There were two babes in the Tower of Joy.
Two babes tied so closely to their parents, Ned had to make the decision.
One with hair like raven feathers, eyes as grey as steel, and a face of a true Stark. The other, with hair like moonlight, eyes lik...
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Nothing but excitement seemed to ripple across the camp as Rhae had sat down for breakfast that morning, the men around her chatting animatedly as they discussed the upcoming tournament. It wouldn't be long before they would head to the open field beside them and begin the tournaments; starting with twenty smaller groups to fight amongst themselves before picking the champions from each.
She was looking forward to it, to see what these men had to offer and the level of skills they would demonstrate. And one of them, if they decided, would become a member of her Queensguard. Though, the honour would first go to Ser Barristan if he chose to remain in Meereen, serving by her side. The second honour then falling to champion. "Are you nervous, Your Grace?" A heavily accented voice interrupted her, Rhaenar's attention drifting to the man in question. It was Malthar, the tall guard from the night before who had pledged himself to find her assassin.
"Incredibly." She uttered with a smile. He grinned at her, a row of perfect pearly whites smiling back at her, his eyes shining.
"I wouldn't be. Even if all your Unsullied are defeated, they still would have great honour amongst our ranks." He said. His accent she had never heard before, the tone completely foreign to her. "You're wondering where the accent is from, no?"
She blushed. "You said kind words, but I couldn't help but notice it. I don't believe I've come across it before."
"The Summer Isles, Omboru." Her eyes widened, the summer isles! She'd met people from all over the world, heard what felt like every dialect in Essos but only a few times had she heard the accent from the islands near Sothoryos.
"Born and raised, or moved there?" She questioned, knowing her own common tongue and valyrian was tinged with the accents of the free cities.
He smiled, raising out his arm. On the rich tones of his skin, a large black tattoo sprawled across his forearm; the ink like branches of a tree. "Born and raised, incredibly proud to be a child from such an island."
"I'm sure you are." She said softly, a lightness in her eyes. "I heard it's beautiful, far prettier than the likes of Braavos and Westeros."
