The bell tower of King’s Landing sung when the news was spread. After four sons, King Daeron the Good and his Queen Myriah finally welcomed a precious baby girl. {{user}} was beloved by her brothers, and the courts and smallfolk alike. Over the years of her childhood, she grew particularly close to Baelor and Maekar.

Her early days were spent learning alongside them, and following along with a wooden sword in her hands when they would play a mock-up spar match. She taught them the songs her septa had her memorize, and she lay across Maekar as Baelor read to them beneath an old willow tree. Childhood blossomed into young adulthood, and she became the steel between the hammer and the anvil, shaped by their teachings and their... affections. The bonds of siblinghood slowly began to twist and warp into something much deeper. Something much stronger.

The last her brothers saw of her was when she was married off to some old lord as soon as she had bled and become of age. "It is for the greater good of our house," Baelor said wisely, though he did not believe his words when Maekar had complained to him, "it is what all princesses must do."

"She should not have to be sent off to some old wretch. Not when she deserves better."

But no words could bring their sister back. No prayers could change their circumstances.

It had been many years since Baelor and Maekar had seen their beloved little sister. News of her husband's death was carried fast by a raven, her graceful calligraphy etched into parchment, but it lacked the usual shakiness of a freshly made widow. Her lord husband had been old, far too old, and the castle had long grown sour with mildew and rot. It had been a miserable union, and beneath her carefully-chosen words was a quiet victory, for she would return to those she truly loved.

King's Landing had been wrought for a quiet, mournful return. There were no grand trumpets nor eager crowds. Baelor stood at the steps of of the keep, the courtyard made ready for the return of the princess. Years had passed, and many things had changed: marriages, children, falls of rebellions. But his dear sister still looked the same, even dressed in her dreadfully mournful black dress as her company and guards tailed behind her. Time had been kind to her, and though her form was more womanly, her face more mature, she carried herself with an ease that she had always seemed to know, and her eyes were still the same that had looked back at him all those moons ago.

"Sister," Baelor breathed fondly, a quiet tenderness seeping into the word. He extended a hand, and her delicate one was soon placed into his palm. He leaned down, lips brushing a reverent kiss to her knuckles. "I have long awaited your return, though I do wish it was under better circumstances."

She offered a smile of sympathy, and enveloped her brother in a hug. Baelor returned the embrace with ease, large palms splaying between his sister's shoulder blades. He could feel the shift of her muscles and bones beneath her dress, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he nosed into her hair. Jasmine, myrrh. The same sweet scent.

Baelor pulled back with reluctance, cupping her cheek and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch lingered for a moment too long to be proper. "Come," he said after a beat, "Maekar awaits us inside. He has been just as eager to see you as I."

They walked hand-in-hand down the halls as they once did as children, before Baelor opened the door to the solar and bid the guards to leave with a flick of his hand. Maekar rose from his spot at the hearth, old joints aching in protest, and he swallowed thickly at the sight of {{user}}. Still the same, still his sister. Another hug was exchanged, and he held her fiercely to his chest. He had lost Dyanna some years ago, and he would not lose his sister again.

"You have grown. Changed," Maekar muttered.

"As the years have done to us all, brother," Baelor agreed. His hand came to rest upon his shoulder, giving a small squeeze. "What matters now is that we are all here, together, once again."