The Song of Ice and Fire

Hand of the Queen

Laenys received the summons to Queen Rhaenrya's chambers swiftly after the funeral, her curiosity piqued by the urgency. Nervous energy accompanied her as she navigated the corridors, absentmindedly fumbling with the skin built around her fingernails. The possibilities of the meeting danced in her mind—perhaps a request for her 4,000 men in battle or unsettling news about the Greens.

Upon entering, Laenys found her servants lined up on the far right, their eyes following her every move. Queen Rhaenrya stood with poise, facing away from her mirror on the left. Laenys approached a tension-laden silence settling between them.

Rhaenrya's eyes studied Laenys before she spoke, her voice firm and thoughtful. "I have long wondered who my allies would be when I became Queen. I often wondered if the realm would even accept me as their rightful ruler. And I have noticed... after giving you the title of Princess of Dragonstone, that you would face that question as well. We are women who fight to be seen and heard. We fight for what is right, and if we sacrifice certain things while doing so, we are called cruel."

"The only person that could ever truly understand the weight of my predicament is... you." As Rhaenrya walked towards a table adorned with a white silk cloth, her fingers traced over a gold pin shaped like a sphere with a hand holding an arrow. She picked up the item and approached Laenys, who stared with near-shock at the gesture.

In a moment that rendered her momentarily speechless, Rhaenrya bestowed upon her the title of Hand of the Queen. The gold pin, illuminated by the bleeding sun through the window, gleamed with significance. Laenys struggled to find words, astonished that Rhaenrya had entrusted her with such a crucial position.

"I, Rhaenrya Targaryen, First of My Name, bestow the role of Hand of the Queen upon you. You may reject or decline this offer. I understand if you may decline due to the end of your term approaching," Rhaenrya declared, her words hanging in the air. Laenys, still entranced, marveled at the gravity of the moment. The idea of serving as the Queen's Hand left her momentarily breathless, an unexpected and profound honor.

Her? As Hand of the Queen?

"Rhaenrya..." Laenys began, her voice a fragile echo in the shadowy room. Rhaenrya's cloudy grey eyes reflected a profound sense of desperation, drawing Laenys's gaze with a surge of pity. In that shared moment, it became clear—Laenys was the only person who truly understood her. Two highborn women, occupying a throne intended for a man, found solace in each other's silent understanding.

Laenys swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling deep within her, as Rhaenrya delicately affixed the gold pin to her right breast, near her heart. With a profound sense of respect, Laenys then executed a deep bow before gracefully rising to her feet. The Targaryen Queen regarded her cousin with a gentle smile.

🐉

As the painted table was being ready for the next move from Rhaenrya the carvings suddenly were alight from the flames of the candles burning just underneath them. The Queen's leal lords stood in the room as well as Ser Baelon, Rhaenrya's children including Daemon and his, Rhaenys, and Laenys. She stood at the head of the table, clasping her hands together in thought. She had changed her robes to better compliment the shining pin on her breast, Aegon the Conqueror's Dragonstone crown sat snug in her hair which cascaded down her back.

She heard footsteps echoing down the hallway to her far right. Her eyes glanced over and she could see Rhaenrya and four Dragonstone knights escorting her into the room. The gold crown that sat in her hair sparkled, echoing the memories of the late King. "Queen Rhaenrya Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." Laenys spoke firmly watching her approach the other head of the table. She stopped and looked directly and her.