#neith.

if her brother had witnessed this, he would have shook himself with fury; he would have demanded, quite justly, of respect to be shown with which house martell deserves  — they are the folks who do not bend, after all. they are the unbowed, the unbroken. but he is not here. he has not been with her since neith had been sent to king's landing; the last memory neith had had of qoren martell was his fierce brown eyes, breaking apart as he holds her for the last time. he had spoken in their mixed language of rhoynar and common tongue, telling her to be careful. to call for him, for anything she may need.

she has, and yet dorne remains stubborn from siding with any faction as the rest of the seven kingdoms break, and burn, under targaryen's hefty thumbs. neith likes to believe she does not resent them, that she is not capable of unreasonable resentment, the sort she had seen her ancestors passed from one generation to the next. when she had arrived in king's landing, bright-eyed and young, years ago, she had naively thought that their houses could be joined; these children of the dragons and her, a daughter of the sand, could be friends. it would have been the beginning of a new teaching, of a new age.

the slaughter of prince jaehaerys changed that.

she does not resent. she does not want to, but neith's eyes remain on the floor. her voice is mechanical, cold. she used to dance through these halls once; her queen helaena, then princess, had clapped along, joyous, despite the foreign beat and rhythm neith had represented. they were girls together, however briefly. those are gone now, as well, with her queen on spikes. ❛ — your side have won. will you spare the princess jaehaera ? ❜

obedient, silent neith; who would stand hours outside of the queen's chambers if only there would be a chance to coax her out. the only reason neith would find herself tracking back anywhere else would simply be because she intends to make sure that no harm have come to the rest of the young children. in that, she trusts the governess and increased rounds of knights assigned to them. still, the air of the red keep did not return to how it used to. what once was a bustling place, now it is as though every steps are constantly overshadowed with tension. and hers—

with qoren martell refusing to aid into any sides of the dance, neith is left alone. she had chosen to be left here really, regardless of the many messengers, both known and unknown to the crown, who had demanded her return. still, it did not change many of the courts' opinion on her. either she was the traitorous dornish princess, or she was the abandoned sandskin. whatever they decided, she is most likely an enemy, simply by the inaction of one sibling. what a curse their house words have become: unbowed, unbent, unbroken. she knows intimately that her brother would not change his mind  — and neither would she.

❛ today prince maelor spoke his first word in full high valyrian. would you not like to see him ? ❜

❛⠀... when i was younger, my brother and i used to visit the docks often.  ❜ she does not mean to sound ungrateful, but the sound of the shore, some days, are far louder. neith allows herself to be lulled by it, eyes closed.

for as much as she has talents in dancing and languages, it seems that she has yet mastered the fine feminine arts of using needle and threads. granted, neith has practised plenty, and she does think she is often skilled with something involving her hands, as well as anything that comes with a clear order, and yet – the talent to embroider seems to come and go. some days, she could lay all the colours well and flat. others ... she takes a step back to realise she has the shape all crooked.

neith, however, is not so easily deterred.

she makes space for her princess to sit, and neith smiles – a warm smile, adoring. pregnancy, neith finds, are hard on any women, royalty or otherwise. she tries to help ease any tasks if asked, and if there is not anymore task, then she hopes her company would have been enough. ❛⠀do not laugh – ❜ neith shyly jests, ❛⠀but i don't think i've got the legs right. ❜

she's often told that she's light-footed, but neith wonders quietly if sometimes she is not anticipated simply because she is overlooked. she still smiles at him, though. it seems he has returned from whatever training or duty he must attend, hoping to catch a glimpse of princess helaena – but it is as neith has said, the princess has long fallen asleep. by one of the open arches overlooking the city, neith sits, peeling an apple in perfect circles into an empty bowl. she smiles at him.

❛⠀would you like some ?  ❜ she asks instead, an invitation. and then – ❛⠀how was your day, my prince ?  ❜ she asks nothing of the king's health, as it has become much a taboo as much as it is everyone's well-loved topic. rumours have it that it'd be any days now. the staff within the red keep stirs : will queen alicent truly crown prince aegon ? if so, what will princess rhaenyra has to say ?

until, a shadow –

❛⠀your grace,  ❜ surprise wraps itself around her tone. neith halts her hurried footsteps at the sight of him, the cleaning tools adjusted more firmly on her hips as she does.

perhaps not. perhaps her siblings were right. the targaryens were not made to rule; they were made to burn. ❛⠀is it true ? ❜ neith's voice teeters on the edge of panic when they were finally alone; her mouth presses thin around her frown, doe brown eyes seeking her queen for an answer. ❛⠀did prince aemond ... ? ❜

kinslayer, they called him. prince lucerys had fallen under the monstrous vhagar.

good friends. the kind of friends who've known each other since school, because they've lived their whole lives in the upper-class of the westerosi's astrocats and noblemen, and there are only so many group of people you could befriended who are coincidentally around your age. of course, that isn't to say that there weren't others. the northern noble circle held a pretty tight-knight group, as far as neith knows, though they're raised slightly differently. more traditional, perhaps, one of her sisters did say. they follow the olden ways. they have their own virtues. so do us.

in any case, neith is... only here because of helaena. or she likes to believe she's here for helaena. they are all friends, really. the kind of friends as she's said above, because she had known helaena for a long time, and the group of people they've interacted with are not so big despite one might think — thus, interactions tend to overlap. which means she knows of helaena's brothers, too. they've spoken before. they've interacted. she had visited aegon, even, when he was rehabilitating. she had brought picture books. she shakes thinking about how people could've read the situations as, when she swears her intention was true. it was noble.

he catches her eyes: they are a light colour, unfocused for a moment, before it remarkably sharpens. settles. something inside of neith trembles under his attention, her heartbeat gains its speed.

he nods for her to follow. and neith finds an excuse to give to helaena, a soft one, before she too stands. with footsteps light as a bird, she heeds. she asks, ❛ is something the matter ? ❜