Daenys Velaryon is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. As the oldest child of the heir to the throne, she has duties to fulfill, duties that she is ex...
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Year: 129 AC
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"Ease up, Princess"
"I. Hate. Them. I hate them all!"
In a secluded courtyard of the Red Keep, the metallic symphony of clashing swords echoed against the stone walls as Daenys sparred with her sworn shield, Ser Atticus. The princess swung her sword with fervour, her movements charged with an anger that seemed to emanate from the very core of her being. Ser Atticus, adeptly parried her strikes, his focus solely on defending against her relentless onslaught.
"Princess, you need to ease up," Ser Atticus advised again, his voice calm but firm as he dodged another of her forceful swings. "You're getting aggressive."
But Daenys seemed consumed by her frustration, her voice rising amidst the clash of steel, "I've had enough, Ser Atticus! My mother keeps delaying our departure from King's Landing, and my grandfather's relentless pursuit to marry me off... I can't bear it any longer!"
With each word, her strikes became sharper, more forceful, as if she were venting her pent-up emotions through the clash of metal. The brunette knight opposite her skillfully dodged and blocked them, a measured calmness contrasting with Daenys's storm.
"I understand, Princess," he acknowledged, his own movements becoming more defensive. "But perhaps a moment of calm would serve us both better."
"I've met so many suitors this past fortnight, I shall tear my hair out. They parade before me like prized cattle, flaunting their wealth and power, as if it's supposed to entice me! Some are older than my grandfather, for the Seven's sake!"
Her swings were almost erratic now, each strike carrying the weight of her exasperation. Ser Atticus, despite his efforts to keep up, found himself more focused on protecting himself than countering her blows or responding to her tirade.
"Princess..."
"I thought I could do it. I swear I did. I thought I could learn to be content being some fool's wife and when I failed to provide him with any heirs, he'd simply find someone more suitable and then I'd be left to my own devices. I am no longer my mother's heir. I need no heirs of my own, I should be content...but I can't. I simply cannot stand any of them!"
"Princess, perhaps you might-"
"Do not go easy on me, damnit!"
Rolling his eyes in a mixture of amusement and concern, Ser Atticus straightened, his stance adjusting as he braced himself against her intensified attacks. He carefully increased the strength behind his strikes, his movements more purposeful. He found an opening in her erratic technique in a matter of moments, and with a calculated motion, he disarmed her, her sword clattering to the ground.
