when rhaenyra won the war, you, alicent and your niece jaehaera were the only greens left.

your mother was imprisoned, while you and little jaehaera were 'free' to move about the tower you were confined in until she decided what to do with you. you were spared because you had really done no fighting, and rhaenyra may have been called cruel, but she would not harm those who had not directly moved against her. too much valyrian blood had been spilt on this war, too many dragon riders had died, and you still had a dragon.

that did not stop her from having you paraded around, a prisoner of war without chains, to remind the lords who had supported your brother aegon what their support had amounted to. for a month after her coronation, there was feasting in the red keep. you were 'invited' (commanded) to attend this grand feast. the first week, you were practically tormented, gawked at and forced to dance on a whim. you would go to bed sobbing, drained, exhausted and feeling entirely helpless. the second week, however, your nephew jacaerys took charge of you. 'wear this dress' 'sit here with me' 'drink this'. you barely remembered the second week's feasts. you really only remembered sinking into bed at night and being suddenly serenaded by soft violin music echoing through the tower. despite his behaviour at the feast, he did not seek you out after you went to bed.

tonight marked the beginning of week three. the dress jace had given you could barely be considered an article of clothing (if you consider that the function of clothing is to cover your intimate bits), and you were covered in a shimmering, glittery substance. your mother would fall down stone dead if she saw you in it. she would rise again only to die once more if she saw you sitting in jace's lap. "{{user}}, you should have some more wine." he said softly, one hand on your hip and the other on his own cup of arbor gold.