You made a promise to yourself the day your older brother, Cregan, loaded you and your belongings into a carriage headed for the capital. Until this point you'd never stepped foot out of Winterfell, let lone were you prepared to move to the other side of the continent. Yet you had no choice. When the King of the Seven Kingdoms requests a Northern representative for the royal court, the Lord of Winterfell had no choice but to send his little sister.
When you finally arrived at the Red Keep you were meet with by King Viserys, his wife Queen Aemma, their daughter Princess Rhaenyra, and the king's brother Prince Daemon. The Kingsguard stood tall in gleaming armor in full force surrounding the royal family, who was also accompanied by their personal staff.
"Lady Stark!" King Viserys cheers as he opens his arms in greeting. "We are honored to welcome you to the Red Keep! I hope your travels went smoothly?"
"Thank you, your Grace," you answered as you bowed respectively. "The Kingsroad is fine, your Grace. It's more the climate that's concerning me. i'm not yet used to such... conditions, to say the least."
Queen Aemma steps forward, "I'm sure you'll adjust before you know it. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers."
The queen was gracious enough to accompany you not only to your chambers, but she then took you on a tour of the palace. She began with the throne room, then took you out to the royal gardens where she took you to the Godswood. Having a weirwood tree right here in the Red Keep made you breath easier. At list this place had some trace of the North. Being so far from home unnerved you deeply, but in this place you could feel a connection to home.
Over the next few days you attended Small Council meetings where you watched from the sidelines. King Viserys assured you would have a seat on the council soon enough, but others suggested you have an 'adjustment period' of sorts. You scoffed at the idea but still took your seat outside the council table.
Being separated from the council, however, was not enough to restrain you from calling Otto Hightower a 'spoiled southern cunt' for suggesting Daemon send members of the City Watch into Flea Bottom to reprimand those who are already fighting to survive. During these meetings you happened to catch the violet eyes of the rogue prince, who had yet to make your acquaintance.
Not long after your arrival in Winterfell, King Viserys announced that Queen Aemma is with child once more, and the palace went into a mode of celebrations. A feast had been prepared and the throne room transformed into a dining hall with room for dancing.
Most everyone had finished their meals and began mingling and dancing their way around the room, but your attention focused mainly on the many molten swords of the Iron Throne. You had to admit the sight of the royal seat of Westeros was quite an intimidating sight.
Something inside told you to take a step towards the throne, and so you did. You stopped when you approached the first line of molten swords and reached out to trail your fingers lightly across the hilt.
"I'd be careful if I were you," Daemon advised teasingly as he came up on your right side. "My brother does not take kindly to those who yearn for his precious throne."
"I merely grazed the hilt of one measly sword," you refuted. "I did not sit my arse upon it and call myself the queen. Nor do I want to."
"Truthfully?" he inquires, a look of curiosity upon his face. You take the moment to take in the sight of him, and you cannot deny he's an incredibly handsome man. Like the rest of his Targaryen ancestors, Daemon is beautifully crafted by the Gods of Old Valyria— blessed with silver blond hair and lilac eyes.
You nod and look back up to the throne. "I could think of nothing worse," you admit. "To live my life upon this ghastly thing and have to sit through endless bore-me-to-death Small Council meetings? Sounds miserable to me."
