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"OF ALL THINGS TO BRING TO DRAGONSTONE," Tyrion sighed helplessly, as one of his niece's footmen carried an intricately decorated wooden crate out that exposed the animal inside of it, "did you absolutely have to bring Ser Pounce?"
"You've been around dragons too long, cats are absolutely vicious," Rikkia defended with a smirk. In truth, she carted her brother Tommen's cat everywhere since departing King's Landing after being made the Lady of Storm's End. Partially out of memory to him, partially because she didn't want it to perish if the Dragon Queen decided to lay the city to waste.
"I distinctly remember it didn't at all like you when Tommen was first gifted with it," Tyrion mused with nostalgia - thinking back to the simpler days when he was merely the Queen's imp brother, and her children were merely children. "Didn't you threaten to make a scarf from it?"
"Ser Pounce and I have reached an agreement - he doesn't try to scratch my eyeballs from my head, and I won't kick him across the entire span of the Stormlands."
A vicious roar thundered through the skies then, almost loud enough to split the sun in two. Rikki couldn't see the beast, whichever of the three it was, straight away - but she imagined it was close by nonetheless. Tyrion flinched ever so slightly at the noise, never fully growing accustomed to it. However Rikki remained cool and poised, more fascinated than frightened as they finally came into view - two of the three dragons elegantly diving through the sky as if it were water to swim through. They twirled each other, dipped low before shooting high again, and all the while Rikki was fighting off the smirk of amazement at the sight. Just when she thought that the world was void of magic.
The small garrison of soldiers behind her straightened out of nervousness, hands flying to rest on the hilt of their sword as if they would stand a chance should one of the creatures turn on them. Forcing her feet to move forward and stop staring at the spectacle above, Rikkia advanced on the stairs - lifting her elegant gown before she could trip over it.
Dragonstone was a truly magnificent feat - with water surrounding the island on all sides, it had a distinct coldness and solitude to it that she thought would probably have suited her uncle Stannis just fine. The trek to the actual castle itself was no simple journey, as it's hilly landscape meant they were forced to traverse dozens of steps to near the entrance. The array of people were more diverse than the young Baratheon had ever seen, a multitude of ethiniticies and skin tones that she never quite saw in King's Landing, save for the sailors on ships that brought in imported goods. There were distinct differences in a few of her soldiers - all either clad in a rare, free-flowing armour whilst others seemed to be donned in clothes made from the skin of animals. Dothraki and Unsullied, she'd guess.
To some onlookers, Rikki would appear like a simply curious young woman - who was marveling over the landscape and people. But Tyrion knew that was a front. He saw the awareness in her eyes as she regarded upon their weapons and armour, the Lady of Storm's End was sizing up their abilities, trying to decide how ruthless they would be in a fight.
