Alicent Hightower raised a bastard - The Stranger's Child.
Except she didn't.
Naenyra looked nothing like the Targaryen beauty that her father expected. She was, as her mother always wished, a Hightower at heart, and how she looked only proved it...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It had been years since she had seen the red brick of the Keep, and even in all that time away from it, the very sight brought dread to her stomach. She had forgotten what it meant to live within those walls, to face the scrutiny that she had at such a young age. Oldtown had been good to her, it had treated Nyra like she wasn't some bastard that everyone thought didn't belong. She was a Targaryen Princess there, and here... She couldn't be sure if it would go back to the way it had been. A stranger's bastard.
Nerves made her stomach tight, a thickness in her throat as she reached up to adjust her hood. It had been so long since she had to cover her hair for anything other than Sept, and to do it now felt like ten steps back. She was her mother's daughter, not some bastard that Rhaenyra had named. She could only pray for more confidence, to feel the familiar presence of Veraxes around her to lend her strength. But it felt cold, and worry was plaguing her.
One hand sought the other, toying with the edge of her finger as her nail ran over the skin. It had been a short ride in the carriage from the Dragon Pit to the Keep, and it hadn't changed much since the last time she had been in the capital. Perhaps a couple more winding roads, and influx of people but it was still the same city it had been the last time she was here.
It's partially why she was sure that the Keep hadn't changed. It still looked the same, still smelled the same, still had the same people mulling around the courtyard going about the business. Would they still look at her funny? Would they still whisper when she passed? Nyra could only pray that they wouldn't, that times had changed because Rhaenyra no longer haunted the halls.
It was Daeron, Otto and Alicent that waited with her, her mother patting her arm affectionately as dark clouds rolled above them. The air was chillier here, nipping at her nose unlike the warmth of Oldtown. It felt like an omen, a warning sign to the fit that her heart was having. Should returning home feel like this? She wanted it to be a warm hug, but all it felt was like impending doom.
She paused, perhaps that was a touch dramatic, even on her part.
Her mother was the first to leave the carriage as the door flung open, and a set of steps were left out for them. Alicent was the first to depart, her green dress flowing around her as a sag took to her shoulders. Did she resent King's Landing as much as Nyra did? Did she wish to return to Oldtown too? Daeron followed behind her, standing close to her side before Otto joined them. Nyra took a deep breath as she waited, dark eyes peeking around.
Could she tell them to turn back? Was it too late? Otto sent her a look, reaching his hand out for her to take. Nyra stared at it, weighing up her options before slipping her hand into it.
