Start-30/07/24
You won't like what I've become.
Naerys Targaryen was exiled to Dorne at the mere age of four, by none other than her Lord Father Viserys Targaryen.
After her mother's beheading, the fire that fuels her breath turns into something...
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Naerys made her way up to her chambers after Qoren had finished informing the girl of her quick shipping. The King had sent a boat, well Otto Hightower had, so that Naerys would certainly arrive on their shores. Within the Dragons den and trapped behind a cover of ocean.
She'd dsiacrded her blue tunic dress for a more formal golden number. It was far less tight against her abdomen, and not drenched in someone else's insides. It flowed down to her ankles and had around three layers of the thin and airy material more welcoming to the dornish weather than nay of the Northern dress. Something Naerys would sorely miss. Flowers were sewn on to the v line of her dress that cascades down all the way to the fraying hem.
Her hair was rather undamaged. Naerys only had to take to the wash basin to remove some dried blood from her ear lobes, and work a little harder at scrubbing the spot on the crescent moon. Once Naerys discarded the cloth back into the water, she was glad when the mirror revealed her markings to be lighter than the deep black they were before. Less menacing for certain.
Naerys had few dresses that would aclimatize with the weather in the Red Keep. One Gold coat that laced up down the middle with golden clasps on the v neckline that had a few lighter layers under the thicker one.
Another red gown that hugged off her shoulders was Naerys' personal favourite. Although she seldom managed to wear it considering the hot climate they lived in. The dress had flowy sleeves with a gash in each sleeve, revealing her arms if she were to bend them. It was a dark crimson colour and she often paired it with a gold circle belt that clung low about her hips.
Red represented everything she was.
Naerys folded more dresses and undergarments into a trunk she'd set out on her bed. The fabric took the brunt of her space and Naerys managed to throw in a few more belts and individual satin bags of necklaces she seldom wore.
There was little to Naerys Targaryen's name. Nothing other than the egg shed brought in a battered old trunk on the ship from the Blackwater Bay. Naerys stopped wishing for it to hatch years ago, the egg was brought forward by her elder sister Rhaenyra's dragon Syrax and her clutch. Naerys hadn't a clue who the father was to the egg, although she guessed it was Seasmoke who was bonded with her Brother By Law, Laenor Velaryon. The egg was a magnificent bronze, and small speckles of white dotted about the base. For years Naerys would seek out of her room to beside the fires out in the gardens at night. Placing the egg in the burning wood, she'd stare at the dancing flames all twirling and meandering around the egg. For hours on end she'd wait until they burnt out and in place of the orange flames sun would rise. Yet nothing happened, no flinch nor crack. The egg remained unscathed. So Naerys stopped trying every other night, and instead made it a monthly occurrence, even holding it close to her chest at night.
