"You," her sword master says the first time they meet in the godswood, "are late."

Ostara grits her teeth in an attempt to keep herself from snapping at the man about how, no, she is not late, but that would be disrespectful and Ostara wants this Dornish man to like her enough to enjoy teaching her. If he enjoys teaching her then he'll make sure she's actually doing her sets correctly instead of just having her flop through her lessons like a fish out of water.

"I apologize for my tardiness, it won't happen again."

"My name is Daevyn Sand, you may call me Master Daevyn... Or just Daevyn."

Ostara doesn't remark on his last name. Doesn't comment on him being a bastard. Because it would be impolite, incredibly rude, of her to do so and also because Ostara simply doesn't care about how he was born a bastard. It's not an uncommon thing, Ostara actually thinks the Dornish views on sex and marriage and women are far more progressive then the rest of Westeros.

She'd very much like to visit Dorne one day.

"My name is Ostara Baratheon, you may call me Ostara."

The man hums thoughtfully before moving to tap Ostara's arms and legs with the tip of a long wooden stick, then he takes her hands and moves them about, and finally he reaches out to untie the cord of leather keeping her braid secure.

"Never," he says lowly, "allow your enemy any advantages. You only make it easier for your opponents to grab you by the hair if you wear it like that."

"How else would I wear it?"

"Loose, preferably, but a bun atop your head would suffice if you wish for it to be kept up."

Ostara nods very slowly, debating the benefits of keeping her hair in a bun and carefully twists it into something appropriate atop her head which she ties off with the strip of leather. Her sword master watches her the entire time and when she's finished he tosses her a wooden practice sword which she catches after a moment of surprised fumbling.

Daevyn raises a thick eyebrow but says nothing in favor of moving to examine her grip on the pommel of the sword.

"Your father has paid me to teach you the sword," Daevyn remarks as he moves to kick her feet further apart. "And I shall do so as long as my rules are obeyed."

"Your rules?" Ostara asks, twisting to look at the man from over her shoulder.

"You will not disrespect me here nor will you question my methods, you are not a young Lady while in my company but a girl learning to fight and I shall teach you as I would teach any other boy or girl who might have come to me in Dorne."

Ostara nods but says nothing.

She knows all about respecting teachers and she remembers some of Renaehra's training injuries. It's likely she won't be coming out of these lessons unscathed but Maester Cressen will tend to her most faithfully if need be and Ostara's fairly good with healing spells. She's not worried. Besides, Daevyn Sand has kind eyes. They are not the eyes of a man who takes pleasure in hurting children. She takes a simple comfort in it.

Their first session together is simple enough. Daevyn Sand teaches her nothing but proper stances and how to grip a sword. It comes easily, this part, and he corrects her grip more times then he corrects her stance. Ostara has to remind herself that holding a sword is not like holding a wand, that these lessons will only get harder and no amount of muscle memory will be able to change that.

By the time Daevyn Sand has called their lesson to a close Ostara's hand is sore where the wood has rubbed her palms to a now quite raw state and the muscles in her thighs quiver as she walks back to her room where Rubeus is waiting with Stannis to hear all about her lessons with the Dornish man. It's a good pain though, and it's one that will fade in time.

~X~

Renaehra rotates her wrist, the blade in her hand flashing as it moves in a tight circle to the left of her body. Jacaegon watches the blade carefully, her baby brother is a smart boy but he is not so good with the sword. Not like Renaehra, not like their father. It is a weakness their father has sought to purge from her brother. Even if he cannot best their father, even if he cannot best his sister, he will be able to best his enemies.

Fingers tightening ever so slightly around the pommel of her sword Renaehra lunges at her brother, watching through narrowed eyes as the younger boy executes a sloppy roll to get away from her blade.

They do not fight with wooden practice swords like other Valyrian Lords might. Their father had forbidden it, had claimed that wood could not be used to teach a true warrior and so they had been given Valyrian blades of the finest make to use in their lessons. They fight until first blood as is the rule and Jacaegon has spent most of their lessons avoiding his sister's blade then anything else. He's trying to avoid scarring. Which is ridiculous in his sister's eyes as Renaehra herself has a number of scars from such lessons with their father.

Jacaegon, unfortunately, does not and he is vain enough to attempt to keep it that way.

He is a sweet boy, kind, soft. He is not the soldier his sister is nor is he a true Dragon Lord like their father. He does not like the sword, does not savor the ring of metal against metal, does not like to sweat. And so he shirks his lessons to read and play his instruments and entertain their sister and Renaehra respects that but he cannot go on ignoring the fact that he is their father's heir and as such it is his responsibility to know how to protect not only himself but his family.

With a roar quite a bit louder then her dragon Vagos' mewl of a roar Renaehra pivots on her heel and drives the tip of her sword through the edge of Jacaegon's tunic and down into the dirt. The silver haired boy attempts to pull away from the blade, his cloth ripping as the sharpened steel cuts into it, but Renaehra is already spinning to drive her foot into her little brother's nose.

The resulting crunch and gush of blood tells her that she'll have to heal him before they leave.

"Fuck, Ren," her brother grits out as Renaehra pulls her blade free of the dirt, allowing the boy to roll out of the pool of his own blood, "that hurt."

"Stop whining and hold still."

Jacaegon drops his hand and Renaehra places her own over his nose, not caring if her touch causes him pain. His blood is hot against her hand and Renaehra focuses on that as the cartilage in his nose slips and cracks and snaps back into place. She fixes the damage done to his nose but leaves the blood to stain his close and congeal in the whisper of a beard growing on his chin.

"Thank you, Ren, I always enjoy sparring with you."

"This wasn't a sparring match, Jacaegon." Renaehra reminds him, the blood on her boot mixes with the dirt on the ground as she makes her way over to the bench where Vagos is waiting for her.

The little dragon mewls sweetly before yawning and climbing up Renaehra's offered arm to curl around her neck. He has only hatched a mere four months prior but when he is grown he will be the mightiest of their family's dragons. Renaehra can feel it.

"Khoren, to me!"

Renaehra glances over at her brother, eyes flashing as she watches the pretty eyed slave make his way over to her brother. The collar around his neck is gold-plated and embedded with blue stones, a symbol that he is her brother's personal slave, and she knows that the skin beneath does not suffer from any discoloration for she'd placed it back upon his neck just this morning and she'd been able to slip two fingers comfortably between his skin and the metal.

"Have my tunic washed and repaired," her sweet, kind eyed brother is not so sweet and kind eyed now as he gazes upon the slave bowing before him as he pulls the tunic over his head to toss at the slave. "I expect it done by nightfall."

"Yes, my Lord."

The dark eyed man takes the tunic and folds it over his arm, the purple complimenting his skin quite nicely, and turns to leave. He hesitates for the briefest of seconds though to make eye contact with her so that he can offer her the barest hint of a smile before disappearing from the training grounds.

"I could have done it for you." Renaehra remarks as she makes her way toward the doors Khoren had just left through. The only doors leading to the training grounds.

"But why subjugate yourself to the work of a slave? You are a Vaelmaereon, not a common whelp."

"You're such a fucking prick." Renaehra states blandly before leaving her brother to ponder her words in solitude while she goes off in search of her lover.

~X~

"Is he being too hard on you, Ostara?" Cressen asks as he observes the line of dark blue and purple that's spread across the back of her hand.

Ostara shakes her head and says, "Oh no. Master Daevyn is lovely."

Maester Cressen purses his lips but doesn't question her further.

It's been a month since Daevyn Sand came to them. A month since he'd started teaching her the sword and a number of other things that her father probably hadn't asked the Dornish man to teach her. Sword play and strategy and how best to escape someone if she ever finds herself without a weapon. She never brings her wands to these lessens lest it be broken or damaged somehow, but she thinks that it's a good lesson to learn even if she never intends to be without her beloved wand beyond the walls of Storm's End.

He teaches her a great many things and Ostara always comes out of her lessons with a new ache and a new bruise but it bothers her less and less each time. Bruises heal after all, sure, they'd heal much better if Ostara had access to bruise healing paste but they heal all the same. Maester Cressen and her father must understand this too because they never push her to tell them that Daevyn Sand is working her too hard.

Every pain is a lesson.

Ostara pulls her hand away from the good Maester and smiles prettily as the man clucks at her.

"I do not like you coming to me in such a state, Ostara." The man tells her.

She only ever comes to him with bruises and slight sprains. Anything worse she deals with on her own. Not that Ostara would ever tell the man that. He doesn't need to know such things as it would only make him worry for her safety when there's nothing to worry about. The worse injury she's ever received by Daevyn Sand's own hand had come in the form of a broken wrist which had been a result of a well placed hit to the back with the wooden practice sword which had sent Ostara's sprawling across the ground.

She'd landing wrong on her hand and had played it off as nothing worse then a mild sprain. Fixing it had proved easy enough and thankfully Daevyn had told her that lessons would be put off for a few days to allow her the rest she would need to heal. She'd spent that time reading and playing with Rubeus and attempting some of the spells in her journals.

"I'm perfectly fine, Maester Cressen. I promise." Ostara glances at the pile of letters forming on her Maester's desk and frowns, "Is everything alright?"

The aging man follows her gaze and smiles kindly. "It is nothing for you to worry about, now, run along and play."

Ostara nods before slipping off of the chair she'd been directed to upon entering the Maester's room and says a quick goodbye before rushing out into the hall to find Rubeus waiting for her. The shadowcat snorts loudly as he rises to his feet to follow her down the corridor and Ostara laughs at the giant beast of a cat before rushing off in the direction of Stannis' room.

~X~

Along with her sword lessons Ostara has had to balance a great many other lessons as well. Her mother has taught her to play the high harp and while it's an interesting thing to learn it is not her favorite. She is not so musically inclined as her mother but while she forces herself to sit through her music lessons with a tight lipped grin Ostara finds her dancing lessons just as enjoyable as her lessons with Daevyn Sand.

Unfortunately for her Ostara only has so many boys of an age and status with her to practice with.

But Stannis is a good enough dancer, even if he scowls and steps on her toes and mutters under his breath about how ridiculous dancing is.

"Stand straight, Ostara, a lady never slouches."

"Yes mother."

Her brother smirks at her but it's a foolish move on his part for their mother notices it nearly as soon as his lip begins to curl.

"Stannis, don't make such faces at your sister." Their mother reprimands and Ostara allows her brother to guide her around in a wide circle before falling back into the steps of their dance.

In the background their mother is singing the song that goes to this dance and her hands clap out a beat for the two children to follow as they dance around the room. One of her mother's ladies is playing an instrument similar to a mandora. She plays it well and Ostara thinks that maybe she'll ask the woman to teach her sometime because the music is sweet and the sound of it carries through the room.

And by the time Ostara and Stannis are released from their lessons both are sweating and Ostara's foot hurts a bit from how often Stannis has stepped on her feet but it's quite alright. She kisses her brother's cheek after they've slipped out into the hall and tells him he did wonderfully before rushing off to find Daevyn Sand so that they can continue her lessons for the day.

~X~

"Do you have children, Master Daevyn?" Ostara asks as she wraps her hands in thin cloth as the Dornish man had instructed her to do.

"A son," Daevyn replies. "He is of an age with Robert."

"Do you speak with him often?"

The man casts her an amused glance and asks, "Why the sudden interest, little lamb?"

Yes, why?

"You've been here a month is all and I feel I know nothing about you." Ostara offers in explanation.

"Perhaps it is better that way, hm?" Daevyn asks and his sharp eyes are warm like a summer sun as he kneels to fix Ostara's wrappings, "It wouldn't do for someone to find out more about the the Dornish bastard your fahter has paid to teach you the art of killing then absolutely necessary."

"But it's just us and I'll not tell a soul."

"Are you certain of that?" He asks.

Ostara pointedly ignores the being lingering in the shadows beyond the trees and doesn't ask about Daevyn Sand's son again.

~X~

A letter arrives from King's Landing three days later. It's from Rhaegar, he's written to inform her that he has lost another sibling, that his mother has given birth to a stillborn babe and that his father has confined her to Maegor's Holdfast. Rhaegar claims that he never sees his mother without company, whether it be members of the Kingsguard or two of the Septas the King has ordered to sleep in the Queen's bed every evening.

Ostara isn't sure how to respond to any of it but her blood boils for him and Rhaella all the same.

Logically, she's aware that the generations of incest have not been genetically kind to the Targaryens. Lower fertility rates and whatever poor dietary conditions Maester Pycelle has kept her under has likely played a large part in Rhaella's inability to produce healthy children. But for the King to be so suspicious of his wife that he'd put her under constant guard?

Gods above.

Ostara pens a quick letter telling Rhaegar that she is incredibly sorry for his family's loss and that she hopes his mother's situation improves soon before signing the letter and drying the ink. She seals the letter and places it off to the side to be sent off with the rest of the letters accumulating in Maester Cressen's work room. All the while her stomach churns unpleasantly.

Without much thought she reaches out to card her fingers through Rubeus' thick fur and gnaws on her lip.

There are so many things she could say to Rhaegar, to the Queen, that might help her carry a child term and possibly keep it alive through infancy. But the likelihood of anyone believing her, listening to her, is slim seeing as she's yet to have a babe and most Maesters would claim her information is baseless or mere superstition. Which, is stupid because Ostara is a girl and knows more about childbirth already then most men will know in their lives and second she's read about medical books that she is educated enough to discuss them on an academic level.

"They're all a bunch of sexist pricks." She tells her familiar.

Rubeus stares at her through two big yellow eyes then promptly shakes his head and pads off to curl up at the foot of her bed.

"But you don't care apparently."

His only response is to roll over onto his back and bat playfully at the air with his paws. Ostara shakes her head and turns her attention to the other two letters left unread on her desk. One is from Alysanne Tarth and the other is from her brother. Alysanne talks about her father and mother and pleads for Ostara to come and visit her soon, Ostara writes back wishing both her parents well and tells the slightly younger girl that she'll attempt to speak with her parents about arranging a meeting.

Because she genuinely likes Alysanne Tarth and she needs more close friends.

After she's finished writing to her friend Ostara turns her attention to the letter Robert had written her and squares her shoulders as she breaks the seal.

And she reads, and all too quickly fondness turns to annoyance as she begins comprehending what Robert has written her about.

Apparently he's made a friend of Eddard Stark, Lord Rickard Stark's second son, and he's convinced that they will be the very best of friends for the rest of their days despite Eddard's quiet nature and his inability to do anything unseemly. Ostara thinks she'd be quite fond of Eddard Stark if they were to ever meet. And it's not Robert's joy at having the other boy for a friend that makes Ostara's skin crawl.

It's the fact that he hasn't once asked about Ostara or Stannis or their parents. All he talks about it Eddard and Job Arryn, and it's only toward the end of his letter that he wishes his little sister well and tells her to tell Stannis he says hello which means that he hadn't bothered to write their brother anything.

"Fucker." Ostara hisses as she curls her fingers around the parchment, muttering until the heat in her palm eats away the letter until their nothing but ash in the palm of her hand.

She does't respond to Robert's letter.

He probably doesn't even care.

~X~

"Have you received any more letters from the Prince?" Cerys asks one evening as Ostara weaves her friend's pretty blonde hair into one of the styles she'd seen the queen wear upon her first visit to King's Landing.

It's not an exact replica but it's something close and Cerys seems genuinely pleased by it.

"Not recently, no." Ostara watches as the other girl's shoulders slump.

"That's very sad."

"How so? He's surely very busy."

"You're friends aren't you? Why else would he write you letters? He must love you."

Ostara sputters and jerks away from the other girl, "I beg your pardon?"

Cerys has lovely eyes but they gleam a wicked sort of steel color as she twists to smile impishly at Ostara.

"Well, why else would he write to you? A girl five years his junior?"

"Because we're cousins? Because we have much in common? Because he can?" Ostara clears her throat, "Take your pick."

Cerys sighs dreamily, "I think he's in love with you."

"He's barely ten years old, he probably doesn't even want anything to do with girls!"

Her friend shrugs and plays with one of the braids dangling around her ear. Ostara is vaguely jealous of Cerys' hair, so soft and smooth. It never tangled once as Ostara played with it and none of her hair combs had gotten lost in the other girl's golden hair. Ostara's hair is a beast, tangling and frizzing and growing with her magic. Hermione had had the same problem, thankfully Ostara thinks she might know a few ways to fix it without the products she'd had access to in her previous life.

"It would be so romantic wouldn't it? If you married the Prince?"

"I think," Ostara says as she flops back to lay across the width of her bed, "that you're listening to too many of your nana's stories."

The other girl's response is a firm whack to Ostara's hip. It doesn't hurt as it's more playful then anything but Ostara stops talking about Rhaegar and Cerys' obsession with romances like those from her stories. Instead Ostara tells her about the book she's read and allows the other girl to play with her hair even though the act itself creates more of a mess then anything.

Thankfully, Cerys stops talking about Rhaegar and love.

Thankfully, Ostara doesn't obsess over the conversation for longer then a few moments before her mind is pulled to other, more appropriate topics of conversation and interest.