𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 have forsworn love. For love is not a possibility for the life they currently live, only a mere fairytale a mother would tells her young children. But for...
"What do we have here?" The dulcet tones were rich and full of amusement as the person asked the question. Their crystal azure eyes, almost the same reflection as the nearby coast, scanned at the piece of work in front of them. His eyes slightly trace the blurred lines that were smudged lightly by careful fingers. If he looked closed enough, he could see the indentation of the artist's prints. But it was not enough to take away from the overall picture and mood.
The artist in hand, the silver-haired beauty, scooted closer to her longtime friend with hair reminiscent of the burning sun. She stopped mid-sketch, interrupted by his question, to turn the off-white canvas towards the curious lad. The contents of her artwork was beyond finished but the rough lines, asymmetrical angles, and the soft strokes were enough to paint the picture to any onlookers. An impressive feat for having only spent an hour perched on top of an uncomfortable boulder while her objects of inspiration sparred with instruments of death.
The trio, consisting of the Dragon Prince, The Sword of the Morning, and the devilish Griff, had decided to spend their free time training and dueling with one another. A performance to see which of them was the better equipped combatant. And the prize for the victor was bragging rights. Yet, there could not be a victor if there was not a judge to deem so. That is where the unsuspecting Nyrella comes into the vision. Rhaegar had extended the invitation to his sister to overlook the unofficial matches between the trio of competitors. He assumed her answer would be a straightforward yes, but when he did ask, she had said the opposite. Nyrella reasoned that she had nothing to gain from watching swordplay for hours on end. The disagreement between the two siblings turned into an endless bickering. Their interaction mirrored a pair of squawking larks fighting over overripe fruit. The amused but annoyed Griff had to step in and reach a compromise between the royal children. In the end of things, Nyrella agreed to accompany them, but in return they are in debt to her.
"I'm barely at the desired result. I plan to use my paints," Nyrella inquired as she hands off the canvas to the Lord of Griffin's Roost. The latter brought the canvas extremely close to his face, far more than what Nyrella was comfortable with. She sat uneasy, watching intently at the bead of sweat on the tip of Jon's nose, threatening to fall on her precious work. However, the redhead continued to eye the sketch in close proximity to notice the various elements he had missed looking over the Princess' shoulder.
Jon gave a hum of approval before giving the piece back into its rightful owner. "You're quite the talent, little one," he ruffled the top of Nyrella's head, turning her neat hairstyle into a bird's nest. "I'm sure you could sell those for a fortune. I know a few people that would love such work displayed over their mantelpiece," giving two cents on the matter. He, also, wishes to have her art hung at Griffin's Roost.
Nyrella threw daggers at Jon. She used her fingers to comb through the knots in her hair, and mold it back to how it was until Jon decided otherwise. But she could not disagree with what he said. "The thought would be nice," she pondered on the recognition she would receive for her talent. A nice thought indeed. "But, I want to keep this to myself for the time being. It is only a hobby of mine. And who are you calling little one? Last time I checked, we were only a year or less apart," Nyrella jabbed, she was not going to let him off that easily. She might not have distinguishable fire like Jon, but she had it in her veins.
