Fire And Blood

Of Patience And Strangers

Rhaenys XIV

The day-to-day proceedings had quickly become routine after months spent dallying on the deck of a ship. Upon waking up in a soft bed that didn't rock with each swerve of the waves, they would go about to cleanse themselves in their preferred leisure. Dany would be up first, eager to take advantage of the scented baths that kept her skin smooth. She certainly took her time too, to hoard it for herself. Then came Aegon, washing his face from a nearby basin, neglecting to groom that mess of a hair in favour of running a whetstone through Long Memory as he sat by the windowsill and hummed to himself. Rhaenys herself rose last, as was the case these days. More often than not was she irked at the tiredness she felt each day. Nevertheless, as difficult as waking up and being productive was, soon rather than late she found herself picking up a brush to carefully comb her hair. Then, it was all work and work and even more work from here on out – and work they had a lot to do.

For now, it was agreed upon between them that Aegon would spend the most time sitting atop Kraznys's throne to further legitimise his status as King of Astapor. Not that it took much convincing for Dany and her to avoid that horrid seat. But once the new thrones they had commissioned would be finished, then they would officially take their places on Aegon's side on the dais in the throne room. However, all this talk about thrones had her thoughts drifting over to her own family's seat of power. The Iron Throne did not allow space for additional royal seats and to be seated on a common throne next to the towering monstrosity her ancestor had constructed from the blades of his fallen enemies would feel inconsequential in comparison. There was only little she could recall of the Iron Throne aside from the fact that it was a massive structure within the massive throne room. There was a memory of her chasing her black kitten Balerion from one end of the chamber to the other, though never close to the throne itself after her mother had scolded her fiercely that one time.

She remembered the piercing gaze of Grandfather Aerys on her and the watchful eyes of her father. Long after their deaths, Rhaenys had wondered late into many nights if her father had been present in those days to ensure that Grandfather Aerys would do her no harm.

Even when it felt like the memories proved too much, considering her child's mind at the time, Rhaenys knew that she remembered much too little still. There was much and more she still couldn't answer, after all. There was too much she did not remember anymore, like her mother's or her father's voice, the words they had spoken to her, her grandmother's smiles. Everyone she had asked – and everyone being her uncles – had told her of the kind, gentle smile of Queen Rhaella, who had never allowed her terrible marriage to the Mad King to break her spirit.

Rhaenys remembered none of that.

But vivid yet blurry images of the Iron Throne remained seared into her mind. Had it been the awe she must have felt when first standing before it? She could not say, but it had sown itself into her mind's eye the same way the sound of the Mountain moving in his armour had been, the way the sounds of the deaths of little Aegon and her mother shoved a hundred daggers through her heart.

Oh, how she longed to have her parents' voices be the comfort of her thoughts but it seemed the Gods had seen fit to deny her even that.

Nevertheless, Rhaenys was impatient to get their new thrones; she'd rather they be sitting upon them soon rather than late because sitting next to Aegon on, admittedly, beautifully carved wooden chairs still did not befit Dany's or her status as his queens.

For the time being, she would have to make do with their current circumstances, however, as they held audience to the incessant complaints of some dead Astapori noble's wife. She had been introduced as Naqarra Ollheq by their new scribe, Missandei. Naqarra was the widow to one Zhaknaz zo Ollheq. She bore the dense, dark amber skin and dark wiry hair with red highlights of the modern Ghiscari. Her hair had been weaved into many, small braids that fell across her shoulders and her choice of attire was a white tokar, the colour of mourning for the Ghiscari her uncle had said a few days earlier, when they had noticed many of the Astapori nobles bearing that colour. Naqarra Ollheq was a slender woman of rather tall stature and she was wearing a perpetual scowl on her face from the moment she had entered the throne room. It left Rhaenys wondering whether that scowl was reserved solely for them or if it had appeared after Aegon, Dany and she had claimed the city for themselves once they had ripped it from the hands of its slaving rulers.