𝘾𝙃𝘼𝙋𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙁𝙄𝙑𝙀 :
𝗟𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗢𝗳 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁

𝑩𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑫𝑶𝑴 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑲𝑬𝑫 𝑰𝑻𝑺 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻𝑯 𝑫𝑨𝒀 𝑨𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑫 𝑲𝑬𝑬𝑷, and Sylvia grew hatred toward her constant studies with Maester Ollins reading massive leather-bound books, thick with extensive history behind the legendary House Targaryen and their ties to Valyria — including hundreds of houses within Westeros and political relations with and against the crown or with each other.

Reciting words never used in her vocabulary would lock Sylvia's jaw and copying pages upon pages with shitty handwriting and barely any practice back home with her own mother, would tire her wrists out and left her fingers cramped. Her mother was far advanced in both reading and writing, taught later in life after Sylvia's birth, but her teachings weren't consistent. She could only practice reading after every written word her mother wrote for her father to one day read given her popular status in the house. Writing was rare and Sylvia hated it.

And once freed of Maester Ollins, left hours in Meya's care as she taught Sylvia the ways of a proper lady of the court. The study of etiquette involved far more than walking in pretty dresses and keeping one's mouth clean of cake crumbs. Curtsy when in the company of new peers and those of higher political status. Never address them by name but by title unless given permission or were under Sylvia's status, such as Meya and many others. Head up, back straight, chest out, arms locked in front, and walk with grace as though she levitated. Not with a boyish posture, as Meya described. She was determined to cleanse the boyish nature from molding her bones. Never say too much. Never say too little. Then would clutter the table with various utensils to use and label.

       You must act as though even the Gods are watching you, Meya would say, because being a lady isn't just a privilege of improvement and betterment, but an example to the people — lower-classed women and the poor who'd do anything to be where you are, and has convinced themselves that if they do what you do, they will one day stare behind your eyes.

Sylvia didn't think being a lady would be challenging and she was wrong.

She grew delirious and starved of her freedom. She missed home and drunk travellers, and ex-lovers — still friends — laughing over countless fools. She missed her splinter-prone bow and running off to the woods with Yanis to hunt. She missed her loose-fitting clothing and the effortless movement it provided. She missed being outside. Free instead of being cooped up within the same walls for hours.

She thought more freedom came with holding her father's name, but freedom never tasted sweeter than it did back home. And perhaps, she didn't know the extent of her freedom in King's Landing because she was afraid that if she stepped out of line, King Aul would take back his word and ban her from the city.

But enough was enough.

She walked out in the middle of Maester Ollins' dreadful monologues in need of a break. A walk to clear her mind and explore the majestic castle. And a strange shriek and heaviness in the air that interrupted her lessons many times.

Sight of a massive erotic mural of the same and opposite sex engaging in sexual activities with each other and a dragon came into view. Sylvia cocked her head as she inspected the art. "This is interesting. . ." She said. "And new."

Meya reached her lady's side and viewed the mural, a light tint in her cheeks almost the same color as her hair. "Very, my lady. These murals of different acts are scattered along the castle walls. You will see them quite often." She said.

"I assumed they were traditional. Modest."

"It prevails by day but is another story behind the curtains. House Targaryen are quite accustomed to queer customs and often aren't shameful or demeaning toward expressing sexuality. Much like Dorne though quite different and forced behind closed doors." Explained Meya, lowering her voice as a few castle staff passed by. "Your father once used to host parties of such acts."

"Without the dragons, yes?"

Meya laughed at her highly concerned expression. "Of course. So I've heard, they were extravagant and would last for days that men would leave their wives to attend and gifted their most prized possession for an invite."

Sylvia's brow lifted with surprise. Beyond hearing of her father's ruthless personality, it was the first she heard of his life when he lived outside of her mother's stories. And she wanted to know more. "What more have you heard about my father?" She asked.

"I began my work here after his passing, my lady, so I fear my words aren't recent or credible."

"I'd still like to know."

"I heard he cut the tongue of a man who slandered his house in public as an example for his filthy mouth. Then flaunted his tongue around his neck as a necklace, rotted with flies. Before his marriage to Lady Vana, while courting her, he asked her to give him a name. Any name. The name of any who caused her heart to squeeze with stress whenever they were within her presence, so she did. And on their wedding day, he delivered her uncle's heart on a silver platter to wipe her heart clean and transfer that stress onto his." Meya continued. "He always made such a presence that no one dared speak unless spoken to. One might even lose their eyes if they're met. He was quite intimidating and twisted."

"He was a prince. I imagined he'd have to be. If one steps out of line, it's one's job to push them back or others will follow behind." Words taken out of Yanis' mouth filled hers with ease.

They spun to the cheering formed within the training pit around two men fighting. At the center, Prince Viseron pointed his steel sword, taunting his sworn protector always a few steps behind his shadow with half of his wooden shield missing.

Having the best view above, Sylvia leaned against the rail, watching impressively. He was quite skilled and his movements were fast, just as good as Yanis. Maybe even better. Her eyes overlooked his skills and traveled below to the sweat glistening his bare chest and highlighted muscles that were hidden beneath his clothing the first they'd met. Only trousers and boots were worn during the fight, leaving nothing to imagine, but oddly, left her curious to see more while it's shown.

"And what of him?" Sylvia's lip tugged between her teeth without her knowledge, studying the prince who once tried to get her naked. He hadn't tried since then not that she's had time for him. "What stories you've heard?"

"I dare not say anything, my lady. I'd like to keep my head another thirty years."

"Oh, come on. Your words are safe with me. Who would I tell? My piss pot?" Still quiet, Sylvia rolled her eyes as she reminded, "I wasn't giving you a choice. I want to know about this prince."

Meya was hesitant for good reason, but given the vast differences between their status, she had no choice but to obey. "Some believe he was born from the wrong father."

"Why so?"

"Because he takes after his uncle, Prince Daemon. Their fury burns strong. There are far too many stories to share and talking about him makes me shiver. But one thing is certain, he's betrothed to Julie Lannister."

Standing off the side near her attendant was Julie Lannister. Long golden strands with multiple braids hung in loops and intertwined delicately down her back, emerald green eyes fearful of her betrothed's safety. She was not only quite young — around six-and-ten (16) possibly — but beautiful too. Her black dress with a crimson outline shaped her womanly frame well, some could easily believe she was older than she appeared.

"Such a fragile thing paired with a ruthless prince who doesn't give a damn whether she lives or not. Tis probably why he's held off the marriage for so long. About — three months I believe. Although war and house relations has preoccupied the prince's time." Meya informed and Sylvia appreciated the information. It did come as a surprise to her. She hadn't heard a thing about this girl and the Prince didn't present himself as a man set to marry — if there was a certain way a man should act.

It's not uncommon for a prince or anyone of higher status to already be betrothed as it was to become her faith too. On the outside, they looked well-suited, but if their wedding had been halted then perhaps something was happening on the inside that no one knew. Answers Sylvia was curious about.

The crowd displayed Prince Viseron's victory by clapping their hands with glee. Lady Julie rushed to her betrothed with words of praise but he shared his win with his component and sworn protector, Sir John — Sylvia finally remembered when she was tested to name everyone within her house and their titles while walking backward and bumped into him. He apologized first though it was her fault, his voice gruffy and deep. Lady Julie was ignored completely and stood aside as she patiently waited to be included.

As though Sylvia's presence was felt above, his head lifted and met her stalking gaze. She pulled back from the ledge but it was too late to pretend otherwise and grabbed her dress to dip her knees in a cursty. Like a proper lady who hadn't been spanked on the palm of her hand with a stick or straightened until her back ached and thighs burned, and all the boyish nature had washed out of her. Most of it.

He's impressed by her growth, his lips pulling into a half grin with approval. Then dipped his head to greet her.

Sylvia lifted and couldn't hide the gushing feeling of pride forming in the pit. She's worked hard perfecting herself that some acknowledgment would be nice. Expected even. She greeted Lady Julie as well when following the Prince's attention, only she didn't return the gesture. Her bottom lip turned pink from how hard she chewed, looking at him and then back to her before lending a stiff smile.

Meya touched her lady's arm lightly. "We have spent much time walking these halls I'm afraid Maester Ollins might assume you've abandoned him and your studies. We should return."

The Prince took his leave. Lady Julie followed after.

"That's because I have abandoned my studies," Sylvia admitted. "Maester Ollins is an old fuck who never keeps his eyes on the books — "

Meya gasped. "You must mind your words, my lady. Such foul language is unacceptable for a lady."

Sylvia ignored her and kept speaking. "He speaks in one note, for a very long time, and isn't patient with me when I'm doing my best. What more does he want from me?"

"We can request another, but you mustn't put off your studies. You made the King a — "

Sylvia walked away from her attendant. She headed in the direction of the Great Room so she could continue her studies and force herself awake whenever Maester Ollins spoke. She knew very well of the promise made with the King and hated when Meya reminded her at every given second.

"There she is!"

Sylvia's steps halted toward four noble women — judging by their pretty dresses and well-kept hair — rushing in her direction like children at the Sand Festival held every year back in Toland. Silly betting games where men would run bare-footed and nearly naked across the hot sand for three days for life-changing coins and honor, suffering nasty blisters, dehydration, and even death. There were also cake-eating contests. But inside was filled with poisonous sand scorpions, eating until one ultimately died or was saved in enough time. There'd be endless music and hard syrup candies for the children. Joy all around, joy that Sylvia was forced to experience from afar.

Sylvia glanced over her shoulder to pinpoint their attention but there was no one behind them. No one of importance unless they were signaling a passing servant or patrolling guards. But as they neared it was clear she was their pinpoint. A bunch of strangers. Rather close by how they clung to each other.

Meya greeted the noble women and Sylvia followed in pursuit. "My lady, this is — "

"I shall introduce myself," a blond-headed woman with loose curls down her back and wide sharp eyes dismissed Meya as she stepped forward from the group. She bent her knees into a proper curtsy and lifted herself, her eyes glazing upon Sylvia's scales with mere interest. "I am Lady Clarice Hayford, Daughter of Lord Benjamin, House Hayford of Crownlands. This is Lady Mercia Rosby, House Rosby of Crownlands. Lady Anya Buckwell, House Buckwell of Crownlands. And Lady Emma Wode, House Wode of Riverlands." The last house was said in a mumble but had caught on learning briefly of the Riverlands. Of all their houses that were loyal to the crown.

Each lady kneeled into a cursty. And as Sylvia met each woman as they rose, her gaze fell upon Lady Mercia, if she remembered correctly. Golden brown skin, shades darker than sand on its brightest day, with thick brownish red curls too wild to tame but were a looser patterning than the mess on Sylvia's head — pinned from her narrow face with dangling ornaments, dressed in the colors of the leading house.

        Pretty, Sylvia thought to herself, she's very pretty. They each had their own charm, whatever it was, but Lady Mercia stuck out.

Another, Lady Anya, stepped forward. "We are very pleased to make your acquaintance. We've already heard so much about you." She was very soft-spoken, light and airy like a whistle in the wind. Wide-eyed with ghostly white skin and hair as black as night. It didn't help that her eyebrows were nearly invisible, so she appeared sickly.

"What have you heard?" Sylvia inquired, wanting to know what had been said about her.

Lady Anya exchanged a look with the other ladies and Sylvia could've sworn one had shook their head, as if to refrain her from speaking the truth. Their smiles were wide and bright and clean of evidence when she tried to confirm the gesture. "Just silly chatting. You know how it is in court." She didn't. Not one bit of it. "When someone new comes around, everyone is so eager to know everything about them. Few are convinced they've known them their whole lives. But with you here, in our circle, I believe we'll be great friends. The bestest."

"My God, Anya, we are not that desperate. Be calm." Said Lady Clarice, tugging the girl back who sent a soft glare.

"It was your idea. You wished to confirm if the King had lost his mind bestowing a b — "

The woman hissed in a manner that shut Lady Anya up. She lowered her head with a pout and stepped even futher back upon the lady's gesture.

Then chuckled with nerves, ironing out the creases of her dress that shaped her figure. Her manipulated curls played the illusion that her hair was voluminous, but the knitted hair piece pushing everything back showcased otherwise. "You misheard me. I would never speak ill of anyone or question one's decision, especially the King's." Said through clenched teeth, still smiling.

"Liar." The girl mumbled loud enough to be heard.

"Your scales," Lady Mercia blurted and she had Sylvia's attention almost immediately. "They are real, are they not? I have never seen anything like it before."

Before she could speak up, Lady Emma interrupted her. "Of course, they're real. Why wouldn't it not be? She has dragon blood in her veins. Only with their blood is it possible."

It's said the women from Riverlands were all too ugly to look at and lacked feminine hygiene and beauty, as the writings said. Swamplands and ruins from war. Emma Wode was the only beautiful daughter her mother bore; a head of brunette strands down her back, pepper green eyes, and a curvy figure to look past her flat face. A beautiful girl like her should be seen, an end to vile rumors of their house and Riverland women.

Sylvia stood before Lady Mercia, leaning slightly forward. "Would you like to touch them?" She offered and her eyes brightened with excitement mixed with surprise.

"Could I? Is it not rude?"

"Not if I'm offering."

Lady Mercia reached out her hand and touched the scales along Sylvia's cheek. Her touch was hesitant at first before she grew comfortable, gentle as her soft fingers outlined its trail. It was true that no one aside from Yanis and her mother had touched her scales, but there were rare occasions when Sylvia would allow a few selectives to explore her face. In exchange, she could explore them.

She wasn't expecting the same deal with Lady Mercia. Not yet at least.

"They're beautiful," Lady Mercia whispered, shying away from Sylvia's intensive contact appreciating her beauty at a closer range. She liked the greenish mixture in her brown eyes. Realizing how close they were, she pulled back her hand with an apology.

"Can I touch too? I'm curious." Lady Anya raised her hand.

"Me as well. Does it hurt?" Said Lady Emma.

It wasn't until Lady Clarice cleared her throat that the rest stopped pestering Sylvia and followed back in line. Clearly, she held reign within the circle, leaving the question of just how powerful her house was. And much of it she didn't wish to lose to a bastard. "You will have to excuse their excitement. Young new faces are rare to come by. While some lack discipline, they also lack personal space."

Many didn't react lightly to being put down for something they couldn't control. They were all around Sylvia's age and younger. Full of energy and light. Trying to make the most of their life before they were no longer a girl but a married woman with duties to their husband and house. She didn't mind their lack of discipline or personal space, or even their constant questioning. She was new to court, to their world. It's to be expected.

But what she didn't like was someone putting down others to make themselves look good. "And what do you lack?" Sylvia asked Lady Clarice. "No one is perfect, not even me. I'm curious if you lack discipline too. A mouth that just keeps talking."

Her mouth twitched and her eyes seemed touched with irritation as she narrowed in on the lady who dared to question her. But then the moment passed, all traces of anger left, and she offered her a stiffened smile.

Her lips parted with an answer prepared, but Sylvia realized she didn't care and spoke over her with more questions to ask. "What brings you ladies to me? Whatever it is it'll have to wait another time. My studies call to me and Master Ollins doesn't seem like a patient man to be kept waiting." . . .studies she would do anything to get out of with a teacher she was close to hating, but it was her promise to the King. While she prepared herself for marriage, he would provide whatever was necessary so she could learn of the house who've stolen her features.

Lady Anya jumped off her feet toward Sylvia, taking her arm to lock tight. It was the kind of strength that felt the girl was scared she'd run off, and she would if given the chance. The action was sudden. "Then we shall walk you to your destination and chat. We know the way. Maester Ollins won't say a thing with us by your side."

"Ah. . .okay." Sylvia managed to say.

Lady Emma occupied the other arm, the other ladies at their side, dragging Sylvia forward as if she were a rag-doll with weak stringy legs, vulnerable to even the mildest of control. Meya remained a few steps behind with no means to interject. She looked content with her lady with others than just her putting up with Sylvia, a break from bending and molding her bones and attitude into a proper lady. Lessons that still needed time to sink into her bones. And apparently, her brain.

Multiple conversations were had and many questions were left unanswered due to lack of time to answer them before the next question was thrown out. It seemed Sylvia was learning more about them than they did about her. She preferred it that way. Her life was nothing of interest compared to highborn ladies who've seen more of the world than she had. Their hands were untouched by hash labor, smooth to the eye, their nails long and perfectly round. No scent of piss, puke, and sex lingered from their skin but the sweet aroma of lavender and. . .berries? There was not one strand out of place — thoroughly washed and brushed with limited knots and tangles, carefully curled with overnight remedies and styled to utter perfection. Not even the wind could displace their attendant's hard work.

Even their stories were untouched by the cruelty of the world and filled with mindless pettiness, harmless pranks, and endless fun, surrounded by riches and an arm's length of friends. They were perfect. All of which Sylvia lacked and couldn't help the jealousy pitting deep in her belly.

A reminder that two worlds stood before them despite their feet walking the same land.

"We remain at court while our fathers and many noble lords have been called to discuss trivial matters that have disarrayed our house and its people." Said Lady Merica as they directed Sylvia down the wide-set stairs and through the long halls that were endless and beaming from the sun burning through. She had no idea what the subject was but went along with it.

"I came to visit my brother. He's recently joined the Knighthood. My father thinks it will strengthen his heart and bring forth honor." Said Lady Anya.

Lady Emma tugged on Sylvia's arm, pulling her closer from Lady Anya's previous tactic to have the girl to herself. A constant game that forced Sylvia to break free. It surely didn't stop them coming back.

"But that isn't all, is it?" Lady Merica sent a mischief look in her friend's direction and it was the first her face had color, warming up as she refused to admit her true intentions.

Sylvia was very much lost. "What am I missing?"

"She has eyes for Prince Aelor." Lady Clarice unveiled and Sylvia scrunched her nose with disgust. She wished she hadn't asked.

The girl gasped out with shock. "I do not!"

"Do too." Lady Emma teased. "The biggest crush. He is all you ever talk about. His kind eyes. His long legs. His calming nature. His beautiful hair."

        Kind eyes? Calming nature? What version was she seeing?

She unlocked their arms to cover her ears as she shouted. "I will not hear of this — this slander! And neither will either of you speak another word of my affections — should I have any — or else I'll scream my lungs bloody and never stop until the sky roof caves in, crushing you whole."

"Why not save your screaming on your wedding night? You've practiced long enough."

A squeal of giggles bellowed from Lady Mercia as she took off running when Lady Anya chased after her. They laughed at the two using passing servants to block each other's contact. Lady Mercia seemed like a shy woman at first but she was far from it, at least around her friends. There were occasions when she'd speak less that was practically invisible, and occasions when she'd make herself known and make use of it. A balance of both.

Sylvia certainly didn't see what Lady Anya saw in the Prince and was convinced the girl got hit in the head by an apple or something heavy. They wouldn't be House of The Dragon together but House of The Ghost. Uncanny and unsuited.

Finally having Sylvia to herself, Lady Emma tugged her closer and Lady Clarice was quick to fill the empty spot. Their constant attention and closeness made her uncomfortable for reasons that she wasn't used to. "My father claims it's to spare our ships and men to prepare for the war up ahead. Only the best shall prevail." She was back on the conversation of their reasoning for being at court.

"Except we need strong men and strong ships that won't flood the first wave it's met." Said Lady Clarice, in a tone that held a known story close to Lady Emma which she ignored.

"But while at court, we accompany the future Queen to strengthen our relations that'll benefit our future and make our house proud."

"Future Queen," muttered Lady Clarice with a sense of mock. "Whenever that will be. It's embarrassing enough having to listen to her delusions and pretend to care. There is only so much advise one can give before it's time to return home."

Their shared laughter made known they knew of Lady Julie's current predicament with Prince Viseron. Neither Sylvia nor Lady Mercia — when returning after the two grew tired and heavy with breath — found the situation humorous. She didn't know the girl enough to find the joke and feared she'd contract her faith by downing her misfortune.

But Sylvia couldn't move on from their current topic deciding which games they should indulge in before supper when something Lady Emma had mentioned weighed on her mind. War.

War was nothing new to her. Horrid stories roamed the fires back at Toland from men and former knights drinking away their trauma to any ears that would listen and even she had her first taste of it. But what concerned Sylvia was where this war was taking place and who was the intended enemy. She came to King's Landing to create a future and safe home for her mother when she came, and couldn't do any of that if her future was at risk. Based on many blurred lessons of war around the world with Maester Ollins, King's Landing wasn't all that invincible given the history of why the wall was built in the first place.

"Will it be here? The war that's to come?" Sylvia asked.

They grew quiet, having silent conversations with their eyes that Sylvia couldn't understand. But when Lady Clarice was quick to fill the void when answers were sought, it was then she understood why they were hesitant to speak. "The Conquest of Dorne. The battle to last over centuries to come." She held no filter as she played her fingers through her golden locks, eyeing Sylvia's expression. She remained calm. "The Martells will never concede. Never to bend the knee to the crown nor compromise their terms to end this shitful fight, ultimately wasting our resources and men. Them vipers aren't grateful no matter what we do. But enough is enough. Should they refuse us once more, we will come back harder."

One could not live in Dorne and not know of its conflicts not only within the country but outside of it. Even for someone like Sylvia, who didn't care to know as it was never her concern nor was she sitting at the table with something to offer. It was strange living on the outside of the world, on the lands of the same enemies that were plotting against her home.

Sylvia didn't know where to stand.

While her roots were in Dorne, her lineage was far from it. One came with traumatic memories and a life that served no purpose while one was an opportunity in a lifetime, a purpose of many should she choose one. Or perhaps she didn't have to choose. With her given title, she could pursue anything. There was no limit as far as she knew.

Sylvia would always be proud of her home, grateful of her upbringing, and prideful of her Dornish roots — but wasn't stupid to risk her life for the damn country or piss off others who were against them. The same one that took everything from her. Her mother included. And it's people they claimed to care for. Her loyalty never extended beyond that.

"I see," said Sylvia, uncomfortable with their eyes on her every movement. Probably they were expecting her to curse this country and accuse Lady Clarice of spreading lies to fuel more propaganda.

They soon reached the door that led to the Great Room. Maester Ollins was currently inside because his distinctive voice carried through the cracks.

Lady Anya waved her hand, dismissing the short awkwardness. "Enough of that depressing subject. Let's leave it to the men. Why don't you join us for a round of fox and hound after your studies before supper?"

Sylvia never heard of this game before. "I don't know how to play this game."

"You never heard of fox and hound?"

"No. Should I? Is it popular here?"

Lady Anya's jaw dropped as if the girl was learning her first word, and one of the ladies had to remind her that Sylvia was not from around.

"I can teach you. It's quite easy once you get the hang of it if no one's adding any last-minute rules." Lady Mercia offered, and Sylvia would like that very much. "I'll be the fox for the first round if you like. Just until you grow comfortable."

"That goes against the rules. Every newcomer must be the fox. Even I had to be for three rounds." Lady Emma argued.

"Surely we can bend one little rule for our new friend. That which you are — a friend in our circle. A position quite hard to obtain, even Lady Julie scrambles for our companionship that we offer you at no obligation." Lady Clarice scooped Sylvia's arm, walking closer toward the door and leaving the rest of them behind. Only Meya joined a few steps behind. "I hope you make up your mind soon and join us for a round or two, milady. It is a fun game to know more of each other and I can show you great hiding spots. As my father says, it's good to have friends in every corner of the world each with something to offer."

Her sharp eyes and naturally arched brows made her appear as though she was constantly plotting. But while her aura was mean-spirited, she didn't look like one with much motive other than hoarding friends under her belt within her control.

Sylvia never had friends outside of the pleasure house or around her age, especially highborn ladies of such status — a status they shared. Making a variety of friends could serve her well in the future. She wasn't sure what it could be or when, but knew it was in her best interest to join their inner circle. Be their friend. Accept their companionship and maintain good relations. And play a few rounds of fox and hound.

A U T H O R S N O T E

— This chapter took a bit longer to write because I expanded this chapter by adding the ladies in last minute, and will use the original second half—possibly after the next chapter, which also might be a slow update, given the idea JUST hit me seconds from posting this—in the next chapter to expand. They were originally introduced later on but rather abruptly with no build-up and it felt better introducing them now. Hopefully their different personality shines, which is a struggle for me with many characters in one chapter, but I love it nevertheless! Great practice.

— You're also probably questioning : where the fuck are the dragons and dragon dreams? Don't worry, it's coming ! Scenes you don't wanna miss ^_^* you can outline a story as much as you want, but once you start writing, it carries its own plan.