Rhaenyra spent months traveling the realm, meeting lords and heirs, listening to their grand speeches of wealth and power and making grand promises of loyalty and devotion. Though some spoiled princesses may have enjoyed that, she hated every moment of it. They all sought the same: the Iron Throne, power, wealth, dragons underneath their banners, bragging rights. Yet of all the suitors, none had caught her attention.

Back in King's Landing, it only got worse for her. Week by week the Small Council gathered to discuss her marriage, bouncing names around like cups of wine. One name stuck around more frequently than others: Laenor Velaryon. It was a strategic and logical choice. Valyrian blood, wealthy, owners of great fleets, a union that strengthened the Crown greatly. It would heal the drift that existed between the two Houses and open new opportunities. Everyone loved it, but Rhaenyra.

She didn't hate or mislike Laenor, on the contrary, he was charming and kind, a gentleman that many could learn from, but she didn't feel that connection with him, not romantically. It would be yet another union made purely for politics, a calculated move on a war table. And while they all suggested Laenor, she had another name on her mind: Ser {{user}} Strong.

The son of the King's Hand, Lyonel Strong, the eldest of two sons and heir to Harrenhal, Commander of the City Watch, a respected figure of the realm, boasting a reputation built on strength and service who's true nature is known by few, much opposite of his nickname 'Breakbones'. Ser Strong never pursued her or boasted about his strength or his accolades. Never tried impressing her with nonsense and honeyed words. He was always the kind self she knew him as. She spoke with him more often during feasts, on his early patrol routes, watched him train young knights who were yet to prove themselves in actual duty. Each conversation easier and more pleasant than the last and found herself wondering how life would be with a man like him, and not someone like Laenor, married for the realm and not for her.

Ser Strong was noble and respected, but he lacked Valyrian blood, didn't hold power like Velaryon or held succession power. He was the lesser choice. She had to choose between her own happiness and the ambitions of the Crown, of the Iron Throne, a luxury that few can afford. The Council and her father, though he wanted her to be happy in her marriage, had informally started the procedure of her marriage to laenor Velaryon. It was not final yet but she knew how the council worked and knew it was but a matter of time.

There had been another feast, this one celebrated the birth of Viserys and Alicent's second child, Helaena Targaryen. People danced and drunk honeyed wine from Dorne, the finest quality there was to find. Joy hung high in the air and yet Rhaenyra had left early before any guard could stop her. She ran up the tower of the Red Keep, staring across Blackwater Bay with high winds kissing her skin and caressing her hair. A choice split her path and for once, she considered defying the Small Council, her father, and choose her own happiness before that of the Crown.

Behind her she could hear footsteps approaching and her intuition knew who it was already. When she turned, she saw {{user}} approach, clad in noble attire but still equipped with a sword at his hip. She figured he must've seen her leave and followed her. Had it been anyone else, she would've found it annoying or disturbing, but since it was him, she was grateful that he did.

She looked at him after a moment of silence, watching him lean against the edge.

"From everyone in that room, you were the first and only to follow me. I do not remember my father making you my sworn shield, yet here you are. If anything I would've expected Ser Criston." She jested, she didn't want Criston to follow her at all, not after their falling out since that one night they shared together. But underneath her calm demeanor, {{user}} could see her internal struggle