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The grand cheers from the tourney could still be heard by the patch of grass Naenya had claimed as hers. While she thought tourneys had their merit, keeping many of the common folk and Lords alike content, she also disliked how needlessly bloody they got.
Gwayne Hightower had asked for her favour before going head-to-head with her uncle and ultimately getting put down by the prince of the city. She had done her duty as princess and accompanied Gwayne to the medical tent before bidding him good fortune and fast healing.
She knew she should have immediately returned to the tourney, it was her duty, after all, but her feet seemed to constantly drag as she continued to get closer to the centre of bloodshed and viciousness. So instead, she did something very uncharacteristic of her. She decided not to act as a princess should and instead sat herself by the grass until her sworn protector Ser Loren came seeking her.
"Bored by the pitiful fights already, princess?"
Naenya turned towards the boyish voice. A dark-haired boy stood lazily in front of her, his hair looking as though the maids had only gotten so far in making him appear presentable before he had managed to escape their clutches. His leather tunic held no crests that would show his family's house, but he was the son of a Lord. Naenya could tell by the way he held himself.
"Once I come of age, I can surely show you a fight that will leave you enthralled," The boy said, confidence exuding from him, "And when I ask for your favour, I will fight for you and you alone. And I will surely win. I would never embarrass you through failure,"
Naenya looked at the boy blankly, "Don't you need to be running back to your mother?"
The boy didn't acknowledge her, simply running a hand through his tousled hair as he continued to watch her.
"Targaryen names have always been rather complicated to pronounce. Could I instead address you as Enya?" The boy waited for her response, but when it became clear she wasn't going to give it, he continued anyways, "Then that is what I shall call you, so you know it is me who is calling upon you,"
"What is it exactly," Naenya began, staring at the boy dubiously, "That you think you are doing?"
"Getting acquainted with the princess," The boy said with a teasing smile, "What else would I be doing?"
Naenya shook her head as she rose to her feet. Standing before him, she was certainly much taller than he was. While many men found such a fact emasculating, the young boy didn't seem to care at all. If anything, it seemed to make him even more confident.
"Alright, little boy," Naenya said, staring down at the boy, "Head back to your mother before I send you back to the nursery,"
Before the boy could reply with a witty comment of his own, the rustle of the tents behind them caught both of their attention. Ser Loren had emerged, holding his sword tightly. Once he caught sight of Naenya, he let out a thankful sigh and began walking towards her.
"I hope we meet again, Princess Enya," The boy said, heading back into the tourney area.
Naenya watched the boy leave, the swirl of confidence emitting from him following his every step. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to Ser Loren.
"Princess," Ser Loren exclaimed, grabbing hold of her arm softly, "You were supposed to walk Gwayne Hightower to the tent and then return,"
"Who is that boy, Ser Loren?" Naenya asked, turning back to where he had disappeared.
Ser Loren furrowed his brows, searching his brain for the answer.
"That was Elden Baratheon, Lord Boremund Baratheon's eldest son," Ser Loren said, "He's the same age as Princess Rhaenyra, two years your younger,"
Naenya hummed, realising he did indeed hold the signature dark Baratheon hair and accompanying traits. Though he wasn't as tall as Baratheons normally were, perhaps he would grow into it.
"What is it you wanted, Ser Loren?" Naenya asked, knowing he would only have sought her out for a reason.
"Of course, apologise, my princess," Ser Loren straightened up, taking in a deep breath, "The King calls for you. There have been some unexpected events regarding the-,"
Naenya had already rushed off before Ser Loren could continue, holding her dress so she couldn't trip.
Her mother had promised. She had promised.
The funeral was not just for her mother, but her younger brother as well. Dressed in a colour she was most unfamiliar with, the darkest of black, she was forced to watch half of her family burn before her.
The crowds had dispersed rather quickly after the affair, leaving the immediate family and Daemon to grieve alone. It was only then, when the others had disappeared and left Naenya in the presence of family she could trust, did she succumb to her overwhelming feelings. Her tears morphed from slow and mournful to a waterfall of despair and crushing grief. She had tried to reach for her mother, but her feet betrayed her, sending her falling to the ground as she cried.
Daemon had been the one to catch her, holding her upright as Naenya sobbed against his chest. She was certainly not the strongest of the family, often falling victim to her emotions in an entirely un-dragonlike manner. She knew her fatal flaws when she saw them, and she would never be the boy her father wanted so badly. She was too feminine, too emotional, and too much of everything that made a poor ruler. She only hoped her father would get an heir before he was forced to look upon the likes of his current family.
It was all her father ever wanted, after all.
Author typing...
Elden is the best. King shit only with him.
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