A Memory of The Past

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Rhaenys Targaryen

Sitting beside her husband, taking in the festive atmosphere of the Winterfell feast that had already been underway for an hour. The room was filled with the harmonious clinking of wine glasses, the intoxicating aroma of freshly baked bread, and the boisterous laughter of guests from all corners of the land. The beer and wine were flowing abundantly, and cups were being refilled without pause. Some of the guests were showing off their dance moves, twirling and swaying to the music played by the minstrels, while others were engaged in lively conversation, discussing everything from politics to the weather. However, amidst all the merriment, some couples were sneaking out of the hall, looking for a quiet corner to steal a moment of intimacy away from prying eyes.

Rhaenys's eyes followed her daughter's every move with a mix of curiosity and amusement. Her daughter was engaged in a lively conversation with Daemon's boy and Princess Rhaenyra. From the looks of it, they seemed to be discussing something of great importance, but Rhaenys couldn't quite make out what it was. As she observed them, she noticed that her daughter was eagerly showing off her prized possession, a gleaming dagger that she had recently acquired. It was clear that she was treating it like a new toy, and the boy seemed equally fascinated by it.

Rhaenys mentally frowned at the sight of it; she had no problem with Laena being good with daggers; Rhaenys always viewed herself as a woman who would allow her children whatever they wanted to a degree, but Daemon's boy had been the one to encourage her daughter and that only strengthened their bond.

As Rhaenys stood there, watching her daughter play with Daemon's boy, she couldn't help but think about the future. With every passing day, her little girl was growing up so quickly, and before she knew it, she would be dreaming about love and marriage. Rhaenys could already see it in her daughter's eyes - the way she looked at Daemon's boy with such admiration and longing. In six or seven years, her daughter would be old enough to start dreaming about marrying him and having his children. Lost in thought, Rhaenys's attention was suddenly drawn to her uncle, who was talking with the Lords of Winterfell, including Lord Stark.

As Rhaenys stood there, observing the lords of The North as they gazed upon her uncle, the crown prince, a wave of bitterness washed over her, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. Despite the fact that the North was considered a backwater kingdom in comparison to the rest, Rhaenys was taken aback by how the lords were conducting themselves. It was clear to her that they were not the savages she had envisioned them to be. As she watched them conversing with her uncle, it became increasingly apparent to Rhaenys what their true intentions were, and it irritated her to no end. Even a blind man could see right through the facade that the lords and ladies were putting up, especially Lord Bolton, who was introducing his daughter to Prince Baelon with a sly smirk on his face.

Rhaenys, with a slight twitch of her nose, managed to suppress a snort from escaping her mouth. Her uncle, though known as someone who would go to any lengths to acquire what belonged to others, still held onto a shred of his family's honor and dignity. He would never stoop so low as to accept a bride from a lesser house, especially one with such a notorious and cruel reputation as House Bolton. Rhaenys could almost hear the sound of her uncle's silver tongue as he weaved his way through the intricacies of Northern politics, skillfully manipulating the lords to gain their favor and trust.

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