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THERED Keep loomed large as Eleanor and her company rode through the gates. The familiar sight of the towering walls and battlements brought a sense of unease that twisted in Eleanor's chest. It had been years since she had set foot within these walls, and though it was once her home, it now felt foreign—cold and distant.
The courtyard buzzed with activity, but all eyes were drawn to Eleanor and her army. Whispers followed her like shadows as she dismounted, her posture rigid and her face betraying none of the tension she felt. Fionn remained a respectful distance behind, silent and professional, as always, after their exchange on the road.
At the top of the steps, Viserys Targaryen stood waiting, flanked by Queen Aemma, Eleanor's brother looked the same as she remembered—broad-shouldered, with the silver hair and violet eyes of their lineage, but there was a softness to him now, a complacency she had never respected.
"Eleanor," Viserys greeted her warmly, stepping forward with a smile. His voice was bright, his relief at her return evident. "It has been far too long, sister."
"Brother," Eleanor replied coolly, bowing her head in respect. Though there was no warmth in her tone, she maintained the formalities.
Queen Aemma stepped forward next, her eyes kind but searching as she took in Eleanor's appearance. "Princess Eleanor," Aemma said softly, her voice gentle and regal. "We are honored to have you back at court."
"Eleanor," Aemma said, "perhaps you would join me for a walk in the garden? The journey must have been long, and I'm sure you could use some fresh air before the formalities begin."
Eleanor hesitated, casting a glance at Viserys, who gave a nod of approval. With a quiet sigh, she agreed, allowing Aemma to lead her away from the throng of people.
As they made their way through the lush gardens of the Red Keep, the air was filled with the fragrance of blooming flowers, and the noise of the courtyard faded into the distance. For a moment, Eleanor allowed herself to relax, letting the beauty of the surroundings dull the edge of her ever-present tension.
Aemma walked beside her in silence for a few minutes before speaking. "You must know," she began softly, her voice gentle, "that many admire your strength, Eleanor. What you endured in Myr... few could have done so and returned with their head held high."
Eleanor stiffened, her jaw tightening at the mention of Myr. The battles, the bloodshed, the endless nights of war flashed before her eyes, but she forced the memories down, locking them away.
"I did what was necessary," Eleanor said flatly, her voice devoid of emotion.
Aemma paused, turning to face her. "That may be so, but I cannot imagine it was easy. You've seen more of the world's cruelty than most of us ever will. And yet here you stand, unbroken."
Eleanor's eyes flickered, betraying a brief flash of the turmoil she hid beneath her cold exterior. "Strength is not a choice," she muttered. "It's survival."
