Abandoned and ignored by her father, Princess Vaella remained at her mother's side. Forced to watch as life went on for those around her, while her mind tortured her. A cacophony of voices whispering of the end of House Targaryen.
Female!OC x Otto...
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Sunlight streamed through the trees as the sun began its descent from the sky. Hounds barked in the distance as they tried to chase the scent the white hart had left behind. Vaella held tight to the horse's reins, feeling her nails gig into the leather. Her gaze trailed over the lords and kennel boys holding the dogs back. Her stomach turned as she realized she was the only highborn lady, feeling out of place in the woods.
The sound of a throat clearing caused Vaella to look to her left, bright blue eyes meeting soft green. "Princess." Otto greeted, holding a gloved hand out for her to take.
Worn leather felt soft under Vaella's touch as she slipped her hand into Otto's, letting him help her off the horse. Her feet landed on the soft forest floor with a slight thud, head tilting back to meet the older man's gaze.
"Thank you, my lord." Vaella whispered, breath stuttering as Otto's thumb caressed the back of her hand. She could almost imagine the feel of his touch through the thick glove, recalling the way his warmth had seeped into her skin once years ago.
"Come, Vaella." Viserys called, glancing back as he waited for his daughter.
His gaze fell to her hand, staring at the appendage for a moment as something tugged in Otto's chest. A deep and primal instinct screamed at him, urging him to stay at Vaella's side. He pushed the thought away, stepping back to allow Vaella to pass. His hand slowly falling from her own and returning to his side.
"Your Grace, Princess." The Royal Huntsman greeted as Viserys and Vaella met him in the middle of the small clearing.
"How far?" Viserys asked.
"Her droppings were found half a league to the east.".
Vaella watched in disgust as her father removed his glove and lifted one of the droppings out of the bald man's hand.
"Still fresh," Viserys felt the weight and texture, and sniffed the excrement. He turned to Vaella, holding his hand out for her to see the feces. "It is softer and has a stronger scent when fresh."
"Between two and three hours, Your Grace. My best scout spied him. The beast is upward of 35 stone and we now have his trail."
"Aye." Viserys agreed, pulling his riding glove back on.
"Before the dragons ruled over Westeros, the white hart was a symbol of royalty in these lands." The Huntsman shared, glancing at Vaella as he spoke.
"And on this day of all days. While the Princess stands in the Kingswood," Otto spoke, approaching the father and daughter. "I've never been one for signs and portents, Your Grace, but if the gods did wish to show their favor."
Viserys merely smiled, patting the taller man on the shoulder as he turned back to his horse. Vaella moved to follow after her father, wanting to return to the comforts of camp. A breeze blew through the trees, brushing past Vaella and causing her steps to falter. Muttered words she could not make out mixed with the rustling of leaves. Her breath stilled in her chest, skin tightening over her bones as she looked to the swaying trees.
