#see rhaenys he is providing to put them safe

[zobriezalarys]

things daemon has managed in his green verse: security for baela and rhaena, not sending them away to another continent. a possible velaryon/targaryen marriage to turn corlys to their side, another marriage proposal for the other daughter with either a lysani prince or prince of pentos. and will suggest a marriage of jaehaera to aegon iii.

[horizon-verizon]

Sara Hess being a neoliberal is the LEAST surprising thing to ever happen. I know I had reasons to hate Rhaenys.

Seriously though, I want to vomit, of all the women to channel, they picked Hillary Clinton ??? And not any of the competent and effective female rulers documented in history ?

But unlike Rhaenys, Clinton is a huge fan of massacring people though, doesn’t track. But both have unfaithful husbands who have sex with underage girls, I can see why they would choose her as an inspiration.

And we know that Sara Hess is a rape apologist, I’m sure she doesn’t believe the women who accused Bill Clinton of rape and sexual abuse. Why did Hillary stay married to a serial adulterer (who use women as disposable Kleenex) and serial rapist and pedophile, if she such a women right activist, can one of her cultists who love to blame women for the actions of men explain that one.

I mean...that Rhaenys is above killing many people and goes out of her way to try to not do that is severely undermined by her coming through the floor in her Dragonpit escape back in s1 e9.

To be Watsonian, other than that, Rhaenys never actually speaks about or seems to concern herself with making sure a woman gets some form of autonomy or political authority. She's mostly been sometimes wanting to assure that her side of the family stays relatively safe and reserving power for them (which a war b/t other family members would put at risk & destabilize, obviously)...not actually avoiding violence for the sake of the "realm". Would be somewhat fine to witness, but it's passed off as "wisdom" and compassion when it's anything but, while also causing a lot of cognitive dissonance in viewers AND this "wisdom" of "guiding" men of "violent masculine nature" doesn't serve to really grant woman as much agency or political authority as Condal or Hess believe.

It still validates male violence by making it seem inevitable AND centers men as the active political leaders and movers while demonizing women who make decisions for their selves and discourage inquiry over whether or not that itself actually brings about terrible destruction to people...or just provide a means to possibly start a change in the system. Or you know, avoid patriarchal violence and have defenses against it in general.

You are still, as a woman, subject to the caprices of men, the winds of male violence bc it keeps you immobile against such things. It's simply why I just can never like Rhaenyra and how I despise this narrative that she's somehow "better" than Catelyn regarding the responses to bastard kids of their unfaithful husbands (that Ned wasn't actually is irrelevant, he made Cat believe so and she did to her dying day).

[moonlitgleek]

ramzesfics reblogged your post and added:

[....] where did the idea of having the option to safely say “no” go? Someone thinks that Elia actually could safely say “no” to the man who decided that this was the only night he had to fuck her in? (Remember, this night was very important to him, else he would have tried again before and after.) But this possibility isn’t even mentioned. The entire awfulness of the situation is waved away with a tentative, “MAY be utterly callous… it does interfere with her consent”… Makes me wonder where the callousness is. If Elia was this willing, Rhaegar is not callous at all. It was her choice, after all. Her risk to take.

Earth to fandom: a consent interfered with is not a consent freely given. Amazing, I know, but this is a concept that doesn’t only apply to cutely wilful wolf-blooded girls of fifteen, it also applies to until recently bedridden Dornish princesses who almost certainly knew that waiting for a mere month or two vastly improved their chances of going through pregnancy successfully but had prophecy obsessed husbands. For the record, I also wouldn’t call Rhaegar a rapist. Elia most certainly thought it was her wifely duty. But it sure as hell falls under the definition of “a little rapey”, like many things in GRRM’s world.

I’ll choose to ignore the blatant hostile and condescending tone you use throughout your reply in favor of addressing your points. But perhaps next time you might think of toning that down. Your points can be easily made without talking down to me like that, and less hostility makes for a more productive discussion instead of a shouting match.

Anyway.

I clearly said that Elia’s consent is interfered with. I clearly said that it isn’t a healthy situation. My point is that calling it rape, or a bit rapey which is essentially the same thing, puts Rhaegar as the perpetrator and the one responsible for that which I don’t agree with. The problem with Elia’s consent, in my interpretation, is that the sociopolitical culture of Westeros inherently undermines free consent. That stands true for most Westerosi marriages. It’s a society whose politics and power structure is maintained through arranged marriage which doesn’t really bother with clear and free consent. It commodifies highborn individuals, especially women, as pawns to be used to gain alliances, political power, status, economic privileges, etc. It engenders a significant power disparity between genders which translates to men having inordinate power over their wives, which is then exacerbated by the societal pressure it places women under by holding them to a rigid structure of conduct. Society says that providing sex to their husbands is a duty, that bearing and rearing children is a duty, that giving access to their very bodies is. a. duty. On top of that, it makes it that their political legacy and power is intrinsically tied to their children. Outside of ruling ladies, noble women maintain power through their children so having children seizes to be only a thing they are taught is their duty, and quite literally becomes a way of securing the mother’s place. In a society where women are subject to men’s power and whims, that is an important objective.

All that makes consent a mess. That’s what the make-up of Westerosi society does; it removes true sexual agency from people. That stands especially true for women, particularly those in certain ranks where providing children becomes a political obligation. That absolutely interferes with consent so I can see where it can be called rape. My problem comes from the fact that we’d be basically calling pretty much every marriage in Westeros rape that way, because consent is interfered with everywhere. So is Ned the same as Robert? Is Stannis the same as Aerys? Is the consent issues the same? I can’t say that. Which is why I draw a line between “yes, there is an issue with consent here but that doesn’t makes this person a rapist” and “someone is clearly and deliberately ignoring consent and/or creating a situation where consent can’t be given”. Rhaegar/Elia are in the first category, Rhaegar/Lyanna in the second. I hesitate to draw parallels between them, and it’s not because Lyanna is white and Elia isn’t.

It’s because that while I think that Elia’s consent is interfered with because she is under pressure; this pressure didn’t necessarily come from Rhaegar’s person. You have a valid point in criticizing me for not allowing a margin of error because yes, it is possible that Rhaegar himself pressured Elia because there was a comet in the sky this specific night (though I’m not sure where your confidence that this was the only night of intercourse between Rhaegar and Elia comes from). My interpretation differs, partly because I don’t see any instance where Martin hints that the situation isn’t what it appears to be, partly because I’m almost certain that this is an example of his inability to math and that he just didn’t notice that having Elia bedridden for six months after Rhaenys’ birth but having Rhaenys and Aegon born in two successive years when Rhaenys couldn’t have been possibly born any earlier than late 280 leaves a very small window for Aegon’s conception. The author’s doylist math challenges should not overwhelm in-universe explanations but it lends a useful frame in light of the lack of additional evidence. So my point is that while Elia’s consent is interfered with, it’s not necessarily Rhaegar who caused that interference and thus should be blamed for it. Which the original ask does.

In terms of the comparison between Elia and Lyanna, I don’t parallel them because their ability to consent isn’t the same. On account of age alone, there is a whole lot of difference to what Elia could hypothetically consent to as a 25-year-old and what Lyanna could consent to as a 14-year-old. Elia can consent to sex with Rhaegar, Lyanna can not. It is not possible. The situation is drastically different as well; it’s possible that Rhaegar pressured Elia but it’s just as possible that Elia agreed willingly (and I hear what you say about the dangers this could pose to her fertility and don’t disagree. But Martin has eschewed that logic way too many times for me not to see this as a solid possibility.) Rhaegar held power over both Elia and Lyanna that could be used to coerce, that’s true, but Elia’s ability to say yes to her husband with whom she has a comparable maturity level and rank, in their home, with a loyal retinue in the vicinity is starkly different from Lyanna’s ability to say yes when she has none of that. That does not mean that Elia couldn’t be coerced, but the two situations are not comparable. In Lyanna’s case, Rhaegar created the situation that prevented Lyanna’s consent to be valid or free. He deliberately perpetuated a chain of events that left her at a disadvantage, isolated and completely vulnerable to the crown prince and three loyal Kingsguard. Rhaegar himself unambiguously interfered with Lyanna’s consent. The difference here is that there is a possibility for Elia to consent, but that isn’t true for Lyanna.

Finally, I admit I’m a bit confused. You say that you also wouldn’t call Rhaegar a rapist for this. You concur that Elia probably thought it was her wifely duty. So the issue seems to be that you think I brushed away the awfulness of the situation. Except.... do I need to point out that a woman feeling it’s her duty to provide children for her husband or to secure herself is fucked up? Sometimes I do spell it out. But sometimes I rely on the fact that people reading don’t need me to tell them that’s not right. I acknowledge that it’s not a healthy situation. I acknowledge that Elia’s consent is suspect. There are consent issues but I don’t call it rape because I blame Westerosi mores that wreaks havoc with consent on the best of days. So I haven’t ignored the awfulness of the situation as much as that you think my word choice makes it too tentative. But at the same time you refer to me saying “Elia might” in my post as “a long post why this woman had almost certainly decided it was the best idea ever, her saving grace!”. Okay?

[ktwrites]

The Stormborn

Fandom: Jonerys/ Game of Thrones

Genre: Family/Fluff

Rating: Nothing above T

Find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.net

A/N: This is another future fic oneshot from the same timeline as Stallion of Stone. I enjoyed writing about Jon and Dany’s future children that I just had to write a little bit more.

“Will that be the last one for tonight, your Grace?” Missandei asked as Daenerys set down her quill.

“Yes, I think that’s enough for one evening,” Dany replied, sitting back in her chair and running her hands over her belly. “I know you think I’m working too late as it is. We’re finished for the night.”

“I would never presume to tell you how late you should work, your Grace.”

“As my advisor you wouldn’t. As my friend you most certainly would. That’s why I value you.”

The two women shared a warm smile. They had been through much together; grief, heartache, sorrow, happiness, and joy.

“Will you need my assistance tonight?”

“No, I think I’ll stay here and read for a bit,” Dany said as lightning flashed across the Gullet. “It looks like a storm’s coming. I can smell it in the air.”

“Don’t stay up too late, Daenerys.”

“Now you sound like me when I’m scolding Aemon.”

“Well, he does get his stubbornness from his mother.”

“I promise I will sleep. That is, as long as this one will let me,” Dany said, pointing to her stomach. “I think their foot is currently wedged beneath my ribs. At least it feels that way.”

“I’ll have them send in some tea before I retire tonight. The kind that helps you relax.”

“Thank you, Missandei. I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

After her friend and most trusted advisor left, Daenerys stood from her writing table and stretched out her sore back. Just because she had come to Dragonstone for her eventual confinement did not mean she left her duties behind her in KIng’s Landing. Every day new missives, inquiries, and petitions arrived and every evening after she put Rhaenys and Aemon to bed she would go over everything with Missandei’s help. In less than a week Jon would be joining her from his trip to the Iron Islands. Then, barring anything urgent, their family would remain there for the next month until the babe was born.

She hated when they were apart, but short and long absences alike were part of ruling a vast kingdom that was still rebuilding from years of war and neglect. She was glad to have someone to share the heavy burden of the crown. In many ways she had been naive, despite Tyrion’s warning. Not everyone had welcomed the restoration of her dynasty, not everything was able to be solved with Valyrian steel and dragonfire. Four years after their coronation she was still learning that.

Dany stood at the open balcony in the Chamber of the Painted Table, the Map Room, as Aemon and Rhaenys called it, and closed her eyes as the warm salt air blew across her face. Far below her, fierce waves were pummelling the socks, warning of the storm brewing across the open water. Lightning flashed again, so bright she could see its light through her closed lids and she counted the seconds that passed until the low rumble of thunder echoed across the bay. It’s going to be a big one tonight, she thought with a smile. In just ten days she would celebrate her namesday, so a summer storm seemed more than appropriate.

Summer, Dany mused. Another reason she was glad to be on Dragonstone. The heat of King’s Landing was different from the warmth of Essos. There, it was hot. In King’s Landing it was sweltering, nearly oppressive at times and the large city seemed to stink with the heat. Dragonstone provided an escape from that as well. Here the breezes blew into the castle from the water in a way that did not happen in King’s Landing. Here was the perfect place to welcome her summer child into the world.

Soon enough the rain began to fall and Dany retreated further into the Map Room, running her fingers across the great carved and painted map of her ancestor, Aegon Targaryen, on her way to the bookshelf. She selected a tome before settling back into her chair. The book was a familiar one, given to her as a wedding present by Ser Jorah. In all the years that had passed, she still never tired of the stories within. No sooner had she opened the book than a servant begged entrance to the chamber, carrying the tea Missandei had promised to request for her. She thanked them, took a sip of the steaming drink and returned to her reading, finally deciding on the early days of House Targaryen when Jaehaerys the Conciliator became king after the reign of Maegor the Cruel, and ruled with his wife, the good Queen Alyssane.

Dany propped her elbow on the table and cradled her head in her hand as she read. Before long her eyelids began to grow heavy, only to snap open again with each crack of thunder. Her head had dipped down again when she heard the faint sound of steel scraping across the stone floor.

“Mama?” a small voice said just before a clap of thunder so loud it shook the cup on her table echoed through the Map Room and jolted her awake. She blinked a few times to find her son standing before her, a small sword in his hand and a scared expression on his face.

“Aemon? What are you doing?” she asked, holding her hand out to beckon him towards her.

“The storm woke me up and...and…” His bottom lip quivered as he walked towards his mother and Dany could tell he was quite possibly on the verge of tears. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“And you were afraid?”

“No!” Aemon said quickly. “I’m not afraid! I came to protect you.”

“Ahhhhh,” Dany replied with a knowing smile. “That was very good of you. It’s very late, Aem.”

“I know, but after I woke up I could sleep anymore.”

“And your sister didn’t wake up?”

“Rhae can sleep through anything.”

Her father’s daughter, Dany thought with a wry smile.

“I was just about to retire for the night. Would you escort me to my chambers?”

“Yes, Mama!” Aemon said excitedly but Dany noticed him jump when the next flash of lightning lit up the room.

Daenerys took one last sip of her tea and shifted herself out of her chair. Her body felt heavy with fatigue and she could not wait to sink into her soft bed and let sleep wash over her. First, however, there was a little prince too proud to say he was afraid of the thunder who needed his mother. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it three times and waited for his little hand to squeeze back four times. It was a little code between the two of them, a secret message. Three squeezes meant I love you. Four squeezes in return meant I love you, too.

“Lead the way, Aemon,” Dany said and her son led her from the Map Room to her bedchamber.

“You have a visitor tonight, your Grace?” Ser Barristan asked from his post at the door to Daenerys’s chamber.

“Indeed,” his queen replied. “It appears I have an extra Queensguard tonight.”

Aemon walked into his mother’s bedchamber and laid his sword against a chair. He climbed up onto the tall bed and watched Dany expectantly.

“Stay right there and I’ll be back,” she instructed, moving behind the changing screen in the far corner of her room to shrug out of her gown and into a deep greyish blue nightgown.

The bedroom was dark, save for a few sputtering candles and the occasional flash of lightning. Aemon looked so small in the middle of the huge bed and when she climbed on he immediately settled himself beside her resting his head on her chest and a hand on her belly. She wrapped an arm around him and brought him in close.

“That’s much better,” she said, nuzzling his soft, silver-blonde hair. It was long now and messy about his face. He typically wore it half-up. Like Father wears it, he often said with pride. Now it was loose and wild from sleep.

“Better,” he echoed his mother and glanced up at her. “Story?”

Daenerys nodded and hummed for a moment before she began her tale.

“Do you know why they call me Stormborn?” she asked.

“Because you were born during one of the worst storms.”

“That’s right. You were born during a terrible storm as well.”

“I was?”

“Yes, but you were born during a great Winter storm. One of the worst, even the Northerners agree. I was staying at Winterfell and your father was at Castle Black preparing to seek out the Night King and defeat him. That’s a very long way from Winterfell, but he promised me that he would be there when you were born.”

“Did he keep his promise?” Aemon asked, already knowing the answer for he had heard the story before, but it was one of his favorites.  

“He did. He must have known it was close to the time for you to be born. Now, how he and Rhegal made it through the storm I will never know, but he was there at Winterfell when you were placed into my arms, all red faced and screaming and wailing. That very night, the storm died down and from that night on there has never been such a storm like that anywhere in Westeros. Some say that the night you were born was the beginning of the end of the Long Night.”

Aemon was quietly for a very long time and Dany thought he had fallen asleep, knowing that he was finally safe from the storm within his mother’s embrace.

“Mama?” his little voice asked in the dimly lit room.

“Yes, Aem?”

“I told a lie.”

“You did?”

Aemon nodded against her breast and heaved a sigh. “I was afraid of the storm.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

“Because if I want to be brave, I can’t be afraid.”

“Oh my love,” Dany said, shifting her son so that he was sitting up and facing her. “People aren’t brave because they’re not afraid. People are brave because they carry on despite their fear. I was told that your grandfather Ned used to say that the only time a man can be brave is when he’s afraid.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Are you still afraid now?”

“No. Because you’re here, Mama.”

“No, Aemon. You’re not unafraid just because I’m here. You’re unafraid because we’re here together.”

“Do I have to go back to my bed now?”

“Not tonight, Aemon,” Dany said, hugging him and holding his close again. “Stay right here with me.”

[munadaria]

Fire. Smoke. Ash. Tears. Screams. The smell of burning flesh, wood and land. The flames licking every nook of Summerhall, growing wilder and stronger only as minutes pass. The sky taking a shade of black, orange, yellow and red; many of those gathered at the palace surely die, and those that survive the horror will never speak of it. The smoke and ashes carried by the wind make her gasp for air, her eyes become dry and irritated. Even the heat emanating from the palace is too much from the safe distance she finds herself in to deliver her first child. There’s too much pain, in her body and mind; how is she meant to enjoy the birth of her child, find that delight in holding the babe in her arms for the first time, when she must also mourn for the loss of life? The prince that was promised is meant to be born from her and Aerys’ line. Is her child meant to be that prince? For the babe is a boy, born amidst salt and smoke. Yet also like her grandfather intended, a dragon was born. One of flesh and blood, an heir to the throne…

The setting changes, finding herself in the royal gardens of King’s Landing within the Red Keep. She sees her grandchildren, all as if they are of the same age. Children of no more than five or six years old. Aegon playing with his wooden sword, just as she sits down with Rhaenys to help her only granddaughter make a lovely flower crown. Laughter fills the air, as do calls from the boy to gain her attention to watch him. Her heart swells with pride and love, her dragonlings bringing her a kind of happiness she had only felt before with her own children. But this, oh this is so much sweeter for there are no watchful eyes of a madman and freedom is hers. Her own laughter leaves her lips as Rhaenys places their finished flower crown atop her head, and in turn she tickles her and laughs with the sweet child. Ah if only happiness were long lasting and not a fleeting emotion…

She blinks, her surroundings changing for a third time. The chilling cold is what she notices first, her own arms wrap about her waist and takes notice of the thick layers of black and red clothing, clad in Targaryen colours, covering her frame. Even black gloves cover her delicate hands, the only skin remaining uncovered are her features and neck. As she walks along the beach’s shoreline snowflakes begin to fall, some catching on her hair and slowly melting away. Such an innocent gesture brings a smile to her lips, for a split second forgetting about the cold seeping into her bones. She hears her own name being called out from above, she can’t tell the figure calling out to her nor the voice yet nonetheless she leaves the beach and takes the path leading her to the keep. As she exhales she can see her own breath, as a she hears a sound akin to a roaring storm above her. For a moment, it makes her think of the storm during which her Daenerys was born. Her eyes flutter close as she takes another deep breath and...

Violet eyes opened wide, lips parted gasping for air and tears streaming down her cheekbones. It took a moment for Rhaella’s vision to adjust to her quarters in the Red Keep. A shaky hand reached up to wipe away her tears as she also took notice of the thin layer of cold sweat her skin was covered in. Peeling off the bedding from her person she stood up and padded silently towards the small table located in her chambers; she filled a goblet with water and took a series of short sips, even as her hand continued to shake. “It was only a dream.” She told herself, setting the goblet down. But it wasn’t just a simple dream, the scenes were a mixture of her own memories and something that might yet come to pass.

The first scene she remembered vividly in either a waking or sleeping moment - the tragedy of Summerhall. Over four decades later it still haunted her, and considered it a miracle she survived it along with Rhaegar; her eldest son, a babe and his life was surrounded by tragedy from the moment he came into the world.  It would be both laughable and shameful if anyone were to know of the last dragon queen’s own fear to fire. Terrified of one of the very elements and words for which her own house was known for. Simply put it was something she never spoke of and avoided to be in the presence of fire in every chance she had; and when she could not, she did her best to hide how uncomfortable she felt. Candles had become bearable over the years, as had fires lit within hearths to provide with warmth; the latter she had learned to tolerate, within safe distance, due to the crackling sound of the flames licking wood. It worked wonders for her nerves.

It didn’t help Aerys’ own obsession with fire as his champion and burning all those that opposed or were against him, or rather perceived who were against him. A fate she knew could’ve been her own if her brother and husband had discovered her support for their eldest son and heir to remove him from the throne. Up until that point Rhaella had remained faithful to her King out of fear. She was powerless and trapped in an unhappy marriage, with no one who would ever protect her, not even the Kingsguard though sworn to keep her safe and from any and all harms too - yet not from the King. There was no one she could turn to for aid and escape, she would promptly be returned and with her husband’s state of mind, she knew if she ever attempted to flee her fate would’ve been decided the moment Aerys heard of her escape. Without Rhaegar’s promise for a better future to them all, and with a plan to smuggle her to Dragonstone, she wouldn’t have dared oppose her brother.

She never felt an ounce of love for Aerys, romantic or platonic, his descend into madness only made it worse. But he loved fire, and each time he had someone killed by his pyromancers she knew what would come that night. A different kind of nightmare, again fueled by flames. It was as if she could never escape them. They had never touched her skin, never marred and marked her physically. But they touched and altered her psyche. 

Aerys, on the other hand, had left his mark on her time and time again. Even though it’s been years since he last abused her, Rhaella could still remember the bruises he left on her skin. Her hand, shaking still, reached up to touch the high point of her right cheekbone where he had left a scar that had mostly faded. And right beneath her fingertips she felt the thin scar, half an inch long. She had been lucky Aerys hadn’t managed to damage her eye with his nails long as talons, or blind her altogether. Her fingers travelled down her features to her lips, remembering the way the lower one was swollen and split, or the coppery taste in her mouth caused by her own blood. Her eyelids fluttered close, her hand fully covered her mouth to try and muffle her own sounds as she started crying anew. Her shoulders shook as she hunched over, her free arm wrapping about her stomach as she shuffled back to her bed before her legs had a chance of giving out on her.

Alone in the dark she was left with the memories of her tragic and unhappy life, at times replaying themselves on a loop over and over again especially when she closed her eyes. It was a miracle she had kept most of her sanity intact, for she clung to the happy memories like a lifeline. They were what kept her afloat, the lights of her life that she hoped and prayed to the Gods would never diminish and extinguish for she feared she would fall into a place of no return. Not the madness that plagued her family, one she kept her eyes on at all times on her children and grandchildren, but something darker. A confinement within her mind with no way out.

Minutes passed, her body slightly rocking back and forth as a means to bring herself a sense of comfort. Her sobs subsided as she started to cry quietly, eyelids closed, inhaling and exhaling through her mouth. She didn’t bother to try and dry nor wipe her tears this time, her energy was spent in recalling good and happy memories to pull herself together: Daenerys’ birth as the third and final good thing that Aerys ever gave her and being able to raise her daughter, her grandchildren providing her with reasons to fully smile and laugh, Ser Bonifer crowning her the Queen of Love and Beauty, Aerys’ death although not a happy occurrence by any means it brought a positive change into her life in which she no longer lived in fear of losing her life day after day and regained a semblance of freedom and peace.

With her mind quieter and peaceful of dark thoughts she recalled the second scene of her dream which brought a faint smile to her lips as she thought on it, the innocence of playing in the gardens with her grandchildren when they were younger. One of the few sources of happiness in her life, a balm to her wounded spirit that slowly filled her with life anew. The third and final scene both concerned and confused her in equal measure. Rhaella recognised she was in Dragonstone, wearing layers upon layers of thick clothing; snowflakes on her silver hair and the wind caressing her skin as she walked along the shore shortly before retreating into the ancestral keep.

The first rays of light entered her chambers through the windows, announcing it was dawning. If she wanted to write anything down she ought to be quick before her ladies appeared, for she had instructed them the previous eve she wanted to wake early on the next day and be ready for her. With quick steps she walked across the room to the secret spot in which she kept a journal for her dreams, and returned to the desk. The inkpot and quill were at the ready, within mere seconds scribbling away on the parchment describing as best as she remembered the final scene of her dream all while being careful to avoid staining her fingertips with the black ink. Once she finished writing, she gently blew a bit of sand to allow the ink to dry faster. As she waited, she returned to the windows to observe the sunrise. A peaceful, beautiful sight she rarely indulged herself in yet nowadays Rhaella tried to find joy in the smallest things and for that alone she would have this moment, undisturbed.