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Vaenna sat at the long dining table in the opulent hall, surrounded by her family and, of course, several monarchs that inhabit the Red Keep. Today marked the first day of a week of celebrations in honor of Daeron Targaryen's birth, the youngest son of the King. The air was thick with an unspoken tension, the happiness of welcoming a new member and what that arrival represented hanging over their heads. At the center of the room King Viserys, whose role was to exude an air of regal authority, was the personification of a well-humored seafarer. In Vaenna's eyes he was uncle Viserys, good old uncle Viserys toasting and boosting his pride in the family he had made for himself. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Alicent Hightower stood magnificent and adorned in intricate fabrics that reflected the status of her ancestry. She was by his right side, graceful and one could not believe she had just given birth. At least, that was what everyone kept on saying.

On the other side of the patriarch sat Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm's Delight, and her husband Laenor. the air punctuated by their passionate exchanges. The subduedness of Rhaenyra's usual vibrant spirit was noticeable, she kept to herself and offered obligatory smiles that failed to reach her eyes. It clashed with her father's mood as he raised another glass and devoted another tribute to his queen. On instinct Vaenna's wandering eye navigated towards Alicent wearing a radiant smile that outshine the flickering candlelight. She whose laughter echoed through the hall in an uncharacteristic display of joy. Even then she would gesture to draw attention away from her.

Impossible as Alicent Hightower was the star of the night. She and she alone had delivered the strength of the house of the dragon. The Hightower had done what the previous queen could not. At least that was what the Court kept gossiping when they thought no one was listening.

The mystery of conception was shrouded in a veil of somberness. The only person to ever give a half satisfactory answer to Vaenna was her cousin Rhaenyra.

"How do you know?" The little girl had inquired the day she met Jacaerys.

"Well, the maesters and the midwives conduct their examinations."

"But how do they know?"

"Some women feel changes. Their bodies undergo adaptations, their moods swift, and so on... And usually married couples are more prone to expect a child."

"Usually," Vaenna had remarked.

Rhaenyra snorted at her insistence. She had smoothed out the girl's black hairs with care, the other arm still supporting Jacaerys. "Nothing ever goes through you, hum?"

Vaenna had shook her head, eager for an answer.

"Marriage is not a requirement but... to ladies in your station, very encouraged."

It seemed that most things about childbearing were up to chance, out of the couples' control. To all things considered it did not seem fair to blame Queen Aemma for her fateful end. Or Alicent. Or anyone at all.

Maybe it was up to the gods to decide. Each time Vaenna met Rhaenyra's gaze, the latter forced a smile. The unspoken sorrow seemed to linger beneath the surface of her cousin's composed facade. What type of gods would tear a mother and daughter apart? Certainly unjust ones, Vaenna concluded.

Aerea and Vanarr sat across from the King. She laughed when Viserys laughed, and applauded when Viserys called for attention. The little girl furrowed remembering conversations she had eavesdropped about her mother's pregnancies. She had once commented with Lady Judit that her first time was the hardest.

"The twins were more bearable."

"Even with two?" Lady Judit had pointed out.

They both giggled and Aerea had to stop and ponder on her response.

"Yes. I supposed I felt better in the aftermath. My husband was there and..."

"You were blessed with your first boy too."

And Aerea had smiled to herself. You were blessed with your first boy, that always left a sour taste on Vaenna's mouth. She and Maekar had entered the world together, there could not be one without the other following the tracks. The girl lavished in prowess and well-meaning cheekiness, the type of humor and charm the nobles adored. Vaenna was always up to something and couldn't be in one place for too long, the young lady would rather be watching the knight train than sewing. Until a certain point of her childhood her free spirit and playfulness was more than welcomed, yet now the tolerance of most began to decrease. Contrarily Maekar was a sketish little thing most likely found hiding behind his mother's skirts. No one batted an eye at the lad's sensible nature and the way he would spend hours attentively watching the skies. He was a child after all and behaved as such, even then the Court had hopes one day Maekar would rise to the occasion.

Everything he didn't have, she was bestowed in abundance and vice-versa. Why was her family so comprehensive with Maekar's flaws but she was ordered to grow up?

While her antics and loud voice had been entertainment, Vaenna would stand amidst the courtly assembly and call for their interest. The court lords and ladies would gather for an opportunity to be delighted with a tale from her family's history or something she had come up with on a whim.

"It was a grand ball in Dreimunt, where all of the Kingdom's most esteemed guests were invited to," Vaenna had begun not too long ago, roughly a few moons back when they celebrated Jacaerys birth instead. She gestured with theatrical flair. "Amongst the partygoers was a young Targaryens displaying his elegance and skill on the ball dancing."

Vaenna had painted a vivid picture of the bustling hall warm with conversation and candles scattered like a garden of small fires. The melody of gitters tunes filled the air as the dancers found new partners and twirled across the floor. She had retold to the best of her abilities about the pride of Targaryen royalty she had never known, too confident for his own good and demanding a chance to guide a damsel to the center of the ball. Alas, his prospects fell short as he lost his footing, stumbling ever so gracefully to the flour in front of everyone and dragging the lady with him.

A wave of chuckles had rippled through the audience, catching Aerea's attention. She hadn't failed to notice the malicious whispers amongst the guests, the comments about her daughter's conduct. The merriment following Vaenna's storytelling had echoed through the hall, and the girl had felt her ego inflate if even for a moment. Like the Targaryen in her tale, her victory had been short lived, she too saw the mockery occurring at her expense. Ever so exquisite, Aerea had made her presence clear and the laughter died out, the people from the audience lowered their heads and not many risked glancing to the dragoness' eyes. Perhaps afraid of the moment she would pounce, rip the throats out for the insolence. Aerea had placed a hand over her child's shoulder, politely smiled and excused them.

Her steps had been deliberate and her expression poised, yet there was a steely resolve in her eyes. Vaenna had been confused, never had she endured such embarrassment from her audience.

"Vaenna," Aerea's voice carried a measured tone. "You have to be considerate of your jests."

Vaenna, taken aback by her mother's sudden sternness, had blinked in surprise and attempted to keep the discomfort of the situation concealed. The worst thing she could do was show she was hurt. " I was just telling a story."

"You are a Targaryen, not a court jester. Such foolery does not befit our station." Vaenna's lower lip had trembled slightly, yet she had not allowed tears to pile. She had nodded instead, evading the ire blazing from her mother's gaze. The disappointment, fatigue from having to tell Vaenna again and again. "Go now and compose yourself," Aerea had instructed.

Despite the revelry around them, Rhaenyra remained aloof, withdrawing into her thoughts. Vaenna contemplated doing something to elevate her cousin's spirit but she remained frozen in her seat. Muscles trembling with the need for action but terrified of doing the wrong thing. The girl dared to linger on her mother, watching her through the corner of her eyes, Aerea blending with the Court with such ease. She was born to shapeshift between scales and skin, dragon and woman, perhaps she would become something in between as time moved through them. Her saurian gaze fixated on her daughter for a moment, a mixture of sternness and a mother's concern etched on her face, ultimately she resumed the courtly proceedings.

Vaenna was grateful for her mother's pragmatism. She had been attentive when Vaenna needed most to be rescued. The vultures of the Red Keep were vicious, and it was a virtue to have someone who could navigate the pleasantries so effortlessly. Yet one thing was clear, Aerea would always be a lady over a mother. Always with teeth, hot blood and constantly stuck in the form of a Targaryen princess. Sometimes, rarely, she would spare a kind word and resemble what Vaenna desperately wanted her to be.

It might be that little Vaenna wasn't everything her mother wanted either. If that were to be factual, what of Naelle? Naelle Nartaelos, who was the model of elegance and restraint, conversing with her friends and eating small portions of bread in a reserved demeanor. The only time she ever let down was on singular occasions. Her mother had punished her for weeks, confining Naelle to her room to only speak with her parents and siblings. And she would not allow anyone to forget her transgressions.

What hope did Vaenna have to be enough when the effortless Naelle could not meet the expectations?

As the dinner progressed, she remained an observer. She guarded the table in which the children were installed, positioned vertically to the one where the King sat. On one side there was Helaena, Maddalina, Petraena and Naelle absorbed in their world of courageous knights and dresses. It was unusual to have the princess and her sister separated but she recalled earlier in the evening that it was Aerea that seated them. She had wrapped her fingers around Naelle's shoulders and urged her to be near her siblings. Since on the other side of the table Aegon, Aemond and Maekar sat in sequence and Vaenna was at the head of the table. The honorable position where she could have the view of the entire family; and she, too entranced by the unspoken tensions, hadn't even taken a bite out of her meal.

The stolen glances between Helaena and Naelle grew more obvious, they smiled and tried to share a few words. The distance was too great and they would have to wait until after dinner, when the dancing commenced. Lady Maddalina Massey was an old friend of both and she had been in the castle for as long as anyone could remember. She had moved with her sister, Elinda, when she came to be in the service of Rhaenyra. And now Maddalina was too a lady-in-wating for Naelle. She was a compassionate girl, timid and honey dulcet. Her eyes were blue, surprising her kin for a second time since the eldest sister's were clear transcending the will of their line. The Court commented she would be a beauty as a grown woman, with her brownish satiny hairs and short frame. Yet what they didn't know was that Maddalina had to be the funniest person Vaenna ever met.

Lady Petraena Caswell had taken after house Piper's descent with her red locks, a flair gifted by her mother. She was talkative, defiant and exquisite. They had not known her for long, Petraena had arrived that same year and her family did not expect to prolong their stay. It would depend on her father's wishes.

"Is everything alright, Vaenna?" Petraena inquired.

She seemed nice, Vaenna would very much like her to be in King's Landing more. Maybe one day she would be able to tell her that she was doing her very best to ignore Aemond's sidelong glances throughout the dinner. His persistent gaze from her peripheral vision, a mixture of curiosity and remorse, nagged at her. However, Vaenna was a prideful beast and she couldn't simply forget the argument they had shared weeks ago. She nodded, reassuring nothing was bothering her.

It was pure obstination from Vaenna, she had punished him enough with her icy silence. She missed the playful adventures they shared and the laughter that echoed through the corridors when everyone else was busy down in the Dragonpit. Except he had hurt her feelings, it still stung when Vaenna recalled how he'd dismissed her, claiming she was "just a girl". She refused to be the first to relent in their standoff but it killed her to ignore those supplicant eyes. Thankfully, not by a lot, midway through the dinner Aegon interjected with his usual brand of playful banter.

"Naelle, oh dear, you look positively dreadful today," Aegon remarked, a smirk quivering on his lips. "Those days cloistered did nothing to your complexion."

The table visibly froze, even Aegon realized he had touched a sore point. Nonetheless Naelle maintained her composed façade, refusing to let Aegon's words ruffle her demeanor even as her finger drove dangerously close to the knife. She held herself with poise, her gaze flickering momentarily with a glint of displeasure. Then as if unmoved she returned her focus to the plate, cutting the meat with precise strokes.

"And your manners evade you again, Aegon."

He tensed but soon the brash grin was back, Aegon toyed with ideas of how to annoy the lady. The thing about Aegon was that nothing was ever bad attention, and he would do anything to get Naelle talking to him at any event. Suddenly he was staring at Vaenna and she knew the insults were coming.

"Ah, Vaenna, what a beautiful braid you have." Aegon taunted.

Her eyes flashed with a mix of confusion, she suppressed the need to search for her siblings' validation. "Thank you."

"Did you make it yourself? I wouldn't be surprised, your hair looks impeccably tangled this evening."

Vaenna's patience wore thin but she didn't want to spoil the good behavior she had maintained during supper. Before she could swallow her words, Naelle intervened.

"Aegon, that's enough. There's no need for such remarks."

Aegon shrugged casually, "Oh, lighten up. Just some harmless fun amongst family, right?" His attempts at diffusing the tension were met with a disapproving glance from Naelle, now appearing more like a snarling beast. "Like with Aemond here," he continued. "Lately trailing behind me all the damn time, even to the Dragonpit. For what?"

"Aegon," Helaena stepped in to no avail.

"With no dragon, no sword skills..."

Aemond, visibly hurt by the jab, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Despite their recent spat, she couldn't bear to witness Aemond being targeted for sport.

"Stop that," Vaenna's protective instincts stirred within her, yet she regulated her tone. "It's not funny."

"Of course, it is." Aegon grasped over his brother's shoulder. "A Targaryen without a dragon, isn't it the biggest joke throughout the realm?"

Amidst the tense atmosphere caused by Aegon's mean statements, Naelle's discerning caught Maekar laughing. Sensing an opportunity to guide her younger brother, Naelle considered her options. She could be serious, diplomatic but her attempts would be disregarded. By the way Aegon was conducting himself today, he wouldn't let her finish a lecture. Thus Naelle took a different, harsher approach.

"Almost as laughable as one with a dragon and afraid to ride it." Maekar's expression shifted, registering Naelle's words. He lowered his head. "And you talk a big game, Aegon, when was the last time you saddled a dragon?"

"I will, one day."

"Well, isn't that rich? For now, you anchor alongside us. "

"I have time, I-"

"Rhaenyra by the age of seven was a dragonrider," Naelle delivered the final blow, knowing it would cause damage. "You better hurry, wouldn't want you to trail behind forever."

They went quiet, Aegon and Naelle remaining in a clear challenge but no one dared to make a move. Having been made aware of the strife, Aerea came by to check on the kids. Feeling an abrupt rush of invulnerability Maekar pushed himself away from the table and ran for his mother.

"What is the matter?"

Startled by Aerea's presence, Naelle looked on and withdrew her claws. The same happened to Aegon, averting his gaze. As the dragoness got no response, she made a sound like a grunt and picked Maekar up. Moments before she excused herself from the dining hall, she hovered over her eldest. "We'll talk about it later."

The night progressed and Viserys Targaryen opened the ball, the firsts to partake were Rhaenyra and Laenor swaying across the floors. As the tension in the room gradually dissolved and most joined the celebration, Vanarr noticed how Naelle and Vaenna remained numb and quiet on the table and came to sit near. Perceiving her discomfort, he leaned closer to Naelle. At the same time, he smiled reassuringly to little Vaenna who didn't know how to proceed with the situation at hand.

"Naelle," Vanarr murmured.

Naelle turned her gaze toward her father, meeting his concerned eyes with a faint smile, appreciative of his efforts to comfort her. "Father."

"You handled the situation admirably, my nūmio." Pearl. One of the kind, perfect and pure, he always called her that. "I don't know what transpired but he can talk about it later."

"I shouldn't have given in to his provocations."

Vanarr offered her a reassuring nod. "You did good, better than the last time."

She laughed, soft and comical relinquishing the last fight Naelle and Aegon got into. Plates flew, screams and brutal insults were launched like spears and they only stopped when dragged to their respective quarters.

"And if I know my Naelle," he whispered, "she doesn't let a stupid boy's opinion of her startle her."

"Of course not," she whispered back, spirits visibly lifted.

"Then please, go enjoy yourself."

Their brief exchange, offered Naelle a moment to take a breath. She rounded the table and kissed her father's cheek, sharing a last word of gratitude. Hence, only two remained.

"What has my clever daughter been up to lately?"

Vaenna glanced at her father, a subtle annoyance gleaming in her eyes. "You would know, if you were here more often."

"I am here, Vaenna."

"You've been sleeping."

She straightened in her seat regretting the words that escaped, silence would've been a better choice. Vanarr shifted, he cleared his throat.

"You're right, sweet thing. I have been... distant. From you and your siblings but I do care. Please tell me what trouble you've been up to."

Despite his encouraging words, Vaenna was yet to be convinced. All the spite in that small body of hers, the dark violet eyes dulled and vexed, her fingers curling around rocks to throw... She couldn't help losing faith in that castle. Even if Vanarr was a wonderful company and comfort, his presence was skittish by the minute. He was the one the girl would run up to in times of need, his shining humor would lift her own but she didn't just need moments of devilment. Vaenna needed consistency.

Lately Vanarr had been naught but with his Small Council meetings, responsibilities, and mostly the hours and hours he would retire to his private chambers. The times he spent in bed dormant had intensified, Vanarr wasted the last moon unconscious and they barely saw him. Only passing the halls, a bit forfeited and stammering in his steps. Something was marching him to his wits end, her father just didn't feel like himself. She missed playing with the wooden dolls with him, Vannar always devising the most comical scenarios. The gardens were empty without his laugh, his guidance and encouragements to win the races they carried out side by side. The vague memory of being embraced by a steady hand as they flew the skies on Hydriax's back, would sometimes flare into Vaenna's head. She missed dearly being in his company, she missed her father.

The last time he held her and comforted Vaenna was when she got upset with Aemond. Even then, he wavered between reality, Vanarr was distracted still as she cried into his chest. It felt like betrayal, to need him whole and get only scraps. However, the little lady fixed him with a stare and her pliable heart anguished. Like a lost stray refused a gentle pat in the head, he was aware of his mistake but unable to mend it. Her father's interest appeared genuine and perhaps a most-needed distraction amidst the remnant tension.

Over and above, Vaenna really missed her father.

"I've been good during lessons, Naelle has made sure I attend all."

At the low whisper, Vanarr snapped his head up and his eyes visibly lit up, feeling trust being put upon his shoulders again. He smiled, the contagious joy spreading over her bruised heart without Vaenna's permission.

"That is very fortunate, I'm glad you are taking Septa Maryia' teachings." He paused, the candles casting a warm beam on his jaded features. "Although, I was hoping for some mischief too. Call me mad but I'm dying to be removed from the council to deal with my daughter."

It carried no ill intent, in fact Vanarr chuckled. He reached out to squeeze her hand, apologetic and affectionate. And Vaenna could not grasp the type of emotional wave that crashed over her, a convict in a pitch black, sultry cell that had just been given the opportunity to see the sun again. The man veered toward lighter subjects, the castle's gossip and the tapestries decorating the walls explaining the tales behind. All pieces of their family tree and the connection to each other, fostering a sense of unity despite everything else that threatened to tear the family apart. Vaenna loved hearing about the members of Targaryen and their quirks, and she loved even more when on occasion a Nartaelos would pay a visit. She felt part of something so much bigger than herself.

It was one of those times.

He told her about Braemon Nartaelos, the fifth Lord to rule Dreimunt. He had ascended in 16 B.C. and witnessed the Conquest of the Kingdoms of Westeros, although at the time there was barely any relations with the house of the dragon. In fact they had more derivations and pacts with the people inhabiting the Stormlands and they lived in a symbiotic balance. The lord himself married a Nesviria of Myr, a girl he had come to know on the other side of the sea.

"How did they meet?" Vaenna interrogated.

"I believe Lord Braemon was quite fascinated with the house's origins. At some point he had intentions to install the official seat on Essos, that's why he flew there so often."

"Why didn't he?"

Vanarr reclined on his chair, sighing to himself. "Well, as history goes, Braemon encounters a woman in a market and he falls desperately in love with her."

"Nesviria?"

"Yes," he let out a breathy chuckle. "They marry sometime during the Conquest and while they are happy, the dream melts away." Vaenna made a face, which elicited another laugh from her father. "What is it, beloved?"

"It was for love? They stopped for love?"

Her voice leaked with a bit of distaste, it was a foreign concept afterall. To give up everything for a life Braemon had not even imagined. What type of warrior renounced a battle for such futile matters?

"Most things are, I suppose. In this case though, it was also for security. by 10 A.C. the stakes were... high and Westeros had become a battlefield. The Storm Kings had been disposed of, the Reach had been subjugated with fire and blood, the North took the knee to avoid slaughter, and Dorne was still resisting... Braemon and Nesviria wanted nothing more but to leave with their infant children."

Leaning on the table, Vaenna's interest magnified, holding for the turn of events. "But?"

"Queen Rhaenys dies, she's shot out of the sky and her remains are forever lost in the impetuous land of Dorne."

"So? It wasn't their war, you said it yourself." The girl hushed her tone, as if they are sharing intentions of high treason.

"The Targaryens were family, one of your great-grandmothers was a Targaryen, 4 times, maybe 5 times great-grandmother..." Vanarr paused, at tremendous distance in his thoughts. Then he cleared his throat and carried on. "Above that they were echoes of the same homeland. Like the Nartaelos or the Velaryon for the longest time the sole survivors of the Doom and merely trying to find solace. Lord Braemon felt empathetic."

"Why? It was not their land to take."

"Not about the Conquest, it was never about the Conquest." Frowning, Vaenna tilted her head attempting to infer the conclusion on her own. She refused to inquire more because she knew her father would explain, he could tell when she wanted more insight. "It was about love."

He simply stated, like the most obvious of answers. Vaenna couldn't keep the annoyance off her face, she huffed and rolled her eyes in a dramatic manner which stirred another amused laugh. Before she had the chance to complain, Vanarr waved his hands. Take it easy, listen first.

"Aegon and Visenya were devastated with grief, they had lost their sister in a blink of an eye. And the body must be returned in these situations."

"Why?"

"Or the soul won't rest. Queen Rhaenys' remains were never recovered and that... that is the one of the cruelest crimes anyone could do in war. Did she die along Meraxes? Did she fall? Or did she, by chance, outlived the dragon and suffered a far more horrifying death?"

"Septa Maryia says she died and the dragon skull was returned."

"Where is she buried then? Where was Rhaenys funeral pyre?"

Vaenna blinked, unable to come up with a smart remark. She worked around the concept, trying to grasp why that would mean such a huge deal. Had the queen lived, she would've roamed back to her siblings.

"Uncertainty has a way of making people mad. There is no goodbye, there is no finalization. It's just never ending grief."

"I don't understand why a body would even up anything."

"A body that is born, must be delivered back to the place where it all started."

"In the Faith of the Seven..."

"This has nothing to do with the Seven. I know this must feel really confusing right now... but one day, when you visit Dreimunt, you will understand. Our house takes death very seriously. Although, our counterparts don't believe in the afterlife, we do. Braemon did, and he felt compelled to help because that's the support he would've liked to be shown."

Her face momentarily lit up. "I'll go to Dreimunt?"

"One day."

Vaenna jumped to her father's lap, demanding to know more. Asking when they would go, how they would get there, trying to persuade him to take her on dragonback. She could see their life already, Vanarr showing her the fort where he grew up and the mountain surrounding them, he would tell her more stories and tuck her to bed. Vaenna and Maekar could go down to the beach frequently and play.

"Easy, Dreimunt won't go anywhere."

"But I want to know more!"

"It can wait, sweet thing. But I can tell you more stories now."

"Stories about knights?"

"You know, Braemon and Nesviria's children were all warriors. They fought against the Faith uprising once their time came."

"Faith uprising?"

"The Faith of the Seven went against house Targaryen, claiming their traditions were an abomination and unfit for the rulers of all. Yes, while some valyrian customs might seem unusual, the Nartaelos thought it was unfair to force an alien doctrine in their territory. It was Vadryas Nartaelos that said she would not prow before a gospel that meant nothing to her."

"Who is she?" Vaenna looked up at him, eyebrows creased.

"Why, one of the daughters of Braemon and Nesviria, of course. Who else?"

"Daughters?"

"Yes, they had three and a son."

"You said they were warriors."

"And they were, together they fought so Dreimunt could become a safe haven for all religions."

It was a surprising turn, thrilling but peculiar indeed. Vaenna had never considered the possibility since it had never been presented to her while living in King's Landing. Everyone had always tried to deter her from activities not fit for a little lady. Another question pushed into her mind, she turned to Vanarr.

"Religions?"

A friendly smile spread across his reddish cheeks. "The world is so much bigger than these walls, Vaenna. There's so much to be seen, different cultures, people, religions... Right now, you even have an uncle across the Narrow Sea in Pentos."

"Who?"

"You've never met but one day. And one day, who knows, perhaps you'll be the one exploring the kingdoms, the continents... And I wish you to see all that your heart desires."

The girl went silent for a moment, thoughtful. "What do you believe?"

"You must draw your own conclusions, it should speak to you like any other. It doesn't matter what I follow personally."

"I don't know if I believe the Seven." Vaenna admitted.

"That is alright. Faith is something one comes to know and you're still young to find something to believe in."

She was a lady and knight all intertwined in the same flesh. That was something she truly believed in. The noblemen, her mother, the queen, everyone made it seem she could only be one, or the other. Warriors could not wear dresses, and dames could not swing swords but how could that be true? The line that bleed into her veins was full of examples of great men and women that prevailed in apparent abnormal condition.

For as long as Vaenna could remember, she was afraid her own father would reinforce that view. Thus she never spoke nor made demands when it came to her training. If Vanarr Nartaelos too told her to stop dreaming so high over her station, she would have. However, contrary to the rule, he only wished her to be who she was meant to be.

She was the living proof, it would have to surfice.

"Father," she started, voice shaking. Vaenna could not in her good conscience request to practice with the princes, it would set a poor look on their name. Yet, she trusted him with a confession. "I've taken an interest in sword training."

Vanarr's brows lifted in mild surprise, a hint of curiosity lighting up his expression. He held in a breath, giving her a chance to continue her line of thought. Instead of liberation, Vaenna noted how her throat seemed to be closing in on itself.

"I've been watching and practicing alone with sticks."

Vanarr regarded his daughter with a thoughtful expression, he nodded acknowledging her determination. "I think it is wonderful."

The girl lifted her eyebrows, his measured response brought a sense of relief to Vaenna. She appreciated her father's open-mindedness, grateful that he didn't dismiss her interests solely based on societal norms. Although she was sure Vanarr hadn't the slightest idea of how she was executing her sessions. He wouldn't approve, so she made no mention of that.

Their conversation drifted and as the evening's conversation gradually wound down, Vanarr sensed the conclusion of the gathering. He rose from his seat and grabbed Vaenna's hand. Then he caught Naelle's eye from across the court and signaled it was time for bed.

Upon arriving at her room, she noticed Maekar's absence, surmising he might have retired to their parents' chamber after the earlier tantrum. She couldn't help but feel a pang of irritation, the disparity in treatment between her and Maekar was a constant source of frustration.

Truthfully, she didn't begrudge her brother but Vaenna couldn't help but feel a sense of unfairness in the differing standards set for them. Perhaps sensing vexation, Vanarr remained for a while longer and put her to bed with some more stories. She listened intently to her father's voice. Slowly, softly being lulled to sleep.

She recalled her conversation just as she was being pulled into oblivion. One day she might gather the courage to ask him. One day.

NOTES

I didn't edit the chapter, I refuse until I'm done with the story. Suffer with my grammatical errors

There's a lot of just info dumping in this chapter but I feel like it's a bit necessary... I spent the last two days making a family tree, you bet I'm gonna info dump!! Also, there's a lot of stuff that I had to leave out bc suddenly i had 5k+ words, what, how, why

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed :)