#minmmakes

Luciya had no idea what to expect. The Targaryens wanted a Dornish bride for the widowed crown prince. Why she was chosen, she never knew. The Crown had sought her hand, an offering of loyalty and protection in flesh and blood, to promote trust between the Dornish and the rest of Westeros.

But she did her duty to her house, to Dorne. She was to wed the man they called Breakspear.

She knew of the crown prince, of course. She was sheltered in Starfall when he led Dornishmen and Westerosi men together in battle. The Daynes had suffered a crisis at Redgrass field. Her father and one uncle had died on the day and soon after.

“You will be Queen one day.” Her lady grandmother, Elia Dayne, Lady of Starfall mused as they walked. through the gardens. She was ageing, her once dark hair now streaked grey, and lines in her sun-kissed skin told stories of a woman who had seen much. A woman who had lost sons and babies. But she was still formidable, still ruled and would do until she drew her last breath.

“Not one day soon, I hope,” Luciya replied. Was this to be the last time her curls would be worn free outside? To wear a dress of silk and show her shoulders without risking scandal?

Elia chuckled, taking her hand, “We never know what the future holds. We may only be ready for it. You are a Dayne, you are of Dorne. Always remember that.” She told her.

Luciya nodded, “I know my duty, grandmother. I shall not fail you or my house.”

“Oh, I know you will you not.”

The journey to King's Landing felt so long and yet not long enough.

When Luciya stepped off the boat, she looked to the sky, the same blue yet not the same sky in Dorne. There were more clouds, not grey but floating as though gathered for her to reflect her mood.

The air thrummed with life. So many voices, languages mingled with one another in a constant current, merchants shouting their wares, wheels grinding against stone, the distant cry of gulls above Blackwater Bay.

It was colder than Dorne, not freezing but she asked for a velvet cloak to wear as she stepped onto dry land. Her legs shook as she was escorted into her carriage, not just because of the chill in the air.

Luciya was slightly disappointed when the Queen's ladies and not Prince Baelor greeted her. Lady Cerenna Lannister, one of Queen Myriah’s ladies. The sister to the Lord Paramount in the Westerlands, Luciya recalled from her lessons. She was close to the Queen, influential at court.

“Welcome to King's Landing. You shall be escorted to your chambers to freshen up before being taken to the Queen.” Cerenna told her.

“Thank you.” Luciya replied, looking up around her. Targaryen red banners lined nearly every wall. Armoured guards were everywhere. She supposed it was meant to keep everyone safe and yet she had the sense that her fate was sealed. She could not run to the harbor.

Her chambers were in Maegor’s Holdfast, and she wondered if these chambers had once belonged to her predecessor. But the rooms had been decorated for a lady of her station - the large bed was covered in colourful cushions, a deep purple silk blanket atop the warmer bed sheets. Lavender and sandalwood incense had been burned, reminding her of home briefly.

“Of course you shall be moved after you are wed,” One of the septas explained as Luciya was undressed for a steaming bath in the connecting washroom, “Your lord husband is the Hand of the King.”

Luciya nodded to herself, grateful to be behind a screen. She wrapped a robe around herself as the maids readied the water in a copper tub, adding oils and dried rose petals.

“I can bathe myself.” Luciya said, gently taking the sponge from one of the maids, “Perhaps lay out some of my dresses?”

The maids nodded and left her alone, the room quiet and Luciya exhaled.

She needed a moment alone.

In the steaming water, scented with jasmine - no doubt due to instructions sent by her grandmother, Luciya sat still and looked around her new rooms. They were darker than her rooms in Starfall, felt smaller. Or was that because the sun did not shine as brightly here?

“I can do this.” Luciya murdered to herself, beginning to scrub the dirt from her skin.

She had to be quick, sure that they were already whispering about her dismissal. After scrubbing and rinsing, she called the maids back inside.

They had unpacked one trunk of dresses. She had been given new ones, some in the Dornish style, some in the Westerosi style, in sunset crimsons, red and purples.

She chose a deep purple gown, simple with sheer silk sleeves long sleeves accented with silver at the waist and elbows. She chose her mother's amethyst ring and a simple silver ring to wear on her right hand. Her curls were braided, pinned back, fastened with silver flowers.

She took a deep breath as she was taken to the royal gardens. At the hear of the garden, surrounded by her ladies in the gardens, sat Myriah Martell on a chair.

Myriah, even aged, was still beautiful. Her greyed hair was the biggest sign of ageing but her eyes were sharp. She wore a pale orange veil, secured by a gold tiara, no doubt an assertion that she was a Queen and Martell. Regal in every sense.

“Your Grace.” Luciya curtised.

“Rise and come closer.”

Luciya stood and did so, taking slow steps towards the Queen. She felt all the eyes of her ladies on her.

Myriah took her hands, surprising Luciya, who had been prepared for indifference at best. Her touch was warm and maternal, her lovely dark eyes searching Luciya’s face.

“Your lady mother was a cousin to a cousin and a Martell,” Myriah stated.

“Yes, your Grace,” Luciya replied.

“You have that in face. But you are a Dayne, that is clear. Especially in the eyes.” Myriah gently placed her fingers under her chin and lifted her head, inspecting, “Yes, very Dayne. Beautiful.”

She ordered a chair to be brought for Lucyia, and they all sat down once more, listening to Lady Tyrell playing the harpsichord.

Wine was brought, honeyed Dornish red and food - grapes, red and green, blood red strawberries and cuts of cured meat spiced with black pepper, hazelnuts, sweet cakes of all descriptions, stuffed dates. Clearly, there has been an influence in cuisine by the Martell Queen, which brings some comfort to Luciya. Not much but some.

She slowly chews a honey cake, unable to stomach more and sips wine.

“You find this place colder than Dorne.” Myriah stared, “I did too, at first.”

“Certainly. But it is beautiful.” Luciya said after swallowing. The cake sits heavy in her stomach. She had a feeling the Queen was not only speaking of the weather.

"You will miss many things about home, as any young woman does. It can be frightful to leave all you know. But it is a heavy burden that my son carries.” Myriah continued, “And he requires a wife to carry that burden with him.”

Luciya met the Queen's gaze, still maternal, but there was a firmness in her gaze that reminded her that she was the Queen looking at a woman who would one day replace her.

“The Lady Jena was dear to us all.” Lady Aelinor Penrose commented sharply. She was the wife to Aerys, the second son whom she had been told was more maester than prince.

Luciya nodded silently, solemn. It was a reminder of her place. She was a replacement, an ill fitting piece brought in.

“Well, I look forward to knowing all of you more.” Luciya said evenly.

She was dismissed, taken to her rooms. She throws up the cake and wine in a chamber pot and lies down on her bed.

She was to carry herself as a future Crown Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, she was already exhausted. Slightly afraid. And she was yet to meet her husband.

Luciya did not remember when she had fallen asleep, exhausted by the travel and the day before. When she awoke, in her new bed, wrapped in all her blankets, she heard the distant bells signalling the beginning of the day.

As she sat up, her maids and Lady Cerenna entered the room, curtseying, “Good morning, my lady.” they all greeted in some way.

“Good morning.” Luciya replied, confused. So, this was not what she was used to. Maids and ladies knocked in Starfall but here, she had no privacy. There was a careful eye on her at all time, by nobility and servant alike.

So Luciya took it in stride, smiling thankfully as they all fussed about her. Lady Cerenna chose her dress today, a deep pink, nearly red gown with few visible embellishments save for the gold chain on her waist.

It was suffocating but Luciya smiled as she looked back at the older lady in her mirror.

She was taken to the Tower of the Hand. It was rather beautiful in its way. The private audience chamber was decorated with Targaryen symbolism, the banners on the wall, large bookshelves with scrolls large books and tomes.

The windows looked toward Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea beyond. It was a beautiful view and Luciya wondered if the crown prince took the time to look outside. It was rather lovely. Clarifying. There was so much out there, beyond the shimmering sea.

On the large desk, a large book was open. The writing, she knew, was High Valariyian. It was a beautiful script and though she did not know what the book said, she traced the writing, fascinated.

“I hope you do not mind me calling you here.”

Luciya looked up, startled, at the sound of a smooth male voice.

There he stood. Baelor Targaryen. He did not have the paleness, that otherworldly look that most Targaryens did. His hair was dark, thick and soft-looking even at a distance, streaked faintly with silver. His eyes were mismatched in colour, one purple blue, one brown.

She, of course noticed his entire outfit was black and red, his hand of the king pin clipped to his shoulder, almost like the talons of a dragon on his shoulder.

“My apolgies. I was only curious, Your Grace.” Luciya hurriedly said moving away. She stood in front of the desk and Baelor moved around it and placed a scroll on the shelf.

“That is quite alright.” Baelor said gently, “Do you have a fondness for reading?”

“I do. My cousin Arron always says an entire battle could happen around me and I would not notice for my head were in a book.” She chuckled, “That is not to say I do not notice other things but…” She twisted the ring on her pointer finger.

“You enjoy reading and learning so very much.” Baelor added, as he leaned against his desk, hands clasped, “Forgive me, I wished to get you upon arrival yesterday, but there were matters of state to attend to.”

Luciya shook her head, “That is quite all right. The Queen and her ladies were very hospitable.”

Baelor nodded, pleased, she thinks. She cannot tell. He had the face of a man who was always thinking. A handsome face, but a hard one to read nonetheless.

“I, ah, wanted to meet you. Properly. Away from the court.” Baelor continued, "I persuaded the King that it would be a better idea."

Luciya nodded slowly and silently, unsure of what to think of that. An act of consideration or intimidation? She was not sure yet.

There was a knock at the door and in walked a servant with a tray of tea which they set up at the deep red chairs, a table in between them. He thanked the servant as dismissal and he indicated a seat for Luciya to sit, which she did.

He poured her tea rather than call for a servant. It was a spiced blend, something she had grown up sipping. Luciya thanked him as he gave her the cup of tea.

“It must feel lonely, being away from your home.” Baelor said, sitting down.

She shrugged slightly, hoping she was not so easy to read, “It is what I was prepared for. Many young women are.”

“Indeed. Still, I wish for you to feel at home here.” Baelor said, “This marriage, whilst an arrangment, I hope can be an honest one."

Luciya nodded, rather surprised by him. She had expected coldness, slight resentment perhaps from a widow. She swallowed her tea.

"Thank you, Your Grace." Luciya eventually said, "I, too, would wish for honesty and perhaps a partnership." She offered a small smile, "I know I cannot replace the affection for your late wife, whose loss must still pain you."

Baelor said nothing, twisting a ring on his right hand, watching her.

“I do not wish to be a mere placeholder. I cannot replace the affection you had for your wife, the mother of your sons. But I wish to be respected, that is all. Considered.” Luciya continued.

Baelor nodded, “You have my respect. And my consideration will come better as we learn from each other.”

Luciya measured him, the sincerity in those beautifully mismatched eyes. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“You were not expecting to me to agree with you,” Baelor observed, tilting his head slightly.

“I do not know what I expected, truly.”

“Yet you spoke anyway.”

“I like to try to set terms before entering into any agreement.”

Baelor smiles slightly, “We have that in common. And please, call me Baelor.” He insisted.

“Yes, your gr- Baelor,” Luciya quickly corrected herself, testing his name on her tongue. It suited him, "You may call me Luciya too."

"It is a beautiful name. It suits you well." Baelor stated as a matter of fact, and she felt butterflies in her stomach. She wanted to kill those butterflies.

Luciya placed her cup down on the table and stood, as did Baelor, "Thank you for this."

Baelor nodded, "Do not thank me, it is the least I could do. You shall be my wife." Gently, he took her right hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.