"Is it not unbecoming of a man of the city watch to enter a lady's chambers uninvited?"
"Is it not unbecoming of a lady to hold a blade to the commander of the city watch's throat, my princess?"
[or]
Amongst the ceaseless battle of succession to Vi...
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108 A.C
WHEN RHAENYRA TARGARYEN'S TWELFTH NAMEDAY DAWNED, BAELA TARGARYN WAS ABUZZ WITH JOY. Baela had always adored namedays, an adoration that only grew with the birth of every new child within the Targaryen and Velaryon bloodlines simply because they gave her an excuse, not that she had ever needed one, to shower those she loved dearly with gifts and all the affection they rightfully deserved. The gleeful smile that would illuminate her features on any given nameday could fool the entire realm into believing it was her nameday instead.
Gift box in hand, a delicate ribbon bow tied perfectly around it, Baela waltzed through the halls of the Red Keep toward her niece's chambers. Her sworn sword of just under a year, Ser Rylan, followed a single step behind the Princess, an oversized bouquet of hand-picked roses nestled carefully into the crook of his arm at the Princess's request. When he had been sworn into the Princess's service just shy of a year gone, he hadn't expected his duties to include accompanying the elder Princess to the gardens at sunrise to gather flowers for her niece's nameday and yet he hadn't minded in the slightest, instead finding the woman's devotion to her family endearing.
"Ñuha dōna Rhaenyra," Baela sang, throwing open her niece's door with little care for the early hour or the all but certain fact that the girl would still be asleep. Rylan, flowers in hand, had the wherewithal to remain outside the young Princesses chambers, patiently waiting to be beckoned forward with the bouquet. "Sīmonagon se jehikagon!"
Baela's cheerful wake-up call was met with a loud groan and a pillow flying toward her head.
"And to think I brought a gift!" Baela gasped, faux indignation clinging to her words as she dramatically held a hand over her heart.
In an instant, the sheets were pulled back and Rhaenyra's head of messy silver hair poked out, eyes wide as she looked toward her aunt, all trace of sleepiness gone. "Gifts?"
"Only one for now, Little Dove," Baela moved toward her niece's bed, ungracefully flopping down onto the mattress and pulling the girl into her arms. "It's tradition to save the best for the feast remember?"
Placing the dainty box within her niece's hands, Baela watched on with a beaming smile as the bow was carefully pulled loose and the lid was lifted.
Rhaenyra stared down at the velvet-lined box in awe. Inside sat a beautiful diadem comb, in its centre rested a teardrop ruby embellished in silver to look as though a tiny dragon's claws held it in place. "It's beautiful."
"It was my mother's. My father gave it to me on my twelfth nameday, as I now give it to you," Pressing a kiss to her niece's hair, Baela squeezed her Rhaenyra once more. "I'm certain that if your grand sire had lived to see today he would be proud to see you wear it."
