CASSANDRA
There was never a time when Cassandra Baratheon was eager to return to King's Landing. Especially not during the celebration of her insufferable, spoiled little brother Joffrey's nameday. Every year, a grand tourney was held in his honor, where knights fought to celebrate their future king. Cassandra had made it her personal mission to arrive late.
Cassandra Baratheon was the eldest daughter of King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister, who ruled Westeros from the sunny mountains of Dorne in the South to the icy Wall in the North, where Cassie spent most of her days.
But Cassandra Baratheon was not just a princess; she was also one of the historically significant Keepers of Light. Or, as the superstitious—like her mother—called them, a Black-Eyed Witch, due to the color of their eyes, orbits, and pupils at the moment of their birth.
Maester Pycelle, who was supposed to be the wisest man in the Capital, said that the color of their eyes showed their very souls—black and empty.
The Keepers of Light possessed a terrible power that had to be constantly controlled by managing their emotions. With just a touch, they could subjugate the unfortunate souls who fell under their influence, turning them into slaves. They were considered the living embodiment of children's stories, the last practitioners of ancient magic. Yet, much about their powers remained unknown, and countless legends surrounded them.
Keepers of Light were always girls, and their births could not be predicted; it just happened, especially during the summer. No Keeper had ever been born in winter.
After the Conquest, the Targaryens instituted an annual census to identify every Keeper and send them to the Wall to assist the Night's Watch in protecting the realm. They claimed it was for better protection, but Cassandra knew it was merely a means of control. Targaryens were cowards after all.
This was why the princess didn't reside in King's Landing, though she had never complained about it. Her travels kept her from spending much time with her family or the unpleasant people of the capital.
As Cassandra made her entrance into King's Landing, dressed in a pitch-black gown and riding her horse, nothing seemed different. She looked around as she rode, noticing the crowned stag on a golden field displayed in many windows.
The sigil of her House.
The people turned to her as she passed, stopping their activities to bow their heads at the princess. Some smiled, some called her name, while children waved or watched with curious yet fearful eyes. Others fixated on her right hand, where the mark of the Keepers of Light was visible and unmistakable.
Cassandra rode from the poorest part of the city, Flea Bottom, to the wealthier districts, where the stones grew redder under the sun's light.
The Red Keep was enormous—a fitting castle for a king, or so everyone said.
The closer Cassandra approached the Red Keep, the more Lannisters she saw, alongside the roaring golden lion emblazoned on her mother's banners. It was almost impossible to spot the stag anymore.
"Look who came riding from the North," her uncle's voice called, prompting her to glance down from her horse. "Late as usual."
Ser Jaime Lannister, the queen's twin brother and a knight of the Kingsguard, was known for being as skilled with his sword as he was beautiful. And he was. His lucent golden hair framed bright green eyes. Cassandra didn't like to look at him longer than necessary, feeling as if her mother was staring back at her and speaking through him.
"Why are you not celebrating, Uncle?" Cassandra asked smugly, earning an annoyed grin from him.
"I did not win the tourney," he admitted bitterly.
Cassandra chuckled. "Well, that would have been a sight I would have liked to see."
With a swift movement, the princess dismounted, her feet barely making a sound as they hit the ground. She pulled back her hood, revealing her long black hair and bright blue eyes, and noticed some soldiers glancing her way.
Many said it was unfortunate for a young woman so beautiful to be unable to wed. Cassandra had inherited her beauty from both parents, but everything she shared with Cersei Lannister ended there. She had her father's colors, demeanor, and temper.
"Varys told us you were coming," her uncle said as a stable boy approached to take Cassie's horse. She stroked the mantle of her black mount as he led it away.
Varys the Spider. So they had sent spies even to the North. Cassandra surveyed the guards passing by. How many eyes were on her? How many mouths were whispering?
"I wonder what my mother said about that," Cassie remarked before her uncle reached out, handing her a pair of black gloves. The princess glared at him.
"This is insulting," she growled, staring at the gloves in his hands, but he merely shrugged.
"This is caution."
A queen's order; it could be no one else's. Her mother always found new ways to insult her. She wanted Cassie to cover her hands the few times she was with her brothers; now she was supposed to wear them in public?
Gloves were something a Keeper of Light had to wear until she learned to master her powers. Cassandra was almost fourteen; it had been seven years since she last wore them.
"Always hating on your mother," Jaime said dramatically. "This has nothing to do with her."
So it was his idea, then. No one else would dare. Cassie's glare intensified.
"I do not find this amusing, Uncle."
"I'm doing this for you," Jaime said, though his tone lacked concern. "The old man is dying."
Cassandra's eyes widened. That couldn't be possible. She took the gloves from his hands and flung them onto the muddy ground as she strode toward the castle.
Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, was almost a father to Robert Baratheon. He was a just and kind man, likely the kindest in all of the Capital, and the only man in the South who had earned her father's trust.
As she walked down the corridor of red stone that glimmered too brightly under the sun, she found it ironic how a place so rotten could shine so vividly in the light.
Her footsteps echoed in the corridor, and her wild black hair swayed against her back. Servants turned to bow as she passed, but Cassandra kept walking, eager to reach Lord Arryn's chambers. To get to the Hand's tower, she had to pass by her mother's chambers. The door was closed, and she couldn't help but eye the intricately carved wood. Surely Varys had informed them of her arrival, yet no one was there to welcome her—neither her father nor her mother.
Cersei Lannister wasn't a lovable woman. She never cared how her children behaved—except for Cassandra. To Cersei, Cassandra always did something wrong; it didn't matter what she did or how hard she tried. Cassandra wasn't graceful enough, she wasn't proper enough. A constant disappointment—that was what her mother always told her. It almost made her smile now. Cassandra Baratheon's life was not meant for grace and appropriateness.
When Cassandra arrived at Jon's door, she knocked, hoping his wife, Lysa Arryn, wasn't there. Lysa was a peculiar woman who had always made Cassie uneasy. Something about her felt off, and after the birth of her first child, Robyn Arryn, Lysa seemed even worse—she saw enemies everywhere. She didn't want Cassandra near the boy, as if Cassie would hurt him. Jon often had to intervene to calm his wife's behavior. Each time Cassandra returned to King's Landing, she found Lysa crazier than before.
That's what happened when marriage was the last hope for allies and troops.
Jon Arryn had married Lysa, a Tully, to gain Riverrun's army.
Cassandra considered herself lucky in that regard. Not only could Keepers of Light not be ladies of any castle, but marrying would also subject her lover to her powers. A Keeper of Light couldn't lie with a man without making him her slave; thus, they could not wed.
Indeed, at Castle Black, no man had ever dared approach one of them—scared bastards.
But not all marriages were bad; most were, in fact, like her parents'. Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, Lysa's sister, had wed before Cassie was born, and from what she knew, they had something resembling the perfect life—a perfect family for a perfect marriage. She had met the Starks often; in fact, during her first trip to the North, she spent several days in Winterfell and even longer on her way back South. She knew the Stark children, and they were… different.
But different was good for Cassie. No one in King's Landing was different.
Very often, she thought that if she had brothers like the Starks, perhaps she wouldn't have hated them.
It wasn't that she hated her brothers—except for Joffrey. Joffrey, she hated.
Her younger siblings, Myrcella and Tommen, she neither hated nor loved. In her defense, Cassie barely knew them; her mother wouldn't let her spend much time with them.
"Come in," she heard Maester Pycelle's voice, gnashing her teeth at the sound. Patience was always required with that old man. Taking a breath, she entered the room.
"Princess!" the Maester exclaimed, standing up. There was no respect in his eyes, only fear. He had always looked at her that way. If only he had read his texts properly, he would have known that she was dangerous only if she chose to be.
Cassie rolled her eyes. "How is he?" she asked, not looking at the old man.
"His fever is high, Princess," Pycelle answered in a shaky whisper. "I gave him the milk of the poppies."
It must be worse than she thought.
"Princess?" His voice was so low that even a response from the gods would have been more audible. But when he opened his eyes and looked at her, he began to stir.
"Cassandra…I have to tell you…" he said, starting to sweat. "I need to…"
Jon seemed desperate, attempting to prop himself on his elbows, but he was too weak. Cassandra sat next to him, trying to calm him down or at least keep him still.
"… I need to tell you…" She looked into his eyes; she had always trusted him, so she nodded to signal that she was listening. But she would be the only one to do so.
Without taking her gaze from the man next to her, she spoke firmly: "Get out."
Pycelle stared at her with wide eyes. "My princess…"
"I like it when you call me that," Cassie replied, turning to him with a glare. "But perhaps it would be more pleasant for you to call me mistress."
Pycelle's face turned as pale as his long beard, and she noticed him shake slightly. It was an amusing sight, but it quickly vanished as the Maester nearly ran out of the room.
Now, they could talk in peace. Jon's voice was too low for anyone to hear, especially Maester Pycelle. How old was he, anyway? One hundred and fifty? Or something like that?
"Where were you?" the poor man lying next to her asked in a whisper.
"Lost on the King's Road," she replied, smiling as she took his sweaty hand. Jon coughed, clearly suffering.
"You have to…" Cassandra frowned, looking at him as he struggled to speak. "… You need to hurry…"
Hurry? Hurry to do what?
"Cassandra…" he said, opening his eyes a little more. "… Flea Bottom…"
Flea Bottom was the poorest part of the capital. No noble ever went there. Well, no noble except for Cassie.
She had always loved to walk; she knew every corner of King's Landing. She especially liked Flea Bottom because it allowed her to be alone. Cassandra Baratheon often walked alone—not by choice at first. After her first visit to the Wall, her mother decided to assign Cassie's guard to the poor little Joffrey.
"Joff is the future king after all," her mother had said. "He needs protection more than anyone. And you can protect yourself."
Of course, she could. Cassie had trained with Sandor Clegane since she could hold a sword, and she hadn't stopped practicing every single day since. But it was nice to know where her mother's only concern lay.
With her escort, even Sandor Clegane had been sent entirely to Joffrey. That was unfortunate; Sandor was the only one in King's Landing with whom she wanted to spend time. He was the only one who felt different in that place.
"Flea Bottom, Cassandra!" Jon shouted, taking her wrist. "You have to go!"
His grip was tight—very tight, dangerously tight. How could he be so strong?
"You have to go…" But just then, the door burst open, and her father's booming voice echoed in the room, loud enough to be heard even in Flea Bottom.
"Cassandra!" Robert called.
"Hello, Father," she replied, still in Jon's iron grip.
Robert Baratheon stood before her, sharing her black hair, blue eyes, and warrior's stance—at least, the warrior's stance they both used to have. Robert was a little different from his younger self; perhaps more than just a little. He had once been tall, handsome, and fit. Now, while he was still tall, what had once been fit had turned to fat.
"Your mother is not here to bother me, and you come back to take her place?" Cassie rolled her eyes, still trying to free herself.
"I am alright, Father. I appreciate your concern." Her father's gaze held no warmth; he was not happy—not even a little. She should have known he would be sober with Jon in such a condition.
"Why did you send the old man away?" Pycelle entered the room silently. Cassie glanced at her father; she was sure he couldn't stand Pycelle any more than she did.
"Step away from him, Cassandra!" Jon continued to struggle, insisting she go to Flea Bottom, his grip still around her wrist.
"The gods keep mocking me," Cassie mumbled, turning to Jon.
"Alright, alright! I'll go and see," she said, and he nodded, releasing his grip, giving her the chance to break free.
Damn, he could be ill, but his grip was still incredibly strong.
"You need to know that…" he muttered something, but her father's voice drowned out Jon's whisper.
"Why are you here anyway?" Robert's voice was loud.
"Why are you here anyway?" she shot back. "Isn't it your son's nameday? Or was it..."
Cassie almost laughed. Her father never seemed to remember her brother's nameday. She didn't know about the others; she was rarely in King's Landing for those occasions. Namedays weren't celebrated at the Wall, but she usually received a message from her king father—though maybe it wasn't even him who wrote the message. Not that it said much; the words were always the same.
"Happy nameday.
Father."
At least it was more than what her mother had ever wished for her.
Cassie's messages for her brothers were exactly like his. She never remembered which date belonged to whom, but one thing she was sure of: they weren't for Joffrey—never for Joffrey.
"Why didn't anyone write to me about Jon's condition?" Cassandra asked, earning a glare from her father.
"This is not a concern of yours," her father said. "You've got other duties."
Cassie took a breath. "Still, I know the man," she insisted. "I might be a Keeper, but I'm also a Baratheon. I should be warned about what happens."
"Do you want me to write down what happens every damn second?" the King roared, not making her flinch; she only glared back. "Your life belongs to the Wall."
Cassandra shook her head.
"Being heard by the Wall would be easier," she hissed, earning an angry glare from her father.
"You can go, Cassandra," he growled. "Quietly."
Cassandra let out an angry chuckle before bowing. "As my King commands."
Then she stormed toward the door. Cassie glanced back at her father sitting next to his friend. He never looked at his children with such care or love. She often thought Robert Baratheon didn't have the life he had dreamed of as a boy. Still, she couldn't know for sure; nobody talked about her parents' lives before her father became King of the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei Lannister didn't like to discuss it—there were too many irrelevant details in that story. To get an education, the only thing they children needed to know was that the Baratheons and the Starks fought against the Targaryens and won. But every time the Queen quickly told them the story—only after Joffrey's loud request—she always forgot to mention Lyanna Stark, the girl Robert and Eddard had come to rescue from Rhaegar Targaryen.
And every time someone asked her father to recount the tale of the war, he would simply rise and retreat to his chambers.
Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms seemed happy, but her father never looked so. Well, she couldn't blame him; he had a hyena for a wife.
Cassie left the room after taking one last look at her father and his ailing friend.
She spent the entire day alone, as always. King's Landing wasn't a place where one could live safely. There was always someone ready to use, betray, or kill. Only those who had spent a long time there—mostly dishonorable or untrustworthy men—could survive in the capital.
The next morning, loud knocks on her door jolted her awake. She glanced out the window; the sun was barely up. What was happening?
"My princess!" a servant rushed in, breathing heavily as if she had run all the way there. "It is Lord Arryn, my princess." Cassie got out of bed, already knowing what the servant would say. "He died during the night."
Cassandra looked down, unable to comprehend how death always caught her by surprise. It didn't matter how great a warrior or noble he had been; death had come and taken him away with a simple fever.
"The King requires your presence." She nodded at the servant, who bowed her head and left the room in silence.
Cassie started to dress. She was accustomed to death; many Keepers of Light and Night's Watchmen died daily beyond the Wall. But still, Jon was good—probably the only good man left in all of King's Landing—and death had to choose him before others.
Gods like to make fun of us, she thought as she left her room to seek her father. He probably already knew what had happened, and she wanted to see him before he got drunk.
"Your Highness," she said upon entering his chambers.
There he was—the King of the Seven Kingdoms—sitting in a chair, gazing out at the sea below the Red Keep. Cassie wondered how he felt at that moment. He had lost the man he trusted most in the capital, and now he was alone among hypocrites. She really didn't envy her father at all.
"You've heard, I presume," he spoke without turning to her.
"I heard," she replied, not approaching him. Her father nodded.
"Why did you want to see me, my King?" she asked after a moment of silence. She was certain her father didn't summon her to discuss what an amazing man Jon Arryn was or how much they would all miss him. He had never talked about his feelings—not with her and not with anyone else.
"For how long will you be staying here, Cassandra?" She rolled her eyes at his question. What? Did he want to send her away already? But strangely, she wouldn't have been surprised by that.
"For another…" The journey to the Wall took a month, and she wanted to spend some days with the Starks before returning to her duties. "Ten days, I think."
"No, you'll stay longer." Her father's words shocked her; something like that had never happened in ten years of traveling. He stood up from his chair and looked at her.
"You're a Baratheon, you've said that," her father continued. "You will attend Jon Arryn's funeral." Cassie agreed with that, but why did she need to stay longer than planned?
"And then we will all leave for the North," the King added.
She stared at her father with wide eyes.
"What?"