╣karma was a fucking bitch╠
"I will go with you." Rhena said, hand gripping the pommel of her sword. It was an old gift from Jaime, yet to be named. And as much as she despised him, the blade had never failed her. "I will hear no arguments."
They stood over a map of Yunkai, debating the best way to infiltrate the city and avoid a bloodbath. "Your grace," Barristan started. "Perhaps it would be wise to remain behind. It would not do to risk your life before you touch Westerosi soil."
Callan had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. Like anyone could tell Rhena to stray away from a battle.
"It would not do for me to sit pretty while men do my conquering for me." She retorted. Even Ned knew not to argue her safety. "I will have no arguments." Her voice was harder than before. She waited for anyone to counter her wishes. When no one spoke, she continued. "This is a task for the Unsullied. The Dothraki are skilled killers, but they lack stealth.
"Greyworm," The man stepped forward. "You, along with Daario Naharis, will use the sewer system." He looked as if he wanted to argue against her choice and if he were not and Unsullied, then Rhena suspected he would have. No one in their company particularly enjoyed the company of the sell-sword, but he didn't seem to mind.
"My queen, you honor me." Daario said with a smile which looked sickeningly sweet.
Rhena looked him up and down, a frown gracing her lips before replying, "You think this is to honor you?"
He inclined his head. "You are sending me with your finest warriors."
"This is to see how long you will last in a battle." Rhena said. Her eyes were bright, sparkling from the light of the candles. "Prove to me that you are worth the time and money I am giving you." she felt almost disgusted with the attention she was receiving from the sell-sword. He was nearly half her age, closer to Daenerys. Rhena was sure it was her power that he was after.
"Mother." Aryen broke in, "Let Tyros and I accompany you."
"Your whole bloodline will be at risk." Barristan cut in quickly. "I say this not to stunt any of you from battle. I have seen countless royals ride to victory. I am just cautious."
"And I appreciate your concern Ser," Tyros said, aiding in his brother's argument. "But Aryen and I are smart enough to take care of ourselves. And if worse comes to worst, Daenerys will survive us, along with Viscera."
"He's right." Rhena said. "It's high time that the twins use their skills. They will be by my side anyhow. I will not let them fall."
"When will you attack?" Ned asked, making his thoughts known.
"Tonight." Rhena answered. "The air is light today, it comes with the promise of an easy victory."
"You believe in superstition?" Daario asked, balancing a blade on two fingers.
"We all do." Callan said. "If you saw a woman walk into a burning pyre, only to walk out unburned hours later with dragons upon her breast, you would as well."
Daario's mouth curved into an easy smile. "I suppose so."
Rhena closed her eyes, sending a silent prayer to the gods that the end of the meeting would come quickly. "We all know the plan." She said, "Greyworm, Ned, Tyros, Callan, and myself will enter the city guided by Daario. Aryen," he looked up, "You will wait with my army at the main gate. Once we open the doors for you, you will kill the Wise Masters and set the slaves free."
"The masters will use their slaves as a shield, they will make them fight." Jorah said from his place beside Daenerys.
"That is why Aryen will announce his intentions upon entering the city." Rhena said, turning to her younger son. "You will tell them how you are not there to harm them, only to deliver to them their freedom. When faced with the unsullied, they will surrender." Rhena looked around the table, meeting the eyes of everyone present. "Are we in agreement?"
"Aye." A call sounded from all.
"Good."
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
"Read this." Robb commanded, handing a thick scroll to Myrcella. "It's from Jon, my half brother."
"Word of Stannis?" Myrcella asked. They had been expecting his visit for the past week. Robb feared he would attack if they did not pledge allegiance to the 'King of Flames and Witchcraft' as the small-folk had taken to calling him.
They sat together in Robb's study, fire warming their chilled bones. Myrcella found herself often missing the hot beaches of her childhood home.
"No word of Stannis, but it's word all the same. Go on," He urged, noting her unsure expression. "I don't mind."
Robb studied her as she read through the lines which had kept him turning all night. Watched her face morph into horror and disbelief. He had already processed each emotion himself only hours before.
"He must be lying." She said, when she finished, throwing down the scroll marked with the Lord Commander's seal. "He has to be."
"You've met Jon," Robb said, sitting at the seat across from her. "Do you think him one to lie?"
She sat and thought for a moment. "No. No, he seems like he's never said anything but the truth since he learned how to speak."
"And that in itself is a truth."
"But he speaks of myths and legends! How do we support him when we will be marked as mad? The walking dead Robb, it's..."
Robb ran a hand down his face and toyed with the beard which he had left to grow. "I can scarcely find myself to believe it."
"But you do?" Myrcella asked, raising a brow. "I know that he is your brother, and I know that you love him-"
"It's not just that." Robb said, looking to the flames as if they held the answers. "Before you came to Winterfell, father executed a deserter of the Night's Watch. The man was pleading with him, rambling about dead men across the wall. We took no heed of it; he was a man trying to save his own skin." He paused. "But now with Jon..."
"The wall will hold." She said, "It must."
It was snowing again outside. The flakes were heavy and thick, sticking to the window panes. "Old Nan used to tell us of a magic which kept the wall standing, started by the Children of the Forest and the First Men." He sighed. "But of course she couldn't specify when we asked. She told us that father would pass along the information when the time came. But that can certainly not happen now."
The room became quiet, in the way that it often did when any word of Eddard Stark's fate was mentioned. He was a sore topic in the castle. Even more so when the fact that Myrcella's brother was the one who took his head was remembered.
"I can start with the library." She said, "Perhaps there is something in the legends which we can find."
"You'll need a maester or a book for translating." Robb suggested. "I'm guessing that any information worth our time will be in the old tongue."
Myrcella studied him for a moment, weighing the amount of his anger which could be caused by her words. "You should speak to your mother about it." She said, "Her and your father were close, were they not? Perhaps he told her something in passing."
"No." He said, "I will not take her council. She betrayed my trust."
Myrcella rolled her eyes and stood. "Robb, the war is over. And she did not release Jaime because she pitied him, or because she wanted to betray you. She wanted her daughters back. You cannot dismiss her because she valued her children's lives more than a rebellion."
"It's still-"
"Her words are family, duty, honor." She stopped him before he could whine like a child. "Your family values honor above all else. She knows only her responsibility to her family, then her duty, then her honor very last. You will make peace with her tomorrow. You will break your fast at sunrise when she wakes, and you will apologize for the awful way that you have treated her. She has already paid her apologies."
"Since when have you taken my mother's side over mine?" Robb asked.
Cella was close to a headache from rolling her eyes at her husband's stupidity. "Since you decided to start acting like a boy of only five. I already have one son to look after."
And so, Robb sat spearing at his eggs the next morning while his mother sat across from him. The light was dim and the air sharp, promising colder temperatures in the days to come.
"When does Sansa return?" She asked, toying with a half eaten biscuit on her plate with her fork.
"Within the next few moons, I assume." He answered, not meeting Catleyn's eyes. "The King weds this week."
"And your sister with him." They had received news of Arya's betrothal to Tommen Baratheon just a week ago. Far too late for them to negotiate for her release back to the North. And now she was married to the heir to the throne and Catelyn knew, deep down, that she would never see her daughter again. "We ought to send a gift."
Robb's chewing stopped. Out of all his siblings, Jon and Arya were his favorites. The North was in every strand of their hair, and in every inch of their skin. It was in their tongues; sharp as winter blades. And it was in their hearts, warm as Winterfell's underground springs.
The two were never made to marry. Jon thought too little of himself. A life spent in the shadows had taught him to not expect good things like marriage. And Arya would rather run herself through than bind herself eternally to a man.
"Yes," he said. "Yes I'll have a dagger made for her."
Catelyn almost choked on her sweet wine. "A dagger! Robb, she's barely more than a child-"
"A child in King's Landing with no one to protect her but herself." He waited for her to object again. "I will give her a dagger."
Myrcella's words from the past night circulated his mind and he placed his fork down with a sigh. "Mother, I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. For all the dismissals and coldness. I know now that I should not have faulted you for the Kingslayer's release. I know your heart was in the right, though your actions in the wrong."
No matter how much he hated that she had betrayed him and given up his most valuable asset in the war, she was his mother, and he loved her. Perhaps, even with the rift between them, they could begin to mend what had been broken.
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
To anyone watching, the newly made Arya Baratheon looked downright murderous. For one, she had just been married to a boy barely older than her against her will, Joffrey was now her brother by law and there was a terrible unreachable itch just under her corset.
She had been married to Tommen for no longer than a day, but it was one of the longest days of her entire life.
The night before was hectic. It was a blur of which she would sooner forget than review. All she remembered was the terrible fear of what would happen after the feast. After the smiles and talk and after all the candles had burned to their candelabras. She feared what Tommen may do. She hid a fork in the sleeve of her gown just in case.
But he had pricked his finger and bled onto the sheets for her. "I don't think we're ready yet." He said simply. He smiled at her, climbed into the bed, and fell promptly asleep. She hadn't slept at all that night and her eyes were rimmed with purple.
Arya's hand was curled tightly around a butter knife and oh how she wished she could embed it into her good-brother's eye. Silverware had become her constant companion as her only choice resembling a dagger. "Uncle, you can be my cup bearer." Arya could feel the fine metal work of the hilt dig its way into her skin.
The guests silenced their idle conversation and turned their attention to the head table. The dais was split into three sections. One for the new king and queen, one for the Tyrells, and one for the rest of the royal family. Tyrion and Sansa were at the very end, teasing at the importance which they held in the family.
"You do me a great honor, nephew." Tyrion's voice was level and calm. Years of taunts and insults thrown at him by his family had given him the practice to take jabs with ease. "Though surely someone else is far better equipped-"
"Nonsense." Joffrey giggled as he swung his ridiculous new sword around. The sword birthed from Ned Stark's Ice. Another way to show how Arya and her family lay under Lannister control. Ice should be in the North with Robb. It should have been passed down generations after everyone attending this horrid wedding were long dead. "You are perfectly equipped. Now, come come, fill my cup."
Tyrion glanced up at his wife, to his father, to Arya herself, and then back to his nephew before standing.
Arya looked over to Tywin. Surely he would stop this farce before anyone could have a chance at insulting the Lannister name, as they surely would. Rumors and fairy tales traveled quickly in the capital after all. But he only frowned before returning to his roasted chicken. Unbelievable.
"Come come, let's not keep our guests waiting, I want to make a toast!" His goblet was outstretched towards Tyrion, but as the man made his way to fulfill his king's command, Joffrey dropped it. The gold landed with a thud on the plush red carpet and rolled under the table.
A few in the audience giggled in a drunken haze of amusement. The king turned to them smiling, encouraging the degradation of his uncle. "Oh, I'm such a klutz." He cried out for show. "Pick it up will you?"
Arya glanced at Cersei who sat on the other side of Tommen. She laughed openly with the rest of the guests, and demanded more wine from a cup bearer behind her after downing her previous glass in one go.
She searched for Ser Jaime in the crowd, wondering how he was handling his brother's offense. Over her month or so in the capital, Arya had observed the two Lannister brothers in full. They seemed to care for one another, far more than the rest of the family did. He stood by a taxus, his golden armor standing out against the green. His mouth was set in a fine line and in his eyes blazed. He was good at hiding his emotions, but the eyes betrayed even the most skilled liars and pretenders.
Beside him was Brienne of Tarth who stood almost two heads taller. Arya had only spoken a few words to the woman during their time in the city. She had apologized profusely for failing her oath to her mother, something which Arya found a little silly. If Brienne's task was to return Arya and Sansa to the North, why couldn't she just steal them away in the dead of night? But of course, Brienne was an honorable woman.
It was a wonder that she preferred Jaime's company.
Jaime's left hand gripped the new sword which lay on his hip. It was the other half of Ice. Another half given to a Lannister.
Sansa's chair scraped against the dais, gaining the attention of the wedding guests. She glared at Joffrey, no longer cautious of her actions now that she was so close to returning home, and bent to pick up the goblet for Tyrion.
Her slender arm and fingers were so different from Tyrion's own. The two looked like day and night. And yet, Arya knew that Sansa would find happiness in her marriage to Tyrion. Far more than she would have with Joffrey.
Tyrion muttered a soft, 'Thank you,' before turning back to his nephew. He poured a generous amount of dark liquid into the king's cup before approaching him slowly.
"Your wine, your grace." Arya sighed, at least now she could get back to sulking and eating.
"Kneel." Oh for the Seven! Could they not just end it now, go on with their miserable lives and leave Tyrion alone?
"Kneel." Joffrey said again, glancing around as Tyrion defied him openly.
He met the eyes of his mother who sat up and called to her brother, "That was a command from your king, imp." A few in the crowd chuckled uneasily, unsure of what was happening. "Follow it."
Tyrion only stood and stared at his nephew in an almost puzzled manner. As if he were trying to riddle out how he had become such a monster in the first place.
"Kneel."
Arya caught their new queen ushering over a maid with a worried look. She whispered something into the girl's ear and watched as she scurried away. Arya hoped that whatever it was, it would end Joffrey's embarrassing spectacle.
"Kneel."
Joffrey was growing frustrated, not one to be told no. Arya's grip on the butter knife was bruising under the table. She clenched her jaw when she felt Tommen's fingers brush over her closed fist. Who did he think he was? Arya did not allow him to break her grip around the knife, but she did not shake him off.
"Kneel."
Her heart beat faster as Joffrey's voice grew in strength and annoyance. Her hand itched where Tommen held it, and if Joffrey said kneel one more time she swore she was going to-
"Oh look the pie!" Margaery called out, a flawless smile fixed upon her face. Joffrey grabbed his goblet and turned away from Tyrion. All at once, the tension in the garden eased away and Arya slumped back in her chair.
Tommen smiled at her gently and patted her hand before reaching for his glass of wine. Her hand burned where he had touched her, blistering in annoyance. Was this how her days were to be lived out? Was she made to be seated on a dais during dinners as Joffrey caused a hurricane of destruction? Were the rest of her days cursed to be an ornament of society?
Joffrey took a swig of wine. Arya wished he would choke on it.
"What a fine pie!" He called out, reaching for Widow's Wail. Gods, what kind of a cunt named their sword something like that? "Fit for my queen!" Margaery smiled and held out her hand to be kissed. The crowd cooed softly at how smitten their new rulers seemed to be with each other. Seemed was a very important word.
Joffrey moved away from his bride and unsheathed his sword, much to the delight of the nobles before him. He did not say a pretty speech, nor did he thank the cooks or declare for the small folk as Margaery did. No, Joffrey only swung his sword above his head and brought it down upon the crown of the pie, sending pigeons into the sky above.
Tommen stood to clap with the rest of his family and touched Arya's arm lightly for her to do the same. Her arm burned where he brushed it and spread up till her whole body burned. She wanted to shrug away from him, go stand by her sister, or leave the party all together.
But of course, any gold or white cloak would stop her immediately.
"Can we leave now?" Arya could hear her sister's hoarse voice from across the table, ragged from crying over her misfortunes.
"Let's find out." Tyrion said, patting her hand gently. Arya hoped that they would both be gone soon, She didn't particularly like Tyrion. He was a Lannister, and evil in his own ways, but he cared for her sister and was gentle with her. That was almost enough.
They began to walk away, taking a back exit as to not be noticed. They were not so lucky.
"Uncle! Where are you going?" Joffrey called, smiling at Margaery who was feeding him pie.
"I wish to change out of these wet clothes, your grace."
"No." Joffrey said slowly. "You're perfect just the way you are." Arya could feel Cersei smirking. "And besides, I still need my cup bearer-bring me my wine, this pie's dry."
Tyrion clenched his jaw and moved at a snail's pace as Sansa watched from where she stood at the end of the dais. Joffrey coughed, a show for the audience. "Hurry up, we haven't got all day." Tyrion handed his nephew his wine before turning back to Sansa. Joffrey took huge gulps of wine and ruby drops dripped onto his golden surcoat.
Sansa moved quickly, Arya could tell that her sister wished to be as far away as possible as soon as possible. "Good Gods, where are you going dear aunt?" Joffrey asked sweetly.
"The Lady Sansa has grown tired, she wishes to retire." Tyrion said.
Cersei leaned forward. "My sister can speak for herself." That made Arya's stomach roll. "Tell us little dove."
Sansa looked like a caught doe, staring at the face of the crossbow. She didn't look to anyone for aid, that at least made Arya happy. Her voice was soft as she answered, "I had little sleep last night from the festivities, queen mother." Cersei bristled at the title. "I grow weary and I think a midday nap would do me well."
"You see," Cersei said, turning back to her brother. "You need not stamp on her words so much."
Tyrion rolled his eyes, and Arya along with him. They both knew that he was not the one who was stamping on Sansa's words.
"Uncle you disgust me with the treatment by your wife." Joffrey cut in, following his mother's example of taunting. "You should-" He cut off to cough again, though this time, it was real. "Must be the pie." He muttered before taking another swig of wine.
It did not help.
Joffrey doubled over and coughed violently, barely able to get a breath in before he was attacked again and again by his own body. Arya perked up, perhaps he was going to choke himself to death.
"Joffrey, darling," Cersei called out, concern inching its way across her face. "Are you alright?"
He emerged, face purple and nails clawing at his neck. A terrible strangled sound made it's way up his throat as he looked to Margaery for help. Her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. "He's choking! Someone help!"
Cersei shot up from her chair, knocking it back. Tywin was close behind. Joffrey staggered down the steps before falling on the garden stones.
Horrified screams erupted from the mass of guests around them. All spectators to the death of a king.
Blood and bile flooded from his mouth, a foaming mess which accumulated under him. Arya couldn't believe that it was actually happening. Someone actually had the balls and tits to kill him. It was obviously poison, no natural causes could bring about such a violent end in such a short amount of time.
Tommen reached for her hand again, chest heaving in panicked breaths. This time, she allowed him to take it. Joffrey was a monster, but no one should be made to watch their brother die. The butter knife clattered to the ground below them, suddenly forgotten.
Cersei pulled her son into her lap, crying helplessly for a guard or a maester. Had she been any other woman, Arya would have felt pity.
Jaime had made his way through the crowd and sat at her side. If they were trying to defend their children's legitimacy, they were not doing a very good job. Jaime looked ever the part of a worried father, deathly afraid that his son would meet the Stranger before he would.
The sunset on the water painted the clouds red, as if the Gods knew that the King of the Seven Kingdoms was about to enter the seven hells.
And then he stopped. Arya stood to get a better look at what was going on. Tommen's hand was still in hers.
Joffrey's arm was extended in a bone popping tautness, fingers flexed and pointing at the dais. But more important that that, Joffrey was dead, eyes glazed over and crying tears of blood. Arya could have cried tears of joy. It was finally over. He was gone.
The heavy dress, which previously had taken all her strength to hold up, seemed light. As if it were her brother by law, not the expensive fabric which weighed down her shoulders. She gave a small huff of air, the closest she could get to a laugh of victory.
Karma was a fucking bitch.
Cersei was screeching for Tyrion's head. Claiming that the little monster had taken her precious boy's life. Some called for death, some for peace. And screams of "Take him! Take him! Take them both!" Sounded from the queen mother's lips.
White cloaks surrounded Tyrion who had bent to pick up the forgotten chalice. He was innocent. Arya knew that much. He was far too smart to get caught. Sansa was ushered to stand with her husband, both of them apparently the only solid conspiracy theory that Cersei could grab onto. If Arya could only get to a sword...
"The king is dead!" Cried a guest.
And another, "He's been poisoned!"
But it was the last call which caused Arya's heart to spike and evaporated any thoughts of a dashing escape with her sister. "Long live King Tommen and Queen Arya!" Her stomach felt like a stone sinking in a wide, cold river. All the weight which had, for a moment left left her, suddenly came crashing down.
Joffrey was dead. Tommen was his heir. Arya was Tommen's wife. Two Kingsguard came to stand behind Arya and Tommen and several maids swept their food away in a hurry, lest Joffrey's murderer try for his younger brother as well.
She wasn't paying attention to which lord or servant had spoken for their new rulers, but all followed. Cersei's face fell when the sounds of vengeance suddenly sizzled away into prayer and praise.
Tommen's hand was sweaty in hers. When she met his eyes, they were glossy. Arya could tell that he bordered on a panic attack. At least she wasn't the only one who was having a hard time.
From where he stood at the edge of the steps down to where Joffrey's body lay, Tywin looked back. His eyes were hard and his frown was deep. Arya wanted to beg him to just let her go. Who wanted her as a queen anyways? She would probably fuck up every kingdom she could get her fingers on.
If he could see any of her thoughts written on her face, Tywin ignored them. "Take the crown prince and princess to their chambers, allow no one in but by my leave!" Tywin commanded. "Close all ports, bar all gates. No one is to leave this city!"
Of all the lives that she could have lived, Arya was stuck in Sansa's girlhood dream.
Karma was a fucking bitch.
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
"A lion lays dead in a bed of roses. A wolf and lion cub will soon hold the throne." Daenerys read. "What does this mean?"
Rhena's found family sat around a table piled with food, a celebration for their victory over Yunkai. She had been given the name Mhysa by the freed slaves. It was a fitting title for the role which she so commonly played.
Ned did not need a translation and stood gaping. "You killed the king?" he asked, disbelief plastered plane on his face.
"An eye for an eye, a life for a life. Cersei took my child, and I took hers. I did Westeros a favor by ridding them of a tyrant." Rhena was unbothered. Ned was not.
"Rhea are you-" Ned cut off with a groan. "Joffrey was what we were going to be going up against. He's rash, yes, and cruel, but predictable. The battle for the throne would have been an easy one. He did not listen to his advisors and only took his mother's advice who is also rash and predictable. Tommen will be strung like a puppet by those more powerful, more intelligent. Those like Tywin Lannister."
"You forget I was taught at Tywin Lannister's knee. No one knows him better than I."
"That in itself is hubris. It's arrogant and-" He chuckled, though everyone present could tell that he was not amused. "And the wolf cub? You plan to dethrone my daughter. Kill her children? Put her to the block? Burn her in dragon-fire?"
Ned was a calm man. This was his breaking point.
Rhena stood from her seat. Her presence was a commanding one. She was not necessarily born to be a queen, but gods did she play the part well. "Never." Her voice was pointed, as if she found the very thought offensive. "I would never hurt a child of yours."
"And if she has children? What will you do with them? You can't very well dispose of Tommen while leaving his children unharmed."
"I plan to leave Arya alive." She said. "No matter what. If everything goes to plan, she will have Storm's End. By the end of the war, Stannis will be gone and there will be no true born Baratheons left. Any children she may have will be stripped of their father's name, but will be legitimized Starks. They will take Storm's End after her."
Ned still looked doubtful. There was a glint of mistrust hidden behind his eyes. "Why did you not consult me? I am your Hand. I should be included in designs and decisions such as these."
"You were not consulted because I knew you would be able to talk me out of it. I saw an opportunity and I took it."
Ned ran a hand through his hair, loose from its usual leather band. "You knew I wouldn't agree and yet continued anyways. Must the ties of our friendship be thus strained by ambition?"
Rhena frowned. "You say this, and yet it was the ambition of our fathers which brought us together." Rhena sat back down, sure that Ned would follow her and they would both be laughing over this later in life.
"The ambition of Tywin Lannister." He shot back, "My father had nothing to do with it."
"Perhaps not."
Ned glared, eyes dark. "You will consult me on matters like this in the future. No matter what, do you understand?"
They had never been faced with an equal before. Ned was a father. Rhena was a mother. He was a lord paramount, and she a princess and rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were used to the power that they both held. Never had they clashed with another so similar.
Rhena found she did not quite like being put down by Ned. But she did not feel like pulling rank on a friend as old and dear as him. So she only slipped her hands so that they fit inside his and smiled. "Of course dearest. I am sorry. My anger and revenge got the better of me."
Ned looked up, sighed, and squeezed her hands. "So long as it does not happen again."
Rhena was seething behind her smile. "Of course not."
"Well I think it's brilliant." Daenerys said. "Let Cersei Lannister get a taste of her own medicine." Rhena sighed as her sister began to speak. Her days with the Dothraki had made her bold and sometimes, blatantly idiotic.
Rhena turned, "You must understand the weight of taking a life. We cannot be so rash, not everyone is our enemy."
"Everyone who isn't us is an enemy." Rhena stiffened. A cold dead stone came to rest in her chest. She could smell wildfire and foul breath. She could feel long nails gripping her arm. She could feel the whisper of another life long lost in the flames of her father's madness.
"Where did you hear that?" Rhena's voice was no more than a whisper. Her eyes were wide and her hands gripped Ned's tightly. "Where in the world did you hear that?"
Daenerys shrank in her seat, hesitant to answer. She was so sure that her sister would agree with her, that they would both see the relevance after all that had been taken away from their family. "My dreams. Over and over a voice said it to me."
Rhena inhaled once. A cold, sharp breath which sounded through the room. "Father used to say that. I wish to never hear it pass your lips again" Daenerys looked almost scared. "He said that to me once before the rebellion started. That one sentence has haunted my days since. That one sentence brought down our dynasty."
"Is it not true?" Daenerys asked, doe eyed and scared. "Do you not see the sense in the words?"
"Khaleesi-" Ned started, but Rhena was already speaking.
"You stand on the edge of a double edged sword Daenerys. Be careful on which side of the blade you fall." she turned to the rest of the table. All had halted their eating in favor of watching the scene before them. "We will stay here for a short respite. Next month, we head for Meereen."