CALLING FOR DORNE, rhaenyra targaryen

002

"My Prince," The calling came from their travelling Maester, and Juran tilts his head to ease the ache in his neck as he turns his body to face one of his approaching companions. There's books in his arms and some form of a half-smile. "You train early today."

"No earlier than Ser Gyles," Juran waves away the comment, not wishing to discuss why he was up before all others. He did not want to confess the discomfort he felt building over night at the realisation his brother had wanted for him to step into the middle of a political family crisis. Granted, Qoren did not know. "What is it, Maester Polar?"

For a second, Maester Polar eyes him, no doubt used to his ways of secrecy. And then he accepts defeat with a nod, glancing around toward the table of training weapons. "The Queen requests that you break fast with her and the royal children."

The Queen. The Queen. The Queen.

Juran liked Queen Alicent, truly he did, and he did not know the woman. But he grasped the fact she was clever and stood her own ground, and Juran admired that about women, especially in the face of the men around them, which he didn't see much of across his travels within the reach (he held a bitterness at the reminder of how men treated their daughters), but he was a face for her cause.

He did not like to be used as a play-thing to up another in the name of politics.

"The Queen did?" Juran asks, and when his Maester nods, he lets out a breath and throws one arm up dramatically, "Have you seen this King Viserys with your own eyes yet, Polar? I'm beginning to doubt his presence within his own court."

Maester Polar shifts on his feet, adjusting the books gathered in his arms against his chest. "I have not on this visit, but I have seen the Young King before," He responds, using Viserys' once-name for him. Not quite so fitting anymore however. "Hopefully, so shall you."

Juran didn't hold much faith in such words. He felt more confident however that this was all the Queen's doing, and his visit was more for her benefit and powered name as her invited guest rather than her husband's.

Tossing the wooden sword onto the table to the side, Juran holds one hand to his neck as he stalks forward toward the Maester. "Your height of books almost shadow you, Polar," His joke softens the threatening tension, and his hands come out to grab half of them. "Allow me."

"My Prince, that. . ."

"Come," Juran beckons when he takes half from the pile, intending on returning to their guest quarters. His Maester nods and follows. "You gather books like one would gather admirers in a tourney."

Maester Polar gives a small laugh, not denying the joke following the first. He'd wanted to ask about Ser Gyles, and why the Guard wasn't with their Dornish Prince, but Juran had most likely ordered him to go and eat. Ser Gyles slept half the night and ate even less, leaving Juran to worry for him in small doses (though Juran would never embarrass Ser Gyles by admitting this publicly).

Much as Polar disapproved of Juran and Ser Gyles' relationship, for he'd caught them once, the former was an excellent household Guard and could have done extremely well within the force of the KingsGuard. The Maester knew that had been Ser Gyles intention, to earn a spot within Kings Landing, but he'd not pulled himself past Sunspear.

Maester Polar had always believed Juran was the reason Ser Gyles couldn't leave.

Why he wouldn't leave.

"Are you going to accept the Queen's request?" Polar asks.

"My Mother would be disappointed in me to disrespect any woman," Juran gave a slight laugh at the way his parent would most likely of had kicked him at blatantly ignoring anyone for no good reason, "I'll allow her rest and accept this request of the Queen's."