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Heart's Blood
Scorching Touch of Summer Sun
Those first months back home were like a dream. Waking up in her own bed to the murmur of the narrow sea, because the palace of House Rogare rose straight from the edge of a proud rock, speaking her own language, eating fruits and fish that were so uncommon to Westeros, drinking the best wine of the world, talking and laughing with people she knew from birth and whose ways were her own – nothing in the world could compare. Happiness swelled up within her, bubbled up. She was no longer the different one. The evil foreigner. She was one of the people she met daily. Even her mother's disapproval could not shake her. After surviving the regents and the siege of Maegor's Holdfast, her mother no longer had the power to terrify.
"If your father was alive, he'd have returned you to your husband kicking and screaming," her mother said.
If Father was alive, I wouldn't have needed to leave, Larra thought and quickly drove that idea away. She was pleased that she had left. She was. That was her heart's desire. Now, she had to arrange the purchase of that slave who was said to make such wonderful hair-styles… Tonight, there was a lavish reception in the palace of Magister Scandrino and she wanted to look her best. What a relief it was to have men stare at her with desire, yet not consider her a whore simply because of who she was!
"What are you doing?" Moredo asked one morning as they broke their fast. "What are you doing with this lemon?"
Larra gave him a look of confusion. "I am saving it for later," she said and her brother laughed.
"What?" he asked. "You think our cupboards are going to be depleted of lemons? If they do, the kitchen slaves will just go out and pick some others. We aren't in danger to crave them."
"No," Larra agreed. "Of course we aren't."
His grin faded and he gave her a look of concern. "Are you well, Larra? You look…" He didn't finish.
"Yes," she said. "I am."
She didn't tell him without thinking, that she had saved the round yellow fruit for Aemon. Six months after her return, a memory had just arisen all of a sudden. She had been holding her son, then about a year old, in her lap and she had looked away just for a moment to say something to a serving maid. When she had looked back, Aemon had reached the plate that should have been out of his reach and was serving himself, his face all sticky with lemon juice. Larra had expected that he'd start screaming as soon as the bitterness hit his tongue but he had looked in bliss. Unlike Aegon who only liked sweet things, Aemon had turned out to enjoy fresh bitterness as well, without any honey to sweeten it up. Ever since then, Larra had been saving lemons as special treats for him.
Her heart ached from the memory, the pang almost as great as the ones she had felt when he had been tearing her womb to arrive in the world.
Viserys' letters kept arriving at even intervals, every three months – brief concise notices that all was fine and a few questions if he could do something for her. Each time, she opened them with her heart turned to stone, sweeping her eyes over the content, the stone turning heavier each time she spotted Naerys' name. Each time, it turned out to be about how her daughter was doing. Naerys hadn't died. Yet.
About a year after her leaving, she started expecting those letters with a different emotion, one that she couldn't quite define. They hadn't changed in tone or content but her reception of them had. She no longer read them with fear that she'd find a demand that she return. She never found even a veiled plea and that pained her. She didn't know why. She didn't want to return. She didn't want him to ask her that. She was far happier here than she had ever been in that cold land of his, she was, and yet each time he failed to ask she felt hurt and rejected as if he had been the one who had cast her away and not the other way round. Pain shot through her heart each time she met a child, especially a boy who was as fair-haired and purple-eyed as hers – and in Lys, that meant every second child in the street. It was a good thing that she traveled in a litter!
"You're a fool," Lysaro told her each time he was into his cups. "This boy adores you. With Aegon being as mad as he is, he might never father an heir. You could have been Queen one day but you ran away from your enemies instead of fighting them and triumphing at the end."
But Larra was so tired of fighting.
"You're very tired, aren't you?" a young voice asked her one night when she escaped the great hall filled with people in the palace of House Noblisi, suddenly feeling that the perfumes and laughter were too much for her.
Larra looked at her left and smiled at the sight of the girl in a bright dress of green and red clashing outragerously. The child's long silver-gold hair fell in heavy waves down her back. She seemed to be about eight year old.
"I am," Larra said. "It's a wonderful reception. Your parents have provided much entertainment. A little too much," she added, smiling.
"Do you want me to bring something to you?" the girl asked. "A glass of wine?"
Larra smiled again. "No, thank you. I'll be fine," she said, suddenly wishing for Siella Noblisi to go away. She couldn't help but wonder what Naerys would look like when she reached Siella's age. You're wondering too much, she scolded herself. She's a little enemy but an enemy anyway. Behind the smiles and compliments on both sides, despite the claims of friendship, the hostility between the two Houses was deepening. And it was her own daughter she longed to see, not this child. It seemed indecent somehow to spare even the tiniest amount of time and attention on other children when she had refused the chance to do so with her own. The pain that she refused to admit ate at her anew.
"She'll be wed to the future Prince of Dorne one day," Lysaro said about Siella. "Our cousin. And Noblisi will enjoy all the perks that used to be ours."
"Only if you let them," Larra said. "Lysaro, we should try winning more Houses on our side. Just being resplendent isn't enough."
"It was for Father."
"It got Father killed!" Larra's voice rose. "Do use our resources to make fast friends instead of impressing with our wealth!"
She was stunned when she found herself repeating Viserys' words of… how many, six years ago? Even at fourteen, he had shown that remarkable brightness of intellect, expressed ideas that others needed years to reach. And of course, Lysaro hadn't reached them yet.
And then, everything turned into a nightmare. The pounding at their door in a night as black as a raven's wings and roaring with the rage of the sea under their windows… The brief and bloody fight when the entire might of Lys was thrown against their household guards and the few slaves that stayed loyal… The claws reaching out to grab her and deliver her to a court that had been gathered in advance, comprised of all those who hated them… She listened to the indictments of greed, cheating in trade, disloyalty to the clients of the Bank and from time to time thought that she was back in King's Landing again, with Marston Waters listening eagerly to the accusations against them. But this time, there was no recalling of one's duty; this time, they were announced guilty and she and Moredo were banished from Lys. Larra would be forever grateful that she hadn't been there to see Lysaro scourged to death.
"They will get their due," Moredo swore, his hand on Truth. "Just wait. You'll see."
"I don't want anyone to get their due," Larra said tiredly. "I only want peace."
"You could have had that if you had stayed with your lord husband where you belong," her mother reminded her. "Perhaps then, they wouldn't have dared…"
But Larra had long stopped listening to her.
In Pentos, the men came. Not many – Larra didn't feel a constant need of carnal pleasures. She wouldn't buy a bedslave as her mother did. But she needed someone to hold her and want to take her to bed because she knew now as she had known then that she'd never have a family of her own, another husband, other children. At the time, she had not cared but now she could feel with cruel clarity what she had given up. But she was now tired of being alone and yet none of the men she met, none of the men who adored her could fill the gap widening in her heart. The fact that they satisfied her carnally didn't mean anything because Viserys had satisfied her as well, once he knew how he was supposed to give her pleasure. Larra had never been unfaithful to him when they had still been together and she didn't feel unfaithful now. But she didn't feel happy either.
And she was a runaway. An exile. Depending on other people's mercy. She who had once been the second lady of a realm, even if such a primitive one as Westeros. The nightmare was coming back. Once again, she was the different one. The tolerated one.
Things became better when Moredo found employment in a swordsell company. In less than a year, he was already elevated enough in the ranks to afford a good house for themselves, thoughtfully placing their mother with her grief and complaints as far away from them as possible. Larra had no trouble letting whomever she desired in her chambers at night through the back door and for a short time, it made her happy. Until she had to rise and face the world behind her door. Just as it had been once. At least then, she had had something. Sometimes, she felt that she would do anything if she could only touch a shadow of it again.
