by baenerys » Wed Aug 21, 2019 3:55 am
VAERA DOXOS;
It had only been a matter of time before news of the King’s death reached Vaera in Casterly Rock. After all, it was she who had orchestrated it; the Silence poison was a rare and wonderful thing, from Asshai. Nobody in Westeros knew it even existed, never mind how it could be administered or treated. There was no sure cure for the poison, only herbs that could delay its effects. Vaera had left a small ornate box for King Frederick upon her return from Qarth, with their visit to King’s Landing being so brief considering how unwell her husband had been at the time. The box had been filled with fruit and wine from Qarth, some of the King’s favourites. She had included incense from Myr, a perfume from Volantis and a Valyrian dagger with a ruby in its hilt from Meereen. The poison was in the fruit, the perfume and the box. The incense, if burned, would delay its effects. It was a curious thing, the Silence - a white flower with velvet soft petals and a red heart. When ground, it could be put into almost anything. The King had accepted the gift warmly and wished her husband good health. Little did he know, it would be the same poison which would claim his life only weeks later.
The raven had arrived as Vaera was midway through a language lesson with Irri. It was mid afternoon and the sun was shining a golden light in through the windows of the tower facing the coast. On the walls were maps of the world with various markers. This is where the Westerosi King sits on his iron chair, this is where the ice wall protects the realm from ancient monsters, this is where the blood of old Valyria first landed. This is the Great Grass Sea, this is the Shadow, this is Qarth. Here is where to bargain for gold, here for ships, there for love. The girl was only nine years old but Irri was a quick learner and had a sharp mind. Her hair was dark brown and smooth, and her swarthy skin made her radiant; she would grow to be as beautiful as her mother, Vaera thought, and perhaps just as dangerous. Vivendei Octavia, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, would make a powerful ally or a wicked foe, and Vaera knew this. That was why her family had always treated the Dothraki with respect and welcomed them to Qarth with warmth and gifts. In time, the Dothraki gave a gift in return; the eldest daughter of the Khaleesi herself, in a betrothal to Vaera’s own son Mihal. The agreement had officially been made during Vaera’s previous visit to Essos, where she and the Khaleesi had dined in a manse gifted to Vivendei at the heart of Qarth. This was Irri’s first visit to Westeros where she would stay the season with Vaera, learning the ways of a Westerosi court to smooth over her Dothraki roughness.
The maester of Casterly Rock had handed Vaera the letter emblazoned with the grandmaester’s seal and stood patient as she read. She stroked Irri’s hair gently as her blue eyes ran across the inked parchment. “The King is dead,” she announced, a sadness in her eyes that almost felt real. She grimaced and folded the letter over, setting it on the desk on top of Irri’s books and quills. “Only a few weeks ago did I pass by King’s Landing, and all seemed well then.. and only a few months prior to that did I see the King in the flesh. He was a picture of health... the letter says he died on the throne, midway through council. The entire throne room was filled with commoners and lords when he excused himself for feeling unwell. The grandmaester says that the King stood and fell back into the throne and fainted, and died moments later. The grandmaester says he had noticed that the king had been sleeping more these past weeks and had complained of headaches now and again, but otherwise seemed healthy...” Vaera pursed her lips and asked the maester to fetch Mihal and Tobias so that she may share this grief. The old man nodded and left with the gentle clank of his chain about his neck.
Vaera looked to her future daughter in law. “The King no longer sits on his iron chair,” she said in Dothraki, and continued in the Common Tongue of Westeros, “He will be buried in a box in the Holy Place and put to rest.” The Lannister woman spoke next in Valyrian. “His nephew will now sit the iron chair.” She paused and continued in Dothraki. “Do you understand, Irri?”
