Winter Rose.

cxxiii.

She smiled at her. "I'm sorry, Your Grace; but you'll need to remove the top if I can get to it fully." Of course, Rhaenar thought as she nodded, standing from her place. Aegon's hands were already helping Rhae with her buckles before she got her bearing, her gaze speaking volumes as they thanked him.

Peeling away the plates, she was left in her coat, that too taken from her arms as she stood in the red silken shirt. Pulling at the neckline, the full scale of the hand print was revealed to them.

The skin was red, burnt like it would with a hot coal or hot water; but along the fringes, the skin had become blistered and discoloured. Dried blood clung to the area where her armour had brushed against the sore skin, digging it further into her clear skin. But there was no mistake over the shape, over the sight as it sat deep within the flesh.

The sight of Rhaenar's neck brought a sickness to Aegon's stomach as he shook his head, at how long she had stayed in his hand, her life being squeezed from her. He could still remember the sight, from the corner of his eyes as one of the General clasped him in his moment of weakness, and how Jon seemed to have hesitated. There was nothing that could stop the hatred in him for the North, over how they had been treated up here - how they treated Rhaenar up here.

It would take but one distasteful word as soon as they went in, and he would take them all home, telling the North to fuck themselves. His care was for Rhaenar, not for their pride.

The healer was careful in her approach of touching Rhaenar, of her hand slow to raise itself with the creamy ointment upon her fingers as she touched the skin. Rhae jerked back, hissing at the sharp spike that echoed from the lightest of touches. The healer's eyes were wide as though Rhae would turn on her, but she kept sitting there, closing her eyes.

Again, the healer scooped more of it up, approaching with a lighter press as she hovered just shy of the skin, getting the cream onto it. Rhae had felt pain, but the sharpness of the cream only heightened what she was trying to swallow back - tears. "Did you lose many?" Her scratchy voice asked again.

The healer looked up to Aegon, who kept his gaze on Rhae. The Princess was talking to her? "A few. Some of your Dothraki, Your Grace, and the Sand girls lost three of their sisters."

The indigo flew open. "Sand girls? Oberyn's daughters." The healer nodded, a crestfallen look to her gaze. "Which three?"

"Tyene, Obara, and Nymeria." The eldest three, Oberyn's first daughters. Pain filled her at the news, of losing Meria, and the heartbreak that must be surging through Oberyn right now. He would be furious, and he'd be revengeful, she knew that.

But Rhaenar could not believe it. At Meria, the girl who had inspired her in Braavos and who was in her Queensguard was dead. She stood, away from the healer's hands. "I need... I need to find Oberyn." She muttered as she glanced around frantically.