"This was always going to happen. She's been dead since the beginning."
- Aeschylus
It is a child's dream to outwit fate, to somehow escape the great ending that awaits us all.
But Orianne Fernwood would burn the world if it meant a moment longer w...
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In the years to come, as time passed and ate away at Orianne's memories till there was nothing left but the feelings that once accompanied them and mere flashes of light behind her eyes, those delicate months in King's landing as spring began to fade into winter would remain the brightest and happiest of times, like the final bloom of a flower before it wilted and died alongside the rest of the world.
Rhaenys Targaryen, the third of her name, whose birth heralded a new age for the people of Westeros, was the center of that very happiness.
She was a hearty babe with dark hair and dark eyes, a soft button nose, and the same rich olive skin as her mother. Rhaenys loved to be in her mother's arms most of all; exploring the world on her hands and knees was a close second, but most of all, she loved the kitten Balerion, who grew with her at an alarming pace and helped the young princess find all the trouble that no child her age should be subject to.
It was both beautiful and bitter all at once.
Orianne had never been blessed to see a child grow at such close proximity; she had never watched a formless being take shape into the person they would become throughout their lives as they discovered their dislikes and annoyances, that which they could not overlook and what they loved more than anything. She would watch as the little being that was once so small and helpless in her arms would grow into a fierce and wild young woman, and Orianne knew it would go by faster than any of them wished it to.
In the short time they had been in each other's lives, Orianne had begun to pick apart what made baby Rhaenys herself.
She loved being bathed, perhaps just so she could splash whatever unfortunate soul was nearby, and she giggled wildly whenever her victim was soaked to the bone; it was hard to be angry when the sound of Rhaeny's laughter filled one's ears. Anything shiny caught her attention, and the little girl would reach her small, chubby fingers out until the item in question was firmly in her grasp. She played with earrings and necklaces, hair ribbons, and tassels; it was a game her mother's ladies played each day to see which of their outfits Rhaenys loved best.
Orianne's days began and ended with Rhaenys, just as they had with Elia before her, and just like her mother, Orianne found herself incapable of refusing them anything.
After the morning meal, once everyone had risen for the day and Rhaenys was sated with the first of her many feedings at Elia's breast, the ladies would seek the safety of Elia's solar in the Maidenvault. The weather had begun to turn, relentless heat and humidity, which was once oppressive and unbearable, began to turn, and Orianne knew the white raven of winter would soon be arriving from the Citadel. There was a chill in the air that reminded Orianne of home, but it did not bode well for Elia's health or Rhaenys'.
What had once been a refuge of tittering gossip and embroidery had shifted to be a place of play. Chairs' sharp edges were sanded down or covered with fabric, loose rugs were secured, and furniture was bolted to the walls. The floors were covered with toys of every shape, size, and color from all across Westeros. Ornate wooden blocks painted orange and gold with flowers and sunbursts from Elia's brother, a stuffed dragon from one lord, and a rag doll from another; Rhaenys had no shortage of entertainment, even if she preferred playmates to toys.
