Raymun fossoway

During the tournaments, various participants from minor or major houses competed against each other. You, as lady-in-waiting to Princess Rhae Targaryen, youngest daughter of Prince Maekar, accompanied her everywhere to provide companionship and occasionally political or personal advice. You came and went to the tournaments to observe her from the high pavilions and stayed in tents when you could.

You felt that gaze on your back, but you weren't uncomfortable. Somehow you knew that the look on you wasn't malicious; it was more curious, even naive. You didn't know who was looking at you, not with so many people around. But you didn't care. You knew that all men looked at women like a piece of meat.

Before the tournament began, you had excused yourself from Princess Rhae to take a short walk through the village's unkempt streets. You stopped when you noticed someone approaching: Raymun, holding a green apple. "You know, they say women like yourself only accept jewels, my lady. But I'm afraid I only have an apple... green, like me," he said shyly, extending the apple—a small, humble, but sincere gift.