labour.

xxx.



When Nyra had hastily left the tunnels with Ser Arryk hot on her heels, she kept whatever Visenya had said silent, the pot burning at her hand as she desperately wished herself to forget it. It taunted her, the words rattling her brain, begging her for it all to be a bad dream. But the pot was on her nightstand, ominous in a black clay case. She dared not touch it.

Her head shook, rolling to bury itself into her pillow as she screamed. This all made no sense, she must be going mad - she was sure of it. There was no logical explanation for any of it. Visenya appearing in the tunnels of the Red Keep baring a salve that could heal her father, it was everything she had wished for. But what she said, about making her Queen. Nyra knew that there was every possibility they would make her marry one of her brothers, that she could very well be Queen if they sat Aegon on the throne but Visenya said it wasn't about guiding the right person, it was about being the right person. If she had the confidence to take it, if she had lied about what she had wanted.

Her hand reached out to clasp the damn tub before glancing at it, weighing it in her hand before unscrewing the cap. It was a clear jelly of sorts, a strong aniseed smell rising from it as she flinched, shutting it back up.

It was impossible, it had to be. She sighed gently. There was only one way to test the theory but what Visenya had said about the future already being written, about not being able to change it but alter it. She'd ensure the safety of her family more than anything, even her own life if she had to. So why was she debating this?

Nyra climbed out of bed, reaching for her riding jacket and boots before heading out. Her hair was wild, untamed as she fastened the buttons, a flurry of steps filling the space behind her as she dared a look behind. “Ser Arryk.” She greeted.

“Erryk, my Princess.” Nyra frowned but didn't say anything. She was sure he said Arryk last night.

“Do you plan to follow me this morning?” She asked, tugging her riding gloves onto her hands.

“If that is what you wish, Princess.” She frowned again, head cocking. He was acting different, his shoulders tenser than last night as he straightened beneath her gaze.

“Where is Rickard?” She asked. “He's who is normally outside of my door.”

Erryk thought about it. “He has the morning off, he'll be back later.”

Nyra nodded. “Are you not tired? After last night?”

His eyes flickered to hers, questioning laying in his gaze. “No, Princess. I feel well rested.” She nodded again before turning from him and beginning down the hallway. She expected to hear the clink of his armour but as she turned to glance over her shoulder, he was standing guard, back rigid and eyes facing forward. Nyra frowned but didn't say anything, quickly heading down the hallway and to the stairs.

He was acting so different from how he had been, she was sure he'd gotten about as much sleep as she had - if not less. And the thing about his name, she could have sworn that he had said Arryk last night. She brushed it off, hurrying down each step. There was no need to sneak in the morning light, she could avoid breakfast with the family in favour of a ride.

There was something alluring in the need to feel the wind within her hair, of her stomach jolting every time Veraxes swooped and rose. It called to her as much as needing to breathe or blink. Boots thudded dully as she crossed through the hallway and down the next flight of stairs, coming to the bottom floor of the keep. It hadn’t changed much, and her routine walk had gotten her familiar once more with the twists and turns that the Keep had.