They had woke her with whispers of oversleeping, of how late she was for court that day yet the queen refused to acknowledge her fault that morning, for it was her lack of sleep that night and not morning court that occupied her thoughts. Daenerys had woken thrice that night with nightmares of shadows and soldiers of ice, blood and screams and death and with each wake she found it more and more difficult to return to the realm of slumber. After hours of staring at the ceiling and stirring in her featherbed, sleep had finally honored her with its presence and sent her into a dreamless slumber, yet the price for such came when she refused to wake up until well into the hours of sunrise. Irri was the first to help her from bed while Jhiqui began to tidy the sheets, and with a heavy sigh the silver haired girl rubbed away the sleep from her eyes while her Dothraki handmaid began to guide her away from her chamber and to the doors that gave to the outside of her apartments.
The air was sweet with the smell of flowers and the fragrant pools about her, and down an open corridor they walked, passing underneath the large marble pillars that supported the ceiling. From beyond the low parapets that surrounded the apex of the pyramid she could see the entirety of Meereen yet she could hear little from the city below. The Great Pyramid was a monstrous thing of eight hundred feet, composed of thirty-three different levels and she had taken the very first as her personal chambers.
Truly, one felt like a God when thrust up so high, yet very much alone.
Leaving the protection of the corridor the Targaryen queen finally stepped under the Meereenese morning, suns light bathing her the moment she stepped onto her terrace floor. The grass beneath her feet was warm, drawing a soft sigh from the young woman but the sun above caused her to flinch some, violet eyes squinting some as she brought a hand to shield them from the harsh light. The sun had not yet reached its peak but Dany was sure the day would be a hot one, but were not all days in Meereen hot? Shaking her head some she continued forward, dropping her hand back to her side and venturing deeper into the garden, tugging at the laces of her nightgown as she did so. Much like everything else in the pyramid, the pool within the terrace was of a large size, and as she approached it she caught glimpse of the many small fishes that swam within and circled each other. A bath would surely knock whatever sleep continued to loom over her and so with little effort did the gown pool at her feet with a soft swoosh before she stepped over it and dipped a toe into the waters. Cool, but not cold enough to prevent her from stepping in.
Submerging most of herself into the water she watched as the fishes scrambled about but soon neared her and began to nibble at her skin, forcing a light giggle to spill from pink lips. Jhiqui had soon joined her fellow handmaid and queen on the terrace with materials in hand and began to help Irri with Dany’s care. Jhiqui began at her hair, washing the long, pale silver locks with care, taking her time to undo the snags whenever she would run into them. Irri scrubbed at her back and arms and feet until she was flushed pink, and gave the Khaleesi time to splash the water upon her face and fully wake herself. Once they were done both Dothraki girls helped her from the pool and pat her dry before returning to their separate tasks. Jhiqui combed away at her hair with delicate care until it shone like smelted silver and brushed softly against her back and hips. Irri took her time dabbing the young queen with the scents of Meereen, spiceflower and something that reminded her of dark oak but neither she nor her Dothraki knew what it could be, but the smell was nice and it was what mattered.
While Jhiqui continued to tend to hair, Irri retreated back into the queen’s apartments to search for tokar for Dany to wear that day, but she would have rather remained as she was then; naked as her nameday with no restraints. Ah, but court still had to be held that day. Jhiqui had re-braided the Targaryens hair in the Dothraki fashion, fastening four silver bells at the end.
When Irri returned with the wisps the Khaleesi would be wearing that day Jhiqui stepped away from the girl’s hair and moved to help Irri with wrapping the tokar about the queen’s body. Irri had chosen a black and maroon brasso tokar with blouse, with an abstract and floral print of gold and gilded sandals of the same color for her feet. As the Dothraki girls coiled the singular fabric about the queen she took note of how fast they seemed to have gotten used to the art, for the tokar was never a simple garment to don. Too tight and it would constrict your movements, making it almost impossible to walk. Too loose, and you risked having the thing fall from your body completely. They had gotten the hang of it, however, and made sure the tokar did not squeeze their Khaleesi nor threatened to trip about her feet. Once they were done, whatever loose fabric remained was tossed over her shoulder.
“Where is Missandei?” Dany asked after realizing the young scribe had been absent her side for the majority of the morning. “She waits downstairs, Khaleesi.” Irri responded, gesturing for the Silver Queen to begin her walk back to her chambers so that she could begin her descent to the second level of the pyramid.
Drawing in a soft sigh she did just so, the walk from terrace back to apartments a short one, and as she walked through her chamber and out the doors she was met with the great, broad marble stairs that led to the court room below. Each step was measured, careful, so that she would not tumble head first down the stairs because of her “floppy ears” as she liked to call the garment, and when she had reached the bottom she was met with the large doors that gave way to her court and the young Naathi scribe standing by the door. “Your Grace,” the girl greeted, bowing her head as she brought the silver crown held between her small hands up. It was wrought in the shape of a three headed dragon with one onyx head, one jade head and the other yellow. Approaching the scribe Dany allowed her lips to curl into a brief smile before she took hold of the crown and placed it about her brow, already weary of its weight upon her shoulders yet no complaint was voiced. The doors of her great hall were pushed open by the young scribe and the queen stepped inside.
To the eye. one would see a splendorous, high ceiling chamber with walls and tiles of purple marble that shifted colors with the light of the tall candles that burned amongst the purple marble pillars. Two lines of Unsullied soldiers stood with their backs to the pillars, standing tall and firm and motionless, like statues, with their spears and shields raised.
As they saw their queen entering the hall they came to a synchronized attention, the ends of their spears slamming against the floor bellow in precise unison before smacking the heads of their weapons against their shield, a singular clang echoing throughout the spacious room. Besides the Unsullied, however, there were no others within her purple hall besides her old knight standing by her bench and Strong Belwas in the far corner. “Are there none to speak to today?” Daenerys asked aloud, brows furrowing some as she began to make her way to the platform which held her “throne” high.
“Private audiences this day, Your Grace. This, and a stranger brought to you by the Unsullied stationed at the city gates.” said the Naathi scribe and at this the silver haired girl could not help but raise a brow. “And what do they say about this stranger?” Dany asked, slowly climbing the small set of stairs that led to her bench one by one. Carefully, she sat upon the pillows that had been placed there, smoothing the wrinkles of her tokar before her eyes fell on the young scribe once more. The girl hesitated for but a moment before responding. “They call them just so, Your Grace. Strange, they said.”
Strange. A stranger that was strange. Daenerys had had her fill of strange in this lifetime, she doubted this stranger to even compare to all she has seen. “Very well,” was all she murmured in response and raised a hand, a signal to bring forth this foreigner they spoke of. The doors of her court room had been hurled open in that instant, the sound of marching filling the room with its song and as Missandei stepped aside Daenerys caught glimpse of the one they brought forth. Slowly did Daenerys incline her head to the side, as a child would when presented with something they did not quite understand, something new. “All kneel,” the voice of Missandei broke through the brief silence,“you now stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn, of the House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons.” Eyes of violets settled upon the new guest while her expression remained soft, although hard to read.
“I welcome you to the city of Meereen, traveler. What is it you seek here?”
It was a beautiful room. Rather cold for her tastes, but its majesty could not be denied. Her eyes, identical to the bright flickering of the candles in everything but their pale blue colour, darted every which way to more entirely commit her surroundings to memory. It wasn’t until she was made to kneel that Una laid eyes upon Daenerys Stormborn.
As she sunk to one knee, her head too tilted with curiosity before inclining inward out of respect. It was odd, she thought, that someone so young (as truly, she could not have been any older than herself) could have amassed such a great amount of titles and epithets. It would have been a model to strive for had her greed bent toward power instead of more humble pursuits. She reasoned that as wonderful as it might be to be so well-respected, it would prove more troublesome. The best ruler was one who remained unseen. Only then were they closest to becoming a divine presence.
Her head did not lift until she was spoken to directly. Curly hair, revealed to be brown beneath its fading purple dye, fell back to frame a face so pale despite the head that it could only be described as sickly. “Trouble.” A single highlighted word to begin her message. This was not a time she could beat around the bush. Her brows were set in a tense line, ever-present crease between them deepening.
“Part of the shipment has gone missing before reaching its intended destination. Thievery is one of the few things I cannot tolerate.” She drew a small, hesitant breath before continuing. “Perhaps you may think it foolish to request an audience with you over something as trivial as stolen brandy, but it is my livelihood and,” the corners of her mouth twitched in the ghost of a smile, “it often improves the spirits of others, and their livelihoods by extension.”
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