You sat in the council chambers, chewing on the soft skin of your bottom lip as the plans were being made.

Plans to put you on the throne, being the oldest - living - child of the late Rhaenyra Targaryen. And in all honesty, it scared you.

“Are you alright, my princess?” Benjicot asked, sitting next to you as the men in the council conversed. As a part of the lads, - including the lord of Riverrun, Kermit Tully, and his brother Oscar - you trusted him. Wholly.