Chapter 44 - A girl's journey through cruelty and hope

124 AC

Nettles' POV

The world was an unforgiving abyss, a place where cruelty thrived and swallowed the weak whole. It was on the day I lost my mother that this bitter truth etched itself into my very soul. I was left alone, abandoned and forsaken, with no one to extend a hand of solace.

"She is nothing but a whore, let her die," the septon had declared, his callous words sealing her fate.

I often catch glimpses of her face in my memories, haunting me with her brown eyes that held a glimmer of warmth, and her dark brown skin that spoke of a heritage I shared. The pain of her absence is a constant ache in my heart. I can still hear her voice, fragile and weary, as she imparted her final words to me.

"The world is a merciless place, my child," she whispered, her voice trembling with resignation. "But it is also our home."

She implored me to survive, to fight against the tides of adversity until the bitter end, for that was all that mattered. Her words echoed through my being, a haunting reminder of the strength and determination I must summon in the face of an unyielding world.

And so, that is precisely what I did.

In the desolate streets, where shadows danced with broken dreams, I became a phantom, a desperate figure clinging to the edge of existence. The boundaries of right and wrong blurred in my pursuit for survival, and I found myself stealing from those who possessed more than they deserved. But in the cruel irony of life's tapestry, my actions only led me deeper into the clutches of indebtedness.

Each passing day was a relentless battle against despair, a struggle against the unending darkness that sought to consume me. Loneliness became my constant companion, a companion that whispered in my ear with a chilling familiarity. There were nights when the weight of isolation pressed upon my chest, suffocating me with its suffocating grip. It was during those long, harrowing hours that I clung to the remnants of my mother's words, drawing strength from her memory like a fragile lifeline.

The world had shown me its true face—the face of cruelty, of heartlessness. But I refused to surrender to its cold embrace. For within the depths of my soul burned a flicker of determination, a fire that refused to be extinguished. I resolved to defy the odds, to rise above the sea of despair that threatened to drown me.

With each stolen morsel, with each debt that accumulated like weights around my ankles, I forged a steely resolve within myself. I would not be defeated. I would not let my mother's sacrifice be in vain. I would claw my way through the shadows, driven by the memory of her final words.

"The world may be a cruel place, my child," she had said, her voice trembling but resolute. "But it is also a place of possibility. A place where those who fight with all their might can carve a path, however treacherous, towards a better tomorrow."

And so, I fought.

With a heart heavy with sorrow and a spirit aflame with determination, I embarked on a perilous journey to shape my own destiny. I sought knowledge in the darkest corners, honing my skills, learning the art of survival in a world that reveled in chaos. I navigated treacherous alliances and forged unlikely bonds, all in the pursuit of a future that defied the grim reality that sought to define me.

In the depths of my loneliness, I discovered a strength I never knew existed within me. It was a strength that whispered to me in the darkest hours, urging me to continue, to keep pushing forward, even when the weight of the world threatened to crush me beneath its heel. I held onto my mother's words like a talisman, a beacon of hope amidst the unrelenting storm.

"You fucking bitch," the fat man spat, his hand colliding with my face, sending me crashing to the ground in the desolate alley. The dimly lit surroundings mirrored the darkness that enveloped my existence.

"Anthony, ease up on her," a voice interjected, its tone filled with a twisted semblance of mercy. "We don't want to kill the wretched bitch like her useless whore of a mother, who couldn't even repay her debts."

"You're right, Marc," the fat bastard agreed, his voice dripping with sadistic delight.

As I lay there, pain throbbing through my body, he yanked me up by my hair, his grip cruel and unyielding. His eyes glimmered with a perverse excitement as he spoke, his words laced with malice.

"Tomorrow marks the culmination of the jousts orchestrated by The Sea Snake," he sneered, his breath reeking of stale liquor. "Nobles and merchants will flock to the spectacle, presenting you with ample opportunities to pilfer their wealth. But mark my words, if you return to us empty-handed..."

His threat hung in the air like a poisoned fog, suffocating any glimmer of hope that remained within me. I felt his cold gaze pierce through my soul, his intentions clear as he brandished a gleaming dagger, its edge glinting with malevolence.

"I don't want to hear any pathetic excuses from you," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Tomorrow is your final chance."

A twisted smile danced upon his lips, a cruel reflection of the sadistic pleasure he derived from my torment. His threat echoed in my mind, a relentless drumbeat of fear and anguish.

"I'll scar your face beyond recognition," he taunted, his words seeping into my wounded spirit. "Oh yes, I will."

Through the haze of pain, I mustered the strength to meet his gaze, defiance flickering within my eyes. I struggled to push aside the agony coursing through my body, to disregard the weight of his oppressive words.

"Sure, sure," I muttered, attempting to mask the pain that wracked my body and soul.

His malevolent grin widened, a grotesque manifestation of his sadistic satisfaction. With a final triumphant nod, he turned away, leaving me in the bleak alley, the darkness wrapping around me like a suffocating shroud.

In that moment, as tears mingled with the blood on my bruised face, the depths of despair consumed me. I was trapped in a cruel existence, a pawn in their wicked game. The shadows whispered their secrets, their tendrils reaching out to claim my battered spirit.

But amidst the darkness, a flicker of determination remained. It was a defiant spark that refused to be extinguished, fueled by the memory of my mother's suffering and the promise I made to myself.

Tomorrow would be my final chance, an opportunity to defy the cruel hands that had shaped my fate. I would navigate the treacherous grounds of the jousts, where opulence and decadence danced hand in hand, concealing the darkness that lurked beneath.

Through the pain, the scars, and the relentless torment, I would summon every ounce of strength to survive. The world had shown me its darkest side, but I would rise from the ashes of my despair, fueled by a determination to forge my own path.

In the face of their cruelty, I would become a phantom, a force that defied their expectations. And when the time came, I would confront them, the very embodiment of the darkness that sought to snuff out my spirit.

For in the heart of the forsaken, a flicker of hope still burned, a beacon in the night that guided me through the abyss. And with each passing day, as I stared into the mirror, the reflection of a scarred yet resilient soul stared back at me.

I would endure. I would fight. And, ultimately, I would prevail.

The resounding roars of the crowd reverberated through the grand tournament grounds as two knights clashed, their armor glimmering in the sunlight. The clash of steel and the thunderous hooves of their chargers filled the air, captivating the spectators who had gathered to witness the spectacle.

Amidst the awe-inspiring display of chivalry and valor, I moved like a shadow, my nimble fingers deftly relieving the unsuspecting spectators of their golden pouches. Their attention was fixated on the fierce joust, allowing me to work unnoticed, threading through the throng like a phantom in the midst of a masquerade.

The duel continued, reaching a crescendo as the knight adorned in brilliant white armor emerged victorious, his lance shattering against the shield of his House Velaryon opponent. The crowd erupted in an explosion of exultant cheers, their voices echoing throughout the grandstands, carrying their admiration for the triumphant knight.

As the victorious knight lifted his visor, revealing a face that seemed carved by the gods themselves, a hush fell over the onlookers. Pure white hair cascaded around his handsome countenance, perfectly complementing his pale lilac eyes that shimmered with an otherworldly allure. Even the ladies in attendance couldn't help but be captivated, their hearts fluttering at the sight of such beauty.

"Fucking fools," I muttered under my breath, casting a cynical gaze upon the swooning crowd. "Blinded by mere looks, they believe in the power of a pretty face."

In that moment, a realization washed over me like a tide of cynicism. No one in this world was truly good. Beneath the surface, everyone harbored secrets, concealed behind masks of virtue and honor. It was a lesson I had learned through countless encounters, a truth that guided my every move.

With the victorious knight receiving a wreath of flowers as a token of his triumph, I couldn't help but marvel at its grandeur. Instead of the usual blooms, the wreath was adorned with an array of precious pearls, glimmering rubies, and a handful of other exquisite gemstones. Its radiance outshone the sun itself, becoming the true spectacle of the tournament.

Whispers spread through the crowd as they debated who would be named the Queen of Love and Beauty by this enigmatic knight. The anticipation grew, each spectator anxiously awaiting the knight's choice.

As he made his way toward the regal presence of the pompous royals, the wreath gracefully held aloft on the tip of his lance, my mind swirled with a daring plan. I watched intently as he bestowed the precious garland upon the princess, whose striking single eye glimmered with surprise and admiration. The onlookers erupted in applause, their adoration for the knight and his grand gesture filling the air.

But as the cheers reverberated through the stands, I slipped away unnoticed, my eyes locked on the shimmering wreath. It had become my singular focus, an object of coveted desire. I vowed to steal that priceless ornament and make my escape from this wretched isle.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a veil of darkness over the bustling streets of Spicetown, I trailed discreetly behind the one-eyed princess and her knight in shining armor. They were accompanied by a small retinue of guards, their presence a constant reminder of the risks I was taking.

Whispers of caution from those who had been paid to look the other way echoed in my mind, their words a reminder of the danger that lurked. But I remained focused, my determination unwavering as I clung to the task at hand.

The princess, adorned with the magnificent wreath of flowers atop her head, strolled leisurely through the labyrinthine alleys of the vibrant marketplace. The aroma of exotic spices filled the air, intermingling with the murmurs of eager merchants and the enchanting melodies of street musicians.

Like a shadow weaving through the crowd, I carefully observed the princess's every move. The wreath, a beacon of opulence and significance, gleamed with an ethereal radiance upon her head. It was my prize, my ticket to freedom from this life of desperation.

As the princess ventured deeper into the maze of stalls and peddlers, I seized the opportune moment. The nimbleness of my fingers was my greatest weapon, honed through countless acts of clandestine theft. With the grace of a predator, I closed in on the unsuspecting princess, the guards momentarily distracted by the surrounding commotion.

In an instant, I snatched the delicate crown from her head, my movements fluid and silent. The air crackled with tension as the realization dawned on those nearby. Panic erupted like a wildfire, spreading through the crowd as the guards scrambled to assess the situation.

I melted back into the anonymity of the bustling marketplace, slipping through the narrow gaps between stalls and blending into the shadows. The wreath clutched tightly in my grasp, its precious gems glinting with stolen triumph. It was a fleeting victory, a daring heist that ignited a mix of exhilaration and trepidation within me.

As I made my escape, the night swallowed me whole, shrouding my presence in its protective embrace. I moved swiftly, my steps muffled against the cobblestones, evading the guards who raced through the maze of twisting alleys in search of the elusive thief.

The city streets became my labyrinth, my knowledge of its hidden passages and secret routes guiding me like a compass. I navigated with the finesse of a predator, aware that every misstep could mean capture and the forfeiture of my freedom.

Through darkened alleyways and forgotten corners, I pressed forward, the weight of the stolen wreath a constant reminder of my audacity. The night became my ally, shielding me from prying eyes as I made my way closer to the edges of the city, where freedom beckoned like a distant star.

With each step, my heartbeat quickened, a blend of anticipation and anxiety coursing through my veins. The stolen wreath, once a symbol of prestige and honor, had transformed into a talisman of defiance, a tangible representation of my determination to break free from the shackles of my past.

As the city lights faded behind me, swallowed by the encroaching darkness, I ventured forth into the unknown. I had stolen not just a wreath, but a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. For within the stolen prize lay the possibility of a new life, a chance to redefine my destiny and leave behind the nameless alleys that had been my home.

And so, with every breath, I embraced the stealthy dance of the night, propelled by the resolve that burned within my soul. The world may be cruel and unforgiving, but in the depths of the darkness, I found the strength to survive, to fight, and to carve a path that was uniquely my own.

But misfortune seemed to be an unrelenting companion as I found myself face to face with the very merchants I had crossed paths with before. Their greedy eyes widened when they caught sight of the stolen wreath in my trembling hands, and I knew their intentions all too well.

Desperation consumed me as I tried to bargain for my life. "Take this!" I shouted, thrusting a pouch of stolen gold toward them, hoping to divert their attention. Their avarice flickered, momentarily distracted by the glimmering promise of wealth. Yet, their gaze remained fixated on the coveted wreath, their lust for its value burning in their eyes.

"How much would it fetch, Anthony?" his companion inquired, their voices tinged with greed.

"A fortune, my friend," Anthony replied, his voice laced with anticipation.

Their conversation took a sinister turn as their eyes shifted toward me, their sinister intentions thinly veiled. "She must be silenced," they muttered, deciding that I posed a risk to their ill-gotten gains. Panic welled within me, propelling my desperate attempt to escape. But fate had other plans as a crate collided with my back, sending me crashing to the unforgiving ground.

The fat bastard approached, his knife glinting ominously in the dim light. "It's not your fault, you bitch," he sneered, ready to unleash his wrath upon me. But an unexpected voice interjected, halting their cruel intentions.

"Wait," one of them said, curiosity evident in his tone. "She may not appear formidable, but it would be a waste to dispose of her before we've had our fun," he added, his words laced with repugnant lust. Panic surged through my veins as I struggled to break free, only to be met with a vice-like grip around my neck.

A fierce blow landed upon my face, the impact shattering my teeth and drawing a river of blood from my mouth and nose. Tears streamed down my face, mixing with the crimson stains upon my cheeks. Yet, their laughter only intensified, mocking my pleas for mercy.

"Keep her restrained," Anthony ordered, and I could sense his perverse plans taking shape. I cried out, desperation coursing through every fiber of my being, but my efforts were in vain. Helpless, I found solace in the memories of my mother's words, reminding me of the cruelties of this world.

Oh, how I longed for her presence in that moment. The pain of her absence cut deep, and my desire to be reunited with her overwhelmed me. As I braced myself for the inevitable, for the darkness that awaited, a sudden cascade of liquid splashed upon my face. Blinking through the haze, I beheld the figure of a person, their white hair flowing like an ethereal veil. But before I could comprehend the situation, consciousness eluded me, and the world faded to black.

In the depths of despair, hope seemed to wane, replaced by a suffocating sense of tragedy. My thoughts, fragmented and fleeting, clung to the memory of my beloved mother, seeking solace in her words. Yet, the relentless cruelty of the world persisted, threatening to consume me entirely. The knight with his flowing white hair, an enigmatic savior, appeared as a fleeting glimmer amidst the encroaching darkness.

I slowly, cautiously, opened my eyes, the pain in my mouth and body a relentless reminder of the horrors I had endured. As my vision cleared, I found myself in an unfamiliar room, its walls closing in on me like a prison. Confusion and fear gripped my heart, tightening its hold with each passing moment.

A woman stood in the room, her eyes wide with alarm at the sight of me. She hurriedly rushed to the door, uttering urgent words that sent ripples of unease through the air. The distant sound of footsteps grew louder, and soon, an old man adorned with chain links around his neck entered the room.

His presence elicited a mix of apprehension and hope within me. I instinctively recoiled, my body remembering the pain inflicted by those who had betrayed my trust. "Stay away!" I managed to croak, my voice a mere whisper, my words laced with the remnants of agony.

But then, the man with the flowing white hair stepped into the room, his eyes filled with a compassion I had never known. In his gaze, I saw a flicker of understanding, a recognition of the torment I had endured. "It's alright," he reassured me, his voice a soothing balm to my wounded soul. "The maester only wishes to tend to your wounds."

Still trembling, still harboring the scars of my past, I couldn't help but remain wary. The traumas I had suffered had eroded my trust, leaving behind a deep-rooted fear that seemed impossible to shake. But the man with the white hair, with unwavering determination, sought to mend the shattered fragments of my being.

"Those men are gone," he affirmed, his voice carrying a resolute strength. "They will never touch you again." His words echoed through the room, penetrating the barriers of my fear and creating a sliver of solace within my wounded heart.

Tears welled in my eyes, mingling with the pain and relief that surged within me. It was a bittersweet torrent, a mix of anguish and gratitude, as I began to comprehend that not all souls were cruel and unyielding. In the presence of this stranger with his kind eyes and resolute stance, I dared to believe in the possibility of healing, of finding a flicker of light amidst the shadows of my past.

With a newfound glimmer of hope, I allowed the maester to approach, to tend to my physical wounds with a gentleness I had forgotten existed. And as he worked diligently to mend my brokenness, I clung to the whispered promises of a better future, guided by the unwavering support of the man with the white hair, whose mere presence seemed to offer a lifeline in this tumultuous sea of despair.

As I finished the last sip of soup, setting the empty bowl aside, Ulf gently placed it down, his eyes filled with a newfound warmth. Curiosity sparked within him, and he posed a question that resonated deeply within my wounded soul.

"What is your name?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine interest. Despite my difficulty in articulating words, I managed to muster a response. "Nettles," I whispered, the sound of my own voice a stark reminder of the pain I had endured.

"Nettles," he repeated, a soft smile playing upon his lips. "Oh, what a beautiful name." I could feel my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "My name is Ulf," he continued, extending his hand toward me. "Nice to meet you, Nettles."

Just as our introduction reached its tender conclusion, the tranquility of the moment was shattered by the sudden entrance of two armed men. Swords drawn, their intentions were clear. They demanded my presence in the main hall, their authority brooking no room for refusal.

Instinctively, I clung to Ulf, grasping onto his arms for support. In the face of the impending threat, he remained resolute. "I will bring her myself," he declared, his voice shifting from gentle to firm in an instant. "Inform Princess Rhaenyra that I will arrive with her shortly."

A flicker of defiance flashed in the eyes of the intruder, but Ulf's icy stare silenced any further objection. "Do you believe it wise to brandish a sword in my presence?" he challenged, his tone laced with an unyielding coldness. The would-be assailant hesitated, then retreated, leaving the room with a palpable air of defeat.

"Nettles," Ulf called out to me, drawing my attention back to his unwavering gaze. "Don't harbor ill feelings toward that poor man. He is simply fulfilling his duty, however ineptly." His smile returned, and I found myself mirroring his expression, a glimmer of hope emanating from within.

"Allow me to be honest with you," Ulf continued, his voice tinged with a mixture of seriousness and reassurance. "You are in a considerable amount of trouble. Rhaena initially sought your head for stealing the wreath, but I managed to persuade her otherwise, though it took considerable effort." My throat constricted at the gravity of his words, yet his presence provided a sliver of comfort amidst the uncertainty.

"But that's not all," Ulf added, his eyes filled with determination. "Princess Rhaenyra seeks to mend her relationship with her stepdaughter, Princess Rhaena. And to do so, she plans to punish you, unjustly." My heart sank at the prospect of further punishment, but Ulf's next words lifted my spirits.

"Here's what will happen," he continued, his voice steady and reassuring. "You will come with me quietly. Regardless of what is said, you will remain calm and not attempt to escape. Do you believe in me?" His eyes bore into mine, searching for a flicker of trust. With a nod, I affirmed my faith in him, in the hope that perhaps, just perhaps, a glimmer of light could emerge from this dark labyrinth of despair.

"You stand accused of thieving gold from various merchants and of stealing the priceless wreath from my daughter, Princess Rhaena," declared the stern woman seated on a chair beside an aging lord. Her voice cut through the air with an icy edge, leaving no room for doubt or leniency.

"She pleads guilty, Princess," Ulf interjected, his voice steady and resolute.

"Let the thief speak for herself," commanded a man clad in the regal attire of House Velaryon.

"Ser Vaemond," Ulf addressed him, his tone laced with authority, "the reason she cannot speak for herself is evident in the state of her badly bruised face." The pompous man's words faltered, silenced by Ulf's unwavering presence.

Lord Colrys, the aging nobleman, nodded in acquiescence to Ulf's statement. However, the fat woman beside him seethed with anger, her frustration palpable.

"Since she is guilty of theft, it is only proper for her to lose her hand," she declared, her voice laden with vindictiveness. As her words hung in the air, my body tensed, fear coursing through my veins. Desperation fueled my search for an escape route, for any chance to evade such a cruel fate.

Ulf, however, intervened, his voice calm but assertive. "That punishment is too severe, Princess. She is but a child who knew no better." His words served as a beacon of hope in the face of impending darkness.

"But she is a thief, and she deserves such a fate," the fat woman persisted, unwavering in her vindictive stance.

"I understand your viewpoint, Princess, but there is more to this story," Ulf interjected, his voice unwavering. "Nettles' mother owed money to dangerous individuals. After her untimely death, this young girl was left to bear the burden of her mother's debt. It was the weight of desperation that forced her to resort to theft."

A collective shift in the atmosphere followed Ulf's revelation. The once steadfast condemnation wavered, replaced by a glimmer of understanding. Ulf continued, recounting the events of the previous day—the moment when I was perilously close to becoming a victim, cornered by the very men whose gold I had taken.

"I arrived just in time to witness those men intending to have their way with her," Ulf revealed, his words resounding with a mix of righteous anger and protectiveness. "I slew one of them and imprisoned the other in the cells of High Tide, as Lord Corlys can attest. It was from him that I gleaned the full extent of Nettles' tragic circumstances."

With each passing moment, the princess's expression shifted, torn between judgment and empathy. Ulf seized the opportunity, his voice filled with a plea for compassion. "I beseech you, Princess, to grant Nettles another chance—a chance for redemption. A softer punishment, one that allows her to be trained as a protector for Princess Baela and Princess Rhaena."

My eyes widened in disbelief, barely comprehending the unexpected turn of events. The fat woman erupted in protest, her voice sharp with indignation. "You wish to elevate this girl, a former thief, to the role of a protector?"

"Yes, Princess," Ulf affirmed, his voice resolute. "Just like Jonquil Darke, the longtime protector of your great-grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne. Nettles will accompany the princesses where I, or any other knight, cannot."

A brief silence hung in the air, pregnant with anticipation. Then, an older man with silver hair and piercing purple eyes spoke up. "That's a good idea, Ulf. Now let us conclude this matter and attend the Melee," he declared, his gaze lingering upon me.

"Yes, Prince Daemon," Ulf acknowledged, his voice filled with gratitude.

And in that fateful moment, my life was forever altered. The weight of destiny descended upon my shoulders, as I embarked on a path that would reshape my identity, challenging preconceptions and pushing the boundaries of redemption. It was a pivotal turning point, a thread in the tapestry of fate, weaving together the disparate elements of my past and future.