"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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111 A.C
THREE MOON CYCLES HAD PASSED SINCE THE ORDER FOR BAELA TARGARYEN TO MAKE HER MATCH HAD BEEN DOLED OUT. Now with only a single eve between the Princess and her twenty-eighth nameday, the usual whispers of the keep seemed to grow tenfold. The hushed mutters of pity for the poor lord Viserys would push his sister upon followed her every move and yet she paid not a single one any thought.
Baela had awoken in far too good a mood to let such frivolous comments dampen her spirits. Between Aemma's pregnancy reaching its peak, her labours due to begin any day now, and Baela's own nameday but a sunrise away it seemed the gods were yet again smiling down on her. The day's upcoming affairs were simply the bow that encased a would-be perfect nameday gift.
Taking the steps up to the small council's chambers two at a time, wilfully ignorant to Rylan's already rushed footfalls hastening to catch up to her, Baela pushed the door open with enough force to have the old hinges crying out. A beaming smile graced her lips as she spied those she'd requested the presence of all there and accounted for. Finding there to be no unwelcome guests joining them was especially pleasing, all but confirming her wishes would not be denied before she'd even uttered a word.
Sat around the small council's table, some with more patience than others, were her beloved brothers, Lord Corlys, and Lord Strong, with Lady Tayla and Ser Josian standing off to the side with knowing grins upon their lips. Crossing the threshold, Baela did not follow suit in taking her seat, instead, she remained standing just behind her seat. Following the Princess like a second shadow, Ser Rylan moved to stand beside the handmaiden and Kings Guard, an indiscernible bundle tucked under his arm with care.
"Baela, my dear," Viserys spoke, eager to have their impromptu meeting over quickly. "For what reason have you called us here when we have a tourney to commence?"
"I seek your blessing to partake in the very tourney just mentioned," Baela stated simply. "Not directly, of course, I know you would never allow me such. I wish for you to allow Ser Rylan to bear our crest and fight in my stead, in my name."
A brief shadow of concern washed over Viserys' features, but Daemon cut in before he could say a word, silencing the quick denial that would fall from his lips. "A wonderful idea, wouldn't you agree? Finally, an opponent with half a chance of beating me."
"Indeed," Lord Strong added, "My son's skill with a blade leaves nothing to desire, your Grace. For him to carry the Princess' mantle would be of the highest honour."
Viserys was silent for a moment as if contemplating the matter. Shifting his gaze from his sister to the only Lord yet to speak, he prompted the Seasnake to voice his own view on the matter. "And you, Lord Corlys? What say you?"
