A Song of Ash and Smoke | a continuation of A Song of Ice and Fire

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐯𝐞

Over the past few weeks, Gen had grown to appreciate the feeling of the weirdwood tree under her palm - the smoothness of the face, the rough patches of bark beneath her calloused fingertips. It was every day now that she stood in the Godswood with the King, hands pressed against the weathered trunk of the impressive tree. Sometimes she would kneel, arms crossed against the tree, resting her head against them, slumped as if she were sleeping. In her minds' eye, she was reeling from the expansion of her world, the understanding of so much more. 

"You must be Valyrian," the King had remarked to her one day. "Your connection to the dragons says as much."

"Are only Valyrians connected to dragons?" Genyveve had asked, though she tugged on her own blonde braid in wonder, marveling at it and letting her thoughts wander. Still, she had only wide brown eyes that shimmered gold in sunlight, but none of the cool Valyrian pools of water. 

"It's known that dragonriders without a Valyrian name have existed in history. You've seen it now," Bran answered. "It's assumed that they were all Targaryen bastards. I cannot imagine Targaryen blood would run so thick in your generation, though. The Targaryens have been long gone."

"Except they're not really, now," Gen had reminded him solemnly.

"No, no I suppose not," Bran conceded wistfully. His thoughts had been on Summer; it was clear to Gen. She'd dropped her gaze and ended the conversation there, wishing she'd said nothing at all. 

Today was one of those days where she chose to be on two feet as she spoke to the tree. It whispered many things but one thing that stood out was a raspy voice that repeated Caged birds fly free unsuspecting. Gen could not decipher the message but somehow, she knew it was important and repeated it to Bran, who smiled and told her well done.

She'd taken to pushing his wheelchair for him. He never protested, though he had little poignancy in his simple thank you each time. Still, Gen could feel appreciation radiating from him. As she'd grown to know him, she found the King was rather weary in his position. Though not an old man, his mind was ancient and wore him thin. He rarely lived beyond his mind these days, stuck in a whirlwind of prophecies and omens and reoccurring thoughts. It seemed only Genyveve could understand, and he was grateful. 

As the king combed through the histories, searching for cause to end any conflict with the Dragon Queen, Genyveve took the responsibility of watching over Summer and Jaehaera. Much to her dismay, Bran did not share her concerns about Danaerys's presence by them. Though Gen had only ever watched the Lady Jae from afar, she could see a change in her. The bright, earnest girl who'd been swept away to Dragonstone had been replaced by a cool, icy woman. Jaehaera no longer wore a face of innocent abandon, but that of a skeptic. Every day longer that she spent by her biological mother's side had darkened her thoughts towards the Red Keep and the people that raised her. It afflicted Summer, too, only because she was too young to know better. Her fits had grown worse; the Dragon Queen had no maester yet to tend to the girl. Tyrion Lannister and Jojen Stark had been received thoughtfully by Danaerys, and rather warily by Jaehaera. There was no telling how her demeanor would progress. 

Then, one day, merely a month after his station at Riverrun, Gen's father died, leaving her mother in his stead. Gen did not grieve for him; he was an unkind man who did not deserve any lordship. He'd only become sloppy in his wealth, guilty of all that he criticized the nobles for before. Still, the king permitted her leave to travel to the Riverlands for a week to comfort her mother and sisters. Rowana, who had rooms of her own in the Red Keep, thanks to Bran holding her back in Jae's wake, was to accompany her. It was really the first thing Rowana had to do out of duty in months. She'd felt aimless in the weeks passed since Jaehaera had been taken. But being there for her mother and the twins, she could do. She, like Gen and their sister Primrose, had no love for their father. The twins were too young to know better.  Bran warned that he could not spare Genyveve for more than a month, and so without delay, the girls had made the week's long journey to Riverrun.