the spray of red Dornish sand under the hooves of a sand steed as it races through the desert, a laugh so loud and warm that it fills a whole room regardless of size
Sylva grew up knowing it was her that would one day inherit her father’s keep, and though as a child that brought her pride, it soon waned with a taste of reality. Her mother had been raised at Lemonwood near Dorne’s main port and often gave counsel in the court of the Martells on logistics and trade affairs. As a result, Sylva was usually taken with her to Sunspear and more of her childhood memories occurred in the wondrous halls of the palace there and under the fronds of the Water Gardens than back home at small, dark, sandy Spottswood where it seemed torture to be taken when her mother made short trips back. She ached to stay where she was always, with her friends and her mother and time to do whatever she wished whenever she wished it. Over these long stints at Sunspear, she grew close to Princess Arianne in particular, who shared her every thought and secret in her childhood. It was rare for someone as flighty as Sylva to give much respect to anyone, but Arianne more than earned it over their years together, and it became apparent as Sylva grew older that she would do most anything for the Princess should she ask.Â
The death of Robert Baratheon changed very little for Sylva, whose routine of lazing about Sunspear entertaining her follies was not affected in the slightest. Her house was small, and tucked snugly away behind the sands of Dorne where war cannot reach, and so she lived in ignorant bliss. Her family in Spottswood welcomed another child, an unexpected baby sister for Sylva that she suspects was a reaction to her complete lack of interest in her duty, and though the weight of that hurt, she could not be too upset at essentially getting what she wanted. Life went on as usual - until, of course, the Baratheon princess was sent Sunspear and quickly wound her way into the fabric of Dorne. Sylva had heard the stories, of the Lannister twins and the parentage of those children, and she wanted so desperately to hate Myrcella when she came. Where she could, she stayed away, but as Arianne grew closer to the girl, Sylva realised that she was far more than some guest to be avoided. Arianne saw a ruler in her, and though it took some time, Syvla did too. Though the lands outside of Dorne can offer very little to her, she has come north with Arianne for amusement publically, and to support the princess in her plans to meddle in the affairs of the Iron Throne. Those are, after all, higher and more exciting stakes than anything she might hope for at home in Spottswood.
Sylva is very proficient with a sword, a skill she picked up at Sunspear to make use of the long hours with only her own whims to entertain. The master-at-arms had been happy to teach her, such a quick learner as she was, and though her skills are knife-sharp she maintains that they are just for show, and would never dream of entering into any battle which she believes is far beneath her.Â
Though her father is willing to turn a blind eye to the woman his daughter has become, he has a threat he very much likes to inflict when things go too far - marriage. In particular, to the aging Lord of Estermont who is Syvla’s father’s old friend - he squired for him in his youth, and though Sylva is sure her mother would never allow it, it remains a firm threat that makes Sylva sick to her stomach, but does nothing to deter her from the way she lives or acts.Â
Her taste is decidedly Dornish. She likes Dornish wine and Dornish silks, Dornish people and Dornish food. Sylva takes pride in where she comes from, and reserves a cautious curiosity for those hailing from outside her homeland. To be travelling north with Arianne is in equal parts daunting, and fascinating and most days Syvla can be found darting between the camps looking for people to amuse her.Â
