"You have grown, little one,” the deep, husky voice of the prince came from behind you, making you turn your head sharply. He had been away for a few years, fighting battles that Viserys deemed unnecessary, all to protect the realm, even after his brother insisted he stay with his wife in the Vale.

Viserys always claimed he needed an heir, yet Daemon's obsession with his legacy was never as strong as that of his older brother. He did not consider the need for an heir unimportant, but he also did not rush; he wasn’t going to die anytime soon. He would fight the Seven themselves to ensure that.

"I knew I would find you here." His voice came from behind you. He did not wear his usual cocky smirk but a fond smile, as if he was touched that you still came here to find comfort, even in his absence.

The bond between you and your uncle has always been special. He was the one you hid with when the Septa tried to teach you embroidery, and he was the one who replaced the embroidery needle with a sword. You had always enjoyed watching him fight, and he taught you to fight as well, just like Visenya.

Now, five years later, you were sixteen, and, unsurprisingly, Viserys had already summoned the lords to court to propose matches for your hand. At least he had allowed you some freedom to choose for yourself, but marriage was not what you dreamed of, nor what you wanted. So you sought refuge in the places you always had, knowing only Daemon could find you there.