Chapter 7 - The Sun and The Moon

RHAENYS TARGARYEN'S POV

The room was small. Too small for a princess, though I was not supposed to call myself that.

Just Lady Targaryen.

The girl who secretly planned her vengeance against the traitors who betrayed her family. The girl who refused to smile sweetly and pretend not to notice the wary glances the guards gave her. The girl whose mother died screaming as the Mountain crushed her beneath his weight.

Varys's voice was a whisper, soft as silk sliding over steel. "You must learn to watch without being seen, my lady. Listen without appearing to hear."

He always called me "my lady," never "princess." It was a dangerous word in these halls. A word that could get me killed…or worse.

I sat cross-legged on a cushion, my hands folded in my lap, just as he taught me. Back straight, head slightly bowed. A humble girl. A forgotten girl.

"They never see the quiet ones." The Spider said. "The quiet ones survive."

But I did not want to merely survive.

"Why should I listen to fools?" I asked, biting down the venom in my voice. "What good are their words?"

Varys smiled, a slight thing, a shadow of a smile.

"Because fools reveal what the wise conceal." His pale fingers traced the rim of a goblet, as if even the silver cup might betray a secret. "A careless lord boasts of his schemes to a whore, a drunkard knight curses his liege to his squire, and servants… ah, servants hear everything. The game is not won by strength, my lady. It is won by knowing what others would rather keep hidden."

I hated how much sense he made.

Clenched my fists in my lap, nails biting into my skin. I wanted to scream at him, at this plump, perfumed man who spoke in riddles, who danced around the truth as if it were a viper waiting to strike. 

But I bit my tongue until I tasted blood. I was not a dragon ready to spread her wings and burn those that vexed her. Not yet.

"Teach me, then." I said. My voice was calm. Too calm. Like still water over deep, dark depths. "Teach me to listen."

Varys inclined his head, a mockery of a bow before the lessons continued.

The first day was a quiet one. He had me follow him during the night through the halls of the Red Keep, not like a lady trailing her escort but like a shadow trailing its master.

Despite my longing to escape this castle, he wanted me to make it mine. Not a prison, but a fortress. A domain.

"Watch." He whispered. "But do not let them watch you."

I learned how to walk just behind a column when a lord passed, how to let a heavy tapestry swallow me whole when a pair of guards crossed paths. Learned the rhythm of the castle, the time the maids went to sweep the halls, the hour when the knights drank in the yard, the moment when the torches were lit and the corridors grew dim.

Time slipped like sand through my fingers, and the days blurred into weeks. Each lesson sharpened me, little by little.

How to smile without meaning it. How to flatter a guard while planting doubt in his mind. How to ask questions without ever speaking a word.

Varys had me listen to the servants' gossip, the wine-soaked ramblings of a squire about his lord's latest whore, the muttered prayers of a maid scrubbing blood from the floor. Learning with each experience that people reveal more when they think no one cares to listen.

I learned to notice.

How Lysa Tully's eyes lingered too long on Petyr Baelish. How Jaime Lannister, the Kingsguard who saved me with the same sword he murdered my grandfather, seemed too familiar with his sister, the queen. How the Usurper spoke more of hunting and whoring than ruling. How Grand Maester Pycelle, bent and feeble as he appeared, moved with surprising surety when he thought himself alone.

Cracks in the armor people thought was unbreakable.

And when Varys praised me, no clapping hands, no bright words, just a slight nod, I felt it. Not the soft warmth of a girl learning her sums or embroidery.

No…something darker. Power.

I was still a prisoner, but now… now I was learning how to slip the chains without anyone seeing.

When Aegon comes back, because he will come back, I don't want to be the sister sitting pretty in a tower, waiting to be used as a weapon against him.

I won't be a pawn in someone else's game. I want to play it.

Every morning, I dressed in simple gowns, my dark hair bound tight appropriately. A lady in name alone.

Every night, I lay awake in my chambers, staring at the dark ceiling, replaying the day's whispers and looks and lies.

I was not a fool but this wasn't something I learned in a moon's turn. I stumbled. I failed. There were moments when I spoke too quickly or lingered too long, when a knight's eyes flicked to me, brows furrowing. Moments when Varys's smile slipped just enough for me to know I had done something wrong.

But I learned.

And when I did something right, when I managed to move unnoticed through the corridors or extract a careless secret from a handmaid, there was no praise. Just a quiet nod. A flicker of satisfaction.

The first time Varys allowed me to follow his little birds, I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Children younger than me, thin boys with runny noses and hollow-cheeked girls with darting eyes, scurried through the known hidden passages of the Red Keep like rats in the walls.

I became one of them.

My hair tucked beneath a dirty scarf, my fine silks traded for scratchy wool, my silver sandals swapped for scuffed boots too big for my feet.

I followed a boy through a shadowed corridor, watching as he pickpocketed a drunk knight inside the cellar. I trailed a girl who crept into the kitchens, listening as she overheard a maid weeping about her lord's bastard.

Varys had me copy a message in a cipher I didn't recognize, a twisting maze of symbols and slashes, to be tied to a raven's leg. I fumbled at first, scratching out the wrong mark, but he said nothing.

"Mistakes draw eyes." He murmured, leaving me to believe that was the end of the lesson, until he added. "But so does excellence."

His gaze drifted past me, to the open window, to the training yard below. I followed his line of sight until I sighted Durrandon Baratheon.

The crown prince, a prodigious boy who should have been raised as my brother's loyal servant but wasn't. He trained with Barristan Selmy, his movements too precise, too controlled for a boy his age. He was no ordinary child.

At first, I thought it was just the weight of his name, Baratheon, that made him stand out. But it was more than that. There was a sharpness in his gaze. A cold calculation beneath the surface.

Varys's voice was a thread of silk behind me. "He's clever, that one. Too clever."

I kept watching, but Durrandon's every swing of his sword seemed… methodical. He wasn't just fighting, he was learning. Adjusting. Calculating.

Certainly someone that might grow to become a rival to my brother.

Varys stepped closer. "My little birds once whispered a couple of years ago that the young prince was seen near someone else's chambers late at night."

My eyes snapped to him. "Spying?"

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lost, they said. Hungry. A toddler wandering the halls until a guard found him."

Varys didn't seem to believe that. But the boy was already younger than me, what sort of scheme could he have been plotting at such age.

"And then… he stopped. No more wandering…or at least no more mistakes." He watched me, his head tilting ever so slightly until he said softly. "Be careful of the quiet ones, my lady. The ones who stop making mistakes."

He let the words hang in the air, heavy and deliberate. I soon understood the game he was playing.

He was telling me to watch Durrandon. Not just as a precocious kid of strange habits, but as a player in this endless game of thrones.

"He is not yet your enemy." Varys murmured. "But neither is he your friend. Perhaps you can nudge that into a favorable position for you."

And then, the final seed.

"Get close to him. Study him. Learn his secrets."

The game was not about dragons or thrones, not yet.

It was about knowledge. About knowing the strength and the weakness of every piece on the board.

And Durrandon Baratheon was a piece I needed to understand.

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VARYS'S POV

Hope is a dangerous thing.

It is a fire that can burn away despair, but left unchecked, it becomes reckless, consuming. And reckless hope is what had gotten the last of Rhaegar's line butchered beneath Tywin Lannister's heel.

I had planted a seed, nothing more. A whisper in the dark, a quiet assurance that the girl was not alone. It was enough. Enough to keep her from attempting something foolish, like slitting a servant's throat with a stolen kitchen knife. 

She was too smart to let grief turn her blind, but not yet wise enough to wield her hate as a weapon.

At first, I thought that would be the end of it. She would take solace in the knowledge that her brother lived, that her bloodline was not yet snuffed out, and in her mind, that would mean her rescue was only a matter of time. That the days of bending her neck would end.

Yet the little dragon surprised me.

She stared back at me, eyes burning with quiet resolve, and asked to learn. Not the lessons expected of a girl in her position, not embroidery or courtly smiles or the duties of a highborn lady. No, she wished to learn my art.

I was… intrigued.

It had been a passing whim, I thought. A child's fascination with shadows, an attempt to seize some measure of control in a world where she had none. I expected her interest to wane within a fortnight, that she would tire of whispered lessons and late-night prowls through the Red Keep.

She did not.

She listened. She learned. And, above all else, she adapted.

I watched her learn to shed her noble bearings like a snake molting its skin. The way she softened her footfalls, how she measured her movements, her silences. She learned to disappear in plain sight, to let others speak while she merely listened. 

She was a quick study, and quicker still at understanding the deeper lessons, how to draw whispers from loose tongues, how to let silence do the work of a dozen words.

She was not perfect, of course.

She made mistakes. She would forget herself and let her pride flare, or her anger would make her reckless. But she learned from those failures, and I found myself reconsidering my plans.

I had intended to shape her into a useful tool, a quiet ear among the nobles who might one day serve my true King after he was properly molded in Essos. 

But Rhaenys did not wish to be a tool. She wished to be a player.

And that, I could also make use of.

For the moment, she remained within my grasp, her ambitions aligned with my own. But ambition is a hungry thing, and I would be wise to guide her toward my ends before she found her own.

From what my little birds told me, I was not the only one who had taken a pupil.

Lord Petyr Baelish had begun to coil himself around young Alysse Arryn like a patient serpent. An eager student, that one, eleven years old, sharp of mind, and burdened with the knowledge that she would never rule her father's seat. 

A clever girl with secret hopes of one day becoming a worthy option for prince Durrandon to take as Queen.

And in return for sharpening her mind, for dangling that dream before her, Littlefinger would gain his most invaluable friendship, a girl who, in time, might be inclined to whisper his words in the ear of the next king, just as Lysa Tully had whispered his words to Jon Arryn for years.

Fascinating.

Baelish was playing the long game, as always. Alysse Arryn, if properly groomed, could become his next Lysa. Only this time, he would start early, shaping her while she was still impressionable, before her place in the world was truly set.

If I were to make use of Rhaenys, I would need to move faster.

And then there was the matter of the Baratheon boy.

I had long kept my eye on him, not for his blood, but for his mind and spirit. His silence was unnatural for a child, too controlled, too deliberate. Even as a toddler, he had been caught wandering the halls in the dead of night, only to never be 'lost' again. A child that stopped making mistakes.

A dangerous thing.

If left unchecked, he would be an obstacle to Aegon's return. A King with both cunning and strength is a King not so easily toppled. Yet if I moved against him too soon, Westeros would fall into chaos before Aegon was ready.

There was only one solution.

I let my gaze linger on the little dragon, watching her watch him training with one of the greatest knights of westeros.

Rhaenys had already begun to notice his sharpness, the weight of his silences, the intelligence behind his every action. I had no need to push her. A whisper here, a suggestion there, and her path was set.

"Get close to him." I told her, my voice a mere breath against the stone walls. "Study him. Learn his strengths, weaknesses and secrets."

She would watch him as she watched the others. She would study him, befriend him, learn what made him tick. And in time, she would become the leash I needed. A counterbalance.

And should she prove as capable as I suspect… perhaps something more. 

A Dragon with her own web.

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ALYSSE ARRYN'S POV

The ledgers before me were more than numbers. They were whispers on parchment, the pulse of the kingdom measured in coin. Every transaction told a story, of alliances forged in debt, of power shifting beneath ink and wax seals, of gold that vanished into unseen hands.

Lord Petyr Baelish sat across from me, sunlight filtering through the chamber's tall windows, casting shifting golden hues over the pages. He looked at ease, fingers laced together, watching me with the kind of indulgent amusement one might have for a favored student. 

And yet, beneath the smile, there was an edge. Always an edge.

"A girl with your name should not concern herself with such dull matters." He mused, his voice carrying no real discouragement, only curiosity, as if testing the shape of my mind, measuring how I might respond.

I dipped my quill into the inkwell, careful to keep my expression gentle, my tone light. "And yet here I am."

His chuckle was soft, like a secret shared between conspirators.

"Then let us proceed." He reached over, tapping a finger against the ledger before me. "Tell me, my lady, what do you see?"

I glanced down at the accounts. From what I had learned, the sums were meticulous, the calculations precise. Too precise, perhaps. My father once told me that coin had a way of slipping between fingers, yet these records painted a picture of flawless efficiency.

"A well-managed kingdom," I said carefully. And yet… something felt off. The numbers were neat, too neat. There were no signs of the usual fluctuations Lord Petyr Baelish always talked about, no irregularities, no slight discrepancies, no evidence of the natural ebb and flow of coin slipping into pockets unseen. It was as if every piece of gold knew exactly where it belonged.

Littlefinger's smile widened, as if he could see the uncertainty taking root in my mind. "Clever girl."

The praise should have made me proud. I had always wanted to be clever, Durrandon might've been the first to make me believe that was an achievable goal. But the words sat strangely, like a glove that did not quite fit.

For months now, I had sat in these lessons, absorbing the intricacies of coinage and commerce. And perhaps not intentionally, I had learned far more than Baelish had meant to teach me. How taxes were bled from the smallfolk, how tariffs choked merchants unless the right hands were greased, how debt bound lords to the crown more tightly than any oath could.

By his own admission, Lord Baelish was still learning it too. He had only recently taken his seat as Master of Coin, yet he spoke as if he had always belonged here, as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. 

There was hunger beneath his words, a thrill in the way he described the power money held, quiet, insidious power.

And yet, something was missing.

"I notice the Crown is… borrowing often." I said at last, tracing a column of figures with my finger. "And yet our debts never seem to drown us."

Lord Baelish leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Gold flows like a river, my lady." He murmured. "And rivers must be diverted wisely."

"Or dammed," I added before I could stop myself.

His lips twitched, the ghost of amusement flickering across his face. "Indeed."

Heat rose to my cheeks, and I quickly looked down at the page. Had I spoken out of turn? I should not have interrupted him. But… the thought had come so naturally.

"Alysse, you have the makings of a ruler yourself." He said, his voice warm, approving.

A reference, I knew, to the whispers I had begun to hear. That my proximity to the Crown Prince as we were both children might one day bloom into something more. That one day, I might be… Queen.

The thought startled me. Not for the first time.

I glanced up, meeting Baelish's gaze, unsure whether he meant to flatter or if he truly believed it. I wanted to believe it.

And yet…

There were things I had begun to notice. Small things. Easy to dismiss if I hadn't learned from Durrandon to always think twice, to expect the best and worst of people, to prepare for both.

It was not just the ledgers that troubled me. It was the way my Stepmother, Lysa, spoke of my tutor. The too-fond glances. The way her fingers lingered on the edges of letters written in a familiar hand.

At first, I had thought nothing of it. But then I began to see more. How Lysa never spoke of her marriage with warmth. How, when we sat together, her gaze would flicker toward the door, as if expecting someone. How she clutched at the same letters late at night, her hands trembling.

The pieces did not yet fit together. Perhaps I was imagining things. Perhaps this was just another part of courtly life I had yet to understand.

For now, all I could do was listen.

Baelish continued, guiding me through the duties of the Master of Coin, the mints, the collectors, the keepers of the keys, the harbormasters, the wool factors. 

His explanations were confident, but there was still an exploratory quality to them, as if he was mapping out his own domain even as he taught me about it.

Then, with casual ease, he leaned back and said. "You know, my lady, that your lord father once trusted me with the customs at Gulltown."

I blinked. He had never mentioned this before.

"A test of sorts." Lord Baelish continued smoothly. "He wanted to see if a young man with no great name and no great lands, but with a respectable reputation, could manage the Vale's busiest port."

"And could you?" I asked, intrigued by the way his eyes glinted. 

"I did more than manage it. I learned from it." He traced an idle pattern on the desk with a finger. "Gulltown is not so different from King's Landing, in truth. Gold moves through its streets like water, and every man, lord or merchant owes someone." There was something almost reverent in his tone as he added. "An invaluable lesson. And one I will spend the rest of my days repaying for what your father did for me back then."

The words should have reassured me. They painted a picture of a man grateful to my family, loyal to the Lord of the Eyrie.

And yet…

Seeming to read my thoughts and wishing to interrupt my doubts, Lord Baelish smiled before tilting his head slightly. "Did you know, my lady, that tariffs can be a blade or a shield, depending on how they are wielded?"

I hesitated, sensing the lesson within the story. "If they are too high, trade slows. If too low, the city bleeds gold."

"Exactly." He nodded approvingly. "Your father was careful. He did not wish to overburden his people, but he understood that coin is power, and power is best held in careful hands."

He looked down at the ledgers again, his fingers tapping idly against the parchment. "Jon Arryn taught me restraint. But he also taught me that those who control trade control the realm. A lesson I would very much like to impart to you."

There was something about the way he said it. A quiet promise. A quiet challenge.

I listened. I learned. Slowly, but surely.

And all the while, I watched him.

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PETYR BAELISH'S POV

Alysse Arryn was clever.

Not exceptionally so, not yet, but clever enough to be worth my time, and more importantly, susceptible enough to be guided. A mind that was sharp but still malleable, a future player in the game, but one who did not yet know the rules.

Jon Arryn had given her every advantage except the most important one: an understanding of how power truly worked. The old man still thought in terms of oaths and honor outweighing coin, and a good name was worth more than a well-placed bribe. Blind to the far sharper currency that ruled the world.

Gold. Influence. Debt.

He had taught his daughter history and statecraft, believing those were the tools of rule. But history was written by men who knew how to wield debt as a blade, and statecraft was shaped by those who controlled the flow of coin.

That, of course, is where I came in.

She learned quickly. Her gaze skimmed over ledgers with increasing scrutiny, her brow furrowing at sums that did not behave as she expected. She hesitated before speaking, weighing the value of her words, measuring her conclusions like a merchant assessing the worth of a coin.

Good.

She had an instinct for this game, though she did not yet realize she was playing it.

That was the trick with young minds. They believed they were absorbing knowledge when in truth, they were being shaped. Molded. They did not yet see the hands that guided them.

Alysse thought she was learning to master numbers and finance, to wield them as tools, to elevate herself beyond the simple role of a noble daughter meant for marriage.

And in a way, she was. But more importantly, she was learning from me. 

That was the key.

I would not make her my pawn. No, that was too crude, too obvious. I had played that role before, with Lysa, and while useful, it had its limitations.

Alysse Arryn would be something more. An investment. A carefully cultivated relationship, one that would bear fruit in due time.

She was wary of flattery, which made it all the more satisfying when she accepted a carefully measured dose. Suspicion could be worn away, layer by layer, with the right blend of truth and misdirection.

That was why I let certain things slip.

Not the grand design, not yet, but enough to paint a picture of myself as a man of ambition, but also restraint. A man who understood the weight of coin, the burden of responsibility. A mentor, a teacher, perhaps, in time, even a friend.

And in the meantime, the game continued. The girl was not my only investment.

The treasury, gutted as it was by the expenses of the new King, had become my true domain, a beast with veins of gold and debts for bones, and I had set about remaking it in my image.

Robert Baratheon, in his infinite indulgence, saw gold as a means to an end, feasts, tournaments, extravagance. He was a man who spent freely and thought of debt only when the weight of it threatened to drown him.

That suited me well enough. I would pay the King's debts in promises and put the crown's gold to work. I did not simply plan to hoard wealth. Gold locked in a vault was useless, a dragon asleep upon its hoard. 

No, I had plans to make it move. To buy wagons, ships, storehouses. I would soon secure monopolies where none had existed, create demands where there had been none, and ensure that when the realm hungered during its now more frequent winters, I held the keys to its grain stores.

Westeros was slow to understand the value of trade, but I did not suffer from such blindness. I bought wool from the North, linen from the Reach, and silk from Essos. I stored it, moved it, dyed it, sold it. 

The golden dragons bred and multiplied, and I lent them out, bringing them home with hatchlings. More importantly, I ensured that those who owed the crown owed me.

Robert did not care whose pockets were lined, so long as the coin kept flowing. Jon Arryn, cautious as he was, had other matters to occupy him. The Queen… well. She had her own battles to fight.

And so, the ledgers shifted beneath my hand, debts that had once been shackles turning into levers. I placed my pieces carefully, ensuring that when the time came, the realm would find itself bound by invisible chains of credit, taxes, and obligations.

No one noticed the power slipping away from them, not yet. But they would.

And Alysse? She was watching. Learning. The first flickers of true understanding were beginning to take root in her mind.

She had noticed the debts, and had begun to grasp the nature of their careful balancing act. She had seen the numbers too clean, too precise, the careful curation of accounts that painted a picture that was not wholly real.

She did not yet know the full scope of it, but she was beginning to suspect. That, more than anything, made her valuable.

Because clever minds seek answers. And those who seek answers always return to the one who taught them where to look.

She was not immune to my influence, and I would ensure she never truly escaped it.

Alysse Arryn as Queen? A delicious thought. Not a certainty, not yet, but a possibility worth cultivating.

And if she took the crown? Well.

She would remember who had guided her, who had helped her see the world for what it was.

I had spent my life weaving nets, casting threads where no one noticed, ensuring that when the moment came, the realm would be ensnared before it even realized it had been caught.

Alysse was sharp, but she had not yet seen the depths to which people could sink, the way love and trust could be twisted into nooses around their necks.

That was where she differed from me. That was why she would never truly surpass me.

For now, I would let her learn. I would let her think she was learning. And in the process, I would make sure she came to trust me.

Because in the end, it is not power that truly rules the world. It is the illusion of trust. 

And no one wields illusions better than I.

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DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Grand Maester Pycelle thought it was his own idea. That was the brilliance of it.

He had gone to Robert with all the pomp and self-importance of a man who believed he had maneuvered the future of the realm into his own wrinkled hands.

"Lord Tywin would make a most fitting warden for the Crown Prince." He had declared, reasoning that I could use a firm but steady hand to temper my upbringing, much as Tywin did for his own children.

And Robert, indifferent as ever towards me and any matters beyond his next hunt or his next cup, had waved a hand in agreement. Cersei had scowled but said nothing, knowing any protest would only fuel Robert's will to spite her even more.

Not that she was satisfied, far from it. Despite our eventual approximation, I wasn't as dependent on her as she would've liked. I was her key to having her own voice heard in the kingdom once I became King.

But there was nothing she could do to stop it. Not after her own father had agreed.

So the pieces moved. It was done. Soon, I would be leaving King's Landing.

It was necessary, a step I had orchestrated with the same careful precision I used for everything else. Tywin Lannister was the only ruler in the south Robert might actually listen to. If I was to grow in power, I needed to stand beneath a lion's shadow before I could one day cast my own.

But I had not expected the weight of it.

The realization crept in at the edges of my thoughts as I made my preparations. I would be leaving behind those I had grown to appreciate.

Lann and Joanna, my little half-siblings, still not yet four years old, their laughter echoing through Maegor's Holdfast with a joy untouched by the ugliness of court.

Alysse, who I had not seen in too long, her sharp mind growing sharper in my absence.

Barristan, whose lessons in battle and discipline were worth more than gold.

Soon, all of it would be left behind.

I spent more time with the twins than I had in months. They were too young to understand, but I saw the way Joanna clung to my arm, the way Lann pouted when I rose to leave. They were Lannisters, through and through, but they were mine in a way no one else in this court was.

Barristan did not speak of my departure, but I saw it in his strikes, in the way he lingered after each spar, in the way he ensured I absorbed every word of wisdom he still had time to offer.

Pycelle, smug and self-satisfied, did not suspect that I had already bled him and my other teachers dry of every ounce of knowledge they could still provide.

And then there was Alysse.

I had not seen her in weeks, if not months. My time had been consumed with maneuvering, ensuring the foundations I had built in King's Landing would not crumble in my absence. She was my next destination, having invited her for some good old game of cards to rekindle our friendship.

But before I could reach Alysse waiting for me in her own chambers, someone else found me first.

[PERCEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

A shadow in the corridor. Small. Quiet. Thanks to my Blindsight, I noticed it far before I heard her voice.

Rhaenys Targaryen was not a shadow. Not yet. But she was trying.

[INSIGHT CHECK SUCCEED!]

She carried herself with poise, her steps measured, her eyes sharp. There was confidence in her bearing that had not been there before, a certainty, the kind that came from knowledge others weren't meant to possess. The way she held herself, the way she moved, it was studied, rehearsed.

She had learned the first lesson of the game. Knowledge is power. And so she assumed that she was the one holding the 'knife'.

"Prince Durrandon." She finally spoke my name like an invitation. Not a request, but a statement. An expectation. She had no reason to believe I would deny her.

She was dressed plainly, her silks exchanged for something darker, easier to move in. Her black hair, always meticulously arranged while hiding her thin strand of silver, was tied back for utility rather than vanity. Her dornish eyes, once wide with childish wonder, now held something sharper.

I turned to properly face her, watching as the air flickered and a familiar window revealed itself above her head.

[RHAENYS TARGARYEN, THE WARD OF THE CROWN // ROGUE // LV: 1]

A moment of stillness. Calculation. That was new.

The first time I had seen her, that window had read only:

[RHAENYS TARGARYEN, THE WARD OF THE CROWN // LV: 0]

Level 0. Like any other noble girl, meant to be seen and not heard.

Not like this. Not like the princess before me, whose body language betrayed the presence of concealed weapons.

My suspicions were confirmed. Someone had been molding her, shaping her into something far more dangerous than the pampered girl who once clung to Elia Martell's skirts and then later couldn't take the scowl from her young face.

Someone had been training her. Someone had been feeding her knowledge she should never have possessed.

Varys. The most plausible answer.

The Spider, ever-smiling, ever-whispering. The man who knew too much and said too little. The man who had remained suspiciously quiet about me.

He had already ensnared her. Already spun his tale. That her brother was alive.

A beautiful, well-crafted lie.

Aegon Targaryen was dead, or at the very least, far removed from interfering with Varys' plans. The child he whispered of in the shadows was no Targaryen, but a Blackfyre. A boy raised to be a king, but not the one he claimed to be.

And now, Rhaenys was part of it.

The Spider had woven his web around her, and she had mistaken it for a shield rather than a leash.

"Your Grace." She greeted me with a humble bow, her tone carefully neutral.

I met her gaze, offering a pleasant smile. A mask. "Yes?"

"Do you have a moment?" She asked, confident that I would comply. A question with an answer already assumed.

I tilted my head. "Sure. What is it?"

She hesitated. A flicker of doubt. She had rehearsed this conversation before ever stepping into this corridor. She was testing me.

She thought she was ready.

Rhaenys stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to create the illusion of intimacy.

"I know something about your family, Your Grace."

I let her words hang in the air for a beat too long, just enough for uncertainty to creep in.

"Oh?" I murmured, as if intrigued. "Which part?"

She exhaled, bracing herself as if revealing a great truth.

"That your siblings… Lann and Joanna… are not truly Baratheons."

Silence. I kept my expression utterly still as she searched my face for shock. Disbelief. Anger.

[DECEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

There was none. Not even my amusement was shown.

She had come armed with a gossip hidden beneath her sleeve like a blade, ready to strike. But she did not yet realize that the moment she stepped into my presence, the 'blade' had already been stolen from her hands.

I allowed myself a small chuckle.

"You came all this way…" I murmured. "…just to tell me something I've known for years?"

A slight intake of breath. A tension in her shoulders. The widening of her pupils. She had expected to catch me off guard. Instead, I had robbed her of her ace up her sleeve.

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice to a whisper. "And what else has your master told you, little dragon?"

Rhaenys froze. The words landed like a blade between her ribs. She barely had time to react before my fingers brushed my sleeve.

In one fluid motion, I drew my knife.

Valyrian steel. Small, no larger than a paring knife, but gleaming in the dim torchlight. A whisper of a blade, pressed gently against the smooth skin of her throat.

Her breath hitched as I smiled.

"Now." I murmured, light, casual. "I believe we do need to talk."

[INTIMIDATION CHECK SUCCEED!]

'Oh, I so love how reliable my mental skills are in comparison to my physical ones!' I couldn't help myself from cheering in my thoughts.

————————————————————————

RHAENYS TARGARYEN'S POV

The steel was cold against my skin.

I had thought myself prepared. I had thought I was the one with the "knife" in hand. But I had stepped into the shadows of a boy who seemed to have been forged within them.

Durrandon Baratheon smiled down at me, blue and purple eyes gleaming with quiet amusement, and for the first time, I realized how deeply I had miscalculated.

I had rehearsed this. Over and over, I had shaped my words and movements into a blade sharp enough to wound anyone's pride and dignity. Varys had warned me, he is not like his father, nor his mother. He sees more than he lets on.

Even he had underestimated him. After all, there was only so much one could expect from a kid his age.

"Shall we play a game, little dragon?" His voice was soft, almost gentle, as if this were nothing more than idle courtly banter. And yet, the pressure at my throat remained.

I swallowed carefully, my mind racing. This was not how it was supposed to go. I had spent months learning, training, sharpening myself into something more than a pawn. I had learned to wield knowledge as a weapon, and I had been assured I was ready for this.

I had not been ready.

"Ooh, shiny." Before I could even think of reaching for my own weapon, his voice cut through my thoughts. "And look, it even has your family's sigil."

My knife. I hadn't seen him take it.

"I…" The lie died in my throat. I knew better.

Durrandon tilted his head, his smile deepening. Enjoying himself.

"You thought I didn't know?" He asked. "That I had never once considered the truth of my siblings' parentage? That I never noticed how much closer my uncle was to my mother?" He clicked his tongue, as if disappointed. "You should have aimed higher, princess. Perhaps brought me something about my friend being groomed by the new master of coin. Or at least a well-crafted lie."

Anger flared beneath my skin, hot and sharp. I forced myself still. I could feel my pulse against the blade, steady, unyielding. I could not show weakness.

I had learned to listen, to watch, to move unseen. But none of it mattered now. Because I had misjudged the most important thing…my target.

He had always been a presence in my life. A figure seen from afar, whispered about in the Red Keep. But I had never truly understood.

Not until now.

"Varys sent you." It was not a question, but a certainty.

I hesitated for half a breath too long, somehow confirming what he needed to know.

Durrandon sighed, reaching forward with his free hand to adjust my collar, smoothing fabric I hadn't even realized had shifted. The blade at my throat was an afterthought.

And yet, his voice carried the unmistakable weight of a threat.

"You will tell me everything." It was not a request.

I clenched my fists at my sides. I had no weapons left. Nothing to wield.

So I spoke.

Not all at once. Not without hesitation. But once I started, I couldn't stop. He asked, and I answered, because there was no other choice.

I didn't know which questions he already knew the answers of and was using to measure my degree of honesty.

Yes, I had been training. No, I did not know the full extent of Varys' plans. Yes, I had been told my brother was alive. No, I had never seen him. No, I did not fully trust Varys. Yes, I wanted more.

When silence finally fell between us, my thoughts swirled in chaos. How had he known so much? How had I been so blind?

Durrandon studied me, his gaze carving my shape into memory, committing every hesitation, every weakness to heart.

Then, he smiled.

Not the sharp-edged smirk of a hunter savoring his prey. Not the cold amusement from before. Something almost… casual.

The blade vanished from my throat as though it had never been there. I exhaled, feeling the sting of the air where steel had kissed my skin.

"I don't hold it against you. Your family was wronged. You have every right to seek retribution." He stepped back, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves, as if we had merely exchanged pleasantries. "But know this…I will not tolerate anyone who seeks to harm my family or my friends. Keep that in mind while you aid the Spider in preparing the realm for this supposed heir. The one who was rescued while your mother was left to be slaughtered."

The words landed like a blow. And still, he was not done.

"Some notes on your performance, princess." He said lightly, as if offering friendly advice. "Your movements are too deliberate. A spy should not look like a spy. You walk as if you expect to be caught."

I inhaled sharply.

"And your disguise?" His eyes flicked over me. "The cut of your tunic is too fine. The stitching at your cuffs, too precise. A common girl wouldn't wear such things. It might fool the oblivious, but not those who know what to look for."

My jaw clenched.

"And most importantly…" He stepped past me, returning my weapon without ceremony. His voice dropped to something colder, quieter. "You will say nothing of this to your master."

I turned sharply, ready to protest. But his hand was already on my shoulder, light but firm. 

"You will tell him the prince was in too much of a hurry to stop and listen to what you had to say. That you will keep trying, though we both know I will continue to ignore you."

Meeting his gaze, I noticed he was smiling, though his eyes were not. Telling me I had lost this battle before I had even begun to fight it.

"…Understood." My voice was barely above a whisper.

Durrandon gave my shoulder a final pat. "Good girl."

And then, he was gone.

Remaining in the corridor, breath unsteady, heartbeat too loud in my ears, I had thought I was learning the game. That I was making progress for someone my age.

He had shown me the abyss between us.

————————————————————————

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

Varys would be pissed.

Rhaenys had listened, absorbing my words with wide, dark eyes, but she hadn't argued. That was more important than outright agreement. A seed planted in quiet soil, needing only time and the right pressure to sprout.

She wanted to believe in her brother, in this Aegon, this boy who was supposedly spirited away before the Mountain's blade could find his throat. But faith wavers when doubt takes root. If he lived… Why had Varys left her to die with her mother?

He couldn't possibly have predicted the sudden regain of conscience the Kingslayer would've gone through after murdering her grandfather.

I could almost hear the gears turning in her mind. 

Varys would eventually give her answers once she felt confident enough to ask him, of course, perhaps something about necessity, survival, and sacrifice. But answers, even true ones, could never erase the question itself.

And that was enough. For now.

I let the conversation slip from my thoughts as I entered my friend's chambers, finding Alysse already waiting inside for me.

She had draped herself in her usual ease, perched on the arm of a chair, hands folded in her lap. But her eyes… they betrayed her. Normally, before our games, Alysse met my gaze like a blade meeting another in a clash of steel. Now, there was something else there. 

Something guarded.

"Shall we play?" I asked lightly, swinging my satchel onto the table, its familiar weight settling before me.

Alysse tilted her head, considering me. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten."

I began shuffling the deck, letting the cards slide between my fingers with practiced ease. "I'd never forget an opportunity to beat you again."

She rolled her eyes with a gentle smile but took her seat, setting her hands on the table as I dealt.

We then proceeded to play like duelists.

Opening moves, careful, precise. Alysse began by securing her foundation, favoring alliances before launching an attack. A familiar tactic, one she wielded well. I countered by cutting off her reinforcements, maneuvering pieces into positions that forced her to waste turns responding.

She adapted quickly. The Riverlords card to solidify her position. The Iron Bank to make her next strike heavier. She was learning from me, and that much was clear.

I smirked as I played Lann the Clever, undercutting her economy. "A bold investment."

Alysse hummed, unimpressed. "Some would say a necessary one."

She played The Coin Lord, balancing out my interference, then followed up with a move I hadn't expected…The Dornish Rebellion, disrupting my control in the southern regions of the board.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's a new one."

She smirked. "I learn quickly."

I adjusted my strategy, drawing her into smaller skirmishes to whittle away her resources, pressing forward where she hesitated. The game stretched longer than our previous matches, each of us countering, adapting, shifting tactics.

But she was watching me. Not just my moves…me.

I noticed it when she hesitated before playing The Great Council, a piece that could have gained her an advantage. Instead, she chose House Peake, a weaker but more flexible card, one that prolonged the game rather than turning it in her favor.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're holding back."

She tapped her fingers against the wood. "Maybe I'm just tired of losing."

I snorted. "That's a lie."

She smirked but didn't deny it.

I placed a card onto the board. "Or maybe your mind is elsewhere."

Alysse studied me, then sighed, leaning back in her chair.

"I suppose you're not wrong." She turned a card idly in her fingers. The Coin Lord, again.

A fitting choice.

"Baelish?" I asked, pretending to be merely curious.

She went still. "What makes you think that?"

"You noticed something." I said, watching her carefully. "Something that doesn't fit."

Alysse was sharp. Too sharp to be blind to Petyr Baelish's inconsistencies. I watched as she debated her answer. In the end, she didn't lie.

"There are… irregularities…" She admitted slowly. "The numbers he presents make sense, but only if you don't look too closely. If you do, there are discrepancies. Tiny ones, hidden beneath layers of plausible deniability."

She's catching on.

"Have you asked him about it?"

Alysse scoffed. "And let him know I'm suspicious?"

I nodded approvingly, playing a card onto the table. The Usurper's Gambit, a high-risk, high-reward maneuver.

"I've been looking into him." I admitted.

Alysse's eyes narrowed slightly. "You have?"

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Someone has to care for the realm while my father drinks himself into oblivion."

She huffed a quiet laugh. "I thought you only cared about your little projects."

"Believe it or not, but Baelish is a project." I said simply.

Alysse studied me again, more thoughtfully this time. I could see her mind working, piecing things together, weighing my words.

Then, slowly, a smirk curled on her lips. "I'm going to beat you today."

I chuckled. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"

She played a card. The Betrayer.

It represented a sudden and unexpected shift in loyalty, allowing the player to flip an opponent's key piece to their side, essentially turning an enemy asset into an ally. A high-impact move that could dismantle carefully laid strategies, especially when played at a pivotal moment.

I looked at her move, then at her, raising an eyebrow. "A bold choice."

She grinned. "I learn from the best."

"I'll start polishing your crown then, Your Grace." I laughed, shaking my head. "At least, that's what I would've told you if I didn't have…. this!"

She let out a slow breath as I flipped my final card. The Storm's End.

The card reinforced my remaining strongholds, nullifying her last-ditch gambit and securing my dominance on the board. A decisive checkmate.

Essentially, while The Betrayer had created an opening for her victory, Storm's End slammed the gates shut before she could claim it.

Alysse's eyes flicked to the board, scanning for an out, a counter. There wasn't one.

I leaned back, satisfied. "That's game."

Alysse exhaled, then laughed lightly. Not frustrated, just impressed. "You were distracted."

I tilted my head. "Oh?"

"You weren't playing at your best." She said, tapping a nail against the table. "I nearly had you. Had I used the Master of Whispers card, you wouldn't have caught me by surprise."

I studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. "You're right."

She arched an eyebrow. "Something on your mind?"

I considered my words carefully, then leaned forward slightly. "You're not the only one being mentored by a member of the Small Council."

Her expression shifted, the playful ease fading. "Who? Stannis? My father? Or…"

"Varys." I said before she could have guessed, since Pycelle and Barristan were already my mentors.

Alysse straightened. "He approached you?"

I shook my head. "Not me. Rhaenys Targaryen."

Alysse's reaction was immediate, tense, sharp. "You met with her?"

I waved a hand. "Not in the open. She came to me, disguised."

She frowned. "That's—"

"Risky, I know." I interlaced my fingers. "And yet, she came anyway."

Alysse leaned back, arms crossed. "The Master of Whispers is playing a dangerous game."

"He always is, it's part of his job." I tapped my fingers against the table. "But Rhaenys is starting to see it."

She hesitated. "And you trust her?"

"No. She has all the justification to seek retribution for her family's fall." I met her gaze. "But I trust that she wants answers. And that want could be useful. Besides, training under someone as skilled and that good of a player as her mentor, she would be a fool to let the opportunity slip."

Alysse exhaled, considering my words, understanding I wasn't just talking about the Targaryen girl. I could see the conflict in her, the urge to argue versus the logic she couldn't deny.

Eventually, she nodded. "This is madness."

I smirked. "Most things worth doing are."

————————————————————————

ALYSSE ARRYN'S POV

Lord Petyr Baelish thinks himself clever, that much was obvious.

The way he watched me, the way he spoke to me, always laced with just enough condescension to remind me that I was still a child, but never so much that I might turn away. He was slowly but surely weaving a story where he is the trusted guide, the only man in court who can navigate the tangled webs of numbers, debts, and taxes.

It would be so easy for a girl in my position to believe him.

And, for a time, I almost did.

I had noticed something, small things, subtle discrepancies in the way he spoke of the crown's finances, the ease with which he dismissed complications that should have been cause for concern. 

But I was unsure. Was I imagining shadows where none existed? Was I looking for deception simply because I knew he was a man my father trusted a bit too much?

Lord Petyr Baelish is now the Master of Coin, the man entrusted with the realm's wealth. And he has always been… pleasant. Too pleasant. Yet I lacked the proof, the certainty, to accuse him of anything more than arrogance.

Then Durrandon confirmed my doubts.

I will forever remember the moment with perfect clarity, his sharp gleam in his eyes, the weight in his voice as he spoke of Rhaenys, of her decision to embrace the opportunity presented to her despite the risks. 

Training under someone as skilled as her mentor, she would be a fool to let it slip away.

Durrandon had not needed to say more. I understood. 

He was giving me a choice.

I could warn my father, let him investigate Baelish, let him decide whether the Master of Coin was a threat.

Or I could handle this myself.

The thought had terrified me at first. I was not naïve, I knew the risks. If Baelish was as guilty as we both suspected, then I was walking directly into the pit of vipers, placing myself in his hands and hoping I could slip free before he realized what I was doing. It was reckless. It was foolish.

And yet.

If I was to be more than just the daughter of the Hand of the King… if I was to be even half as clever as I needed to become… then this was a risk I had to take.

So I smiled when Baelish spoke, feigned curiosity when he offered to teach me, and let him believe he was molding me into his perfect protégé. And in doing so, I would unravel every secret he thought was his alone. 

Baelish believed himself untouchable. But every man had weaknesses, and his was written in ink and gold.

The hidden ledgers, the siphoned gold, the debts he arranged to tighten his grip on the realm. I would know where his money came from, where it went, and when the time was right, I would take it all from him.

One day, Petyr Baelish might become powerful enough to be dangerous even to someone like Durrandon.

But when that day came, I would make sure his power was already mine.

But to turn that childish dream into reality, I would need a bit more than what I already got going for me. In order to actually hope to fool a master of deceit, Durrandon offered to teach me some lessons he was sure would be instrumental in my success.

"You don't need to raise your voice to win an argument." Durrandon's arms were folded as he studied me, expression unreadable. "You only need to make them believe your words are undeniable."

We sat in my chambers, far from prying eyes and ears, as well as not to raise suspicion that I was spending my days locked in Durrandon's chambers. 

These quiet lessons have become routine, rhetoric, logic, persuasion. He does not call it training, but we both know it is.

"Make them believe." I echo, turning the phrase over in my mind. "That's just another way of saying 'lie convincingly.'"

He smirks. "Sometimes. But if you're against lying, know this, the best manipulations are simply truths told at the right moment, in the right way. People want to believe what benefits them. You just have to make them think the truth is theirs."

Words as weapons. I have always known their power, but never have I seen them wielded with such precision. He shows me how to shape a sentence like a blade, sharp enough to cut, subtle enough to slip between ribs before the victim even notices they are bleeding.

"Great, you already know enough about the structure of a speech, but structure alone is nothing." He taps a finger on the table between us. "You need to control the rhythm of your words, the weight behind them. A well-placed pause can hold as much power as a shouted command." He leans forward slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. "And poetry is not just for songs. It is memory made into art. A phrase that lingers long after the words have faded."

He makes me practice, over and over again, not just reciting his words, but creating my own and feeling them, commanding them. I have always been a quick study, but this… this is something else entirely.

I begin to see it. Words are more than communication. They are influence. They are control. They are power.

And I will master them.

"You have more than above average Wisdom, you know?" Durrandon remarks offhandedly after one of our exercises. "That would explain your cleverness before you even had proper training with Pycelle."

I blink. "I have a what?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Intelligence and Charisma are above average as well, though not to the same level. Your natural aptitude for this is leagues ahead of most people. That's why you're learning so fast."

There is something in the way he says it. Not like a compliment, but an observation. As if he is measuring me in ways I cannot see.

I want to press him on it, to demand an explanation. But before I can, he moves on.

Later, I remarked to myself that I didn't realize he had been influencing me until the effects wore off.

It is subtle, so subtle that, at first, I attribute it to the natural course of our lessons. I feel at ease in his presence, more receptive to his words, more certain in my responses. When he speaks, I listen. When he asks something of me, I comply without hesitation.

It is only when the haze lifts that I realize something was different. A brief moment of clarity, an unsettling realization…my thoughts had not been entirely my own.

He has done something to me. I say nothing. But I watched him more closely after that.

"You're overthinking it." Durrandon's voice cuts through my frustration.

"I am not…" I tried to protest one time, finally finding a teaching a bit too hard for me to grasp.

"Yes, you are. Watch." He replied before closing his eyes for a moment, then spoke. "A heart will not follow a mind that is uncertain. Conviction, Alysse."

His voice is calm, measured, but the words strike something within me, unraveling the doubt before I can cling to it.

Later, when I stumble in my practice, I hear his voice again, not in the room, but in my mind. The memory of it, as clear as if he had spoken anew.

And just like that, I steady myself and succeed.

It happens again. And again.

I begin to wonder if this is a trick he has taught me, or something else entirely. I vaguely recalled having a similar experience back when I began my lessons with Pycelle.

One night, I tested him. We were speaking of influence, how a mere word, a suggestion, could shift the course of a conversation.

"How far does it go?" I ask, trying not to sound worried. "This… charm you speak of."

He tilts his head slightly. "Far enough."

"Enough to make someone act against their own better judgment?"

"Not if it goes against their principles, like self preservation and care for the ones they care more about." He does not answer right away. Then, with an amused glint in his eye, he says. "Why? Are you worried I have been twisting your thoughts?"

I hold his gaze. "Have you?"

"Up until these special lessons of ours began? Only to inspire you to succeed in your own goals." A slow smile spreads across his face. "And even now, I only charm you so that you can learn to reproduce it to your own needs. And, hopefully, resist it if someone ever leverages it against you in the future."

At first his answer lingered in my mind, as for the first time I wasn't entirely sure if I could trust his words. 

But soon I realized that by openly planting that seed of doubt, he was showing me first hand a bit of the weight I would have to carry once I possessed similar abilities.

Those that trusted me with their lives once they became aware of my charm would stop and wonder if everything I told them, if everything we had been through together was a lie.

The feeling made me feel isolated, and so I understood what Durrandon was risking to sacrifice between us just so he could make sure I had a powerful card up my sleeve and was aware that others might also have.

So that's how he believes people will feel if they learned about his…charm?

For a long moment, I said nothing.

There were layers to his words, layers I was only just beginning to grasp. The weight of what he had given me, the knowledge, the tools, the power, settled onto my shoulders like a cloak I had yet to grow into.

I understood now why he had been so careful. Why he had chosen to teach me like this. Because once you wielded this kind of influence, there was no undoing it. No going back to innocence.

And yet, despite everything, I was not afraid.

I met his gaze, my mind steady, my purpose clear. "What's next?"

He smiled.

————————————————————————

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

Things had been going so wonderfully with Alysse that I had barely spared a thought for the implications of my previous encounter with the little she-dragon sneaking around the Red Keep like one of Varys' little birds.

Until… I felt her before I saw her.

A whisper of presence just beyond the doors of my chamber. Still, measured breaths. The faintest shift of weight against the segment of my room that had floorboards. No movement, no frantic scrambling. She was waiting.

My lips curled as I reached for the handle. 'Impatient little thing, aren't you?'

I had expected her to return, but not so soon. After frightening her into submission, I thought she'd at least take a few weeks to lick her wounds, to piece together a better excuse for her inevitable failure at manipulating me.

And yet, here she was, sneaking into my chambers, daring fate once again.

I pushed the door open in silence.

[STEALTH CHECK: SUCCESS]

She stood near my desk, back to the entrance, likely rehearsing whatever nonsense she planned to say. Too lost in thought to notice the predator behind her.

It was almost too easy.

With a flick of my wrist, the Valyrian steel knife slid into my palm, a comfortable weight against my skin. I crossed the room before she even realized I was there. A flash of silver, cold metal brushing the soft skin of her throat.

Again. She froze.

"Gotta give it to you, princess. You are indeed insistent." Annoyance and amusement warred in my voice. "Already looking for round two?" 

She exhaled sharply but didn't flinch. I could hear the rapid beat of her heart, the way her pulse fluttered beneath my blade. Not fear. Not entirely this time.

"I did as you demanded." She murmured, voice steady as she once again surrendered herself. "I told Varys I couldn't get your attention. That I would try again later."

I hummed, tilting my head. "And you think he believed you?"

She swallowed.

"Heh. You're either too stupid or too honest for this game." I let out a low chuckle, stepping back as I withdrew the knife, twirling it between my fingers. "The Spider knows you came here. The next lie you must feed him will have to be that you finally managed to allure me… with your girlish charms, of course."

A flicker of something crossed her face, anger, frustration, something deeper as I signaled for her to get lost. But she didn't leave.

Instead, she hesitated, gaze flickering toward the door before settling back on me.

"I couldn't stop thinking about what you said…" She admitted. "About Varys. About how he only planned to save my brother. How he left me and my mother to die."

I leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "And?"

She exhaled, a bitter little laugh escaping her lips.

"I don't understand." She showed signs of distress. "Why didn't you hand me over to the guards? Why didn't you kill me?" A pause, her dornish eyes searching mine. "You knew who I was, what I was trying to do. You must know how much I hate your father… the Usurper."

Silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken things.

Rhaenys stood before me, her defiance unraveling at the edges. She had come here with purpose, but I could see it slipping from her grasp like sand through her fingers.

She wanted answers. She wanted certainty.

She wanted something, anything, to ground her in a world that had left her with nothing but a ruined name and an empty claim.

But she was asking the wrong questions.

Her breath eventually hitched.

"Everywhere I turn, someone wants to use me." She said, voice quiet, but raw. "The Crown, Varys, my so-called allies across the Narrow Sea. They whisper about my brother, about Aegon, about restoring our House, but to them, I'm just a loose thread, a tool to be shaped, traded, or discarded."

Her fingers clenched into fists.

"You, though…" Her eyes locked onto mine, searching. "You don't care. About me. About what I do next. It's almost maddening. We should be natural enemies!"

I said nothing, because she wasn't wrong.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, something fragile flickering behind her gaze. 

"You shouldn't be like this." She whispered. "Not at your age."

I arched my brow. "Like what?"

"So prepared. So certain." Her voice wavered. "As if nothing can touch you. As if you already know how every move will play out before the game has even begun."

I exhaled slowly, watching the way her shoulders hunched inward, the weight of everything pressing down on her like a vice. She had been strong for too long, strong because she had to be.

Because no one had given her permission to be anything else.

And so, I moved before I could second-guess it. She stiffened just as I pulled her into my arms.

A sharp inhale, muscles locked in place. She didn't know how to react, would she shove me away? Should she?

Then, something in her cracked. Her hands gripped my tunic, fingers curling tight as her breath hitched against my shoulder.

And just like that, the dam broke.

A single sob wrenched from her throat before she could swallow it down. Then another.

I felt her body tremble against mine, the weight of unspoken grief and fury spilling out in a way she hadn't allowed herself before. 

Not in front of Jon Arryn. Not in front of Varys. Not in front of those who watched her, measured her, and even if good intentions used her.

I didn't say anything. Didn't offer hollow words or empty reassurances. I simply held her, letting her break apart in the safety of a silence that belonged to no one but us.

Minutes passed. When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were damp, eyes rimmed red, but she didn't retreat completely.

Instead, she regarded me warily, studying me with the same sharpness she used when assessing threats.

"…Why?" She whispered.

I sighed. "Because, princess, even you deserve to let go once in a while."

A ghost of something passed across her face, disbelief, gratitude, maybe both. But I had no interest in lingering in sentiment.

I pushed off the desk, arms crossing once more. "You need to leave the Red Keep."

Her brows knitted. "What?"

"I can get you out." I said simply. "Away from this prison. Find you a humble life in Flea Bottom or even get you a boat to cross the Narrow Sea."

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her face. "But… Varys didn't—"

"Varys has nothing to do with this." I cut her off. "This isn't about his schemes or his plans. This is about you. You've been caged here long enough, and whether you realize it or not, it's eating away at you."

She stared at me as if trying to decipher some hidden game, some deeper angle. But there was none.

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Just the truth. 

And that, more than anything, seemed to unsettle her the most.

————————————————————————

RHAENYS TARGARYEN'S POV

I had nothing to take with me.

Not a single treasured keepsake, no token of home or family. Everything that tied me to the past was either buried beneath some grave in King's Landing or rusting away underneath the Usurper's arse every time he sat to judge people from my family's throne.

Durrandon hadn't seemed surprised when I told him that.

He only nodded, motioned for me to follow, and led me through the winding passages of the Red Keep with the ease of a shadow slipping through cracks in the stone.

I was quiet at first, trying to match his pace, keeping my steps light even as my mind raced.

Then, the longer we walked, the more unsettled I became.

He knew every patrol route, every gap in Varys' network of eyes. He moved through the Keep as if he owned it, cutting through servant corridors and forgotten hallways with a confidence that defied any sense of reason.

The Spider had spent years weaving his web over this castle, training his little birds to listen and watch.

And yet, this boy, this little prince, had found cracks in it.

I should have expected it. But I hadn't. I had underestimated him. Again.

When we reached a forgotten corridor, narrow and damp, the air thick with the scent of old stone, I was already trying to puzzle out how. How did he slip through the Spider's grip? How long had he been learning the hidden veins of this castle, mapping out paths even Varys had overlooked?

A tapestry hung loosely against the wall, its fabric brittle with age.

Durrandon didn't hesitate.

He swept it aside, revealing a hidden passage, so narrow we had to press close together to slip through. Darkness swallowed us whole, the air colder here, untouched by the warmth of torches or candlelight.

Moving ahead without a word, he led me down the unseen path, our footsteps the only sound in the suffocating silence.

By the time we emerged into open air, I barely stopped myself from gasping.

The city stretched out before us, gilded in moonlight. Below, the docks sprawled like veins, branching into the lifeblood of King's Landing. The Blackwater Rush shimmered darkly, ships swaying in their moorings, lanterns flickering along the piers like distant fireflies.

For the first time in my entire life, I was free! Or at least closer than I had ever been before to it.

The path downward was treacherous, a jagged descent of uneven rock. Durrandon took the lead again, moving with sure-footed ease, as if he had done this a hundred times before.

I followed, but my mind was elsewhere.

Each step closer to unrestricted freedom, I thought about what I was leaving behind.

The Red Keep, a prison disguised as a palace. The whispers in the halls, the stares, the knives hidden behind smiles. I thought of Jon Arryn, of Varys, of all those who had promised me a future while keeping chains around my wrists.

And I thought of him.

Durrandon Baratheon, who had no reason to help me, no stake in my survival, and yet here he was, handing me an escape most people would kill for.

By the time we reached the docks, he was already planning my future.

"I know of a ship that will take you directly to Sunspear." His voice was calm, measured, as if he were merely running calculations in his head. "You'll need a new name, of course. A good cover story so the guards won't stop you before you reach your uncles. I could even set up a false trail, make Varys think you fled across the Narrow Sea instead of South…"

He spoke so easily, as if he had already mapped out half a dozen different lives for me.

A merchant's daughter. A sailor's runaway bride. Or just another orphan girl, once I cut or painted the small strands of silver hair from my head.

Each one a fate where I could be safe. Free. Gods be good… even a little bit happy.

But as I listened, I realized something.

I didn't want to be free. I didn't want to disappear.

The Red Keep was a viper's nest, a place where monsters and schemers thrived. And I wanted to go back.

The thought struck me harder than it should have, coiling in my gut like wildfire waiting for a spark.

I turned to him, suddenly needing to know.

"You're smart, Durrandon. Too smart." My voice was quiet, but it carried in the night air. "You see the game for what it is. You know how dangerous it is. So why are you still here? Why go live with that monstrous grandfather of yours?"

He blinked, surprised by the question. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, sharp, wicked, alive.

"Are you crazy?" He laughed, shaking his head. "And where would be the fun in that? I want to fight my way to the top, and if possible, make the realm less shitty for everyone else living in it."

The words hit me harder than I expected. For the first time in years, I felt something stir deep inside me.

Something fierce. Something hungry.

I wanted to play. I wanted the game.

And at that moment, I made my choice.

Letting out a breath, I steadied myself before meeting his gaze once more.

"…I'm sorry." I murmured, my lips curling slightly in self-deprecation. "For making you bring me all the way down here just so I could realize I don't want to leave after all."

"Careful now, princess." His grin widened, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. "If you continue to remain around, I might eventually have plans for you."

And just like that, the game began.

————————————————————————

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

Rhaenys was still staring at me. The weight of her decision lingered between us, thick as the night air.

She wanted to play.

I had expected hesitation. I had expected the shadow of her mother's bones to hold her back, the memories of fire and steel to drag her toward flight rather than fight. 

But instead, there was something else in her dornish eyes now, something sharp. Hungry.

Good. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't nudged her toward this conclusion.

[DECEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

See? Heh.

Anyway, my gaze swept over the docks, the sea stretching black and endless beyond them. 

The ship I had arranged for her escape still sat there, its captain still oblivious to any plot I might have needed to improvise in order to safely send Rhaenys to Dorne. A dead end for anyone who might have overheard my offer despite all my caution.

Now that she had chosen to stay, I had to decide what to do with her.

No, that wasn't right. I already knew what to do with her.

"We're going somewhere else before returning." I murmured, stepping away from the cliffs, back toward the city.

She frowned but followed. "Where?"

I glanced at her, weighing my next words. Then I smiled. "Flea Bottom."

She hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

Good girl.

Once we reached it, the slums immediately swallowed us whole, but they no longer stank of rot and death.

Not like before.

The air was still thick with the scent of sweat and smoke, of old piss and half-rotten food, but something had changed in the months since the Butcher fell. The filth hadn't been washed away, not entirely, but it had been reshaped. The worst of the broken streets had been reinforced with scavenged stone. Shacks once held together by little more than prayers now bore patched walls and sturdier roofs.

People walked with their heads high, not in arrogance, but in something closer to certainty. Purpose.

Not all of them, of course. 

Some still lurked in the alleys, waiting for a moment of weakness to exploit. Others whispered of new power rising in the wake of the old. But there were considerably fewer of them now.

Flea Bottom had always belonged to those who were strong enough to take it. But now, the people had chosen a different strength to follow.

I kept my pace steady, letting Rhaenys move beside me, her movements careful but sharp. She was watching, studying the streets with the eyes of someone who had expected less. 

Less order. Less structure. Less control.

No one looked at us twice. Two more urchins, wrapped in ragged cloaks, just another pair of street rats scurrying through the city. There were dozens like us. Hundreds.

And that was the point.

I led her deeper into the slums, past the vendors selling half-spoiled stew, past the muttering beggars and the children darting between crowds with hands too quick for their age. We were invisible here, despite standing in plain sight.

But not everyone in these streets went unnoticed.

A cluster of children passed us, three boys and a girl, all dressed in patchwork clothes, their feet bare against the dirt. Their leader, a wiry boy with a sharp face, walked with his head high, his gaze scanning the street like he owned it.

They weren't looking for coin. They were watching. Listening. Moving.

Rhaenys caught it, her shoulders tightening. She understood what she was seeing.

The Stranger's urchins as she will soon learn about.

They didn't stop us. Didn't speak. Just walked on, vanishing into the crowd as easily as they had appeared.

Rhaenys let out a slow breath. "This place is different from what I was told."

I said nothing as we pressed on, the Butcher's old den looming ahead, hollow and abandoned. His rule had been violent. His death, even more so.

The void he left behind had been filled.

Inside, the remains of his reign still clung to the walls. Bloodstains, long dried, darkened the cracks in the floor. A chair sat at the far end, its ropes still attached, fibers stiff with old sweat and worse.

And on the wall, painted in thick, deliberate strokes, was the mark. Not the sigil of a noble house. Not the banners of a king.

A black seven-pointed star with its lowest tip dipped in crimson.

Rhaenys inhaled sharply, obviously having heard something from the Spider. "The Stranger."

I did not correct her. Didn't present myself as the one pulling the strings.

Who knows? Perhaps everything up until now, which I assumed had been going according to my desire, was instead a masterful deception from this little princess next to me.

Everything in her led me to believe that she couldn't, even if Varys himself somehow had given her a modern ear plug and had been feeding her all the instructions she needed to fool me.

Which was absurd, but nervous never truly impossible.

She turned to me, seemingly oblivious to my thoughts, her expression sharp with new understanding. "Someone is letting them believe this is what took him down."

I stepped past her, my fingers trailing over the edge of an old table, where a small jar of ink still sat. 

"What men fear…" I said, dipping my fingers into the ink. "…they avoid angering, even if that means lying about their own competence." I traced the sigil onto the wood, slow and precise. "But what they worship, they push themselves beyond their limits to never disappoint."

Rhaenys studied me. "And you?"

I met her gaze, letting the silence stretch between us.

Then, slowly, I wiped my fingers clean and turned away. "I don't cross the Stranger."

It was not a lie.

I motioned for her to follow. "With the Butcher gone, the opportunistic rats have started crawling out of their holes again. They think the Stranger is a myth. That it was just knives and luck that brought him down."

I handed her a piece of cloth, dark ink, and a makeshift brush. "We're leaving marks at their doors. Signs that some things still move in the dark."

Her grip tightened around the cloth, but she didn't refuse. She wanted to play after all.

I grinned. "Then let's get started."

The night stretched on, swallowed whole by the shadows between buildings, the whisper of footsteps on cobblestones, the distant laughter of drunks stumbling home.

Rhaenys learned quickly. Faster than I expected. Faster than I had hoped. Which made me believe the Dornish were indeed more lithe by nature.

I moved first, silent as breath, and she mirrored me, shadowing my steps without hesitation. I tested her, not with words, not with instructions, but with movement, with instinct, with expectation. 

I would slip left, darting down an alley, and she would follow without breaking stride. I would halt suddenly, vanishing into a doorway, and she would match my stillness, pressing herself into the dark.

Each time she hesitated, I would glance back, the unspoken question in my eyes. 'Do you want to keep up?'

Each time, her chin lifted, her jaw clenched, and she pushed herself forward.

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Ah. There it was. Not just hunger, not just pride, but defiance. A refusal to be left behind. A refusal to let herself stuck in what she had been a moment ago.

Good.

We worked quickly, marking doors, slipping through the veins of Flea Bottom unseen. The symbols we left were simple, deliberate, nothing more than ink and cloth pressed against wood, but their weight would be felt before the sun rose.

Each stroke of her brush steadied. Each mark grew bolder. By the time we finished, Rhaenys no longer needed to glance at me for confirmation.

And when we almost ran into trouble, two men, drunk and arguing at the mouth of an alley, blocking our exit…I let her handle it.

She hesitated, for only a second. Then, she moved.

A slight shift in posture, a lowering of her head, a slackening of her shoulders. She stepped between them, small and unnoticed, brushing past as if she belonged to the filth around her. She did not tense. She did not look up. And before they could even register her presence, she was already through, slipping into the dark on the other side.

When I followed, she turned, her pulse thrumming in her throat, her dornish eyes wide, not with fear, but exhilaration.

She had done it.

I exhaled a quiet laugh, letting my grin curve slow and sharp. "Good girl."

[RHAENYS TARGARYEN, THE WARD OF THE CROWN // ROGUE // LV: 2]

I could see it not only in the window hovering above her head, but in her actual performance then, the change, the shift. She wasn't just playing anymore. She was learning. Becoming.

And I was no longer the only shadow in Flea Bottom.

————————————————————————

ALYSSE ARRYN'S POV

After all the effort both Don and I put into our special lessons, I must confess that, for the first time, I actually felt different.

As if I could finally start pulling the strings inside everyone ones' heads. Playing sweet melodies if I wanted to charm and deceive their senses and better judgment, force my way through it in a cacophonous crescendo if I wanted to intimidate and frighten, and a gentle yet firm tune if I was only after persuading someone about something that would've benefited both parties.

Better yet, I finally learned how to inspire. Though for now I only had Durrandon to use it on, I was sure I would eventually find great use for it.

"There's still plenty for me to teach you." Durrandon told me as we walked through the halls of the Red Keep, our footsteps echoing against stone. The castle is quieter at this hour, the usual rush of courtiers and guards reduced to a distant hum. "But you'll have to learn some of it on your own."

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. "You sound as if you're about to vanish."

"In a way, I am." His tone is light, but I catch the shift in his expression, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker with something unspoken. In a way, this was his subtle way of showing to me that I was special, enough for him to not constantly hide himself behind his perfect mask. "I'll be leaving for Casterly Rock soon."

I do not like it.

I have always hoped, as the next King, he would remain here forever. The thought of his absence settles like a stone in my chest. Soon, the Red Keep will feel smaller. Duller. And I… I will be alone in a way I have never been before. Even before knowing him, because back then I didn't know what I was missing.

But I do not let the thought linger.

Instead, I force my focus back to his words. "And until then? What else do you plan to teach me?"

Durrandon smirks, picking up a few wooden carved dice. "A game."

I narrow my eyes. "Another one?"

"Not like the cards." He shakes his head. "This one is different. The cards test strategy, leadership, and wit from a position of influence. But influence alone doesn't make you powerful." His gaze sharpens. "What happens when you're not the one moving the pieces, but one of the pieces yourself?"

I studied him for a moment. "That depends on how well I play."

"Exactly." He hands me a sheet of parchment, and I take it cautiously.

At first, I was not sure what I was looking at. Unlike the elegant calligraphy of court documents or the meticulous columns of ledgers, this page is filled with structured lines, numbers, and strange terms.

Then I saw it.

A title box, empty, waiting to be filled. Alongside lists of skills and attributes that betrayed my strengths and weaknesses.

It was a reflection of me.

[CHARACTER SHEET]

[TITLE: // SMALL HUMAN, LAWFUL GOOD]

[LEVEL: 1 // PROFICIENCY BONUS: +2]

[CLASS: BARD]

[HP: 8 // ARMOR CLASS: 10]

[SPEED: 3,5mph (30ft)]

[TRAITS: ??? // BARDIC INSPIRATION]

[STR: 8 (-1)]

*ATHLETICS: -1

[DEX: 0 (0) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+2)]

*ACROBATICS: 0

*SLEIGHT OF HAND: 0

*STEALTH: 0

[CON: 10 (0)]

[INT: 13 (+1)]

*ARCANA: +1

*(PRO) HISTORY: +3

*(PRO) INVESTIGATION: +3

*NATURE: +1

*RELIGION: +1

[WIS: 14 (+2)]

*ANIMAL HANDLING: +2

*(PRO) INSIGHT: +4

*MEDICINE: +2

*PERCEPTION: +2

*SURVIVAL: +2

[CHA: 13 (+1) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+4)]

*(PRO) DECEPTION: +3

*(PRO) INTIMIDATION: +3

*PERFORMANCE: +1

*(PRO) PERSUASION: +3

[TOOLS: LUTE // FLUTE ]

My eyes flick over the details, noting the categories, the numbers assigned to different abilities. I see the words Persuasion, Insight, History…things I already know I was good at…but also Acrobatics, Stealth, and Athletics, areas where I am… less proficient?

I arch an eyebrow at him. "Bard?"

"You're more suited to it than you realize." He leans against the stone wall, watching me. "A bard's power is not just in music…it's in words, in presence, in the way they shape the world around them. They inspire, deceive, manipulate. They can talk their way past guards, rally people to a cause, uncover secrets no one else notices."

I glance back down at the sheet. "And the numbers?"

"They represent how skilled you are in certain areas. The higher the number, the greater your natural talent or training. Your persuasion, for example…" He taps the page, where my skill is marked as proficient. "…is pretty good. Meaning, in this game, if you wanted to convince someone of something, you would roll a die and add that number to determine your degree of success."

I frown slightly, running my fingers over the parchment. "So instead of simply being persuasive, I have to rely on chance?"

"Not entirely." He chuckles. "Skill influences the outcome, but luck plays a part, just as in life. No matter how well-prepared you are, sometimes things go wrong. Other times, they go better than you ever expected. The dice reflect that uncertainty."

"Does that mean I can still fumble in an easy situation?" I couldn't help but reach a logical conclusion.

To which he merely nodded.

I tilted my head, considering. The idea was strange, yet… intriguing. A game where you are the piece. A game where every action is a choice, every outcome uncertain.

"And the purpose?" I ask. "What do you win?"

Durrandon's smirk deepens. "It's not about winning. It's about the story."

That makes me pause. Because I know, then, that this is not simply a game. This is something else.

This is a way for him to bring his strange, structured way of seeing the world into ours.

"People like stories!" He continues. "They like adventure, risk, the chance to be something greater than themselves. And in playing, they start to think differently…about the choices they make, about the consequences of those choices. They sharpen their minds without even realizing it." He nods toward the sheet, revealing that he also had others completely blank for later use. "We are already playing the game of thrones, Alysse. This is just a smaller battlefield than the one we have been playing through my cards. A way to practice, to test ideas, to see things from different perspectives as you pretend to be someone else."

He watches me as I absorb his words, as I slowly come to understand what he is doing. This is a way to shape people into the kind of players he needs them to be.

A clever trick.

I lift the parchment, studying it once more. Then, slowly, I smile.

"Alright." I say. "Teach me how to play."

He smiles back at me. "Sure. Let me DM a brief solo campaign for you."

Later on that day, I set the dice down, staring at the aftermath of my first session. 

The flickering candlelight in my chamber casts long shadows over the sheets of parchment sprawled before us. 

The game had begun simply enough, a noblewoman navigating the treacheries of court, her every word and action scrutinized. A scenario meant to reflect my own life, only with the illusion of distance that made it easier to see.

It did not stay simple for long.

Durrandon wove a world with nothing but words, a court full of whispers and half-truths, allies and enemies blurred together in a web of intrigue. My character, a Lady of an invented house, had been tasked with securing an alliance through negotiation. 

I had expected a battle of wit, yet the rules of his game turned out to be more merciless than I anticipated.

A single bad roll. A misstep. A conversation I thought was going in my favor had taken a turn, the wrong word at the wrong moment shifting the tides against me. By the end of the session, my carefully laid plans had not collapsed, but they had not succeeded either. 

I had navigated the storm, but not steered it. And that was what unsettled me the most.

Glancing at Durrandon, who leans back in his chair, watching me with a knowing smirk. He says nothing, letting the silence stretch, letting me fill it myself.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the game. "That was… infuriating."

His smirk widens. "Because you couldn't control everything?"

I glare at him, but there is no real heat behind it. "…Yes."

"And yet, you kept going." He added.

I huff, crossing my arms. "Well, I couldn't just give up."

"No." He agrees, tilting his head. "You adapted. You weighed risks. You played your role and worked within the limits of your circumstances." He gestures at the character sheet before me. "This game doesn't let you command from above. You are the piece, not the player moving them. Yet you still found a way to maneuver."

I trace the edges of the parchment, thoughtful. "And that was your lesson?"

"The last one for a good time." He taps a finger on the table. "Strategy is not just about having the most power at your disposal. It's about knowing how to use what little you have." His gaze sharpens, the flicker of something deeper behind his words. "Power is never absolute, Alysse. Even a King must roll the dice."

I look down at the numbers scrawled across my sheet, the symbols of my strengths and weaknesses, the silent reminder that in this game, as in life, I would not always win. 

But I could learn. I could refine my approach. As long as I didn't die and never gave up, I could play again.

I lift my chin, meeting his gaze. "Fine. But before you go, I want a more complex scenario."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Ambitious."

"You wouldn't respect me otherwise." I argued.

A pause. Then, a quiet laugh. "No, I wouldn't."

I smirked, pushing the dice back toward him. "Then roll again, Dungeon Master. I want to see just how deep this game of yours goes."

Durrandon's smirk turns sharp. "Careful, Alysse. You might just end up addicted."

Perhaps. But as I glance at the scattered papers, the dice, the endless possibilities they hold, I realize something.

For the first time in a long while, I do not feel like a mere piece in someone else's game.

I finally feel like a player.

"Now, how about testing out how you work with a teammate?" His words caught me by surprise, leaving me wondering what he was alluding to.

But I soon found out about my unexpected partner.

————————————————————————

(22/09/2020)

(24/09/2020)

(30/09/2021)

(07/04/2022)

(01/01/2025)

*Hope this chapter is of your liking. 

Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.

Check out my auxiliary chapter if you still haven't.

Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.

Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.