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Her body trembled uncontrollably, each shudder betraying just how close she was to collapse.
"Raise your sword, drop it again, and I'll have you forget the mercy of rest."
She could barely keep herself upright, her legs trembling beneath her, and the wooden sword in her grasp felt less like a weapon and more like a crushing weight dragging her down.
"The strength behind your blade is weak! Put more power behind your strikes!"
Her arms were screaming at her to stop, her body begging for rest, but she forced herself forward anyway.
"Focus! Look for your opponent's weak point! If you cannot find one, make one!"
Her teeth clenched and breath ragged, each trembling step a defiance of the weakness threatening to drag her down.
But… no matter how she endured, no matter how fiercely she forced her body forward through pain and agony, victory remained beyond her grasp.
Jaina collapsed into the mud, her limbs unresponsive, her body no longer hers to command, no matter how desperately she begged it to move.
"Enough! The duel is over!" The Master-at-Arms glanced down at her crumpled form with disappointment as he waved away her sparring partner.
He lifted his gaze across the courtyard to where her father stood, having watched every moment of the bout without so much as a flicker of emotion on his face.
She watched as her father crossed the yard, her gaze clinging to his every step, unable to look away even as hot tears threatened to spill.
Watched as he coldly dismissed everyone, leaving only the two of them alone in the training yard.
His eyes, cold and utterly devoid of feeling, settled on her, and in that silent gaze, her heart clenched tight, as though an unseen hand had seized it, crushing the air from her lungs while a suffocating wave of shame swallowed her whole.
"Get up," her father commanded, his voice cold and unyielding, as if she were something beneath notice rather than his own blood.
She tried, gods, she tried, but her body betrayed her utterly. Her limbs trembled, but no matter how fiercely she willed it, she could not so much as rise from the dirt.
"F-Father I-" She tried to say, stuttering with every word before being brutally cut off.
"Get. Up."
For a single, fragile moment, her body refused.
Every muscle burned, every limb trembled, her bones felt as though they might splinter beneath even the thought of movement. The mud clung to her, cold and heavy, as if the earth itself sought to keep her down.
But her father had spoken… and the thought of disappointing him weighed heavier than the pain tearing through her body.
A broken gasp tore from her throat as her fingers dug into the wet ground. Nails scraped against dirt and mud as she forced her arms to move.
Her elbows locked, buckled, then locked again as she dragged herself upward inch by agonizing inch.
Her legs followed next as they trembled violently beneath her, threatening to give out at any moment, but she forced them straight, forced them to hold.
Every fiber of her being screamed in protest, begging her to stop, to fall, to rest…
Jaina rose anyway, barely and brokenly, but she rose all the same, forcing herself upright through sheer, stubborn will, and against all reason, she stood.
Her head remained bowed, chin tucked low against her chest, strands of short, damp hair clinging to her face as she stared at the muddied ground beneath her feet.
She could not meet his eyes, not like this, not when she knew what she would find in them.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating as she waited for his judgment to pass.
She did not wait long before it came.
"I am less than pleased by what I saw today."
Each word was measured and controlled as he spoke, making it cut deeper than any blade. Her shoulders flinched, ever so slightly, still keeping her head down.
"I expected better from you." His voice remained cold, almost indifferent. "A "boy" of your age should not struggle so pitifully."
Her fingers curled tightly at her sides, nails biting into her palms.
"Worse, you fare no better in your studies. The Maesters speak of inconsistency and of distraction. They say you are falling behind on your reading."
She wanted to explain, to make any excuse, but she made no sound.
She simply stood there, trembling and broken, as every word carved into her, deeper and deeper, until it felt as though there was nothing left of her untouched.
"You are a Lannister."
The name alone felt heavy enough to crush her.
"And yet here you stand before me, a disappointment."
Her vision blurred, tears burning hot behind her eyes, but she did not dare lift her head. Did not dare let them fall, not while her father was still here.
"I will not have my blood bring shame upon our House, do you understand?"
She weakly nodded her head, unable to do or say anything besides that.
"I. Expect. Better." A pause, cold and final as he turned his back to her. "Do not disappoint me."
She dared not look up, not even as the sound of his footsteps began to fade.
Not even as the weight of his presence vanished from the empty yard, leaving behind only silence… and her.
The moment he was gone, whatever held her together shattered.
Her legs gave way without warning as she sank to her knees, trembling. Her breath was uneven, each one catching painfully in her throat.
Then the tears came, hot, relentless, and against her will.
They slipped free despite everything, trailing down her dirt-streaked cheeks, falling into the mud at her feet.
Her arms hung limply at her sides, her sword long forgotten, her body aching, her chest tight, her heart heavier than it had ever been.
She knelt there for what might have been hours; she neither knew nor cared.
The tears streamed down seemingly without end, until they hollowed her out completely, leaving her feeling empty. All that remained was pain screaming in her joints and a fatigue so deep it felt like her soul had turned to lead.
"…Jaime?" A small, hesitant voice called out, momentarily distracting her from the pain.
She lifted her head and found a pair of worried, mismatched eyes belonging to her little sister.
Tyra clutched a worn doll tightly to her chest, the one Jaina had given her on her last nameday, her small shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself even smaller.
"T-Tyra? W-What are you doing here?" She stuttered, quickly wiping her eyes with the back of a muddy sleeve, not wanting her sister to see her in this pathetic state. "You shouldn't be out in the yard."
Her sister looked unsure for a moment before she answered, her little hands clutching tightly to the doll. She shifted from foot to foot, her lower disfigured lip trembling.
"C-Cersei was being mean to me a-again," Tyra mumbled, hiccuping a little as she hugged her doll for comfort. "S-She called me ugly a-and that I-I shouldn't even be allowed to eat at the table with everyone else because I'd ruin their appetites…"
The words caught, breaking apart in her throat as another small hiccup escaped her. Fresh tears brimmed in Tyra's eyes, threatening to spill over.
Jaina's body ached as she forced herself to her feet despite the screaming protest of her muscles and opened her arms without hesitation.
Tyra hesitated only a second before rushing forward, burying her face into Jaina's chest with a pitiful sob. Her small body trembled as she clung to her older sister, the doll squished between them.
"You're not ugly," Jaina whispered softly, wrapping her arms around Tyra and holding her close. One hand gently stroked the younger girl's golden hair. "You hear me? You are not ugly. Cersei doesn't mean what she said, she's just-"
Tyra shook her head violently against Jaina's chest, her voice muffled and raw. "But I am! I am ugly! Everyone looks at me like I'm a monster! F-Father doesn't even want to look at me!"
The words hit like knives as Jaina fell silent for a long moment, simply holding her sister tighter as Tyra's cries grew louder, wracking her tiny frame.
She didn't know what to say or what to do. How could she help her sister when she can't even help herself?
…Her father was right, she truly is a disappointment.
So she just held on, letting Tyra sob into her muddied training tunic.
After what felt like an eternity, Jaina pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her sister's head.
"I'll have a word with Cersei," she promised quietly, voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on her. "…and for what it's worth, I don't think you're ugly, Tyra."
Tyra only cried harder, as if she didn't quite believe it.
Jaina said nothing more. She simply kept her arms wrapped around her little sister, rocking her gently in the middle of the empty training yard, letting the tears fall until they ran dry.
In that moment, covered in mud, sweat, and pain, Jaina made herself a silent vow…
________
The prince carried his aunt Tyra effortlessly in his arms, her small frame light against his armored chest as they walked. The golden fur trim of his crimson cape brushed against her with every step.
Jaina lingered a few paces off, a smile touching her lips as she watched the ones she held dearest in the world fall into easy company with one another.
"Tell it to me straight, my dear nephew~" Tyra questioned, comfortably held in his arms. "Are the stories true? Can you truly cook food worthy of the gods? Or is it simply a tale spread by nobles to kiss your arse?"
Jaina shook her head, holding back a chuckle at her sister's blunt and crass words. While she personally didn't mind Tyra's way of speaking, she knew such behavior was unfit in front of a prince.
She was about to lightly scold her sister, but the prince beat her to it before she could, with a wide, cheeky grin.
"I'm not one to boast, but aye~ I once made a lord cry as he stuffed his face and a lady moaned in less than lady-like ways with my food alone!"
Now that she truly thought about it, she realized he was right. For all the power he wielded, the prince scarcely ever boasted, despite having every right to. He could have sung his own praises from the highest tower, and none would refute him.
Gods knew she would not have shown such restraint had their places been reversed.
Tyra giggled, hiding her smile behind her hand.
"You jest!"
"Are you calling your future king a liar~?" the prince shot back teasingly.
"Does the 'future king' have proof to back his words?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!"
Suddenly, Jaina found herself the center of attention as both the prince and Tyra looked toward her.
"Uncle! You were there when it happened! Tell this non-believer what you witnessed that day!"
Jaina let out a dramatic sigh, though the corners of her mouth twitched with amusement.
"Unfortunately for my dignity, it's true. The prince once served a dish so delicious that a lord had actual weeping tears running down his face while he ate, and as for the lady, let's… just say her sounds were not entirely appropriate for the high table."
Tyra's eyes behind her hair widened in disbelief, hearing her support his claim."No! Truly?"
"Truly," the prince confirmed with a confident nod. "I've turned hardened warriors into begging puppies and nobles into mewing kittens with nothing but a chicken wing. One day I'll make something so magnificent even the gods will descend just to try it!"
Most would call him arrogant for speaking such words and have him flagged, but he was the blessed prince and the future king. His words might as well be law.
Tyra's laughter rang out, bright, unrestrained, and achingly rare, drawing a quiet smile from Jaina, simply happy that her sister was happy.
They continued to walk as they bantered, the air around them light and filled with laughter as they talked.
Her sister shifted slightly in his arms, tilting her head to study him more closely, her hidden mismatched eyes roaming over his armored form, the broad shoulders, the height that made him tower over most men.
She grew quiet for a moment, her playful expression softening into something more thoughtful, almost puzzled.
"…Nephew," she said slowly, her small hand resting on his armored chest. "How is it that you look like this? You're only seven namedays old, yet you stand taller than most knights, broader than squires twice your age. You move like a man grown, speak like one as well."
She traced a finger along the edge of his pauldron, curiosity winning over caution.
The prince paused mid-step, looking down at his small aunt with a faint, unknowable smile.
Jaina shook her head, confused as to why her sister was questioning the obvious. "He is blessed by the gods, Tyra. What more is there to ask?"
Her sister should know better than to question their gods, lest they think her question is a slight against them and smite her where she stands.
Her little sister frowned at her simple answer, less than satisfied, but said nothing as she waited for the prince to speak.
For a moment, the prince considered a careful, princely answer. Then he shrugged, the motion barely noticeable beneath the armor.
"I have little clue as to why as well," he said simply and honestly. "My best guess? Maybe my body is simply trying to match my soul… or something like that, I suppose."
Jaina and Tyra exchanged confused looks, unsure of what he meant, getting a laugh from the prince.
"I learned not to question it; it's simply not worth the effort or the headache."
"…You truly are something else," Her sister murmured, mostly to herself. Then, louder, with a mischievous grin returning to her face, "Well then, my miraculously tall and terrifyingly talented nephew, you had better keep growing strong. Because if the stories are even half true, I expect you to carry me around like this until I'm an old woman."
The prince chuckled at that as he continued walking with her comfortably in his arms.
Jaina walked beside them, a fond look on her face as she listened to her sister and nephew banter.
She truly appreciated how he didn't treat her sister any differently from how he would treat anyone else.
At first, she had been afraid, afraid that when they met, something in his expression would twist, that his warmth would sour into the same familiar disgust she had come to expect from everyone who laid eyes upon her sister and saw only a dwarf.
She never should have doubted him; she knew him far too well for that, and yet, the fear had crept in all the same.
Now, watching him with her sister, she could only shake her head at herself.
He met her sister with the same easy confidence, the same teasing tone, the same unguarded warmth he offered anyone else, as though there had never been anything to question in the first place.
And watching them now, hearing her sister laugh so freely with him, Jaina felt that fear disappear.
They continued to walk, her sister endlessly asking him questions as they did…
"What is your favorite food, oh nephew of mine?"
"Have you ever heard of pizza?"
"No?"
"Soon you will."
…
…
…
"…Favorite color?"
"Green."
"Is this your first time outside the Red Keep?"
"Aye, and so far? Besides the travel and war, it's been enjoyable so far."
"What does one blessed by the gods do for fun?"
"Busy learning various things about the world and preparing to be a king to have fun, I'm afraid, though I do suppose cooking is something I enjoy doing when I can."
"Ah, yes, learning is indeed important~! It's good to know our future king won't be a dumb one."
"Happy to ease your worry~"
"Have you lost your boyhood yet? I wouldn't be surprised if you have, no woman would ever turn you down if you asked."
That one earned her a glare from Jaina and a light blush from the prince. Fortunately for Trya, he quickly recovered before she could scold her.
"I'm afraid not, next question."
She immediately took the offered olive branch.
"I've heard of the swords you made-"
…until they finally reached the destination, the prince was leading them. The distinction being a forest of all places.
He set the short woman gently down on a tree stump and looked around at seemingly nothing while the two Lannisters watched.
"…You mean to say, there are tiny invisible 'flakes' of magic simply floating around us?" Her little sister asked, completely captivated as the prince grabbed something from the air.
The atmosphere around them was filled with wonder as Tyra leaned forward from the tree stump he had gently set her on.
They were within a forest that was behind the castle walls, where prying eyes could not easily reach them.
Jaina was also captivated by the topic at hand; not even she had the pleasure of seeing the prince's divine abilities at work.
She has seen it from the weapons he made, but never directly from him.
"That's right!" The future king grinned as he walked over to Tyra, his hand still closed. "Now normally, they would be near useless due to them being measly flakes and so few in number, but fortunately for us…"
Tyra, along with Jaina, eyes widened, her usual sharp tongue momentarily silenced by pure awe.
He slowly unfurled his hand, and the two sisters could only stare in awe as a twisting wind coiled upon his palm, spinning like a living thing.
"Fascinating~!" Tyra whispered loudly as her eyes never left his hand.
Jaina numbly agreed with her sister, stepping closer without realizing it.
The air around the small vortex felt cooler, fresher, as if the very breath of the forest had been concentrated into his hand.
The prince's smile widened, clearly pleased by their reactions. He let the whirlwind fade gently, the winds calming down.
"Would you like to try it too?" he suddenly asked, looking between them expectantly.
Tyra, shocked at how casually he offered them to do the impossible, stared at him in shock. "W-We can do that too?"
"Of course! I already did it with mother, and she seems to enjoy it, so I thought it would be fun to do it with you too! Consider it a bonding activity between us."
Tyra, Jaina noticed, frowned when the prince mentioned his mother before quickly shaking her head and smiling up at him excitedly.
Her sisters had never truly gotten along, no matter how hard she had tried to mend the rift between them, and even now, after years spent apart, it seemed nothing had changed.
The prince chuckled and stepped closer. He reached into the air with practiced ease, plucking invisible flakes only he could see.
First, he turned to Jaina, causing her little sister to pout, gently grabbing her hand and placing something into her open palm.
Jaina felt a warm, vibrant energy stir in her palm, blooming like something alive. It was as though she cradled life itself in her hand.
The sensation was familiar, like when she had first taken up the sword the prince had given her, yet this was different. Wild and untamed, lacking the same refined purity, but thrumming with raw potential.
"This is a Nature-oriented flake, uncle," he explained softly, his hands still holding hers. "Focus on growth, on life, and move the energy to do what you desire. I'll help you control it every step of the way."
Hesitatingly, she closed her eyes, following his guidance, and pictured a simple wildflower. She could feel the warmth move and slowly shape itself to her will as she did so.
Tyra watched them silently, her hidden gaze intensely focused.
After some time, Jaina opened her palm again, and a small green wave of light shot out of her hand and pushed through the dirt at her feet, rapidly unfurling into a cluster of beautiful red flowers.
A sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over her, heavy and insistent, but she pushed through it without hesitation, long since accustomed to bearing such weariness.
"By the gods/By the gods," The siblings numbly gasped out at the same time, though the words felt far too small for what they witnessed.
"That is never going to get old." The prince whispered to himself, letting go of her hand, a grin tugging at his lips as his gaze flicked between them. "Gods, you should see your faces! Mother wore that very same look when I showed her."
They didn't hear a word he said as they stared down at the flowers as though they might vanish if they blinked, red petals rustling softly in the breeze, impossibly vibrant against the forest floor.
More than a little excited after what she saw happen, her sister rushed to the prince's side and looked up at him expectantly with her small hands raised almost desperately.
Not one to disappoint, the prince kneeled down to do the same for her.
"Alright, how about we try this one? It might be a bit overwhelming when it's your first time, so try to take it slow," he told her as he brought her sister's hand into his. "What you need to do is-"
He tried to guide her, but he would not get the chance to as Tyra's hands trembled with impulsive excitement. She took hold of the flake, and not a second later, a perfect sphere of clear water formed above her palms, shimmering in the sunlight.
"…That, do exactly that." He mumbled, seemingly impressed by how easily his aunt managed to figure it out.
"Amazing, isn't it? Like you can do anything~" Jaina asked, a grin on her face, understanding just what her sister was going through.
Tyra let out a delighted squeak and flicked her wrist, the sphere burst into a gentle spray that formed a small floating puddle she could shape with just her thoughts.
She had completely fallen in love.
"This is incredible! It feels as though I have the very sea in my hands!" She laughed while she willed the floating water to take various shapes.
It would turn into something that would somewhat resemble a horse one moment, to a poorly made imitation of a lion the next, until finally it ended at what appeared to be an ugly-looking reptile that might have been a dragon.
At one point, she looked up at her nephew with shining, tear-filled eyes, causing him to awkwardly panic, "Thank you… for letting someone like me touch something so beautiful."
She was far from perfect, yet for one who had only just begun and never done anything like this before, what she was doing was nothing short of impressive.
"I… I'm doing magic," she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of it all. "Me… the Imp…"
Jaina watched her little sister with a soft, aching fondness. Tyra's usual sharp wit and self-deprecating humor had completely melted away, replaced by pure, unfiltered joy.
The small woman was utterly obsessed, happily playing and shaping the water until it ran out of energy to draw from, causing the water to fall to the ground with a small splash.
"A-Again! Please, my prince, allow me another attempt!" Her sister all but begged, the easy, casual tone she'd worn moments before utterly gone, replaced by something raw and desperate.
Jaina frowned at the sudden change, a faint crease forming between her brows as she watched her sister cling to the moment with near-feverish intensity.
And it seems the prince noticed as well, as he was also looking at his aunt with worry clear on his face.
"Tyra…" she began gently, though there was a quiet note of caution beneath her voice.
But her sister did not seem to hear her.
Tyra's eyes were locked on the prince, her hands trembling as if reaching for a feeling she feared would slip away if not seized again at once.
"Please!" she begged, voice thin and urgent.
The prince hesitated, a flicker of concern crossing his face, but before he could speak, Tyra started snatching at the air herself, trying to grab something completely out of her reach.
Then, without warning, her body went rigid. The color drained from her face in a single heartbeat. She swayed violently, her small frame tilting backward like a felled sapling.
"Tyra!" Jaina cried, rushing forward to catch her sister.
The prince was closer. In a blur of crimson cape and gleaming armor, he swept an arm beneath her just as she toppled. Her head lolled against his chest, eyes fluttering shut, body utterly limp.
"What in the seven hells happened?!" Jaina's voice cracked with panic as she dropped to her knees beside them, hands hovering uselessly over her sister's pale cheeks. "She was fine a moment ago!"
The prince cradled Tyra's tiny form against him, one gauntleted hand carefully supporting the back of her head while he unwrapped his blindfold and used his divine eyes to observe her carefully.
For a terrible few seconds, the only sounds were Jaina's ragged breathing and the distant rustle of leaves.
Then he exhaled, long and slow, shoulders sagging in visible relief as he put the blindfold back on.
"She's fine," he said quietly, words steady despite the earlier alarm. "Just passed out from exhaustion."
Jaina stared at him, chest still heaving as her heart pounded against her chest. "Exhaustion? I felt it early, but it wasn't enough to do this!"
"Aye, that's the problem. I should've known better and warned her to be more careful," He cut in, frowning, more to himself than anything. "It was her first time using magic, and it doesn't help that her body isn't like ours. She pushed too hard, too fast. She's perfectly fine aside from that, just tired. She'll wake up soon, probably with a headache and a strong craving for something sweet."
Jaina let out a shaky breath, pressing a hand to her own chest as if to calm her racing heart. The terror that had seized her slowly loosened its grip.
She reached out and gently touched her sister's cheek, feeling the warmth still there, and the soft rise and fall of her breath.
"Thank the gods…" she whispered, voice thick. A single tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.
She quickly wiped it away, hoping the prince didn't see, but unfortunately for her, it wasn't meant to be.
The prince offered her a small, reassuring smile in understanding. "We should head back before my old man sends out a search army to look for us."
Jaina nodded quickly, wiping at her eyes again with the back of her hand.
"A-Aye, let's go back."
She rose on unsteady legs, brushing dirt from her cape, and was about to take her sister from the prince's arms, but he was already standing with Tyra nestled securely in his arms, her head tucked beneath his chin.
The golden fur of his cape draped over her like a blanket.
Despite everything, the corner of Jaina's mouth twitched upward. She fell into step beside him as they left the quiet forest behind, the red flowers she had conjured still bright against the green floor.
________
"How interesting…" A woman in a black hood murmured as she watched it all happen through the water before her.
The scrying bowl rested on a heavy oaken table, its surface rippling with faint light that slowly faded as the vision of the forest dissolved.
The woman remained perfectly still for a long moment, fingers steepled beneath her chin, the deep hood casting her face in impenetrable shadow.
A soft rustle of fabric announced the arrival of her servant. The man approached with silence, head bowed, hands clasped before him.
"Has everything been prepared?" she questioned, her voice velvet-smooth yet full of danger.
The servant dipped lower in both respect and fear. "Nearly, my lady. Final preparations are being made as we speak and will take time to complete. It would be faster if our prisoner were more cooperative. The man is as stubborn as a bull, but we are making do."
A slow, dark smile curved her lips beneath the hood, knowing and utterly devoid of warmth.
"Excellent," she whispered, rising gracefully from her seat.
One pale hand drifted along the rim of the scrying bowl, its touch stirring the surface into trembling ripples that shimmered and spread, until, at last, they stilled upon the prince's face.
Her smile deepened, black eyes gleaming with quiet, dangerous delight in the dim torchlight.
"Our god will be most satisfied~"