❝With one eye a Targaryen violet and the other silver as the moon, she watched all and knew more. All of which she immortalised in bleeding black ink to be studied by the naive people of tomorrow.❞
Princess Rhaella, daughter of King Viserys I and Qu...
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TWO SISTER KEPT apart for twenty-four moons made no effort to speak. As children, they either sat silently relishing in the company or speak incessantly from sunup until sundown; Septa Enith — a woman of noble birth from House Swann, who aeons ago devoted herself to The Faith rather than be betrothed to a Lord she did not know and served the young titled maidens of Court — loathed this trait, recurrently striking their knuckles and complaining to The Queen, who sent a harsh glare every time a daughter of hers was spoken of snidely. 'A husband wishes for a wife who can maintain a conversation but not force blood from their ears,' Septa Enith would say, as if a Lord cared about a Princess's conversation skills, her station speaks for itself. In defiance of their habits, Princess Helaena and Rhaella were her best students — never late, polite and exceptional at needlework.
Rhaella concentrated on the coloured thread as it weaves through the cloth grasped in her gaunt finger. Flowers, clean and neat, had begun to take shape. Thoughts, when she fashioned the pretty flowers, centred on their meaning: lilacs being the joy of youth, golden cups signifying purity, and poppy's symbolising hope for peace. Brilliant, striking colours were pleasant to the eye — especially if compared to the long, skeletal face of the aged women. Septa Enith looked at the pristine work favourably, humming contentedly before moving over to observe Helaena. "Maybe you might select a more appealing pattern, Princess, a flower like your sister." Septa Enith sternly remarked. Stubbornness was a feature the female clergy was renowned for — dragons were more yielding. Years of trying and the whimsical, peculiar girl had yet to embroider anything besides arthropods, which she had an undoubtable interest in.
Helaena ignored the older woman, head swaying instead. Rhaella wielded a charming tone to bolster her elder sister: "I must disagree, Septa, flowers like mine are common while Helaena's marvellous scarab beetle is unmatched. Besides my sister is most talented with the needle, more so than any I have encountered."
Rendered speechless, downward-turned lips sealed, dark eyes squinted, Septa Enith huffed and strode away towards the Keath Daughters, who enjoyed arguing more than Prince Aegon loved drinking. Lord Keath and his minor house originated in the Riverlands but moved to the Red Keep to raise their station and marry off their three ginger-haired daughters. "Thank you," Helaena softly muttered, placing down her work to put her warm, portly hand on her younger sister's cold one, "I have missed you. The other girls here are so...weird."
"I missed you too, sister, but now I have returned we have all the time in the world. Would you like to go to the gardens?" Wildly nodding in profuse agreement, Helaena darted out of the door, dragging a giggling Rhaella behind. Needlework was eagerly abandoned.
The gardens of the Red Keep were vast and easy to lose oneself in. An immense oasis. Exotic bloom met indigenous shrubs. Green leaves from all types of trees provided shade from the searing sun. The gravelled paths twisted into an elaborate maze to be explored, to never become tedious. Little birds hopped over branches singing their sweet songs and building sturdy nests; squirrels brazenly chased after others, scurrying up winding tree trunks; butterflies possessing the most florid, radiant wings danced about the gardens; bees hard at work buzzed from flower to flower.
