It had been a few months since that night. The night when the silver-haired man known as “the Unicorn Prince” stepped into the brothel at the side of King Hugh. Immediately it was clear he was out place, and she had known it. His walk was dignified, his words were careful, and he looked upon the women present like he would have women at the Red Keep. He was so unlike the Hammer, who treated everyone with contempt, and whores especially. The Hammer had known no control over his soul, and wielded about more like a battle weapon than a carpenter’s tool. Lord Strong’s plan, already present in her mind, had cemented itself in her heart the minute she realized that it was such a man who was in danger. This was a man worth saving, for it was he who was there to save them all. Not just the women in the whorehouse, but all in Westeros. Seeing him there on the ground when she entered the room, beaten and bruised, told her he was willing to endure pain even to go through it. Such a fact had driven her to attack first before the others, and such a fact caused her to embrace him after their rescue.
She had Crownlander features, and she could only imagine the man had presumed she was a Crownlander, even though she herself was a Riverman. She had been born on the shores of the Trident, like a true Riverman might, and was raised for a short while by a poor fisherman and his wife. She only vaguely remembered them; burnt more into her memory was the time, as a young girl, when her father sold her to a madame near King’s Landing. The older woman had been looking for fresh girls, and decided Elonne would be helpful cleaning up around the brothel. That she did, sweeping the floors, cleaning the bedrooms, and beating the dust from the pillows. She matured far too early, and lost much of her innocence. She stopped bothering to ask the madame about the stains on the bedsheets she cleaned, or why some of the women she heard through the walls of her private rooms were in pain. When she passed thirteen name days, and was beginning to get asked about by visiting men, she didn’t bother to protest when the madame finally handed her over to one for several coins. With the destruction of her maidenhead came the destruction of the last bit of childhood purity she had.
Yet when Lord Rhaekar, known by some as Rhaekar the Rash, gripped that blade and declared the safety of his daughter to the Hammer, Elonne suddenly felt some of that hope return. There truly men out there who would never sell their daughter to anyone, for any price. There truly were men out there willing to rise up against kingly authorities when they ceased to serve the people and only served themselves. Such a man had the makings of a king, and such a man Elonne would have gladly served to as king. Yet when she heard that Rhaekar had turned the crown down, and in fact had helped another man win the throne, she was not entirely surprised. Such men were rare – that is, consistent men. Such men she would still gladly serve as lords rather than kings.
She walked through the streets of Kings Landing decked in her dark scarlet dress, a matching cowl and cloak placed over her head. Both eyes stared forward, the flesh beneath now completely healed from any bruising. The bruise had been thanks to King Hugh himself, after she turned down certain positions he had demanded. When she still refused, despite expecting another blow to her face, she instead received a spat in the eye. None of that mattered any way – Elonne was healing, and so were the six kingdoms.
The more she walked, bypassing the merchants, gold cloaks, and beggars, the closer she got to the Red Keep. She was amazed how much the city had recovered after the Dance of the Dragons, where it was besieged twice, both times with the assistance of dragons. The mood was generally solemn, but still business as usual. She ignored the catcalls of the tradesmen selling wares, the cries of the beggars, and the gossip of passing women, and focused her eyes on the Red Keep. She was expected there soon, to assist with the upcoming feast for King Daeron’s coronation. The Velaryon was by all means already king, but the official coronation celebration still had to take place. A fifty course meal was planned, which meant lots of food. Under the cloak, Elonne gripped the basket full of bread tighter. She had acquired a small job as a delivery girl for a small bakery, and was expected to make quite a bit of coin for her employer.
She finally arrived at the portcullis of the Red Keep. The two gold cloaks stationed there eyed her warily as she broke from the line of those passerby who kept a distance. She just smiled and took the large basket from under her cloak. “I have food for the feast. Bread. They are expecting me, sirs.” She lifted a small parchment from the basket, then held it out in her slender fingers. The order, signed by the Red Keep’s scullery master, was written on the page.
One of the gold cloaks walked over and snatched the parchment from her hand. He read it a few times over, then peered into her basket. Sure enough, there were countless loaves. He glanced to his compatriot, who merely shrugged. The first gold cloak turned back to Elonne and motioned with his thumb towards the portcullis. Two seconds later, the creak of iron was heard as the portcullis began to be raised. Elonne curtsied to the guards and stepped on, passing under the lifting gate. Within moments, she was in what many considered the very heart of Westeros.
She made her way to the storerooms, delivering the bread. As soon as the loaves were counted and measured, the gold owed was handed to her. She slipped the coin purse into her skirt’s pocket, then proceeded to head towards the exit. As she walked by, she passed several scullery maids; many of them appeared young or looked unsure – no doubt replacements after the terror that had struck Kings Landing during the Hammer’s siege and reign. She ignored many of them, as they were keeping to themselves any way, running about and performing their various duties. They were covered in sweat, and many were wiping their brows periodically. As she stepped by one group of cooks, an elderly man took her notice. He was hunchbacked and stringy, with ragged clothes covered in tears as well as food stains. His graying eyes were looking over an unrolled parchment which he held at the top and bottom with his gnarly fingers.
“Lots o’ work cut out for us. Feast is tonight, y’know.” His voice was nasal and high-pitched, almost feminine. “We gots da whole realm comin’ to see us, ‘cept d’ose Dornish folk what too busy humpin’ away down in d’at arm o’ d’eir’s.” Elonne stopped and turned her face towards the man. He was nodding at the list again and again. “Aye, been lookin’ over da guest list meself. Lots o’ important people. Everyone wants t’ appease da king.”
Elonne took a few steps towards the old man. She smiled sweetly and asked, “Pardon me, sir, but just who is coming?”
The old man lifted up his gaze from the parchment. He had one eye shut now, and was regarding Elonne with the other. He looked away, both eyes opening. He pursed his lips, then smacked them as his mouth opened again. “Lessee ‘ere… there’s Lord Dalton Greyjoy, or ‘the Red Kraken’ as ‘e’s known by ‘is folk. Or iron folk or whatever dey be callin’ themselves. Wonder if ‘e’ll bring any o’ ‘is four salt wives? Sure ain’t gonna be bringin’ dat eleven-name day lass.” A throaty chuckle, which sounded more like a giggle, left the old man’s throat.
“D’en d’ere’s that ol’ wheezebag Lord Grover Tully. ‘E’s got a right young wife too – what’s ‘er name? Comes from one o’ ‘em big families… aye, now I remember. Lannister. ‘Em Lannisters what she belong to. Myrielle Lannister. Sister t’ dat Loreon what sits in Casterly Rock now.”
“D’en d’ere’s Lord Borros Baratheon. Ugly brute ‘e is. Weren’t always so ugly, d’ough. Took a bashin’ in battle, what’s I heard. D’rew his-self in against Rhaenyra, ‘n d’at’s what he got. Wonder if that Elenda Caron of ‘is even wants t’ see ‘is ugly face at night.”
“D’en ya gots Jeyne the Maid – d’at’s what’s d’ey calls her... Jeyne the Maid, of the Vale, wit’ ‘er ‘usband Jaime Weygall. Five steps down from Ronnel, the ‘king who flew.’ Or the bloomin’ ‘king what perched,’ some folks calls ‘im.”
“D’en of course ya got that Cregon Stark, from the North. ‘E had a wife – Arra Norrey. But she died givin’ birth t’ ‘is last child, so ‘e’ll be comin’ alone. And not one bit happy about losin’ t’ crown at t’ Great Council, eh?”
“Will the High Septon be here?”
“Course t’ High Sept’n’s be here. Sixth one down the line, ‘e is. D’ey call ‘im ‘Da Next One,’ d’ough I don’t knows why.”
“What about… the Unicorn?”
“Oh, d’at kingmaker? Not like da one d’at Rhaenyra what beheaded for crownin’ her brother. Dunno! ‘E might well be, ‘e might well be...” The old man turned back to his list, his lips smacking a few times. “Aye, lots o’ people comin’, we probably drained what da entire river o’ fish...”
Elonne excused herself, deciding that the old man had returned to his business. She left the storerooms and kitchens and headed up the steps into the castle itself. As she walked towards the Red Keep exit, she thought she heard a large movement coming from another hallway. She stepped up to a corner, and realized that it was growing louder by the second. It sounded like there was a large group of people, with many in armor, headed her way. She adjusted her cowl and then glanced around the corner.
King Daeron himself was there. Despite his silver hair, he looked nearly as young as she was. Beside him was his equally young wife, Queen Rhae herself. They were stepping along the hallway in a brisk pace, flanked behind their shoulders by the Kingsguard themselves. Their white armor and cloaks looked brilliant in contrast with the interior of the keep.
Walking beside them was another young man, with dark hair and a golden cloak. He was following beside them in a hurry, like a child trailing along his mother at the marketplace. As he followed along, he held out his arms and said, “House Serrett was given the Westerlands by her majesty Queen Rhaenyra, after the treachery of House Lannister! That territory is
our land!”
Queen Rhae turned and shot the man a cold glare. “Queen Rhaenyra is
dead, Lord Jaime. You would do best to remember that.”
Daeron shot his wife an annoyed – though not unsympathetic – glance. He held up his hand and waved it at her. The queen pursed her lips and turned her head away, her cheeks turning a hue of red. Elonne had the feeling that this conversation had been going on long before she appeared. The king turned back to Jaime Serrett and spoke. “Yes, Lord Jaime, House Serrett was granted the Westerlands by Queen Rhaenyra. However, there is concern about your ability to rule. That is the reason for this change. I assure you this was not done arbitarily.”
“Ability to rule!” Jaime mimicked in a mocking tone. His left eye twitched, and did so in such a strange and unnatural way that Elonne felt her body slink back around the corner to hide more of herself. “That is a mummer’s farce, and you know it, your majesty. It was because of my adamant support of Rhaena’s claim to the throne, and you know it. I was the leader of her supporters, and you want me out of the way.” He pointed a finger to Queen Rhae. His eye twitched again. “And you, too! You probably slept with Lord Marwyn Sarsfield, I imagine. Is that why he obtained the position?”
Rhae’s mouth opened. “You ungrateful, hideous, revolting-” She was stepping forward. King Daeron held his arm out and stopped her. He shook his head to her, then turned back to Lord Jaime. His brow hardened as his lips tightened against each other.
“Lord Jaime, the decision of his majesty is final: Lord Marwyn Sarsfield is the new Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, while you shall become Lord of Silverhill. House Lannister shall remain the lords of Casterly Rock itself. If you have any charges of treachery to lodge against my wife or myself, you can take it up during the feast today and seek justice from the lords. If you have any inclinations of treachery yourself, I warn you that Larys Strong is more than capable at defending a king from the schemes of evil men. And if you even begin to think of rebellion, I must remind you that any matter taken up with the sword shall be met by the sword from the Unicorn.”
Jaime’s eye twitched. Twice. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for hair. Finally, he said, “The Unicorn?”
“Yes, he’s been reinstated as a commander in the Iron Throne’s forces. If you wish to take your issue to the sword, I would remember that you must meet him in battle – and he has thus far never lost a battle. While he may be a gentle man, he is not afraid of carrying out the king’s justice.”
With that, the king and queen turned and continued on down the hall. Elonne ducked behind the corner and watched as they passed by, followed by the kingsguard. One or two of the men in white glanced her way, but otherwise paid her no mind. Elonne stayed where she was for only a moment longer, then turned around the corner. She saw Jaime Serrett hunched over, his left eye twitching madly, while his teeth gnawed on his finger like a dog enjoying a bone. He began to glance her way. At once she ducked behind the corner.
“Little birdie, little birdie, fly away,” came a muttering voice. “Fly away, fly away, or I shall put you in a stew… fly away, fly away, oh what shall become of you...”
She heard footsteps. Her knuckles grew cold, and her heart rate elevated. A moment later, she realized that the footsteps were moving away from, not towards, her. The voice continued to mutter “Fly away, fly away,” growing quieter by the moment. At last, the footsteps and voices went silent altogether. When she her eyes glanced around the corner again, Lord Jaime was gone. A sigh of relief left her lungs, and her entire body relaxed.
Even with the lord gone, there was an ill-feeling aura that hung in the air, causing her spine to tingle from bottom to scalp. Her feet swept out from her skirt and carried her away quickly. Eventually she found herself reaching one of the doors which led to the outside. She moved faster, almost in a jog. Her eyes were locked on it. Her hands gripped her skirt harder as soon she really was running down the hall. She got right up to the door and-
It opened.
Her face crashed against armor. She felt the chill of the metal against her cheek. She stumbled back, hitting the stone wall behind her. Her heart relaxed as it dawned upon her she had managed not to tumble backwards on her bum. She rubbed her eyes and her cheeks, still feeling the shock of the collision.
“Are you alright?” came a familiar voice.
She glanced up… and immediately looked back down, her cheeks turning red. Standing there in the doorway, decked in full armor, with his silver hair flowing down over his shoulders, was Rhaekar the Rash himself. The Unicorn Prince’s violet eyes regarded her head to foot, in a more concerned than leering way. She lifted up her fingers and brought her cowl down over her head, trying to hide as much as her face as possible.
“Are you alright, madame?” he repeated.
She blushed more when she realized she had gone quiet for far too long. She also pondered if he recognized her at all from that one night in the brothel. She kept her head down as she swallowed. “Yes, m’lord.”
“I did not mean to hit you. Forgive me.”
She nodded. She found herself frozen in place. She had been eager to see her rescuer again, after all these months, and after hearing report after report of his exploits in the Reach. Now that she had him before her, in the flesh, and as real as he had been that night when she hugged him tight, she was uncertain what to say. For her, it was as if Aegon the Conqueror had just stepped from the pages of a maester’s book and deemed her worthy to be acknowledged.
“Are you certain you are alright?”
She was acting like a little girl in trouble with her father, and she knew it. She had to say something. She giggled nervously, then tugged more on her cowl. “Yes, m’lord. Forgive me. It is just that I have heard much about you. About how you became Lord Protector, how you humbled the Hightowers, how you made the Velaryons the new king, how you have brought peace to Westeros again.” She was talking quicker and quicker by the word. “I have heard and listened to all your exploits. I have clung them in my heart. In my mind you are the kingdoms’ champion. Amazing. Heroic. Brave. I… I… I think you are an astounding person!”
She realized then that, in addition to her tempo becoming excited, she had become far too giddy in her tone. She sounded like a little girl trying to get the attention of a champion at a tourney. She blushed harder, and bit her lip. Rhaekar had simply stared at her as she spoke each word, and was still staring blankly now. Her heart sank, and she immediately wanted to just run away.
Then Rhaekar smiled. “Likewise.”
At that, the Unicorn Prince left the doorway and continued on. He was followed by an older gentleman in armor who let out a subdued burp as he passed. When he took notice of Elonne, his eyes went to her chest, then looked away. Who this man was, Elonne had no idea.
Following the strange fellow was a younger woman decked in a green dress with white hair pulled back behind her head. She had her hands folded before her belly, with one over the other, and Elonne couldn’t help but notice that the one underneath was unnaturally still, while the other tapped its index finger repeatedly. On the girl’s shoulders was a small, ugly dragon that looked at Elonne with more of a curiosity than hostility, so that Elonne did not feel any fear upon seeing it, other than shuck at its absurd appearance. The young girl, who had to have been just three name days younger than Elonne, turned and looked at her for just a moment, then glanced away again. She closed her eyes and held her chin up, like a slave being led away by its masters. Elonne guessed that this girl must have been Rhaena Targaryen herself, the last surviving member of the House Targaryen, and one of the other potential candidates for king. She was a beautiful woman, and Elonne imagined Rhaekar had to feel very lucky to have her for a bride.
Behind this young girl came one more person, who was an older, plumper woman, dressed in simple robes. In the woman’s arms was a small child, perhaps several months along in her life. The child, who had silver hair growing on its head, looked about the hallway with an inquisitive manner. When the infant took notice of Elonne, those violet eyes – the same shade as Rhaekar’s – studied the girl as Elonne were the first person they had ever encountered. At once, Elonne knew who this was: Leana, the daughter of Rhaekar and Rhaena. An immense warmth, like a lit flame, came over Elonne’s heart. Tears formed on the edges of her eyes. As the woman and child passed her by, the infant and Elonne stared back at one another. In Elonne’s mind, she remembered the boastful, hateful words of King Hugh the Hammer. He had boasted he would torture Rhaekar’s daughter, make the girl weep and wail, and then feed what remained of her to the Unicorn Prince. That was when the brothel had attacked, and exacted revenge for all the pain Hugh had caused to women in Kings Landing. With a final stroke of his sword, Rhaekar had declared to the Hammer,
“Her name is Laena – and she lives!” Now here was that same child, gazing back at Elonne like infants often did. Yes, she did live. She was alive and well.
“Such a noble family,” Elonne whispered. Though she was well aware that they had humble abodes in Duskendale, she felt like they were a far more worthy family of service than any coming to the Red Keep that day. She pulled her cowl back, exposing her dark hair and feeling the slight breeze running through the hall brush against her face and neck. She smiled more, and at that moment a resolution came upon her.
She had to be in service to this family. She would be. Right now, nothing meant more to her than to be a servant for House Valzyren.
