day.

In the dead of night, three sets of feet snuck silently through the castle halls. Alyssa peeked around the corner, searching for any guards who might spot them. When she found none, she darted quickly forward, motioning for her valonqars to follow.

They were supposed to be in bed at this hour but Alyssa could not possibly sit still long enough to sleep. Not while she waited for her muña to give her an answer. She had awoken Jace and Luke and the three rushed down to the training yard, staying out of sight.

She told them of her conversation earlier as they went. “I can’t wait!” Luke cheered at the news. “Jace always beats me in sparring. But you can beat him!”

Jace scoffed. “I’d like to see her try,” he boasted.

“You can’t even keep your balance,” Alyssa mocked, pushing him playfully as they ran. True to her word, Jace nearly toppled over. Once he recovered, he laughed and chased her through the halls.

“What are we doing here exactly?” Jace inquired when they arrived at the training yard. The cold, midnight air hit them quickly but she resolved to ignore the chill. The sky was pitch black above them and the yard, empty.

“I may be training soon, but I’ll be starting late. I need to work twice as hard as the other trainees,” Alyssa explained to them. “I cannot afford to waste another second. My training starts tonight, right now.”

Luke looked up at her gleefully, “We can teach you everything Ser Criston taught us.”

His elder brother looked a bit less sure of their plan. “Should we not wait until mother and muña agree to let you join us?”

“They’ll agree,” Alyssa said confidently.

“But if they don’t and find out we trained you anyway…” Jace shuffled on his feet.

Alyssa nudged Luke. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”

Luke smiled wide. “Jace is scared to get beat by a girl?” The two laughed mischievously together as Jace flushed red in embarrassment. 

“That’s not true!” Jace insisted. Huffing, he grabbed two training swords from the nearby stack and tossed one to her. “I’ll show you.”

Alyssa was practically buzzing with the feeling of the sword in her hand. Everything she’d ever wanted was just a few steps away. She moved the sword around a bit, twirling it and testing the weight to ensure it felt right. She didn’t quite know what it would feel like if the sword was wrong, but Ser Criston said that was an important step when picking a sword.

Once she was prepared, Jace lunged at her with his sword. She raised hers to block it, feeling a rattle in her bones when the practice blades connected. Alyssa stepped backwards hurriedly, mud sloshing below them, and avoided Jace’s next blow narrowly.

With a harsh thrust, she tried to land her own blow on her valonqar , missing by a wide margin. In retaliation, Jace swung his sword and whacked her on the arm.

Alyssa reeled from the blow, dropping her sword unintentionally and yelping in pain. Almost immediately, Jace backed up and inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he rushed out, panicked.

She touched her arm where the blade had struck, wincing slightly at the lingering pain. It could turn into a bruise, she guessed. It was an unfamiliar feeling yet it thrilled her in a way. Jace and Luke always returned from training covered in marks and scrapes. This was but her first, proof that she was just as much of a trainee as them.

Alyssa giggled at Jace’s reaction, to which he was able to relax, knowing he hadn’t really hurt her. She grabbed her sword back up from the ground and behind her, Luke gasped.

“ Mandia! Your dress!” He pointed at the hem of her dress. Looking down, she could see it was already caked with mud and dirt, only growing worse as they moved around. “Mother will be cross with you.”

“Then I’ll tell her I shall need proper training gear,” Alyssa brushed it off. She had a hundred dresses. One was of no concern to her.

Raising her sword again, she and Jace began sparring anew. It was exhilarating to her, the rush in her blood as she and Jace swung at each other. Sweat came pouring down her brow and she could feel her limbs growing more tired by the moment but it merely made her more excited.

This will be every day from now on, she hoped. No more boring needlework or listening to mindless gossip with her sisters. It would be grime and blood and the crack of their swords against each other. She could hardly contain her own enthusiasm.

Jace won, frustratingly, as Alyssa tripped and fell into the mud with a splat. Seeing the boys’ lessons and actually practicing them were two very different things, she was coming to learn. No matter, soon she would match the princes and then surpass them.

“I want to spar next!” Luke interjected as Jace offered his hand to Alyssa. He hoisted her up to his feet and she made a futile attempt to wipe some of the mud off.

“We’ll need shields too. A shield is as important as any sword,” Jace recited.

Alyssa nodded, seeing where they were stored across the yard. She ran off quickly to gather what they needed. She pulled a sword, smaller than her or Jace’s, from the racks, then piled three shields on top of each other. It was heavier than she expected, her aching limbs struggling to hold it all as she carried it back to the boys.

In the time she was gone however, another set of nobles exited the keep to find the princes alone. It was a trio of boys of the Houses Tully, Blackwood, and Arryn. The oldest of the three and four years Jace’s elder, Rowlf Tully, smirked at the sight of the lone Velaryon boys.

“All alone, princes? Is your father not here to watch you?” Rowlf teased.

Jace knew what the boy meant full well, huffing. Luke, however, was oblivious. “He’s asleep,” the younger boy said. “Why does that matter?”

Robin Blackwood laughed. “I heard he was down at Flea Bottom the other night, looking for some particular company.”

Denys Arryn joined in the mockery. “A sword swallower through and through, he is.”

Luke furrowed his brow, confused, meanwhile Jace seethed. “My father could have your head for such slanders,” the older brother said.

“Oh, I’m sure he’d love to take my head,” Rowlf replied.

“I’m warning you,” Jace tried to muster all the intimidation his ten year old self could muster, to which the boys laughed.

“Careful, he might tell his mother,” Denys feigned fear.

“I doubt she’ll do anything. She’s probably knuckle deep in the queen’s cunt already,” Robin laughed.

Jace rushed forward, shoving Robin as harshly as he could manage. The boy reeled back a few steps but kept his footing easily. Growing angry, he shoved the prince back with even more force, sending him toppling into the ground.

“Jace!” Luke yelled, rushing to his brother.

“Some king he’ll make, with parents like that,” Rowlf mocked.

“Poor Jacaerys,” Denys mocked. “It's not your fault that your parents are a pair of freaks.”

Jace shouted in anger. Running with all his might, he tackled Denys off his feet, swinging his arms wildly at the boy’s face.

“You fucking cunt,” Rowlf insulted as he tried to wrestle the prince off his friend. Robin moved to do the same, only to be met with a harsh blow to his jaw from a shield.

“Leave him alone!” Alyssa shouted, a practice sword and shield in hand, the others forgotten. Robin laughed at her, thinking the sight of a dainty princess with weapons amusing.

Alyssa let out a battle cry, prepared to show him just how amusing she was. She thrust her sword into his stomach making him reel backwards from the blunt force. While he recovered, she turned to Rowlf, kicking the back of his legs to interrupt his fight with Jace, then slamming the shield against the side of his head.

Luke watched on from the side, scared and unsure what to do. Making a split second decision, he darted away from the training yard. He ran towards his mother’s chambers, where he knew Ser Harrold would be waiting. The Lord Commander was smart and tough, he could break up the fight, surely.

In the meantime, Alyssa and Jace fought viciously against the three older boys. Any qualms they had about fighting a princess went out the window after she kept hitting them over and over with her practice sword.

It was bloody and messy, not at all like the careful practice sparring they had done. Robin pinned down Jace, so the prince spat into his eye and shoved a handful of mud into his mouth. There was an abrupt crunch of bones when Rowlf avoided one of Alyssa’s sword swings and paid her back with a strong jab to her nose. As blood gushed from her broken nose, Denys yanked her shield from her and kicked her in the stomach.

Jace’s anger grew more fiery seeing his mandia in trouble. From his belt, there was a harsh scrape as he pulled out a sharp knife. It was a gift from his father for his last name day, never meant to be used on someone else, but Jace had little care at the moment.

The three older boys panicked seeing the live steel, dodging out of the way as Jace slashed madly. Robin grabbed his arm midswing and twisted violently, wrenching the knife from his grip.

The distraction, however, had given Alyssa the chance to recover. She grabbed a thick rock from off the ground and smashed it with all of her might against Rowlf’s stomach. There was the crack of his ribcage and the boy howled in pain, falling over abruptly.

Denys scrambled for the knife left in the mud.

Blood roared in her ears and her heart pounded in her throat. Standing over him, Alyssa clutched the rock tightly as Rowlf whimpered and held his side tightly. She barely registered what she was doing, only knowing that they had hurt her and her valonqar.

Alyssa raised the rock high, huffing deep breaths through her mouth, and-

A sharp sting passed over her face.

The rock in her hand hit the ground with an unceremonious thud, forgotten. 

Blood poured down, down, down her face, coloring her vision crimson.

And a scream was heard loud enough to wake the dragons in the pit.

Not half an hour later, a second scream pierced through the keep, that of the queen’s. As soon as she entered the maesters’ chambers, the cry erupted from her throat and the flood of tears followed soon after.

Her daughter, her darling daughter, had a broken nose, two missing teeth, and a deep, bloody slash through her left eye. Alicent fell to her knees at the girls’ bedside, clutching at her arm to feel tethered to Alyssa, to make sure she would not leave this mortal coil. Across the room, Jacaerys was tended to for his own injuries, a few broken bones and lost teeth.

Alicent blubbered out a thousand questions for the maesters. They believed Alyssa would live, to which she prayed to the gods to express her gratitude. Her nose would heal, if not a bit out of place, but the biggest issue was her eye.

There was a line of stitches down Alyssa’s eye socket. The girl hadn’t complained of any pain, though that was because the maesters had given her as much milk of the poppy as they possibly could. “The tissue will heal, but I’m afraid the eye is lost, Your Grace,” Orwyle told her.

Another round of sobs wracked her body. Alyssa avoided her mother’s gaze, looking guilty, ashamed, and humiliated over her injury.

Not long after Alicent arrived did Rhaenyra join them as well, after checking to make sure all their other children were safe in bed. She hugged Jacaerys tight, kissing his forehead, then moved to hold tightly to Alyssa, tears forming in her eyes.

“Oh, my love,” Rhaenyra whispered, wiping Alyssa’s hair out of her face, before pressing a kiss to her temple. Alyssa leaned into the touch even as she tried not to look at her muña.

Last to enter was the king, panting from the effort of having walked up all the steps to the Grand Maester’s office. He paused, shocked at the sight of his daughter and grandson, bloody and bruised.

“What in the Seven hells happened?” He demanded to know.

Ser Harrold recited what Luke had told him when he’d come running and screaming. The trio of boys, who were being treated elsewhere, had insulted Jacaerys. When the prince defended himself, it escalated into a fight where Alyssa had gotten involved.

The only thing the prince had to add was a sullen confession that he had been the one to bring a knife to the confrontation. The tears he shed were quickly chased away by Alicent and Rhaenyra, who did not blame him in the least for the result.

Alyssa couldn’t find her voice through the exchange. Her body shook slightly, tears threatening to burst out of her at any moment. The shock hadn’t yet worn off, the reality of the moment still settling in.

This pain across her face was forever. There was nothing the maesters could do to fix her this time.

“Gods,” Viserys said, exasperated. “What were the children even doing out of bed at this hour? Where were the Kingsguard?”

Ser Harrold bowed his head shamefully. “We were unaware the children had left their bedchambers, Your Grace. They slipped away from us, I regret to say.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Jace tried to assure the knight. He was always so nice to him and his siblings, he didn’t want him to feel responsible for what happened. The prince turned to his grandfather to answer the initial question, “We had gone to the training yard to play.”

“It was my idea,” Alyssa took the blame, saying her first words since the accident. “I wanted to-” The confession caught in her throat.

“It doesn’t matter,” Alicent brushed away this line of questioning, hugging her daughter tight. “Children sneak out, they disobey their parents. It is an irrefutable fact of life. That is not the issue at hand, Viserys,” she insisted.

Rhaenyra agreed with her love at once. “Those boys, they attacked my sons and your daughter. Justice must be done.”

Viserys sighed and groaned. The pain of standing so long, even leaning on his cane, was getting to him. “Gods, what a mess.” He looked back and forth between his grandson and his daughter, his features recoiling a bit at the sight of the scar. “These lordlings shall give their apologies to the princes and the princess and they shall leave King’s Landing at once.”

There was a pregnant silence in the room, taking in the king’s decision. It was Alicent who broke it, her anger simmering just under the surface. “Your daughter has been maimed, permanently. Goodwill cannot make her whole.”

“We cannot restore her eye,” Viserys said.

“Because it’s been taken!” Alicent argued. “It is insufficient to send these boys away with a slap on the wrist!”

“These are powerful houses, Alicent. Tully, Arryn, Blackwood, houses we cannot afford to make an enemy of,” Viserys explained.

“What message does it send to the lords if these boys remain unpunished? They assaulted my sons, mocked my family, and nearly killed your daughter!” Rhaenyra insisted.

Only with Rhaenyra’s support did her husband waver in his conviction, as if Alicent’s thoughts alone were of no concern to him. It made her want to scream but she kept her fury directed at the boys who had terrorized her daughter.

“She is your daughter, Viserys. Your blood ,” Alicent pleaded. “This cannot be allowed to stand.”

United against him, Viserys caved to their demands. “The houses will pay reparations to House Targaryen. The sons shall be exiled from this city, never to return, and will never spread these vile calumnies about Princess Rhaenyra or her husband again, under threat of having their tongues removed.”

He looked at the two expectantly for their approval of his command.

Alicent wanted to argue. That still wasn’t enough. Her daughter, her sweet Alyssa, had been forever damaged. She wished for these boys to be exiled to Essos or sent to the Wall. They should be stripped of any titles they could inherit. She wanted an eye for an eye.

Rhaenyra placed a hand on her arm. The princess knew her love well, that she had a remarkable capacity for anger when the situation called for it. As much as she raged, however, there were limits to what they could do and pushing the matter would lead to actions they could regret when the dust settled.

The contact was soothing, grounding Alicent back in reality. Reluctantly, she nodded her assent and Rhaenyra did the same. The king did not linger long after, keen to return to bed and rest his aching bones.

Alicent hugged her daughter a dozen times, pressing kisses to her head. For all her talk of being grown up at the age of two and ten, Alyssa silently clung to her mother just as tightly. 

Alyssa would remain with the maesters for the next few days, to ensure the wound did not grow infected. When Jace was cleared to return to his chambers, the princess and the queen had to follow suit.

The door had barely shut behind them as the two stepped back into Alicent’s chamber before the queen let her tears fall. Breaking all her propriety, sobs wracked her body and Rhaenyra caught hold of her before her legs gave out.

“My daughter, my sweet Alyssa…” she cried, sobbing into Rhaenyra’s shoulder as the princess held her.

She tried to remain strong for Alicent’s sake yet she could not help the tears that fell from her own eyes. Rhaenyra could still remember when Alyssa was barely more than a babe, with beady, lavender eyes, trailing in her sisters’ footsteps like a duckling.

While they slept, comfy in bed, their daughter had been irrevocably wounded and nothing they did could ever take that pain away from her. Rhaenyra would give up her own eye to save hers, if such a thing were possible.

She was alive, though. Rhaenyra clung to that truth and repeated it to Alicent. The gods were cruel but they had not taken their daughter from them.

For that, at least, Rhaenyra could be grateful.

Alyssa stared down at the selection of eyepatches the maesters had brought for her. They each had a soft cloth lining to ensure her comfort as she wore them all day, as well as many colors to match whichever dress she wore.

She could not help but be tempted to forgo the patch altogether. Would her sisters’ ladies in waiting wince or the septas faint at the terrible sight of her, she wondered? A morbid part of her hoped so.

All the same, she grabbed the black eyepatch and fixed it to her head. Alyssa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She’d never thought herself exceptionally pretty but the eyepatch made it all too obvious, in her mind. It stood out like a sore thumb amid her silver hair, drawing attention to the long, jagged scar.

It was ugly. She was ugly. Alyssa knew it was true even if no one else said it.

She wished they would say it, honestly. It was better than the silent stares they gave her now. As she trailed through the keep on the way to her lessons, she could feel their eyes on her. Guards, servants, and nobles alike, piteous glances for the poor one-eyed princess.

At least, the looks were of pity when she could see them. She knew what it turned to as soon as she was out of earshot.

Alyssa sped up her stride, wanting to hurry to the comforts of privacy. The gods, however, seemed intent on tormenting her further. As she turned a corner, a knight came up on her blind side, slamming into her.

The princess lost her footing and tumbled to the ground.

“Princess! My deepest apologies,” Ser Erryk, she recognized, said quickly, reaching to help her back to her feet. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

Alyssa could barely meet his eyes, already feeling the stares from everyone else in the corridor. She shook her head silently, blinking her eye rapidly. He asked another question but Alyssa barely registered it. She kept on walking, head downturned.

Only once she was in the chamber with her septa, door shut tight behind them, could Alyssa feel like she could breathe again.

It was far from the last incident.

Stitching became impossible. Alyssa wouldn’t normally care but her septas hounded her about it. More than that, the amused glances and whispers between the other ladies at the circle threatened to drive her mad. Every wrong stitch was met with mockery, even if they tried to be subtle, and Alyssa could not help but make many, many errors.

Once, she saw Lady Stokeworth lean over to whisper to Lady Reyne after she made a series of wrong stitches, ruining the last candlemark of work. The two broke out into fits of giggles and Alyssa flushed red, feeling ashamed.

Aemma’s face twitched, observing it all. She leaned over to view the Stokeworth girl’s embroidery, a lamb on a green field with her house words on it. “‘Proud to be Faithful’, eh?” Aemma read, catching the girls’ attention. “It’s good you made that. Your lord husband could do with a reminder, from the tales I’ve heard.”

At that, several more ladies in the group could not contain their laughs. Lady Stokeworth looked mortified and Aemma’s lips curled upward into a smug smile.

“Princess! It is unbecoming to talk of such bawdy, vile rumors,” the septa chastised.

At once, almost uncannily, Aemma flipped her persona. She put on her act of being sweet and innocent, “Oh, my apologies, Septa Alla. I meant that we could all do with the reminder of the Faith’s teachings. Loyalty to our husbands is paramount.”

The septa seemed satisfied with that, nodding her head and dropping the issue but the ladies would certainly hold on to that piece of gossip about Lord Stokeworth for the rest of day.

Alyssa huffed, the humiliation didn’t make her feel any better. When the septas dismissed them, she took off immediately, seeking a quiet dinner in her own chambers. Aemma grabbed her hand to stop her.

“Sister, are you well?” She inquired.

“I don’t need your help,” Alyssa spat at her. It was bad enough to be mocked and ridiculed, worse for Aemma to make it part of her game. She marched off and left her sister without another word.

Alyssa hoped it would get better after time had passed and she grew used to the emptiness in her head. Days passed then weeks. It seemed to only grow worse to her, however.

At her lessons, her septas complained of her handwriting constantly. It was an ordeal to make it readable to herself now, all scratchy and uneven, lines blurring together. “This simply will not do, princess,” Septa Alla told her flatly. “I can’t read any of this. I am assigning extra lessons for you, clearly you need to work harder to make up for your injury.”

Any hopes she once had of joining her valonqars in training were stifled. Her mother simply would not hear of it and frustratingly, her muña agreed. “I know you wanted to be a knight but…” Rhaenyra floundered, looking for the words to say. “We want you to be safe. After what happened-”

Alyssa didn’t care to hear more. She shoved her muña away from her and ran out, covering her face so no one saw the wetness on her cheeks.

“Alyssa!” She called after her but Alyssa kept walking.

It was back to staring longingly out over the training yard for her. Jace and Luke apologized near a thousand times for what happened and she brushed it off every time. She wanted none of their pity, she wanted to be their equal.

The boys got cuts and bruises all over them from training. Luke nearly took off his brother’s head when he stole away with Criston’s mace when he was six and left a dent in the wall. Nobody ever considered pulling them out of training though. It was not too dangerous for them, even if they were both younger than her.

Even worse than the insults, to Alyssa, was the coddling. Much of her family treated her as if she was a delicate flower on the cusp of breaking. It was not enough for Ser Harrold to shadow her every move outside her chambers, he also insisted on helping her keep balance when walking down stairs. He always had to hurry to turn a corner first to ensure no one would run into her.

She used to go to the Dragonpit with her sisters. Helaena had recently claimed Dreamfyre for herself and Alyssa wanted to see her up close. She was one of the oldest dragons left alive and the old mount of Queen Rhaena. There was always some excuse however, from her sister or her mother or her septas, to keep from visiting at the same time as Helaena so she could see the great beast.

It came to a head at a boring, mundane dinner. Mother was lecturing Aemma about something, Alyssa didn’t care to eavesdrop, meanwhile Muña was regaling the rest of the family with a story about her first flight on Syrax. Daena watched with bright eyes, hanging on to every word. She was the only one of the sisters whose cradle egg had hatched, thus she had a special connection to Tessarion, like their older sister did with Syrax.

Growing thirsty, Alyssa reached out for the pitcher of water, intent to refill her cup. Her poor vision instead led her to miss the cup entirely, water splashing out all over the table. She winced at once as it caught the whole family’s attention.

Whatever her mother was speaking to Aemma about was forgotten as she hurried over. She wasn’t mad but she had that piteous look in her eye that everyone else did. “Alyssa, you can ask for help if you need it,” she told her, softly and quietly. The queen signaled for the servants to clean the spill quickly.

All eyes were on her and the shame bubbled within her, curdling in her stomach until the feelings turned to anger. “I don’t need help,” Alyssa argued with a weak voice.

“Darling,” her mother said, frowning. “We love you. We’ll help you, no matter what.” With that, her mother reached for the pitcher and moved to pour the water in the cup.

It was suddenly all too much for Alyssa. She slapped the cup away harshly, the water splattering to the floor again. “I don’t need help!” She repeated, louder. She slammed her hand on the table. “I can pour a fucking cup of water on my own!” Her voice was cracking and shaky even as she put all her anger behind.

Her mother recoiled a bit, shocked at the outburst. Even now, none of the family were mad at her, simply looking at her with concern and worry.

She pushed her chair out and stood with a harsh scrape. Before anyone could stop her, Alyssa turned and fled the dinner hall. She ran through the halls, uncaring of who could see.

She shouldn’t have yelled at her mother. She should go back and apologize. Alyssa knew that and yet her feet kept carrying her further and further away.

When she reached her chambers, finally alone, Alyssa screamed into her pillow until her voice was hoarse. She kicked over a chair and tossed her bottles of perfume at the wall, enjoying the sound of how the glass shattered.

It’s not fucking fair, Alyssa wanted to shout. She was going to be a knight, the first lady knight. Instead, Alyssa had gone and ruined it all.

Why? She could not help but wonder. Her mother had taught her the Faith, just as she had with all her sisters. The gods did everything for a reason. Was it truly so terrible that she wished to live a life of her own that the gods had to punish her for the thought?

Exhaustion seeped into her bones as she collapsed on the bed. Her room had become a disaster, a problem for tomorrow. Alyssa fell asleep cursing the gods’ names and cursing herself for being such a damned fool.

It’s all your own fault, she told herself, and the tears came quickly after that.

“Princess Alyssa?” A knock followed by a voice at her door broke the silence of the room. The princess gripped her sheets tighter, pulling them over her head. “Your lady mother has asked for you to attend the feast.”

“Go away!” Alyssa called back. Her father was holding a celebration to mark a quarter century of his reign.

She was not going to attend. No matter what her mother said.

She already knew how it would end. Everyone would stare at her unabashedly and they’d express their sympathies but then laugh behind her back. The crippled princess, ugly as a goat.

Alyssa tried not to let it bother her, she really did. Muña said that they were Targaryens and that what other people thought of them didn’t matter. Still, she could not get their looks and mocking giggles out of her head.

The Septas were right about her. She was too wild and improper. She would never have a future now. What lord would want her, with a boy’s hobbies and a gaping hole in her head?

“Alyssa? My dearest love, please come out,” she eventually heard from outside. It was her mother’s voice.

Alyssa bit the inside of her cheek. She didn’t want to snap at her mother again but knew she would if she tried to respond. Instead, Alyssa clung to the bedsheets and closed her eye tighter, hoping that her mother would take the silence as her answer.

“Your sisters would love to see you, and your nephews as well,” her mother encouraged, to not avail again. “Please, Alyssa, your muña and I are worried.”

“I’m well,” she strangled out, her cracking voice proving how much of a lie that was. “I want to be alone.”

There were a few moments of silence and Alyssa held her breath, until finally she heard her mother call back through the door, “If you ever feel ready, we’d all be delighted to see you.” There was the patter of her footsteps growing quieter as her mother walked away and Alyssa was left both relieved and more upset than before.

She didn’t want to let her mother and muña down. Alyssa had always tried to be a good daughter, a proper lady like they wanted her to be. Evidently, she had failed miserably at that.

Alyssa hurriedly batted away the tears pricking at her eye though it quickly became clear it was a futile effort. Wet droplets trailed down her cheek and fell onto the sheets of the bed, while Alyssa did her best to stifle any whimpers.

This was her fault, she thought. She was so stupid to ever think she could be a knight. Burying her face in her arms as the tears came in earnest, Alyssa wanted nothing more than to lay here in this bed for the rest of her life. She never wanted to face the people outside or see their disappointment and derision.

A full body sob wracked her body and she couldn’t make it stop.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was a stupid girl and the gods had punished her. Her septa had always told her where her wild side would get her. “You’ll either end up like Princess Viserra or Saera with an attitude like that.” If she had only listened to them…

Alyssa cried so hard her chest hurt. There was no undoing what had happened. It was a permanent stain on her life, a sin she could never hide as much as she tried.

By the time her tears had run dry, her eyes had grown heavy and her body exhausted. She drifted off to a light, unsatisfying sleep, hoping to rest through the night. Her family, it seemed, had other plans.

Alyssa awoke with a start to loud knocking at the door. She wanted to ignore it, bury her head back in the covers and go to sleep, but the pounding started again. She didn’t know the exact time but it was dark outside her window. The princess hoped the feast was well past over and it was just her mother or muña come to talk to her.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself out of bed. Her feet patted across the room and she rubbed her tired, bloodshot eye. Pulling open the door, her brow furrowed in confusion to see it was her eldest sister, Aemma, standing at the door.

“Finally,” she said, and then prompted to barge in without asking. She was holding a chest in her hand, which she placed on Alyssa’s desk, but Alyssa ignored it easily.

“Get out,” Alyssa demanded. “I don’t want to talk.”

“Neither do I, but here I am,” Aemma replied. “Mother and Muña are worried and sent me up to check on you.”

“I’m well,” Alyssa answered curtly.

“Clearly,” Aemma spoke with her usual mocking tone. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Alyssa saw how disheveled her hair looked and the stains on her gown. Faint tear streaks still marked her face, which she instinctively began trying to rub off.

“I’ll apologize to them in the morning for skipping the feast,” Alyssa muttered, intent on returning to the sanctuary of her bed.

Aemma, frustratingly, didn’t seem to get the hint. She held out her hand to stop Alyssa in her tracks. “Lucky for you, the feast isn’t over yet. I’m here to take you down there.”

Alyssa cursed silently. She must not have slept for as long as she thought. “I’m not going to the feast,” Alyssa told her firmly.

She held her head high, as if daring her sister to challenge her on that. She was exhausted and still felt on the verge of tears. Going down to see all the guests would merely humiliate her more.

Aemma stared at her for a moment, calculating something behind her eyes. Finally, she shrugged, “I suppose we’re staying here then.” With that, she lazily plopped herself down on Alyssa’s bed, idly looking out the window.

“We?” Alyssa asked.

“I’d certainly not like to face our mother’s wrath for coming back empty-handed. And it’s a bore, anyway. So, I’ll hide out here with you,” Aemma explained.

Alyssa contemplated in her head if punching her sister was worth another lecture. If there was one thing she absolutely did not want tonight, it was Aemma’s company. Figuring she would already be in enough trouble as it was for skipping the feast, she begrudgingly decided against that course of action.

“I see the servants cleaned the room up well,” Aemma said, glancing around. Most of what she’d trashed had been replaced within two days. Aside from a dent in the wall, you’d hardly know the difference.

Alyssa grumbled, not wanting to talk about this. “If you have something to say, speak it and be gone. I’m not in the mood.”

Aemma hummed. “Alyssa, I’m not going to leave you to sulk all night alone.” She moved to the side, making room on the bed. “Sit. Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Alyssa insulted. Why can’t you just leave me alone?

“You have to talk to someone, sister. You haven’t been talking to Mother or Muña or any of us, we’re all worried,” Aemma insisted.

“And so you’ve come to make me feel better?” Alyssa questioned mockingly. “How perfectly generous of you.” The younger sister scoffed at the thought. “You’re insufferable.”

Aemma raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “You’re pretty insufferable yourself at the moment.”

Alyssa’s nostrils flared in anger. “I hate you,” she said.

“No, you don’t,” Aemma brushed it off.

“I hate you!” She repeated, louder. “It’s not fair!” In her anger, she grabbed the nearest object, an empty bowl, and threw it at her sister. It missed by a wide margin, clanging uselessly against the wall.

All the same, Aemma stood to attention. She gazed coldly at her sister and Alyssa glared back hard, unwilling to give an inch.

“It’s not fair!” Alyssa repeated. “All I wanted was to be a knight. Just one thing, for me. It was torn away from me by those fuckers who are probably laughing it up in the Riverlands. It wasn’t my fault! Why should I be punished?”

Alyssa ranted and paced around the room, unable to stop the tide of emotions from spilling out of her.

“And what does this have to do with me?” Aemma inquired flatly.

“You’re awful!” Alyssa insulted. “And obnoxious and arrogant. No matter what I do, the septas and the nobles always say how much better you are at it. I can’t even do the one thing I wanted to do, so I’m stuck with living in your perfect shadow forever!”

She went to throw something else at Aemma, an empty cup this time, but Aemma tore the object from her hands, holding it up and out of her reach.

“Give it back!” She demanded.

“Alyssa, stop,” Aemma told her with no malice in her words.

The younger sister beat her hands uselessly against Aemma, letting out every last ounce of her frustration. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair!” She repeated, tears stinging at her eye once again.

The fight in her lasted for a pitifully short time. When her arms stopped flailing and her breathing calmed, Aemma slowly put the cup down and led her back to the bed. Alyssa could do nothing else but lean on her sister for support even as she hated it, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

The two were quiet for several minutes, the only sound in the room being Alyssa’s soft sniffles. “I don’t think you hate me,” Aemma concluded, breaking the silence.

Miserably, the girl shook her head no. Alyssa confessed in a tiny voice, “I wish I could be like you. Everyone thinks you’re a wonder, a princess for all to look up to. If I was like that…” Alyssa couldn’t say the rest, her words getting caught in her throat. If she were more like Aemma, she wouldn’t feel so empty now that she’s lost her chance to be a knight. She wouldn’t have lost her eye at all, she could be content with her life of stitching embroidery and gossip. “I’ve tried, I really have. Following the septas’ rules and their teachings. But I’m not like you, I can’t be.”

Aemma’s features softened, looking at her sister. She reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. “Alyssa, no one expects you to act differently. We’re your family and we love you as you are.”

“ Everybody expects me to be different,” Alyssa countered. “The septas and the nobles I pass in the hall. They always say I have to be better at stitching and my courtesies and pleasing my future husband.”

Her older sister hummed. “I misspoke. No one important expects you to act differently.”

Alyssa chuckled dryly.

Aemma looked at her, speaking sincerely which was a rare occasion. “Anyone who gives you grievance for your eye or how you act is not worth a single second of your time worrying about, hm?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Alyssa countered. “It’s everywhere for me, I can’t just ignore it.”

“We’re Targaryens, sister, princesses of the realm, and there’s more than one way to hold power. Whether with a sword, your words…or a dragon, you can bring all those meager nobles to heel, if you so wish,” Aemma explained.

There was an odd glint in her sister’s eye. A coldness bordering on cruelty that she didn’t recognize. Just as soon as it appeared though, it vanished and her usual smile replaced it.

“Or you could simply send them my way. I’ll straighten them out,” she joked. Alyssa smiled slightly, disbelieving that her sister, with her dainty hands and soft features, could be at all threatening. “Either way, they don’t deserve an ounce of your energy. They’re a bunch of sycophants and cunts, quite exhausting to listen to.”

“And yet you wish for me to go to the feast anyway?” Alyssa guessed.

“We do have duties, alas,” Aemma reminded her. “I can tell Mother I gave it my best attempt, if you wish to stay here.”

Alyssa thought about it for a few moments before gathering her courage. She didn’t know how much she believed Aemma’s words but they roused her to her action. It was getting dreadfully boring in her chambers, after all.

She nodded and Aemma’s grin grew wide. “Good, in that case, I brought you some gifts.” Aemma went over to the discarded chest that she’d brought with her. Alyssa had forgotten about it quickly but now glanced over in curiosity as her sister unlocked it.

Inside, she could see a new dress. Azure blue with black and golden trim, decadent and similar in design to what her muña would normally wear. “Is that for me?” Alyssa questioned.

“You’re certainly not going to the feast looking like that,” Aemma noted. Alyssa realized she was still in her nightgown, stained with tears. “Let’s start with your hair,” her sister added, grimacing at the sight of her messy, silver hair.

Alyssa had never been one to care much for her appearances. She let Aemma do as she pleased, brushing and styling her hair to her heart’s content. Time stretched on and on as Aemma worked and the younger sister got a bit paranoid that their mother would be angry that they were missing so much of the feast. Aemma seemed unconcerned about the matter though, so she concluded they must still have plenty of time left.

Aemma braided her hair like Queen Visenya’s at her request. She liked that it made her look more like one of the conquerors, feeling a twinge in her heart at the reminder that she couldn’t be a warrior like her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when the dress’ laces were tightened and they could finally head down. Before she could, Aemma stopped her, “One more gift.” From the chest, she pulled out a sparkling blue jewel, a sapphire. “Take off your patch.”

“What?”

“Maesters said you need something in your eye socket, otherwise your face will get droopy and lopsided, right?” Alyssa nodded that she was correct. “This sapphire will do, I should think.”

Alyssa supposed that was why Aemma had chosen a blue dress for her, an odd choice but one she didn’t feel like questioning until then. Carefully, she removed her patch and sat on the bed. Aemma hovered before her, the sapphire held in one hand and the other holding her eye socket open.

“Try not to move,” she told Alyssa softly, then slowly moved to put the sapphire in.

Despite her best attempt not to, Alyssa could not help but recoil. It was an odd sensation. She’d had milk of the poppy when they took her eye out, but now she felt the full, bizarre experience of feeling a foreign object in her eye socket.

“Stop moving,” Aemma said more sternly, grabbing her head. “Or else my hand will slip and I’ll shove this right into your brain.”

“That can happen?!” Alyssa asked, panicked, and her sister laughed.

After another minute of uncomfortable silence, Aemma concluded that she was done and showed Alyssa the result in the mirror. The gem certainly matched her dress well and the gold trim of it glimmered in the candle light of her room. Her hair was braided expertly as well, to which she thanked Aemma for quietly.

For the first time since she lost her eye, Alyssa could think she was pretty.

“Patch on or off?” Aemma asked, holding her discarded eyepatch.

“Off,” Alyssa decided after a second. Perhaps Aemma was right and she should not worry in the least about what the others will say about her. Her eye was a permanent scar, there was no use hiding it. They had to get used to it, just the same as she did.

With that, the two finally set off for the feast, arm in arm. It was nice, she thought, to have her eldest sister at her side. It made her feel more safe and prepared to face the wave of lords and ladies. Alyssa would never dare say that to Aemma’s face though, lest her ego grow even more unwieldy.

“And by the way, sister,” Aemma whispered to her as they approached the Great Hall. “I’m not quite so proper as you seem to believe. It pains me, truly, that you would think me so boring and dull. The septas would collapse in a heartbeat if they knew half of what I really got up to.”

“What is it that you get up to?” Alyssa inquired.

“And why do you think I would ever tell you that, hāedar ?” Aemma teased. “You’d only run and tell Mother. No, some secrets I like to keep for myself.”

The feast was an exhausting ordeal, lasting for hours still even after the pair arrived. Many nobles focused on Alyssa, her new dress and her sapphire eye on full display, and she resolved to ignore the jeering ones as best she could. Her mother hugged her tight when she arrived, glad she was feeling well enough to join them, as did her muña.

She felt her spirit lighten with her family all around her. She joyfully danced with Jace in the center of the hall, her valonqar playing his part as the realm’s future heir to perfection despite his youth. 

Helaena was eager for her to meet the new friends she’d made, fellow nobles ladies from all across the realm. One of them, a girl from the Reach, even shared Helaena’s fascination with bugs, which the two chatted endlessly about. Alyssa was too proud to admit she was afraid of the monstrous centipedes Helaena would always insist on showing her so she suffered in silence through their conversation until her younger sister came to rescue her.

With Daena, she had an excuse to slip into the crowd. The pair of them stole sweets from the servants and played a trick on one of the nasty girls who’d made fun of her. Muña had caught them laughing about the latter yet she let them off easy for the night.

Alyssa guessed it was because she was already upset. She didn’t hear what it was about but she saw Mother fighting with Daemon earlier. The two had never gotten along, she suspected it was why Daemon lived on Dragonstone even though it belonged to Muña . Any curiosity she had for the issue was put aside for the time being, as she had more important matters on her mind.

For as much as she enjoyed the feast, it had solidified what she knew in her heart. She was not made to be a proper lady. Her dancing was atrocious even before she’d lost her eye and she had not the wit nor the courtesy to navigate court politics. She danced with a handful of lordlings, most of whom were kind enough to her, but none of it brought her the same joy that she saw on Aemma’s face as she wrapped each potential suitor around her finger.

Alyssa knew more than ever that she wanted to be a knight. No, she had to be a knight. She was far behind any of her peers and she would need to train thrice as hard and often to make up for her shortcomings. It was a price Alyssa would gladly pay however, if only she could get her mother and her muña to agree to it.

She thought of her eldest sister and the secrets she kept. Whatever they were, their mother and muña were clearly left unaware and scrambling to keep up. Alyssa wondered then if it was perhaps time to have a few secrets of her own.

It led her to sneaking out once more in the middle of the night on her lonesome, back to the training yard. For hours in the moonlight, Alyssa would steal a blunt sword and practice her forms. Smacking the training dummy was immensely satisfying, in her opinion, seeing the straw it was filled with explode outward with every cut.

Her eye posed a challenge, as it always did. Oft times, she missed her swings or lost her footing. She would’ve thought it embarrassing if anyone was around to witness it but her. Her late-night training left her with little time to rest and her septas quickly noticed her new tendency to drift off during lessons and chastised her accordingly.

None of it deterred her, however. She was going to be a knight and neither her septas nor her injury would stop her.

One night, Jace caught her sneaking out towards the training yard. “Mother told you to cease this,” he reminded her.

“I am not beholden to her whims,” Alyssa argued. “It is my choice.”

“You’re going to get in trouble. Or worse! What if you got into another fight?” Jace asked. His voice was shaky and upset, concerned for her safety above all else.

“If I got into another fight, I would win. I’m more skilled now, not flailing about with a sword,” Alyssa countered. “You can’t stop me from doing this, Jace. I will learn to be a knight.”

He grumbled as he watched her turn and begin to leave. “Wait!” He called out and hurried after her. “If I can’t stop you, you might as well have someone telling you how to do it right .”

With that, her secret became shared among two and Jace would join her at night, teaching her all the drills and techniques that Ser Criston taught him and Luke. With a teacher at her side, her coordination got better and her movements more precise. He taught her the best ways to disarm an opponent and to sweep their legs out from under them, as well as basic stances.

Her plan could only last for so long, however. It became apparent to her mother quickly that she was operating under barely a few hours of sleep each night. And Jace was an absolutely atrocious liar, she had learned.

The truth came out sooner rather than later and the queen was most displeased. “When will this infernal interest of yours cease?” Her mother asked her plainly. “You cannot be a knight, it’s far, far too dangerous.”

“It’s not fair! I could be a better knight than Jace or Luke or any of the other squires,” Alyssa argued.

“You’re my daughter!” Alicent raised her voice. “And I’ll not see you throw yourself into harm’s way over this folly.”

“Abrazyrys,” Muña took her mother’s attention. “Perhaps we ought to hear her out.”

“Do not,” she hissed back. “She gets this from you. You are the blood of the dragon but you are not invincible.”

Alyssa crossed her arms. “I’m not spending another day wasting my time with needlework and petty court gossip,” she declared. “I can do more. I want to be a knight more than anything in the world, Mother. Please, listen to me.”

Muña seemed to hear her plea, turning back to Alicent. Stepping away from their daughter for a moment, they spoke in hushed tones so she would not overhear.

“This is exactly what we talked about before. She’ll be miserable if we force her to be like her sisters,” Rhaenyra reminded her love.

“That was before she lost an eye ,” Alicent reminded her. “What if another incident were to occur? Something worse? Would you see our daughter dead at twenty in a tourney accident or a drunken brawl?”

“I would see our daughter happy ,” Rhaenyra said. “I know it is dangerous. I will worry myself senseless, same as you, but we cannot stifle her forever. We must let her pursue her own passions.”

Rhaenyra gripped her love’s hands tightly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles where her fingers were picked bloody. It was a terrible habit, one Alicent had thought she’d broken long ago, but the stress of Alyssa’s lost eye, among other political matters, had brought it back.

“We defied all notions of propriety to be together, do not forget,” Rhaenyra said. “If we tried to force her into a life she does not want or find any happiness in…”

“We’d be no better than my father,” Alicent filled in the unspoken gap. She let out a silent sob, the mere thought twisting her stomach. Even years after he had left King’s Landing, he still haunted Alicent’s every move.

With a great reluctance, she nodded her head to her love and the two trailed back over to the daughter to share the good news. The great, beaming smile that grew on Alyssa’s face and the tight hug she pulled them into was all the comfort that Alicent needed to know she made the right choice.

A week later, Princess Alyssa stood in the training yard, between her valonqars. Her armor was ill fitting on her growing, lanky body but it would have to make due while they made her a proper set. Luke twirled his practice sword in his hand while Jace drew patterns in the mud. Alyssa, it seemed as usual, was the only one truly listening. 

“Your challenge today is to hit me a single time,” Ser Criston ordered them. “All three of you at once, give it your best effort.”

Alyssa gripped her sword tightly, her eyes meeting Jace and Luke’s. The three encircled their teacher, who stood lazily with his sword in the ground compared to their battle ready stances.

There was a beat of silence, the three children making their last preparations and plans for how to best the knight. A second later, with a battle cry from little Luke, the three charged at him.

It was a whirlwind of swords and screams. Criston avoided Luke’s first swing with ease, parrying Jace’s blow into Alyssa to knock them both off balance. They recovered quickly and set off again, with Criston effortlessly blocking all of Jace’s strikes. Alyssa tried to flank him but Luke had the same idea it seemed and they nearly ran into each other.

After thirty seconds of failing to hit Criston, their teacher seemed to tire of their strategy. He hit Jace’s back with the side of his training sword, sending the boy off balance, then tripped Luke with his foot. Alyssa fared no better, she was ashamed to say, missing another pitiful swing before getting shoved to the ground.

“One hit! That’s all I ask,” Criston reminded them sternly. “Luke, stop looking at your feet, look at your opponent. Jace, you’re exhausting yourself too quickly. Only strike when you see an opening. Alyssa, put your back into your swings, like we practiced. You three need to coordinate with each other, this lesson is about teamwork. Now, get up! Let us go again!”

Jace hauled his brother to his feet while Alyssa wiped the mud off her armor. She was grimy and tired, her bones ached from a rigorous day of training. She could feel the bruises forming on her arms and torso already. Rising to her feet, Alyssa could not help the smile growing on her face.

This was exactly where she was meant to be.

The three children got into their positions, raised their swords, and charged at their teacher again. They lost again, of course, but they did not let that deter them. They would try as many times as it took to get it right.