the unbowed bow.

The Princess of Dorne rose an hour before dawn. As the first rays of sunlight speared down over the Red Keep's highest walls, she was descending the stairway that led to the practice yard. In one hand, she carried the beautiful Dornish Composite Bow, its eaves traditionally double-bent, the grip crested with fire diamonds. Dornish bows were craft of oryx horn and shark, and Ceren Arrowsong's gleamed a polished jet, save it had been strung with twine and hair from her own filly's tail, the gray roan her Uncle Koray had given her on her 18th birthday, so the bow's string shimmered pale silver in the morning light.

Ceren was dressed in Dornish leathers; firm, boiled hides that functioned as desert armor. Black leather britches that flared over sturdy boots, and a fitted leather vest over a light, sapphire tunic. The long, dark curls of her hair had been plaited into a a braid down her back, and she'd forgone the silver circlet that denoted her rank in the family of Martell.

At a polite distance, the Princess' personal guard, Hakan Sand, drifted on silent heels, ever-watchful of his highness' progress. She stepped out onto the archery range and drove a handfull of arrows into the ground, then took up a position beside them and took a moment to assess the distance of the targets.

"Too easy," Hakan murmured, from the shadows.

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"Well, what shall we do?" It was an innocent enough question, but even ones simple as that could turn into an adventure when Kyra and Edword were involved. It was true he'd wanted a son more than anything, but he'd found that his daughters were not as meek as other girls her age. At five, Kyra had adopted the same attitude he father had. She followed him everywhere in the castle, and had been missing for hours before showing up seconds before Edword entered the castle gates. He knew he shouldn't endulge her, but there was no use fighting it. All she had to do was smile, and Edword was lost.

"Well, sweet pea, I think we should think about heading back and getting your sister up. You're not even supposed to be up."

"But you were up!" She protested as he swung her down from his shoulders. It was a mistake, considering the girl was apt to take off after the first thing that caught her eye.

"Yes, well adults often do things that kids can't. Now come on, lets go back--Kyra!" Before he could call her back she was off towards the practice yard. Edword couldn't see what she was after, as the sun had rose enough to be an annoyance, but she was dead set on getting it.

She was getting faster as she grew, but not yet fast enough to escape his watchful eye. He dashed after her, stopping a few feet from running her over as she suddenly stopped.

"Kyra what--" He looked towards the yard then, manners completely forgotten as he looked over the archer standing there. She was like no other woman he'd seen, well not so close.

"Daddy, oh, please can I try? Look, look at her!" Kyra's enthusiasm was the only thing dragging him back.

"Ah--well." The truth was he had no idea how to handle a bow coming from the riverlands. "Maybe we should watch first."

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Ceren twisted, bending to pulled one of the arrows from the ground. She ignored Hakan's chiding, and when she turned her head again to peer at the target, espied the little girl out of the corner of her eye.

She spared a glance to the girl and her father as she lifted the bow and nocked the arrow.

"Don't boast," Hakan warned quietly, from behind her.

She snorted delicately, and raised the bow higher, the arrow's feather grazing her cheek as she pulled it back and turned her eye on the target. The practice yard was still and quiet as a grave.

Her breathing evened and her eye narrowed, and she released the arrow. It speared through the air, burying itself in the target, a hair's breadth from the bullseye.

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Valcour Tyrell was not supposed to be in King's Landing. He was supposed to be in Highgarden preparing for the journey to Winterfell and defending whichever family member charmed him best in the argument currently being fought in his household. However, he was in King's Landing and brought along only his squire. He had no plans to greet the royal family unless, of course, somebody told he him ought (else his mother die of shame). No, he was here for a different purpose entirely.

He wanted to see this Dornish princess his father wanted him to marry. Marrying Ceren Martell was his father's latest bluster regarding his youngest son. Considering that Valcour's name had been mentioned in at least a dozen possibly bethrothal contracts since his birth twenty-two years previous (none of which had ever ended up being signed), Val had initially been unimpressed by his father's announcement.

That was until the phrase "blood oath" had come out of Coriander's mouth. As the Warden of the South and, thus, the kingdom's first line of defense against Dorne, Coriander Tyrell would not have used such words lightly. It meant secrecy, intrigue, and wine (probably). Valcour was now curious. He had submitted to his father's wishes and taken the requested oath before the Dornish envoy and agreed to, at the very least, consider this betrothal so mysterious that it called for such measures before anything had even been agreed upon.

It had not taken long for Valcour to decide that he could not properly consider this arrangement unless he had seen the princess for the himself. Not that, of course, he was going to agree to the betrothal at all. Oh, he would keep his oath; but the oath didn't mean he had to marry the girl. He was, at this point, humoring his father. He would look at the girl, find himself an alehouse, and wait for the time to come for him to meet up with the rest of his family in their journey to Winterfell.

The sun beat down on dark copper hair, a bit tangled from the last leg of his journy, and glinted off the golden dust of the Marches still sprinkled over the toes of his riding boots. It was summerweight black, but the clasp on his jacket was wrought of emerald and gold to form his family's emblem. There was, as well, a single fresh bloom on his person. Today, it was a black dahlia curvetted in an emerald ribbon and pinned to his sleeve in family tradition by a golden pin.

The quiet inquiry he had made of a stable lad had led him here, and was, even in en route, saying no. No. Absolutely no. That was when he laid eyes on a dark haired girl in the Dornish leather armor being badass with a bow. Maybe no.

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The impromptu audience suddenly erupted with claps, mostly coming from Kyra who was on the verge of squealing with glee but somehow was kepping it in behind that sunshine smile she had.

"Oh, that was wonderful!" She clapped again and then went still, waiting for the next shot. Edword for his part was trying his best to keep his curiosity at bay. But when he'd noticed the man his eyes stayed where they were. It wasn't in his nature to stare, but he found himself as entrapped as his daughter.

"Shh, Kyra." He said long after she'd quieted. Kings Landing was not what he'd expected, but he found that it's curiosities were becoming worth the stay.

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Princess Ceren turned her head and delivered a wide grin to the little girl; she even lowered the bow, and gave Kyra and Edword a courtly curtsey.

"If my lady would come closer," she said to Kyra. "She may better see the target."

Ceren indicated a place a few steps behind herself, the gesture inviting the little girl over to watch from this vantage. While she waited, she pulled another arrow from the ground.

On the other side of the yard, Valcour Tyrell found himself suddenly standing beside Hakan Sand, who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Hakan was a tall, muscled soldier, with twisting black hair pulled away from his rich, cocoa face, and small, glittering black eyes that missed not a single detail. He wore the thick leather and red and orange cloak of the Sun Guard of Dorne. He was threatening only for his stealth, as his expression was more bemused than anything while he watched the Princess and her new audience. One could assume he'd chosen to stand beside Valcour for the simplest reason of all -- this position afforded the best view.

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A sideways glance was delivered the man who, within moments, Valcour marked as the Bastard of Starfell. It was an ability of his, being able to ascertain the name and title of a person whom he had never met based on sheer (and endless) schooling by his mother. The man was studied even as a small crook took the corner of his mouth, appreciative of the silent approach, and he stood hip shot while turning his attentions back to the princess and --

"Ah," he murmured absently to his silent companion, "The Tullys. There would be my little cousin, doubtless the prettiest of the river lot."

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Lyrianne Rivers was looking for her brother. Caeron had wandered off somewhere again and the tiniest Targaryen didn't feel right without her twin. King's Landing was dangerous, Mother said so. Father too, but Father wasn't around, as usual. Everyone was getting ready to go somewhere, Lyrianne wasn't sure where, but then Father and Cedryk had dissappeared somewhere without a word. So naturally, without Father and his squire and his dragon to protect her, the little girl relied upon her brother, now also missing.

It was in the third practice field she'd traversed on tiny, determined (but now very tired) legs that she gave up. Some grown-ups were there shooting at things, but she needed to rest. Without further ado, she sat down in the dirt, surely doing irreparable harm to her pretty, dark purple gown. It matched her eyes, her Mother said, and never forget she was Tully and Targaryen both, whatever anyone else might tell her. Comfortably seated, she began to hum to herself and string together daisies, seemingly completely oblivious to the people around her.

Somewhere, far out of sight and earshot, a nursemaid was frantic.

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Kyra looked at her father, using the a look that would in the future inspire men to wage wars. For now however, her father was the only one she ever worried about manipulating. Edword gave her a nod, and she took off like a shot. However, about halfway there she stopped running to walk a little more lady like. There was a look over her shoulder, and she caught her fathers small smile for her manners.

She stopped a few feet from Ceren and then gave her a curtsey. Her best, if anyone ever asked. "Thank you." She knew she was supposed to say something else, but she found herself staring at the bow the woman had. She'd effectively been charmed, and that was saying something. Especially for a girl who's father was the only one to ever make her smile.

Edword, distracted by movement on the far part of the yard let his instincts lead him until he spied the two men. One of them, oh so familiar. He couldn't have suspected in this large of a place he was the only early riser, but to all meet? He pulled himself away however, allowing his daughters curiosity allow him the opportunity to get a better look at the woman.

He stopped to bow, and then offer a smile almost as charming as Kyra's. "Pardon us for interrupting your practice my lady. I am Edword Tully, of Riverrun. And this is my daughter Kyra." If he'd known he'd have to keep his wits about him and his guard up, he might have moved sooner. It certainly wasn't a dull place.

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"A pleasure, my lord," Ceren replied.

It was then she heard the humming, and her attention swiveled away from an introduction to Lord Tully and over to where the little Lyrianne sat, humming. She turned her face back to Lord Edword with a just one moment expression and sank into a crouch before his daughter.

"Miss Kyra," she said to the little girl, carefully picking up her hand. She wrapped Kyra's hand around the grip of the bow and said very seriously, "Be so kind as to hold my bow in place, would you? Do not let it fall, whatever you do, and do not pick it up off the ground. If you can do this until I get back, I'll give you the next arrow I sail into the bullseye."

She smiled up at Kyra's father and then rose from her crouch, turning and crossing over to where the other little girl had wandered dangerously close to the ranges.

"Excuse me," she said to Lyrianne, marking her as a lost Targaryen child immediately, for the color of her eyes. "Do you like archery?"

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With wide eyes and a mouth forming a little 'o', Kyra nodded. When she felt the weight of the bow in her hands she carefully closed her fingers around it. Her lips were pressed together so hard that they were turning white around the edges. Her concentration was so complete that she didn't even notice her cousin dangerously close down the field.

Edword, who was a man of little words found himself a lot more willing to speak now. "No, the pleasure is really all ours." He said it while she turned, and he looked down the field. When he noticed his niece every sense in him said to call out, but Ceren had seen to tending to Lyrianne already.

"Remember, Kyra. A warriors weapon is a part of themselves. Don't strangle the bow." It was the only advice her father had to offer to her otherwise carefully attended to task. He however, kept his eyes on his niece now. Just in case. The woman seemed kind enough, but who knew what lurked in the hearts of women?

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The tiny girl that might have been a princess peered up through violet eyes, curious, her tune silenced. "Archery?" She paused to consider. Did she like it? "I watch my Papa shoot, sometimes. He says he'll teach me when I'm big enough." Suddenly she quieted. She was talking to a stranger, and all the grown-up seemed to agree that one oughtn't to do that. The woman who'd addressed her seemed very nice, though. The only solution was to make it so she wasn't a stranger. "I'm Lyrianne Rivers. Who're you? My Lady," she added. She wasn't sure if the woman was a Lady - she was wearing pants! But it seemed safer to pretend she was than to assume she wasn't.

She stood, then, and curtsied, a little awkward due to her age and the fact that she was trying to hang onto the several daisies she'd picked. "Do you like archery?" She asked, then. There. Now the woman wasn't a stranger at all, and nobody could get mad at her for speaking with her.

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Coriander Tyrell wrote:

A sideways glance was delivered the man who, within moments, Valcour marked as the Bastard of Starfell. It was an ability of his, being able to ascertain the name and title of a person whom he had never met based on sheer (and endless) schooling by his mother. The man was studied even as a small crook took the corner of his mouth, appreciative of the silent approach, and he stood hip shot while turning his attentions back to the princess and --

"Ah," he murmured absently to his silent companion, "The Tullys. There would be my little cousin, doubtless the prettiest of the river lot."

"They are boosting her grace's ego," Hakan said reprovingly, his voice little louder than a lion's purr, deep and rumbling upward from the core of his chest. "Which is a dangerous thing to do so near a Tourney."

If the Dornish Knight recognized Valcour's House arms, he did not acknowledge them, nor did he seem to care that potential threat to a princess of Dorne was standing beside him. Hakan would've preferred a threat to stand beside him -- easier to keep track of that way. But Valcour did not impress Hakan as an enemy.

The broad line of Hakan's shoulders lifted and fell in a shrug, like twin mountains falling.

"But they all seem to be entertained by each other."

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QueenAlysanne wrote:

The tiny girl that might have been a princess peered up through violet eyes, curious, her tune silenced. "Archery?" She paused to consider. Did she like it? "I watch my Papa shoot, sometimes. He says he'll teach me when I'm big enough." Suddenly she quieted. She was talking to a stranger, and all the grown-up seemed to agree that one oughtn't to do that. The woman who'd addressed her seemed very nice, though. The only solution was to make it so she wasn't a stranger. "I'm Lyrianne Rivers. Who're you? My Lady," she added. She wasn't sure if the woman was a Lady - she was wearing pants! But it seemed safer to pretend she was than to assume she wasn't.

She stood, then, and curtsied, a little awkward due to her age and the fact that she was trying to hang onto the several daisies she'd picked. "Do you like archery?" She asked, then. There. Now the woman wasn't a stranger at all, and nobody could get mad at her for speaking with her.

Ceren repressed an utterly amused grin, watching the little girl's expression twitch perplexedly and then finally open up. She bent her knees in an abbreviated curtsey and held out a graceful, dark hand to the little girl.

"I'm Princess Ceren Martell," she told her. "If you come over to the other side of the yard, there are others watching me practice for the Tourney. You're welcome to join them, Miss Rivers, but you're a little too close to the range to be safe, if you stay where you are. Would you like to come with me?"

A glance to the Tullys proved that her bow was still standing, and a glance around the yard found her Hakan and -- someone, in the shadows by the stables, and she didn't have the patience to seek out the man's livery. Pitchdark eyes fell again on Lyrianne, and she waited, hand oustretched.

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"Perhaps you should challenge Her Grace to a contest and so weaken her ego while strengthening her chances of winning at the tourney," Valcour suggested. That strange half-smile he wore as he watched the interaction of Martell, Tully, and Targaryen deepened. Princess Ceren intended to compete at the Queenscrown. Well, he thought, at least his father wasn't trying to foist a boring one on him this time.

It had never occurred to Valcour Tyrell that, perhaps, he ought to be grateful someone of such an old, noble house might be willing to wed him.

A gloved hand rose in absent salute to Edword, but his eyes dropped to make a study of his late Aunt Calla's whelp holding the princess' bow. Having never laid eyes on her before, he was pleased to see that she had the Tyrell coloring and, it would seem, some of their charm.

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Last edited by Coriander Tyrell on Wed Jul 25, 2007 5:03 pm; edited 1 time in total