Asoiaf: I Have a Wolverine Template

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Revelations
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Alicent POV

A week has passed since Richard and I found ourselves lodged at the Lion's Den, a shabby inn tucked away in the shadow of Lannisport's grander streets.

Its name hardly fit, considering the dull, tired lion carved into the sign out front—faded and weatherworn, its once-golden mane now bleached to a lifeless gray. Still, it was a roof, and better yet, it was the only roof we could afford that wasn't suspicious of two children clutching a handful of coins.

Arron, the innkeeper, was a round-bellied man with thinning hair and fingers stained from years of serving ale and scrubbing tankards. His face was flushed more often than not, his cheeks rosy with the heat of the kitchen or the drink he nursed well after nightfall.

But he was kind enough, or at least didn't ask questions. For five coppers, he let us stay in a cramped room on the second floor, just above the kitchen where the smell of stew and roasted meat drifted through the cracks in the wooden floor. It wasn't much, but it was warm, and the meals came with the price of our stay—bread and stewed beans, with a bit of salted pork if we were lucky.

Arron's daughter, Tya, was different. She was thirteen, three years older than me, and though her clothes were plain and her hands rough from working the inn, there was something about her that made me feel like I should look up to her. She had a quiet, steady way of speaking, her voice soft like the rustling of autumn leaves.

She taught me to sew, her fingers moving swiftly and deftly through the needlework, and helped me with reading, which she'd learned from one of the traveling septons who passed through Lannisport. There were times when I caught myself thinking of her as an older sister—until I saw the way she looked at Richard.

That was when the warmth I felt toward her momentarily turned to ice. I've witnessed Tya's eyes gazing at Richard, whenever they lingered on him, were of those infatuated and of those who were in love.

Those gaze made my stomach twist in a way I didn't like. Richard never seemed to notice, though. He barely looked at her, always brushing her off with that cold, distant stare that had become more and more a part of him since we arrived in the Inn.

I like that he didn't give her any attention. I felt bad and sorry toward Tya though. Is it selfish for me to want Richard's attention to only be on me?

I noticed that ever since that eventful day, Richard had changed. His eyes weren't the same—not the way they used to be back when we still played and laughed in the streets. There was no spark of mischief left, no teasing grin.

His face had hardened, and his gaze was always far away, as if he were seeing things that weren't in front of him, or remembering something he couldn't forget. I'd tried to ask him what was wrong, but he would only shrug me off, telling me it was nothing, telling me not to worry.

But how could I not?

During this week, Richard has been less present in my life more than ever.

Lannisport was a bustling city, its streets filled with merchants and sailors from the Sunset Sea, the smell of fish and salt clinging to the air. The wealthier parts of the city gleamed with polished stone and gold-threaded banners, but we didn't belong there.

We lived on the edges, where the shadows were longer, where the streets twisted and turned in ways that made it easy to disappear. And lately, Richard had been disappearing too. Every night, I'd wake to the sound of the window creaking open, and I'd see his silhouette slipping out into the darkness.

I didn't ask the first time. Or the second. But now, after nights of watching him vanish into the streets, I couldn't help but feel the worry gnawing at me like a rat. What was he doing? Where was he going? And why, when he returned, did he always seem more distant than before?