Ilya Mallister. I haven't thought of that name in years. I haven't thought of that woman in years. But it's not the woman I think of. She never was one. Only the girl, small and slight, delicate and demure. That's how I remember her. A cousin to the ruling family. Which was never quite as simple for the Mallisters as one would imagine. Their arrogance, not only to outsiders, but to each other was legendary, and vying for power was a matter of family pride. Not that she would have known such things in her childhood. No, she knew little of the machinations of her family, removed from court as she was by her father, Ser Daerik, uncle to Lord Jason, sent to live with his oft-ailing wife Narys, far from the rigours of courtly life. It was the country she recalled more often than not, when she thought of her childhood. The fruit of the orchards, the scent of fresh earth under her bared feet, the laughter of the house children as they went about their daily tasks. The freedom, while never to be like the other children, at least not so much a Mallister. But childhood as those who have grown into adulthood, cannot last forever, and the end of her childhood came as she turned twelve, and was bidden, by messenger, to come to court to join her father. And the young, timid girl who rode through the gates was never so young or so timid anymore.
A hard awakening, a terrible introduction to the truths of who she was and why. It wasn't out of longing for his only daughter that Daerik brought Ilya to court, nor out of a need to keep her close to her older brother, Garen. A Mallister is only so good as the tools they can use in their bids for power, and so, Dae was her father's. Settled into court, taught the ways of courtly life, of politics and good speech. Introduced to the family that her time away with her mother had protected her from. Four more years of freedom, of life, different but still hers. Until the approach of her sixteenth birthday, and the announcement that she was to be betrothed to Hyram Frey, in a bid to overthrow the current ruling branch of the Mallisters and allow Ser Daerik to assume control of the family. But while arrogance is the cornerstone of the Mallisters, betrayal is not its life's blood, and the night of the attempted coup, Ilya, ever the pawn, but loyal to her father, was awoken by Garen, and bundled away, the two attempting to flee from the Lord's house towards the country home where their mother still resided. But even brave Garen could not protect his dear sister, and the pair were captured not far from the grounds, and brought back to answer for the crimes of their father. For Daerik, no longer a Ser, and for Garen as well, punishment in the form of the Night's Watch, the two men accepting the Oath, rather than taking the harsher punishment. For Narys, who would not long survive the separation from her husband, and for Ilya, the Sept.
I could tell you that Ilya escaped the Sept, the shame of her family, the end of her childhood with the grim determination that saw her rebuilding her fathers alliances and seek vengeance for the past, begin her own war against the ruling house. But the truth is, that, unscathed in body, if not in mind, Ilya Mallister nevertheless died the night her father's dreams did. The young woman that rose out of the ashes of everything she might have been was a different woman, turned aside from the world of politics and power. With only the clothes on her back, and the iron will which was the only lasting gift of the Mallisters, she made a new home, built a new family within the Sept, and found refuge and perhaps some sort of peace in the sanctuary and anonymity there. Ilya she was, the day she took the novice's robes. The day she set aside everything she might have been, and became only what she could make of herself. A healer, a herbalist, a teacher and councilor. And as the years past, and her face outgrew the soft sweetness of childhood, little to nothing remains of the girl she once was. There remains only the woman she is. Ilya. Septa.
