Fire And Blood

Of Building Armies And Hatching Dragons

Rhaenys II

There was a vast field. It was lush and green. She walked and came upon three large seeds. They were black, but she could see specks of gold shine through. She reached a hand out, touching one of the seeds. Running her fingers across it, the black got wiped off easily. She did the same with the other two seeds and they too shone a bright and proud gold underneath the black soot.

A sudden yelp startled her the moment she finished cleaning the seeds. She turned around and gasped.

There, in front of her, was a large and grey wolf missing its head.

-

Fluid like water were the movements of her uncle and she tried to imitate them as he was going through his form. It was tedious work but the rewards she would reap in the end would be very much worth it.

The daughter of their neighbour, a girl of four years, watched them with wide eyes.

"Can I play too, Big Sister?" the little thing asked in Valyrian over the obscene moans and loud groans coming from an open window of her house. Her mother had a guest it seemed.

"This is no game, Nilira," Rhaenys answered, chuckling, but not breaking her concentration.

The girl pouted but went back to plucking patches of dried grass while humming a nonsensical tune.

A step. A thrust. A flourish. Retreat. Repeat.

And stop.

"I'm seeing improvement, Rhaenys," Uncle Oberyn said, his lush, black hair dancing in the gentle wind. "I will give you another two days to perfect this form."

She nodded, watching him take his spear inside before leaving with Ser Jorah, probably to collect wood again – her aunt was burning through it at alarming rates. They probably would go and see if there were any new letters for them as well.

She doubted she'd need the full two days her uncle had given her.

A waterskin was thrust in her face, startling her. Taking it, she glanced to her side, confirming that it had been Aegon.

Thinking of him by that name still drove barbed spikes into her heart, but she had to. For him and herself.

"Thank you, brother," she said and took greedy gulps.

He nodded at her with a smile and took his waterskin from her after she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Oberyn is very demanding," he noted.

"Even more demanding with me because he knows I will take every critique and barb as a challenge." She looked at him. "How is your training going?"

"Ser Jorah is an impressive swordsman and, compared to Oberyn, has eternal patience," he answered with a smile. "I do not make a lot of mistakes in our spars, but when I make one he takes the time to explain how and why I died at that exact moment."

"I see."

"I have yet to defeat him." He sounded a bit frustrated, which made her chuckle.

"He is a knight with years upon years of experience. You are but a boy. I'd be surprised if you ever came close to defeating him."

"But –"

"Curb your male pride, brother, and learn all you can from him."

He just scowled in return and she rolled her eyes.

This was their relationship. A fortnight had passed since their talk and, she had to admit, it wasn't so bad. Deep, deep down there still lingered all the ugly feelings, boiling in secret and waiting to erupt. Given time, however, she was sure she could form a strong bond with Aegon. Or Jon.