⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ °• ☼ CHAPTER ELEVEN: THE FALL ☾ •°⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

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trigger warning: near-rape. the use of ( . . . . . ) will indicate when the said scene begins and ( . . . . . ) when it ends.

AERYS II HAD ordered Nessie to be given to Robert Baratheon as an appeasement to the war. He never had been quite opposed to sacrificing family, it seemed. And so, in the morning, the two remaining of Nessie's handmaidens who hadn't escaped or been executed, prepared to send her off. They dressed her in the finest sea-foam silk and lace dress she had ever worn, adorned with crystals and small pearls throughout. Inside the skirts of the dress, Nesaela had pinned the broach Elia had gave her: the rose piercing the Dornish's sigil of the sun, it pressed against her leg in an effort to give her strength. Her hair was done in a single braid tied back with her beloved dragon pin. Her father had made especially sure that the gown revealed one of her slim, long legs. He wanted Robert to agree to take her, after all. Nessie decided once she'd finished getting ready, that she probably should have taken Tylan's advice on escaping the city. Instead, she secured silver and diamond earrings through her ears. She did look exceptionally pretty.

          Nessie was ordered to stay in her room until she was to be presented to Tywin Lannister, who had apparently brought his army in to assist against the opposing forces. There, she would be taken to Robert Baratheon as a gift, and her father, most stupidly, believed it would be enough to appease him. Nessie knew she was a dead girl.

          So, she combed her hair with her seashell cone and sat on her balcony, waiting for the army to proceed through the gates. She tried to stay calm as she perched on the cold marble. She tried to not cry. She was to turn only fifteen in a few months.

          The Lannister army filtered through the gates in sheets of gold, like the wings of wyverns glittering in the sun. They were beautiful, Nessie thought, in a terrible kind of way, because she knew their presence meant the soon arrival of Robert Baratheon, and she would be gifted to him. The Lannisters had come in support—they were sworn to the king, after all—but the second the soldiers had stepped into the stone floors of Kings Landing, their swords tore through the backs of the Targaryen soldiers. That was beautiful too, in a way; her whole life Nessie had been waiting for knights and heroes to rescue her, and now they came; but they came to kill her instead.

         Blood spread across the pavement and the common people scattered. Nesaela flinched, and as quick as a deer, hopped down from the railing of her balcony and slammed herself inside her room. Someone below threw a lamp against a building and it burst into flame. Screams filled the air.

          When tears came to her eyes, she willed them away fiercely. Baela did not cry when she fell from the sky. Still, Nesaela dug her fingernails into her palms and bit down on her tongue to stop the sob.

          She did not ask for a war. She did not ask to be the peace prize.

          Nessie jumped as her door slammed open, and she snapped her head around, dress skirts billowing after her form like she was a nereid in ocean waves. She had prepared to face Lannister soldiers, but there stood only Tylan, out of breath and panting as if he'd run all the way from the Gate of The Gods. She was so relieved to see him that Nessie had the urge to leap into his arms like a frail bird. Instead, she found the courage to only walk towards him, eyes wide and heart pounding impossibly in her chest.

         "Stay indoors, Princess," Tylan told her, almond eyes worried. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and his almond eyes were still so kind towards her. She didn't ever think she'd seen hatred of her in those eyes. "Don't leave this room for anything."

          We should run, thought Nessie, but her throat was dry, and it was too late. They were trapped in the city, and her mother and Viserys had been in the courtroom when it began. Panic pulsed through her, washing over the frozen state she'd been in. Her family were downstairs. She started towards Tylan when he caught her, preventing her from leaving the room. "I need to find my mother!" Nessie cried, pushing against Tylan with all her might. Her face was flushed red, afraid and desperate. "Please! They'll kill her!" Tears ran down her cheeks, blinding her eyesight. Nessie's fingers grasped at Tylan's shoulders.

         "The Kingsguard will be looking after her. They'll protect her. We need to stay here until they come to get you." Kings Landing had procedures, in which the monarchs were always prioritised. They would come for her, but until then, all she could worry about was her mother and younger brother. If the Kingsguard didn't get to them first—

          Nesaela struggled against him. "Please, Tylan! Let me go, I have to find them." He caught her by the wrist and forced her back, still gently, as if he were dealing with a bouquet of foxglove instead of a girl. There were tears stinging in her eyes. "They'll kill Mother. They'll kill Viserys." She wondered where Rhaegar was, a thousand leagues away, and whether he'd condemned them to this death.

          "You need to stay here," Tylan repeated softly, until Nessie's strength gave out and she dropped her head into his shoulder. "Lock the doors, let no one but me in. I'll alert you when we need to leave the castle." He stepped away from her. "Your family will be alright." When he closed the door, Nessie locked it, pressed her back against the wall and slid down it.

          Queen Rhaella Targaryen was holding her young Viserys in her arms as she was rushed through the docks. Her Kingsguard had managed to cut them an escape through the horde and by using the secret tunnels which spat them out at Aegon's high hills. It was a fast journey, with Rhaella clutching her pregnant belly and a boat already waiting designated for them.

          "The King has ordered you to leave," the Kingsguard soldier said, urgency in his voice. He was an older member of the Kingsguard, one she had known since she was a child, and she saw his weathered age through the slits in his helmet. "Now, my Queen," he ushered, moving the frail woman up the gangplank.

          Only then, when Rhaella's feet were touching the ship's deck, did she understand what they were to do, why Nesaela was not with them. Whether it was an accident or an intentional step in Aerys' planning, it warranted the girl a death sentence.

          Rhaella pushed against the guards, trying to run back down the ramp. "My daughter!" she cried, attempting to get past. "My daughter!" She reached past them with a hand, other fingers curling around her belly.

          The Targaryen soldiers gently pushed her back in the ship. "My Queen, we must sail. The King gave us direct orders. If your daughter is not here, then she is already gone." And nothing would stop Rhaella's wailing for her dead daughter as she sails caught the wind and carried the ship into the open ocean.

           Nesaela's room had filled with the warmth of spring, but it was not welcomed. The noise of death rang below and through the halls outside her room. She held her scaled dragon egg in her fingers. She rotated the egg around in her hands to study its imperfections.

          Perhaps, if she was brave, she could throw herself from the tower before they caught her. She was sure Baela would have done the same. If she were to die, let it be done with fire and stars in her veins.

          For the second time in that morning, Tylan pounded his fists against her door. "Nessie, open the door, it's only me." The girl stumbled over him to unlock the bolt, letting Tylan step inside. This time he had blood on him, though his only visible injury was a shattered arm-brace which dripped with red. His eyes found hers. "Nessie, we need to go," he said with urgency, and Nesaela nodded, ready to follow him.

          Tylan had fought many men for her, but he'd never been in a real war. Perhaps, that was why he was caught off guard at that moment, when his eyes shone like copper and the sun cast a shadow over his face, and his olive skin seemed to glow golden. Nessie was so afraid, that when the Lannister soldier stepped into the room from the hallway behind Tylan, her tongue couldn't form any words. She could have said, 'Behind you!' or 'Watch out!' or even his name, but instead all she'd managed to say was "T—" before the sword cut through his back as if it was paper, blade opening his chest like a nameday present.

          Blood ran from his lips, down his chin and tunic like red wine. He did not even look at her before he fell.

          "Tylan!" Nessie cried, collapsing to her knees as her legs buckled. The energy ran out of her and Nessie's hands flew to Tylan's bloody face. There were so many tears she shed—so many that she thought they might drown her, and perhaps the people would name a river after her—they ran down her cheeks, soaking them with salt and pain.

          Her hands were slippery—not with sweat, with blood—she could see her own reflection in them.

( . . . . . )

          The Lannister soldier stared down at her, his helmet making it near-impossible to see the cruel expression he bore. "Waste if I don't have some fun with you first." The large soldier slammed the wooden door closed, latching it with a large bolt. His armour was heavy and clanked with every move.

          Nesaela dove for Tylan's sword, a big and bulky thing which she drew and held with two hands, small and frail, with her hair draping behind her, looking like a child with a sparring stick. It was too heavy for her and she threatened to drop it.

          The soldier laughed at her: a deep, cruel, mocking laugh which sent shivers of fear down her spine. He drew his own sword from its sheath. "You want to play knight?" the man asked her, his own sword flashing in the sunlight. Nesaela was trembling.

         She swung at him, but she'd never used a sword before and her swing was weak; miscalculated. The Lannister soldier stepped back as easily as a child and the sword sliced harmlessly through the air. He laughed at her again. His own sword swung out and disarmed her before she could even think to parry, sending Tylan's sword flying from her hands. Nessie scrambled back.

          Nesaela could see her own figure in the reflection of Tylan's eyes, teary and terrified as the man pursued her. He pulled off the golden helmet to reveal a bearded man of around forty years. He had an ugly scar running down the length of his nose and below his dark right eye. She did not recognise him.

          She ran for the window. Her legs were long, she could have made it there in only a few strides if his hands hadn't had caught her and yanked her back towards him, almost wrenching her off the ground. Nessie cried out, arms twisting behind her.

          He should have let her jump.

          His strong hands clasped around her waist, forcing the terrified girl back towards him. The long train of her precious, pale aquamarine, silk and lace dress ripped beneath his feet. "No!" Her cries were loud and teary, desperate and pleading. "No, Ser!" She cried. "No, please! No!" She struggled against him, the perfect painted image of a young girl who had never been taught to fight something like this. Nesaela tried to bite him, but the man was strong and his hands were armoured, so that when he covered her mouth she couldn't sink her teeth into them. His finger grasped one of her earrings and ripped it downwards on accident, tearing her ear as the dangling pin clattered to the floor, bloody.

          The man pressed her to the wooden dresser, Nessie's back bruising beneath the jutting shelves. One of his hands began to undo the armour below his waist. Nessie sobbed as she strained against his grip, pushing her fingers against his shoulders and neck. "No!" He backhanded her across the face, armoured fingers bursting her lip and sending her head careening into the wall. Her hair was still done up all pretty in preparation for the handing over to Robert Baratheon, pinned up in delicate braids behind her head with a silver dragon pin. Now the man pulled the pin away, letting her silver hair fall over her shoulders with a chuckle and the deep inhale of her perfume.

          Her head was still ringing from the strength of the blow, beads of blood blooming on her face and running down her mouth. She could taste it on her tongue. Still, she writhed against him with pleading cries, trying to kick him away. Instead, he forced his armoured leg between her own, still peeling off the gold armour.

( . . . . . )

          Her fingers scrambled across the edge of her dresser and clasped around something sharp, which sliced through her skin. With a sobbing cry, she jammed the item straight into the side of the Lannister soldier's neck. The bearded man pulled his fingers up to his throat in surprise, stumbling away from her sobbing figure. He had been foolish to remove his helmet. The girl curled in on herself, still pressed up against the wood cabinet and pretty ocean dress hunched up around her form. The soldier clutched again, gasping for his neck.

          An arrow. It had been an arrow.

          Blood spilled through the soldier's fingers as he fell to his knees, gurgling in a horrible way. She'd never seen a man die like this before. He finally pitched back onto his back, blood bubbling from his dry lips and rolling in sloshes onto her magnificent white-fur rug. His fingers tore for something to clutch onto and he grabbed onto her silk bed-post drapes, weakly ripping them from the posts on the top of her bed. They fluttered down on him in layers of mesh olive silk, becoming stained in red. And then, the man's gurgling came to a stop, his fingers haltered on clawing at his throat, and he died.

          Nessie stayed frozen for a moment. Tears made her cheeks stiff and sticky. Her fingers shook, tips stained with blood where ink used to be. Her throat seemed to close over in her grief and confusion. She stared at him, his eyes wide and blank. Blood had dripped down his chin, teeth stained red.

          He did not look like a man she just killed.

          Nessie found she almost couldn't breathe. Her legs felt heavy—she could have sunk to her knees if not for the adrenaline pumping through her veins. Her arms and neck were beginning to bruise from where the man had grabbed her. She stumbled for a bit and regained her footing, grasping onto the tall post of her bed. She could hear blood pounding in her head, making her dizzy.

          Nessie heard the marching of armoured footsteps down the tiled hall, echoing off the walls. Nessie didn't stay frozen for much longer. She scrambled for a bag of her things already prepared. Her fingers grazed over the gold crown, over her precious silver-blue dead dragon egg she could never leave behind. She grabbed her bow and arrows from beneath her bed, shoving the weapons in the satchel. Nessie threw on a green cloak to cover her face and hair. Then, she perched herself on the window, unsure. They were very high above ground. Of course, ledges below would catch her fall, but it was still a daunting thought. She paused for just a moment.

          Someone pounded on the door, a Lannister soldier demanding if everything was in order. With frightened eyes, Nessie flinched and turned at the sound. Her beloved friend was still lying on the floor, dark blood mingling with the one who had killed him. He was looking away from her. A sob rose in her throat. Another quick succession of pounding came from a Lannister fist on the door, and Nessie dropped from her window.

         The impact on a ledge meters below crunched through her legs and she nearly cried out. Her legs braced in pain on the landing against tile. Without taking another look up at her windowsill, lace white curtains flapping in the wind, she dropped to the next ledge: a balcony.

          Her feet stung and her eyes burned, salty and wet with tears. She repeated the same action several times until she was just one level above the cracked pavement of the Red Keep. Her fingers were torn and stinging from her grips on the rough stone, knees jarred.

          "Where's the Princess?" someone roared from above, and Nessie ran. Ran across the streets and ran down past the outskirts of the palace. She ran past her brother and Elia's chambers at the end of the castle, a beautiful, round, golden dome which stuck out above the common pathways. Nessie could hear screams from within and the young princess clasped her bloody hands over her ears in sobs. She would have taken the children, if only she could. Later, she would hear the terrible stories.

          The town was already plunged into chaos. Buildings were alight, and the people were screaming. Lannister soldiers were grabbing women and dragging them into buildings, slaughtering both their husbands and children as if they were culling sheep. Nessie fled through the middle, emerald cloak wrapping around her small figure.

          Where was Rhaegar? She remembered the dream she'd had the night before—His hair rippled around him in pools of silver, his face pale, his lips red, not with the flush of life but with blood—and she knew that somehow had been true. Nessie couldn't hide the sob that burst from her lips, broken and child-like, as if she wasn't nearly fifteen, but just a small girl throwing a dead sparrow out of the window in hopes it would fly.

          Rhaegar had come back for them. Rhaegar had died.

          The shouting of Lannister soldiers awoke her from her tears and misery. Her whole life, Nessie had been preparing to die. But now the Lannisters beat in the doors of the common-folk and set fire to the buildings, and Nessie realised that she did not want to die.

          She stumbled forward, blinded by her tears and the memory of her brother's body flashing in her mind. She saw Tylan's dead eyes and wished to shut her own, but she wanted to live.

          A hand caught her shoulder, no doubt another Lannister soldier looking for a girl to have his way with. And without so much as looking, Nessie turned with an arrow at the ready and stuck it through the soldier's bare palm. She tore away from him before he could catch her, disappearing between the chaotic crowd.

          Nessie wasn't sure where she was going. Where would be safe? She found herself running towards the Blackwater, green cloak catching on sharp stones on the ground. It ripped at the seams, but she yanked it from the obstacles so it tore further. The girl was seeing flashes in a blind panic.

          She knew only two things: They killed her family. They were going to kill her.

          Nessie sprinted through the River Gate and across the wooden docks, hair hidden by the long cloak. There, stationed, was a boatman. He was middle-aged and regarded the Lannister soldiers with burning anger, a knife in one hand. The boat he stood in front of was large enough to hold a crew of half-a-dozen at most, set for a long voyage. A Targaryen sail was still strung up at his mast. The girl sprinted down the dock steps, hiding her face with her hood and covering her purple eyes from sight. There was blood sprayed on the dress beneath and she felt it smudge across her leg with each stride.

          Nesaela paused for only moments before his ship, hearing Lannister soldiers yell behind her, both in search for her and in bloodlust. She ran towards the boat, dashing up the ramp as the man's gaze turned towards her terrified expression. His eyes widened as he lay eyes on her bruised face, sprayed with blood that was not her own, one of her eyes sockets puffy and swollen, and purple eye bloodshot. "Princess—"

          "Take me away," she urged in a cry, leaping onto the deck without a second thought. Her pretty eyebrows were carved in fear, cheeks wet with tears. Never had the captain seen a little girl so frightened. "Take me away from here. Please, Ser." The captain was certainly not a ser, but the girl's terrified lilac eyes bore into him, paining his heart.

          "Alright," he said, unwrapping the ropes tying the voyager ship to the dock and steering the boat from Kings Landing as quickly as he could. He was a greying man of around fourty or so, face hollowed from seawater and weather. His scraggly beard was dark and his body was covered in ragged beige clothing. "Stay down, Princess." The boatman's voice was calming as Nessie pressed herself down with her back towards the docks, shuddering with sobs and ducking behind the captain's cabin. "Don't look back."

          A weather-beaten Targaryen flag still whipped in the wind at the top of the boat's mast, something which he would hang for surely. The rocking of the boat made her clutch her knees to her chest. It reminded her of the trips they would take down to Dragonstone, with her mother and brothers, as children. The wind would whip their silver-gold hair and they would taste the salt ocean on their tongues as they hung at the bow of the boat. Their mother would yell their names and wring her hands with worry. Nessie would just laugh with her brother, and he'd play a song on his lute as the ship rocked to-and-fro.

           Now it was less comforting. The city was alight in the reflection of the black waves. Bells tolled and she could hear yelling. All Nessie could think about was her brother's lifeless body on the Trident's bank, blood spilling through the mud like ruby gems. And Elia—poor Elia. Boot-steps stomped down the dock wooden stairs and there were the commotions of soldiers. Nessie saw a lit torch in the water reflection. "Stop where you are!" a soldier yelled at the boat battling the waves.

          "Don't turn, Princess," the boatman said, and Nessie didn't, for a Targaryen boatman deserter was the least of the soldier's priorities. An arrow splashed into the black waves beside them and Nesaela sunk further behind the wooden wall. And then, Nessie Targaryen and the boatman, sailed out into the open ocean and disappeared in the fog.

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right, so this is where things start getting interesting and completely diverge from where the books' / show's storyline is set! you're all in for a ride so get ready haha x

3,840 words

16.02.2019.