Chapter 8 - The Dragon and The Falcon

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

I saw the exact moment Alysse's excitement flickered into caution.

Her mind worked fast, always had, but I enjoyed it best when I threw something unexpected her way, something that forced her to recalibrate.

She tilted her head, studying me, then the dice, then me again.

"A teammate?" She echoed, suspicion curling around the word.

"I did mention she approached me before, didn't I?" I smiled, letting the weight of my words settle.

Then, I began laying out the pieces for her. 

A brief explanation of everything I had gathered about Rhaenys and Varys, the way the Spider had woven his web around her, the quiet manipulations that had led her to accept his tutelage. 

I spoke of Aegon, the supposed brother raised in Essos, the boy being groomed for the throne he might one day claim. And how, after I planted a seed of doubt in Rhaenys' mind, she had chosen to learn from Varys just as Alysse had agreed to learn from Baelish.

Granted, I omitted certain details. Such as the part where I took Rhaenys beyond the Red Keep's walls, ensuring she had a safe passage to Dorne, only for her to refuse it. Or how, later, I introduced her to the true nature of Flea Bottom, the hidden strings I had been pulling in the nights since Alysse and I first visited the capital city.

Alysse listened in silence, her brows furrowing the deeper I went. She did not like surprises she hadn't orchestrated herself, a habit she would have to unlearn if she wanted to truly master the game before her. 

Both this one, played with parchment and dice, and the greater one that consumed the shadows of the Red Keep.

Before she could press further, the door to her chambers creaked open as Rhaenys Targaryen stepped inside, still disguised as a lowborn servant girl.

It was an interesting thing, seeing them together.

Alysse, sharp-eyed, methodical, always weighing, always calculating before she moved. Rhaenys, fire and pride, carried herself with a confidence that made people wary.

That, too, would have to change.

Rhaenys met Alysse's stare with a slow, deliberate blink.

"You." She said, obviously having heard some information about her from Varys.

Alysse didn't so much as shift in her seat. 

"Me." She replied smoothly. "These chambers are still mine, last I checked."

Gods, this was going to be fun.

I gestured to the open space beside Alysse. "Take a seat, Rhaenys."

She hesitated, eyeing the parchment and dice scattered across the table with mild skepticism before finally sitting.

"You're serious about this?" She asked.

"Very." I nodded. "Even if you two become rivals, or even enemies, I believe you both have plenty to learn from each other."

Alysse crossed her arms, shifting her weight. "And what exactly do you expect us to learn?"

A fair question. But not one I intended to answer outright.

I tapped the dice. "I thought I'd give you both a scenario. A simple one."

"So this is the make-believe game of dice you told me about." Rhaenys muttered, arching a brow. "How simple?"

"You're locked in a castle against your will." I smirked. "Your goal is to either escape together or take it over by any means necessary…preferably one that leaves enough people alive to acknowledge your new authority."

They exchanged glances.

Alysse was already turning the problem over in her mind, considering angles, weaknesses, contingencies. Rhaenys, by contrast, looked as if she wanted to scoff and say she'd simply find a hidden passage and walk out.

"Of course…" I added, rolling a die between my fingers. "…there are nobles, guards, spies, locked doors… and neither of you know the layout."

Alysse exhaled sharply through her nose. "So it's rigged against us."

"It's realistic." I corrected, sliding Rhaenys a parchment with her character sheet, crafted in her own image. "You're both smart. You both have your own set of particular skills. But I want to see how you work together when everything is stacked against you."

A beat of silence.

Then Rhaenys leaned forward, inspecting the spare parchment I handed her.

"Fine." She said. "But if I win, I get to pick the next challenge."

Alysse scoffed. "It's not about winning."

"That's what losers say." Rhaenys shot back, not taking her eyes off her character sheet.

I grinned. This was going to be very entertaining.

The first half of the game went about as well as I expected. Which is to say, terribly.

Rhaenys charged headfirst into conflict, assuming sheer force of will would carry her through. Alysse, on the other hand, played too cautiously, overanalyzing every move, hesitant to commit unless she was certain of success. 

One thought she could storm the castle with sheer audacity. The other seemed determined to play the long game, as if waiting for the board to reveal all its pieces before acting.

Neither approach worked. The dice were merciless. 

Rhaenys' character attempted to strong-arm a guard into giving her information, only to roll abysmally and end up shackled in the dungeons. Alysse tried to bribe a noblewoman for details on the castle layout but didn't account for the fact that her character lacked the funds to make a meaningful offer. That noble promptly had her thrown out, labeled a suspicious outsider.

Rhaenys grumbled, crossing her arms. "This is ridiculous."

Alysse, to her credit, kept her composure, though the small crease between her brows told me she wasn't pleased with how things were going either.

"It's only ridiculous because you're losing." I said mildly, flicking the dice in Rhaenys' direction. "You're thinking like a Targaryen."

She shot me a glare. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're expecting people to bend the knee the moment you demand it." I replied, keeping my voice deliberately even. "But in this scenario, you don't have a name that inspires loyalty. You don't have dragons. You have to earn power, not expect it."

She scowled but didn't argue. Alysse, meanwhile, drummed her fingers against the table.

"What about me?" She asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"You're playing the board, not the game." I said, turning my attention to her. "You're looking for patterns and weaknesses, which is good, but you're forgetting that you have limited time. You won't always have the luxury of waiting."

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, after a glance at Rhaenys, she exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Fine." She muttered. "I suppose working together would be the most efficient option."

Rhaenys blinked, clearly surprised by Alysse's sudden shift in stance. Then she smirked. "Are you admitting you need my help?"

"I'm admitting you'll be marginally less useless if I guide you properly."

Rhaenys narrowed her eyes, but instead of rising to the bait, she looked down at her character sheet. 

A pause before grudgingly asking. "What's the plan, then?"

And just like that, the game changed.

Alysse took the lead, sketching out a strategy, this time factoring in Rhaenys' strengths rather than expecting her to act with restraint. Rhaenys, for her part, actually listened. She still grumbled about it, still threw in the occasional impulsive move, but she wasn't fighting against Alysse's guidance outright.

It was fascinating to watch how easily my manipulation had worked on them through this simple game.

Of course, they were still at a disadvantage. Their earlier missteps meant they were starting from a poor position by being divided, and the dice didn't suddenly start favoring them just because they'd agreed to work together.

Which is why, after their next major roll, Alysse attempted to bluff a steward into granting them access to the lord's private quarters, I tilted the dice slightly in their favor.

Just enough to nudge them toward success. Not enough that they'd notice.

Their plan, shaky as it was, finally began to take shape.

Alysse did most of the talking, steering their approach with calculated precision. She wasn't aiming to control Rhaenys, she was simply directing her energy where it would be most effective.

Rhaenys, to her credit, played along. Not perfectly, there were still moments where her instinct to challenge authority nearly got them caught, but she was learning. 

Instead of bulldozing through obstacles, she let Alysse set the stage before making her move. When Alysse spun a story about being the distant cousin of a minor noble, Rhaenys played the role of the haughty, overindulged charge perfectly, treating the servants with just enough entitled disdain to make them accept her presence without question.

It was working.

And then, because life, whether on a board or in reality, was never so kind, they hit a wall.

By raising the difficulty class I made the steward they needed to deceive to be sharp. Perhaps a bit too sharp. 

I describe to them as he narrowed his eyes at Alysse's carefully woven tale, questioning details she hadn't accounted for, pressing for information she didn't have. Rhaenys, for all her pride, sat stiffly, realizing they were teetering on the edge of failure.

Alysse rolled. The dice clattered against the table.

A three. Damn.

The steward's suspicion deepened. "I don't recall any Lord Alerys having a niece." I mimicked the NPC's cool tone. "Perhaps you'd like to explain yourselves."

Rhaenys tensed, about to speak. Probably to tell the steward exactly who she was, which would have destroyed everything they'd built so far.

I had to step in.

Tapping the table, I finally spoke out of character. "Before you panic—"

"I'm not panicking." Rhaenys interjected immediately.

"—before you panic." I continued, unfazed. "…you still have options." I turned to Alysse. "You can attempt to salvage the lie, but the difficulty has increased. Or…" I looked at Rhaenys. "You can try a different approach."

Alysse exhaled sharply, already running through possible counters. Rhaenys hesitated for a moment until a slow smile crept across her face.

"I have an idea."

Alysse frowned. "I don't like that look."

Rhaenys ignored her, turning her attention back to the game.

"I pretend to faint." She declared.

Alysse blinked. "You what?"

"I pretend to faint." Rhaenys repeated, smirking. "We're playing noblewomen, aren't we? And noblewomen are supposed to be frail and delicate and prone to fainting at the slightest stress." She rolled her eyes. "Or at least, that's what men think."

Alysse opened her mouth, clearly about to argue, then stopped. Slowly, she sat back. "…That might actually work."

"Of course it will." Rhaenys argued before rolling.

Alysse held her breath as I watched the die bounce across the table.

A nineteen. Damn impressive.

I grinned before continuing narrating the scene. "The steward barely has time to react before you collapse onto the floor, dramatically clutching your forehead. Gasps ripple through the chamber. Servants rush forward, murmuring about how terribly pale you look, how frightful the heat must be."

Rhaenys leaned back, looking insufferably pleased. "And while they're distracted, Alysse slips away to steal the key we need."

Alysse shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. "I can't believe that worked."

Rhaenys smirked. "You should start listening to me more."

Alysse scoffed, but she wasn't arguing anymore.

The game moved on. And for the first time, they were not only truly playing it together. But also having fun.

————————————————————————

Eventually, it became a habit for the three of us.

Every couple of nights, we found ourselves here, seated around a low table in the dim candlelight, the clatter of dice and the shuffle of cards filling the quiet spaces between us. What had begun as an indulgence for my own amusement had become something more, a ritual, a sanctuary carved out in the heart of the Red Keep.

Rhaenys, to my mild surprise, had taken to the role-playing sessions with a natural ease. Perhaps it was the boundless imagination of a child, or perhaps it was that, for the first time in years, she had been given the freedom to pretend. 

In the stories we wove, she could be anything, a cunning spymaster, a sword-wielding princess, a shadow among shadows. And she thrived in it. The same girl who once moved through the castle with quiet, measured steps now leaned forward with wide eyes, a grin tugging at the edges of her lips as she debated her next move.

Alysse, on the other hand, was drawn to the games of strategy. She had a mind for calculations, for weighing risk against reward, for the slow, methodical unraveling of an opponent. 

My card game, a simple yet vicious battlefield of wits and probability, had become her personal battleground. And though she played the RPG sessions with the rest of us, I could tell she was still adjusting, still learning to let go of the rigid structures of logic and step into the unknown.

In truth, they both were.

Rhaenys gravitated towards roleplaying because she was used to having no one else to count on. Here, she could make choices based on what she could bring to the table. 

Alysse favored the cards because, for all her intellect, she wasn't yet comfortable with uncertainty and the lack of extra lines of support. It was easier when there were rules, when the world could be broken down into patterns and probabilities from a God's eye view of things.

But both of them played the other's game, pushing past their own limitations while aiding the other with what they knew to do best. 

And in the end, that was what mattered. But it didn't stop there, our game nights were only a part of their education.

Alysse needed more than books and lectures to sharpen her instincts. She needed to see the weight of a coin in a merchant's eyes, to hear the shift in tone when a deal was turning sour, to feel the pulse of trade beneath her feet. 

So, I took her into the city, to the polished storefronts of the Street of Silver, where wealth dictated the rules. They were masters of their craft, artisans and businessmen who had spent decades perfecting the art of profit.

Petyr Baelish would certainly be satisfied with these little excursions of ours, thinking we were growing closer than we already were. Fortunately his game was obvious. Both me and Alysse in the open, framed by the backdrop of fine merchants and the bustling aristocracy of King's Landing. 

A subtle reminder to those who paid attention that House Arryn was not only currently close to the throne through Jon Arryn, but in the not so distant future might also be even closer through Alysse. And that was all it took to manipulate Littlefinger into believing his investment in her would be one of his safest gambles.

We walked side by side, our small escort a respectful distance behind us. Two guards, usually from both of our houses, silent and watchful, their hands never straying far from their weapons even in a place such as this one. 

And, of course, Barristan. The old knight had not objected to this little excursion, he never did when it came to me. If anything, he seemed quietly amused, as if watching a younger version of Rhaegar, learning the weight of a purse and the worth of a word.

As expected, our presence drew more than a few curious glances.

It amused the merchants to see two noble-born children wandering their stalls, pretending to be something other than what we were. But amusement only carried them so far before caution set in.

Our first victim was a jeweler, a sharp-eyed man with a knowing smirk, who immediately glanced at our clothing, at the fine wool of our doublets, at the embroidery on our sleeves. 

He named his price. It was ludicrous.

Alysse hummed, her fingers tracing absent patterns against the glass, eventually giving her counter offer as eloquently as she could.

I saw the way the jeweler's smile twitched, just a fraction, as she didn't react immediately. Alysse might be young, but hesitation was a language all its own. And she was learning to speak it fluently.

"You drive a hard bargain for one so young." An elderly jeweler mused as he eyed Alysse, his fingers tapping idly against the counter.

Alysse didn't miss a beat. "A bad bargain isn't worth making, no matter the age."

The man chuckled, stroking his beard. "True enough."

She had secured the deal before he even realized it, shaving a full third off the price of the silver comb she'd set her sights on. As we left the shop, Alysse tucked her new prize away, her steps lighter, her chin lifted just a little higher.

I watched the way her eyes flickered in quiet satisfaction, the way her posture straightened just a little more with every successful exchange.

It wasn't perfect, there were moments she stumbled, moments she let her eagerness show too soon or misjudged when to press and when to hold back, but that was why we were here. She was learning, We both were, and more importantly, we were starting to enjoy it.

"Will we be doing this often?" She asked, glancing at me.

"Often enough, until the tourney of my name day ends and I have to go with my Grandfather." I said, pocketing a trinket I had swiped from another stall moments ago. A simple wooden carving of a lion, nothing valuable. 

[SLEIGHT OF HAND CHECK SUCCEED!]

Just a test of my Sleight of Hand. No one had noticed. But even if they did, I returned everything before anyone could berate me while always maintaining plausible deniability excuses at ready.

Alysse's eyes flickered to my hands, sharp as ever, but she said nothing. She didn't have to.

Because this lesson wasn't for her. That was for Rhaenys.

Speaking of her, we both noticed how Flea Bottom no longer reeked of rot and fire. The incense had taken root, its scent curling through the streets with something almost sacred. 

Almost.

It had been a slow transformation, uneven and unfinished. Most alleys were still cracked, the stones still stained in places where blood had been spilled too often to be scrubbed away by the rain. 

But fewer people cowered now. Even in the deepest corners of the slum, the fear had shifted, no longer blind terror, but something more cautious, more knowing.

The Butcher's rule had been brute force and butchery. His death left a void I worked to fill with my Zealots devoted to my myth of the Stranger. But there were always scavengers, always men with sharp knives and small minds eager to carve out their own scraps of power.

Some I suspect were even financed by any wealthy individual dreaming of playing crime lord.

Regardless of all that, I kept bringing Rhaenys here. Not because I needed her help, but because she needed to understand.

Dressed in rags, faces streaked with dirt, we were just two more urchins slipping through the city's veins. Those who truly knew Flea Bottom, those who whispered of the Stranger's will, might have felt a shift in the air when we passed. But to everyone else, we were just shadows.

Rhaenys moved beside me, lighter than before, quieter. Not yet silent. Not yet invisible.

But she was learning.

We climbed. We ran. We moved.

Walls became ladders, rooftops became bridges. The clotheslines stretched between buildings, sagging under the weight of damp tunics and linen sheets, became our tightropes. The narrow beams of half-collapsed warehouses tested our balance, and the rare, stubborn tree growing in some forgotten courtyard became our vault.

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

[ATHLETICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

[ATHLETICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

Truly wonderful what expertise in a few skills and the fact that I've spent so much time in this district of King's Landing that I nearly knew it as well as the palm of my hand could do to the Challenge Class of my skill checks.

I certainly appreciate the opportunity to look like a badass before Rhaenys, and even my occasional slip ups could easily be acted as me testing her reaction to aid an ally.

By now Flea Bottom, which had once been a cesspit for most, it was a playground for me and my sidekick.

One night, we found ourselves crouched on the roof of a crooked building, watching the men below. A half-abandoned warehouse, the torchlight flickering as a handful of figures spoke in hushed voices.

The scent of damp wood and old ale clung to the air. Rhaenys' breathing was steady and her eyes sharp.

"Can you tell who's in charge?" I whispered.

She hesitated, scanning their faces, watching their body language. Then, finally, her gaze settled on a wiry man with a scarred lip and a nose that appeared to have been broken more than once. "Him."

I didn't ask how she knew. She was learning to see, not just look.

A lifted purse. A misplaced ledger. A stolen dagger slipped into another man's belt. Small Sleight of Hand tricks. But enough. By the time we were back on the rooftops, their voices had risen, paranoia blooming like a weed.

The first shove. Then another.

"They're fools." Rhaenys murmured, watching the tension unravel below.

"They're ambitious." I corrected her. "That makes them predictable."

She tilted her head. "And us?"

I smiled, stepping onto the tightrope between two buildings. "Unpredictable."

She hesitated for only a second before following.

Later, we grew bolder. A loose crate by the entrance. A rope cut just enough to fray. A shadow where there shouldn't be one.

No one saw us. They saw signs.

A man cursed and stepped back. Another muttered a prayer under his breath. The leaders of these small gangs gritted their teeth but said nothing.

Fear made them hesitate. Hesitation made them weak.

Rhaenys exhaled softly beside me, eyes gleaming in the dark. Not with cruelty, but with something sharper. Understanding.

She was beginning to see. Beginning to become. And I was there to guide her every step of the way.

To Varys, she would tell a different tale.

One where she had been spending time with the Crown Prince. Charming him over dice and cards, stealing away his attention with the flick of a wrist and the gleam of gold.

A girl learning to use her wits to captivate. A young prince indulging in idle distractions.

Alysse wasn't the only one shaping Littlefinger's perceptions. Rhaenys was actually managing to shape Varys'.

Honestly, I didn't know who impressed me more. And the best part was that they weren't just learning from me, Varys or Petyr, but also teaching and learning amongst themselves.

————————————————————————

RHAENYS TARGARYEN'S POV

I never saw the point of it before. 

Dresses, curtsies, embroidery, what use was any of it when men with swords decided your fate? My mother had been a princess, beautiful and refined, and it had done nothing to save her from the Mountain's brutality. Her grace did not stop her butcher's blade. Her courtesy did not spare her screams of agony. Her nobility did not lead her executioner to spare my brother.

The thought of following in her footsteps, of being another princess trapped in a castle, smiling sweetly while waiting for fate to decide my end, had always filled me with quiet rage.

And yet…

I spied Alysse move across the chamber, the train of her gown trailing behind her like a banner. Every step is measured, every movement precise, just as is mine when I'm skulking around Flea Bottom. The delicate flick of her wrist as she embroiders a silken falcon onto the fabric, so natural, so easy, as is mine when I slither my fingers into an unsuspecting target's pocket, matching our bodies in synchrony so as not to disturb their pace.

But Alysse's movements aren't just easy. They feel expected of her.

No one questions a lady with a needle in her hands, or a lyre in her lap, or a book of poetry resting delicately between her fingers. No one watches her with suspicion. No one whispers of her in dark corners.

No one fears her.

I grit my teeth. What good is power if it must always be hidden? If my birthright must be stolen back instead of acknowledged? I am Rhaenys Targaryen. My brother is Aegon, and he will return for his throne. And yet, that is his path, not mine.

I must carve my own.

Eventually I swallowed my pride a bit more, sitting beside Alysse, the lyre resting awkwardly in my hands. My fingers stumble over the strings, the sound coming out clumsy and disjointed. 

Alysse does not sigh in frustration, nor does she scowl the way the Septas do. She merely corrects me with quiet patience, her hands adjusting mine, her tone even.

"Again. Slower this time." Her gentle orientation showcasing the more efficient way to improve.

And I obey.

From my Septa's ramblings of the Mother, the Queen of the Seven, she stated a queen must be more than a warrior in spirit. A queen must charm. A queen must soothe. A queen must command a room with a glance, with a whisper, with the idea of her presence.

Alysse has been growing closer and closer to mastering it, whether she realizes it or not. People lower their voices when she passes, not because they fear her, but because they want to hear her. They want to pay her attention. She had a way of tilting her head at just the right angle to seem interested without ever committing. A way of laughing lightly when a minor lord made a jest, just enough to make him think himself clever.

From my experience with Varys, I knew, no one played a game better than the one everyone underestimates yet felt interested in keeping them around.

The Spider taught me that. He was still teaching me, guiding me through the shadows of the Red Keep, pulling back the veil of secrets that governs our world. 

"Knowledge was power, my sweet child." He cooed, his plump fingers wrapping around my own as I traced the hidden marks his spies leave behind. 

I listen, I learn, I pretend I do not notice the chains being fitted around my wrists.

My trust no longer lies with him. I cannot say when the shift happened, when his promises of my brother's return stopped sounding like salvation and started feeling like shackles. 

Perhaps it was the realization that he has always known where Aegon was, that my brother was never lost, only hidden, moved like a piece on a board. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, despite all his careful whispers, he did not save my mother.

Or perhaps it was Durrandon.

I do not know what to make of him, even now. He is not kind, not truly, kind men do not see the world the way this boy does, do not build themselves piece by piece like a sword being forged in cold, unyielding steel. 

And yet, I have never felt safer than when his sharp blue and purple eyes are watching, never felt more like myself than when I am in his presence. He treats me as if I am capable, as if I am dangerous, as if I am more than just a Targaryen princess waiting for a crown to be placed upon her head.

But he is leaving.

Alysse pretends it does not bother her, though I see the stiffness in her shoulders when she speaks of it. I have never known her without him. He is the moon that has shaped her tides, the quiet force behind her confidence, the reason she plays this game with such ruthless determination. 

And yet, even as she prepares for his absence, she thrives in it. She reminds me of myself, in that way. I wonder if he has ever considered that she might one day surpass him. 

Pressing my fingers against the strings of the musical instrument in my grasp once more, I breath slowly. 

Charm them. Soften them. Make them love you.

I will learn to dance, to sing, to recite poetry that brings lords and ladies to tears, or at least to the point where they would appreciate my effort. I will let them think me soft, harmless, a girl with her head full of songs and silken threads.

And then, when they least expect it…I will be the dragon they should have feared all along.

————————————————————————

ALYSSE ARRYN'S POV

"This is ridiculous." I turn the dagger over in my hands, frowning at its weight. Heavier than I expected. Not as unwieldy as I had feared. But still, it feels wrong in my grip, like something meant for someone else.

Rhaenys watches me expectantly, her expression somewhere between patience and amusement. 

"You don't have to like it." She says. "But shouldn't you at least know how?"

I sigh. "Numbers win wars before the first sword is ever drawn."

She doesn't roll her eyes or scoff the way she sometimes does when we argue. Instead, she tilts her head, considering. "Maybe. But numbers won't stop someone from putting a sword in you."

I don't have an immediate answer to that.

We come from different worlds. She was meant to be a princess, raised in the shadow of a dragon's legacy. I was meant to be a lady of the Vale, daughter of an honorable yet distant father and a mother I never knew. 

But when you strip away the titles, the expectations, the pretty words whispered about our futures… We were both just girls, trapped in a game played by powerful men and women.

And we both refuse to be trapped forever.

Rhaenys steps closer, her small hands pressing over mine, adjusting my grip with surprising gentleness. She hesitates before speaking again. "I don't want to hurt anyone…not really." She murmurs. "But I don't want to be the one who gets hurt, again."

There's something raw in the way she says it. Not just fear, determination.

I glance down at our hands, my fingers curled awkwardly around the dagger's hilt, hers guiding them into something steadier. It strikes me then how strange this is. I am older. Wiser, perhaps, when it comes to courtly matters. But in this, she is the teacher, and I am the student.

And unlike the adults who tell me to listen, to learn, to obey, she doesn't command. She shows. She helps.

Baelish teaches me how to play the long game, how to weave debts and favors into unseen chains. He tells me those are my weapons. And perhaps they are. But they are slow, indirect. 

If I ever miscalculate, if I ever make the wrong enemy… What will save me?

Coin? Promises? A well-placed letter? Or a friend who stands beside me?

I look at Rhaenys again, at the fire in her eyes, at the way she grips her own dagger, not as a child playing at war, at least not anymore, but as someone willing to learn, just as I am.

I tighten my grip.

"Again." I say, steadier now. "Slower this time."

Her lips twitch, the barest hint of approval. She nods and we begin once again as she steps back, gesturing for me to try again. 

I do. The dagger doesn't feel as foreign now. Not comfortable, not yet, but… possible.

She watches me closely before speaking again. "There's something else you should learn."

I arch a brow. "More knife tricks?"

She shakes her head. "Hiding."

I snort. "I am not about to crawl through tunnels like one of the Spider's spies."

"And risk dirtying your pretty dress? No, that wouldn't be much of an advantage for you." Rhaenys crosses her arms. "But that's not the only way to disappear."

I frown at her. "What do you mean?"

She glances toward the chamber door, listening, then steps closer. "You don't have to skulk around in rags to be unseen. From what I noticed from watching you…"

"Don't you mean spying?" I argued, having indeed been having a weird feeling of being constantly watched recently.

But Rhaenys just ignored my accusation and kept talking. "…a lady can vanish just as easily, if she knows how."

I scoff, but she holds my gaze.

"How many times have you overheard something because the lords didn't think you mattered? Because you were just a girl at their table, pouring their wine, smiling politely while they spoke over you to your father?"

I hesitate. The answer is "too often".

Rhaenys nods knowingly. "They don't see us, Alysse. Not really. They see our dresses, our pretty words, our curtsies. They see what they expect to see." Her voice lowers, and for the first time, I truly understand the weight of what she's saying. "That is how you can hide."

I swallow.

It's a different kind of power. Not coin, not contracts, not the sharp edge of a blade, but a mask worn so well it becomes the truth. And I could use it.

Rhaenys sees the shift in my expression. She smirks, just a little. "So? Will you let me teach you?"

I grip the dagger tighter, not in defiance, but in acceptance.

"Again." I say, voice steadier now. "I believe I can go a bit faster this time."

Her lips twitch, the barest hint of approval. She nods before we continue.

————————————————————————

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

Flea Bottom began smelling different these nights, more than it already had been. 

The incense from before still lingered in its deeper corners, but the air carried something else now, freshly baked bread, boiled stew, roasted meat. The streets, though still uneven and narrow, no longer swallowed the innocent whole in the night. At its worst segments, fewer bones cracked beneath anyone's steps, fewer desperate hands reached for the now patrolling Gold Cloak's belt. 

It was still subtle, but the difference was undeniably there.

Back when it was still winter, I would've had to carve my way through just to pass unbothered through a crowd of starving people. Now, the incense still clung to the stones, but the people walked with their heads higher.

Not all of them, though.

Suddenly, Rhaenys' stomach growled, prompting her to stiffen immediately, throwing a glance my way, as if daring me to comment.

I didn't, at least not yet. Instead, I reached into the larger pocket of my belt and pulled out a wrapped bundle. I had made it myself over my own chambers' hearth, bread, salted and minced meat, and a bit of cheese. A simply made Smash Burger, but probably unlike anything else you could find in this medieval world.

Handing it to her, I noticed how she immediately hesitated, staring at the food with narrowed eyes. "…Why?"

"You are hungry, aren't you?" I met her gaze. "Or is it beneath your royal palate, princess?"

"I'm not that spoiled." She snatched it from my hand, muttering under her breath. "You certainly are more pampered than me."

I watched as she took small, careful bites, chewing slower than necessary. It wasn't just hunger. There was hesitation, thoughtfulness.

"They do feed me…" She mumbled. "…but… sometimes I don't trust it."

"Smart." I said simply. "That's an instinct worth sharpening. But don't let them know you're sharpening it. Otherwise, they'll find a different way to harm you, one you might not see coming."

She considered my words, then took a larger bite, as if reminding herself.

From surviving the Instant Dungeon, I learned that I couldn't afford to be picky. Had to hunt and forage my own food, test everything before eating, and ration water when I had it. Got used to applying that survival mentality after that, even if I never suspected Jeyne, my caretaker, of messing with my meals.

Rhaenys swallowed. "Still, you cook better than the royal kitchen."

"Thanks, but that's a low bar." I huffed, thinking that despite how much better medieval food was in comparison to what I was expecting, it still paled before my modern palate.

She smiled, small but genuine. Progress.

Reaching into my belt again and I pulled out a small flask. "Here."

She took it, frowning slightly once she noticed it wasn't water. "Wine?"

"Try it." I gestured while still offering her the flask.

She took a cautious sip, then blinked. "It's sweet." Another sip. "And… bubbling?"

"It's called Soda." I told her.

She took a longer sip this time. "It's good. What's in it?"

"Caramelized honey, coriander, lemon, and carbonated water." I said, watching as she didn't seem to understand half of what I told her but still took another eager sip. "A lesser version of what I actually wanted to make, but it works."

Rhaenys wiped her lips. "Lesser?"

I smirked. "It's supposed to be stronger. Sharper. There's a plant called the cola nut that's missing. And sugar would be better than honey."

She tilted her head. "And you learned this where?"

"Books." I shrugged while thinking. 'And a past life, but that's none of your business.'

"Think it could be sold?" She asked, failing to suppress a small burping from escaping her mouth.

I glanced at the flask in her hands. She was already halfway through it. "Oh, absolutely."

The conversation shifted as we neared our destination. The warmth from our shared meal faded, replaced by the colder reality of what we had come to do.

Rhaenys squared her shoulders, setting her jaw. "I'm ready."

Giving her a look, I raised one eyebrow.

"I am." She insisted. "You think I haven't prepared myself for this?"

Smirking, I just nodded back. "Sure you have."

"I have! I just…" While huffing, she caught herself clenching her fists. "I won't hesitate."

She would, there was no doubt about that. But that was the point of this exercise. I would rather have her learn this lesson while I can still provide her some assistance.

"It may be scary at first." I said, pulling my Valyrian Steel dagger free from its concealment in my sleeve. "…but I'll be there."

Her eyes flickered to the blade.

"…That's Valyrian steel." She said, quieter now.

I twirled it in my fingers. "Good eye."

She frowned, looking closer. "It's small."

"It is. Closer to a kitchen knife than a true blade." I admitted before impressing her with some sleight of hand trick that made it seem the blade had teleported from one hand to the other. "But it's just as deadly as a regular dagger, if not more."

Rhaenys timidly nodded. "It's… my legacy." She hesitated, as if debating whether to say more. "That old fart Pycelle… he has a maester's link in his chain that looks similar somehow. And I've… I've dreamed about it."

That got me still for a fraction of a second. Dragon dreams…? I'd wondered about them ever since I was a baby, back when I spent more time sleeping than awake.

Switching to High Valyrian, I asked her, "Kesy rhaenyr māzigon? Ao jorrāelagon Valyria?" (So you dream of fire? Do you honor Valyria?)

Her eyes flickered to me, the smallest trace of suspicion behind them. "Nyke jorrāelagon ñuha līr." (I honor my blood.)

Not a bad answer.

I tilted my head. "Se līr jorrāelagon ao?" (And does your blood honor you?)

She hesitated for a beat too long before answering, "Nyke gōntan zȳhon jorrāelagon." (I will earn its respect.)

She wasn't fluent, not completely. But she was sharp enough to catch meaning beyond words.

Her dark eyes met mine, and I saw it, an ember, a glimmer of something deeper hidden in her dornish eyes, something restless.

Good.

I turned back toward the alley. Our targets were close now. Just a few more steps, and she would get her first taste of blood.

Signaling for her to follow me, I moved first.

I opted for going after small and isolated prey, surprising low level thugs one at a time while making sure to properly introduce Rhaenys to the concept of taking a life.

Despite my training with Barristan, I knew I would be outmatched in most situations if I wasn't fighting dirty, my first attack had to count.

Soon, I managed to catch our first target by surprise with a CriticalHit Sneak Attack that would've killed the man instantly had I not decided to let him bleed while paralyzed from a Valyrian steel slash in his spine before I tripped him to the ground, letting Rhaenys finish the job.

She hesitated, as expected.

Her face contorted as she firmly gripped the weapon Varys gave her, firmly steeling her will to kill as I raised the bandit's head, exposing his throat to her while granting her one of my Bardic Inspirations for what she had to do.

The man swore and cursed despite his inability to fight back, making the deed as unpleasant as he could, but Rhaenys backed up her previous words with actual action.

"Arrrgh!" She growled before impaling the bandit's head from underneath his jaw.

The body slumped. Her breath hitched as blood splashed over her.

A moment passed before she lurched forward and vomited onto the cobblestones. I caught her before she could slip, holding her steady as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

She panted, her face pale but determined.

"Vezof syt zūgagon." (Good. You did well.) I said while wiping Rhaenys' face with a spare cloth as she steadied herself, her breath still ragged from her first kill. The stench of bile mixed with the iron tang of blood, but she no longer gagged at it. 

That was something.

"Vezof syt zūgagon." (Good, you did well.) I said in High Valyrian, my voice measured, approving.

Her dark eyes flickered up to mine, uncertain but searching for something, judgment, approval, guidance.

She found no judgment, but I saw the glimmer of something else. Admiration.

Rhaenys straightened, exhaling sharply as if to shake off the tremors still lingering in her hands. 

"Kessa… Kessa nyke gōntan…" (Yes… Yes, I did…) She stumbled slightly, still adjusting to the rhythm of the ancient tongue.

I tilted my head, smirking. "Naejot sagon īlvon, iā arlī syt ruñar?" (Do you wish to continue, or do you need a moment to breathe?)

"Nyke jorrāelagon… gō… gō…" (I want to… I must con…con…) Her jaw tightened, her brow furrowed, searching for the word.

"Gōntan?" (Continue?) I finished for her.

She huffed but nodded, gripping her dagger tighter. "Gōntan." (Continue.)

"Rhaenys, rȳbagon nykēla…" (Rhaenys, control your breathing…) I instructed, stepping ahead while surveying the alleys for our next target. "Kesīr gōz ilza naejot urnēbagon." (Here, fear is a weakness.)

She inhaled deeply, steadying her grip. Her fingers were still too tight around the hilt. Too rigid.

"Arlī." (Again.) I gestured ahead, spotting another thug, alone, easy prey.

She licked her lips, then nodded.

"Nyke jaelā tolvie. Ao pāsagon se paktot." (I will strike first. You finish the throat.) I instructed.

She gave a small nod. 

This time, she didn't hesitate. As I moved, she followed.

Henceforth that night, whenever we encountered enemies that were in my list to leave a message to the other criminals still nonbelievers to the cult of the Stranger, we always used the common tactic where I disabled them with my superior skill before Rhaenys went in for the kill.

Slowly making her get used to bloodshed and seeing men shitting themselves, I even lectured her about how to properly avoid the now increasing numbers of Gold Cloak units patrolling the streets. A considerable number of them now seemed to really want to keep Flea Bottom safe.

"Biarves! Tolī jaelza!" (That's weak! Put in some more effort!) I said while granting her another Bardic Inspiration, strangling another bandit with one of my traps.

Startled, Rhaenys recoiled back for a moment but immediately used the momentum, she once again charged at the vulnerable criminal with great force, piercing the man's eye firmly with her Castle-forged steel dagger.

"Sȳz. Hen jāre, sepār glaesā nādrē like bē." (Good. From now on, just keep fighting like this…) Smiling at the speed she was progressing, I told Rhaenys after she recovered from another kill. "Gō!" (Let's go!)

Not groundbreaking progress, like me she was still outmatched in anything resembling a fair fight, but still good to have that killing experience while facing dangerous opponents in my absence.

————————————————————————

The soft rustling of curtains pulled me from my much-needed rest. I groaned, reluctant to open my eyes, but the morning light was already spilling into my chamber.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" Alysse's voice was light, teasing, but pleasant enough to keep my mood from souring.

"Hmmm…morning." I sighed, forcing myself to sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Once I heard the commotion coming from outside my chamber's windows, I remembered. "…how are the festival preparations looking?"

She turned to face me, arms crossed and a pleasant smile. "Your father is going all out. He's ordered the Master of Coin to make everything ready for the tourney before winter comes. It seems your name day will be quite the spectacle."

"At least he never misses an opportunity for a lavish party." I huffed a quiet laugh before pausing and suppressing a smirk. 'Even if celebrating my name day has never been at the top of his priorities… like always.'

"If you forgive me…" Alysse hesitated, as if weighing whether to speak her mind. "…I fear he might be spending too much on these tourneys."

"Indeed." I agreed easily, then added with a pointed glance and subtle sarcastic tone. "Good thing the Master of Coin is such a competent and loyal servant of the Crown. Otherwise, I doubt my father would be getting his festivals…especially with the world still reeling from the sudden change of seasons going by faster than before."

The hidden meaning in my words took only a moment to settle. 

"Yes… competent." Alysse repeated, though there was now a distant look in her eyes.

We both knew Littlefinger was trouble, regardless of how friendly he often presented himself, but Alysse had tasked herself with learning everything she could from him in hopes of one day being able to substitute the conniving Master of Coin in his own game.

I let the silence stretch before speaking again. "Did you know his family has roots in Braavos? Before the mockingbird became his sigil, he once boasted of the Titan."

"Seems like a practical choice. At least if he wanted to blend in more seamlessly amongst the other Westerossi lords." Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, her sharp mind already connecting the most likely reason for Baelish's mindset. 

Before she left I called her, watching as she straightened her posture, caught in whatever thought that held her there. "Alysse?" 

"Y-yes?" She answered quickly, as if she'd been meaning to leave but hadn't quite convinced herself to move.

I tilted my head. "Would you mind lending me a hand with putting my siblings to sleep tonight?"

Her lips parted in surprise before curving into a smile. "Not at all."

Later that same day, after going through my regular routine, I finally found myself inside my half-siblings' chamber.

It had taken me a while to warm them up to the idea of my tale of the Hobbit. Not the absurd mess and overlong retelling of my past life's films, but rather the simpler, more magical version, the one I recalled from that mostly-forgotten animated film.

The real challenge hadn't been recalling the story itself but introducing the concepts behind it. 

Westeros had no dwarves beyond the occasional human with stunted growth such as Tyrion, no elves beyond the remnants of the Valyrian freehold, and certainly no hobbits. Orcs, too, had to be explained, though they seemed easier for Lann to grasp, simply another breed of the monsters parents told their children in order to make them behave. 

Wizards were trickier. Here, magic was mostly regarded as myth and what little remained was hoarded by alchemists, sorcerers and shadowbinders, but the idea of a robed old man wielding a staff of power? That was something new.

And then there were the dragons. Not as Targaryen war-beasts, not as mindless monsters of Valyrian ambition, but as something ancient, something wise, something different. Smaug was a challenge to present in a world where dragons had only ever been seen as weapons of conquest. Still, I spun the tale with care, making them see not just his size and his fire, but his pride, his greed and his cunning.

[PERFORMANCE CHECK SUCCEED!]

Joanna, of course, had been the first to fall in love with the story. Lann followed soon after, drawn more by Bilbo's cleverness than his bravery.

And now, as I leaned back against the pillows after making good enough progress on my tale, Joanna clung to me with a grip far too strong for her small arms, nuzzling into my side with an affectionate sigh.

Alysse chuckled, arms crossed. "You know, I'm starting to suspect she really likes you."

"You think?" I teased, pressing a quick kiss to Joanna's golden curls, earning a sleepy giggle.

"Another song, Don." Alysse requested, her face bright with amusement.

"Yes, please." Lann added, attempting to sound indifferent but failing spectacularly.

"Another?" I raised an eyebrow, pretending exasperation. "I've been trying to put you two to sleep for an hour."

"Pretty please." Joanna pleaded, weaponizing her infamous pout.

With a dramatic sigh, I surrendered. "Alright, alright. But after that, you will sleep."

"Deal." Lann nodded, always the honorable one when it suited him.

Joanna and Alysse nodded as well, though I noticed the latter had forgotten she was here to help, not to be entertained.

Settling the lute against my lap, I strummed the first few chords, letting the familiar melody fill the room. 

"Heeey brother, there's an endless road to be discovered…" Lann lifted his gaze, quiet admiration flickering across his baby face.

"Heeeey sister, know that water's sweet but blood is thicker." Joanna swayed slightly, enraptured, her tiny hands clapping softly in time with the song.

I shifted my gaze between them.

"Ooooh, if the sky comes falling down, for you… there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do." Joanna clapped enthusiastically, Lann following, and even Alysse joined in, though Joanna shot her a brief, almost jealous glance for stealing her moment.

[PERFORMANCE CHECK SUCCEED!]

I kept playing, the rhythm picking up.

"Hey brother, do you still believe in one another? Hey sister, do you still believe in love, I wonder?" This time, I signaled for them to sing along. Alysse, of course, was the first to follow, much to Joanna's annoyance.

By the time I eased the melody into something softer, their yawns had finally caught up with them. I barely concealed my smirk of victory.

Pulling their blankets up, I kissed Joanna's forehead, ruffled Lann's hair, and quietly stepped out with Alysse, shutting the door behind us without a sound.

As soon as we were in the hall outside my siblings' chambers, I crossed my arms, raising an eyebrow at my friend. "Thanks for all the help back there."

Alysse grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Don. I was just… having too good a time listening. Your stories, your songs…they're incredible. Honestly, I don't think most poets could hope to compare to you."

"You flatter me, Lady Arryn." I let out a short laugh, giving her an exaggerated bow. "I had intended to wait a few more years, but with your encouragement, I'll set out at dawn to entertain the masses."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop it. I know you too well…you'd never be content with just one path. You love practicing in the training yard, you love studying at Grandmaester's office…"

"Passion shouldn't be mistaken for love…" I corrected, tilting my head. "The sword and the book might seem like my arm and my mind, but it is art that keeps my heart beating."

Alysse stilled for half a breath, her expression unreadable before she shook her head with a quiet laugh.

"Oh, Don, it's a good life we lead." She murmured, clasping her hands together. Then, softer. "I mean… you and me, here in this castle."

"The best…" I agreed, grasping her shoulders lightly, sweeping her off her feet just enough that she let out a small gasp. Even though she was still a bit taller than me, I liked the momentary shift in balance.

"Even though I know things will change, I hope we never do. Don't you agree?"

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Alysse blinked, startled, by my words, or something else entirely. Something she wasn't quite ready to name.

Then, after a second too long, she nodded. "Y-yes… I do."

I smiled, pressing a quick kiss to her hand. "Good night, my lady."

She exhaled softly, something warm in her expression. "Good night, my Prince."

I turned, leaving her standing there, my mother's words echoing in my mind. 'That smile of yours is dangerous, my sweet lion.'

And judging by the way Alysse watched me go, I knew the Queen was right.

————————————————————————

A few nights later…Rhaenys and I took to the roofs.

The cold drizzle kept most of the city indoors, and the few stragglers on the streets never bothered to look up.

"Nykeha rūklāt, īlvyz ȳdragon kostagon daor." (As long as we stay quiet, we won't draw unwanted attention.) I murmured. Rhaenys gave a silent nod.

The other cats I'd tamed were proving their worth, meowing soft warnings whenever someone got too close, or causing distractions when needed. Like Varys and his little birds, I'd trained my own small network of creatures to do my bidding, rats, pigeons, and strays that most dismissed as nothing more than city pests.

The rats had already begun their first major task: cleansing the sewers. Some carried away filth, others scavenged for anything of use. 

In their own way, they were doing something not so different from what Jaime had forced the Alchemist's Guild to do, rooting out and securing any hidden wildfire caches scattered across the city. According to Rhaenys, even Varys had lent his subtle assistance once he learned of the effort.

But the pigeons… the pigeons were my true lifeline. The most reliable way to communicate with the growing cult of the Stranger, using my encrypted messages. My most devout had already infiltrated Hallyne's Guildhall, Mott's Forge, and Chataya's Establishment.

If only these creatures were more useful in a fight. Their numbers alone would make them excellent tools for hunting or sabotage. Perhaps I could train a bird of prey, or better yet, claim those damned street dogs still roaming Flea Bottom.

Regardless, I'd chosen tonight's vantage point well. A large, flat roof two stories up, right at the edge of the slums.

"Vaores sylutegon syt zirȳ kīvio syt gaomilaksir." (Always be ready for the unexpected.) I had told Rhaenys before. So we had fallback options, three escape routes leading to adjacent buildings, a ladder in the back, and a designated safe spot if we ever got separated.

We arrived just in time.

The crooked merchant that has been responsible for paying for the disorganized small groups of bandits trying to take over what my cult took from Karl Tanner was already leaving. Finally guarded by a group that was somewhat manageable for me to deal with, five bodyguards flanked him, none bothering to glance up.

Stupid.

Not that they'd see us in this weather. Not that it would matter, since we were small, cloaked in shadow, and pressed into the alcove like ghosts.

[STEALTH CHECK SUCCEED!]

My Goldenheart shortbow, a gift from Jalabhar Xho for my upcoming name day, sang with deadly precision. Aided by a combination of both my True Strike cantrip and Steady Aim all on top of my Assassinate feature, the arrow found its mark right between the merchant's eyes. 

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-38 HP]

The bone-crafted tip punched clean through, jutting out the back of his skull.No saving him now.

"Skorkydoso?" (Are you sure?) I asked, already aware of Rhaenys' current limits in perception.

"Y-ydra! Dāez līr gēlenkostōbi ȳdragis kostagon daor!" (Y-yes! None of the guards have ranged weapons!) She answered, voice steady but hesitant.

Rhaenys took her shot next. One of the hand crossbows I'd given her, looted from a previous kill. She aimed at the thug trying to drag the merchant's corpse away.

The bolt struck true, embedding deep into his back.

Their armor was shit, cheap riveted mail. The kind only slightly better than the awful, useless "leather armor" that people here still thought was a real defense.

I kept forgetting how easy it was to kill someone in this world. Probably an instinctive response to having on so many occasions failed to finish an undead with a single attack back in my time in the Instant Dungeon.

Oh? Looks like they finally noticed us. And some do have crossbows.

I glanced at Rhaenys just as she squirmed under my stare, clearly realizing her mistake. 

Good. Maybe next time, she'd be more aware of her limits and the need to overcome them. Honestly, I already knew about her slip up, but proceeded all the same.

"Umbagon istin." (Wait here.) I ordered her, before she could reload, I pulled a thick blanket over her, just enough to blend her into the rooftop, and nocked another arrow. True Strike and Steady Aim guided my aim as I loosed a second shot down the edge of the roof.

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCESS!]

One of the guards was right below me. He never saw it coming since he was more concerned with climbing the building I was perched up on. My bone-crafted arrow buried itself in his eye socket while his body fell down like a sack of potatoes.

I took off running after a few seconds, hearing the others shouting behind me just as a crossbow bolt whistled past, missing me by a fair margin.

Why were they even bothering? Their employer was dead. Their contract was over. Were they chasing out of pride? Or did they expect compensation for catching the assassin?

Not that it mattered. I'd prepared for this.

After making sure I drew their attention away from Rhaenys, I ducked down into an alley and vaulted over two stacked crates I'd placed earlier, just one of the many contingency plans my paranoid mind forced me to prepare beforehand. The last crate was chest-high for an adult, perfect for breaking the enemy's line of sight and hiding.

[STEALTH CHECK SUCCESS!]

Holding my breath, I pulled back my bowstring.

The guards rounded the corner, swearing as they scanned the shadows. I emerged just long enough to startle them, then struck.

Two arrows, two quick kills. My Hunter training let me fire twice in rapid succession at targets within range of one another. The first took the brunt of my Sneak Attack, but the second required an extra shot to finish him which I had readied just in case I missed a vital organ.

Now, back to the rooftops.

[ATHLETICS CHECK SUCCEED!]

By the time I returned, Rhaenys had engaged the last three thugs guarding the merchant's body. I dropped down from the roof, Valyrian Steel dagger in hand and activating True Strike almost instinctively.

[ACROBATICS CHECK FAILED!]

[HEROIC INSPIRATION USE EXPENDED!]

[ACROBATICS CHECK SUCCESS!]

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-32 HP]

Heh. No fall damage again. This time with a successful Assassin's Creed movement no less. One day, I might even pull off a proper Leap of Faith.

But no time for that now.

As my dagger sank into his neck, I threw two bone crafted darts at the nearest standing guard, which wouldn't have been enough to finish him up, but thankfully Rhaenys sealed the deal by another sniping shot.

Damn. She was actually getting good with it.

The last man finally turned from finally looting the dead merchant's body, eyes now darting between Rhaenys standing near the edge of the roof and me just as I ended his companion before him.

Visibly struggling to process that two children had slaughtered his entire crew, his face twisted with rage before he roared and charged.

I smirked, ready to hide behind the nearest cover just to bait the man to come after me, but I didn't have to.

Rhaenys, still perched on the rooftop, put a bolt through his unprotected chest with the second hand crossbow I had given her, saving her the need to reload the previous one.

And just like that, it was over.

I looted the corpses and left a clear message that the Stranger was there before heading back to Rhaenys. Without a word, I smacked her over the head.

Not strong enough to actually damage her, after all my strength modifier was still negative, but enough to sting a bit.

"Qringē! Skorī nyke issa?" (Ouch! What was that for?) She yelped, rubbing her head. "Avy jorrāelan, nyke gīmigon daor zȳhon lentun gēlenkostōbi!" (I swear, I didn't know they had crossbows!)

"Bisa iksos skorkydoso nyke brōzi istin… naejot īlon ruaragon tistāli. Yn nyke īlva ūndegon naejot ossēnagon, se ao ūndevīlī." (That's why I bring you here…to correct mistakes like that. But I told you to stay hidden, and you disobeyed.)

She stiffened.

"Rȳ ūndevīlī arlī, se īlvon morghūljon." (Disobey me again, and we're done.)

"Skorī?! Yn nyke…" (What?! But I…) She stopped mid-sentence, scrambling for an excuse. My cold stare cut her off.

She swallowed, then nodded.

Turning away, I eventually complimented. "Sȳz ēdrugon, tolī." (Nice shot, by the way.)

I didn't have to look to know she was pleased.

A pity she was more useful as a weapon than as a romance option. But for the moment I supposed it wouldn't hurt to be friends.

————————————————————————

"Are you sure this is safe?" Alysse asked from her seat, glancing out of the carriage window as we once again trundled through the bustling streets of King's Landing. 

She knew that even during the day, the city could be unpredictable.

"For us? Of course." I gave her a small smile before scratching my head. "For them, though? Not so sure. If anyone so much as looks at us the wrong way, I fear my uncle might take it as an excuse to make an example out of them."

That earned a chuckle from Ser Jaime, who rode alongside our carriage, his golden armor catching the sunlight like a beacon. 

"You wound me, nephew." He drawled, though amusement danced in his green eyes. "I can be quite merciful, you know."

"Only when you want to be." I countered, watching as his smirk widened.

Alysse, meanwhile, exhaled and straightened her posture, ever the lady even in a rattling carriage, before turning back to me. "Well, I hope there won't be any need for that. Did you bring everything?"

I tapped the back of the carriage where the sacks and parcels were stacked. "Everything. Clothes, food, a few toys… even some children's books for the caretakers to read at night."

She nodded approvingly. "That's thoughtful."

I shrugged. "Probably not thoughtful enough. The lowest among us aren't so different from the highest if given a chance."

"My prince…" Jaime cut in, his tone laced with teasing. "Do you still remember what your mother had to say about that?"

I barely held back a smirk. "Oh, I remember. 'An open heart is what you'll get in return.'" Then I leveled Jaime with a knowing look. "As hard as it might be to believe, I'm not some naive boy with foolish dreams, uncle. I just know that if you offer people kindness, they'll return it a thousandfold."

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

Jaime tilted his head, considering me. "I never said you were foolish."

No, but he hadn't exactly endorsed my view, either. Still, I let it drop. It was enough that he was here at all.

Outside, the streets were livelier than usual. Vendors called out their wares, craftsmen hammered away in their shops, and banners of gold and crimson fluttered from windows and stalls. Even the Smallfolk could tell the city was preparing for the upcoming tournament, my father's way of making my name day into a grand spectacle.

As our carriage neared its destination, I caught Alysse studying me with that sharp, approving expression she always wore when I'd said something that surprised her.

'Oh, how cute.' I thought, almost letting an amused smile escape me.

The orphanage was tucked away in a quieter part of the city, a modest building with faded banners of the Faith hanging near its entrance. Our arrival caused an immediate stir.

Little girls clung to the skirts of their caretakers, their wide eyes fixed on me as if I were some fairytale prince stepping out of the pages of a story. My black-and-silver hair, my mismatched blue and violet eyes, they whispered about it in hushed voices, fascinated.

The boys, meanwhile, were utterly convinced Alysse was an actual angel. I wasn't entirely sure whether it was her regal poise, her straight blonde hair and sky-like blue eyes, or just the way she carried herself, but they followed her like ducklings, staring in awe.

I made sure to hand out gifts personally, kneeling so I wasn't towering over the toddlers. Alysse followed suit, handing out books to the caretakers, engaging them in polite conversation the way a lady of her station should.

Jaime, to his credit, kept a relaxed stance by the door, his sword conspicuous but undrawn. His presence lent legitimacy to our visit, no mere whim of a child, but something permitted, even supported, by the Kingsguard.

[PERCEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

That was when I noticed him.

A short, lean man in the plain robes of the Faith, his head bent slightly as he watched me distribute gifts. He was amongst the caretakers, and the vest he wore were not the opulent vestments of the Great Sept's higher clergy. He simply was there, quiet but attentive, a faint yet genuine smile in his face as if he was proud of something or someone.

I had seen him before.

It took a moment to place it, but then I recalled my first visit to the Great Sept of Baelor. Septon Lucan?

The other septons had been eager to please, murmuring flattery, bending the knee. This one, though? He had stood apart, watching the spectacle with a distant, almost weary gaze. He hadn't seemed particularly impressed back then.

Now, though? Now, there was something else in his expression. A quiet scrutiny, yes, but not disapproval.

I didn't approach him, not yet. But I made a mental note of his presence.

'A curious thing, for a Septon to be here instead of in the Great Sept.' I thought before turning back to the orphans, but the thought lingered even after we left. 

A man of the Faith, choosing to serve among the city's forgotten instead of basking in the power of Baelor's halls? That was rare. And rare things were always worth understanding.

Did he suspect this wasn't just an act of charity? Even if it came from a young noble child like me?

Alysse herself was sharp enough to realize it. These visits were more than a gesture, they were part of something larger. My mother played the game through courtly alliances, my father played it through war and revelry… and I?

I was shaping my own pieces.

Alysse would be my Margaery, but even sharper. Smarter. More than a mere court beauty, someone who could shape the people's love and wield it like a weapon.

But for now, we were just two noble children in an orphanage, handing out gifts and soft smiles.

————————————————————————

The rooftops of King's Landing were my private training yard whenever I found that both Rhaneys and I had already done enough to spread my myth around for the night. 

This time, she stood opposite me, her stance firm, blade in hand. The bruises on her arms and legs spoke of her growing experience. The girl was learning.

As we moved through the shadows, I took another jab at her. "Eman vēttan se va lanta hae sȳz." (Remember to stick it with the pointy end this time.)

"H-hēnkirī… Nyke emagon ivestretan ao bona iksis qopsa!" (H-hey… I already told you it was an accident!) Rhaenys blurted, flustered. "Nyke pendagon bona nyke emagon nūmāzma ao iksā sagon doru-bāzmedagon!" (I thought I had already proven to you that it won't happen again!)

I tilted my head, giving her a knowing look. She huffed, but didn't argue further.

Raising my slightly overused shortsword and regular dagger, I invited her to attack. She took the challenge without hesitation. 

The faint sound of steel clashing against steel from our brief skirmish echoed between the buildings. She was faster than before, more precise, but her form still had openings. I exploited one, sidestepping her lunge and flicking my blade against her arm. A shallow cut, just enough to make my point.

She winced, pulling back. But then her expression twisted, her movements slowing unnaturally.

Our spar continued, but it didn't take long for her to realize something was wrong. It was almost as if all our nights of training had been forgotten by some mysterious reason.

"Skoros issa?" (What is this?) She finally muttered, confusion flashing across her dornish eyes once she failed to parry a very telegraphed strike of mine.

The poison I coated my weapons in, although not lethal, not crippling, were enough to make her falter, to mess with her attacks. A mild concoction I had crafted using my Poisoner's Kit. 

After tripping her down to the ground, I sheath my weapons and pulled a small vial from my pocket, crouching down closer to her. "Mirre." (Here.)

She hesitated while still grunting from the fall, eyeing me warily. "Skoros iksos bona?" (What is that?)

"Ēdrugon ziry." (Drink this) I ordered.

Her lips parted as if to protest, but she stopped herself. With a sigh, she took the vial and downed it in one gulp, only to gag immediately. Fortunately, her respect for me was enough to prevent her from spitting it all over my face.

"Ew! Hae jēdar!" (Ew! So bitter!) She coughed, nearly retching, her behavior once again reminding me she was still a child.

"Sȳz ēdrugon jēdar issa." (A good antidote tastes bitter.) I told her with a knowing smile.

She grimaced but swallowed the rest. I watched as her color returned, the sluggishness from before fading from her limbs. The Poisoned condition was no more.

"Mirre, ao māzigon ziry hen iā īlvon ao gōntan." (Here, take the rest for when you need it.) I handed her the remaining vials I had prepared after studying Pycelle and Hallyne's stocks of antidotes. "Lo ao jaelagon ziry naejot zȳhon vestragon, kesy issare ao naejot daor sagon iōragon arlī." (If you don't like how it tastes, make sure not to be poisoned again.)

She accepted them with a begrudging nod as I knelt to dress her wound with a Healing Kit. The cut would leave no more than a faint scar, easily to conceal unless she was naked before someone looking for it, but enough to not let her forget this lesson.

"Keligon." (Let's keep moving.) I said while rising to my feet.

"Issa!" (Yes!) Rhaenys replied. 

Her gaze drifted to the few broken bodies we left behind, what remained of another one of our so-called Night Raid. "Ao rēbagon zirȳla bona naejot arlī nȳzbari? Kesir pōnte sȳrī zȳhys ānogrose nykeā jaelā tepan." (Are you leaving them like this to send a message? Do you think the Cult of the Stranger will approve?)

I turned to her, meeting her gaze. She flinched slightly at my intensity, but I nodded.

Silence settled for a moment, until Rhaenys suddenly spoke up again. "Nyke umbagon iā sȳrī naejot emagon mirre more?" (Can I get another sip of that?)

I paused, eyeing her as she shifted meekly under my stare. With a sigh, I pulled out another flask of my self made Soda and handed it over. "Mirre." (Here.)

"Kirimvose." (Thanks.) She took a swig with gusto, this time, with far less disgust than she did with the antidote I gave her.

Rolling my shoulders, I considered my next words. "Va Planetos, ūndegon gēlion izūgas issa." (On Planetos, might makes right.)

Rhaenys nodded, absorbing the lesson. She had already grown considerably more loyal to me without even noticing. 

I was learning my limits, testing my resilience. I could handle cuts, bruises, even a stab wound if I had to. But could I regenerate a limb if I lost one? What about my eyes?

The prospect of being tortured by anyone that captured me was just as terrifying for me as it was for the regular person without its own Game system.

But I wasn't planning to live with that fear forever. I had to grow stronger, and so did my allies.

Regardless, I sniffed the air. Immediately studying Rhaenys for a moment. Something about her seemed… different.

[PERCEPTION CHECK SUCCEED!]

"Ao ūndegon vyguēse bēvilza." (You're smelling different.) I finally figured it out.

She stiffened. "Nyke… nyke gaomagon?" (I-I do?)

"Issa, yn ziry issare daor uēpa." (Yes, but it's not perfume.) I knew perfume well enough, thanks to my mother, the Queen. "Skoros issa?" (What is it?)

"Oh! Nykeā training." (Oh! It's part of my training.) Rhaenys recalled. "Varys gaomagon nyke hae naejot prōdan mirre lanta naejot pikagon ñuha vyguēse. Ziry mirre naejot ōja ñuha ruaragon." (Varys is teaching me how to make something to hide my natural scent. It's supposed to aid in my disguises.)

"Nyke gīmigon bona." (I see.) I nodded. "Skoros issa bona training syt sēnagon?" (How's your training with the Spider progressing?)

"Sȳrī sagon." (Well enough.) She hesitated. "Vāedas bona jurnegon naejot gūrogon zȳhys hen sȳndror syt iā hāedar zȳhos." (He's begun explaining how he built his network of spies.)

"Sȳz." (Good.) I narrowed my eyes. "Se skoros māzigon syt nyke?" (And what about his interest in me?)

"Ziry ōdrilaks maghon syt skoros nyke gūrēñagon ao. Se māzigon hen zȳhon māzigon bona nyke konīr jurnegon naejot… ūndegon ao." (He's intrigued by how I drew your attention. And he's starting to worry that I might… grow attached to you.)

I chuckled, considering the implications. "Ziry sytilagon bona ao līris naejot daor jiōragon īlvon kesir Pryjatan." (He must fear that I might turn you away from his Dragon.)

"Issa." (Yes.) Rhaenys nodded.

"Se skoros issa zȳhys gūrēñagon?" (And what was your response?) I finally asked.

She swallowed, then met my gaze. "Nyke… nyke ojehiksa zȳhos, vēdan naejot rūvēssan ao syt ñuha ojehiksa. Ziry sesīr naejot gīmigon bona ao gīmigon ñuha kepa." (I… I lied to him, saying I was manipulating you for my benefit. He thinks you take after your father.)

I paused, just for a moment to cause her to stiffen again. Smirking, I ruffled her hair. "Sȳz pendagon." (Good thinking.)

Her dark cheeks betrayed a faint blush. "K-Kirimvose." (T-thanks.)

I turned away, satisfied.

A couple of nights later, we found ourselves once again perched atop a rooftop in Flea Bottom.

"So, you were having nightmares?" I asked, deciding to give her a rest of our constant practice of High Valyrian.

Tossing another wrapped meal her way, she caught it deftly from the rooftop across the narrow alley, fingers deft even in the dim light, as I waited her answer

"I wouldn't call it a nightmare. It wasn't frightening or unpleasant… just intense." Rhaenys glanced down at her hands, with the cat she recognized as Balerion resting near her feet. "At first, they shook at the thought of taking a life. Almost like I was killing my own mother."

I nodded in understanding, scratched one of my own trained cat's head beneath my cloak, the little kitten purring as I slipped it a piece of fresh fish.

"Then I got eager to improve. Started having bad dreams…about failing to protect her, about being too weak when it mattered. And now?" Her voice tightened, eyes gleaming with something sharper. "Now I think about killing the Mountain whenever I get the chance."

"Planning to take his head as soon as he sets foot in King's Landing?" I asked, raising a brow.

"That's unfortunately too far off of my current capabilities." Rhaenys shook her head. "And even if I decided to risk it, I would only do it if you commanded me to."

"And what about my father?" I tested the boundaries of her loyalty. "Shouldn't he pay for rebelling against your family?"

She hesitated. A real pause. Honest.

To be fair, this time she truly assessed her feelings towards the man that killed her own father and would've been fine had her life been taken by Amory Lorch.

"Robert Baratheon isn't on my list of favorite people…" She admitted. "But unlike the Mountain… he was reacting to the kidnapping of his betrothed. My…" She exhaled, correcting herself. "…the late Prince Rhaegar had no right to abduct Lady Stark. And my grandfather? He was mad to think he could wage war against four kingdoms without dragons or the full support of the great lords."

There was no deception in her words, only pain…pain from unburying memories that refused to stay dead.

I'd come to recognize that pain in her. She didn't mourn, if she ever did before, her father or grandfather, I could feel her rejection of them. Hating the two must've been easier than grieving. 

But her mother and baby brother? They remained untouched in her heart, innocents swallowed by war.

Still, something about her felt… off.

I stared at her long enough for her to notice.

"You see… before meeting you, I had so many foolish ideas about my future." She murmured while still looking at her Balerion cat. "And somewhere deep inside, I knew they were foolish, even if I never admitted it. Can you understand that? Not having a dream… not being needed by anyone who truly cares?" Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper as her gaze shifted towards me. "The pain of merely existing?"

I met her gaze. "Can't say that I have."

She exhaled, fingers tracing the knife Varys had given her. "At first, I thought my little brother might need me. That Varys would lead me to him. But even if that boy in Essos is truly Aegon… I don't know if he'd remember me. Or if he'd even care."

Staying silent, I nodded slightly, letting her continue.

"You, Durrandon… you are precious to me." Rhaenys looked straight at me, her expression unshakable. "I don't know why, but I want to see your dreams come true. And for that, I'll become as strong as you need me to be."

'Oh no. She's pulling the Haku and Zabuza card on me.' I mentally face palmed, recalling the androgynous shinobi just as I leapt across the gap between us and opened my arms. 

"Oh, my sweet Rhaenys." I said, smirking. "You're not a tool to me. I care about your dreams too."

The words shattered something in her. Tears welled up before she rushed into my arms, clutching me like an anchor in a storm.

After a moment, I pulled back, changing the subject.

"Come to think of it…" I tilted my head, eyeing her closely. "Is your hair… more silver than before?"

"You think?" Rhaenys blinked, blushing slightly as she wiped her tears, fingers combing through her long hair.

Funnily enough, moments like these weren't out of place for us. Not amidst the constant nights of skulking, hunting, and slipping through shadows.

In a city of half a million souls, we might actually run out of criminals before the books even start.

————————————————————————

Days later, the scent of sizzling meat and fresh herbs thickened the air, mingling with the faint, ever-present smokiness from the open hearths.

Alysse and I had claimed a corner of the Red Keep's vast kitchens for our lesson, a small return for all the lessons I had given her, as she so often reminded me.

I worked the pestle over the mortar, grinding a handful of dried spices into a fine powder. Across from me, Alysse stood with her arms folded, her critical gaze flicking between my hands and the pan where butter melted over low heat.

"You're still heavy-handed with the seasoning." She advised as I pinched a bit of spice between my fingers.

"Understood." I immediately corrected myself, flicking a more measured amount into the pan.

I didn't dare contest her instructions, because it was her help that allowed me to get both my smash burgers and sodas out of my memories and into the real world.

"You're too audacious." She eventually wrinkled her nose. "Like when you insisted on pouring that dark liquid into the last dish."

"It was Worcestershire sauce… something I made by mixing and matching old recipes from past civilizations." I told her, almost letting slip more than I should have.

"It smelled like something a maester would use to clean wounds." Alysse chuckled.

"That's how you know it's good." I assured her with a wink.

She rolled her eyes but didn't press the argument. Instead, she grabbed a wooden spoon and stirred the contents of the pan.

Meanwhile I reached for my spice pouch, untying it from my belt. A simple leather bag, unremarkable to the eye… except that it wasn't.

Slipping my fingers inside, I whispered: "Saffron". And immediately after a pinch of crimson strands met my fingertips.

Alysse's stirring slowed once I brought it out of the pouch. "Where did you—? Wasn't it just salt when we started here?"

She reached for the pouch before I could stop her, not that I made much of an effort. I found her curiosity and casual proximity with me very amusing.

Alysse turned my pouch upside down over her palm. Nothing fell out. She shook it. Still empty.

Eventually taking pity on her confusion, I sighed, plucking the pouch from her grip. "I would appreciate it if you didn't shake my tools like a common cutpurse."

"Don…" Her gaze sharpened as an excited smile broke across her face. "…You're hiding something."

"Not hiding. Just… managing expectations." I reasoned with her, after all, if I wanted to make use of my first ever crafted Magic Item without her knowing, she sure wouldn't have noticed anything.

"Don't play games, Don." Her gaze didn't waver.

I hesitated in a teasing manner, then slipped my fingers back inside. "Peppercorns."

A handful of tiny black spheres appeared in my palm. I let them roll onto the table while Alysse stared as if I had just conjured wildfire from thin air.

"That—that wasn't in there before." She said slowly, eyes of shocked realization.

"No, it wasn't." I smiled.

"That's—" She lowered her voice. "That's magic."

"A practical application of it, yes." I rolled my shoulders, feigning nonchalance. "But as much as I like to brag, it's just spices, Alysse."

"Spices appearing from nowhere!" She declared, trying her best to not draw the far away servants' attention. 

"From here." I lifted the pouch. "It has limits. I can't summon whole sacks of grain or barrels of honey. Just pinches of seasoning per day. Each one is just enough for a meal."

She was still staring, her mind turning over the implications. Magic, real, tangible magic, right in front of her. Even if it was something as trivial as seasoning, it worked.

"That's…" She exhaled sharply, trying her best to sound cool with all of it. "That's handy."

"It sure is." I said, tying it back to my belt. "I call it my Handy Spice Pouch. Nothing creative, I know, but it serves its purpose."

Alysse was still lost in thought, clearly realizing that the subtle magic I had been teaching her, the kind woven through well-crafted words and body language, wasn't the only kind I had up my sleeve.

"Took me several attempts just to get this pouch's incantation going. The theory was simple enough to understand, but a real nightmare to put to use." I fed her just enough of the truth to make it digestible. "Trust me, you don't want to know the places I had to sneak into just to get the appropriate materials."

"I… suppose…" Alysse murmured, her thoughts still catching up. Then, almost absently, she reached for the bronze ring hanging from her necklace.

"…Maybe you could help me understand if this heirloom is actually magical."

I raised an eyebrow. "Your mother's ring?"

[HISTORY CHECK SUCCESSFUL!]

"Oh, right! She was a Royce from Runestone." I quickly recalled, raising my hand. "Please, allow me to take a look."

"Hm." Alysse nodded, removing the ring with a bit of hesitation before handing it to me.

Grasping the old bronze band, I ran my fingers over its surface. Faint carvings of runes, worn by time and lack of proper maintenance but still present.

"After asking my father several times about my mother's house, he once told me that the Royces are very proud of their suits of ancient bronze armor, inscribed with runes said to make the wearer immune to injury." Alysse's voice was quieter now, tinged with long-held curiosity. "But also that the truth of this claim has been called into question, given that quite a few Royces have died wearing the ancient armor."

I scrutinized the ring. To the naked eye, nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

But when I reached inward, channeling my fledgling Arcane magic, I slipped a thin metal stylus from my belt, one of the many small tools tucked within my Tinker's Tool kit. Holding the ring steady, I traced the faint carvings with the tip of the stylus, following each worn rune with careful precision. A quiet hum resonated through the bronze as I completed the circuit, the stylus acting as a conduit for my intent.

A soft shimmer pulsed along the runes, like embers buried beneath ash. Faint, but there.

"Yeah, it's definitely magical. To a degree that makes my Handy Spice Pouch look downright mundane." I let out a small laugh, rubbing my temple as I dropped my focus. "Its magic is dormant, but far from dead. Unfortunately, I don't know enough about runes yet to tell you anything more than that at the moment."

"I see." Alysse exhaled, disappointed but not surprised.

"But…" I met her gaze. "If you trust me with it, I promise I'll do my best to learn."

"Don't be silly, Don." She smiled, soft and warm, her cheeks carrying a faint blush. "Of course I trust you."

————————————————————————

At dawn, as I leaned back in my chair alone in my own chambers, I placed two carefully folded sheets of parchment onto the table.

The details I was capable of seeing being only possible after I completed another Secret Quest, this one after giving my best to teach what I had earned in my Classes.

[SECRET QUEST COMPLETED: GATHER YOUR PARTY BEFORE VENTURING FORTH!]

[FIND PEOPLE WILLING TO FOLLOW YOU (2/2)]

[OBSERVE YOUR FOLLOWER LONG ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND THEIR STATS]

[REWARD: UNLOCK THE PARTY FEATURE]

Back then the large window before me had left me stunned for almost an entire minute. Another Secret Quest which I've completed without even knowing, though this one had heavy implications for my future.

Okay, maybe not exactly just mine, it also meant I could reasonably expect to have competent people who I could rely on their support.

'Create Party!' I mentally commanded my system just to test the new feature.

[PARTY CREATED! PLEASE CHOOSE NAME!]

'Hmm…' I thought about many possibilities of names, until I decided to go with the more simple idea.

[PARTY "INNER CIRCLE" CREATED! PLEASE SELECT MEMBERS:]

Sure, not like I had many options at the moment.

[ALYSSE ARRYN, DAUGHTER OF THE HAND OF THE KING // BARD // LV: 2]

[RHAENYS TARGARYEN, WARD OF THE CROWN // THIEF // LV: 4]

The Party feature was crazy good! It let me open up the Status Windows of all my Party members whenever I wanted regardless of the distance between us.

'Open Alysse's status window!' I thought and immediately a game window popped up before me.

[TITLE: ALYSSE ARRYN // MEDIUM HUMAN, LAWFUL GOOD]

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

[CLASS: BARD]

[HP: 13 // ARMOR CLASS: 10]

[DIVINE POINTS: 2 (MAX TIER: 1)]

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

[TRAITS: DIVINE HALFCASTER // BARDIC INSPIRATION // EXPERTISE // JACK OF ALL TRADES]

[FEATS: SKILLED // MUSICIAN ]

[STR: 8 (-1)]

*ATHLETICS: 0

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

*ACROBATICS: +1

*SLEIGHT OF HAND: +1

*STEALTH: +1

[CON: 10 (0)]

[INT: 13 (+1)]

*ARCANA: +2

*(PRO) HISTORY: +3

*(PRO) INVESTIGATION: +3

*(PRO) NATURE: +3

*(PRO) RELIGION: +3

[WIS: 14 (+2)]

*ANIMAL HANDLING: +3

*(PRO) INSIGHT: +4

*(PRO) MEDICINE: +4

*PERCEPTION: +3

*SURVIVAL: +3

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

*(EXP) DECEPTION: +5

*(PRO) INTIMIDATION: +3

*PERFORMANCE: +2

*(EXP) PERSUASION: +5

[TOOLS: LUTE // FLUTE ]

[CANTRIPS: FRIENDS // VICIOUS MOCKERY]

[FIRST TIER DIVINE SPELLS: CHARM PERSON // COMMAND // COMPREHEND LANGUAGES]

Satisfaction took over me for a moment as I once again checked that Alysse had finally leveled up from nothing to Level 2, getting the same Jack of All Trades feature I had ended up doing wonders for all her other skills.

She wouldn't be impressing the likes of Barristan any time soon with physical abilities, at least not without putting several months worth into the training field like I did, but at least she was no longer completely hopeless in the physical department.

Not only that, but I had also witnessed how much her getting Expertise in both Persuasion and Insight had changed her. Which also made me more at ease with her chances of actually surviving her lessons with Littlefinger until I returned for the start of the books.

It was an entirely different thing to help her understand her recently acquired magic, which just like mine got drained for an entire day after a single use. But the best part was that, not only did I need the practice to resist magical effects, but also Alysse could test her magic against someone that was aware of what she could do.

Which hopefully would be the very rare worst case scenario whenever she had to cast it, especially with the likes of Varys still being around despite my absence.

Dismissing Alysse's status window, I proceeded to summon the stats of my other follower. 'Open Rhaenys' status windows.'

[TITLE: RHAENYS TARGARYEN, WARD OF THE CROWN // SMALL HUMAN, CHAOTIC GOOD]

[LEVEL: 4 // PROFICIENCY BONUS: +2]

[CLASS: THIEF ROGUE]

[HP: 13 // ARMOR CLASS: 11]

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

[TRAITS: EXPERTISE // SNEAK ATTACK // THIEVES' CANT // WEAPON MASTERY // CUNNING ACTION // STEADY AIM // FAST HANDS // SECOND-STORY WORK]

[FEATS: SKILLED // ALERT// SPEEDY]

[STR: 9 (-1)]

*(PRO) ATHLETICS: +1

[DEX: 14 (+2) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+4)]

*(PRO) ACROBATICS: +4

*(PRO) SLEIGHT OF HAND: +4

*(EXP) STEALTH: +6

[CON: 10 (0)]

[INT: 12 (+1) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+3)]

*ARCANA: +1

*(PRO) HISTORY: +3

*(PRO) INVESTIGATION: +3

*NATURE: +1

*RELIGION: +1

[WIS: 14 (+2)]

*ANIMAL HANDLING: +2

*(PRO) INSIGHT: +4

*MEDICINE: +2

*(PRO) PERCEPTION: +4

*SURVIVAL: +2

[CHA: 14 (+2)]

*(EXP) DECEPTION: +6

*INTIMIDATION: +2

*PERFORMANCE: +2

*(PRO) PERSUASION: +4

[TOOLS: THIEVES' TOOLS ]

[LANGUAGES: COMMON TONGUE // HIGH VALYRIAN]

And with this second window, I finally accepted the fact that both Alysse and Rhaenys had grown absurdly in such a short amount of time. Rhaenys progress was objectively faster, probably due to Baelish not going all out on training Alysse and the Spider has been very thorough with arming his protege enough so she wouldn't be caught sneaking out of her chambers.

Fortunately, I managed to convince Alysse to push herself to seek more lessons from Pycelle and even her father.

Also, by getting them both to gain expertise with Deception, something they would definitely need as to not have their respective mentors immediately see through their second intentions, I certainly breathe easier with leaving them to those top players of the Game of Thrones.

But before I could feel threatened that they might soon be more than a match for me, I heard the sweetest song that was my Game System's ping ring one more time.

[SECRET QUEST COMPLETED: IN LEARNING YOU WILL TEACH AND IN TEACHING YOU WILL LEARN!]

[UNLOCK A CLASS FROM TRAINING WITH A HIGH LEVEL TEACHER (2/2)]]

[TEACH SOMEONE THE EARLY FEATURES OF ONE OF YOUR CLASSES (2/2)]

[CREATE A PARTY (1/1)]

[REWARD: EXPERIENCE SHARE BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR FOLLOWERS]

And the best part…it was a two way street of grinding the experience, the higher the gap between my level in a class I was teaching with my pupil, the faster would be the speed my follower would grow in that role, incidentally, the more my pupil kept practicing their own class, the faster I would level up in the same class.

A real pity that I couldn't get someone like Barristan as a Party Member, but since he already seems very willing to die for me I suppose it is merely due to our current level gap.

At least, that's what I've learned from the second Secret Quest I completed without expecting once I put both Alysse and Rhaenys into the first Party I created.

————————————————————————

(04/10/2021)

(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.