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Estelle was weary as she woke. She groaned as her body tried to adjust to an early morning rising in her quarters. It took her almost ten minutes to find herself rolled out of bed and laying in a bundle of blankets on the floor. She was able to make her way down and into the breakfast area, where she noticed her father. He was painted within a portrait on the wall looking rather grim; like he wanted something. Or maybe that was the face of manic joy. Mad, crazy, spiraling joy because he'd made his way to the top. However this may have been, Estelle raised a brow and chuckled. Why did it matter to her. She was the heir anyway, wasn't she? Oh wait...Or was that Tommen's spawn? It struck her as odd. Her father had been ruling when he died, she'd thought, and it only made sense for her to be the heir. Her uncle was too nice. He was too weak and stupid to rule over the whole of Westeros, and she knew it with a strong passion. No matter the setting, Estelle was determined to show her strength to the people of the land, and earn her way whichever she could onto the Iron Throne. Breakfast was made already before her, and a sickly colorful assortment of fruit, bread, and other minor pickings. A giant feast it was in front of her, and she ate as much as she desired without a second thought. Finishing at last, the girl would wipe her lips delicately and turn to the source as a knock at the doors to her dining room sounded. Some servants turned to retrieve the visitor, but with her quickness, Estelle stood holding an arm out to signal halt. "Stop! I've got it."