Terms of Endearment │Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

Chapter 6: Kindred

THE PRINCESS

"Shoulders back," Septa hisses from above you.

Although there are so many people around you, you are the only one that hears her. Everyone else is too busy whispering among themselves, wondering why Papa has called the lords and ladies staying in the Keep to attend him—and why they are being made to stand outside the Great Hall.

You can feel Septa looking at you, so you do as you are told and straighten your back, pushing your shoulders into place the way she wants. She hates it when you slouch. Usually, you're better at keeping to her rules, at being a good lady, but you find yourself distracted today.

Is that 'Nyra? you wonder, trying to look past the rather wide nobleman's form beside you to further back in the crowd, to where you are sure you'd seen a head of silver hair far too tall to be Aegon or Helaena.

It shouldn't be her. 'Nyra has been on a tour for moons now, sailing around the kingdom in search of a husband. According to Papa, she has rejected every single one. That doesn't surprise you—she has always said that she would never want to marry and have many babies like some ladies are made to do. Still, an order is an order, and Papa is King. That means that 'Nyra has to do as he says, and so she must find a man to marry and have babies with whether she likes it or not.

She cannot be back, then. She still has two more moons left.

Suddenly, the doors swing open. The Kingsguard at the front of the crowd march into the Great Hall, clearing the way for you and Septa to follow. She takes a firm hold of your arm as you walk to the steps leading to the Iron Throne, to where Papa stands holding onto Blackfyre. Because Lord Hightower has taken his station to the right of the Throne, you go to the left, where Ser Harrold has made a space for you. Septa releases you and makes herself invisible in the crowd, leaving you alone. You clasp your hands together tightly, trying your best not to bury your fingers into your skirts and twist like you do when you are always nervous. You do not like crowds very much, even though you are a Princess and all Princesses ought to enjoy the attention.

You watch the lords and ladies fill each side of the Hall, and you see it again. The silver-haired head. Her. It is 'Nyra, you realise.

A part of you wants to shout her name, to smile so wide your face hurts and run to her and give her a hug so strong it nearly cracks her bones into pieces—but you won't. Septa Marlow would be terribly angry if you behaved so poorly. And, from the way she won't look at Papa, and the way he is frowning at her, she is in plenty of trouble. You do not think he knew she was coming back, so she must have done so without him allowing her to.

A great clang comes from beyond the entry, getting yours and everyone else's attention. All eyes turn to the doors as footsteps echo out, fast at first, and the room falls quiet. Then, a new set of steps can be heard, slower and quieter.

He appears. Uncle.

The first thing you notice is his hair. It used to be long, you think. It isn't anymore. You are sure you very much liked to play with his long hair when you were smaller. Most of his hair—short now, shorter than even Ser Criston's—is covered by a strange crown that looks like it's been tied together rather than forged like gold ones are. His armour is plain, with only a dragon scale pattern showing that he is a Targaryen. The grandest and most familiar thing about him is his sword, Dark Sister, shining bright at his hip and in his hold around the grip. A heavy-looking hammer swings from his other hand.

When he sees you, he smiles. You wish you could do the same.

You were so little before, when he knew you and you knew him. You don't remember it well. One thing you do remember is how your sadness at him leaving turned to anger. He never said goodbye. He never even wrote to you. He could have written. He could have, and he didn't.