Burning Rose ~ Jaime Lannister

00.3 Harrenhal

"Remember, Arcene, you are a Lady of High Garden, but we are no longer in High Garden.  You must take care of yourself; pick your words carefully, and don't forget what I have taught you."

The young girl nodded while she held the hands of her grandmother.  

The carriage rocked as the wheels squeaked -- she decided that she did not quite like traveling in such a fashion, her mind wandered to the days when she could simply get somewhere by foot or by horse, not that either would be proper or quick enough to get her where she was needed.

She also wished that Mace could have come with her to the Tourney, or at least to say a last goodbye, but they had been forced to part in High Garden, and Lady Olenna was the one who accompanied her to Harrenhal, at least to the gates, where she had been left with her septa and a few Tyrell men.

Her Grandmother had ducked beneath the curtains of the window when the carriage had turned to go -- Arcene wondered if she had just seen her Grandmother cry, the thought had caused her to bite her cheek in order to hold back her own tears, now the ragged flesh served as a constant sting of what she had lost.

-

Arcene stood by her septa, small and unnoticed by most of the Lords and Ladies gathered, and there she stayed.

Nothing of importance really passed, the Tourney hadn't yet begun, the only memory she retained of that hour was the appearance of a boy.

She had thought he was a man at first, he had been tall enough to be one, but when she caught sight of his face, she had realized he was still a boy.

It would only be in later years that she would recall that the reaction of most women to him was their inability to speak, and a swaying in their bodies.

At eleven, having not indulged in any fantasies of knights and Princesses, love was the furthest thing from her mind, and she could scarcely judge if a man was any better looking than his horse.

But it was one moment which really counted.

The boy had knelt before the King and the Prince, swearing oaths of loyalty and bravery, in protecting their lives.  Only later would she understand that he had given up everything that was his in that moment, to join the Kingsguard.

When he rose, she had seen a flicker in his green eyes, some sort of regret, although she doubted anyone else had seen, for the sight had lasted less than a second, before he covered it up with a smirk, a white cloak having been draped over his shoulders.

It was only after he had risen that the King finally noticed her presence, with a cackle and a wave of his hand, he beckoned her forward.

She showed no fear, despite being only a child, and having attended few celebrations, preferring the company of books or a few close friends to a hall of false friends.

The little White Lady had stood in front of the king proudly, but she remembered to show respect, greeting the king with a cool curtsy and simply nodding to his words, no one knew what to make of them, insults or compliments, the most tedious one she endured had been the king's comment about her eyes, "Maybe you will have the beauty of a Targaryen like your mother, but your eyes, their color..."

He had also noted her underdeveloped body, how she was still a child, a girl, not yet a woman.

No one laughed then, nor cheered.

Prince Rhaegar was much loved, and so was his wife, Elia Martell, although some had other goals in mind.  

The little girl was not loved by the lords and ladies, nor was she hated.  She was simply there, in the way of some of them, but also seen as a movable chess piece by others.