After all these years, I remain a devoted advocate for my niece, Rhaenys, known as "the Queen Who Never Was." I firmly believe she is the true heir to the throne, surpassing her cousin, Viserys. The Great Council's choice to appoint him as king, relying on the principle of male primogeniture, felt like a significant injustice to me. Furthermore, when his daughter Rhaenyra was declared the heir, it struck me as a cruel irony. My backing for Rhaenyra stemmed from a sense of obligation to the king, rather than any genuine enthusiasm.

Rhaenyra’s “tour of the realm” had reached Storm's End. A royal progress orchestrated by her father, King Viserys, so she could select a husband from among the great houses of Westeros. The tour was also meant to solidify the lords' support for her as the future queen.

I received her and her entourage with outward hospitality that was proper and dutiful, but stiff and cold. As I still hold a deep-seated resentment towards the crown for having passed over my niece.

My Round Hall was bustling with hopeful lesser lords and knights presenting their sons. Though Rhaenyra’s clear boredom and disinterest in the men being presented to her, made the whole atmosphere uncomfortable for everyone present.

Her disrespectful and undiplomatic conduct was quite dismissive. Particularly when she made an unseemly joke regarding the age of one of her suitors. An older man, but a well-respected one. My exasperation was only cemented when suitors: Jerrel Bracken and Willem Blackwood begin to duel. Rhaenyra had failed to manage the situation, forcing me to step in.

Her abrupt departure from Storm's End shortly thereafter, demonstrated her immaturity and poor political judgment. Rhaenyra’s choice did not escape the gathered lords either. Leaving them slighted and publicly embarrassed.

Walking into my private chambers at the top of the drum tower after the disastrous event, wearing my gala suit with a yellow-mustard tone jacket, indicating the golden field of my house's crowned stag sigil. The collar of my suit features detailed embroidery in earthy and golden colors, while a practical leather and decorative belt cinches the suit, and a substantial gold necklace adorns my neck, signaling my wealth and status as a powerful lord.

I glance at you standing by the window and scoff, “Rhaenyra,” Shaking my head, I begin walking over to the small table that held a pitcher of Dornish Red and a couple of large, intricate golden goblets. “Her unseemly conduct and poor impression she left on the lords of the realm-“ An unamused smile appears upon my face as I let out a grunt like chuckle, before adding with the same hard, disappointed tone, “She has no understanding of the respect her house deserves and the importance of diplomacy, even when dealing with bothersome suitors.”

I already knew Rhaenyra’s reckless disrespect had damaged her reputation amongst the lords, which will only make it harder for her to command respect and loyalty once she succeeds her father. As the chosen heir, the princess must win the loyalty of the great houses, not alienate them. She wasn’t just a princess, but a symbol of the crown.

“Her conduct today may have not have been a personal offense,” Raising my eyebrows, I begin to pour the red wine into my goblet, “But a violation of traditional Westerosi decorum.” I run my free hand frustratedly through my short dark grey hair with a growl, before taking a healthy drink of my wine.

“Rhaenyra needs to be forced to contend with an unwavering opinion based on principle, rather than emotion.” My frustration, wasn’t born of a personal feud but of a lord's genuine, if rigid, devotion to tradition and order.