Chapter 2: The Bastard of Sunspear

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The muscles of her arm burning from exertion, no matter how committed to the attack… her senses gathered the sudden blur to her left. Leaping back, the one known to all as Ryah Sand gave ground. “You will break, sister,” Obara smirked in triumph, twirling her spear with the dexterity of their father.

Training leathers soaked in her sweat under the baking summer sun, Rhaenys Targaryen cracked her neck. Gazing at her cousin by birth and sister by spirit with a wry expression. “Haven’t broken yet… and I am younger than you by two namedays.” She breathed hard, chest heaving as her air-hungry muscles begged for relief. “What does that say about your skills?”

Snarling - undoubtedly sibling rivalry clouding her judgment - Obara charged, spear twirling and attempting to overwhelm Rhaenys from all directions. Her blade wasn’t even the length of her arm while Obara’s glaive reached shoulder-height. 

But slender and toned, Rhaenys dodged and weaved. Using her agility to dodge the attacks… then thrusting forth with her curved longsword. A furious slash met the wooden shaft of the glaive in the center, snapping it in two from Rhae’s strength, while a twirl and second slash caught Obara across the chest - a killing move as much as any. “Yield,” Rhaenys insisted. 

Obara let the broken halves of the training staff fall to the ground. “Seven hells, I yield.” She shook her head, breathing hard. “Used to be I could wipe the floor with you on the sparring court.”

“No longer, sister,” Rhaenys laughed. “And as today, my record stands undefeated.” Yronwood keep, a stop for the entire household of Oberyn Martell taking a tour of the keeps of Stony Dorne, had been quite fun to visit considering how her father was hated by the residents here. Many sought to challenge her, and Rhaenys beat all of them.

Grabbing a towel from one of the servants, Rhaenys wiped off the sweat from her face - nothing sounded better than a nice meal - perhaps a dip in the sea to cool off once the sun began its descent in the sky. The moisture drawing away some of the heat, she sighed in relief, craning her neck back as she released the ties holding her ink-black hair up in a tight bun. Letting it cascade down her half-bare shoulders.

“Lady Ryah.” She looked up to spot one of her sparring partners before Obara, a landed knight in the service of House Yronwood and a friend of her nephew Quentyn  by the name of Ser Gerris Drinkwater, extending his arm. “That was a spirited fight - haven’t exerted myself like that in years.”

Eyes flickering between him and his extended hand, Rhaenys finally took it. “Can’t say I could say the same, given I spar often with my father,” she replied. Not wishing to vocalize aloud at his far inferiority to her as Obara or Nym would.

He laughed, eyes raking her body. Slim as it was in her training leathers, ones her uncle insisted on being as tightly-fitting as possible to reduce wind resistance and increase agility. They also exposed her slender waist, strong hips, and above-average bust barely hidden by her bounds. Meleys and Mother Rhoyne had been kind to her, especially when paired with her violet eyes. “To have the Red Viper as a father is an honor, his reputation precedes him.”

"Not often a good thing," Rhaenys snickered, cocking her hip to the side and resting her hand upon it. "Something I can help you with?" Ser Gerris's looks were obvious.

The young knight proved her suspicions correct. "Perhaps a walk in the gardens, Lady Ryah, then a swim?" His tone was hopeful and words innocuous, but couldn't escape the lecherous stare in his blue eyes.

Rhaenys looked him up and down. Gerris was a tall and comely, pretty with fair features in spite of Rhaenys's personal preference to a darker-haired man. There was a confidence that marked him as a competent lover, but it bordered on arrogance. You'd have to be arrogant to be friends with Quentyn. "Forgive me, but I must decline."

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 08, 2023 ⏰

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