THREE IS AN UNLUCKY NUMBER

Author's Note: This is a non-profit fanfiction based on A Song of Ice and Fire. It is part of a larger story world I plan to adapt into an original novel. All names, places, and affiliations may change in the future.

RUYAN

FIVE YEARS AGO

The cool mountain air of Mount Kunlung was still fresh in her memory as ten-year-old Ruyan followed the palace attendant through the familiar halls of her childhood home. After two years in the temple's austere quarters, the palace's opulence felt overwhelming—glossy jade floors that reflected her small figure, towering pillars painted in vermilion and gold, and the heavy scent of incense that clung to every silk tapestry.

She missed the simplicity of the temple. There, she had been merely a disciple among others, permitted to run through sun-dappled forests gathering herbs, her hair in a simple braid rather than the elaborate styles court protocol demanded. In the mountains, she could feel the whispers of animals brushing against her consciousness as she practiced her gift. Here, the only whispers were those of courtiers, just as dangerous but far less honest.

The summons to her father's study came less than a day after her return. Ruyan tugged at her formal robes—garments that felt stiff and confining after the temple's simple attire. Despite her young age, she schooled her features into the placid mask expected of imperial family members, though her small hands fidgeted with a jade pendant at her waist.

The Emperor's study doors were carved with dragons whose eyes seemed to follow her movements. Two Imperial Guards stood motionless as statues, their faces betraying nothing as they opened the massive doors for the princess.

"The Imperial Princess Ruyan," announced the court herald, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Her father stood tall and imposing before a vast map that covered nearly an entire wall. He did not turn immediately, a deliberate reminder of his position. Ruyan approached to the prescribed distance and performed the formal kowtow, her forehead touching the cool stone floor, small body folded perfectly as she had been taught since she could walk.

"Rise, daughter," the Emperor said, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.

Ruyan stood, her posture perfect despite her tender age. She knew better than to speak before being addressed directly, even with her own father.

The Emperor gestured toward the map. "Come closer, child. Tell me what you see."

She approached with measured steps, eyes taking in the detailed renderings of lands she had only studied in scrolls. Westeros dominated the western portion of the map, the sprawling continent shaped like a woman kneeling in prayer.

"Tell me, daughter, what does the rest of the world say about our empire?" The Emperor's question sounded casual, but Ruyan recognized it as a test.

She straightened, chin lifted slightly, speaking in the clear, articulated manner her tutors had drilled into her. "Divine One. Our Empire is the most advanced civilization in the known world and the oldest, predating even Old Valyria before its Doom."

A flicker of approval crossed her father's face as he pointed to the northernmost region of Westeros. "And what of this place? This... North."

Ruyan's eyes followed his finger, remembering her lessons. "The Northerners are considered savage by most, even by their southern countrymen," she recited, then hesitated briefly before adding an observation of her own: "Though perhaps this view is unfair, Divine One. Their bloodline remains one of the purest of the First Men. House Stark descends from the Winter Kings with an unbroken lineage of eight thousand years."

She paused, wondering if she had overstepped, but her father nodded for her to continue.

"They have accounts of the great darkness that mirror our own histories, though they call it the Long Night," she finished, hoping her knowledge would please him.

The Emperor studied her for a long moment, his gaze penetrating. "Your gift is powerful, but it must return to our line strengthened," he stated finally. "You have a special task that will shape the destiny of our empire."

Ruyan felt a flutter of anticipation mixed with apprehension.

"You will marry into that ancient Northern line," he declared, his tone making it clear this was not a subject for discussion. "A daughter born of that union will wed a future crown prince, bringing the old magic back to the Imperial bloodline."

Though her stomach tightened with uncertainty, Ruyan knew her place. Marriages were tools of alliance, especially for princesses. She was fortunate, she reminded herself, that her father valued her enough to entrust her with such an important mission rather than simply sending her away to cement ties with some local noble house.

She bowed deeply, hiding the momentary flash of fear in her eyes. "I am deeply honored to fulfill this mission for our empire, Divine One."

"Rise," he commanded. His voice softened almost imperceptibly – a tenderness few would recognize, but that Ruyan had learned to detect in rare moments. "From today, you will begin specialized education about Westeros, particularly the North. You must be prepared for the world you will enter."

"I look forward to the lessons, Divine One," she replied, her voice small but steady, betraying none of the apprehension churning within her.

For a fleeting moment, the Emperor looked at her not as the vessel for imperial ambitions but as his daughter – a child of ten tasked with responsibilities that would overwhelm most adults. Then the moment passed, and he was once more the Azure Emperor, architect of dynasties.

"You are dismissed," he said, turning back to his maps, already plotting moves in a game that spanned continents.

PRESENT DAY

The Hall of Supreme Harmony felt cavernous around Ruyan as she maintained her perfect kowtow, forehead pressed against the cold marble floor. Above her, the Emperor sat on the Dragon Throne, elevated on a dais that required all who approached to look up – a deliberate architectural choice to reinforce the celestial nature of imperial power.

Seconds stretched into minutes as she held the uncomfortable position, the silence broken only by the distant call of palace cranes from the gardens outside. The Emperor allowed the silence to linger, a calculated reminder of his displeasure.

"Rise," he finally commanded, his voice carrying the weight of generations of absolute rulers.

Ruyan stood, careful to keep her eyes properly lowered. Though her legs ached from the prolonged kowtow, she betrayed no discomfort. Years of imperial training had taught her to conceal physical pain just as thoroughly as emotional distress.

"You have brought the young wolf back," the Emperor observed, his tone neutral yet somehow more threatening for its lack of inflection. "He is to be shown around as you promised. And along with that oath, you told him he could return even if he refuses to marry you?"

The question hung in the air like the blade of an executioner. Though phrased as an inquiry, they both knew it was an accusation. Ruyan felt cold sweat prickling along her spine beneath the layers of formal silks.

"Your Divine One, I beg for your forgiveness." Her voice remained steady despite the rapid beating of her heart. "This daughter is incompetent, having failed in her mission. What I offered the young wolf is part of a diplomatic strategy to ultimately succeed in the task you entrusted to me."

Her lips trembled slightly – the only visible sign of her fear. Failure was not something the Emperor forgave easily, even from his own blood. Throughout her life, she had witnessed courtiers and even distant relatives disappear after disappointing him.

The Emperor leaned forward on his throne, his gaze piercing. Ruyan could feel the weight of his scrutiny like a physical pressure.

"A contingency," he said finally, the word neither approval nor condemnation. "Fear not, for the fault is not entirely yours. These Northerners would rather freeze and die than bend their will to foreign influence."

Ruyan released a carefully controlled breath, so subtle it could not be heard beyond her lips. Not forgiveness, but not punishment either. She remained in the precarious middle ground where imperial children existed – neither fully secure nor completely vulnerable.

"Rise fully and look at me," the Emperor commanded.

She obeyed, lifting her gaze to meet her father's for the first time since entering his presence. His eyes – so like her own – revealed nothing of his thoughts.

"You still have a chance to turn this situation around," he stated, a subtle emphasis on 'chance' that reminded her failure would not be tolerated twice. He paused, the silence hanging heavy between them. "Three is an unlucky number. There shouldn't be a third time."

The cryptic statement sent a chill through her. Imperial pronouncements often carried layers of meaning, and this one suggested both opportunity and threat. She recognized the reference to an ancient Yi Ti proverb: After three failures, the dragon devours its young.

"I am grateful for your reminder, Divine One," she replied, bowing again to hide the flash of determination that hardened her features.

The Emperor gestured slightly, indicating her dismissal. As she backed away, maintaining the proper respectful posture, he spoke once more.

"Ruyan," he called, using her name rather than her title – a rarity that made her pause. "The North is stubborn as ice, but even ice melts when approached correctly." His voice carried a warning. "Do not disappoint me again."

The implicit threat lay beneath his words like a serpent beneath smooth waters. Ruyan bowed deeply, a final kowtow before retreating.

"Never, Divine One," she promised, her voice carrying both fear and resolve as she backed from his presence.

Only when the massive doors closed behind her did she allow herself a single trembling breath. Against protocol, she pressed her palm flat against the cool wall of the corridor, steadying herself as the weight of imperial expectations threatened to crush her.

In that moment, she was neither princess nor diplomat, but simply a daughter who had disappointed her father – with consequences far graver than most daughters would ever face.