#duskendale

So, Tywin chose the second best approach and sieged the port town. He made sure to cut any incoming or outcoming communication, trade and provisions. Since the castle was not big and its coffers had been rather dry; he knew Duskendale would not last that long.

So, the months passed, and the army remained there while King Aerys was held prisoner in some gloomy cells beneath the castle. Lord Darklyn did not surrender, but he knew he could not execute his only leverage, which was the only thing keeping him alive so far.

Tywin had been in constant contact with Visenya, who had her troubles at court. With the absence of the King and her temporary ascension to the throne, setbacks had risen. A woman had never truly sat for long on the Iron Throne, especially in recent history.

Yet, the mighty Dragoness handled everything as if she was born, knowing how to do it. She ruled properly, kept the Lords and Allies occupied, and had enough information to keep them engaged but never too much to expose the true situation.

She continued with the trade, which had increased since Duskendale was under siege and had meetings with the small Council every day. Thankfully, her cousin Ser Steffon was an official member of the court thanks to Aerys, and he was helping her wherever he could.

Communication was frequent, and the two exchanged opinions on how to proceed. In the last letter, Tywin said he had openly admitted to planning to use Wildfire and burn the walls.

Then, simply allow the soldiers to sack the town and try to save the king as well. If they would fail, he knew of the fate of Aerys, but there was no true guilt behind his words. 

Visenya did not blame him because she had similar thoughts for quite some time now. One might even consider all of that as a sign from the 7 that Aerys had to go and this was the best way to have a different person in a position of such power.

Yet, the Dragon Princess refused to give up so easily. She wanted to make sure all the other alternatives had been thought thoroughly before they would go for a front attack. The idea came to her when during the early hours of the night, she happened to stare out of her window.

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She spotted a servant leaving the Red Keep after finishing work, covering themselves with rags and dark clothing. If one would look like a poor peasant, it was easier to roam the roads of King’s Landing without problems or fear of being mugged.

Then, an idea seemed to be sparked in her mind and she quickly returned to her desk and started to write her letter to Tywin. Her plan was simply, perhaps sounding impossible but it was one last worthy try.

A well-trained and capable soldier infiltrates under the cover of the night dressed in common folk clothing and liberates the King. Yet, as she wrote that letter, she had to stop and think of who was truly capable and worthy of trust to do such a risky mission in the name of the King who had fallen off the people’s favour over the years.

In the end, she suggested the only man she could truly trust with that task; Ser Barristan Selmy. After writing her idea, she sealed the letter with the royal stamp of the Targaryen Dragon and sent it with a Raven.

Perhaps she should have discussed the idea better but time was of the essence for them. If she could free Aerys without risking his life during a siege, people would sing praises to such miracles; while in the end, it was all just logical and simple thinking.

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Duskendale – CrownLands – 6.5 months since Aerys’ capture

Tywin stood on top of his black stallion, watching from a safe distance the port town of Duskendale. For a moment, he felt as if he was back in Castamere, looking down upon it before he would execute his plan.

Well, their plan for Visenya’s insight and wildfire were key to this operation.

When he had first received her letter, it had taken him a moment longer to process everything. He shouldn’t be surprised since that plan came from Visenya, but he could not fight it. In the end, however, trusting her judgement, he decided to enact her plan.

He summoned Ser Barristan and gave him a full day to execute the plan. If he failed or did not return by the arranged time, Tywin would storm the town and bring it to its knees.

Many might have thought the noble knight would fail, but to their surprise, just before the 24 hours could be closed, Ser Barristan returned with a wounded but alive King.

With the leverage gone, Tywin was no longer held back, and by the words of Visenya and the royal seal on the scroll he had given her before leaving, he had full power to exact her revenge upon them.

So he did...

The barrels of wildfire were positioned close to the walls, and once ignited, they lit up the area. Green fires started to devour everything they could find, houses and shops included. Townspeople and innocents rushed to avoid the ravaging flames, only to be grouped and cornered by Lannister and Targaryen men alike.

Without its walls, the city was theirs for the take.

The remaining wildfire was used to bring down the castle where the cowardice Lord Darklyn was trying to hide. Seeing the massive destruction and the impending doom, he also tries to escape, but Tywin will not let him.

Ultimately, Darklyn and his immediate family, including his uncles, aunts, distant kinsmen and even his goodkin, House Hollard, were all gathered in the main square. By now, the green flames that devoured most of the city were slowly dying out since there was little material left for it to burn through.

Tywin had a plan for those traitors who begged for his forgiveness after all they had done. However, soon, it was not Tywin they were begging for mercy but Aerys. The King had pushed away the men supposed to guard him, including the Maester, who was checking up on him.

Dirty by mud, skinnier than before but twice as mad, he marched towards Tywin and Ser Barristan. His violet eyes burnt with blind revenge, and he pointed a finger at the grovelling Lord Darklyn.

For the first time since he had been crowned King, Aerys showed everyone how twisted his mind was. He asked for the man behind everything to be beheaded while the rest of his family burnt alive.

Serala, the foreign wife of the Lord of Duskendale, paid the heaviest price. Aerys had her tongue and female genitals pulled out with a dagger before burning her alive. The people were burning, screaming out of pain as the smell of burning flesh started to cover the area like an impending invisible cloud.

All that time, Aerys did not turn around or blink as his victims burnt. He smirked wickedly as new pleasures, both carnal and mental, started to take over his mind at the sight of burning people, their screams and pleas sounding like the best harp music ever produced.

The only survivor of the massacre that day was young Dontos Hollard, who was only spared after Ser Barristan intervened. Considering he had just saved him, Aerys could not deny him any request, and thus, the boy remained the sole survivor.

Once it was all done, Aerys stumbled but remained standing; his body was weak, but his mind was still asking for more blood and revenge. His eyes fell on the remnants of the mysterious green flames that were still burning around them.

He asked soldiers and even Ser Barristan, but no one knew the name or where it came from. Eventually, Aerys managed to ask Tywin, but the Hand of the King only got one reply from him.

“Worry not about it, your grace. You should focus on healing and returning to your rightful duties.”

Those words had left Aerys with growing suspicions, violet eyes glaring at the retreating proud form of Tywin, whose soldiers congratulated or stepped aside for him to pass. Aerys might have had the crown upon his head, but he was not the ruler.

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King’s Landing, CrownLands – 10 days since the destruction of Duskendale

The arrival back to King’s Landing was a festive one, with many common folk and even nobles having gathered to see the return of the King. Aerys had been washed and given proper clothing to wear.

He was weak but being fed on the road had helped him regain some of his strength. The Targaryen ruler arrived with everyone at the Red Keep, where Visenya, Rhaella and the Small Council were waiting for them.

Aerys had been informed that Rhaegar had been sent with Tywin to free him, leaving Visenya to rule in their place. At first, he thought it was a joke but once it was confirmed, he saw red flashing in his vision.

He stood on top of his horse as his proud sister walked towards them. She carried herself with an air of elegance, clearly proud of what she was doing all those months while he was imprisoned.

She greeted Rhaegar with a small smile and a small nod of her head with Tywin while Rhaella moved straight to her husband. However, even seeing her did not seem to help with Aerys’ mood or his growing paranoia.

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The very same night, Visenya had received a formal invite from Tywin to have supper with him in his solar. When she entered the room, she was surprised to find him only with two plates of food on the table; no sign of his family.

“I was not aware this was a private supper,” she commented with a small smile, feeling slightly adventurous and went as far as to joke slightly.

“I do believe a private supper is more fitting tonight. A small cause of celebration for our victory over Duskendale,” he explained and pulled a chair for her to sit on.

She smiled at his gesture and sat on the pulled chair, before allowing him to push it gently closer to the table. She could almost feel his breath close to her ear for a moment but she focused on the filled wine goblet in front of her to keep her composure.

Tywin sat by her left at the head of the table. Both started to eat in silence, which they were used to and comfortable with, but only a few bites later did Visenya choose to speak.

“I heard of what happened in Duskendale. Wisdom was ecstatic to hear of the Wildfire’s latest victims. People are already talking; they call it the Fires of Duskendale, and once again, you are behind it,” she informed him, taking a sip of her wine.

This seemed to draw his attention as he lifted a single eyebrow. “Is that so? I am the one given all the credit?” he asked, clearly referring to something else.

Visenya smirked and held herself from rolling her eyes. “If you are asking if I mind, then I am afraid you do not know me well enough,” she said, lowering her goblet as she turned her head more to face him better. “I do not care for titles or songs, Tywin. My concern is the realm and to defend my family. Lord Darklyn and everyone else at Duskendale saw first-hand what happened, and it will be a reminder for many. You being credited for it is not my primary concern.”

There was this look that Tywin gave her, one that he rarely gave to someone, especially one outside of his family. Yet, the Dragon Princess seemed to be gifted by seeing it more than once, although she still did not know what it truly meant.

Her words had amused him but also seemed to intrigue him. A lot of women craved power and recognition, but not her; she craved none. Her priority was her family and the realm, mostly due to the fact that her family would not survive if the realm was on the brink of war.

It was so unique in a woman and yet seemed to be paired so well with her intelligence, for only someone with her mind would be able to see how trivial personal recognition was, especially for a woman in a society where her gender was considered inferior.

Yet, a part of him did not truly like how calm she was with being ignored once again. She was one of a kind woman, with intelligence and witts. She made plans, created wildfire and she was the reason the King was safely back in his chambers.

The soldiers knew she had played a part in all of this but not the rest of the world. In their eyes, she was a naive unmarried woman, and they loved to gossip about her. In reality, Tywin felt that Visenya should be respected for what she possessed, feared, and admired.

Clearing his throat with some wine, Tywin continued the discussion but let it take a different turn on the subject. “They will remember, worry not. The lands and incomes of Duskendale will be granted to House Rykker, while the lands of House Hollard will be taken away while their villages have already been burnt and the castle is barely standing after the Wildfire attack.”

She hummed in response and took a moment to swallow. “That is good. Such change of power will ensure the alliance of House Rykker to the Crown and reduce the chances of any further defiance from them.”

Tywin agreed with a nod of his head. “Speaking of the crown, I learnt you had trouble ruling in my absence,” he brought up as he leaned to one side of his chair, looking at her with interest; curious to see what she would say.

The topic seemed to leave a bitter taste in her mouth, and she tried to wash it away with the sweet red wine. “I did, but I handled them all the same. Gender should not matter when it comes to the Iron Throne, and I made it clear over the past 6 months,” she started, lowering her goblet slowly to the table. “However, it is clear now that Westeros is not ready for a female ruler; not yet, at least,” she confessed, once again turning to face him.

She looked deep into his green eyes, admiring the specks of gold but wishing she could see his thoughts, get a glimpse of them at least. He was so well composed, such a closed book, and she sometimes had trouble speculating his thoughts.

Eventually, he looked faintly forward again. “A lot of people are close-minded; they have been for years now since your ancestors sat on the Iron Throne. They are foolish to deny a woman as their Queen when the same woman easily rules them from the shadows.” 

His words seemed to bring a small smile upon her pink lips, and she felt a self of reassurance she was not sure she needed but she gladly accepted. She lifted her goblet for a toast and turned to face him. “A Queen hidden in the Shadows of an ignorant King allied with those truly in power”, she corrected him.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝

At the center of the training grounds, stood a sturdy wooden easel of a good size and width. On the three-legged easel was a circular tightly coiled straw mat tied securely from the bottom, where the legs meet, and the top, where the easel tapers. The middle of the straw coiled mat had a sewed-in linen fabric with a distinct drawn black dot, no bigger than a fist. A spot that marked the target.

It was her target. The bullseye. Nyrella stood at one end of the Overhang, while the easel and mat stood on the other. She carefully observed her surroundings and conditions first, before having the confidence to yield her bow and arrow. The King’s Landing heat was beating down on her. At the same time, the wind was forgiving and gentle. There were no distractions or loud sounds to throw her off course.

She took a reassuring inhale. The longbow she held in her weaker hand was parallel to the ground and laid loosely to her side. She reached out towards the stand where her quiver stood for convenience. At random, she selected a wooden arrow. Her eyes moved towards the bow as her index and middle finger shifted slightly upwards over to the front of the arrow rest. She slipped the wooden arrow behind the two fingers, then pushed the arrow forward until the nock attached to the bowstring. Nyrella placed her leather-covered fingers accordingly— one finger above the arrow, two below.

In position, Nyrella brought her arms up together. The longbow perpendicular to the ground, while her arrow laid horizontal. Inhaling, she drew the bowstring back until her anchor point. The further she drew her arrow, the more her dominant hand tensed at the force. Her back muscles were being overused and the soreness escalated quickly as she continued to hold her position. She looks at the target, shifting her bow to aim at the bullseye. Her upper body was searing with pain for the little time she held her bow. Exhaling, she released.

She felt the whiplash of the bowstring slap her guarded forearm which prevented bruises or “kisses” as they are called. She kept her stance until she heard the familiar thump of the arrow meeting the target. Nyrella lowered her arms, bringing the bow down to her hips.

“Third time today,” Jon amused, analyzing the performance.

Nyrella’s face fell into a grimace. The arrow landed at the edge of the circular target, far from the bullseye. This was her third time since the start of her archery practice that she hit that exact same spot. It was impressive, but not the bullseye. All the other times, she missed the target completely.

“I don’t need your mockery Jon,” Nyrella sighed in frustration. She leaned her longbow against the stand of her quiver, then she proceeded to take off all of her leather apparatus. A string of curses left under her breath, a sign that her anger was seeping through.

Jon was going to say something in response, but Rhaegar put his hand on Jon’s chest, giving the redhead a warning expression. Jon returned a begrudging look, yet understanding the circumstance. Rhaegar walked over to Nyrella’s side, his hands behind his back, “Don’t be too harsh on yourself. It’s only been an hour or two of practice.”

“And it’s been months, almost a year, since I’ve started archery,” Nyrella scoffed, not batting an eye at Rhaegar. She knew fully well he tried to assure her, but it was pointless for him to do so in her opinion. It was not going to make her feel better about the lack of improvement she had over the course of her practice. Even more so, this could be said to all of her combat training. She sucked in everything.

“I know your frustration, Ny. I was once in your position, and it takes patience to see the results,” Rhaegar offered. Nyrella snorted at his response, choosing to call his words bullshit. Rhaegar rolled his eyes at her childishness.

“Look on the bright side, young protégé,” Jon came to her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He pulled her close, and guided his other hand across the powder blue sky. “You have years ahead of you to continue learning, and maybe one day you will be as good as me,” he boasted with an arrogant smirk plastered on his face.

The last part earned the redhead a sharp jab to his gut by Nyrella. He folded over as he hugged his stomach in pain. “I can’t wait until I do,” Nyrella crossed her arms, “because I’ll be the one to kill you.”

“And I will be waiting with open arms to die by the blade of my lover, you,” Jon bellowed, singing songy as he got down on one knee and spread his arms open.

Nyrella’s forehead scrunched as one eyebrow raised in pure confusion at Jon’s antics. She turned to Rhaegar, to give him a discreet gesture towards the redhead. Rhaegar gave the same reaction, shaking his head, then pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “Alright Jon, that’s enough professing your nonexistent love for my sister,” Rhaegar waved off, “tell her what she needs improvement on.”

Jon got up from the ground and glared at the Targaryen duo, “You two do not have any sense of humor. That's what you need to improve on.”

Nyrella rolled her eyes, “you mean awkward and embarrassing humor like yours? I’ll gladly write it down on parchment.”

“You are a mean girl, you know that,” Jon replied at Nyrella’s sarcasm. He sighed defeated as he was out-numbered by the siblings.

Sensing that the conversation settled, Rhaegar grabbed the longbow and other equipment in his arms, and stalked over to give it to Jon. “Don’t be too harsh,” Rhaegar mumbled to him. He was referencing Nyrella's delicate pride, that was hung by a single thread. Jon gave a curt nod as he put on the leather glove and arm guard.

“All right Nyrella,” Jon cleared his throat, “there were many mistakes you’ve made…”

Rhaegar faceplated his face.

“…but they are easy fixes,” Jon assured, “If you could stand here, thank you.” Nyrella stepped aside to give Jon the space to demonstrate his feedback.

Jon retrieved an arrow from the quiver stand, placing it onto the bow. “First mistake…” Jon lifted both his arms up, he pulled the bowstring to the corner of his eye, then he released. Bullseye. “…do not hold,” he directed to Nyrella.

“But I can’t aim if I don’t hold,” Nyrella protested.

“That’s why you have eyes,” Jon pointed out, “Use them because your enemies are not going to fall on their knees over their beauty.”

“And you call me mean,” Nyrella mumbled underneath her breath in displeasure but she kept her ears open to Jon’s feedback.

“You need to relax, Ny. Open up your stance. Elbows up, and let your back do all the work,” Rhaegar added on.

“Noted. Don’t hold. Open stance. Elbows up. Let my back do all the work. Anything else?” Nyrella listed off as she placed a hand on her hip.

“Keep your anchor point consistent for accuracy!” A voice shouted. Jon, Rhaegar, and Nyrella averted their eyes towards the direction of the sudden intruder.

“Arthur! Finally you came!” Jon waz happy to return the gesture, while putting his hand above his eye to cover from the sunlight. Nyrella, too, smiled with happiness to see Arthur. She did not see him the whole day until now. It seemed that his presence brought fresh air into the mix.

The Kingsguard waved off to his friends, quite happy to see them. He quickly descended the stony steps of the Overhang—his armor casually clang as he did. He strode over to the trio, taking his place at Rhaegar’s side while Jon and Nyrella were in front of him.

“Did the meeting go well?” Rhaegar inquired as his gaze gravitated to the Dornishman’s side profile. Arthur shrugged his shoulders and a neural expression graced his face.

“Nothing much than what you already know,” Arthur pivoted to meet Rhaegar’s gaze.

“What is it?” Nyrella’s curiosity peeked at the sight of Arthur and Rhaegar’s silent acknowledgment. She looked at Rhaegar, pleading with her eyes to tell her what they were egging on. “Rhaegar.”

“Duskendale,” Rhaegar replied plainly.

“I’m aware. Has Lord Denys finally yielded?” Nyrella questioned.

“Not exactly,” Arthur answered, “he has invited your father to visit Duskendale to reach a settlement.”

“Has my father declined the offer?” Nyrella persisted further.

Rhaegar pinched the bridge of his nose in shame, “Not yet. However, he is swayed to accept because Lord Tywin had opposed it.”

“Oh,” Nyrella breathed out.

It was common knowledge throughout the Seven Kingdoms that the relationship between the King and the Hand was strained, even more so now. However, from the older lords in court, especially from Steffon Baratheon, this was not the case many years ago. Her father and Lord Tywin were great friends in their youth and shared the same ideas to better the realm, yet, when it came to them having power, everything changed. It saddened Nyrella to hear such a tragedy. She only hopes it does not happen to Rhaegar or his friends.

“We should not ponder too much on this,” Rhaegar clapped his hands which startled Nyrella. “It will be awhile until the King makes a decision, so we must pray some sense is put into his head,” he was hopeful, but his words felt forced because he knew what his father was going to choose. There was no changing his mind to spite his enemy.

“All right Nyrella, show us everything you’ve learned,” Jon gave the silver-haired princess her glove and arm-guard.

Nyrella sighed. It was going to be a long day of practice and an even longer one with Jon as her archery mentor. Yet, she could not give up, even if she wanted to. Her closest people are rooting for her success, and she could not let them down. And with every fiber in her body, she took her stance looking straight at the straw target with a bow and arrow in hand.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Nyrella leaned her hands against her balcony, looking out of the refreshing view. The gardens below her were greener and vibrant than yesterday, and the sea far away was just as she left them—still and blue. The breeze was moderate rather than light. Her long wavy hair synchronized with the swift push of the westward winds. She took this as a compassionate gift from the gods because today will not be as pleasant as this serene view from her balcony.

She pivoted onto the balls of her feet and retracted into the shade of her quarters. Her body elegantly strolled over to her vanity, taking a seat on the vacant chair. Nyrella extended her hand to grab her daily hairbrush made of gold with a flowery marbling on the back. She brushed the horse bristles against the end of her hair, moving up gradually to untangle the knots.

Suddenly, the hinges of the door creaked open. Nyrella turned her head, and smiled at the person by the door. “Good morning Alora, how was your breakfast?” She welcomed the Dornish woman warmly into her quarters.

The dark-haired woman bowed her head to the royal as her body slipped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Very well, your Grace. I’ve also brought fresh flowers to replace the withered ones,” she lifted the arrangement of flowers in her arms to show her.

“Thank you, they look very beautiful,” Nyrella smiled as she continued to brush out her hair.

“I made sure to tell the gardener to get your favorites— lilacs, lavender, roses, peonies…” the older woman listed off. Alora fawned over the purple, pink, and white arrangement of flowers. She delicately placed the bundle on the counter of Nyrella’s vanity.

Nyrella hummed. “It’s a miracle they are still in bloom since spring is coming to an end.

“They are blooming and thriving just like you,” Alora smiled as she went behind Nyrella. She grabbed the brush from the Princess’s hand, and brushed the remainder of her hair.

Nyrella watched the woman from the mirror’s reflection with admiration. She could not return a verbal answer instead she flushed pink over her cheeks.

“You look just like the delicate flower you are, especially in your dress,” Alora pointed with her gaze towards the pooling skirt.

A weightless fabric in a pale shade of pink. The gown was simple, except for the bodice. A string of crystal clear gems line the emphasis of the waist, the curve under her bust, and over. A cluster of small frills decorate the neckline of the gown, which continues to the off-the-shoulder sleeves. The gown was simple and elegant, like a flower.

“What do young ladies in Dorne wear?” Nyrella wondered, looking at Alora’s steady hairs they pushed her hair away from her shoulders.

Alora did not spare a glance, “Much more revealing than what the ladies wear here.”

“Do men like it when women reveal more skin?” She questioned further—eyes growing bigger.

Alora stopped to think, “an interesting question Princess, but I suppose any show of skin would make a man wild with passion.”

Nyrella took note of her words, “Is that how to ple-“

An unsuspecting knock echoed through the quarters, interrupting the two women from their actions. Nyrella quickly shut her mouth, fearful her question would be heard by another other than Alora. While the handmaiden placed the hairbrush on the air of the vanity before strolling towards the door. She wrapped her hand around the cool metal doorknob, twisting the thing open.

A vision of silver blonde hair came to view. Alora quickly opened the door wider as she bowed her head at the same time. She waited for the Prince of Dragonstone to fully emerge into the room before she swiftly closed the door shut once again. Rhaegar muttered his gratitude to the Dornish woman, offering her one of his smiles. Alora turned a beet root color, trying to hide her shyness under the cover of her thick hair.

“Rhaegar, what are you doing here?” Nyrella swung her body to face her brother. Her arm rested along the top rail of her seat, while her legs were crossed underneath her puffy attire. Her facial expressions were knitted together in confusion, yet curious.

“To get your opinions if you prefer silks or cotton,” Rhaegar extended his hand to gently touch the petals of the arrangements.

Nyrella rolled her eyes, “I’m serious Reg. And if I want to talk about silks or cotton, I would have that conversation with Jon.”

“Father has changed plans,” he blurted out as he hand dropped back down to his side. He looked at Nyrella with a tired face.

“He has decided not to go?” Nyrella straightened up, invested in the conversation.

“No, no. He is going to Duskendale as he planned. He dismissed the whole court today, only wanting a few people to see him off—which includes us,” Rhaegar rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.

She could sense the stress radiating off the Prince. With father gone, he would have to do more duties than he already had. “I pray for our sake,” Nyrella breathed as she turned back around to look at her reflection.

“If you are ready sister, I would like to escort you to the courtyard,” Rhaegar stepped forward to lean against the vanity. He observed Nyrella playing with the front strands of her hair, positioning them to frame her small face.

“Will Jon be there?” Nyrella inquired.

“Unfortunately not. He’s been called to Griffin’s Roost, so he departed an hour ago,” Rhaegar explained as he picked on the small trinkets on the table.

Nyrella tilted her head towards him, “and he never told me?” Her eyebrows scrunched in displeasure.

“It was an emergency. He did not want to upset your morning. He will be back in a few days.”

“I would have at least wanted to say goodbye,” a frown graced her face.

“Don’t worry too much Ny. You still have me and Arthur to keep you company,” Rhaegar paused, “which reminds me, he is waiting outside for us, so we must go.”

“You said we could go when I’m ready?” Nyrella challenge, clicking her tongue on the last syllable.

“You are, aren’t you? You look beautiful as ever, and I think Arthur would say the same thing,” clasping his hands together with a smirk spread onto his pale pink lips.

“Rhaegar,” she deadplanned.

“Come on Ny, don’t give me that look. It’s plainly obvious you like him, there is no reason to be shy,” he said, leaning back to hit the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you. It’s embarrassing getting love advice from my brother,” Nyrella got up from her chair. She patted down the front of her dress to straighten out the wrinkles from sitting too long.

Rhaegar chuckled as he shook his head, “I might know a few things.”

“Just because people fall to their feets for you, does not mean anything,” Nyrella offered her arm to Rhaegar.

He gladly linked their arms together, “You love to wound my pride, don’t you?” He opened the door with his other hand with ease.

“It’s what younger sisters do,” Nyrella grinned mischievously as the pair walked out of the room together.

In a few steps, their eyes trailed forward to see the familiar garb of silver armor with their family sigil of fire and blood. The Kingsguard stood at the center of the small cloister in front of Nyrella’s quarters. Sunlight poured down and around him making him look like a warrior sent by the gods to fight for good. His armor was blazing in glory from the bright light as it refracted on the tiled surface. The white cloak that pooled behind him looked like a pair of wings.

Nyrella’s heart filled with admiration. She could stare at him for eternity if the gods allowed her. He was handsome, but the code of honor, chivalry, and values he fully believed in was the reason she stayed. He was so good at heart. Sometimes it was hard to believe that he was real, tangible, and in arms grasp.

“Your Graces,” Arthur bowed his head to the Targaryen siblings.

“Come along, Arthur. We must make haste,” Rhaegar smiled at his friend. He led him and Nyrella towards the hallway, not batting another glance at the knight. He knew fully well Arthur would catch up to this in a matter of a few paces. However, it took Nyrella a glance or two, trying to burn the image of the Kingsguard in her memories.

Arthur heeded to Rhaegar’s words. He trailed after them with a small distance to give the siblings the space to talk to one another. Or maybe it was because he also needed space to think. There was so much going on in mind that made it difficult for him to fully be invested or divulge in conversation with the two silver-haired pair. Ever since the King decided to leave the capital, there was a plethora of responsibilities piled on his platter. One of which, he was responsible for guarding the Queen’s quarters late in the night to cover for Ser Gawyne’s absence. He was not looking forward to the sleep deprivation or the buzzing headaches that came from overworking.

Nyrella continued to glance back at the Kingsguard. She noticed that he hardly looked up from the ground. His shoulders were slouched forward as if it was deadweight. The bags underneath his violet gaze were shadows—deep and dark. His face was clean-shaved but under the dark lighting, the regrowth was prominent to the bare eye. His appearance was a bleak derivative from when she saw him underneath the sunlight at the cloister.

“Is Arthur okay?” Nyrella extended her neck to whisper into Rhaegar’s ear. She retracted back down to spare another look at the miserable looking Dayne.

Rhaegar quickly glanced behind him as well. “Ser Gerold Hightower has worked him to exhaustion. I tried to dismiss him but he was adamant to join us. I can’t put a finger on why,” he raised a questionable brow to Nyrella’s direction but the maiden did not notice.

“You have been more persistent,” Nyrella poked her index finger into Rhaegar’s side, which caused the latter to squirm from his position.

He gave Nyrella a point look of his own, “I was but he’s stubborn.”

Nyrella frowned, “Please dismiss him for the whole day after we bid father away?”

“I plan to,” was all Rhaegar could say.

The trio walked further along the path towards the courtyard. Rhaegar and Nyrella continued to talk to each other. Sometimes glancing back to check on the tired Sword of the Morning. While Arthur stared into the ground, not aware of the glances the siblings stole. He was in his head, making all sorts of decisions on the tasks that required all of his time and attention. He calculated the amount of free time he would get—not much, as he suspected. He prayed to the Seven Heavens for his sake and his other sworn brothers.

.・゜゜・♛・゜゜・.

Upon the arrival at the courtyard, there were people there already waiting for the King. The trio situated themselves comfortably in their appropriate positions. Nyrella stood the closest to the entrance of the wheelhouse, while Rhaegar stood on her left. Arthur was next to Rhaegar but was slight behind a step or two. They came earlier than expected, and it wouldn't be another moment or so before the King of the Seven Kingdoms burst through the giant wooden doors. It was a waiting game for now.

To fill the boredom, Nyrella fixated on the guests her father invited for his departure to Duskendale. The Small council members were all here in attendance, yet in their faces they seemed to lack color. Then there were lords and ladies from minor houses of the Crownlands. They supported her father blindly in hopes to gain favor and were eager to gain more power. It was no surprise her father wanted to surround himself with people that are outwardly loyal to him and only him.

Aery’s decision to travel to Duskendale was unpopular among the court goers. It fueled the people of court to indulge themselves with floating rumors of their King. This heeds speculations on the true intention of traveling to Duskendale. Whispers remarked that Tywin Lannister advised the King not to go, however, the strained relationship between the two, made the King want to distance himself. He wanted to be independent from his Hand by dealing with the problem personally. Others believe that it was a plan made by Aerys to replace Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King. However, it was no rumor that the relationship between Hand and King is on thin lines.

Nyrella was not fond of her father, especially his behaviors and actions. Yet, she debated if traveling to Lord Darklyn’s territory to negotiate was a good idea. But she could not say anything, fearing the consequences of defying the King’s motives. It was the smart thing to not say anything. It was all everyone advised her to do.

“A gold dragon for your thoughts?” Rhaegar inquired as he tilted his head lowly  to compensate for Nyrella’s height.

“No thoughts, but I’ll gladly take the golden dragon,” her heart-shaped lips curved into a smile.

The former chuckled a response, “I’m surprised you have no thoughts for someone that gives their opinions very clearly behind closed doors.”

“You know how it is, Reg,” Nyrella sighed.

“Ears all around,” Rhaegar nodded as he gestured to his ears and the courtyard around.

Nyrella was about to open her mouth to respond, but suddenly the doors swung open with a loud creak from the hinges. All heads at the courtyard snapped to the direction, finding an all too familiar vision of silver-blonde hair, lanky slouched tall frame, with an unstable fire locked behind purple eyes. King Aerys walked forth from the wooden doors behind his entourage of glistening Kingsguards. As he passed by, people bowed their heads lowly, careful not to meet his eyes.

Then, Nyrella noticed another figure trailing behind her father. Lord Tywin. The Hand held an unreadable expression on his face, but it was not hard to know how he felt at that moment. Nyrella knew the Hand was not pleased whatsoever with the King’s decision to depart to Dun Fort, yet a relief to have him gone for a few days. She could not disagree with him. King’s Landing without her father would be peaceful for once.

The siblings watched as Aerys made small talk with the members of the Small Council. He had waved his Kingsguard away to have a private conversation. Ser Gwayne, Ser Gerold, and Ser Oswell continued their way towards their positions near the wheelhouse. They all were without their helms, making it noticeable to the public of their long, tired faces—similar to Arthur’s.

“I wish you good fortune, Ser Gwayne,” Nyrella spoke as the Kingsguard came in front of her.

The Kingsguard bowed his head at the Princess. He made his best effort to smile at her despite the tiredness embedding a permanent frown on his face. “You are too kind, your Grace,” he responded.

Nyrella nodded, letting the Ser go to mount on his mount on his horse. However, another Kingsguard took Ser Gwayne’s stop in front of Nyrella.

“Don’t worry about him too much, your Grace,” Ser Gerold assured with a small smile that showed off the crow’s feet around his eyes.

“I wished another Kingsguard was allowed to go with him. My father is not the most pleasant company,” Nyrella made sure to lower her voice.

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard chuckled, “he will do just fine.”

“I’m glad to hear. Lord Commander, a question. Where is Ser Barristan? I thought he would be here,” she inquired.

“He is currently guarding your mother’s quarters,” the oldest Kingguard answered.

Nyrella nodded in understanding, “Thank you Ser.” The Lord Commander bowed his head, then departed to his post at the right-most of the wheelhouse’s entrance which was opposite from where she stood. Ser Oswell bowed his head to Nyrella before joining Ser Gerold by the wheelhouse.

Then the rustling of fabric dragging on the ground caught Nyrella’s attention. She moved her eyes to the left to see her father moving towards her and Rhaegar. A sense of dread washed over her. Her interactions with her father were never agreeable as Rhaegar’s. A fury of shivers ran down the back of her spine.

“Father,” Rhaegar greeted as he bowed to Aerys.

“Rhaegar,” was the only thing Aerys could muster.

“I bid you safe travel to Duskendale,” the Prince of Dragonstone followed his greeting. He kept a neutral expression and tone of voice when he spoke.

Aerys eyed his son with contempt. He did not gave him a verbal response, only a grunt of acknowledgment filled with no warmth or gratitude

Nyrella kept her head low as Rhaegar and their father spoke to one another. She fought hard to fidget with her fingers to calm the growing nerves creeping in. She forced her hands to grip the sides of her gown to keep her steady and grounded. Her breaths were quick and short. Her gaze glued to the floor as her hair pooled over to the sides, covering her face.

She could not see what was happening in front of her, but she could hear the shuffling of fabric against the cobblestone. Then, she slowly saw black fabric with red detailing take over her whole vision. She gulped the lump of spit that accumulated in her throat as her father stopped in front of her.

Nyrella gripped the fabric of her gown tightly. “Father,” she acknowledged as her body curtsy slowly. Her head tilted up gradually as she retracted from her crusty until her lavender eyes met with her father’s. The pair shared the same shade of lavender eyes, but Aerys’ was darker in contrast than Nyrella’s light ones.

“Daughter,” Aerys snarled with venom dripping from his mouth.

“I hope the negotiation with Lord Darklyn is not troublesome, and pray for your quick return to King’s Landing,” Nyrella recited.

There was a silence that followed her words. However, Nyrella noticed her father’s lips shifting into a sinister grin. Her body’s instinct started to kick in, telling her to move but her feet were planted firm on the floor.

Without warning, Aerys' free hand roughly clutched around Nyrella’s arm. A gasp escaped from Nyrella as her father’s hand forcefully pulled her forward. His nails dug into her flesh as he tightened his grip around her upper arm. Nyrella tried to squirm from his hold, but to no avail Aerys did not budge. Nyrella heard a clang of movement behind her in response to her father’s sudden action. She felt various pairs of eyes burn her skin.

“I don’t like liars,” Aerys snapped as a few droplets of spit landed on her face. Nyrella cowered her body away from him as she continued to tug her captive arm.

“Let go of me please,” Nyrella pleaded. Her voice was small and her intonation crumbled with every word.

Aerys’ stare bore a hole through her. He did not listen to her. He continued to dig his nails into her flesh. His anger was the fuel of his motivation to hurt her. It brought him pleasure to see his daughter whimper in pain. He liked the power over her.

“Please, let me go, I beg you,” Nyrella begged. Her voice cracked. Her throat burned as she tried her best to push back the sob that threatened to escape her lips. The pain was unbearable.

“Father, let her go,” Rhaegar spoke up. He laid his hand on his father’s arm, but Aerys shook it off. He snapped his head towards his son.

“Your Grace, that is enough. People are watching,” Lord Tywin firmly told the King.

Aerys exhaled in fumes being told off by his son and Hand. He pulled Nyrella closer to him, leaning in to whisper into her ear, “you’re lucky your my daughter.”

On the last word, he released his death grip. Nyrella stumbled back to put distance between her and the perpetrator. Her right arm instinctively covered the surging pain from her left arm. But it was a mistake because she winced at the touch. Her eyes glanced down at the area. She saw the indentation of his nails—red, inflamed, and deep.

Rhaegar came to Nyrella’s side. He gently placed his hand on her elbow to see the injury for himself. He was angry. The Prince of Dragonstone snapped his attention to Aerys, giving his so-called father a glare filled with disgust and bile of rage. However, Aerys only smirked and scoffed at the pathetic response. He was bored of the situation already, deciding to move into the darkness of the wheelhouse.

Lord Tywin observed the Targaryen siblings, mostly Nyrella. He pitied her. There was no way for him to predict Aerys’ actions, but if he could, he wished he would have warned her. Yet, he knew that she should have been more careful in the first place. Tywin sighed as he continued to do his duty to talk to the King about Duskendale.

Arthur was livid, more than Rhaegar. The moment he saw the King grab Nyrella; it made his blood boil. He wanted so badly to march up to the old Targaryen King, and hack off his arm for even daring to touch her in a way. He took all his strength to hold back himself. However, he could not. He was bound by his code of honor to protect the King, first and foremost.

He watched with his violet gaze as Rhaegar tended to Nyrella’s injury. “We must take you to the maester,” Arthur heard Rhaegar mutter to Nyrella.

Yet, he watched Nyrella shake her head in disagreement. She whispered something underneath her breath before fleeing from the scene. Arthur’s eye trailed after her, and soon enough she was gone within seconds. Her figure was consumed by the depth of the doors.

“Arthur,” Rhaegar called his name out. The Kingsguard straightened his posture and nodded firmly at the Prince. Rhaegar sighed, “go after her. She needs you.”

Arthur did not need Rhaegar to repeat those words again. He bowed his head to the silver-blonde Prince before following after Nyrella. He quickened his pace up the steps, towards the doors, and turned right towards the hallway. He was far behind her, but he saw just enough of her to know which turns to take.

For Nyrella, she wanted nothing more than to be far away from the courtyard. She did not know where she was taking herself, but as long as it was far away, the better it was— away from the monster. She felt so small and weak in his grasp. Her skin crawled and burned at the words he spoke to her. She felt disgusting and humiliated. She hated him. Hated herself. She choked out a muffled sob as she sped through the halls.

A couple minutes passed by and Nyrella found herself in the middle of the Red Keep’s gardens. She found a secluded place with an unoccupied stone bench. She sat down and continued to let out all her suppressed emotions. She cradled her face into the palms of her hands, letting the hot tears run down the sides of her cheeks and down her arms. She did not cry often but when she did, it hurt her. She felt her body constrict because she was swallowed by her tears. She had to fight to breathe.

“Nyrella,” Arthur called out to her. Nyrella tilted her head up from the palms of her hand. She could only make out the silhouette of the Kingsguard since the tears clouded her vision.

Arthur walked closer to Nyrella. He kneeled down in front of her, observing her tear stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. He gently wiped away a stray tear with his thumb while he gave her a kind smile. Then, he peered over to her arm, looking over the injury. It was red and raw, no doubt he concluded it gave her much pain. He grabbed his cloak to rip a piece of it off.

“If you don’t mind?” He asked Nyrella, holding up the piece of the torn fabric to her face.

Nyrella wiped her tears with her wrist but new tears streamed down her face before she could wipe the old ones away. “You did not have to do that, Ser,” she hiccuped through her hoarse voice.

Arthur’s eyes smiled, “I did not want to ruin your gown.” He gestured the fabric at Nyrella again. She motioned her arm forward to him. Arthud mumbled his gratitude to Nyrella as he extended his hands forward to wrap the fabric around her injury. He firmly secured the makeshift bandage on her but made sure to be careful not to hurt her.

“Do you do this often?” Nyrella breathed through her nose to stop her nose from running.

The Kingsguard tied the fabric ends together, then tucked the knot inside the bandage. “I learned from my sister. She was always the one to bandage me up when I got hurt, so much so that I learned to fix other people up. Are you feeling okay?”

“I will be,” Nyrella let out a smile. “Thank you, Arthur. I-“

“You do not have to say anything else or speak of what happened. We can be here together in silence, if that is what you wish,” Arthur laid his hand reassuringly on Nyrella’s knee.

Nyrella nodded her head, “I would like that very much.” The tears started to swell up again. This time it was because of his kindness. In a ruthless environment with people like her father, knowing a soul like Arthur gave her hope. Hope that there are better days to look forward to. Hope that she does not have to go through difficult experiences alone.