Cortelia braids her Lady's silky hair into a beautiful, loose, fishtailed braid with golden ornaments and flowers weaved in. When she finishes, she steps back to admire her work. It is probably her best masterpiece.

"Thank you, Cortelia," Lady Peverell says, smiling at her through the mirror. "It's amazing as always. You really do need to teach me your ways, my friend."

She smiles brightly at the praise, straightening her back, standing taller. Cortelia bows her head in gratitude as the young woman rises from her seat in front of the vanity and walks out of her room to the open balcony. She follows behind.

The salty sea breeze fans against them, toying with their skirts and hair. It feels cool against the heat of Essos. Below them, she can see the siblings sparring in the training yard, their performance being like a dancer flowing in the air among the clouds. Their swords clash, sparks flying. Cortelia's eyes wander to the older between them and couldn't help the dreamy sigh leaving her lips.

Gael is like an angel sculpture under the sun. He is almost illegally handsome. His muscles flex and contract shines with sweat. His golden tresses cling to his body in strips, equally drenched. And his dark golden eyes…

Lady Peverell snickers, turning her head away from Cortelia.

She blushes. "What is it, my Lady?"

"It is nothing to worry about," she says playfully, "just wondering when you two are finally going to marry."

"Lady Etienne!!! I—We—"

"What? You've been courting for five years now, so pardon me for wondering when I'm going to see little children running around the halls and corridors," Lady Etienne Peverell says. "Besides, sooner or later, I'll marry too and I'll have many children. That's for sure. And I want our children to be friends as we were." She takes Cortelia's hand in hers and smiles warmly, earnestly wishing for the same merriment to go to their children someday.

Cortelia's cheeks flush further at the image given to her. "Well… we've been talking about it lately, but we aren't sure where we want to start with planning it. It just seems so complicated with planning on the date, the clothes…"

Marrying Gael is like a wonderful dream. She can truly imagine them having children together. A little girl with her inky waterfalls of hair and his eyes of molten golden giggling as she runs around in vast fields, with her father chasing behind her, laughing freely as they go. And a little boy with her spring green eyes and his father's golden waves running after the little girl. She can also imagine her children playing with Lady Peverell's children, their giggles and laughter echoing in their home. Yes, it is definitely a dream she hopes comes true.

"I think you should start with making your betrothal official first," Lady Peverell advises, locking arms with her as she guides them back inside. "Planning the wedding can come after that."

Cortelia nods, thinking.

Lady Etienne doesn't continue on her teasing and walks through the winding corridors.

Lord Ethon Rombulus sits reading a letter in his bedchambers, messaging his temple.

Stefan Baratheon is searching for Valyrian brides for his kingdom's Crown Prince, and knowledge of his niece has, regrettably, fallen into his lap. He has heard tales of the King of Westeros. The Mad King, they whisper behind closed doors. Word of his descends to madness spreading all over the known world and shaking every person who hears. Burning children for stealing bread, killing his captors, and anyone (and no one) related to his capture in a multitude of horrific methods.

To give his niece to marry his son, to make her live under the roof of a man like that, would be the day his good-brother would call him mad. And he would full-heartedly agree.

Etienne would have no one to protect her in the Keep that reeks of the blood of innocents. Reeks with the smell of incest, that curses the magical blood of the Targaryens.

Of course, she could bring her slaves and servants and guards with her, but how much protection could they give against a madman with a crown on his head.

Ethon sighs, tossing the letter onto his desk, and slouches further against his chair.

"Is something bothering you, Lord Husband?" his wife purrs, rubbing her hands over his shoulders and kneading his muscles like a cat. "You seem rather stressed after reading that piece of paper your spies have sent to you."

"King Aerys is looking for a bride for his son, and has sent his cousin to come to look in Essos for one," he says dryly. "Lord Steffon has caught wind of the fact that my niece is of Valyrian descent. He's coming here and would be here within a month."

Loreign hums thoughtfully, still rubbing her hands along his shoulders and arms. "Have you told little Etienne yet?"

"I don't know how to bring this up without it being so sudden."

"Well it's either you tell her or she learns too late—"

Ethon huffs and slides out of his seat. "I know that my love, but how am I to tell her she might marry a man, whose father is a madman, and he might end up just like him?" Thoughts of his sweet niece falling into sadness, her flawless milky skin painted blue and black from abuse, tears his guts like a savage beast devouring into him. He moves to the large bed and falls into the feather mattress. "How can I look her in the eye and tell her I won't be able to protect her when the magisters would be happy to agree with the marriage?" he croaks out, his throat raw with emotion.

"I don't know, darling, but you'll have to get it over and down with," she says softly, laying next to him and running her fingers through his hair, messaging his scalp. "Whether you like it or not, she's going to find out."

He looks at his wife, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. She wipes a stray tear off his cheek and sweetly kisses him. "You can't protect her forever. Besides, she is a strong woman, your niece. I should know since I helped you raise her since she was a kitten."

"I know you are right—"

"As usual," she jests, smirking."

"—but she looks so much like her aunt when she was young. I can't help feel that she's my second chance to protect her."

"But Etienne is not Cara, my love. She's Etienne Peverell, the Lone Peverell Dragon."

His sister is reading another thick book, an ancient journal of one old Peverell, in the gardens with a cold drink in her hand. Sorina is wearing barely anything modest, which isn't surprising for her but rather embarrassing for him to see. She wore a thin tunic and brown breachers and had her hair tied up into a ponytail, showing her firm neck. Every man and boy who passed by stared at her curves, undressing her further with their eyes. And Gael was tempted to gauge their eyes out of their sockets.

"Hey, did you hear about the Baratheon in Essos?" She shocks him out of his glowering.

He stops glaring at the lake and glances at her. "What Baratheon?"

"The Penumbra have caught Stefan Baratheon looking around for a Valyrian bride with his Lady wife," Sorina whispers to him, keeping an eye out for eavesdroppers. "Word has it he is heading this way next."

Gael turns fully towards her. "You think he's coming here for Mistress Etienne?"

She shrugs lazily, not looking as interested in this information as him. Her similar golden eyes, a few shades brighter, return to the aged and tattered pages. "It's possible, but I don't think she's caught wind of the fact yet. I mean she hasn't shown her knowledge of it."

Gael probes, "Why is he looking for a Valyrian bride?"

Sorina rolls her eyes, shakes her head, like how she does when he asks an idiotic question. "Wow, you really are clueless about the outside world," she mutters under her breath, but he still hears her all the same. "The Baratheon Lord is looking for a bride to marry to his Crown Prince in the Seven Kingdoms. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Silver Prince. The King has very strict wants in a future Targaryen; to be specific, he wants his son's wife to have Valyrian blood. Believing any other bloodline to be lesser than him and his family. So, naturally, when the Baratheon caught wind of the fact that our Lady has Valyrian blood, he's made a beeline here to negotiate a marriage between Lady Etienne and his Prince.

Lord Ethon would most likely protest with all the rumors on the so-called king, but magisters have more power over the control of the marriage than him. Since she's only his niece through marriage and all, you know?"

Acidic bile threatens to leave his mouth, burning his throat. He looks away from his sister, certain his complexion has turned to the like of seaweed. Gael grimaces, thinking of the lack of control of his Mistress's life, understanding full well of what it is like.

Yes, they were freed from their chains, thanks to her. But even then, their lives were completely out of their hands while they lived in Essos.

And unlike what his sister thinks, he did know about the going-on of the Seven Kingdoms, just didn't keep tabs on what happens every day as she did. Like everyone else, he heard of the Mad King sitting on the monstrosity of a throne (made out of the swords of Aegon's fallen enemies) and he shivers at the thought of Etienne living in the same place as him.

He prays that the Prince is a better man than his father, and would protect and cherish Etienne like she deserves to be. That he won't have countless amounts of mistresses and affairs or better yet, that he doesn't have any mistresses and affairs at all.

Gael sighs. He rakes his fingers through the tangled mass that is his hair and glares at the lake again, watching the fish swim causing ripples in the water.