Dragonstone, while brimming with people, had proven to be as entertaining as a plague outbreak in the height of summer. Smiles were found few and far between, and while Danaë was sure she could proposition more than a few amped up souls to worship at her alter, she hadn’t quite grown desperate enough to scrape the bottom of the barrel just yet.
So she took to walking, aimlessly at first, and then she heard it, the telltale sound of an arrow piercing a sought after target. Danaë meandered closer, hopping to sit on a large rock nearby, grinning to herself when the other girl, familiar in stature, snarled a wannabe greeting across the way. Drawing her knees up and crossing them in a sitting position, she leaned back on her extended arms.
“That’s rather rude considering this is the first thing I’ve wanted to watch since I arrived on this unholy rock of an island,” she replied, her eyes crawling the length of the other. Dorne, she knew. Lethal enough to be a snake, but Danaë couldn’t be sure just yet.
“And here I was hoping for a few free lessons,” she continued, her eyes coming back to where they should have been. “While I’ve always wanted to learn, I’ve never gotten around to it.”
The quip that is aimed her way is what makes her finally shift her gaze to her supposed audience even though features remained set in their expression of unimpressed. On a better day they might have prompted a scoff that was almost a laugh but with her exasperation at the highest she had known it to climb and patience nowhere to be found. Instead eyes remained steely and lips unmoved.
Instead bored words are what flows from her mouth instead of anything close to joy unable to resist making a dig at the company she had been forced to keep . “I would be flattered but I feel it speaks more about others than my skill.” A part of her had perhaps been open to being pleasantly surprised by all those outside of her country but all that had happened was that she had been proven right in her assumptions of their lack of anything worthy of merit.
“Then you have come to the wrong woman.” Patience was not a virtue she possessed when it came to other people, never having the resolve within to persevere through their inadequacies to coax out something better in them. That was not even the job of a mother let alone a warrior.
A sigh fell from her lips as she relented slightly, never one to want to deprive another woman learning how to be lethal.“If you can learn simply by watching I won’t loose any your way.”
❛ we may not survive this. in fact, our chances are slim. ❜
Perhaps the words should have struck some fear into her heart for reminding her of her own mortality but candour was not something that could ever shake her to her soul when it had been a foundation of her life for some time. Acknowledging the truth was simply a step closer to acceptance and if her fate was to be dying in the vast expanse of The North, a land devoid of the vibrancy of her home, then so be it. There was no shame to the life she had led and a part of her had always known that her end would be that of a warrior. Meeting the Seven would be easy known that she had defended her own and more.
If asked the sand snake was not sure she would even be able to confess if there was anything left in the world that she truly feared and the supposedly deadly Night King was no different. “Death has ceased to daunt me.”
it ought to be someone as ever evolving as she’s goldmine. there were people here from all seven corners of the kingdom, a wealth of knowledge and no tales for her to collect. and yet. the bad blood ran like a river through that castle and one would most certainly tie themselves in knots trying to connect every house’s grievances with another. she herself had to keep from snarling in the presence of yellow haired lannisters. but she grew weary of their tiresome squabbles, of having to smile, smile, smile in the face of passive aggressive conversations. and so, she sought the seclusion of the natural grounds instead.
dark eyes roll in response to the other’s blunt tongue. at the very least she could be grateful that she was on the receiving end of honesty for once. no doubt a rare occurrence in the weeks to come. rather than send some scathing reply, the northerner pulled her own bow from her back and notched an arrow. silently sweeping forward and loosing it in seconds. allowing the satisfactory twang and thud as it hits it’s target speak for her.
“then you clearly have nothing to prove.” lyarra bows her head, the ghost of a smile upon her pale pink lips.
Challenges were not something unfamiliar to her and over the years the sand snake had come to relish the chance to either demonstrate the skills that she had dedicated her life to (and perhaps silence some of those who whispered that she was no daughter of the Red Viper) or to put those whose ego had vastly exceeded their talents in their place. It was easy to recognise when one was being made, even if it was wordless but this one particularly amused her when it came from a somewhat dainty lady. Perhaps the tales of she wolves in The North were accurate after all but a fleeting smirk crossed her lips as she prepared to test the other woman’s claws.
Languid words leave her lips devoid of her usual sharpness. “And yet you seem to want me to.”
With a fluidity that had come with years of the bow being an extension of her arm, Helia notched an arrow and allowed it to hit home just above the other woman’s when the target had been hit. It felt as though they had both proved as though they were capable of wielding the weapon but calling it even seemed far too boring an option to her when competitiveness had always flowed in her veins. “It seems as though we can both hit it but will your aim hold for something trickier?”
the weight of tempered steel balanced perfectly within the firm grasp of her hand as the proffered set of steel axes had been laid out across the smithy’s table for her appraisal. it had been a set commissioned by the captain just before the battle of the blackwater ─ so assured was she of their victory that the order had included an engraving within the metal hilt of a crowned stag. the sigil of the royal house of baratheon, her sigil, had their armies won the battle. running the rough pads of her fingertips against the smooth metal and feeling the indents of the stag’s antlers poke into her skin ever - so - slightly only served as a bitter reminder of their failures. the resident blacksmith of the island had kept the set of axes for her throughout the years, confident in her return despite the knowledge that such fine work could have been sold for gold and food to fill his belly when hunger gnawed and gnashed it’s teeth against his spine ─ at the revelation of that fact, she could not refuse to pay the agreed price, putting finality to their long - standing arrangement and thanking him for his patience with the airs of a grateful customer.
( she wanted nothing more than to melt down the weapons, to sand over the crowned stag for she was no longer princess of the seven kingdoms. not with dragons, lions and wolves at her throat. to hold a weapon that stated otherwise could cost the captain her head. )
lost in the horrors of blackwater bay, shireen had turned away from the smithy in a daze, stuck between the burning ships, the screaming men and the green fire that had licked up the sides of her fleet and consumed it whole. ❛ the bay is on fire ! the water ! it’s on fire ! ❜ her screams had echoed those of the dying men and like a child, she had wept. lips curled upwards into a small snarl at the memory till the captain realized that she had been intruding on another’s presence. ❝ who are you ? ❞ indignant, offended at the prospect of being chased away from her land, till she remembers that dragonstone is no longer hers and the right to feel wronged had been taken from her the day she agreed to support the targaryen queen.
❝ you think rather highly of your skills, to assume i am here to watch. ❞ the glint of steel within her hands flashes as sharply as her smile ─ intrigued and desperate for a fight. ❝ that could have just been a lucky shot. ❞
Indigence was clear in the other woman’s tone and part of her could only presume it was because she had in some way offended her - perhaps simply because she was not used to being spoken to in such a way. Most in Westeros seemed to struggle with bluntness but the ladies most so. Still this particular one did not give the impression of of being the type to grow faint from lack of decorum or at risk of flinching if spoken to too harshly. At another time it might have prompted some kind of curiosity from her (the axe in her grasp was hard to miss after all) bu such was her frustration with the incessant hoards that she deemed a plague on the island, that she could not bring herself to be anything but sharp and unyielding. “I could ask you the same.” Her words were not phrased as a question when in all honesty she took little interest in the Houses beyond her country’s borders. Wolves, lions, stags, dragons were all inconsequential to her when she was the blood of a viper and lethal to all.
A humourless smirk quickly pulled at her lips before it vanished once again within a heartbeat. “I don’t think, I know.” The words are giving with an uncommon lightness in them, not imbued with the usual heavy bluntness that she usually permeated her words. They were simply matter of fact when she’d never had cause to doubt her own abilities, after all they were her life’s work when nothing else ever truly caught her attention.
While she was perhaps not as loquacious as the rest of her countrymen or even her father for that matter, it was still Dornish blood that ran through her veins bringing with it a hot temper and a rashness that she had never bothered to learn how to control. Impulsiveness was just as much a part of her as it was of the man she called father and that made her unpredictable at best and perhaps even chaotic at worst. Before much thought was give to what repercussions might be levelled her way, the sand snake is pulling another arrow from her quiver movement slick and confident. There is not a moment or thought give towards hesitation or second guessing when she had always been assured of her own aim. As soon as the arrow is notched, far quicker than most knew how to reaction, bow is raised again and with only a blink length to get her aim in, it is loosed in the direction of the brunette. It hits its mark on the sand bag behind but not before it whistles past her with barely a hair’s breadth of room left between feather and features.
Raven brow arched upwards in issue of some kind of challenge while her features were kept neutral despite the little buzz of triumph that was resonating through her. “Are you still convinced it was simply luck?”
location: beaches of dragonstone. / timeline: around sunset. / who: open !
𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 . watching as they broke against the shore . there was a part of her , small & minute that embedded itself in her chest , that wanted to go home , that wanted to return to volantis with her tail between her legs , metaphorically . but she’d made a promise . she was here for more than herself & returning to volantis would ultimately go against everything she believes in . sand & cold water stain at her feet , at the dress she wears , but she finds little care in it . fingers scrub over tired eyes as she watches the sun dip lower , turning the sky shades of orange , blue , pinks & purples , illuminating the water in what could only be beauty . if there was anything that could be considered beauty in this situation it was this . ❛ it is strange , do you not think ? that beauty can be found in such times ? ❜ she speaks , the crunching of sand beneath shoes is a contrast to her own bare soles , heard over the soft crashing waves .
An undeniable bias towards Dorne would always be knitted to her soul just as the blood of the country ran through her veins. So far she had deemed Dragonstone lacking to Sunspear in every way. If she was being fair she supposed that it was half way impressive but every time she cast her eyes over it once more features wrinkled at how underwhelming it all was. Even the ocean that surrounded them lacked the sapphire tint of her homeland and the sunset did not feel nearly as vibrant. Still, the view was better than the monotony of the grey fortress that stood behind them. At least it was until someone spoke and sharp gaze darted over to the brunette. “No.” A brief shake of her head is given, words for once leaving her lips without the intention to be harsh but simply rather her usual candour. “Nature will always be unaffected by the plight of men.” The tides would carry on washing in and out and the sun would rise and fall irregardless if any of them were able to witness it.
Taessa stood at the banister, overlooking the empty night sky. The howling wind and the sound of the waves crashing on the shore helped make her feel more at home, but nonetheless, Dragonstone still felt like a strange and eerie place. However, she had felt inklings of hope today. Daenerys was a strong and true leader, and it seemed that at least the Northmen and Daenerys could work together. Taessa sighed at her thoughts once they fell to the Lannister’s. She wondered if they’d be able to put their pride aside, or if they’d take advantage of the necessity of going North.
Her emerald and ruby rings she wore on her fingers clinked against the cup of warm hippocras a she wrapped both of her hands around it, trying to embrace the cold while keeping her hands warm. As she heard footsteps approaching, she turned around to face who it was. However, her somewhat unfriendly look on her face changed when she reminded herself that she needed to look at least somewhat comely among so many new faces with such high tensions in the castle. “Good fortune to you,” she said, mentally making an effort for her tone of voice to sound sweeter than normal. “The wind howls through these corridors like I’ve never heard it before, don’t you think?”
Footsteps halt as the woman turns around and speaks, privately cursing these Northerners and their apparent fondness for pulling other into conversation. Some might deem it polite but the Sand Snake simply found it irritating when solitude was always craved by her over contact with those she was unfamiliar with. Jaw tightens slightly but she reminds herself that her usual way of threats and violence are not welcome here - at least not yet. Still, there’s a stubborn refusal to soften herself just to make others feel more comfortable and so eyes remain cold and tone clipped as she returns the greeting. “And to you.” Although good fortune felt like such an empty greeting when she had always believed in skill over luck.
Critical gaze flicked over the brunette though her assessment proved of little use in discerning where she was from when little attention had been paid to the lesser houses. Lannisters, Starks, Baratheons, Tyrells and of course Targaryens had all received at least passing interest from her but their vassals seemed of little consequences to a warrior. Unless she was told to point her weapons their way they would not be graced with her deadliness. Still, while not as loquacious as her father, she supposed words deserved a reply, however blunt and indifferent.“It is certainly unique to here.” There was a pause as gaze shifted to the night sky, deeming it lacking to what she was able to see back home. “But every place has it’s intricacies.”
- The swirling dark grey hues of the sky almost looked as though they should be streaked across a canvas, to be presented as artwork and marvelled by the masses. It was beautiful to look at, even if it warned of a storm. Rain would pour down on Dragonstone, and then the winds would howl louder than any Direwolf and thunder would crack through the sky to drown out the noise of a dragon’s roar. Nature was beautiful to Mira, she had always thought so. It was why she had once felt at home in Highgarden, and why she loved the vast terrain of mountains and snowy hills which covered the North. But nature could be cruel, and it had yet to unleash it’s deadliest weapon upon the people of Essos. All of mankind would freeze in their beds, powerless to stop the Night King from controlling the lands of men.
“ It is beautiful here, ” she sighed, resting her hands on the grey stone wall, while the growing winds rippled her long strands of sable hair. Some might not think that the grey structure and the crashing waves were much to look at when compared to other places around the world, but she appreciated the simple beauty of it. “ It’s too bad that we’re all fucked to seven bloody buggering hells, ” she added after a moment, to remind others that while she could be a gentle lady, she also had the callousness which was gained from her straightforward Northern ways and the influence of King’s Landing. Her mother would be aghast at her favourite child.
Quiet seemed to be something impossible to find in this place and it left Hel craving the freedom that Dorne brought. Of course, it was far from peaceful but there was an anonymity to it that was lacking at Dragonstone. Here everyone’s eyes seemed to be on one another and if they weren’t they all seemed desperate to make some kind of conversation as though that would save them from the nightmare that was approach. No effort is made to hide the sharp displeasure in her gaze as the brunette speaks, pulling her into an interaction again. “If you say so.” With so much detachment lingering in her soul it was a hard task to capture her attention and when she came from somewhere so vibrant, varying shades of grey didn’t manage to affect her in any way.
The next words brought a curl of a smirk to her lips but it was fleeting enough that a simple blink at the wrong moment would see it go missed. Validation had never been something that she sought to provide so she had little time for making it clear that the brunette’s words had brought her some dark amusement, however brief. Perhaps it was the novelty of a supposed lady setting aside the polite daintiness that seemed so coveted outside of Dorne in favour of something more crass. They were almost words that would have left her own lips had she been more familiar with sharing what was on her mind. As it was, she remained tight lipped for a moment or two long, letting silence fill the air between them when the quiet had never tortured her like it seemed to do with so many others. When the Sand Snake did final speak up once again, it wasn’t with any sort of optimism, rather a statement of fact. “It’s not over yet.” It wouldn’t be over until there was no strength let in her limbs nor more breath in her lungs.
just once i wanna put the blade of my sword under a pretty boy’s chin and tilt their head up so i can see both fear and arousal in their eyes is that too much to ask
If sharp vowels and a venomous tone was all it took to scare Darkstar off, his ascent among the Dornish might’ve been a far swifter matter. And short-lived, too, at that. Smacking his lips in mild irritation — only a faint nuisance compared to the impatience she usually elicited — the knight stared her down. Testily, Gerald jangled his own weapon in the air. « We’re not skipping ponds & puddles, sand snake. My turn is mine when it’s fit to be so. »
He knew he could be either provocative, either flippant, but he was no bloody fool: to be both at the same time could burn red. There were far better risks in this world, Darkstar reckoned. And only a number of them included such redundant bloodshed as shaking a woman like this from her territory. In her own way, Arianne was the same — even if that one’s territory did not measure in acres, but in the minds of men. Yet he could feel both their exhaustion strung around like taut leather, as if all the hours spent here piled up like rust on a blade. Working the inner side of his jaw, he made for her quiver and scrutinized its content. A nod of assent followed. « That’s long enough now. Time to lay off the playthings and spar with the big boys, eh ? My sword awaits whatever tool you’ll see fit to be beaten with. »
Pure, undisguised stubbornness made her arm her bow once again upon hearing his words. “And yet,” A pause hung in the air as practised motions drew back the bow string once more only to be followed by the familiar satisfying thud of it hitting its mark. While she perhaps wasn’t as flamboyant or vocal as some of her countrymen the Sand Snake never could resist a few dramatics when they lent themselves so well to showcasing her stubbornness. Lowering her bow slightly she finally spoke again, words clipped and accompanied by a glint in dark eyes. “you’re not taking it.” Raven brow arched upwards, something of a challenge she knew he would be capable of answering - but that was part of the fun.
Features shifted into something bored and unimpressed at his suggestion of sparring despite the fact that he was one of a handful that provided something close to a challenge for her. Still, easiness had never been in her nature nor was she about to try to adopt something close to it now for the man her detached gaze flicked over. “Large talk for a man who will be on the ground soon.” Bow is stowed away carefully before she makes a show of looking over her own private armoury, deciding which might be best to inflict a knock to his ego with.
where: dragonstone , the throne room
when: late evening
who: open starter !!
the clack of her heeled shoes could be heard echoing off the stone walls of the large room , but she paid it no mind. her eyes were cast downwards towards the floor as brows furrowed , then unfurrowed and then furrowed again. anyone looking upon the sight could see that the dragon queen was in deep deliberation as she paced back and forth before her throne. she sipped once again at the goblet in her hands before lowering it and tapping her fingers against it.
her mind went back to the summit , when jon snow , dressed in all black showing his obvious alligeance , entered this room and informed them all of the threat in the far north. since then , her mind had barely stopped turning with the newfound information lord commander snow had given them. this night king and his white walker army , should they be as dangerous as he says , makes their squabbling over the iron throne seem childish. and then the monumentious question that seemed most important ; unify lannister and targaryen forces , which can hardly be trusted , and go after this threat ? or first win the iron throne , and then deal with the northern threat amid the birth of a new dynasty ?
once again , she sipped from the glass in her hands , which caused her to surface from her thoughts to notice the echoing footsteps of someone soon to enter the throne room. a deep breath was taken as her shoulders rolled and she sat down on the hardened throne , leaning to one side. if she were to be honest , she did not want company right now. but a queen’s duties are without end. a slight smile and a nod were given in greeting as the figure stepped through the ajar doorway.
Solitude was without fail her favoured state of being but in an overcrowded Dragonstone it was a commodity that was hard to come by. Prowling through the corridors in search of such a place, footsteps halted as she caught sight of a familiar face. Sharp gaze landed on the woman whose forces she was now a part of and while her loyalty was far from undying, the Sand Snake supposed there were worse causes to put her name to. Anything to help accomplish Oberyn’s revenge. Still, while she would no doubt claim otherwise, always reluctant in her compliments, there was something that could have been called respect that echoed around in the hollowness of her heart. Strength was always something to be admired and from the tales that had reached her ears it seemed irrefutable that it was something the Breaker of Chains possessed.
Part of her supposed that she should be offering up some words of encouragement or wisdom when the Khaleesi had choices to make that she did not even. Except no words of comfort or reassurance would ever leave her lips when softness had never been a thing to flow in her veins. The most she suppose could ever offer was the ungilded truth in place of honeyed words and praise only to give favour - there had always seemed little point in trying to curry favour with others when ambition was not a trait that burnt within her - but blunt words were all she was capable of. She was a weapon, sharp and cutting, ready to be pointed at the next target before she found her own.
Footsteps are light as lithe, languid limbs carry her closer to the woman who is supposed to be queen. Dark eyes flit over the goblet that the silver haired dragon holds, inclining her head towards it slightly as a faint wryness is inflicted into her words. “I hope that is Dornish.” Eyes flicker over the scene once again, taking in the throne and having to privately concede that it suits her - perhaps one day she’d voice such a telling admission but for now she was content to remark upon when in feigned defence of her home.
Lithe fingers pulled warred against the taught bow string before inevitably claiming their victory to anchor it against the ever determined set of her jaw. Limbs tightened for a moment but barely showed any sign of tiring despite her having lost count of how many arrows she’d let loose to find their mark in the target. The moment of pure stillness that overcame her just before she released the bolt was the feeling that she was so keen to capture time and time again after the news that had reach all their eyes, delivered from the mouth of a crow no less.
Travelling north had been an unwelcome ordeal when it was in order to battle against the Lannisters but now with the added threat of an endless winter and the army of dead it supposedly brought with it, Helia found herself search for solitude and clarity. It would be too far to say she was worried when death had never truly concerned her - it was life’s one inevitability after all - but the panicked, hushed voices and stricken features of Westeros’ nobles had been enough for her to seek out her own kind of solace.
Except it didn’t seem as though it was to last when keen senses picked up someone approaching. Jaw tightened in irritation but the Sand Snake didn’t shift her focus to them. “Either wait your turn or find somewhere else.” With her eyes still fixed on the target, she loosed her arrow as if to punctuate her blunt words. It found its mark with a satisfying thud and she allowed herself the slightest curl of a smirk before reaching into her quiver for another. The quiet carried the harsh tone in her voice well, making their unwelcome presence well known. “I have have no need for spectators.”
♔ → westeros presents HELIA SAND, the SAND SNAKE of DORNE. a raven sent word that she bears the resemblance to AIYSHA HART. the TWENTY-SIX year old FEMALE was ADROIT & DAUNTLESS before the dawn of war, but have now become CALLOUS & BLOODTHIRSTY. when songs are sung, their verses speak of A SMIRK COUPLED BY A GLINT IN DARK EYES THAT MATCHES THE BRIGHT FLASH OF A BLADE BEFORE IT HITS ITS MARK, NIMBLE BUT CALLUSED FINGERS AS QUICK WITH FEATHERS AS THEY ARE WITH KNIVES, THE WHISTLE OF AN ARROW IN THE AIR AND THE PANIC IT CAUSES - BRINGING ONLY A SENSE OF CALM. whispers throughout the seven kingdoms claim that their allegiance lies with HOUSE TARGARYEN, but fealty means little when you play the game of thrones.
Although Helia was conceived around the same time that her mother had a casual relationship with Oberyn there are some doubts about whether he is her true father or not due to him not being the only man in her life at the time. However, as it’s something that can be neither proven or disproved Oberyn still decided to acknowledge her as his own and the other man who could have been her father is long forgotten. The two formed an attachment (the most fondness that she has ever held for someone) and she actively seeks to follow in his footsteps in as many ways as possible.
As soon as she could walk she begun training with her half sisters, eager not to be left behind and even more eager to prove that she was just as much a daughter of the Red Viper as they were. All of her free time was devoted to her learning to be lethal as many ways as she possibly could and it drove a wedge between her and her less battle inclined mother. They still got along well enough (or as well as she is capable of) but if became clear that the two of them would never properly understand one another.
The distance between her and her mother never truly bothered her, the older woman had always had other children to take care of and Hel had always been good at looking after herself. Besides, she had a father and two elder sisters to keep an eye on things until she truly began to be able to look after herself.
As the war unfolded in Westeros she looked upon it with mostly disinterest for which side one (although her father had instilled a health dislike for the Lannisters in her) but a strong desire to be a part of it and truly test her skills. So when the alliance with the Daenarys came along, Hel was one of the first to be behind it wholeheartedly, if only for the action it would provide rather than the cause it was for.
Headcanons -
While she will claim that she couldn’t possibly pick a favourite weapon, the dual blades that she has are undoubtedly the ones she has the most fun with. Archery is arguably where she excels the most - her marksmanship almost unmatched - but she has no love for being so far away from the centre of the action.
Like Oberyn she laces all of her weapons with poison and has been experimenting for years with them to decide which one she likes best. Mostly she goes for the long lasting ones, those that might make someone think that they had been lucky enough to survive a run in with her before she ultimately claims their life.
Despite her mother’s best efforts early in her life, she has always refused to wear a dress and will never wear one if she can help it. She tends to dress more understated than the rest of her countrymen but not out of dislike of the fashion - on the contrary she does let herself enjoy the vibrancy - but out of practicality.
Now that she has allies outside of just her sisters, Hel has taken to carrying around a knife that has no poison on it just in case she were to lose her temper with someone. She has little interest in people thinking that they are safe from her wrath but it’s also frowned upon to murder those you’re supposed to be on the same side with. Naturally though she still has several other weapons on her person at any one time, all as deadly as the next.
Personality -
There has never been any room for softness in her life and while she hasn’t lack love or care, she struggles to see it as anything but a weakness. She doesn’t make an effort to make room for bonds with others in her life and so generally has little interest in others when interacting with them. But as cold and detached as she is, Hel is still Dornish and can be hot tempered at times. She tends to treat everyone in the same way - blunt, sarcastic and mildly threatening - but those who can count themselves as close to her will know that while it may not seem as though there’s any difference, the delivery of her words changes everything. The majority of the time she’d much rather be left alone to her own devices and won’t take kindly to being disturbed but if you catch her at a good time she might not throw something at you.
Potential plots -
Sparring partners
People she intimidates
People she respects (though will probably never say)
Anyone in camp Targaryen
Someone there’s bad blood with (although probably have to be careful here so she doesn’t just off them XD)
Past flings
She’s not a particularly patient teacher but in the right circumstances I could see her teaching people a few things though she might quickly get bored with it too.
Anything else you might have in mind! I am open to it all
If you want to plot then here is my discord - andromache#9873
