SHE  WATCHES  AS  HELAENA  ACCEPTS  THE  BOW,  VICTORY  GLEAMING  IN  HER  DARK  EYES.   there  is  a  quiet  satisfaction  in  coaxing  the  princess  into  action,  in  seeing  hesitation  give  way  to  determination,  no  matter  how  uncertain  it  may  be.   a  weapon  is  only  useful  as  the  one  who  wields  it,  someone  had  told  her  once.   but  there  is  power  in  taking  it  up  at  all.      ❝      me,  sly?      ❞      nymeria  repeats,  feigning  innocence  as  she  steps  closer,  adjusting  the  other’s  stance  with  the  lightest  of  motions.      ❝      i  should  hope  so.   i  have  always  tried  to  wield  my  words  as  skillfully  as  i  do  steel,  princess.   but  perhaps  you  could  teach  me  a  thing  or  two about that.      ❞      her  voice  is  amused  and  completely  genuine,  warm  as  the  desert  sun.   despite  not  having  shared  much  with  helaena,  what  little  time  they  had  spent  together  had  sufficed,  allowing  her  to  see  someone  wickedly  smart.   she  watches  as  her  friend  moves,  her  grip  careful,  untrained     —     but  not  clumsy.   it’s  a  fine  start.   humming  in  approval,  she  reaches  out  to  lift  her  elbow,  her  fingers  gentle  wherever  they  touch  and  correct.      ❝      just  as  i  told  lady  defne,  your  grip  is  too  tight.      ❞      she  murmurs.      ❝      think  of  the  weapon  as  if  it  were  a  dance  partner.   it  follows  your  lead,  yet  you  must  not  force  it.      ❞ once  her  work  is  done,  nymeria  takes  a  step  back.   the  air  between  them  is  peaceful,  carrying  the  scent  of  leather,  the  background  noise  of  clashing  swords.   as  little  defne  comes  to  watch  her  stepmother  practice,  helaena’s  observation  earns  her  a  chuckle  from  their  newly  appointed  tutor,  a  rich  and  pleasant  sound  that  she  hasn’t  produced  since  leaving  sunspear behind.      ❝      it  might  be  fate.      ❞      she  calls  out,  her  head  tilted.   however  relaxed  she  may  seem,  her  gaze  follows  every  movement,  every  shift  in  the  air  and  in  the  body,  studying  it  in  hopes  of  later improving  it.      ❝      we  are  family  now,  after  all.   we  should  look  out  for  one  another.      ❞      at  the  mention  of  the  youngest  targaryens,  her  smirk  softens.   something  thoughtful  bleeds  into  her  expression.      ❝      knives  and  daggers?   that  is  elia’s  area  of  expertise,  i’m  afraid.   she  does  enjoy  training  those  with  fire  in  their  veins.      ❞      soon enough,  she  nods  towards  the  target,  crossing  her  arms  over  her  ribcage.      ❝      come now,  let  us  see  if  you  are  as  hopeless  as  you  claim  to  be.      ❞

she stared at it for a moment. "perhaps the arrow is the partner, but i am clearly the one stepping on its toes."

from behind, a small voice chimed in brightly: "you're not supposed to hit the ground, hel!"

helaena turned to find defne, all curls and confidence, barely managing to hold her wooden practice bow upright.

"you again?" helaena narrowed her eyes, mock suspicious. "you’ve come to shame me in front of nymeria, haven’t you?" defne didn’t deny it. she just grinned, nocked her arrow with all the confidence of a seasoned knight, and loosed it.

the arrow thumped into the bottom edge of the target. helaena blinked once. twice. then turned to nymeria, deadpan. "you have been tutoring her behind my back."

"nymeria says i have perfect fingers," defne offered proudly, already preparing her next shot.

"she’s not wrong." helaena muttered as she pulled another arrow from her quiver. she loosed her arrow—this one barely scraping the outer ring—and raised both arms triumphantly. "progress! next time, i may even wound the hay."

helaena turned to nymeria then, breathless with laughter, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen loose. the grin she gave nymeria was all teeth, playful and warm, glowing with the rare delight of not being a princess for a moment. just a woman with a borrowed bow, getting bested by a four-year-old.

but the levity lingered only so long. her smile faded, not entirely, but enough to let truth slip in.

"you said we’re family now," helaena said, voice softening as she lowered her bow. "so… tell me honestly. what do you make of this cultist fire? the sermons, the burning of the royal banners, the talk of purging the blooded? has it reached dorne?"

a breeze tugged at her braid, but her eyes remained on nymeria, steady now. "or are they just waiting for it to?"

AT  THE  MENTION  OF  THEIR  MOTHER,  THE  WARMTH  IN  HER  EXPRESSION  INSTANTLY  DIMS.   she is the  last  flicker  of  a  candle  before  being  snuffed  out.   the  playful  curve  of  her  lips  flattens,  and  the  glint  of  mischief  her  lilac  eyes  had  held  dulls  into  something  colder,  perhaps  more  distant.   shaera  does  not  tense,  nor  does  she  bristle:   her  poise  remains,  untouched,  practiced  as  she  has  been  taught,  yet  there  is  a  stillness  to  her  now,  a  wound  beneath  her  skin,  as  if  she  were  a  bowstring  drawn  too  tightly.      ❝      no.      ❞      she  says  after  a  moment  of  heavy  silence.   her  voice  is  smooth,  touched  only  by  the  slightest  hint  of  unease.      ❝      i  did  not.      ❞         the  princess  turns  away,  feigning  interest  in  the  gowns  before  her,  fingers  skimming  the  silks  without  truly  looking  at  them.      ❝      i  had  nothing  to  say  to  her  in  life,      ❞      if  there  is  bitterness  in  her  tone,  she  pretends  otherwise.   what  she  speaks of  is  simply  the  truth,  laid  bare  for  all  to  acknowledge,  even  if  it  makes  her  blood  boil.      ❝      what  words  would  i  find  for  her  in  death?   we  are  all  better  off  without  her.   the  entire  realm  is  better  off  without  her.      ❞      these  are  not  things  she  likes  to  think  about,  let  alone  discuss.   visenya  targaryen  had  made  for  a  poor  ruler,  and  most  of  all,  a  poor  mother.   why  would  she  ever  feel  the  need  to  visit  her  crypt?   those  who  might expect  her  to  weep  would  be  sorely  disappointed:   the  one  legacy  her  mother  has  left  is  the  taste  of  ashes  on  her  tongue,  the  fear  of  not  being  good  enough  to  deserve  love.   swallowing  the  acerbity  in  her  throat,  shaera  busies  herself  with  the  dress  helaena  has  held  out  for  her,  lifting  its  rich  burgundy  material  to  the  light.   the  color  is  bold,  commanding     —   blood  woven  into  fabric.   somehow,  she  does  not  feel  worthy  of  it.      ❝      i  will  wear  this  tonight,  if  it  puts  your  mind  at  ease.      ❞      a  concession,  soft  and  quiet,  unspoken  affection  intertwined  with  the  tendrils  of  her  turmoil.    a  part  of  her  wishes  for  this  conversation  to  be  over already.   and  yet,  the  subject  of  their  mother  seems  to  linger,  a  specter  in  the  room  that  will  not  be  so  easily  vanquished.   with  a  deep  breath,  she  turns  back  to  helaena.      ❝      did  you?      ❞      she  asks,  her  gaze  sharp,  her  features  serious.      ❝      visit  her,  i  mean.      ❞

the targaryen children had taken turns being each other's comfort—each other's very own nurturer in place of their heartless mother and drunk, useless father. and helaena, despite being only two years older than shaera, had always felt the need to emulate her elder siblings' own protectiveness of her and cloaked her shaera in her own shielding arms. "well, that makes one of us." helaena sat down on the end of her marriage bed, propping herself up on her hip. that way she could look at shaera's avoidant features. her sister's disdain of their mother was palpable, like stones beneath a clear water surface. and as hard as them too. "i went to her crypt the night before we left, hoping in death she would not sap out my courage to say a few things to her."

she shan't push shaera into revealing her heart to her, but she would like to know. the sisters were close, undoubtedly, but they had never truly spoke in much extent of the things their mothers did to them. silence cut both ways. there was a quiet understanding, solidarity in silence—they all knew and accepted their mother's unforgiving and frosty nature. but silence also shrouded them in mystery, in isolation even in compassionate and empathetic solidarity. "did she ever—" helaena began, uncertainty evident in her own voice. "did mother ever do anything to you? be it to berate you, or even to shame or humiliate you, shaera?"

the fingers found each other on the canvas of precious jewels decorating their gowns. helaena hoped shaera knew it was safe to share the intimacy of her feelings with her, the difficulty of being one of visenya's fawns. "i don't want you wearing her colors if it looks like we are honoring her legacy." helaena moved her sister's hand over to a soft gown, the color of robin's egg which would compliment her sister's complexion better. and more befitting of an unwed maid of her station, rather than the deep rouge of the targaryen's three-headed dragon. "tell me truthfully, my sister. i wish only to know of the things i may have missed."

"i spoke with varyn." her voice was deeper, sterner, with the change of topic. "olyver shall be in his care for two moons of the year, here, in king's landing." violets flickered with doubts and fears unvoiced, but she was sure helaena would understand, regardless. "may i ask that you watch over him, while i cannot?"

"competition, huh?" helaena laughed, her hand curling up in a gentle fist to jest with the giggly, olyver who sat on his mother's hip. "well, i might get a head start and arrange a little stroll for you and defne before any of obella's children can walk then."

but the mention of varyn doused some of that humor. helaena’s gaze flicked back to ashara, and her mirth was replaced with something sharper. "of course," she emphasized, hand clasping at ashara's. "and varyn... is varyn, but he has somewhat changed in the last couple of moons, ashara. and this is his son."

helaena had to believe that varyn, whose flaws were uncountable, was not a cruel father. or else why would he agree to such arrangement? "how did the conversation go with him? was there doubt or objection from his end about olyver's legitimization?"

EMMA (2020)

this place was strange. much different than casterly rock. or perhaps it was just because she has seen so little in her life, but having so many people around, noble men and woman, it was jarring. though, it was nice to not have eye watching her everywhere she went, at least not eyes that would report back to her father and lord brother. very few here has seen her face in years. thanks to that, she easily spilled into the kitchen after all the servants have finished and cleaned up with dinner. she was sitting atop a counter with an apple in hand, cutting off bits of it with a knife, when she hears footsteps. if she was a proper lady, she would hop down from the counter and pretend like she wasn't just stealing food, but cerelle couldn't care less, even when she sees a silver haired princess in front of her. helaena or sheara? too hard to tell. she knew she wasn't the queen nor the youngest. "apple?" she says with a smirk, holding out a piece on the edge of the blade.

"depends. is it poisoned?" she asked, tone entirely casual as she drifted further into the kitchen, boots scuffing softly on stone. her veil had been pulled off long ago, her hair a loose, slightly wild braid trailing over her shoulder, bits of flour stuck to her sleeve from a previous—and failed—attempt to steal some fresh dough from her favorite cook.

her companion looked familiar, she recognized some features all too endeared to her. features that varyn lannister carried. but how was it possible? she wondered. aside from cersha, she was not aware of any of his other siblings in the capital. "who are you, by the way? i can't seem to place you."

and it worked. once she started marking away at her canvas again she glanced at helaena from the corner of her eye. "she'll simply grab us by the backs of our necks and drag us back like chastened kittens. no... i fear she's trapped us entirely."

she grinned at lili when she peeked her head around to glare one more time. "oh, don't look at us like that. we only jest... for the most part. but truly, my love, how long does it take to get an outline? i'm concerned our spines may never recover from this."

helaena hummed in contemplation at their situation, then an idea came. "your dagger, jaen." she whispered close to her velaryon cousin's ear. thankfully, their sunglass companion did not catch helaena's ongoing defiant scheming. "i can help cut the strings off and you run."

she nudged at the dagger, which she suspected was strapped expertly against jaenara's thigh. "can you reach it?"

"helaena," she replied, only the slightest of wavers in her voice. "your pleas would have fallen on deaf ears. unless you'd come with proof exonerating your family in the death of my brother... no. likely not even then. my father had made up his mind. it was made to the day he died. and this may astonish you, cousin, but i didn't have a seat at the table where the major decisions were being made. i learned of your capture after you'd already been rescued. i'm sorry for what happened to you. at the time i wasn't, i will admit, but i am now."

honesty. honesty would be the only way forward with her cousins. all of them. whether they chose to continue to feed her lies, at least she could operate with a clear conscience and hopefully build up some small semblance of trust with all of them. and when her cousin's voice changed, her tone softening into something disbelieving yet somehow hopeful, it felt as if a ghost stood with them, urging jaenara on.

jaenara's genuine response did catch helaena by surprise. she had not felt its warm touch ever since lilian died, when their hatred for each other was forever cemented. all hope of reconciliation died with their sunglass friend, or so they thought. helaena felt her body moving forward... toward jaenara. her hand reached for jaenara, with hopes she would not pull away. she could not remember the last time their skins touched, let alone her very choice to touch her own distant blood so. jaenara's skin felt warmer than she remembered, it made her choke up in a pained laugh.

SHE  WATCHES  HER  SISTER  WITH  QUIET  AMUSEMENT,  GAZE  FALLING TO  THE  ENDLESS  ARRAY  OF  GOWNS  WHICH  SPILL  FROM  HER  TRUNKS.   for  all  the  burdens  that  rest  upon  helaena's  shoulders,  it  is  a  relief  to  see  her  occupied  with  something  more  trivial,  if  only  for  a  brief  moment.      ❝      you  wound  me,   mandia.      ❞      shaera  murmurs,  standing  from  the  windowsill  to  approach  her,  skirts  concealing  the  silver  glint  of  a  dagger.   there  is  a  smile  on  her  lips,  blossoming  into  a  grin.   since  abandoning  king’s  landing,  she  has  felt  lighter,  far  less  troubled  than  she  has  in  a  long  time     —     even  if  she  cannot  help  but  dearly miss  the  people  they  left  behind.   the bright notes  of  her  voice  make  it  clear  that  she  is  jesting.      ❝      i  have  never  once  committed  accidental  arson.   it  has  always  been  entirely  intentional,  and  very  well  thought  out.      ❞   the  princess  looks  down  at  the  open  trunks,  and  runs  her  fingers  over  the  fine  fabrics,  the  richness  of  the  capital’s  wealth  spilling  across  the  floor  in  shimmering  waves.   this,  she  has  always  enjoyed:   indulging  in  the  vanity  of  choosing  the  most  beautiful  clothes  to  wear,  carefully  picking  out  jewels,  and  shoes,  and  the  style  in  which  her  hair  will  be  done.   helping  helaena  only  makes  it  all  the  more  fun.      ❝      you  should  wear  the  burgundy  one.      ❞      comes  her  gentle  musing.   she  pulls  out  a  dress  of  dark  silk  from  the  pile,  holding  it  out  for  the  other  to  take.      ❝      the  color  suits  you,   and  it  will  remind  the  people  of  oldtown  that  targaryen  blood  still  flows  through  their  new  lady’s  veins.      ❞      then,  shaera  pauses,  tilting  her  head  slightly  as  she  considers  her  sister’s  words.      ❝      building  another  dragon  pit  here…  it  is  a  bold  move.   you  might  face  some  resistance,  though  you’ve  always  had  a  way  of  bending  the  world  to  your  will.      ❞      there  is  no  bitterness  in  her  statement,  only  fondness,  an  affectionate  sparkle  in  lilac  eyes.   absentmindedly,  she  smooths  a  hand  over  the  fabric  of  the  dress  in  her  hands.      ❝      i  will  keep  dawn  in  check.      ❞      she  concedes  at  last.   the  mischief  in  her  expression,  however,  speaks of  trouble.      ❝      but  as  for  playing  nice…  i  cannot  make  any  promises.   somebody  has  to  stand  up  to  those  dusty  septons.      ❞  

"but i want you to wear the burgundy one, you are also here to represent my maiden house now that i have taken the hightower name." helaena held up the said gown whose ruby jewels gleamed in the soft sunlight. some of them cast red light droplets over shaera's pale flesh, but none could rival the cherry lips her sister possessed.

"and as for the dragon pit... yes, it is a bold move, is it not? but i would like them to view it as my commitment to oldtown now. that i am—or at least, shall be settled here as emir's wife." her chest rose in anticipation. she was certain of her decision to marry emir, but it did not quell her anxiety over becoming his ruling wife.

however it was a great comfort to have shaera here, brewing her fire with her and acting as her strength and stay. her younger sister could still defy where she could not, and placate where she had to defy. what, however, helaena had yet to ask ever since the death of their mother was shaera's own well-being of the mind and heart. swept up in the aftermath of green fork and the wedding, she had not done her due diligence as an older sister.

thus she began the conversation gingerly, delicately. "shaera, do you get a chance to visit mother's crypt before we departed?"

the him at mention, unbeknowst to the northern young lord, was himself. ever since his pardon and release from the dungeon, rickon had gained a reputation amongst the ladies of the court who could not help but swoon over his devotion to a princess.

"not truly," helaena chuckled and let him escort her out from hearing range. "in fact, some of them enquired about you and whether or not you are looking for a wife, or paramour."

HER  SMIRK  BLOOMS,  AMUSEMENT  LINGERING  AT  THE  EDGES  OF  HER  LIPS.   the  sun  casts  a  comfortable  glow  upon  the  training  yard,  and  for  a  moment,  she  allows  herself  to  revel  in  its  warmth     —     in  the  laughter  that  drifts  across the  air,  in  the  easy  company  of  an  old  friend,  in  the  illusion  that  they  do  not  live  beneath  the  shadow  of  war.   nymeria  tilts  her  head,  dark  eyes  glinting  with  something  lighthearted.      ❝      too  late?      ❞      she  echoes,  feigning  dismay  as  she  steps  away  from  defne  and  towards  the  other.        ❝      surely,  you  do  not  mean  to  tell  me  you  will  surrender  without  so  much  as  lifting  a  bow?   i  thought  you  brave.      ❞      the  wind  shifts,  catching  in  the  delicate  fabric  of  helaena’s  sleeves.   she  is,  perhaps,  soft,  but  not  weak,  not  brittle:   in  the  short  time  that  she  has  come to know her,  she  has  found  her  to  be  different  than  what  she  would  have  imagined,  someone  who  may  bend  without  breaking,  carved  from  a  quiet  endurance  she  can  recognize  and  respect.      ❝      and  that,      ❞      the  martell  princess  continues.   she  reaches  for  a  spare  bow,  holding  it  between  them,  an  offering  wrapped  in  challenge.      ❝      is  a  poor  excuse.   do  you  truly  believe  skill  is  bound  by  time?      ❞             her  gaze  flickers  towards  the  little  one  next  to  them,  making  sure  she  is  doing  fine with her weapon.   the  smirk  on  her  features  softens  into  a  gentle  smile.   her  voice,  now  lower  than  it  had  been  before,  is  smooth,  almost  persuasive.      ❝      come  now.      ❞      nymeria  says,  subtly  tilting  her  head  in  the  direction  of  defne.      ❝      if  not  for  yourself,  then  for  her.   let  her  see  that  learning  is  never  beneath  us.   that  we  are  never  so  old,  so  set  in  our  ways,  that  there is no room for growth.      ❞      there  is  a  pause.   and  finally,  she  arches  a  brow  in  clear  mirth.      ❝      besides,  would  you  truly  allow  a  girl  of  four  to  outmatch  you?   she  seems  to  be  a  fast  learner.      ❞

and it seemed the dornish princess knew just the right words to egg helaena on. helaena could not say she was not impressed by the challenge and the gleam of mischief in nymeria's eyes. defne looked at her expectantly as a result. bringing the four year old lady into her cunning persuasion was not only smart but also incredibly effective. the hightower lady chuckled in defeat as she accepted the bow. "you are too sly, you know?"

the two princesses stepped into range, helaena bow in hand and nymeria instructions on lips. "i simply fear i shall lack the resilient moldability in a child that would enable them to effectively train with a weapon." she reached for an arrow, and leaned into nymeria's guidance. the little she knew of weapon training did, however, include nocking an arrow in place and pulling the bowstring until it hardened and tensed under her pull. the rest needed nymeria's gentle handling.

"it is a rather funny coincidence, don't you think? your sister, elia, trains my brother, vaegon. and now you're scooping me up too! but i fear if you are looking for potential stellar pupils, i nominate my younger sisters, shaera and daenya. shaera, especially, is quite cunning with her knives and daggers."

vaegon laughs at his sister's fire, the same fire he shared. "all of our enemies will fall, just as they always have for centuries." vaegon has never been a fighter, though in his months in dorne he has finally picked up the blade and since he has been itching to prove himself. if only there wasn't the dragon treaty, he would climb on the back of naerax and end this false prophet with dragon fire. perhaps helaena could be by his side with grey ghost as he does it. though, he keeps these thoughts to himself.

his smile was so wide, he cheeks began to ache. it was terrifying but so exciting. not only would he have one little dragonling, but two! "just like us! i do hope for one of each, now that would be kismet. a little boy and a little girl. with our hair and obella's skin. they will be beautiful." he could see them now, in his mind. he and obella side by side with their two princes or princesses. helaena with emir and defne. vaelora and cersha and their babe. their family has grown so much in the past year. it made his heart warm. "of course you will have to spoil them both, that is the aunt's job after all."

though helaena could not help but miss the reckless lives they led before this war. the carefree, blasé outlook on everything. with a blanket around her and no shoes on her soles, she made strides the roof toward her brother. they had to make the most out of their time together, and before vaegon officially became a father to two winged snakes. the cold red clay tiles felt familiar under her bare feet, just as the jittery butterflies in her stomach every time the two of them snuck out for a night in flea bottom.

"i do not think you lack for dornish wine now, so i brought something else." she announced gleefully then produced two bottles of ales, curtesy of flea bottom's finest and shittiest tavern where these two had spent many nights indulging and forgetting about their stations. "i made madame fleur promise it's the most disgusting thing she has in her storage."

helaena sat down next to vaegon, snuggling up by his side and wiggled her cold feet under his thighs for warmth. "if we are not gagging by sunrise, madame fleur has clearly lied to a princess and that is capital offense."

they drank for the dead. two deaths, to be exact. but there was only one helaena wanted to drink for. only one of them deserved their lamentation and mourning. the mention of her mother made her clamp her front teeth down the goblet, loud enough for rhaena to hear. the wine suddenly tasted more bitter than usual, helaena cleared her throat.

"would you see me cruel and ungrateful... and perhaps dark-hearted if i say i have never felt freer now that my mother is dead?" helaena did not keep her tone light, knowing her cousin would understand the gravitas in her words. rhaena, better than any of their cousins, knew; she knew exactly what kind of woman and mother visenya was. and rhaena knew all too well helaena's blackened heart for her mother. "to be quite frank, i have not even cried once."

that was no a lie, nor was it a triumphant feat to have not shed a tears in the face of grief. she should be mourning in more appropriate ways, but rhaena was not one to ever hold her to the decorum expected of ladies their station. "and this mess... is undoubtedly the shit bucket she had left for us to clean after years of bad ruling."

helaena looked at her ancient-blooded cousin, whose veins throbbed the same (almost in synchronized rhythm) as hers. their reunion should have been one of great joy, of peace, and of a finality to a senseless war. but they were only under one roof again because there was a storm threatening to blow it off entirely. helaena wondered if rhaena would leave again when this too came to an end.

"i would be afraid if you are. are you?" helaena directed the question back to her cousin tenderly. "i have yet to see one of his gatherings here in king's landing. but in oldtown? there is cause to worry."

"i do not doubt your concern, varyn. i do not think it would be an easy feat either, i don't know if true truce is even possible. but i was in oldtown, varyn. these men, followers of this heretic... they are not to be taken lightly. the men of the faith are not always brave ones, but they know a threat when they see it."