Within a Wing Beat

The Blood Rite - Part I

Cluethael

The sky outside her window was a deep indigo entwined with hues of deep blue and the last remaining tendrils of gold as the sun and moon traded places. Alia had braided half her hair into a coronet around her head, while the rest sat in meticulously fussed over waves. She bit back the urge to sigh and roll her eyes as Alia stepped back, admiring her handiwork before moving to the armoire to pick from the many, mostly unworn dresses; she had no idea why she even needed to wear a dress.

Dinner was only a small affair between her mother, Emerie and Bragi - Emerie's husband, so there was never any need for extravagant gowns or intricate braids. She watched intently as Alia rummaged through the armoire, taking multiple dresses off hooks - holding them out and hanging them back up again. As Alia repeated the process, Cluethael couldn't help but suppress a small snicker, it earned her a half-hearted look from her handmaid.

Alia had settled on a simple blue dress with matching moccasins, though she cringed at the thought of having to wear shoes that looked as if they would melt if they stayed in a puddle for too long. She was thankful that she was not yet old enough to be subjected to stays - no matter how freeing her sister claimed they were. Once she had been laced into her dress and her shoes had been slipped on, Alia took her leave, and it gave her a minute to admire herself in the mirror.

She liked her upturned nose and the freckles that were smattered across her body, her arms specifically. Her eyes were also pretty - an interesting mix of blue-grey, a dark rim around her iris. As she turned from the mirror, she felt a sudden wave of pain in her jaw, her hand moving to her cheek as she scrunched her eyes and exhaled sharply. Her tongue ran over the front of her teeth as she made her way to her chamber door.

She was sure it was nothing to worry about.

The speckled brick of the small dining hall felt like home to Cluethael, its low backed chairs and their plush, deep purple cushions, with tapestries that depicted the descent of the Valkyries. Flickering candle light from the bronze candelabra that hung above the long, raw edge wood table, bathing the room in a warm, glorious glow.

She was the last to arrive, as usual. All of her family sat in their chosen seats, her mother sat at the head of the table, Emerie to her right, Bragi beside her, and Cluethael to her mother's left. They greeted her with wide smiles and nods as she sat down, flicking her wings over the back of the chair; she tried to ignore the worsening pain in her jaw, feeling a headache also beginning to bloom as well.

Her family dined in the same hall almost every night, if it wasn't here it was in the banquet hall at a feast. It was rare for Cluethael's family to not dine together, no matter the circumstances. It was a chance for them to share what had happened in their days, things they found interesting; there was no talk of politics or of court that day. There was only the love that the family had for each other, only laughter and happiness - a family.

The rich smells of roast meat and vegetables made her mouth water, all of her favourites had been put out. Thick slices of venison sat on manchets, steam still rising from it. A hearty vegetable stew sat in a large copper bowl, the outside dented and dimpled with use. Smaller bowls were dotted around the table, each filled with something different, some with nuts and fruits, while others held potatoes, peas and carrots. A salmon pie sat in the centre of the table, its crust buttery and flaky, the salmon on top of the pie had been layered to emulate the petals of a rose.

Conversation always flowed freely between the four of them; her mother would often talk about stories of when she was young, making Cluethael think that perhaps her mother missed the simplicity of childhood. She found her thoughts drifting to that sunny day when she and Aemond sat in the field of wildflowers for hours and talked, how she flew him back to the castle. His absence was often felt by Cluethael; she often wished she had become Queen Alicent's ward.