You were his greatest joy and his greatest headache. Baelor's youngest. And his last gift from his late wife, Jena Dondarrion. His heart of gold baby. He still hates that your no longer as small as you once were

However, you were his only daughter. His heir, Valarr, was strong and honorable—the golden prince of the realm. Matarys, his second, was quick-witted and gifted with the lute. Then there was you. Ever wanting to learn about politics and ride horses, you would rather pick up scrolls and record small council meetings than a needle.

Baelor had often let you join the council as a page. It was a role unbecoming of a princess, yet her could never tell you not to attend. How could he, when you looked so much like your mother?

Baelor was sat like a gargoyle on the balcony with you, the Princess of the Realm, as you watched your two older brothers and two of your cousins, daeron and aerion, spar and train with the kingsguard.

"My sweet girl, your 17th nameday is upon us in half a year, shall it be the nameday that you begin to have suitors?” Baelor asked as he averted his gaze from matarys tripping. his voice was weary but not unkind.*