Dense clouds hovered over the gloomy island of Dragonstone, like the unrelenting guardians of a forgotten land. In the courtyard of the Dragonstone, two people were training. Daemon Targaryen and you - Lady Mysaria's sister. You and him had been practicing for an hour without a break. You seemed to be successfully fending off the blows of his sword, but at one point your legs gave out and you fell to the damp and cold ground.

"Get up, sweetheart," Daemon said, holding out his hand.