Alicent
My mother drew the comb through my hair.
I sat before the cracked mirror in our little room above the street, my feet dangling above the floor while music and men's laughter rose from below. My mother, Maria, stood behind me with her black hair loose over one shoulder. Powder hid most of the bruise beneath her eye, though tears had begun to uncover it.
"Do not be afraid, sweetling, I am sending you somewhere safe," my mother whispered, setting the comb aside with trembling fingers.
A bundle waited upon the bed with my best dress, a heel of bread, and a little wooden horse inside. I pushed it away and caught her hands.
"But I am safe with you," I pleaded, clinging to her fingers when she tried to draw them away.
"You will be safer there than you are with me." She knelt and kissed my brow, her lips trembling against my skin.
Someone called for her from below. Her hands slipped from mine, and the room darkened around us.
The darkness began to smell of lye and boiled cabbage. I stood in the orphanage beside my friend Sara, an older girl who once laughed often and shared her food with the smaller children. Then one of the men who worked there took her into a storeroom and closed the door.
Sara returned with a torn sleeve and the same empty eyes my mother sometimes wore after certain men left her room. She stopped laughing and began waking with both hands pressed over her mouth.
A few weeks later, her cot was empty. The keeper claimed she had run away, though her shoes remained beneath the bed and her cloth doll beneath the pillow.
No one searched for her, and after that, I hid bread and watched the doors.
At eight, I slipped into the kitchen and found Richard beside the open window, a stolen loaf under one arm and one leg already over the sill. He was eight as well and just as hungry.
"If you mean to run, come with me now," he whispered urgently, holding out his hand and glancing toward the kitchen door.
I took it, and the dream carried us through four years of roofs, markets, cold nights, and weak fires. His hand remained around mine until blood slicked his fingers. An iron bar rose behind him while my mother watched from the end of the alley. The bar fell, and I woke with Richard's name in my mouth.
Gray dawn showed through the broken roof of our shelter. Richard sat beside me with his back against the wall, our least damaged blanket drawn over us both. His clothes remained stiff with old blood, but his skin was warm beneath my palm.
I laid my hand on his chest and felt it rise and fall with every breath.
"You are still worrying," Richard murmured, his brow creasing as he looked down at my fingers.
"Yesterday there was no breath or heartbeat at all, I just want to make sure this is real and not a dream." I kept my hand pressed to his chest, afraid to take it away.
"Then listen well." He covered my hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze, his expression softening.
I pressed my ear to his chest until the steady rhythm loosened the fear in my throat. When I slid my fingers through his golden hair, the back of his skull was whole beneath them.
"You saw your mother again, didn't you?" Richard asked gently, brushing the damp hair from my cheek. "You were calling for her again." He drew the blanket closer around my shoulders, watching me with concern.
I had told him about that farewell before, even the tears she tried to hide.
"I thought she sent me away because she did not want me. Now I think she was afraid that I would end up like her." I wiped my face, blinking hard against fresh tears.
"She wanted the best for you, Alicent. From what you told, she was crying when she sent you away." His thumb moved gently over my knuckles, and his voice softened.
My mother had sent me from the brothel because she feared its men, never knowing that the orphanage kept men no better. Richard had hidden me from Rodric for the same reason, then remained outside while they beat him to death.
"Do not let them kill you for me again," I pleaded, gripping his bloody tunic.
"Next time, I will not be the one left bleeding, I promise." Richard lowered his eyes, anger tightening his mouth.
His anger usually came with shouting. This time, he barely raised his voice.
"You brought the Watch to Rodric's storehouse. I heard him accuse you of that, is it true?" I released his tunic and searched his face, dreading the answer.
"Yes it is true. I stole a merchant's purse where five Watchmen could see me. They chased me into the storehouse and found Rodric's men, the stolen goods, and the women he kept there." Richard met my eyes, his expression wary.
"You planned it and told me nothing?" I demanded, sitting back and pulling my hand from his.
"You would have tried to stop me." He drew his hands into his lap, his tone defensive.
"Of course I would have stopped you. He would have killed you. He did kill you…" My voice rose, and I twisted the edge of the blanket between my fingers. Richard glanced toward the alley entrance.
"Two weeks ago, Rodric threatened to sell you to men who buy young girls. I could not wait for him to tire of threatening it." His fingers curled against his palm, and disgust roughened his voice.
The distant rattle of a cart filled the silence.
I knew Rodric used me to frighten Richard. I had not known Richard was planning to act against him.
"You should have told me, we could have run off together." I laid my hand on his wrist, too hurt to keep shouting.
"Yes, I should have… Still he would've found us." He dropped his gaze to his hands, his shoulders slumping.
I believed him, though I was not ready to forgive him for putting himself in so much danger.
"Anyways, we have to leave before the streets fill. Rodric now knows this place, his men may come back at any time." Richard folded back the blanket and looked uneasily toward the alley entrance.
"This was our home." I looked around at the broken shelter, my throat tightening at the thought of leaving it.
One wall had collapsed into our bed, the sailcloth roof hung in strips, and Richard's blood blackened the stones. I could not imagine sleeping there again.
"Yes, but not anymore." Richard sighed and rose to shift the beam covering our blankets, then paused when he noticed me watching.
"Does any part of you hurt?" I asked anxiously, reaching toward his arm without quite touching it.
"No, not at all." He answered too quickly, straightening his arm for me with a hurried smile.
"That should comfort me, but I'm still worry it may come back. Your injuries I mean." I ran my fingers lightly over his sleeve, uneasy despite the warmth beneath it.
"It won't come back, I promise. I'm all healed now." He looked away, his smile fading under my scrutiny.
He carried the beam by himself. He moved carefully and kept glancing at his hands when he thought I was not watching, but I did not question him again.
The leather bag beneath the cracked stone still held 58 copper coins, six silver coins, stale bread, and three bruised apples. We packed the dented pot, our bowls and cup, the useful cloth, and the blanket I had mended when I was nine.
Everything else remained among the rubble.
Richard led me through back streets to an old well behind a shuttered dyehouse, where high walls hid us from the road.
"Stay close alright, we will leave if anyone comes," he said as he lowered the bucket, his watchful gaze returning to the gap between the buildings.
Cold water turned pink around our hands. Richard washed the blood from his unmarked skin, then took the cloth from me.
"Hold still for me," he murmured with a gentle smile, lifting the cloth toward my cheek.
"I can wash my own face Richard." My cheeks warmed, and I reached for the cloth.
"Yes but you would have missed some part of it." He cleaned beneath my ear, looking faintly amused before handing the cloth back.
He worked the worst knots from my damp hair while I finished washing. His touch was gentle, and I watched his hands whenever he reached for more water, remembering how cold they had been the night before.
Once clean, we crossed into another quarter, far from the central market where the Watch had chased Richard. A row of secondhand stalls stood beneath the western wall, and at one of them Richard found a brown tunic, dark trousers, and worn boots.
While he bargained with the merchant's wife, I noticed a blue wool dress with a faded silk ribbon around its repaired collar.
"You keep staring at that one, do you want it?" Richard leaned closer, following my gaze with a curious expression.
"I am only looking, I am fine with what I have now." I turned away, embarrassed that he had noticed.
Richard added the dress to his clothes and counted out the price. Once the merchant's wife turned aside, he held the blue wool against his chest.
"Richard, you do not have to." I touched his arm, torn between wanting the dress and worrying over the coin he had spent.
"I thought the color might suit me, it would increase your beauty." He turned from side to side with a grin, holding the dress beneath his chin.
"Then, give it here, you fool." I caught one sleeve, unable to hide my smile.
Richard held on until I tugged harder, then laughed and released the dress into my arms.
"Stop teasing me so much," I accused, hugging the dress against my chest and trying not to smile.
"It's only because you're so cute when flustered." He chuckled and tapped my flushed cheek with one finger.
The merchant's wife let me change behind a hanging sheet. The waist was loose, but the sleeves fit and the hem brushed my boots. Richard had changed as well, and with his clean face and golden hair pushed from his eyes, he looked like a lord's son from one of my mother's tales.
"Well, how do I look?" I smoothed the ribbon around my collar, suddenly nervous beneath his gaze.
"It suits you, and it makes your eyes look brighter." Richard straightened the cuff I had left turned up, his pleased expression easing my doubts.
"You look almost like a lordling," I said with a smile, brushing a crease from his new tunic.
"A poor lordling." He sighed in mock sorrow and turned out an empty pocket even though the coin pouch was still in his hand.
"A lordling nevertheless." I tucked the pocket back into place and laughed for the first time since our nameday meal.
A few streets later, Richard bought a small parcel from a baker and hid it inside our bag.
"What did you buy?" I leaned around his arm, my curiosity growing when he moved the bag out of sight.
"Patience, I'll tell you later." He closed the bag with a mischievous smile and tucked it beneath his arm.
"Alright, I'll wait for the surprise." I stepped aside to let him pass, suppressing a smile as I took one last look at the parcel.
Finding a room proved harder. One innkeeper shut his door when Richard admitted we had no father, while another demanded a silver coin for one night. At the third inn, the man behind the counter stared at my chest and offered us a room for twice the proper price.
"The girl can work downstairs if you lack the coin," he said with a leer, wetting his lips.
Richard's hand tightened around mine.
"We are leaving," he said sharply, pulling me toward the door without looking back.
The innkeeper shouted something foul after us. Richard stopped, but I caught his wrist before he could turn around.
"He is not worth another drop of your blood." I gripped his wrist with both hands, frightened he would turn back.
"No, he is not." Richard let me lead him away, his jaw still set with anger. He looked back once before we turned the corner.
By midday, my feet ached. We shared a stale loaf and an apple beside a cooper's yard while men in a nearby alehouse argued over the Watch's raid. They spoke of stolen goods, captive women, and cells filled with Rodric's men. One dockhand claimed Rodric had escaped through a rear door with half his face opened by a sword.
"Do you think Rodric is searching for me?" I moved closer to Richard, fear spoiling what little appetite I had left.
"Most likely, but do not worry I will handle them." Richard spoke firmly and settled our bag beside his feet. I could hear no fear in his voice.
We spent the afternoon looking for a room we could afford. The sun was sinking toward the Sunset Sea when we found a faded lion above a narrow building between a chandler's shop and a tavern. Rain and salt had stripped most of the gold from its mane, while worn letters beneath it named the place the Lion's Den.
"That lion looks as tired as I feel," I said wearily, lifting my head to study the sign.
"Then the innkeeper may not argue about where our coin came from." Richard opened the door with a crooked smile and beckoned me inside.
Warmth met us inside. The common room smelled of bean stew, bread, smoke, and ale, while sailors and laborers filled the scarred tables without paying us much notice.
The innkeeper stood behind the counter polishing a tankard. He had a broad belly, thinning hair, and thick hands marked by old burns.
"Any kin in Lannisport?" he asked, setting down the tankard and eyeing our bundles with suspicion.
"No, it is only us," Richard replied, lifting his chin with a steadiness I wished I felt.
"I am Arron. Five coppers for the room, supper included. Coin first, and you keep your hands from other people's purses." The innkeeper held out his palm, watching Richard warily.
"We will keep to ourselves." Richard counted out the coins, and some of the tension left his shoulders.
Arron called a girl with brown hair from the kitchen. She looked about thirteen and had flour across the front of her dress.
"Tya, show them the small room above the kitchen," Arron said, pocketing our payment with a satisfied grunt.
"Mind the third step, for it bends beneath your foot," Tya warned, glancing back with concern as she stepped over the sagging board.
The chamber held little more than a bed, a stool, and a chipped basin. None of that mattered when I saw the iron bolt upon the door.
"It locks," I whispered, touching the cool metal with a relief I could scarcely believe.
"And the frame is sound, we should be safe for the night here." Richard pressed his shoulder against it, then turned to me with an encouraging smile.
Tya brought warm water and two bowls of stew. Once we had eaten, Richard bolted the door, checked the window and bed, then drew the baker's parcel from our bag.
The brown cloth opened around a small lemon cake with a cracked, sugared crust.
"You remembered the promise." I touched the sugar, smiling in surprise.
"I said I would bring you one. And I even paid for it as well," Richard replied with a pleased grin, breaking the cake and giving me the larger piece.
"Thank you Richard," I said warmly, closing my hands around my share.
I ate the lemon cake slowly. It was tart, sweet, and a little burned beneath the crust, yet it tasted better than anything I could remember.
When it was gone, Richard lay beside me. I rested my head against his chest and listened until his heartbeat covered the sounds below.
With that I fell asleep, it was the deepest sleep I had in a while.